Read Elizabeth's Bondage Boxed Set Page 23


  This last parting comment set Mark off, and André stood and took it, evading or minimizing any powerful strike as much as possible and landing a number of blows himself. "I swear I'll kill you!" Mark yelled and came at André with a charge of fury.

  "Coward!" André shouted. "You do not deserve her! Elizabeth is too good for such as you."

  Nimbly jumping over the couch, and leaping on top of the big man from behind, André landed a few punches before Mark spun in a circle and slammed André down onto the ground. This is like World Federation Wrestling, André thought in idle bemusement, lying in an agonized heap on his stomach on the floor.

  Mark jumped on top of him, and wrapped an arm around his neck. André tried to butt him by throwing his head back, but he was caught. There was no escape. André gasped, his lungs heavily dragging air in despite the heavy weight pressing upon him. André could almost feel the big man's wrath lessening with the satisfaction at having beaten his adversary, and yet it was still at a dangerous level. André had received a rather savage beating, this was true. But it had been worth it. For even as he had endured the big man's onslaught, André could sense the cleansing effect of this violent battle.

  Security burst through the door then, three huge burly men, with tasers drawn.

  "Non!" screamed André.

  Both Mark and André were panting, Mark laying on top of André, chest to back, with a strangle hold to his neck. Yet each had stopped fighting upon the entry of the security guards. André's nose was still dripping blood, but the flow had slowed.

  André gave a rapid burst of French, and then in English he said, "We are having a personal dispute, my friends. This man will not seriously harm me, nor kill me."

  "I won't?" Mark panted.

  "No, Monsieur," André assured him. "For the most perfect Elizabeth would be made unhappy, and you would go to jail. Tell these men that you are in your right mind, mon ami, if you please. That you do not intend to maim or kill. Then they will go and then we will finish this, and resolve our differences."

  Mark, whose eyes had been bright and wild, now seemed to have a more moderate tone about them. Relieved, André sighed, for the worst was finally over.

  "Fine," Mark said. "I won't kill or maim him. I swear it."

  The three guards didn't look happy, but they complied with their employer's demand to leave. Mark continued to lay on André, crushing him to the floor. L'homme was heavy, and massive, a powerful bear of a man. André thought of the small, slim body of Elizabeth then, and knew firsthand the constraint the woman experienced with Mark as a lover.

  "Mon ami, I bow to your domination over me, j'assure," André said. "You win, I concede." He intentionally raised his eyebrows in query and said, "Do you plan to fuck me, Monsieur?"

  Mark jumped off him, and began to laugh as André rose from the floor, and sat with his back resting against a wall.

  "You are one sick fuck, you know that?" Mark said.

  "Perhaps," André acknowledged. He held his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of submission. "You are a ferocious adversary, Monsieur. I retire, and as they say, the ball is now in your court."

  André hoped that his plan would work. He had been comprehensive in his instructions with his security detail about when to come in. André's dissatisfied customer had given him a thorough beating. They had both released their passions and bonded in the most primitive of male traditions. After using their fists against each others' flesh, perhaps now the big man, Mark, could be made to see reason.

  Then he could honorably conclude this case difficile. André sighed. Regrettably, after that he would have to say good bye to Elizabeth forever.

  5. Mark's Dark Secret

  What a mess, Mark thought. I honestly don't know where to go from here.

  "May I get a beer, Monsieur? And perhaps for you, water? André asked. "Or shall I send for coffee as you have destroyed my expresso?"

  Mark sighed and then shrugged. "Go ahead," he said with a gesture toward the fridge. "I'll have water." Mark sat leaning against a wall, and watched as André walked across the room, skirting broken debris. The small refrigerator was built into the room, or else he would have thrown that, too.

  André returned with a bottle of water for Mark and a beer for himself, and slid down the wall, sitting beside Mark, carefully avoiding shards of glass. André pressed an ice pack against his bloody nose, and Mark's lips curled with satisfaction.

