Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11994447.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Hannibal_Lecter_Tetralogy_-_Thomas_Harris, The_Silence_of_the_Lambs_
      (1991), Red_Dragon_(2002), Original_Work
  Relationship:
      Dr._Frederick_Chilton/Eva_Sabatiér
  Character:
      Dr._Frederick_Chilton, Hannibal_Lecter, Barney_Matthews, Eva_Sabatiér
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Daddy_Kink, Daddy_Issues, Sweet_Sixteen, Dinners, Age
      Play, Spanking, Biting, Vaginal_Fingering, Bleeding, First_Time,
      Fellatio, Cunnilingus, Kissing, Rape, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Oral
      Fixation, Choking, Sadism, Genital_Shaving, Exhibitionism, Aftercare,
      Stockholm_Syndrome, Humiliation, Degradation, Tragic_Romance, Love/Hate,
      Nudity, Narcissism, Lies, Mental_Health_Issues, Cutting, Psychiatric
      Hospitals, Psychologists_&_Psychiatrists, Blood, Explicit_Sexual_Content,
      Frustration, Tension, Bisexual_Female_Character, Violence, Murder, Older
      Man/Younger_Woman, Eva_Sabatiér_(as_played_by_Eva_Green), Incest, Father/
      Daughter_Incest, Dubious_Consent, Fear, Tears, Pain, Emotional/
      Psychological_Abuse, Marceau_Sabatiér_(as_played_by_Udo_Kier), Lesbian
      Character, Lesbian_Sex, High_School, Genital_Torture, Schizophrenia,
      Psychology, Dildos, Ball_Gags, Bondage, Light_BDSM, Angst
  Series:
      Part 1 of Colours_In_the_Dark
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-04 Chapters: 13/13 Words: 26920
****** Victim of Ritual ******
by chromaggia_(endlesseternities)
Summary
     Dr. Chilton is invited to a fellow psychiatrist's mansion, and there
     he meets the man's daughter, who happens to be renowned in her own
     way. Set five years before Lecter's 1991 escape.
Notes
     This is film-based, not NBC-based! This is Chilton as portrayed by my
     beloved silver fox, Anthony Heald, in the years 1991 and 2002; this
     is the film version of the character that I'm writing with. I do not
     own Chilton, Lecter, Barney, the places, things, films or story
     lines. I only own the character of Eva Sabatiér and her story and
     characteristics. The rest belongs to Thomas Harris and Jonathan Demme
     (RIP), and this is obviously not written for profit.
     This fanfiction is set to the song "Victim of Ritual" by Finnish
     soprano, Tarja Turunen.
     The face claims for Eva and Marceau Sabatiér are Eva Green and Udo
     Kier in an aesthetic manner.
     Note: I am still the rightful owner of this fanfiction. I just went
     from madamemichaela to endlesseternities and chromaggia.
***** Desolation *****
--Baltimore, 1986--

The house in which we moved into seemed droll, blank even. From the outside, it
appeared to be
a complete baronial castle. Papa had purchased the house upon our arrival to
America, and he had
paid a fair amount of money for it. It was a mansion, in all honesty, and the
colours of dark bluegreen
paint were glossy; panels and fashioned carvings were elegantly Victorian, and
the tiles of
the roof were dark grey, appearing in scales. I found it to be rather
grotesque.

Inside, the parlour was massively wide, and the ceiling over twenty-feet high.
There was a grand
staircase that led upward and split into two sides, one stair leading to the
master half of the house,
while the other was dark, secluded. Papa had acquired the service of the moving
men, and so our
furniture, silverware, clothing, everything had been brought in with just ease.

As for me, my bedroom was large enough to suite a couple, and the bed was
queen-sized. The
bedding was dark-red, embroidered with black design around the frills and
edges; the pillowcases
matched the bedding, except these were decorated atop with fresh rose petals.
It was odd, but I
enjoyed the smell that it gave my room. The rest of the house smelled ancient.

Just as I sat down in front of my silver-framed, oval mirror, that sat prompt
atop my black writer's
desk, I heard my father call for me. I rolled my eyes and scoffed.

"Eva! Come downstairs, chére," he cried.

I hated him so for bring us here, to this desolate speck called America. He
hadn't the gall to stay in
Paris after what happened with my mother. It was only opportune that he had
moved us away
from my beloved France, and how I hated him; he was useless when it came to
pleasing me. He
had been so down on his luck, but now that we were here, in this city of
Baltimore, I felt despair
and utter rejection. I wanted to return back to Paris and live out all my days
there.
Nevertheless, I knew I had to go downstairs and put on a resplendent face.

"Coming, Papa!"

In my black-leather heels, I allowed myself to flutter down the steps as if I
were feather-light. I
held onto my short dress and motioned it around as if I were a little girl. My
father stood there at
the foot of the staircase, smoking a cigar and overseeing the movers bring the
last of our things in.
I stood on the bottom step, and he came over to me then, pecking both my
cheeks.

The smell of his roughly-packed cigar was disgusting. It was bitter, brutal and
above all, without
taste. Its scent stayed on my face, particularily in my nostrils. I wanted to
vomit at the smell, but I
kept my posture in tact. In an act, I put a smile on my face and pretended to
be happy, when really
the sight of everything annoyed me. Just as I did that, Papa spoke again.

"Eva, sweetheart," he began. "We are going to be having a few guests over
tonight, so look your
best, hmm? It'll be very important. These people are to be Papa's new
employers."

The very thought of this dinner made me bored.

How typical it was of Papa to invite others over, when we'd barely finished
moving our things in.
Per the norm, I nodded. I didn't want him to think that Baltimore made me
superficial and tedious,
when truly it already had; still, I kept the amused daughter alive in his
presence and just for this
moment. He brushed my hair behind my ear and inwardly, I cringed at his touch.
moment. 

"Oui, Papa," I said, aloud with fervent poise, "I know just what to wear."

--

I liked to take a few hours to prepare myself, just as any young woman did.
For the first few minutes, I had showered and dried off, pampering myself under
my arms,
between my legs and around my breasts. I lightly powdered my nose and curled
the ends of my
black hair. It was so casual, so boring the new style of hair that these
American girls had, and for
the deviant woman in me, I decided to set myself apart from them all of their
looks.

With the antique wardrobe I had, I opened it up and brushed a hand against all
the fine, expensive
gowns Papa had spoiled me with back in France. A few were dark blue, embedded
in the finest
silk, while the others--- my absolute favorites--- were fashioned black,
riddled with fine accents of
mahogany to blood-red. The one gown I loved most of all was sleeveless, with a
low-cut bodice,
and it flowed perfectly. It had a dark-red sash across the black top, which
looked, when trailing
past the sash, as if it was black ink seeping into the colour of fresh blood.

It was a dress fit for one of Poe's ill-fated heroines, the poor Ligeia, and
how I marveled at its
beauty; when truly I hadn't the knack for poetry as a child, I found dressing
as the love-lost girl
made me feel exquisite, made me feel oh-so-powerful. Papa never thought much
about Poe's
work, and how I hated him for it. The man I called father had no sense of taste
at all. Still, I
slipped on my strapless bra that I had custom-made, as well as the panties that
followed.

I am a femme fatale, I thought to myself. A femme fatale perfect and beautiful
enough to fuck the
world, to fuck each man who dare to near her, to subdue and worship her as if
she cares.

Oh, how Papa would redden at my language!

I marveled at the girl in the mirror, and I swayed my hips, to and fro, side to
side as I laughed. To
my eyes, any man would want me. Here I was, a young, foreign beauty, trapped in
a sad,
indistinctive piece of America, lost without a proper guide, without a proper
teacher. If I played
my cards right, I could potentially find someone to make my slave, to make my
own and call
'father,' in place of the hypocrite that had given himself to my mother, a slut
who'd remarried.
Perhaps that I would follow in her place.

Perhaps I would flash my breasts, unsheath my soft pussy and make a wondrous
example of
myself; the whole world at my feet and all for this--- a show of flesh, a
theatre of blood, of bone
and vein. The very thought of myself being owned by a man made me weep, so much
that I
started to see my tears cleanse my cheeks. I wrapped my fingers in my hair and
I wept happily.

Then the chime of the grandfather clock entered my ears, and I heard its
ancient ringing, tick with
a tock, just as its large hand struck on the nine. The guests would arrive at
any minute, this I knew,
and so, I raced back into my bathroom to restock my face with the adequate,
appropriate amount
of makeup. The brushes swept, the tears gone, and damn, I was good.

--

Nine-thirty came and the first of Baltimore's top psychiatric directors
entered. I, being the proper
hostess, stood at the door, opening it and catching sight of all those who came
in. Most were
lowly-looking men who hadn't good looks upon them at all; most wore those
abominable thickframed,
black glasses and were balding, while two others were women dressed as if they
had
stocked up in old family antiquities. I, amongst the droll and boring, was the
only one full of life
apparently. Papa ushered them into the dining room and seated them.

"Bonjour, one and all," he proudly said, his accent unwavering. "Welcome to my
house."

And for the next half hour, we all sat and talked, ate and drank; the food was
delicious, as we had
brought our private executive chef Leroux with us. We had fanciful cuisines
prepared, and we
served them with a white zinfindel wine. The expressions on my face were merely
from the
delicacies of the food, and I wondered if these people knew how elaborate my
persona was.

I wasn't in the faction of liking people unless they had some kind of similar
thinking, or if they
were designed with poise, grace and distinctive mystery. Papa looked at me
across the table and
saw how tediously aggravated I had become. He shot me a glance that signaled
for me to
'promptly behave.' I refused. I was no longer a little girl and thus, I had the
knack to say as to
those I would like and to those that I wouldn't like. He couldn't control me,
and he knew this.

"Well," a man said, breaking the silence, "this was a very excellent dinner,
Dr. Sabatiér. I only
hope that your food doesn't contain any kind of secretive ingredients. Oh, if
you had been here for
that trial with Lecter, you would have turned white from horror! That man is a
beast!"

I arched my brow at the mentioning of Lecter. I had heard many things over in
France, things
from the newspapers and American-printed articles we received. The man was a
cannibal, and he
had used his suave cunning to serve an awful, lamentable flute player to his
own dinner party.

While most people, like Papa and his 'esteemed' associates, would have found
this man disgusting,
I found him to be most intriguing, though I'd never say it in front of them
aloud.

"Mon Dieu! Did he really serve a human being at his table?" Papa inquired.

"Quite right," the same man said, "and now, he's serving executive life
sentences at the Baltimore
State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, which is run by that idiot Frederick
Chilton and his staff
of frightened men. As to how Lecter can stand being civil to Chilton is beyond
me. That man
couldn't even tell the difference between neuropathy and surgery if you ask
me."

The smell of the fresh vol au vents came into the dining room then, but that
didn't stop me from
thinking about the incidents. While each guest took one, I happened to smile,
speaking aloud.

"Monsieur," I began. "Is it true that Dr. Lecter carved up Raspail and served
him amongst a
favorable Hungarian goulash? Or was it a different recipe? If so, do you think
he keeps the recipe in his mind?"

One of the women spat out her wine and started coughing. The directors looked
at me as if I were
mad, and then back to my father, whose face was now red with both anger and
utter
embarrassment. I quirked a brow and sat back against the arm of my chair,
reeling the other one to
hang over the side playfully as I sipped at my glass of zinfandel. Papa was
frightfully scared.

He stood up and in a nervous heap, began to wring his hands as he spoke. "I
apologize, everyone.
My daughter isn't accustomed to being silent. She's so damnably curious and
hasn't been able to
be neutral since she was a girl. Please, I hope you accept my deepest
apologies."

Not only did everyone stop drinking, they also stopped eating. I had done my
part fairly well as I
imagined, and so, they all nodded and promptly stood up, same as I did. I
excused myself from the
table and made my way to the door. I held it open and watched as they scattered
to the four winds,
like frightened little children who had just made a terrible mistake of
entering a haunted house. I
took my handkerchief and wiped off my lipstick, smirking as I shut the door.

--

"Eva, how could you embarrass me like that!"

I threw my shoes onto my bed and unraveled my hair. It fell in heavy waves over
my shoulders,
and instantly, I began to brush it as I sat at my desk. Papa's reflection
looked like an angry ghost,
and I had to chuckle. He was huffing, redder than ever, and he held his hips in
his hands,
squeezing them as to crinkle the fabric. I looked at him in the glass and
smiled.

"Honestly, Papa--- I was only giving them a show."

He slammed his hand down on my nearby dresser. "You embarrassed me! You made me
look like
an idiot with an insane daughter! Do you realize, Eva, that they'd lock you
away for even talking
like that? That your fascination with madmen and deviants makes you look mad?"

I had to arch a brow in disbelief.

Like a film starlet from a thirties' picture, I slung my arm over the back of
my chair and crossed
my leg over the other, just as I tapped the brush against my arm. He was acting
like a child, and if
there was another thing that annoyed me, it was a man acting like a
prepubescent little boy.

"Papa, you and those men, women have all been studying people like Lecter for
years. You pick
and deprive their brains of information, and then try to sort it all out
through little boring sessions
and research gimmicks. Honestly, you're overreacting. It was only simple little
talk."

"Eva, that's not the point! Those people are to be my employers! You bluntly
dissected them and
made them feel uncomfortable, while putting on that little face that says 'I-
am-only-so-innocent.'
Those people probably think that you are unhinged," he said, tapping his temple
as show. "And
how do you think that makes us look?"

In an instant retort, I fashioned a smile and said, "It makes me look curiously
insane, and you, well
it just makes you look like a scared little girl who's afraid of his own
shadow, that's what."

I hadn't even the chance to move my face away before he lunged. Papa's hand
contacted the side
of my face, and instantly, I felt the warmth of my blood boiling. There was an
acute sting in my
jaw, in my bones, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, there was already
a red mark
swelling. Consequently, there was blood. It tinkled from the side of my mouth,
and so, I licked it away.
The taste of sanguine was beautiful, and as Papa walked away, I had to laugh at
him.
***** Virgin's Resolve *****
There was a gentle mark of purple-blue on my jaw, and softly, the battered
flesh tender enough to
show the protruding little welt. It hadn't been the first time Papa had abused
me, but I was certain
that it wasn't to be the last time either. But it was no matter. In just three
years time, I would be an
adult of unriddled passions. And of course, my sixteenth birthday was only next
week already,
and Papa, in a plot to win back my trust, had invited all of Baltimore to our
door.

He had ordered the red roses, had customized the house to my liking and so, it
would appear as if
Poe himself had come back to life, if only to grace our presence with his sense
of décor.
I laughed outward at the thought, and as I sat down at my table again, this
time in the nude, I
brushed my hair until it felt like silk. The blackness of its waves fell down
my shoulder and as I
moved it back behind my shoulders, I looked like a fleshed version of the dark,
beautiful Ligeia.

To a man's eyes, my breasts were large, swollen; my nipples were huge, flat and
utterly peach-pink
sitting among my chest so ready to be tweezed, to be abused. I stood up further
to illustrate
the sight of my body, and I eyed the young girl standing there, whose womanhood
was now
pronounced, the chocolate-brown curls swept against her clitoris, contrasted to
pink.

I was a ripe fifteen and dying--- oh, no, explicitly aching--- to be fucked.

For my sixteenth I wanted a man to fall into my lap, to prowl his way to me and
beg me, on his
hands and knees, to become his; I wanted a different kind of father, one who
could teach me the
ways of the world whilst making me a slave to his lascivious cock. That was
what I wanted for
my birthday. I didn't want a little boy who thought of nothing but sex, I
wanted a man who'd
show me how it was to be taken care of, how it would be to lie down beside only
him.

And how I imagined being taken!

To have my legs pulled apart, my panties ripped and my breasts bruised; all to
become pliant and
willing to be fucked ruthlessly, to be shuddered and abused. Yes, I could
imagine my lips and
tongue around a big, fat swollen cock, glistening with beads of white pearls
for as long as a man
could provide them. That was the only kind of jewel I truly wanted: a necklace
of fluid.

--

Papa later called me down and I had no choice but to comply, to go downstairs
and pretend
myself to be the dutiful daughter. I could sense he was still angered with me
about last week's little
transition of words, but I did not and could not care less. He, on the other
hand, gave me a feigned
look that pretended that he was happy. Fortunately for me, I could tell a true
lie.

