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this work in process is parts one through five of a multi-part work by Andigoth

if you like it please encourage her to write more

we think she's rather spectacular

dupre

part 1

I don't know why I'm here.

What the hell am I doing?

It's a dark alley in the dead of night. I should be at home, asleep, with Passepartout curled into my arms.

Have I somehow been *drawn* here?

What ---

Is someone there?

Yes. At the end of the street. I can almost see them ....

*Rimini.* What ---

Oh, God .... *no.* NO ....

***************

I awaken slowly, not knowing where I am. I can't open my eyes --- sensation of blazing light scorching my irises if I dare to even squint.

The hell with it. I open my eyes anyway, to be confronted with a room full of flaming candles.

I can't move. Dear God. My hands are bound above my head, the leather thongs cutting into my wrists. My ankles are also bound, one to each post at the foot of the huge bed I'm lying on, my legs spread wide, my body stretched taut.

I'm naked. *Why* am I naked?

I can't speak. I slowly realize there's a leather gag in my mouth, forced tightly between my lips, buckled at the back of my head, something that feels suspiciously like a penis pressing down on my tongue, preventing me from making any sound louder than a stifled whimper.

*Ah, Mr. Phileas Fogg. You are awake at last.*

Was that voice in my head? Or was it spoken aloud? I cannot tell.

*I have no need to speak aloud, Mr. Fogg. I have such a strong connection to you.*

Rimini's face swims into my clouded vision. I blink to focus my eyes, and the visage of the dreadful creature becomes clearer. He's leaning over me, smiling, his fangs extending over his lips. Fiend.

What does he intend to do to me?

Rimini smiles slowly. *I have many .... new experiences .... in store for you this night, my lovely Mr. Fogg.*

In spite of myself, I feel the strength drain from my body. What does he mean by that? Why has he brought me here, tied and gagged me, stripped me naked? WHAT IS GOING TO BE DONE TO ME?

I'm afraid.

*Good. I -need- to feel your fear, Mr. Fogg. I need to feel your pain.*

Pain? No .... please, no .... don't hurt me. I struggle against my bonds, whimpering as the cords dig into the tender flesh of my wrists and ankles. Please don't hurt me.

Rimini runs his hand over my chest, soothing my agitated body. *You will feel the height of pleasure and the depths of pain to-night, my sweet. I have been waiting for this night for a very long time, Mr. Fogg. Your loveliness does not disappoint me.*

His touch feels strange. I open my eyes and look down at my body. I realize that Rimini has shaved off all my body hair; I'm smooth from the crotch up.

*The better to feel your skin, my beauty.* Rimini trails his long, chilly fingers down my now-smooth chest, one fingertip teasing my nipple to erection. *Such a beautiful body. I will enjoy you thoroughly, Mr. Fogg.*

I squirm under Rimini's fingers. The soft finger pad stroking my nipple is sending incredible sensations through my body straight down to my cock. In spite of my fear and revulsion at being touched by this infernal creature, I feel myself hardening at his touch.

No! I can't stand the thought of this .... abomination knowing that his touch excites me. I *cannot* let myself become aroused.

But my traitorous body has other ideas. My cock doesn't seem interested in differentiating between Rimini's touch and the caress of any other lover attempting to arouse my passions .... it's already jutting into the air, getting harder by the second.

*Ah, Mr. Fogg. Or should I say .... Phileas? You -do- want me. Your mind may resist, but your body is truthful.*

Again, that horrible smile, showing me his evil fangs. For one terrible, fleeting moment, I imagine what damage those fangs could do to the most sensitive areas of my body. Rimini's smile widens. I *know* he hears my thoughts, as loud and clear as if I had screamed them aloud.

*Yes, sweet Phileas, the more tender areas of your body -could- be savaged. But I will not do that. Not .... the first time.*

The first time? Dear God, no. He can't be planning .... to keep me in this infernal place, draining me, torturing me .... buggering me. No .... oh please, no ....

*You will be kept here as long as I wish for it to be so, Phileas. Now that I have dominion over your mind, you cannot escape me. You will be mine completely .... in body and soul, soon enough.*

For the first time, I realize that Rimini is also naked. If I wasn't caught in such a desperate situation, I would admire the smooth muscles, the golden skin, the well-toned body. He *is* a very attractive man, as Rebecca said. If only he wasn't going to use that body to do God knows what to mine.

Rimini moves his hand down to my rock-hard cock, stroking, teasing, arousing me even further. He curls his fingers around the shaft, and I moan against the gag, trying to pump my hips up against his hand, needing to feel friction against my skin, but restrained by the cords tying my spread legs to the bedposts. It's maddening, this not being able to move my body ....

Rimini laughs softly. *Frustrating, is it not, Phileas? So aroused .... and no release in sight .... Fear not, you will find satisfaction in time, my lovely.*

Rimini rubs his fingers across the tip of my weeping cock, thoroughly coating his fingers with clear, sticky fluid. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them, closing his eyes, obviously savouring the taste of my juices on his tongue. The gesture is sexual and horrible at the same time.

He licks his lips and reaches between my legs again, this time grasping my pulsing cock, fisting me almost painfully. He kneels by the bed, his face near mine.

*I have waited an eternity for this.*

With one fluid movement, he's on the bed .... kneeling between my spread legs. His head dives into my groin, taking my throbbing length into his mouth, sucking powerfully. I gasp, finally having the friction against my flesh that I've been yearning for. Oh God, so good ....

I can't help myself. The wet warmth of his hot mouth sucking at my cock is more than I can bear. His tongue presses against the exquisitely sensitive ridge on the underside of my cock, then circles the flesh just under the head, caressing, prodding, then moving to the tip and driving hard into the slit. I scream against my gag and come, struggling helplessly at my bonds, my body caught in a maelstrom of unbidden pleasure.

He keeps sucking at me until the last of my spasms have subsided, finally letting my cock slip out of his mouth. He runs his tongue over the sensitive skin of my now-smooth groin, making me writhe under his mouth. It's a new sensation .... and a not entirely unpleasant one.

*And now, my dear Phileas .... now -you- will pleasure -me- in the same manner.*

My eyes fasten on Rimini's crotch. Dear God, his cock is *huge,* the head nearly twice the size of mine. No .... there is *no* possible way that.... monstrosity will fit into my mouth. I shake my head, refusing. Rimini's eyes darken, not with passion, but with anger.

*You -will- pleasure me. I demand it.*

No! A thousand times, no!

*You have no choice.* Rimini's hands are loosening the buckle at the back of my head. The strap loosens, and he pulls the gag out of my mouth. I see that there is some sort of leather phallus in the middle of the strip between my lips that had been pressing down on my tongue, forcing me to swallow convulsively every few seconds. No wonder the gag had been so damnably uncomfortable.

I clamp my lips firmly closed. *No.* I will not.

*Open your mouth.*

No!

*OPEN YOUR MOUTH!*

NO, damn you! Nothing you can do to me will make me take that .... thing .... into my mouth. I will not. I *cannot.*

*Do you realize what I can do to those you love?*

His mental voice is like the crack of a shot inside my head.

*I can easily kill your cousin, your handsome young friend Verne .... even your French valet, the man you love. I can kill them all. Without even trying. It would be so easy. Unless you open your mouth. -Now.-*

I give up the struggle. What is the use? Rimini is right. He can kill them all .... easily.... Rebecca, Jules, and my beloved Passepartout .... and not care. My cousin, my best friend, and the man I love more than life itself. Maybe if I let Rimini ravage my mouth, he'll lose interest in other parts of me .... particularly my ass.

I open my mouth.

Rimini slams his cock between my lips, hard. I gag as I feel it hit the back of my throat, then just as quickly pull out again, only to ram itself back into my mouth a moment later. Rimini thrusts repeatedly into my mouth, not giving me a chance to do anything other than gasp a deep breath between each invasion.

With a grunt, Rimini thrusts himself into my mouth one last time --- and stays there. My God, he's enormous. My jaw aches from the pressure of keeping my mouth open this wide. I close my eyes, praying this torture will be over soon ....

*Suck me, Phileas. Now.*

I obey the order. His psychic connection with me must be growing stronger as we become more intimate. It is becoming nearly impossible for me to resist, to disobey him. My tongue swirls around the enormous head, and he hisses with pleasure. I work my tongue over every inch of the thick member filling my mouth, sucking all the while, until he comes.

Rimini's seed fills my mouth, shoots down my throat. I swallow frantically, managing to get most of the vile taste out of my mouth --- until Rimini pulls out halfway and continues to spasm into my mouth. I am forced to roll his semen around on my tongue like a fine wine before swallowing the last of it.

Rimini stretches out on top of me, gasping for breath. He retrieves the gag from the table beside the bed and shoves it hard into my mouth. The leather phallus pushing between my lips is almost a relief after the huge cock that has just raped my mouth. He buckles the gag at the back of my head, drawing the strap as tightly as he can. It's painful. I moan, once again reduced to an inarticulate, helpless prisoner.

Which is, in a strange way, contributing to my arousal. It is rather exciting to be lying here bound and gagged, helpless to defend myself, not knowing what tortures the fiend intends to inflict on my body.

Rimini stands up, goes to the bottom of the bed. He unties the cords binding my ankles, but I still can't move. His mental power is holding me immobile, just as helpless as though I were still bound. I'm no more than a puppet to him. He looks up at me and grins, letting me see his fang teeth once again.

Dear God, what is he going to do to me now?

He turns me over onto my stomach in one quick, smooth movement.

No. Oh God, no. Not that. Anything but that.

I've never willingly allowed another man to bugger me. Rebecca has always found it rather humorous that during my time in the Secret Service, I got away with never having to let another man shag me. She always ends her observations with "And they are probably rather frustrated over that. A very tempting ass you have indeed, Phileas." Ha.

I've never told her about what was done to me at Cambridge .....

My ass may be tempting, but it has stayed virginal since my college years. And I intend to keep it that way.

I marvel at the fact that Passepartout allows me to bugger him every night. I know he enjoys it --- but I cannot imagine having another man, not even my beloved Passepartout, drive his cock into my asshole. The one experience I was forced to endure has scarred me so badly .... try as I might with Passepartout, I cannot bring myself to accept anyone doing that to me. Not even my lover.

And now it looks as though the choice has been taken away from me. I am going to be buggered .... whether I want it or not.

It isn't as though I have not felt that sort of pain before --- but never by my choice. Never willingly. No, I will *not* think about that. It has stayed out of my thoughts for years. It will *continue* to stay out of my thoughts.

I cannot begin to imagine what Rimini's huge cock will do to my asshole. That .... thing ....will tear me apart. I have a terrible, momentary image of being torn irreparably, bleeding to death while Rimini rapes me over and over again.

I moan and struggle against my bonds with all my --- sad to say, feeble --- strength. It's no use. The bonds are cruelly tight. I only succeed in scraping my wrists raw.

I twist my wrists against the leather cords, praying that somehow they will slice into my skin, spill my blood, allow me a quick death rather than the lingering torture Rimini obviously has planned for me. But the cords only abrade my skin; they can't cut into my flesh.

Oh God, let me die. Here. Now. Please let me die. I can't survive another .... I don't want to live through that again.

*You cannot escape me that way, Phileas. I would not allow you to kill yourself before I have taken my pleasure of you.*

Tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks. No death, no relief .... just unending pain. Death would be too easy. The fiend intends to make me suffer.

*Spread your legs for me, Phileas.* Rimini's mental voice is soft, caressing. A lover's voice.

No. I will not.

*Then I must do it for you.*

Rimini spreads my legs wide, his steely grip on my thighs tightening as I struggle against him. My resistance is useless; his mental power over me holds me helpless more so than his hands grasping my legs, the cords binding my wrists.

*Yes, it is useless to resist, my beauty.* His fingers dig into my thighs, pushing my legs further apart; I can already feel the bruises. Rimini leers at me; I can *feel* the satisfaction he takes in bruising my flesh.

*Yes, beautiful one. I take pleasure in your pain.*

Rimini begins to stroke my inner thighs, his fingers surprisingly soft and gentle on my bruised skin. He works his way up to my buttocks, his hands alternating between cupping and caressing my bottom. He slips his fingers into the crack of my ass, an evil chuckle breaking from him when I whimper and try to struggle.

A soft finger pad strokes over my anus, still amazingly gentle. No pain .... just soft fingertips stroking, exciting me against my will, arousing my body to a fever pitch.

His fingers feel slick; has he oiled them? I can't tell .... no matter .... so soft .... warm.... ohhhhh ....