  "Oui," André said ruefully, eyeing Mark's happy smirk. "Even drunk you are very dangerous mon ami. I am surprised that no bones are broken."

  Mark gave an empty laugh. "I tried, but you're pretty quick. That finger twist thing of yours was a low blow. Pretty sneaky." He rubbed his forehead where it made contact with the wall. "Even drunk, I should have annihilated you. I've got a lot more height and weight. You did okay."

  André, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, gave him a half bow. "Merci."

  They compared battle wounds for a bit, remarking upon each other's better moves, and analyzing the best parts of the fight. After that, Mark went quiet. With nothing to say, a black depression fell in on him and all he could think of was the many ways he had failed himself and failed his wife.

  "Monsieur," André said. "Do not despair, for all is well, truly."

  "Is that right?" Mark said with a sardonic snort.

  "Vraiment," André said. "You have marched yourself into this forest of tribulation, yes, but now take heart. Let me guide you out of these woods. If you are willing to face the hard truths, you can walk yourself out again."

  Mark took a long swig of water, and wondered if he could discuss "hard truths" with anyone, much less the man who had fucked his wife. But who better to talk to than the man who had sex with his wife? They had that in common after all, didn't they? Mark also wondered if he could avoid breaking the law by telling his story. Perhaps, without giving details, he could.

  He recalled André's question to Elizabeth, that he had heard on audio, "And if Mark wanted to dress himself in feminine erotic apparel during sex, would this disturb you?" and her answer, "It wouldn't bother me, because I love him, and if that is what got him hard that is probably what would get me hot, too."

  Mark remained silent, brooding. She's too good for me, he thought.

  "Elizabeth," André added, "is very much in love with you, Mark. If some things are perhaps difficult to face, it may be easier to confront them by thinking of her. Elizabeth would want you to face your fears." André stood up then and began to pace. "Does one get into trouble for keeping quiet? No! Only by communicating does one meet such trials. The passions do not come with silence," André said. "And without sincere communication there is death to love."

  André began to gesticulate wildly with his hands while he paced and explained. Mark felt an internal laugh at the stereotype. André's energetic movements while talking was something he supposed that the excitable French were apt to do. "Mon Dieu, a lack of honesty is death to anything that lives. Oh, I do enjoy the passions, Monsieur! But I am French! And you are very lucky, for the beautiful Elizabeth is yours, Monsieur, only yours."

  Mark stared at the bottle of water in his hands, not really seeing it, and said quietly. "I killed a man once. I beat him to death with a baseball bat. I was nine years old at the time."

  In his peripheral vision Mark saw Andre become still.

  Mark shook his head at the recollection. Who would have expected something like that in America? A Russian mob hit? Of course Mark's real father, from what he remembered of him, was the kind of guy that 'always did what was right.' His Dad had apparently gone to the police with sensitive, secret information. Mark had never been told what his father had known or how it had gotten him killed. But the idealistic idiot hadn't considered what the result of his actions would be to his family, had he?

  Mark watched as André sat down at a comfortable distance from him and remained utterly quiet. Not too close, but close enough to hear. "I was big as a child," Mark continued to mu
se out-loud. "More like a twelve year old at nine, naturally taking control of my school mates, my friends and even much older boys." Mark frowned. "I don’t think it was my size exactly, and I wasn't an asshole. Somehow things were always just done my way, is all."

  Mark's mind went back and a shiver of memory went through him. He and his little brother Michael had hidden in the closet after witnessing the intruders shoot his mother, father and older sister in the head. Outside their hiding place, the two assassins had discussed who would finish Mark and his brother off. Then one man left and the other man stayed.

  In the total darkness of the closet, Mark's fingers had felt the hard familiar touch of a baseball bat. As he had gripped it something animal inside had come out. It was black, tight and airless in the closet where they had hidden. Mark's little brother Michael was whimpering and had wet himself. The pungent smell of fear and urine filled the confining space, but it didn't matter to Mark. Nothing mattered, for Mark was no longer afraid. He didn't care if he died. It was as if some switch had been flipped and some dark personality, the animal hidden within him had taken over. All of Mark's will was focused, bent on beating his enemy to death.

  "And so, after killing a man," André asked, "this instinctive reaction of yours felt like a sin?"

  "I hammered him to a pulp," Mark said. "I must have spent thirty minutes just pounding his head into mush. Crying and screaming - all I felt was rage. I'd forgotten my little brother, Michael, I'd forgotten everything." He sighed and looked up, meeting André's gaze. What he saw surprised him. André's demeanor was composed, his eyes politely interested. Marked laughed and said, "You're taking this pretty well."

  André said, "Mon ami, I have found that it is not what is, that is the difficulty. It is how the individual interprets what is. As a child you lost control. Bon. What did this mean to you? Particularly as it relates to your natural tendency toward sexual dominance?"

  Mark frowned and spent a few moments seeking the answer. "I had plenty of psychological interviews and counseling. Our new parents in witness protection were very Catholic, more than we had ever been, and I confessed my sins many times. All I could get a handle on was the fact that there is something bad inside me, something I had to keep repressed. What would happen if I lost control and let that dark energy out? But I saw what you did with Elizabeth, how you dominated her. Fuck me, I've wanted to do similar things all my life."

  "You listened to the audio," André asked, "when Elizabeth told of the fantasy she masturbates to, of you taking her hard and fast against her will? The time you were at the wedding?"

  Mark snorted. "Oh yeah. I listened to the audio twice, and I saw the video twice." He sighed, "And I experienced the real thing in the first place. It was life changing wow holy shit sex alright."

  André grinned, clearly amused. "It is her fantasy, mon ami, and very nice I think." His brows drew down. "What I wish to know is this, I believe that the wedding sex was a time you let the animal inside, out. Can you say why or how this occurred? When you have spent your life being careful?"

  "Oh honestly, it was impossible to resist," he said with a chuckle. "I met Elizabeth the first week at my new school, not long after we started with witness protection. My brother, Michael has always been a bit thin-skinned, even before the er… "incident." Vulnerable, sensitive, he was an easy victim and a perfect target for bullies. I don’t know what that is about, but it just seems to me that assholes always know who to attack. Anyway, I had to stay back, to talk to my teacher, and I didn’t get out to him immediately after school ended for the day. Two bigger boys had him cornered and were frightening him, I could see that from far away. I started running but along came Elizabeth. I watched that little girl just jump right in, pushing those bigger boys around. Her indignant tongue lashing could be heard from afar. Man she gave those two what for."

  Mark smiled remembering exactly what Elizabeth had been like, small and thin and fierce. "You know I think I fell in love with her right then. We three had so much fun together, and it went on for years."

  "And at the wedding?" André asked.

  "Oh, well. I hadn't seen her in such a long time. Elizabeth was so beautiful and I don’t know. We lost our virginity to each other, did you know that? Anyway, seeing her again…well, I just had to have her right now, you know? I guess I was just in total agreement with the animal inside and let him off his chain. It was intense, unavoidable, and by God it was great sex."

  André laughed. "I think I begin to understand. The brutish instinct that helped you kill a grown man when you were a child, this dark, powerful nature frightened you, yes?"

  "You got that right," Mark said. "To pound a man to mush with a baseball bat? It was pretty overwhelming. I was amazed to have reacted that way."

  "Bon," André said. "And then you aligned this threatening passion with your desire to dominate a woman in bed, yes?"

  "Yes," Mark said. "Both are instinctive, both seemed dark and wrong. More like a vicious animal rather than a thinking, logical human being."

  André gave him a small, knowing smile. "And now mon ami?" he asked. "What do you think now?"

  Mark smiled back at him. "Elizabeth likes the beast, and I think it's time to let him out. I have a lot of catching up to do."

  6. Elizabeth

  Elizabeth watched as the cappuccino maker spat its hot milky foam into her cup. Yum. Like everything André had, it was of the best quality and made a truly fine coffee. She looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was a golden sculpture of a graceful woman, dressed circa eighteen hundreds. Maybe the clock was an antique, it certainly could be, probably an expensive one, over a hundred years old.

