Steamheat: Fevered Dreams

Last time  we were introduced to the Captain. His connection with the ship w as unparalleled   with other airship Captains.  His set of rigid standards firmly in place, and  orders followed.  His world is about to be thrown into chaos!

Steamheat: 

Fevered Dreams 

by 

Ben Hannigan

read part 2 here

Read part 1 here

Eliza lay drifting, dreaming as the hammock rocked, a makeshift cradle lulling her to sleep along with the brandy. The day had been hard, hanging from axles, avoiding Ident checks.  Her arms sliced and scratched by flying rock, the cold and the high hot humors of terror and adrenaline coursing through her. The fresh wounds from climbing and scrabbling over wood, pottery, and glass masked by her knowledge that all that mattered was the successful flight from being sold into a loveless marriage, her life as a broodmare. 

The brandy bottle empty now, a celebration and a quelling of that faint sickness and loneliness. The knowledge that she was alone and was giving up all she knew, all she loved, to flee. The bottle clattered to the floor, bouncing off the sabre by her boot. The bottle slick with her lifeblood that had soaked through her clothes, the material that had kept them closed, bandages of lucky accident. She slept, the bloody wounds tacky and weeping, the fluid flowing more now that she was warm, the booze thinning her blood.

 She felt like she was walking on air, like a strange heady cross between the time as a young girl when she was sick with the fevers and the time her “dorm sister” had first shown her the joy of communing with the Lord, the prayer of “sisters” entwined.

Lost in memories -- memories as strong as dreams -- her body feeling as it did then.  Her humours out of balance, the yellow humour rising and the red humour fighting, driving her temperature higher as she perceived it but that not manifesting in the physical world. 

The feel of a hand on her brow causing moans and mewls of joy, the doctor smiling, ordering the Mother Superior to ensure that she was never alone, whispering, “The girl responds to skin contact, this girl has been bereft of love in her life. I can feel it from the way her body cries out for touch for love, for comfort.” The woman nodded and discussed the abusive coldness of the young ward’s keeper. She herself took the first watch as her daughter the doctor smiled and told the others of her orders.

Eliza felt the touch as if she were there. She felt those emotions, the shock at watching this figure of strength and faith as she disrobed. The first time she had seen the woman without her habit, admiring the rosary that she wore. The Mother Superior sliding  into her arms, looping the boxwood rosary around her young charge, pulling her close to her breast. Eliza for the first time since the death of her mother felt the incorruptible love of a parent.  A love that asked for nothing, strong like Iron yet warm like a hot flip, comforting and safe. Eliza felt the burning of her skin cool at the contact, just like she had the first time. The heartbeat of the older woman comforting her, her hair stroked, caressed as the older woman sang, not hymns as she was used too but lullabies.

Eliza felt as she did then, a nipple between her lips, felt the comforting touch and drifted, drifted into the clouds and slept, the fever still raging but the nightmares and pressure abated. She remembered the shock and embarrassment flushing through as she woke, the murmured apologies and the throaty laugh of her Mother figure.  

“Childling, do not fret, I was asked to comfort you with contact. It could have  been a hand in yours or a hand on your forehead, but I chose this. Looping you inside my rosary, offering you a mother figure, a mothers comfort, my childling on my breast. I chose not to disturb you as you slept, I chose to bear your weight on my breast and I chose to offer you the bond of feeding from me, of my love, my trust, my strength and the milk of my body. I offered that because you need the love. Here at this house of God, we are open with the joy of touch, of expressing our love. I know you are not used to touch, but you always have the love of us here. I offered this in this place, to strengthen our bond and to give freely of my love for you, as the Lord gives his love to us all.”

Eliza remembered parts of her life in her hot fevered dream as she bled into the hammock. Remembered her shock as she toyed with her rosary of silver chain, and toyed with the boxwood teaching rosary that hung around them both, a physical symbol of their connection. The cross laid across her bare tummy as she did over the older nun.

“ It’s ok to be loved, to revel in our love for each other” she half said, half asked as the older woman nodded. “Mother, can I call you that?” The older woman gave a sound that Eliza even now was shocked by, she squealed like a young girl, a sound of love, shock, and joy.

“Yes! My childling. Thank you for the gift, the honour. We all love you and as you sleep, I will tell your sisters of the honour and love you give us all.” She kissed the younger girl on the forehead and stayed until she drifted, the fever subsiding. Eliza in her fevered dreamings saw then that it was a fever of faith, of trial, a teaching fever, the Lord showing her love and safety.

The world spun and she threw up as she was flung into her next dream. Too weak to realize this was her life flashing through her eyes as her life force waned. She was eighteen and sick again, a fever of the same, this time however the Mother Superior was not the one to sit with her. Instead her dorm sister, her mentor, Mary; the woman she came to with questions, worries, shared prayers, the girl who read her prayers with her, who guided her through her first rosary, Her Sister of the heart, her best friend.

The older girl lay with her as she shivered and sweated, fretting, wracked with night terrors, the dream girl thrashing as much as the girl laying on the hammock. The touch of the older girl spooned behind her not quelling the fears. Mary’s heart breaking at the begging murmurs and shouts, cries begging not to be left, pleading not to be hurt. The worry turned to rage as the waifish girl screamed through old memories, memories of pain and abuse, retelling as if trapped back there. Mary called for the Mother for advice. She sat and listened to the howls of pain, to the begging, the screams as the girl relived being violated. Hearing the reliving of her trust torn, her pain and her anger at a God that didn’t protect her from her uncle. She had been treated as property, learning that she was abandoned when she was too old to pique his interest.