Without warning, Rimini presses one finger against my asshole, pushing it a little way into me. I yelp against my gag, desperately trying to pull away from the invasion. I can only grind my crotch into the mattress.

The finger pulls out. It's such a horrible feeling .... being opened, exposed. And I have no more defenses against this invasion than I did the last time, so many years ago .... No! I will *not* let myself remember that.

*You have no defenses against me, Phileas. You are completely helpless. You are mine, to do with as I desire.*

I want to cry. He's right. I'm nothing but a helpless toy for him to play with. My pain, my pleasure .... none of it means anything to him. He can use me and discard me at his whim. And there is nothing that I can do to stop him.

Rimini pushes his finger into me again, more deeply this time. I moan softly against my gag, knowing that nothing will make this stop --- not until Rimini has had his pleasure with me. Hot tears are streaming down my cheeks, soaking the linen pillowcase. I never thought I would be in such a position again .... I *swore* that if I was ever forced again I would kill myself ....

I feel another finger working its way slowly into my ass, along with the first. The monster scissors his fingers, widening me, opening me up. I know he's preparing me for the granite column between his legs.

I'm afraid. No, not afraid. I'm terrified.

Rimini's fingers slowly withdraw from me. In the next moment, I feel his breath against my ass. What the hell --- ?

And then he's licking me, his tongue taking the place of his fingers.

Oh God, his tongue .... now I know what it must feel like for Passepartout when I tongue him from behind. No wonder he enjoys it so much ....don't stop. Please, don't stop. So soft .... so wet .... ohhhhh .... his tongue ..... lips ....mouth .... so good ....

Then his tongue enters me.

It's like nothing I've ever felt. It hurts for a moment, then my muscles unclench and his long, strong, inhuman tongue pushes into my ass, tasting me, teasing me. The tip of his tongue finds my prostate, flicks over it, sending a powerful wave of sensation all through my body.

His tongue is stroking my prostate, hard, again and again, until I'm nearly insensate with the intense pleasure. Rimini has lifted me half- off the bed; I'm on my knees, my legs spread, his face pressed against my buttocks.

Rimini's hand is moving up and down my cock, stroking me in time with his tonguing of my ass. His other hand is squeezing my balls hard, almost painfully. Within moments, I come, my ass muscles tightening around his tongue, making him thrust that damned inhuman appendage more deeply into me. When my spasms have stopped, he withdraws his tongue and pushes me down flat on the mattress. I feel his weight leave the bed.

I almost sob with relief. So maybe he isn't going to rape me after all. Or --- horrible thought--- maybe he intends to save that for another time? Letting me lie here, helpless, knowing that worse is still to come?

*No, Phileas. I have something else planned for you.*

Rimini turns me over onto my back again, his hands cupping my buttocks, one finger stroking my asshole and then pushing inside. Then another finger .... I'm writhing, squirming, trying in vain to pull away. My movements only push his fingers more deeply inside me.

*Pleasure and pain, Phileas. What is one without the other?*

Rimini uses his other hand to lift my body, then pushes me down again. My frantic struggles make him smile; my struggles are only causing me more pain. He's using his fingers to bugger me, the monstrous fiend.

I shake my head wildly, moaning against the gag. I hate what he's doing to me .... and yet a part of me desires it. His fingers are sending a rush of pleasure up my spine, brushing against my prostate, bringing me near the edge of yet another climax. I don't want this .... but my body does.

*Yes, Phileas, your body wants me, my sweet one. Your stubborn mind may refuse to yield to your desire, but your body is truthful.*

I can't stop myself from sobbing behind the gag. Damn him, it's true. I can't control my own body. I can't stop my physical reactions to what he's doing to me. My cock is throbbing again, and Rimini bends his head to lick the clear fluid from the tip.

That is too much for me. I come, so hard it hurts, screaming against the gag, my body twisting and jerking between the bedposts. The force of my third orgasm of the night brings tears to my eyes.

Rimini waits until my body has spent itself, patiently running his hands over my body, keeping me partially aroused. One hand cups and strokes my balls, the other is pinching and squeezing my nipples until they're hard nubs beneath his fingers.

He binds my ankles to the bedposts again, his hands running up my legs until he cups my buttocks, running a finger down the crack of my ass and once again slipping it inside me. One thrust .... two.... he's pulling his finger all the way out, then ramming it back into me. A third .... fourth .... I wince, and he smiles, straightening and leering down at me.

*And now, for the grande denouement of the evening.*

He reaches for a bellpull beside the bed. In a moment, the door opens, admitting two of Rimini's vampire minions, who drag a naked, struggling man between them. The dim illumination of the nearly-extinguished candles makes it hard to see the man. He's obviously another prisoner; he's gagged, and his wrists are bound behind his back.

I squint. He looks strangely familiar ....

An icy wave of fear rushes over me. No. It can't be. Dear God, no.

Rimini's minions untie the man's hands, then raise his arms above his head, tightening a pair of leather cuffs suspended from the ceiling around his wrists. Pulling a rope attached to the cuffs, they pull his arms above his head until he's slightly off-balance.

He raises his head, his eyes widening when he sees me, bound and gagged on the bed, obviously as helpless as he is.

It's Passepartout.

My love. My life. The one person I would give my life not to have Rimini touch .... and he's here, in this horrible place, naked, helpless, like me. He's been kidnapped. And tortured, judging from the bruises on his body .... Oh, God, what have they done to my Passepartout?

Bad enough that Rimini knows of his existence, of my love for him. I am in no position to help myself, let alone help him. Why have they brought him here? To taunt me? To ensure my cooperation with whatever Rimini intends to do to me?

Or worse .... to let me be a witness to what Rimini does to *him*?

No. Oh God, please, no. Not Passepartout. I can't bear the thought of that monster touching him ....

I'll do anything. I'll let Rimini do whatever he wishes to my body .... he can torture me in any manner he chooses. Just don't hurt Passepartout ....please .... don't hurt him ....

Rimini looks at Passepartout, leers evilly. My lover's face drains of all colour, seeing the gleaming fang teeth jutting below Rimini's bottom lip. He knows what Rimini will more than likely do to him. To both of us.

*I think we should let your lover join our privileged little circle, don't you think, Phileas? Hmmmmm? It would be a shame to keep our thoughts from him.*

Rimini advances toward Passepartout, baring his fangs.

NO! DON'T!

Rimini grabs Passepartout's curly hair and forces his head back. I see the horrible fangs sink into my love's throat.

Passepartout moans against his gag, tries to struggle, but it's useless. The way he's bound, his hands above his head, he can barely move, much less marshal the strength to ward off the vampire.

Rimini only drinks for a few moments. Then he raises his head, pressing two fingers against Passepartout's throat to stop the flow of blood. Passepartout's eyes are closed; he's obviously dazed by the suddenness, the viciousness of the attack.

Rimini's eyes move between his two captives, a smile quirking the corners of his lips.

Then he opens the psychic link between all three of us.

The realization of what Rimini intends to do bursts upon me like an explosion. He's going to let me feel everything he does to Passepartout .... and Passepartout will feel whatever he does to me as well. Raping both of us --- at the same time.

Sodding bastard.

*M-Master?*

It's all right, Passepartout. I'm all right. He hasn't hurt me.

*H-how ....?*

*Ah. A communication already. Excellent.*

Passepartout is crying, tears streaming down his cheeks, soft sobs shaking his body. Rimini brushes the diamond-bright wetness away, his touch almost gentle. I can feel his fingers on my lover's skin as if he were touching *me.*

*Ah. So handsome. I can see why Phileas has taken you as a lover. As would I. You are a very beautiful man .... Jean.*

A blush slowly spreads across Passepartout's face. Jean. I never call him Jean. I always call him Passepartout, even in our most intimate moments. And this monster .... this infernal abomination ....calls him Jean.

Rimini steps behind Passepartout and encircles his slender waist with one arm. Passepartout ---Jean, I must remember to call him Jean --- tries to pull away, but in his awkward position, it's nearly impossible. Rimini laughs softly and moves his hand up Passepartout's chest, his fingers squeezing one nipple, then the other.

Passepartout's breath catches in his throat. I can *feel* those damned fingers as though Rimini were stroking my own nipples, as though it were *my* body under his hand.

Get your hands off him! Don't touch him!

*My, my, Phileas. Share and share alike.*

Rimini's soft mental laughter cuts through me like a sword. I can't even caress the man I love in front of Jules and Rebecca --- and here is this loathsome creature daring to touch him. His fingers stroking Passepartout's skin are so intimate ....

My blood boils. I struggle wildly, thrashing wildly on the bed, twisting my body against my bonds .... anything to free myself and stop Rimini from touching my love. I want to throw myself at the monster, rip him apart, sacrifice myself to stop what Rimini is doing to Passepartout.

*Master! No .... stop .... please .... you will be hurting yourself! Stop!*

There is such distress on Passepartout's face that I stop struggling.

Don't touch him, you devil! Let him go!

*Oh, I will do much more than touch him. I will do whatever I please with him.*

Rimini turns Passepartout so that his back is to me. He runs a finger down the crack of my lover's ass, to the tender opening. The finger begins stroking Passepartout's asshole, exactly as he had been doing to me just --- moments? hours? --- ago. Rimini pushes one finger inside Passepartout, then another, scissoring his fingers, widening the tiny, tender opening. Passepartout moans against his gag and struggles, but Rimini holds him still. He works a third finger into Passepartout, an evil smile distorting his features when his ministrations elicit a muffled cry of pain.

In the position I'm lying in, I have a clear, unobstructed view of Passepartout's bottom --- and what Rimini's inhumanly long fingers are doing to him. God, I can feel it myself --- as though those rough fingers are invading my own body.

I try to scream, struggling at my bonds, anything to free myself. But my feeble struggles are useless. I cannot move. Nor can I speak. Try as I might, I can force no sound past my gag other than a muffled, strangled whimper. My soul is shrieking, but my lips are silent.

*I will not take you to-night, Phileas. I mean to make you suffer exquisitely before I give myself the pleasure of making you mine. But I will take the man you love. I know that seeing Jean's pain will only increase your -own- suffering by a thousandfold, will it not? Jean will suffer at my hands .... and you will -watch-, my dear Phileas. You will witness every second.*

NO! LEAVE HIM ALONE!

An evil chuckle from the monster.

No! Please! Don't hurt him .... take me! It's me you want ....

*It is not merely you that I want, Phileas. I want your fear, your pain, your suffering. That is as necessary to me as your blood.*

Rimini doesn't give either of us time to let his words sink in. He moves toward Passepartout, brutally thrusting that enormous cock into him.

Passepartout's mental scream echoes inside my head forever. I can *feel* his pain, the tearing, the rending of the delicate tissues inside him with each thrust. Rimini's hands grip Passepartout's hips, holding him still as that monstrous prick drives into him again and again.

I feel every thrust, every movement. It's as though I'm being raped all over again .... and I am no more able to stop what is happening than I was able to stop it all those years ago ....

My own mental screams join Passepartout's. The pain is fast becoming unbearable; each thrust feels as though it will split me apart. And it has to be so much worse for Passepartout ....

*No .... please .... stop .... please, I beg you .... no more ....*

Passepartout's cries cut into my heart like the thrust of a sharp-edged rapier.

But Rimini is deaf to Passepartout's agonized pleas. The cruel violation goes on and on, Rimini pushing himself deeper inside Passepartout with each brutal thrust.

Passepartout's mental pleas become shrieks of pain. If *I* think the suffering is unbearable, how must *he* feel? God, please let this end ....I can't bear it ....

*Very good, Jean. Scream. I -want- you to scream. I want your master, your beloved, to -hear-your screams. I want him to know how helpless he is to stop what is happening to you. I want Phileas to -know- your pain.*

The mental shrieks grow louder, filling my consciousness until it seems there must be no other sound in the universe other than my lover's screams.

This is infinitely worse than anything Rimini could have done to me. And he knows it. With the psychic link he's established between all three of us, by raping Passepartout, he's also taken me, more brutally by far than if he had taken me by force. I cannot believe that *any* creature can be capable of such cruelty.

I feel Rimini come inside Passepartout. My lover screams against his gag as Rimini's seed fill shim, every spasm pouring bitter fluid into his raw, bruised body. Rimini finally withdraws and moves away from his victim. I'm horrified to see bright crimson blood trickling down Passepartout's inner thighs. There is blood on Rimini's cock as well; his pubic hair is matted with blood and semen.

