This is the rework of a self-published auto-biographical story (2008), rewritten for this blog. Names of characters have been changed.
Content warning: mental and physical abuse, misogyny.
Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in getting up every time we do.
Continued from… Sylvia (2)
Fran handed Annie the talcum powder. Annie sprinkled the powder and Fran lightly smoothed it out over Sylvia’s breasts and stomach. Annie followed. Sylvia was very nervous and protested every couple of minutes.
“I don’t know if I can continue with this,” she then said while trying to push away the four hands on her body.
Fran simply continued, and Annie followed suid. Little by little, Sylvia submitted to the touches, but she was still very tense. In the meantime, Fred joined them on the bed.
Unnoticeably, Annie tried to keep her distance from the woman in front of her. She was upset with the circumstances, disliked what she saw and she couldn’t help it. The moment she sensed Fred was watching her, she continued with her eyes tightly shut. She knew what could happen otherwise.
Sylvia seemed to become lightly aroused and relaxed when she realized Fred was only watching. Clearly, Fred didn’t tell her Annie and Fran were actually there to ‘prepare’ Sylvia for him. When Fred decided it was time to be part of the fun, he moved over and sat on his knees between Sylvia’s legs. Sylvia noticed the movement of the mattress, opened her eyes and saw Fred.
Whether it was his erection or the understanding of what he was about to do with her, something made her jerk upright. She was deathly pale. She pushed Annie and Fran away from her.
“No,” she gasped, “no, I can’t do it. Stop.” She grabbed her gown and held it defensively in front of her. “I don’t want this anymore. I should,” she said when she redressed herself and buttoned the gown, “never have come back here.”
Immediately there was a clear physical weakening in Fred, but he stayed calm.
“Sylvia,” he said soothingly, as if talking to a small child, instead of a woman fifteen years older than him, “I promised to be very careful. Come on, let’s just try it.”
She just sat there and said nothing.
“Sylvia,” Fran now spoke, also in a calm, comforting voice, “Annie and I are here too and really, you will enjoy it.”
Annie swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.
It was a resolutely whispered word from Sylvia.
After trying a couple of times more to put Sylvia’s mind at ease, they gave it up.
“The two of you go to bed,” Fred said while he put his underpants on, “Sylvia is sleeping with me.”
When she heard these words, she flinched, but it seemed Sylvia didn’t have the courage to contradict Fred yet again.
Grateful, the other two women retired to Annie’s room.
Annie was roughly woken from her slumber.
“What’s wrong?” she asked incoherent and she was startled when she saw Fred standing next to her bed.
“Go sleep with Sylvia.”
Suddenly Annie was wide-awake.
She instantly remembered the night she had to spend with Lily. She didn’t dare go against his wishes, afraid she might yet again be the subject of his anger. Her fear for him was bigger than her revulsion for the situation into which he was forcing her.
When Annie entered the main bedroom, it was two o’clock in the morning. Sylvia was watching a movie on television. For about ten minutes, both of them stared at the screen, saying nothing. Then, in one strong movement of her arm, Sylvia pulled Annie closer to her.
“Don’t you like me, Annie?”
Annie didn’t know what to say. Sylvia didn’t notice Annie’s hesitation, because she was already speaking again.
“You are so sweet. Fred said that I was allowed to choose who I want here. I chose you.”
Inside Annie snorted. Was she supposed to feel honored? She kept quiet. Meanwhile, Sylvia’s hands were all over her body, but Annie showed no reaction.
“Are you not in the mood?” Sylvia asked disappointed.
Annie hated herself. She lacked the guts to push this woman away. What was about to happen was something she definitely didn’t want. If, however, she stopped Sylvia, she would hurt her feelings. That was something Annie couldn’t do: knowingly hurt someone’s feelings. And, what if she did have the nerve to stop Sylvia? What would she do if Fred discovered it? She knew exactly what Fred would do. Annie said nothing. She would just let it happen. She hated herself. She hated the couple in the other room. She hated her life. And in that moment, she also hated Sylvia.
Sylvia misunderstood Annie’s silence for consent. Within moments, she was all over Annie, starting by kissing her quickly. Her hands hurried over Annie’s body. All of a sudden, Annie felt like she was in bed with a man. Sylvia’s touch had a manly manner to it. Quickly and surprisingly convincing, Sylvia’s fingers brought Annie to a climax — twice. She felt compelled to do the same for Sylvia, even though she shuddered when she felt the swollen flesh of Sylvia’s labia around her fingers.
Afterwards Annie slept restlessly.
Despite the night before, it turned out to be a nice day. Sylvia was feeling so much at home that she helped herself to tea whenever she wanted. It was only afternoon that Annie and Fran drove her home.
Back on the smallholding, the three of them held a recap of the previous evening. Fred told them that he indeed tried to have sex with Sylvia, but that he could not even get his finger inside her.
“She’s a fucking lesbian,” he said with contempt, as if he didn’t know it from the first moment.
“But Fred, she was honest about that in her letter,” Annie reminded him.
“And honey, we tried to warn you, but you didn’t want to listen to us,” Fran chipped in. “Just let Annie and me select the women. Maybe then it will all work out.”
To the women’s surprise, Fred agreed to this idea.
In the next couple of weeks, Fran tried a couple of times to get Sylvia on the phone. The main reason for this was that Sylvia promised to get them some alcohol at a low price. Any deal on alcohol was something Fran would be interested in. However, she never succeeded in speaking to Sylvia. It was as if the woman had disappeared from the face of the earth.
To be continued… The magazine
© Rebel’s Notes