They talked as the young girl slumped into an exhausted unconsciousness, aided by an herbal potion designed to soothe her throat and keep her calmed. They understood why she was scared to be touched, now understood why the eleven year old that came to them had to be dragged to bathe, why she didn’t eat, why she conspired to remain filthy, hiding her waifish beauty behind feralness and filth. When she ate she hunched over her food guarding it and hiding food in her room. They had learned from her screams that she ate with the hounds at home, was beaten randomly and routinely raped by her uncle and his staff.  

They had missed it when the doctors had checked her over because he had kept her saleable virtue intact using instead her other entrance, committing crimes against God and child. 

They understood her ideas, that if she didn’t eat she remained out of the kitchen and out of reach, not having to trade for food. When her resolve broke and she was hungry she stole from the kitchens, guarded her food from the dogs, and others who would take it and demand payment in the sins of the flesh for its return. They understood her desire to be too filthy to touch, drawing safety from that. They understood also why she couldn’t and didn’t sleep in the dorms, sleeping instead on the roof with a blanket, or in the smallest cubbyhole she could find.

The girl dying in the hammock, blood dripping on the floor both watched this conversation and relieved the terror of her younger self. She watched as if from a disembodied view her Mother of choice nod to Mary after she confessed her love for her charge. Eliza listened to Mary confess her desire to share the Love of God with her, show her the Lord gave her joy and ecstasy in her body, show her the joy of prayer together, sharing that intimate connection.

She felt the conversation, the explanation of Mary’s feelings. She remembered breaking down and admitting she had been buggered; confessed the guilt she felt.  She remembered praying with her Mother and her new lover for forgiveness, being shaken by the Mother Superior and told that she does not need forgiveness for being violated. Her mother gave a blessing and left.

Mary moved around her younger partner, sliding over her body a knee slid between her legs parting her thighs and pulling her by her Rosary into a deep kiss. As she lay bleeding into the hemp rope, her hand between her legs unconsciously fingering her wet slit as she focused on the dream, her new lover showing her everything with wild abandon, joyous kisses and touches.

That first time was all about her, Mary would come later. The first time was about healing the hurt of rejection, healing the hurt of hate, healing the fear of sexuality. Blood-soaked and lost in a happier past as she crossed that edge between here and the Styxian realm, she exploded in orgasm.  In her head she was exploding onto Mary’s hand, shivering, shaking, curled into a ball surrounded by love. Mary’s mouth on her neck, her legs wrapped around her tangled in both coverlet and lover. Mary’s wetness sliding over her slit as she screamed her desire. She exploded onto her hand as she went limp, both from the power of her climax and from blood-loss; weak and lost. She woke in a field of green where her birth mother stood dressed in white at a crossroads.

“My child, my love. You have a choice to make. Walk with me today; now, here or go back. Back to your body, to your life, to the chance of real love.”

“Mother,” she gasped. Crying, slumping into her arms, kissing her and losing herself in the tearful joy of reunion. “Mother guide me, what do I do?”

“My child, I want you to stay with every fibre of my being. My heart, my joy, my love wants you to stay. But, I can see a future for you. A young man and the new world; a new love and safety. The love and the life you deserve. Please, though it tears my heart in two, walk back to your body.”

“Come with me mother, please! I can’t lose you again.”

Her mother made a gesture and a ball of light appeared; blurring, spinning in her hand. As it shrank it condensed into a metal, a chain and a locket. “I can’t go back. My time is done. However, this locket bears a gift. A small way of saying I’m sorry. There is a photo of me holding you as a baby and a lock of my hair. When you feel scared or tired, simply hold it and you will feel the love I have for you. My childling. Please remember I love you. When the time is right, the ring your father gave me will appear, the ring that gives you the family wealth and titles.”

They walked together to the crossroads and stood, neither wanting the love and joy to end. Her mother leaned in and kissed her daughter, the kiss starting chaste but they lost themselves in the need for each other. The daughter opened her mouth in a bolder kiss, a desperate attempt to draw, to feel the love and faith in her mother. They kissed like lovers until the world began to spin again and she felt herself drifting, drifting back into the room, feeling herself sinking back onto the hammock, into herself, knowing she was close to death. The only proof it was real was the locket against her breast and the faint taste of elderflower and honey on her lips.

As she lay bleeding, dying, an alarm began pealing in the captains stateroom. His intimate connection with the ship rousing him, instantly flashing a map of the ship with the wounded girl’s location highlighted in red. Her life-force flashed, pulsing, flickering as she crosses the line betwixt life and death. He swore, grabbing a sabre and pepperbox pistol in confusion.

Sprinting towards the escape pods worried because that part of the ship was a perfect place for a quiet murder or duel. Sprinting, panting and gasping he reached the deck and began to follow the spatters of blood that had dripped a trail across the deck. He followed the trail to the pod confused, “What in heavens? That’s my private pod!”

He reached the door and banged on it, shouting for whoever was inside to drop their weapons and answer to him. “I am captain! My word is law on this vessel”.  He unlocked it with his personal code, submitting to the ancient brass needle drawing his blood, his humour from him and allowing him access.

Once inside, he saw there was no attacker just a young boy curled on a hammock, mewling. His neck and shoulder wounded, the blood loss serious. He decided he would worry about the how and why he was there and concentrate on saving his life first. He bound his leg with his shirt and put pressure on the shoulder and neck wound from the first aid kit on the pod.

His face like thunder, discouraging any comment or question from the crew, the unknown boy a light weight in his arms as he made his way 'cross decks, coming to his chambers. He lay this mystery person on his own hammock before slumping into his chair.  The leather cool on his skin as he drifted, rested waiting for his patient to awaken, waiting for answers to unasked questions. Who is he?  Why did he sneak aboard and what the hell should he, the captain do?

