Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan (60 page)

"You look ethereal," he said.  "Pale and - "

"Dead.  I look like a dead bride.  Am I your bride, Pietre?" she asked, using his real name for the first time.  Then she thought better of the question.  "Don't answer that," she commanded, slipping easily into the shoes Belle would no longer fill.    

At her sharp tone, Pietre drew in a deep breath and Dee watched his ribs expand - watched how the hollow below them sucked in slightly.  His pale penis lay flaccid between his legs, curiously benign in its vibrantly dark nest of hairs. 

"Are you comfortable?" she asked, stepping around him, inspecting the ropes that kept him spread-eagled in the middle of the room.

"No," he replied, his breath stilling as her hands came around his throat from behind.  She forced herself to squeeze, ever so slightly.  The tulle of her dress brushed against his buttocks and she saw them quiver.  "I don't want to be comfortable," he croaked.  "You know that."

"I know."  Her hands slid over his shoulders and down, fingers probing his exposed armpits before her blood-red nails bit into the tender flesh there.  "But I also know," she went on, "that there's a world of difference between discomfort and pain.  And again, between pain and agony."  She relaxed one hand and began to tease the soft hairs of his armpit, while the nails of her other hand drew blood.  "So I ask you, Pietre... how far should I go?"

"As far as you want," he panted, whether in ecstasy or pain, Dee wasn't sure.  "Belle had limits.  I give you none."

"Very wise," she said, stepping back a pace to appraise his back view.  Wide shoulders tapered down to slim hips and long legs.  His buttocks were surprisingly pert.       

The effect would have been attractive, even sexually arousing but for the crisscross of scars that patterned it.  Even the buttocks...

She stepped close again and cupped them with both hands, her fingernails digging in hard, as hard as she was physically capable of.

There was a sound, like a hiss of breath escaping.  His whole body tensed.  Then she released him and he slumped, his shoulders sagging.

Dee glanced over one of those shoulder at the mirror they faced.  His penis was beginning to firm.

"I see that they scarred your skin," she said, insinuating a finger between his cheeks to prod at his anus.  "I wonder...  Did they damage you internally as well?"

"No," he gasped as she pushed against it dry.     "But I forbid you nothing, Wendee.  You must ready me.  I cannot..."

"Yes."  She knew.  He'd been trained to respond to pain.  It was all he recognised now.  She understood, in theory. 

But assuming she got him erect and could manoeuvre him to climax within her - if they managed it several times and she didn't conceive.  What then?

Was the child merely a whim on his part or did he truly believe it was the destiny they shared?  More importantly, would he reject her when he realised there could be no child?

"Wendee?" 

"Hmmm?"  She unglazed her eyes, remembered where she was, and stabbed her finger at the puckered opening.

"What are you going to do to me?" he asked in a voice she hadn't heard from him before.  A voice that filled her with power.

She looked at him in the mirror, at the wavering erection, then at her own reflection - at the tulle that pressed against him and overflowed on either side, the opaque veil that flattened her hair and made her eyes seem enormous, the blood-red lips.

She lowered her mouth, and, parting those lips to expose teeth, bit his shoulder, at the same time forcing her finger cruelly inside him.

His body tensed but he remained still.  She heard him panting, making little breath noises like the ones she'd heard women make in the labour wards.

Raising her head, she looked at herself again, at the red smeared across the front of her veil.  Was it lipstick or blood?  She could taste blood.

Her lip curled into a sneer.  "You're not going to
fuck
me," she said, relishing the obscenity, pushing home the point with a shove of her finger.  "I'm going to fuck
you
," and she roughly withdrew the finger and stepped to the side, watching his face in the mirror as she lifted the front of her bridal shroud, bunching it in her hands until first her calves, then her knees, her thighs, and finally her hips were revealed.

Pietre's eyes widened, his lips falling apart.

"See how inventive
I
can be," she said, and holding the voluminous skirts with one hand, she fondled the huge dildo strapped over her pubis, stroking it as she imagined a man would stroke his penis to make it fully engorged, her hand cupping the large head, rolling it in her palm.  "I thought I'd start with this.  Then maybe if you're a good boy I might beat you.  Would you like that?" she asked, and stopped stroking long enough to reach for his penis and dig her fingernails into it.

