The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) (8 page)

“I
know, pet,” Richard said to her, in the same tone she’d overhead him using earlier.
“But even though I’m home, it’s not a weekend for me. I’ve got to get my
computer running so that I can check the markets. I’ve already been off for a
whole day of travelling, you know?”

Daphne
nodded. She’d asked him to help her move something – she was worried about
Arthur’s back. Richard had been hiding in the room he’d announced was his study
all day. Neither of them had said anything about last night – or this morning.

“Fucking
real estate agents -- cable ethernet my ass –“ Richard cursed as she slowly
backed out the door.

She
returned to Arthur on the second floor. “I’m sorry –“

“Ma’am,
just let me help –“

“We’ll
get to it. There’s no rush. We’re not going anywhere. Let’s try it again
tomorrow – or hire some help from in town.” She thought of Jason with a flush.
“Maybe we could get Mr. Gale to come up?”

“We
could’ve – but I fear they’ve already left for the day. It seems they got an
early start.”

“I
think so,” she said, biting back a secret smile. “But if he says he’ll come up
later, it’s okay to leave it alone until then.”

“What
will you be doing for the rest of the day?” Arthur inquired politely.

A
string of curses echoed out from Richard’s study, and Daphne sighed.

“I
think I’ll be taking a walk outside.”

Daphne
let herself out the back and into the fallow vegetable garden. A few untamed
cabbage were bolting, sending up wide stalks of yellow flowers, trying to hold
onto their place against the surrounding weeds. She wondered how long she could
keep this pretense up – how long could she swallow her pride?

If
Richard would just stay home for a whole month, if he’d just fuck her once a
day, if he’d just loved her like she’d loved him before she knew about any of
this – she sat down on a bench and couldn’t help but draw a comparison between
herself and the garden in front of her, like so much perfectly tilled soil, her
womanhood was going to waste.

The
sun baked down on her – and then she felt an even more intense heat on her leg
in the shape of one hand.

She’d
almost forgotten about the ghost, between last night and hearing Richard this
morning.
He
still was here for her. No matter what –

“Oh
God,” she began to apologize, turning towards him. She thought she could feel
her shoulder brush his. “Things haven’t been how I planned at all. We don’t
love each other anymore, it’s clear, isn’t it?”

The
ghost didn’t say anything and didn’t move.

“It’s
just that I desperately want a child. And you can’t give me that – plus if I
leave him, I leave here. You don’t want that either, do you?”

The
hand on her leg squeezed it once.

“But
I know I’ve been awful. Luring you in and then him interrupting, and then you
watching me with him –“ She didn’t dare mention her time in the window at dawn.
“It’s just – ever since you opened me up – I’ve been flooded with all these
needs and wants and desires.” Daphne pursed her lips in thought. “I feel like I
don’t know who I am now. I know who I used to be, but I don’t want to be her
anymore.” As she said the words she started to cry. The ghost looped an arm
around her shoulders and pulled her close. Closing her eyes she leaned into him
without fear and it was like he was there, really holding her as she sobbed.

“Everything
is so hard. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle it.”

The
ghost held her, and then set her straight on the bench, and disappeared.

“Wait
– come back – don’t go –“ she didn’t want to be alone yet.

A
shadow was coming up – Richard? More likely Arthur, with tea. She wiped at her
eyes so he wouldn’t know she’d been crying, and turned and saw no one there.
She looked again at the shadow, stretched long by the angle of the sun. Was
that the man she was with right now? A sudden movement attracted her eyes – and
she saw a stick moving, held up in front of the wall of shrubs that shielded
the garden. A cane.

She’d
wondered aloud if she was strong – and so he’d gone and found a way to prove it
to her.

Daphne
swallowed and stood. It made all the sense in the world, and none at all, both
at the same time. But as the cane hovered in mid-air and the shadow neared, she
knew what must be done.

She
turned and grabbed hold of the back of the bench, bending over, presenting her
bottom to the Master. A hot hand pushed her skirt up to her waist, exposing her
ass to the sun. She was strong enough, she’d see, all she had to do was just
hold on –

The
first smack was an unexpected flash of pain. She didn’t know what she’d thought
it would feel like – she hadn’t thought at all – but she didn’t know how bad it
would sting. It hurt, it really hurt, there was so much pain she didn’t know
what to do with it, where all of it should go, and before she could figure it
out --

The
second stroke one sent her up on her toes, hissing, fingers clawed into the
back of the bench as she choked back more tears. Nerves just on the edge of
quieting stung her, furious with her for letting them get smacked not once but
twice –

And
then the third blow landed.

