Irena's Shadow

"No, I'm not too tired."

"Well come along, then." Soto led her back down the way they had come until they came to a staircase. When they reached the bottom, Soto flipped a switch on the wall and the massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling flared into life.

The basement was large and open, and was done all in shades of black and silver. The walls were paneled in the darkest wood Irena had ever seen, and the carpet was an ethereal shade of grey. A well-stocked bar stretched along the far wall, and three elegant black leather sofas surrounded a large, glass topped coffee table in the middle of the room. The chandelier was made of unadorned black iron and reminded her of something that could have been found in a medieval castle. The most striking features of the room, however, were the works of art lining the walls. Irena walked over to the nearest piece. It was an oil painting of a fair young woman, naked save for a white cloth draped around her thighs. A shadow, shaped vaguely like a man loomed behind her, seeming to reach out for her. The woman's face held a mixture of terror and anticipation, and her arms were raised almost as if she was about to embrace the shadow behind her.

"Do you like it?" asked Soto. Irena jumped. He was very close to her, so close that she could smell the musty scent of his cologne.

"Not really."

"Why is that?"

"I don't really understand it. The girl looks terrified, but she reaches out anyway. The image is...frightening."

"True, but in my opinion, the beauty of the painting is that the girl reaches out despite her fear." Irena didn't really know what to say, so she shrugged and walked over to stand in front of the next painting. It featured the same woman as before, but this time she was actually clinging to the shadow. Irena was about to ask Soto who the painter was when his cell phone began to ring. He sighed and took the phone from his breast pocket.

"You will have to excuse me for a moment. Business." He turned and walked back up the stairs, flipping the phone open as he went. Irena stood alone in the basement, wondering how long he would be gone. She decided to go inspect the rest of the paintings until he returned.

Every painting in the room featured the same fair woman and the man-shaped shadow. They seemed to progress chronologically along the wall, and many of the later ones seemed to feature the woman copulating with the shadow, her face torn between ecstasy and terror. They were making Irena nervous.

When she finally reached the last painting on the opposite side of the room, the girl was sleeping peacefully in the arms of the shadow which looked as if it was stroking her hair. Next to this last painting was a large door, slightly ajar. Unlike the other doors in the house, this one was rounded at the top and studded with wrought iron nails. It looked like something that belonged in a medieval fortress. Curious, Irena pushed the door open and peered into the room. It was very large and there seemed to be chains hanging from the ceiling beams. She stepped forward a bit, so that she stood just beyond the threshold. In the light that spilled through the door she could just make out the silhouette of a large St. Andrew's cross on the wall.

"I'm back, Irena," said Soto from behind her.

Irena jumped back into the lounge as if the floor had burned her and a scarlet blush roared into her face. What had she just seen? Did Soto have some kind of torture chamber down here? Was it some sort of museum, or did he actually use it? She began to splutter an explanation of why she had been in the room, but Soto only smiled at her discomfiture, and she trailed off into silence.

"I think it's time that we go back upstairs," he said. He led her back up to the main floor and then through the mansion's many twisting corridors until they stood in front of the door to Irena's rooms. They stood in silence, Irena staring at the floor.

"Goodnight Irena," said Soto after what for Irena were several awkward moments. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, lingering for just a moment longer than was necessary. Then he was gone, leaving behind only the lingering heat of his kiss.

Irena slept badly that night. She couldn't make herself comfortable in the enormous canopied bed, and every time she began to drift off, images of the torture chamber would flash across her eyes. Then all of her fears would begin ganging up on her again until she felt like screaming. It was close to four o'clock in the morning before her mind finally exhausted itself and allowed her to rest.

After that first day in Soto's house, Irena's life fell into a predictable pattern. She spent her days wandering the house, lounging in the gardens in fine weather, or exploring the library. It was still hard for her to believe, however, that she was never going to see her old home again or that she would never be attending a university as she had been planning to do for half of her life. At times, Irena almost hated Soto for taking her away from everything familiar, but then she would think of her father and rage would bubble to the surface. She was better off never having to see that bastard again.

