by Janey Rosen
“Certainly, Sir,” I goad.
“Sir? You’re learning fast, Elizabeth.” The hint of an approving smirk flashes across his face.
Naked, I step into the centre of the dress and pull the fabric up and holding it to my body, pad over to Sebastian turning and indicating for him to fasten my dress. It’s a strapless gown with fitted corset, flaring out below the black sashed waist – the stiff folds of fabric supported by the unyielding black net beneath. Standing, Sebastian takes the black laces of the corset in his long fingers and pulls sharply. Catching my breath, I hold in my waist to aid the fastening as he pulls tightly with each lacing.
“You’ve lost weight,” he remarks and he’s right, I haven’t regained my appetite fully, since I lost Joe and Alan.
“Do you like the slimmer me?” My waist seems impossibly small in the dress as he pulls me in even tighter, my hands on my hips to help him. He’s fastening it so forcefully that I fear the seams may give.
“Fuck, Elizabeth, you have no idea how sexy you look. Yes I love your figure, but don’t lose any more weight. I like my women curvy.” Your women?
“Which women would these be, Sebastian?” I ask haughtily. He responds with a sharper tug on the cords.
“You know what I mean,” he mutters irritably.
“Enlighten me.” Not intending to let this drop, I attempt to turn and confront him. He prevents me from doing so by pulling the cords of the dress in the opposite direction to my rotation, rendering me immobile.
“Stay still,” he snaps.
“You haven’t answered me,” I whine.
“No. I haven’t. I’m not indulging your insecurities.”
He finishes his task with a knot and a bow and I’m at last free to face him.
“Don’t you think that perhaps comments such as that, exacerbate my insecurities?” Hands still firmly on my hips my eyes lock fiercely with his. He holds my stare, mirroring my stance.
“Go, and look at yourself in the mirror,” he indicates to the full-length gilded dress mirror, which rests against the wall adjacent the bathroom door.
“Don’t think this conversation is over, Mister,” I warn petulantly as I do as he bids.
“Oh my God. I look like a vamp!” I exclaim as I regard my reflection, turning from side to side. “What did you do with my waist? It’s as though you have eradicated all evidence of two pregnancies.” It’s truly a miracle. I love it, yet it isn’t me.
“You’re a stunning woman,” he admires, standing behind me now, his hands resting on my hips.
“But when will I wear this? It’s so … so over the top.”
“You’ll wear if for your fortieth birthday party next month.” He kisses my bare shoulder sending shivers through my body.
“Sebastian, I don’t want to celebrate my birthday,” I protest. “Not without … without my Joe here. It feels wrong.” The pain of grief, occasionally giving me periods of reprieve, returns as a hard fist to my stomach.
“I know, darling,” he sooths, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and kissing my neck. “It will be good for you, to have the party to plan will take your mind off your terrible loss. Trust me.” His muscular arms encircle me comfortingly and I lean back against him, savouring the support both physically and emotionally.
“You’re right, I need to carry on. Sometimes, though, it’s just too hard. It seems pointless without him. So empty.”
“We have Bella to consider. She needs us to be strong, Elizabeth. Even when you feel like giving up, you must remain focused on her. In time, the pain will ease. Then, one day you realize that you don’t feel guilty for living. You just enjoy your memories which you keep forever.” I turn and hug him tightly.
“Thank you, darling. You make me feel so protected. You make sense of all the madness. You turn the dark to light.” His fingers tilt my head so that his mouth finds mine and our kiss is fervent, needy.
He breaks away, his breathing quickened. “I don’t,” he breathes, “I turn the light to dark.” He has such a lost, desperate forlornness about him at this moment it takes my breath away.
“That’s not true,” I whisper. “You’re a good man.” His eyes search mine as though desperately seeking the truth in my words.
“God. How little you know me.”
A knock at the bedroom door is followed by Bella’s entrance before we can call to enter.
“Hey guys,” she breezes in. “Eww. Gross. Put him down Mum!” I scowl icily at my daughter’s intrusion.
“Was there something you needed?” Pulling away from Sebastian’s embrace, I’m aware that Bella is staring, open mouthed, at my dress - at me.
