tagBDSMAfflictions of Unruly Passion Ch. 08

Afflictions of Unruly Passion Ch. 08



Valentine dreamt. She was a young woman, eighteen again. No longer cooperative with her mother's machinations, but no less gawped at everywhere she went, baring scandalous stretches of leg, flouncing her curls, daring to walk into a roomful of men unchaperoned. Every step screamed "HERE I AM!" Every word declared "I AM YOUR DESIRE." She was a one-woman parade, attracting the crowds with her brightness and defiance. Valentine looked around at her spectators, daring them wordlessly to come at her, defile her, violate her. The crowd on all sides were the faces of men her mother had dragged into the house to see her, the exotic menagerie inmate. They seethed at invisible barriers, hungering, lusting for her exquisite flesh. She stood amidst them, waiting. Serene patience accompanied her smile, for she knew the sea would rise and carry a tide of pure brutality over her body. The throngs of men heaved, coloured in black, grey and white, and she was all blood and gold and cream in the dead centre of their pitching figures.

A beam shone down upon her radiance, and she did what only she would do, and began to slowly- tauntingly- remove her gown. The material vanished under her fingers as she drew it away from her wispy under-things, and it left her a brazen statue of pure-milk marble, all heaving bosom and bare ankles. The hollow vacant faces stared, drawn to her brightness; their numbers frothed upward to spill over the bubble of her space- and they crashed into the gap, filling it, drowning her immediately in their grasping, greedy need. Valentine laughed. It was the only sound she could hear, above the sound of her clothes and corset tearing, above the sounds of voices groaning as they filled every orifice, filled her soul. Even her own squelching flesh was drowned by the sound of laughter, rich and reverberating from her very core. She could taste and feel everything- smell and see men pawing her body, men, thrusting between her legs, at her lips- yet through all she laughed, somehow clear, unfettered, insane.

A thousand men's seed coated her, was planted deep within, a thousand organs giving up their issue with every plunge into her sweet holes, and she merely waited. The pressure of her strange delight grew, and she absorbed all of their spunk, all of the clumsy thrusting and groping, and doubled it back upon herself. Valentine tremoured with orgasm, finding pure unabashed pleasure in this most momentous violation, and grew. As she took in their wayward fertilization, she blossomed, shot up- regrew her gown in fragrant petals, and came to tower above them, a goddess unchained and free at last. She laughed, and the entire space shook with it. Her feet, reshod in heeled boots of black lace, came down and crushed the bodies below her, all their details lost with her size. She splattered them like bugs, gleeful and unfeeling. Where they were all without chroma before, now they burst into red slime, and soon she'd trampled them all, and paused in her laughter, breathless. Enjoyment of the sport ebbed. She stood alone, a goddess with no worthy believers, a woman with no worthy match. Valentine cried, pouring great salt tears upon the mess of blood and crushed bodies, and a sea of her pain washed away the muck and left her standing in a puddle.

Alone, in a naked room. No one to quench her, to keep her strong. Valentine hunched forward.

A pair of warm hands and warm arms wound her waist and her shoulders. They were not grasping or clumsy, and though she was a giantess in the ruins of a thousand mortal men, the arms matched her size. She turned and found the welcoming body of a new man, one that gave a magnanimous smile and offered himself, nude and open. She opened her own embrace and welcomed him, and found unity achingly lovely within. Another climax rocked through her loins, yet it was not made of one, but two, and Valentine knew she would never be lonely again. One man to keep her from self-destruction. One to bring her to the greatest heights of pleasure she could know.

Valentine awoke. She was groggy, head spinning with the images conjured up by her very odd subconscious. Before she even reached down to find out, she felt how wet she was between the legs. Her pussy, just satisfied the day before, was in full-force heat. Valentine groaned and threw an arm over her forehead. Her Master was not yet present, so she stumbled from her bed and poured herself a glass of the tepid water standing in a clean pitcher and drank it down. The climaxes in her dream still echoed in her loins, and the desperate wanting there cried for satiety. There was no helping it; the girl stripped all clothing and sank herself back onto the cot. She spread her legs and dabbled her fingers into the fount of her wetness. It was plentiful. She brought those fingers to her nipples, rolling the pebble-points with her own lubrication. She tensed, sucking air into her lungs. She added more of the liquid to her areolas and nipples and allowed them to perk and cool in the air. Her right hand crept down to her clitoris, and she started to stroke. Valentine lost herself in the sensation, using images of her time with August to stimulate her mind. Though their dalliances were so far few, they were to her incredible memories, and no matter how their story ended she would never forget.

