Scenes [Mystery Box] #8 "Mephistos Unrequited Love"

Joanna was quiet for the whole ridehome, but there was tension in the air. There was nothing quite likethe thrill of a good find, and our truck was full of potential.Coming home from the flea market with a load of antiques meantcataloging, appraisals, pricing, contacting buyers… or, with worseluck, more junk for the garbage truck on Monday.



I glanced over as I drove. My wifewas fidgeting with the ends of her long black hair, and her dark,angled eyes flicked back and forth as the scenery sped by. I turnedmy focus back to the road. That face was dangerous. I could stare ather for hours.





“Think we got anything good?” Ibroke the silence, solidifying the question that already filled thecab.





“We’ll see.” Her voice was quiet,nonchalant. I smiled, wondering how hard it was for her to push downthe emotion. She was easily stressed, worrying about the money wespent and whether we’d fail to make a profit, though she alwaystried not to betray her feelings. She wasn’t as relaxed abouttaking risks as I was, and this load had been unusually hard for herto appraise, so I figured she was feeling unusually apprehensive.





Maybe I could get her to open up oversome specifics, I thought.





“Well, there’s the bureau. That hadbetter be worth something solid. I think we overpaid for themanuscript, actually… it’s old, sure, but in poor condition.We’ll see if there are buyers. Hmm. And that bisque doll isstunning, I really hope she’s not a modern piece - you said youcouldn’t find the maker’s mark?”





“Boudoir, you mean.” Her correctionwas terse. Still so buttoned up… why was she like this?





“Joanna. I’m certain it’s abureau, not a boudoir.” I was feigningmisunderstanding: a chest of drawers would not be confused with alady’s bedroom, but she was too distracted to catch my dry humor.





“No no, it’s a boudoir doll,not a bisque doll.” There was a hint of frustration,impatience. Oops.





“She’s got silk hair, not moldedhair,” she continued. “And this one’s head was made ofcomposition with a china mask, not a full porcelain cast; you can’tcall it a ‘china doll.’ It looks like the type that are modeledafter someone in real life - a celebrity from the era, probably. Theylook totally different from bisque dolls.” Yep, there was a note ofrebuke.





“Uh huh. And?”





“And the clothes are really welldone,” she continued. “Custom work by someone skilled, probablythe original owner, though I couldn’t tell what they are made of.And the clothing style is… really weird.”





“Well, we got her for cheap, right?Didn’t the old lady give you a deal on that piece?”





She turned around and looked at me,finally, staring quizzically into my eyes as though they held theanswer. I willfully broke eye contact to turn back to driving.





“Mike, I said no, and she offered itto us for twenty. Twenty dollars! And she almost seemed…sorry about it.”





The rest of the ride home was quiet,and the rest of the evening was spent carefully unloading the truckinto our garage. Once everything was laid out on pads on theconcrete, with enough space around each item for examination andphotographing, I followed Joanna into the kitchen for a late dinner.I was upbeat; I had a good feeling about our haul.





The doll was lying on the dining roomtable, loose black silk curls cascading down one side of her whiteporcelain face. Her maroon-painted lips were pursed, and her fadedgray eyes stared at the ceiling. I wondered why Joanna had broughtthis item in instead of leaving it in the garage to appraisetomorrow.





“Excited to start on that one?” Iquipped, fishing leftovers out of the fridge and putting them in themicrowave.





“If you want.” She shrugged. What?That didn’t make sense. “Let’s take a look.”


She fetched her laptop and sat at thetable, and began examining the doll.





“See, it looks like the classicflapper style with the painted sideburns, but she has long loose hairover it instead of short and styled. Added later, maybe? Glass eyes -that is rare. Maybe there’s a mark under her wig… oh, soweird, she doesn’t even have a wig! This hair is rooted!”





She sat back in her chair, thinking,before leaning forward again to examine the clothes.





