A Study in Fragrance Pt. 21

"What. What else is there to say? Some oldster forcing a woman to degrade herself..." But a scene from one of them came back to her, when the woman was lying over a footstool, begging the guy to shove something in every one of her holes. She squirmed when she remembered her reaction the day before. How her arousal notched up watching what would happen to her play out on the screen.

He nodded, seeing her expression change, feeling her unconsciously press on him harder. "Tell me. What is it? Something lit you up."

She looked away until his hand turned her back to face him, waiting patiently until she admitted what had hooked her. She could feel her resolve melting as he kept her pinned, literally on the Monster and figuratively with his eyes, forcing her confession, her hands still on his swelling member, warm and firm. And the ball grew, brighter white, filling her gut. She could feel a puddle growing between her legs and she realized she'd been swiping them open and closed, trying to rub against the chair, against the Monster. She stopped, holding her hand still, staring at him. "Pomegranate."

He raised his eyebrows and sat back, smiling. Taking the last swig of his beer he stood up, his cock nearly at eye level to her. "You are amazing, Emily. I can't believe how far you've come. I'm not on site tomorrow, but that doesn't mean you're off the hook. Watch those again. All ten of them. Make sure that thing is in you while you do, and for an extra hour as well. Tomorrow and Saturday. I'll be by after lunch. You might want to hold off eating. It's going to be another big day for you."

She watched as he walked away and up the stairs, his cock bouncing, his muscles rippling along his thighs and glutes and then she closed her eyes, her insides stuffed, her body ravaged.

*-*-*-*

Her phone had been pinging the entire time, but she barely had paid attention, the intensity of what he was putting her through overwhelming her need to see what was happening. Texts, lots of them, and posts, but no more than usual. She didn't wait for him to leave, pulling herself off the Monster, seeing the wetness spreading on the chair, feeling it against her thighs. The edging was starting to get to her, the need, like being fed an intense sugary dessert, one spoonful at a time, the desire to keep eating it until it pushed her over the top. It was irritating and addicting. Grabbing a paper towel, she cleaned up the chair and her thighs, dumping the Monster in the sink to wash off later, and returning to see what the fuck was going on with her friends.

What time tonight, e?

Naomi had texted Jamie, Caroline and Steph. A flurry of texts by all of them trying to figure out why she wanted them to get together, when, if there were more developments.

7? Can y'all make it at 7?

It wasn't even 5 yet. She needed to clean up again, do something with the Monster, make some food. She shook her head, wondering what the 'discoverer of Complicit' was supposed to look like, act like, be like.

An hour later she was showered, dressed and ready. She had debated putting the plug back in after she'd gone to the bathroom. She knew it would be better to keep it in as long as possible, but she hadn't realized how much it was affecting her until she took it out. Standing in the shower, feeling the hot stream pound against her traps, she reached back to check out if she could feel a difference in her anus, rubbing her fingers over the sphincter. It did feel different: more open and relaxed. She could slip her finger in, up to the first knuckle, before it squeezed tight around the tip. She let the hot water stream against her rear opening, feeling the warmth relax the muscle. Something had changed, she noticed, as she shifted her body, the stream hitting different parts of her. Her nerves were different there: sometimes, when she got it just right, a hot stream would hit the inside lip of her asshole and she felt her insides light up. She bent further and let the shower massage her lips, the streams pounding just inside her opening your cunt...remember? It's your cunt now, the vibrations hitting the back of her clit. She sighed at how even here she wasn't free from her bargain with Cos. She sighed again, realizing none of the stimulation was doing her any good; what little it did to feed her need to cum was equally frustrating.

She stared at the plug, standing at attention on the sink counter, and washing it, she prepared it to push back inside her. No need for the bunny tail. I'll be dressed. That she actually had to think about being dressed, that it was something she had to consciously decide to do made her laugh a little. What have you become? She stared at her reflection, foggy in the mirror, took the plug and carefully pushed it into her backside, focusing on relaxing those muscles to ease its way in. Again she was surprised at how little pain this larger plug caused her compared to the prior one, shivering at the image of the wrist sized plug in the set. She stood, washed her hands and played with the plug using her interior muscles, trying different combinations to feel how it shifted.