You bastard. I'll kill you for this.

*How can you kill me, Phileas? I am already dead, as you very well know.*

He kneels in front of Passepartout, taking his rigid, jutting cock deeply into his mouth. I can feel the insistent sucking, tongue moving over the sensitive flesh, curling around the shaft, the wet warmth of his mouth. He brings Passepartout to orgasm within a few short moments, and gets to his feet with a grunt of satisfaction.

Rimini strides over to a chair, where he's apparently left his clothes. He begins to dress, watching both of us, his eyes moving over our naked bodies. I lie still and watch Rimini, a thousand thoughts of how I want to rip him into tiny pieces running through my head at lightning speed.

*Ah, Phileas, you know you cannot kill me. I know your thoughts, my love. You are aroused as well as repulsed by my touch. What was done to you here to-night is only the beginning. You and Jean both have much to learn from me.*

He moves back to Passepartout, placing his hand on my lover's chest. His fingers tease one nipple, and he laughs softly at Passepartout's involuntary reaction to his touch. Rimini bends his head and kisses Passepartout's erect nipple, and I feel a flash of sensation between my legs as strongly as if Rimini had touched my cock.

He steps over to the bed and loosens my bonds. Not much, but enough for me to free myself if I work at the bonds long enough.

Aloud he says, "And now I bid you good night, mes cheries."

Then he's gone.

I struggle frantically to free my wrists from the cords. After what seems like an eternity, they loosen and I can pull free. I gasp as I pull the gag from my mouth; the bloody thing almost seems to be clinging to my lips. Ignoring the agonized protests of my trembling, bruised body, I sit up and manage to untie my ankles.

I nearly fall off the four-poster bed in my haste to get to Passepartout. I quickly unfasten the cuffs that hold his wrists imprisoned above his head. He collapses into my arms, his face pressed against my shoulder. His arms encircle my waist, pressing me close against him. I fumble with the gag, removing it from his mouth.

"M-M-Master ...." His voice is a broken whimper.

I feel horrible. Poor Passepartout has had to endure so much more than I have this night. I shudder to think of what he must be suffering. I have to get him home, quickly.

"Let's get you home, Passepartout. I have to take care of you." It's all I can think of to say.

I shrug into my clothes and wrap a blanket around my trembling lover. I find that Rimini has left a carriage --- how very kind of him, to provide transportation for his victims, I think sarcastically--- and within the hour, we are back at Savile Row.

My body screams a protest as I try to move. Passepartout is beside me, his face pressed into my shoulder. I have to concentrate to make my raw and abused body move, to get out of the carriage and onto the ground.

Nothing seems to make sense; everything is a blur around me. The only clear thing is Rimini telling me that this is only the first time. His words keep circling my bruised and battered mind, repeating themselves in an unending litany of horror.

Was he right?

Do his touch, his mouth, his cock, arouse me as much as he obviously believes?

Yes. Damn him to hell, the answer is yes.

Even after what he's done to my lover and to me, I am still unbearably aroused by his touch.

And it *will* happen again. Of that I have no doubt.

I can only wait. With a curious mixture of dread, horror, fear ....

and desire.

Part 2

I don't know how we got home.

I only remember the carriage careening down narrow streets, the driver seemingly anxious to get us where we needed to go.

And Passepartout beside me, trembling, silent except for the occasional sob breaking from his lips.

I barely remember stumbling out of the carriage to the door, Passepartout leaning on me, barely able to walk. My hands were trembling so badly I couldn't make the key fit into the lock.

But now we are inside, safe, with the door closed and locked behind us. Away from any prying eyes.

I never realized how cold this foyer can be. It's grand, ostentatious --- but hardly welcoming. And so large that it seems to take us forever to get to the steps leading to the second floor.

"Master ...." Passepartout's voice is barely a whisper. "I .... I cannot ...."

"We have to get upstairs, Passepartout. I want to get you into bed where I can take proper care of you. Don't worry, I'll help you get up the stairs."

He nods. My heart aches for him. I know how hard it is for him to move right now .... I know all too well the kind of pain he is dealing with. I don't feel up to tackling those stairs myself, and Passepartout is much more physically traumatized than I am.

The first few steps are easy. I support as much of his weight as I can, my own body screaming a protest with each step.

A few more steps. Passepartout leans on me, his breath coming in sobbing gasps. I tighten my arms around him. If I can just get both of us up the stairs and into my bedroom ....

Over halfway there now. Just a little more .... one step .... two ....

Passepartout is moaning softly with each step; I can only wrap my arms more tightly around him and pray that he does not faint before we reach my bed.

The hallway. It has never seemed so damned long before.

My bedroom door. Only a short ways into the room .... to the bed ....

Passepartout is shaking his head. "No, Master. There will be blood getting all over the bedcovers .... will be making a mess."

"It doesn't matter, Passepartout. Lie down. I need to clean the blood off you."

I push him gently onto the bed. He gives up protesting, gasps in pain when he sits down on the bed. He turns over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillows.

I start to unwrap the blanket that I had thrown around him in our escape from the fiend's hideaway. Now it is my turn to gasp --- in horror.

Passepartout's thighs are covered with dark bruises. I had not realized just how brutal that perverted monster had been with him. His buttocks are bruised as well .... and there is sticky, half-dried blood all over him.

Oh God .... oh God .... I have to fight to keep my stomach from heaving. The sight of what that bastard has done to Passepartout nearly makes me retch. I want to rip him apart with my bare hands, to make him feel a thousandfold the pain he has put my beloved through.

No. I can't think about the revenge I want to take on Rimini now. I have to get that blood off Passepartout, get him as comfortable as I can.... and attend to my own battered body as well.

I want to sink to the floor and weep. But I do not have the luxury of tears and self-pity, not now when Passepartout so desperately needs me.

It seems to take forever to get a basin of water and soft towels. At last I sink on to the bed beside Passepartout. His face is buried in the pillows; I know he's trying to hide his pain from me.

"Passepartout." I touch his bare shoulder, feeling the thrill of desire that always sweeps over me whenever I touch him. "I need to wash away the blood."

He looks up at me, his eyes red-rimmed from crying. My heart is breaking. I can't bear to see him in such pain.

I don't stop to think. Within seconds, I'm lying next to him, my arms wrapped tightly around his shivering body, holding him as close as I can. He's sobbing into my shoulder, his body shaking.

His next words freeze my blood.

"Do you .... want m-me to .... to b-be .... leaving?" The words sound choked, as though he has to force them out.

"Leaving? Whatever do you mean?" I can't keep the shock out of my voice. "Why on earth would I want you to leave, Passepartout?"

"You would not .... w-want someone .... who is .... d-damaged, Master," he whispers. "Y-you will not be wanting .... to be l-lovers .... after tonight."

Oh God. He *can't* believe that. He can't believe that I would reject him because of what Rimini has done to him. As if I would ever give him up, for any reason ....

I cup his chin with one hand, raise his face to mine. I nearly burst into tears at the look in his dark eyes .... he's so convinced that I will not want him after what has happened to-night. He closes his eyes, looks away.

I'm kissing the salty tears away from his cheeks, kissing his forehead, his eyelids, finally his soft mouth. I could kiss him forever.

It's so hard to tear my lips away from his. "No, Passepartout. I would never want you to leave me, my love. It doesn't matter what has happened to-night --- or any other night. I love you, my Passepartout, and I always will." I run my fingers over his parted lips. "You are my life, Passepartout, my heart and soul. I could not live without you."

His eyes fill with tears. Can he honestly have thought I would want him to go?

"Je t'aime," he whispers. "I love you so much .... I d-do not want to leave you, Master."

"I would not let you leave, Passepartout." I lock my eyes with his, desperately trying to make him feel the sincerity in my words. "My life would be meaningless without you."

Then I'm kissing him again. I can't stop. I just want to kiss him, hold him, touch him ....

Reluctantly, I draw my mouth away from his and sit up. I have to wash the blood away, make sure he's all right.

"You're still bleeding, Passepartout." I can barely get the words out. Sticky, warm blood is still trickling down his thighs. "Please, let me take care of you."

I wet one of the soft cloths in the lukewarm water, then set to work washing the blood from my lover's skin. Fortunately, the blood hasn't dried, which makes it rather easy to wash away.

Passepartout is silent until I run the cloth over his buttocks. Then he gasps in pain, tries to pull away from my touch. I stroke his back, try to calm him. I have to get this damned blood washed away before it dries.

His gasp turns into a scream when I move the cloth lower, over his asshole. I have to grind my teeth to hold back my own cry; I can't bear to hurt him. But I have to do this.

He's sobbing into the pillow, deep racking sobs that shake his body. I can't bear it. He's hurting so badly .... a low moan breaks from my own lips. But I don't stop. Better to get this done quickly. The blood is nearly gone ....

There. Done.

I stand up and quickly remove my own clothes. I'm only bruised; there doesn't appear to be any blood. Damn Rimini. He knows I would suffer any torture imaginable to protect Passepartout. Raping the man I love was the cruelest form of torture he could have inflicted upon me.

I strip the bloodstained blanket off the bed, then throw a soft comforter over Passepartout. I'm beginning to shiver myself; it's cold in the room. I slide under the quilt next to him, taking him in my arms, drawing his body as close as I can against mine.

After a while, he falls into uneasy slumber. I must stay awake ....

***************

I must have slept. It's still pitch black outside. Passepartout is asleep in my arms. Every few moments he whimpers softly, as if in the throes of dream --- or memory. I debate waking him, but I cannot bring myself to do so. His body needs rest to heal.

I cannot resist pressing my lips against his temple, his closed eyelids, his cheek. He's here, in my arms. He's safe.

How did I ever live before Passepartout came into my life?

He annoyed the hell out of me at first. His inventions, his bad jokes, his hopeless mangling of not one but several languages.

But from the very first, I was impressed with his intelligence, his courage, and his loyalty. He had no reason to be so unfailingly devoted to me ---but he always has been, ever since the first time I set foot upon the Aurora.

And of course, I noticed his beauty from the moment I laid eyes on him.

I can still remember the first moment I saw him, on the steps of the cathedral right after my father's funeral. He was with the Baron.

I remember my exact thought as if it were only yesterday:

*What an absolutely beautiful man.*

That very night I dreamt of seducing him into my bed, making love to him .... a dream so intense and vivid that I had to satisfy myself manually for the first time in quite a long while. I remember that I thought of his hands, his mouth, fantasizing that *my* hands were *his* as I stroked myself to orgasm.

My eyes kept straying to him all through the long hours of that fateful card game. Though my mind was elsewhere, I had a certain .... awareness of him sitting at the table, watching the cards as they were played, nervous tension surrounding him like a palpable aura. In the end, the Aurora --- and Passepartout --- became my "property".

I have never "owned" Passepartout. I would never make that sort of a claim on him. But he has owned my heart from the moment I saw him.

Little did I know what fate had in store for us. I did not dream that Passepartout could love me as passionately as I love him.

So many times I've come so close to losing him forever. Oh God, when he was possessed by that evil bastard Lazarus .... I shudder to think of what might have been done to my Passepartout if we had left him in that horrible "hospital" with that so-called doctor.

I wanted to kill Draco when he brought that needle down into Passepartout's shoulder. Even though Lazarus would have killed me, I could not bear the thought of Passepartout being hurt.

And what Draco did to him in that torture chamber he calls a hospital was inhuman. Bound in a straightjacket, chained, gagged .... it broke my heart to see the fear in Passepartout's eyes when Jules and I burst into that place to discover what Draco was doing to him. He was so frightened.

I will never forget the sound of his voice when he told us that he couldn't breathe .... even now, it kills me to remember that. To know that *I* was inadvertently the cause of his suffering.

Thank God *that* ended without anyone being seriously hurt. I would have never forgiven myself if harm had to come to Passepartout or Rebecca.

When those .... villains .... we encountered in America hijacked the Aurora and took Passepartout with them as a hostage, I wanted nothing more than to kill them all. I was terrified that they would kill Passepartout, that I would never see him alive again. I thought nothing of the loss of the Aurora. I only prayed that Passepartout would not be harmed. Even then I knew that I could not live without him.

Our first encounter with Rimini was just as terrifying. When I boarded the Aurora and saw that one of Rimini's .... abominations .... was choking the life out of my beloved, I wanted nothing more than to rend the creature limb from limb. It took every ounce of strength I possessed to keep my voice even, calm --- to not scream out in fury and charge the foul creature. It gave me such satisfaction to force those monstrosities off the Aurora, to watch them plummeting to the earth.

