“Bull’s Blood” Published on Amazon.com

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1096474565

OR

http://bit.ly/BullsBlood

That’s the Amazon.com address where you can buy “Bull’s Blood”.

This book took 12 years in the writing, editing and finally publishing.

It is a story of Art Thieves, D/s, and lots of violence. Art thieves in Paris, Budapest, and around Europe.  And a run down vineyard in Eger, Hungary, and corrupt local police.

The blurb from the back cover:

“A chance encounter with a charismatic and dangerous Hungarian man plunges Elizabeth Kovacs into a dark world of extremes. Attracted and repelled in equal measure, Elizabeth wonders why she stays with him. Her situation is further complicated when she becomes embroiled in a conflict that threatens to culminate in violent retribution.”

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2019

 

 

“A Turkish Tale”….short story

 

“The Zar Tales”, published by Lulu.com, 2010

I wrote this short story not realizing at the time it would become my second book, a novella.  I had such fun with the characters of “The Zar Tales” (Amazon.com 2009) but all those (and many more) came from this first short story, “A Turkish Tale”.

My husband sat up reading “The Zar Tales” last night and suggested I post the entire novella for summer reading.  It’s a funny and energetic story and is based on incidents that happened in isolated villages in Turkey in the 1980’s.  Women who held the Zar rituals were imprisoned, stoned and worst by Turkish religious authorities.  This book came out of those incidents.  

Lady Nyo

 

(The Zar is a number of things in Middle Eastern and North African societies. One, it’s a ritual of extracting a Demon (a Zar) from the possessed, placating and then restoring them to the host body. A Sheikha (Wise Woman) gives it new marching orders…. Hence, a Zar is also a Demon or Djinn. Three, the Zar is a bonding or ritual dance among women. And four, the Zar dance is also a form of Hyperarousal Trance, distinct from meditative trances. This story, along with “The Zar Tales”  is set in Turkey, in the 1980’s.)

“A TURKISH TALE”

“Woman!” said an angry Ahmed. “We are married a year. You behave like a child! You don’t speak to my mother. I did not get married for this treatment. You are a terrible wife!”

Ahmed had a reason to be angry with Aya. She did not act the spouse he believed he deserved. He expected a paradise on earth, a wife pliable to his wishes and prepared to serve his wants. But Aya was young, only sixteen years old at the wedding. She came from across the mountain, born in a village no different from where she was now. No village in this part of the country was much different, and the mountains bred people repeating the same traditions and habits.

Aya was very naïve and ignorant of life. She was a daughter born in the middle of ten children, not noticed by any much. Plus, she was a shy girl, and not expected to shine.

When a matchmaker came from Ahmed’s parents, everyone was shocked. Surprised she could be married off. Both sets of parents, with the matchmaker in the middle, bargained for Aya much as her father bought sheep in the market. In due time, Aya was married and packed off to Ahmed’s parents, over the mountain and into another village and that was the last the bride’s family saw of Aya.

Aya began to droop. Deprived of the only people she knew and thrust into a family of strangers, she became even more timid and quiet. The excitement of the new marriage had passed, and living with Ahmed in a room apart from the large, noisy family was not much of a change. All brides have hope and expectations, and though she was married for a year, Aya still held hope for something different than what her life was already.

Ahmed’s mother smelled trouble. She could tell by the scowl of her favorite son that he was not happy. Peace on earth depended upon the contentment of men, and Ahmed’s mother had tradition to uphold. She knew the trouble gossip could cause, for she had been the generator of much during her life. Soon Ahmed’s sadness would be common discussion around the well, and the family would lose face. Something had to be done and Ahmed’s mother knew it was up to her to save the family honor. But first she would talk to the raw girl.

One day Ahmed’s mother went and cornered her in the courtyard while she fed chickens.

“My daughter. Why the long face?”

She generally showed little concern for her daughter- in- law, for she did not understand her. Aya was quiet, which was proper for a good Muslim woman, but too quiet. She had grown listless and preoccupied with spending time on the roof looking over the dry and rocky countryside. Many times Ahmed’s mother caught her up there, a strange look in her eye, and seemingly deaf to her calls. At first she had hoped for a grandchild, but Ahmed was spending more time with the men and less with his woman. Surely the girl should be able to charm her new husband. She must not be trying! Ahmed said little, just went about the house with a scowl, but all knew something was wrong.

Ahmed’s mother, whose name was Leila, could get nothing from her. The silly bride bowed her head, and cast her eyes downward, looking at her dusty feet. Well, the peace of her household was at stake, and if Ahmed was unhappy, Leila was prepared to do battle.

But not with the girl. That would be beneath her.

So in time honored tradition, Leila made a formal visit to the local Sheikha. She would know what to do. Leila would at least have the satisfaction of doing her duty by her son. If the Sheikha, named Shakira, was successful, Leila and her husband would be able at least to keep all of the bride price. To return it, or even a part, would be a terrible burden. Anyway, most of the bride price was already gone. You could not recover water upstream when it was downstream.

 

Sheikha Shakira told her to send the girl. She would find out the trouble between Ahmed and Aya. She would attempt to fix what was broken.

For the visit, Aya came with her mother- in- law and a very quiet Ahmed. Shakira of course knew the young bride on sight, her family name and that she was a new bride, but she had never reason to notice her. She sometimes saw her at the village well, drawing water in her families jugs or washing clothes down by the sluggish river, or feeding the chickens outside the door of Leila’s house. But she didn’t seem remarkable to Shakira. Just a young bride, nothing special.

Aya was very young, with not much meat on her bones. She would not give much heat next to Ahmed when the winter winds blew down from the mountains and turned the air raw and bitter. Better that Ahmed’s parents had found him a bride who would fill his bed and warm his feet with her flesh.

However, after Shakira looked more closely at Aya, she could see there were bigger problems than too- thin Aya. The girl looked haunted to Shakira’s eyes.

After the obligatory cups of mint tea, Ahmed and his mother were sent home, with Leila passing a small gift of money to Shakira from the depths of her robe. Shakira nodded and turned back to the sullen girl sitting at her table.

Shakira prepared to question young Aya. She plied her with more of the sweet tea they brewed in the village and drank on all occasions. Aya was quiet, which wasn’t unusual for a young Muslim girl, but she noticed that she kept her eyes cast on the floor. This was more than a normal shyness. The girl appeared disturbed, or perhaps she was hiding a secret. This last intrigued Shakira the most.

“Come, Aya. Do not be shy. You know why you are here. Your husband has made complaints about your behavior in the marriage. Is something wrong, my daughter?”

Aya sipped at her tea and shook her head, but did not raise her eyes to Shakira’s face.

The Sheikha Shakira could tell many things by the shine of the eyes, by the carriage of the head, by the shoulders, by the sheen of the skin. Although thin, Aya did not appear sick, just unhappy.

“Aya”. Shakira thought a direct approach would get some answers. “Does Ahmed do what a husband should? Do you know what a husband does for his wife?”

Aya blushed, and her hands shook as she put her small glass down.

“Tell me,” said Shakira with an encouraging smile. “Does Ahmed put off his own pleasure for yours?” The look on Aya’s face told Shakira that Ahmed did not.

Aya’s blush increased, giving her dusky skin a bloom of beauty.

“Tell me, Aya.” Shakira’s voice was gentle and low, a conspiracy brewing between two women against all men.

“Does Ahmed touch you in your holy woman’s place? You know after you are married, it is right and good when he does? He should use his male member and his fingers and even his tongue.” Shakira sat back and looked closely at Aya. Her hands shook and she didn’t pick up her glass.

Ah, thought Shakira. Another stupid man that doesn’t know how to stroke his wife into bliss! Allah punish these stupid men who are so selfish!

Shakira thought a different approach would be fruitful. “Aya, do you touch yourself down there in your holy place? Did you know God has given you a body with all the pleasures of paradise on earth? You can touch and stroke and push your fingers in there and have lovely feelings. Perhaps you need to show Ahmed how to arouse you? You are married a year, and if your husband doesn’t understand, perhaps you need to give him a push. Do you understand, daughter?

Suddenly Aya started shaking violently and a great sob escaped from her throat.

“Aaaiiiyee! It is like a man is already in there…in my holy place, and he strokes where Ahmed puts his flute. I try to resist him, it is a demon inside of me! but I am not strong enough. Ah, Mother Shakira, help me! I have thought many times as I go to the roof of the house I would throw myself over the edge!”

This burst of words shocked Shakira. She sat there blinking, watching the young girl sob out her shame and fear. Ah! Now she had something to work with!

A demon. In bed between an ignorant girl and an even more ignorant husband!
But! This was something most interesting, something Shakira encountered at times among women. From the narrowness of their lives, in their isolation from the cities and from the stupidity of the men, a demon popped up frequently in the lives of married women. And thank God only married women. They seemed to scorn the virgins, which was good, for if they didn’t, it would mean the murder of many young women by their fathers and brothers, thought Shakira.

These spirits were helpful to women as Shakira well knew. They could give a woman a certain liberty to sass their husbands. If a word popped out, she could blame it on the Zar, the demon. It was not her fault, and punishing her would do no good. Something just came over her and she didn’t know where it came from. It was the fault of the Zar. He needed to have his power ‘reduced’. He needed a good talking to, to be placated, given new marching orders.

Shakira thought about the demon. She knew she could never can purge a Zar, these troubling spirits, she would have to cajole, puzzle, confuse and ultimately, calm them. But! She would restore them with their powers reduced. No one wants a Zar wandering around scaring the children and chickens. It was bad enough they sat under the trees in the woods on the mountains and woe to anyone who cast their eyes on a bodiless Zar! Shakira knew that to be immediate possession. The Zar needed a human body. That was where Zars lived comfortably. A goat would not do.

Ah! An excuse for a Zar ritual! Shakira rubbed her hands in glee. The price of the feast and the sacrifice was less important than the chance to get the women together for some fun. And Zars were fun in a life that was black- clad, dusty and under the thumb of Allah and the men.

 

On the day of the Zar ritual, Shakira placed a tray of nuts and fruit on an altar in the middle of the room. The drummers came in earlier and were sitting together talking, laughing and drinking tea. The ney player, a young man, was sitting apart from the drummers, all women now. Incense was heavy, and the smell of it was hypnotic even before the drummers started beating their rhythm.

Shakira spent some time with Aya, talking to her, helping her ease herself into the ritual soon to take place. Aya had suffered some nerves, thrown up, and then seemed resigned to her fate. She remained pale.

More women straggled into the room, waddling like black crows in a field. They sat in a rough circle, breathing in the heady perfume wafting from the burning incense. Some were praying to themselves, others began chants, and the combined sounds were like a hive of bees in the sunshine, dipping into the honey. Shakira was trying not to slip into her own trance, but the warm weather and the sunshine conspired to lull her senses. She looked over at Aya sitting with her mother and mother-in-law. She was dressed in a white cotton gown, her hair loose down her back. The hair was the last place that Aya’s demon would hold on to as she tossed her head around and around, throwing him into the arms of Shakira. She wondered what this demon would be like. Would he be a hard one to cajole? Would he demand a price for his obedience? Would she be strong enough, without rallying her own demons, to take him on?

None of this could she know in advance. Allah Provide, she prayed.

Then the drummers started their different rhythms. Each part of the body was capable of possession and a different rhythm beat out on the stretched goat skin drums would find them out. The rhythm would call out to the soul of the demon, and he would have to answer. It was heartbeat to heartbeat.

The first rhythm was the ayoub, ‘dum-tec-a dum-tec-a’, the heartbeat of humanity, becoming more and more intense. Shakira could not help begin her own trance. It was a necessary part of the Zar ritual. She would catch the demon when he was tossed from Aya’s hair, wrestle him in her own arms and give him a good talking to!

Aya had risen, fear distorting her pale face as she walked around the room, her eyes like big dark moons. A blind man could see how frightened she was! Then, allowing herself to feel the rhythm seeping into the blood of all there, she started to nod her head, back and forth, little nods at first, as if she were tentatively allowing the heartbeat of the drums to enter her body. Her eyes glazed and she started to change the gait of her walking, as if she was swaying to some internal rhythm set up as a counterpoint to what was heard by all others. Her hips started to jerk and her head rolled on her neck in little circles, hair flying in gentle waves around her. The ney player picked up the tempo, the drums followed. Aya’s movements around the circle increased in speed. She started to whirl around as she walked, her face upwards to the ceiling, now her hair flying out like Dervish’s skirts. Faster and faster Aya twirled and jerked around the room, throwing her arms outward and upward. She uttered little shrieks, unheard with the general chanting and drumming and the shrill music of the ney.