"Hello, daughter..."

I simply walked past him and continued towards the dining room, again. Leroux
had prepared a
new kind of cuisine, one he had made from his own recipe, and how I adored it.
The cream of the
alfredo sauce, combined with the flavor of the seared shrimp-bruleé made dinner
that much more
enjoyable. I sipped at a glass of red cabernet, drinking as if I were the
Impaler.

Papa sat across from me again on the end of the table, and eyed how I slowly
drank at all my
succulent wine. His brown eyes never distilled from gazing over me, and I
supposed, he'd be
wanting to keep a close watch on me, considering him that I embarassed him in
front of his
betters. When he clapped at his mouth with his napkin, I decided to make a
little conversation.

"So," I began. "Tell me, Papa--- how many of these Baltimore people are coming
to the gala?"

He almost coughed on the bruleé. "What?"

Twisting my fork in the tenderized pasta, I spoke louder, more confidently. "To
my birthday gala.
How many people from this little spit of a city are coming?"
Of course, I knew how many was coming, but I wanted to know who was to enter my
house, to
join in on the anniversary of my birth. I had guessed that he invited the
finest doctors, surgeons
and what have you as well, but what if I wanted to invite someone?

Didn't I have the right to say who could attend, too?

Finally, after clearing his throat with a glass of water, Papa answered, "A
fair few."

"How many is considered to be a 'fair few'?"

Now he was irritated--- truly irritated! The veins on his temples were showing,
and inwardly, I
laughed, giggled to myself as his face turned helplessly red. I sipped at my
wine further and
waited for his response. Instead, he calmed himself and put on a different
face.

"Eva, ma chére, you can do whatever your little heart desires. I suppose you
can invite whomever
you wish, but then again--- that would actually require you to know people
outside of France,
would it not?"

Ah, now he was trying to strike back!

I flashed an indefinite smirk and lowered my eyes, the light of the candles
catching their flare,
illuminating what hatred I had for him within my irises. I hadn't cared for him
in the slightest, at
least since Sophie-Marie died and Mother abandoned him. Or did he leave her? I
couldn't quite
remember. It was just so brief, it was. Still, I suppose time passes too fast
when one is pathetic.

But as I remembered the conversation that we held last week, the name of
Chilton rang a bell. I
had wondered about him, and since moving here, I'd discovered what he looked
like from afar. He
seemed to be only one inch taller than me, with broad shoulders and a
distinctive jaw; his eyes
were cold and calculating, a river's blue, and the waves in his brownish-grey
hair sent me over the
edge with frenzy, with lust. Truly, even from a distance, he seemed to be so
perfect.

"Dr. Chilton, then," I said. "Let me invite him at least. He's one of the many
men we didn't get to
meet last week, and I wanted to apologize for my behavior. To you, to the
directors..."

Papa alone seemed convinced of my act. His face lit up and then, he rose his
glass of champagne
to me, as he made a conventional toast in my honor. His brown eyes clashed with
the sight of
mine, and I knew then that I had won. He was such an insignificant fool, and I,
the young papess,
was queen of my tricks. As he drank from his glass, Leroux flashed me a smile.

He wasn't my type in the slightest, and so I dismissed him. With a flick of my
hand, he took our
dishes and went back into the kitchen. The look on his face seemed distant. He
was too plain, too
young for me, and I wanted nothing more than to be rid of his presence; though
if I did that, I'd
mourn his cooking. So, he would have to stay, though I didn't want him near me
at all.

--

Papa retired to bed early, as did I.

However, I didn't go to sleep right away.

I sat again on my bed and this time, with an old-fashioned quill, ink and
paper, began to write in
my diary of what transpired. I, however, would never write of the girlish
things that most did, such
as the way they had their nails done and all that. No, I wrote of all my
fantasies.

I wrote of how I longed to fuck this man I'd only seen, and of how I wanted him
to make me his
little pet, his little whore, and of how I longed to make him mine. My tongue
traced my lips and I
shuddered in thought of him. My skin went tremulous and became riddled with
gooseflesh.

"Such a beautiful creature he is," I wrote. "He's a psychiatrist from what I
hear, and how
interesting it would be for him to psychoanalyze me. Though truly, I don't know
if he's up to the
test. If he is, what a little game we'd play. I'd love to show him all of my
internal wounds."

--

The roses sat prompt and fresh in the purple-and-silver vases, and while I
liked their scent,
something was missing. I searched around the house and saw that there was no
true kind of
sensuality to the place. There was nothing but boring pictures of old
farmhouses, and I knew then
that it wouldn't do. No, this called for drastic measures. I needed some art in
the house.

While Papa was away working, tending to the fragile minds of the weaker links,
I decided to go
out for a little while and see what kind of things lay in the folds of the
city's underbelly. I looked
up and down for every little piece of Renassiance art I could find, and
surprisingly, I found so
much for such a little cost. There were lovely pieces of marble, posed in vast
nudity.

I had them brought back to the house and arranged in the places I sought fit.

The men put each statue in the corners I decided needed some light or uplift,
and the poses of each
piece seemed to be worthy of their decency. I had a vast, seven-foot-tall
statue of the goddess
Aphrodite posed at the top of the staircase; she was naked in all her glory and
she was pointing
both ways to either side of the stairs. Her pubis was covered by a gentle leaf,
and I laughed. For
such a beauty, she sure seemed shy. I, however, had no shame whatsoever.

--

The gown I had ordered was one of special magnificence.

It was almost the same design at the dress I'd wore at the first dinner party,
but now, this one was
prettier; it had glittering designs of red rubies at the top of the plunging
décolleté, which would
make the ivory of my bulging breasts seem so surreal, so smooth in all their
nature.

There was a sash, same as the last one, though this one was hanging off the
front in entwined
strings, each one wrapped around the other like two fine curls. It was also
decorated with
bountiful rubies. The dress itself was pure black, with a cathedral-length
train, and it appeared as if
I would be drowning in satin, or an ocean of deep darkness. I was fine with
either image.
It shocked Papa though when he saw it for the first time. It was 'too
revealing,' he thought. I said
to hell with him in my mind, as I knew him to be a shy bastard. He'd never say
anything to a
woman when she was 'exposed,' unless he thought he had a decent chance of
bedding her in the
same night. I knew my mother was promiscious but it never stopped her from
using her talents of
seduction and whoring. No, I was glad to be like my mother, no matter what the
cost.

--

"Diary,

I want this sixteenth birthday to be the very best. I want to be seen, want to
be shown off to the
highest bidder as if I'm at auction. I'm fairly young and almost a woman, but
the pain between my
legs still aches. There's a deep spot down there that hurts like hell, and I
want someone to rip me
open to bleed, to take my hymen as his prize and fuck me senseless.

"If there's anyone I'd give it to, it'd be the mystery shrink I'm yearning for.
Most of the directors
say he's an idiot, but I will be the judge of that. From what I've seen of him,
passing his place of
work whilst on the way to school, I'd say he's at least seven or eight inches.

I think about his cock, my dear diary, and wonder if he'd let loose inside me,
to pretend a child.
But I want him--- I want to suck him dry, fuck him into oblivion and call him
mine.

Oh yes, I want this birthday to be the best. After all, isn't it called a
'sweet sixteen'?

Perhaps when Papa's not looking, I'll slip under the table and play with that
man's cock and tame
it; maybe I'll lick the tip, that little slit I've read about, and maybe milk
him later that night with my
virginal pussy. To feel his warm cum plunge into me will be the greatest little
feeling, I can tell.

It'll feel so fucking good to feel him slapping against my ass.

Some of the girls say that there's pain the first time, but what's love without
a little of it on a day-to-day
basis? Oh, diary--- the possibilities are completely endless!"

And how I could picture my father cringing at my thoughts if he ever read this!

Yet deep down, I knew that when Sophie-Marie and I were born together, that I
would be the
deviant, the defiant one. If my poor sister had lived past six, perhaps I could
have taught her so
much. Perhaps then the dead would finally reach their resolve when I'd finally
learn to live.
***** Of Roses and Hunger *****
The evening of the gala had arrived more quickly than I'd anticipated.

It was only a few short hours until the guests would arrive, but only one
problem: while the
invitations had been sent out, I noticed that the 'good doctor' up at the
psychiatric hospital hadn't
received one. He'd been on the list after all, and I was wondered that if Papa
was trying not to
embarrass the directors with 'that one.' Still, to have the man come close was
so pleasing.

--

Leroux drove me to the hospital whereas I stepped out of the car and onto its
steps.
It was a tall, drastic-looking building, one that had numerous windows and aged
bricks holding its
foundation up and in place; there was a tall tower in which sat a light and a
bell, and I deduced
that it once was a school before becoming a housing department for the
criminally insane. Its top
windows, four in count, seemed barely polished and the details of the copper-
coloured brick
seemed aged, withered from all its years of servitude to the harshest weather.

To my satisfaction, I found the place somehow appealing to my senses.

It seemed perfect for its purpose, and so, I walked up the cold concrete steps,
knocking hard and
loud on the front door. An African-American man of proper stature came up to
the door, and he
opened it, looking me up and down in my black ladies' trench coat to see who I
was.

The man asked, "Do you have an appointment to see Dr. Chilton?"

I answered truthfully. "No, but I'm here to ask him something nonetheless."

He shook his head and began to close the door, saying, "Sorry, ma'am, but I
just can't let you see
the boss without proper reason. It's against hospital policy and public safety
protocol."

With my foot, I caught the door and prevented it from shutting all the way. I
was irritable at this
policy, but perhaps he could do something for me. I unsheathed the invitation
from my pocket and
passed it to the man, who I came to know as Barney Matthews, from the sight of
his tag, hoping
he'd put it through. I bat my eyes like a little girl and tried to appeal to
him.

"Please, Mr. Matthews," I said, my voice tender. "Can you give this to him at
least?"

He huffed once and shrugged his shoulders downward. He nodded and took the
envelope. As I
removed my foot from the door, he said, "Just stay here. I'll see if he's
available."

In return, I nodded and gave him confirmation that I wasn't going anywhere.

The door shut and in the brisk cold, I waited. It seemed to be for an eternity,
but really, it had only
been fifteen minutes when he'd returned. I was ushered in then by Barney, and
he took my coat.
In a stride, we walked to the main office, and inside, there he was, sitting
there with the smug look
I'd seen on his face before. And to me, he was intriguing. The door shut as
well.

Sitting in his chair, I eyed how he wore an awful checked suit, complete with a
mismatched red tie
with small dots; his hair was in that casual business look, combed up front and
slicked to the side.
He held a gold pen in his fingers, and on his lips, he looked like a model for
a Playgirl magazine.
His eyes, those soft blues I'd imagined, seemed to be vexed entirely on me.

"Barney said you wanted to see me, Miss...?"

"Sabatiér."

"I see," he said. "It says here on this little invitation that you're throwing
a gala and that you'd like
me to join you for the evening. Excuse me for being blunt, but why should I go
to a gala? You do
understand that I have important business to attend to, right?"

"But of course! I just thought that you would maybe like to get away for a
while, seeing as you
probably don't even leave this place enough to enjoy yourself... once in a
while."

Chilton's eyes became dangerously dark as he closed them halfway. Finally, I'd
sparked a reaction
out of him! Perhaps I'd gone too far with the closed-in remarks of self-
pleasure, but I'd never seen
a pair of eyes become so hungry to shun me with a disappointed look before.

"Miss Sabatiér..."

"Yes, Dr. Chilton?"

He finally took the golden pen from his mouth and flicked it fast, back and
forth in a continuous
motion that looked out of control. He stood up and walked over to me, and I had
to admit: I was a
little scared of what he was going to do. My womb quivered and I wondered if
this was how
dominating a man could really be, even without engaging in sexual contact at
the time.

He was face-to-face with me and I shivered. Our mouths were only a few inches
from each other's
faces, and when he took my wrist in his hand, he rose it up, higher and higher,
just until the faint
lightweight of the envelope fell into my palm. Chilton's eyes seemed up for the
task.

"Very well. I'll be sure to come around seven-thirty. Now, Barney will see you
out."

The minute he said that, the door opened and in walked the orderly.

Barney returned my coat to me and ushered me outside, while Chilton's eyes, as
I could attest to,
watched the shape of my ass walk out his door. The smell of the office remained
in my nostrils,
and as I'd predicted, I could smell something distinct from before: it was a
combination of
aftershave and that late aroma of ejaculate. So therefore, I'd called his
bluff, fair and square.

--

"Eva! The guests are arriving!"

Instantly, I went to my bedroom door and threw it open. Lifting the front of my
dress, I brought
the hem over my feet and went to the top of the stairs, with ease, with poise
as if I were a countess
about to attend a dark and delicious banquet. My feet walked down the stairs
and I arrived at the
edge, where Papa stood with a pair of abhorred eyes. As usual, he chastised me
for what I wore.

"Eva, your gown--- the cut is too low."

I paid no heed to him. Instead, I walked to the front door and watched as
others came to the front
step. When I opened the door, the same directors walked in and shot me glares
of mistrust. I
pursed a smile and pretended to be the dutiful hostess.
"Bonjour," I said.

The men walked in with their wives, their eyes circulating around me. I
supposed my dress was
perfect in its manner, hence the reason why they couldn't look away. Most of
the women perhaps
thought me to be a whore, but I didn't care. I'd have my fill of life before
I'd wither.

--

The vol au vents were served with ease, and we had the shrimp-bruleé put
promptly onto the table
that sat in the dining area. The cuisines from all around my beloved country
were served too, and I
saw how greedily everyone ate, serving themselves by piling their plates high.

I was drinking my usual glass of Bordeaux when someone asked me to dance. It
was a tedious
little man, a director from the board, and I rejected him outright. He had
given me his hand before,
but I swept him away with a wave of my hand, much like I had with Leroux. I
looked past my
shoulder and saw the grandfather clock sitting there with a grim perception.

It was almost seven-thirty, and the psychiatrist I'd personally invited was
nowhere to be seen.

I was utterly enraged.

I was more than infuriated, and when I went to the restroom of my house, I saw
two headlights
coming up the driveway. When I looked out of the window, I saw the black
Mercedes revving out
of its warmth as it finally turned off. The door opened and I could barely see
who it was.

In a quick flash, I finished with my business and powdered my nose. I lifted my
dress and ran out
of the restroom, flowing down the staircase towards the door once again. There
was a knocking
rhythm, and when I turned the knob, I thrust the door open and there he was. He
was standing
there in an awful checked suit, the colour of grey and black, while he wore a
tie that was dark
purple with white dots. I wanted to laugh aloud, but I was now happy.

"Do come in, Dr. Chilton," I whispered.

"Let's hurry along," he immediately said. "I have important things to get back
to."
I arched a brow and smirked. "That I highly doubt, monsieur."

When he walked in, I took his coat and offered him my arm. He seemed resistant,
as if he was not
sure whether or not he would look good beside me. I did not hesitate, however,
and I took his arm
in mine anyway. It was so warm next to him, and when I walked him into the
dining area, the
look on each face ranged from shock to appalled. Still, I found that it was
worth it.

Papa had found us then when I fetched my guest a drink and said, "Is this Dr.
Chilton?"

I nodded and clutched onto my guest's arm still. Chilton seemed resistant,
until Papa asked who he
was and when I acknowledged the name. His face became smitten with a smug
smirk.

"Well," he hesitated, "I suppose the guests are all here then."

"Oui, Papa," I said, like a songbird, "I believe it's time for the
announcement."

--

Clinking his glass, Papa rose it high and stood beside me, Chilton and every
other who had
attended. It seemed like a ritual, with the guest hovering around only as
unmasked practicioners of
the darkest magic. I was the papess, and Chilton, my hermit. Papa, however, as
he spoke in
mumbled English, I deduced him as being the classical fool, which he always
was.
I gripped onto Chilton's arm a little tighter, but not with brute force.
Contrary, I could see his eyes
roving over my breasts; I could sense his breath on my nape and exquisitely, I
could picture him
swelling in his checked trousers. Oh, but to feel him inside me would be
wondrous, illicit and
impure, but it was the thrill of being caught that kept my hunger for him so
awake.

"And now, for my daughter," Papa said, catching my attention. "Happy sixteenth,
my sweet."