When we returned from Russia and I discovered the welts across Passepartout's back from Nicolai's overseer, I cried. Oh God, how I cried. The tears seemed to come from somewhere so deep inside of me that they would never cease. Seeing those welts on his back .... the knowledge that my beloved Jean had suffered so .... I couldn't help it. If I had not realized that I had been cheated and returned to the house .... he could have been beaten to death by that --- that ogre. And it would have been all my fault.

And worst of all, that terrifying experience with Adriana Locke. All I could think of when I was trapped in her web was that my life would end without Passepartout by my side. I have spent most of my life not caring if I should live or die, but since the night Passepartout and I first made love, I have gained a new respect for my own existence.

The first time we made love is one of my most cherished memories. It was so hard for me to tell him how I felt about him. I was terrified of being rejected .... I thought he would find the idea of being in love with a man revolting. I fear that I badly underestimated my Passepartout.

I remember the thrill that shot through my body the first time I touched him. I *still* feel that rush of pure desire whenever he rests a hand on my shoulder .... whenever I touch him.

The way he looked at me when he first saw me naked .... with such desire, such love in his gaze. It was incredibly arousing to know that he desired me as much as I wanted him.

And the first time I saw my Jean naked was a revelation. Never would I have imagined that he was hiding such a magnificent body under his clothes. I am still amazed that such a beautiful man wants *me*. He could have anyone .... but he chooses to be with me.

I show a completely different face to him than I do to the rest of the world. Society regards me as cold and calculating. Not to mention that I am seen by many as a dissipated libertine with far too much money. He sees a different side of me. He knows who I really am. And he brings out a part of me that I have never shown to anyone else. The tender, loving, vulnerable side.

He sees my heart. The heart that I am loath to admit exists, for fear of having it broken.

Passepartout cries out softly and struggles against me, his body twisting in my arms. He must be dreaming of the nightmarish encounter with the vampire.

I shake him gently, hoping he will wake from what is obviously a terrifying replay of the brutal rape he suffered at Rimini's hands.

He awakens more rapidly than I had anticipated. He screams, tries to push me away.

"Passepartout! Jean! It's me .... Phileas! "I grasp his chin with one hand, force him to look at me. "You're safe, my love."

He looks at me, eyes wide, unseeing. Then his gaze focuses, and he buries his face against my shoulder, a sob breaking from him. I wrap my arms around him, murmuring soft words, giving what comfort I can.

"It's all right, Jean .... you're safe .... it's over .... it's all right .... don't be afraid, love .... shhhhh ...."

He sobs into my shoulder for what seems like a very long time. After a while, his sobs turn to soft gasps, then sniffles. We lie quietly, bodies entwined, each offering what comfort we can to the other.

"Master .... did he .... hurt you?" His voice is low, soft, as though he does not really want to voice the question.

"Hurt me?" Oh. He means ....

"Did he .... use you, too?" It's almost a whisper, so low I have to strain my ears to hear.

I shake my head slowly. "No. He did not."

But *why*? *Why* didn't Rimini ravish me? He had me helpless, completely at his mercy. It would have been so easy for him to take me ....

I could not have survived another rape. I would not *want* to survive. But being forced to be witness to the brutality he inflicted upon Jean was worse than anything Rimini could have done to my own body. Seeing my love violated so cruelly was a violation to my heart and soul. Rimini did not need to take me physically to make me suffer the most excruciating pain possible. The sodding monster *knew* that watching him hurt Passepartout would be a million times more painful than anything he could have done to me.

After what Passepartout went through when the League kidnapped him .... I cannot even begin to imagine what this must have been like for him. Being used as a pawn against me by the League must have been horrible enough. But to be taken again, and used just as brutally ....

I have never told Passepartout about my own rape. Even after his kidnapping and rape by the League, I could not bring myself to tell him about my own violation. Especially knowing what I did about the person behind his abduction. It would have destroyed Passepartout to know the whole story. And it may have destroyed *me* to speak of it then. Everything was still too fresh, the wounds too open.

How can he be expected to love someone who is so damaged --- physically and emotionally?

But he has been damaged in the same way. And it does not diminish my love for him. It only makes me want to protect him. And it makes me love him even more than I already do.

Would he feel the same if he knew? Or would he be repulsed by the fact that I have suffered the same physical violations that he has? Can he accept me as I am, knowing that I was victimized?

I know deep down that Passepartout will accept me, and love me, regardless of what lies in my past. It is not that I fear his rejection. It is that I do not want to admit to *myself* that I have been a victim. I will not be diminished in Passepartout's eyes --- but in *mine.*

God, I *want* to tell him. I want him to know that he is not alone, that I have dealt with the same pain that he is feeling. But I am deathly afraid of losing his love.

Or .... is it losing his *respect* that I am so terrified of? Do I *want* Passepartout to see me as someone who cannot be touched by something as traumatic as rape? Do I want him to see me as an inviolate, perfect lover ....

Or do I want him to see me as myself, flawed and human?

He knows I am flawed. But he does not realize the *extent* of my flaws, the damage to my body and soul. If I lay my heart and soul bare to him, I risk losing all.

But I cannot hide such an important part of my past from the man I love. I need to lay my soul as bare before Jean as I have bared my body to him. I cannot love him completely unless I place my trust in him completely.

If I do not tell my love about my past, I will always feel guilty for keeping it from him. What was done to me was instrumental in making me the person that I am. And he needs to know about it. It will help him to understand why I am so guarded with my emotions. Why I sometimes cannot express the great love I have for him.

And by telling him, a great burden will be lifted from me. I have carried my secret for far too long. I risk losing his love .... but if he can find it in his heart to accept me, with all my imperfections, then our bond will be strengthened.

It is a risk worth taking. He *needs* to know that he is not alone. He *needs* my strength, my support, my love. And the best way to give that to him is to let him know that I have suffered the same trauma.

He needs to know. And I *think* I finally need to tell.

His next words startle me.

"I do not think I could be bearing it if he was doing to you .... what he did to me. I could not live knowing that he .... used you."

The perfect opportunity.

"I ...." My throat is dry. I have to get the words out, unburden myself. "Passepartout, I *have* been used .... in the same way that you have been .... but not by Rimini."

"What?" He draws away and looks up at me, his eyes wide with shock. "What do you mean?"

"It happened a very long time ago .... over twenty years ago." I have to take a deep breath before I can continue; the memory is closing my throat, choking me. "I was .... brutalized .... forced to submit .... by people I thought were my friends."

"Your friends?" he says softly. "They were not being friends, Master."

"No .... they were not." I choke again. I don't know if I can talk about this. Maybe I've made a mistake .... "It was a very long time ago, Passepartout. I was a very young man then .... "

"How old?" His arms have tightened around me, as though he is trying to protect me from the pain of a wound I thought had healed years ago.

"I was .... eighteen. It was my first year at Cambridge." The memories are flooding back upon me now .... "This is v-v-very hard f-for me t-to talk about, Passe .... Passepartout."

My voice is trembling; I can't control myself. I'll start to cry if he asks me anything else ....

"Eighteen? Mon Dieu! You were being just a child ...." I can hear the horror in his voice. "How could they be doing that to you? They must have been very bad people, Master."

"They were." I cannot tell him .... I cannot let him know that the same person responsible for my violation is also the one who orchestrated his own kidnapping and the tortures he suffered during the time the League held him captive.

"I am sorry." He presses his lips against my throat, my jaw, my cheek. It's almost as if he senses that I can barely stand to be touched. The emotions of twenty-two years ago are overwhelming me .... coming back with an intensity that I have not felt since the night it happened.

"No, *I* am sorry, love. I should not be burdening you with this .... it happened so long ago. And the people responsible are gone." But not all of them. One still exists. As I am only too well aware of. And he has thrown in his lot with my greatest enemies.

"People? There was being .... more than one, Master?" His voice is shaky.

"Yes, Passepartout. Quite .... more than one. There were .... eight of them." My voice is shaking even more than Jean's. The memory can still unnerve me, even after all these years.

"Eight?" He sounds shocked. "All of them? All of them were .... using you?"

I nod slowly. I cannot bring myself to speak. I do not trust my voice.

"Mon Dieu ...." His words are a soft whisper, barely audible. "All .... in one night?"

I nod again. I can feel the tears again --- close, threatening. I will *not* cry. I am beyond tears.

"I am so sorry .... " His voice breaks. "I would do anything .... anything .... for you not to have suffered that, Master."

God. Even in the midst of the terrible pain Jean must be suffering, he thinks of *my* pain. I truly do not deserve such love.

"I know," I whisper into his hair. "I know, Jean. It was a long time ago .... I have learned to live with it. I just .... I needed to let you know. To .... tell you that I know how you feel."

"Why did you not .... tell me before?" His eyes are too knowing, too searching.

"I .... I was afraid .... you would .... not want me," I whisper. "That you would reject me .... not want to be with me .... because I have been so.... damaged." His very words. Which of us is the more traumatized by our ordeals?

My eyes are so full of tears that I can't see anything around me. I can't cry .... I mustn't cry. Jean has enough to deal with; he does not need to comfort me for something that should have been out of my mind a long time ago.

"Are you really thinking I would do that?" His voice is soft, tender. "I would *never* be rejecting you, Master. Do you not know by now how very much I am loving you?"

"Yes, love, I know," I gulp out. "But I .... I am so much older .... and .... and .... "

My self-control snaps. I can't hold back the tears any longer. One moment I am talking --- the next I am sobbing in Passepartout's arms.

He holds me for what seems a very long time. I want to curl into his arms and stay there, never move, never have to face the world again.

"I am sorry .... I have not even thought of what .... what was done to me .... for years. But to-night .... Rimini .... brought it all back. What he did to you .... You have been through enough to-night. I should not burden you with my problems."

"Is not a burden, Master," he says, his voice as soft as a caress. "That is why I am being here. To do whatever I can be doing for you."

"I .... " My voice fails me. After all he has suffered to-night, my Jean is thinking only of me and my burdens. He is so selfless, so generous. Only one of the many reasons that I love him. "I have no right to trouble you with my terrible memories, Passepartout. I am so very sorry."

"Shhhhh." Passepartout touches a fingertip to my lips. "I am thinking that you had a need to be letting the past go. Maybe this was being the right time for you."

"Yes." In spite of my bruises, rope burns, and the ache that seems to permeate my bones, I feel cleansed. As though telling him about what happened to me has lifted some great burden from my soul.

"We should both try to be sleeping now," he says. "Things will be looking differently in the morning."

Yes. Sleep will help us both heal --- both our physical and emotional wounds.

He wraps his arms around me, as though *I* am the one who has been brutalized to-night, as though it is *me* who needs the comfort of *his* arms. My sweet Jean. Even after the terrible ordeal he has been through tonight, his first thoughts are for me. In spite of his own pain, he is always the caretaker.

I tighten my arms around him. The next time will be different. I will protect him from Rimini. With my life, if need be.

He falls into an uneasy sleep, broken by an occasional soft sob. I know he must be reliving the experience in his dreams. My heart throbs painfully in my chest, along with the throbbing of my bruised body. If only I could have spared him this. It was *me* Rimini wanted, not Jean. My love should *not* have had to suffer such brutality.

It is my love for Jean that has drawn him into this horror. The blame for his pain can only be laid at *my* feet. My fault. All my fault.

I cannot sleep. It is not only the pain of my battered body that keeps me wakeful. The emotional turmoil of the night has ensured that I will not be granted the peacefulness of sleep for a long while to come.

This is not over. I know that Rimini will be back --- for both of us.

Part 3

Another sleepless night.

I don't know what I'm feeling --- terror, anticipation .... arousal?

Yes, definitely arousal. The mere thought of Rimini's hands stroking my body again already has me hard.

Damn him damn him damn him to hell. And while I'm at it, I may as well damn *myself* --- for being utterly unable to resist him.

I have a feeling that my inability to resist is Rimini's doing --- that he is *influencing* me in some abominable way that I am helpless to stop.

After what that monster did to Passepartout, why can't I hate him? WHY?

I *DO* hate him. But .... I also desire him.

And the fiend *knows* it.

He has such control over my mind .... and, apparently, my body as well.

Rimini has unleashed a new sensation in my mind, as much as the physical sensations he's forced my body to endure.

I know what it is. Something I never thought I would feel.

Shame.

***************

It's been four nights. Four long, sleepless, soul-searching nights.

Four nights of my body burning for his touch, four nights of being so painfully aroused by the mere thought of him that the slightest touch can send me over the edge.

