“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 16

4 Frogs....

My husband came across this early chapter in the second novel I wrote…still to be reworked and hopefully published.  He laughed and thought it had promise, and since I am lazy today…I decided to post it.

It’s not offensively sexual, but unless you are sensitive to frogs, I apologize.

CHAPTER 16, ” DEVIL”S REVENGE”

The Demon has left me alone for the last three days.  I am a bit worried for he has spent many hours in his library, pouring over large books.  He strides out the front door of the house, with neither a nod in my direction nor a kiss, and I am left to await his return.  When he leaves, I return to my room, but I am at liberty to visit the bedroom that opens to mine.  It is his, though he never seems to use it. Perhaps he sleeps hanging from the ceiling like a bat, his arms wrapped tightly around him?

It is a room with a high bed, old dusty curtains making up the enclosing draperies and a shotgun in a near corner.  He would just have to stretch and it would be in his hands.  I look at it, knowing something about shotguns, but this gun is ancient.  I don’t touch but it looks very heavy, with a scrolled and embossed silver plate, badly tarnished on the breech.  It probably killed many times.  It is evil looking as all guns are to me.

I looked out the one window of this room. My room is a corner room with more windows and trees close to the house.  His window gives me a clear and unobstructed view of the countryside that stretched for miles. It is mid January now, and is as bleak as it was in December.  The skies, a uniform gray, are no different this month and the ground is brittle and dun colored.  There is little of life outside, except for a hawk that flies each day, patrolling its territory.  The Demon knows it to be another devil, a lesser one called Arachula, the evil spirit of the air.   He said this demon turns into an owl at dusk and sits in the tree outside of our bedroom, watching. Garrett stands at the window, silently communing with this spirit, but won’t comment on what passes between them.  Perhaps he has an agreement with the owl to protect the house from monsters.  Who knows?  It is all beyond my understanding.

This morning, I sit quietly flowering another vest for him.  He has constantly worn the one I made for him, and it shows its wear.  The floss I used is becoming worn, and pulling from the fabric.  I am forever cutting off little unraveling ends. This floss is silk, not cotton, and sinks into the fabric, and looks like it will be stronger.  It is a tree limb with many different kinds of flowers and leaves, with autumn colors, and at the top, an elaborate orchid, with tiny seed pearls worked in the blossom.  It is something to occupy my hands while I await his return.  It is something that allows me to not think too deeply.

I believe he has gone off to consult with different Demons of his own tribe.  I am guessing you could call it a tribe, but not knowing the hierarchy of his dominion, I am only guessing. He tells me little, and is strangely, for him, silent.  This is a definite turn in his behavior, and disturbs me. It tells me he is very preoccupied with his present business.  I do miss his easy conversation, as I have grown accustomed to his wit. I hope it returns as his behavior now is scary.  Too much the man and not enough the funny devil.

Suddenly he is in the room, and I look up, surprised.

“Good Morning, Devil!  Don’t you look handsome today!”

He smiles and sits down in his usual chair.   He has dressed himself in a different manner, and I continue to stare.  He wears a dark green frock coat, with deep cuffs and silver buttons.  It is long, to his hips, and under is a rich, silver brocade waistcoat, embroidered with leaves. A stock closely wrapped about his neck, clean linen shirt under the waistcoat, black breeches and shiny black boots completes his costume.  He looks quite formal in dress.  And quite charming.  He is obviously dressed for an important occasion.

“Goedemorgen, Bess.  Tonight we make our appearance before Abigor and it is good we put our best foot forward.”

He smiles at me and I am a bit apprehensive. I immediately think of cloven hooves.

“Ah. An appearance.  As in being presented to a Demon that you except favors from?”

“Abigor is the Grand Duke of Hell, and I would remind you to curb your comic thoughts about him.  If you think I read your mind fast, he is faster.  He is pleasant enough, but there are limitations.  And he doesn’t take well to mortals.  He is annoyed by free will.”

Great.  Now I don’t only have to fear this Demon invading my thoughts, but his granddaddy as well.

If he reads my mind, he ignores me. I seem to be compounding my ‘mistakes’.   Perhaps I am losing my mind.

“First you will have to take the bath and dress in a gown provided for your appearance.

Arginutin has loaned you the handmaidens I promised.  They are soon to appear.   They will assist you in this.”

Arginutin is the demon who has dominion over baths and bathing places.  Like the Turkish baths?

“Don’t let your wit run away with you today.  I need you sober and submissive.”

“Ah! About that submissive stuff, I was wondering if”…

“Don’t wonder.  Don’t even think.  You will be surrounded by forces who will be confusing enough.  Remain by my side, slightly behind my right side, and if things get nasty, grab onto the back of my coat.”

“Are there to be more than one Demon we are visiting now?”  I am apprehensive enough with this Abigor.

“Abigor travels with his own…ah, cabinet.  He will be visible to you, but only he.  Perhaps a large dog or wolf, or some monster at his feet.  The others will be there, but invisible.  Do not get curious and look around.  If one catches your eyes, he could charm you away, and I’ll have more trouble on my hands.”

We hear a scratching at the door, and my Demon calls out ‘enter’.  The door opens and four greenish frogs enter the room.  They are large frogs, at least 4 feet tall.  But they are frogs.  I start to laugh, and Garrett looks at me with a scowl.  I must be losing my mind.

