The Cult of the Black Virgin

by Serena Janes

  This new experience—this desire to turn over her body and give up her will to another person—excited her more than she thought possible. It was overwhelmingly erotic. Almost frightening in its intensity. But instead of being frightened, she felt empowered, somehow. Feminine and powerful.

  Joanna Clifford knew that this moment was the high point of her life to date.

  Ecstatic at the thought, she knew she would die for him right now.

  But he asked for no such sacrifice. Instead, he wanted her to merely climb onto his lap, facing him, as he sat on the edge of the bed. He must have read her mind.

  “Come here. Sit on me, like this.”

  With his help she straddled him, carefully, her sore muscles protesting. She wrapped her legs around his waist, his arms encircled her tightly. Like two days before, she was trapped by her lover. She was still trembling all over, but otherwise couldn’t move. It was exhilarating—and a little frightening. She didn’t know if she could take such a large penis again without some pain.

  Softly, in his ear she made her little request of him. “Don’t forget to go easy. Please. I’m still sore.”

  “Of course, I’ll be gentle, but listen to me. You can help yourself. I want you to relax. Relax completely. Can you do that?”

  Doubtful.

  But she nodded into his chest.

  “Relax all of your body. Begin by taking some long, deep breaths.”

  She did as he said.

  “Good. But deeper. We’ll do it together.”

  He coached her, coaxed her.

  “That’s right—but slow down—fill your lungs all the way. Now let it all out. Slowly. Good. Now again.” He rubbed her lower back rhythmically as she followed his orders.

  She concentrated on matching her breathing to his, inhaling his scent as fully as she could, then gradually expelling the air completely. Immediately she could feel some of the tension leaving her body. The shaking had stopped.

  It was working—her arms and legs went limp, and she sank fully into him as she felt herself grow heavy.

  “Very good, Joanna. Now isn’t this better?” He slid his hands under her buttocks, lifted her up and slipped smoothly into her.

  He took her by surprise, entering so quickly, and she gave a little gasp.

  “Keep breathing,” he said as he held her still for a few seconds.

  And then, slowly and rhythmically, he began a sensual rocking dance like nothing she had experienced before. His kisses were deep and sweet. He kissed her with such ardor that she felt she was being both devoured and worshipped. She met each kiss with one of equal tenderness and passion. And, she realized with ever-deepening joy, this was much more than the frenzy of two days ago.

  They were making love to each other.

  His hands were everywhere on her flesh, kneading and stroking her soft skin, circling and teasing her breasts, between her legs, nudging her wet clitoris enough to almost drive her too far forwards. They licked each other’s face, neck, kissed hair, hands, shoulders, as he very carefully moved both of their seated bodies backwards and forwards, away from and towards, a slowly rolling and overwhelming ecstasy.

  She didn’t cry out this time—there was no screaming and gnashing of teeth. She kept her promise. There was only a long series of shudders and gasps for more air. She thought maybe her heart would stop, at one point. Her heart, like her body, was being brought to a state where she relinquished control. She was Luc’s now.

  He carried her along with him to some otherworldly place where all that she was, her very consciousness, was caught up in a rolling series of wave after wave of something absolutely primordial in its power, something that originated deep inside her. She felt she was no longer a human being, made of muscle and bone, but a sea creature, all soft jelly and fluid, pivoting around a hard stalk of such intense pleasure that she would dissolve around it and float away. She would disseminate, and be gone.

  How long was Luc able to carry them through this fluidity of space and time? She didn’t know. And eventually she came back into herself, wet and trembling, insides still rhythmically contracting, with him lying beside her, stroking her hair and telling her to get under the blankets for a few moments.

  They lay together, bodies entwined. Never had she felt such a powerful emotional and sexual connection to a man. Never could she have imagined that mind and body could work together so beautifully, to each intensify the pleasure of the other, so that it wasn’t just sex anymore. It was more than sex. Last time was fucking, amazing as it was—this was something else. She felt awe.

