Fractured Crystal: Sapphires and Submission Read online

  There were not many books, and all of them looked old and somewhat tatty—at least a few of them well-read. She recognised a few names and was surprised at the quantity of poetry seeing that there were less than forty books in total on the shelves. A couple of volumes of Romantics—Blake, Byron, Coleridge—as well as Paradise Lost and the works of Yeats, a few novels, most by writers she had never heard of such as Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita, as well as ones that she had never got around to reading, like Fowles’s The Magus. There were some books of philosophy and a couple on psychology and a couple by a Russian writer that she had never heard of, Gurdjieff. Kris was hardly surprised to see that Daniel Logan’s reading tastes were not particularly light.

  She pulled down the copy of the poetical works of Coleridge. She had always rather liked the poet and, as a student, had planned to create a series of works based on some of his poems. The book opened automatically at a page where the spine was clearly creased, and she read the opening lines:

  In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

  A stately pleasure-dome decree:

  Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

  Through caverns measureless to man

  Down to a sunless sea.

  So twice five miles of fertile ground

  With walls and towers were girdled round:

  And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

  Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

  And here were forests ancient as the hills,

  Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

  She looked around her. Well, Comrie was hardly a stately pleasure-dome, though her body shivered with delight at the thought of the bedroom above her. And perhaps around her were enough sunny spots of greenery where a man such as Daniel Logan could find his own bliss.

  She heard a vehicle outside and quickly replaced the volume on the shelf, going back to the door. Opening it, she saw Daniel climbing out of the Land Rover and, as he looked at her, he gave a kind of wary smile, his expression ambiguous. It suddenly occurred to Kris that maybe he wished to reveal so little of himself to her because he had even more to lose than she.

  “You came,” he said, walking to the doorway and pausing outside his own house, as though he was the visitor who was to be invited inside.

  “Did you ever doubt it?” she asked, a little nervous.

  He nodded. “Yes. Somehow I suspected that you would be nothing more than a dream and...” he paused. “I had to go out walking this morning, in the hills.” He turned those strange, hazel eyes onto her again. “I’m glad you came.”

  She stood to one side and let him enter his home, unable to stop a tremble as he ducked his head and walked past her, his body so much taller than her own. Fuck! She had become wet again. Damn, damn and damn again! she thought. This man could do anything he wanted with her.

  Instead, she spoke up, her voice trembling a little as she attempted to hide her thoughts. “I was just admiring your book collection. Interesting.”

  Daniel had stopped by her things and looked up, casting a somewhat disenchanted glance towards the shelves: “A former life,” was all he said, and instead returned his attention to her open bag. On the top of it was one of her drawing pads and he pulled it out, opening the pages and gazing at them in the low light of the room.

  “Are these yours?” he asked.

  She nodded, a little embarrassed. It had been a long time since she had shown anyone her drawings.

  He returned his gaze to the pad. “They’re good. They remind me a little of Ernst—you know, the Loplop paintings?”

  Kris was thrown by this and—forgetting everything else for the moment, crossed to stand by him, looking across his arm at the open page where the sinuous lines of one of her bird drawings did indeed look like one of the anthropomorphic birdmen of Max Ernst. The observation threw Kris out of sorts for a number of reasons: she was still struggling to relegate this strange man to some convenient pigeonhole that she could make sense of—whether psychopathic hillbilly, demonic lover, hermit aesthete or some combination of all three. What was even more surprising than his sudden revelation of another snippet of artistic esoterica, however, was that he had immediately noticed a connection that had remained hidden to her. The thought of that made her falter with desire somewhere low down inside her.

  Noticing her discomfiture, he asked: “How do you feel—after yesterday I mean?”

  She smiled somewhat shyly. “Okay. Good I mean. Well, to tell you the truth, I’m as sore as hell, but... that’s good isn’t it?”

  She wasn’t sure how to continue with that line of conversation. As much to distract herself as anything, she pulled out her phone and began to fumble with it. “You won’t get much joy from that here,” he said with a small laugh.

  “The signal’s been pretty rubbish since I got here,” she told him. “It must drive you crazy.”

  “Not really,” was his reply. “I paid a lot to make sure that there were no distractions here at all.”

  She frowned at this, and her frown only deepened as he placed the pad back on the bag and held out his hand. “Here,” he told her. “Give it to me.”

  Something about the tone of his voice made the hackles rise on her neck, the old familiar prickliness spreading across her limbs. But if he noticed her antagonism, he affected not to notice it. “Give me your phone. And your keys.”

  “Why should I?” The second request made her suddenly more anxious than angry.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything with them. Just do as I say—please.”

  Reluctantly, she passed him her phone, which he promptly switched off and placed in his jeans pocket, and fished in her own trousers for her car keys. “I’ll put your phone somewhere safe,” he informed her, calmly. “As for your keys, they’ll be here.” So saying, he crossed back to the doorway so that she could see him standing by the front door, where he placed her keys on a hook by the frame. “You can collect them any time. Just one thing. If you do take them without my saying so, then please don’t bother returning.”