Sometimes, she would worry about Soto's intentions towards her. He didn't grope or threaten her in any way, but she couldn't forget the way he had kissed her hand, or the way he had looked at her in her father's house. And for some reason, she couldn't get that basement torture chamber out of her mind. Something about that dark room had struck her, and after awhile, Irena found herself dreaming not of home or of her father, but of that St. Andrew's cross. She would awaken from these dreams sweating and hot, but unable to say what exactly it was about them that so affected her.

Her dinners with Soto became far less awkward, and she began to piece together Soto's history from bits of information gleaned from their mealtime conversations. Her guardian's full name Antonio Eduardo Soto and he was a self-made man, raised in a Spanish orphanage until the age of sixteen, when struck out on his own to build a fortune. He succeeded after only a decade, and had gone on to become one of the most powerful men in the world. Irena was puzzled that she had never heard of him before. He was some kind of businessman, although she was not able to find out precisely what he did.

And although he was always courteous, Irena couldn't ignore the way that Soto looked at her. Sometimes when she looked up from her plate at dinner, she would find that he was staring at her almost hungrily, his eyes narrowed and smoldering. The intensity of his gaze at those times always made her very nervous. He reminded her at times of a great cat, one that wondered what she tasted like.

**********

Several months after she had come to live with Soto, Irena fell asleep in the library and woke up to find that she was twenty minutes late for dinner. She jumped up and raced towards the dining room, now able to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of the estate with ease. When she got to the dining room, however, Soto was not there. She went over to the empty table and took a seat at her usual side, wondering if he had gotten fed up waiting for her. Strangely, the thought upset her.

A waiter entered from the kitchen. "Is Mr. Soto not coming?" Irena asked, hoping that she didn't sound too disappointed.

"I'm afraid not, miss," said the waiter, unloading his tray. "He told me to convey his apologies, but he has been detained this evening and would like you to dine without him."

"Oh."

"If you have need of anything, please don't hesitate to call. I will be in the kitchen."

"Thank you," Irena said, and the waiter inclined his head to her before disappearing into the kitchen. It was strange for her to eat alone. The enormous dining room seemed very empty, and she kept darting glances at the corners, as if she expected to find someone watching her from the shadows. She ate as quickly as she could and left the dining room as soon as she finished, feeling oddly depressed at missing out on Soto's company. On the long trek back up to her rooms, Irena wondered what it was that had kept him.

She spent the hour after dinner in her sitting room reading a book she had borrowed from the library and trying to ignore how upset she had been by Soto's absence. About halfway though the fourth chapter, her eyelids began to feel heavy and she put the book down on the table. I'll just shut my eyes for a moment, she thought. Then I'll get up and go to bed...

She was in a huge stone dungeon. Everything was lit by flickering torches, and the unsteady light cast strange shadows on the walls. A large, gleaming St. Andrews cross stood against one wall and Irena walked towards it, realizing as she did that it was the same cross that she had glimpsed in Soto's basement. Up close, she could make out the grain of the wood and see the black iron shackles adorning each point of the cross. On impulse, she reached up and slid one of her hands into a top shackle, which clicked shut all by itself. The dry click of the lock excited her, and she placed her other arm in the remaining shackle, which promptly locked itself on her wrist.

Irena flexed her arms against the shackles and was pleased when they didn't even budge. A small sound drew her attention to the other side of the dungeon, and she saw that some of the dancing shadows cast by the torches had come together to form the silhouette of a man. The first prickles of fear began when the shadow began moving towards her. She pulled against the shackles but they were ratcheted tightly shut. When the shadow reached her, Irena was on the verge of tears. She wanted to get away, but she couldn't, and now this thing was going to hurt her.