Shakira knew if there was a demon inside of Aya, he would soon appear. She swayed back and forth in her own trance, standing with her arms outward towards the spinning girl.

There! Something hit Shakira in her chest! Something solid and hard enough to almost knock the wind from her. Aya sank down in a heap, shuddering with spasms. Women moved to chant over her, and ever the drums and ney player increased their frenzied rhythms.

Shakira slipped into full trance and talked to the Demon standing there, hovering with a scowl, a male Demon of course! His aura was powerful, and he shimmered before her with a golden glimmer. Shakira saw him clearly in her mind’s eye, and saw how beautiful and arrogant this demon was.

“In the name of Allah, the One God! Demon. Tell me your name!”

Shakira spoke in the tongue of the tranced, unintelligible to the women around the room.

He scowled at her, but bidden he was commanded to answer.

“My name is Ali”, and his voice was sweet and seductive, in spite of the grimace.

Ah! Thought Shakira. What a lovely demon to possess a woman! His hair was black and lay in curls over his brow. His lips were full, the color of pomegranate seeds. His nose was like an arrow, straight and elegant. His eyes were two black and shimmering pools, his cheeks like halves of apples. Ah! Shakira was shaken by his beauty. She cleared her throat and her thoughts before speaking to him again.

“Demon. Listen to me. You disrupt the marriage of Ahmed and Aya. You must stop your demonic ways and let Ahmed have back his wife.”

“Ahmed is a fool and doesn’t know what to do with Aya. She is afraid of him, he plays his flute for himself, and ignores his wife.” Demon Ali’s voice was a low, honeyed growl, seeded with contempt.

“True, true enough, Demon. But you could help here. You could teach Aya things to please Ahmed and perhaps dense Ahmed will become a proper husband.”

“Why should I help Ahmed? What is Ahmed to me?” Demon Ali spat on the ground, a golden stream of honey.

“Ah Demon! You are too young or stupid yourself if you don’t think here. You could teach Aya where to place her hands on herself and Ahmed. You could take your own pleasure between them. How much more it would be if you brought them together as man and wife! You could tickle Aya’s womb and love chamber and she would toss her hips like a proper wife at Ahmed. You could stick your tongue on Aya’s button and make her think of love. You could torment both and what Demon isn’t happiest when he is tormenting two instead of one?”

The Demon Ali pulsated and quivered with her suggestions. Shakira could see he was considering her words.

(Demon Ali thought it over and could see her point of argument. If nothing else, he could torment Ahmed in some particularly pleasing way to demons. Perhaps he could be an irritant in more ways than one. Perhaps he could make Ahmed’s cock fall off–)

“I hear your thoughts, Demon. Consider the case. Either Aya acts the proper wife to Ahmed, or Ahmed sends her back to her parents. She will disgrace her family, they will suffer needlessly because of a silly and selfish devil.”

Shakira could tell that Ali the Demon was considering his choices. He glimmered and glowed and vibrated and fairly danced in the air. Shakira noticed too that his male member was vibrating along with the rest of him. An impressive piece of anatomy for any man or demon. Ah! Ali the Demon was wasted on that little fool Aya!

Shakira, a wise woman with quite a number of years of experience with Djinns, decided she would have compassion for this pretty demon standing before her in all his stiffening glory. Perhaps this alluring devil could entertain her, Shakira, and leave Aya alone. She had an eye for a good looking male, and knowing the nature of demons, she could take some pleasure for herself under her chador at times. Perhaps something mutually pleasing to both could be arranged. It was worth a thought.

 

“So, Demon…what will it be? Will you help Aya become a wife and be a good demon, or do I have to call forth stronger Spirits to make you reconsider your behavior? It is your choice.”

Ali the Demon sighed, and it was like a sweet wind blowing from the east up Shakira’s skirts. Her eyes widened, in spite of her trance, and a smile came over her face. The Demon slyly looked at Shakira from under the fringe of his black lashes. A smile exchanged between them…

A bargain was struck!

Ahmed and Aya became a happy couple. Yes, Ali the Demon still tickled Aya in her love passage, and sat smoking his hooka crosslegged up by her womb. Ahmed was pleased with Aya now as his wife, and eternally grateful to the Sheikha.

And as for Shakira, she and Ali the Demon enjoyed many hours under Shakira’s chador. He tickled Sharika around the ears, and she spread her legs when she was busy at her kitchen fire, preparing food or just standing at the window, watching her neighbors outside. Peace reigned in both households.

Blessings on the head of Sheikha Shakira!

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2009-2018

 

“A Kapitany”, a novel. Chapter 27

 

WARNING:  SEX SCENE AND OTHER STUFF  YOU DON’T WANT THE KITTIES TO READ.

 

Eight years ago I started to research and write this novel.  It was an encounter between an American woman and a Hungarian man that blossomed more than expected by this writer.   She was innocent of all knowledge about this setting, and he was a Dom.  Not any way innocent of the BDSM scene, world.  In a year and a half I learned more about this ‘scene’ than I wanted to.  Now I can laugh at the presumptuousness of  men who claim to be Doms….the women are more able to evoke sympathy from me. Sometimes. It is hard to watch a women subject herself to  form of slavery.

In any case, I set this story in Hungary and Paris.  Vadas Dohendy is in his early 60’s, tired of life, and an art thief.  He doesn’t break into museums at his stage of life, but it’s basically a well oiled insurance fraud scheme.  Elizabeth is in her 50’s and bound up unexpectedly in the snares and personality of Vadas. In Vadas’ attempt to leave the field of art thievery, Elizabeth is abducted by his arch enemy, Miklos.  A man he has worked with for over 30 years.  Elizabeth is recovering but the ‘insult’ to Elizabeth (almost killing her) is seen as beyond the pale by Vadas.  Hence, warfare breaks out in Eger, Paris and other places in Hungary.

This was a lot of fun to write….and I finally finished it 2 years ago. But I haven’t done a proper editing and will have to  soon.

Soffia is a character from Vadas’ past.  A Domme, but has become friends with Elizabeth.

Lady Nyo

 

A Kapitany, Chapter 27

 

“Soffia, I need a favor, darling. Yes, I know, your Vadas only calls when he needs a favor. Soffia, listen to me. I must come to Budapest.”

Vadas grimaced and pulled at his cigarette. Soffia could be a hard ass and right now she was being just that. He shifted the phone on his shoulder and stretched his legs.

“I have several things to do in Budapest. What I need is you to come here and stay with Elizabeth. No, she is much better, she is walking around. Yes, she is better, but I don’t want to leave her alone right now. I still don’t know where Miklos is, and I don’t want him showing up here when I am gone. No, I have men posted to watch, but I don’t want to alarm her.”
Vadas held the phone from his ear. Soffia was full of grievances this morning. He wasn’t in a mood to listen.

“No, darling, I haven’t told her yet you are coming. I thought I should ask first. Yes, I know, Soffia, I take great advantage of you. I will make it up. What? You pick. You know your Vadas will buy what you desire. I always have, darling.”
Vadas blew smoke towards the ceiling. “Listen, Soffia, Elizabeth has agreed to marry. Yes, I am speaking the truth. No, I didn’t burn her passport. No, I didn’t break her arm, funny lady.”

He rolled his eyes. Soffia was chattering on. “Look, you can help with planning the wedding. What? Yes, it will be a wedding. A big wedding. You will be maid of honor or whatever they call the woman next to the bride. Where? Some church in Eger. You take her around and show things. You can buy the dress, and another one for you. Yes, like last time. I trust you, Soffia. She will be a pretty bride. You both will be pretty brides. What? I’ll marry you off to one of my men, ok? You will like living in the countryside. No, I am teasing, Soffia. I know you are too sophisticated for these men around here.”

A few more minutes and Vadas got what he wanted. Soffia was coming out by car and would stay with Elizabeth for a few days. This would give him the time to go to Paris, see his lawyers and visit the old aunties. They were his only living relatives. It was crucial he at least visit and invite them in person. They held some important purse strings.

At lunch Vadas asked Elizabeth what should be done with the frescos.

“For now? Nothing, Vadas. First secure the roof. Anything done before that would be pointless. Then fix the plaster in the ceilings. It’s rather scary lying under that ceiling in the bed. It could all give in at any moment. But the frescos should not be touched. They are too valuable and historic for any hands besides professional conservators. And that would cost a lot of money.”

Elizabeth pushed around her salad. She still wasn’t eating much.

“Probably the damp in the house doesn’t help. Fix the windows in the rooms where there are frescos. Where there aren’t, board them up properly. They will be costly to fix anyway. Those sashes have to be custom made.”

Vadas smiled over his coffee. “You have been thinking, no? You speak good sense, Elizabeth. Now, I have a plan. You do that stuff on the internet, you know, press those buttons, and find the people who can fix the roof first. You can go into Eger and ask. I would start there first.”

Elizabeth looked doubtful. “Vadas, do you remember I don’t speak Hungarian? They would laugh at me first, and then throw me out.”

“Well, I have a solution. I have asked Soffia to come up for a couple of days. Now, listen to me, Elizabeth. I have to go to Budapest for a couple of days, on business only and no you can’t come. I will be racing all over and you will not be able to keep up. Plus, I have to call upon my old aunties and invite them to the wedding. You and Soffia can plan the wedding, you two girls. This is woman stuff, and it best left in your capable hands. Four capable hands.”

Elizabeth still looked doubtful. In fact, she looked upset. Vadas guessed what was worrying her.

“Listen, Elizabeth. Soffia has promised to be good. She has promised not to get you under her or whatever she does. Ok? No hanky panky from her. Plus, she is Hungarian and can help arrange the workmen. It will be fun. You won’t even miss me and I will be back before you do.”

Elizabeth said nothing. She continued to push her food around the plate.
Vadas sat back and watched. “Do you remember, Elizabeth, when I told you I would feed you? That you would eat from my hand only? Do I have to do that now? You are going to look like a scarecrow at your wedding. What man wants to sleep with a woman who is skin and bones? The winter, Elizabeth, is hard in these hills.”

Vadas had no trouble with his own appetite. He cut up his meat and held out his fork. “You come here, Elizabeth. You eat this. Then you eat another mouthful.”
Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes filling with tears. “Vadas, I’m scared.”

“What? You are scared of meat?”

“You know, you must know. What if Miklos comes back when you are gone? What if he comes here? Soffia is no defense against him. You know that.”

Vadas sat back and patted his knee. “You come here Elizabeth and I will explain something.”

Elizabeth knew his behavior made her look like a child, a ‘good girl’ in his terms. But she was scared and the news he was going away put her on edge.
She sat on his lap and Vadas wrapped his arms around her. He had this habit of humming off key when she was close by, and Elizabeth found it strangely comforting.

“Now look, Elizabeth. You and Soffia will be safe. I have men here you won’t see. But anyone who approaches by foot or car will be known. These men are hunters and they know this particular prey. And you are wrong about Soffia. I would rather go up against two men than Soffia. She is a good shot, too. I will give her a gun. Hell, you can have a gun, too. Ok? Dry your tears and eat this good food.”

“Vadas, I can handle a gun. I have before.”

“What? You know how to shoot? I will sleep with one eye open from now on. Eat another piece of meat.”

Just to see if she was telling the truth, Vadas took her out behind the lodge where there was a meadow. He set up some bottles as targets and loaded a large pistol. Standing behind her with his hands around hers, he told her to gently squeeze the trigger. She missed.

“Ok, we do this again. You hold the gun steady, Elizabeth. You are jerking the gun.”

“Vadas. Let me do this without your hands all over. Let me try, please.”

Vadas backed off and Elizabeth considered the target. She closed one eye and aimed carefully. The bottle exploded.

“Good girl! That was beginner’s luck. You try again.” Elizabeth hit the bottle but the gun was heavy. It wasn’t a light pistol, but a heavy European model. The sound scared her.

“Enough, Vadas. My wrist hurts. I have shot a gun before. I don’t use pistols, so this was hard. I have my own shotgun.”

“What? You have a shotgun? What, a lady’s gun? Maybe a small gauge? Something for mice?”

Elizabeth laughed. “No, Vadas, I have a 12 gauge for bird hunting. I have another, a breech loader, I use with skeet.”

“Oh, skeet don’t taste good, Elizabeth.  Each day I learn something new about you. This is good, Elizabeth. By the time we are married I will know all your secrets.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Don’t bet on it, Vadas. I have lived a long life. I have many secrets.”

Vadas took the gun and put it in one of the larger vest pockets. He put his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder and they went back to the lodge.

That evening Elizabeth asked him. “So when are you leaving and when is Soffia coming?”

