Devil’s Revenge, Chapter 1

This is the second novel I wrote, two years ago.  I have posted some of the chapters on ERWA and here…and am getting some interest from readers.

WARNING:  It’s very raw and lots of issues with the writing.  It was previously a rape scene, but because of the  anti-rape issue at ERWA, I changed it and lost some of the power of the chapter.  Might change it back again.  There are 34 chapters so far and that’s a lot of rewrite.

Lady Nyo

Chapter 1

I screamed and sat upright in bed, gasping in terror.  Blinking my eyes rapidly, I was trying to focus in the dim light.  An ember had exploded from the low burning fire and rolled onto the hearth. Asleep, it sounded like gunshot.  This wasn’t my bedroom, but strangely, it was familiar.  I looked around, and suddenly knew where I was.  Many years ago, I wrote a description of this room in a novel and now I was lying in the bed I had carefully constructed for the main two characters..  But the compression of my breath was not imagined and looking downward, I was wearing a corset, laced tightly over a linen chemise.  No wonder I thought I was suffocating.  A mobcap was falling over my eyes and I snatched it off.  I knew the closet in the corner contained a toilet because I had written that detail into the book and I slipped out and padded across the wood floor.  It is a strange thing to pee in a chamber pot in the morning.  The noise of urine hitting china is loud music for the morning, jarring one’s senses.

Coming from the closet, I sat down before the fireplace.  The fire was still burning and a pile of faggots were heaped on the sidehearth.  At least I could warm up this room.    A cup of tea sat on the table, still hot.  It was black and strong, and would do well for my rumbling stomach.   I shoved my bare foot from under my chemise and thought, ”Where is my nail polish?” I usually wear cherry red in the winter and my toes were bare.  Queer business within this strange room.

I walked to the dresser and picked up a hand mirror.  The image appeared to be me, my hair the usual color, my skin the same shade.  There were clothes spread across the back of a chair. Where was my bra?  Apparently these half-stays served the same purpose.  They certainly constricted the breast more than a bra and pushed it up to extremes.  I took the one dress from the chair and held it at arm’s length.  It was a rich, heavy silk with green stripes on pale yellow.   Straight sleeves fell to the wrists, the bodice cut low.  I wondered how modest one could be in such a fashion, with the tops of the breasts so prominent.  Under the gown was a pair of bloomers.    Crotchless, they were open from the front to the back.  I giggled, a little beginning hysteria.  Like Alice in Wonderland, I felt as if I had dropped down a rabbit hole.

The room was chilly. I needed to get dressed.  I stepped into the gown and pulled it up to my shoulders.  It hooked in the front of the bodice.  Next, stockings and garters.  They were a lovely silk, soft and delicate, and came to the tops of my thighs.  The garters could be tied anywhere, so I tied them above the knees, rolling down the tops of the stockings, hoping they would stay.  I held up the split bloomers and tried to determine the front from the back.  They would be useful when you wanted to pee.  The shoes were another surprise.  They were made exactly alike, neither a left nor a right. Made of leather, with a thin sole and low wooden heel, they tied to my ankle with ribbons..  There was a blue shawl, of fine merino wool, light and warm.  I wrapped it around my shoulders. I was dressed enough.  I could do little with my hair except brush and wear it loose down my back.

Now warmer, I could explore my surroundings.  The room was of a generous proportion, a dark beamed ceiling above.  I was raised in a pre-Revolutionary War house on the east coast and knew this room to be as old as my childhood home.  There were no paintings or prints on the walls, but above the fireplace, was a shotgun.  I knew it to be so because it was a breech loader.  I had hunted rabbits with one.

This room was a corner one with two long windows along each wall. The wind outside was blowing the light snowfall around and I shivered standing by the single paned windows. It was still rather dark outside, and except for the outline of trees, I couldn’t determine much of the landscape.

I pulled the shawl tighter around my shoulders.

Before I left the room, I tried the door in the middle of a wall. It opened into another room, obviously a bedroom.  A large poster bed, a wardrobe, another shotgun in the corner by the bed,  this must be a man’s room. I turned back to my bedroom and  tried the other door.  It led to a wide hall, to the top of a staircase.

The house seemed deserted.  I went down carefully, trying not to slip in these strange shoes and walked through a wide first floor hall.  I looked into a couple of rooms. No people and no fires in the fireplaces.  The whole house was bitterly cold.  My footsteps sounded loud on the wood floors in the halls.  There was a closed door to the right.  I opened it, and sitting in the far part of the room, was the character I devised for a novel.  I am a writer and I created him sixteen years ago.  I named him Garrett Cortelyou.    He looked up, sat back, and stared at me rudely. Christ!  This looked like trouble.