“The dress is made of some kind ofthin leather, and the boots are leather, too. Not painted. It’sfine, must be lambskin? The skirt is silk, and… Whoops!” She waslifting the skirt, and then drew her hand back suddenly. She lookedat me almost sheepishly. “She has underwear, Mike. Blacklace, and… uh… I saw details under them. Anatomy.”





We shared a moment of bewilderment.





I tried to assess. “So, we have apseudo-flapper dressed in leather and lace with no maker’s mark,plus undies and naughty bits. Sounds like a full custom job, a uniquebuild, probably using a commercial head and shoulders blank. Thiscould be big money, Joanna! If it’s actually from the ‘20s.Worth thousands, do you think?”





She nodded slowly. “There should be amark on the composition at least, then, on the shoulder platesomewhere. It’s not on the back, so…” She was gingerly liftingthe bodice of the dress, peeking down its front, and again shestopped suddenly and stared up at me.





“She has tits, Mike! This.Doll. Has. Boobs. Painted nipples and everything. She’s somekind of weird 1920s-style… I don’t know… porn doll?”We shared a nervous laugh.


“Like someone had wanted to make anadult version of a boudoir doll, and was very good at it, butalso didn’t know the right styles for dolls of the period! Eventhough there’s no way this is modern, or even vintage. Look at howold this body fabric is, the stiffening of the leather… this isdefinitely early 20th century. No, I’m sure.”





“Maybe this is why the old lady wastrying to get rid of it,” I suggested. “Thought it was improper,or something. She didn’t want the embarrassment of someonecommenting on it in her shop.”





Joanna snorted, shook her head, andthen put the doll down. “Well, she gave up a unique piece for astupid reason then. This thing is worth taking to a pro to look at,for sure. I’ll make some calls in the morning.”





“Sounds good. Sure you don’t wantme to do it? It’s supposed to be my job, the people part, since youare better at appraisals and all that.”





She stopped, not looking at me, thenquietly: “Is that your job, Mike? I can do it, you know. Or…am I not enough of a people person?” She fiddled with the doll’sclothing. How did I just touch a nerve?





“No, that’s not what I’m saying,I’m just offering to do my part! Look, don’t get mad, you’regreat with people, you-”





“I’m not mad! Listen, we puta lot of money down on this lot! If this doesn’t pan out, I don’tknow what we’ll do. But I know who to contact for dolls. Andhere you are, telling me that I shouldn’t do the people part. Areyou really SO afraid of my… condition, Mike?” Her voicewas going from too low to too loud, and her eyes flashed with anger.





Blindsided, I tried to calm her down.“Look, Joanna, you’re a lot more worried about being bipolar thanI am! It’s got nothing to do with this, I was just asking for a jobto help with! You are perfectly fine with people, and…”





“Apparently not, since I can’t evenmake a phone call without you trying to tamp me down, stifle myemotions!” She cut me off, yelling now.





I was nonplussed - we’d been throughplenty of ups and downs, and she went on medication for some periodswhen her extremes got debilitating, but I had no problem standing byher. Bipolar disorder was something I was willing to help her manage,and it had never come close to impacting our relationship.





But this anger was something new andscary. Why was she lashing out at me like this? Was the stress of thebusiness really that bad, even after the find we just made?





Tears were starting to stream fromJoanna’s eyes. She opened her mouth to yell again, but stoppedherself this time. I could see she was trying to regain control,seething instead of raging, bottling up her feelings as she so oftendid – and she sprang up from the chair and stomped off to thebedroom. The door didn’t slam, exactly, but it was shut far harderthan necessary.





There was a muffled scream of rage. Thepillow over her face was not particularly effective.





Wow.





I took a moment to collect myself andformulate a plan, then I set the teapot going to make a hot drink forJoanna after she had calmed down enough. I turned to the dining tableas I waited for the water to boil, but the beautiful, weird doll wasgone. Joanna must’ve taken it with her into the bedroom – howstrange. I didn’t even see her pick it up.





I was staring at the bedroom door,pondering, when it opened with a yank and a red-eyed Joanna stormedout, holding the black-clad doll at arm’s length.





