Lizbeth's Lesbian Collection

Chapter Seven-1

Chapter Seven

That afternoon, we strike out for Miriam’s cottage. A watchful Tasia waves goodbye as we back the Jeep out of a mud puddle and make our way back up the steep road. The way Tasia gushes over us about this trek leaves us both wondering what ulterior motive the woman has in mind. How odd, after less than a day at The Edge, we’re ready for a breather.

We drive up to the place Tasia describes for us, as if we knew instinctively where we were going. I’m having better thoughts about this woman who was Peach’s lover. Seeing her house, I’m even more at ease; I can imagine how Tasia’s house once looked.

Miriam greets us at the door with a breezy smile and lets us in, showing us to her ocean facing porch.

“You found me after all,” she says warmly kissing Peach on the cheek.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Peach asks.

“I always knew I’d see you again, Samantha,” she says, as she shows us where to sit. “And Cassidy, I’m glad to meet you.”

With other women the sentiments might be fake, but as I suspected, this woman has no fakery in her bones. She’s as common as the ground she walks on, her home an earthbound extension of herself, covered with vines, decorated in light, sunny colors and filled with plants and flowers that remind me of the garden at the B&B.

As we sit on antique wicker chairs, I can imagine making love to her in a minute.

“The resort is so different without you,” Peach tells her.

“Tasia has done quite a transformation.”

“I’m not sure I like it,” Peach adds.

“Really?” Miriam looks surprised.

“Yes really, the woman is bizarre.”

“Perhaps.”

I feel as if Miriam is not telling us everything.

“She had the audacity to watch us make love on the beach this morning,” Peach explains.

Miriam smiles. “I’m sure it was a delightful sight.” There’s a lustrous light in her eyes. Though, while I find Tasia’s voyeuring unnerving, I might feel completely at ease if Peach and I made love for Miriam’s eyes.

“It was rather unexpected,” I add.

“I think Tasia would be good for you both,” Miriam says. “She has that wicked sense of drama that I warned you about.”

Peach looks at her former lover thoughtfully, as if she’s remembering some long ago conversation.

“What is it with the resort now, we seem to be the only ones there.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Miriam says. As she leans over to pour us another lemonade, I see down her blouse. Her hefty breasts swing nakedly beneath. I see a hint of sweat inside the cleavage, thinking how pleasant it would be to hold her flesh in my hands and kiss its sweetness. I can smell her fragrance as if I were close, and it draws me even more.

“Well the place looks rather empty if you ask me,” Peach says.

“I’m sure everyone is there that you two need for a perfect vacation, and there are likely others who will join you in the next few weeks. We are approaching midsummer.”

“You mean the rites still happen?”

“Oh, my yes, Tasia has a real flair for the season.”

I would have liked to have asked her more about these rites, but Peach jumps in too soon. “What made you leave?”

“It’s her house,” Miriam explains simply.

“Hers, but I thought…” Peach starts.

“I kept it for her as if it were my own. I suppose in some ways it still is, but it’s better that I live here.”

Her vague answer hardly explains a thing but it satisfies Peach.

“You’ll really like Cassidy,” she begins, changing the subject, “she has this crazy view of s*x and God.”

“Oh?”

“Tell her?” Peach says.

I blush, though I’m not that uncomfortable. It seems I could never be embarrassed in this woman’s company. I feel as if I’ve known her forever. “I’ve told her that I live in my cunt.”

“That’s understandable.”

The way she says it, I know she understands without further explanation even though Peach seems to want me to continue.

“Everything is s****l to me, even lampposts,” I laugh. “The way everything is emotional to Peach.”

“You have one little hothead here in Samantha,” she jokes at Peach’s expense.

I don’t know why, but it seems perfectly all right for Miriam to call Peach by her right name, where it wasn’t just hours ago with Tasia.

“If you live in your cunt, Cassidy, then this is a good place for you to vacation,” Miriam says.

“Why is that?” I ask.

