Eudora Wentworth strained against the taut silken cords that stretched her wrists above her head. Gasping as the cane planted another searing kiss onto her naked bottom, she lurched forward, the soft skin of her breasts involuntarily hugging the cool, smooth wood of the ornate four-poster to which she was so tightly bound.
"Seventeen, Sir," she managed at last, her voice a trembling, husky whisper.
Behind her, Asa Meriwether’s lips curled into a cruel, self-satisfied smile. The tension in Eudora’s lithe young body seemed to dissolve before his eyes as her muscles relaxed and the effects of the cane’s latest ministration dissipated. She dropped her head forward a bit and her long, auburn tresses cascaded to one side, exposing her milky white shoulders as her body hung motionless, save for her rapid breathing, from her imprisoned wrists.
Asa pressed the tip of the rattan rod to the base of her neck and began to trace an excruciatingly slow line downward along the length of her spine. The pressure caused Eudora’s form to jerk to life with tiny muscle spasms as the relentless edge made its way past the small of her back, over the angrily striped cheeks of her bottom and then, suddenly, slipped obscenely between her thighs.
She moaned and writhed against the alien intrusion of the implement as it slid deliciously over her swollen nether lips. Meriwether withdrew the glistening rod, raised the tip to his lips and flicked his tongue over it.
"Hmm, your body betrays you, my dear Miss Wentworth," he chuckled sardonically.
A blushing wave of shame flooded over Eudora, its heat nearly as intense as that which radiated from the throbbing red welts on her exposed bottom cheeks.
"Please Sir, please…." she pleaded, hoping against hope that he would, at last, take pity upon her.
"Oh, is it more that you desire, my darling? Well, of course!" he taunted wickedly.
Before the words of protest could pass from her lips the cane had found its mark again; a molten caress curling and biting into her soft, unprotected flesh.
"Oh, God, eighteen, Sir…eighteen! Oh, please, please!"
She screamed and fought, throwing her head back and yanking futilely at her bonds. Asa strode heavily toward her, entwining and closing the fingers of his strong right hand into the sweat-moist tangles of her disheveled mane, and then steadily urged her ear to his lips.
"I love it when you beg, my darling. I adore making you squirm and moan for me. I want nothing more than to be the author of all your pain and all your pleasure." he hissed, his voice low and dark like the serpentine kiss of a fitful dream.
She stiffened slightly in his grip, her breathing quick and shallow, as he reached up and twisted her body---wrists still bound to the bedpost---around to face him. Slipping his index finger beneath her chin, he curled a single nail into her sensitive flesh and slowly raised her face to his. She tried to avert her eyes, but could not; mesmerized by the passion which seemed to flow from his unflinching gaze.
"Say that you love it," he growled.
She shook her head weakly. He took her face in his hands and leaned in so closely that she felt his breath caressing her skin like a warm, moist breeze.
"Say it." he ordered, his voice a near whisper.
"Yes. Yes! Yes, I love it. I love it, Asa," she answered, her tone a mixture of resignation and revelation as the words burst into the otherwise silent room.
He reached up and deftly freed her wrists and then, in one sweeping motion, scooped her spent body into his arms, lifted her, and laid her gently onto the seemingly limitless expanse of linen and down that was his bed.
She sighed, looking up at him hungrily as the sumptuously appointed bedroom began to blur in the flickering gaslight.
"You’ve got the Morning Zoo with Bob and Ted! Wake up, Boston, and smell the…"
Eudora fumbled blearily with the blaring clock radio, nearly knocking it to the floor in a frantic attempt to silence its insistent harangue.
"Why do I listen to these obnoxious clowns?" she wondered aloud.
She grinned as she shuffled heavily toward the bathroom. Obviously, she conceded, theirs were the only voices abrasive enough to rouse her to consciousness. Lately, though, it had occurred to her that even though she was sleeping more and more, she was getting less and less benefit from it. A lingering feeling of fatigue seemed to plague her days, and her efforts to retire earlier weren’t helping her to feel anymore rested. It felt as if she was somehow working harder in her dreams than she did in her waking hours.
She gasped when the hot shower water shook her from her reverie. Then, as the steaming rivulets coursed over her exposed flesh, she winced. Running her fingers over her bottom, she was startled to discover what felt like…welts.
"What in the world?" she wondered aloud.
She clambered from the shower, wiped the steam from the mirror and felt her surprise grow into shock. Pulsing and unmistakable, there they were; a series of red stripes crisscrossing her bottom. Stunned, she faltered back against the slick tile wall and sank slowly to the floor, her mind a racing jumble of disbelief and half-remembered dream images. She scrambled to her feet, only to be jolted anew by what she saw: her flesh was pristine again….completely devoid of marks. Eudora stood and puzzled over her reflection in the mirror until a familiar voice shook her back to reality.