“Go in the other bedroom with them and do as they say.”

“As they croak?”  He smiles a sly smile, “As they croak.”

“Will I get warts ?”

“Bess, don’t push this morning.  If you anger them, they could cover you with worse.”

I trail the frogs into the bedroom where a copper slipper tub is sitting on the floor.  The fire is lit in the fireplace and the four frogs take places around the tub.  There they start to fill the tub with ‘water’ from their throats, like fountains.  I watch for a moment and then it dawns on me.  My bath.  I return to the other room where I find Garrett, the Demon, sitting before the fireplace, smoking his white clay pipe.

“Ah, Garrett…..the frogs are spitting in my bath.”

He looks up at me, and grins. “Don’t worry.  You’ll like the effects.  Like asses milk. Good for the skin.”

I look at him blankly, and go back in with the frogs.  The water is foaming, and looks milky.  Two frogs start to remove my petticoat and bodice, and their little claws scratch my skin.  They don’t croak a word, and they lead me to the tub, where I climb in.  It’s not exactly warm, frogs being amphibians, cold blooded and all, and I try to suppress an image of frog legs on a plate.  One of the frogs croaks pointedly, and I mumble ‘sorry’ to him.  They have little sponges on their pads and wash my hair with their…. spit.  One frog spits more of his saliva onto my hair, rinsing it with a blast of frog spit in my face.  I believe that was on purpose, as I sputter and they all give a low croak.  I think they are laughing at me.  They are none too gentle in washing me, either.  One picks up an arm and another does the same, and they rub hard. Two pick up my legs, I feel like a wishbone right now.  The ‘chief’ frog, the one that is slightly darker and taller than the other three, plunges into the water and washes between my legs.  I see his face as he busies himself down there, and there is a decidedly sly frog- smile on his…ah, face.  They pull me down in the water by my legs as their way of rinsing, and sputtering, I am helped from the bath.  Four towels appear in their paws and they are none too gentle in their rubbing. I think they get some pleasure in making my skin red with their efforts.

Standing there, naked, surrounded by these frog servants, I would laugh but they take themselves so seriously.  Plus I am afraid of warts.  The chief frog, for that is what I believe him to be, stands before me, looking intently at my body.  He croaks something in his language to the others and there is a hearty croaking.   Now I know they are laughing at me, I just don’t know what part they find so amusing.

I am led to the bed, where I lay naked on the coverlet.  Since I don’t see any little penises, I am not afraid of frog rape.  However, they have little pots of something in their paws and start to paint different parts of my body with a soft, brick- red powder.  They paint my lips, cheeks, fingernails and toenails, rouge my nipples, and then the chief frog comes between my legs and none to gently spreads them.  He rouges my sex with the powder, and seems to work at it more time than necessary.  I see that sly frog- smile again between my legs.

I stand up and two frogs bring a beautiful gown to me.  It is green or purple– no it is both colors, iridescent, and changes in the light.  It is a light silk and they float it over my head.  It fits, but hugs my body in places.  They all give a croak of approval. They brush out my hair and the chief frog places a circlet of spun gold around my forehead.  I am barefoot, but apparently, no shoes are necessary with frogs.

They lead me back into the bedroom where the Demon is sitting, and present me to him.  He looks at me, and his eyes widen.  I think he is pleased.  He smiles and bows to the frogs.  I curtsey to them and they look pleased.  They file out the door, and then are gone.

“Wasn’t too bad an ordeal now, was it?”  He looked at me appraisingly, his head to the side.

“Garrett!  I am covered with frog spit! Maybe in your world this is normal, but in mine?”

I started to laugh; I could easily become hysterical.

“Any warts?”

“No, not that I can tell.”

“Good. Because if they took offense, you would now be covered in large, red welts.”

Well, that was the good news.  “What happens next?”

“We turn up at the appointed time and I make a leg.”

“And what do I do?”

“You are very quiet, don’t breathe a word, and for your Goddess’ sake, don’t think a thing.  Try to remain blank.  Though do present a pretty curtsy, and mean it when I present you.”  He grimaces at me.  “Do not be mocking in your behavior or you might end up a cinder.”

Ah! That was good to know.  I was really scared now!

“Do not lose courage, little woman.  You will get used to the procedure, for we will be doing the same in a round of visits.  I am building my influence here, and calling in favors.”

“Will Obadiah be doing the same?”  I was curious.

He sighed deeply, and looked at me.  “Yes, he will.  It will be a race to see who develops their forces first.  That first strike can mean an early victory.”

“And I assume, who gets me?”  He looked at me in a strange way, and drew me onto his lap.

“Sit here a spell.  We have some time yet.  The gathering isn’t until dusk.  Let me smell your mortal woman smell.  That will create a stronger bond.  It’s more than appearances to these devils, but appearances are important.”

I sat on his lap, and leaned my still frog-spit damp hair on his shoulder.  He wrapped his arms around me and held me to his chest.  Ah, he was so tender this day!

“Explain something to me, Garrett.  Why is it again that I am needed in your dimension? What is it about mortals that make us desired?”