Vadas looked up from his paper. “Are you pushing me out the door? Well, Soffia is coming tomorrow and I thought I would hang around until she got here. Then I can read her the riot act again.” Vadas went back to his paper.
When Soffia arrived, Vadas brought her into his study and closed the door. They were in there for a while and Elizabeth decided to take a walk. She would see if she could spy these men lingering about. Vadas said they would be invisible, but she wanted to see for herself. When she came back in the lodge, Vadas and Soffia were by the fire drinking whisky.

“Ah, Elizabeth darling! You look good! So much better than those first few days in hospital.”

“Hello, Soffia.” Elizabeth went and kissed her on both cheeks. “It’s good to see you again.” She sat down on a small sofa. Vadas held out his whisky to her and she shook her head.

“Vadas has given me a list of things we can do and things we can’t do,” Soffia said brightly. “But we can spend his money and that is the best thing.”
Vadas sighed. “Always you women spend my money. That is constant.”

He took a deep pull on his drink. “Now Elizabeth, I have explained to Soffia something. You two go up to the house, but always take one of my men. Better to take two. One inside and one outside watching. Soffia knows who, so she leads. You go into Eger, Soffia will drive, and you will be safe there. But I have given specific orders to Soffia and you are to obey, ok?”

Elizabeth looked at Soffia. She was met by a big grin. It was clear to Elizabeth Soffia had her own plans.

Vadas must have caught something. He clucked his tongue at her. “You remember Rule Number One, Soffia. You don’t forget it.”

That night Soffia slept in Elizabeth’s bedroom. Vadas was up working on some papers and came upstairs late. Elizabeth had gone to bed and was just falling off to sleep. She tried to stay awake until he came up, but the day’s activities and Soffia coming had worn her out. Vadas undressed by a small lamp and came in bed.

“Elizabeth, I know you are awake. I can tell by your breathing. Now listen. Soffia has her orders. She will be good company for you. I will be gone three, maybe five days, but I will be back before you know it.”

“Ok, Vadas”, she said with a yawn. “Soffia has her orders, I hear you.” Sitting up, she asked. “Vadas, listen to me. You made a promise about Miklos. Are you going after him and this is why you are leaving now?”

“Elizabeth. You don’t worry about what I am doing. I’m seeing lawyers, old aunties and wine clients. You will learn I have business that doesn’t concern you. Now, you be a good girl and behave with Soffia. At least tell me you will behave.” Vadas switched out the little lamp.

Sliding down the bed he pulled Elizabeth towards him. He began kissing her neck and worked his way down to her breast.

“You are warm and soft. You eat more and the bed will be warmer this winter.” He had an erection and pulled one of her legs over his hip.

 

“Now, Elizabeth, we go slow. Just a little and you tell me if I hurt you.”     Elizabeth shifted in his arms. After a few minutes, she was ready enough.
Vadas didn’t lose any time. He gently pushed into her. Not meeting objections, he began to make love with his old vigor. He rolled over on her and sat back, pulling her hips up onto his thighs. Elizabeth moaned and watched him illuminated only from the feeble moonlight that came from the windows. Here was her old Vadas, as strong as a horse.

“Ah, fuck me, Elizabeth.”

It didn’t take long for either of them,  with Vadas rocking into her and Elizabeth lifting her hips to meet him. Panting, Vadas lay over her, drained of energy. Elizabeth smiled. Miklos hadn’t won. She had healed and picked up the important pieces of her life. Vadas tonight proved that. His cock was one of those important pieces. Oh, how she had missed it!

“Elizabeth”, Vadas said quietly. “How come you never ask me for anything? You know I will give it.”

Elizabeth was half asleep, wrapped in his arms under a blanket. The heat from his body almost made it unnecessary. She wondered what she should say.
“I don’t need anything, Vadas. You are generous enough to me. What do I have to want?”

“Soffia always gets something when she asks. You know I have a soft spot for women. I can’t say no. You want a car? I will buy you a nice Mercedes. I will give you a driver so you won’t get lost.

“Vadas, go to sleep. I want nothing. Perhaps when we marry we can bring my Aunt Irene over for the wedding?”

“Of course, that would be nice. But you know you can ask me for anything, Elizabeth. A husband takes care of his wife.”

“I’m not your wife yet, Vadas. I will be expensive enough when we are wed. Think of the cost of all those sheep and a trained sheep dog. You will howl at the price.”

Vadas laughed, a deep rumbling sound in the night. “I am thinking of roast lamb right now, with a good bottle of wine.”

“Vadas, go to sleep. You are always thinking of your stomach.”

Vadas fell asleep, snoring loudly. Elizabeth fell asleep but not before she thought of what he said. She really didn’t have anything to want for, except for her safety from Miklos. She already knew Vadas would not listen to her. She knew he would continue to go after him. She knew as long as she stuck close to his side, she would be safe. If he could do this, Vadas could do anything. She wanted for nothing, really. Vadas always pays.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008-2017

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge” Chapter 11

 

www. theodysseyonline.com

This is from my second novel, “Devil’s Revenge”.  I am thinking of working towards its publication late next year.  There is a lot of sex in this novel, but don’t read if you are queered by sex or a prude.  I have tried to be ‘tasteful’ but working with devils, it’s a hard slog.  

Jane

–

Standing at a window in this bedroom, I find myself more and more in his world, the world of the Demon Lover. Not sure of the sequence of time, but it seemed every few days I appeared back in this room. Today, I was busy for a number of hours writing a chapter, one I hoped would bring me to the conclusion of the novel. I have been in starts and stops over it for the past month, and have trouble forming my thoughts. Of course, there has been much to distract me. His presence in my ‘life’, for I guess you could call this life, has been a major obstacle in finishing it. He is entertaining and sometimes charming, but brings much chaos to my days.

All in all, it’s been a fruitful time, for if I stumbled in the writing, there is much to learn. I have discovered numerous things about him. He is a jealous demon, who prates he will chase away any competition, and has little regard for my marriage. He already admits he visits me, and not just in my dreams, but takes a seat next to my bed, and involves himself in my sleep. My patient husband sleeps deeply, and I am not sure Garrett, the mortal name of my Demon, does not have his hand in this. A former friend from the ‘north country’ already has caught his interest, and he has as much threatened me with some foul magic if I continue to converse with him. I will not bow to his threats, for I think he has become fond of me, and does not want my displeasure. He can be a bully but I know now he needs much assurance from me, and that I give most willingly. I have grown as fond of him, as he seems to have of me, though he goes to great pains to hide it.

Ah! The masculine vanity! Alive even in demons!

The landscape was bleak as I saw from the window. The middle of winter, and fog was swirling on the ground around a clump of trees in the midground distance. Or it looked like fog. But then again, it came together like smoke and rose from a central point in the trees. How strange. It whirled and eddied and took shape like smoke from a chimney. It held my attention and I thought I would go out to investigate. I threw on my red cloak and went downstairs and out the front door. It was not a long walk to the stand of trees where I saw the smoke. I felt a strange compulsion to follow. The trees were bare of all leaves, their black limbs silhouetted against the gray sky. I walked through them, feeling a sense of discovery, being pulled by my curiosity. There, before me, was perhaps a low fire, though I couldn’t see any flame. The smoke was thick. It seemed to pour from the ground! As I looked upwards, around the trees, there were blackbirds perched in the limbs. They were totally silent, which is strange for a flock of blackbirds. Suddenly the smoke parted, and there, sitting on a stump, about twenty feet from me, was Obadiah!

Oh! I couldn’t tell if he was an apparition, a ghost, or something else, but he sat there, his long legs stretched out before him, one upon the other, his arms crossed over his chest. He was not wearing a coat, but was dressed in a white, linen shirt, with a black stock wound around his neck. His face had no expression, but his eyes pierced me with their intensity, and I wavered where I stood, not sure if I would faint. He smiled, a mocking smile, devoid of any kindness. For some reason I found myself drawn to him as in a trance. I should be afraid of him, considering what he has done to me, but I was not. I was excited and unsettled, perhaps fear plays into these emotions, but curiosity and a perverse desire was overcoming all else, all caution.

Suddenly, I was on the ground, pushed violently from behind. Obadiah disappeared in a flash, and standing over me was Garrett. He had a sword in his hand, and his face was terrible to see. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to my feet, scowling and in a fine high temper. Dragging me out of the glen I don’t remember my feet even touching the ground, until we were back in my bedroom. I heard the door slamming shut. It was as if I was in a dream, or a trance, and I tried to shake myself awake.

“You damn little fool!”

He was furious, and grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me hard, caught like a rat caught by a terrier. My head was thrown back and forth by his violence and I thought my neck would snap. He released me and I fell to the floor. I lay there for a moment, aware he was standing over me. I could still feel his wrath, like a thick fog in the air. I gasped with fear, and turned to look up at him. By the look on his face I thought he would kill me.

“Nay, get off the floor. You look like a kicked dog. I’ll not harm you more.”

His voice was strange, as if his anger had broken him. He extended his hand and pulled me to my feet, where he looked at me closely. I could tell he was still angry, but he was trying his best not to act upon it.

However, I was now furious. How dare he shake me like a child! How dare he throw me to the ground! Without another thought, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. I saw his surprise, and then, to my horror, heard him utter a hollow laugh. He grabbed both of my wrists in his hands before I could think and pinned them behind me. He did not spare me any pain in the doing.

“So you want to play rough, do you?” He laughed again, and immediately pulled up a chair with his foot.. He up ended me across his lap and pulled up my skirts. He exposed my nakedness and beat me hard with his hand. I yelled loudly, and cursed him with all the names I could think of. He thrashed me, hitting my buttocks and also the tops of my legs. I screamed until I thought I would go hoarse. I cried and pleaded with him, yet he did not spare me his blows. Throwing me to the bed I cried and sobbed mightily, more from fear than pain, but there certainly was enough of that! My butt was burning with his blows. I hated him thoroughly, for I had never been treated like this before.   I cried myself out and he didn’t offer a word of compassion or apology. When I finally uncovered my face from the pillows, I saw him sitting there, smoking his pipe, like nothing in the world had happened. I felt humiliated and belittled.

“Tell me,” he said between puffs. “Tell me what possessed you to leave this room and go into the woods.”

His eyes glittered through the smoke and I knew better take him seriously. Now that I had proof he would not spare his hands, I was afraid of him.

“Oh, Bess, I can smell your fear, but that is not what I am after. Tell me, now, why you went into the woods.”

I rose up from my stomach, and gingerly sat on the bed. My butt hurt! He certainly was strong.

“I don’t know. I saw some smoke coming from the glen, and I thought that it was interesting. I felt curious.”

“Ah. Did you feel drawn to the woods?” He puffed more forcefully on his pipe.

“Well, the smoke drew me, but then, when I got down there, and near, I felt strangely drawn to the trees. The birds were all silent, I remember that.”

“Looks like Obadiah has called upon other forces for his designs.”   He puffed on his pipe hard. “Seems like he is getting a bit desperate.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is charming you and others to do his bidding. I don’t like it a bit. Makes me work harder, something I generally avoid. Looks like he’s preparing himself for battle.” He spit on the floor and I grimaced at him.

“Who is he charming, you make no sense?” None of this made sense at all.

The Demon thought a bit before he answered.

“You asked me before about my world. Well, there are many worlds. I frequent a number of them. This one, where I appear to you, is full of strange characters. I get lost in the numbers, can’t remember all the hierarchy. But it’s simple enough, or at least I’ll make it simple enough for you. Listen closely.”

He packed down his pipe with his thumb, though the tobacco glowed red in the bowl.

“Demons are intermediaries between gods and men. Most of us, what you call ‘demons’ were once men. We were not angels. Don’t make that mistake. No, there are lots of shapes and shifts abounding. There are Fates, who alter destiny, there are what you know as poltergeists, who cause much mischief, there are the incubi and succubae you have already experienced (here he tipped his pipe in my direction), there are familiars, who assist what you call witches.”

He puffed on his pipe, and a blue smoke whirled above his head in lazy, sensual spirals.

“There are Demons formed from human semen.” Here he grinned crazily, the smoke swirling around his face, obscuring his eyes.

“There are disguised Demons, which I fear our friend Obadiah is, makes it tricky in dealing with him. There are Demons who instigate Witchcraft. I don’t know what we are dealing with at present, but we are about to find out. He grows more powerful.”

“Is he more powerful than you?”

He grimaced around the stem of his pipe. “No, I’m still more powerful. But he grows. And he has enough tricks to harness Cheitan and Saalah to do his bidding.” He barked a short, bitter laugh.

