The Descent Ch. 01byfastfugue©
The house stood on a narrow tree-lined street fronting the canal - an anonymous doorway beside a cramped shop front which from the faded sign seemed once to have been a bakery. Now the window displayed half a dozen shoe boxes with perched on each a single confection of frail coloured leather. She crossed the cobbles and for a moment stared into the window. She found herself looking at a delicate platform with black woven straps. But she barely registered fact because somehow as she crossed the street she'd become aware without looking that the door to number 26 was open.
Now that she was here her sense of herself seemed to have deserted her. She was a shell. She could not begin to decide whether to go in or to turn back because the person who took these decisions, the thinking, reasoning part of her had gone. A wind was blowing from the direction of the railway bridge sending a scattering of dead leaves along the gutter. She felt the breeze go through her, as if her body was incapable of offering the slightest resistance to even this insubstantial movement of air.
So it was without volition that she turned aside, lifted her hand and entered 26 Rue de Sante.
It was dark in the hall. Plaster was peeling from the walls of what had once been an imposing entrance. A broad staircase rose in front of her, its steps littered with debris. She stood on the cold tiles and listened. Nothing. The house smelled of damp and neglect. To her left a door opened onto an empty room lit by a gap in the wooden shutters. A dusty chandelier hung drunkenly from the ceiling. Not there, she thought.
The street was just a step away. She had only to turn and make her way out into the daylight and it would be over. She could return to her hotel, pack, confirm her train reservation, and be back in the arms of her husband by morning. How simple that would be to accomplish. She could slip back into her familiar life and pick up where she had left off less than a week before. She opened her purse and looked inside, as if in search of something that might help her. But beyond a single 100 franc note, carefully folded, the purse was empty. Was she ready? Had she done what he asked of her? She ran through the written instructions he'd asked her to memorise to make sure. Yes, everything was as he wished. She closed the purse and headed towards the stairs.
The staircase delivered her to a broad landing which swung back on itself and led to a large room at the front of the building. Light poured in from four large windows overlooking the street. Like the rest of the house, the room was empty of furnishings except for a single discarded café chair which lay on it's side. He was standing by the window, smoking a cigarette. He must have watched her arrive. A big man. They had warned her of that. With a mane of silver hair whose unruly bulk fell onto the collar of his overcoat.
"Come in. Please."
He spoke without turning to look at her and blew a long spiral of smoke into the air. Then throwing aside his cigarette he ground it into the floorboards and faced her.
He looked at her carefully, and once again she felt the hollowness that had become so familiar over the last days invade her. She was sure he could sense the frailty in the image of herself she was struggling to present to him.
"I have other houses", he said. "But this one I keep as it is."
He gestured in the direction of a patch of brickwork that was showing through the damp plaster.
"It's good to be reminded of what lies underneath the civilised exterior don't you think?"
She could think of nothing to say to this – but it seemed that nothing was required because he went on with barely a pause.
"Let me tell you what you're thinking. You're here without quite knowing what has brought you. All you know is that you have seen a door that till now has been closed to you. And you feel that not to open it would be a betrayal of who you are, or who you could become. This is your chance to open that door. Am I right?"
"Very well. I think it's time you showed what you've brought me. Open your coat."
She had known this moment would come. If she obeyed him, any pretence that she was merely curious would evaporate. She would be condemned by her own complicity. From that moment on she would not be the person who had entered the room, the woman who had arrived in Paris only a few days before with a house and a future and a husband who loved her. She would be another. She knew all this. And yet she did not hesitate. She did as he asked and at once felt the cold air of the room on her skin.
She held her coat open so that he could look at her. Her breasts were uncovered. Below the coat she wore only the black lace pants and the stockings he had asked for.
She nodded, waiting for some words of approval, some acknowledgement that he was pleased with what he saw. But he simply went on speaking in his detached way.
"You are young. Your body is a stranger to you. You have lived with it for 20 years but you have not begun to understand. The body has a language of its own. This I think you suspect or you would not be here. You need someone to show you what that language is, whatever the cost, because you fear that not knowing will leave you incomplete. You believe I am a person who can show you. Is that true?"
"Good. Then now it is time to choose. In a moment I am going to ask if you wish to stay. You are of course free to leave here. If you decide to walk away no one will try to stop you. The door is still open. But understand this. If you stay, then you put yourself entirely in my hands. Whatever happens to you from then on will not be for you to decide. Is that absolutely clear?"
Her arms were beginning to tremble with the effort of holding the coat open, and the cold had touched her breasts so that her nipples stood out. The hollowness seemed to have concentrated somewhere in the pit of her stomach.
"I'm not accustomed to having to ask twice."
His voice hadn't changed but she caught the threatening edge.
