I could see that Aunt Isobel was stiff and sore as they aided her to her feet and backed her off the sawhorses. They left her ankles and wrists free, though she still wore the leather manacles.
I watched her go to Erik and caress the blood-suffused shaft that protruded so vengefully from his robe. My eyes widened; she went slowly to her knees. She kissed the great rounded head of his organ, again and again. She licked it. I saw her cheeks sink inward and knew with lurching insides that she was sucking at it.
Then she…took it into her mouth! I nearly fell forward against and perhaps through the window. She was doing all this willingly, to a man who had beaten and monstrously mistreated her!
She slid her face up and down that pole of lust, raised her two hands to push them within his robe and fondle the globes of his scrotum. Her cheeks sagged in and I knew that she was applying deep suction, again and again. His hands dropped to her head, his fingers slipping up into her deeply black hair. I watched him thrust his body back and forth, against and into her face, on and on until he threw his head back and then pulled away.
She looked stricken to have lost her obscene plaything.
But now she received its libation. Suddenly I saw an arcing streak of white leap from the tip of his organ and dash through the air to splash on her face. Like milk, it dribbled down her chin. Another jet, and then another, each shortening its trajectory, until the fifth and sixth struck her naked breasts and the final droplets would have dribbled to the floor had he not moved swiftly forward.
Her own hands were smearing her breasts with his obscene juice while she licked the last of it from his already-dropping saber of flesh.
I now know that I fainted at that moment.
Nor do I know how long I lay unconscious, overcome by what I had seen. She had smeared herself… she had licked him clean…
I awoke to a foul smell, which I found emanated from the little pool of vomit beside my face. Slowly, wearily, shuddering and retching, I forced myself to my knees. Not wanting to look but unable not to do so, I again peered through that casement window. Aunt Isobel and Lois were on their hands and knees on the floor, side by side. Their heads were pillowed on their hands, pressed flat to the stone floor.
Behind them crouched the two men, Miles at Lois' back and Erik immediately; to the rear of my aunt.
I saw what they were doing, but I do not believe it. I must be mistaken! Just a short time ago, starting to rise from the commode, I shakily explored the tight little aperture between my rump-cheeks with a quivering, careful finger. It hurt!
No one could possibly do what they appeared to be doing! It cannot be possible to lodge one of those monstrous shafts into such a tiny channel! Neither woman appeared in pain, and I am sure the agony would be exquisite!
God help me… I have got it all, down. And now what?
CHAPTER THREE
ENTRY SIXTEEN
The previous entry, I see, is the longest in this journal. And it is all about others!
And yet… yet I did not put it all down, not quite. It has now been three days since I sat up so late, writing all that, and… It has been eight days since the… the occurrence itself.
My motive for writing it down in the first place was…
I…
I had a dream, four nights after seeing what I saw. In the dream I saw it all again, save only that time I felt some of what my imagination has told me Aunt Isobel felt. It was awful.
And now I have dreamed again. Last night I again dreamed of that dungeon-like basement or cellar beneath Erik Parker's stone house in the woods.
But last night Aunt Isobel was not the victim. Last night's dream did not contain Aunt Isobel at all. I was the victim!
And it was not… all… painful.
And… and I awoke… before dawn, having been beaten and poked and… and entered in my dream. I awoke…
Well, I must try to write these things down without being so childish. This after all is a record and I may have some want of it someday.
Certainly no one else will ever see it.
When I awoke my breasts felt very very tight and congested… though I now sleep without a bra… and the nipples were tight and stiff and swollen, and not only was I moist in my, my secret nook, but… some of that inner moisture was on the lips themselves, obviously having seeped forth from my very interior!
I sat there in the dark, shamelessly exploring myself, and shivering. For a time I thought that the dream must have been reality.
It was not. The mucousy juice was not that white male stuff I had seen in the basement of Erik's home. Nor was it urine.
What is happening to me? What will become of me?
(later)
It is so hard to admit, even here.
I find it extremely difficult not to think… no, that isn't the way to put it.
I think of Erik and Miles and Lois all the time.
ENTRY SEVENTEEN
Aunt Isobel went there again last night, and this is the third day since my last entry. I desperately wanted to follow her again. I did not. One must prove to oneself that one has some control! I did not follow her. I am proud of that.
But I could not go to sleep, and all I could think about was that place, and them.
All day today Aunt Isobel had worn a black leather choker. I have said nothing about it. I am sure that she would have some clever explanation. But I know what it is, that leather band about her neck. He must have ordered her not to remove it.
Oh. I have, noticed that she has not sat down all day today, too, and she walks… strangely. I cannot keep my mind off what might have happened to her there.
I have been reading Stoker's Dracula. Even that evokes erotic images and thoughts. The Master, Dracula, coming by night to his women…
Help.
ENTRY EIGHTEEN
It's been a week since the last entry here. It has been a nice day. It rained, but I like the rain, and it ended in mid-afternoon and the sun was very beautiful, and the dripping trees and power-lines with water on them like tiny silver bubbles.
For breakfast I had a very lovely piece of ham.
Today I cleaned the upstairs, every room, even those we do not use, the other bedrooms.
Tonight for dinner we…
What's the use?
I can't think of anything else but that night, and them.
ENTRY NINETEEN
Erik Parker was to dinner tonight. I was stricken. I could not speak, I could not look at him. But I could not keep from looking at him, again and again.
He looked much at me, too. His eyes are so intense. Thank you, God, for not allowing him to say anything to me that approached an order… how could one disobey that man and his eyes and his handsome face and body and that long brown ro…
NO NO! He didn't wear THAT here! He wore a deep blue shirt with a blue-and-green silk scarf knotted about his neck and short black boots with buckles, and snug-fitting black whipcords, sort of British looking, and his belt was black leather, very wide, shiny, with a huge silver buckle with two tongues and a double row of ungrommeted holes running all the way around it so that his waist was nicely constricted and his shoulders made even broader.
My God, did I notice all that? And then write it, without even realizing the detail I was putting down?