“Not all mortals are desired, my darling.  You have shown a free imagination and a certain intelligence.  That is how you attracted the Old Ones in the first place.  It’s not that they read much, but they sensed something usable in you.”

Sounds like he was describing a ‘devil’s plaything’. Nice.

“Have you ever heard of “Abd-ru-shin”?

“No, should I have?”

“Not necessarily.  There are a couple of reincarnations made from the original.  He was an Arab who wrote about humans and personal responsibility.  He also wrote, and is most famous for, beliefs on human free will.  He believed that humans, mortals if you will, had a neutral Creative Power.  They were between worlds….yours and others.  Applies to different dimensions, too.  You are what is called a ‘carrier.’  You can go between worlds and dimensions, with a bit of magic.”

“That’s where you come in?”

“Partly.”  He scowled heavily at some thought.  “Of course, other spirits and demons will want to use you, too.  I’ll have to be on guard you don’t get squired away.”

I felt like some giant, immortal mail service.  I had to laugh.  He read my thought but wasn’t in a humorous mood.

“You look fetching in that gown. The frogs did a good job with you. Now listen to me carefully.  You are a bit too fetching for my tastes.  At least outside this room.  I want you to grab onto my coat and stay there.  Don’t lose contact with me.  There are going to be strange forces around you, and some that will enter your mind.  Don’t allow them to muddle your thoughts.  Just think of me. Only  me.  There will be temptations abounding and these are a pack of tricky devils.  I would attend to him alone, but they all want to see why Obadiah and I are fighting.  If you feel an arm, or a breath or a tentacle touch you or go up your gown, stamp your foot.  That should break their spell.  If that doesn’t work, pull on my coat.  That will get my attention.  But remember I will be making my case to Abigor, and this is strong business between devils.  Try not to interrupt.”

Oh god!  I am to blank out my mind, avoid the tentacles going up my legs, not be open to suggestions from other demons in the area, and not lose contact with his coat! And to remember to stomp my foot if I am tempted.

“Why not just leave me here in the room? Seems a lot of trouble for you.”

“I could do that, and easily, but it is not what’s on the agenda.  You are a prize, and right now mine, and I aim to keep it that way.  That is why Abigor is pivotal here.  He also predicts the future. So, just remember what I have said, and please!  Be submissive!”

If there was any time that I felt more submissive, I couldn’t remember.  Right now, I wanted to be so submissive as to disappear.  I was clearly out of my league with his fellow creatures.  The frogs were benign in comparison.

“Just for the visit, I am going to put a little charm on you.  Just for safety, my own as well as yours.”  He passed his hand over my tinted lips, and I felt nothing. I started to ask a question, and I had no voice. I was mute!

“Good. It works. Hard to tell sometimes, you are such a chatterbox.”  He smiled down at me and I flashed my outrage and anger from my eyes.  My mouth was useless.

“Don’t worry, sweetwoman..  After the visit, I’ll loosen your tongue again, and you can put it to good use thanking me.”

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009,2010

“Devil’s Revenge” Chapter 16

This is a quirky novel that is almost finished except for the damn rewrite which should take me a longgggg time. It’s the second novel in a series, but it is very rough as it was written before I had a clue about writing…two years ago…LOL!

The plot is complicated. 21st Century writer is warped back into the 19th century…around 1820…where she ‘meets’ the same character in her first novel….Garrett Cortelyou..this time a Devil…handsome…but still a demon. He is immersed in a feud with another demon, Obadiah, and the writer is in the middle. There is a whole cast of Demons from Hell, and in this chapter, Betsy…the writer, is being ‘prepared’ to meet Abigor, the Devil close to the throne. Hopefully this comes across as funny, but as I said…it’s sorely in need of rewrite.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE, Part 16

My Demon has left me alone for the last three days. I am a bit worried for he has spent many hours in his library, pouring over large books. Then he strides out the front door of the house, with neither a nod in my direction nor a kiss, and I am left to await his return. When he leaves, I return to my room, but I am at liberty to visit the bedroom that opens to mine. It is his, though he never seems to use it. It is a room with a high bed, old dusty curtains at its corners and a shotgun by the bed. He would just have to stretch his hand out to retrieve it. I look at it, knowing something about shotguns, but this gun is ancient. I don’t touch it, but it looks very heavy, with a scrolled and embossed silver plate, badly tarnished on the breech. It looks like it has killed many times. It is evil looking as all guns are to me.

I look out his windows though my room is a corner room with more windows and trees close to the house. His window gives me a clear and unobstructed view of the countryside that stretches for miles. It is mid January now, and the view is as bleak as it was in December. The skies are a uniform gray, with an occasional black cloud, and the ground is brittle and dun colored. There is little notice of life outside, except for that hawk that flies each day, patrolling its territory. Or so I believe. My Demon knows it to be another devil, a lesser one called Arachula, the evil spirit of the air. He said this demon turns into an owl at dusk and sits in the tree outside of our bedroom, watching. He stands at the window, silently communing with this spirit, but won’t comment on what passes between them. Perhaps he has an agreement with the owl to protect the house from monsters. Who knows? It is all beyond my comprehension.

