Desperate Measures

PREFACE

The one where Damian gets a little revenge.

Lily stirs awake, naked in her bed. As awareness dawns on her, it feels like a normal day, but the alarm didn't go off... and she realizes that the clock isn't on her nightstand for some reason. Then she realizes it's a different nightstand. And, looking around, she realizes this is not exactly her room. Similar, but not the same.

Stunned, she thinks through last night - what happened? It was normal: showering, going to bed. She was thrilled, actually, to hear about Cassie's revenge on Damian because he was now hers and hers alone. He'll love the story about what was really happening with Cassie, now that she's revealed for the bitch she is. When he finds how thoroughly Lily had subjugated her; he's going to delight in hearing that Cassie had already had her comeuppance in advance. And in spades. He would see what a great partner Lily would be to him going forward. Partnership. Yeah, ha!

And now he is probably an emotional wreck. Vulnerable. Moldable. Which is perfect. Now she will mold him to be exactly what she wants. And she is learning that she wants a lot. She is going to make Damian her bitch.

But that doesn't explain the mystery. She didn't remember sleeping somewhere else. She wasn't drunk. But now it is all different? Then she notices a cocky figure leaning against the room's doorframe, legs and arms crossed and smiling at her. Shocked, she scuttles up to the headboard and pulls the covers tightly over herself.

"About time you woke up."

"Who are you?"

"I am your everything. But you can call me 'Master Flynn.'"

"Huh?" She's bewildered and confused.

"I am a writer. You are a character. You used to be in another universe belonging to Oneagainst. You're now in mine."

She stares dully, not seeming to comprehend.

"Listen, Lillian Angelica Delacroix. I know this must be strange to you, but let me explain.

"You're you... but not really. Think of it, like: you're a copy of you." The figure looks at her and waits for a reaction, only to get another blank, uncomprehending stare.

"Okay, have you ever heard of 'The metaverse'?" She nods slowly. "Well... the 'you' that you think you are is still happily sleeping and plotting in the universe you know as home. You're a divergence; you're a new path. The old Lily is going to continue her life in that universe and you're going to see what it's like in mine. Here, everything starts for you where it left off, but the maker of your old universe has given me permission to copy you... and some others... and now you're going to play in my universe."

She got increasingly upset hearing this. "What? This is just bullshit!"

The figure - she can't make out if it's a 'he,' a 'she' or an 'it,' but like the Cheshire cat, she knows it's grinning. And wickedly.

"You can't just copy a person!"

"Oh, I can... and I did."

"Damn it - put me back!"

(laughs) "You don't get this, do you? You're mine! This isn't a simple plot device where I blackmail you with financial debt or something. I own you. Literally. I can do anything I want with you.

Anything

!"

Suddenly, it's bright and she finds herself tumbling, the wind whistling brutally over her naked body as she's watching the crazy scene unfold before her eyes. As she adjusts to the brightness, she realizes she's in freefall and heading toward a craggy mountainside. Closer, she sees a dragon with its maw open wide, ready to catch her tumbling body and tear it to shreds. She cries in terror, and starts trying to heave the contents of her empty stomach as she nears the dragon's mouth; she can smell its foul breath and sees entrails in its teeth: she knows she's going to...

Sit in the bed again, flailing and shaking miserably. "FUCK! SHIT!" She grabs the sheets so tight that her knuckles turn white.

"Awww, poor thing. I may rewrite that passage... I think I can still make it worse."

Sinisterly, Flynn continues, "do you get it yet? You're mine. I can do anything I want to you. Except, I can't put you back... there's already a Lily in your source universe. The only other thing I can do is to make you disappear... Do you want that?"

Still shaking, her eyes grow wide in the frame of her sweaty face as the reality matures in her mind. Trembling but no longer flailing, she slowly shakes her head 'no.'

The entity known as Master Flynn walks around behind her. Her eyes are still transfixed where it was standing before. She's afraid to move. Afraid to anger this... something.

"Lillian, know this. Know that you are naked here... literally and figuratively. Know that here... you will be discovered for the monster you are.