  I’d call it love, if I didn’t know better.

  She thought of the Chinese concept of Yin and Yang, admired the symmetry of and principle behind the black and white symbol, each side containing the germ of the other side’s qualities, halfway wrapped around each other, seeming to be in perpetual motion, a turning and rolling together that was never ending. She felt a new respect for the ancient concepts of male and female, dark and light, in their similarities and differences, in their quest for union and harmony.

  Yes. That’s it—the harmony of a perfect fit. Luc and I are a perfect fit.

  Eyes closed, she inhaled her lover, treasuring the feeling of her skin stuck to his, as if he possessed the strength of the magnet, and she was the powerless, passive metal.

  Jo had never in her life valued passivity. Women of her generation took control of all aspects of their lives and were proud of their independence. Passivity was a dirty word—an archaic word—belonging to her grandmother’s generation. But now something fundamental seemed to have changed in her. She lay very still, listening to his heartbeat slow, loving every millisecond of this precious, unprecedented time, wondering how such a massive change could occur in only a few days.

  As her own heart rate returned to normal, so her thoughts returned to the rational. There was something she had to ask and it seemed the right time. Even if she wasn’t going to like his answers.

  “Luc?” she whispered. “Why do you still wear your wedding ring? I need to know.”

  When he didn’t answer right away, she grew afraid.

  “Naturellement,” he said hesitantly. “You need to know. I would have told you sooner, but there was no opportunity.” He held his left hand up in front of her face, fingers splayed. “It’s stuck. It has to be cut off. I’ve been meaning to, but I keep putting it off. Because of my son, mostly.”

  She tugged at the tight band gently. It was indeed impossible to pull it over his large knuckle.

  “How long were you married?”

  “Seven and a half years. The divorce was finalized over a year ago, but my ex-wife and I have arranged our domestic lives so that our son doesn’t know.”

  “You mean you still live together?” she said a little too loudly. It sounded crazy.

  “In a way. We have a large property, with two separate houses. We used to rent one out, but then I moved in. The boy has accepted that his papa has his own house. He lives in his mother’s house. This way I can be there for every stage of his life. But he’s almost nine. He’ll have to be told the truth soon.”

  While making his confession Luc remained still, lying flat on his back, eyes fixed on the moonlight patterns on the wall in front of him. They weren’t touching any more.

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “I didn’t want the divorce, Joanna. And I can’t bear the idea of hurting my son. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. And she was. Divorce was a terrible thing. Even if it did make possible the joy they had just shared.

  “I let people who don’t know me believe I’m married because it’s the easiest thing to do. Besides,” he added with a touch of anger in his voice, “it’s nobody’s business.”

  He was right. It was nobody’s business but his own. And now, hers. Her head was spinning with details and almost numb from exhaustion.

  It was time to leave. Reluctantly, she struggled to sit up.


  “I should go so we can get some sleep.”

  “Yes, of course,” he turned to her and caressed her cheek, murmuring in her ear. “But not yet. Let me fill the tub. I want to bathe you.”

  She sank back down into the bed in astonishment as he sprang up. What a delicious idea. Yes—a bath would be wonderful, then perhaps she’d be able to sleep. She heard water running.

  He returned, extended a hand to help her up and led her into a bathroom filled with moonlight. He held her arm to steady her as she stepped into the tub. Then she remembered something. She didn’t want to sleep with wet hair.

  “Can I use your bandana for my hair?”

  He brought it to her and she deftly tied her hair into a topknot before sinking into the water. Then he climbed in behind her in the large, old-fashioned tub. She snuggled between his legs, resting her sore back on his chest, her head on his shoulder, moonlight reflecting off the wet surfaces of their bodies.

  They fit together perfectly.

  She reveled in the comfort of the warm water and his arms as they wrapped around her. She closed her eyes in a state of blissful exhaustion. Silent, they lay like that for a few precious minutes—she couldn’t bear to have them end.