I can't go to Passepartout. It's impossible for me to even consider making love to him. Not with the thoughts of Rimini's hands, his mouth, his cock still in my head. That deranged monster has already done enough damage to my beloved. I will not let him touch Passepartout again.

Jean. That .... creature .... called him Jean. Something I cannot bring myself to do, even in our most intimate moments. Damn.

And Passepartout --- Jean, dammit! Jean! --- doesn't need me for sex. Not after what Rimini did to him. He needs .... comfort. And I feel so guilty --- holding him, caressing him, letting him sleep in my arms --- when all the while my body is burning for the touch of the creature who raped him.

I've tried to satisfy myself with my own hands, imagining it's Rimini who touches me .... but it isn't the same. No-one --- not even Passepartout --- has been able to arouse me as much as he does.

The marks on my throat are growing fainter.

But the desire for him is growing stronger. It's too hot. I can't sleep. Maybe if I go downstairs .... have a drink ....

Ah. Better. Damned nightshirt. The air is cool against my naked skin .... but it doesn't cool the heat of my desire, scorching me from within.

I open the door to Passepartout's room, just a crack, just to make sure he's all right. He is sleeping soundly, safely. Sweet Passe --- Jean. My Jean.

Downstairs, the air is cooler. I get a half-full bottle of sherry from the liquor cabinet. Ah. Well, maybe *this* will send me to sleep ....

The image of Rimini and me together slams into my brain with a ferocity that makes me gasp.

My cheeks burn with shame as the memory of my wanton actions returns to me with crushing force.

I had no control over my own body. As much as I hated what Rimini was doing to me .... my body desired it. God help me, a part of me *wanted* to feel his hands, his mouth, his cock.

The memory of what he did to me makes me wince.

Rimini's inhumanly long, slim fingers moving inside my arse. The pain of the invasion reminding me of the brutal rape I endured at Cambridge.

I choke. Another memory crashes into my head.

Rimini's monstrous cock in my mouth --- and me sucking at it, feeling his release down my throat, tasting him on my tongue.

*Why* am I remembering this so vividly *now*?

Suddenly I'm pushed back on the couch cushions. Unable to move. Unable to speak. Almost unable to breathe.

He's here. On top of me.

*Ah, Phileas. So lovely to see you again so soon. And naked, too. You must have been waiting for me, hmmmmmm?*

I can't move, can't think. This is what I've spent four agonizing days waiting for .... longing for .... dreading ....

*Open your mind, Phileas. You cannot hide your desires from me.*

I feel his mind probing into mine, uncovering the shameful desire for him that I've tried so hard to hide .... even from myself. It's almost as much of a violation as if he'd pushed his cock into me.

But he's right. I can't hide from him. Even if my thoughts don't betray me, my body will.

He will know just how much I want him .... the instant he touches me.

The fiend strokes my cheek, bending over me, his breath warm against my face. I can't look away from his eyes, boring into mine.

He knows. He knows I want him.

*Yes, beautiful Phileas. And I want -you.-*

He takes me into his arms and covers my mouth with his, his long tongue pushing between my lips. His tongue is stroking mine, probing my mouth in time with his hands stroking my body. I'm helpless to stop this.

I don't want it to stop.

Rimini enfolds me in his arms and carries me to the fur rug in front of the fire. Instantly, a fire springs up in the grate --- another talent of his, I suppose, he'll never have to carry matches --- and throws light over the room.

The same rug that Passepartout and I first made love on.

Passepartout!

*Do not worry, dear Phileas. Jean will not know what is happening here tonight.*

Don't hurt him!

*I will not touch Jean. I give you my word. It is not Jean I want. It is you.*

To my utter disgust, a single tear rolls down my cheek.

*Jean will not wake. He will never know that I have been here. And he will not be harmed.*

Thank you.

*You have little to thank me for, Phileas. I mean to make you suffer .... terribly .... over the coming time.*

Weeks? Years? My lifetime?

*As long as I want you.*

A chill sweeps through my body. I can't stand this. It's only been four days, and the suffering is already nearly unbearable.

*Not that kind of suffering, my beauty.*

I realize what he means. He intends to make me suffer physically. To hurt me. No. Please, no. Don't .... don't hurt me.

*In time, you will welcome the pain, Phileas. It will be a release.*

I try to shake my head, to negate the horrible words. I can't move.

I realize that the bonds, the gag, were just an added visual stimulation for Rimini. The power of his mind is holding me as helpless now as I was when I was bound and gagged on his bed.

Rimini chuckles and cups my chin in his hand, forcing me to look into his eyes.

*Yes, lovely one, I enjoy seeing you helpless. Lips as tempting as yours -should- be gagged.*

He reaches for his cravat, long fingers pulling the knot loose. I know what he's going to do with it. He reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a silken handkerchief embroidered with his initials. AR.

Rimini releases his mental hold on me just enough to let me struggle against him as his hands move over my face, stuffing the handkerchief into my mouth. Then his fingers are moving against the back of my head as he ties the cravat tightly between my lips.

The mental pressure is suddenly gone. I still can't move, but I no longer feel the pressure against my vocal cords, silencing me.

No, this time I'm silenced physically. It's not as uncomfortable as the leather gag he used on me before, but still .... constricting.

I still can't move.

*Now, Phileas. Did you think I would release you completely? Don't be ridiculous.*

Well? What happens now?

*Hmmmmmm. Do not be so eager, my beautiful one. All in good time. Some rope, if you please.*

A length of leather cord is in his hand. I blink. Where the hell did that come from? Can he.... call in objects from thin air?

Apparently he can. Rimini rolls me over on my stomach and binds my wrists at the small of my back. At least he can't bind my legs ....

No. Please don't tie me up ....

*Ah, so you do not want to be restrained, Phileas? All the better to tie you, then.*

Rimini is cupping my arse cheeks, his hands warm, caressing. The mental grip is still holding me in place, unable to move.

*Spread your legs for me, Phileas.*

No, you monster. I will not. Anything you get from me, you will have to take by force.

*As you wish.*

Rimini wrenches my thighs apart, his hands needlessly rough. I scream against my gag as his fingers press against the dark bruises on my inner thighs, remnants of his previous cruelty. There will be more bruises now ....

Rimini's knee is pressing between my thighs. I shiver hard, torn between arousal and terror. What is he going to do to me?

I feel Rimini's fingers stroking the backs of my legs, his hands working their way up to my buttocks. He uses his long fingers to spread my arsecheeks apart, brushing one digit across the tender opening between my buttocks, arousing me unbearably.

Go on, put it in. *Put it in!* Get it over with, damn you!

He laughs softly.

*No, my sweet. This is what I meant when I said you would suffer.*

And he keeps stroking me, for what seems like forever. What starts as pleasure quickly becomes excruciating. I can't .... no .... stop ....

After what feels like eternity, he turns me over. I can't stop my body from arching upward, toward his hands, his mouth.

*How does it feel, Phileas? How does it feel to be betrayed by your own body? How does it feel to know that your body desires me as much as your mind hates me?*

Please .... no more .... I can't stand it ....

*Hmmmmm ...... let us make the connection a bit stronger.*

Rimini pulls my head back, exposing my throat. His gleaming fangs descend toward me.

If I wasn't gagged, I would scream.

Mentally, I'm shrieking.

His fangs dig into my throat. At first, it feels as though my skin is burning, melting in the intense heat. Then an icy coolness spreads through me, and I can feel the blood being sucked out of my body.

It's not entirely unpleasant.

In fact, what blood is left in my body seems to be going straight to my cock. It's pulsing with vivid life, leaking freely at the tip. I feel as though I'll explode at the slightest touch.

I have never been so thoroughly aroused in my life. Every pore of my body is throbbing, out of control.

Is it Rimini's touch --- or that fact that he's sucking my life out of me that is arousing me to a fever pitch?

Abruptly, he stops. I moan against my gag as the incredible sensations fade, warmth again returning to my body.

The psychic connection between us is stronger than ever. I can almost feel him breathing.

*Now, you will feel my pleasure --- and I yours.*

I realize what this means. I will be able to feel Rimini's pleasure when he takes me. Oh dear God.

I will, in effect, bugger *myself.* Oh dear God .... no ....

*That is correct, dear Phileas. You will feel my pleasure --- and your own pain.*

Fiend. Monster. Pervert.

*And your lover, Phileas. Do not forget to add that title to the list.*

Rimini fishes about in his jacket pocket for a moment, finally withdrawing two small silver clamps. What the hell are *those* for --- ?

I find out.

He clamps one to each of my nipples. I wince as a quicksilver pain flashes through my body, and is just as quickly gone.

Without a word, Rimini lowers his mouth to my crotch. He spreads my legs even wider with his hands, his long fingers stroking my inner thighs.

He pushes my knees up against my chest.

No. He can't. Not here.

*No, Phileas. Not yet. You have a while to wait before I make you mine in that way.*

His hand moves down between my buttocks again. In the position I'm in, he has easy access. The damnable stroking against my arse hole begins again, but now his fingers are harder, rougher.

After a few minutes, it starts to hurt. I'm writhing, struggling, anything to make it stop. I know it won't stop. Not until Rimini has had his fill of torturing me.

Rimini strokes my arse hole until I'm open, throbbing. One finger presses against me, slips inside. Then another. No .... please ....

His fingers are caressing, massaging. God ....a third finger slips into me. It hurts.

Rimini's fingers twist inside me, raking against my prostate. It's almost more than I can bear. God .... I have to come ....

Rimini's other hand squeezes the head of my cock, pushing me back from the edge. He's not going to let me come ....

*That is correct, Phileas. This will be prolonged for as long as I wish.*

It goes on, and on, and on .... his fingers stroking me, pushing me ever closer to climax ....then his hand squeezing my cock, just under the head, stopping me from coming just as I'm nearing orgasm. Please .... stop ....

Rimini moves his hand from my cock to my chest, his fingers flickering across my nipples.

A commingling of pleasure and pain bursts into my consciousness. The silver clamps seem to dig into my nipples, while at the same time waves of pleasure rush through my body, radiating from my chest.

It's almost unbearable. The pain, the pleasure, mingling into one.

I'm right on the verge. Only another few strokes of his fingers inside me ---

Then Rimini's fingers are gone. I'm left hanging, my cock jutting painfully into thin air, my body thrusting against nothing.

Rimini hauls me to my knees, moving behind me and pressing my body against his. His fingers move teasingly over my rigid cock, then are just as quickly gone. Damn.

*Bend over.*

I obey, pressing my hot cheek into the soft fur. I feel Rimini spreading my legs, opening me, exposing the most intimate area of my body to his lustful gaze. Again.

His fingers are cupping my balls. Stroking, caressing, tugging. Warm breath. His tongue against my arsehole, licking, caressing, lips barely touching my skin.

*Do not move, Phileas. Be still.*

I have no choice but to obey.

His hands are still gently cupping my balls, stroking the exquisitely sensitive knot on each testicle, stopping when he knows I'm nearing climax. I can't stand it.

The stimulation is becoming unbearable. His mouth moves to my balls, gently sucking at each one in turn, tugging, teasing me. Oh God.... don't stop .... please ....

*Do you think you can stop me? You are my plaything, Phileas. A pretty toy for me to use and discard at my pleasure.*

He's right.

God help me. I don't want this --- I'm fighting it with all my mental strength --- but my traitorous body *does* want it. Is Rimini somehow *influencing* my thoughts, *making* me desire him? Is that why I feel so utterly helpless when he touches me, violates me?

The thought sends an involuntary shudder through me. The idea that I could be manipulated in that way .... it's nauseating. That I could so easily surrender control of not only my body, but my mind as well ....

His tongue is still working at my arse hole. It's beginning to hurt. As though he senses my discomfort, Rimini takes his mouth away. I groan against my gag as the warm tongue leaves me, torn between pleasure and pain.

Rimini pulls my body back against him again, his hands stroking my stomach.

*So smooth .... much better. I shall have to shave you again soon. Only this time, you shall be awake to savor the experience.*

I shudder. That's one experience I don't wish to have.

*Ah, but you will. I will make it rather ....pleasurable.*

I bet you will.

*Do you doubt my ability to give you pleasure, my lovely?*

No. Not at all. I know only too well how completely Rimini can pleasure my body.

But I also realize how painful he can make any experience, if he chooses to.

*Ah. Pleasure or pain. Or both.*

In one swift movement, he removes the small silver clamps from my nipples, dropping them to the floor with a soft "clink."