The Candle

 Laying in the darkness listening to the songbirds, I thought of the life and the loves, a new relationship bursting into life, the flames and intensity of fresh passion. . . 

(Storytime does not own copyrights to this image.)

The Candle

by

Ben Hannigan

The candle flickered as the two girls ate, lit at the start of the meal they shared.  It was an anniversary, the candle a dark, rich red, unscented; the flame licking at the air as they shared the wine. The venison rare and rich, the dark chocolate truffles melting on the tongue as they talked into the night, the kisses they shared tasting of the meal and each other. One smoking a pipe the other content with the wine as they talked, the candle pressed into service to light and relight the pipe as the flame still licked at the air.

Neither remembered who kissed who first but they both remember that hunger and that pull as they moved from the chairs to the bed. The fire that pulsed through them and that heady arousal, Louise’s body a healthy tan -- that of an outdoor girl -- contrasting beautifully with Lara’s in the candlelight. Her body a squiggle of cream on the dark bedspread, her lover grinning to herself as the black silk ties contrasted against her pale wrists. Once she was bound and under her control, Louise began the slow, languid, torturous movements she favoured, nipping and licking from neck to ankles before her mouth nipping, licking, sucking and starting to devour the younger girl as some sort of dessert. The sounds her treat was making; a mix of heady gasps, whimpers and begging howls. She saw that candle still licking at the air and grinned, her hand snaking out of the bed to remove the candle from the heavy brass candelabra.

During the Raising of the candle all Lara could see was this floating tongue of flame dancing across the air, nervous and unsure what was to happen she watched from her position bound on the bed. Louise slowly, gently leaning the candle forward and they both breathless with anticipation watched the bead of wax drip off the candle. Almost in slow motion the wax hanging in the air before it splashed onto the younger girls breast, the red wax spreading and oozing before hardening. The flash of heat and pain stinging and causing indrawn gasps and whimpers of shock and desire through her, almost begging for more as the second drop landed. Her back arching and writhing as her teasing lover slowly worked the wax lower leaving a trail of redness splashed across her bare white skin. The candle moving closer, lower and lower moving inextricably towards her wetness the candle had half burned down as Louise presented what she had decided would be the last drop of wax. Lara laid there, her back arched, staring into her lovers eyes as she watched that last drop slowly fall towards her clit. The wax landing on her lithe body and engulfing her in a fire, the warmth sucking her up and into an explosion of lust and desire, as the wax cooled it bound her clit tightly in a vice-like grip squeezing her as she shook and spasmed with lust; craving anything, more, a touch, a kiss, anything to keep this going. Her mewling howls had startled Louise who smartly jerked causing the flame to splutter and die before she dived into her lover’s body peeling the now solid wax from her skin the tugging sending shudders of pleasure through Lara as she calmed.

Grinning, she dove  into the girl’s wetness once more as she begged for more, leaving her clit bound and imprisoned in this waxy tightness. Crawling up her body Louise ground into her as Lara begged for more. She whimpered with need as Louise rode her, their wet slits sliding  across each other. Testing the candle and finding it cool to the touch,  she used her weight to hold the girl down.  She pushed her virgin rosebud onto the candle, working it into her, feeling her contract and beg to be untied, beg to be kissed, and beg to wrap her arms around the woman she loved. Once, twice, three times she rocked and bounced into Louise and gasped again, screaming for more before it ended and she went limp, pressing gentle kisses across Louise’s throat, losing herself into a shaking mess of desire.

Liquid Seduction

Well, you may have noticed that my story was, umm, shall we say , interrupted?  Yeah, we'll go with that.  I've debated on whether to finish it or not as life has been launching curve balls at me.  A new theme will begin next week in March.  The winners for the Giveaway will be announced Monday, March4th.  It's not too late to enter - and your odds of winning are still huge!  So right now, click on the page on the right.  The little tab right up there  and leave a comment. That's all it takes to enter! 

Today is featuring a writer who has contributed to our blog before, please welcome back Cecile Hardy with a flash fiction.

 

Liquid Seduction

by

Cecile Hardy

Sara leaned back in the tub, dipping her hair into the water and allowing the warmth to seep into her skin after a long days work. The bubbles popped occasionally against her skin as she stretched gently, first one leg, then the other. She sighed, flicked the radio on, closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, drifting into a comfortable daydream. As her mind wandered she never noticed the door slide open a crack.

The eyes that peered through the gap were at first tired from work, but on meeting the image softened into a smile. Leigh’s expression quickly turned to playful mischievousness as her partner stretched and relaxed. Pulling the door to, but not quite shutting it, she slipped into the bedroom, tossed her coat into the wardrobe without a thought. Her scarf and shoes found their ways to the floor and her hat was tossed in a direction that she knew she’d regret not remembering later but at that moment, really, really didn’t care.

Leigh flew down the stairs, swinging around the end post with a practiced ease, ungracefully dodging the bag she’d dumped in the hallway as she bounded towards the kitchen, snatching two wine glasses and a favourite red from the sideboard. Spinning around she swiped up the box of chocolates she had bought for a friend’s party that weekend and attempted to take the first two steps together, before stumbling and catching herself awkwardly with her shoulder. Breathing a sigh of relief she took the stairs the rest of the way carefully, hesitating at the door to the bathroom. She looked down at the bottle in her hand and then caught her reflection in the mirror. Glancing at the door for the second time she returned to their room, dumping the bottle, glasses and chocolates on the bed and swiftly undressing. Now she was ready. Now she had a purpose.

Sara vaguely registered that someone had entered the house. Sara vaguely recollected hearing a thump and the sound of someone stumbling and cursing in the hallway. Sara vaguely remembered snorting at that fact. Right now however, she was in heaven and really couldn’t give a crap.