"Yes,
yes
," he cried, his body tense again, his breath coming in short gasps.  "I'm not afraid.  I'm not afraid."

Dee bit her nails in harder, and still facing the mirror, looked directly into his eyes.  "You will be."

                                      
Chapter Thirty-Five

Naked, Long Shadow paced in his cell like a caged wolf.  He had to get out.  He knew Wendee was on the island - had overheard Josh talking to Nick about her a week earlier.  But no matter how he dredged his imagination he couldn't come up with a workable escape plan.

The lure of a violent break-out was strong, but the chances of survival would be slim.  Long Shadow was prepared to die for Wendee, but not in a romantic gesture.  At the moment, her survival depended on his own and that fact tempered his impetuosity.

He should never have gotten himself locked up in the first place.  Still, under the circumstances he was lucky to be alive.  He should have let them take Skye without a fight - should have remembered his first loyalty belonged to Wendee.  But it had come as such a shock.  He'd known Skye would be taken from him eventually and had prepared himself for her to be either released or killed.  But not for her to be bartered into a life of servicing men's sexual needs. 

Not Skye.

His reaction had been instinctive - out of guilt and gratitude as much as friendship, yet despite his hand-combat training, Josh had overpowered him easily.  The stupidity of his actions rankled, but worse was the growing suspicion that what he'd really been fighting for was the sexual relief Skye had given him - a relief he'd come to depend on.

In any case, he'd failed.  Failed Skye and failed Wendee.

At least when he'd been with Skye there'd been hope.  With freedom, he could have devised a way of rescuing Wendee. 

Now his life was defined by frustration - not only at his imprisonment, but because the means of his physical release had been withdrawn.  The raging tide of his sexual appetite, awoken by Wendee and partially appeased by Skye, was out of control.  He lived in a state of almost constant arousal and no amount of self-manipulation lessened his anguish.  In fact, the more he touched himself, the more sensitive and aroused he became.  Erections followed hard on the heels of ejaculations and there seemed to be nothing he could do to halt the feverish spiral.

At times, he completely forgot the reasons he'd wanted to rescue Wendee - the plans he'd made for their future.  He couldn't remember their conversations or the uncanny way she had of guessing what he was about to say.  All he could think of was sinking his burning cock into her and churning that soft, clinging flesh until he was screaming from the pleasure.

A fear that Belle's spirit had touched him and twisted his mind weighed heavily on him.  He imagined the most terrible things - imagined Wendee, the woman he loved, in the caves where Skye had been.  In his mind there were no others in the caves.  No Nick or Tony, Mack or Josh.  Certainly no Christophe.  Only Long Shadow, taking what he wanted, forcing her to his pleasure, hurting her.

In his more rational moments, Long Shadow knew this was jealousy at work - his mind combating the image of her with DeMartande.  But at other times he was totally lost to the fantasy, his teeth gritting painfully as he jerked at his penis in a parody of stabbing it into Wendee.

He wanted her so badly he could taste it.  Yet he was frightened of what he might do if he had her.

This day, it seemed, he was about to find out.

Tony and Nick entered his cell at the normal dinner hour, but instead of bringing food, they shoved him roughly against the wall and chained him there, laughing at the rampant erection their actions precipitated.

"If we'd brought Josh with us," Nick said, squeezing Long Shadow's hard flesh insolently, "he'd have made a meal of this."

"Let me go, you animal," Long Shadow snarled.

Nick squeezed cruelly, then to Long Shadow's horror, the Greek boy began to stroke his erection, pulling on the aching flesh with the expertise only another man could possess.  "Missing the blonde bitch, are we?" he said to Long Shadow.  "You like a hot tongue running over your dick, do you?  Tell me, did she suck your balls, Chief?  I taught her that."

Long Shadow made a harsh grating noise deep in his throat.  He could feel it.  He was going to come.