“Come in,” he said.  “It is trouble.”  I was astonished at his words.  It seemed impossible.  Can this creature read my thoughts?

“Of course I can.  I can do more than that.” He sat with a scowl on his face.

I fashioned Garrett Cortelyou from a number of sources, and, seeing him before me, I was pleased. It is one thing to imagine, it is another to see the results.  He was large man, with broad shoulders.  He was sitting behind a desk, so I was limited in my observation.  Dark hair, rather long for the 1820’s, but I created Garrett to be his own man.  He proved to be a stubborn character, and not an easy birth.  He was clean shaven and had dark eyes and regular features except for his nose.  It had been broken and not set correctly.   He looked pissed off.

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“Yesterday you picked me up by the scruff of the neck and put me in a dark closet, telling me to ‘cool my heels.”  What did you expect me to be?”

“It was a metaphor, cool your heels.”  I was surprised, because I had enough of writing and needed time off.  This change went on for 16 years, but I wasn’t going to correct his perceptions of time.  I put his intended, the character Jennie, in the library.  I gave her a cup of tea and a good fire, and she had all the books in the world, or at least, in this library to read.

“You left me there all day.”

“Not all day, Garrett…just enough time to settle down.  You did get an apology from Jennie and got to second base with her.”  This was too strange!

“Come here, let me see you closely.”  Oh! That was walking into the lion’s den.

I entered the room and stood across from his desk.  He looked me over, his eyes running the length of me.    “You look small.  I thought you would more impressive. And older.”

“Why, did you expect me to be covered with wrinkles?” One glance at his face and I should have held my tongue.

“You are quick with the words, madam.  Let’s see how quick on your feet.”

As fast as a cat, he came around the desk and grabbed me in his arms. He sat down with me in his lap.  The smell of wood smoke and ale was strong on him.  Now I was worried.

“You should be.  You play with people too much.” He pinned my hands to my thighs. He was strong, too strong for me to fight, and we sat there for a moment in silence, staring at each other.  Up close, I thought his nose added an air of interest to his face.

“Damn right, it does.”….

“You forget sir, I created you,” I said, my voice squeaking a bit in fear.

“And you forget, madam, anything is possible.  I can dominate you as easily as you have me.”

“You wouldn’t have seen the light of day had I not thought of you!”

“Ah, you were a bored secretary and it occupied your time.  Your wet dreams went into all of us.  Your poor husband should not have given you a pen.”

“I wrote on a computer, something you would not know.”

“I don’t care to know, because right now, and until I release you, you’re under my thumb.”

“What do you want with me?”  I was scared.  This was impossible, the stuff of nightmares. Had I smoked one too many joints?

Garrett smiled, but it didn’t mount to his eyes.  They remained cold.  “I can smell your fear, little lady.  Come give me a kiss and a tumble.”

“You are a jackass. You act like an animal. Let me go.”  I tried to rise from his knee, and he pulled me closer to him.

“Will you stop playing the virgin, it doesn’t fit you at all.”   I was starting to panic.  I had created this character,  this man  before me, and I knew something of his sexual appetites.

He laughed, reading my thoughts.  “You created me?  I’m from the slime, I’m a mixture  of men throughout time, with all the cocksure ways of manhood.  You created something that you can’t control, and now you’re afraid?  You should have thought further down the road, my dear.  And you should be afraid.  You think that you know my sexual appetites? You don’t know much, because you don’t know me.  Not that way.   You haven’t the imagination to know what I can do. You are too proper for that.  Here.”  He took one of my hands and placed it on the front of his breeches.  It swelled with an erection.

“’His erection,’ not ‘an erection.’  There’s no other man in the room, now, is there? You assume too much, darling.  But let’s not quibble over small matters…and I don’t mean my cock. You will find it better than you wrote.”

My face was heated from his words.  There was no denying I was getting aroused.  I had wondered a bit what he would be like in the heat of passion.  Just daydreams, sitting at my desk.  Faced with reality, I was feeling the effects in the usual places.

He shoved my arms behind my back and held them easily with one hand. With the other, still balancing me on his knee, he tenderly traced my cheek and neck with a finger, looking into my eyes.    He brought my face to his mouth and kissed me, at first softly – oh the deceiver!- then roughly, forcing my lips with his tongue. He cupped my breast and  squeezed  my nipple, rolling it between two fingers.   He kissed me hard, bending my head back against his shoulder.