She
cried out, unable to help herself.

There
was the sound of running on gravel and the cane dropped and she pushed her
skirt back down, facing to see who had come to her rescue.

It
was Richard. With the sunlight behind him, he looked like a knight in shining
armor, and she felt ashamed about the painful streaks across her ass.

“I’m
okay,” she said, trying to allay him.

“The
market’s crashed in Paris. If I’m not there in person –“ he began, the second
he saw her.

He
kept talking as she tried to parse his words, blood rushing in her ears. He
hadn’t heard her cry out and come running – he hadn’t come out to rescue her.
He’d come out to tell her he had to leave, again. She was so dumbfounded by
this that she blurted out, “You can’t go.”

He
blinked and pulled back as though she’d slapped him. “I have to. The driver’s
on the way.”

“No.”
Her hands found the top button on her shirt-dress and undid it. “I’m your wife.”
Her hands sank to the second button, the third. “I need a baby, Richard. This
house – it’s too much for me, all alone.”

“I
swear, the second I get back, we’ll make one – we’ll make twins, if we have
to.” He was trying to make jokes, now that he realized how deadly serious she’d
become.

“I
want you now, Richard. I need you now. I need you to put me first.” She reached
the last of the buttons and let the shirt dress fall to the ground. If the sun
backlighting him turned him into a knight, then all of it on her exposed skin
now turned her into a glowing angel. She could see the indecision on his face,
how he fought with himself, the outline of his cock growing against his dress
pants.

“Pet,
I can’t. I barely have time to pack and print my tickets.” He crossed the space
to her though anyhow, grabbing her to him roughly, his hands groping her ass
where it still burned from the cane. “It’s only three days. I promise I'll fuck you the moment I return.”

She
didn’t say anything, she didn’t want to grant him permission, or even tell him
good-bye. He let go of her and, sensing her change, stalked off, to convince
himself he was doing the right thing no doubt. She waited until he was gone,
picked her dress back up to put it on, and found Arthur on her way inside the
house.

“Please
call Mr. Gale and see when he’ll be available next.”

“Of
course, Ma’am.”

The
caning hurt her for the rest of the day. Every time she sat she remembered it,
and there was no way to avoid sitting. Instead of reminding her how she’d been
strong and what she’d survived, the pain only echoed Richard’s betrayal. Off
again. For ‘business’. Of course.

Daphne
wandered down into his study, to where he’d set up his computer. She would
order pregnancy tests, in bulk. Spending his money vengefully was the only
thing she could do to hurt him.

The
second she was pregnant, she’d be free. And nine months later when she was
holding a baby – she would get a divorce. Keep the house, and keep the child,
and that would be that.

She
shook the mouse and the screen blinked to life. She was searching for the most
expensive shipping option when a small window popped up.

Beccababy93:
You
there?

The
cursor fluttered in time with her heartbeat.

Call
me?

Can’t,
Daphne typed
back, slowly.
Wife.

She
ruins everything :P

Daphne
puckered her lips, looking at the screen, trying to decide what precisely to do
next. A few short days ago she would have closed the screen and just stepped
away. But now – like a child who couldn’t stop playing with fire, she knew she
wanted their conversation to go on.
Not everything. She gives excellent
blowjobs.

You
said mine were better!
Low. Daphne squinted at the screen. She couldn’t
push too hard – but what would look better in divorce court than a transcript
of some woman recounting memories of her time with Richard?

I
did?
She
hit return. It was the kind of imperious thing Richard would say.
Remind me
which one? In particular. Use details.

A
long pause, in which Daphne feared she’d overplayed her hand.

Paris?
Or London?

Both,
Daphne typed,
and then sat back.

What
followed were fairly pedestrian narratives. Funny stories about getting caught
in the rain, hiding from a gendarme in a park, fate throwing them together – or
throwing her at his cock. Daphne watched the words scroll across the screen and
it felt like someone else was reading them, not her. She said nothing, which
only encouraged the other woman to go to greater lengths, perhaps fearing she
was losing her
dearest Richard
to the warm arms of his wife. Daphne
breathed in and out dispassionately as the woman finished up, and cut and paste
everything into a separate screen to print it off for later.