Leigh snuck into the bathroom, the door gently clicked shut behind her. Her bare feet moved quietly the few feet across the room and the wine bottle found the window sill overlooking the tub. The wine glasses quickly followed. Opening the box of chocolates she popped one into her mouth and resting one of her hands on the edge of the bath she used the other to snake around the back of Sara’s neck, drawing her into a deep, passionate kiss.

Sara’s brain exploded with pleasure as she was kissed. It was a mix of chocolate and mint and coffee that was intoxicating. She felt a foot touch her leg and the kisser slowly sink down into the bath with her, pressing their body into hers.

Leigh knew there was hardly any room in the bath to move and her knee found the gap between her partner’s legs, draping herself over Sara’s right side as she kissed her. Sara’s eyes fluttered open, dazed.  A silly smile spreading across her face.

“Hi.” She purred softly.

“Hi.” Leigh grinned, trailing her fingers up and down Sara’s chest.

"Chocolate?”

“Why not?”

Sara shrugged and drew Leigh into a deep kiss.

“Wine?” Leigh smirked and shook the bottle gently.

“I love you.”

“I know sweetie.”

Leigh’s grin only widened as she poured the burgundy liquid into one of the glasses.

Lottie's Merry Christmas

 

Hi I'm 22. Unemployed, exist and write terrible fiction. Oh, and I read far too much fanfiction when I should be looking for work. So, without further ado, bore your brains to pieces with my attempts at romance. Any constructive criticism welcome!

- Ceci

 

Lottie’s Merry Christmas

 

By

Cecily Hardy

 

 The wind was bitter but she didn’t notice it as she stormed through the lightly falling snow. It was dark, sometime around 9 o’clock. The streets were deserted but the sounds and lights from the restaurants and bars demonstrated the cheerfulness of the season. People around her were so happy.

 Her pace slowed, as she passed the local pub. She even stopped, contemplating diving into the garish Christmas lights, tinsel, party crackers and end of year pop quizzes but shaking herself broke from the connection, abandoning the merriment behind her and allowing the laughter to trickle away in the back of her mind. The cobbled streets led her in gentle curves towards the depths of the city. The shop lights glittering and twinkling merrily at her as she passed, so lost in thought she barely noticed that she had reached the square until her eyes, ears and nose were assaulted by the lights, sounds and smells of the evening market. Rich cinnamon and roasted chestnuts wafted their way towards her. Soft pretzels, doughnuts and cheerfully wrapped cakes tore her attention from her thoughts.

She was still angry, but the feeling had dulled a little. She knew that Lottie couldn’t help the way her family had reacted to her, but it would have been nice if she’d stood up for her, instead of standing there like an idiot. Deep down she knew she was being harsh. Lottie had been just as surprised as she had been by their reactions. They had never indicated any negative feelings towards that sort of thing ever before. Or at least that was what Lottie had assured her of before they had turned up with their “news”.

 She snorted to herself and pulled her scarf tighter around her as she wove in and out of the stalls, glancing at necklaces and food and junk that you buy because it’s pretty but of no real use to you whatsoever. Barely paying attention to where she was headed she found herself in the centre of the market next to a Grecian looking pavilion, and surrounded by tall snow covered trees was a temporary ice rink. Pausing, she leaned against the bars and lost herself in the twirling of the couples on the ice, her thoughts disappearing in a spiral of emotions as she clung to the railing for dear life.

  Lottie gaped at her parents. She couldn’t believe that they’d said what they just did.

“That’s disgusting! You’re filthy, the pair of you! You tramp! You’ve turned my daughter into a slut!”

Those phrases rang around and around her head before the slamming of the front door shocked her out of her thoughts. Hari was gone! She’d walked out! Lottie saw red.

 “How dare you! How dare you insult the woman I love! I’m so glad I don’t live at home anymore and have a job. You make me sick! I’m leaving! You’re not going to see me again! You can shove your bigoted ideas and have a merry fucking Christmas the lot of you!” She spun on her heels and headed towards the door.

 “You walk out that door young lady and I’ll-“

 “You’ll what Daddy? Spank me? Throw me out?” Lottie scoffed “I’m an adult with my own house.” She gasped and put a hand on her forehead dramatically “Oh no! Where will I go?! Oh! Yeah...Home.” With this she opened the door, pausing just long enough to turn around for one last parting shot, a feral smirk on her face. “Oh, and by the way Daddy, Hari is a minx in bed! Ciao!” She flipped her blonde locks over her shoulder and slammed the door leaving behind a stunned silence in her wake.

It took some time to find her but there she was, staring into space, lent against the metal barriers that had been bolted into place around the temporary ice rink. She had watched her for a few minutes now, unsure how to proceed before summoning her courage. “It’s pretty.”

“Yeah” Lottie’s heart soared a little. “She’s still talking to me!” her head screamed.

 “Do you want to?”

“What?” Hari blinked and turned to her as if seeing her for the first time.

“Do you want to skate?”

Hari’s lips twitched into a smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They held hands as they glided lazily around the ice. “So...”

“So?” Lottie stopped at the edge of the ice.

 “What did you say?” “Oh just that I was leaving and that they were bigots.”

“Nothing else?” Hari pulled a bottle of water out of her bag and took a sip.

“I might have said Merry Christmas, after I told daddy how good you were in bed.”

“You what?!” Lottie grinned and drew Hari into a deep kiss.

“Told them that you’re a minx and mine.” Lottie nibbled her neck gently.

“Ooh...okay.” Hari moaned lightly “Lottie?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Sleepover Secrets

SLEEPOVER SECRETS

Most girls at sleepovers spend their nights giggling, talking about boys and eating junk food while watching their favorite movies. But not Gracie and I.