“And who are they?” I didn’t like the sound of this.

“They are some minor demons, spirits if you will. Not of much merit, but amenable to a bribe. Cheitan is the demon of Smoke and Saalah is a demon who entices women into the woods. All kinds of mischief can befall a maid in the woods. They are known as some of the ‘Devil’s Handmaids’”.

He puffed on his pipe, sending up a plume of smoke to the ceiling that circled around as it hit the beams and spread outward. An example of “Cheitan”?

“And about your being in the woods, my dear lady. Very foolish of you. Had I not come at the moment I did, you would have suffered another rape by Obadiah. He seems to delight in taking his perverse pleasures with you. You can now thank me for saving you from an even more terrible attack than last time.”

What worse could he do to me than when he raped me? I shivered, remembering those details.

“Oh, there are plenty of tricks he could render upon your soft body, my darling,” said the demon, reading my thoughts. “What he did the first time was just a first course for his appetite. You forget we demons have terrific appetites, especially for mortal women. Your flesh, especially those places between your soft, white thighs, are irresistible to us.”

He leered at me and I shivered thinking of what could have happened.

“And with what bribe does he induce them to work for him?”

“Probably your blood, or a piece of your flesh. Or, if he’s in a particularly generous mood, a piece of your ass. Of course, that would be after he has sated himself on your charms. He would turn you over to them, where they would use you until they were bored and would tear you to pieces.”

Oh, what a terrible mouth on him! But now I was really afraid.

“You see, my dear, as long as Obadiah thinks that you are, ah, I think you call it “a free agent’ in your world? Well, as long as Obadiah thinks he can take you at will, even from under my nose, he will come back and try again. There are only a few ways to discourage him from this behavior.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Well, it is not by my authority to tell you how to end your novel, but killing him off would help….for a while. That would be one way. There is another way, but you would not want to go down that path.” He laughed to himself, and puffed hard on his pipe, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“And what is that path, Demon?”

It seemed the room darkened, or perhaps the sky did outside. But something changed noticeably. He still sat in his chair but it seemed he was whispering in my ear.

“A woman is much happier if she has a Master. Authority thrills a woman, my darling. Nothing but complete subjugation will finally satisfy her.” He smiled at me, and I shivered at his words. What a strange and alien a concept. To call him “Master”!

“In the animal world, nature’s decree the male shall dominate. And you are my little vixen, my little red fox.” He smiled around the stem of his pipe. “And I am very much the male here.”

I wouldn’t argue with that. He was more ‘masculine’ than ten men– twenty. And very proud of it. No ‘metrosexual’ confusion for him.

“You know, sweet darling, I am thinking Obadiah is nothing more than a very powerful incubus. Sexual relations with an incubus are decidedly unpleasant and an often painful affair. I think that you would agree with that.” He would get no argument from me.

“So, Demon, what are you saying I should do?”

“Why don’t you refer to me as Demon Lover anymore?”

“So, Demon Lover, what should I do?”

“Look, Bess, I think you should come under my power completely, and let it be known.” He grinned broadly. Oh! This was fun for him!

“What is it you are saying I do?”

“Sex is a powerful thing in our worlds, as well as yours. I am suggesting you become my consort, for as long as you inhabit my world. That could be a long time, it depends upon things.”

“What things, Demon?”

“Ah, that I have no competition in your heart and mind, that you submit to everything I say and do, and that I am Master of you and your body. That you obey me and submit to me in all things.”

“I don’t know. You know I am married. Would I have to give my husband up for safety here?”

“Well, I can not trample your marriage vows, came long before me.”

“What about my other friends, male and female?”

“Ah, that is another complication. But I will look the other way if you please me in all other things.”

“Are you talking about whips and chains and things, Devil?”

He laughed. “Why in Hell’s good name would I need such things? I’m talking about the natural roles of man and woman, or in this case, Demon and mortal woman. What could be clearer?”

“You have lost me. I don’t know anything of subjugation or submission. We modern women tend to avoid all such talk and behavior.”

“And are you any happier for it?” His eyes glittered through the smoke he exhaled.

He had me there. Relations in the twenty first century were confusing enough. Was there any real happiness between men and woman? There was a lot of anger, and sham, and moving about, exchanging partners and forming anew. There was a lot of unhappiness and divorces. The roles between women and men seemed to be mandated by some chaos that we danced to faster and faster. The ‘natural’ roles that seemed to work for past generations were lost to us now. Women were more like men, and men! God! They were like women! Most women I knew had more ‘friends’ who were homosexual, gays, than girlfriends. They were interchangeable.   The roles and relations had become very confused. Perhaps he had a point here. Perhaps what he was proposing was a balancing of the roles. The strong man (or devil) and the soft, weaker, woman. Perhaps he was on to something.

“You promise not to hurt me?” I asked him seriously. I don’t know what I was afraid of, but I was.

He shook his head at me in wonder, and laughed. “Are woman from your century so distanced from their natures that they don’t trust the masculine? Can you place your heart and body in my hands and know I will protect you? What is it that men do in your domain? Do they not occupy this fundamental role?”

“Well, not without a lot of confusion, Garrett. They get mixed messages from all sorts of places. I don’t think modern men know what to do with women.”

He laughed delightedly and gave me his opinion. “You use them good, and often, and they keep you entertained. It’s really an easy exchange. They lay down on demand, and you chase off all the wolves. What’s so hard about that?”

Ah, he is a trying and primitive Demon! He has the manners of a goat, but I have said that before. It is an exchange he is proposing here. My protection and security from Obadiah if I ‘cleave’ myself to him completely. He hasn’t given me much to go on yet, but I am interested enough in his idea. And he has allowed my marriage and my friendship (there are others he doesn’t know about) and promises to wink at them.

In any case, I am way over my head here, and not believing in anything supernatural or paranormal, I find myself at a disadvantage. He holds all the cards right now, and I am at his mercy. My fear of Obadiah and what he can do to me overcomes my disdain for my overpowering, vulgar demon.

Hopefully, he will be a kind and generous ‘Master.’   I think this is called ‘bargaining with the Devil’.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006-2016

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”…..a chapter from a novel.

WARNING: A bit of sex…..

For fun and entertainment.  A chapter out of my second novel  I am thinking of finishing.  It’s really two books  in one, and too long by far.  So, I am having fun myself with these chapters.

Today is our 30th wedding anniversary.  My husband has some of the charisma of the Demon.  But aren’t all men rubbing shoulders with the underworld at some point in their lives?

Lady Nyo

Chapter 3

Stretching like a cat, I awoke slowly. Suddenly I smelled the strong scent of wood smoke and bounced upright in bed. Looking around, I saw the fireplace and realized where I was. Damn, it was happening again! The Demon was playing fast and loose with my atoms, zapping me from my own comfortable bed and century. How in hell does he do this? Hah! Like he would tell me, but at least this time I wasn’t sick to my stomach.

The Demon had a name, Garrett Cortelyou. Cocksure of his charms, arrogance fed into his seduction and he was a danger to my decorum and decency. Compounding the situation he was devilishly attractive and exuded an unearthly charisma.   He was master of a particular brand of sexual magic and his appetite knew no bounds.   He delighted in corrupting me, shocking me with his…. techniques. I would call him a libertine. He had little concern I was married and I forgot I was when he was near. There was a certain charm in his humor and he was an entertaining devil. Sexual encounters with him were addictive and probably dangerous. But this could not continue – I was losing control of myself. What kind of world had he pulled me into? Why was I here? This was insanity and since it happened over and over, I knew I was not dreaming.

I also knew somehow… answers to this present situation revolved around the novel. Perhaps if I kept writing until the end it would resolve.   I could return to my comfortable, boring life with my husband and my chickens and this excitement and unreality would disappear. I realized the book was a key, but which door did it open?

And then this demon? Well, I really didn’t know that he was a demon, just guessing. I didn’t have anything else to call him and ‘demon’ fit for some reason. Perhaps it was the magic and the mind reading, but I needed a name for him. What part did he really play in the scope of things? He was a sharp-eyed critic and petards my writing with his presence and demands. I knew he wasn’t ‘real’, oh real enough in some physical sense, but there were other considerations. How did he materialize and why? And why me? Of course, he used the ready excuse of the book and how I thought I had brought him ‘into life’, but the power of words, my words, couldn’t upset the universe to such a remarkable extent. No, there were other forces at work, and I would just have to discover what they were.

Here I was, early morning by the light in the room, and again, in a strange bed.   I had to pee, and knew from past visits where the chamber closet was. It was cold in the room, the fire was dying down and I hurried across the floor. The sound of a pee in a china pot is quite intimate, as water with our modern toilets muffles sound. Leaving the closet, I stumbled over my feet in surprise. There, sitting in a chair, was the demon.

“I thought we agreed you would refer to me as your “Demon Lover”? Garrett was eating a large slice of currant bread, the Dutch escapes me–

“Kretenbroad”, he said, dusting the crumbs off his chest as he chewed.

“Thank you, the word eluded me.”

“Anna makes good kretenbroad.. I think I will marry her.” He grinned and snapped his fingers, making a dish of tea appear on the table.

“You could do worse.” According to the first novel, Anna was the spinster niece of Daniel Griggs, the manservant who lived in this house for thirty years.

“Much more. Get your facts straight.”

“Garrett, what gives you leave to invade my bedroom at all times of the morning?”

Still chewing his bread, he gave a devilish grin. “I like celestial music in the morning.”

“What are you talking about? What music?”   He could be so silly.

“The music a woman makes when she pees in a chamber pot,” he said, still grinning.

“You are a nasty demon.” I was getting impatient with his antics. He took great liberties.

“ Come drink your tea before it cools, “ he said, dusting the crumbs to the floor.

I sat down in my nightgown, and picked up the ‘dish’ of tea. It really was a bowl with two handles, but every time he conjured up tea, it was good.

“Of course it is, I made and stirred it with my –“

“Don’t tell me, Garrett, I won’t be able to drink.” He really was vile this morning, and his visits were always backed with a purpose.

“Always backed”? That’s more garbled English. Write it in Dutch.”

“All right, Demon!” I was irritated. “”Why are you here?” (Better I ask why I am here…) I was struggling with the book, trying to finish and every time we were together in this room, there was a setback in my writing, or a detour, or something strange and distracting.

“Oh? You see me as a distraction? I can be more dangerous than that.” He burped loudly. He had the table manners of a goat.

“Bahhh”. He grinned crazily, and for whatever reason he appeared this morning, I was heading for trouble.

“First, give me your hand, and be more tender towards me.” He extended his hand across the table, and gave me a sweet smile. For some reason, he did this each visit. I never trusted him, especially when he was extending his paw.

“Hand.” He nodded to himself. “And call me ‘Lover’. I miss that from you.”

I had to smile. He was such an insecure devil.

“I am not. It’s just that you are a bad writer.” He lunged across the table and grabbed my hand. “And still not fast on your feet.”

A current flowed from his hand to mine. I was knocked back at the intensity of his touch. He had done this before but something was different today.

“You fed me. See, Bess, I was starving, and your cooking restored my strength.” He grinned and squeezed my hand. “Anna made me stronger, too…and I thank thee for her.”   Anna was a good Dutch cook, apparently.

“I don’t think I want to fokken her, though.” He couldn’t resist. “Nope, don’t want to do that at all.”

He scowled. “ I read what you wrote…and again, you should stick to what you know.” He smiled, yanking my hand towards him.

“What in hell are you talking about?” He rubbed the front of his breeches, and leered.

“Sex?” Is that the word you can’t think of? You have to use sign language?”

“Ha…funny! Especially coming from a woman who obviously doesn’t know a thing about fellatio.”

I sat up, and thought back to what I wrote. “What was wrong with it?”

“See the sentence above the last.”

“Now you are going stupid. Of course I know about it, I’ve been married for years.”

“Then your husband doesn’t know much.”   He had me there.

“I will teach you something useful –the devil leered again- and make you a better writer.” The current between us grew stronger. My hand felt like it was melting into his, the heat fusing our flesh together.

“That’s what good …(the devil burped) …sex is supposed to feel like.”

Garrett was a cock-sure devil, (“damn right”) and most of his suggestions for the novel were on target. He had lived in those years, the early part of the 19^th century, and knew the social customs of the period. I could only rely on my spotty research for these things.

“Hold still. I will put something nice in your mouth, sweet woman.” Ah, God…his mind was always fixated on lust.

“It effects better parts of me too, but you keep your knees together too much. Ah, seduction of women writers is hard work.”

“You’ve used that line before, Garrett. Now, who is original?” My little joke didn’t please and he pulled me over the table and into his lap.