“The opportunities are vast here in our little seaside haven. Be sure not to miss them.”

I smile, feeling a little sheepish, as if my mother has just gently admonished me. I tingle all over too, wondering what it would be like to be swept into her arms.

“And Sam,” Miriam says almost sternly, “there are lots of Tasias in your life, perhaps it’s time you faced her.”

Peach nods, but is struck silent.

We talk more, but not so strangely as our earlier conversation. I’m so pleasantly taken with Miriam, I can’t imagine I had felt threatened by her. When we leave, however, there is an unexpected silence between Peach and me as we ride back to The Edge.

“What was that about ‘Tasias’?” I ask when we are in our room together.

“Nothing,” Peach says harshly.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, why would there be anything wrong?” she replies icily.

“There shouldn’t be, but you’re angry about something, and you’re not even hiding it,” I point out the obvious.

Peach sulks for some moments, eyeing me with a look I rarely see in her. It has me scared. “You’re wrong,” she finally blurts out at me. “It’s you.”

“What do you mean? What the hell have I done?” I ask.

“If I were a man I’d probably call you a prick tease. You get me so damned charged about some s****l things and then you drop me in the middle of my arousal with your sudden flare of judgment.”

“What are you talking about? When have I done that?” I ask, astounded.

“All the time. Ever since I’ve known you. Ever since you handed me that first story of yours. Most recently, with the dykes at Gram’s; but it’s been a dozen times before that too. I’m beginning to feel cut out of your life half the time, especially when I want right inside that nasty mind of yours.” She looks at me with a grin that seems pure evil.

My heart and loins pound as she speaks. “Why this? Why now?” I ask.

“It’s always been between us, Cass, always, you just want to ignore it all the time, but I can’t. Believe me, I can’t anymore. Don’t tease me with your fantasies and your stupid stories. I can’t stand it. Maybe it’s this place, and seeing Miriam and that woman… that’s probably it,” she rambles on confused, “but whatever, I can’t hold all this back anymore. And I’m damn sick and tired of tiptoeing around what I want to do, and what I know damn well you want to do too!” I look at Peach in shock. “And, my dear, don’t ask me to be faithful to you on this vacation, because I’m not sure I can be.”

I feel crushed, suddenly weighted down with a thousand pounds of lead all hanging on my heart.

“Who are you going to f**k?” I ask.

She looks at me haughtily. “I don’t know.”

“Does this mean you want to break up?”

“I don’t know that either,” she says, “just let me be.”

I’m left certain that she plans to run back to Miriam; it’s the obvious conclusion of this amazing day. What’s worse is that I can see why she might want to return to her lover; Miriam is an uncommon woman.

But what about those other things, allusions to my stories, the leather dykes, and God knows what else. I wonder what I need to do to make her happy again; there are a bundle of thoughts that rush through my brain. But I dismiss them all, realizing what they might mean. They’re too absurd to even consider.

We remain estranged from each other all evening, and for two days after. We play at conversation, but there seems no way to breach the horrendous feeling of doom that has suddenly overtaken me. It seems all through our meals with our hostess, Tasia speaks as if she’s playing us against each other. It continues to be just the two of us and Tasia; and I come to discount Miriam’s claim that there are others at the resort, since none show up for any meal except the three of us. I wish that other women would arrive soon to take away some of the oppressiveness I’m beginning to feel in Tasia’s overbearing presence. Peach changes when we’re with her and her mood doesn’t quickly repair.

Peach is rude to her, snapping quips that are likely meant for me; but since I can’t think of a thing to say, and am hiding away in my thoughts, she aims her barbs at Tasia. The woman ignores them easily, as she goes on to explain to Peach all the things she has done to the house and the grounds since she returned from Portugal. She has some strange tales to tell about some mystical experiences she had on the continent. While I might have wanted to hear about them days before, they sound like silly tales now, especially since she aims her comments solely at Peach—who flatly looks bored with the conversation.