"Edee? 'You coming? We’re going to miss the train, girl. Move it!!"
Spurred into action by her roommate’s voice, she hurriedly dried herself and threw on some clothes.
"Just a minute, Julie. I’m almost finished."
The peculiar incident stayed with her throughout the day. Outwardly, she appeared completely normal as she poured over arcane records and compiled archival data for the museum’s research staff. Inwardly, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something very unusual had happened to her; something not unlike an episode of "high strangeness," as such phenomena were dubbed in the lexicon of metaphysics. Whatever it was, or whatever she had imagined it was, the whole experience had been completely unsettling, and yet oddly compelling.
"You are so weird," she snickered to herself.
Bone-tired and still mildly disoriented, she somehow made her way home at the end of the day. Struggling to keep her eyes open, she cooked and ate a meal she couldn’t remember five minutes after she’d finished it, and then fell heavily into bed. Seconds later, the peripheral darkness engulfed her.
Eudora shivered in the brisk autumn breeze as she stood before the imposing, wrought iron fence of Meriwether House. The skeletal shadows of naked tree limbs played over the brownstone face of the building, and the soft glow of lights from inside seemed feebly inadequate to the task of keeping the growing darkness of the empty street at bay.
The hinges of the ancient gate complained audibly as she swung it open and walked to the front door. Hesitating for a moment on the threshold, she sighed deeply before reaching out to pull the bell chain. The door opened slowly to reveal the taciturn butler (whose name had always escaped her.) He led her into the foyer, quietly closed the door behind them, and then motioned for her to go up the immaculately carved grand staircase---before abruptly disappearing down the long entrance hall.
Making her way to the top of the stairs she looked around for a moment, unsure of what to do next, until the open doorway of Asa Meriwether’s bed chamber caught her eye. She smiled wryly and slipped into the room, expecting to see her lover waiting there. Instead, she found a stunning, deep green haute couture gown hanging from the bedpost, a scrap of paper pinned to its bodice. Involuntarily, she ran her fingertips over the dress’s delicate black silk flowers, its froths of tulle and pleated gauze. She looked closer at the scrap of paper and realized it was a note. Fingers trembling, she read aloud.
"My dearest Miss Wentworth," it began. "I am delighted you could come. Please slip into this gown and join us downstairs in the drawing room. My friends are all extremely anxious to meet you." It was signed "A".
"My friends?" she thought, quizzically. She had come at Asa’s hand-delivered invitation, but there had been no mention of other guests. She had assumed it was to be a very private evening, like so many that had gone before.
Putting the note---and a twinge of disappointment---aside, she picked up the dress. It was a stunningly beautiful, and it looked to be just her size. She removed her coat and hat, laid them on the bed and then, after glancing around the room to ensure that she was, indeed, alone, slipped out of her frock and into the waiting gown. Its luxurious fabric was rich to the touch, and it made her feel ever so elegant. She walked to the full length mirror and beamed at what she greeted her there. The dress was perfection; form fitting and altered in all the right places as if it were designed specifically for her.
As she made her way down the stairs, Eudora was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of exquisite dread. She knew Asa. His striking, finely-chiseled features, slightly-greying chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes presented a disarmingly seductive mask, but his mind and his desires were much darker than his appearance. It was precisely that inner darkness, that sense of passionate menace that she found so irresistible. It was as if being with him gave her some sort of implicit permission to abandon the façade of her polite upbringing and break free of the chafing restraints of her superficially ordered existence.
Yes, she knew Asa, and she was confident that this would not be an ordinary evening of boring chat and mindless pleasantries.
She knocked quietly on the heavy oak drawing room doors. They flew open to reveal Asa standing before her, smiling in that infuriatingly wicked way of his. She blushed at the sight of him.
"Miss W! How kind of you to grace us at last with your presence. Do come in." he said gingerly.
He took her hand and led her into the room. Like the rest of his home, it was a reflection of his position and taste; wealthy, powerful and utterly masculine. Floor length velvet drapes highlighted the dark and ornately detailed wood work. Flawlessly upholstered leather armchairs, a deep crimson settee, expertly crafted end tables, an impossibly large Persian carpet and a massive, roaring hearth filled the room with an aura of inviting warmth.
A dozen men----some young, some older---sipped port and smoked cigars as they silently watched her glide in behind Asa. Her palm became suddenly clammy in his hand, but he urged her on to the center of the room, and then stopped and turned to face his guests.
"“Gentlemen," he began. "May I introduce the lovely Miss W, my dear and always amusing companion?"
A few low chuckles and the faint rustle of shifting positions were the only acknowledgments of his introduction. Eudora was becoming more uncomfortable by the second, but she willed herself to remain outwardly calm. Asa began to step around her in a leisurely circle.