Then his fingers are rubbing my nipples.

The most excruciating pain mixed with the most exquisite pleasure sears through my body. My nipples have been so sensitized by the clamps that any touch is painful/pleasurable at the same time. I nearly double over, but Rimini's arms keep me from moving.

He keeps stroking my nipples, knowing exactly what I'm feeling. He can feel it himself.

It feels incredible.

It hurts.

Pleasure and pain. With the pleasure --- just barely --- winning out.

He's still fingering my nipples. Oh God .... I can't bear this ....

His fingers become harder, rougher. Now he's pinching my nipples, squeezing .... oh God, it hurts. Stop, please stop ....

*How quickly pleasure can turn into pain, Phileas. Remember this.*

Bastard.

Rimini lowers me to the floor. He brushes his lips gently across my nipples, sending a last rush of sensation through me.

He hasn't touched the hardness between my thighs. Almost as if he's intended to ignore my desperate need of release.

*That is what I mean by suffering, Phileas. No release. Not tonight.*

What?

He laughs softly. *It is much worse than being taken, no?*

Yes. I realize my face is wet. I'm crying.

Please! I can't bear this.

*No. Not yet. You will suffer first.*

Rimini leans over me, reaching behind my back and loosening the leather cords enough for me to free my hands. But not yet. I still can't move.

*Good night, my beautiful angel. I have enjoyed you greatly tonight. As I will on many more nights to come.*

Wait! When? Where?

*When you do not expect it.*

He presses a last kiss against my nipple.

He's gone.

I pull my hands free of the cords and sit up, my bruised body aching in rather uncomfortable places. I can't believe he's left me like this.

Without thinking, my hands move between my legs. I'm stroking my aching cock with both hands, desperate for release.

No. Wait.

As if in a dream, I move one hand to my arsehole. I gasp against my gag as I push one finger into myself.

The sensation is incredible. I never thought that touching myself could bring such pleasure.

It doesn't hurt. I can control whether it hurts or not. It's an incredible realization .... knowing that I can give myself this pleasure. I had always thought it would hurt ....

I slip another finger inside, and move my other hand on my throbbing cock, squeezing, pumping.

I move my fingers in and out of my arse hole in time with my pumping hand.

Within moments, I come, the force of my orgasm making me sob against the cloth in my mouth.

I lay on the rug for what seems to me like a lifetime. Finally, I roll over on my stomach and raise my hands to the back of my head, pulling at the knotted gag. I loosen it and pull it out of my mouth, flinging it across the floor.

Despite myself, a sob breaks out of me. Then another.

Then I'm crying, deep racking sobs that I can't hold back.

I sit up and double over, pressing my burning face against my knees.

Is this what he intended? That I would be *forced* to bugger myself?

Yes. And worse yet .... the realization that I *enjoyed* it. That I found it so utterly pleasurable.

Sadistic. Cruel. Monstrous.

And my lover. God. As much as I hate to say it, Rimini *is* my lover, as much as Passepartout is.

Even more so. Rimini has allowed me to explore a dark side of myself that I never knew existed.

He will be back. He *will* take me.

Was that a threat or a promise?

The voice is dark with desire in the back of my mind --- but I hear it as clearly as if his lips brushed my ear.

*A promise.*

God help me.

I am beyond help.

Part 4

I stay where I am for a long time, my face pressed against my knees, waiting for my sobs to subside. I can't stop crying.

How can I live like this?

A shriek tears through the still air.

PASSEPARTOUT!

I get to my feet, ignoring the aches of my bruised body, and rush up the stairs to Passepartout's door. My hand freezes on the doorknob.

What will I find inside?

If that monster has hurt Passepartout ....

What will I do? Kill him? Ha.

There is nothing I *can* do.

I open the door. Passepartout is sitting up in bed, his hands covering his face. He seems to be all right, thank God. Just frightened. Maybe he was dreaming.

I cross the room and take my lover in my arms. He's trembling, his body shaking in violent spasms.

"Jean? What is it? What's happened? Are you all right?"

Jean. I called him Jean. And it seemed to come to me so naturally. He has been Jean to me in my thoughts ever since the first night we made love, but never out loud.

He turns his face into my shoulder and doesn't speak. I can feel his tears, wet against my skin. After a moment, his arms go around me, hugging me to him.

"M-Master .... h-he .... " He can barely speak.

He? Rimini?

Does my lover *know* what has just taken place downstairs?

"Ssssshhhhhhhhh, Jean .... it's all right. I won't let anything happen to you." Empty promises. He knows as well as I do that I cannot stop Rimini if he chooses to take Passepartout again.

I push my lover back against the cool pillows. Hopefully, I can comfort him enough to send him back to sleep.

Then I see the two livid puncture wounds on his throat, crimson against his pale flesh.

He *promised.* He said Jean would never know he was here .... he *said* that my love wouldn't be harmed.

I should have known better than to trust him.

I press my fingers against the wounds on Jean's throat, as if that could make them disappear. I can feel his pulse throbbing beneath his skin. Or is that the bite marks, throbbing with a life of their own?

"He was here. He hurt you." My voice is flat, expressionless.

Passepartout turns his face away from me. I feel a flicker in the back of my mind, slowly growing stronger.

Shame.

Am *I* feeling what Passe --- Jean is feeling? Is the psychic link Rimini established between all of us growing stronger each time the monster feeds?

It must be. For, God help me, I am anything *but* ashamed of what has happened between myself and Rimini.

No. My feelings are guilt .... and desire.

Guilt that my traitorous body should feel such pleasure at the hands of the sadistic fiend who raped my lover so brutally .... and desire burning in me to feel that pleasure again.

"Y-yes .... he was here. He .... bite me." Jean raises trembling fingers to his throat, gingerly touching the livid wounds. "I couldn't call to you .... I couldn't breathe .... "

He dissolves into helpless sobs. I gather him into my arms, stroking his back, murmuring soft words into the silken softness of his hair. "It's all right, Jean .... ssshhhhhhh .... it's all right .... you are safe with me."

Ha. As if either of us can ever be safe as long as Rimini is around. That psychic link can lead him to us no matter where we go, no matter where we try to hide.

I lie down beside Jean, and we snuggle against each other until his sobs subside. Within moments, I hear his quiet, regular breathing, and I know he's fallen asleep in the comfort of my arms.

His head is resting against my shoulder. He fits so well against me. It feels entirely natural for him to be sleeping like this, his naked body pressed against mine.

I look down at him. So many times I've watched him sleep like this ....

Like the first time we made love, after coming back from the fight that finally destroyed that damned glove.

Passepartout doesn't think I know what happened to him in that fight. I do. I felt such satisfaction in seeing that evil Chinese bugger die such a terrible death --- justice for what he did to my beloved Jean.

The thought of another man *daring* to touch my love in the way he did .... no. I won't think about that. It's over, and he's gone. And that was the first night Jean and I were together.

Then when my father's remains disappeared .... Jean came to me in my room at Shillingworth Magna, and held me for hours while I cried out my pain, and my guilt at never having made amends with him. I shudder to think what my emotional condition would have been had he not been with me.

We did not make love that night. He would not allow me to assuage my grief by using his body, which was probably for the best. But his love .... his patience .... his understanding helped me get through a very difficult time.

It touched my heart when he cried along with me. My sweet Jean. He is so incredibly sensitive to the feelings of those he loves.

For one horrible moment at Marechal's castle, I thought I had lost him forever.

I will never forget the moment when I hauled myself into the frozen Aurora, to see Passepartout covered with frost. For one heart-stopping, horrifying moment, I thought he was dead.

I wanted to die too. I wanted to jump from the Aurora and break every bone in my body. It would not have been a worse pain than losing the man I love.

I made love to him over and over again that night. I let him sleep for an hour or so, and then awakened him and slipped inside him again and again. I couldn't stop touching him, fucking him .... I had to know that he was alive, and safe.

Poor Passepartout. He was so sore the next day. He was a bit miffed about that. He refused to let me make love to him for nearly a week --- the longest I have gone without the pleasure of his body since we became lovers.

The worst was that damnable card game.

I should have known better than to place that wager. I was stupid enough to think that I could not lose.

I lost. I lost everything.

But I could not bring myself to care about the loss of the Aurora --- even of my family home. What were they compared to the loss of the love of my life?

They meant nothing. Passepartout meant ....everything.

It was such a relief to find that I had been cheated --- that I could take back my lover *and* my property.

No. The worst was not the card game.

The worst was discovering the whip welts that had been seared across Passepartout's back. It was a good thing we were safely back home when I saw them. Otherwise, every servant in that castle would have been *dead.* I have never been so enraged in my entire life.

That was another night that I made love to him several times.

But the memories of our intimacies cannot begin to compare with the sweetness of being here, now, and holding him in my arms, feeling his body against mine, the warmth of him, the softness of his skin, the beat of his heart. I would die without this.

***************

I must have dozed off.

Passe --- Jean --- is still asleep in my arms.

God, he is so beautiful. How did I ever live without him in my life?

I think I first realized I loved him when he was possessed by the spirit of Lazarus. When that oily Dr. Draco as good as kidnapped him and kept him in that terrible place.

I nearly fainted when Jules and I entered that room and saw what Draco had done to Passepartout. I could barely focus on freeing him from the chains; I only wanted to tear Draco limb from limb. He had said he would take care of Jean; he had not said that his concept of "care" included what I --- and any sane person --- would consider to be torture.

I wanted so badly to go to him then, after we had returned from dispatching Lazarus for good; but I didn't dare. I thought he would be horrified, repulsed that I desired him.

I was so wrong.

It saddens me to think of all the time I have wasted that I could have been with him.

Ah, no matter. We are together *now.* And forever.

Passepartout stirs in my arms. Is it the intensity of my thoughts that has shaken him awake?

His eyelids flutter open, and he gives me a rather sleepy smile. My breath catches in my throat. God, he is *so* beautiful. Seeing him like this, knowing that he is mine --- heart, body and soul --- and knowing that he loves me, is almost painful.

What have I done to deserve such love, such loyalty? And from someone as rare and wonderful as my sweet Jean?

Nothing. I have done nothing to deserve him. Like everything else in my life, he was given to me. He has fallen into my arms too easily.

I have always been a selfish bastard, but I am profoundly grateful for having Jean in my life.

"Master?" His voice is soft, sleepy, a little confused. "What is wrong? Is morning yet?"

"Nothing is wrong, Passe --- Jean. Go back to sleep."

"You are calling me Jean." He smiles, and my heart melts. "You have never called me Jean."

I trace his beautiful lips with the tip of my finger. "I am calling you Jean now."

His smile fades. "H-he called me Jean too."

I cannot bear to see the fear in his eyes. Damned Rimini. That .... monstrous abomination. I can deal with what he has done to me .... but I will *not* allow him to terrorize my beloved Jean any further. Not while there is still breath in my body.

I wrap my arms more securely around him, his body trembling against mine. If only I could erase the evil memory .... but I can't. All I can do is comfort him as best I can.

"Sssshhhhhhh, Jean. It's over. He will not hurt you again. I won't allow it."

"You cannot stop him, M-Master."

I know, Jean. I know.

I draw back and look deep into his eyes --- those beautiful, dark chocolate eyes that have never ceased to mesmerize me from the first time I saw him.

"I will protect you from him as long as I am alive, my Jean. No-one will ever hurt you again, as long as I can possibly prevent it. I promise you that."

A promise to him --- and to myself. For I could not live with myself knowing that I had let my shameful desire for that foul creature touch the man I love with all my heart.

"I know you will, Master. And I will protect you too."

I feel a rush of emotion --- love? desire? fear? all of them, mixed together --- that grows stronger as it pushes to the forefront of my mind. Is this what Passepartout is feeling now?

It must be. And what I am feeling as well.

It seems that the link between us allows us to experience the emotions of the other, even when Rimini's presence is not manifest. I can't tell what Jean is thinking --- but I *can* assimilate his feelings.

It's strange, yet heady, exciting. It's as though my lover's emotions are laid bare before me.

And mine before him.

Oh God. Can he *feel* my desire for Rimini's touch?

Or does he assume that desire is for *him*?

I *do* want Jean. I *DO*. I have wanted him from the moment I laid eyes on him.

But is my desire for Rimini stronger? Is my heart's intense love for Passepartout strong enough to overcome my traitorous body's lust for the fiend who has, in a sense, violated both of us?

I suppose we will find out eventually.

I know Rimini will be back. He has unfinished business with me. And he will use Jean to strike at me, in any way he can. My promises to protect Jean are as empty as my heart would be without him.