  Gently he began to soap her breasts, her belly, her limbs, and then rinsed her by filling his hands with water and pouring it over her body. Limp and still, she lay passive, concentrating on every nuance of sensation. This new compliance increased her pleasure. She made no move to reciprocate.

  When he was finished, he got out first and helped her stand up and step out. Kneeling at her feet, he used a towel to work his way up to dry every part of her. Again she remained motionless, moving only when he told her to.

  Even now she didn’t have the energy to reciprocate, and when he wrapped her silk robe around her and tied the belt, he was still dripping in the moonlight. All she could do was undo his bandana from her hair and hand it to him. Then she raised one hand to touch his face, looked into his dark and shining eyes, and kissed him one last time. She said only, “Thank you,” and quietly left his room.

  I’d call it love, if…

  Knowing she would never be able to sleep once she crawled into bed, she swallowed one of the sleeping pills she kept for emergencies. It was crucial she get some rest.

  Chapter Eight

  Glenda was ashamed of herself for falling victim to prejudice. She and Edward liked Joanna. They liked Luc, too. But what she’d learned this morning from Iris made liking them a more difficult business. They had no boundaries.

  She and her husband weren’t sure they should believe the large, angry girl, but Iris seemed in possession of a number of facts that left little doubt in their mind that Joanna and Luc were behaving very badly indeed.

  On their way into breakfast, Glenda and Edward passed through the hotel lobby to find Iris, Carol and Marcie huddled together in a corner exchanging excited words. Edward steered clear when Carol called them over but Glenda soon found herself in the middle of a tearful confession.

  Iris was spilling her guts, talking more quickly than Glenda could have believed. She had to get her story out before Joanna or Luc appeared, she explained.

  She told the older women that she hated Joanna Clifford from the moment she saw her in the bar at the Hotel Deux Rivieres. “When she walked into the room in that short dress, she instantly captured the attention of every man there. I know I’ve never been one to turn heads, but what hurt the most was the look on Luc’s face.

  “I was talking to him, hoping he would find me interesting. I liked him so much. But Joanna stole that from me,” she insisted.

  Glenda learned that Luc awoke feelings that had been smoldering in poor Iris for fifteen years. As soon as she saw him Iris was transported back to the summer of 1990, the summer she’d joined a group of young English students on a French immersion holiday in Lyon. It was her first trip to France.

  “I was an eighteen-year-old virgin,” she blushed at her admission. “And when I met a young French student, with blue eyes, dark hair and a passably handsome face, I thought it was time to see what all this sex stuff was about.

  “But after he took my innocence, I fell—hard. I was convinced I was in love. And when I told him how I felt he ran off. I never saw him again, “she said, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Marcie handed her a fresh tissue while Carol just stood there, mouth open.

  Now thirty-two, she was still suffering. ”I guess I’ve had a few encounters with men, over the years,” she said with a crooked smile. “But I was still lonely. I just know that my first love is going to remain the love of my life. I’ve pretty much given up on men.

  “The only reason I took this trip was because my employer forced me to take some vacation time—and I wanted to keep busy.” All three women made sympathetic noises.

  Luc’s resemblance to that evasive young man all those years ago, although not particularly strong, Glenda learned, was enough to cause confusing emotions to overwhelm Iris. By the second day of the tour, she was in love all over again.

  “And now I feel cheated for a second time. Last night,” she explained, “I didn’t have to hear the midnight squeak of Luc’s door to know it was Joanna.

  “Her visit didn’t surprise me,” she told her rapt audience. “Luc had been to her room two days ago. I was next door. I heard them. It was obvious what was going on, and I blame that American whore.” Marcie and Carol let out a shocked gasp simultaneously. Glenda cleared her throat and looked at the floor as Iris continued.

  Iris said she’d been dozing in her room when she heard Luc’s voice coming from inside Jo’s room.

  “Then I heard the two of them talking—and nothing else—but suddenly there were some scuffling sounds. They were muffled, but I knew I was hearing an act of infidelity.”