Tasia says nothing to me at all anymore. That bothers me, only because her disregard for me is so deliberate.

“That woman is exhausting,” Peach says when we retreat to our room after dinner on the third day. This time, she appears more congenial, as she rants about Tasia. “I’m not sure I want to stay here any longer,” she tells me. “She’s insufferably boring with all that crazy talk of hers.”

I’m ready to agree with her, though her strange mood swings and cutting accusations at my expense leave me too cautious to agree with her now.

This night, Peach doesn’t touch me at all when we go to bed, and for the first time since I can remember, we don’t make love. I feel as if whatever evil thing is lurking around us is about to come to a head. I look forward to morning when I’ll suggest we leave and find some other place to spend our summer.

About two o’clock in the morning, I wake to see Peach slipping away, out our door. I catch sight of her kimono as she’s almost out of sight.

Warm milk, a book to read? Perhaps she can’t sleep. Now I’m wide awake, perhaps I’ll join her. I get out of bed and move to the bay window looking out into the night. I spot Peach down below, moving from the house into the garden. She’s barefoot. The picture of her leaves me breathless, and I watch mesmerized by the woman I love so dearly—who’s now so dearly distressed. I wish I could fix things, but I’m still at a loss to know what she needs, and much too scared to figure it out.

I watch as Tasia abruptly emerges from the house. Her appearance is a threat to me though I don’t know why. It amazes me that at this hour, Tasia is still dressed in all her gypsy finery. From her vantage point at the patio doorway, she watches Peach for some minutes as I watch them both. Then she moves toward her, I imagine very quietly, so that Peach doesn’t realize she’s there.

Peach turns when she’s just a few feet behind her. Did Tasia announce her presence? I can’t tell. I open my window to see if I can hear them. Though it’s not so much what I hear as what I see that leaves me awed. My eyes tell me everything I need to know as I see Tasia reach out and caress Peach’s cheek. It surprises me that she doesn’t draw away from the woman who was such a b***h in her mind just a few hours ago. Tasia runs her hand through Peach’s hair as she puts her other hand against my lover’s hip. There’s a tenderness about this touch that is as impressive as it is frightening, for it looks as though they are about to make love.

Tasia tugs gently at the sash on Peach’s kimono, so that the robe falls away. She kisses her and runs her hands eagerly along Peach’s body. My lover responds as she often responds to me, her body churning easily in lusty abandon.

Tasia pushes Peach’s hands away as she tries to reach up and fondle the dark woman. And picking up the sash from the kimono, Tasia takes Peach’s hands in hers and binds them behind her. Peach remains willing as if she were asking for this.

As much as I might wish to deny it, the effect on me is arousing. My own hand drops down and finds the soft damp place between my legs.

I watch as the tenderness takes a nasty turn, Tasia is rude to Peach, in much the way the leather dykes were rude to me in the grove behind Gram’s. This seems more personal though. I’ve never seen my lover act so submissively. It’s as if she’s given herself over to this woman to do with as she wishes. All the more startling if Peach truly hates her.

Tasia slaps her t**s with a smack I can hear, even above the ocean roar. I hear Peach groan the way she does when she asks for more.

Tasia slaps her face, and her t**s again, and then taking some stick from out of nowhere, she forces Peach to bend over as she probes her back side with the rod. I see her press it along her bottom cleft, then she swats her hard with it across her fleshy soft cheeks. Peach falls to her knees and the woman stands back, and prods her more. I hear only the inflections in Tasia’s voice, most of her words are indistinguishable.

At one effective prod to her side, Peach rises and scampers inside, no doubt to some vocal command. She’s more than eager to accommodate this horrid woman.

This appears to me like some pornographic movie playing on a screen before my eyes. I expect to see the scene change to whatever happens inside, but reality hits as I’m suddenly made aware that the picture has moved beyond the camera of my eyes. I’m compelled to find the two actors who now play the scene inside the house.