“There”, he said in a low voice as he held me against him.  “How do you like being kissed by something you have created?  You thought I would allow you your pleasure and not have my own?”  He pushed me upright on his knee, my head wobbling with the effort.

I caught my breath.  “I gave you Jennie, you monster!”  This was a rather stupid thing to say, but I didn’t have much of my wits after that kiss.

“And I thank you for her. She is a sweet little pastry, but I aim to have more.  You look like you could feed me for a week.”

“Oh, let me go, you’re not real!”

He stood up, grabbing and lifting me from his knee.  He rubbed the front of his breeches.  “Is this not real enough for you?  Good, let’s go where I show you what’s real and what’s not.”

He pulled me fast from the room, and I stumbled after him up the staircase.  He walked down the hall and opened a door, flinging me into a room.  It was my bedroom of the morning.    He stood with his back to the door and locked it.  I ran to the other door, but he was quicker. Picking me up, he threw me on the bed.  Now, I was frightened.  I was panting.

“’I was panting.’”  See, I can read you like a book.”  Throwing back his head, he laughed loudly.  He was the very devil.

He dragged a chair from the room and sat facing the bed, one long leg propped up on the mattress.   If I tried to leap from the bed, I would jump right into his arms.  He sat there, and looked at me with half closed eyes, his head cocked to one side.

“Don’t you find it confusing to read  Richardson’s  “Pamela”, in the middle of writing seduction scenes?  Rather you should read  Fielding’s “Shamela”….better story, or rather, same story,  not so tedious.”

“I can snap my fingers and you will be gone,” I said desperately.  I closed my eyes and snapped my fingers.

He remained before me grinning wickedly.  “Try again.”

I snapped my fingers again.  Nothing.   The demon lover was still there.

“Ah…you called me ‘lover.’  Perhaps you won’t resist me and John Thomas here.”

“I called you ‘demon lover’.  You’re forgetting that first word.”

“You created me.  It’s all in your calling.”

“That’s right…and I can uncreate you.”

“You already tried.  This conversation is going nowhere. I need a drink. Seduction is hard work.”  He snapped his fingers, and a tankard appeared on the table behind him.  “Oh, my apologies.  One for you?”

“A small one, please.”

“A small one it is.”  A snap.   Another tankard appeared.

He got up and retrieved the two tankards.  He reached across the bed, and handed me my drink.  I thought of throwing it in his face, and running from the room.

“How far do you think you would get?”  I had forgotten his mind reading trick.

“Not far- just testing.”

He laughed and drank deeply.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We’ve been circling each other for years.  Don’t you think it’s time we put an end to this charade? A little carnal knowledge would not be amiss.  Besides, I already know you want me, have known it for years.”  He picked up his tankard, his eyes glittering across the rim.

“You are a cocksure devil, you are!”  I would laugh at his presumption, but he was correct.  I had created him from my own secret lust, and spared nothing in doing so.

“Explain to me, Demon, how you have access to me?  You are nothing but some scribbles on paper, yet you appear flesh and blood enough now.”

He put down his tankard and smiled.  “Sometimes there’s a rip in the fabric of time and all hell breaks loose.   Dimensions warp and dragon lines bulge.  The usual workings of a universe gone bad.”

“So I’m here in another dimension?”  From the 21st century to the 19th, quite a rip in the fabric, I think.

He grinned into his ale.  “For as long as it suits me, and as long as you please me.”

“What is it you want of me?”  I looked at him, already knowing part of the answer.

“First, I want to know what’s under those petticoats.  That will be good for starters.  We can work outward from there.”

He had an interesting concept of seduction.  Rather direct, not subtle at all, but intriguing.
By the looks of him, he would be worth the effort.  I thought of his kiss, and my sex grew wet.   I looked up at him, my face coloring, and his grin told me he knew what was happening between my legs.  I wanted him, my sex knew before my head, but I wouldn’t give him the words he wanted to hear. Perhaps I was playing with fire, but a good tumble was welcome.  Sex hadn’t been on the agenda for a long time. He was too much temptation in the flesh to deny.

He stood up, stretched, and sat upon the bed, pulling off his boots.  He threw off his waistcoat, one I had embroidered in planning the book, a pretty cream satin with figures..  “Flowering” as it said in  Pamela.