“Give your highwayman a kiss, sweet Bessie.” When he was in this mood, there was no denying the demon.

“Oh!” I said., sitting upright on his knee.   “That’s one of my favorite poems. “The Highwayman”. I thought it the most romantic poem I ever read when I was twelve.”

“Doesn’t turn out too nice, both of them dead. That musket beneath her breast….” He shook his head and burped again. His stomach at least was all too human.

I put my head on his shoulder. He could be a sweet devil, and evoked tender emotions from me he didn’t deserve. He thought it a good time, when I was docile in his arms (“won’t last long”- I heard him think!) to pick me up and walk to the bed. He lay down besides me, and placed my head on his shoulder.

“You are rather sweet this morning, my Demon.” His temper was usually like mercury. I think we were coming to terms.

“Well, we have, my darling. I have chased away all the competition and you have me at ball and cock.”

I had to laugh. I was still married, and older by decades.

“I was born in 1790. Beat that.” (I was to find this was a lie…another one.)

I thought I was robbing the cradle. He was such a beautiful creation, but still, just a figment of my imagination.

“You really need to expand your horizons, sweeting. There are so many parts to the universe and you just occupy one. You limit yourself by what you believe.”

I never accepted the stories of ghosts, haunts or spirits, but lying by his side, I was beginning to wonder. He appeared flesh and blood enough this morning, especially as he grabbed my hand and placed it on his half mast cock swelling under his breeches.

“Good. You learn something. Am I real enough for you now?   Let me show you something else.” He passed his hand quickly from the top to the bottom of my nightgown and it melted away like smoke.

“Ah! The first time I have seen you naked. You wear too many clothes. Let’s see what I’ve caught.” He pushed my hair back from my breast, and stroked a nipple.

“You have pink nipples…very pretty! And you are pink elsewhere, I see.” I lay in his arms and blushed at his words. He took my hand and placed it in his shirt, next to his heart. He always wore a heavy linen shirt and I had become enchanted by his smell of wood smoke and probably brimstone.

“Very funny, sweet woman. Now unclench those knees and let me make love to you.”

“Wasn’t it you who told me the portal to a woman’s soul is her mouth?”.

He turned on his side and smiled tenderly. “You use my own words against me? You show courage. You also forget I am a nasty demon.”

“Not so nasty. And getting a bit better.” His behavior had turned my mood from irritation to tolerance. There really was no way around things, if I wanted answers. I had to play a role. Conditions were changing between us and he was softening with a gentler touch.

“I have no softness, and don’t bet on it.” He stroked my thigh and squeezed a breast. I tried the same trick on his clothes, passing my hand down the length of him, and he laughed.

“It will take many decades, sweetheart, for you to learn that trick.”

“Not even levitating a chamber pot?”
“You would have more luck just throwing it.”

He was a handful, this Demon. It was hard work keeping stride with his wit. He could have written a much better book, but then again, he likes best being the sharp-eyed critic.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2007-2014

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 13

I’m having a lot of fun with this book. Rewriting isn’t my favorite thing to do but it is necessary. There were 43 chapters so far, when I left off writing this book, and I would imagine there will be at least 50 by the time it is finished.

For those who are just beginning to read this story, “Devil’s Revenge” is a a bit confusing. Bess, a 21st century writer, who had closed a book she was writing 16 years ago, has been zapped into the early 19th century by a character, Garrett Cortelyou from the previous book. He is now a cranky demon, half devil and half mortal, and full of magic. Sometimes it doesn’t work, and he seems to be only able to do minor magic: he can make ale and tea appear, but he has problems levitating chamberpots when he is showing off. He’s been pursued by another Devil, Obadiah, who also came through the ley lines of the previous novel to do battle with him. This has been going on since prehistory and Bess is now in the middle of this blood feud between the characters of Hell and other places in the cosmos. The Demon needs her for a particular reason, but sex really is just one of the benefits: he needs a bard, and as she is a writer, he thinks she will do fine in this position. Bess has her own ideas about all of this. They constantly clash on just about everything. The Demon thinks by Bess finishing the original novel and killing off Obadiah, his arch rival, he can manipulate his fate. Not so easily, as he is also petarding her finishing anything with his antics. He has the annoying habit of being able to read her thoughts. She tries to insult him with her own since he is reading at will.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE, CHAPTER 13

I am now restless. I believe it is born of my fear. So much has spiraled out of my control, and I am not used to this state of affairs. What started out as a lark, has now become a partial existence full of trepidation. I have gone from a simple wordsmith, cobbling words and phrases together in pleasing forms to living, at least part time, in an environment where things happen that frighten me. . At times, I have faced and felt violence where I would not suspect it to exist. What was once a paper character has now become my nemesis. He stalks, and plans more violence upon me. I have no defenses against him, but to ‘kill him off’ in my book, which I have been told, is a partial resolve. The being who tells me this, is another from the same book, my Demon Lover. I have not called him that lately, for he has taken much more control of my existence than I would sanely give over to another. But he appears the only barrier between a force that is so violent and malicious, that I am grateful for what defenses he constructs. I have become fully dependent upon his good graces, if a demon can be said to have such. I have given myself over to him for protection. The price of this will be a high one, I fear.

What seemed to be a game, one that he proposed, and I laughingly rejected, is now, I have come to understand, the only defense I have here. I was the creator of these characters. I am now subservient to their powers. I am a pawn in the middle of a game that I don’t understand. It is something a little like the book I was writing, but with supernatural characters abounding. I am only a mortal woman, and I am thrown into this cauldron of spirits, demons and war that has existed between characters since the beginning of time. My Demon Protector has tried to explain to me the pantheon of creatures that occupy his world…or worlds. He has the ability to travel between many of them, and I only call him Demon to taunt him. He is that but much more. What, I still haven’t figured out. But he has become much more to me. He has supernatural abilities that he is slowly revealing, like a dance of the seven veils.

“That’s hardly a masculine description of my talents.”

Hah! He sneaks in on cat paws and tries to surprise me. I am getting used to him now.

“Then I will change my tactics. Perhaps I will scare you more. You will fly to my arms!”

“Good Morning, Demon.” I smile as he slowly materializes in his usual place. “Have you brought me a dish of tea?”

“Your wish is my command.” He snaps his fingers and a lovely dish of tea appears on the table before me.

“Have you had your breakfast?” I ask him.

“Are you proposing to cook it for me? I like that. Admirable in a woman.” He lights his eternal pipe, and puffs lazily. He is in a good mood this morning.

“About that, Garrett. What is exactly expected of me?” He has proposed this very recently, but has not gone into much detail.

“Oh, as I think of it I will tell you.” He grins at me. I guess I am to read his mind on this.

“As long as you read it correctly, darling one.”

I drink my tea and look over the rim of my dish at him. He is in a very jolly mood today.

“That’s because you were good and tender to me. I like a woman that plays so well with John Thomas down there.”

I blush at the memory of his recent highjinks. He is a very sexual demon. Whatever I resisted before, he has made me more pliable to his wooing now. As long as I don’t contradict him. He can be the very devil if he doesn’t get his way. He grins at me, reading my mind again.

“Give me your hand, Bess. You were sad when I came in.” He’s a sensitive devil.

I extend my hand to him across the table. A usual gesture between us, when we are not fighting. It expresses a certain tenderness and trust. Most times he denies that.

“I am worried, Demon. I am worried about Obadiah and what is to come next.” I look at him seriously, and he puffs his white clay pipe thoughtfully.

“If it’s reassurance you want, I can give you little. But I can give you some knowledge about how things stand.” He slouched down in his chair, and stretched out his long legs. “It’s mostly a question of forces. Obadiah’s and mine. We share some things, and he wants to share more”. He looked at me and grinned, “but I am blocking him in his desires.”

“So I am pivotal here?” I can’t believe that.

“Well, yes and no. There’s the big picture, and the small.” He had a serious expression as he tried to form an explanation I would understand.

“The big picture is a question of territory. We both want the same slice of pie. We have been fighting over this way before you ever thought of your book. Think of the drug trade in your world.”

“I’d rather not, thank you. Bunch of thugs and hoods.”

“Well, it fits. Neither Obadiah or I are of the first water where morality comes in.” He flashed his grin again. “So we gather various forces, pulled from various worlds, and we go at each other like dogs.”

I could see how that analogy fit. Both of them.

“Where do I come in here?” I was losing the smaller picture.

“In good time I will come to that.” Frankly, I thought he was avoiding the topic. Perhaps something unpleasant in store for me.

“Well, since you have guessed at some of it, I might as well tell you a bit more.” He puffed on his pipe, but it had gone out.

“Bess”, he began. “You are a mortal woman.” Ah! Tell me something I don’t know. “You have a value in our worlds for a number of reasons. One of them is the possibility of transference.”

“Meaning?”

“You can go between worlds easier than us. You have substance. Mainly flesh and blood.” (I didn’t like the sound of this.)

“And…you would be a breeder.”

“What! What in Hell are you talking about?” I really didn’t like the sound of that!

“It’s either you consort with Obadiah or you consort with me.”

“That is the choice? That is the only choice I get? I am a broodmare for either one of you? What about my age? What about my husband and my real life?” I was getting a bit hysterical here.

“Ah, that. A bit of a complication, but that is what the glamours are for. I could work around that.”

Lovely. Within a matter of minutes he has changed my destiny, my fate singlehandedly, without even a ‘by your leave.’ Or he has attempted to.

“I can already see the fire has risen in your temper, girl. Remember your promise to submit to me? It seems like only yesterday you made a pact here with me.”

“Ah, Devil! You are a daft one if you think that I will follow any of this!”

“Have it your way. I’ll throw you out a window, and before you hit the ground Obadiah and his minions will have you fast. Would you prefer that fate because that is yours outside this house.”

So those were the terms. I would play a waiting game with him and see if things changed. But he could bite my ass if he thought I would give another foot of ground to him.

He smiled at me, though he could tell that I was upset. Beyond upset.

“Come Bess, it won’t be as bad as you think. You will have some immortality of your own. If I win the battles, you will be a very powerful woman. Plus you will be mine.”

Oh! Goody! Just the fate I have always seen for me. This cocksure demon talks in riddles and fairytales and I am to suspend my sanity and go along with the game here!

“You choose to do this by writing the book. Had you not been so good, you wouldn’t have caught the attention of a number of Old Ones.”

“You mean you and Obadiah?” The arrogance of the man…ah, demon!

“No, Bess. There are Immortals far stronger than I. I do have my own to kowtow to, you know.”

I didn’t. This was news.

“So, Demon, tell me. What are these forces that you are gathering for battle? Fairies, Elves, garden gnomes, some trolls?”

He laughed at my words, but the laughter didn’t mount to his eyes.

“You better hope that I can gather the forces I need, or you might be a broodmare for Obadiah. I think you remember his wooing. But then again, he is known widely for his perversion and pain. Pain in the ass, more likely. But you remember it well.”

Oh! He was so cruel! To use what Obadiah had done to me as a joke!

“You best remember who you are now beholden to, dear lady. A slight imbalance of power will take us both down. It would behoove you well to make my days light.”

Well, he had me there. A bargain with the Devil…or a devil, was not one that was easy to go back on. I should have thought of that from the start of this story.

My voice sounded weak to my ears. “Will you be able to do this?”

“I should. I am more, ah, winsome than Obadiah. And so are you. You will have to use some of your mortal charms to bring them to our side. That is part of your role as consort. And you will have to be convincing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those that sit in judgement of Obadiah and I can ‘award’ the spoils of battle to either side. You would be one of those spoils. You will have to play a convincing role of devotion and loyalty to me not to be given to Obadiah.”

“As in, “The Gods are fickle?”

“Good girl! Now you are playing the game!”

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted 2007, 2013

“A Kapitany”, Chapter 26….Again with a WARNING

This is a novel of bdsm, violence, love and also bad language. You have been warned.

In writing this chapter, I came across the Hungarian Labor Camp, Recsk, that was used very near Eger from 1950-1963. This was a Stalinist prison camp that came into Hungary on the heels of WWII and the Nazis leaving Hungary. The brutality of Stalin was a continuation of Hitler. There were ‘only’ 1500 people in this camp, but many never survived. It is hardly ever talked about in Hungary, in part because of the threats by the Soviet government. However, that is slowly changing and people are holding memorials to the victims.

The De La Motte House (from “The Great Country Houses of Hungary) built around 1773, was a visual inspiration. The influence is obviously French and apparently this was not that unusual for Hungary in the 18th century. Some aristocrats, and others from the French Revolution moved to Budiapest and the Hungarian countryside. The workmen and architect came from Eger, which is only 12 kilometers from Eger. The house had many frescos (based on Roman mythology) that have been carefully restorred. It is now a place for tourists and weddings, etc.

