The Crimson Queen, Part 4

After that, Terri decided to stop going to church. She was many things now, but she didn’t want a hypocrite to be one of them.
At the same time, she was terrified by the things she’d discovered about herself. Everything had happened at such a mind-bending speed, she hadn’t been able to fully absorb and make sense of it. Growing weary of the constant conflict raging between her body and soul, she knew she needed to choose which path she wanted to follow once and for all. And in order to do that…
She was getting ready to go shopping that following Saturday when Molly called her, and no sooner had Terri said, “Hello?” than Molly immediately began:
“Take off your shirt and your bra, and put your jacket on. Zip it up and go out this afternoon, just like that, topless underneath your jacket while you’re walking around out in public, among complete strangers who don’t have a clue. Then send me an e-mail tonight describing your experience, and how it felt, and be explicit—”
“No,” Terri cut in.
“You don’t tell me no, slut. This is the third time now I’ve had to say that to you. Next time I see you, it’s going to be over my knee, with—”
“No, it isn’t. Because I mean it this time, Molly. This whole thing has gone too far, way too fast. It has to end. It’s… wrong.”
Molly apparently understood that she did mean business, because several silent moments passed. Just when Terri started to wonder if she’d simply hung up, Molly asked, “Do you think it’s wrong because I’m a woman, or because I dominate you? Or both?”
“In all honesty… I don’t know.”
“Okay, I can take a hint,” Molly sighed resignedly. “I know you’re new at this and still figuring out exactly what you’re into, and that’s not your fault. I guess my mistake was in trying too hard to hurry the process along. It’s just that I really like you, Terri. A lot. And when you figure out whatever it is you need to figure out… well, you know my number. I’ll see you around.”
Terri hadn’t thought she would cry, but when the click sounded in her ear with such a bizarrely soft finality, she did.

She did another photo session with Seth, on her own, modeling latex swimsuits beside a hotel pool, before landing her next “normal” job, waiting tables. Soon after, Seth happened to show up at the cafe one afternoon, and they chatted a little bit before he handed her a business card for a new art gallery that was going to be opening the following week. He told her there was going to be an exhibit featuring the work of local photographers, mostly of landscapes and that kind of thing, and he thought she might be interested, being an Art major.

At the gallery’s grand opening, she saw that some of Seth’s mainstream work was on display, but she didn’t see Seth anywhere. One person she did recognize, however, was Star E. Nite. She was talking with a formally-dressed man when she spotted Terri and waved her over. She seemed glad to see Terri—if she had any clue as to what had happened between her and Molly (from whom she hadn’t heard since), then she gave no indication, cheerfully introducing the man as Paris, the owner of the gallery, and drawing her into the discussion they’d been having about Van Gogh.
Even after Star drifted away to another corner of the room, Paris continued talking with Terri. Before she knew it, hours had passed, and he asked her out.

Terri tried not to think too much about the Crimson Queen. She tried her best not to touch herself. Her brief-but-intense time with Molly had scared her. She wasn’t sure anymore as to whether she was straight or bisexual, so she was only too glad to move forward in life with Paris, seeing how stable and normal he was. He wasn’t a religious man—inwardly, she wished that he was, but accepted his not being so. However, he was quite the gentleman, at least by the standards of the modern world—several dates and almost three months went by before he mentioned sex. Ideally, she would have liked to have married him first, but maybe it really was too much to ask a man to wait that long. She wasn’t a virgin, anyway—far from it—so did it really make that much of a difference whether they were married or not, since they were at least in a loving, committed relationship? She cared for him deeply and wanted to please him– if he wanted her, she wouldn’t resist him.
It was happening again—she was rationalizing her own desires, and she knew it. The truth was, she wanted him, he excited her, and she had just been waiting for him to make the first move. Molly had been right about her. She wanted to do things—lewd, dirty acts—but she was too scared to initiate them. She had to be guided and seduced into fulfilling her own lusts.