My heart went red with blood and power. In each one of my veins, the warmth
circulated and
pretended fever, as I felt how strong the heat was from within. Chilton
unclasped my arm and
began to clap, which started a strange following in our midst. The others
clapped too, and I knew
then, that I would become the black heart of Baltimore, clashing tears with
souls too well.

I could honestly say that I hadn't expected this.

But now, I wanted more, I wanted to feel this man inside me. Deep down, I felt
an urge to tell him
how badly I wanted him to take me, to make me his own and claim the prize
between my legs.
Perhaps I'd call it my diamond in the rough, but then again, wouldn't it be an
actual ruby?

In a daze, I acted as the honored little girl.

While Papa walked around to talk to the other guests, I, on the other hand, led
Chilton away into
the lower corridors, where I knew it was dark. He followed me like an eager
child, and I supposed
this would be the beginning. I hadn't clasped his hand at all, but I could
still feel it.
***** Flesh and Blood *****
Chapter Notes
     [Disclaimer: There will be sexual themes (such as oral sex and
     genital touching) in this chapter!
     Read at your own risk; this involves a minor having sexual contact
     with an adult. I don't
     encourage this behavior-- this is only a story, used for plot! Still,
     read with care!]
"So, is Lecter really the madman everyone's portrayed him to be?"

I supposed it was a tedious question, but I was curious-- so damnably curious.
Chilton held onto
his glass of scotch, which I'd gotten for him before we entered the corridor,
and he pursed his lips,
thinking I might be leading him along. He caught sight of my eyes with his own,
and I felt a
strange mixture of desire and disgust rolled together in his soft, blue irises.

"Lecter is the most prized asset in my entire hospital, and yet he's simply
impenetrable to
psychological testing. He despises me and my staff no doubt, and my, does he
hate us! He thinks
I'm his nemesis."

I had to give him complimentary looks at his bravery to denounce Lecter; after
all, with his
swagger, I felt the inward ability to laugh and yet remain completely docile in
sight. He sipped at
his scotch and swallowed it keenly, while I watched his Adam's apple rise high
and then low. It's
such a decent throat, I thought to myself. And how wonderful it would be to
hurt it.

And so, with the arising hormones in my bloodstream, I took Chilton by the hand
and began to
pull him away from the gala. It was nearing 10:35 P.M, and I knew I had to
attempt something in
order to leave a favorable impression. We walked around the corner and towards
the second
largest bedroom, one which Papa kept clean and arranged for guests in case we
had any over.

Halfway down the hall, Chilton spoke low, "Are you completely mad?"

I looked behind my shoulder and softly said, "Well, you may have to analyze me,
Dr. Chilton,
because I'm not telling you."

At first, I thought he'd be resistant, but instead, he was the one who was now
pushing me towards
the door, the glass of Scotch now emptied in a brisk attempt to open the door.
Thankfully, once I
reached it with my back, I found the knob and turned it; we both fell backward
onto the bed, but
not before Chilton grabbed the door and thrust it shut gently, as not to make a
sound. Eagerly, I
waited. Chilton, however, grabbed me hard and kissed me deep.

--

When he lay me down on the bed, I was in nothing but my bra and panties. I was
completely
devoid of clothing, save for what I had on. He kissed me over and over, and
when I rose my leg
over his hip, he pressed his groin down against my mound and I felt his
erection growing.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so small."

I didn't know whether he meant that as good or bad, but I didn't care. To tease
him further, I
motioned my hips against his groin, over and over, up and down in a continous
motion. With one
hand, he gripped my throat and tore the right strap of my bra; it fell onto the
floor and then my
breast was indefintely exposed. My nipple was shaded by the blue moonlight and
the dark.

Like a predator, Chilton didn't wait any longer and he lunged downward, biting
my nipple, the
whole of his mouth encasing it; the tip of his tongue licked at my tip, and I
whimpered at the touch
of his breath. It was hot, it was fervent; my pussy went so warm and the heat
of my body joined
with his. His teeth grazed my flesh as well, and then I felt a deep, stinging
pain.

"Please," I shuddered. "Please, please, touch me more. I want to feel you."

He caught my throat again and squeezed a little harder, to the point where I
could breathe only a
little. He didn't want to cut off my circulation or kill me, but fuck--- I
wanted to feel him hurt me
all over. In an instant, he cocked his head up and tore his teeth from my
nipple. Chilton's eyes
roved all across my body. He shook his head and instead slid down my body till
he was on the
floor, kneeling. With both hands, he grabbed my panties and tore them off with
ease.

"Oh, no," he said to me. "I have something better. Now, spread your legs."

I did as he asked. In my defense, I had cut off my curls and shaved myself
clean beforehand, as I
knew that something would transpire. He dove his hand between my legs and
inserted two fingers
into my pussy. I felt the length deepen until he reached that nub, and with his
thumb, he circled it
round and round on my clit, making me see stars. With a complete, fast rhythm,
he moved both
fingers in and out of me, side to side as he slightly curled them inside me.

It was rising, the pleasure was; with his lips now descending my clit, the tip
of his tongue latched
itself onto the hood of my tender flesh. I threw my head back and felt him go
faster with his
tongue, licking and sucking. Tears were welling in my eyes. I knew I was also
so sensitive when
touching myself, but now that he was doing it, my pussy wanted to feel more
pleasure and more
pain. I tweezed my nipples and shook, my legs trembling.

"Please," I cried again. "Please fuck me. It hurts and I want to feel you."

He left my pussy and looked up at me, while removing his fingers; they were
glazed in fluid, and I
immediately blushed. Chilton drew them to his mouth and he licked them clean. I
looked away but
with a twist, he made me look at him. I shuddered and he gleamed. He was so
fucking good at
what he was doing, and how I envied his talent. Still, I wanted to feel him
inside me.

"Not yet," he said. "I'll fuck you, be sure of that, but not right now. It's
still too early."

Now I was flustered with anger. I bat his hand away and lunged at him, pulling
him up onto my
bed; he was surprised with my strength and when I straddled him, he sat up in
return and kissed
my breasts, licking and biting them rough. I saw bruises from minutes before,
and the dark spots
flashed bluish-purple colours. My clit was aching and I threw him down, pinning
him. My hands
caught his wrists and he lay on the bed, his body completely wanton beneath.

Hungrily, I spoke with a kiss. "It's my turn to taste you."

--

In a faint second, I darted down his length and began to undo those awful
checked trousers he
wore as a part of his suit. He groaned as I released him, and when I undid the
belt and unzipped
his fly, I felt the warmth of his growing appendage against the hollow of my
throat.

I ripped down his boxers without hesitation. He was as thick and full as I'd
imagined, and that
made me adore him more; he was eight inches long, thick and full of volume, and
the tip--- that
lush cap of flesh-- was so wet with pre-ejaculate that I wanted to lick it all
and suck him deeply.

And before I descended on his cock, he rushed his fingers through my hair and
brushed his thumb
on my cheek. I loved this attention, and as he stroked me, I kissed the tip of
his cock and breathed
lightly on it, which caused his whole shaft to throb in my hand; I felt his
veins pulsate against my
palm. He was as eager as me, and I then let my tongue trace his little slit.

"Judging from what... I've seen, you seem to be an eager little slut."

My pussy shivered.

I'm going to be your slut, I thought again.I'm going to be yours and no one
else's. You see this
down here, this little thing you've been fucking with your fingers? It's yours.
It's yours and I want
you to hurt it. I want you to fuck me and bruise me until we're both lying
dead.

"Good," I replied. "Then let me show you how badly I want to be your little
whore."

"Now just--- Oh, fuck!"

I enveloped his cock in my mouth and began to suck. I knew he'd say to be
careful with my teeth,
so I lightly, very gently raked his shaft, and at the same time, sucked him
hard. He threw his head
back and he pushed my head down on his cock, right till the moment when I
almost choked. With
each time I suckled, he thrust his hips against my face until I was hidden.

His tip hit the back of my throat at break-neck speed, but thankfully, I was
able to keep it up. I
complied with the way he thrust his cock into my mouth, and before he was about
to come, I
happened to fondle his balls. They sat firm in my palm, and I groped them, once
hard, but then I
was especially kind to him; my tongue darted back and forth between both of his
extremities.

I looked up past his clothed torso, and saw how red he was. His temples were
showing, and the
veins were throbbing, just like the ones in my hand. He thrust harder and
harder, and finally, he let
himself loose inside my mouth. I tasted his cum, felt it slide down my lips and
down the back of
my throat. I tasted the saltiness of the semen and found it to be delicious.

Smiling, I removed my mouth from him and kissed it. Chilton looked down at me
and grabbed my
arm, pulling me up to lie on his chest momentarily.

"Still think that coming was a waste of time?" I asked.

"Oh, hell. I suppose it wasn't for the worst. In fact, I can't wait to meet
with you again."

Gripping his cock, I kissed his throat and whispered, "Good; I'm nowhere near
done with you."

--

I made myself look presentable and so did he. He left earlier than I did, and I
feigned an illness.
My heart was still palpitating, but I splashed water on my face and tried to
pull it off as sweat.
My fingers then gripped the perfume nozzle and I sprayed myself nonetheless.
Hopefully Papa
wouldn't sense what we did, and fortunately, I doubted he ever would. It'd be
miraculous.

--

"Eva? I don't understand where she could be."

The hoard of doctors were leaving. Each one of them had their dates for the
evening, save for my
dear doctor. He was standing at the staircase with Papa, talking, distracting
him. I had put my
shawl on and it seemed almost exquistely exposed, with my silk nightdress
trailing down my lithe
body; the black lace sat firm around my forearms, and I blushed, pretending to
be ill.

I then heard Papa speak to me. "Eva! Where have you been, child?"

Such a fool, as usual. He couldn't tell whether or not vermillion was red, or
red was vermillion.
My father was simple that way, and I suppose, it was for the better. Still, I
clasped my throat and
tried to rub the pain away. Truth was, I was still sore from tasting Chilton.
His cock was perfect,
yes, but sweetness was out of the question; his size was awfully rough but
still good.

I shook my head and shivered. Chilton saw this, and he motioned for the door.
Our eyes caught
sight of one another, and when Papa went to escort him out, I winked in a
sultry manner. I also let
my chest heave, up and down slowly, and for show, I rose my nightdress to my
upper thigh.
That bastard--- he smirked and pretended to pay attention to my father's words
enough to seem as if he
cared. I wanted to flash myself and make him see that I still wanted him. With
Papa's back turned
towards me, I was able to flash my pussy for a second.

"Well," Papa said, "I thank you for coming, sir. I hope my daughter caused you
no trouble."

I was about to shiver at the impression he was about to say, and I waited for
the anticipated
awkwardness. My hands clenched together and my toes curled. Don't be stupid, I
thought.

"Oh, on the contrary, sir," Chilton atoned, "I was most grateful to have come.
Your house is
simply amazing; your daughter, however, is completely docile. And besides, I
wish you luck here
in this town. The directors will be expecting you on Monday."

Just as the men finished speaking, I voiced an opinion aloud. "Papa, might I be
able to obtain a
position there at the hospital?"

The both of them looked at me and went blank in expression.

"Please, Papa," I said. "Might I be able to work there, too? I've always found
the field of
psychiatry fascinating. I promise: I'll be a quick learner and a good student."

Chilton piped up and said, "I think we could make an exception. There'd be a
proper position for
her as a secretary. She'd be away from the patients, you see, and up by the
accounting ward. I can
assure you, sir, she'd be properly safe. With your permission, of course."

Putting on my best face, I gave Papa a look that begged with utter desperation.
I clasped my hands
together and looked down a little, while still making contact. It was a perfect
face, and I fancied
myself an actress like Catherine Deneuve. Oh, how I wanted Papa to allow this!

And when finally I thought he wouldn't, he spoke and put out a hand towards
Chilton. Papa, with
a straight face and clear, unsuspecting mind, he said, "Well, I consent,
Monsieur. She's under your
care now. I will gather her work permit and arrange the situation with her
school."
***** Sanest Choices *****
I ran straight up to my room and found my diary, throwing it open and ravishing
it pages with my
black pen. My fingers twisted and formed words and letters which spoke together
of how
accomplished I now felt. It was as if something had awoken in me, and that
threw me over the
edge of happiness. Biting my lip, I blushed as I wrote down my new experiences
of tonight.

"Diary,

"I've done it. I've tasted a man and he's tasted me. He threw me down and
ravished me, choking,
biting, suckling; oh, the feelings of pleasure escalated all through my body
and I can still feel it!
He's a proper teacher, this I can tell.

"Papa has granted me permission to work at the Baltimore State Hospital for the
Criminally
Insane, and now, I will get to see my dear doctor. I shall take up the position
of a student
secretary! How illicit the play becomes!

"Papa is so foolish and so blind as to what the doctor and I shall do. Perhaps
it's for the best that
way that he does not find out, but I do intend to be fucked by this man. I've
felt his shaft against
my tongue, diary, and I can only imagine what it's to be like when he actually
takes me for the first
time. I'll bleed, of course. But again, what's passion without a little blood?

"Still, I must gather my work permit for the board to see, and Papa says he'll
arrange something
with my school; from what I can think of, I'll be working as Chilton's
secretary on the weekends. I
do not oppose the notion, but rather encourage it. And with the way things are
playing out, I feel
like the nymphet Lolita; she was the pride of her lover, his sin, the fire of
his loins, and how I feel
the same! Truly, my diary, this girl will soon be a woman!"

I shut my diary after the ink dried, and I found the small, heart-shaped lock
to clasp around the
steel. With it locked, my father couldn't read my personal thoughts and spy
upon me. I heard
Leroux talking with Papa down the hall, and immediately, I threw my diary under
my mattress.
In silence, I tiptoed towards my door and put an ear upon it. There, I heard
them speaking.

"Monsieur, I do not think it is wise to consider letting her go to this
hospital. There are madmen
there who would gladly hurt a young girl like her," Leroux said.

I cringed at the thought of Leroux's protest, and wondered how he thought his
opinion would be
significant. And when I knelt in the dark, slouching against my wall, I was
careful not to make a
sound.

"Nonsense," Papa retorted. "She will be under the supervision of the Chief of
Staff. This Chilton
told me himself that he would look after her. Besides, he said too that she
would not be near any
of his convicts and murderers; they are all locked up. Sacre Dieu, Leroux--
- Eva will be properly
safe!"

I lowly laughed at the men and their arguing. I was quite capable of looking
after myself, this Papa
knew; back in France, before we'd emigrated, I'd cut another girl who
threatened to beat me with
her books. Needless to say, she received twelve stitches and I was coached into
a different class; it
was so easy for me to play the victim when truly, I was the one who was bad.

--

When Papa retired to go to bed, I ran into the other master bedroom, the one
where Chilton and I
had been tasting one another; the faint smell of his semen and my virginal
fluids was still there. I
could smell it on the large, king-size comforter and how I inhaled the scent,
thinking as young
girls do about their first time. I lay on the bed right where we were, and
thankfully, there was still
a little dab of his semen lying there, still somehow fresh. Like a little girl
in a candy shop, I put my
finger on the white and licked it off, just as I saw him do it with my own
fluids.

I couldn't stop thinking about how tantalizing the flavor was. I think perhaps,
that he had been
drinking whiskey before he arrived; the faint burning taste of bourbon was
still there, and I could
smell hand lotion on the comforter, too. I had been right: he had been
pleasuring himself before I
met him yesterday, and so, I had known all along that he was lonesome.

But with me, I would make sure that he'd never be alone again. No, if I even
had to endure the
brutality of all his caged inmates, I would; I'd never leave him. Even more so,
I'd do anything to
prove it, too. While he seemed overpowered in swagger, I didn't mind it; I
thought it gave him a
roguish persona, one that only could be accepted by one such as myself.

I knew deep down that all the other directors thought him boring, thought him
tedious--- but what
the fuck did they know? I could feel my pussy aching, could feel how empty it
felt. I wanted him
so badly. Then again, in the faint dark, I thought of an idea. I could touch
myself and still picture
him between my legs. And I touched the hood of my clit, rubbing it hard,
learning from what I'd
seen as to how to make myself come without hinderance. Thankfully, the walls
were rather thick
and almost sound-proof. Not even the dead could hear of my cries.

