1. Other Colors -- Ch.16


    Date: 12/23/2014, Categories: BDSM, Author: mascodagama, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    shadows. “Est-ce vous?” No answer. I took a step back, and my knees began to quiver. “…Dmitri?” I’m not sure what I was hoping for, having just left him upstairs in his study. I heard it again, and my hair stood on end. Fighting every sympathetic nerve in my body that was screaming at me to flee, I set down the canvas, and moved very slowly in the direction of the noise. It’s worth mentioning that I held no delusions of behaving bravely. On the contrary, I was such a superlative wimp that I knew that I’d never get another night’s sleep in that house again if I didn’t track down the source of the sound—which, obviously, could be nothing other than nothing—and put all my wild and phantasmagoric fears to bed. But I almost cried aloud as I rounded the next corner. No… No. Come on, not this way… I pleaded with whatever unseen poltergeist I was pursuing. I recognized this corridor—at its far end stood the only locked door at Lacoste. I felt a black, gelatinous lump of dread condense in my stomach, and begin to curdle. I thought of Jules’ stories—his ridiculous histoire de fantôme, and his far less ridiculous reminiscence of Emily’s unfortunate ‘episodes’. I backed away, moving into the moonlight of a diamond-paned window. I’d only just resolved to chicken out, and retreat upstairs to the relative refuge of my room, when I heard it again. And I turned just in time to see a huge, black shadow hurdling toward me out of the darkness. It’s something of a miracle that I didn’t scream. I ...
    think fear must have immobilized my vocal cords. When the shadow reached me, it knocked to floor, flat on my back. Right away, I recognized Rupestrian’s paws on my shoulders, and his enormous, wet tongue in my face. I batted him away, snickering at my idiocy, and sat up to scratch his ears. I’d never been so glad to be mauled by a dog before. “Chien ridicule! Tu m'as fait une de ces peurs,” I struggled to my feet, and scolded him sweetly. “You got me all worked up over nothing.” He sat down, his massive, furry tail stirring up dust as it swept to-and-fro across the floor. I shook my head and sighed. “Well… the least you can do is walk me back,” I scratched beneath his chin, “You have to make sure the monsters don’t get me. Deal?” He growled playfully, and followed me back to the place where I’d stashed the painting. We rode the old, gated elevator together to the third floor, and he never left my side until we reached my bedroom door. It was silly, I know, but it really did make me feel safer. Whenever I got jittery, my imagination had a nasty habit of populating dark corners with the paintings of Antoine Wiertz. I closed the door tight behind me, and slipped Danaë safely beneath my little four-poster before washing up. It was a dark and unpleasant thought that crossed my mind as I slid myself, at last, beneath the sheets, but I felt I could begin to understand it. Even if my images of it were only in grayscale, crosshatches and stippling, I felt I could begin to understand ...
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