Page 27 of The Flesh Remembers
“You think you’ve got control," Frye growled, his breath hot against her ear. "But you’re just a vessel, his damn vessel. This process won’t end well.” He paused, a pained guttural sound coming from his throat, “You still have a way out.”
Eleanor turned her head, her voice soft but defiant. “And yet you’re here, feeding the same machine.”
His lips twisted into a humourless smile as he reached out and grasped her arms. The galvanic rods flared brighter, their energy crackling in the charged air. Frye’s touch was rough, almost punishing, each movement designed to elicit a reaction that fed the machine.
Frye brought his face close to Eleanor, his dark beard tickling her cheek as he hovered above her, staring down but not moving further. Blackwood ordered him to continue, but Frye ignored him. His eyelids squeezed shut, and his breath was ragged.
Eleanor then shocked them by lifting her head and kissing Frye, her lips opening like the petals of a pink flower. Frye gasped in surprise, his eyes opening. He did not move for a moment as Eleanor continued to kiss him. Her tongue slipped between her plump lips and pushed gently against Frye’s closed ones. It seemed that was all he could handle, for just then, Frye seized Eleanor’s arms and fully reciprocated that kiss. He kissed her hard now, his tongue pushing into her mouth, almost choking her, but Eleanormoaned at the rush of arousal she felt from his roughness towards her.
Finally, Frye pulled back and looked down at Eleanor, who was so close to the edge of release but consistently being denied prolonging the ceremony. Her hair was a messy cloud of black silk around her flushed face, her lips swollen and red from the forcefulness of the kisses they had shared.
“You should’ve left when you had the chance, Eleanor,” Frye whispered to her before he began to suck and nip his way down her throat to her chest. “You can’t get away now. You’ve doomed us all.” Frye bit down hard on her nipple, and Eleanor cried out with the exquisite pain it caused within her.
More of Blackwood’s robed acolytes joined, their hands and voices weaving a symphony of sensation and sound. Each caress, each whispered word pushed Eleanor further, her body and mind unravelling under the onslaught. The silver disk at her throat glowed brighter, its hum merging with the crackle of the apparatus.
The air grew heavy, charged with a primal energy that seemed to vibrate through Eleanor’s bones. Hands roamed her body, their touch both reverent and demanding, each movement igniting sparks that rippled through her like fire.
Eleanor cried out, her body arching against the restraints as the sensations overwhelmed her. The galvanic energy surged, each wave building upon the last, pulling her closer to the edge.
“More,” Blackwood commanded, his voice low and commanding. “Push her further.”
The participants obeyed, their movements becoming more fervent, their voices rising in a chant that echoed through theroom. Eleanor’s vision blurred, her mind dissolving into a haze of ecstasy and torment.
Mouths kissed her, tongues moved urgently against her own. Her head turned again and again to another open and waiting mouth. Like water to a man in the desert, Eleanor desperately sought the next and the next, her tongue sliding over all that was offered to her.
She felt fingers seeking out every intimate place on her body. There was nowhere to hide from the onslaught of hands, mouths, teeth, and tongues. Eleanor struggled against her bonds as she shook from both ecstasy and torment. She felt cool fingers enter her, slipping into her easily as her juices dripped from her and coated her thighs with the evidence of her desire. Tongues lapped at her centre of pleasure, and even lubricated fingers found their way behind her into the soft white globes of her backside and then inside her most secret area. Eleanor wanted to withdraw and say no to this intrusion but could not. Her body only knew one animal instinct now, and she would not be freed from it until she had experienced her release.
The silver disk flared with a blinding light, its energy exploding through her in a wave that left her trembling. Her body convulsed, her muscles tensing as the release overtook her, a flood of pleasure and anguish so intense it left her gasping for air.
She sobbed as the sensations rippled through her, her tears streaming down her face as her cries filled the room. Her body burned with the energy of the ritual, her soul laid bare for all to see.
After a few hours of rest for Eleanor, the reanimation process continued later that night. She clung to the desperate hope that by the night's end, she would again have James in her arms. The galvanic rods crackled as James’s bodyconvulsed on the platform beside her. His chest heaved, his fingers twitching as his eyes snapped open.
“Eleanor…” His voice was a guttural rasp, filled with hunger and longing.
Her heart leapt as she turned to him, her vision blurred with tears. “James, it’s me. I’m here.”
For an instant, she saw him there within those cloudy blue eyes—the James she knew and loved. He smiled at her tenderly and sweetly, and Eleanor knew it was all worth it to see that smile again. But then the warmth she had loved was gone, replaced by something darker, more feral.
“You’ve given me so much,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “But it’s not enough.”
His hands reached for her, his grip unrelenting as his nails dug into her skin. His touch was cold, yet it burned, searing her with a heat that felt otherworldly.
“You belong to me now,” he said, his voice laced with malice. “Forever.”
Eleanor lay in the afterglow, breathless, shivering. And in that silence, the disk purred.
Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
Oh God, the shame burns through me. I endured humiliation orchestrated by Blackwood to bring James back, and I wanted it. I begged for more, even as they watched and participated. But did I truly want it? With its strange symbol, the pendant Blackwood gave me seems to pulse with my heartbeat, burning at my throat. In my mind, I hear whispers: Deditionem, Deditionem,Deditionem. Tradere Carnem, Eleanor. My rusty Latin tells me it means Surrender the flesh, Eleanor.
For the first time, fear grips me. The rituals grow darker and unhinged. God knows what Blackwood will demand next. Yet, it worked. James lives, if you can call it that. He is a rotted corpse smelling of earth but alive enough to see me, hear me, and hunger for me. He frightens me. Worse, my desire for him terrifies me.
I tried to remove the pendant, but the metal burned my fingers. Blackwood’s hold on it remains unyielding. He wants me weak, pliable. But I can’t abandon James. Who knows what they’d do to him? I must find a way out for both of us.
I trust no one here, except perhaps Marian. She might be my only ally. I want to believe she’ll help me. I have to believe it.
He’s Awake…He’s Differen