That was how August found her when he entered the room; hands busy, the scent of her musk perfuming the air. Valentine was lost in self-stimulation, throwing intermittent cries of "Master! Master!" He approached, amused, and dropped into the cot beside her. She gasped in surprise and interrupted herself. August just shook his head, smiling, and reached between her legs to alleviate her emptiness with his fingers. He moved them inside her just barely, enough to flutter against the spot hidden in her walls, and let her bring herself off just knowing he wanted her to feel that pleasure. Valentine obliged his silent delight and built herself (pressing against him and calling out for him) to a soft, shuddering orgasm that he could feel upon his fingers.

"Master, oh Master!" she cooed, pulsating. He closed his tawny eyes and sighed in bliss. It was a nice treat to feel her channel grasping and sucking his knuckles. When she was done, she relaxed once more into her cot, naked as they day she was birthed, alike Botticelli's Venus. August withdrew from her furnace and sucked her juices from his skin. She sighed, beaming up at him in her weariness.

"Could not even wait for me, my darling?" He caressed her cheek with the back of one hand.

"Had a dream, Master. Strange, erotic dream." She pulled herself toward him. "When I woke up I was aching so hard I couldn't help it..." He chuckled.

"Rest assured Valentine. You may masturbate as you like when we are parted. But I might require you to demonstrate for me the next morn." She moaned in response.

"Mm, certainly Master, if you desire it." He let her lay upon his lap for a few minutes and fondled her idly while she stroked his thigh in utter contentment. At last, he pulled her up to sit beside him.

"Come now, little bird. We have an interesting day ahead of us. I want you to make yourself as radiant as you can." Valentine stretched, and not entirely willingly got herself out of bed. If it was radiance he wanted, that is what he would get. She crossed to the trunk packed by her auntie and opened it. Everything within was so carefully arranged it had seemed a shame to unmake it. Valentine's violet gown sat neatly folded upon the stack, and her fingers danced between the other vivid colours, wondering which to pick. Well, why not continue the progression? The midnight indigo called her eye, and she pulled it out. August approached over her shoulder. Most of her other luggage was packed with chaotic disarray. Who had packed this trunk so lovingly? Furthermore, who sent the dresses styled for young women, as opposed to Valentine's usual aping of childhood fashion? It could only be the one she spoke of with fondness. Edith. "Valentine, where did this come from?" He spied an envelope tucked with the gloves.

"My aunt," she said, selecting bloomers, slip and corset all in cream. "She's quite sneaky. She managed the whole thing right in my mother's face." There was a violent sort of pride in her voice. "That reminds me, Master. If I write her letters, will you post them for me?" August reached out to snatch her envelope. It was marked with her name in a fine hand.

"Of course, my girl. I presume this is a letter from Edith?" She nodded. "Wonderful. I think I shall read it while you dress." He flashed her a toothy smile. "I wish to know more about your dear aunt and how she fits into your life." Valentine returned his smile and gathered her things to the bed. She would wash, and brush her hair first, to be as clean and fragrant as possible for whatever fun he had planned for their day.

August removed the crisp paper and unfolded it. He read.

Dearest niece,

I have arranged to have this trunk sent along with you on your journey against your mother's wishes (and directly under her nose) because I know something she does not, something I hereby impart to you... You are not mad. But I am sure you are already quite aware. No, Valentine, you are another woman suffering the yoke of domestic servitude and a society unjust to us, the "fairer sex." Unfortunate as it is, I cannot fully blame your mother for her behaviour. She was similarly used by our own mother, and since I was the rebellious one, all the pressure of matrimony fell upon her, for which she has always resented me. I do hope you can forgive her in time, dear niece, but do not worry about it now. I am not sure if she intends to leave you to rot there in the asylum, or if she will continue to strive for a match- I shall try to keep you informed. I have been paying your chambermaid for information.