"When your maker allowed me to copy you, I was surprised that the only person I heard concern for was... with you. Honestly, I think you may have been sympathetic somehow in that universe. I don't know and I don't care."

She feels the entity's breath on the back of her neck, sending shivers up and down her spine.

Quietly, "What I do know is this. I don't like you. You have sinned, Lily. You have hurt others with your narcissistic, evil games. You have tried and even once succeeded in destroying happy, healthy relationships. To earn redemption, you will have to pay the price. And here, in my universe, it will be a steep one."

"You have two choices, Lillian Angelica Delacroix. I will end you. Or I will change you. What do you want?"

Trembling, she tries to form her thoughts, realizing the entity is expecting an answer. "I... I want to live..."

The entity's voice develops a resonant, threatening otherworldly quality. "Lillian, you know how to express yourself to me. I need to hear the honorific..."

The feeling of emptiness at her complete lack of power washes over her. Yesterday, she was queen of her world. She was ready to seize the power and control of the man she stole from her enslaved cuckquean. Now, she faces her oblivion. "I... I want to live... Master Flynn." She chokes on her words, pure fear wracking every nerve ending in her suddenly-tortured body.

--

Reader's notes:

this story arc contains many elements that could be triggers or simply be uncomfortable for some readers. The entire arc contains elements about loss, trauma, autassassinophilia, domination, submission, forniphilia, non-consent, voyeurism, cuckolding, glory holes, mental and physical abuse, torture, public humiliation and exposure, impact play, bondage, polyamory, watersports and worst of all: parenthood. But at heart, it's a story about compassion and love: and the ways they both can harm and they both can heal.

Also, for expectations, this is definitely a work of erotica, but it will start slow for some tastes. Think of it as a slow build with your own personal forced erotica denial. As you see from the introduction, it is actually an alternate-universe (non-canon) continuation of a story by another Literotica author - the talented Oneagainst. This can be read standalone, but I might suggest that you read the backstories first; they are excellent and will give you a flavor for the craziness in the preceding events alluded to in this story arc. This story is from Damian's perspective. The story from the other characters' perspectives is different.

If you want the backstory, read first the "What We Say in the Dark" arc (10 chapters) starting here:

https://www.literotica.com/s/what-we-say-in-the-dark-ch-01

and then the "When One Day We are Gone" arc (11 chapters) starting here:

https://www.literotica.com/s/when-one-day-we-are-gone-ch-01

.

Warning: The following is a sexually explicit story intended for the entertainment of mature adults. If you are underage or offended by this type of material, do not read it. All characters are fictional and not intended to resemble any real people. Comments and suggestions are welcomed.

I own the copyright: please do not copy this work and do not use it to train AI.

01) DESPERATE MEASURES

Of course.

Of course, the weather would be miserable... chilly and rainy with a brutal menacing timbre in the air. I imagined the birds and animals, huddled under rocks or in trees, waiting for their lives to resume. It couldn't have been more appropriate for what I was about to do. I need to resume my life... and this was the way to do it. I've been huddling under rocks and trees long enough.

I love the boys. I loved Cassie... No. Damn it! I may still love her if I speak the truth to myself. And hate her. Anne - Dr. Sanford - would be proud of me for acknowledging that.

We had a life. We built it from scratch. It was our life. I was proud of it. I have been replaying the years over and over for the past two months. How we met in college. That day on the beach (oh, that day!). The easy way we fell into each other, like two bubbles on a stream that rolled and stuck to each other at the nudging of the waters: like two clouds that would mix voluntarily and form something beautiful together. She really understood me! We laughed, we played, we cuddled, dreamed. She adored me. One day, I realized we were more than friends, though I think Cassie knew it from the start. We had already fallen headlong and I never regretted a moment. At that time, my friends were sowing their wild oats: spending their college years doing what boys do and laughing at me for my "wasted" opportunity. but I was caught in Cassie's net and I never regretted my choices. She was the opportunity of a lifetime and I embraced it with all my heart.

She was my first... and for years, my last. I didn't want anything else.

Cassie had had a few other sexual experiences before we met. Even a couple serious relationships. Not me. I don't know what I was saving myself for, but I'd come to believe it was her. Yeah, eventually I strayed a bit - seven-year itch and all - but those were just for fun.... They didn't mean anything.