  Kris was aghast at this, and began to raise her voice in protest, but Daniel simply looked at her with his serious eyes, his face implacable. “What do you think gives you the right?” she asked him.

  He did not reply, but instead suddenly took two steps forward so that his large, tall body was towering over her, his hands reaching out and grabbing her arms with a restrained violence that made her suddenly tremble with a mixture of fear and... something else. She looked at him, and he in turn gazed down at her, his eyes partially hidden by the shadows across his face, his lips opening beneath his beard.

  “Why are you here, Kris?” he asked, ignoring her own question.

  “No, wait a minute, mister!” she responded, struggling a little. He did not, however, release his grip, and she realised just how strong he was.

  “Answer the question. Why are you here? Is it just for a fuck? Is that all this is to you?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” Kris had stopped struggling. Her body felt limp and defenceless in his hands—and the effect of his body this close was confusing her immensely.

  “I’ll tell you why I think you’re here.” Those eyes were glittering slightly now, and once more she found herself somewhat hypnotised by the irregular pupils, the darker one seeming even larger now, opening to swallow her whole. Daniel’s voice was very quiet. “You’re here to find out what kind of person you really are.”

  With this, he let her go and she stumbled backwards, rubbing her arms. He had not particularly hurt her, but the defensive gesture gave her some modicum of security. He meanwhile, had crossed to the sofa and sat down.

  “You’re free to go any time—but if you do, please don’t return here. Ever. You’re not a slave, not in that sense.” She stared at him, but he was not looking at her. Rather, he had once more picked up her pad and was leafing through the birdman pictures. “In the past, I would probably have drawn up some sort of contract between us, a semi-legales
e document that perhaps would have given you a degree of comfort. But it’s been a long time since I did anything like this, and, in any case, I’m tired of that kind of game playing. I want something more immediate, more... real, I guess.

  “Don’t worry.” Now he had returned his gaze to her, and she could tell by the deadly seriousness with which he watched her that his was being entirely honest—either that, or he was such an effective psychopathological liar that she never had a chance of understanding when he would ever tell her the truth. “I’m not a complete pervert. I’ve got no intention of hurting you. But I do have to find out what it is that you want. I absolutely need to push you, and I need you to trust me—absolutely. It’s only then that I’ll know if I can trust you.”

  Kris opened her mouth to speak, but the words would not come forward. Flashback. Tied up. Buttocks blazing. The humiliation. Unbidden, some words came. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered quietly.

  Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed and he stood up, coming forward to her. He bent down and spoke, extremely quietly, so that even in the silence of the room she had to strain to hear. “Are you sure you don’t want me to hurt you? Are you really certain of that?”

  She said nothing, but the trembling of her body was an ambiguous reply. His mouth was mere millimetres away from her ear, and she could feel his breath upon her neck. He straightened up slightly.

  “While I really can’t be bothered with a contract,” he told her, “you do need something so that you don’t feel utterly defenceless. Think of a word—a word that you don’t use in daily life, but that has some significant meaning to you. It will be your safe word. Whenever you use it, whatever I’m doing I’ll stop immediately—I promise you that. But understand this: simply saying ‘no’ or asking me to stop won’t be enough. It needs to be a word that you have thought up consciously, so that I know it’s your true will behind the request. Do you understand?”

  Kris nodded. She was utterly confused, uncertain whether to be reassured or frightened by the absolute calmness with which Daniel was speaking. And yet, in his complete confidence, there was also something that excited her.

  “What’s your word, then?”

  She thought for a moment. “Alfama,” she said at last. She saw his brow crease a little as he searched his memory for the meaning of the word. “It’s in Lisbon. A place where I’ve always wanted to live.”

  This made him smile broadly. “Excellent,” he told her.

  “And if I say this... you’ll stop whatever it is you’re doing?” The question itself made her nervous.

  “Of course. Here, let me demonstrate.” Without warning, Daniel shot up his hand and sank his fingers into her hair, yanking her head sideways so that she almost fell sideways.

  The suddenness of his action, as well as the violence of his motion, caused Kris first of all to panic. Then, as he began to pull her around the room, dragging her so that the roots of her hair really hurt in a way that was not the slightest bit appealing or erotic, unlike their rough and tumble the day before, she became angry.

  “Daniel!” she hollered, striking his arm with her fists. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Stop it! Let go!”

  Her blows became stronger, but he refused to let go, and twisting herself around to try and break free of his iron grip simply hurt her more. “Ow!” she yelped. “You’re hurting me! Let go!”

  “Say it,” he told her calmly. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

  “Say what!” In her familiar anger and frustration she had completely forgotten what they had been talking about.

  “Say your word, and I’ll stop.”

  “Are you fucking serious? Okay! Okay! Alfama! Now, stop it!”

  He had already released her as soon as she uttered the place name, and her face came up red and furious with him. Without thinking, she balled her hand into a fist and struck him as hard as she could in the chest, a blow that made him stagger back one step—more to absorb the blow than out of pain or surprise.

  “You’re a fucking nutter!” she told him.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But I promise you this: say that word and I’ll stop whatever it is I’m doing.”