“What is this supposed to be, Mike?Why would you put this in the bedroom? How did you even DO that?!”





I raised my hands to protest. “Ididn’t…”





“Why did you even bring it inside inthe first place?! You wanted me to look at it first, to check it outbefore everything else…why??”





“Joanna!” I tried to make a stand.“I didn’t bring it in! I thought YOU did!”





“STOP IT, MIKE! You’re fucking withme! Getting my hopes up that we have a real treasure here, finally anice solid payday, but it’s some kind of bullshit, making a foolout of me!”





I stepped back in the face of herirrational rage, tripped somehow, and landed on my butt on thekitchen floor. Joanna advanced, wielding the doll.





“Well, take your stupid doll, beforeI smash it! I am done with this… done with you… I shouldjust smash you!” She shrieked.





Something was very, very wrong. Thiswas the first time Joanna had ever threatened violence - thiscouldn’t be her talking! But it was happening nonetheless, and Iwatched with shock as she wound up to fling the doll at my face. Ithrew my arms up to shield myself from the haute-couture missile,waiting for the hardness of a ceramic head to hit, but it never came.





I peeked over my arm to see Joannastaring at the doll as she held it, shaking with fury. No, she wasshaking the doll itself. Her eyes widened and the shaking becamefrantic – what was she doing?





“Mike! It’s stuck! It’s… on me…the stitches… THE STITCHES… ARE IN ME… MIKE! Mike, I can’t…Help me!”





She dropped to her knees. The shakinghad become full-on flailing, accompanied by terrified wails, and thenit encompassed her whole body. Joanna writhed on the floor, a mass oflong black hair and lace, with flashes of white ceramic flung about.





I fumbled for my phone in my pocket tocall 911, or to turn on my flashlight for a better look, to dosomething. Finally, I had it out and tapped in the keycode –but the writhing had stopped.





I slowly stood. Joanna was a still heapon the floor, face down, hair messed and spread around her. There wasno panting, despite her exertions, but she was jerking slightly likesomeone with exhausted muscles barely able to hold themselves up.





“Hey… are you okay? What happened?”





There was no answer from the collapsedfigure. I thumbed down the menu on my phone, and tapped the light on.





“Joanna!”





At the mention of her name, thefigure’s head snapped up, tossing black curls. The face that lookedup at me was pure white, like matte porcelain, practically glowing inthe flashlight beam. Gratuitous black and navy blue makeup coveredthe eyes, with piercing silver irises under sharp painted brows, andher mouth was a dark red hourglass of pursed lips. Thick bluestitches framed the whole face, burrowing into her hairline, down hertemples, along her jawline, and under her chin. Blood drops wereforming where the threads emerged from her flesh.





Silver-irised eyes blinked in thelight, then the red lips cracked open.





“Mike… get… it… off…”





Her voice was faint, a bare whisper,and transitioned into a muffled scream… not unlike the one I hadheard from the bedroom, mere minutes ago, but somehow so much fartheraway. I stepped forward, not knowing how I could help, but steppedback again as the china-faced woman started clawing at her face andthrashing about uncontrollably, still screaming distantly.





Her forehead struck the front of thedishwasher with a sickening crunch and she pitched forward,face-first, into the floor. There was more crunching as her handsscrabbled at her forehead and temples, trying to find purchase amongthe neat blue stitches, smearing small blood drops across the purewhite surface.





I stared, horrified, as the clawingbecame weaker, and Joanna’s movements became jerkier. Finally shewas still, curled in a fetal position with her hands over her face.The screaming had faded away completely.


As I watched, the blood smeared on herfingertips began to darken until it was pitch black, and then theblackness spread outward and crept up her digits.





I didn’t know what to do. I hovered,horrified, afraid to touch her – or this thing she had become –but terrified of what would come next. Was she dead? Gone completely?What twisted power did this doll have, to invade someone, like this?I again thought to call the police, but if they saw this… thing…they would think I was some kind of horrific muderer with a ghastlydoll fetish! There was no explanation for what had happened.