The famous “Bull’s Blood”, a Hungarian wine, comes from this region.

Lady Nyo

A Kapitany, Chapter 26

Both of them slept late, Vadas waking with a mild hangover. He fell into his bed without thinking of Elizabeth sleeping there. He was too tired to move. The drink and smoke of last night did him in.

In the morning Elizabeth got up before Vadas. She washed in the cold water from a pitcher on a table near a window. Vadas watched her from the bed, playing possum. He liked these moments when he could observe her. It was an intimacy, different from the usual stuff.

This morning Elizabeth moved carefully from the bed half way across the room. She couldn’t pour water into the bowl because of her wrist but dabbed at her face. She removed the Velcro cast and plunged her arm into the pitcher. Vadas wondered if he should rise and pour water for her. He decided against it, mostly because he was too comfortable. He needed more sleep after last night. Watching her was a nice way to begin the day.

Elizabeth pulled her nightgown over her head. She struggled free and threw it into a chair. Naked, she moved to look out a window. The windows were deep and she had to raise herself on toes to see the morning outside. Vadas saw the marks from Alexandra’s caning and the bruises of Miklos’ usage. She was a small woman, and since Miklos raped her, she had lost weight. She became quiet, withdrawn. It began to worry Vadas. Already he could tell she wasn’t eating enough or sleeping well. He heard her turning over in the middle of the night, crying out in pain.

In all his years playing the Dom, he never did what Miklos dared. Some had begged for pain, and that he could give. But there was a tipping point. There were times the woman demanded things of him he didn’t want to do. Choking them until they fainted. Then having to revive them, and quickly. Vadas had done these things. He knew there would come a time he would slip up, something would happen. He didn’t want to chance it now. The risks and thrills weren’t worth it. Perhaps he was growing old, soft, whatever happened to men. He didn’t know. He did know Elizabeth, probably by her innocence, had turned his sexual desires a bit more wholesome. He laughed to himself. Just the usual fucking and sucking. He enjoyed the simple passion of this woman. He was over the extreme. At least, for now. He could continue to tie her up, play with her, flog her, scare her. He liked to scare her; it fed into his power. He hadn’t made her beg, but that would come. Elizabeth was a curious woman. He could work with that.

She would learn her place in the marriage. She would come to know his. She wasn’t used to Hungarian men, but give her a few years. She would learn. That was if he could get her to marry. He was aroused, his cock swelling slightly under the covers. His thoughts and the sight of a fragile- looking Elizabeth were doing the trick. She made him feel young, and God knew he was far from that. No, perhaps it wasn’t so much sex. Perhaps it was just Elizabeth. He had a woman, one to care for. Perhaps that was all he ever wanted. Since Marta died, he hadn’t known many with real intimacy. He went through the motions, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Vadas watched her put on panties and a long skirt. She couldn’t put on a bra, couldn’t reach behind her back, but pulled a loose grey sweater over her head. She bent over and brushed her long hair, braiding it into one loose braid. Vadas smiled. He remembered his mother doing her hair like that. He was very young, but it was one of the things he remembered of her.

The morning sun was not encouraging. Pale, barely breaking through the clouds. It was misting outside, a good day to stay by a low fire. They drank their coffee and Elizabeth pulled a shawl over her shoulders in the hall. She saw Vadas put a gun in his hunting vest and take a handful of ammo from a drawer.

Vadas saw her expression in the mirror over the table. She looked confused.

“Don’t worry, Elizabeth. This is just a precaution. I haven’t been up there in years. There might be raccoons or skunks in the house.” Vadas gave her a broad smile.

“Vadas, you don’t shoot a skunk in the house. Are you crazy? That smell will never go away. You will have to pull it down or you will not be able to go near it for years.”

Vadas laughed. “Ok, then no shooting skunks. What about trespassers?”

“No, you don’t shoot them, either. You order them gone and then you call the police.”

“Ah! So you know Hungarian police, now?” Vadas laughed. The police here didn’t function like those in Budapest. They were slow to respond, and when they did, they wanted bribes on the spot. Not much had changed since the previous regime. Corruption was corruption, inbred in people with some small authority.

They drove to the main road in an old, open Jeep. Vadas turned off to a private, overgrown road. It was at an incline. They climbed a rutty road at least three hundred feet. The gravel of the drive had not been raked for years, now mostly covered in leaves. Twice he had to stop and remove limbs.

Before them was a high stone mortared surround with a large wrought iron gate. There were unicorns on top of the two main pillars, missing their horns.

Vadas got out and unlocked a small gate at one side. Elizabeth went through the gate and passed trees and bushes not trimmed in years. These trees and shrubs had grown up and covered the first floor windows. Even with this neglect, the house was a beauty.

Vadas could see from her expression she was impressed. He had not come up here in years. There were too many sad memories of the short life with Marta.

Elizabeth turned to him, her eyes wide. “This is a chateau! You didn’t tell me it would be so grand.” Elizabeth turned back to the house. There was definitely some French influence in the design.

“Well, I don’t know you would call it a chateau in Hungary, but it is an old house. Come, I have the key.”

Elizabeth counted eight windows on both the first and second floors. There was a small balcony in the middle on the second floor, and double wooden doors at the entrance. Just then the sun peeked out and Elizabeth saw the buttery yellow of the building light up. All over central Europe this color, Schonbrunn, was used. It was a color enriching with age.

“Oh, Vadas, it’s beautiful!”

“Wait until you see the inside, Elizabeth. Perhaps you will have ideas what can be restored?”

He unlocked the front door and Elizabeth passed under his arm into the wide and dark hallway. Vadas turned on his flashlight and told her to stay where she was. He would open the interior shutters and the dusty drapes.

Her eyes were slow to adjust to the darkness, even with the open door behind her. When Vadas came back with his flashlight, he aimed it at the ceiling, fully twenty feet above her. There were frescos of some Roman mythology. As he cast his light around the room, she saw faded frescos on the walls.

“Oh, Vadas! You grew up in this house? What a marvelous childhood you must have had.”

“Good and bad, Elizabeth, like most. Come, we go through this door first. There are a number of reception rooms.”

With the shutters opened and the heavy drapes drawn back, Elizabeth could see the interior. First was a large rectangular room banked with windows on the long side. The floor was parquet made up of dark stars on a lighter background. Frescos on these walls, too, but much faded. Some of the walls looked like the plaster had been gouged out. Elizabeth walked over and touched a wall gently.

“During the war, my parents moved outside of Paris. This house was looted, by soldiers mostly. Some locals joined in the looting. Very few family pieces were recovered after the war, so when they came back, they made do what they could find. We never really knew who destroyed some of these frescos, but we think it was not the soldiers. The Nazis were brutal, but they didn’t usually destroy property like this. They bombed Budapest pretty flat in 1944, so maybe I’m wrong. They went after my father’s laborers from the vineyards. Many were sent to Germany to the forced labor camps. The grapes? They were untended for years before my father could work them. He survived a few years after Recsk in the Matra Hills east of here.”

“What was Recsk, Vadas?”

Vadas looked up at the ceiling as if the answer was floating there. “Recsk, Elizabeth, was a labor camp. This was during Stalin’s time. Officially it was opened in 1950, but it held prisoners after the end of the war. My father was a broken man when he was released. He had worked in a mine all those years. He was considered lucky. He came back. I was too young to take over and by then the Soviets had Hungary in their fist. I spent my early years in Paris with my mother.”

“So no one lived here since the war?”

“Oh, we lived here, came back later right after the war, but our living conditions were greatly changed. Before we had a household staff, laborers for the vines, we had forests to sell timber. After the war? We had nothing except this house tumbling down around our ears.”

These memories had pain for him. “There were times we almost starved. We broke up what furniture we had to warm a room. If it wasn’t for Zoltan’s family and a few others, we would have starved to death.” Vadas laughed. “Zoltan’s father hunted deer on our land and brought us meat. I think our woods fed the whole of Eger after the war. The deer disappeared and we ate what we could find, which wasn’t much. My mother dug up her flower garden and planted cabbage like a peasant woman.”

Vadas moved through the rooms, pointing out the elaborate fireplaces. Some of the marble was missing, and the mantels had been shored up with rough timber. Mirrors had been bashed in, and windows were boarded up, the sashes missing. It was hard to see everything, but the house needed a lot of restoration. For a chateau, it was small, but big enough.

He showed her the first floor, and then led her upstairs to the second. The staircase was a double marble construction, and had wrought iron railings. The central hall was crowned with a fresco on the barreled ceiling. There wasn’t enough light for Elizabeth to make out the theme, but it was from some mythology, probably Roman as in the lower rooms.

They walked through different bedrooms with small closets, which would have been a room for an attending servant. There were no frescos in these rooms, but they did have windows that looked out to the dark mountains. Elizabeth wondered if these were part of the chain of the Matras mountains, where the prison camp Recsk once was.

The landscape outside from the second story view was breathtaking. Elizabeth saw rolling hills, forests, a river in the distance, and what seemed to be once a garden beneath where they were standing. Perhaps this was the flower garden where Vadas’ mother planted cabbage.

Except for the cellar and kitchens, they explored as much as Elizabeth had energy for. She felt tired and asked Vadas if she could lie down somewhere for a few minutes. She hadn’t this much activity since she visited the National Museum, where she had walked for hours. Vadas led her back to the central bedroom, a room at one time of great decoration. The white marble fireplace was rococo in design, though parts of it were missing. There were particular flourishes of Hungarian taste, with what looked like gargoyles flanking each side. They didn’t look French.
Everything in the room had been covered with heavy white sheets. What seemed to be a wardrobe, or armoire, against a long wall, was shrouded with sheeting. A table and individual chairs were covered. The bed was covered, the headboard and footboard, though there was no covering for the plain mattress. It looked old and stained. Elizabeth looked up, and there in the plaster, were great streaks, water markings where the rain had come through the slate roofs. She moved to a window, one of four in the room, reaching from a low ledge almost to the high ceiling. Outside, before her, stretched a landscape of incredible beauty with those rolling hills into the distance.

Vadas watched her. He wanted to see her response to the house. She turned to him and smiled.

“It is more than I thought it would be. It is so beautiful, Vadas, I haven’t the words. But there is so much sadness in the history of this house.”

“Good, I thought you would like it. And yes, there was much sadness. Now, come lie down, I will shake out this dusty sheet. At least the mattress is dry.”

The bed looked to be carved walnut, in the style of Louis XVI. There were no blankets so Vadas smoothed the sheet over the bed. He lay down and patted the mattress. Elizabeth lay next to him, her head on his shoulder. She pulled her shawl around them. Both of them looked up at the stained ceiling. Some plaster decoration had long ago fallen and lathe was exposed in sections of the ceiling.

“What do you think of the house, even with damaged ceilings?”

“I know I can’t marry you now. If I did, you would just think I was marrying you for your house.”

“Women marry for worse reasons, Elizabeth.”

“I will marry only for love, Vadas,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Yes, I will marry you.”

Vadas put his arms around her and placed his chin on top of her head. He looked out the window at the distant mountains and felt peace. It was to be short lived.

“I will marry you, Vadas, on one condition.”

“I’m listening, Elizabeth. What is this condition?”

Elizabeth drew her breath. “That you promise you will not go after Miklos. Or Alexandra.”

Vadas sat up and reached for a cigarette in his vest.

“Do you understand what you are asking, Elizabeth? He has violated the woman he knew was going to be my wife, and in doing so he fucked me over as he did you. How would it look to the men I know, men I work with, if I just walked away? You ask too much, Elizabeth.”
She heard the frustration and anger in his voice. She knew this lay beyond anything Vadas could deem reasonable. His pride, his ego, his manhood had been defiled. She was the one physically injured, but he, in typical male fashion, was the insulted.

“I ask this, Vadas, for us. Not for me, nor for you, but for us. You wanted a new life, a fresh start, then let’s take it. What is Miklos to us if we have a different life together? He has no part in it, darling.”

Vadas puffed on his cigarette. There was no way he would stop going after Miklos. This woman asked too much. How could he face the men he called friends all these years? How could he face Zoltan? How could he walk as a man among these men? They were friends, but he was still boss. No, she didn’t understand. He was made a cuckold by Miklos, and the world would see it. This was not how men settled things. Miklos must be found and brought to ground. Alexandra, too, but she was not as important. Miklos would pay with his life. Elizabeth would be revenged and so would he.