“Oh. My. God. Look at you.” Unsure if this comment is appreciation or disgust, I fold my arms defensively.
“Doesn’t your Mother look divine?” Sebastian purrs.
“She looks like a … a whore.” My heart sinks and my confidence plummets. Bella has her hand over her mouth in mock horror.
“Bella!” Snaps Sebastian angrily. “Apologise at once.”
“It’s just so not you, Mum,” Bella is shaking her head to enforce her harsh judgment.
“Bella. This is a present from Sebastian. It’s he you should apologize to.” Fury and hurt build in equal measure and I reach behind me, to find the ends of the cord so that I can remove the gown.
“I’m sorry. It’s just … I’ve never seen you look like this Mum. When would you wear it?” She’s staring at me, wide eyed.
“Your Mother is going to wear this gown on her fortieth birthday. If you go to the wardrobe in your bedroom, Bella, you’ll find that you too have a new gown. Albeit yours isn’t quite as slutty as you seem to think your Mother’s is.” Sebastian’s tone is reproachful and Bella lowers her eyes away from his frosty glare, remorsefully.
“I’m sorry Mum. I guess you look kind of cool. I really have a new dress?” She perks up, meeting his eyes once more. “Can I go and see it now?”
“Go.” Sebastian waves her away and she runs excitedly to her room.
“You handle her well,” I praise, admiring his firm manner with my wayward teenager.
“She’s nearly a woman. She needs to learn discipline,” he replies sternly. “I’m going to see that she has some boundaries.” He notices my concerned expression and quickly adds, “it’s for her own good. Trust me.”
“I do trust you,” I say firmly, hiding the glimmer of doubt I feel.
Over dinner, our mood is improved and conversation jovial. Sebastian and Bella tease each other mercilessly and it warms me to see how close they have become. Talk turns to my party and I’m eager to find out more. Bella gushes excitedly about her new dress.
“What sort of party shall I have?” I ask him, excitedly. I’m thinking high-end dinner party with a handful of guests.
“We’re having a masked ball,” he states. Whoa … a masked ball? He doesn’t cease to surprise me.
“I don’t know enough people! I only have Ruth and a couple of the girls from work. Mum. She wouldn’t feel comfortable at all at a masked ball…” He raises his hand to silence me.
“Any other reasons you can think of not to do this?” He asks sarcastically.
“Well no. I don’t want to seem ungrateful,” I add apologetically, seeing the hurt in his eyes. “It will be a wonderful party. I can’t wait.” I smile broadly and the darkness on his face lifts immediately.
“Good girl,” he’s smiling warmly, “leave the guest list to me. You just need to discuss the menu and decorations with Scarlett.” He nods across to Scarlett who is busy spooning apple pie and custard into bowls. She nods agreement without catching his eye.
“Scarlett, it will be such fun,” I say with more conviction than I feel. “Let’s sit down together tomorrow and brainstorm some menu ideas,” I add.
“Yes, that’s fine Mrs. Dove,” she says meekly. It seems so wrong, Scarlett referring to me so formally but Sebastian insists and I’m starting to fear his wrath when I defy him.
“Whom shall we invite?” I ask Sebastian futilely, presuming he has already drawn up a guest list. He doesn’t disappoint me.
“It’s all in hand, Elizabeth. What two roles have I given you?” I’m not a damn child. I bite my lip.
“Yes ok. Menu and decorations,” I roll my eyes.
“Correct.” He can be so obtuse. “I have some friends coming from London and you may invite Ruth. Not your Mother.” What?
“My Mother is coming to my fortieth birthday party. End of discussion,” I say firmly, bravely. He raises a single black eyebrow at me, warning me to push the point further – which of course I do.
“No Mother. No party.” My brow arches even higher than his. Stick that in your pipe, Mister.
“We’ll talk about this later.” His clipped words are a veiled threat and I know I’ve gone too far yet am determined to win this argument.
“There’s nothing to discuss later. I’m very clear on this, it’s my birthday so I should have input in to my guest list,” I pout.