We had a house, a family, plans. We were a power couple. We looked good. We had a future...

No more. That ship has sailed. That water is under the bridge. That plane is over the horizon. Damn, there are so many metaphors...

There's no turning back. It's

so

over.

I will meet my lawyer at ten and then on to the appointment. I pray this goes the right way.

I turn the corner, then startle back to my driving at the sight of a hesitant pedestrian thinking to dart across the street in front of me. As I drive along, I keep passing places that remind me of her; that remind me of the times we had together. The coffee shop where she sprang the news to me that she was finally pregnant. The strip mall where we shopped on the meager leavings of my salary while I worked to put her through her Psychiatric degree. I remember how carefully we budgeted for inexpensive food and how we looked for sales to get just the best we could as we struggled.

I laugh ironically to myself, remembering how that had felt like such a struggle. little did I know how struggles could bloom. That was so small: a delightful struggle of love. This one...

My world has imploded. It took me days to go back to work. And I'm not proud of it but I've spent weeks cleaning my gun, thinking about how easy it would be to put this heartache at rest. I considered how I would do it. What I would say in the note. I'd send the boys out of town to Cassie's mother and do it in the garage. I'd put down a plastic tarp: then no one would have to do much to clean the mess of my brains being splattered about. I wondered if I would know the moment it happened. They say when a person had their head chopped off in the guillotine, that the executioner would hold up the head by the hair and look at the face; that some would be still conscious. They would still be trying to talk (or scream) wordlessly without the benefit of lungs or vocal cords as their brain died of asphyxiation. I would smile to myself realizing I could find out: so easily. So easily.

But no. I still had one cause. One reason to stay. That shining star was my boys. They were the light calling me in the darkness of my little death. At the end, I couldn't do it to them.

I resolved one drunk, sleepless night. I locked the gun in the safe and mailed the key to myself. That would buy me a couple days. I could wait a couple more days, right?

I made an emergency appointment with a counselor first thing the next day. I then went to work, as usual, going through the motions. My team supported me. They have covered up for my many errors since that horrible night. Rumor had gotten around about what happened and they knew. But there are two edges to that sword. I was supported, but I was humiliated. People were kind, but I couldn't help but wonder what their judgment really was: what did they say behind my back? I would walk down the hall and feel naked: maybe not my body, but my soul, my heart, my ethics laid to bare. For all to see.

And I'll be damned if I would ask.

Robert was a tough thing too; he should've been my rock. My best friend, that's his job. But word got back to his girlfriend about what happened and they are now on shaky ground. He's collateral damage of Cassie's revenge. He blamed me for weeks as his world smoldered. But as his smoldered, mine burned incandescently. And he wasn't there.

And then there's that thing...

He fucked my wife.

He didn't know it at the time but, yeah, he fucked my wife.

We're now on even footing: not exactly besties anymore, but at least we're starting to talk. We're finally straight on who and what to blame. I know he didn't know, but when we both found out it was her, well, it tore me to the bone. There's no coin in blame. What's done is done.

I don't share. The sight of her with another man - men, really - was horrific. It was hell. It was the flames of perdition.

I pull into the parking garage and park a level higher than the office. My heart is beating hard in my chest as I head to the elevator. She's around here somewhere. Probably meeting her lawyer. Probably girding up to practice her... what? Her defense? I'm afraid I'll see her in the elevator as I'm overwhelmed by so many emotions.

I want to cry. God knows I've cried and cried. This is all just too much. I can't do it.

"Put on your big boy pants," I scold myself: this is now my mantra. I can do this. "Man up." For Sam and Charlie. My boys. I can do this.

My thoughts are scattered. I spend time thinking of all the conversations in therapy. Anne knows what she's talking about. I lucked out. She coincidentally did her PhD dissertation on aberrant behaviors in BDSM communities and was fascinated by my story. Fascinated. She knew what the lifestyle rules are, and all the ways they get subverted. Power is intoxicating and people go way outside themselves when presented with it. Healthy domination/submissive relationships, she says, are at core about caring and love. They're looking out for the person who's committed themselves to you. A person who has trusted you. Meeting their needs. And after a "scene," she calls it, the dominant is obligated to provide aftercare: to look out for the emotional and physical well-being of their submissive.