Back in her room, Em looked at her choices, picking a sheer cotton blouse and matching slacks. "Underwear or no underwear?" Again she stopped at how weird things had become. She didn't need to get dressed at all. And if she was going to get dressed, why not all the way? The thought of having the fabric rub against her naked breasts, or the possibility of leaking, and the very real possibility of the lube staining her pants made the decision for her. Definitely underwear. She through a panty-liner on for good measure. But, she decided, she wanted to be free upstairs. No bra. The house was shut up, the air, wet and heavy, was barely moving. She couldn't open the windows; the storm had arrived, its eye passing to the north, its southern arm battering the western facing side of the house. They'd sit outside, under the overhang. No bra. The air would move through the blouse's light fabric. It would feel nice. It's going to just frustrate you more. She sighed again, debating whether she was making things worse for herself by not reducing the stimulation, or if she wanted to edge herself. You do want to edge yourself. You want to bring yourself to the edge, over and over again. You want what he did to you last week. And she knew it was true. The orgasms she'd felt all week were each so different from one another: what Caroline had given her that first time, in her hot tub, and again the other night and what Cos had given her in the ceremony, when she'd lost all sense of mind and body. Who wouldn't crave that again? She looked at the image in her mirror: the light fabric of the blouse barely hiding her breasts, her slacks revealing her pale peach panties, her buns pressing against the back panels. She laughed lightly, anticipating her friends' reactions.

With an hour to spare, she needed something to occupy her mind, to distract her from the anxiety that sat, tiny and black, as her constant companion. Walking out of her room she remembered her question from earlier: Did Abby have anything to say about what she was doing? About the disgust she felt at succumbing to Cos's domination?

She entered The Study through the closet, Complicit greeting her faintly, stirring her insides, the plug a constant reminder, and pulled the bookcase all the way open, the way she had imagined it, next to the table. The table was still off kilter, the memory of what he'd done to her never quite forgotten all afternoon, now refreshed. She moved it back against the wall and pulled up the chair.

"Where were those?" She looked at the pamphlets, remembering the ones she'd leafed through earlier in the week. There had been something, she recalled. She had been looking for clues about Complicit, but that mystery was solved, her eyes glancing at the cabinet and back. But somewhere, she kneeled down to pull out one closer to the beginning, Abby had been talking about distaste or dis-ease or...She leafed through one and then another, navigating by gut and sense.

"Yes!" She found one of them. It was dedicated to June. Em checked the date: May 1894, and glanced up at the journal, trying to remember if there had been a June in any of Abby's sketches.

     My Dear Ladies,

     Spring's cheery days are all about us, and greeting the bright warm skies come the jonquil, its boastful yellow and white blossoms reflecting back the life-giving orb they so dearly yearn to kiss. The jonquil, its aroma intense and sweet, a beautiful bouquet for all of the senses. But how curious! For some, its blossoms are too showy, its aroma noisome!

     So too our gardens, dear Ladies: each reflects the creativity and originality of the gardener. We plan, we scheme, we consider all of the senses in service of our own unique mark on the world, yet no good work comes without hard work. We must till the soil, nurture it, pluck the offending weed that might make the beds their very own if not for our constant vigilance. Each asks of us what it needs, and quite rightly so. While some of our duties may bring happiness, perhaps should fortune shine on us, a heavenly outpouring of joy, many require attending to more earthly and base tasks.

     And so with our gardens, while we may consider ours the perfect specimen, suitable for the enjoyment of all who gaze on it, who inhale its intoxicating perfumes, there are others for whom it is odious, offensive and vile. Imagine that, can you? The very thing you adore, others turn away from in disgust.

     If that is true of the delightful jonquil, and of the garden in its entirety, perhaps it is simply true! Let us, in this humble edition, consider the notion that our own senses are curious, that what we believe to be offensive and disgusting are merely the obverse! Imagine for a moment that the very things we believe loathsome and abhorrent are but another's desire!