“We will talk about this later,” oh he’s mad now.
“Fine!” I hiss, pushing my plate away from me like a petulant child, knowing how he abhors me saying ‘fine’ or ‘whatever.’
“Fine?” he echo’s, incredulously.
“Yes. Fine. You are such an ass.”
Scarlett drops a bowl, which shatters making me jump.
Sebastian puts down his knife and fork and it’s clear he is bristling. His black coal eyes are boring into me. He pushes back his chair so that it scrapes noisily, across the hard slab flooring. Oh shit! I’ve gone too far. Too late, he’s furious. He holds out a hand, “come with me please Elizabeth.” It’s not a request. I take his hand, trembling with excitement and fear. Why does it turn me on so, to make him mad?
“Certainly dear.” I smirk sarcastically at him. His brow cocks again and his eyes are smouldering, sinister. He takes my hand in his and squeezes. Ouch. My wedding ring bites in to the skin on my left ring finger.
He leads me from the kitchen, closing the door behind us. Holy crap. Where are we going? What’s he going to do to me? Wishing I could learn to tame my mouth and temper my insolence, I allow myself to be led to face his wrath in private. We cross the hallway and enter his study. He evidently wants a quiet word with me, to reprimand me away from Scarlett and Bella. I’m thankful that he doesn’t scold me further, in front of my daughter and the hired help. He leads me through the study toward the cellar door. Hesitating, my hand pulls in his as I come to a stop at the top stair.
“Why are you taking me to the cellar?” My eyes are wide with fear as I’m unable to predetermine his actions.
“You are going to learn not to defy me.” Pulling me with a sharp jerk, we start our descent. With each step, my pulse quickens.
13
Passing Scarlett’s room, we continue – Sebastian’s grip on my hand now painfully smarting as I continually try to withdraw from his grip.
“Stop struggling. Trust me,” he barks menacingly. Trust you? I think incredulously, my mind full of fear and increasingly dark thoughts.
“Maybe I’d trust you more if you didn’t bloody well hurt me.” Furious now, anger replacing fear, I stomp along matching his pace.
“And of course I wouldn’t have cause to bloody well hurt you if you cut the smart mouthed attitude,” he looks at me briefly before easing the pressure on my hand.
“Sebastian. Where are you taking me?” I ask wearily, my pace slowing – Sebastian matching mine now.
“Wait and see, we’re nearly there.” He’s grinning now, anger temporarily forgotten. He’s apparently eager to reach his intended destination and I wonder what awaits me.
We progress past Scarlett’s living area. I glance sideways at the lamp lit living room, remembering the only time I have previously been there; Sebastian and I caught amidst an amorous encounter by Scarlett - that was awkward.
Onwards we march, the corridor familiar, I recollect where this passage leads. We enter the room with the tools, which I discovered when I first stayed at Penmorrow with Sebastian. When I had stumbled upon this room, he had slammed the door shut, but not before I caught sight of the implements and ironwork, which adorn the walls. We didn’t speak of that room again, now of course I curse myself for not having revisited the strange scenario I’d witnessed.
He flicks a switch as he kicks the door closed behind us, the latch clicking in to place restricting my exit. The bulb flickers and then illuminates our surroundings. Releasing my hand, Sebastian stands with his back against the rickety door. The room looks untouched for centuries, the implements hanging from large meat hooks on the wall are of dull metal, some rusted. Others look new, shining in the artificial light. There are no windows. The walls are of grey cobbled rock, held in place with ancient mortar while the ground beneath our feet is dusty cobblestone. The wall to my right comprises a wooden grid of shelving holding countless bottles, each lying on its side – some dusty, others look newly placed.
“A wine cellar?” I ask, taking in every detail of the chamber.
“Wine, yes.” He’s leaning back, arms folded and a mischievous expression, which I know well.
“What are you up to? Why have you bought me down here?” His grin widens and his expression darkens.
“Come with me. I’ll show you.” He swaggers over to where I stand and, placing a hand on the small of my back, he guides me forward through the chamber. There is a low-beamed oak door set in to the far wall. He turns a key and lifts a heavy iron latch, the door creaks open revealing a dark space beyond. The light switch is on the outside of the inner chamber and Sebastian flicks it down, a dull yellow light is cast into the room. Stepping tentatively forward, my eyes behold the sight before me.