The shadow reached out its dark hand and she braced herself for a blow, but it didn't come. Instead, fingers like clouds made solid brushed her cheek. Then they ran down her throat and chest, over her breasts and belly and finally to her sex, which Irena suddenly realized had become inexplicably wet. For a moment the shadow only cupped her, but then it slipped one of its fingers inside of her... followed by a second...and a third...and then suddenly the shadow's human form dissolved. It became a great cone of swirling black mist, and slowly, slowly it began to push its way inside of Irena's sex. She screamed over and over again, as the blackness invaded her, panic ravaging her, but at the same time a feeling of enormous heat descended over her.

As the shadow fed slowly inside of her, became a part of her, she began to feel as if she was being stroked all over by a thousand invisible hands and kissed by a thousand invisible mouths. Her head lolled back against the wall, but just as her limbs began to go weak, a new sensation joined the pleasure. Irena looked down to see a whip made of the same material as the shadow figure floating in mid-air before her. As she watched, it brought itself down on her flesh with a dull crack and she whimpered at the delicious heat of that followed the sting. The heat rolled through her, and Irena began to whimper in helpless pleasure as the darkness invaded her mind and body, and the whip bit into her skin. It was all too much. One person couldn't feel so many things at once. She would die...

Irena awoke to a hoarse screaming which she realized was coming from her own throat. She also realized that she was coming, and that it was the orgasm which had awakened her. She gripped the cushions of the couch and squeezed her legs together, willing the spasms to stop, but her body wasn't having any of it. Irena had to wait almost a full minute for the last shudder to dissipate. When it was over, she collapsed against the cushions and closed her eyes, concentrating on returning her breathing to a normal rate. Then she rose from the couch, every limb trembling, and stumbled to the bathroom.

That had been the most vivid dream she'd ever experienced. The terror and the ecstasy, the pain, the pleasure, all of it had been real. She'd never had an orgasm in a dream before that she could remember, and the sensation was disturbing. It was as if she'd had no control over her own body. Irena looked at her pale face in the bathroom mirror and rubbed at her temples, trying to clear her head. She could still recall every detail of the dream, from the sound the shackle had made when it clicked shut, to the feeling of the shadow's fingers against her flesh. It had been inside of her. In the dream she had been terrified, but she had also been aroused, and then she had come, come so hard that the convulsions had awoken her. What the hell was wrong with her? No one should have dreams like that. Freud would have had a field day with this one.

Irena gave her face a splash of icy water from the sink and then went into her bedroom. The clock on the nightstand said 12:05 am, and she knew that she should try to go back to sleep, but what if the dream came back? She'd been having dreams about the St. Andrew's cross for awhile, but none of them had ever done this to her. What if she had to face that shadow thing again? A shudder tore through her, and Irena ran a hand distractedly through her hair. The problem was, she thought, that she half-wished the dreamwould come back. The experience had been frightening, but at the same time it had been...well, exhilarating.

A small voice in the back of her head spoke up. Why don't you go to the basement and look at that cross you saw in Soto's basement? Maybe if you touch it, you'll be able to prove to yourself that it was just a dream.

Yes, that's what she'd do. She would have a quick peek into the dungeon, inspect the cross, and then come back to bed. Irena padded to the hall door, giving a sigh of relief when it opened soundlessly, and she slipped through it, careful not to make any noise. She crept through the moonlit corridors, being especially cautious when she passed the locked door to Soto's private rooms. A board might have squeaked when she passed them, but maybe it had just been her imagination. Shaking off a momentary desire to flee back to her rooms, Irena continued on, finally reaching the basement door and easing it open. She made her way carefully down the dark staircase, and then felt for a light switch. She flicked the first one her hand encountered and was relieved when a floor lamp burst into life rather than the enormous chandelier hanging overhead.

The basement lounge looked strange in the dim light cast by the lamp. The furniture made looming shadows on the walls and ceiling, and Irena had to repress a shudder as she remembered her dream. She felt like a child again, where ever shadow on the wall might be a ghost. Forcing her gaze from the lounge, Irena turned her attention towards the large medieval door set into the far wall.