Is
everything okay?
BeccaBaby93
had nervously asked in ‘Richard’s’ absence.

Leave
her hanging? Write things out of spite? Tell her the truth? Pretend ‘Richard’
was getting called away?

The
moment hovered, stretching out uncomfortably long, and then the temperature in
the room jumped up around Daphne like someone had turned on a nearby oven. She
waved her hands around herself -- the ghost was near, not tangible yet, but
close by.

Everything’s
fine.
Keys
on the keyboard in front of her moved, soundlessly, and the letters the ghost
was typing appeared.

You
were so quiet
,
Becca typed back quickly.

My
hands were too busy to type.

Daphne
straightened and turned. Had he been reading over her shoulder? Had Becca’s
pathetic retelling of a blowjob turned him on? She flushed with anger and shame
– she couldn’t be losing out to Becca with the Master, too.

Tell
me what you’re going to do to me when you see me next,
Becca prompted.

Daphne
rolled her eyes.

Do
you really want to know?
the ghost typed back.

Yes.

Are
you sure?
the
ghost teased, after just the perfect amount of time passed. Daphne could
imagine Becca wriggling in her seat on the far end of the line, a worm caught
on a hook.

Yes!
Tell me!

You
want to see into the filthy blackness of my heart?

You
know I love it when you talk dirty.
Daphne almost felt bad for the girl
then, trying desperately to keep her husband – a man who clearly played with
women like dice – interested in her. And then Becca typed in some emoticon, a
smiley face with large innocently blinking eyes and Daphne wanted to swat the
monitor to the ground.
I hope the Master gives you what you deserve,
Daphne
thought, and pushed back from the keyboard.

The
ghost took this for the permission that it was, and words began to flood the
screen.

What
if I did more than talk?

What
if I really were dirty?

What
if there were things about me that I could never change? Things I’ve never
dared to show you? Things I’ve been dying to share?

Daphne
swallowed and leaned forward to read.

I
just bought a new estate. Imagine my surprise when I was unpacking our first
night and found a hidden door.

What
was behind it?
Becca
asked.

Shhh.
I’ll tell this story my own way, at my own pace.

Another
pregnant pause.

Just
for you.

I
opened up the door and walked down its stairs with a flashlight. There were
cobwebs and dust, and I knew that no one had been down there for a very, very
long time.

And
when I got to the bottom of the stair I looked around – there were things
there. Strange pieces of furniture, wood and metal, bound with dark leather. I
walked among them and stroked my hand along their smooth curves and knew what
they were for and felt…at peace. As though, despite the entire house being
mine, and having owned houses before this one, that I had at last truly come
home.

Daphne
crept to the end of her chair, imagining Becca mirroring her on the far side.

Do
you want to know what I would do to you there? If you were here? If my
troublesome wife weren’t in the way?

Daphne pursed
her lips at the word troublesome. No doubt that was how Richard thought of her,
and yet.

Yes,
Becca typed and the ghost continued.

I
would blindfold you first. Then I would take your hand and pull you to the
stairway I’d found and take you down the stairs, one by one by one. You would
have to trust me with the blindfold on. You’d have no choice.

I
could always take the blindfold off,
Becca typed.

But
you wouldn’t. If you take it off, the story would be over, wouldn’t it? And you
don’t want it to end yet, do you?

The cursor
blinked beside the question mark for a long while.
No.

Good.

Another pause,
as if ‘Richard’ were deciding whether or not to go on. Daphne knew her husband
was as straight as an arrow, and he’d never put a hand on her, during sex or
otherwise. She wondered if his relationship with this Becca were different…or
if Becca was stunned by the slightly dangerous turn this story was taking. If,
wherever it was that she was typing from now, she were turned on.

I
lead you down into the basement – no, not a basement, that’s not the right word
for it, though that’s what it is. It’s a dungeon. And it’s full of things that
haven’t been used in years…and I’m desperate for a chance to use them.

There’s
a table. Waist height. I take you over to it and push you down on it, and you
can feel its chill against the weight of your breasts as I tie your arms.