Vadas puffed hard on his cigarette, blowing smoke like a dragon. He was visibly upset. However, she had said she would marry. That was one concession he won. This other stuff he would work around. She didn’t have to know everything. A man kept some secrets for the sake of his dignity.

********

Vadas watched Elizabeth asleep in his arms. He needed her to climax, to scream in passion. He needed to reclaim her with this small act. Miklos had taken so much from him. Now, with this short hour of love making, he had her back under him. It was a beginning, as Elizabeth said. A small beginning, but it helped. He looked at the woman in his arms. She was only weak physically. She surprised him. This marriage might work out. He felt she was his, and in wonder, realized he had become something of hers. It was a strange feeling but had some truth to it. Perhaps this was how love began.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2007, 2013

“A Kapitany”, Chapter 23 with a WARNING.

Don’t read this chapter if you have a problem with Violence, Male to Male Violence, BDSM, Sex,….

Vadas entered the suite and looked for Elizabeth. She was not in bed. In fact, the bed was still made. No one had slept there. He pressed the numbers of the hotel safe in the closet. Her passport was still there. She hadn’t left. So where was she?

He called Zoltan on his cell, but there was no answer. He passed his hand through his hair, and pulled at his lips. He went down to the reception, but no one had seen her enter.

Vadas punched some numbers. He needed to gather men and go look for Zoltan and Elizabeth. Zoltan always answered his cell so this was strange. Actually, it was alarming, considering the conversation with Miklos. He didn’t put it past Miklos to pull something. He was a bit too curious about Elizabeth during their meeting. This nagged Vadas as he came back to Budapest at dawn.

Four of Vadas’ men came in two cars: Andor, Sami, Peti, Markus, all from Eger. They were the men Vadas trusted the most. These men had been tromping through the woods up by Miklos’ the day before. Now they were going back to his house. They didn’t know what they would find, and didn’t know what else to do. Near Esztergom, on a heavily forested road, they found the Mercedes. It had been pushed far off the road and into a gully. Only the sharp eyes of one of them saw the car.

“Vadas, there’s the car.”

“Oh, God,” mummured Vadas. “Let’s get it open.”

They slipped down the bank and surrounded the car. Andor looked in the back seat.

“No one is here. They must have had an accident and walked until they were picked up. But why haven’t they called, Vadas?”

“This is no accident Andor. Pop the trunk.”

Zoltan was lying in blood. He was shot somewhere in the torso and barely alive.

“Oh Jesus,” muttered Vadas. Others crossed themselves. Zoltan was well known to all of them.

“Sami, you and Peti take him to hospital in Esztergom. Tell them you found him on the road, but don’t be specific where. Check his pockets and remove any identification. You know what to do.”

Vadas sat down on the bank. He was shocked to see Zoltan. He also was relieved they hadn’t found Elizabeth in the same condition. The others stood around, nervously smoking.

“Ok, we know this was no accident. Zoltan wasn’t the target, Elizabeth was. So, who would want to take her? Only one I can think of is Miklos. This was done under his orders.” Vadas cursed quietly. “ I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight.”

“Vadas.” Markus broke the silence. “I know one of Miklos’ men. He lives in Esztergom somewhere, but I bet he’s in a bar. This was serious business last night. He probably needs a drink right now.”

They tried to push the car further in the gully, but the front wheels had sunk into the soft soil. They piled into the remaining car and drove fast back to Esztergom. There were numerous bars in this old city and they entered three before they found Miklos’ man.

He was hunched over a drink at the end of the counter. It was early in the morning, not a time for drinking. He was almost alone except for the bartender and a old man asleep in the corner. He didn’t look up until they approached him. Then he tried to bolt and Markus tripped him.

“Out. And be quiet about it, Barna.”

Barna’s eyes were wild with fear. He didn’t recognize Vadas, but he did Markus.

They hustled him out into the piss smelling alley behind the bar.

“Ok, Barna, tell us where the woman is. Be quick about it.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I don’t know any woman.”

“Ok, you want to play hard ball? Fine with us. Hold him”, said Vadas.

Vadas loosened Barna’s belt and pulled down his pants, exposing Barna’s genitals. Barna’s eyes got wide at the sight of Vadas’ knife. Grabbing his cock, Vadas started to cut Barna at the top of it by his belly. Barna started to scream, while Andor put his hand over his mouth, silencing him. His eyes were pleading with Vadas not to do this.

Vadas spoke quietly. “Here’s how it goes, Barna. Where did you take the woman? You got one last chance to answer before I cut your cock off and stuff it down your throat. Now, look me in the eyes and tell the truth. That’s if you ever want to fuck a woman again.”

Andor removed his hand and Barna started to blabber. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t take the woman.”

“Ok, Barna, say goodbye to your dick”. Vadas started to slice at the root of his cock, blood spurting over his hand. Barna was yelling for him to stop. He would tell him what he knew.

“Miklos Farhas ordered her taken. I didn’t shoot your man, someone else did. But they drove the woman back to Farhas’ house, but not to the house.”

“You are not making sense, man. And you are pissing me off.” Vadas grabbed the terrified man by the shirt front, pulling him up close.

“Better I end your worthless life right now with a stick between the ribs. Your choice, Barna.”

“Listen to me. There is a road above the big house. It was up there she was taken. It’s a small stone house, maybe once a summer house, I don’t know. But she was knocked out by a rag over her face. They took her up there.”

“Do any of you know what this bastard is talking about? Have you seen this house?”

“We can find it, Vadas. We can get her back.”

Vadas turned his attention to Barna. “You get to keep your limp cock, but you will lose something. Just so you never to go up against me again.”

Vadas grabbed Barna’s right hand and chopped off a finger. Andor held his arms and Markus slapped his hand over Barna’s eyes. Vadas shoved the finger into Barna’s mouth. Barna spit it out, weeping.

Vadas grabbed Barna’s jaw and stuck his knife in Barna’s nose. “If I ever see you again, Barna, you will be losing more than your cock.”

They left the weeping, terrified man collapsed on the ground. It was a bad day for Barna. He didn’t smell so good, either.

“A Kapitany”, (The Master) Chapters 16 and 17…..

In 2006 I joined a website, ERWA, and this website (Erotica Readers and Writers Ass.) had a lot of writers who delved into bdsm in their writing. Hell, many in their lives. It took me a couple of months before I realized what this stuff contained, and it was pretty interesting. Also scary. It was something totally alien, different from my experience. I started writing a novel, “A Kapitany”, (Hungarian for “The Master”) which had a strong bdsm quality about it, with lots of sex, but then dropped it. I was pretty queered by what I found in this bdsm world, and of course, you can’t write something like this without doing some research. The people in this world were a very mixed bag, and I never thought I would revisit this unfinished novel. Over the fall, I did, and decided to give it to the only sane man (and a friend) I knew from that former world (called a Dominant there) to read. He gave it a thumbs up and suggested I finish it. He had reluctantly read “Fifty Shades of Gray” and thought this “A Kapitany” had some merit. I haven’t read that book and probably won’t, but then again, it seems to be making the rounds in society.

I realized I had lost interest in this book, but not only because I was queered by the behavior I found in this bdsm world. Every chapter had sex in it, and after a while, this became boring, at least to this writer. When I expanded the theme to include international art
thievery….it became more interesting. Expanding the theme brought new challenges and research, and a deepening of plot. If it doesn’t interest the
writer, or they feel they are just going through the motions to finish a book…it won’t hold together.

A quick summary of characters:
Vadas Dohendy is a Dominant man, deeply
involved in the bdsm world, but also an art thief. He is growing older, and he is jaded with his life. He sees his circle of friends for what they are, and they are all corrupted by life. They are opportunists and the women around him now leave him cold. He has inherited a vineyard in Eger, Hungary and wants to leave this other world for a world of fungus, blight and vines. He produces a good “Bulls Blood”, a particular Hungarian wine with a lot of ancient history.

Elizabeth is Vadas’ new squeeze but she hasn’t a clue to his real life. He has proposed, sort of, but she isn’t biting. He is older than she, but not by much. She hasn’t been corrupted by his activities and her freshness is part of Vadas’ interest.

Miklos: basically, the ‘boss’ of Vadas and a thoroughly bad character. He is a sexual sadist and not a nice guy at all. People should move far down the bench from him. Vadas is trying to find a way to get rid and around him without the usual violence. It probably won’t happen.

Lady Nyo

A Kapitany, chapter 16

It was time for dinner and Vadas always listened to his stomach. I didn’t know if I was hungry or my stomach was responding to the latest news of Vadas’ life, but nothing seemed normal to me. I felt suspended in time. I was falling in love with this complicated man, and at the same time knocked off my feet with what he said. Then, there was also the issue of my staying with him. Could I possibly live in that remote area of Hungary? Could I be serious about marrying him? And was his proposal driven because he had revealed something very dangerous about himself, something anyone could use, could go to the authorities and reveal?

“Elizabeth, I am hungry and I would suppose you are, too? Let’s go to a nice restaurant around the hotel, I know of a few. I am tired of room service.”

This was new. Vadas loved room service. At least in the States. But we were in Budapest, and it was, from what I had seen, a glorious city, full of museums, churches and art galleries. Of course I hadn’t seen any of these places. I still was a tourist and wanted this before I left. When and where I was leaving I hadn’t the time to yet consider. There was just too much to decide and right now, my stomach was deciding for me.

———-
We walked down Vaci utca, a historic street full of Nouveau Art buildings, former mansions and now hotels and restaurants. A full moon was just rising, and the street was lit with those street lights that were soft globes far above the cobblestones. The facades of the buildings were marvelous, something rare and wonderful. Vaci utca was a pedestrian only street and people were sitting at tables outside restaurants and cafes. Vadas turned into a restaurant and we were immediately placed at a table in an alcove. I had the idea he had come here before, perhaps many times, because the maître de bowed, his face lit up with a smile, and he whispered a greeting. Vadas replied, of course in Hungarian, and a few words were exchanged, beyond my comprehension.

It seemed a rather formal restaurant for a quick dinner, but I had come to see that Vadas did things in a grand fashion. Immediately a waiter appeared and Vadas ordered a couple of bottles of wine. I could make out the word ‘wine’ but I was surprised how fast they appeared. Generally Hungarian food was based around meat and heavy starches, and I was afraid this constant fare would get me fat so I decided to order just a salad and perhaps grilled shrimp. Vadas had a bottle of rosé brought to the table for me. He didn’t even look at the menu but was brought a steak and two bottles of some red wine.

The rosé was rather sweet and delicious, perfect for my fare. Vadas said little, but he tore into his meal like a starving man. Perhaps he was, as I wasn’t around to see what he was eating for the past few days.

“Vadas. Except for the shopping trips with your Soffia, I haven’t seen anything really of Budapest.”

“That can be easily remedied, Elizabeth. Where would you like to go?”

“I would like to see some museums, some galleries and of course a church or two.”

“Ah, do you feel so sinful you need to empty your heart in confession?” Vadas chuckled and picked up his glass.

“No, I don’t. I just want to see what other tourists see of Budapest.”

“But Elizabeth, you aren’t exactly a tourist. I am hoping you will stay with me and make this country your home.”

I sat back, surprised at this quick turn of conversation and looked at him.

“Vadas, I haven’t decided anything yet. I have a lot of confusion about how I feel, and especially about you.”

“Elizabeth, try this wine, and tell me what you think.” Vadas was clearly avoiding this topic.
He pushed a large wine glass across the white linen cloth and I tasted the wine. It was deep red, and stout. It wasn’t to my taste at all. I made a small grimace.

“What? You don’t like it? It came from my vineyard.”

I looked up at him in surprise. “Oh, Vadas, I am so sorry. It’s just that I haven’t developed a taste for strong red wines, yet, but I am sure it is a very good wine.”

“Well, I brought you to this restaurant because I supply some of the wine, and I wanted to surprise you. Perhaps next year, when I play with the vines and combine different grapes, you will grow to like the results.”

“I am surprised, Vadas. I didn’t think where your wines went. And perhaps it is just my inexperience with Hungarian wines, my ignorance, that makes them not to my taste. Please forgive me. I can learn.”

Here was an honest venture of his, and I had not seen it coming.

“If you become my wife, Elizabeth, you will see my wines are far flung. You will visit many restaurants and will be treated like a queen.”
“There are many problems first, Vadas. But I like the idea of being treated like a queen.” I laughed, and hoped that he had not taken offense.

“Vadas, I can not live in that house of yours with the pig head in the dining room and the wolf head in the hall. They have to go.”

Vadas sat back and I saw him tapping the table, planning his answer. He even scowled.