--

The next day at school, I met up with another like-minded girl. Her name was
Camilla, and she
was from England; truthfully whilst the English and French normally didn't get
along, we seemed
to be conjoined at the hip, mocking others and making oh-so-cruel remarks with
long, aristocratic
words to make the other "children" feel simple. And at lunch, we headed off to
the gymnasium,
where there was a tall set of bleachers hiding an extra back room, one where
most went to fuck
and smoke cigarettes, perhaps even drink. Calmly, we sat and began to talk.

"So, I heard it was your birthday yesterday," she said. "Congratulations,
you're getting closer to
bearing all the awful responsibilities that we eighteen-year-olds have to."

I lay back with my arm supporting me, as we lay on the cold, red floor. I
smirked at her and felt
something being pushed against my stomach; Camilla had given me a heart-shaped
box, one
which was thick and cushioned with fanciful red-velvet lining on the top. I
arched a brow at her in
contemplation.

Unlatching her case of cigarettes, she withdrew one and lit it carefully. From
what I knew, the
school sprinkler system hadn't been repaired yet, and here, in this backroom,
many knew that she
smell of smoke couldn't be easily detected. Still, I wondered what she was up
to.

Taking a puff, she laughed and said, "Well open it, you priss."

I was eager and so, I tore the red ribbon and took the lid off, suddenly
looking into the box for
whatever contents it held. My eyes went wide and I blushed in an immoral
manner. I dropped my
mouth open in a large 'O' as I withdrew what was inside.

"What the hell is this?" I laughed.

Moving closer, she put her cigarette in her mouth and took the strange
instrument from me. She
used her fingers to pull the clamps apart and when she lay me down, she pulled
my white-lace
blouse down to demonstrate. I was at first outraged, and when I saw that she
knew what she was
doing, I allowed her to go through with it.

Exhaling, she said, "They're nipple clamps. A fun adult toy for those who are
into unusual
bedroom play."

I gasped as I felt the pinch on my nipples. Either clamp wasn't excruciatingly
tight, but it felt so
different; I shuddered as each one latched in a secure fashion. Camilla perked
as I did and she lay
beside me, now taking the cigarette between her fingers in her right hand. With
her left hand, she
used it to trail down into my skirt, beneath my panties and she started to play
with me. My legs
trembled and tensed, while Camilla leaned down and kissed my neck, still
smiling.

"You are a deviant," I said.

"Yeah, I know," she said, inhaling and exhaling. "Then again, what're you to do
when most the
boys are repulsive in a school like this?"

--

After our little 'session' in the backroom, we went to the restroom and
returned to class. I went to
History, and Camilla, that fruitful English bitch, went off to Psychology 101.
I wished I could
have traded places with her, but that was a junior's and a senior's class. I
was still only a
sophomore, as the Americans labeled their system. Whilst in the class, I kept
looking out the
window. I could see the hospital, and the many copper-red bricks seemed old and
ancient.

I was repeatedly scolded for not paying attention, and when school let out, I
began walking down
the hallway; Camilla later joined me and together, we wrapped arms and went
outside. I saw two
senior boys standing there, both of them repugnant. One motioned with his hand,
and he
pretended to be stroking himself. The other one, however, shouted homophobic
slurs at us.

"Hey, I didn't know we had dykes in the school. It must be pretty good being a
muff diver," he
laughed, his voice high-pitched, a mere whine.

Camilla broke from me and shoved him onto the ground. She was much stronger
than she looked,
but oh did she pack a powerful lunge. He fell onto the ground and the other
simply ran.

She was resplendent with pride. "What, are you talking about your mum?"

I laughed at the foolish little boys as she did, and together, we locked arms
again and we walked
down the sidewalk. It was turning out to be a beautiful winter day, and with
our skirts only faintly
covering our thighs, the wind wasn't as harsh as I thought it'd be. Camilla
started to start up a
conversation again, and as I started down the street to the hospital, she
gasped.

"What the hell are you doing in walking down that way? Don't you know what that
is?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot to say it yesterday. My papa works there now. He's new and
he was approved
by the board of directors to take up a new position as the resident
psychiatrist," I said. "And of
course, I'm going to be starting there too, hopefully. I'll be a little
secretary."

Camilla paused and looked at me, her eyes wide, her mouth dropped open as she
laughed in a
mock-tone. "Oh, and you expect to walk out of there each day without getting
murdered? I've
been here in the states for a few years now, and you wouldn't believe the kind
of madmen they got
stocked up in there. Lecter's the prime example. He's a cannibal, you know. A
fucking nut."

"So I've been told."

For the rest of the walk, I was on my own. Camilla left to go to her hosting
family, and she said
she'd see me the next day. I obliged with her words, but she also handed me the
little birthday
present she'd used to demonstrate on me. Said that it wouldn't be proper of her
to not give me a
gift, she explained. Nevertheless, I took it and continued on. The hospital
wasn't that far off.

--

When I tapped on the entrance door, Barney Matthews approached and opened it
again.

"Miss Sabatiér?"

Leaning on the door like a Playboy model, I bit my lip very slightly and put on
a face that
should've been one to win an Oscar. "Hello, Mr. Matthews. Is Dr. Chilton in
today?"

Barney slouched a little and let me through. "He is, but he's speaking with
your father."

"Good."

I walked in and playfully allowed myself to flex my buttocks for show. I'm sure
Barney was
looking, but he wouldn't say anything, for fear he'd probably be reprimanded. I
then took the stairs
and looked around. There was another office at the end of the corridor, and I
saw that the door
was cracked open. I heard them both speaking, but when I approached, I knocked.

One of them came towards the door, though I did not know who, and I saw one
waiting for the
other. Papa had been the one to open the door, and he seemed rather shocked
that I was there.
Nevertheless, I entered and passed to him my work permission slip from both my
principals.

After carefully analyzing the document, he gave to Chilton and he, too, looked
it over. From the
way he darted over the paper with his eyes, my pussy clenched and I felt the
distinct heat that
reverberated from his body. I gave no sultry faces, as I did not want to give
the game away. Papa
waited as did I.
Chilton finally nodded and said, "Everything's in order."

"Very well, Monsieur," Papa said. "I shall bring her in tomorrow afternoon. I,
however, will be
out of town, as I have to go attend a conference. I trust that you will watch
Eva for the time?"

Chilton nodded and my heart raced; my pussy was ringing with desire, was wet
with lust and I
wondered if he could sense how much I wanted him. I bat my eyes and he noticed
the look.
I truly couldn't wait until tomorrow.
***** For Red Is My True Love *****
Chapter Notes
     [Disclaimer: This pretty much applies the same as in chapter four.
     There are sexual themes, such
     as fingering, cunnilingus, fellatio and vaginal sex; he takes her
     virginity in the chapter, and once
     again--- this is a story, and I do NOT encourage this behavior; read
     with caution!]
Saturday arrived so fast and I bathed most luxuriously for the occasion. I took
a spare straight
razor and very carefully, shaved my pussy for tonight. The sharp blade scraped
against my little
folds, and as I sat on the rim of the sink, I looked across the tile and
momentarily, watched what I
was doing in the mirror. I smelled of roses and peonies, and my flesh looked so
clean, so vibrant. I
felt so fresh and when I was bare, I walked towards the mirror and did a little
twirl.

I spun around and made sure my body looked presentable.

My lower back looked soft, and my ass sat firm over the showing lips of my
pussy; the space
between my legs was completely shaven. My thighs were so luscious and soft, and
I still had soap
among my breasts. I smiled at the young woman I was becoming. She seemed
invincible, a
powerful little papess, a young girl who was to graduate into a woman. I wanted
to weep so.

I hoped that Frederick, as I remembered his name to be, would adore me, would
worship me for
everything I was. In my womb, I felt tremors coming. My labia flushed with
blood, swelling with
the excessive desire to feel his cock inside me. I bit my lip and swept my
breasts clean of the soap
suds, and to my right, I saw the new outfit that I was to wear. It was simply
haughty.

I'd ordered some new blouses, and this one was red, a scarlet-red, with a
plunging V-neck and it
was silk; the pencil skirt was black, of course, and I felt myself to be the
tempting Ligeia. After I
dried off, I put on the clothes on, save for panties. I wanted to surprise
Frederick with this, and
hopefully, he wouldn't scorn me for it. But for the moment, I put waves in my
dark hair. It'd match
his, those soft waves, and now, with a swipe of red lipstick, I was ready for
him.

--

Leroux had dropped me off again at the door and I entered.

My heels clacked on the concrete steps and when I walked into the reception
area, the sound
echoed off the walls and I turned to walk to his office. As I passed the desk,
it was mostly quiet.
There was no one around save for the registration lady, and she seemed
exceedingly tired and
bored. Barney hadn't followed me, which was a shock. And so, I entered his
office.

It was dark inside, save for a mere lamp on his desk; its light shone on his
cabinet drawers and I
saw him sitting in his chair, looking down on papers while trailing his gold
pen on his lips again. I
laughed aloud and that caught his attention.

"Miss Sabatiér."

"Dr. Chilton."

He looked down at me with a pair of gleaming eyes, ravenous as a wolf's pair,
and he said,
"You're earlier than expected, but I think it's worth the time. Come here."

I closed his office door shut and as the rain progressed outside, I dropped
everything I had and
walked over to him. I straddled his lap and began to kiss him, fervently. He
latched his arms
around my waist and with his strength, pulled me up closer, so that my pussy
was right on his
lower abdomen. My tongue pushed through his lips and he connected with me, and
as we kissed
with ardor, I saw my lipstick smearing his mouth. With a hard tear, he ripped
my shirt down the
front. Luckily, he only tore off the buttons and the fabric was not lost on me.

My fingers dug into the fabric of his awful checked jacket, and my nails slid
across the pattern,
just as he cupped my breast and moved his mouth to my throat. I was gasping and
breathless. Had
I known he would be so compliant to my wishes, perhaps I would have granted him
more than a
missing pair of panties. Still, he moved his mouth to my breast and he bit down
harder.

I winced and fell onto his desk, my back catching my fall. "Frederick..."

He stood up and pushed me further onto his desk. His hands caught my hips and
he unzipped the
front of my pencil skirt. Slowly, carefully, he pulled it off of my body and
there, he saw my
shaven pussy all red and waiting for him. Frederick's blue eyes seemed
predatory, and for me, I
felt no fear of this situation. It was rape of a minor, yes, but God how I
wanted him inside me.

He clicked his tongue and made a 'tsk,' and he moved a hand between my legs. He
tweezed my
clit and played with it, rubbing his thumb up and down the tender flesh. I
whimpered aloud.

"Such a little slut, you are," he laughed. "But I have to ask: are you truly in
tact, Eva?"

I replied instantly like an obedient child. "Yes."

Frederick patted my face and then knelt down on the floor. He dove for my pussy
and began to
lick it, harsh, unyielding; my tears finally spilled from the corners of my
eyes and I discovered
then the beauty of this rape. I thought to myself over and over again how
stupid most believed this
to be, even when both parties were consensual with each other. I loved the
feeling of his tongue
on my folds. In a second, he pushed his tongue straight into my canal and
licked hard.

"Fuck!" I cried.

He slapped my ass then and scolded me, mumbling the words against my folds,
against my clit.
"Quiet, girl--- do you want the whole damn hospital to know what we're doing?"

"No..."

Flipping me over, I was face down on his huge, mahogany desk. He entered my
pussy with two
fingers, and over and over, played with it until I was nearly in tears. But
just to make sure that I
wouldn't make a sound, he stopped and went to get something. I felt famished
from the touch, but
it still felt so good. I looked over my shoulder and saw him open a cabinet
drawer.

Turning around, I noticed that it was another adult toy, one of many which
Camilla had told me
about. It was a red ball, attached on either side with two leather straps. He
spun it around on his
finger for a moment, and he looked as if he were an old actor from a film in
the 1930's. My pussy
clenched again, and he saw this. He approached me and pulled my head back,
putting the gag in
my mouth. I was devoid of pity for myself, and thus, I wanted to please him so
bad.

The leather straps had clicking slots on either end, and when conjoined, I was
completely cut off
from saying anything, and could only breathe through my nose. I looked over at
him with my
weeping blue eyes, and like a good girl, I waited for him.

"Good," he stated proudly. "Now there'll be no reason anyone to hear you;
scream all you want. I
guarantee that no one will know. Now, pull your arms behind your back and
behave."

I did as he commanded. It was enthralling, this act was, but at the same time,
I was terrified.

Perhaps this was the objective of this 'session,' so I complied. My arms went
behind my back and I
heard him undo his tie. He tightened it around my wrists, and happily, I
couldn't move.

--

After he finished tasting me, he removed the ball gag but still kept me bound
behind my back.
I'd had my first orgasm. It was so inexplicable, yet so timidly beautiful. I'd
flushed his mouth with
my fluids and he pat my head again, brushing the hair out of my face as he
stood up. He knelt
down and kissed me too, to let me know how he felt about my obedience. I could
taste my pussy
on his lips, and to me, it tasted so good and smelled like the floral wash.

"Eva," he said, pulling me up gently, softly, "I have to ask you something, my
dear."

I leaned into his chest and rested my head against his; we were practically the
same height, except
I was just an inch shorter. He kept his mouth near mine and I whispered,
"What?"

One of his hands cupped my throat and he kept staring into my eyes. Truth be
told, I was more
than frightened, but I was also so in love with him. He'd been the one I was
looking for, and I
hadn't expected to find one like him here, in America of all places. As I
panted softly, he cupped
my breast and planted kisses on my throat. I moaned gently and waited for his
voice.

Finally, he said, "Might I have permission to fuck you and make you mine?"

In the manner he asked, I felt my clit swell with blood. The words slithered
off his thin lips into
my ear, and I shivered; the very way it entered my ear made me become resolved
with love, with
pain and fear of anticipation. With tears aligning my eyes, I nodded, though I
couldn't speak to his
satisfaction. All I knew was that I wanted him, so, I'd let him have me in the
dark.

"Good girl."

He turned me to face him and he lightly pushed me onto his desk. This was
something I hadn't
seen of him before, and I was ultimately enthralled. With one hand, he balanced
himself in front of
me, palm down on his desk while his other hand unclasped his belt, unzipped his
fly.

It was the moment of truth, and I knew there'd be pain.

When he finally unsheathed his cock from his hideous trousers, I leaned forward
and kissed him.
His lips merged with mine continously, and he rubbed his velvety tip against my
slit. I spread my
legs open and waited for the pain. He used his hand to undo the tie around my
wrists, and with a
natural knack, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

Frederick positioned himself at my entrance and put his hands under my thighs,
just to where his
thumbs gently cupped my buttocks. I kept kissing him and then, I felt it--- it
was a sharp pain,
twisting, contorting. I knew my hymen was ripping and that there was blood
flowing out of me
and onto him. He thrust out for a minute, and then pushed back in; the pain was
excruciating, but I
was close enough to withstand it. He kept us joined like that for a while.

Breaking from my lips, he said, "Eva, just breathe..."

I relaxed my muscles and nodded. I shuddered, my heart racing, beating; he
kissed me deeply,
locking our tongues again. He started to thrust in again, and my pussy reeled
him in so deep, that I
felt my cervix contracting with his touch. The blood started to slick his
shaft, and I whimpered,
whimpered as the pleasure was heightening with the pain. Frederick sat back
down in his chair,
and he began to guide me up and down, his hands gripping my hips with ease.

"Frederick," I gasped, whispering his name. "Please, it hurts..."

"I know, but in a few minutes, I'll let you have a taste."

I pushed him against the back of his chair, and began to slide myself up and
down; my breasts
were bulging at the top of my bra, and my pussy kept drawing him in. He slapped
my ass once,
and I came without stop. I felt my fluids roam down his shaft, merging with my
blood. My tears
soaked the front of my bra, and he kept a firm rhythm going until finally, he
pulled out of me.

I fell to my knees and enveloped his cock with my mouth, licking and sucking
until he'd came. I
tasted his cum, and it flowed in deeply with my blood. The taste of salt and
iron was ironic, and I
eagerly tasted it. It was making me sick, but I didn't want to disappoint
myself or him. As I
finished drinking him in, he wiped my lips with his handkerchief and he pulled
me back up.

"You felt so good," I whispered.