The first time she and Paris made love, they were in his bed. Rain was splashing against the window, and she heard the rustle of trees and clang of wind chimes. It was the perfect night for staying in and getting cozy, she reflected as they, both already naked, made out and cuddled under the covers together.
His penis was so… No, she reminded herself—Paris didn’t like that word. She had to think of it as a “cock.” She’d been startled at first by his fondness for such coarse terms, but whatever it took to excite him, she wanted to do. If she could get herself to think the word, it would become easier to say. His cock was so thick around, and she loved how it was pressing against her thigh. The slit at the very tip was leaking, sticky, and she wondered what it would be like to lick the head of his cock clean. Back when she had been with Johnny, she’d fantasized about how sucking on him might feel, but she’d been too shy to mention it, and he’d never asked her to. Would Paris ask her to suck him? What would it taste like when he came?
He had her squeeze his shaft very gently in between her thighs, and wriggle her hips, rubbing her legs together. He started to thrust, just a little bit, groaning and nipping at her neck. He was so close, and yet nowhere near enough, to the opening of her hot sex. *Pussy,* she remembered then. *He likes it when I say “pussy.”* Just thinking the words brought on a sweet gush of fluid from her anticipatorily-tightened pussy. She was glad she’d gone on the Pill after all. It seemed only natural, even right, that his cock should be naked inside her, especially the first time their bodies joined. Her awareness of the outside world, and even the other rooms of the house, receded from her mind off into a background blackness that became hazier to her the closer she and Paris drew to that inevitable moment.
Her thoughts were floating into an in-between zone, and she felt suspended between reality and a different world when he guided her body into the position he wanted– she had been lying on her side facing Paris, and now she was made to roll so that her back was turned to him.
Instinctively knowing what he desired, she parted her thighs just enough so he could slip the bulging head of his cock between them, and then she pushed her hips back and downward to receive him. His thick cock seemed to nuzzle and nestle its way up into her. Slippery with arousal, her pussy was comfortably stretched, and she delighted in the sensation and that of his warmly cupping hand on her breast.
She sighed and melted into the sexual embrace. Her surroundings dissolved with her exhalation, and with her next breath, she was drawn into a vision of the Crimson Queen’s world.
She was somewhere in the palace, she knew, though the room she found herself in wasn’t one she’d seen before. It was octagonal, with a marble floor, and all the walls and even the ceiling were mirrors. The only piece of furniture was a table with a vase full of purple carnations and a bowl on it.
Save for a collar and a silver beaded anklet, Terri was naked, and on her hands and knees in the center of the room on a small square rug. The Crimson Queen was standing behind her, holding a phallus that looked as if it could have been removed from a bronze statue in one of the gardens. She didn’t even have to turn her head to know this. She had only to look in the mirror directly in front of her.
The Queen leaned forward and reached between Terri’s thighs, and took hold of her. Squeezing the lips together until they swelled, massaging her softly-furred mound, she told Terri to lift her hips as high as she could. The Queen commanded her not to shut her eyes, and continued to tantalize her with her hand, palming and pumping her crotch, until Terri sagged forward so that her breasts and one side of her head were pressed to the rug in slavish, sluttish submission.
The Queen spread her, and it didn’t matter where Terri turned her gaze, she was forced to watch her own pussy take the length of the phallus. She moved her head just enough to be able to see one of the mirrors behind her, and gasped at how her orifice gaped when the sleekly gleaming, metallic cock was withdrawn. The Queen plunged it into her again, and the moan Terri heard then—her own moan—was that of a whore.
She was so slackened and soaked, so lengthened and deepened within, that she felt only the gentlest nudge of pressure when the head of the phallus touched bottom. Her sex was stroked from the inside, out, and inside again. Her dark, petite lower lips bulged out from between her outer labial folds, fluttering along the shaft.
Moving so that she stood just off to one side of her, without blocking Terri’s view in the mirror, she stilled Terri’s writhing hips and, holding the phallus in place deep in her sex, began to spank her in a methodically slow rhythm.
The strikes were so hard they rocked and jarred her entire body. Terri welcomed the stinging smacks, longing to be punished without even having a clear notion of what she wanted to be punished for. Maybe just for letting all kinds of things happen, and be done, to her, and reveling so wickedly in them. But was she really that sorry anymore for letting herself get pulled into the situations she did? Maybe that was why she needed to be punished—for her lack of contrition.