“Elizabeth, you don’t know the history of those two. The boar as you call pig, killed a man and gored another. He lost his leg. This was in my father’s time. And the wolf? Well, he was a man killer, coming down from Transylvania, for we don’t have black wolves, ours are grey. He killed a number of people before my grandfather led a pack of men to hunt him down. Both of them have history, important history and lots of memories for the people who live here.”

It was clear these two mounted heads meant more than just to Vadas. What right did I have to demand they be removed? Ah, this was more of the Hungarian cultural issues that I did not understand. And to live in this region, well, could I?

I sat back, and sipped my sweet wine. It was good but was going straight to my head. I felt my emotions rising as I looked at the man across the table. Ah, Vadas, what am I to do or say to you? Do I even tell you I am falling in love or do I play it safe?

Somewhere the strains of a violin started up, the music soft and alluring. Usually I found violinists traveling between tables annoying, but this was music of Bartok, not what was played for tourists as ‘gypsy’ music. The combination of wine and music was beginning to relax me, perhaps too much. I was with Vadas, after all, and needed my wits about me.

“Vadas, I don’t want to pry, but have you decided what to do with Miklos?”

“That is not of your worry, Elizabeth. And no, I haven’t decided about Miklos, if you must know. I am more interested in you right now.”
I picked at my salad and avoided his eyes.

“Tell me what you want, Elizabeth. Look me in the eye and tell me what you want.”

Oh, this was the classic appeal of a Hungarian man to get to the truth. I sat back and thought what I should tell him.

“Vadas, what reason do I have in asking you anything? We have known each other only six weeks. How much do we really know of each other? I know you were married once before, you have a vineyard and live in a former hunting lodge. I know you have two dubious side lines. Or careers if you prefer. You know nothing of me, except what I have told you and that is little enough. We haven’t a basis for marriage, certainly not now. Do we even understand each other? Plus, there are cultural differences between us. Surely they can’t be ignored.”

“Elizabeth, I know more than you suspect. It is very easy, if you know how, to obtain information on just about anyone. I know, for instance, that your first husband was a spoiled brat and your second one a drunk. That you disliked your mother and adored your father, but of course he was Hungarian, so that is understandable. I know you worked as a graphic artist, and hated it, and wanted to paint landscapes. I know you had some successes in a few galleries, but not enough to support yourself by sales. I know you are a talented and intelligent woman and I know that you are older than you have said. Just a few years, but still I am older.”

My face showed my surprise. So, he has snooped on me? And who was he talking to? Did he hire a private investigator? Did he know how much I had in the bank and did he know how many men I had screwed?

“Elizabeth, don’t be angry with me, darling. I became very interested in you from the second day we met. From the first. I needed to know who and what you were, and I was not disappointed. In fact, I was intrigued. You are a very independent and strong woman, and if you weren’t such a challenge, I would not have been interested. Do you understand? Perhaps Hungarian men do things differently than what you are used to, but there was some risk for me. If you had known, or had been a plant as they say in America, to inform on me, I would have been at your mercy. But you were innocent of all suspicions. And plus, the sex was very, very good.”

Vadas sat back and smiled, as if that last comment made all else disappear.

I had no answer for him, but I checked my anger. I could play my own cards.

“Vadas, what do you really want from me? And are you willing to give me what I want?”

He looked across the table, his eyes locking mine. “Tell me, then, Elizabeth, what you want. If I can give it to you, you will have it.”

“I want to paint. I want very much to go back to painting. I want my own studio, with good light and space enough. I want to be able to contact galleries, not just local ones in Eger, but here, in Budapest. I want someday to own my own gallery. I also want some sheep.”

Vadas’ eyes widened and I heard him chuckle. “Good! I love lamb and we could market it with the wines. That is a very good idea, Elizabeth. I congratulate you on your invention.”

“No, Vadas. I don’t want to raise sheep for food, or for slaughter, I want to raise sheep for wool. To market fine wool to different artisans. And since I am probably becoming a vegetarian, I wouldn’t be eating meat.”

Vadas looked worried when I mentioned not eating meat. “You don’t expect me to eat grass, do you?”

“No, Vadas, but I do expect you to quit smoking. You are going to die from it, and I will not be married to a man who is going to die soon from such a habit.”

“So, you are going to marry me?”

I had to backup quickly, but the wine was clouding my head.

Before I could open my mouth to answer, Vadas pushed a black velvet box across the table.

“Open it, Elizabeth. Then you will know my intentions.”

I sat and looked at it for a few moments. I was curious but the wine hadn’t completely screwed with my senses. I sensed something different, something a bit dangerous to my present convictions.

“Open it, Elizabeth.” I looked up at Vadas, and he seemed to be so earnest, so serious.

There in white satin lining was a bracelet. A diamond bracelet with rubies and emeralds. They were large stones and were set in what looked like platinum or white gold. The diamonds were strung in two strains, linking the rubies and emeralds. I had never seen such a piece of jewelry. It was very fine and obviously very expensive.

“I can’t accept this, Vadas. This is too valuable, and it would be wrong to do so. It is too valuable a gift for me to accept.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of this bracelet and in the dim light of our table, it sparkled like a million stars come down to earth. The fire of the diamonds and the depth of the other stones made this jewelry captivating.

Vadas reached across the table and took my left hand. “I give this to you, Elizabeth, because I have love for you and hope you have some for me. You are right, we have been together a short time, but in this time I have seen a woman I would want to spend my life with. Not since Marta have I had these feelings, and they make me feel younger. Just try it on for me.”

I picked up the bracelet and placed it on my right wrist. The clasp was strange, not what I was used to in a bracelet. It was like a small box with a large ruby in the middle. I didn’t see any way to secure it on my wrist. I looked up at him, puzzled, and he was smiling.

“Here, extend your arm to me, Elizabeth. I will show you how it works.”

Vadas took a tiny, delicate key from his pocket and pressing the ruby, the clasp opened. Then the other end of the bracelet could be joined to secure it. He turned the key, and with a sly smile, pocketed the key.

“There, it is on your arm, only to be removed by this key and by me. So, how do you like your gift?”

Vadas had tricked me! But it was not something I could have anticipated. I just shook my head and laughed. This man was one tricky devil, but I couldn’t for the life of me take my eyes off his gift. In a way, it was a very expensive slave bracelet and the meaning of it was not lost.

A Kapitany, Chapter 17
Vadas sat in the darkened hotel room illuminated by the full moon. Elizabeth was asleep on the bed, gently snoring. The rosé proved to be too much for her, even two glasses. All the way home Vadas listened to her tipsy chatter. He also watched her raise her arm to admire the bracelet every time they walked under a street lamp. It fitted her arm well, and she seemed happy, perhaps because she was drunk. It was the first time he had seen her in such a state and it amused him.

She was dead on her feet when they got to their suite and he undressed her. He placed her naked on the bed and sat in an armchair watching her sleep. The moon fell across her pale body and she looked like a little Venus on the half-shell. Her long hair fell over her face and breast and her stomach rose and fell with her breaths. She was a small woman, but the roundness of her belly gave her a charming appearance, a ripeness that only could come with maturity.

She looked so innocent, lying there exposed to the moon, his eyes. There was nothing he could not do to her in this state, but he felt no lust. Perhaps he was tired himself or perhaps he was just old. There was more on his mind than Elizabeth. He couldn’t help wonder, though, if demanding that she live in Eger was the right thing to do. Here was a modern woman, not of his usual society, and certainly not a submissive woman. He was asking her to make a radical rupture with most of what she knew in life. He wondered if she would marry him, but then again, what was his rush to marriage? Probably because he was old fashioned and needed to claim her. Perhaps he thought she would leave him if he didn’t. There were no guarantees in life, he knew that.

Vadas threw back his head and stared at the dark ceiling, wanting a cigarette to accompany his thoughts. He would have smoked but it probably would have awakened her. She was bound to make trouble, to rock the boat with the Kovacs. Maria and Janos had been in the family for forty years and two women in the same kitchen was a recipe for disaster. Elizabeth seemed to be a little domestic, and would probably want her own space. She would want to cook for him, or do something to mark her territory, and that was most probably him. Ah, there was trouble ahead and he had to figure out how to make his world…undisturbed. Probably not possible. He would have to make some changes, too.

Perhaps they should live in the old house? He hadn’t been there for twenty years. It was falling apart. The last time he was there was when Marta had died after childbirth, and he had abandoned it like so much of life. Probably bats and wolves inhabited the rooms, now.

Could he afford to renovate the house of his ancestors? It was too large and drafty, the window glass gone in some of the rooms, just boarded up against the weather. Zoltan had been up there on the hill, had gone through the house, made an accounting of the continued decline. He told him on the way to Eger. It didn’t sound good. The plaster had fallen from the walls of some of the rooms, the floor boards had rotted in sections from a bad roof and the smell was one of a general decay. The only rooms that had survived were those where the old furniture was stored, covered up from the elements. These were in a side wing of the main house. Perhaps they could live in this part and slowly, given the finances, restore the rest of the house? Ah, Elizabeth had a ‘nose’ for old things, antiques, perhaps she would rally to this. There was no modern heat, barely plumbing but it would be more of an adventure to a new bride, if he read Elizabeth right.

Elizabeth liked historic buildings and this certainly fit the bill. Perhaps there was a sunny room where she could set up her studio? Perhaps in years to come they could open this as a hotel? There were rooms enough for that, but of course they would have to put in the modern conveniences. People couldn’t be expected to use chamber pots and fireplaces nowadays, not like when he was growing up.
There were servants then, and now nothing like that. Of course the Kovacs were there, but after forty years, they were more family than the other. But two women in one kitchen was a recipe for trouble.

Vadas looked at Elizabeth lying in the moonlight. If he would admit it, if he would ‘look himself in the eye and tell the truth’; he was lonely. Elizabeth looked sturdy enough to work the vines by his side, to hunt with him, to walk the caves and inspect the barrels, to grow old with him and warm his bed. He was lonely, and the past twenty years had done nothing to change this. Funny he had to travel half way around the world to meet someone who was only just a little Hungarian, but had interested him enough to grow love. Since Marta died he had not had love, only lust and lust had made him run from any consideration of love. Lust had been enough then, but now?

He was thankful Elizabeth was at an age where the possibility of a child was over. He didn’t want to chance another birth like the last. If his blood had brought forth a monster, it was better he remain childless. There was no heir, but then again, the loss of Marta had ruined him.

He was empty, his heart was empty, barren, and only with this little chit of a woman had he begun to realize what he was missing. When she had gotten so angry at him, when she challenged him, he had known fear. He was afraid of being alone again, afraid of losing her. She had spirit and was no fool. She had allowed him liberties but she knew her own head. He could push her around just so much. She had substance and could survive on her own. She didn’t need him, and he knew it. That was why he told her about Miklos and his history with him. It was time to be honest with her if he wanted her to stay. As honest as it suited him. There were always other considerations. He was still the man and had secrets she didn’t need to know.

Miklos. Vadas sighed. Miklos once again stood in the way of his happiness. How many times over the years had this been true and how many times had he bowed to the power of Miklos? What would Miklos want to end this, to break these ties that bound them together? He knew there was no future with Elizabeth if he didn’t get away from Miklos.

Vadas yawned. He was more tired than he knew. It had been a long three days and tomorrow night he would confront Miklos in his own lair. That bracelet on Elizabeth’s arm would signify much to anyone in the room who knew him. It was time for old Vadas to start a new life. And the farther away he was from Miklos and his circle? The better for his future. And the safety of Elizabeth’s life.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008-2012

“Metamorphosis III”

Continuing the series…..

Now a widow,  Laura’s life took on different dimensions.  The house was on the market, and she decided to travel.  She thought of spelunking, exploring caves, climbing mountains.   

 

Pouring over brochures, she heard a scratching sound. She unlatched the second story window and allowed Bart Batkowski to flutter in. 

 

“I wish you would use the door like a normal person.  You will draw attention this way.”

 

“Laura, do you forget what I am? Besides a co-conspirator in murder?”

 

Laura signed. Harold was dead, gone, Bart now sharing her bed.  But it wasn’t the bed where the action happened.  It was the damn closet and sex was gymnastic at best.  Though Laura had known a transformation, it wasn’t complete.  The angle of penetration was off. Bart would insist on hanging from his heels, and all attempts at necking gave Laura a stiff one; neck, that is.

 

Since Bart said his DNA required the closet hang, they compromised with a vertical 69 position.  Bart would embrace her with his wings wrapped tightly around them, and Laura would get comfortable with her pubis level at Bart’s nose.

 

It was a strange mating, but when Bart snored it sent Laura to heaven.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008, 2012