In the interim, I beseech you, Valentine: Find a freedom of your own. I have no doubt the doctors at the facility will find you perfectly sane in due time, and I imagine you are giving them hell already. I know you will make the best of it. I also would think that you are not alone there- other girls, just as maligned and misunderstood as yourself, must likewise be imprisoned- I implore you, set them free. Find them, Valentine, and set them free. Lord knows I have done what I can in my own life to offer women a path other than marriage. Besides the seam-stressing you know I have been learning typing! I think I can bring a few girls in for that skill as well.

Help me, dear girl. Women must stop perpetuating the cycle of our own worthlessness in the eyes of men. We must stop forcing our daughters into the same fate we have so desperately tried to escape. We must embrace each other like sisters, and force the world to view us with equal measure as men. Do this for me, Valentine. Do it for all of us.

Your devoted aunt,


When August restored the letter to its envelope, he nodded his head, understanding then the sudden friendship with Annie. His eyes gleamed. The situation seemed much direr last evening, but the letter put many things into perspective. Though he had yet to speak with Madam Halifax, he had no doubt she'd agree with his plan. Phase one was soon to be underway.

Valentine was slipping the gown over her head, already immaculate in stockings and underthings. August cocked his head when he realised that somehow she was getting in and out of her corsets alone. She straightened the dress and adjusted herself. Once done, she turned. This fetching piece boasted a heart-shaped neckline that emphasised the rounds of her breasts. The sleeves sat off the shoulders and adhered in slim fit all the way to her wrists. The skirt was full, contrasting with the sleek bodice. A filigree of silver traced the neckline, sleeves, and the bottom of the bodice as well as hemline. They were elegant touches on the darkling-sky dress. A silver pendant dangled into her cleavage, drawing the eye there.

"When I said radiant, you took it to heart, little bird." The sleeves ended in points that looped around the middle finger of each hand, and the silver trim along those edges gave the impression of fine jewelry. Valentine gave a most pleased smile.

"My aunt has damn good taste," she said with a laugh. Valentine twirled on silver slippers. Her hair was straight and long, done only with a loose, drooping bow to one side. August grinned with greed and amusement.

"Before we venture outward, I wish to hear what you wrote yesterday afternoon." She dipped herself in a small curtsey of obedience.

"As you wish, Master," she said, all smiles and mystery. August relaxed on her bed while she fetched her book. He expected to hear her musings, or some detail of her incident with Annie, but he was disappointed on both accounts. Instead, what he got was nothing shy of enchanting. "Part one," she intoned musically. "Dawn." And as was writ in her hand, she read:

"Insanity's my constant bedfellow,
The foundation of all my desires.
If my own hands cannot make me mellow,
Who can extinguish my inner fires?

Only Master, keeper of my body.
Dear Master, the guardian of my soul.
When my cunt aches, and my thoughts turn bawdy,
'Tis Master's mouth and cock that make me whole.

As I feel his breath and lips on my throat,
I shudder with his words of possession.
For this attention, I lovingly dote,
We have become each other's obsession.

When my weighty lust is too much to bear,
I find strength with Master in a matched pair."

August's mouth hung agape. His jaw wobbled as if he meant to say something in response, but she caught his eye and shook her head.

"What was it like for you, Master my dear?
To be left alone with your inner dark?
Did you hope? Did you dream? Or, ever fear?
Knowing the fire that grows from your spark?

I picture smouldering embers aglow,
Gasping betwixt the states of life and death.
Use my pussy as forge, and stoke it slow,
To feed the flames I long for, take my breath.

If I cannot function without you there,
You must feel the same pain in empty lust.
Let us find satiety, if we dare,
And place in each other all of our trust.

It is not merely flesh that we unite,
But our souls, our hearts, and our wills to fight."

By the end of the second sonnet, August was in tears. Poetic talent she had in spades, and her emotions sang from therein. To her, their bond was irreversible, no matter how abrupt it began or how unusually shaped. She was a 'slave', to the core of her being. Still it felt she was not finished, and he was right on that instinct.

"At your touch, my maelstrom falls to silence.
At your kiss, the mocking void leaves my mind.
From your talent with sadist violence
And in every thrust do we tighter bind.

Master, tell me- Is love born of fucking?
I thought, 'twas usually done in reverse.
Now that I know the pleasure you're bringing,
It prompts me to pen some headier verse.

