The Price of Sin

by Monica Belle

  I made a face, reflecting that being fucked by Vanessa while sucking on my lover’s balls wasn’t really all that much worse than being spanked and buggered, if at all. Any remote chance I’d had of retaining my dignity was long gone, so all I could do was make the best of it. I wanted to see in any case.

  ‘I don’t suppose he’ll have posted anything yet?’

  ‘Not for a few hours, I don’t suppose. We’ll go up to look at his blog after dinner.’

  There was nothing new, at first, and we came back down to watch Vanessa and Henry, who were in one of the formal bedrooms. He was tied up, his hands lashed behind his back, his ankles securely fixed to the feet of the huge wooden bed he was bent over, naked. She was behind him, still in her scarlet body suit, her anger and shame clear in her face as she applied Julian’s belt to her husband’s buttocks. I was sure he’d already had more than a hundred, and his skin was covered in thick red welts, but she seemed in no mood to stop and he wasn’t protesting. When she saw us she gave me what was probably supposed to be a hard look and then quickly turned away to apply the belt to Henry’s bottom with yet greater fury. I could see that she was embarrassed and moved on, resisting the temptation to gloat both out of kindness and because it seemed all too likely that she’d want to get me in the same humiliating position as Henry was, and to dish out the same painful punishment.

  I washed and pulled my bathrobe on, then rejoined Julian in his room. He was grinning at the screen and I knew immediately that something had been posted. Sure enough, the Inquisitor was back and seemed to be in a state near to hysterics.

  “Julian d’Alveda is the Devil. I have long suspected this, but now I know it for sure, for this very evening he summoned a satanic spirit into one of three victims coerced into his diabolic rituals. The others were the girl, Chloe, a man I didn’t recognise but who had clearly been chosen to receive the evil spirit with an utter disregard for his life, and a professional dominatrix, who I suspect must have been tricked into becoming involved with promises of being paid for her professional services only to find herself penetrated anally across the altar by a man possessed!”

  Julian had pulled me down onto his lap and he kissed me as he scrolled down.

  ‘And look at this.’

  It was a picture, clearly taken from the direction of the channel and showing me stripping off my bikini bottoms as Vanessa entered the temple. Others followed, photograph after photograph, some imperfectly focused, others at odd angles, but all quite clear enough to leave no doubt at all as to the details of our ritual. The last was the most shocking of all, showing the climax of our orgy, with come running from Vanessa’s mouth and into mine, while Henry was crouched on her back like some demented satyr, his face frozen in a terrible leer as he pumped himself between the cheeks of his wife’s bottom. My own features were mercifully obscured by Julian’s thighs, although I was easily recognisable in some of the others and it was quite obvious that I’d been fucked and had my mouth used. Yet my exposure was less worrying than the way the Inquisitor was writing.

  ‘Do you think he’s dangerous?’

  ‘Dangerous? I think he’s terrified. Read on.’

  I did.

  “And there it is, my friends, a satanic ritual not only totally sacrilegious but successful. They didn’t see me, but they have before and these people are not normal, especially Julian d’Alveda. Because of this I’m going to post here every evening, regularly. If I don’t, then you know something has happened to me. Meanwhile, please spread the word as well as you are able. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow night, it means that I have fallen victim to them. Goodbye, my friends.”

  Julian was laughing.

  ‘He has quite an imagination, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Aren’t you worried he’ll call the police?’

  ‘No. It would be good if he did, in a way, because that would give us even more publicity, and we haven’t actually broken the law, so we’re quite safe. He won’t though, because I know his type. He’s a narcissist. They always want all the attention on themselves, so if he tells the police it’s out of his hands.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I should know. I’m a narcissist myself. Look here.’

  He had refreshed the page and I saw that the comments had started to come in. Some were sceptical, others were purely salacious, a few were against him, including one from the man who called himself Triplesix, but the majority were in support, concerned for him and outraged by our behaviour. Julian loved it, pointing out the more incensed remarks as he kneaded my bottom in his delight and excitement. I couldn’t help but find his enthusiasm infectious, despite my embarrassment at some of the names I was being called, but several were saying they intended to visit the Hall, which was worrying. Julian didn’t care.