It was the pamphlet she had remembered, but in re-reading it she wasn't sure what Abby was advocating. Put up with the bullshit to get the reward? No good work comes without hard work. "Sure," she said to the empty room. I can get behind that. But this thing with Cos was more than just hard work. She put in the work. It's the thing people would say about her, she was pretty sure. She heard it from Coach all the time. But what Cos was asking her to do was way more than just putting in the work, wasn't it? Or, she considered the final paragraph again, is Abby asking her readers to consider rethinking their relationships to each other? Or, looking at it a third time, was it a reminder not to get too uppity? Or simply about good hygiene?

She pulled down the encyclopedia of flowers. "Jonquil, jonquil...jonquil...'Desire, Returned affection...see Narcissus'...Narcissus...'egotism, self-love...see Daffodil'...'Daffodil...Unrequited love, respect.' Damnit. It's none of those." She turned to the back section organized by flower meanings, looking for disgust or debasement, skeptical she'd find an entry. Surprised, she saw 'Frog Ophrys' as an entry for disgust - a type of orchid that, to her eye, looked beautiful. "If Abby had meant disgust, she would have mentioned an orchid." Em scanned through the nearby entries, not sure what she was looking for. "Maybe domination..." But there was nothing even remotely close. "Docility - Rush, Dejection - Lichen...all of the low lying plants..." she turned to 'Submission' and saw 'Grass' convinced this pamphlet wasn't what she was looking for.

She had looked at several more pamphlets the other day, and had thought there was another one in the same time period. She put June's back and skipped several forward, pulling out one, scanning it, putting it back until one from late in the year, November, struck a chord.

     My Dear Ladies,

     By now, with the darkest days approaching, we have prepared our gardens for the wintry winds and gales, bearing frozen gifts from on high. Yes! The snow is a welcomed blanket to our gardens properly prepared: it protects the bulbs from Nature's fiercest storms. By now, our straw-cover'd gardens, are buttressed against the inevitable frosts, borne by arctic blasts that will, by God's grace, eventually transform to Spring's embrace.

     Now is not the time to build bouquets of deep deep rose, or China Pink! Do not pay heed to the marigold, do not pine for Spring's peonies. By Fortune's leave we will see those bright and sunny days again. In these dark and dreary days, when our thoughts and duties bring us inside, turn your attention to your domestic duties. Do not fret you've not prepared well or failed to guard against the evils that surround us. Be confident! You've made certain the dodders have no place in your gardens!

     Think of the ivy, its tendrils dormant under Winter's snowy blanket, as you find warmth and comfort 'neath your own bedcovers. Cast your eye to the briar rose that perseveres through Winter's deepest chill, that come Spring, will burst forth in brilliant bud and blossom!

     Now, Dear Ladies, is Nature's time for reflection, for turning inward, for opening your gifts and submitting to the dark.

The tendril! She read it over and over again. How had she missed it before? Looking up all of the references, Emily thought she could see where Abby was going: keep an open mind, set aside the norms of society's expectations, be available to their husbands, and, with the reference to both ivy and the briar rose, be ready to please through pain and pleasure! What was in Complicit?! Could extracts of any of these be what had broken and combined? She shivered again at the memory of Cos's raw animal power, his sheer dominance. That wasn't me being his servant cunt. That was me being his prey. But the shivering wasn't from fear, she realized; it was from desire.

*-*-*-*

They were all talking at once again.

"Hold on ladies!" Em raised her voice, demanding silence, inwardly smiling at using the word that Abby was so fond of. Everyone except Steph stopped. Em stared her down until even she quieted. "We don't know, and we'll likely never know." But she knew they would find out eventually. Complicit had made that clear. She'd be receiving an award. She had looked old. It was a long time away.

"Then what's the point, Em?" Naomi, impatient as usual.

"The point, Naomi, is that we can't just start talking about this like it's no big deal. It's a big deal. You know how people get! Who knows? Somebody will decide it's an evil plot and lock us up. Or figure it's some foreign invasion." She saw their skepticism. "You think I'm being dramatic? Just look at the headlines." She waved to the recycling bin. "The reason we're all here is not to figure out how this is happening, but what we're supposed to do next." She had already made her decision about a key next step: biochem, but not for pre-med. She was going to figure out Complicit.