  It was after eight pm. Where was everyone?

  "André Chevalier," she said out loud. Sir's name was André Chevalier. Sir had left her uncuffed, with a good bye kiss and instructions to do as she liked until Mark came to her, sometime after dinner. So she had had a luxurious bath, and had liberally rubbed in moisturizer. Sir had left clothes for her too, normal clothes, a simple yet elegant green silk embroidered skirt, classy underwear and a shear, almost see-through white blouse. She was so relieved to be dressed for her visit with Mark.

  The last session with André confused and disturbed her. Why had her kidnapper left her uncuffed? And why had he told her his full name? Well, she knew the answer to that question. There was a bond there between them now, a tug of companionable affection that was so real it could even be called love. While André had turned her life upside-down it appeared that she had disturbed him just as much.

  But what was she going to say to Mark? And would André set them both free now? Something important had changed, that was all she knew for certain.

  After dressing and eating, Elizabeth had lounged around rereading the BDSM booklet. There didn't appear to be any set right or wrong way to do it, it was up to the couple involved. She learned about safe words, and various objects, and 24/7 slaves – something that would most definitely not appeal to her. But would Mark want to do any of this? Would he be appalled at the thought? Could she explain her desire for restraint? She shook her head. It was going to be hard to tell him that she had been faking orgasm, much less anything else.

  Elizabeth took a generous sip of coffee, and sat down on the kitchen chair. The longer she waited the more nervous she became. André had told her that he would inform Mark that he had had sex with her. God she sure didn’t want to be there for that, because he would be soooo angry. Would André be able to explain? Elizabeth snorted. Good Lord she couldn't explain it herself! Mark would probably hate her and think she was a slut. And truthfully she was a slut, so where would they go from there? Divorce?

  But she wasn't really a slut, was she? Not with the negative implication society offered. The affirming words that Sir had said to her still rang in her ears: "Mon cher, you are so open, oui! Such a treasure. I love women. At their best they make the most generous, unselfish and giving lovers of all. You are such a woman, Elizabeth, I think. Your husba
nd, as I have said before, is a very lucky man."

  Oh God, she thought, please let Mark think he's lucky. I don’t know what I'll do if he wants to leave me.

  The door opened and Mark came inside, shutting the door behind him.

  7. Elizabeth's Confession

  Mark's gaze met hers and his warm, devastating smile, as it often did, simply made her melt. Elizabeth knew instantly that there were no barriers. Mark's eyes shone with love, heartfelt relief, and joy.

  Elizabeth gave a little unintentional squeal and found herself on her feet and in his arms before she was aware that she was moving.

  "Lizzy," Mark said, a low voice against her ear, holding her tight against him. "God sweetheart, I've missed you so much."

  "Jesus Mark," she said. "Are you okay?"

  He took a deep breath, his big chest filling and his arms crushing her to him. "I am now." Stroking her hair, her neck, and back, he said, "How about you?"

  "I'm fine. Really. But I've been so worried about you."

  Mark reached down and swept her off her feet, picking her up and carrying her in his arms. Elizabeth laughed and wrapped her own arms around him as he walked over to the large lounge chair near the bed and sat down in it, with her on top of him. "You are not going anywhere, my love," Mark said. "Just stay right here on my lap. I need to look at you."

  Elizabeth's heart swelled from the expression on Mark's face, the way he drank her in. His forehead rested upon hers, and he rubbed her nose with his own, then he kissed her a slow, generous kiss, a kiss of love rather than passion. Elizabeth felt so happy to be in his arms, but she was still nervous.

  "Mark," she said. "Are we allowed to go? Or are we still prisoners? Has André finished with us?"

  "Not yet," he said. "I'm not worried about that. André, that rat bastard, has done our relationship some good. We haven't been all together honest with each other have we? Right now I want to discuss us."