Whatever the purpose of the pain the Queen inflicted, no sooner had Terri been chastised than her soul was debased, again, further: the Queen recommenced her stroking with the phallus, only with a force this time that hinted at aggression, while still falling short of causing discomfort, and stepped behind her again to reach for her inner sex-lips. She pushed them apart with her fingers and forced her clitoris out from beneath its hood. The Queen lifted, pinched, and rubbed Terri’s flesh-jewel between her cool fingers…
…And with the slow, thick drip of the orgasmic fluids from her pussy and the wave of heat that traveled up her torso to throb and tingle the tips of her breasts, she was carried back into reality, where she was clasped and coming in Paris’s arms and heard herself making tiny, breathy, open-mouthed sounds, and his seed was flowing into her in hard, rapid pulsations.
Once he’d begun to soften somewhat, he carefully pulled himself out of her, and she rolled to face him again, burying her face in his neck. She pressed her thighs together and tightened down on the muscles of her pussy. Since she wasn’t worried about getting pregnant, she wanted to hold every last drop of his come inside her. She could just swear she could feel it, sprayed all over the upper walls of her sex, and it felt good, and warm. She liked the thought of it being there.
She lingered on that thought for a long while, snuggled against the firm body of her lover. Eventually, lulled by the decelerating pace of the rainfall against the windowpane, she started to sink towards the lower-lying layers of her consciousness.
Paris clearly had other ideas, however, evidenced by the stirring of his cock against her leg, which brought her back to full wakefulness. He took her hand, and wrapped it around the lengthening flesh. She realized then that she’d never actually held a cock before. She pushed the sheets down to his knees, so she could watch him get hard while he showed her how he most liked to be touched. The difference in size between when he was flaccid and when he was fully engorged was fascinating—nothing on her body changed that drastically when *she* got turned on.
“Have you ever sucked a man off?”
“No.” She blushed, but then surprised herself, asking boldly, “Would you teach me?”
He had her kneel between his legs and grip him a little harder. She’d feared she might have to try to take his entire length in her mouth, but he showed her how to time her licking and sucking with the strokes of her hand. She liked the smell of his sex. She savored the drops of pre-come seeping out at the head, scraping the flat part of her tongue-tip against the slit to clean them away, and couldn’t wait to have a whole mouthful of his come to swallow. She even enjoyed laving away her own essence with her tongue, up and down his cock until all she could taste was his skin.
Terri closed her eyes for a few moments, and when she opened them, it was to be greeted by another vision.
She was in the octagonal mirror-room again, and the Crimson Queen still had the phallus in her hand. Terri watched her dip it into the bowl on the marble table, rolling and stirring, coating it with something. When the Queen returned to the center of the room, she held it out above Terri, who raised herself into a kneeling position to look at it. The phallus glinted with a thin layer of honey. She saw a single liquid amber drop form at the very tip of it, and before the drop could fall onto the rug, Terri leaned out, extending her tongue, and caressed the underside with her tongue while sucking the head into her mouth. The warm honey, mingled with her cooled essence, slid easily down her throat.
The Queen took her by the hair and pushed the shaft farther into her mouth. Whimpering, she complied with the unspoken demand. The Queen moved her hand to the top of her head and pushed, more gently, downward, making her get back on all fours. She gave Terri just enough time to catch her breath before grasping a handful of hair at the back of her head again. She fed the sweet cock deeper into her mouth, and Terri was given no choice but to pump her mouth on it faster, and faster.
It grew hot and began to throb, and then changed from bronze into flesh.
With the shift between realities, the mirrors fell away and vanished into an unseen distance and the walls of Paris’s bedroom drew back in to take their place in Terri’s peripheral vision.
The only sensation and taste she knew then were of Paris’s come, flooding her mouth. She let her mouth fill up before she drew her lips up to the head of his cock and sucked it while swallowing his seed down with a grateful moan. She squeezed the powerfully-solid rod, lovingly coaxing the very final drops out, drew them between her ravenous, wantonly-swollen lips, and held the last of his come on her tongue until the taste had soaked into it, before, somewhat reluctantly, letting it go down her throat.