  Knowing full well that Luc was supposed to be in a cave, she was shocked at his deceit. “We should all be,” she insisted. “But still I don’t blame Luc. I can’t. I love him,” she finally admitted, more tears filling her eyes as she looked away

  “So I thought it was time to share what I know with Carol and Marcie.” She looked up at the two women briefly, and gave them a shy smile. “You, too, Glenda. You’re the sensible one. You all have more experience with men and marriage, and should know how to put a stop to this disgusting behavior—and see the adulterous bitch exposed. The wicked witch destroyed. Or at least sent back to America with her tail tucked between her legs.”

  Iris had almost spat out these last words.

  “All I want to do is provide the facts,” she explained as she looked at the shocked faces of her new friends. “So will you help me, please?”

  Feeling sick to her stomach, Glenda said, “We’d better go in. They’ll be wondering what we’re up to.”

  Then she walked into the breakfast room to join her husband.

  * * * *

  Jo was in no mood to share her morning with anyone. She was groggy from the sleeping pill and once again apprehensive about meeting her lover across a crowded breakfast table.

  Last night she and Luc had created something astounding. And she hadn’t had enough time to process what it meant. Or how she felt. She’d have to wait until they were on the trail before she’d have the luxury of reflection.

  By the time she sat down to eat she found that Luc had already finished his meal, so she was spared the agony of trying to keep a neutral face as she ate. Conversation around the table seemed more subdued than usual. She noticed that none of the women would meet her gaze. Something was wrong. Even Glenda answered her few questions with monosyllables. She began to feel sick with anxiety.

  Could anyone know that Luc and I were together last night? Impossible! So why the cold shoulders? What’s going on?

  After eating, she walked across the street to the market to buy lunch, grateful to be able to get away from the tension at the table. When she got back, she saw that the bags were already stowed in the van, ready to go. So she sat outside on the patio, a little apart f
rom the others, waiting for Luc to appear to start their walk.

  Apparently, he was late. Jo was very nervous. She rubbed her right forefinger back and forth over the stone in her ring. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  Where was he, anyway? Has he Yin and Yanged me, and realizing the success of his mission, just fucked off?

  Quickly realizing the absurdity of her fears, she forced herself to take some deep breaths. It worked last night, she remembered with a little flutter in her belly.

  Calm down, you idiot! Can’t you think about someone besides yourself for even one minute?

  If this was going to be the kind of dialogue going through her head all day, it would put a terrible strain on her already stretched nerves. She had to relax and put on a mask of kind benevolence. Her job now was to convince herself, and everyone else, that all was normal. Maybe if she kept it up for the next four days someone might believe her.

  But right now no one was talking to her. They weren’t even looking at her. She felt like crying, but, taking a very deep breath, she bucked up, forced a pleasant expression onto her face and held her head high.

  Don’t cave, she told herself. Don’t cave.

  Luc finally came out of the hotel office, flashed his professionally-cared-for smile at the group, and said it was time to go. Martel was almost twelve miles down the road.

  As soon as Jo saw him, her chest fluttered. Her heart, this time, not her gut.

  If love didn’t take so long to grow, I’d swear I’m beginning to fall…

  Through an enormous effort of will she pretended to pay no attention to him. In fact, she spoke to him very little during the entire morning. She couldn’t, however, stop herself from watching him as he walked ahead of her.

  He was so, so beautiful to look at. Although she was still bone weary, he seemed perfectly well rested and full of energy for the day ahead. But he couldn’t have had any more sleep than she had! And he probably got up early for his run, too, she marveled.

  Along the way, he behaved as if nothing was different, but she noticed right away that the dynamics of the group had changed. Carol, Iris and Marcie walked closely together, talking in low voices. Neither the Evans nor the Arnolds seemed to have much to say to Jo, and Luc and Sarah kept a fast pace up ahead. So Duncan was her best bet for companionship as she walked.