Gracie Smith and I have been friends since kindergarten. In fact, most people joked that we are more like sisters than best friends. We share everything. Secrets. Clothes. Books. And something that no one else knew knew about nor saw coming. Gracie and I have been sleeping together for almost two years.

I don't really remember how it started. We had been sleeping at each others houses for over twelve years and nothing had ever happened. We shared stories about boyfriends and crushes. Neither of us had ever thought of ourselves as anything but straight, never questioned our sexuality. And we still don't. Which is how, after almost an hour of ice cream, cookie dough, and wondering how Derek Johnson could possibly pick Tracy Morgan over me I wound up in bed next to my best friend.

Gracie had pulled my shirt off several minutes ago and was drawing slow circles around my belly button with her finger tips, every once in a while twirling my light blue belly button ring. Her fingers had slowly been gaining my attention, almost all thoughts of Derek had left my mind.

“Feeling better?” she asked when I had been quiet for a few minutes, my almost constant rant ending for the first time all evening.

I nodded, the gesture accompanied by a positive “Mmm,” as her fingers began to dance lightly up my stomach.

“Good,”she smiled, her skilled fingers tracing just under the underwire of my bra, causing goosebumps to form along my arms. “We can't have you going to bed upset now can we? What kind of best friend would I be if I let that happen?” Her voice was playful and seductive, just the thing to finish pushing the last Derek related thoughts from my mind.

“I don't think we're going to have to worry about that,” I replied, squirming involuntarily under her fingers as she reached around behind me and unclasped my hot pink bra.

“Good,”she whispered, leaning down. Her breath was warm against my ear while she slid my bra straps down my shoulders, teasing me before she finally pulled the material away, freeing my breasts.

A moan escaped my lips as her mouth found my left nipple, her fingers tracing circles around the other. I squirmed, Gracie's hands and mouth were warm against my exposed skin now that I was down to just the shorts I had gone running in earlier.

“Good girl,” Gracie murmured, flicking her tongue across my nipple before moving slowly down my stomach. She kissed and flicked her tongue across my smooth skin down to my belly button, chuckling quietly to herself as I squirmed. She stopped when she got to my belly button ring, kissing the small stud that held the dangling blue stones in place.

“Are you sure you're ready for this?” She asked, her fingers curling under the edge of my shorts as she looked up at me, a mischievous smile on her lips.

I didn't so much as hesitate before nodding enthusiastically, “Yes.”

TO BE CONTINUED....

Rebirth: Siam's Story

Today is final installment of Siam's story.  I hope you've been enjoying it.  The revised edition of this story will be potentially appearing in an ebook soon, with all the sweet, loving, juicy, and kinky scenes not shown here.  It was a blast to write!  I'm really stoked for October's story,  Don't miss it!

 

Rebirth

 

by

 

Ben Hannigan

 



Dear Diary,

Looking back writing this diary has helped, I guess.  Though I have kept a diary as a matter of course throughout my years, I am rehashing the events that led to my current life. I’m tired of facing it but at the same time avoiding talking about it.

My father didn’t retire gracefully from my life after being served with papers and a restraining order. I had stopped training as hard and was as I already said, enjoying the new aspects of my relationship. We were happy, but it wasn’t to last. The question is Diary, do I explain the damage done before the why?  I suppose I should really. None of us died, but in a way I died and was reborn in some ways. I start my days now being lifted out of my bed by Laura and am carried to the shower where she helps me bathe and dress, I crawl, dragging my useless legs behind me to the stairs and crawl slowly with each agonizing movement, Laura watching as I push myself never allowing her to help. I have had to move in with my love full time because thanks to Daddy Dearest, I can’t live alone. Once I get down those twelve steps I allow myself to rest and take my painkillers before I am lifted into the device that I spend the rest of the day in.

I am strapped into the chair with a harness and am setup to go to work, Laura eats but I don’t, until I have digested the drugs, it isn’t safe for me to eat. I roll out to the truck and I’m hoisted in by my lover. I can still drive though have the clutch and the gas as hand pedals on the wheel. I do love driving, I am still mobile and free in the car or on the Trike. But I am getting ahead of myself here aren’t I?  I should probably explain exactly what it is that has left me a useless mewling cripple dependant on my lover.

 I have been like this for close to a decade now. I am thirty six and my father took from me many things. Ben and the girls still love me, still want me, though since they are raising their brood of kids so we don’t often find the time to play as often anymore. They all try to reassure me that I am still worth their time, but I have been robbed of many experiences by what happened. I wanted to bear Laura children, either through a donation or through the science of creating “sperm” using her DNA but I can’t. The birth would kill me and I can hardly raise them now thanks to this fucking thing, this titanium prison that I use to move, that I am strapped into, that is now as much me as my arm or my slit.

Basically what happened was as follows;  after my breakdown we carried on and moved on with our lives;  working, sharing and loving each other. I had been with Laura three years and we made a decision. We travelled together to the city of fallen Angels, “Sin City” and wedded. Ben was Laura’s best man, her in a flattering morning suit looking fucking stunning and me the blushing bride in white. We stood in a chapel owned by a friend and were married. Strangely for Vegas it wasn’t a tacky kitsch wedding, it was a proper service, I attended by my two bridesmaids, my childhood friends. The littlest girl of the HDI family was my flower girl, the three year old girl manning the foam dart belt fed grown into a talkative six year old dressed in a gown to match mine, her brother bearing the rings for us and Rabbit stood or slumped next to the two of them in a suit to match Laura’s tailored by me.