Within a year, she moved in with him. She didn’t tell her mother—she knew about Paris, she had met and liked him, but Terri was sure she wasn’t ready to hear that they were living together. She quit her job at the cafe to devote more time to school, though she wondered what she was going to say to her mother about her living arrangements once she graduated.
He, without even really having to try to, taught her how to enjoy sex without guilt. Her only regret about sex with him was that he refused to touch her when she was having her period. True, she was relieved by his lack of interest in going down on her during it, considering the kind of consequences the Queen had threatened two years earlier. But she missed his cock and secretly wanted very much to be made love to while she was bleeding.
The night she got her wish, it didn’t play out in quite the way she’d imagined it.

“Paris?” she mumbled. “What’re you doing?” Some indistinct noise had woken her.
She was moist between the legs—she must have soaked all the way through her tampon somehow. She knew she needed to get up and change it, but was too sleepy to even bother to open her eyes. She made herself do the latter, however, when she heard the bedroom door open. “You okay?” she asked, her voice still hoarse with sleep. That was when she realized Paris was right beside her, asleep.
She sat up and looked around, adrenalin flooding her veins and chilling the pit of her stomach. There was nobody else in the room. “Paris!” she hissed frantically. “Wake up! I think there’s—”
She broke the sentence off when she spotted movement on the floor near the bed. Squinting, she was just able to make out the shape of a cat before it ducked underneath the end of the bedcovers and leapt up onto the mattress.
Too stunned and, somehow, entranced, to even cry out, she watched the shape of the cat underneath the covers grow and change as it crawled towards her.
By the time the figure emerged, digging fingers into her shoulders and pushing her onto her back, bracing itself up over her, it was the Crimson Queen in her human form. She wore nothing but her cloak now, and it draped itself over and around their bodies. To her humiliation, the Queen reached down and pulled her tampon out. Terri attempted to bring her thighs together, but she felt overcome with a sudden weakness then that stilled her struggling movements, and the Queen shoved her legs apart easily.
Her vulva puckered and opened against the Queen’s. This wasn’t right—she wanted to cry out to Paris, but as soon as she’d started to draw the breath to, the Queen’s soft, cool hand was clamped across her mouth. Not that this was needed—Terri couldn’t find her voice, or the strength to really try. The Queen raped her while her lover slept beside her. No, that wasn’t so. She only wanted to believe it was rape. But she knew as well as the Queen probably did that she was far too willing. It was impossible for a slut like her to ever be truly violated, and, as if in confirmation of this, a hard surge of wetness pooled beneath her sex—staining the sheets scarlet, she realized vaguely. Their pussies, together, felt to her like a pair of kissing mouths.
She was jarred out of the dream by the languidly supplicating sound of her own moans, and the waves of release coursing along the walls of her pussy and tightening her sweetly aching womb.
No sooner had the pounding of her heart begun to resolve, than she felt her shoulder being shaken.
Understanding what had just happened, and embarrassed by it, she stifled the last of her cries.
“Paris, I’m awake, it’s okay.”
He pulled her onto her side so that she faced him. Instead of the concern she’d expected, she was certain she actually saw anger flaring in his gaze.
“I can’t take this anymore.”
She was shocked. “What? What’re you talking about?”
“I want to know what you dream about on nights like this. Or should I say, who you dream about. Too many nights, I’ve woken up to hear you moaning and getting off in your sleep, and I just pretended it wasn’t happening.”
Her embarrassment deepened. “You’ve heard me before?” She guessed she shouldn’t be so surprised.
“Yes, I have, and I’m tired of ignoring it. Who is he?”
“What… makes you so sure I’m not dreaming about you?” she asked carefully, weakly, uselessly.
“Because if it was me, you would’ve said so already. It’s not me, is it?” Terri didn’t answer. “Damn it, Terri, who is it? Have you been fucking another man? Is that it?”
“No!” she gasped.
“Has someone else been sticking his prick up you?” He sat up and reached between her distended lips, fumbled with the string of her tampon with a shaky hand for a moment, and then pulled it out. She cried out, being pushed roughly onto her back and feeling her thighs forced apart. “Have you spread this cunt for another man? Answer me!”
She cried out sharply again at the abrupt thrust of his fingers, and tears stung the corners of her eyes—the harsh treatment was not painful, but it was frighteningly unlike him.
“I told you no, I haven’t!”
“But you really want to, am I right? You’d like some other man’s fucking dick. Tell me the truth.” He pulled the two fingers out, only to cram them into her again, even harder.
“I am telling you the truth! I haven’t been with any other man, and I don’t want to!”
“Is this turning you on?”
“No…”
“Don’t lie to me. I’m feeling how wet you are right now, so don’t even try to tell me you don’t like this. You like making me jealous? If I ever find out another man’s been fucking you…” He emphasized the last two words with another angry thrust.
“Please, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous, I wasn’t trying to do anything, I can’t help what I dream!” She tried to sit up, to squirm away from him, but he pulled his fingers out of her and caught her with both hands, pinning her. “Can’t we talk about this in the morning?” she whimpered, but she knew it was no use when she felt his erection against her thigh.
“No. This gets settled right now. Are you not satisfied? Do you want even more than you let on?”
“It’s not like that at all—I love you!”
“I know you do. I didn’t ask if you love me, I asked if you need to get fucked more. Is that what it’ll take to keep you happy, and keep you in this bed? If I keep you on your back enough of the time, would that stop you from sniffing around other men?”
She shuddered in perverse arousal at his vulgar words. “Would you please calm down? You’re scaring me. I’m trying to tell you, I am happy, you do satisfy me. Won’t you believe me?”
“Fine, I believe you—but I’m going to make sure that what you just said stays true.” Straddling her thigh, and with a crudely suggestive motion of his hips, he pressed his cock hard against her. Then, he began to mount her.
“No, not now, it’s the middle of the night!”
“I don’t care what time it is.”
She tried to fend him off, only to have her wrists trapped in his hands. “That hurts,” she protested, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “Stop it!” She moaned, without meaning at all to. “Please!”
“‘Stop it’? ‘Please’?” His laugh was harsh. “You really can’t make up your mind about what you want, can you? This ought to help you decide.”
His cock stabbed into her. She groaned, underneath her breath, “No,” but knew that she would utter that very same word if he listened and withdrew from her. There was no point in pretending she didn’t love this, need this. She hadn’t been able to fool him, so why try to fool herself?
The longer it went on—the banging of his taut loins against her Venus mound—the more her body softened in surrender. Silence was consent—she invited this, with her weakness. Her learned helplessness had grown into a very real inability to resist.
He spilled and spent within her, but didn’t stop fucking her. In fact, he fucked her even harder, and didn’t stop his crude pounding until she had come, more than once—the first series of excruciating, spasmodic throbs that thrummed from the head of her clitoris down through its very root triggered her second, steadier, longer peak.
Only then did he begin to soften. He rolled off of her, but kept an arm draped heavily across her torso. When her trembling subsided, she was so overcome with exhaustion that she didn’t care about the cooling puddle that had spread underneath her.