"“She is beautiful, as you can see. Her fiery auburn hair…."
He curled his finger lightly into one of her locks, released it and then let the tip of his finger trail over her cheek and down to her mouth. She shuddered slightly at his touch.
"…her full and eager lips…."
His fingertip pressed down on her lower lip and opened it slightly before sliding downward onto her neck. She gulped involuntarily.
"…and, of course, her sublime body---with its supple, willing flesh, delectable curves and surprisingly sinuous reflexes. She is, in a word, perfection; the veritable image of chaste innocence---coupled with the soul of a wanton and the appetites of a jaded libertine."
Slipping his fingers under the neckline of her gown, he suddenly tore the fragile garment asunder. It fell in tatters at her feet as she struggled to muffle a startled cry. Panic-stricken, she tried in vain to cover herself, looking up at Asa with pleading eyes. He simply smiled.
"Of course, like all supposedly 'proper' young ladies, she sometimes needs to be, shall we say, encouraged to give free reign to her most secret desires," Asa added.
"Gentlemen, proceed."
As if on cue, two of the men stepped forward and took hold of her arms just above the elbows. They half-led, half-dragged her across the room toward the red velvet settee. Asa stood behind the couch, waiting, and then nodded to the men, who forced her to kneel on the plush cushions, her face toward the back, her bottom exposed to the other men who were moving in ever closer behind her. Her captors sat down on either side of her, twisting their bodies around to maintain a firm grip on her upper arms. Her eyes darted, in turn, to each of them, and her heart sank to behold their pitiless, smirking expressions.
"Asa, no," she whimpered softly.
He leaned down and gently cupped her face in his hands.
"Oh, yes, my darling." he whispered. "You make me so proud when you show me that you are so utterly and irrevocably mine. I want to share my pride and my joy in you with my friends. I want to prove to them that the souls of two lovers can become so inexorably entwined that nothing and no one can pull them apart. I want their cynical hearts to melt in awe that such a thing can exist, and I want them to burn with envy at the realization that what we have between us is beyond their meager comprehension and wildest dreams. Help me, my love…please."
In that instant it became clear to her; in spite of the fear that tore through her consciousness. It was deeper than the darkness that she sensed in him; it was stronger than the burning shame she felt at being exposed before these strangers. It was what she had hoped for, longed for. It was love; all encompassing, brave and wild, beyond convention or debate. Asa Meriwether had, at last, given her his heart; he owned her very soul---and the realization made her weep with unbridled joy. She would do anything he asked of her; she would shout it in the streets and she would prove it, beyond the shred of a doubt, to these pathetic men who had never conceived that such a thing could be possible.
The butler entered the room holding a small red velvet cushion, on which rested a flat, wide, relatively short leather strap. It was attached to a wooden handle, and she gasped at the sight of it. Asa removed the insidious implement from its resting place and ran its length slowly over his upturned palm. Flashing the crooked smile which she had come to know so well, he handed it to one of the guests. She trembled and looked up into Asa’s eyes. He leaned down and pressed his moist lips to her ear.
"Only on me, my love. Keep your eyes only on me."
She dropped her head slightly as he rose, but quickly raised her eyes to meet his.
"Mr. S, if you would be so kind, please," he said nonchalantly.
She jerked a little as the man touched the strap to her naked flesh. The other guests murmured their assent. Her muscles contracted automatically when the strap was moved, and then she heard the unmistakable sound of leather cutting through the air behind her. The strap slammed against her soft bottom, and a wave of pain exploded through her entire body. She screamed and bucked against the unyielding grip of her seated captors.
"Again," Asa commanded.
She howled wildly as the leather seared her unprotected skin, lurching forward against the settee and throwing back her head. She slumped over the back of the couch, her body seemingly resigned to the coming ordeal. The man brought the strap down, again and again, each stroke seemingly harder and faster than the last. She felt as if she were floating, free of her body, somewhere above the pain and the strap and the sniggering assemblage. She only was dimly aware of her own disembodied screaming. She raised her eyes, face flushed and hair matted to her forehead, to Asa’s.
She smiled.
Eudora lurched upright in bed, gasping for breath. She tore the sweat-soaked sheets from her body and staggered into the bathroom. Flicking the switch by the mirror, she squinted as her eyes became accustomed to the light, and then recoiled in shock at what she saw. Behind her own wide-eyed image in the mirror were the leering, threatening faces of the men from her dream. Defensively, she whirled around---but the tiny room was empty.
Suddenly, there was a flash, as if someone had discharged a camera strobe in the room. She clamped her eyes shut and turned back toward the mirror, almost afraid to see what might be there. She was dismayed to see the face of Asa, the man from her dream, instead of her own. Another blinding flash filled the air and his image was gone, replaced by her now trembling reflection.