"How many people already know?" Steph, working the angles.

"Just us, and Allie and Sarah. Right?"

"And Bobby and Robert," Caroline piped in. "And Cos."

Em shook her head. "Nope. The guys don't know about this part, right? Cos doesn't." She looked between Steph and Caroline, seeing nods. "Okay. And Allison? Sarah? They only know you guys were seeing things, which is bad enough, so yeah. We need a plan and we need them to agree to it."

"Three men can keep a secret if two of them are dead." Steph mumbled over her drink. "But what would ol' Benjamin say about seven women?"

They all looked at her alarmed. "What the fuck, Steph?" Em was getting worried.

"What?! It's impossible. There's no way we can keep this quiet. Maybe if only a couple of us knew, but seven?" She looked around. "Think about it. Y'all already have an idea of who you couldn't trust, right?" She looked back into her glass.

Jamie curled her lips under her teeth and shook her head. "I think it's possible." She looked around. "I do. I think we can swear an oath. All of us. Benjamin Franklin was a sexist misogynist. He had it right about men not able to keep a secret. But we can."

Naomi laughed.

"What?" Jamie looked puzzled.

"Okay, okay. Let's say you're right and that we all swear a blood oath to keep this thing quiet...for...how long? 10 years? 1 year? Whatever. And then, let's say you get into a real relationship and you each swear to not keep any secrets. Right? It's gonna happen." Naomi looked around at each of them. "Who are you going to be loyal to? Us? Your 18 year old self? Or your mate? The one you're planning to live your life with?"

Caroline and Em glanced at each other, reading the other's thoughts, quickly glancing away.

"Naomi's right, guys." Em interrupted. "But we still have to find a way to keep this quiet." She paused for a moment, staring out the window. "Here's the deal." She took another breath and dove in. "Complicit showed me a future memory. Really far into the future. I'm accepting some kind of award." She kept Caroline out of it for now. It was probably her, but she didn't need to put that detail in to make her point. "It was for Complicit." She kept talking over the rising murmurs. "So, it will happen. We are able to keep it a secret. But let's say we put a stay-fresh date on it, yeah? Can we agree to 10 years? Will that be too much to ask of your personal lives to keep this quiet for that long?"

They looked at each other and thought, each nodding and agreeing.

"But what about Allison and Sarah?" Caroline looked concerned.

More discussion, until Em held up her hand. "I'll talk to them. I think Sarah will be fine. Allison...not so much." She smiled lopsidedly. "Unless...unless it starts happening to them..." she waved her hands between Naomi, herself and Jamie.

"I want you to stay again. Tonight." Em and Caroline were alone in the kitchen, cleaning up after the others had gone. "Is it moving too fast for you?"

Caroline's face lit up, her eyes bright. "I...I didn't plan on it. I don't have any clothes for tomorrow..."

Em laughed, Caroline's need so transparent. "You don't have a choice, girlfriend. And you don't need any clothes." She wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned to her friend. "I'm surprised you're still dressed, as a matter of fact." She slipped her hands, warm and dry under Caroline's blouse, lifting them until her fingers were buried under her arms, dragging her closer into a kiss.

"Mmmm...is that right?" Caroline pulled back to stare into Em's eyes, her eyebrows raised. "When was I supposed to get undressed? With the girls here?" She waved her hands around the kitchen. "I thought that was your kink..." She smiled and leaned back in to a kiss, pulling Em's face tight against her. Moments later she pulled away, alarmed. "Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!"

Caroline dropped her hands to her jeans, struggling to unbutton them.

"What's happening, C!" Em had stood back watching her friend struggling, squirming.

"There's something in my jeans! Like a mouse or a bug or something!" She had gotten them open and she pulled them down, grabbing her underwear at the same time. She looked down to the floor in a panic, expecting to see an animal skittering away.

Em followed her gaze and seeing nothing, looked back at Caroine's clean-shaven mound, thinking whatever it was might still be attached to her.

"Oh my god, ohmygodohmyGOD!" Caroline had reached down and was rubbing her mound, trying to figure out what was happening. She looked up at Em, her face contorted in fear. "No. No fucking way."