Pulling the ruined sheets off of the bed, balling them up, and throwing them in the garbage the next morning, she thought about an archaic practice she’d once read of. There had been a time, supposedly, when it had been customary for brides to throw the sheets out of the window the morning after their wedding night. They’d done this to prove to everyone that they had been virgins, since the sheets would (hopefully) be stained with blood from their hymen having been broken.
Terri hardly remembered what being a virgin felt like. It had only been two years, but her life before that time was a distant memory.
She had never seen Paris in such a state as the one he’d been driven to the previous night by her coming in her sleep. Nor had any of her other dreams of the Crimson Queen been so vivid. Once again, she’d let things get out of hand, and she needed to do something about it soon.
Just how often had he heard her moans at night? Had he been woken by them every time? Surely he would have said something sooner, if she’d gotten that loud that often.
Still, he had been keeping silent about his anger over this for some time—that much was apparent. Had she ever said anything in her sleep that might have given him some clue about what she was dreaming? He hadn’t mentioned any such thing happening.
She didn’t really want to broach the subject—at least, not to Paris just yet. There was someone else she suddenly wanted to speak to about it, who she hoped might understand.

She went to a church she’d never been to, and didn’t plan on going to again. Her intentions were to start going to the Saint Louis Cathedral again after this.
She had never realized, until having gone on her extended absence, how imposing a church could be. She was still crossing the lawn when its shadow swept itself over her form. The creak of the door echoed up the empty isle, and stony-eyed Saints watched from their niches as she crossed herself with holy water and made her way to the confessional.