This morning, I sit quietly flowering another vest for him. He has constantly worn the one I made for him, and it shows its wear. The floss I use is becoming worn, and pulling from the fabric. I am forever cutting off little ends that unravel.. This floss is silk, not cotton, and sinks into the fabric, and looks like it will be stronger. It is a tree limb with many different kinds of flowers and leaves, with autumn colors, and at the top, an elaborate orchid, with tiny seed pearls worked in the blossom. It is something to occupy my hands while I await his return.

I believe he has gone off to consult with different Demons of his own tribe. I guess you could call it a tribe, but not knowing the hierarchy of his dominion, I am only guessing. He tells me little, and is strangely, for him, silent. This is a definite turn in his behavior, and disturbs me. It tells me he is very preoccupied with his present business. I do miss his easy conversation, as I have grown accustomed to his wit. I hope it returns as his behavior now is scary. Too much the man and not enough the funny devil.

Suddenly he is in the room, and I look up, surprised.

“Good Morning, Devil! Don’t you look handsome today!”

He smiles and sits down in his usual chair. He has dressed himself in a different manner, and I continue to stare. He wears a dark green frock coat, with deep cuffs and silver buttons. It is long, to his hips, and under is a rich, silver brocade waistcoat, embroidered with leaves. A stock closely wrapped about his neck, clean linen shirt under the waistcoat, black breeches and shiny black boots completes his costume. He looks quite formal in dress. And quite charming . He is obviously dressed for an important occasion.

“Goedemorgen, Betsy. Today we make our appearance before Abigor and it is good we put our best foot forward.”

He smiles at me and I am a bit apprehensive. I immediately think of cloven hooves.

“Ah. An appearance. As in being presented to a Demon that you want favors from?”

“Abigor is the Grand Duke of Hell, and I would remind you to curb your comic thoughts about him. If you think I read your mind fast, he is faster. He is pleasant enough, but there are limitations. And he doesn’t take well to mortals. He is annoyed by free will.”

Great. Now I don’t only have to fear my Demon’s invading my thoughts, but his granddaddy as well.

If he reads my mind, he ignores me. I seem to be compounding my ‘mistakes’. Perhaps I am losing my mind.

“First you will have to take the bath and dress in a gown provided for your appearance.
Arginutin has loaned you the handmaidens I promised you. They are soon to appear. . They will assist you this morning.”

Arginutin is the demon who has dominion over baths and bathing places. Like the Turkish baths?

“Don’t let your wit run away with you today. I need you sober and submissive.”

Ah! About that submissive stuff, I was wondering if –

“Don’t wonder. Don’t even think. You will be surrounded by forces that will be confusing enough. Remain by my side, slightly behind my right side, and if things get nasty, grab onto the back of my coat.”

“Are there to be more than one Demon that we are visiting now?” I am apprehensive enough with this Abigor.

“Abigor travels with his own…ah, cabinet. He will be visible to you, but only he. Perhaps a large dog or wolf, or some monster at his feet. The others will be there, but invisible. Do not get curious and look around. If one catches your eyes, he could charm you away, and I’ll have more trouble on my hands.”

We both hear a scratching at the door, and my Demon calls out ‘enter’. The door opens and four greenish frogs enter the room. They are large frogs, at least 4 feet tall. But they are frogs. I start to laugh, and Garrett looks at me with a scowl. I am in shock and must be going hysterical.

“Go in the other bedroom with them and do as they say.”

“As they croak?” He smiles a sly smile, “As they croak.”

“Will I get warts from them?”

“Betsy, don’t push it this morning. If you anger them, they could cover you with worse.”

I trail the frogs into the other bedroom where a copper slipper tub is sitting on the floor. The fire is lit in the fireplace and the four frogs take places around the tub. There they start to fill the tub with ‘water’ from their throats, like fountains. I watch for a moment and then it dawns on me. My bath. I return to the other room where I find Garrett, the Demon, sitting before the fireplace, smoking his white clay pipe.

“Ah, Garrett…..the frogs are spitting in my bath.”

He looks up at me, and he grins. “Don’t worry. You’ll like the effects. Like asses milk. Good for the skin.”

I look at him blankly, and go back in with the frogs. The water is foaming, and looks milky. Two frogs start to remove my petticoat and bodice, and their little claws scratch my skin. They don’t croak a word, and they lead me to the tub, where I climb in. It’s not exactly warm, frogs being amphibians, cold blooded and all, and I try to suppress an image of frog legs on a plate. One of the frogs croaks pointedly, and I mumble ‘sorry’ to him. They have little sponges attached (?) to their pads and they wash my hair with their spit. One frog emits more of his saliva onto my hair, rinsing it with a blast of frog spit in my face. I believe that was on purpose, as I sputter and they all give a low croak. I think they are laughing at me. They are none too gentle in washing me either. One picks up an arm and other does the same, and they rub hard. Two pick up my legs, I feel like a wishbone right now, and they do the same. The ‘chief’ frog, the one that is slightly darker and taller than the other three, plunges into the water and washes between my legs. I see his face as he busies himself down there, and there is a decided sly frog smile on his…ah, face. They pull me down in the water by my legs as their way of rinsing, and sputtering, I am helped from the bath. Four towels appear in their paws and they are none too gentle in their rubbing. I think they get some pleasure in making my skin red with their efforts.

