stallion or
his antique carpets or his gun collection.
He had also wanted her to
demonstrate to the world that by virtue of his fortune, he was now august
enough to marry into the gentry. He had also coveted the young girl because his
flagging sex drive at sixty-one had required more and more stimulation, and
young virgins were an obsession with him. After the novelty of the first few
months of marriage had worn off, however, even Alisa's young, tender body was
no longer enough to rouse his ardor.
Mr. Forseus had left her
alone at that point, finding stimulation in the brothels catering to deviates
who sought young girls. But even those had failed to satisfy him of late. Quite
by accident, in a drunken rage, three weeks earlier, he had struck out in anger
at Alisa and was astonished to discover that beating her had stimulated him
sexually. Not sufficiently to consummate the act, but it became satisfaction in
itself.
"Perhaps, Mrs.
Forseus," her husband suggested smoothly, raising his obese bulk from the
deep chair with some difficulty, "you would accompany me on a stroll,
since you seem to enjoy the out-of-doors so much."
He walked up to Alisa,
still frozen in her tracks, gripped her arm below the elbow in an iron grasp,
and steered his frightened wife out into the waning afternoon sunlight.
He forced her in the
direction of the barnyard, relentlessly keeping up a trivial chatter that
grated on Alisa's raw nerves and tremulous fears. Opening the door of a shed
with a key he kept on a chain at his waist, Forseus pushed her inside the empty
granary and shut the heavy door.
"Now, then, Mrs.
Forseus," he breathed with a fanatic gleam in his eyes as he stripped off
his coat and rolled up his sleeves, "we might discuss where you were this
afternoon."
Reaching out to a hook on
the wall, he took down a length of rope, tied a knot slowly and carefully on
one end, let the knot drop to the floor, and wrapped the excess length around
his hand.
"Now, my dear, we
begin. Where were you?" He swung the rope sharply and caught Alisa on her
shoulder. She shuddered from the pain, but spoke not a word, nor would she look
at him.
"Come, dear, lost your
tongue?" he sneered coldly, lashing out again and striking Alisa viciously
across her breasts. The strength of the blow dropped Alisa to her knees. God
help me, she prayed silently, for she didn't dare tell him the truth. He would
certainly kill her then. If she could just tolerate the torture, steel herself
to keep from screaming in agony, perhaps, merciful God, perhaps, after a time,
she would be lucky enough to faint.
Ten minutes later Forseus was
breathing hard and just about to cease, when Alisa lost consciousness and sank
gratefully to the floor and the beckoning solace of a black oblivion.
After rolling down his
sleeves, wiping his perspiring face with a silk handkerchief and carefully
adjusting his suit coat on his shoulders, Forseus quietly walked out of the
shed and locked the door behind him.
Much later that evening,
after explaining to a suspicious and distrustful Maria that Alisa had gone to
Vüpuri shortly before sunset, he ordered a tray of food and a glass of wine
brought to him in his study.
When the house had quieted
sufficiently and it appeared all occupants were sleeping, Valdemar Forseus
carefully maneuvered his way through the moonlit shadows of the barnyard,
unlocked the shed door, and deposited the tray on the floor beside his
still-unconscious wife.
Before departing, he drew a
small vial from his waistcoat pocket and poured half the contents into the
glass of wine.
----
Chapter
Seven
THE NECESSARY OPTION
Alisa woke in the early
hours of morning and lay for a moment with her eyes still closed, flooded with
a hopeless, bottomless despair so overwhelming, she could almost taste it. Her
eyelids blinked open; she saw the knotted rope hanging back again on its hook
on the wall and instantly renewed terror gripped her mind, tightened her
stomach. Her one
his antique carpets or his gun collection.
He had also wanted her to
demonstrate to the world that by virtue of his fortune, he was now august
enough to marry into the gentry. He had also coveted the young girl because his
flagging sex drive at sixty-one had required more and more stimulation, and
young virgins were an obsession with him. After the novelty of the first few
months of marriage had worn off, however, even Alisa's young, tender body was
no longer enough to rouse his ardor.
Mr. Forseus had left her
alone at that point, finding stimulation in the brothels catering to deviates
who sought young girls. But even those had failed to satisfy him of late. Quite
by accident, in a drunken rage, three weeks earlier, he had struck out in anger
at Alisa and was astonished to discover that beating her had stimulated him
sexually. Not sufficiently to consummate the act, but it became satisfaction in
itself.
"Perhaps, Mrs.
Forseus," her husband suggested smoothly, raising his obese bulk from the
deep chair with some difficulty, "you would accompany me on a stroll,
since you seem to enjoy the out-of-doors so much."
He walked up to Alisa,
still frozen in her tracks, gripped her arm below the elbow in an iron grasp,
and steered his frightened wife out into the waning afternoon sunlight.
He forced her in the
direction of the barnyard, relentlessly keeping up a trivial chatter that
grated on Alisa's raw nerves and tremulous fears. Opening the door of a shed
with a key he kept on a chain at his waist, Forseus pushed her inside the empty
granary and shut the heavy door.
"Now, then, Mrs.
Forseus," he breathed with a fanatic gleam in his eyes as he stripped off
his coat and rolled up his sleeves, "we might discuss where you were this
afternoon."
Reaching out to a hook on
the wall, he took down a length of rope, tied a knot slowly and carefully on
one end, let the knot drop to the floor, and wrapped the excess length around
his hand.
"Now, my dear, we
begin. Where were you?" He swung the rope sharply and caught Alisa on her
shoulder. She shuddered from the pain, but spoke not a word, nor would she look
at him.
"Come, dear, lost your
tongue?" he sneered coldly, lashing out again and striking Alisa viciously
across her breasts. The strength of the blow dropped Alisa to her knees. God
help me, she prayed silently, for she didn't dare tell him the truth. He would
certainly kill her then. If she could just tolerate the torture, steel herself
to keep from screaming in agony, perhaps, merciful God, perhaps, after a time,
she would be lucky enough to faint.
Ten minutes later Forseus was
breathing hard and just about to cease, when Alisa lost consciousness and sank
gratefully to the floor and the beckoning solace of a black oblivion.
After rolling down his
sleeves, wiping his perspiring face with a silk handkerchief and carefully
adjusting his suit coat on his shoulders, Forseus quietly walked out of the
shed and locked the door behind him.
Much later that evening,
after explaining to a suspicious and distrustful Maria that Alisa had gone to
Vüpuri shortly before sunset, he ordered a tray of food and a glass of wine
brought to him in his study.
When the house had quieted
sufficiently and it appeared all occupants were sleeping, Valdemar Forseus
carefully maneuvered his way through the moonlit shadows of the barnyard,
unlocked the shed door, and deposited the tray on the floor beside his
still-unconscious wife.
Before departing, he drew a
small vial from his waistcoat pocket and poured half the contents into the
glass of wine.
----
Chapter
Seven
THE NECESSARY OPTION
Alisa woke in the early
hours of morning and lay for a moment with her eyes still closed, flooded with
a hopeless, bottomless despair so overwhelming, she could almost taste it. Her
eyelids blinked open; she saw the knotted rope hanging back again on its hook
on the wall and instantly renewed terror gripped her mind, tightened her
stomach. Her one
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