He chuckled as he slid back inside me. "From now on, you call me Daddy,
alright? Nothing else
unless I say so. Now come on, I'll take you home."
***** Colours In the Dark *****
Papa had left the key under the mat, and when I ushered the key into the lock,
Frederick was
standing there beside me. I opened the door and we walked inside, although he
had to help me in.
I was still sore between my legs, my womb reeling with pain; with the way he
had thrust into me,
my cervix was throbbing. He latched an arm around my shoulders, and he held my
hand. I sat
down in the living room, whereas he left me for a while and made us both tea.

He carried in a tray and sat beside me on the sofa, putting a lemon slice into
my cup. He had taken
a blanket off the back of the nearby chair, and he wrapped me inside it. I
drank the tea in a slow
sip, and with a pair of innocent eyes, I blinked at him with a look that asked
if I could lay on his
shoulder. He nodded. I curled into his breast and made sure not to spill the
tea.

"Thank you," I said.

He ran a single hand through my hair, curling my black waves through his piano-
thin fingers. He
gently pulled my head up to look at him, and we pushed our lips together.
Frederick put my tea
cup down onto the vanity table and he pulled me onto his lap. Together, he
slouched down on the
sofa and lay me on his chest. For hours we lay there, sleeping until the clock
struck two.

--

"So, tell me more about your past," he said.

As he bathed me, I sighed. I didn't know where to start, but I'm sure it'd be
correct to tell it from
the beginning. Just as he slipped the sponge over my back, he kissed my spine.
I, on the other
hand, cupped his arms against my breasts. He dropped the sponge and together,
we sat in the
wide, luxurious bath. I put my head on his shoulder as I started to speak.

"I was born in Val-du-Marne, France, and while growing up, I had a twin sister.
We all lived
together in this grim little chateau, and Papa was still a psychatrist then,
too. My mother took care
of us while he was away, but she liked to bring other men into the picture as
well. She fucked
them all beneath our roof. My sister Sophie-Marie and I could hear it all night
long.

"One night, Papa found out about it and threatened to take our mother to the
divorce court. It was
a few days after that that everything had changed. She was due to be married to
another man,
while still divorcing Papa, but while our maid watched us, there was a storm
that roared over our
chateau. Lightning struck the east wing and a fire had started in the parlour.
It spread throughout
the whole place and it made its way to our room. Sophie-Marie was burned badly.

"She woke me up, screaming and I saw her whole bed on fire. She was scorched so
badly that I
couldn't even tell that she was my twin anymore. Papa entered and got me out,
but when he tried
to get to her, she was already dying and a beam of wood had fallen across her
bed, pinning her
down. In the instance of a second, she was killed; the beam had broken her
body."

Frederick stopped kissing my spine completely.

When I looked at him over my shoulder, his face was eclipsed in horror. His
eyes were wide, his
mouth a straight line, and I thought to myself over and over again of what had
happened.

"You asked, remember?"

"It was wrong of me to. Eva, I didn't mean to make you think of that."

I stood up in the bath and turned to face him. "Ah, but you did. Did Papa tell
you about our life
back in France, or were you just probing me for some information? Hmm?"

Now it sparked a reaction from him. "Eva, I honestly had no idea. I wouldn't
have asked in the
first place if I'd known."

I threw my head back and laughed, then I cranked it to the side and began to
tear up. "You
Americans--- I swear, you have no sense of decency or shame!"

In a rage, I left him in the tub and stood in front of the mirror, simply
crying for what was running
through my head. In the dark of the bathroom, the light from the window was the
only thing that
allowed me to see where I was going. I heard the water slosh, and he too left
the tub, brazen in his
nudity as he stepped up behind me. He wrapped his arms beneath my breasts.

With regret in my voice, I said, "I should kill you for making me talk about
her."

"Eva, honestly---"

I retorted, "No! You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you
think it does."

Now he grabbed me violently and turned me to face him. He pinned me up against
the mirror, and
his eyes seemed like glass, though at the moment, there wasn't any kind of
visible life except for
the sight of rage, of annoyance combined. I tried to fight him but he threw his
body against my
own and I couldn't move.

"Let me go."

"No," he said, pulling my breasts against his chest. "You need to let go, and I
can make it all
better. Eva, just let me help you. I promise that if you trust me, I can make
your pain go away."
It was truly a tempting offer. But then again, the fierceness in me spoke.
"With barbiturates?"

Instead, he turned me to face the mirror and said, "No, but I was thinking more
so like this."

--

Before I could do anything, my face was against the pane of glass while he was
pushing his cock
back into my pussy. I gasped at the friction, and when he started to pump me
hard, his hands
gripped my hips, his balls colliding against the flesh of my ass. I screamed at
his fury, and tried
clawing something, though there wasn't really anything there to claw. In pain,
I wept.

"Frederick!"

Clasping his hand around my throat, he growled, "No, remember? Call me Daddy."

I refused to be subjected to this. I wanted to fuck him yes, but with this
imaginary play of incest,
this falsified father figure fucking a girl who was truly old enough to be his
daughter, I felt my
pussy quiver. He groaned as he continued to push into me. His velvety tip
ground at the junction
of my cervix, and the pleasure-pain started to grow, started to heighten as I
came.

The fluids swarmed down his cock and I could feel him grunting, moaning hard as
he slowed his
thrusts. He kept his arms around my chest, making my breasts bulge, and my
nipples went cold at
the touch of the cool linoleum. I felt my tears flowing, and now, he bit my
shoulder.

"Fuck!"

His teeth were lightly biting me, then harder, just until I became wanton
beneath him. To please
him, I thrust my hips back against his and I trembled. His hand traveled
between my legs, toying
deep, strongly rubbing my engorged clit. The pleasure was rising to an awfully
good height, and
my pussy was soaking his shaft. My tears flowed until I couldn't cry more.

"How does my little girl feel?"

"Your cock, it feels so fucking good..."

He choked me with force. "What was that?"

I couldn't say anything. The pathways to my lungs were blocked, and as I looked
in the mirror, I
could see, through the faintness of the moonlight, how I was turning blue.

He loosened his grip and continued to pound me. "Call me Daddy, Eva. That's all
I want."

His panting became aligned with mine, and I was so close to coming again.
Frederick's lips found
mine as he turned my head. And all the while, I thought--- I am his, and he is
mine; my pussy is
his, my breasts are his, and there's nothing in the world that I wouldn't do
for him.

Just to please him, just to be a good girl, I called him what he wanted me to.
"Daddy..."

--

I lay on my bed with him again, and this time, I was keeping him pinned down.

He'd dried me off and cleansed me a while earlier, whereas he washed his cum
off my ass. I saw
the sponge. It was dabbed in lavender suds, and the sight of his ejaculate was
prompt in the pores.
It'd soaked in deep, and I wondered if Papa would ever figure out what had
happened.

But I was content. I hadn't felt that way in years, and with Frederick, my new
'father,' I felt like a
whole new person. True, he'd raped me just tonight, but I could still feel
myself wanting him, still
felt myself needing his cock. Some part of me wanted nothing to do with him,
but the rest of me
kept shivering, kept falling in through the reminder that I had just given him
my virginity.

Like a dutiful little girl, I shied into his chest. I kissed his nipple and
then his breastbone, his
sternum and then his throat; everywhere there was flesh on him, I kissed it,
for fear I'd never feel
him near again. He woke from his small sleep and clutched me roughly against
his body.
"Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

I laughed lightly. "I can't; at least not with you lying next to me, Daddy."

Frederick's eyes darted to meet mine. He kissed me and slid his tongue into my
mouth, warm and
hot. The tip of his tongue danced at the roof of my mouth, and I felt my
nipples becoming erect. It
was fascinating, this was. This little session of rough sex, of actual
lovemaking, it was all making
me feel very grown-up. Gingerly, I began to kiss his chest all over. He smirked
with pride,
smirked with that familiar swagger others detested in him; I, however, found it
so erotic.

"You are such a spoiled little rich girl, aren't you?"

I bit his nipple. "What gave it away?"

He slapped my ass and left a stinging pain in it. I could tell I'd annoyed him
with my ignorance,
with my back talk; but truth be told once again, it was worth it. In the dark,
he raked his nails
across the nape of my neck and brought my mouth to meet his cock. I'd choked on
it once he
pushed into my mouth, and thankfully, gratefully, I began to suck hard, harder
until I gasped.

He bucked his hips hard and I couldn't stop sucking. My jaw was sore from his
excessive grips,
his brute force but I was loving it. My pussy ached, and as I sucked him, I
reached down and
began to play with myself. My nail clawed at my clit, and my pussy surged with
pain, pleasure
and blood. I couldn't stop thinking about how amazing it was to have him as
mine.

"My little whore," he teased. "Oh, I'm going to spoil you. Your idiot father
won't have an idea of
what we'll do, and I suppose that'll make for an interesting little game, won't
it?"

Taking a moment to breathe, I replied, "Yes, and I'll give you my pussy, my
soul, everything you
ask of me. There won't be anything I won't do, and who knows? Knowing him,
he'll do anything
to appease me. Perhaps the old fool will die off and leave me all his money
someday."

He flashed a grin at that! With a great pleasure, he pulled me up to sit on his
lap, and with an acute
precision, he impaled me on his cock. My labia bruised at the touch, but I
loved it.

"Hmm. You are such a good, little creature. But tomorrow, I'll make sure that
you receive the
proper training from Gina. She's the file clerk and she'll show you everything
there is to know
about being a secretary."

I pat his cheek with a playful slap. "Don't tell me you schooled her."

He went silent and arched a brow. In a shock, I gasped and smiled, saying, "You
fucked her!"

And in a peculiar sense, he shook his head. "Never. She only provided me a good
peepshow here
and there, but we never fucked. I was actually saving myself for someone."

I leaned back and like a pure exhibitionist, I allowed my breasts to show; he
clamped down on my
huge nipples, and with hunger, he mauled them as if he were starving. I smiled
at his attempts to
please me, and to reward him, I motioned myself back and forth, to fuck him
further.

In a daze, I whispered, "Frederick, you'll be the end of me."
***** World Without End *****
Papa had returned on a Monday, and while I was at school, I saw that Camilla
was handing out
secretive slips with information. It was only to like-minded people, same as
she and I, but there
were only a few who followed, as she described, the "unusual bedroom play." I
was eager to see
what she had, and so, I walked over to her and drug her into the backroom
again.

While sitting up there, she wrote down a list of things, a list of people whom
I could contact. But
as she lit up a new cigarette, I tried to sit down comfortably enough to keep
myself seem virginal. I
tried sitting on my backside, then on one hip, but I had to lie down on my
stomach, due to the fact
that Frederick had torn me in so deep, that it hurt almost every time I sat
down.

Camilla took notice of this. "What's wrong with you?"

I tried to make myself seem casual, but I ultimately couldn't. She noticed that
I was in pain, and
she arched a brow, playfully as she saw my panties were still a little
bloodied, which had
embarrassed me to no end. Camilla's eyes flashed wide and she started to laugh,
chuckling.

"You finally lost your virginity?"

Famished with pain, I nodded. "Yes. It still hurts like hell though."

She took an inhale of her cigarette and passed it to me. I willingly took it
and took a drag,
allowing the smoke to lighten my senses. It filled my lungs and when I exhaled
again, I let it slip
out of my lips in a long, wary cloud. With this cigarette between my fingers
and my hymen
completely torn, I felt like an adult. A sore one, to be sure, but still an
adult. I now felt divine.

--

"Papa! I'm home!"

He hadn't answered me, so I deduced he was gone. It wasn't out of fashion that
he did this, and I
knew that Leroux was here alone too, because I could smell the fragrances of
vanilla, of
chocolate. Like a curious little girl, I ventured into the kitchen to see what
he was making.

I cracked the door open and saw that he was slaving over the stove, mixing
everything in a large,
stainless-steel pan. The sight of strawberries and cherries were on the
counter, and I knew what he
was making: a fresh, glazed cake with vanilla-chocolate drizzle, topped with
fruit.

"Oh, Leroux--- you didn't tell me you were making my favorite dessert!"

To surprise him, I rushed up behind and grabbed him; he almost dropped his
whisk, but he caught
himself off-guard. I laughed at him, batting my eyes playfully. I dabbed my
finger into the drizzle
that he was making, not even caring if it was hot or not. Leroux's eyes flashed
at me, and he
turned around to face me, as I unwrapped my arm from his broad, white-clothed
torso.

"Petite Eva," he groaned. "You're going to ruin your supper."

Arching a brow, I mock-sulked. "Oh, please, Leroux--- don't tell me you're
going to hold that
against me now. Besides, do you know where Papa is? I haven't seen or heard him
today."

Leroux seemed almost transparent to tell me.

"What is it?" I asked.

He sighed again and gave a little shudder, as I watched his whole body shake.
"He's still at the
hospital. Some patient named Lecter wanted to ask him something, I believe."

My mind wove in thoughts and memories of the conversations that Papa had with
the directors.
He was a cannibal from what I heard, one who ate his patients, his clients;
from what I read in the
papers overseas, he'd served a horrendous flutist to his own dinner party, and
that was how they
deduced he ate his fellow man. Not only was I horrified about Lecter's persona,
but I heard he was
so manipulative, condescending as well, especially to Frederick.

I hadn't asked Frederick about Lecter, as I didn't want to stir up any trouble.
I figured it would be
best not to. Nevertheless, I stepped away from Leroux and ran upstairs, towards
my own
bedroom, and I picked up the receiver to my dialer phone. I put in the number
to the hospital, to
Frederick's office, but I heard nothing. Inwardly, I was nervous. The tone rang
and rang.

"Fuck."

--

Later that night, Papa was still not home. Perhaps it was one hell of a lengthy
conversation, maybe
it wasn't. But no matter what, I wanted to check in on Frederick. To hell with
my father, that
lissome little worm. I wanted to see if my lover was alright.

He was all I cared about in this world, and my heart rang with deep expression
and horror. If that
cannibalistic bastard gave him reason to go off the bend, I would harm him most
deeply. If Lecter
thought it'd be wise, I'd assure him it would not be the most strategic move
he'd ever make. And in
the dark, I waited for just a little longer.

--

I picked up the receiver again and dialed Frederick's office phone twice. On
the third ring, he'd
finally answered. I was relieved, I was jubilant; at least Lecter hadn't gotten
him down yet.

"Hello?"

I answered him thoroughly, without hesitation. "Frederick, have you seen my
father?"

"Yes," he said calmly. "He's down in the pit with Lecter, still. It's been a
few hours. Tell me, Eva,
why are you calling this number?"

To see that you're alright, perhaps? Or to see whether or not that idiot I call
Papa is to come home,
so that he can properly show me the meaningful numbers to his safe before he
dies? Or maybe I'm
just calling because I am horrifyingly bored--- no, I'm calling because I love
you!

"I was just trying to check on my father," I lied. "I'm sorry if I disturbed
you."

For a moment, I thought I had irritated him. He hadn't answered me right away,
and that worried
me. I was so full of self-hate at the time, so ardent to hurt myself. I wanted
to whisper into the
receiver for him to come here, to come rescue me, but he was away at the
hospital, doing
whatever he pleased. I put the receiver down just as he spoke, and I started to
weep.

The tears were flowing down my face, and I felt a wreck. I clawed at my skin,
at my breasts;
everything that held flesh to bone, I viciously assulted with my protruding
nails. I hated myself for
nothing, and all for what? For now, I was in misery. I wanted nothing but
Frederick.

As I waited, a storm came. Its thunder roared in over the house, and like a
scared child, I flung the
covers over myself and I waited for it to pass. The lightning flashed outside
my window, and it
reminded me of how Sophie-Marie died: fast, unyielding, full of horror and
utter pain.

"Frederick," I cried, my tears flowing. "I want you to come hold me. I miss
you..."

--
Hours later, I awoke to the sound of Papa's voice. "Eva, dear, I am home."

I didn't stir from my bed. I lay there with an awful, dissipated thinking of
Frederick, which was
riddled with thoughts of pain, hate and anger all combined into one. I wanted
to confront him, and
I knew that I would tonight. Still, I pretended to be asleep once Papa entered
my room.

He stepped quietly over to my bed, and as the storm continued, I heard him sit
down on the side of
me. My mattress sank and my heart pounded. Don't give the game away, I thought.
Don't let him
see your tears or the hate you bear for him. Let him see you're asleep, then
go.