Standing there, naked, surrounded by these frog servants, I would laugh but they take themselves so seriously. Plus I am afraid of warts. The chief frog, for that is what I believe him to be, stands before me, looking intently at my body. He croaks something in his language to the others and there is a hearty croaking. Now I know that they are laughing at me, I just don’t know what part they find so amusing.

I am led to the bed, where I lay naked on the coverlet. Since I don’t see any little penises, I am not afraid of frog rape. However, they have little pots of something in their paws and start to paint different parts of my body with a soft, brick- red powder. They paint my lips, cheeks, fingernails and toenails, rouge my nipples, and then the chief frog comes between my legs and none to gently spreads them. He rouges my sex with the powder, and seems to work at it more time than necessary. I see that sly frog smile again between my legs.

I stand up and two frogs bring a beautiful gown to me. It is green or purple, no it is both colors, iridescent, and changes in the light. It is a heavy silk and they float it over my head. It fits, but hugs my body in places. They all give a croak of approval, or this is what it seems to me. They brush out my hair and the chief frog places a circlet of spun gold around my forehead. I am barefoot, but apparently, I am expected to stay that way.

The frogs lead me back into the bedroom where my Demon is sitting, and present me to him. He looks at me, and his eyes widen. I think he is pleased. He smiles and bows to the frogs. I curtsey to them and they look pleased. They file out the door, and then are gone.

“Wasn’t that bad an ordeal now, was it?” He looked at me appraisingly.

“Garrett! I am covered with frog spit! Maybe in your world this is normal, but in mine?”
I started to laugh, I could easily become hysterical.

“Any warts?”

“No, not that I can tell.”

“Good. Because if they took offense, you would now be covered in large, red welts.”

Well, that was the good news. “What happens next?”

“We turn up at the appointed time and I make a leg.” That meant him bowing to the Duke.

“And what do I do?”

“You are very quiet, don’t breathe a word, and for your Goddess’ sake, don’t think a thing. Try to remain blank. Though do present a pretty curtsy, and mean it when I present you.” He grimaces at me. “Do not be mocking in your behavior or you might end up a cinder.”

Ah! That was good to know. I was really scared now!

“Do not lose courage, little woman of mine. You will get used to the procedure, for we will be doing the same in a round of visits. I am building my influence here, and calling in favors.”

“Will Obadiah be doing the same?” I was curious.

He sighed deeply, and looked at me. “Yes, he will. It will be a race to see who develops their forces first. That first strike can mean an early victory.”

“And I assume, who gets me?” He looked at me in a strange way, and drew me onto his lap.

“Sit here a spell. We have some time yet. The gathering isn’t until dusk. Let me smell your mortal woman smell. That will create a stronger bond. It’s more than appearances to these devils, but appearances are important.”

I sat on his lap, and leaned my still frogspit damp hair on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and held me to his chest. Ah, he was so tender this day!

“Explain something to me, Garrett. Why is it again that I am needed in your dimension? What is it about mortals that make us desired?”

“Not all mortals are desired, my darling one. You have shown a free imagination and a certain intelligence. That is how you attracted the Old Ones in the first place. It’s not that they read much, but they sensed something usable in you.”

Sounds like he was describing a ‘devil’s plaything’. Nice.

“Have you ever heard of “Abd-ru-shin”?

“No, should I have?”

“Not necessarily. There are a couple of reincarnations made from the original. He was an Arab who wrote about humans and personal responsibility. He also wrote, and is most famous for, beliefs on human free will. He believed that humans, mortals if you will, have a neutral Creative Power. They were between worlds….yours and others. Applies to different dimensions, too. You are what is called a ‘carrier.’ You can go between worlds and dimensions, with a bit of magic.”

“That’s where you come in?”

“Partly.” He scowled heavily at some thought. “Of course, other spirits and demons will want to use you, too. I’ll have to be on guard you don’t get squired away.”

I felt like some giant, immortal mail service. I had to laugh. He read my thought but wasn’t in a humorous mood.

“You look fetching in that gown. The frogs did a good job with you. Now listen to me carefully. You are a bit too fetching for my tastes. At least outside this room. I want you to grab onto my coat and stay there. Don’t lose contact with me. There are going to be strange forces around you, and some  will enter your mind. Don’t allow them to muddle your thoughts. Just think of me. Only of me. There will be temptations abounding and these are a pack of tricky devils. I would attend to him alone, but they all want to see why Obadiah and I are fighting over you. If you feel an arm, or a breath or a tentacle touch you or go up your gown, stamp your foot. That should break their spell. If that doesn’t work, pull on my coat. That will get my attention. But remember I will be making my case to Abigor, and this is strong business between devils. Try not to interrupt.”

Oh god! I am to blank out my mind, avoid the tentacles going up my legs, not be open to suggestions from other demons in the area, and not loose contact with his coat! And to remember to stomp my foot if I am tempted.

“Why not just leave me here in the room? Seems a lot of trouble for you.”

“I would do that, easily, but that is not what is called for. You are a prize, and right now mine, and I aim to keep it that way. That is why Abigor is pivotal here. He also predicts the future. So, just remember what I have said, and please! Be submissive!”

