The Descent Ch. 08

He was a boy. No more than that. When she thought about it later Lena decided this was the only explanation for what she did next. She threw herself against the wooden panel with such force that the latch gave way and she stumbled headlong into the room.

In a moment the youth was a startled child again. Uncomprehending, and afraid he struggled to understand the force that had erupted into the room. He tried to assert his vanished authority, but there was no way back. He struggled for words and before he found them Lena had bundled Yvette into a blanket and carried her to the safety of her own room. She turned the key and braced herself for the assault on the door she knew must come. But instead there was only the sound of hurried steps in the corridor and the clatter of feet on the stair. And then silence.

She looked at Yvette.

"He's gone."

Yvette climbed with difficulty onto the bed. Then she lay down squeezed her eyes tightly closed and began to sob.

When Yvette had exhausted herself and the crying stopped Lena put a kettle on to boil and gathered soap, her tiny sponge and the thin towel that hung from the bed frame. Yvette appeared to be sleeping. With infinite care Lena opened the blanket and looked at her friend. The marks of her assault were clearly visible. The lines left by the crop were livid against the pale flesh. But it wasn't these obvious injuries that held Lena's gaze. The bruised lips, a trail of fluid across her thigh, the open wound of her cunt - the fresh narrative of Yvette's fucking was written across her body. And Lena could not look away.

She picked up the damp sponge and turned her attention to the line of semen that ran thickly across Yvette's thigh. But she did not wipe it away. Instead she let her fingertips come to rest in the pearlescent fluid. It seemed compounded of contradictions. It was both warm and cold to the touch. Viscous and lubricant. Lena was fascinated by the miraculous fluid, by the generative mystery it contained. The thought of it made her head spin. Her heart was thumping in her chest as seemingly unbidden, her hand made the slow journey to her lips. As she tasted the salt tang on her tongue the world seemed to stop. This sharp sour intensity was the taste of degradation.

It was the taste of all the men that would ever take her, the taste of every cock that had driven into the open wound of a woman, that had risen up and plundered their soft flesh. Her tongue carried the chemical trace to her brain and what began as a sensation at the tip of her tongue became a river that flowed outward, down through her limbs. Envy struck her with sudden force. Without thinking she pulled at the fastenings of her dress and soon her clothes were pooled at her feet. She climbed onto the bed stretching her own body against the naked body of Yvette, trying to take into herself every last atom of the hurt she had suffered.

Tenderly she took her own breast and placed it against her friend's damaged nipple as if her perfect flesh could take on the injury and miraculously heal her torn skin. She began to explore the outline of the purple bruise at her shoulder.

Yvette had begun to stir under her touch.

She placed her lips gently on Yvette's and let her breath come and go breathing life into her, a touch which became a kiss which became a melding of tongues.

Then her hand was between Yvette's legs, and her own and she did not know if the moisture she found there was the bearded man's, Yvette's or hers and she did not care, all she knew was that the heart of who she was had given birth to it.

Lena's long fingers understood. They explored her friend's nub of flesh and the lips. It was as if their touch created each fold of flesh and the muscles which drew them to the warm enveloping interior.

She felt Yvette's finger slip inside her, then another. She moved against them, felt a third finger push for admission, and even as she thought, no that's impossible, felt herself open

Yvette began to move under her hand. And now she was reaching for Lena. They came together offering their wounds to each other, taking into themselves the shadow of a violence which seemed to inhabit them and drive them on.

They must have slept. Because when Lena opened her eyes Yvette was almost dressed.

"Please don't go," she said.

Yvette smiled and crossing to the bed embraced her friend.

"You're very sweet", Yvette said. "But I must. I have another appointment and I can't be late."

She kissed Lena lightly on the forehead. And then, as if a taste of her smooth skin was not enough, once more on the lips. Lena reached out to her friend's bruised cheek and with her fingertips brushed the blue discolouration on the skin. The bruise looked like a flaw in fine porcelain. Yvette smiled at her. "How gentle you are," she said. But the moment passed and a shudder passed through her. Lena saw it at once.

"It's too soon" she said. "You're too weak. You need to rest."

Yvette was already disentangling herself from her friend's embrace.

"I can't" she said. "It will be very bad for me. Really, I'll be all right. I promise."

Lena spoke instinctively, without thinking.

"Then let me go instead," she said. "Tell me where. I'll tell them you were ill."

"You don't know what you're saying." Yvette broke off and looked at her friend.

"It will be too much, Lena."

Silence fell as this simple truth lay between them.

"Then let me come with you," said Lena. "We'll go together."

Perhaps it was a shadow of the assault she had suffered earlier. Perhaps Lena's innocence was its own challenge. Or she would certainly have said no. But Yvette, beautiful, broken Yvette, didn't say no.

As Lena dressed she was struck by the full realisation of what she was doing. She had a sudden image of the red line that had sprung into being at the expert stroke of a riding crop. Fear lodged in her stomach like a stone. But there was something else too. Something barely formed was opening in her. Desires that lay in the the half light swirled in her fevered brain. Desires compounded of lust and pain and promise. And after that changing her mind was impossible.

Half an hour later they were standing at the side door of a fine house overlooking a park. On the other side of the door, someone was working the lock.