"Alright, child," he whispered. "Good night."

Papa went out the door and shut it, whereas once I heard him walk down the
hallway and into his
bedroom, hearing the door shut, I threw back my covers and ran to my window.
There, out of the
corner to the left, I could see the hospital in all its ancient-looking abyss.
It sat so still.

It wasn't that far away, only fifteen blocks perhaps, but I would go tonight.
It wasn't fair of
Frederick to have spoken to me like that, to have blown me off, but I'd be
goddamned if he was
going to get away with it. He wanted me, and so, he would have me, no matter
the objection.

--

Once I got there, I saw that all the lights in the building were off, save for
one. However, it wasn't
in Frederick's office, and that was what confused me. It was on the lowest
level, and from where it
glowed, I assumed that it was in the inmates' quarters, meaning that only
Barney must have been
there still. There were small windows, barred of course, but I was able to make
out the passage
where the cells were held. Barney was there, as I had thought, but was leaving.
I ran to the front
door and waited. The rain was soaking me, and I was now very cold.

My coat was absolutely drenched to the seams, my short nightdress only faintly
damp. I put my
hands under my arms and waited. Once Barney came to the door, my heart became
desperate. I
went up the top step and panted, my lungs aching, burning. I coughed once and
then looked at
him.

"Barney, where's Dr. Chilton?"

He seemed confused. I hadn't the time or the inclination to play games, and so,
I stepped forward
and clasped my wet hands onto his white shirt. "Barney, where is he?"

Stammering, he replied, "Dr. Chilton went home, Miss Eva."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Where does he live?"

"Miss Eva---"

"Please, Barney, it's important!"

I removed my hands from him and put them back under my arms, shivering,
shuddering. It was
from both the rain and fear that I was cold, and I needed only find Frederick,
to put these wrongs
to a right. I wasn't well, and I knew that my only solution was the
psychiatrist's touch.

"Fine. He lives at 1310 Sangreal Avenue. It's about an hour from here."

I embraced Barney once and nodded. "Merci."

As I turned to leave, Barney caught my arm once. He looked at me with a pair of
concerned eyes,
which were frought with unease, saying, "Be careful around Dr. Chilton, Miss
Eva. He may not
look violent, but he's manipulative. He likes preying on you. I hope you'll see
that."

--

The taxi, even at the late hour, was willing to take me to Frederick.

Once there, I saw that his house was similar to mine. It cast the same
appearance almost, and I
knew it was built in the same time frame, making it old and rather beautiful. I
walked up to the
side door, where I rung the doorbell and knocked on the hard wood. It would be
dawn in two
hours, and I hoped people wouldn't have thought me to be a deviant looking to
burglarize him.

For a minute and a half, I continued until I heard his familiar voice.

He opened the door, saying, "Whoever the hell it is better have a damn good
reason for waking
me up in the middle of the night. I'm not particularly in the mood--"

I put my hand in the doorway and said, "Frederick, we need to talk."

"What the hell are you doing here? How did you get my home address?"

I shook my head in the cold. "That's not important. What is important is that
you let me in and we
talk."

He seemed utterly aberrant. He held a look of desire in his eyes, one that
burned, and it made me
shiver; with one hand, he reeled me in and slammed the door shut, once again
pinning me down
onto the floor. Frederick's hand ripped my coat off and he, with all his hard,
bruising strength, tore
my silk nightdress in half. My pussy and breasts were exposed, all for his
taking.

He noticed my pain and said, "My, you really couldn't bear to be away, could
you?"

"No," I said, my voice breaking. "Now rape me."
***** Games of Chance *****
Frederick lay me on his bed, wrapped only in his robe. I was warmed now, after
he'd fucked me,
but still--- a part of me felt incomplete. I allowed him to kiss my nipples, to
bite them and bruise
them, while I felt his fingers between my legs, playing with my clitoris. I was
aghast with tears.

"You're not mad at me, Daddy?" I asked.

He stopped and looked at me. "Now where would you get that idea from?"

I hadn't hesitated in answering him. "Tonight, when you spoke to me on the
phone. You sounded
so irritated and I thought I'd done something. I didn't really interrupt you,
did I?"

Now he pulled his cock out and pushed into me. I winced at the sudden pain of
him entering, but I
stilled nevertheless, to let him adjust to me, vice versa. With his pelvis
sinking atop of mine, I
wrapped my legs around his waist, to let him sink in deeper, deeper until he
hit my womb. Each of
my muscles clenched and almost shook violently. In an instant, I began to cry.

Frederick took notice of this and tried to kiss my tears away. I motioned my
head to side as I
denied him. With one hand, he cranked my face to meet his, my lips merging,
locking with his
own as he kissed me fervent and hard. I felt the veins of his cock pulse
against the fleshy confines
of my pussy, and I threw him down beneath me, using my weight to shift his
around.

My heart wrenching, I said, "I am really yours, or am I just a plaything?"

I moved my hips back and forth, my buttocks rising up and down as I glazed his
shaft. He put
both hands on my hips, squeezing. I felt my heart surge and I wanted it to
stop. Frederick's eyes
were closed, and so, he couldn't look me in the face. I jerked on his cock
hard, to tease and hurt
him all the same. He groaned and bit his tongue in suppression. I saw his pain
form.

"You know you're mine. Besides, remember what you said? That I have dominion
over your soul,
over this little cunt? Come on, Eva--- you know how much you mean to me."

To further prove a point, he tweezed my clit between his index finger and his
thumb, which I
painted wet with my fluids. The sharp intensity ran through my whole body, and
as I fucked him,
both ruthlessly and with love, I saw the storm roaring outside still, louder,
quicker. Out of fear, I
pulled him up and wrapped my arms around his neck, burying his face into my
breasts.

"Then leave with me," I offered. "Let me kill my father and we'll take all his
money."

He stopped fucking me and with a single jerk of his chin, he rose his face to
look me in the eye.
"That's murder, Eva, and I don't think you'd like being in prison with a bunch
of rapists,
molestors, muggers and homicidal freaks. I think we can wait until he dies
naturally. Only then
will it look more presentable to our cause."

I shoved him down while his cock was still inside me. "You're acting like
you're afraid! Isn't it
more opportune though, that I be the one to finally kill the man who's always
held me back?
Please, make a flight plan for anywhere. Let it be Switzerland if you like. I
just want to be rid of
that mentally-challenged bastard and be yours. Please, Frederick; don't let me
down, please."

"Eva, it's not that simple. Your father may seem slow, but deep down, you know
he's not that
ignorant. He'll eventually find out that we're together, and then he'll report
me to the police, or
worse, the F.B.I. He'll make up some wild story and say that I was raping his
daughter all along,
but in reality, you would probably say it was out of love. Trust me, Eva--- we
have to be careful.
People aren't as stupid as they used to be, sadly."

"But I love you!"

Now he pouted as I did. "I know you do, and I feel the same for you too."

"Then say it."

"Eva..."

I started beating on his chest, my tears flowing fresh and my fists hard with
hate. "Tell me! Tell
me that you love me and that you won't abandon me. Please, Daddy. I don't want
to be alone."

He lay me down now and pinned my wrists in one hand, cruel and unending. He
began to fuck
me without remorse, and I wept into his face, his lips touching mine, same for
his tongue. His hips
slammed against me, and I heard the wetness of our sexes entering the air. I
played with his balls
and moaned loud, gasping, trying to breathe for as much as I could. I felt so
exquisite.

"I love you," he finally said. "I love you, Eva, and that's the brutal truth of
it."

--

I lit a cigarette and smoked it slowly, while Frederick showered in front of
me. In the openness, I
sat on the rim of the tub and watched the water slide down his body. The
riplets seemed like
rivers, the conditioner like his merciful semen--- everything that rinsed his
body I wanted to
baptize, to make sure it was the holiest of waters that slid down his pale,
middle-aged body.

His cock, swollen and red, dangled between his legs and in the sight, I blushed
maddeningly.
As he stood underneath the sprinkler head, he studied me. He saw how my nipples
became erect,
and how I sat against the back of the wall, displaying myself, my pussy--- that
which he loved so
much. In a timid fashion, I took another inhale and allowed the smoke to leave
my lips so haughty,
in an amatory disguise. He smirked at me in return, but I was feeling
vulnerable.

"We need to make a decision," I stated.

"About?"

I gave him a scornful look. "About my father, Frederick. Let me finish him,
like I said. Let me do
this, and we'll be together through hell and high water. We'll live off of all
his money and lavish
ourselves like the hedonistic couple we are."

He knelt down in the tub, careful in his moves. He followed more so with
kissing my nipple,
biting it. In a rage, I carefully snagged his hair with my hand and pulled his
head up to look me in
the eye. I swear he winced in pain, but I didn't care. I wanted his full
attention, undivided.
"We need to talk about this, Frederick."

Through gritted teeth, he groaned, "Eva, this is impossible. Your father will
get onto what we'd be
up to, and if you or I slip loose some information, we're dead. He'll report
us, have me tried as a
rapist and you'd be disowned, bound to never inherit his fortune whatsoever. If
we want to do this,
it'd be best to hire a professional. I myself know someone, and perhaps they'd
do the job well.
He's awful expensive, and I don't have the cash to give him because I'm in
debt."

I rolled my eyes and released him. I threw him back and he slid down onto the
porcelain, almost
hitting his head. In a fit, I put the cigarette on my hip and my flesh singed,
burning with a little
pain. He snared my wrist and knock the stalk out of my fingers. This was so un-
fucking-believable.

I wrenched my hand away and I stood tall, high and proud. I was so utterly mad.

"Stop being afraid! You don't care about me! All you care about is running your
little sanatorium
and making sure Lecter stays under your thumb. Don't you know though, that if
we do become
exposed, that I'd do anything to make sure you'd stay safe? Please, Frederick:
you have to believe
me and worship me as I worship you. I only want you in all this horrid world."

"Goddamn it, Eva," he roared, lunging out of the tub. "You're acting like a
child! I'm only trying
to explain to you the natural consequences of what you want to do. If you kill
your father and do it
wrong, you'll be caught. You'll be tried as an adult and shipped off to the
worst prison, and even
then, I wouldn't be able to save you. Understand?"

I fell against his naked figure with my own and started to weep. "I don't care.
Only you matter."

--

When I returned home, Papa was standing at the dining room table with a glass
of Chardonnay in
his hand. He was lighting the candles, and I knew that was yet to be another
'special' occasion. He
didn't usually have the antique crystal glasses brought out for nothing.

"Papa, what is this?"

"Ah, ma chére, we are having a guest over tonight! Your procurer, Dr. Chilton,
will be having
spirits with us," he said, his chest strung out with valor. "So make ready,
he'll be here soon."
I went deathly pale and felt extremely nauseous.

He had invited Frederick? My lover, my master--- he who had taken my virginity
and tasted me
underneath this very roof? My pulse quickened with fear. I nodded and put on a
nonchalant face,
while in reality, my pulse was well over 85. I hoped Papa wouldn't take notice,
and so, I went
upstairs and immediately dialed up Frederick, in both a panic and in a red-hot
rage.

The receiver rang and rang, until finally he picked up. "Hello? Chilton here."

With venom masking my French accent, I growled, "You pious, old, spineless son-
of-a-bitch!
How could you not tell me that Papa had invited you here tonight? We'll be
exposed!"

Perhaps he'd known that I'd find out, hence the reason why he was acting quiet
and calm. He
finally muttered into the phone and spoke with a careful selection of speech.

"Eva, you have to be calm about this. If he finds out that we're together,
it'll only make it worse.
You must play the dutiful hostess to me and that's it. We can't flash each
other any kind of looks
tonight. Your father and that chef of his will obviously find out, then we'll
be fucked. Do you
understand? I didn't want to accept the invitation, but your father was so
persistantly annoying
about it. Please, don't go into a fit. I'll see you in a few hours, amour."

I quirked a brow at his sudden use of French. "Have you been studying my
language?"

He laughed on the other end. "Quite honestly, no. It's only what I remembered
from my days at
school. Besides, I thought I'd appease to my girl's heritage. I hate to hang
up, but I have to go. It's
nearly an hour from my house to yours. Like I said, don't have a fit. I'll see
you in a while."

I muttered into the receiver quick, crying soft, saying in a child's tone , "I
love you, Daddy."

And truly, he surprised me. "And I love you, little girl."

--

When he arrived, I did as he asked of me. I made no loving faces, no smiles
except for what was
needed, and he walked inside, passing me his coat. It smelled of me, somehow,
and I knew that it
was my rosy perfume. How he came to be adorned in that scent, I had no idea,
but I hope that
Papa wouldn't have deduced that it was mine. With a plain face, I hung his coat
up and escorted
him into the dining room, without contact or prompted speech. It was so
difficult.

Papa put a hand out to Frederick, my dearest love and my future accomplice, all
the while he
never noticed anything. We all sat around the table and began to sup, the
French cuisines warming
our mouths and the Chardonay rinsing it all down. My fingers could barely hold
my fork, because
I was so lovesick, so broken that I couldn't express my feelings openly for
him, my Frederick. As
he and Papa arranged themselves in conversation, I glared at Papa with hate.
***** Waves of Paranoia *****
The next day at school, the Monday chill had caught my flesh and riddled it
with bumps; it was
unusually cold, and even though I put on my thick coat, I was still frozen to
the bone. Camilla was
already at school, and she sat inside waiting for me, her eyes glued to mine
wildly.

"Oi," she hollered, waving me over. "Come here! I want to talk to you about
something!"

I rolled my eyes and felt fatigued from the weather. These Baltimore winters, I
thought, would
ultimately be the end of my child-soft skin. Thankfully, because it was so cold
outside, the
luncheon ladies were serving hot chocolate, which warmed me right away. They
said they'd had
too much, so all the students were able to have as much as they wanted; I was
on cup four.

Camilla was on her sixth, and as she sat in the cafeteria with me, we sat
alone, secluded.
Moving closer to me, we sat arm to arm. Camilla began a fruitful little talk,
and I obliged.

She smirked with utter curiosity. "So, who is he?"

I almost choked on my chocolate. "What?"

"Your lover, you priss. Is he tall, dark and handsome, or short, fat and
hideously annoying?"

I gasped and blushed, my heart racing. My fingertips played with the Styrofoam
cup, sliding along
the side, and as I sat it down on the benched table, my finger swirling in the
chocolate. I bit my lip
and as Camilla lay her head on my shoulder momentarily, I finally spoke out.

"I can't really say. It's too embarrassing."

"Well, give me details as to what he looks like at least!"

But I couldn't. It'd give Frederick away, would give me away. It'd be the worst
thing for me to say
what he looked like, and if Camilla had even the slightest notion of who he
really was, I would be
in for a world of pain. Camilla waited for an answer, but really, I couldn't
even make a lie that
would seem realistic enough. However, I pointed to a 'jock,' as the Americans
said with their
slang, and she followed my finger, watching the direction where it went. She
scoffed loud.

In an uproarious laugh, she said, "You mean to tell me that you're playing go-
to with that? Dylan
Richmond? He's a fool! He's not even fit enough to polish your heels, girl."

It was a try, one that she would have to accept. I loved Camilla, adored her
for her valor, her pride
and all that, but if she dared to find out who I was with, I would undoubtedly
murder her.

--

When I arrived to the hospital to work, that Gina character was nowhere to be
seen. It was
strange, and when I saw Barney, he was walking downstairs to the patients'
wing, to perhaps
make his daily rounds with the inmates. I didn't think nothing of it at the
time; I was just more intuned
to finding Frederick. Through the corridor, I was approaching his office, when
then I heard
something coming from behind the door. It was panting, labored panting--- and
that worried me.

In my stomach, I felt a twinge of fear. It was a rising pit, and it sat in my
throat.

I didn't want to wait anymore.

I dropped everything I had in my hands and when I opened the door to his
office, which was
locked, I had used to the key to jar it open. My fears had come true. There he
was, standing
behind his desk, his hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her from
behind. She was face
down, and violently gripping the rim of his desk. It bulged forward a few
inches, and as he fucked
her hard, fucked her with doubt, he rose her face to meet his, kissing her with
passion.

My eyes watered and I started to cry.

