This story will make more sense if you have read the Prologue.
Finally settled on the plane where we meet her, Robyn is alone with her thoughts.
Picture: Robyn on the plane : Click here to reveal.
These days, that’s almost her favourite place; the only place she can let her dangerous desires loose— inside her head at least. Those dreams, those fantasies which, she is absolutely certain, would ruin her life if she let anyone she knew discover them.
In the months since she had discovered the box, eventually explored its contents, sorted the few actually interesting magazines from the boring stuff— learning as she sorted just what it was that made her feel excited, alive, interesting, interested— refining her understanding of herself, of what this new and hungry part of her was— in those months she had followed the few, thin clues which her hungry, greedy interest had latched onto among the mostly hum-drum detail of the stories, which were so often disappointing— much less exciting than the titles promised, only a few of the paragraphs somehow catching it right— some particular turn of phrase, a few particular words would have a sharp image suddenly illuminated in her mind, and equally strong feelings triggered in her body, her belly tightening, her breath catching, her heart surging inside her with recognition…
Recognition— it was like that. It wasn’t that these things were new to her— even though she’d never read them before, it was as if she had always known them, been waiting to read them, waiting to feel the way they made her feel; as if they fit some waiting receptor in her, triggering a powerful response. It was amazing— and frustrating— to know that someone else in this world got it, knew something at least of the feelings she knew, in those special moments; that feeling which was like nothing else; urgent, vital, her whole body suddenly alive with… anticipation? But also frustrating, since she was not to be able to be with them, talk to them, experience anything at all of what they did…
What they do to innocent young girls who are weak for it, like I think I must be…
The magazines were better than nothing, of course, but— well— anticipation of what, exactly?
Of being forced, controlled, tied up, chained, forced, used, fucked, thrashed, whipped, grabbed, humiliated, violated, gang-banged…
… sexually tortured… raped… Worse.
That was it. That was what she wanted, wanted to feel, at least just a little bit (it was so frightening to think about really getting hurt, really being raped, but… but I keep doing it, and it keeps making me feel this way, and I want to feel this way)… but, want it or not, that was what it was all about.
That was what the feeling was about— it was to push her, drag her, make her find a way— she had no idea how— a way to see for herself if the reality of those harsh, humiliating, degrading things which she read about, which she imagined, which she had even begun to dream about, were what she wanted— or whether reading about them and dreaming was all she would ever have…
The clues, those few odd words, when she followed them, searched on the net, had led her on, and further on, to stranger, darker, deeper places.
Those clues…
Like ‘O’ at Roissy— it was a simple little phrase in an otherwise dull story. But a bit of online searching had led her to a book, a magical book— the first part of it like one of her dreams, only more so— more intense, more detailed, more outrageous, more beguiling— and her dreams had gotten an upgrade.
Dolcett is too strong for me— a reader’s comment on a blog-post had made her determined to find out what ‘Dolcett’ meant. When she had found out, she had decided that she agreed with the commenter; except, the next night, she had found herself reading the scrappy, badly scanned, crudely coloured comic again and again, and again the night after, her hand between her legs as the lovely young woman, naked, just fucked by her executioner, having willingly taken his cock into her throat to get him hard so that he could rape her, meekly laid her head on the chopping block, with almost less regret than if she was watching her car get towed. It was other-worldly nasty, but somehow very cool at the same time.
Lia Andersson has created a new genre… — who was this? Rocquelaure’s Beauty — what was that? Manara’s ‘Clic’, Dubigeon, Anaïs Nin?
So many clues to follow up, and so hard to do, even with the internet, if you wanted the real stuff. She couldn’t have anything posted to her, of course; Dad opened everything, whoever it was addressed to— It’s my house. I get to know what’s in it. Every little thing.
So it was all very slow, very careful. And still, she threw away more than she kept. She had, though, arrived at some reliable favourites— a small enough pile to easily hide, and also to carry with her.
