Page 45 of Lizbeth's Lesbian Collection

I don’t like their easy mockery, the fact that they appear to know things I don’t know.

“Sit,” Rozelle repeats.

I obey her, though I distrust her.

“You have the madness down pat,” she tells me.

“What madness?” I ask. I’m bewildered, not just by these women, but by the whole curious aura of this morning. Everything is like a dream, or a nightmare. I’m not sure right now what’s real, what’s not. My head is pounding as if I’ve been drugged and am coming off of a bad trip. And yet, I remember last night with acute clarity—far more clarity than when it actually happened. I see the women, recognizing each one in this dining room as they’re pleasantly clanking forks and glassware. I could relive the vibrant orgasmic gyrations right atop these tables. The screams, the cries, the mellow and the harsh. Maybe Rozelle is right. Maybe I’m mad.

“I have to go,” I excuse myself. Rozelle still takes liberties with me, even as I’m retreating from her table. It makes no matter that she’s practically bared my ass for the dining room. I’m feeling like a harlot in a den of whores. My body belongs to them as if they own me, and I’m no longer in charge of me.

Still, I’m sure I’m forgotten as soon as I disappear beyond the doors.

Without thinking I’m moving toward the cellar. It surprises me that the door is standing open. I hear voices below, but they don’t dissuade me. I’m sure it’s Tasia. Even a confrontation with her doesn’t matter. I’ve already done the damage. It’s just time to clean up the mess. Whether she does it, or I do, it doesn’t matter.

I move cautiously to the bottom of the stairs, and stand to one side to see Tasia in the torch lit chapel hovering over the bound Analise.

“I’m surprised she didn’t beat you too,” Tasia tells the whimpering waif. I wonder why the girl cries. Tasia paces from one end of the stone table to the other, snapping her baton against the air. It lands nowhere.

“You wanted to play in my world, child. I told you it would be too much for you, especially when you set your sights on Miss Cassidy. I’m surprised she’s been so easy on you. You can take heart in that. Your innocence, or the appearance of it, obviously engendered her sympathy. Now she has you spent, what do you suppose she’ll do with you as hollow as you are?”

I listen, surprised to hear Tasia discuss Analise’s hollowness with such frank words. She seems almost as dismayed with her treacherous innocence as I am.

I hear the baton sizzle in the air and come landing down on the girl’s behind. There is a snap when it hits, and an instantaneous red mark, punctuated by a passionate howl. Anastasia hits her again and again. I see the whirring instrument make a half dozen initial cuts, and then another half dozen lines on that pure white skin, until it’s white no more.

Analise sobs. I try to feel some sympathy, but mine’s spent. I think what it might be like if I had been whipping her, but for reasons beyond my understanding it seems more appropriate that her other lover deliver the well-earned blows.

For the first time, there’s some real woe in the waif girl’s eyes. I can see that she’s spotted me hiding in the shadows. Perhaps she hoped I’d be here to see this scene, it would fit her sense of thrill. She gazes at me absently, not even pleading for my sympathy, as Tasia slows the rain of blows on her ass. When Tasia finishes, she massages the girl’s burning posterior with firm grasps to her well marked rear. The kneading hurts her too, but it appears to be part of the punishment, no different than the cane.

“She does what I cannot do for you, Ana,” the mistress says softly. Some bittersweet melancholy sweeps me away. There’s a tenderness between them, born of something I have no knowledge of, something that predates my appearance in their lives. “You’ll have to take care of yourself now, you’re on your own. You wanted out of my lair, so now you’ve done it. I might beat your ass again for disobedience, but there’s little more I can do for you. Protect you? Never. You defy everything I expected of you.”

“You’ll send me away,” she murmurs.

“No,” Tasia says emotionless. “I can’t do that, our relationship prohibits that. But let me warn you, your lover is going to come to you and tell you the same things I’m telling you. She will dispense with you coldly. Just remember, I warned you about her, even when you insisted. Try not to be hurt by this; remember, you asked for it.”

The girl lies silently, tightly tied, with a well whipped bottom. If I could find some kind of sympathy in me, I would. But even as I try to whip up some pity, I wonder that Tasia has spoken of me the way she has, and why? How would she know beforehand what I’d do when I didn’t know myself?

I step back into the shadows beyond the staircase as I realize that Tasia is leaving Analise for me. She’s not a brutal woman, at least the expression on her face is sadder more than it’s cruel right now. Perhaps she’s wreaked such cruelty that she’s finally spent, if that’s possible. For some very odd reason I feel sorry for Tasia. Whatever story is written between these two women has come to a sad end. I know I’ve been instrumental in the ending, but I’m not the cause. This was always Analise’s battle. She initiated it and I merely replied. Though I played her dominant well, I was as submissive to her as she became to me.

I wait until I hear the cellar door close. Moving out of hiding, I approach the gently sobbing girl.

“Tasia finished for me,” I tell her, rubbing her burning ass with my hand. “Shall I take you again?” I ask, as I push her to her knees, so her ass spreads widely for my probing hand.

“I’d submit to anything you give me,” she says.

I know she will, but I have no stomach or even inspiration for anything else with her. And strangely, I’m feeling exceedingly sympathetic to her, when I vowed I never would.

“Your ass is raw,” I comment, seeing beads of blood, similar to Peach’s. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” she replies. “But I like the hurt. When I hurt, I feel.”

“You want me to beat you more?” I ask.

“I want you to do whatever you want,” she says. There’s almost a hopeful tone in her voice. But it’s too late for anything more between us. She’ll have to go on without me. And I have no doubt she will, as soon as she recuperates from whatever grief she feels over leaving Tasia. She won’t grieve me, but she will the loss of that woman.

“Did you feel your spooks around you, Analise,” I ask her. I remember the way she talked of such a night in bondage as if it was to be some divine experience.