He broke the kiss between them and he flashed me a look. His blue eyes went
wide, and Gina,
that red-headed, doe-eyed bitch, gasped and said, "Stop, stop!"

Frederick murmured my name with fear, "Eva?"

My hands were trembling; I'd never felt like this before, and it reminded me of
the times when I
heard Mama fucking all those men under our roof. My skin was riddled with
goose-flesh, and my
heart, my legs felt weak. Turning, I started to run away. I didn't wait to hear
an explanation, nor
did I care. I wanted that cunt dead. How dare she fuck Frederick, and how dare
he fucking lie to
me. The rage I was feeling combined with that wrenching sensation of heartache.

"Eva! Eva, get back here!" I heard him scream, rushing me. "Eva, let me talk to
you!"

I was becoming psychotic. I felt the intense urge to harm myself, to throw my
pale young body off
the roof of the hospital. Perhaps I was feeling suicidal because of what I had
just seen. My breasts
heaved against my chest, my pussy becoming bloodless. When I heard Frederick
come up from
behind me, I turned around and did not wait. My flat palm hit the side of his
face, and I struck as
hard as I could, with as much force as I possibly could muster. He started to
bleed.

"You fucking cunt," I screamed. "How dare you! How dare you!"

Time was flashing before me, my eyes reeling, my head rolling. There was so
much to take in,
that I couldn't even remember my own name at the moment. Sweat cleansed my
brows, my chest,
and my lungs felt like they were on fire. Frederick caught me then, and he
wrenched me into his
office. He was reeling me in like an anchor, and Gina, that hideous bitch, ran
past us.

"We need to talk," he snarled.

I wished Barney would save me, would reprimand this molester, this awful beast,
and how I
wanted to die. My legs collapsed and he had to carry me, bridal-style, into his
office, into that dark
where he was fucking his accounting lady. My fingernails clawed at his face,
and I drew blood
from there too. He recoiled from fear and dropped me. The floor broke my fall
and I tried to
escape, running. However he caught my ankles, and like in a horror film, I was
drug inside.

The door slammed shut and Frederick's face was wild with hate, wild with fear,
with anger. I hit
him again, and this time, I bust his lip open.

Crying, I wept, "I fucking hate you! You said you loved me and you lied to me!
I thought we
were supposed to be together, but obviously you fucking lied. How could you
lie, Frederick?"

"You were never meant to see that..."

I kicked his groin, and watched him flounder onto the ground beside me. He
didn't lay there for as
long as I thought he would, and he caught me again, this time ripping my dress
down and
attacking my panties. With a powerful lunge, he threw himself atop of me and
strangled me. I took
a long gasp, and tried to breathe whenever I could.

"Frederick, please!"

--

With his cock still out, he spread my legs apart painfully, and he entered me,
though my pussy
was wet and warm, his violence strongly frightening and arousing me. I was
ashamed to have felt
this cock inside me, but then again, my pussy wanted to feel this abuse.

He thrust hips against mine and he powerfully started to fuck me.

He threw me onto his desk and lifted me, grinding himself into my pelvis. I was
in tears. His size
felt awful, but beautiful; he, in a fit of passion, grabbed his letter opener
which was sharp and
gleaming, brightly in the lamp light. That horrified me beyond a doubt and yet,
I was in yearning
to feel the blade against me. Frederick took the small instrument and slit a
small nick in his throat,
and like Dracula to Mina, he shoved me hard to his person, making me drink his
blood.
I, in a combination of horror and desire, drank until I was sick from the iron.

His lips grazed mine and now, I felt like an ancient, tantalizing vampire. As
his life-force flowed
into my mouth, I sank against him and wrapped my arms around his neck.
Frederick, with whose
blood and libido calmed me, sank deep into my pussy and ground hard, harder
until I came around
his cock. My fluids baptized his phallus, blessed it with my soul, and I felt
alive.

For truth, this was rape-turned-love. My arms felt weak as did my legs, and
when I removed my
mouth from his neck, I kissed it and swept the messy waves of hair from his
face. I was still
feeling suicidal from seeing him fucking Gina, but right now, I was in love
with him.

I was forgiving him with my small, tight pussy, with my heaving breasts and my
lithe body, and I
wanted to become one with him. If there was ever such a way to merge bodies, I
would become
Frankenstein to do it. Perhaps I was mad, but then again, who wasn't? I was
more than willing to
make amends with him, and so, when he slid out of me, he smeared his cum on my
stomach. It
was a beautiful display, like an artist with his paints. I swept the semen to
my lips.

"Better now?"

I looked up from my fingers and into his eyes. I licked them clean and replied.
"No, and yes."

--

After that session of hate-love, of rape-to-bliss, he was soothing me. He
kissed my forehead and
was driving me home, but to be safe, I told him to drop me off around a corner,
just a few blocks
away from my house. We still couldn't give ourselves away, not yet.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that."

The woman in me felt resistant. I didn't want to answer him, but as I put my
head on his shoulder,
I felt obligatory to speak to him. Through glittering eyes, my tears fell as he
stopped the car.

"Frederick, I'm going to try to forget what I saw tonight. But I swear-"

"Eva," he murmured, turning to face me, "I never meant for you to see that, nor
did I mean to hurt
you. Please believe I'm sorry for all this."

"You were fucking her when you said you loved me. Can't you see the problem in
that? But I
swear, if I ever fucking catch you with her or any other woman besides me, I
promise you this:if
Lecter ever gets out, by chance, you best hope to hell that he finds you before
I do."

The look of fright hit his face. His blue eyes were strictly with fear, with
inward panic, and as I
escaped his car, only to walk through the blistering freeze of the night, I
felt him watching me as I
walked from him, my tears now staining my cheeks, warm and then freezing to my
cheeks.
***** Deep Dark Ocean *****
I went to work yet again, I kept a vigilant eye on Frederick. He didn't move to
where I couldn't
follow, except the mens' restroom, and he kept trying to please me; he said
there was something
else he wanted to show me after work. I didn't think much about it; yet, I
still didn't trust him. I
wanted some absolute closure about the man, and so, I'd go to the imprisoned
one.

--

Frederick left for a few hours, as he had an appointment, which I found to be
true; he'd had a card
from his registered doctor and it was legit. And while he was away, I went to
Barney to exchange
a few words. He was in the orderlies' lounge, having a cup of coffee. He and
the other orderlies
were talking until I walked in. I stood there in my fashionable blue, silk coat
and stared. They took
notice of me, and without question, stood and walked out, save for Barney.

He went to the door too, but I stopped him.

"Hello, Mr. Matthews," I quipped. "Might I ask you for a favor?"

He seemed perplexed, confused; there was great dismay in his eyes. Barney
cocked his head to
the side and made a clenched look with his lids. I bat my eyes tenderly, softly
in a slow rhythm,
and he took notice of this. Finally, he sighed.

"What's the favor, Miss Eva?"

With a distinct calm to my voice, I said, "Lecter. I want to talk to him."

It was as if I'd struck an ominous chord with my asking to see the
cannibalistic psychiatrist. The
whites of Barney's eyes went wide, eclipsed with an exclusive worry. He
stammered like a child.

"Miss Eva, you ain't got the slightest comprehension of what you're asking. If
I let you see Dr.
Lecter, without Dr. Chilton's supervision or knowledge, I'd be fired and so
would you."

Oh, my friend, you don't know about me and Frederick, do you? No, without me,
he'd be nothing;
he needs me. He won't have anyone to love, to torture with his body unless I'm
here as his
personal girl. Like I said, without his victim, the abuser is nothing, I
thought to myself.

"Miss Eva, I just can't. It's against protocol."

I rose a brow rather cleanly. "Against protocol, or because you don't want to
see me in danger? I
can assure you, Barney, I am quite capable of looking after myself."

He stirred and said, "I don't doubt it, Miss Eva, but if you come off as rude
to Dr. Lecter, I'm sure
there'll be something about you he'll find that needs discipline. Please, he's
dangerous if you ain't
careful and courteous around him; he'll sit like a spider does, waitin' for the
little fly."

He finally must've realized that I wasn't going to go without a fight. I had
kept my hands in my
pockets, watched him with my steel-cold, blue eyes, and as he sat his coffee
down, he came to the
back of the room and motioned with a hand, telling me to follow. My heels
clicked on the cold
linoleum and we began to walk down the stairs, taking lefts until we came to
the patients' wing.
Barney saw that I was determined, but that didn't stop him from explaining
procedure.

"Now, don't pass anything sharp or small to Dr. Lecter, unless it's staple-free
papers and folders.
Don't go up to the glass, don't antagonize him, none of that; if he wants to
show you something,
fine, but don't accept nothing from him. He's mighty tricky, but if you're
polite, he'll pass you off
as a 'decent piece of meat,' as he likes to say sometimes. Weird, I know, but
you'll be fine. In this
little room, there's a television hooked up to the cameras. I'll be watching
you."

I nodded in response. It was enthralling, to finally meet Frederick's prized
asset. Of course, he was
a sadistic madman, a monster who enjoyed eating human organs, but I was still
unafraid.

In front of me, a gate of steel bars slid open, and it shut hard, the bars
thudding within the confines
of the brick slot. Barney went into the little control room, and when I
entered, the gate shut behind
me, locking as a buzzer went off. Slowly, I walked to the last cell on the
left.

--

There was a steel chair at the end, sitting quaint and unfolded just three feet
away from the glass,
which I noticed had breathing holes on top of the large panes and below. I
began to scan the cell
for its occupant, and found him to be lying down on his bolted-up-and-chained
cot.
To my eyes, he was an older man, perhaps mid-fifties, and he had slicked down,
grey hair with a large nose,
thin lips and a shapely body; he was brawny, yes, and I knew he was full of
spirit. Dr. Lecter
opened his eyes, though his head faced me and his feet were the other way.

"Might I ask who you are?"

Carefully, I spoke. "Hello, Dr. Lecter. I'm Eva Sabatiér. Might I be able to
speak with you?"

Then instantly, Lecter sat up on his cot and turned to face me. When our eyes
met, his seemed so
predatory, cold and uneasy like a fox in winter; he studied me with a calmness
I'd never seen
before, and he stood, approaching the glass with his hands at his side. I felt
my pulse race, but I
didn't show fear. He roved my body and face with those eyes, and then he
smiled.

"A French girl," he atoned. "I haven't heard a vintage accent like yours for a
very long time."

With the kind of smile he wore, one would find it all over: it was one full of
twisted charm, one
able to claim ease and disguise. I smiled faintly, but he smelled me, leaning
towards the breathing
holes of the glass. Oh, God, this was what he liked to do to members of the
opposite sex; he liked
to calculate their fear, drink it in. He liked to make them feel so uneasy, so
that he might guess the
rate of their pulse. I wanted to run, but cowardice did not become me.

With a satisfied look upon his face, he looked at me again. His eyes were calm,
cold and precise,
as if they were measuring me, somehow. I stood my ground and kept my plain,
youthful girl's face
upon my person. The tips of my fingers went cold, as did my breasts, my legs
and arms; there was
a whole new toxicity at work here, and somehow, I was enjoying it.

"Is there something you wished to say, dear?"

I engaged in conversation. "Oui, Dr. Lecter. I was perhaps wondering if you
could please tell me
all that you know about Dr. Chilton."

That perplexed the doctor intimately. He rose a brow over one eye, and as he
put his hands behind
his back, gripping them together as if he were a gentleman, I saw him laugh
with a haughty
intention. "About him? Of course, how can I refuse. Sit, please."

"Merci."

Lecter leaned against the frame supporting the glass, with a grandfather's
tone, he began:

"Oh well, where to begin about good old Frederick? Let's see for a moment.
Firstly, he enjoys in
creating petty enviornments for his patients of all things, trying to make
these boring, half-
attempted facades of mindly torture. Secondly, he'll try to degrade, but he can
never succeed. He
hasn't the motor skills to be tactical enough to do so. He's a failed
practicioner of threats.

"And from what we hear down here, the Chief of Staff," he emphasized with
sarcasm, "has quite
the frivolous intimacy span; he's incompetent and he has a timed orgasm of
about five minutes into
his sessions of coitus. But I don't need to tell you that, do I?"

My heart felt as if it stopped beating completely. Sweat clung to my brows, and
my veins
throbbed, as if they were all hardening, all on fire. In a coarse voice, I
said, "Excuse me?"

"The penalty for raping a minor here in Baltimore, if I remember right, is a
fifteen-year sentence,
but for you, maybe you'll be reprimanded to a juvenile facility. Your
Frederick, on the other hand,
I can't say that he won't be murdered in prison. But it's a pity; you seem so
prime."

Now I was fucking furious. In an out-lash, I retorted. "Dr. Lecter, I do not
want to offend you in
any way shape or form, but you don't know him like I do. You don't know what
he's capable of.
He's raped me, yes, but only a few times. And of course, there's been times
when he's gotten
violent. But you know what? I'm not a little girl here. I can handle myself,
I'll have you know."

As I turned to leave, he stopped me with his casual admittance of words. "Miss
Sabatiér, you
responded rudely. I was only trying to make a general evaluation, that's all.
Besides, you came to
me for information, remember?"

I approached the glass, whereas I heard Barney coming through the gate. The
buzzer rang and the
gates slid open. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw men in white coming. Before
I could thrash at
Lecter, could try to pound the glass, Barney and another man came and caught
me. Their arms
took mine, and immediately, they began to pull me away. I was screaming at
Lecter.

"I only asked you to tell me all you knew, not about what you assume!"

He made a few 'tsk' sounds, and with calm valor to his tone, he quoted Blake
before I was gone:
"A robin redbreast in a cage puts all Heaven in a rage. Ta-ta, Miss Sabatiér."
--
When I returned home, Barney hadn't mentioned anything at all. He had called me
once, but that
was to see if I'd gotten to my residence safely and in one piece. I said yes.
However, someone had
told Frederick, because when I went upstairs after dinner, the phone in my room
rang, rang until I
desired to pick it up.

He was furious with me. He spat on the other end, "Are you completely mad?
You've riled up
Lecter; now, he won't stop making retorts about our relationship. How could you
tell him, Eva?"

I pursed my lips and held my glass of wine in a free hand. Taking a sip, I
said, in another
arrangement of Lecter's words. "He already knew. He told me today that he could
hear you
whenever you were fucking me and Gina, both on seperate times. Is this true,
that he can hear our
every act of passion, Frederick?"

"Of course not! There's... there's no possible way for him to hear anything.
He's in that dungeon
of his, and that's where he'll stay until he dies or until I deem him fit for
transfer, which, I can
assure you, will never happen; it's most likely he'll shrivel up. But, damn it,
Eva--- you're setting
us into something we can't escape."

I laughed almost maniacally into the receiver. He is a fool, just as the
director said. But he is my
fool, mine to control, to fuck, love and torment altogether; he may do the
exact same ritual to me,
but I know who's the fairest. Still, as I swirled my glass, I couldn't help but
smile. And when Gina
came to mind again, my heart palpitated with dire anticipation. My pussy
clenched with the
thought of violence, with the sight of needles, scalpels and wine in my blue
little eyes.

I knew then what I'd become as I hung up my phone.

For the first time, in my whole sixteen years, I'd become my own avenger, and
avenge myself I
would, for tonight, Gina's death would be the only thing to give me true peace
and closure.
***** To the Victor Go the Spoils *****
Chapter Notes
     [Disclaimer: Severe torture takes place; genital abuse is heavily
     featured. Read with caution,
     readers, as this has graphic content! There are subject themes of
     mutilation and sadism, too.]
It wasn't hard in finding her house, her phone and tracking her down. The
hideous slut lived in a
quiet suburb, along with a husband nonetheless; she drove a slate-gray Buick,
and her simple
house was made of old, amber-coloured brick, and decorated grotesquely with
heaps of bushes
and flowers beneath the windowsills. I'd been waiting for over an hour for her
husband to leave.

He'd been there with her, and through the window of Leroux's car, I saw them
argue.

In the bleak of the cold, I saw both of them, through the over-sized bay
window, screaming with a
few indistinct words. She was recoiling, and then, he hit her; his hand slipped
over the side of her
face, a proud victory for him I was sure. In my stance, my pussy became
electrified by the sight of
this spousal abuse. Gina screamed through the glass and faintly, I heard it.