  ‘So long as they pay, that’s fine. I’ll tell Graham to insist that the only way to get in is to buy a ticket. He’s good at that sort of thing.’

  I made a face, not at all sure I wanted to face down a crowd of angry Christians, moralists and plain old-fashioned prudes, but there was no denying that we’d achieved our aim. We were going to have more interest than we could possibly cope with. Julian was thinking the same.

  ‘We’re going to have to take on new tour guides, maybe other staff as well, or rearrange things so that there’s less work. You and I are definitely due for a pay rise, along with some sort of bonus scheme according to how many people we bring in.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Vanessa had spoken from directly behind me and I jumped around with a guilty start, hoping Julian would defend me if she demanded that I take a beating. Julian responded casually.

  ‘It seems fair to me, and you must admit that my idea has generated a lot of extra publicity.’

  ‘Like I said, we’ll see about that, but there’s one thing I want to make absolutely clear. I am not going to be involved in any more of your rituals.’

  ‘That’s a shame. You were very good. So was Henry.’

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Julian.’

  ‘Naturally not, and speaking of Henry, what have you done with him?’

  ‘He’s back at the gatehouse, cleaning the lavatory.’

  Julian gave a complacent nod and scrolled the page up, pausing briefly to allow Vanessa to see the final picture in the Inquisitor’s set, in which there was no mistaking the bliss on her face as she sucked on his cock, nor the mess dribbling down her chin, nor what Henry was doing to her. She gave a sharp, angry tut but said nothing, instead leaning forward to read the blog when the first piece of writing came on show.

  ‘He’s mad. Why would he think there’s anything supernatural about what we’re doing?’

  ‘Because that’s what he wants to believe, but he doesn’t really make sense, does he? I mean, if I’m the Devil, why would I need to summon my spirit into somebody else’s body?’

  Julian was as calm as ever, and if Vanessa was flustered it seemed to be purely because of what Henry had done to her and what she’d done to him in return, but I couldn’t get the image of his face out of my mind or stop myself wondering if the Inquisitor was as misguided as they thought.

  Chapter Two

  OVER THE NEXT COUPLE of weeks I had very little time to think about him, or anything except work. Julian’s plan had worked far better than we’d expected, bringing in a flood of visitors. Soon we were taking as many as we could handle, while coping with the bookings and enquiries was a full-time job in itself. We had to take on somebody to help Graham and two new guides, so that I found myself in the unfamiliar position of being in charge of other people. There was Sally, a secretary from Norwich, David, a thin young man who ran a ghost-hunting website and knew his stuff, and Carl, a Danish boy who was on a year break before university and had run out of money. All three were perfectly pleasant, but they lived on the servants’ corridor in the Hall, which meant I could no longer wander around with little or nothing on or be spanked in my room.

  Our evenings a
lso changed. There were no more casual suppers over a bottle of cold white wine and followed by hot sex. The five of us ate together, taking turns to cook, which was all very cheerful and friendly but lacked the intimacy I’d come to enjoy, while after a long day’s work even Julian was sometimes too tired for sex. Even when he wasn’t it was more conventional, very loving and intimate, but with none of the wild, illicit thrill of being taken from behind on the moonlit lawn or spanked and then buggered out among the reed beds.

  Vanessa was delighted. You could almost see the pound signs glittering in her eyes as she looked at Graham’s figures or he explained how he was keeping our tax to a minimum. She’d been reluctant to give us a bonus, but had backed down after a long and heated conversation with Julian that ended in victory but also with her taking her feelings out on my bottom. That left me with more than twice as much coming in as before, and I knew I should have been happy and grateful, but instead I found myself missing the way things had been before. Candle Street Hall was beginning to lose its magic.