Joanna’s body lurched, as though awire hooked to her shoulder had been pulled taut. Then another jerk…I backed away quickly, keeping my flashlight on the body, and put thedining table between us.





The figure rose slowly, smoothly. Notthe way a person stands up from the floor: This was a limp bodyrising until her feet were on the floor and her knees were straight,but her head lolled forward, trailing hair, and her arms dangled. Herhands were pitch black to the wrist now, horrific living gangrene,and I could see twisting veins of black reaching ever farther upwardunder her skin.





The black fingers twitched, and as Iwatched, their tips elongated… stretched. The black nailsturned to sharpened points on digits now malformed and macabre.





Then Joanna’s horrific doll facejerked towards me. I could see that it was shattered in places whereshe had hit it: spiderwebs of blood-red cracks spread over herforehead, brow, cheek, and chin. Her eyes had changed too. The leftone was perceptibly darker, the entire eyeball blackening, and theiris was shining more redly than silver in my flashlight. The other,still silver, had a sclera of pure unnatural white, like the eyeballitself was made of porcelain.





“Joanna!” I shouted at the thing,terrified but angry too. It had taken my partner, the love of mylife, and consumed her in some way. What was this blackened, evilabomination? Was Joanna still inside, rescuable?





The eyes widened, locked on my face,and the mouth opened. No, it dropped open, hingeless, gapingwider than any human jaw. Pure ivory teeth and a blood-red tongueframed growing, empty blackness.





Then, it screamed. I can’t describethe noise. It was pain: high pitched and piercing, yet grating, itpenetrated my nerves and my vision swam. I clamped my hands over myears, but it made no difference at all – the screeching agonycoming out of that creature’s mouth was more than just sound.





I felt warm wetness on my hands as myears bled. My teeth were gritted in pain; I tasted blood in my mouth.Redness clouded my eyes – I had no doubt that blood vessels werebursting all over my body. I collapsed, trying to escape in some way,but unable to move while that horrible scream transfixed me.





When I awoke, a persistent whine filledmy ears. I staggered to my feet, and looked around – the lightswere on, everything seemed normal. There was no doll, no transformedJoanna, and I realized with a start that the tone in my ears was justthe tea kettle coming to a boil. As I turned it off, I felt coldnesson my ears – I touched them, then stared at my hands. Congealedblood.





No, no, NO! The nightmare was real, andit was not over.





There was a sound from the lit bedroom.Movement, steps… a shadow on the open door. I stared, heartpounding, as a familiar figure stepped out. Joanna stood there, withno trace of porcelain or thread, not even a spot of blood on herface.





Hope welled up in me until I realizedthat she was wearing a curious leather dress, straight and fringed atthe bottom in a flapper style, the skirt barely long enough toconceal her crotch. And her walk was not hers – she strode towardme with her hips swaying, shoulders back, as though she was beingpulled forward by raw sexuality across the floor.





“Now that morsel looksdownright jazz.”





What? No. The voice was not herseither. The enunciation, the timbre…all wrong.





“Jo-... Joanna?”





She fixed me with a gray stare,dominating.





“My pretty dolly, Dottie, gave methis body; there is no more Joanna. My name is Dauphine, but the meatshall not speak it. It shall not speak at all, unless I command it.If it does not obey me, then it is fit only for the abattoir. I donot wish to go find a new egg so soon, and I do so wish toplay with this one for a spell… so, the meat will obey.”





She raised a hand from behind her, andidly twirled the eight-inch chef’s knife it held. My chef’sknife, from the kitchen drawer. I could feel its coldness from whereI stood, and the burning bite of an edge that I had used hundreds oftimes before to part the flesh of chicken and pig with barely apress. And now, it was wielded in that small hand, and I knew I wasno more than a carcass to her.





She grinned faintly, an expression thatdidn’t reach her eyes.


“It knows its fate, good. Now. Meatdoes not wear clothing, does it? How silly!” She flashed a perfectwhite smile under soulless and colorless eyes as I haltingly startedto undress.