She made her way back to her bedroom, clinging to the wall for stability. Images flooded her consciousness, seeming less like remnants of a dream than they did memories of actual experience.
"Ridiculous," she hissed. "I’m losing what’s left of my fucking mind."
She slumped onto the bed and tried to shake the nagging feeling that she had somehow actually lived the outrageous scenario of her dream. She did, in fact, harbor a fondness for the Victorian period; she was often called upon to research in detail the mores and fashions of that era as part of her work at the museum. She had, it was true, occasionally longed for the relative simplicity of that bygone time, wondering what it might have been like to have lived and died in such a place. But this? This was impossible. It had simply been an exceptionally vivid dream, and nothing more. To believe otherwise was madness.
She relaxed a little and began to feel as if she was returning to a state resembling normal, when something on the other side of the room caught her eye. There seemed to be an outline of a shape hanging over the back of her desk chair, but she was unable to identify it in the room’s dim light. Slowly, she leaned over, turned on the bedside lamp and felt as if her heart might stop. The gown. The beautiful green gown from her dream, hanging in tatters from the chair. It had been real.
She screamed.
Julie burst into the room and ran to her side. Eudora dissolved into incoherent tears as her roommate held her and looked around the room suspiciously.
"What is it, Edee? What’s wrong? Did something happen?"
Without looking up, Eudora pointed a shaking finger toward the desk.
"What? What’s over there?"
Eudora looked up at Julie through tear-stained eyes and managed to stammer. "Over there. Hanging on the chair by the desk. That green dress. Do you see it?"
"Green dress? What do you mean, Edee? There’s nothing over there…nothing but the chair," replied Julie, her voice betraying a growing concern.
"Not there? What do you mean it’s not…?" Eudora forced herself to look toward the chair. "My god, Julie. It’s….it’s….not….there."
She jumped to her feet and raced to the desk, searching crazily under and around the chair.
"It’s not there," she whispered dejectedly.
Days passed and Eudora grew more and more fatigued. Unable to sleep more than a few minutes at a time, she dragged herself back and forth to work in a trance-like state, becoming more disoriented with each passing hour. She spent her days pouring over old public records, looking for some hint, some scrap of information that might help explain her experiences. She found nothing, and now a growing sense of loss and longing left her feeling even more debilitated.
Finally, in a volume of aging property transactions, she found a listing that made her sit bolt upright. A family called "Meriwether" had built and occupied a stately Victorian mansion on Commonwealth Avenue in the 1800’s, shortly have Boston’s Back Bay had been filled in and the resulting acreage reclaimed for public use. Armed with this reference, Eudora began to scour the census data of the period. There had, indeed, been an Asa Meriwether. The sole heir to a large family shipping fortune; he had never married and had died, without issue, in 1882.
So there had been such a person. The thought echoed through her troubled mind, but brought her little peace. The man was long dead, so why would he be haunting her now? What was going on here, and why did she feel such a longing for this specter from her dreams? She closed the dusty tome and sat silently for a long while.
When she finally stepped onto Commonwealth Avenue, it was nearly dark. A stately, tree-lined boulevard, it was still lit by glowing gaslights, a concession to the city’s efforts at historic preservation. By the time she reached the former Meriwether House, it was all she could do to drag herself up to the rusting fence. Unlike the other mansions on the block, the house had not been restored. Its once proud brownstone façade was in a state of disrepair; its windows were boarded over, its grounds unkempt and sadly overgrown.
Eudora sighed as she leaned against the cold iron, shivering as the dark, foggy chill of evening pressed in upon her. She couldn’t imagine what she had hoped to find here; perhaps only the confirmation that her dreams had been, if only partly, based in some kind of reality, however far removed. Sadly she turned from the house and began to trudge wearily along the boulevard.
And then she heard something; very faintly at first, but growing in volume---somewhere out there in the thick fog, something unseen and unilluminated by the faint flicker of the gaslights. It was an oddly familiar sound; the sound of horses, their hooves clicking hollowly along the deserted cobblestone street.
She gasped as the ornate carriage came into sight, emerging from the fog in a clatter of hooves and old iron wheels. The team of horses came to a gliding stop in front of her, reined in by a shadowy driver. Mesmerized, she could only stare in wonder. The carriage door opened and she heard a vaguely familiar voice.
"Come with me, my love," said Asa.
Eudora staggered back in disbelief. Part of her simply could not comprehend what was happening; part of her wanted to believe it so badly she could taste it. She knew she was standing at the brink of an irreversible decision. What would become of her? What of her friends, her family, her work? Could she truly say that anything really held her to this place? Could she honestly say that her life brought her any real measure of pleasure or satisfaction? Would she be missed? And, most importantly, would she be safe? Could she trust this man who was now extending his hand to her from another world?
With a wicked smile, she took hold of his hand and stepped into the waiting carriage.