  “What, if I just tell you Af-” Before she could finish, he had placed his hand over her mouth, a strong and powerful grip that made her eyes go wide as she wondered if he would hurt her again.

  “There’s just one additional thing. I don’t want your safe word becoming a litany, a daily drone, a whine whenever you encounter something you don’t like. I want to push you, Kris. I want you to push yourself, to find out what you’re really capable of. Because of this, you can only say your special word three times. Treat it as something sacred. On the third time you utter it, you have to leave here. I don’t want you in this house any more. If... if you’re capable of even half the things I think you are, then you need to display some... stoicism, shall we say?”

  His hand hand relaxed on her mouth, and she realised that this time he had no intention of hurting her. He simply wanted her to listen. But... stoicism? What the hell? Who the hell was this man?

  “So,” she said when he finally, slowly removed his hand. “You’re telling me that as soon as I say Af- my safe word three times, then that’s it. It’s finished. Right?”

  “Well, actually, you’ve already used it once, so that leaves you two more times.”

  Kris was incredulous. “You are fucking joking, right? That last time doesn’t count, does it? I mean...”

  But Daniel was no longer listening. He had once more returned to her drawings. “How often do you sketch or paint?”

  “Don’t you change the subject!” she almost howled at him in frustration. “Are you telling me that I’ve got to abide by every nutty rule you come up with?”

  At this he smiled. “Only for the next nine days,” he told her. With one hand resting on her open drawing pad, he gestured towards the front door with his other. “You’re welcome to leave any time. I’m not joking. Only please don’t come back—I’m not joking about that, either. Now, answer my question, please. How often do you sketch? You’ve got real talent. I’m interested.”

  Kris stared back towards the entrance, genuinely wondering whether she could call it quits now. At the same time, his final comment piqued her curiosity. “Not as much as I should.”

  “Why?” he asked. His hazel eyes were watching her now, curious, searching her face.

  “I don’t know. Real life gets in the way, I suppose.”

  “Real life.” He smiled and dropped his gaze back to the drawings in his hands. “You think this isn’t real life?” he asked, more to himself than her. “There is necessity and there is desire, and the two are often in conflict, but both are real. Both are very real indeed.” He returned his eyes to her face. “The secret—the often painful secret, Ms Avelar—is to find a way for both necessity and desire to exist together, to submit both of them to our will.”

  She frowned at him, unable to understand a word that he was saying now.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she told him bluntly. This made him smile.

  “You think you came here to fuck,” he said, standing slowly, his hands reaching down to the belt that was wrapped around his jeans. “I’m telling you that before you can really find yourself, Ms Avelar, you must first learn some discipline.”

  Chapter Seven

  He had taken her thoroughly that day—completely and utterly, in a way that put their previous sex to shame. But if she had been expecting something weird, or perverse, or frightening, that was not the case. He fucked her with abandon, certainly. He thought nothing of holding her down as he penetrated her deeply, stretching her to her very womb, and she had cried with equal abandon, slashing across his chest, his arms, his back with her nails, but if this man was in any way particularly kinky he did not show it that day. Her sex was sore, of that there could be no doubt, and well used; but aside from rising up and down upon her, or throwing her on her hands and knees so that he could
take her from behind, he had been almost gentlemanly in his attention to her pleasures, not even expecting him to fellate him in return to the oral attentions he had given her.

  And, God! Did he have stamina! She realised that she had come to expect ten minute sex as the norm, so much so that fifteen minutes appeared to her a marvellous feat, with twenty minutes something divine. But he had held himself from ejaculating, which itself had driven her almost mad with desire and frustration so that she beat him repeatedly with her fists. When he did at last cum inside her, the orgasm it triggered had, at one point, caused her to actually black out for a second.

  Sometime in the night, she had finally fallen asleep, exhausted. Her body was filthy in her own perspiration, and normally she would have felt disgusted at lying in a bed soaking in such sweat, but this time she was too tired—and happy—to care. When she awoke, morning light was entering the croft and she was alone in the bed, but there was still a warmth to the sheets beside her. He had been here not long before.

  Reaching across, she felt the damp sheets and scrunched them beneath her fingers, dragging them up towards her face. She sank her nostrils into the sheet, breathing—no, sucking up the scent of their lovemaking. Again, this was something unheard of: certain physical facts of her body, of any body, had always repulsed Kris before, but now the odour of their sex made her thighs tremble and her loins ache.

  Not that these were the only part of her that ached, though she doubted she would be able to walk far that day. Oh, God, she thought to herself. I haven’t fucked like that since I was a teenager. In truth, she had never fucked like that—although her youthful enthusiasm had perhaps come close a couple of times. She remembered a young lad, a tall, gangly boy who was possibly the only male she had ever slept with who came anywhere close to Daniel in the cock department. For one, glorious summer when she was seventeen, they had fucked and fucked and fucked whenever possible, lacking expertise but more than making up for it with their animal passion. They had been crazy for each other—then, for some reason she could never explain, she had simply woken up one day no longer in love with him.