The whole company was there along with Lucy, Sophie, and Ben’s parents. people I knew well from childhood who stood in for me as my parents when it got too bad at home and the three dads even jokingly played rock paper scissors for the right to walk me down the aisle. We had timed the wedding for the week after the trade show for the firearms industry so that all of us could be there. It was beautiful! A few old hymns were sang and there was just a huge outpouring of love. We signed the certificate that set up our civil partnership and had one hell of a party in a private room at a hotel on the strip including a midnight roller coaster ride in our glad rags. We left the group at the airport as they flew home. Laura and I flew to Italy for a week long honeymoon of. Laughter, sex, museums, galleries, more sex and trips to the Ducati museum and the Beretta factory, we were accompanied by “Rabbit” as he was ordered to keep us safe. I hugged the children, laughing at this and my Bride ruffled their hair and solemnly promised to let him look after us.

We arrived back home re-energised and ready to work again, chasing up the contacts that we had made at SHOT and from the factory trip.  We returned home and spent the first three days at Laura’s place as a couple and debated breaking my lease. I had kind of decided to ask about moving in with my partner and when she asked me too I was elated. While she dealt with the legal stuff like changing my name on the paperwork for my licenses I returned to my place to pack up and move over.

I returned to a scene from hell, the front door was ajar and that was the first sign that I should have paid more attention to. My landlord had popped in to fix the plumbing,  so I assumed that he was there. So I just stepped in. I crossed the threshold and the world went black. I felt a thud across the back of my head and my legs buckled as a bag was thrown over my head. Gasping for air I screamed silently unable to stop myself from crying out, but I couldn’t get enough into my lungs to make the noise to alert anyone as the combination of being gagged and choked relentlessly continued. I blacked out I think and I found myself naked chained to a chair in a basement. I didn’t know where I was. All I had on was my ring and the bracelet I had received as my wedding gift from Laura. The blinking light that shimmered in the half-light comforting because it meant I would be found eventually.

I looked up into a closed fist and felt my nose explode. It was Stephan and my father, the boy beating me and my father watching impassively. I willed myself to stay silent as he watched. “Enough!” he grunted and the man-child I was apparently to be owned by, stopped.

“Siam, you are worthless to me to the Lord now. Useless a fucking dyke. I’m fucking ashamed, my own daughter my flesh and blood a fucking dyke slag bound for hell.”

I sat and ignored the abuse; the light blinking and my only focus being that light. I retreated into my head to escape the abuse. I was punch-drunk and wrecked. All I could see was that steady blink as I lost any idea of time. It must have been a day or two because they changed clothes and shaved. Abused for being a whore and worthless, my father explained slowly what he was going to do. Since I was soiled and no longer of use to him as a bribe he reasoned, he could let the boy have his fun then ruin me.

He had found the details of my wedding because of the fact that the parents of my school friends were there. He was taunting me telling me Laura was next and that I would suffer.  He was angry to the point of insanity and I was raped under his watchful eye, being taught my place and taught what he believed a woman was good for and should rave. It hurt diary it had none of the love or the passion that sex with my lovers had, it was hate, it was pain it was pure unadulterated evil.

 

I found later that the first night my wife assumed that I had fallen asleep at my flat amid boxes and didn’t worry, but when I didn’t appear at work the next morning she began to panic. They went to the flat worried that I had fallen and hurt myself, and went together with a medical bag ready for the worst. They found the flat torn apart, my room trashed and the door ajar, they found blood on the carpet and the words “WHORE, DYKE, HELL BOUND BITCH” burned into the walls. Laura was hyperventilating, now collapsed and attended to by the girls and Ben stood and phoned for help. Squad cars screamed into the lot and a steady stream of police streamed up the stairs into the flat, taking pictures, reviewing the damage The Lieutenant who supported me during the hearing for the restraining order, laying a hand on Laura’s shoulder comforting her as he radioed my description and a description of my father to the surrounding area.

Talking through her tears and shaking shoulders, fighting with her emotions to try and speak, trying to force the words past her lips between the mournful sobbing, Laura managed to get out two words she repeated over and over throughout the first twenty hours of brainstorming where I could have been taken, “jewellery, tag”, most ignored it as it didn’t make sense but then Sophie whistled harshly and said “Of course, how could we miss that!”

The Lieutenant asked confused “Miss what?”

Sophie explained whilst punching data into her tablet with one hand whilst stroking my love’s back with the other, “She wears a bracelet with a transponder chip in it; she is testing the long term effectiveness of the device. It is her login to the company system and also a tracking device when activated.” Handing the officer the tablet she had located me and had both, an address, an approximate location and the floor plan of the building. Looking worried the officer read the vitals report, “Subject is under stress, very tired, pulse fading in and out, likelihood of extreme stress, terror, potentially seriously injured.”

He radioed in for a recovery team and told my friends, my family “It will take 12 hours for us to be able to hit the place.” In response my family reacted angrily and walked away from my desecrated home to the truck they travelled down in, emblazoned with company decals and insignia. Opening the boot, they pulled out the bug out bags that they all carried. Donning heavy body armour, loading a mixture of smgs, automatic rifles and a door breaching shotgun, the three equipment designers appeared to be a well-equipped assault team. They fixed him with a glare and said as a group “Either get kitted up and come with us or stay out of our fucking way.”

He argued and protested that they didn’t have the training or the expertise until Ben said icily “I am the head instructor for HDI. I am also a man who has served in combat as a member of a Marine Recon team. I was injured in combat and left the service as medically unable to serve due to being hit with an IED, whilst the girls went to university working for the company, I am two years older than” he indicated Lucy and Sophie “I know exactly what I am doing, so put up or shut up.” He racked his breaching shotgun and walked to the truck, grinning as he saw the officer grabbing armour and a carbine.

