He is still downstairs. They are talking, very quietly. My door is closed. I even locked it; how silly I am! I am so restless.
(later)
I am going to bed. You are going to bed, Victoria Marie "Tory"! NOW.
I shall read. I will read Plato's Republic. That's guaranteed to put me to sleep.
ENTRY TWENTY
Or perhaps this is a continuation of the last entry, but I wrote that last night and now it is today.
I tried to sleep. I tried to read. I couldn't.
At last, in the darkness, I arose and crept to the door. I unlocked it, opened it inch by quarter-inch, holding my breath against any noise it might make, and slipped out into the hall like a thief. My room was dark; the hail was dark; I could see only a little light from downstairs, emanating from the library. They were in there. Isobel and Mr. Parker.
I could hear them.
I heard every word.
I remember every word. It's as though my brain and memory were a sponge, soaking up every word, or as if every word were emblazoned in my head with a branding-iron.
I heard his voice, first. Some of the words are wicked. It is all wicked! But I am going to record it here, all of it.
First, his voice. He said:
"I am your Master, your Lord."
I trembled. He spoke in a low, steady tone. His voice was almost flat. I fancied I could see his steady, dark eyes, fastened to her.
"You are my Master, my Lord," I heard Isobel's voice reply, echoing his words, just as quietly. With a little quiver.
"Kneel at my feet."
A moment of silence; I suppose she was obeying. Then he said, "I own you, Isobel."
"You own me."
"You are mine."
"I am yours."
"You will do what I say…"
"I will do what you say…"
"… and only what I say."
"And only what you say."
"Your body is mine."
(I trembled violently, raising my hands to my bosom. My fingers dug into the soft palpitant globes until it hurt.)
"My… body is you-urs." (Yes, she hesitated, and her voice, quavered on the last word.)
"Your tits."
"Uh! My… tits."
(THEIR WORDS! I cannot explain her grunt; perhaps be leaned forward to squeeze her… her t… her breasts.)
"Your mouth."
"My mouth." (I shivered; as I am sure she had; her voice sounded shivery. And I of course remembered in what manner he had made her mouth his. My nipples thrust helplessly forth against my hands. Unaware of what I was doing, I squeezed them both.)
"Your mouth is mine," he said.
"My mouth is yours."
"Your tongue…"
"My tongue…" (She was speaking as a schoolchild spoke in the days of rote, dully, and almost without inflection or emphasis.)
"Your lips…"
"My lips…"
"Your throat."
A pause; I am sure she swallowed automatically. I know that I did. Then she said, echoing, "My throat."
"When I order you to fill your mouth with my cock…"
"When you order me to fill my mouth with your… your penis…"
A slapping sound: "My cock!"
"Your cock," she said dutifully, in a tiny moaning voice. I barely heard her.
"Again," he said.
"When you order me to fill my mouth with your… cock…"
"You will accept it gladly."
"I will accept it gladly." (She spoke with a little more emphasis, and I trembled there in the upper hall; she sounded as if she meant it, fervently.)
"You will suck it, and lick it, and slide your mouth up and down on it…"
(I shivered violently, closing my eyes and leaning heavily against the wall.)
"I will suck it, and lick it and slide my mouth up and down it."
"You will drink down my sperm as if it were a precious liquid."
"I will drink your sperm as if it were a precious liquid." (Yes, she mis-echoed both times, and this time there was a little catch in her voice. Perhaps it was having to repeat that phrasing, perhaps it was her… well, I know. Her sensuality! A WOMAN!)
"I will fuck your face."
"You will…" (She broke off. I knew she was having trouble with that terrible obscene word. I could picture her, kneeling at his feet while he probably sat in the old leather chair, in the library, staring down at her. Surely at that point she looked at the floor.) "You will fu-uck my fa-a-ace." Her voice wavered.
"I own you."
"You own me!"
"You will do what I say, and only what I say."
"I will do only what you say."
(I blush and my hand quivers and my thighs seem to snap apart as I write this next, and I am ashamed to write it here. But I remember it so terribly well.)
"You will spread the cheeks of your ass for me…"
(His VERY WORDS!)
"I will… spread the cheeks…" her voice trembled; she paused, perhaps biting her lip, "of… of my… my… my ass for you…"
"And swallow my big hard cock up your back."
Surely she must have shivered violently, on her knees all soft and submissive and warm. Perhaps she touched the legs of the man seated like a king before her?
"Say it, bitch!" (Did he bend forward, perhaps twine his fingers in her hair? Did he perhaps jerk up her head so that her strained face was upturned, her eyes looking into his, the skin of her face pulled tight by his hand in her hair?)
"I will swallow your big… cock up my… my back."
"Your mouth is mine."
"My mouth is sours."
"Your tits are mine." (I gripped my own so-soft but so-firm breasts tightly, holding them to me. Mine, mine, not yours, mine!)
"My tits are yours." (The merest pause before the word "tits".) (I know that is spelled "teats", but that is not the way they were pronouncing it.)
"Your ass is mine."
"My ass is yours." (Again, the hesitations before the crude word. Her naked body must have been quivering… wait, how did I know she was naked?… I knew. Her eyes, I was sure, were lost in his.)
"Your cunt is mine… if I want it."
Oh God, that foul little word… and the slighting addition of those last four words! Monster! Villain!
"My… cunt… is yours, when you want."
CRACK! The sound of a slap. I could visualize what had happened: His face did not change. His eyes hardly flickered when she changed that one word. She saw his hand sweep out to one side; felt it as it rushed back, to interact with her cheek. Her head jerked and she teetered. His fingers entangled in her hair were painful, but held her in an erect kneeling position.
"That is not what I said, whore!"
"My… my cunt is yours… if… if… if you want it."
Her voice trembled tearfully. The last words emerged in a rush, her voice rising as she repeated the ugly slighting phrase, pronouncing the formula that spoke disdain for her most womanly part. He had been specific, most specific, about her mouth and her tongue and her throat and then about her… backside. But her… her… her… her vaginal chamber was his if he wanted it.
"If I turn you onto your back, or tell you to lie on your back, assume that it is your butt I want. Your ass. Raise your legs high. If I want your vagina I will tell you."
I assume she nodded mutely; he was satisfied with her silent acquiescence. My chest hurt and I realized I had been holding my breath. I also discovered my bands at my breasts, bare beneath my short gown, and I took them away… and they hurt! I had been mauling myself! A tear swelled, quivering, until it overran my eyelid. It slipped down my cheek. I wondered if one sparkled, too, on Isobel's cheek.
"I will hurt you."
"Yes! You will hurt me."
"I will beat you."
"You… will… beat me."
"I will maul your breasts."
No response; I am sure she shivered, violently, and perhaps her tongue went out to stab at the tear that had slid down into the little valley between her cheek and the corner of her mouth. But it would be just out of reach, quivering there, defying her.