I was not Cassie's submissive. I didn't cede the power, but she took the power anyway using every tool in her fucking Psychiatrist bag and treated me with intentional, premeditated planned cruelty. And, well, she left me broken. Then she left, gloating: I'm sure she was gloating. I can feel the veins pulsing on my forehead and realize I can't keep dwelling on it. Not here. Not now.

I go to my lawyer's office for a pep talk. She's so good at what she does and has me feeling comfortable about the case. I guess there are fine lines in how much a lawyer can "coach" a person, but I feel ready. I know what sort of questions the judge will ask. And I know what I'll say. I just don't know what Cassie will say.

Lord knows, I've tried to talk to Cass. She's locked me out. We coordinate on division of assets, who's picking up the boys, etc. She's not playing the boys against me, thank god. Nor would I play them against her. But she's unwilling to even discuss the elephant in our mutual room. I am dead to her.

I huff under my breath... "aftercare..." I mutter.

My lawyer says the judge is level and fair.

We meet in the judge's quarters for an initial hearing. The quarters are more like a modern office. I find us in a sterile conference room with a fake wood table, uncomfortable chairs with failing pneumatics and arms that don't quite fit under the conference table. There are cheap abstract art reproductions on two walls. There's a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The air conditioner is working overtime and it's a bit chilly in here with the tang of fresh cleaning fluid still lingering in the air.

Waiting for the judge, Cassie comes in with her lawyer and she's livid. Damn, she looks good. I know that face, though. She's livid. I put on my best "what?" innocent expression.

She can't contain herself and spits out, "...unfit mother!?!?!?!" But her lawyer whispers to her and calms her down. At least a bit. She sits there glaring at me.

Judge Harris arrives. She's a gaunt, angular woman: maybe fifty years old with short graying hair, dressed in a simple black suit. She's wearing a gold cartouche on her necklace, probably an artifact of a visit to Egypt. She looks around the table and invites names, then studies the papers in front of her for a good five minutes, chewing on the back of her pen whenever her expression gets perplexed.

"OK. Damian Hayes, petitioner. Requesting full custody of the two children begat from the union of Damian and Cassie Hayes, now known as Cassie Wilkins." She looks at Cassie "you've changed your name, but a divorce has not even been filed...?"

"It's finalized in my heart. That's enough."

Another stab to my frail sense of self. I bleed in my mind. Dr. Anne doesn't know it, but I didn't dispose of the gun after all. I told her I did. But it's in my glove box. And the tarp is in the trunk. If this doesn't go well, I still have freedom. That's my plan B. At least I think it's "B". But it gives me comfort.

"Okay... this is a private initial conference at both your requests. No recorders, no courtroom. I must say that the petition is... mysteriously nonspecific... and says more in the blanks than with the words. Mr. Hayes, do you care to make your case?"

I look to Cassie and keep my poker face. After sixteen years being together, and ten years of marriage, she reads me too well. And with a degree in psychotherapy, she can twist and turn a person's emotions. I always thought that that was good and admirable: that she could help people with her grace, her care, her love. God, did I read that wrong!

Fuck you, Cassie. I'm not letting you get your claws in my brain again.

"Thank you, your honor. I was not specific since I don't want this all on record... it could cost Cassie her career if it gets out. This is difficult to lay out and will be difficult for everyone in the room.

"I'd like to be as gracious as I can in how I put this, but I do need to fill in those blanks clearly. I also recognize that this is a custody hearing and not a divorce hearing, but you have to hear some of the... kerfuffle... that has gone on between me and Cassie to understand the whole of the case, so please bear with me.

"I want to start with a metaphor... I have an MBA in Finance. If

you

want to open an options trading account with a brokerage, you have many hurdles to jump before they'll let you. This is because the law protects you from getting in too deep too fast and losing your money from ignorance. Because of my MBA, I am not protected and therefore can get an account easily because I know what I'm doing."