  I didn’t dare say anything, because it would have seemed ungrateful when everybody else was so pleased with themselves, except Henry. He should have been happiest of all, as what we were doing was bringing in enough money to ensure that he could keep up the home his ancestors had lived in for so many generations, but although he was full of praise for Vanessa and for Julian he obviously wasn’t enjoying himself. I seldom saw him at all, as he would rise early and go out to the margins of the estate or the fens beyond, to fish or watch birds, usually staying away until the last of the tourists had left.

  Ironically, the Inquisitor had also become a victim of his own success. Everybody has an equal voice on the internet, and his was soon drowned out among dozens of others discussing the Hall. To read their blogs and the forums you would have thought every single one was not only an expert on the occult but had made a lifetime’s study of the Hall. The Inquisitor responded with fresh posts and more of the pictures he’d taken, keeping my sense of embarrassment on a high but failing to keep himself at the centre of attention.

  Others had copied the pictures and posted them in turn, some even claiming to have taken them. The Inquisitor became increasingly shrill, the tone of his posts ever more hysterical. He added stories, completely untrue, claiming that he’d actually seen Julian grow horns and a tail, but everything he did was immediately lost in the great maelstrom of internet conspiracy theory. I’d thought he was dangerous, but now began to worry for his sanity, because in a strange way I felt he was one of us, one of the few who’d been involved before the crowds arrived.

  We’d discussed the rituals and agreed that there was no point in holding any more, at least for the time being. With more visitors than we could possibly cope with and so little spare time, it seemed pointless, while for all her cool exterior Vanessa was obviously frightened by what had happened and ashamed of her own reaction. I would have liked to carry on, because I missed the thrill of it and had thoroughly enjoyed being on the receiving end of so much passion and perversity, but the best I got in the following month was a long, slow fuck from Julian with his goat’s legs on so that the fur tickled my thighs as he pumped into me. It was good, but it wasn’t the same.

  What made us change our mind was public demand. With every tour there would be questions about when we were holding our next event at the folly, which we’d answer evasively. That alone wouldn’t have been enough, but every few days somebody would take one of us aside and make a private request for inclusion in the rituals they were convinced we were holding in secret. Most were merely curious, or men who had seen my pictures and wanted to perv over me, which was both disconcerting and exciting, but there were plenty of genuine enthusiasts for the occult, even scholars from universities, and quite a few came with offers of money. These Julian recorded in a small black notebook, and late one night as we lay together on his bed in a rare moment of privacy he took it from his bedside table to show me the figures.

  ‘Over ten thousand pounds, for a single ritual. What do you think?’

  I didn’t reply immediately, struggling with my morals as I considered what his suggestion entailed. They wouldn’t be content with me lying on the altar in a bikini while Julian went through the motions of one of John Aylsham’s rituals, of that I was sure. These were rich men, men who expected to get what they paid for, which was likely to include me in the nude – maybe to include me full stop. The thought sent a shiver down the full length of my spine and an immediate flush of shame in reaction. Julian had evidently realised the path my thoughts had taken, although perhaps not the conclusion I’d reached, and went on, his voice calm and reassuring.

  ‘We’d have to do a full re-creation, including showing them the original diaries. Several of them have insisted on that. I imagine you’d want me to take the place of Reuben Secker, but that means we’d need a master for the ritual.’

  ‘Who could do that? Not Henry.’

  ‘I wouldn’t think so, but one of the academics could. As for Henry, and Vanessa, I’d rather they didn’t know, or any of the others.’

  ‘They’d be sure to find out, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Not at all. Vanessa’s keen to take a break, which leaves me in charge. We give the others the evening off and we can do as we please.’

  ‘That makes sense.’

  It did, and for all my reservations about doing it, and for what he was up to, I knew I’d go along with him. After all, we’d created the demand and it was us they wanted to do the ritual, so only fair that we were the ones who benefited. More importantly, the idea was both frightening and exciting, and with Julian involved, irresistible.

  Julian’s idea had made life exciting once more, but that didn’t mean there was any less work. The number of calls had dropped off a little, but we were still at capacity and, from the moment we opened to late in the afternoon, the Hall and grounds were always full of strangers. Vanessa had insisted that anything valuable which might have been stolen was safely locked away. Julian took her advice to heart, even removing some of the pictures and locking them in the attic, but we were still cautious of thieves, and of souvenir hunters. We were particularly careful of the library, which was kept locked at all times, so when I came across a man trying the door late one afternoon I challenged him immediately, although my instinct was to scream for Julian. He was huge, well over six feet tall, and with great brawny arms entirely covered in tattoos that included altogether too many skulls, vicious-looking beasts and grinning, impish faces. My voice had gone unusually high as I spoke up.

  ‘Excuse me, but that area is private.’

  To my surprise his voice sounded mild and educated as he replied, if very deep.

  ‘It’s the library, isn’t it? I was hoping to look around.’

  ‘It is the library, but I’m afraid it’s not open to the public.’

  ‘That’s a pity, but I suppose it makes sense. You must be Chloe Anthony?’

  I was used to people recognising me, in the case of men usually as they allowed their eyes to linger over the curves of my body as they remembered how I looked in the nude. He was different, perfectly frank as he extended one enormous hand. I accepted it, and although he didn’t squeeze I could feel the power of his grip as he went on.

  ‘I’m Darius King, but you might recognise me from the fora as Triplesix.’

  ‘Um ... yes. Thanks for sticking up for us.’

  ‘What else could I do? You’ve done some amazing stuff here, and you need to stand up to people like the Inquisitor. A few hundred years ago he’d have been burning witches.’

  ‘That’s rather what I thought. Do you know who he is?’

  ‘He’s called Martin Wright. He was a pagan until he got the life half frightened out of him at Clophill Church one night. Since then he’s been a sort of one-man army against anything to do with alternative religion, although you couldn’t really call him a Christian.’

  ‘No? He seems to believe in the Devil. In fact he seems to thin
k Julian isthe Devil, but you’ve read his blog. Most of the latest stuff isn’t true, by the way. He just seems to be after attention.’

  ‘He’s always been like that. Whatever he believes he expects everybody to follow him, even when he changes his mind. It’s not going to happen, because he has all the charisma of a brick. I’d like to meet Julian, by the way, if he’s about?’

  ‘He’s down at Black Dog Lane with a group of Americans. They have some apparatus which is supposed to detect paranormal emanations.’

  ‘I don’t see how that’s supposed to work. If Black Shuck was there you’d see him. If he’s not there, what emanations do they expect to pick up?’

  ‘I have no idea, but they’re very keen.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll get lucky.’

  ‘Do you believe in Black Shuck?’

  He gave a shrug of his massive shoulders.

  ‘Something frightened John Aickman to death, and he’s not the only one. There have been hundreds of sightings across the centuries, and nearly all run the same way. You’re alone, usually at night, usually near a church. You realise you’re being followed and, when you turn around, you see a great black hound. It stops when you do, but if you carry on it follows, always drawing slowly closer no matter how fast you run. Eventually it catches up with you.’

  ‘And kills you?’

  ‘No. There are reports of marks, but most victims die of fright. There’s one tale, from Devon, not Norfolk, of a man who was walking back from the pub one night and found he was being followed by the hound. He thought it was a real dog and talked to it, even petted it, but when he reached the door of his cottage it simply disappeared. It’s what you believe that matters.’

  We continued to talk as we left the house and set off across the field towards Black Dog Lane. I couldn’t help but feel pleased with myself, but was also slightly nervous. Darius King obviously knew a great deal more than either Julian or myself, and while he was being perfectly friendly I couldn’t help but wonder how he would react if he discovered we’d set the whole thing up. Not that I could do anything about it beyond play along, and there was the satisfying moment of being able to reveal the identity of the Inquisitor to Julian. He was standing a little way apart from where a group of five middle-aged men and women were concentrating on a laptop they’d set up on a large wooden chest so I broached the subject immediately.