If there was any time that I felt more submissive, I couldn’t remember. Right now, I wanted to be so submissive as to disappear. I was clearly out of my league with his fellow creatures. The frogs were benign in comparison.

“Just for the visit, I am going to put a little charm on you. Just for safety, my own as well as yours.” He passed his hand over my tinted lips, and I felt nothing. I started to ask a question, and I had no voice. I was mute!

“Good. It works. Hard to tell sometimes, you are such a chatterbox.” He smiled down at me and I flashed my outrage and anger from my eyes. My mouth was useless.

“Don’t worry, sweetwoman.. After the visit, I’ll loosen your tongue again, and you can put it to good use thanking me.”

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006, 2008

“Devil’s Revenge” ….

This is my second novel, yet unfinished, and I have gone back just to read and weep. It’s full of lust and sex and little refinement, but I can work on that. I wrote it exactly two years ago this month….in the flush of sexual arousal. I had just started writing erotica and didn’t know my way around a bush, but I was fascinated with words and their possible effects.

So, I am posting Chapter 29 because I am pissy this morning and don’t want to write something serious.

“Devil’s Revenge” is a time-warp story, a woman wrenched from the 21st century to the early 19th. She is confronted by a confusing devil, yes, actually a devil, Garrett Cortelyou, and a very old, transsexual devil, M. Gormosy…sometimes, when it pleases him….Madame Gormosy. A couple of characters have followed her (Betsy) into this novel from another novel she has been writing (hey! it’s actually finished, too!) and they torment her. The main tormentor is named Obadiah Voorhees, and he is plum insane. He’s a sadist and a really, really bad character….and if I continue to post this, you will find out why. Miserable fellow.

This book was called “Another Story” but it was such a bad title, that this morning I changed it to “Devil’s Revenge”….It probably will change again.

Lady Nyo

“DEVIL’S REVENGE” Chapter 29

“Oh! La! Look at you! Gone a week, and what do I come back to?”

Madame Gomosy sweeps into my bedroom this morning, with a riding crop in her hand. This doesn’t portend well. I am sitting in a wrinkled chemise, my mob cap over my eyes. It can’t be more than eight o’clock, and my eyes are barely open. I look at her blearily and remember her role the other afternoon with my drunken gallant.

“Good Morning to you, Madame Gomosy. Would you like a cup of tea?” She glides gracefully to a chair across the tea table from me, and looks at me with a pinched mouth.

“I understand, Madame, that you accompanied my ‘husband’ to a tavern. To be correct, two taverns. Perhaps a bit excessive, don’t you think, for one afternoon?” I raised my cup and looked over the rim at her.

“Do not be too concerned, dear lady. I was quite transformed.” ‘Her’ voice was a deep baritone. He certainly was a man, regardless the dress he assumed before me. I jumped with the shock of hearing his natural voice, and he grinned devilishly back at me.

I blushed deeply, the thoughts of how much he had seen me in my ‘natural’ state flooding my mind. My hands shook as I replaced the cup in the saucer.

“You know, he was quite ill when he came home. He passed out on the bed as soon as he hit it. I would thank you to consider I am alone here and have trouble enough out of him when he is sober.”

‘Madame’ Gomosy laughed, a deep rumble from her elegant throat. “Some men, or devils to think of it, never do learn their limit. Ah! The next time, ask him for me to accompany him home, and we can put him to bed together. We can spend some time in front of the fire, putting a fine pair of horns on his head.”

I looked at him, my mouth opened wide, my eyes round with shock. Then I started to laugh. What a scene before my eyes, my Demon Lover snoring away, and Madame Gomosy on her knees between my thighs! Apparently, Madame read my mind, for she laughed, but in her usual womanly voice.

“Ah, cherie! There is much a woman can teach another about pleasure. Men, now, they take a lick and a stab at it, but they have their minds elsewhere, if not their hands. Women, now, we carry our pleasure palaces around with us, and know how to knock at the entrance. Men, they pound at the door.”

I giggled at her words. So had it been my experience. There was an ‘art’ a ‘delicacy’ if you would, most men did not seem to know.

“But enough! We have much to do today. Can you guess the reason for this whip?” She looked at me expectantly, one eyebrow arched elegantly on her brow.

I was afraid to think. “No, unless we are to ride out on horses. But surely, too wet a day for such?” I was hopeful here.

“Ah!”, she scoffed in disgust. M. Demon told me you were naïve, but I would not believe him! Quel dommage! Do we start at the beginning? If we must, we must.”

Madame rapped on the table with the whip “First, Mon Dieu!, we get you dressed. Again, no tricks with your breath, my dear, I will lace you up tight today. This whip will assure your…ah…compliance, n’est-ce pas?

Oh God. That corset again. I had left off wearing it, and now would pay the price. On top of this, I had been eating toast and bread with my teas for a week. I was fatter even in a week of indulgence, and that corset would be a real pain.

“Up! Cherie. Come to the bedpost.” Madame Gomosy swept her wide paneled overdress to the bed, her crop in her hand. I followed, grabbing off my mob cap and shaking my hair behind my head. Madame came before me, and lifted my chin with her whip. She looked carefully at my face and neck, and I started to giggle. Perhaps Madame Gomosy would transform herself into a French Nazi in years to come. She certainly handled that whip like she was comfortable. There came to my mind another reason, but I didn’t want to think of it. Inspite of myself, I shivered.