You
feel my hand against your back, stroking the softness of the skin I’m about to
mar, and you flinch, not knowing what will happen, only that you’re chained and
you can’t do anything to protect yourself against what’s coming next –

I
swat you, with a tease, open handed. The sound of it echoes in the small room,
the crisp sound of flesh on flesh. You shiver and whimper, a little scared, but
more turned on.

Shall
I spank you again, dearest?

Daphne
swallowed. The ghost was playing with Becca – and with her.

Yes.
Becca’s
response was tentative, but Daphne’s wasn’t. Daphne let her knees slide apart,
and started slowly moving her hand up her thigh.

A
torrent of words filled the screen. The ghost explained in intricate, daring,
detail what would happen to the kind of girls who left themselves blindfolded
in strange houses at night. Whatever fear or shame Daphne might have had fell
by the wayside as she read each delicious line – knowing he was writing it for
her. Becca’s presence was merely an afterthought – but knowing that she was
waiting on the far end, just as eager as she was for the next word, was a
strange turn on. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. Daphne’s fingers were
circling her clit through her underwear, in turns rough and soft, and her
breathing was coming out in shallow pants and she was holding onto the chair
with her freehand because she might fall over if she let go – she was so close,
her toes were pointed, her calves tight, as she imagined herself tied to the
table, as the Master’s cock started to slide in and out – she bit back a moan
and rubbed herself harder.

Words
flared on Becca’s side.
Husband home! GTG!

There
was an excruciating pause where Daphne kept her heat up, willing the ghost to
go on with his story –

We
HAVE to do this again,
Becca typed, before logging off.

“Please
–“ Daphne begged in real life. “Tell me the end.”

The
sensation of heat, outside and within, began to fade.

“No
– I’m so close – please –“

The
screen went black, and Daphne sagged back against the chair, sitting in a pool
of her own desires and frustration.

Daphne
spent the rest of the evening before dinner looking for the door. She had no
doubt that it existed – the ghost described it too perfectly for that. But how
to get there from here? That was the question. She began her inquiries on the
upper wing of the other floor.

She
traced her hand around floorboards, underneath the massive bed left behind, and
against the back walls of closets, knocking, listening for hollow points.

The
house was so complicated and so old though – there could be twenty hidden
passageways – the whole thing could be like an episode of Scoobie Doo, and she
wouldn’t know until she tripped into the right wall sconce.

During
all of her searches, she knew the ghost was near. Watching her. Feeding off her
hope and her frustration, probably laughing to himself at her grasping blindly
at anything that could get her back to that table and his cock.

“This
is epically unfair,” she complained alound, after searching the last room. She
thought she heard him chuckle from beside her – and then Arthur ring for
dinner.

“Arthur
–“ she asked by the third course, “Do you know of any secret passageways? Or
rooms?”

Arthur
seemed taken aback by the question. “No, Ma’am. Have you found one?”

“Oh,
no.” She let her voice drift off. “I was just thinking. A big house like this has
to have two or three.”

“They
used to put them in on purpose in the old days, so that you wouldn’t have to
see the servants scurrying about.”

“Really?”

“Well,
and to hide treasures. In the old days, it was also hard to count on banks.”

Daphne
grinned at the old man with affection. “I think you’re pulling my leg.”

“Scout’s
honor, Ma’am,” he said, grinning back, and picking up her plate. “I called Mr.
Gale. He’ll come by after work tomorrow. Seemed very pleased to get the chance
to help us with the dresser.”

“And
I’ll be pleased to finally have it moved. Thank you Arthur.”

“You’re
welcome. Anything else?”

“Nothing
at all.”

“See
you for breakfast then, Ma’am,” Arthur said, and left with a bow.

Daphne
sat at the table a while longer, listening to Arthur and Mrs. Dudley leave. The
Master had been taunting her all day, and now it was his turn to be taunted,
just a little bit. He couldn’t know what it was that she’d do, not one hundred
percent – he could only hope that she’d do it.

Daphne
took herself on a tour of the house, intoxicated by the idea of what would
happen if she let it, trying to stretch the anticipation out. Feeling regal,
she looked around each room with a future eye – how new paintings would be commissioned
and hung, new rugs rolled out, vast arrangements of flowers, the statues
displayed like the works of art they were, always keeping a feel for the pulse
of the house’s original grandeur and majesty. She would restore it to its glory
days, and it would love her for it, it would love her, and it would love her
baby.