Taking a deep breath, she walked to the door and pulled the latch. The oiled iron slid back easily, and a part of her was surprised that Soto had left the door unlocked. She opened the door wide enough that the light from the lounge cast some illumination over the dark interior of the dungeon, and then stepped inside. The dungeon was larger than Irena had thought it to be, and the air in the room was thick with the smells of oil, leather, and wood. There was a small door on the far side, and a large assortment of very strange furniture filled the interior. On one side, stood a huge wooden wheel bedecked with leather cuffs. A few feet away was a rough wooden bench, and in the middle of the room stood a high, padded table like one might see in a doctor's office. This one, however, was made of carved wood and padded with red leather, with leather cuffs attached to the corners. Irena looked around for the object of her dreams and was surprised to see that not one, but two St. Andrew's crosses stood against the west wall.

The ceiling was criss-crossed by thick wooden beams, and from them hung a variety of chains, shackles, hooks, ropes, and pulleys. The north wall was taken up with a row of wooden cabinets and several long shelves whose contents Irena couldn't make out in the diluted light from the lamp. The remaining wall space was almost completely covered by small hooks, from which hung whips, canes, paddles, floggers, straps, and crops of every description. Irena wondered for a moment if she was still dreaming. Never had she thought that Soto's dungeon would contain such a variety of instruments. They seemed to wink at her in the dimness, to whisper to her of the ecstasy they could provide. Irena shook her head to clear it. What was she thinking? She took a few tentative steps forward and reached to touch a long bullwhip, which looked uncomfortably like the one in her dream.

The leather was cool and smooth beneath her fingers, and Irena lifted the whip from its hook to weigh it in her hands. What would it feel like to have this whip crack across her back? In her minds eye, she saw herself kneeling on the ground in supplication, naked and pleading as a remorseless hand brought the whip down on her over and over again. She shivered and hastily replaced the whip on its hook. She shouldn't be thinking like this.

Irena stood there for a moment, debating whether or not she should just go back to bed, when her attention was caught once more by the two crosses standing side by side against the wall. She walked over to them, stopping a few feet away from the nearest one as if it would burn her if she got too close. She took a few halting steps forward and cautiously laid both of her hands against the varnished wood of the cross. She traced the grain with her palms, moving from one arm of the cross to the other, and little tingles radiated throughout her body. She remembered how she had been shackled to one of these crosses in her dream, and for a moment she was tempted to slip a hand into one of the leather cuffs adorning cross's points.

Irena shook herself. She shouldn't be down here. This had been a bad idea. Far from lessening the power of the dream, seeing this room again had made it seem even more real. If she didn't get out of here soon, she might do something she would regret. Irena realized then that her hands were still stroking the cross, and she jerked away, stumbling backwards a few steps before regaining her balance. She took a deep breath and then turned towards the door, catching a flicker of movement from the basement out of the corner of her eye. She froze, her heart beating wildly in her chest, and then forced herself to walk forward. She scanned the darkened basement for any sign of life, but saw nothing. She had been mistaken; it had just been the lingering influence of the dream causing her to see movement in the shadows. Forcing herself to calm down, Irena carefully closed the dungeon door and began a silent trek back to her rooms, more troubled now than she had been before.

**********

More weeks passed, gradually spinning away into months, but for Irena, something had changed. The dream had altered her somehow. She had begun dreaming of the shadow and the dungeon several times a week, and she would almost always be awakened by a shuddering climax that shook her to the very core. Sometimes, she would sneak down to the basement torture chamber in the middle of the night just to look at the crosses and the instruments of pain on the walls. She would wonder what they might feel like on her skin and a part of her would wish that there was a way to find out. Irena was deeply ashamed of herself for entertaining such dark fantasies, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

The restless nights began to tell upon her. Her skin grew paler, and dark circles ringed her blue eyes. She laughed less often and her appetite began to diminish. Soto had begun to look at her with concern over their evening meals, and although he restrained himself from mentioning her exhausted appearance for several weeks, he finally brought it up during dinner one night.