I pull Jean even tighter against me, burying my face in his soft dark hair. As though he can sense my distress, his arms tighten around my waist, and we lie entwined in each other's arms.

How long do we lie together, feeling nothing but each other, hearing our hearts beat, listening to the rhythm of each other's breathing? I don't know. It seems like forever. It's not long enough.

Finally, Passepartout looks up at me. His eyes meet mine .... and I am profoundly moved by the depth of love I see in them. He loves me. I don't know why, but he does.

And I love him.

I can't resist kissing that beautiful mouth.... those soft, full lips that have tantalized me from the first moment our eyes met, so long ago on the night of that fateful card game, when our lives ---our destinies --- became linked.

Mmmmmmmmm .... heaven could not be any more than this. His mouth, his eyes, the warmth of his body .... and he is mine. Mine to hold, mine to kiss.... mine to love.

I can feel him hardening against me. Just as I am hardening at his touch, his kiss.

How could I ever have thought that Rimini had the power to arouse me like this? The desire I've felt for him is nothing compared to the love I feel for Jean.

Love versus desire. I know which one I would rather have.

I let my hand move down Passepartout's slim body to gently cup his buttocks with one hand. He gasps, pulls away.

How could I be so infernally stupid? He must still be in terrible pain. "Jean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you .... I'm so sorry."

"Is all r-right, Master. Is not so bad now. Y-you can touch me, I d-do not mind." His voice is trembling as much as his body.

How could I have forgotten so quickly what a terrible violation he suffered? I feel horrible. After just swearing to protect my lover, the first thing I do is cause him more pain.

I am just as much of a monster as Rimini. A hot wave of shame at what I have inadvertently done to Passepartout washes over me.

"No, Master. You are nothing like .... him. Do not feel badly .... is not your fault."

He felt that?

Jean nods at me solemnly. I *am* an idiot. If I can feel his emotions, of course the link will allow him to feel mine as well. And he has always been so sensitive to the feelings of those he loves.... maybe the psychic link Rimini created has caused that sensitivity to intensify.

"I love you." Oh, the intensity of those softly whispered words.

Which one of us said them? It does not matter. We both *feel* them.

I kiss him again, harder, my mouth slanting over his, our tongues probing each other's mouths. Bliss.

But that is as far as this goes ... at least for to-night. Neither of our abused bodies is ready for anything more .... meaningful. That will come later, when we have both recovered from the dreadful experiences of the past few days.

*If* we recover.

We break away from our embrace, reluctantly. Our bodies are both too aroused by this physical closeness. I know that if I do not disentangle my body from Jean's, I may throw caution to the winds and let my desires override my good intentions.

I lie on my back, looking at him, admiring the smooth skin, the well-defined muscles .... and the thick hardness between his legs. I love Jean's cock. It's beautiful, large and thick, but not too long to deep throat. He has the most perfect cock I have ever seen.

I can't resist reaching out, stroking gently down the shaft with my fingertips, caressing the sensitive ridge on the underside, my fingers ever so softly circling the pink glans, rubbing against the oozing slit at the tip. Oh God, he's beautiful.

The skin of his cock is so soft, so sensitive.... but there's hard steel underneath the deceptive softness. He's rigid, throbbing, his breath coming in little gasps.

Nothing to be done now but stroke him to completion. Which I am only too happy to oblige him with.

I feel his fingers wrapping around the shaft of my own cock, and move closer to him until our hips are touching. His hand moves up and down on me, stroking, pumping. Ahhhhh .... so good.

Which of us comes first? I don't know.

We lie there, basking in the warm afterglow of our lovemaking. It feels so good just to have him beside me, his hand stroking up my body, over my stomach, my chest.

My hand is moving over him as well, fingers caressing his sensitive, hard little nipples. I can't help smiling. Jean is so responsive, even after we have just made love.

He smiles shyly. "I like this."

"What? Us being together?"

"Well, yes, that .... and this." He taps my chest with a slender finger. "Being able to feel your skin."

Hmmmmm. If he likes it .... maybe I should reconsider keeping the chest hair off. It could be an interesting proposition ....

*I like it as well.*

I can't move. My body is frozen, my vocal cords unable to utter a sound. I can only move my eyes to the side to look at Jean.

He's apparently unable to move too, judging from the look of panic on his face.

Rimini.

*Yes, my beauty. I have decided that I could not let the evening go by without paying the two of you a visit .... especially as you have entertained me so beautifully already.*

*He saw?* Passepartout's mental voice. The monster must have opened the link between all three of us.

*Apparently.* Amazing how my mental voice can be as dry and sarcastic as my actual words would have been, could I speak.

*Yes, mes cheries, I saw. And I approve. It was a lovely performance.*

*Sod you, Rimini! Get out of our heads!* I throw the words at him.

*No, my beautiful Phileas. I believe it is -I- who will be fucking -you-.* His gaze moves to Passepartout, moving insolently up and down my lover's body. *I have enjoyed Jean immensely. Perhaps I will again.*

NO! DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM! My mental shriek is deafening, even to me.

*Enough of that, Phileas.*

My mental voice is cut off as smoothly as my vocal ability has been extinguished. It's as though Rimini has slapped a gag over my mouth, both mentally and physically.

*Mmmmmmmffffff!* It's the only sound I can make. I can't stand this. It's bad enough not to be able to speak, but to be silenced mentally ....PLEASE! DON'T!

*No, Phileas. I think I will let you suffer for a while. I find your distress to be rather ....intoxicating.*

*No, please! Let him go!* Passepartout's mental voice, begging, pleading with Rimini. *Do not hurt him, please! I will do anything you want ....anything .... But do not hurt him!*

*Ah, sweet Jean.* Rimini moves closer, bends over my lover, one finger moving down the center of Jean's chest, down to his navel. *This will be an interesting night. -Two- beauties to .... sate my appetite with.*

I can feel Passepartout's overwhelming fear. After what he's already suffered at the whim of this perverted beast, I don't wonder that he's terrified.

What will he do to Jean? To both of us?

*The night is just beginning, my lovelies.*

Dear God, help us.

Please.

Someone .... anyone .... help us.

*There is no help for you.*

He's right.

Oh my God.

Part 5

Oh God. This can't be happening. Not again. Not to-night. Not when my body has already been so abused by this fiend only a few short hours ago.

Rimini is bending over both of us, ignoring me for the moment, his fingers stroking slowly up and down Passepartout's chest, caressing his stomach, massaging his nipples.

I can feel Jean's fear clearly. Or do I only *sense* what he's feeling because he is such a part of me?

Why isn't he doing this to *me*? What does he want with Jean?

He wants to torment me. By showing me how easily he can take the man I love --- and force me to be an unwilling witness.

NO! LEAVE HIM ALONE!

*Patience, my beauty. It will be your turn soon enough.*

*Master!*

This is unbearable. I can hear him so clearly, but I can't respond --- mentally *or* physically. I can do nothing but lie here and watch the bastard's hands on Jean's body.

I want to close my eyes, to look away --- but I can't.

Rimini keeps stroking his hands up and down, up and down --- his fingertips moving further down with every stroke.

Passepartout whimpers. I can feel that he's being aroused --- against his will.

Rimini's hand moves still lower --- until his obscene fingers are between Jean's legs, stroking him where *I* was touching him only a few moments ago.

*Ah, my lovely Jean. I can understand why Phileas loves your body. You are a beautiful man indeed.*

Only a soft sob from Passepartout. The sound echoes in my head.

Abruptly, the mental pressure silencing me is gone. I still can't speak --- but I can make my feelings known.

Get your filthy hands off him, you sodding bastard!

*Tsk, tsk, Phileas. Such language. You know very well that I -insist- on your sharing Jean with me.*

If you hurt him, I'll .... I'll kill you.

*We have been through this before, Phileas. You cannot kill me. You cannot stop me. And if you keep fighting me, Jean will suffer for it.*

Passepartout gasps. This time, it's real, an audible sound. The gasp is followed by a soft groan, as Rimini's hand moves between his thighs.

*Please .... do not ....*

Oh God, Jean ....

*Stop struggling, Jean. I have decided to enjoy you again tonight .... in my own way.*

Rimini opens the link further, allowing me access to what Passepartout is feeling.

It's as if Rimini's hand is stroking my own cock. Dammit, he *knows* exactly how to give the most exquisite pleasure .... the pressure, the rhythm, they're perfect.

Passepartout is moaning and writhing under Rimini's experienced hands. Apparently the fiend enjoys hearing him .... and oh God, so do I. His soft moans are incredibly arousing. Even though it isn't me who's giving him this pleasure ....

*Mmmmmmm .... I believe our Jean needs to be silenced, don't you think, Phileas?*

Another groan from Passepartout.

Dammit, I can *feel* his fear.

Rimini pulls one of those damned leather gags from his coat pocket. Jean's eyes widen, and he shakes his head from side to side, wildly. Rimini has apparently released his hold on my lover enough to let him struggle physically.

*No .... please .... no ....* His pleas cut into my heart like a sword.

Don't! You've hurt him enough already. It's *me* you want. Leave Jean out of this.

*Ah, but I want Jean as well, Phileas. You have -both- captured my fancy.*

Rimini grips Passepartout's wrists, holding him powerless with one hand. I'm reminded of his preternatural vampiric strength .... attempting to fight him would be useless. He could kill us both without blinking an eyelash.

Passepartout struggles weakly against the iron grip holding his wrists, to no avail. We're both helpless against Rimini; it doesn't matter whether or not we are physically restrained. He knows he can do whatever he wants with us.

*Yes, Phileas. You see, I *enjoy* watching Jean struggle, knowing that he must inevitably capitulate to my desires.*

You .... let him go! It's *me* you want.

*Ah, yes. But I -also- want Jean. And I will have him.*

Rimini pushes the gag roughly into Jean's mouth and tightens the strap. I can feel it as if it were pushing into my own mouth, silencing me as it has silenced Jean.

Please, Rimini. Don't do this. You can have me .... without hurting him.

*You would do anything to protect your lover, would you not, Phileas? Anything to keep him from being hurt.*

Please don't hurt him. Do anything you want to me .... just don't hurt my Jean.

*Ah. It seems I have discovered the most effective way to make you suffer, my dear Phileas.*

NO! Don't .... please don't ....

Rimini is raising Jean's arms above his head, binding him with the same sort of cords that had bound me earlier. Passepartout is groaning softly, his body released from the paralysis created by Rimini's mind --- but physically unable to move.

*Hmmmmmm .... should you watch or participate, Phileas? I cannot decide which.*

Participate? What the hell does he mean by *that*?

*It means just that, my dear Phileas. As I am rather .... fatigued .... by my earlier exertions, I will use -your- body as an extension of myself.*

He means .... oh dear God. He can't. He wouldn't.

Yes, he would. And he will.

He intends to use my body --- to take Jean.

NO! I won't do this! I can't!

*You have no choice, my lovely. Do you think that you have the strength to resist me?*

His hand in on *me* now, moving between my legs, cupping my balls, stroking, teasing. Exactly as he is doing to Jean.

I don't know which sensation is stronger ---the pleasure of having my body fondled .... or the revulsion of *what* is touching me.

Well, he literally has us *both* by the balls now.

*Yes, it seems that I do. Hmmmmmm .... what shall I do with the two of you? Such decisions.*

Jean's eyes are squeezed shut, as though he is trying to block out the horror of what is being done to us.

*You cannot wish me away, Jean. Both you and your master are mine. To do with as I please.*

Abruptly, Rimini releases us both and moves to the foot of the bed. He removes his dark coat, tossing it carelessly to the floor, making himself comfortable. He smiles lewdly at us, showing the razor-sharp fangs.

*Now. I will enjoy controlling your body as I control your mind, Phileas. Making you do what you have never dreamed you could be capable of .... making you do what you would never do of your own free will.*

No. I won't. I can't. You can't make me hurt Jean. I would *never* hurt him. You sodding monster. I won't do it. You can't make me. You can't.

*Oh, but I can, Phileas. And I will.*

I cannot hear Jean's thoughts. Has Rimini blocked him from my mind? I can sense his emotional state, his fear of Rimini, his terror of what will happen to both of us .... but I cannot *hear* his thoughts.

*Yes, Phileas. You cannot communicate with Jean. I do not wish him to know what will be done to him.*

Poxy bastard. Sodding fiend. Evil monster.

*Yes, I am all of those things, Phileas. And more. Much, much more.*

He smiles again, deliberately baring his fang teeth. He is evil personified.

