‘Face the old wardrobe,’ Steve urged her. ‘That way you can watch yourself in the mirror on the door.’
Obediently she turned away from him, and then guided him into her as she slid down, feeling him ease inside her while her hands started to work at her nipples.
She watched herself move up and down with a gradually increasing tempo that rapidly took the pair of them to the point of no return. She could tell Steve was very excited. It was unusual for her to take the lead like this and he was enjoying it. For Marianne it was an escape, a moment of sensual sanity in the midst of what seemed to be some kind of strange madness brought on by the move.
‘I’m coming,’ she cried, as she felt the first sparks of desire between her thighs and her muscles began to tighten.
‘Wait for me,’ Steve urged her.
‘I can’t,’ she gasped, her fingers working even harder at her nipples, rolling them in unison.
Then, just as her pleasure was about to spill, she saw the man.
He was standing in the same place, only this time she could see him far more clearly. He was tall and broad-shouldered with long dark hair that had a few silver threads in it. His eyes seemed to glow like black coals and she knew instinctively she was the one he was there to watch.
There was nothing she could do about it. Her orgasm was so near that even the presence of some inexplicable figure couldn’t stop her. With a groan of ecstasy she felt the hot flood of liquid pleasure travel through her veins and her muscles contracted rhythmically, tightening around Steve until, with a cry of triumph, he came as well.
Marianne could feel the sweat between her breasts and on her forehead. She ran her hands through her hair and looked into the corner again, fully expecting the apparition to have vanished. But the man was still there, watching her with piercing eyes, and now she wanted him gone because there was something dangerous about him, something brooding and terrifying.
‘That was great!’ Steve sighed enthusiastically.
His voice broke the eye contact between Marianne and the apparition. ‘Lovely,’ she agreed quietly, distractedly, and when her eyes flickered back to the corner of the room the man had gone. Inexplicably, her relief was tinged with a sensation of loss and she realised with shock that his presence had added to the intensity of her orgasm. Once more, she wondered what on earth was happening to her.
Chapter 2
‘You’re sure you’ll be all right stuck out here on your own while I’m away?’ asked Steve as he prepared to leave.
‘Of course,’ said Marianne. ‘We’ve been here a week now and no one’s come near the place. Why should I be nervous?’
‘Remember, you can always call me on my mobile.’
‘I know that, but there won’t be any need.’
Steve wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. ‘You’d better make a start on that novel while I’m gone. You seem to be putting it off.’
‘That’s not true,’ protested Marianne, but it was. She didn’t know why. The atmosphere in the house was perfect but for some reason her characters were refusing to come alive for her. For the first time in her life she found herself wishing she was an historical novelist, and she didn’t understand why. ‘Okay,’ she agreed finally.
‘Promise?’
‘You do your job and I’ll do mine.’
Steve nodded. ‘That sounds a fair exchange. Is there anything you want me to bring you back from the big city?’
Marianne shook her head. ‘Nothing at all. I’ve got everything I want here.’
‘Personally, I’d go mad if I didn’t have the option of travelling round the country,’ said Steve. ‘This isn’t my idea of heaven. Did you know that our nearest neighbours are half a mile away?’
Marianne shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t, but it doesn’t bother me.’
‘I met the husband when I went to buy some stuff from the general store. His name’s Graham and he seemed a nice sort of chap. He and his wife are about our age. He told me where they live and suggested we call round some time. When I get back, I think we’d better do that.’
‘Fine,’ Marianne said flatly.
‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’
‘Of course I am. Off you go now.’
As Steve drove away, Marianne closed the front door behind him and let out a sigh of relief. It was a terrible thing to admit, but she was glad to see him go. Ridiculously, she felt as though the house didn’t want Steve; as though only she belonged there, not him. Also, she wasn’t in the least bit interested in making friends with another young couple.
She opened the door into the study where she would be working and glanced at her computer. Steve was right: she really should get on with the book, but at the moment the ideas weren’t flowing. This afternoon, she promised herself. Then, feeling guilty but happy, she began to go through the house, moving from room to room and noting down the things that needed to be done.
All too quickly the day sped by and Marianne did no work on her novel at all. By early evening she only had the smallest bedroom to go through. Her face and hands were covered with dirt and she felt hot, exhausted but satisfied. The bedroom was in the east wing of the house, above the kitchen, and at this time of day there was very little light coming in through the one small window. All the same, she was surprised at how very dark it was and, closing the door behind her, reached for the light switch. To her dismay it didn’t work and the room remained dark. ‘Blast, it must be the bulb,’ she muttered.
She looked across at the window and, to her amazement, realised the net curtains were no longer there. Instead, what looked like a piece of sacking was covering the glass, which she supposed accounted for the gloom. She didn’t remember having seen it there before. She was about to move across the floor and take it down, but stopped short.
Suddenly the entire room was different!
There was no carpet beneath her feet, only bare boards, and instead of the divan bed sitting neatly in the centre of one wall there was a small truckle-bed in the far corner...
And she could just make out a shadowy figure lying on it!
Marianne’s chest felt tight; it was difficult to breathe and the room felt very cold. As she stood frozen to the spot, unable to move for terror, her eyes gradually began to make out two more figures hunched over the truckle-bed, and she pressed herself back against the door. One of the floorboards creaked, she froze and held her breath, but neither of the figures looked up.
‘Wake up, Tabitha,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘The master’s home and he’s been told of your misdemeanour this afternoon.’
As she was speaking, the woman lit a candle, enabling Marianne to make her out more clearly. She looked to be around thirty years old, with curly brown hair that fell around her shoulders. She was wearing a dark green silk dress with a white fichu and cuffs. The dress was down to her ankles, and round her waist was a chain with a bunch of keys attached.
Candlelight enabled Marianne to see the other figure looming over the bed. She drew in her breath sharply as she recognised the man who had watched her and Steve when they were making love. His hair was longer than she’d realised, and he was wearing knee-breeches and gaiters with what Marianne thought was either a very long jacket or a dark coat over a white shirt with a silk cravat at the neck. Again she was struck by the breadth of his shoulders and the contrast of the occasional silver thread in his dark hair.
‘Is she really asleep?’ the man asked, his voice deep and cultured.
‘Of course not, she’s pretending as usual,’ replied the woman, and she began to shake the figure on the bed.
Marianne couldn’t believe what was happening. It was incredible! Either some locals she’d not yet met thought this a good practical joke to initiate her into the community, or she’d contracted some sort of hallucinatory fever... or she’d gone back in time!
But tha
t was ridiculous – of course.
As she looked more closely, she realised the two shadowy figures didn’t seem to see her. The atmosphere was peculiar, tense and frightening, but there was no obvious reason for this. She waited, partly because she couldn’t move and partly because she had to know what was going on; who this couple were, and what they wanted with the girl called Tabitha.
‘Wake up!’ The woman’s voice was sharper now and, raising her hand, she brought it down against what was clearly bare flesh, for Marianne heard a sharp slap.
There was a cry from the truckle-bed and immediately the man pulled the blanket off, revealing a slim girl with long brown hair. Her waist was tiny, but her breasts were large with wine-dark areolae and nipples.
‘My sister tells me that you spent time with John in the garden this afternoon,’ said the man, reaching out with one hand and grasping one of the hapless girl’s nipples between two fingers.
‘No sir, it’s not true,’ gasped the girl, forced to rise to her knees as he tugged at her flesh.
‘Are you saying my sister lies?’ he asked.
The girl cast a terrified glance at the woman. ‘No, sir.’
‘It seems to me that you are. What other explanation is there for you contradicting her in this way?’
‘It was a misunderstanding, sir.’ The girl was crying now, tears rolling down her face.
‘What shall we do with her, Edward?’ asked the woman.
The man walked across to a small stool, passing only a couple of feet away from Marianne, and moved it to the centre of the room. ‘Stand on there, Tabitha.’ His voice was low and stern.
‘No, please... please don’t punish me again, sir,’ the girl cried.
The older woman, clearly losing patience, grabbed the girl’s slender wrist and dragged her off the bed, causing her to squeal. Totally naked, her body shaking with fear, Tabitha stood between the man and his sister, head bowed in resigned acceptance of whatever punishment was to be meted out to her. The woman handed her brother a thin strip of material, which he used to tie Tabitha’s hands together, and then, without any effort, he lifted her fragile body on to the stool. Immediately the girl raised her arms into the air.
Looking up, Marianne saw there was a rope over a beam in the ceiling and at the end of the rope was a round brass ring with a cord through it. The man – Edward, as Marianne now knew he was called – swiftly fastened Tabitha’s bound hands with the cord so that she was forced to stand on tiptoe on the stool.
Because Tabitha was so tiny this meant her face was now on a level with her master’s, but she kept her eyes on the floor, clearly too terrified to look him in the face. When he glanced across at his sister, Marianne saw a strange expression on his face. It was a mixture of cruelty and excitement and she felt herself tense in anticipation of something sinister, but at the same time highly arousing.
‘What do you wish to use on her, Judith?’ asked Edward.
‘I think the birch,’ replied his sister. Tabitha gave a small cry at her words.
‘An excellent idea,’ agreed her brother, idly running a finger up and down the centre of Tabitha’s tightly stretched body. Marianne could see how Tabitha’s flesh tried to shrink away from him, but suddenly he gripped her around the waist, his thumbs pressing cruelly into her skin until it turned white under the pressure. ‘You really must learn to behave, Tabitha,’ he said, his voice almost gentle.
‘I didn’t do anything, sir,’ wept the girl.
‘You always say that.’ Now his hands were moving to Tabitha’s full breasts and his fingers gripped them so tightly that Marianne’s own breasts ached in sympathy for the wretched girl in front of her.
‘Please sir, you’re hurting me,’ cried Tabitha.
‘You’re enjoying it.’ His voice was harsh and he flicked contemptuously at one of her stiff nipples. ‘Look at that. Have you learned nothing in all your years with us? Your flesh betrays you constantly and is the reason for all your misbehaviour. That’s why it must be punished.’
‘I can’t help it,’ wailed Tabitha.
‘Be silent now,’ he commanded her as his sister returned.
Marianne’s mouth was dry. She couldn’t understand why she was feeling so aroused, why shivers of excitement were running through her when what she was watching was so terrible and so incomprehensible.
Judith walked behind Tabitha, the bundle of birch twigs fastened tightly together held securely in her hand. For a moment her brother stepped into the shadows, removing some clothing and giving Marianne an even better view of Tabitha.
The girl’s whole body was trembling, and as Judith cruelly stroked the length of her spine with the end of the bunch of birch twigs she gave a startled exclamation of fear and strained forward, her feet almost slipping off the stool.
‘You must keep still when you’re being punished,’ ordered Edward from the shadows while his sister readjusted Tabitha’s position. ‘Still and silent.’
Marianne’s hands were clasped tightly together and she realised she was almost forgetting to breathe as she waited for the first blow to fall on the girl. She watched as Judith raised her right arm before bringing it down sharply, causing Tabitha’s hips to jerk forward as a moan escaped her.
Marianne could almost feel the shock of the blow, could imagine the dreadful sensation of being so helpless, naked and at the mercy of this couple. But as Judith continued to beat Tabitha, working her way down over the girl’s buttocks and the backs of her thighs, so Marianne’s excitement grew and her cheeks felt hot and flushed.
After a time Tabitha started to scream with every blow, begging for the beating to cease, but her wishes were ignored and Marianne saw that, despite her protests, Tabitha’s nipples were rigid, standing erect, while her breasts were firm and tight.
‘Please, Sir Edward, please don’t let her hit me any more,’ cried Tabitha suddenly, after a particularly savage blow had caused her whole body to shudder.
Her master stepped forward from the shadows, running his hands over her sweat-streaked body. He was entirely naked now and Marianne gazed in admiration at his tightly muscled buttocks and thighs.
Slipping a hand between Tabitha’s legs, he then drew his fingers across her belly. ‘Feel your juices,’ he said harshly. ‘How dare you complain when you’re so aroused?’
‘It’s because of what you keep doing to me,’ whimpered the girl, and Sir Edward’s free hand closed around her breast, gripping it tightly.
‘You love it,’ he hissed. His sister was standing motionless behind Tabitha, awaiting her brother’s command. For a few seconds Sir Edward stood with his back to Marianne, staring at the girl hanging suspended in front of him. Then, with one swift movement, he snatched Tabitha’s thighs and pulled them around his waist.
It was only now that Marianne realised how cleverly they’d positioned Tabitha, because her master was able to thrust into her without any effort, rutting his hips against hers so that she groaned, though whether in pain or ecstasy Marianne couldn’t tell. At that moment Judith resumed the beating, and Marianne watched in amazement as Tabitha jerked forward on to her master’s erection every time the birch twigs hit her. The girl was crying out helplessly, her anguish clear, and yet, as Sir Edward continued thrusting fiercely into her, her cries changed until Marianne could hear the rising excitement despite the terrible things the couple were doing to her.
For what seemed to be several minutes Tabitha moved back and forth in her bonds. Marianne tried to imagine what it must be like to be filled by a man like Sir Edward while at the same time being abused by his sister, and her own flesh began to feel hot and needy. Just then Tabitha became rigid and the tempo of her breathing changed. She was gasping and crying, twisting frantically until Sir Edward’s hands held the lower half of her still and he moved with fierce efficiency in and out of her in a rhythm that had Marianne gasping too, covering her mou
th with a hand to try to muffle the sounds.
She watched as the muscles of Sir Edward’s buttocks grew even tighter and then, in a series of swift jerks he came. As he did so Tabitha uttered a strange keening sound as her body heaved in what was clearly a moment of ecstasy.
Only when Sir Edward had withdrawn and Tabitha’s slight figure was finally still did Judith cease beating the wretched girl. As she started to unfasten her bonds, her brother turned and looked directly at Marianne.
For a brief, heart-stopping moment they stared at each other, his eyes shining with excitement, and something else that Marianne could have sworn was desire. Despite her utter confusion she felt herself drawn inexorably towards him, but then, without any warning, the entire scene vanished and she was once more standing on carpet in the bedroom, with the divan bed back in place and the net curtains at the windows.
Tentatively, she rubbed her hands over her breasts and was shocked to discover that her nipples were hard beneath her blouse, while between her thighs she knew she was wet. She could never remember feeling so aroused before and found herself wishing Steve was coming home that evening. Staring around the room, she wondered what on earth was happening. Why was this man and his life so real to her? How was it possible for her to see him and for him to see her? She was certain he’d seen her, just as he’d been watching her when she’d first moved into the house. Despite the terrible things he and his sister had been doing to Tabitha, she envied the girl; envied her the knowledge she had and the incredible sensations she must have experienced, although for Marianne the concept of pain mixed with pleasure was difficult to understand.
Later that evening she tried to concentrate on her writing but, to her dismay, her hero kept changing, becoming more and more like Sir Edward. In the end she abandoned the project, deciding instead to take a bath and have an early night. Whether it was because of what she’d seen or the work she’d done in the day she didn’t know, but she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
Slave of Darkness Page 2
