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From: Arc <arclight_mail@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Prodigal Bride {Arc} (mc mf)
Date: Wed, 14 Aug 2002 22:10:08 -0400
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<1st attachment, "{ASSM} The Prodigal Bride {Arc} (mc mf).txt" begin>

Light flickers on from a small white candle, 
illuminating a room with an empty blue bed. A blonde 
stands in view, shielding the candle, staring at the 
bed. A voice drifts in: "Andrea, you're on."

The blonde nods. "If you're younger than eighteen," 
she says, "or are easily offended by graphic sexual 
descriptions, please do not read further."

Her free hand slips under her loosely buttoned blouse. 
Her eyelids flutter, and her head dips, as if in 
prayer. Then she goes on, her voice a little softer. 
"Any resemblance in this story to real people or real 
situations is just a coincidence."

Then silence falls, and she blows the candle out.

----------------------------

The Prodigal Bride

Arclight


1.

The only thing Abe could find was an umbrella.

He felt more than a little silly as he adjusted his 
grip on its handle. It was Julie's: a pink, plastic 
assembly from his daughter's Powerpuff Girl 
collection. And if he couldn't beat the burglar with 
it, he'd at least get the guy laughing to death. 

Broad daylight, for chrissakes. Some guy was sifting 
through his kitchen, and he'd gotten home just in 
time. He took another breath, tensed his hands around 
the umbrella, and crept to the kitchen.

It was a woman. In faded jeans and a familiar rose 
cardigan, with a small purse slung over her shoulder. 
Fixing the dishes and singing to herself. An old song, 
by Sarah McLachlan.

Her voice, her favorite song.

Sandi?

She turned. The saucer she was holding crashed to the 
floor, and her voice stopped in mid-song. Her face 
hadn't changed at all: the brown eyes and high 
cheekbones, the small mole on her left cheek, the dark 
hair she pushed behind her ears whenever she giggled.

She stared back at him, and cleared her throat. 

"Abe?"

Now what? He'd dreamed about her coming back. This was 
the part where he'd step forward and hug her, and kiss 
her, and everything would be alright--

He swallowed. "Get out," he said. He hefted his 
improvised weapon, trying to keep it steady in his 
sweaty hands. "You left us, now get out."
 
She stepped closer. "Abe. That's... an umbrella."

"I know it's an umbrella." He felt the anger rise. 
Good; anger was good. "Now go away. You left us, 
you're trespassing. Get out of my kitchen, get out of 
my house, and you leave my umbrella out of this." He 
waved it threateningly at her.

"Please. I just...I just want to..."

"Get out, or I'm calling the police." He strode to the 
kitchen counter, picked up the phone, started to  
dial--

"NO!"

A short, sharp scream. He turned, startled. Sandi was 
on her knees, one hand stretched out to him.

"Don't. They'll find me. They found me before."

His fingers felt numb around the telephone. He stared 
at her, kneeling on the kitchen floor. Her eyes 
looked...pained?

"Please, Abe. I don't remember much, but I, but I..."

And with a soft noise, she sank to the floor.

"Sandi!"

He caught her as she fell. She was as light as he 
remembered; for a moment, he just stood there, holding 
her.

Then he sighed and carried her up the stairs, cradled 
in his arms like a child.

2.

Their bed was covered with the blue linens Sandi chose 
the day they bought the house. Abe propped her up and 
mopped her head with a warm, wet towel, not really 
sure if it was helping--for all the special care Julie 
needed, she rarely got sick, thank god; he wouldn't 
have known what to do. 

It was something he'd always worried about since Sandi 
left. Not that he ever blamed her for leaving, except 
for Julie's sake.

A fairy tale. He'd thought of it that way, sometimes. 
There she was, a hotshot MBA, banging some guy who 
worked at the corner bookstore. He never knew what she 
saw in him; whenever he asked, she just rolled her 
eyes and giggled as if he'd said something funny.