Laura drove, with Sophie navigating; driving like a bat out of hell swearing as she followed the directions she was given. She stopped a block from the target. It was a rundown house surrounded by weeds.  It was in an area of the city full of crack dens and meth ops. With houses available and no questions asked.

 

“Fuck playing nice this is going to end violently.” Laura said as she withdrew four canisters from a locked box in the truck, they were squat black and marked “tear gas for law enforcement use only.” The Lieutenant muttered “I should report that” quailing under the glare of a pissed off bear of a man, he shut up. They stepped out of the truck walking to the house.  Rather than knocking, Laura shot through the downstairs windows and followed up with two of the canisters, reaching into her pouch for a small respirator she put hers on and waited for the rest of the team to act similarly.

Ben breached the door blasting the lock and they pushed in, sweeping the two floors they found nothing but Stephan curled up in a ball vomiting. The officer cuffed him and watched as Laura placed her boot on his throat and placed the gun on his temple, she calmly breathed and was about to fire when the officer realised what was going on. Pushing her away he called for a car to pick up the prisoner. “This has to be done by the book I won’t watch you murder him cuffed in cold blood.”

“The term officer is executed. He kidnapped my wife and probably raped her.  He doesn’t deserve to live. ” She kicked the man who was to be my husband so long ago until he blacked out and then carried on only stopping when she was dragged off by the two officers sent to retrieve him.  Whether they were protecting him or helping restrain him by removing him to the waiting van,  no one was quite sure.

Laura heard a howl of pain and a maniacal laugh from behind the basement door and kicked it open. She found me half dead from pain and blood loss, tied to a table naked, my father grinning as he hammered at my spine driving a series of spikes into me. “See if your slut wants you now. Bitch, you won’t ever walk again.  If I put this last one in, you won’t be able to wipe your arse alone you Jezebel bitch.” He laughed as he held it about to strike one last time and Laura dove through the entrance way.

I moaned burbling through blood in my mouth “Thank god, I knew you’d come but I was losing hope. He told me you knew I was here and didn’t care, I’m sorry.” I vomited blood onto the floor and moaned “He told me I deserve this, my father knows what’s best, he must be right.”

Laura grunted in rage dropping the guns.  This was violence on the same brutal animal level I had fought Ben with.  She hit my father like a freight train, punching him, ignoring the blow from the lump hammer as if it was a pillow hit from one of the fights we had with our nieces and nephews. She smashed him into the wall and I watched as she choked him. I was still mumbling that I deserve this that I was damaged, spoiled goods. The officers who followed my wife down the stairs, vomiting from the stench of blood, sweat and pain. Lucy screamed for an ambulance and the thwack of my fathers head hitting the wall, Ben and Sophie watched, feral grins on their faces, anger in their stance, at the man who dared hurt me, watching my lover beat him, intent on letting her kill him.

I whimpered as the spasms from my breathing shook my body. “Please stop her, she can’t kill for me. I’m not worth it.” They watched, waiting for the paramedics and turned.  “She will hate me if she kills for me.  Please, please, stop the pain, I need my Laura I can’t see her go to prison.” Laura blinked, staring at the unconscious torturer and shook. She sobbed as she saw what had been done to me. Semen, sweat tears and blood soaking my body as the paramedics worked to move me gently.

 I blacked out there with Laura stroking my hair telling me everything was going to be OK.

 

I woke up about two days later. Well, at least I think it was two days.  I can’t be sure.  I woke to what felt like fire coursing through my veins and I screamed, but couldn’t be heard. I fought, I flailed the mask constricting my breathing. I was panicking as I woke Diary, that’s what I remember burned into my brain, sheer animal terror, unable to move from the blankets pinning me down. My angel was there then. I felt water cooling my burning throat and she pressed the button that I couldn’t reach, and I felt that blissful moment, the push of the cold ice trickle of morphine through me extinguishing the fire.

I cried and cried, “I can’t feel my legs. Laura what’s happened? I can’t move my legs.” I shivered, sobbing and she held me close to her breast “I know kitten, I know, gods I’m sorry.”

She just held me right from that moment to the point where I was released.  Throughout the physio, the measuring for my wheelchair, she was there through it all. She took me home and still loved me.

I was weak and dependant on her; she took me home and changed my bandages.  When I was ready I came home. I was weak, she changed my bandages, bathed me, cared for me. I worked from home sketching from the sofa or the bed. I spent my days sobbing in pain. I spent six months and she loved me, kissed me goodnight, but I was terrified because she didn’t come to me as a lover. For someone like me that was a warning of a fate worse than death.

Mustering up my courage one evening, I was scared, frustrated and lost, I saw only one option, I needed this needed to feel something more than my own five minute fumble of frustration, I found my target and knew what I had to do,  I crawled across the two foot between us in the bed of a night, the two foot that felt like an impassable chasm, I had achieved closure of a sort, this is what I did to move on, the night of my rebirth I suppose Diary.  

I had faced my father and his co-conspirators as I watched them be attacked by a judge who condemned the fact that he could not call for the death penalty for the sins committed against me, all the while my father claiming his religion allowed this, that I was chattel, property to be traded or gifted at his whim. I watched; mute as he was given life without exception. My mother condemned to a psychiatric ward for her crimes against me, Stephan also was sentenced to life. He like my father convinced that he was morally justified in his actions.

The night after I watched this ending, this promise of protection, whilst Laura slept, I steadied my nerves with a drink from the bottle by the bed and I dressed slowly in the outfit I wore the first time she made love to me and I crossed that chasm, it took me about an hour to do this. Each inch paid for in sweat and silent tears, but I was by her side. I woke her gently with a kiss and I waited for her to look into my eyes “My Laura, my love, can you please? Can we? I mean, I want, I need” I mumbled and she waited, for me to finish.