Madame tapped my shoulder with her whip and my chemise fell in a pool around my feet. “Here, step into this.” She helped pull up the double laced corset over my body. Positioning it and me bracing myself on the bedpost, with my arms high, she started the lacing. Then, she muttered a low curse under her breath in German (!) and turned me around to face her. She started to lace me up from the front, from the bottom, which grazed my pubic mound, to the top of my breasts. Then she twirled me around again, and started lacing the back. She pulled the hips not very tight, because I was slim hipped, and she was aiming at reducing my waist and containing my too florid bosom. She started pulling the lacing up close at the top of my back, and then she worked her way down my back to my waist. She spent quite a few minutes behind me, pulling and tugging, and finally she told me to turn around. She looked at the top of the corset and reaching in with her hands, pulled each breast up to the top of the corset, forming a round half melon above the corset, my nipples peeking out the top a bit.

“Ah! Now you look more presentable.” I could barely breath, and I was painfully clear that I had nothing on me except the corset. And I was cold.

“Ah, my dear girl. I will warm you up fast enough.” Madame read my mind, and I didn’t like the content of her words.

“Now, cherie, walk up and down the room for me.”

“Madame! Please let me put something on my bottom. I am freezing!”

“Non, mon petit. I want to see you walk, and I want to see how your gait effects you..ah…hips. We are going to work on the Art of Seduction today.”

“Ah, Madame, isn’t that now a bit like closing the barn door after the horse gets out?”
I looked at her with my own eyebrows raised.

She looked a bit confused, and then her face cleared. “Ah! You think I work here only for the pleasures of M. Demon, yes? Non, stupid young girl…It is M. Abigor that I worry about. He is a most discerning Devil, ma cherie. If he is not pleased with your deportment, he could…how do you say? Ah! Turn you to burnt toast.”

Something like that, Madame. I thought about her words. So I was being groomed for M. Abigor? For what reason? Before I could form a question to ask, she answered me.

“My dear, M. Garrett’s future depends much upon your impression on M. Abigor. He
has gone out on a long limb to champion M. Garrett. We must labor here, both of us, to put you in the best light in M. Abigor’s eyes.” She sat down on one of the chairs, pushing her skirts gracefully from behind her. “Now, please walk up and down the room as you would dressed each day.”

I do as she asked, feeling silly, walking on a cold wood floor naked except a tight and exposing corset. I heard her sigh behind me.

“Ah, it is sad that we aren’t all endowed with Venus’ charms. Your, ah, bush is scant and too light. And your, ah, pleasure mound is not impressive. You don’t move your hips at all, dear. You walk like a savage in a straight line.” She looked at me sadly. “Come here.” I went over to her, feeling silly standing in front of her.

“Turn around.” She whacked me hard across the left buttock. Then the right. I jumped and turned around, my face in shock.

“Now, I want you to feel the pain on each cheek. I want with each step for you to be aware of the red welt growing on your derriere. I am going to come behind you and beat you just a little as the pain recedes. Nothing now, to arouse you, cherie, just a tap to make you aware of your hips.”

Hah! Arouse me! Pain never aroused me. Or, at least I never even thought of it’s possibility. I had spent my life, it seemed, avoiding pain. And this was pain that was combined with humiliation. Ah, Madame Gomosy! We are separated by more than centuries!

She made me walk up and down the room for a good half hour, and I really tried to ‘swing’ my hips elegantly. The trick was to roll my hips downward, and to keep my breasts and chest area completely unaffected by what was happening beneath. All my bellydancing didn’t seem to matter much here. My arms were to be held elegantly rounded and low by the front of my gown, if I ever wore one again…..Madame continued to hit me sharply with her crop whenever I forgot to think with each step. Finally she told me to go lie down on the bed on my stomach. I was more than grateful, for I was a mass of stinging, little welts. I apparently was a slow learner here.

Madame Gomosy came and sat on the side of the bed, and loosened the corset in the back. She gently smoothed her hands over my backside and the top of my legs, and even where she missed and got me in the back of my thighs with her whip. Her aim was not always good. She had some cooling ointment in her hands, and she spread them over my skin for quite a while. I was falling asleep when her fingers began to stray deeper into the top of my thighs. I turned on my side to look at Madame, and in her place was a very handsome middle aged man, with powdered hair. His face was flushed with his emotion and I noticed that his cock was standing straight up in the air outside his breeches. It quivered there, shuddered actually, and Monsieur had his eyes closed. His breathing was shallow and as I made a noise in my throat, Monsieur opened his eyes and stared into my face. He grinned at me, shrugged his shoulders, and before my eyes, transformed himself back into the elegant Madame Gomosy! I had to laugh. His expression was so human. There was more to this devil than I knew. I wondered if she/he had been a courtesan in previous lives.

“Where do you think M. Pompadour learned her skills, my darling? And Nell Gywnne and Diane de Poitiers? All the great whores learned from my teachings.” She sounded very proud of herself.