My labia flushed with blood, and as I lit a cigarette, I saw him slam the door
open, yelling as he
began to leave. I'd shaded the windows and sunk down into my seat. Luckily, he
didn't see me.
When he revved out of the driveway, I sat back up. Gina, as I now saw, was
sobbing like a girl.

--

A few hours later, I'd drove away and then swept back around the terrain,
careful as not to draw
attention. I didn't have the headlights on, and the purr of the engine was
soft; I'd be a phantom,
swift and true. There'd be no other way for me to do this, and when I saw the
lights of the
neighborhood shift lowly, I exited Leroux's car and made my way to the red
backdoor.

I didn't go unprepared though.

Oh no, I had bought a few things, to make for my kit. First, there was a
stethoscope, one I would
use to listen to Gina's erractic heartbeat; the second, a scalpal: sharp, true
and ice-cold. I'd only cut
her so much before the end, and finally, for the créme de la créme, the piéce
de résistance: a handmade
kit, full of needles, bandages, yarn and of course, a few little toys to abuse
the bitch with.

My heart raced, but I held that same smile on my face; I was rather eager.

My left hand carried a bottle of wine, and on my part, there'd be enough to go
around, literally.
The first wave of attacking her brought back the rush of adrenaline.

I'd assaulted her with my fist to her jaw. It was already bruised by the
contour of her husband's
professionality, and I could see the indent of his knuckles upon her bone; the
flesh there was cold,
clammy and soaked with tears. She fell to the floor and tried to fight me, but
before she could run,
I'd thrown her down, pinning her with my weight. The feeling of hatred raced
within my veins.

The bitch beneath me writhed and screamed, weeping as I unsheathed a small
knife.

"Don't move, you cunt," I said.

Gina's face seemed paralyzed with fear whilst mine gleamed with radiance.

Between my legs, I grew increasingly wet. She'd aroused me, just to the point
where her tears
became my lecherous lividity. I bent downward and kissed her tears away, to
confuse her. In this
manner, she'd be completely exposed, vulnerable even. I then took a hand and
wrenched her
wrists together, tying them with brute force. Gina choked on her spit and and
tried to leave.

She'd kicked me between my legs, but, thankfully, I was gifted with some things
most men only
dared dream of having: balls. I mustered myself through the pain and hit her
again, this time to the
point of unconsciousness. Like a fish, she lay there, limping, twitching; my
lips sneered into a curl
and I withdrew my scalpel, slicing her clothes off, seam by seam, thread by
thread.

--

When she awoke, we were in her basement.

I had found some chains in the garage area, as they called it, and put her on a
cold table which she
used to iron her clothes. On the table, she was naked and exposed. Her nipples
were erect and her
large breasts, which I'd bound with rope, bulged outward, turning purple; her
clit was showing
too, and her pubis had been curled with great extent. To me, she seemed like a
whore.

Her cunt seemed so used, so contracted and expanded. The folds of her labia
seemed folded over,
expired and utterly useless; I wondered how Frederick dared to go near her.
With a doe's eyes, she
looked around until I began to pour wine on her face. The redness splattered
with a beautiful
stream, soaking her bloated, tear-streaked face. With sadism on my lips, I
laughed.

"You're an impotent slut, aren't you? Fucking the man I love, whilst your own
is sick of you. I
suppose that if I had to wake next to you, I too would want to leave all the
same. But you know
what? I forgive you, and to show you how merciful I am, I'm going to let you in
on my secrets."

Gina's lips were trembling. She looked like a frightened girl, as I thought
before. Tears soaked the
pores of her skin, making her seem like a filthy scrap. In the restraits I'd
used on her, her wrists
and ankles turned purple like her breasts. Her nipples, pointed wildly, were
blue as silk.

In a fit of rage, I continued to pour the wine on her face.

And as she gagged, as she choked, my lips were forming words and I spoke
altogether.

"It felt good to me, to know that when my mother left, she left her teachings
of whoredom behind.
I followed suite, this you know; you can ask Frederick about what we've done.
It also felt good to
me to humiliate my father in front of others. But it feels so good when I fuck
Frederick. I love to
feel his fat cock inside me, in this little girl's pussy. Perhaps this was
meant to be, that he was to
rape me and turn me into something I've always aspired to become."

"You're fucking insane!"

I chuckled. "Perhaps so. But doesn't it feel good though, what I'm doing to you
now?"

With my fingers, I took her expanded clit and began to tweeze. I twisted rough,
and tugged
upward, grinding the fingernail of my thumb into the tender flesh. Gina
continued to cry, a
weakness really. She mumbled incoherent words as I tweezed on harder and harder
each time.

Frightened, she cried, "Fuck!"

"Good whore," I cooed.

However, this wasn't what I had dreamed of last night. No, my dream was so much
more violent, so
entangled with the webs and thoughts of blood. As she was spread open by a
spreader bar, she
flushed my fingers with her fluids. Ah, now she was beginning to like it.
Perhaps some part of her
was like me: a whore for pain, a mewling piece of flesh for whatever she truly
desired.

Then again I couldn't think that. She was nothing like me.

I smiled at her again though, and quietly, withdrew something long, silver and
sharp. Gina saw
this underneath the light of the basement lamp, and she almost screamed;
however, I subdued her
and gagged her, the ball sitting firm in her mouth. Her eyeliner was smeared
and she shook.

I took the scalpel into my hand, and tenderly, swept it back and forth on the
outer folds of her
labia, slicing carefully; blood tinkled down her skin and onto my silver
instrument. I felt like the
Countess Bathory, only I was making this slut atone for what she did, for what
she had done to
wrong me. Gina sniffled and screamed, though muffled it was. And just to tease
her with the
intent of cruelty, I began to cut onto her clit. It was not numbed, and so, she
let out a horrific
sound, of whatever she could muster. The little piece of flesh finally fell
into my hand.

"See, aren't you beautiful," said I, sweeping the severed organ against her
face. "So lovely."

Blood stained the table. I was now the proper conqueror, the queen of flesh and
the procurer of
utter horror. Beneath me, Gina trembled and wept, violently. She was in pain,
this I knew. I had
severed her clitoris, and how useless she was now. She'd never appear beautiful
to a man ever
again, and I felt more than justified in my grasps to torture this useless,
flamboyant whore.

For now, I had dominion over her. The ill-minded, beautiful girl I now was
flourished into a
woman, a woman young, a woman proud and triumphant, created to rule the
worthless pieces of
flesh from all walks of life. If I hadn't become the fairest flower that I ever
saw, I don't know who
I'd be. I knew, though, that as my scalpel ran across Gina's throat, that
Frederick was mine.

--

Hours later, I disposed of Gina's body after finishing my way with it.
 
I hadn't the urge for necrophilia, but instead, I carved her into a beautiful
sculpture. I fashioned her
as the Venus de Milo, with impassioned features of Aphrodite; I improved her
face with my
cosmetics, and ultimately, I was pleased with the result. Her eyes were closed,
her lips red with
rouge, and her cheeks were lined lightly with blush. She had no full arms
anymore, and only a
white cloth covered her lower half. Her breasts were adored with her own blood,
her nipples
swollen and lustful, even in death. From the sight, my pussy fluttered with
longing.

I snapped a Polaroid to keep for later. I knew I'd never let Frederick see it,
lest I'd become a little
exhibit in his own madhouse. I'd kill all others before permitting that, but
mostly, if he'd asked me
to, I would comply. There was always something about him, since we met, that
compelled me to
die for his every wish, as I said I would. Though I wanted to continue this art
session, I had to get
rid of the body. Nevertheless, I threw her into the basement furnace and
mourned the piece of art I
had just destroyed.
***** Bound By Blood *****
Chapter Notes
     [Disclaimer: There is strong incest in this chapter. Eva is sexually
     assaulted by her
     father, which gives her further reason to hate him. I wanted to give
     a proper warning.
     Read at your own risk, and again, thank you for reading.]
     [Face claim for Eva's father is actor Udo Kier, one of the best
     bastards to ever grace
     the screen. Sorry, but he seemed perfect for this role.]
My fingers were still stained with the scent of Gina's blood. I pretended
myself like a vampire,
smelling them, licking. It was a disgusting thing to a normal, untainted mind,
but to me, this was
victory. I'd destroyed her body just hours earlier.

For Frederick's sake and mine, I'd disposed of her. She fucked him, and he
fucked her; there was a
boundary crossed, and my heart raced with utter madness at the mere memory of
seeing her
beneath him, her legs spread open, her face bloated like the fat opening of an
obese woman's. It
was cruel to compare, but it was true.

As I lay there in the porcelain tub, I stained my body with the blood of Gina.
I'd drained her with a
medical pump I'd stolen weeks before, and so, I lay there in all the quarts of
her blood. It smeared
my breasts, made my nipples a dark ruby red. I thought myself to be like the
Blood Countess;
perhaps I was bisexual in nature, and how I wanted to align myself with the
murders of more
victims.

--

When I returned, Papa was sitting in the parlor, drinking away at an expensive
bottle of
Chardonnay. His mouth was grazing the rim, lapping at it like it was a saucer
of milk. I often
compared him to be a kitten-like welp, and so, it was opportune to see him like
that. He hadn't
seen me, but I knew, that no matter how carefully I stepped, that he had heard
me.

"Eva, my pet," he said, "I was waiting for you."

Like the adolescent I was, I replied, "But Papa, you worry too much."

From birth I compared to Adonais, the failed, sorrowful experiment, and
transformed into the
beautiful Ligeia. And with age, I was becoming experienced. I was turning into
a new woman. I
could fuck a man with my ambition, and then mold him to suit my needs. I was a
psychic vampire,
and this, this I had gained from Mama.

But as the fire crackled, he stood up and began to waddle over towards me,
stumbling. I could
smell the stench of that faint whiskey on his breath. He wasn't one for that
type of alcohol, but that
wasn't stopping him. He rushed me and pinned me down, my coat becoming ripped
in the
struggle. Papa's weight shifted over my own.

"Papa, what is-- Papa, please stop!"

"No," he screams, wine spilling from his lips and into my mouth. "You've
embarrassed me for far
too long, mon amour. It's time you were due for a punishment."

In a fit of passion, of rage, Papa threw me down harder and took off his tie.
He sat me up quickly,
then struck me; blood welled in my mouth and as I was sinking in and out of
consciousness, he
wrapped his tie around my wrists. I struggled and cried out.

"Papa, please! I'm your daughter!"

He no longer cared. He unsheathed his overt prick from his robes, which had the
sight of pre-ejaculate
on its tip. I shuddered and shook. He was going to rape me, this I knew. He was
stinking
of alcoholism. He hadn't attempted this before, but now, I was the only female
in the house, the
only one whose womb he could claim as his own, as his flesh and blood.

Finally, I felt him. He spread my legs open and he imposed his prick inside of
me. It swelled
inside me, my walls clenching, desperate to try and get him out. He motioned
his hips at acute
angles, thrusting with hard pressure and seething hatred.

My breasts were moving up and down in a swift lunge. My flat nipples were
becoming erect, the
fascia beneath becoming cold. My pussy was warm and now permanently disgusted;
it suckled
him within, and my eyes were filling with tears. Papa pulled me up then and
balanced my weight
on his thighs. He pounded into me with an emotion of great hate. He then,
drunkenly, moved
closer and kissed me deep.

"Papa," I growled, my mouth burning from his, "I hate you; that you could do
this to me!"

"It's what you've made me become, my beautiful, little whore. You've become
like your mother.
She did the same thing to me, too, and she fucked her way into the world and
died like a
concubine. I'm sure you'll die the same way."

For the next five hours, my body became bruised. My labia, both the inner and
outer lips, became
swollen, bloodied; my cervix was aching. He'd hit me too, and there were
bruises all across my
jawline. Papa had been ruthless with me. He'd never came inside me, but he did
make me drink it
in; he made me take in his own semen.

He'd forced me to suckle on his phallus, to fondle his balls as he took his
pleasure of me. When
finally he passed out from the excessive alcohol, I deduced it was from
poisoning. He lay there in
front of the fireplace on his side, and I was his warmer. He was still inside
me, sleeping atop of my
chest. I was crying softly to distract myself.

--

Hours later, he retreated from me.

I, on the other hand, raced to my room and called Frederick.

"Frederick," I said, softly crying, "I need you. I need you to come as soon as
possible."

He mumbled into the receiver, "What happened now?"

It was hard for me to say anything. I couldn't find the strength to say the
words, and I felt the
receiver shaking in my hand. My eyes watered and my lips trembled.

Finally, I sputtered, "Papa raped me."

Frederick was quiet. He didn't say anything for a while. It frightened me, made
me angry and
worthless; I hoped he wouldn't change his mind about us, but now, I heard him
speak with ardent
concern.

"Eva, I will send Barney for you. He'll be sitting inside my car, right down
the block from your
house. If you can do it safely, sneak outside and reveal nothing to no one."

"No, you must come! I won't wait for your correspondent. I want you here,
Fred."

The reasons for my rape were due to my father's excessive drinking and
stupidity, and that
frightened me beyond all doubt and belief. I wanted Frederick here beside me to
show how we
were together, and how he was the one who had taken care of me the whole time.

"Eva..."

"Frederick, don't make me regret our relationship," was all I said.

For a moment, it was silent. A minute later, he spoke again before hanging up.
"Very well. I'll
come, but only as a concerned employer. He still can't know about us, do you
hear? If we're
discovered, we're both dead."

--

In the hour leading up to midnight, Frederick arrived and knocked on the door.
I looked outside
my window, and saw that he stood there in his awful, mid-grey twead suit, his
hair blown back
from the stormy wind. It was raining profusely, the rain beating and thunder
roaring; the lightning
flashed and as Papa opened the door.

"What are you doing here, Monsieur Chilton?"

I raced down the stairs and in nothing but my nightdress. It fluttered behind
me, the chiffon
sinking against my nudity. I gripped the mahogany railing ever so tightly.

"I'm here to take her to the hospital," Fred said, his face blank.
Papa scoffed. "Monsieur, it's nearly midnight."

What a fool-- he was under the impression that Fred meant the mental hospital,
but I knew what
he meant. Papa looked at me, then to Frederick, then back at me again. I hadn't
even needed to
stand close beside my lover, and he scented us immediately.
Papa lunged and struck Fred in the face. The weight of Frederick's mullet
swarmed around his
face, now wet from the rain. In anger, I ran over and wrapped my arms around
Papa's chest,
pulling him off. My nails tore into his flesh, which became red from slicing
deep down. Frederick
came after him too, and together, we threw him down. I struck Papa over and
over again, then
with all my rage, clawed at his face.

--

"Frederick, go to the kitchen, and grab me that fucking knife."

My veins were full of blood that boiled with wrath. The energy and adrenaline
mixed, my
hormones flowing with the need to kill again, but Fred stared at me blankly.

"Eva, are you serious?"

As I bound Papa to a chair, I used rope, soaked in kerosene, to make sure he
would not run. The
smell was strong, and just as beautiful as gasoline. I looked back to Fred and
said, "Obviously.
Now please, grab that knife and give it to me."

He was resistant. "You're mad, Eva! I ought to have you in my hospital as a
permanent inmate!"

I threw my head back and mockingly laughed at him. "So says the man who rapes
his sixteen-year-old
secretary!"

He seemed defensive of that statement. With a grim look on his face, his eye
twitched and he ran
into the kitchen, swiftly grabbing the knife. He passed it to me, but with the
blade facing forward.
I gripped the silver and slit my palm, blood flowing.

"Thank you, my love," I said.

And before Frederick could object, my hand switched the blade to the handle and
I ran the silver
across the middle of Papa's throat. Only, I didn't slice innocently. I began to
grind, began to
literally saw into the interior that was his cricothyroid muscle. I slit into
that, and heard how he
began to choke violently. I was so delighted with myself that I then traveled
down to mortally
wound his trachea.

In the darkness of the room, within the fine, sweet moonlight, the blood
appeared to be quite
black. Its viscous touch smeared my fingers and I smiled, grinning like a
female devil who
accomplished so much in so little time. Frederick, who stood there appalled,
still said nothing and
flashed me a look that he was about to vomit.

"Mad, you say? Oh, Frederick, my sweet innocent fuck," I said to him, "I'm just
getting warmed up."
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!