I bolt from the room, and for a split second, I sense that there’s someone else in the dark hallway. But I ignore the tingling at my back, the intuition that would make me turn. With my concentration fixed on Peach, I slip quickly down the stairs.

I hear Tasia’s voice and follow it to a sitting room at the back of the house. With her back to me, she can’t see me standing off to one side with bated breath, waiting for their play to commence again.

Peach bends forward as she had in the garden. Her hands remain tied behind her, her face pushed against the plush blue carpet.

“You tease me, Samantha Clarisse, and you pay. I see the way you want this, the way you rant at me with your foul mouth, and yet you cannot deny what your body craves. You took far too long to give in to me, and I will not be easy with you for this mockery.”

The black stick she wielded in the garden is the same one in her hand. The sleek thing is nearly two feet long, though seeing it now, it has a handle which Tasia grasps firmly, and a rounded end like a dildo. She has greased Peach’s ass and is now forcing the thing inside her.

Peach cries out in agony, she’s not as easily violated there as I am, her sphincter never wants to give way.

I wince feeling the pain in me. The rod slips in grudgingly to Peach’s woeful pleas.

I want to rescue her, but Peach would not be yielding to this treatment unless she wanted it. The woman f***s her ass with the rod, until I think there’s surely ten inches impaled inside. I’ve never had such luck with my lover’s ass. Does she need this cruelty; does she crave being pried apart like this? I can understand the obsession for it is my own, but I never believed it would arouse Peach so. Have I neglected her desires as I’ve obsessively explored my own?

“You should be violated often like this, Samantha Clarisse, I’m sure your little brat is totally deficient in this way. You love this, don’t you? Admit it.”

“Yes, Anastasia,” Peach whimpers. I hear an earthy arousal in her husky voice.

Tasia twists the rod again and pushes it deeper.

An anguished moan escapes Peach’s lips. “Please bind me Anastasia,” she begs, resorting to our hostess’ formal name, as if she’s addressing her mistress.

“You have a lot to catch up on, a lot to prepare for,” the dark mistress says. She exudes a self-satisfied manner of which I am in awe.

The woman turns away from Peach and disappears beyond the open doorway. I back into the hall to be out of sight when she returns. I can’t believe I watch this without attempting some rescue. It would be futile, I know, but I feel as if I’m an accomplice in this rape, remaining passively immobile. I should leave, I think, but I can’t. I watch hypnotized as Tasia returns to Peach.

The mistress makes Peach stand. The act is awkward with her hands still bound behind her with the sash, but Tasia gives her no assistance. Once Peach is standing, Tasia lets her hands free, though she immediately binds them in front of her body with leather cuffs. A two-inch wide collar appears encircling Peach’s neck. Her expression is one I’ve never seen before, some blissful vacancy in her eyes, while her mouth forms a mirthful smile.

The smile is brief though. It vanishes into a painful grimace when Tasia clamps a chain to the collar, then runs the thing between her legs and fastens the other end to the back of the collar. It looks as if the chain will cut deeply into her cunt, especially as Tasia yanks it with her leather-gloved hand.

“Yeeeaw,” Peach pants aloud.

Is the binding more than she can bear?

“You’ll sleep here tonight, let your brat despair alone in your bed.” She pushes Peach somewhere beyond my sight.

I dash from the doorway and race up the stairs afraid of being caught aroused by such ungodly passions.

I jump into the bed, hiding inside the downy soft covers, wondering how Peach will sleep, bound the way she is. Where? From what pagan source has this obsession of hers risen? This is my providence, I declare to myself as if the silence will speak back. But the silence doesn’t speak, it whispers only that I envy Peach. I envy Tasia’s attention to her.

I block that thought immediately but I find my cunt wet and my clit hard and throbbing. I rub myself fast wanting to get away from my thoughts, but the orgasm doesn’t come easily, as if my s*x angel refuses me the pleasure until I see myself so bound and abused the way my eyes saw Peach tonight. I play with myself forever it seems, taking all the twisted turns my mind creates until, at last, I c*m.