“What is it my darling, you need the loo? Or meds?” My lover turned nurse asked me, concerned.

I died a little inside that that was her first thought, but then remembered what she taught me. I am the mistress of my own sexuality and I can ask. It isn’t wrong to vocalize desires. “I want to be your lover. I want to feel you, know your body again. I want you to take me.” I moaned with frustration, my legs spread as I straddled her leg, draped over her moving my legs apart with my arm. She could feel my wet centre through my knickers “Please my Laura, make me yours again, gods please, just fuck me. Make me feel.”

She looked at me in shock and bit her lip as I slid myself down her leg a little using the movement to put pressure on my sex because I needed the contact. “Gods baby” I whimpered with need and bit her earlobe gently.”

She moaned into the contact and kissed me hard, deep and fast “I was sure you wouldn’t want to be touched again.” she sighed into my embrace and kissed my neck, her hands sliding up my top caressing my bare breasts.

“And I was sure you wouldn’t want me.” I replied, sighing happily into the contact, her fingertips toying with my nipples as I shuddered happily.” She pushed me to the bed and took control. In seconds I was nude and she was inside me, two fingers deep, fast, rough, scratching, biting. She was throwing me around the bed easily now, I was smaller, lighter than before. She had to move me at times, my legs not responding, but my core was as I leaked onto the sheets. She sucked each nipple as she threw me around, it was sloppy uncontrolled, not coordinated, but it was sex. I felt desired as she ate me, consuming me I was hers again. Her forcing my head down into her crotch and I sucked her dry. I sucked and licked her, her arousal like nectar to me. I needed it, needed this, biting down on her clit as she bit mine, my tongue probing her arse as she fucked me with a toy.  I couldn’t move to fuck her, to thrust into her but we managed, She rode me, the dildo in me and her sliding up and down on it, we managed. We shook the cobwebs out and no mistake. My orgasm hitting me as hers hit and I lost all control.

I shook and shook, moaning, losing myself in this ball of fire, this desire exploding, going from my centre across my chest down each arm escaping in this undulating wail of happiness. This ball of lust escaping as I yowled, cried, begged and shook. Hers subsided before mine even reached its peak. She grinned laughing, knowing that unlike her, I hadn’t really been able to touch my core myself since before the rebirth. I was losing myself in it, soaking the sheets as I leaked come and came and came and came. Losing my mind it was so good. I lay my head nestled between her breasts as I tried to feed eagerly at her nipple, her hands bringing me higher and higher and higher, pushing through each orgasm with a gasp, she didn’t give me time to catch a breath. The orgasms blurred into one long orgasm as she drove me further and deeper. I lost myself in the pleasure, in the fire pulsing through my body. She was happily holing me without demanding anything, four fingers buried in my eager sopping cunt as I came and came. She felt her nipple slip from my eager mouth and my breath hitch and my moans stop, my last coherent memory Diary was losing all control and laying on my lover’s cunt, One final orgasm pushed me over the edge, I did something I never ever thought I would do, her mouth on my neck as she stroked me, I was her doll at this point could barely even moan I was so deeply lost in my orgasms, I cried out “Laura” with a throat hoarse from screaming and I lost all control,  emptied my bladder, the warm liquid almost indistinguishable from the come leaking from me. Laura giggled musically and the last I remember from that night was a murmured, “Hmmm water sports, maybe we should explore that later.” I was unconscious sleeping in her arms, this contented cat, a cat that had her own dairy of cream.

I woke being held by her and was kissed awake.  A kiss that seemed to shake my world, curling my toes,. Well it would have if I could move them. As I was carried to the shower and pinned in place I had my box ravished by her tongue. I was hers again and at that point I think my healing truly happened. I was a sexual being again. My Laura helped me dress sexily again, helped me love her, helped me take her, make love to her, helped Ben ravish me and fill me.

I was hers again. “I mumbled loving nothings each evening, still borrowed her during meetings to ravish and devourer her. When we walked into work that morning, the morning after I exploded into nothingness in her armed, everyone knew I was back, I was me again. The sex was more than an earth shattering orgasm, it was a symbol. It was the fact I wasn’t a burden, was wanted, and was loved.

Diary, I was allowed to be happy, to be loved and wanted, even though I was crippled and half wasted, I was wanted. I didn’t define myself by what I couldn’t do, I defined myself by my lovers view of me. Regardless of the scars, I was sexy to her, I was wanted by her. I embraced the chair, embraced my form, and built myself a new life, doing everything I enjoyed. Sure, we had to modify things but I was shown by my Laura that I could still be me. I designed clothes, holsters and equipment for the able bodied and disabled audience and concealed weapons in the chair that left the rest of the team green with envy. I was accepted and wanted.

I am still angry Diary, that he took my chance to bear a child away but I spoil my nieces, nephews and the children of the HDI family. I became a big sister, an aunt, a cousin, playing with them, giving rides in the chair and showing them that your identity does not have to be limited by what your physical nature is but you are only limited by your desire to try.

Diary, I am loved, wanted, supported, desired and happy!

 XSiamX

Wife, Lover, Friend, Aunt, Cousin, Sister, Woman. I am all this and more, not a cripple first and this is me. I am happy, and I am new and reborn and loved.

Read part 7 here: Childish Fears
Read part 6 here: Rage Against the Dark
Read part 5 here: Trouble In Paradise
Read part 4 here: Acceptance
Reflections of My Writing
Read part 3 here: Freedom In Hiding
Read part 2 here: Tears Before Bedtime
Read part 1 here: Teaching and Learning