“What the hell is this place?” I gasp. The room is circular and the walls and floor are made of the same stone as the neighbouring room. The ceiling is lower, with wooden beams running horizontally across and tied in to the aged mortar. A six-inch diameter metal hook protrudes from the central beam. In the centre of the small spherical room and directly below the hook, is a circular bed.
“My God,” I’m astounded at the bizarre and unexpected sight. “Where did you buy such a bed?” I can’t take my eyes from it. It has no visible frame – simply a sumptuous mattress on low base, covered with a gold satin sheet. Plump cushions, in place of pillows, are heaped in a deliberately neat pile to one side.
“I had it made to my design,” he replies, proudly. “It had to be made in two halves because the doorway is so narrow. Getting it down the cellar steps was an entirely more difficult challenge,” he adds.
“But why?” This is too weird, what am I doing here?
“Why is the bed here? Or why did I bring you here?” His breathing is heavy and his eyes sultry, he’s clearly aroused at my discomfort.
“Both,” I whisper. “What is this room?” Finally averting my gaze from the bed, I notice the Moroccan inspired floor cushions placed around the bed. The one little table against the wall is covered with a mosaic of tiny blue, black and gold tiles and holds a candle and incense sticks, which explain the sweet heady scent although they aren’t burning now.
Sebastian’s hand remains on the small of my back and his fingers begin to trail up and down my spine.
“Do you know why I bought you here?” He murmurs into my ear, his breath hot on my neck.
“To prove what a weird freak you are?” He tenses but I continue. “There was no need, I know what you are.”
“Precisely because of comments such as that, Elizabeth.” His hand moves down to the waistband of my trousers, fingers probing beneath the fabric to the cleft of my buttocks. I squirm at the intrusion of his touch. Withdrawing his hand, he replaces it on my upper back and pushes me gently forward so that I step toward the bed.
“Not here, not now,” I warn him. “Bella will be wondering where we are, we just disappeared,” he sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me down beside him. “And Scarlett has served
dessert, we’re being very rude, Sebastian.” He puts his finger to my lips.
“Stop talking and listen to me,” he removes the finger from my lips and I’m silent, waiting for him to explain this weirdness, looking only at my hands in my lap.
“Go on,” my voice is hushed, full of trepidation.
“That’s better. I need to explain to you what I am. Who I am.” He has my attention now.
“You know that I’m assertive, yes?” He waits expectantly for my reply.
“Yes, you can be assertive … and bossy,” my head nods in affirmation.
“Bossy? Wrong choice of words, I’m dominant, Elizabeth. I am a Dominant. Do you understand what that means?” Sadism … masochism … I’ve seen it all on the Internet. That’s you? Wow.
“I think I do,” I reply. “Sebastian, you’re wanting me to be submissive aren’t you?” He’s nodding, his expression blank, unreadable. “I see, and this room is where you ‘do’ your dominance thing?”
He shakes his head, rolling his eyes, “not as such but its’ a room I’ll bring you to often. I want you to familiarize yourself with this room, Elizabeth. It’s a room you will come to either love or despise. A room of pleasure and pain.” Pain? Torture?
“Don’t look so worried,” he reads my mind. “When you give me attitude, then I shall bring you here and the pain will exceed the pleasure. However, there will still be pleasure but it’ll be mine not yours, don’t misunderstand the purpose of this room.”
Is he crazy? Pain? Pleasure … I can’t comprehend how he can so comfortably fit the two entities together. I’m aroused though and can’t understand why that is. I should run for the hills and yet, here I am.
“So, are you saying that you will hurt me here?” I ask meekly.
“I’m saying that I will punish you, Elizabeth, until you learn the consequences of displeasing me. However, to clarify, in turn you will want to please me because the pleasure you’ll receive here will be immeasurable.” He’s so calm, so sure of what he wants and expects from me but I don’t think I can be what he wants me to be.