“Faster. Do not make me wait. Oh, alovely cut this is! I shall enjoy it. The meat lies on the floor.Lies still.”





She stood over me, bending at the hip,and set the knife point against my bare sternum. There was pain, andblood welled up, but I willed myself to stony stillness..

Shehiked her skirt a few inches with her free hand, and paused.





“I will enjoy playing inside themeat, after I gut it and watch the life leave its eyes. Oh, I can’twait!”


That cold, white smile again, but widerand more animated with enthusiasm.


“Still, I prefer playing with themeat inside of me while it’s still warm. Thus, it has sometime left – if it can follow the rules.
“First, themeat shall not move an inch; it is forbidden. Second, it willnot presume to touch me with its hands, or they will be removed.Meat is for me to use as I wish; nothing else. And I will take itcold over misbehaving, at a whit.”





And with that she squatted gracefullydown, and I felt myself slide inside to touch the cold, black evilthat dwelt within her.





To say that the experience wasunpleasurable would be a lie. Dauphine, in Joanna’s body, rode mewith hunger, a vigor that Joanna never offered. It was all I could doto keep from moving my own hips, instead of allowing this psychoticmonster to simply use me as a human plaything. However, the knifepoint pressed to my chest maintained a searing pain that helped mekeep my senses, and dulled my lust – I shivered to think of whatwould happen if I climaxed before this creature had had her fill.





“Oh, this body! Thin, and weak, nostamina.” Dauphine stood, huffing slightly, and stretched her legs.I didn’t blame her. Joanna’s body was well-shaped, but notparticularly athletic. A trickle of moisture ran down her inner thighas she repositioned to impale herself on me again.





Wait - thin and weak? This abominationwas constrained by my wife’s physical limitations? Hope flashed inme. I only needed to be faster than the knife, and…





I acted without thinking; it was fasterthat way. As Dauphine began to squat again, bringing the point of theblade back to its bloodied position over my heart, I swiped at herknife hand with all my speed. Thankfully, Joanna’s reflexes wereinsufficient. I struck her wrist hard, then grabbed it; the knifewhistled across the room, and I heard it embed in the cabinetrysomewhere with a “thunggg” sound.





Joanna’s lips, curled in a snarl, letloose a shriek of affront. Her other hand swept down at me, nailsbared, but I was anticipating it; I blocked and grabbed, then withboth her hands immobilized, I pushed her off of me and struggled to aknee.





Dauphine screeched and fought, tryingdesperately to yank her hands from my grip, but I did not relent. AsI had surmised, her physical strength was a challenge but still nomatch for mine. She tried to lash out with a foot, which I barelyavoided catching in the groin; to protect myself, I started to twisther arms around, bringing them behind her as she was forced to turnaway from me. Her head thrashed, flinging black hair, and I managedto stand up fully before bringing her down to her own knees, facingaway from me, and bent her arms upward behind her back to force heracquiescence.





Then, I had won. She was finally quietand still, panting, on her knees with her face inches above the floorand her arms twisted at their limit behind her. I held her wristslike weird motorcycle handlebars, breathing heavily from the exertionand relief. Perhaps I wouldn’t be murdered tonight, after all?





Joanna’s voice – Dauphine’s,rather – came from the floor. It was quiet, forced patience, buttinged with malice.





“Meat would be prudent to let me go,lest I call Dottie back.”





She could do that? Was that demon dollin the next room?

“Listen, you antique freak, I don’tgive a flying fuck about your ‘Dottie’, I’m not letting you situp until I get some answers! And I am NEVER letting you go.”





“Didn’t you learn your lesson lasttime? Another scream should do the trick, if you refuse to behave…”





I shuddered at the thought of thescream, but I didn’t budge.





She sighed with exasperation, “Atleast finish me off, meat, or I really WILL call Dottie in. Dot-tie!lovely lady!… DOTTI-”



I didn’t know what else to do, soI shoved her arms forward in panic, forcing her face to the ground.Her naked rump swung into the air in front of me, the cloth of herdress sliding up well past her waist.





