… solipsubmissive …

This is a continuation; you might wish to follow this link to the beginning:  Part 1  

“All right.  Thank you.”  Stephen held the receiver in his hand a moment, then slowly hung up.  Security footage covering the outside of the house showed no evidence of Elizabeth leaving.  Every room had been completely searched, with the exception of the media room.  He stared through the open door to the closet at the other end of the room and shook his head.

It was the only place she could be.

He knew she remembered.  It was what he had feared all these years, what he’d dreaded, the reason he’d surrounded her with layers of insulation from the world.  Each time he’d received a report of the night terrors, he’d waited for the tightly woven web of lies to unravel.  The last incident had lasted long enough and been so vivid that he’d decided it was time to bring her in.  Even with his people surrounding her, it was too risky to leave her on the outside and possibly give Elizabeth the opportunity to slip away.  Too dangerous.

Grim, he went into his bathroom and lifted his robe from the hook on the back of the door, then walked through the media room and opened the closet door.  Light spilled inside in a widening arc until it fell on Elizabeth, huddled in the corner with her knees draw up to her chest.  Her eyes met his, angry and defiant.  “There’s nowhere to go.  You might as well come out.”

She didn’t move.  “Why did you kill them?”

Stephen let that go.  “You weren’t supposed to be there,” he said, instead.  “Here.”  He held out the robe.  “Put this on.”

Oddly, the gesture wiped away Elizabeth’s fear and anger.  She looked away, unwilling to let him see the naked vulnerability in her eyes.  The robe was large, looked soft and warm, and she suddenly ached to slide her arms into the sleeves, to wrap herself in the pristine, white chenille.  Her earlier terror had distracted her, kept her from noting that the temperature was lower outside the room in which she’d been imprisoned.  Now, suddenly aware, she began trembling all over.  She clenched her teeth together and ignored him.

“Elizabeth, be reasonable.  You’re cold.  Come on out.”

That word brought back the anger.  “Reasonable?”  Her voice dripped with derision.  “You’re a monster.  You’re going to have to kill me, too, you know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth.”  He closed the distance between them, bent and grasped her upper arm, hauled her to her feet.

“Let go of me!”  She twisted around in an effort to pull her arm from his grasp. 

Stephen sighed and dropped the robe.  He grabbed her other arm and pushed her back against the wall, then leaned in close.  “Stop it.  You have neither the strength nor the ability to best me in here, especially when you’re naked and slipping into shock.”

She looked down at his hand, closed tightly around her upper arm.  “The blood,” she whispered.  “You washed it off.”  She looked up, her eyes dull.  “Where are they?”

Stephen felt his heart wrench.  He ignored her question, asked one of his own, instead.  “How old are you, Elizabeth?”

“Twenty-three.”  She answered automatically as blessed numbness began to take over.  Stephen loosened his grip a little, watched her carefully, then bent and picked up the robe.  Like a child, she allowed him to slip her arms into the sleeves and close it around her.  Her brow furrowed.  “I’m tired,” she said.

“Then you should rest,” he answered.  When she made no move to walk out of the closet, he took her hand and led her.  She followed obediently, then stopped in confusion when she saw the bank of monitors in the room beyond the closet.  Without another word, Stephen scooped her up into his arms, carried her into his bedroom, and settled her on his bed.  She curled up, closed her eyes and turned away from him.

Stephen flipped open his cell phone and pressed a button.  “My room,” he said quietly, then walked to the door and opened it slightly.  He returned to the bed and stood, arms crossed, looking down at Elizabeth’s back.  Moments passed.

“Stephen?”

He looked over his shoulder and motioned for Matthew to come in.  “She remembered,” he said.

“Everything?”

“I think so.”  He paused.  “She thinks she’s twenty-three.  To her, it has just happened.”

Matthew frowned.  “I can sedate her, but as long as she’s quiet, I’d rather not.”  He raised a brow at Stephen.  “So she knows who you are?”

Stephen shook his head.  “I don’t think she remembers my name.  All she knows is that I’m the man who killed her grandparents.”

Unseen by the two men conversing behind her, Elizabeth’s eyes opened slowly.  She bit her lip and adjusted her grip on the object in her hand.  The closet in the media room had contained some odd objects.  Whips, she’d seen before she’d closed herself inside and plunged the room into darkness.  Paddles, hanging on the wall.  Neatly coiled hanks of rope.  But it wasn’t until Stephen had found her that she saw the scissors on the shelf near the door.  Long, sharp scissors, obviously used for cutting the rope.

She smiled to herself.  Slipping into shock, indeed.  The second he’d said that, a plan began to take shape.  And, as she followed him from the closet, she quietly picked up the scissors from the shelf and allowed the long sleeves of Stephen’s robe to cover her hand.

For now, she would wait.

Part 14

i began to post a response to a comment string on the third installment of my fledgling serialized story absolution, when i realized i had far more to say than i wanted confined to a comment box.  So i decided, obviously, to make it a post instead.