They settled down and had Julie. She quit her job to 
take care of Julie's disorder. The police told him 
that might have been what got to her, eventually.

Two days short of Julie's tenth birthday, Sandi left 
home and never came back.


Now she was lying in their bed, wearing the same 
clothes she wore when she disappeared. "I 
remember...shopping," she said, her voice distant. 
"For Julie's party. And there was this woman, talking 
to me. I thought she was friendly at first, then she 
started to ask more questions, and--"

She paused, and her eyes squeezed shut. "I can't 
remember. It's like something's stopping me, and it 
hurts when I try. All I remember is...her."

"Who?"

"The woman." Her shoulders shivered lightly. "There 
were men with her, but she's the one I remember. Tall 
and blonde, always wearing black, a voice like..." Her 
forehead scrunched up.

"Shhh. Don't try too hard."

She nodded, and sipped at the glass of orange juice he 
brought her. "I've been here the whole day, I think. 
It's still a little fuzzy. I was at the train station. 
Didn't have any luggage or anything. Everything looked 
so familiar. Then I was in a cab, and he was asking 
for my address. Then I was...here. My house keys still 
worked. I sat on the sofa for a while. After that, I 
went to Julie's room. Then to ours. The house felt so 
empty, and I felt so...sad." 

She looked up at him. "Where's Julie?" 

Julie. He thought about the first year after Sandi 
left, the nights Julie woke up crying for mommy. How 
he held her and told her no, it wasn't her fault, 
mommy didn't leave because Julie was a bad girl. How 
she didn't believe him, no matter how often he told 
her.

He blinked, and reached to stroke Sandi's hair. "She's 
done well," he said. "They think she can transfer to a 
normal school. And she's taller now, too. She's at her 
friend's house."

"Taller? How...long was I gone?"

Didn't she know?

"Two years," he said, still stroking her hair.

She nodded and stared at her orange juice. "I think I 
got away from them once, last winter," she said. "It 
was snowing. I remember a police station, people 
asking me questions. But then she came to take me 
back. And I left with her. Just like that."

3.

Their refrigerator was sadly understocked, but Abe 
found enough meat to make her sandwiches. He piled on 
some lettuce, studied his handiwork, then added more 
ketchup. Sandi could eat anything if it had enough 
ketchup.

For a second, he stared at the phone on the kitchen 
counter. Then he gathered the sandwiches and carried 
them upstairs.



"They...did things to me," she said, after she 
finished eating. She sat up on the bed and hugged her 
knees. "Made me do things, to them. For them. I 
remember...liking it, I think. After a while."

"Drugs?"

"There was music. Lights. It hurt at first, and then 
it got better. Then it got so good that I didn't want 
them to stop."

Her eyes looked past him, unfocused. Small beads of 
sweat formed on her upper lip. "They trained me. Like 
an animal. When I fought, it hurt. And when I did 
good, it was like--oh god--"

Her voice trailed off. Her hands were on her thighs, 
kneading them softly. "So wet," she said, "Fingering 
me. Not stopping, never stopping. Rubbing my clit, my 
asshole..."

He swallowed. "Sandi?"

She was moaning openly now, staring into space.

"Sandi!"

She looked back to him, and blinked. Her eyes brimmed 
with tears. "But I fought them, Abe," she said. 
"Fought them so hard, even after I stopped wanting to. 
Then I had to promise them I wouldn't fight anymore. 
Because they, they said..."

"Shhh."

Then she pressed her face against his chest, and began 
to cry.

4.

They lay on the bed saying nothing, just clutching 
each other. After a while, Sandi looked up at him, her 
eyes shining. 

"May I?"

Those were the same words he'd used on her, that first 
time they slept together. They were snuggling on her 
couch, listening to music, and he'd looked down at her 
nestled in his lap, and asked the same question she 
was asking him now.

"May I?" she said again, more softly.

Their kiss was light at first. Tentative, like 
teenagers on a first date. Then hungrier. Her tongue 
touched his, then probed into his mouth. His fingers 
moved to the buttons of her cardigan. But her hands 
caught them and pushed them back.

"Please don't look," she said. "Don't look, you'll 
see."

Then she sniffled and unbuttoned her top. The cardigan 
fell away, then the blouse. Her small, high breasts 
sprang out, unfettered by a bra. She looked down, her 
arms at her sides, avoiding his eyes.

Tattoos. In stylized gothic print. 'Slut' over her 
left breast, 'whore' over her right. And low on her 
belly, just above her pubis, 'bride'.

"I remember them doing it," she said, still not 
looking up at him. "It hurt. But she was touching me 
while they did it. Touching me, and laughing."

He pulled her closer. Bent down, and kissed each 
breast. Brushed his lips against the tattooed words. 
Then he moved lower to suckle her nipples, bathing 
each one with wide, slow strokes of his tongue. She 
inhaled sharply.

"Please," she said, "let me."

She pushed him back and straddled him. Unbuttoned his 
pants, pushed them down with her feet. He felt himself 
entering her; but it was tight, too tight. He looked 
and saw her trembling, staring down, her asshole 
poised over his penis.

"I...have to do it like this. I can't start without, 
without--"

With a scream of pain, she shoved her ass all the way 
down. Her sphincter flexed around his cock. Her head 
fell back, her eyes closed.

"They...make me keep myself lubed. So if someone wants 
my ass, I'm ready."

She lifted herself off him, her breathing labored. 
Then she screwed herself down again. He felt her 
buttocks grind against his pelvis. "Oh god," she said. 
"I need it, I need it so bad." Her words came faster, 
a litany interspersed with grunts and squeals. "Do it, 
stick your cock up my dirty little ass, watch me play 
with my horny cunt, oh yes, fuck my ass, do it now."

With each breath, she humped herself on his cock, 
pulling her nipples, fingering her sex, chanting and 
cursing aloud with words he didn't know she knew. He 
felt his erection throb in her tightness. 

Her cursing grew louder, faster. Then suddenly, she 
gave her nipples a final, brutal twist. Her dark eyes 
stared into his; her mouth opened as if to say 
something, but all that came out was a strangled 
groan.

Then she fell down on top him, covered her face, and 
sobbed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I feel so dirty, but I have to 
--I have to--and they made me like it, and..."

He hushed her, and turned her over. Pulled out and 
entered her sex. Touched a finger to her mouth, and 
waited until she stopped sobbing. 

Then slowly, gently, they made love.

5.

In the afterglow they huddled together for long, long 
minutes, their bodies spooned. It was what they always 
did before; his big, pale body covering Sandi's small 
form, her black hair smelling like clean water against 
his face.

"It really is you, isn't it?" she said.

She tugged his arm and wrapped it more tightly around 
her. "Those first times," she said, "when they...raped 
me, and I couldn't stop them anymore, I'd close my 
eyes and pretend it was you." 

Then she turned over and looked at him with the same 
glow she had when they first had Julie, so many years 
ago.

"When they gave me to other women, I pretended it was 
you. When I woke up with strange men riding me, 
ordering me to like it, I pretended they were you." 
She touched his cheek.  "And when I fell asleep with 
someone beside me, it was always you, only you."

"Sandi, I--"

Before he could finish, she whimpered and crawled down 
to his cock. She took him in her mouth and began to 
suck him, her tongue swirling with the skill of a 
whore, her black hair hooding her face. He felt 
himself swell and harden; his fingers tensed and dug 
into the blue bedspread.

Then both her hands gripped his shaft softly, and she 
looked up, a string of drool and pre-cum stretching 
from her lips like something out of a porn movie.

"It's really you this time, isn't it?" she said, her 
voice filled with wonder, her hands squeezing him with 
practiced care, making him groan. "You're not just 
another game she's playing with me? Please Abe, tell 
me I'm not pretending anymore. I've waited for so 
long."

He tried to answer, but then she bent back down with a 
strange, ravenous noise, and all he could do was moan.

6.

They slept, satiated.

He dreamed they were in Halifax again, on their 
honeymoon. They were older, but the streaks of grey 
that colored Sandi's black hair did nothing to dull 
her smile; and Julie was with them, all grown up, and 
she was smart and normal and so beautiful, like her 
mother.

They saw the sun dip under the Nova Scotia coastline, 
and watched the sky start to turn from blue to purple 
to black. Then Sandi took his hand and told him there 
was something else; something she couldn't remember.

But she told him it was okay, that everything would be 
alright, and she kissed him and made love to him again 
under the dying blue sky.

7.

Abe woke up to moonlight filtering in through the 
thin, white curtains. 

She was sitting at the dresser, her dresser, the one 
he hadn't touched since she left, still filled with 
all the little things he'd stared at every night for a 
year. Her hand traced over them, touching each one: 
their framed picture from the Canadian coast, her 
collection of small, porcelain animals, the crumpled 
origami flower Julie made in second grade. Her fingers 
lingered, as if trying to press the memory into her 
mind.

"I remember now," she said.

She crawled over to him on the bed. Her lips pressed 
against his, the kiss harsh and strong, her tongue 
probing his mouth with sudden hunger. Her hands 
gripped his wrists and pinned them against the 
backboard. Then she fumbled for her purse, and--

--a prick of pain. In his left arm. He jerked back. 
Clutched at the numbness spreading just below his 
shoulder. Looked up at her.

"A day," she said. Her head was hanging down, and her 
black hair covered her eyes. In her right hand was the 
plastic syringe she'd pushed into him. "I remember 
now. She offered me a day, and I promised I'd stop 
fighting. Just one day, midnight to midnight, like in 
the fairy tale."

No. Not now...

He reached for her, tried to touch her face. But his 
hand was too heavy. And his body was sinking into the 
bed, and then she was looking back at him with sad, 
sad eyes.

Her tongue wetted her parted lips. "It's happening," 
she said. "They're calling me back." Her breathing 
quickened. Then she moaned and her body jerked; once, 
twice.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's not fair. Just 
a little more time."

The room faded around him. His head fell back, his 
cheek pressed against the cotton pillowcase. His mouth 
hung open, trying to form words. He saw Sandi's right 
hand trace a line down her belly, to her cunt, now 
swollen and wet. Her other hand played up and down her 
undulating body.

"Can you hear her? She's calling me. Mistress wants 
her bride back. And she knows I'll come, knows that I 
--ohhh--won't stay away."

She froze, and her eyes snapped open. 

"Because if I don't come back, she'll take Julie in my 
place."

Her fingers stroked on between her spasming thighs. 
"J-Julie," she said, her voice hoarse and hungry. 
"Mistress will take my Julie. Take her and train her. 
Make her fuck the way I fuck. Make her do the things I 
did. Make her like it, just like me."

She threw her head back, both hands now working 
furiously at her slit. Her voice was different now, 
high and girlish. "N-no, Mistress," she whined. "Sandi 
just wanted more time, that's all. Sandi won't fight 
anymore. Mistress doesn't need to take Sandi's baby 
girl. Please don't take--"

She stiffened, making the soft squeals she always made 
at the peak of their lovemaking. Moonlight lit her 
face, painting it a pure white, stark against the 
shadows on her breasts where he couldn't see the 
tattooed words.

Her eyes opened: bright and clear. She crouched and 
touched her lips to his forehead. And as her face 
lifted away, he saw no tears on Sandi's cheeks.

"You were my fairy tale," she said. "Tell my Julie."

Then the room was empty, and he saw nothing at all.

END

----------------------------

(c) 2002 by Arclight. Other stories by the same author 
are at www.mcstories.com/Authors/Arclight.html.
Thank you to trilby else for "Watering Hole". Feedback 
would be much appreciated at arclight_mail@yahoo.com 

Thanks for reading!

Arc.

<1st attachment end>


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