Dauphine paused, face to the floor,then shuffled her knees apart, making her butt wobble and inviting mein. I stared at it - Joanna’s beautiful womanhood, framed withtrimmed black hairs.





“Now, meat! Or… DOT-”





“Okay! FUCK!” I folded herarms together behind her back so I could grip her wrists with onehand, then I used my free hand to guide my member. I heard her breathcatch when I touched her, then I paused to try to think through myplan of action. There was a grunt of impatience and Dauphine backedup her rear fully onto me. Well, now it would be harder to think.





It was my turn to ride, now. I thrustquickly at first, hearing high-pitched whining noises that Joannenever uttered; then I changed my angle and rammed downward, slowlyand deeply, eliciting deeper grunts.





After only half a minute of thedownward thrusts, Dauphine began to shake, twitching uncontrollablyfrom her core. “Here it comes,” I thought, and increased thepower and depth of my thrusts, but not the speed. After only a coupleof these, Dauphine was full-on wailing as her body shook withpleasure.





Her climax was substantial; when theconvulsing and wailing stopped, I felt her sag to the floor under me.





“That is enough, meat. I shall get upnow.”





Even on her knees, her arms held behindher back and her face on the floor, this psychopathic bitch thoughtshe could be in charge? I had a plan now: I didn’t stop, butsettled into a rhythm that produced a regular gentle slapping sound.





“I said… to get out of me… I’vehad enou- Aaaaah.” There was something extra satisfying aboutDauphine, the killer tyrant, being unable to control even her ownbreathing.





“This… is… your… last…warning…” she managed between pants. I waited until I felt herbreath in deeply, filling her lungs to call the abominable doll’sname, before I withdrew and left her quivering in the air.





“I can see that you are going to bedifficult, meat. Do you truly need another of Dottie’s screams toremind you of your position? You might feel strong and clever, but Istill got what I wanted from you – meat cannot win this one.”





“My name is Mike, and I knowsomething about Joanne that you should know too.”





“MEAT. I care not. You will let me upthis instant, or…”





This was the moment when my trail ofspit landed on her anus, and she shuddered at the sudden cold.





“Joanna,” I explained, “is reallygood at this. Can relax on a dime. And she absolutely loves…”I took aim.
“Taking it…” I applied pressure. “Nooo!”Delphine whimpered.
“In…” I pressed harder, and Delphine’sbody went rigid in panic.


“The ASS.”





She shrieked as I slid through thetight ring and into her forbidden place.





Then she was motionless, transfixed; Ialso held still for a moment, deep in her nether cavern, before Ibegan to move. Dauphine’s confusion at the new sensation wasquickly replaced with moans even louder than when she had climaxedearlier.





“Oh, my SWEET–” she gasped. “Thefilth! The depravity! It’s so… AAAH! SO intense!”





I was right – Joanna’s body stillproduced those same feelings, but they were new to Dauphine.



“I’m betting you’ll want toanswer my questions…-”





“Nothing… to tell… the meat…”she interrupted, while interrupting herself with moans.





“... if you want me to keepmoving. Won’t you?”



I stopped, mid-thrust.





“Aaah-ugh! You DEVIL! I… I will, Iwill, just MOVE!” I obliged, and the return to thrusting set her toshaking again.





“Where is Joanna, Dauphine?”


“She’s inside… bound… Aaaah!Sweet mother Mary, so deep!… in blue thread.”





I slowed down. I could feel hergripping my girth, spasming for more. “Please… faster…“





“Then tell me: How do I get herback?”





“I beg of you… give it… Damnyou! I must be satisfied, my lust for carnal pleasures and needfor entrails! I… I disemboweled my first husband as we made love,you see, that jazz was incredible. And then others. So many more…feeling that thrill again, the thrill of mortality as I’m drenchedin blood and sin, will help me to sleep again as Dottie. Now, please,sir!”





