Oh what has the Monster done to me to make me run away from safety and happiness and back into this hell I now call home? Maybe I can’t blame the Monster. Was it really him calling me away from Taun? Or has my mind been so messed up by these awful experiences that I know longer even know myself?
I don’t know what happened. The last thing I remember is going to sleep in Taun’s bed after writing to you. I fell very quickly into a very deep sleep. But I woke up here, at the Retreat. I don’t remember coming here; I would never have done that. I hate this place! Sort of…
Did my subconscious bring me here, sleepwalking my way back to this huge house and its terrible nightmares? Or did my Monster feel my yearning and take pity on me as he carried me gently away from Taun’s loving arms and dumped me, laughing, back at the Gentleman’s Retreat?
Whatever the truth – and I may never find out – I am here now and I can’t even begin to hope or dream that Taun will come for me again. He had told me quite clearly that I was free to leave him at any time but that if I ever came back to the Retreat he would not come and rescue me again. Will he believe me if I tell him that I didn’t come here of my own free will? Will I believe me?
Of course, while I try to figure things out I have lots to keep me occupied. And very little of it is good. At least this small room with the rickety wooden chair is still here and miraculously the laptop I was given so long ago to use is still up and running. I guess my subconscious didn’t see the need to bring my paper diary with me and it must still be at Taun’s house. I hope so. Maybe he will read it and see what a mess I am in and that I really do care for him a lot. I thought I had fallen in love with him and maybe I have but I don’t even want to think about that now. I don’t want to think about Taun at all; it is far too painful to be reminded of what I have lost.
Although the rooms here seem to be filled with men who want nothing but to hurt, humiliate and remind me that yesterday my life was a dream shared only with one man who cherished me; today it is a nightmare filled with countless men who don’t care at all about me except that I suffer as much as it pleases them to make me.
Almost as if he knew I would be coming “home” last night, Mr. Negulesco was sitting in one of the arm chairs in the lounge area of the Mansion. As I said, I had no idea how I got from Taun’s house to the Retreat; I woke up walking along the path towards those hateful heavy wooden doors. I was already pushing against them before I really understood what was going on and as I stepped inside the reality of where I was hit me along with the scent of sex.
I don’t remember how long I was standing there but I heard a man’s voice telling me to approach. He called me Clarise or Carla or something like that, said I looked familiar to him and asked if he knew me. Of course he knows me! I felt a lump in my throat as I walked shakily over towards Mr. Negulesco, wondering why he never remembers my name correctly and can barely even be sure that he had seen me before. Am I really so insignificant to him? Doesn’t he know how I feel about him? How do I feel about him? I hate him! You know that; it is obvious. But, at the same time, I need him to like me and to be proud of me. If he smiles at me I feel my day is complete and I can go to bed happy. If he is angry with me I fall apart, terrified of punishment, yes, but even more terrified of his disappointment.
Once Mr. Negulesco remembered who I was – although he didn’t make the effort to learn my correct name – he pulled my top off. I was so nervous. I haven’t been here in so long and although Vince, the Monster and of course Taun have all seen me naked it was only one of them at a time. The room was filled with people and I was suddenly topless in the middle of what I felt were hundreds of pairs of eyes leering at me. I couldn’t help but cover my naked breasts with my hands but one glimpse of the disapproval in Mr. Negulesco’s eyes and I put my hands down.
I begged him to not use me. I know that was probably stupid of me, but I just couldn’t bare the idea of another man inside me, another man taking me so intimately. It’s too soon. I miss Taun so much…
I was so surprised when Mr. Negulesco agreed. He had been talking about how he wanted me to please him with my mouth (not in those words, of course, but I am not going to use the same language he did to describe what he wanted me to do). I was sure he would have me do that and I didn’t mind too much. I never really mind doing that with a man. It’s almost pleasant; his skin is so smooth and soft yet so solid and firm at the same time. And if they let me do it slowly at my own rhythm and pace instead of shoving it in my face and choking me with it, I can enjoy the tiny piece of control I have over them. It’s as if, for just that brief moment in time, my mouth and my will dictates what happens to a man and his body. I will never tell anyone here that, of course!
But Mr. Negulesco didn’t even want me to do that! He wasn’t being especially nice to me so I didn’t understand. He told me to take my skirt off and said he would tell me what he wanted me to do. He promised me again that he wouldn’t use me and in return he would only ask two things of me. I was so surprised and pleased that I took my skirt off without too much persuasion.