The compliment to my writing aside (for which i am profoundly grateful, by the way,) i feel the need to assure everyone who reads me that absolution is entirely fictional.   Yes, it is inspired … by someone provokingly real, but the results of that inspiration are being constructed completely inside my head, fueled by fear, by fantasy, and by countless other conscious and unconscious factors.

Artists need constant inspiration, and seek it greedily.  We crave it really, rather like a drug, an addiction from which one cannot hide.  i know most of you know what i mean, because, although this is certainly a sex blog, a true seeker of simple pornography would have little patience for wading through the layers of introspection and nuance that litter the way to the smut.  Which leaves those who understand what i mean about the addiction.

If i am a slave, it is not to any man or to any man’s friend.  i am just a girl who writes, who strings together words in a way i hope will evoke a feeling, an emotion.    The addict seeks a payoff, a high, if you will, and in the case of the artist, the writer, the musician, that high comes in the form of reaction.  Truth be told, i don’t give a fuck what my writing makes you feel …

… as long as it makes you feel something.

Yes.  i am a greedy slut.

This is a continuation.  You may want to begin here:  absolution, part one

“Forgiveness is the fragrance left by the violet on the heel that crushed it.”

Mark Twain

Author’s aside:  i remember a time when i always wanted to be pretty for you.  Never a hair out of place, my makeup lightly and perfectly applied, always poised, always serene.  That time existed before i knew you.

***

elise looked from Erick to Caleb, then back again.  She blinked and folded her lips, thinking furiously, trying to decide how Erick wanted her to react, how he wanted her to respond.  When nothing came to her, she simply sat quietly and waited.

“Tsk, elise.”  Erick’s eyes burned into hers.  “Stop lying.”

“Lying?”

“Yes.  It is quite one thing to try to anticipate what I might want in an effort to please, yet another to do it out of a sense of self-preservation.  At what point in our relationship did you decide you were in charge?”

elise’s mouth fell open, and Caleb laughed.  “Well, at least that’s an honest reaction.”  elise shot him an angry glare, which made him laugh again.  “And another one.”

“Which brings me to the point of our discussion,” said Erick smoothly.  “I begin to think our relationship is no longer mutually beneficial.”

elise felt her throat close up, felt a painful twist in her chest.  She looked down, unwilling to allow him to see the tears forming in her eyes.  “But i love you,” she murmured.  Her hands were shaking, so she clasped them tightly together.

“Mm.  And i love you, pet.  Unfortunately, that isn’t enough.”

A sob tore from her chest, and she looked up swiftly, angry.  “Why does he have to be here for this?  Is it more satisfying for you to rip me to shreds with an audience?”  She drew a deep, shuddering breath and stood.  “i’ll go start packing.”

“Sit, elise.”  Erick’s voice was clipped, hard.  “So literal, as usual.  It’s one of the few things which has always disappointed me about you.  I haven’t said you’re leaving.”  elise remained standing, uncertain.  “Sit!”  His raised voice held a note of impatience.  Hastily, she took her seat again.

Silence descended on the room.  elise felt it pressing against her, smothering her with its thickness.  She swallowed hard, chanced a glance at Caleb.  His eyes were on her, glittering and dark, almost malevolent in their intensity.  Suddenly, she knew what was going to happen, what Erick intended.  She sucked in her breath, then erupted from her seat, scrambled to her knees before her Master.

“Don’t do this, please,” she begged, her heart in her eyes.  “i’ll let go, be less careful.  i only ever wanted to please you, that’s all, but i can still do it without trying to second-guess.  i know i can, Master.  Please … ??”  She wrapped her arms around his legs, not caring that Caleb would see her in the humiliating position of pleading for her place, not caring that he would enjoy it.

Erick said nothing.  A muscle in his jaw twitched, the only outward sign that this was at all difficult for him.  He looked away, then reached down to grasp her wrists, unwound her arms from his lower legs.

elise didn’t fight him, didn’t fight the panic rising inside her.  She wrapped her arms around her midsection and bent forward, doubling over in an effort to stop the wave of sickness threatening to overtake her.  “Please don’t give me up, Master,” she said brokenly.

Erick reached down and grasped a handful of hair from the back of her head, jerked her face up so he could see it.  “I will never give you up, elise.  If you know nothing else, you foolish girl, know that.”  The ferocity in his voice washed through her, calmed the fears swirling through her mind.  He let go and sat back in the chair.

elise lowered her eyes, missed the long look that passed between the two men.  Erick nodded, and Caleb spoke.  “For now, slut, you’ll belong to me.”

And there it was.  The words elise had known were coming the second she’d exchanged the look with her Master’s best friend.  A sense of calm descended, bringing with it a startling clarity.  She looked up, narrowed her eyes at Caleb.  “You won’t find it easy,” she said softly, then waited, half expecting Erick to backhand her for the insolent statement. 

Instead, he did nothing, said nothing, and Caleb stood.  “Good,” he said.  “Then I have that to which I can look forward.  Now go to my room.”

elise looked away from both men, pressed her lips together, then stood, and left the room.

part four

“Keep the candle burning, elise.” 

For you  … forever.