“Proud? Well, kingdoms rose and fell on my teachings. Just like the royal cocks they entertained.” Madame was vulgar and witty today. “Each woman became a skilled whore under my tutorage. Of course, they all had a certain beauty. But they were wanted by their masters for different…ah…talents. Madame Pompadour was good with her mouth, she learned well to cover her sharp little teeth. Nellie Gywnne was known for another part of her figure. She had the most lucious derriere possible. Ah! Round and rosy and it was clearly superior to her front. Charles II used her in that fashion more than any other. It surprised me that she had two children by him.”

Madame had quite a history. I was blushing in spite of myself. But my backside didn’t hurt like before.

“Now, my dear young woman, I want you to get up and walk some more. Let me see how you turn at the end of the room. Remember to take small bites of the floor!”

I walked as she directed, but still she was not pleased. She came up in front of me, her arms on her hips and holding my glaze, she put one strong arm around my waist and drew me to her. She placed the handle of the riding crop at my naked mound and gently rubbed it there. I started to jump back, but she held me firmly to her dress. She was strong for a woman, but then again, she was actually a man. Ah! She applied more pressure to the whip and slipped it into the moisture there. She certainly knew what she was doing and she was arousing me fast.

Suddenly she released me, and said in a sharp voice. “Now, walk around the room like you have just been fucked by your lover. Float on your spent passion and think of his cock in you only minutes before.” I staggered around the room, her former motions with her whip effecting me without a doubt. However, something in my gait pleased Madame, and she allowed me to pull on a petticoat and place a shawl over my shoulders.

“Bonne, my cherie! You must use that which you have. You have many attributes that are hidden. You can’t rely on your lovely red and blond hair. You must push forth that part of your body that is best. Your breasts, though unfashionable in my time, are full and bountiful. I know that M. Abigor likes big breasts. Perhaps we can fit your dress and chemise so your nipples peek out above the lace like little mice noses. Ah! That would be sweet!”

I wonder at Madame’s taste. Mice noses. She followed me with the whip, applying the handle to my buttocks, my stomach, my breasts….not hurting me, but correcting me with the handle, pushing my buttocks under my hips, my stomach in, my back straight. She wanted me to pout out my breasts, complete with the mouse noses, yet the corset held me flat. She wanted a miracle here. She showed me some pictures of women posing for portraits, their breasts exposed, the drapery of their gowns pulled down and arranged artfully around their shoulders, exposing them. She wanted me to perceive my breasts as on display, as exposed to all eyes. To lead into the room with them. To tantalize all eyes with their presence, whether to envy or arousal. To frame my breasts with holding my arms close to my body, to lean towards company, maintaining my eyes with theirs, and dropping them modestly to my own cleavage. Hah!

We practiced my sitting, my back rigid to the chair, my legs not crossed over each other, but relaxed from the hips down and open under my skirt. That was supposed to be alluring in her society, and was an invitation for imagination as to what was under those voluminous skirts. Since no pantaloons were worn, the imagination was inflamed with the chance to slip up a hand onto the tops of the thighs, and if there was little protest, to slip a finger into the heat of a woman. Whether she was willing or not did not matter much, because the game was played with force on the man’s part, and resistance on the woman’s. She was to give up her treasure, or at least the tease of her treasure with resistance, but she was expected to give it up, nevertheless, to the petitioner. It seemed that sex was given and taken as a matter of course, between rooms in passing, in the hallway, thrown up against a wall, one leg raised and fastened around the waist of a man. Also, with the petticoats thrown over the backsides, and the woman leaning on the staircase, the man plowing her from behind. The backs of sofas were convenient, as was leaning over a wide and deep windowsill, with the skirts raised to her waist. There was also the variation of a man under her skirts, with them pulled over his head and body, she leaning against a wall, or perhaps her lower body obscured by a balcony, where she waves to her husband, who is walking in the garden talking to his steward, while her lover’s tongue is deep in her nether lips, putting a fine set of horns on her husband. She must remain detached and aloof from all, and not moan or groan her delight at his tonguing her treasure. A gasp is allowed, like she has been bit by a fly, but she must, above all else, maintain her decorum. Even though what she does here would ruin her reputation and put ridicule on her husband for all time.

All this and more, Madame Gomosy instructed me through pictures in her book and her recounting experiences. Whether she related her history as a man or a woman, I did not feel free to ask. But she certainly had a rich history of such debauchery. I had a bit of a problem with the book she was trying to instruct me from. It was Aretino’s Amours, and some of the positions, like the ‘wheelbarrel’ looked impossible to achieve. Some of the positions d’amore sent me into hysterics. The muscular cheeks of the women, along with the men, did little to arouse me. Madame applied her whip to restore my decorum.

But of course, this was only half of the instruction. The more ‘pointed’ event was what a lady was expected to do to her lover. Apparently, oral delights were expected in return. Madame could see that I was tiring, was hungry, and having to pee, and she gracefully delayed the rest of the lessons for the morrow. I was grateful, for a couple of hours in Madame Gomosy’s company had something of the effect of a week with the Marquis de Sade. Perhaps the whip contributed to this. She left me after the noon hour, and it took me another to get the damn corset off me. Madame, knowing what I would likely do, had tied the lacings, front and back, into nautical knots, and if she knew how I struggled, she would have had her revenge.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008