Of course, what he wanted me to do was awful. He told me to lie down on the floor in front of him and touch myself. I somehow did as he instructed and actually managed to obey surprisingly easily until he started talking to me. I had closed my eyes, blocking everyone out, pretending that I was alone and let my finger slip between my legs. I pretended to touch my breasts but in reality I was hiding them and so, with my legs barely open, I was almost completely covered. But then Mr. Negulesco began to tell me how everyone in the room was surely enjoying the show tremendously and I can’t remember everything else he said to me but it made me feel so ashamed and embarrassed.
He was only just beginning.
I begged him to not remind me I was being watched but he got angry and told me that if I complained he could certainly have every man in the room get much closer and watch until I came and then use me until I passed out. Or something like that. I’m so sorry my dear friend, I can’t remember exactly what he said to me but it was cruel and frightening and he definitely threatened me with something bad enough to make me continue to touch myself.
So I made my fingers move again in their small, exploratory circles, while he told me what the second thing was. I had forgotten there was another thing! Oh I hoped it wouldn’t be too awful. While I waited for him to speak, I continued to touch myself, trying to find a happy image in my mind but Taun’s face kept floating in and that made me so sad.
I have often written about how some men are cruel and some are kind. And how, among the cruel ones there are those who hurt me because they enjoy, I presume, hitting or whipping me and making me cry and beg for mercy. But there is a cruelty far worse than any physical pain, that cuts much deeper, and does more damage than any physical abuse. Luckily most men don’t play games with me like that; they just want to use my body and they leave my mind alone. But some men, just a few of the worst and most terrible ones, get inside me in every way possible: body, mind, soul and core.
Mr. Negulesco is one of those men. He seems to have a part of me that he can pull, push, twist at his will. I don’t think he does it on purpose, in fact I am sure he doesn’t because he can never seem to remember me and so how would he know what I like and what I loathe? But he often makes me do the very things I hate and I could swear that sometimes he does it on purpose. But I’m probably just imagining things or it’s a coincidence. As I said, he usually barely recognizes me.
But last night, coincidence, imagination, or something else, he somehow managed to do some of the worst things to me that I could have imagined.
It’s so stupid and really shouldn’t affect me so much but I can’t help it. All I had to do was give myself an orgasm while saying a few silly words. No big deal, right? It’s not as if anyone was hurting me or even touching me at all for that matter. (Well, actually, Mr. Negulesco did have his hand on my back most of the time and was gently, softly caressing my skin which made the whole thing so much worse for some reason. Oh, I don’t understand what this man is capable of doing to me! I hate the power he has over me. It’s terrifying.) Anyway, no one was hurting me and even though Mr. Negulesco kept reminding me that people were watching, in reality they were probably too busy with their own activities to bother watching mine. At least that is what I tried to tell myself.
Why can’t I even tell you what happened next? For goodness sake, it was nothing! But I am stalling and I just don’t want to admit what I did.
The second thing was, Mr. Negulesco continued explaining to me, that he wanted me to… to… you see I can’t bare to even write it. He told me I had to, while touching myself and making myself have an orgasm, say out loud how much I loved… you know… doing… that… and having a man’s… you know… his…
Oh this is ridiculous! Clara, why can’t you write these words? They are only words. And that’s what I told myself as I obeyed Mr. Negulesco’s orders but it was so difficult and it hurt me so badly. I sobbed as I spoke and he kept adding more phrases, and telling me to say more awful things about how I couldn’t live without having a man’s… you know… inside me… stretching me and filling me completely and that I was just a dirty…
No! I don’t have to say these words now. No one controls my thoughts and no one can control what I write here, to you, my sweet and secret friend. So no, I won’t tell you exactly what I had to say last night. I am sure you have lived enough to know the type of vocablulary that he wanted me to use and I did use it but only because the alternative would have been terrible.
But, because I share everything with you, I will say that just as I reached orgasm I think I… oh I am so embaressaed to admit this but I am sure I started speaking louder and faster and I know my fingers were moving more quickly and I think I got carried away and said the words with what may have sounded like enthusiasm but definitely wasn’t. I was being made to say them! They were not my real thoughts! Mr. Negeulsco must have known that. Surely. He can’t possibly know my secrets. Can he?See More of Charlotte & Clara: