1. Other Colors -- Ch. 18


    Date: 9/12/2015, Categories: BDSM, Author: mascodagama, Rating: 4, Source: LushStories

    wasn't healthy. He took everything too seriously.” Hazily, I recalled our dinner together, where he’d told me he had no politics, no philosophy, and no god. With a shiver, I wondered what could have happened to make him change his mind. “There are twenty mysteries to the catholic rosary,” he said idly, as if daydreaming aloud, “There was a time when your young Dmitri prayed ten every morning, and ten every night.” I shook my head, “come on. Not even the pope prays that much.” “Perhaps not,” he breathed, “but I did.” I squinted at him, half-baffled, “why?” “Because,” he hissed between his teeth, “your young Dmitri believed he was possessed by a demon.” A slow, serrated chill made its way down my spine. He's joking. He has to be. “Dmitri,” I murmured, “what in God’s name could make you think such a thing?” “Dreams I had,” he answered coolly, “Obsessions. Urges. Things I was compelled to do with women.” He paused, “it never made sense to me growing up. That I could fall for a girl; that I could think she was the loveliest creature I’d ever laid eyes upon—and still, want nothing more in the world than to possess, degrade, and ruin her.” His words turned to steam in my ear, “Those thoughts—lurid, alluring. I couldn't accept that they were really mine.” He trailed off, forcing an arid chuckle from his chest, “Honestly. I thought I had the devil in me.” “The devil,” I repeated, not at all convinced he wasn’t taking the Mickey out of me. “Samael, to be precise,” he said grimly, ...
    “Venom of God. Seducer of Eve. But that's beside the point.” His tone tightened, “the point, Penny, is that I repressed myself halfway to a psychotic break." The crease in my brow cut deeper. I suppose he'd alluded to his neuroses when he invited me to live at Lacoste, but I never would have guessed he was so at war with himself. I chewed the inside of my cheek until it felt raw. “I’m not sure what to say, Mr. Caine.” “I don’t need you to say anything. I just need you to hear it,” his voice stayed steady. “This isn’t a confession, and the last thing I'd ever want from you is your pity. But I’ve been thinking since I left you last night,” he took a breath, “I might have deceived you when we entered into this. My issues are uglier than I let on.” Aren’t they always? Anxiously , I traced the narrow scar on my shoulder, and pressed the phone into my ear. “How ugly?” I swallowed, “I mean, you didn't—you didn't hurt anyone. Right?” “Not in the way that you're thinking. But I've inflicted a great deal of pain, Penny. I've enjoyed it.” He let his words settle over me, like a layer of silver dust. “Listen. When I turned sixteen, I took novitiate vows at a Benedictine monastery—just to keep myself away from lovely, clever girls like you.” My lips split open. It wasn't funny, I guess, but I really had to reign in the urge to laugh. The image of him in a habit and tonsure was just a little too much. “You’re not serious.” “Abbaye du Mont-Saint-Michel. In Normandy. I stayed nearly a year," his ...