“You know, you were quite witty in making the links between ‘orchard’ and ‘sex’ in that last chapter. You are my orchard, at least for now. I’ll pick myself an apple.”

Again, like a cat, he was over me, pinning me down with the weight of his body.   The smell of ale was strong.    I was backed up on the pillows when he began to unhook the front of my dress.  I slapped at his hands, and he laughed.  He raised himself, and ripped the front of the dress from my breasts.  “There. Now, will you lay still and quit resisting?  You know you want me, your body isn’t lying. Why play the coy virgin now?”

“Go back to your hell, Demon”.   I spat at him, my eyes flashing.  He wiped my spittle off his face with his sleeve.  His eyes shot out a warning I couldn’t miss if I was blind.

“I will go back to my hell, the one you so easily write for me.  First Lucile cuckolds  me then Obadiah sticks in a knife.  Did you ever think how painful that was? Finish me off with that dolt Jennie.   Ah, God…give me a dish of woman I don’t have to fight or teach.  You look like you know enough. At least for right now.”

He pulled up the skirt of my dress, and spread my legs with his.   I had forgotten about those crotchless bloomers.  He gently touched my sex with a finger, watching my response. I jerked at his touch, and he dug deeper into me.  I bit my tongue to keep from groaning.  My hips pushed into his hand.

“A neat invention, don’t you think?  Easy to get to the pearl in the oyster.” He pulled his own shirt over his head, and I realized I’d never given him enough credit.  He was a vigorous looking man, with well muscled arms, and a broad chest.  He looked formidable.

“Wait until you see John down there, now he’s formidable.  Oh, I forgot, you have seen him, or me, or you think you have seen us both. But you only saw my cock in shadows.  I always thought you could write that scene better.”

“How?  Men say that it’s ‘somewhat arousing’ and women say it’s ‘over the top.’ “

“Are you ever original?  Here, place your hand on this cock and tell me if you have ever felt one finer.”

I pinched the head of it hard and he yelled.  “You witch.  You should be glad I’m not Obadiah.  Perhaps you would like his kind of lovemaking better, though it usually leads to death.  But you know that.”

“I wrote that.”

“Yes, and it was kind of sick.”

“You should talk.  Obadiah is a pivotal character.  He needs to be the negative, the bad guy, but right now, you serve as good as he.”

“That’s scrambled English.  Something you’re good at.   Now, lie still and at least enjoy my efforts.”

“Do you like your women like logs?  I can be a pillar of salt if you want.”

“Can’t you try to be original?  Now, I have a blazing hard-on and I intend to use it.”

I smiled  and closed my eyes.    I would not let him hear any moan of pleasure..  He rose between my legs and pulled me to him, and began to enter slowly.  I grunted with his movements.   He was bigger than I had imagined (“You’re right again” I heard him whisper,”) and he took his time, stretching me slowly.  Spitting into his hand, he rubbed the base of his cock. He sat back on his legs, and kept my hips to his.  Would he ever finish?

“No…not until I hear you coo like the turtledoves.”

He turned over, not losing contact with me.  Sitting upright at the headboard he pulled me straight up onto him, his hands under my buttocks. I threw my arms around his neck and held on tightly, one breast in front of his mouth.

I groaned in spite of myself.  My mouth opened and he stuck his finger in.  I bit down hard and he laughed.  He dropped me down on his cock and made me gasp, my head thrown back on my shoulders.   He tried to seek my mouth with his but I would not let him. He laughed again, and turned over completely.  He tilted my pelvis with an arm under my waist, and drove into me, deeper with each thrust.  I could not take this too long and I screamed as I reached my orgasm, my legs wrapped around his waist.    He reached his shortly after, and fell across the bed, panting loudly.    I guess this is standard for all lovers.

“Ah, again, you called me ‘lover’.  I like that.  You are growing tender.”

“What would you have me do, Garrett?  You have what you want.  What more can you do?”  I didn’t have the energy to argue with him after this lovemaking.  All of a sudden I thought about Jennie, his intended in the novel.

“She’s nowhere to be seen.  Don’t worry.”

“I worry. What have you done with her?”

“Do you mistrust me so much, your own creation? Snap my fingers and erase her?“

“Garrett, you have way too much power.  I believe you capable of anything.”

“Well, I am capable of another round of lovemaking, my sweet woman, if you would give me a moment.  I need to empty  this ale.”

“Don’t you dare use the fireplace, Garrett!  I’m wise to your ways from the last chapter.”

“Don’t worry… I’ll open a window this time.”

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2006, 2008

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