That was it, then. Lust and entrails,blood and sin.





“Then I shall satisfy you, ghoul.Carnal pleasure like you’ve never had – exploding in your ownentrails, to send you back to hell!”





“If I could go to hell, Meat,I would be there… ugh!” I pushed her down until the sideof her face was pressed hard on the floor, her mouth open anddrooling. Black hair spread out in a spiral swirl across the whitekitchen tile as I pounded her ass.





She was wailing from the sensation now,every breath a scream of pleasure, but I started to make out a word:“Blood!” she was crying, chanting, as I filled her past brimmingwith ecstasy.





I tried to consider the consequences ofher request, but cogent thought was lacking. Finally, I pressed afinger to my chest, smearing it with my own blood.



“Blood! Blood! Blood!” She wasshrieking now. I leaned forward, putting even more weight on herfolded arms and back, angling myself directly down; her voice wentlow and all she could manage was a guttural “Unh!” with everyintestines-jarring thrust.





I reached to put my bloody finger inher mouth. I felt teeth immediately grip it, painfully, and wonderedfor a terrified moment how terrible a mistake I’d made; but thenher tongue was circling my fingertip, tasting my blood, and my fingerwas free again.





I pounded away, ignoring the burning ofmy muscles and the lightheadedness as I panted for breath. “Takeit!” I gasped. “Feel me in Joanna’s entrails! Be SATISFIED, youmurderous, horrifying freak!”





“YES!” She shrieked, so high that Iwas sure it came from the doll’s mouth, and not Joanna’s.“SATISFY ME NOW, MIKE!”





I don’t know how I was able to turnup the intensity any further, but I did, and immediately felt myselfreaching the edge of no return.


“Go… to… HELL!” I slammed mypelvis into her rear, releasing a first hot gout inside of her, andthen again, another; and another. Joanna’s body convulsed violentlyas she received my final thrusts, her voice gone except for a longstrangled croak as the pleasure overwhelmed even her own breath.





I released her arms and collapsedbackward, exhausted and spent, for the moment not even caring ifDauphine was about to slaughter me. For her part, she collapsed andlay flat on the floor, her arms limp beside her, fluids tricklingdown a buttock.





After a minute to get my breath back, Imopped the sweat from my eyes and tried to sit up, assessing theprone nude woman on the floor.





“Jo-... Delphine?”





She stirred, and then sat. She rubbedher wrists, then looked at me with sharp, soulless gray eyes.





“I have never done that before.Allowed the meat to finish, that is. And… you have made me feel away I did not know was possible.”





I swallowed. “Carnal lust. Entrails.Blood. I… I satisfied you!” It was a demand, but one that hid adesperate question.





“Oh. So you did, Mike. Ohhh. I amsatisfied. In fact… I think I’m falling in love.”





She did her mouth-only smile, but thistime, it was at me. Then she winked at me, a strangely aggressivegesture that felt like a punch to the gut.





“Until next time, sweetmeat.”





With that, she collapsed, a marionettewith her strings cut. I scrambled forward to catch her head as sheslumped.





I held the limp naked figure, willingher to wake up as Joanna, terrified of what else could come next.





Minutes passed.





Finally, there was a sigh, a stir, anda warm chuckle. Joanna’s laugh.





“Uhh.. Mike… that was crazy good…what did you do to me, man…?”





It was her! My love, my life, mywife, back inside her own body. Tears of relief welled in my eyes.





“Oh, you… enjoyed that, did you?”I didn’t know what else to say. What did she remember?





“Oh God, Mike! You rocked myworld! I… I don’t think I can walk after that!” Shelaughed again.





“No need, babe. I’ve got you.”





I lifted her, feeling every ounce ofher mass in my aching muscles. She giggled and clung to my neck as Icarried her to the bedroom.





Before I closed the door, I glancedback across the room and saw something: a cracked white face at thetop of the antique linen cabinet.
Shining silver eyes stared outinto the room.





Shining, and not asleep.








The End