She had the lot with her, in the small bag stowed in the overhead locker as she flew off to stay with Nancy, her recently married sister. No way was she going to risk Mom deciding to clean out her room while she was away and finding her stash.
Nancy had married her husband, Jim, somewhere north of Seattle— far away from their home in Kansas, and only her Mom and Dad had attended the wedding. But they had been living in Colorado for nearly a year, and it was Robyn’s high school graduation present to go visit them. She had missed her big sister these last three years— her wildness, her freeness— and she wanted to reconnect before she herself left home and disappeared into college life.
She sat back into the airplane seat, closed her eyes, and started where she always did, as O, blindfolded, accepting, naked under her cape, hands tied behind her; imagining being her as she was led into the room with four strange men in it, with no idea what was about to be done to her, and abandoned to their cruel mercies…
It didn’t hurt her fantasies to know that her skirt was so short that she was likely to be giving views of her panties to every guy coming up the aisle to use the toilet. She had gone into the restrooms in the airport as soon as Dad had waved goodbye, and taken off the modest skirt and jacket, her pantyhose and sensible bra, her flats as well. She now wore, for the first time, the denim miniskirt, the low-cut pushup bra and the high-heels she had bought for this visit, as soon as the ticket had been booked. She had undone two of the buttons on her blouse, too.
Maybe there will be a terrorist, and he’ll hijack the plane, and decide to beat me and rape me in front of all the passengers. He’ll put his machine gun in my pussy to convince them he’s serious so that they divert the plane. Then, when the jet lands in Saudi Arabia, he’ll take me off to be a sex-slave in his harem…
Nancy and her husband Jim were waiting for her at the arrivals exit.
“Nancy, it’s so great to see you again! Have you been waiting long?”
Picture: Robyn and Nancy hug : Click here to reveal.
“And it’s so nice to meet you, at last, Jim!”
I know I’ve seen the pictures, but gee, I’d forgotten quite how much older Jim is than Nancy!
“Hi Sis! … No, we just got here. Let’s get your bags and get back to the house!”
That’s strange! Nancy is not at all how I remember her! She’s still Nancy, of course, but she’s … well, she’s not wild anymore! The way she defers to Jim, looking to him to take the lead almost more than Mom does with Dad!
And another strange thing; Jim’s just walked right off to the car, very relaxed, not waiting for us, leaving us to carry the bags. Dad would never let a lady carry anything more than a handbag.
Well I guess; ‘When in Colorado, do as the Coloradians do!— or something like that.
“Thanks Nancy— be careful with that one, it’s a little heavy.”
“Sure is! How come?”
“Oh, you know, I put some books in that I’m supposed to read before semester starts.”
“My, what a goody-two shoes dedicated student my little sister has become! My bad influence has clearly worn off!”
If only she knew what those books really are! Even Nancy would be shocked if she knew what I will really be reading…
“Oh Nancy, if you knew just how very much I have missed you! Bad influence and all! I’m going to love being with you again.”
The drive to Evergreen took just over an hour, and the countryside got really pretty when they hit the foothills of the mountains. Robyn and Nancy kept up a flow of chatter and news back and forward, and Robyn got used to her sister’s surprising calmness.
Well, I’d never have bet on that! Still, she looks really good— filled out in the right places and not in the wrong ones— she was always so full of energy and general pissed-offness that she got a little strung out. Now, it’s like she’s at peace with life, and everything is good.
Jim must be the right guy for her— for all he’s said so very little. He smiles at me nicely when he looks in the rear view mirror, though, and I swear he was checking me out back at the airport, without even caring that Nancy must have noticed too!
Still, if Nancy’s OK with it, so am I! He’s a handsome guy, even if he is older than I’d normally go for, and his strong silent stare for sure made me feel appreciated.
Wow! They have a super house, too! Such a great back yard— really big, and an amazing pool, too! I’m going to like it here!