*You will do as I order, Phileas. You cannot fight me, and you cannot escape. You are mine to command. You have no control over the situation.*

Damn him, he's right. I cannot move a muscle of my own volition. He is controlling me as easily as a puppeteer pulling a set of strings. I am helpless to fight him. I can only lie here, in utter terror of what is to come.

I'm suddenly sitting up, without any conscious effort on my part. It isn't me. It's Rimini. He's controlling my body, my movements. I can't stop him. I grit my teeth and will myself to lie back down ---but I can't. I'm a prisoner in my own body .... as helpless as if I were bound and gagged.

*Ah. You realize now the extent of the power I wield over you. Do not think you can resist me, Phileas. Any attempt to struggle against my control will mean that you --- and Jean --- will only suffer all the more.*

I'm leaning over Jean, my hands moving down his sides. No. I can't. I won't.

*You have no choice, Phileas. You will do as I command.*

My mouth is following my hands, moving down his body, brushing over his belly, then back up to nibble at his nipples. Jean groans behind his gag, aroused by my touch. Does he *know* that this is not my doing? I cannot bear the knowledge that he would think I am doing this of my own free will ....

*Jean knows that you are .... not yourself, Phileas. He loves you far too much to blame you for his .... ravishment.*

No. I can't. I have to stop. I can't do this to Jean.

Rimini throws back his head and laughs, the sound echoing off the walls. His laughter has a chilling, hollow ring to it. The sound scrapes my already raw nerve endings, making me shiver involuntarily.

*Ah, Phileas, do you still have delusions of fighting me? You should know better.*

I'll fight you with the last breath in me, you damned abomination.

His face darkens, all trace of amusement gone from his features.

*If you continue on that train of thought, Jean will suffer the consequences. As will you.*

Fiend. He will use threats against Jean to keep me from attempting to resist him. And those threats will work. We both know it. I dare not risk Jean being harmed.

My mouth is moving lower, kissing down Jean's stomach .... my hands are pushing his legs apart, my tongue flicking over the soft skin of his inner thighs. I have done this so many times before .... but under very different circumstances.

I take Jean's cock deep into my mouth, sucking hard. His hips jerk against me; he's moaning behind his gag, the cries muffled to soft whimpers. I hold his hips still with my hands, moving my mouth up and down the throbbing shaft. At least I haven't been forced to hurt him ....

I let his cock slip slowly out of my mouth. Dammit, he's still hard, unsatisfied. Apparently Rimini doesn't intend to let either of us have the pleasure of climax .... I'm just as aroused as Jean, so hard it hurts.

I'm turning Jean over, forcing him onto his stomach, spreading his legs and kneeling between his thighs.

*No*! Not this. Not after what Rimini has already done to him. I can't. Please don't make me. Please ....

*You will do as you are told.*

I'm crying, tears flowing down my cheeks. I want my life to end right here, right now ....if it would stop what is happening, if it would somehow protect Jean.

I'm reaching for the bottle of oil on the dressing table beside the bed, pouring the oil into my palm, coating my fingers with it. Please.... no .... don't make me do this. He's suffered so much already .... don't make me add to it.

Does Rimini even *hear* my pleas? Probably. But he chooses to ignore me as though my thoughts mean less than nothing to him. He has me under his complete control now; I am a prisoner in my own body, unable to control my movements or speech. He has insinuated himself into my body as easily as he would put on a new suit.

Jean shrieks when my fingers move between his legs, spreading the oil over and around his arsehole. I can *feel* his pain; the link between us is still open enough to let me experience every sensation Jean is feeling. Our minds may be cut off from each other, but our bodies are as closely linked as though we were melded one into the other.

I stroke the oil over my own cock. No ....please .... don't make me .... I can't ....

*Oh, you can, Phileas. And you will.*

No .... please, no ....

I hear the front door slam.

Rimini is off the bed in a split second. His features are contorted in rage. *This is not over. You -will- submit to me. Both of you. I will return.*

In the time it takes me to blink, he's gone. The room is as still and quiet as if he were never here.

Whoever was at the door is coming slowly up the stairs. I can hear a measured, quiet tread on the carpet covering the steps.

It cannot be Rebecca; her current assignment will keep her away for a few weeks. It can only be Verne. I have told him repeatedly that my home is open to him. He must have used his key.

Thank God I gave Verne that key. His coming here tonight has prevented me from being forced to perpetrate an act I would have spent the entirety of my life regretting. Assuming that I could let myself live after what I would have done.

A door opens and closes in the hall. Verne has apparently decided to go to his room, thinking, no doubt, that both Jean and I are asleep. At least I will have the opportunity to go to my own room without Verne seeing me.

I pull at the cords binding Passepartout's wrists to the bedposts, then remove the gag from his mouth. He curls into my arms, shivering. We lie there, wrapped in each other's arms. He is no doubt thinking of the same thing I am --- the deed that I came so close to committing.

"It was not being your fault, Master," Jean whispers. "He was making you."

"I still .... I still would have done it." I cannot make myself face Jean. I am too ashamed of my helplessness in the face of Rimini's power, too ashamed of what I allowed to nearly happen.

"It was not you," he says. "Not you wanting to hurt me. You could not fight him."

"I should have," I whisper. "I should have fought him until my last breath."

"Then both of us are being dead."

He's right. If I *had* fought Rimini, that sodding monster would have killed both of us. But it doesn't make me feel any better to know that I could not have stopped the inevitable. I will be eternally grateful to Verne for not being able to enter the house quietly ....

"I would not have been able to live if I had harmed you." So true. If Rimini *had* forced me to rape Jean, I would have killed myself as quickly as I possibly could. I could not live with myself.

"Do not be thinking about it any more, Master. It did not happen. I am all right." His eyes are searching mine anxiously. "Are *you* all right?"

"Yes." I give him a wan smile. "I will be. As long as I know that you are safe, my Jean."

"Jules must be here," Jean says softly. "He should not see us together."

I tighten my arms around Jean. I can't bear to leave him. Not after what has almost happened to-night.

"I do not want to leave you, Passepartout," I murmur into his hair. "The thought of spending the rest of the night alone is .... unbearable."

"We should both sleep, Master," he says. "I do not want you to be leaving, either. But it is being for the best. There will be time for loving when we are alone."

Reluctantly, I nod. I know that we cannot let Verne know of our relationship. Not yet ....maybe, someday, we can reveal ourselves to Verne and Rebecca, but now is not the right time.

"If you need me ...." I leave the sentence unfinished.

"It will be morning soon, Master. I will be waking you," he says softly. "Do not worry .... I will be all right."

I get up and shrug into my dressing gown. I hesitate to leave Jean; after to-night's events, I *need* the comfort of his arms, his lips, his body. But it is too dangerous for us to be together with Verne in the house.

I stop at the door and look back at him. He blows me a good-night kiss, melting my heart with that devastating smile.

"I love you." I can't keep the words back.

"Je t'aime." The intensity of his whispered words could melt a stone.

I cross the hall to my own room, slipping out of my dressing gown once the door is closed behind me. As I slip into bed, I hold Jean's words close to my heart. The last thing I hear in my mind as I drift off to sleep is his voice.

***************

This has been a rather disconcerting morning. Verne *knows* that something is .... not quite right. He knows Passepartout and I both far too well not to be able to sense that something is amiss. It is a terrible strain for both Jean and I to behave as if everything is "normal."

"Normal". Ha. We both have trouble walking, as well as hiding the bruises on our bodies .... if Verne did *not* realize that something is wrong, I would think he was an idiot.

Even now, he's looking at me contemplatively across the room. As though he's considering whether to ask me if something is wrong.

And how will I reply? "Yes, Verne, something is very wrong. Count Rimini kidnapped and tortured me, and raped Passepartout. He literally took over my body and nearly forced me to rape Passepartout myself, but we were saved by your timely entrance last night. Oh, and by the way, Passepartout and I are lovers. Just thought you might like to know."

Poor Verne. I can imagine the effect of such a confession on his innocent soul. He would never even dream that it was possible for two men to be lovers. If he discovered my relationship with Jean, he would more than likely be disgusted.

But I have to wonder. I know that Verne is infatuated with who he *thinks* I am. But he does not know the *real* Phileas Fogg. Not at all.

"Fogg?"

His voice startles me out of my thoughts. I look up, and meet his clear, honest gaze. He looks so .... angelic. How could this sweet, innocent boy have feelings for *me*, a man nearly twenty years his senior? Someone who has seen --- and done --- more than he has ever dreamed of? Rubbish.

"Yes, Verne?" I'm fighting to keep my tone neutral, as though there could be no possibility of anything being amiss ....

"What is going on?" Verne's voice is flat, expressionless. "I know there's something wrong. Stop trying to act as if everything is fine."

"What could *possibly* be wrong, Verne?" I sound like a character in one of his plays.

"Don't treat me like a child, Phileas!" he bursts out. "You and Passepartout have both been acting like there's some .... secret .... you need to keep from me."

Phileas? He called me Phileas? He has never done that before. Does he even *realize* that he has used my given name?

"I .... I d-don't know what you m-mean." I can't keep my voice steady. Sod it. That damned stammering.

"Nothing is wrong, V-Verne. You are imagining things."

"No, I'm not!" He crosses the room, kneels by my chair. "Phileas, I'm not a child! Whatever it is, tell me! *Please*! I want to help you .... "

"You cannot help me." The words burst from my lips before I can stop them.

"What?" His eyes are searching mine. It's so hard to look away from him .... "Is .... whatever it is .... that serious? Please, Phileas. Don't shut me out."

"It doesn't concern you, Verne," I whisper. "There is nothing you can do to help .... or change things. Please don't ask me to confide in you. It is something very .... personal."

"Are you in danger, Fogg?" He suddenly sounds more .... distant. More adult. "Is Passepartout ---"

I shake my head, hating myself for lying to him. I cannot draw Verne into this. He is far too young and innocent to be witness to this .... horror that Jean and I find ourselves trapped in. I will *not* let Verne become a part of this.

"No, Verne. We are not in danger." I don't want to lie to him, but what choice do I have? I know how impetuous Verne can be. If he had even the smallest inkling of what is transpiring, he would be right in the middle of it, trying to help us. And I *cannot* allow that to happen. Rimini already has me neatly trapped, as well as the man I love .... I will *not* give him my friend.

"All right," he sighs resignedly. "If you don't want to tell me about it ...."

"There is nothing to tell, Verne." My voice is sharper than I would like it to be. "As I have already said, it is a personal matter. I do not wish for you to be privy to it."

"Whatever you say," he shrugs. He sounds so defeated, resigned. I feel a twinge of guilt for keeping him in the dark, but I cannot risk Rimini unleashing his lust on Verne. I must keep him out of this --- for his own good. Hopefully he will not pursue this further ....

"And don't ask Passepartout about it. It is nothing of his concern, either." My second lie to Verne.

"All right, Fogg, all right. If you want to keep everyone in the dark, that's your privilege." He stalks to the window, then turns and looks at me searchingly. "But remember, we're your friends. We care about you. We're here to help."

"I know, Verne." My voice softens. "I know you would help, if you could. This is something I .... need to work out on my own. Please, do not trouble yourself about it any longer. Everything will be fine."

Liar. But what else can I say?

Verne gives me a tremulous smile. For just a moment, I see a flash of disappointment in his eyes. Can he possibly be *that* eager to become closer to me?

No. I can't believe that. Verne is merely being, as he said, my friend. There cannot be more to his feelings than that. He may be infatuated with the *idea* of who I am --- but Verne does not see who I really am. And if he did .... he would *not* like what he saw.

I wonder what Jean would think of this? He would probably laugh and assure me that I am being ridiculous. And be hurt inside that I could think of another man wanting me. My Jean is so sensitive, so easily hurt. And so utterly devoted to me. I have been truly blessed to have the love of such an exceptional person as my Passepartout. I would not risk endangering that love for any reason.

I dread the coming of night. What if Rimini reappears? What if he drags Verne into the horror that Jean and I are living through? I cannot let that happen. Whatever the cost to myself, I must protect Verne.

Why did Rimini make such a hasty exit when Verne entered the house last night? Was it that he did not want to be discovered? Or .... was it that he could only control two people at once? Is he incapable of keeping more than two people under his vampiric influence?

If that is the case .... maybe Verne is the key to ending this nightmare. But at what cost to him?

I must find a way out of this. I must find a way to shield Verne .... and to save Jean. And myself.