She
made her way up to where her nursery would be and imagined a crib with a lazy
mobile circling above it -- and then went into the green room, where she’d left
the picture of the horse-girl. Daphne stared down at it. Had she been raised
her whole life here? How lucky she had been, and how profoundly sad her ending.

Just
as Daphne lowered the photo she thought she saw a figure behind the girl in it.
She blinked and squinted. Had it been there before? Was it there now? She
wavered, trying to bring things into focus again, and then realized it was time
to stop fighting what she wanted.

In
less than twenty glorious feet she was back in her bedroom again.

Daphne
undressed carelessly, dropping her skirt and shirt to the floor, leaving only
her underwear and bra on. Then she rummaged in her closet until she found a
scarf. It was sheer, but if she tied it twice, it would do.

Sitting
on the edge of the bed, she lassoed it and knotted it behind her, so that it
covered her eyes. And then deliberately she swung both her legs up and lay atop
her mattress, arms crossed on her chest as if she were dead.

The
only question was how long would he make her wait? They’d been teasing each
other since this afternoon, first his making her search, and then her taking
her time, each pretending that they were fighting ending up right here…and yet
here she was.

So
where was he? Daphne licked her lips, a little nervous – and then felt a hot
hand on her arm.

Hands
trailed slowly over her body, enveloping her in his heat for long enough that
she felt chilled when they were gone. She wished he were a blanket, that she
could pull him over him and feel safe in him – but that wasn’t their kind of
relationship. She had safe with Richard, and what had it gotten her? Taken for
granted and cheated on.

Better
yet that she be with someone dangerous, someone who kept her on her toes.
Someone that she couldn’t let her guard down around so that when she finally
gave in it felt so much sweeter.

The
hands finally paused over her hands, taking them up, pulling her to seated, then
to standing as she let them.

Her
heart started beating in her throat. This was really happening. The things
she’d seen him threaten Becca with were promises for her. There would be a
door, a table, chains, and – she paused in exhilarating fear and felt him near
behind her, prodding her forward with his erection – and let out a gasp, and
thought she could feel-hear the ghost rumble, like distant thunder.

He
spun her in several directions, and then moved to lead her, just as he’d typed,
through a door and down a stair. She followed, bare feet on cold stone, down
and down, her clit thudding between her legs with each step, her hips aching,
need unresolved since this afternoon sparking into something sharper and more
hungry.

The
ghost paused and she paused, and she was dying to take off her blindfold and
look around. But then where would she be? And he might not deign to fuck her
after that. He was in control – always had been. And she…she needed to be
fucked. In such a brutal, primal way.

The
ghost pulled her forward again, until she felt something cold and curved across
her hips. It gave a little, which was good, because the ghost grabbed a hand into
her hair and brought her bending over it. Cushioned leather? She had just long
enough to make a guess, before her hands were pulled down – and chains attached
them to her ankles.

Daphne
fought after this. She wondered why she was fighting – why she hadn’t fought
seconds earlier when she could have gotten away, and why it was important that
she was fighting now, when she absolutely could not. Was she fighting for
herself, or for him, or just to fight? Just to be forced to admit that she
couldn’t get free, that she’d invited this upon her own fool self? Or because
she needed to make sure the chains were tight to show herself that in his
twisted way he wanted her, needed her, so much so that he made sure she
couldn’t run?

The
chains rattled and she knew no one would hear them or her, panting awkwardly,
blood rushing to her head, feeling dizzy and out of control before he’d even
begun, knowing that her ass was stuck up in the air. And when she was done
panicking, when the exhilaration of being trapped had begun to ever so slightly
curdle with a hint of fear, he started.

His
hands were hot again, on her, pawing her back roughly, massaging the muscles
that her awkward position pulled. He took hold of her ass and thighs like she
were a piece of meat, kneading her with strong fingers, feeling the tension on her that this position caused.

Daphne
yanked on the chains again, and then she stilled. The only sound in the room
was the sound of her panting breath, the cushion caught up in her stomach and
under her ribs so she couldn’t fully breathe.