Well folks this is the finale, it has been a strange series to post here. Very few votes, lots of actually high votes. I didn't expect that. I hope you have enjoyed my voyage into the world of non consensual consent. I am currently working on a sequel to this, Thank you all for reading.
Taken
I had been told never to linger outside when Master Svend was absent and to keep the doors and windows locked, he was adamant about this. However as the weeks passed I felt lulled into perhaps a false sense of safety. It was an order I knew, one I had never really obeyed nor even taken in any seriousness, as the garden held me in thrall.
Seasons denied this freedom I found I could not get enough. The forbidden lushness of a European garden in full late summer flourish, tempting entrancing, and I came here on dark without fail, with or without him. Drinking it in, the rich honeyed scent of the heady blooms, the white flowers still bright in the approaching darkness.
We had made love here on numerous occasions in this little secluded courtyard, our special place. After dinner it was often our ritual act, bodies entwined in the encroaching twilight. Surrounded by the fragrant blooms and verdant blanketing greenery. Far from the eyes of others, and at one with nature the creator. This sacred place, for us and only us. Filled with trust and precious memories.
I was savoring the scents of the tightly furled red roses, the stems dark and long and the blooms almost black velvet in the failing light. My easy favorites in this hedonistic garden of joys. I could hear the sound of the waterfall, relaxing, melodic splashing into the fish pond crowned in water lilies, the crests of pink standing tall and proud folded closed to await the sun's reappearance.
I should go in, it was late and I wanted to prepare for Master Svend's return. He would be tired after his trip to Dusseldorf, however he was always in the mood for pleasures and tonight I would attempt to do better then I had before.
Another sound, a heavy footfall on the paving stones.
Had he returned early? It was unlike him, he gave me a time and mostly kept to it.
I paused and turned, already feeling something dark and wrong had intruded here polluting this place of sanctity.
I was not ready to be confronted by him, he had been relegated to the past, a dark demon, a ghost. He had no substance in my new life. Yet there he stood, lean, hungry, and unwashed, with eyes that burned with a rabid intensity. A creature of urban damnation, a fugitive vagrant.
I knew in one glance life had not treated him well, he had fallen far in just two short months. I put my hand to the base of my throat in mute surprise on seeing his visage again, my heart flurried in my chest. Faintness assailed me. I had hoped never to behold him.
I have nothing to lose, those haunted, ravaged eyes said to me.
All I had learned, all the great and painful gains I had made at Master Svend's expert and patient hands were revoked in an instant. I'm ashamed to say I knelt before him.
Even in this twilight I could clearly register his condition, emaciated, so very gaunt, like a man who has undergone some savage trial. His clothing soiled and rent. This a self induced trial that cocaine and his fugitive life on the streets had wrought on him. He would have been better off in jail, if not mentally but physically for certain. However he had eluded the law artfully showing his face to no one for months, even if it meant forsaking food and decent shelter.
He put his hand on my arm. I could see the black under his jagged, torn nails, the accumulated filth of weeks on his hands. He smelled bad, a heady mix of the scent of the man I had been so intimate with and many other repugnant odors. I waited to hear that familiar voice of my nightmares, my nights were never free of his tyranny.
I had anticipated his opening words with precision.
"You are mine Lidia, how dare you run away from me!"
Yes, his voice had not changed, earnest, powerful, and cold. His dirty hand clenched then possessively about my wrist to the point of hurt. I winced and he withdrew his hold, his rose tattoo rising on my skin. He was so sure of his dominance over me he even completely let go.
He walked about me then as a wolf circles it prey, preparing to taste it. Why I did not run I cannot fathom, the glass door beckoned but feet away, but fear is a powerful motivator and held me transfixed on my knees before him. I was in the core of my being still his, I always would be. Held as surely as a wedding vow, till death do us part. I had uttered this to another not less than two weeks before, and yet I felt it acutely with this wretched man who circled me. The man who had walked into my young innocence, and had taken it all.
The same filthy hand strayed to my throat and Master Svend's silver collar, he idly toyed with the ring on it but said nothing. His odor was cloying, I found myself turning away. Even in the gloom I could see his skin was dark as though tanned, but I knew the tan was in fact no more than dirt.
His golden mane was tangled, lank, and shot with grease, this once handsome and clean cut man a travesty compared to the fresh beauty of nature that surrounded us. He took my hand in his, the gesture in part loving, and of possession, his eyes going to my engagement ring and wedding band. He missed nothing he never had, and now he seemed on edge, even more primal and wild. The world and its civilized decencies had no hold on him.
He tore the rings from my finger quicker than I could react. I was both shocked and horrified as the gold bands rolled away into the flower bed, encompassed in dark leafy shadow. I made no move to retrieve them.
My puppy was scratching loudly at the glass on the sliding door, I had forgotten to let her out. She was safer there. Master was looking at her too, an insincere smile twisted his countenance, he flashed yellow teeth and sharp wolfish canines.
"I always knew you loved dogs, but why didn't you get a bigger one?"
He had the most vile and perverse of minds.
He laughed then a low restrained laugh and moved closer to me. He was so foul I could barely breathe, he seemed not to notice nor care. He was inured to my feelings, they mattered not to him. They never had.
His hand was pressing me backward on to the cold mossy flagstones. I did not resist. I closed my eyes and made ready to let him do as he pleased. Though I was not happy for him to touch me in his present state. I merely hoped he would use me and be gone, a phantom into the dark.
The tearing of fabric, strident against the backdrop of peaceful natural sounds. The light now almost faded, he had torn my dress. He was heavy on top of me pinning me to the cold hard stone, seeking his animal gratification with pressing immediacy. I could not believe I was letting him do this, destroying the sanctity of our special place.
He was still a big strong man, even in his plight. I knew to resist him would only endanger myself and the baby. Though as I lay there under his assault I thought of the terror of where he had been these past months on the streets, the indiscriminate desperate drug use, and I was sure he had made many dalliances with less than clean bed fellows. I had seen the denizens of the Copenhagen darkness after all, and he had now entered their fold. I felt frozen, and cried while he salivated over my neck and breasts as he rapidly brought his base desire to fruition.
He stood after its completion, tucking himself back into his dirty no longer blue jeans, casting his wild green eyes over me. He was as his father was, a rapist, a hater of women kind. Yet he needed and craved what we gave him. I thought of the first time, he had done just the same as I lay on my sister's bed surrounded by my childhood toys and dreams. The out of place specter in my innocence, the ravager of my past.