Master, I pledge you my fealty, my quim.
Master, I pledge you my kiss and my heart.
I long daily to be filled to the brim
By your love, your seed, your Dominant art.

If I ever lost you, I'd break in twain,
Never to give myself wholly again."

She closed the book, and dipped her head. August rose breathlessly, unable to speak. He seized her, eyes swimming with tears, and kissed her. Valentine wrapped him up in her midnight-clad arms and kissed him back, as fervent as he. August could not help backing her softly into the wall, his tongue twined with hers, his hands roving over her buttocks. Valentine groaned hungrily into his lips.

"Tha," he said at last, breaking their embrace, "was beautiful, Valentine." He could not help himself, and peppered her cheeks, forehead and nose with light pecks. She blushed.

"Thank you, Master." One last kiss for each ruddy cheek and he drew back.

"Come now darling, we have an appointment to keep before you breakfast."

"Madam Halifax?" she asked, following him to the door.

"Not yet," he grinned viciously. "We're going to see Charles Richardson."


Charles found himself at the threshold of Blackmore's door, and was nervous. Oh, the note left for him this morning was polite and not seemingly urgent, but he knew the doctor to be shrewd and calculating. There was no idleness to this summons. Still, the lad knew he could not appear to be ruffled, nor guilty of any misdeed. For all he knew, this was a promotion, or he was being charged with some important task- yes, that was it. Charles sucked a breath deep into his lungs. He gathered his confidence, and acted like he knew the purpose of this meeting. Straightening his posture, he adopted a winning smile, and knocked.

"Please enter," August said, keeping his tone upbeat. The knob turned, and in stepped the man of the hour himself. Blackmore stood just before his desk, fully suited, bespectacled. Next to him, posed demurely with hands folded across her belly, was she. Valentine looked even more magnificent than Charles remembered, in a gown that emphasised the incredible, womanly shape of her figure. The very sight nearly knocked the wind from him, and mentally the connection between his smile and emotion snapped. The smile became forced, borderline manic. Must not let it show. "Ah, Mr Richardson. Good of you to come." The doctor approached and shook hands with the young man, beaming. August chattered about the cleanliness of his dress and commendations of his work, giving an affable, stuffy impression that he hoped would put Richardson off the scent. Indeed, Charles found himself puzzled. So far the girl stayed precisely where she stood, her face placid, and Blackmore treated him decidedly not as a man condemned and about to be sacked.

"Always glad to be of service, Doctor." the boy said with polite professionalism. "How may I be worthy of this establishment today?" August had to stifle a cackle. The sot was laying it on a bit thick for sure.

"Ah yes! Mustn't distract from business, must I?" He turned and his voice grew noticeably stiffer. "Miss Godwin." Looking down meekly, Valentine approached, not meeting Charles' gaze. The manner made her seem to have shrunk, weakened. Her enemy's eyes widened. He was thinking that perhaps Blackmore was some kind of miracle-weaver after all. "Don't you have something to say to this young man?" August boomed. Charles was sure she'd drop the accusation right then- rising from her sudden shyness with the fury he knew she was capable of and had witnessed just nights before. He nearly dropped in shock when she approached, an obedient lamb.

"I apologise for my dreadful behaviour, Mr Richardson." She spoke clearly, but in a hushed, breathy voice. "I am not well... Not well at all." One of her hands curled and flew to her berry-red pout, and she finally allowed herself to look up. Those green irises were large and dewy, gently shimmering and amazingly sad. Charles felt the hairs on his neck and arms prickle. She was calling attention to all the shivering places on his body. It was nothing shy of a marvel. Unbelievable, that he was the one receiving an apology, when he was the one who'd... But no. His brain would not allow him to believe he was responsible for any sort of wrongdoing. Ego kicked in and restored his aggrandised self-confidence, and suddenly he was back to the start, he predator, she prey. "Can you forgive me?" Without really betraying it, Valentine was much closer to him than he thought, and even he didn't notice the backward slant of his posture. Charles swallowed, reaffixed his magnanimous mask, and reached out to pat her on the hand gingerly.

"There there, Miss Godwin. Of course I can forgive." He presented himself graciously, understanding and humble. She smiled, and it lit the room.

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