"I understand", she said quickly
She was aware of her shaved lips beneath the lace, her legs planted on the cold floor. This was really her body in the coat and its strangeness seemed to confirm the truth of what he was saying.
"So. I'd like you to choose. Stay. Or go, and never come here again."
The hollowness was moving lower. He breathing was quick and shallow. The words emerged by themselves.
"I'd like to stay."
Now that it was said, she felt a great release, like a knot untying, and she knew then that in truth she had had no choice at all.
For a moment he said nothing. Then smiled in approval, turned, picked up the cane chair and set it firmly on its legs.
He sat down and looked at her.
At the sound of his voice a door opened and a second man entered the room. Much younger this time but powerful and broad shouldered. He strode into the room and stood next to her. The older man considered them both for a moment, then nodded.
It happened so quickly she was powerless to prevent it. The newcomer, Tozic, tipped her over and was between her legs before she realised what was happening. He didn't pause to take off her pants just pushed them aside and drove his stiff cock into her. The invasion was sudden and complete. She wouldn't have believed it was possible but somehow her body had played another of its tricks and she was ready to receive him. Lying on the hard floor, she could feel his cock moving inside her, bruising her shaved lips. And then - the impossible unfamiliarity of it, the surprise of her own wetness, the way she found herself reaching for him, matching his rhythm, all this gathered in her stirring her to revolt. No, this was wrong, this couldn't happen, she would be no part of this, not any more –
And then to her surprise, he withdrew, and in a moment her revolt collapsed. She realised her body had already betrayed her. At the instant of withdrawal it was not relief she felt but a sudden sharp pang of regret at her abrupt abandonment. Whatever her conscious mind was telling her, part of her wanted him, wanted the cock back inside her.
He moved quickly from between her legs, taking her head in his hands and turning it towards him where he knelt. And then her mouth was opening and taking him in and she could taste her own salty juices on him mixed with a sour taste that was entirely his own. All pretence of resistance was gone. She reached for him with her tongue as he drove into her. Now he tipped her head back and with long slow strokes began to go deeper. She gagged at first but then relaxed and felt the tip of his cock enter her throat. No one had done this to her before. He squeezed her nipples fiercely and used them to pull himself towards her, sliding ever deeper into her throat until she found her lips pressed against his pubic bone at every thrust. She gave herself up to it waiting for the hot spurt of semen. But then for the second time the man Tozic pulled out of her.
She struggled for breath, trying to understand what was happening to her. In his chair the man watched them expressionless. Tozic hadn't finished. Working quickly, like a man under orders, he turned her over, picked her up bodily and set her on all fours, then pulled her arms clear so that her head was on the cold tiles and the soft cheeks of her bottom raised in the air. He stripped aside the flimsy lace, dragging it down and over her legs. For a moment the material snagged on her heel. Suddenly she understood. Tozic wiped saliva from his lips and opening her cheeks rubbed it on the tight whorl of her anus. Then reached lower and smeared her with her own juices. When that was done he aimed the swollen head of his cock at the mark and began to lean into her.
Every muscle in her body closed against him. She cried out. But Tozic pressed on. She felt a sharp stinging slap on one cheek that made her catch her breath. Then another and in the confusion and swirl of her senses something released in her and she began to open. The head of Tozic's cock slipped beyond the outer ring of muscle and lodged there. She was breathing heavily now, dragging the air into her lungs with an animal sound that did not seem to belong to her. He'd stopped moving. He was no longer pushing at her, just waiting, as she held out against him. And then something gave way and she was open to him, more open than she had ever been, and leaning back into him and feeling his cock slide into her filling her completely. He began to move, slowly now, gliding into her bowels, taking her surrendered body and claiming it with each thrust of his cock. And she took him in gratefully, surrendering to him, until her body played one last trick on her and she began come, shuddering into orgasm and crying out.
For the last time Tozic pulled out. He turned her on her back. Then he was astride her, working his cock in his hand. She watched with extraordinary detachment as the swollen head emerged from his fist at each stroke, as his rhythm quickened, as the hot semen leaped from him onto her waiting breasts. She felt the warm liquid trickle across one nipple and into the gap between them. For just a moment she felt entirely and utterly at peace.
And then Tozic had gone and the man was watching her.
"You're mine now", he said getting up and offering her his hand.
She climbed unsteadily to her feet and allowed herself to be led to the chair.
"There will be a taxi waiting for you downstairs in ten minutes. I would advise you to rest until then. You will hear from me very soon."
He turned and walked out of the room, leaving her, still breathing heavily on the hard upright chair. She watched him turn as he reached the stairs, but he did not look back.
She was suddenly very cold. She wrapped the coat round her. Ten minutes, he'd said. She wasn't sure that would be enough. Her right leg had begun to shake uncontrollably.