Below is an excerpt from:
The Truth About Marianne
... a novel that goes to the heart of sexual obsession and needs that cannot be ignored.
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To set the stage: Marianne’s carefully fabricated life begins to crumble, when memories from her decadent past suddenly trigger a sexual obsession she cannot shake. As she recalls her days as a love slave to two Dominant men, her respectable life as the wife of a University professor is soon filled with hours masturbating to memories of the bondage, punishment and sex she endured as a naïve and willing submissive. That was ten years ago and half a world away. She has a new country now, and a new name, and damning secrets she doesn’t dare make known. Unable to hide her obsession from her husband, Thomas, she finally confesses—at least half the truth. Not knowing how to handle his wife’s sexual fixation, Thomas takes her to see his colleague, Friedrich Max—an expert on unusual sexual practices. Unbeknownst to Thomas, the coolly handsome Friedrich is also an accomplished sexual master, able to stir the sexual juices of most any submissive female—including Marianne.
The pretty, olive-skinned Marianne Ridgeway sat on a small low stool where she’d been told to sit by the efficient housemaid who answered the door and led her into the living room. Her husband Thomas sat behind her in a comfortable leather pub chair. Both were silent but keenly observant of what was taking place around them.
Marianne wore a sweater and knee-length skirt—simple non-descript clothes that she might have worn to the mall or out to a casual dinner. In fact, she had thought a casual dinner was their ultimate destination that night, until her husband pulled into the driveway leading to the enormous Old Hickory estate house. A prescient shudder unsettled her as the forbidding structure came into view.
Now, a quiver of expectation rippled through her as she realized the possibilities that lay before her. Her previous meeting with the handsome Friedrich Max had been an odd one; its purpose unclear at the time. But the implications of the brief conversation were just enough to provoke her sexual fantasies and send them reeling forward to the present, not back into the past. After that conversation, the obsession had become more bold and demanding, her masturbations, frenzied and disturbing.
Waiting now for things to begin, chills and shivers and cold sweaty palms were symptoms of her nervous response to an atmosphere in the living room that was rife with barely disguised eroticism. She looked around her seeing so many unusual faces, strange faces, all gathered there for purposes she could only speculate about. This odd house was nothing like the tiny flat she shared with Miklos and Havel, and yet it had a similar shabby Old World feel. The tumescent lust that stirred her body now was much the same as she remembered in that other life.
The colors of this night were dark—not drab though, but alive with darkness. While very little shouted that this was a congregation of perverts, the clothes, the eyes, the attitude certainly hinted at the purpose for the evening. The elegance of the group was especially appealing to Marianne; her secret sex life had become fashionable in the years since she lay bound to rickety beds and was beaten to orgasmic, happy zeniths. There was nothing elegant about those times.
But then, she had to wonder, was this what was really going to happen tonight? Would she again ramble on in that thoughtless stupor, that bodily thrill where pain knew no bounds and being demeaned felt like something holy not depraved? Was that her fate here? Or would the kinky rites she expected to take place produce a different result? Would she even be used, or would she remain watchful on the sidelines as she was now? Thomas had offered her no clues. But of course, Thomas might have been as much in the dark as she was regarding the events that would unfold.
Although she gave each guest at least a brief inspection, she deliberately avoided looking at Friedrich Max. As soon as Thomas escorted her into the room and she was told where to sit, she feared meeting the man’s gaze. She understood why now—Friedrich was Miklos and Havel in one body. He was arguably a more handsome and more cultured Dominant man than her former lovers, but the aura about him was very much the same. Since meeting Friedrich, she’d thought about him almost daily in her masturbations. He came to her mind like a wandering devil demanding her attention. Perhaps her psyche understood that those sexual fantasies were just preparation for this very night. Confronted by Friedrich again, she could hardly bear to be in his presence, while at the same time she was drawn to everything he represented that was missing in her life.
For nearly an hour the group socialized while Marianne nervously waited. Most in attendance seemed to know each other and spoke in friendly conversations. A few introduced themselves to Thomas, although no one addressed her as she sat on her lowly stool awaiting her mysterious fate with sweaty palms and a churning belly. After a time, after repeated scrutiny of the room and Friedrich’s guests, her focus finally blurred and her mind wandered elsewhere.
“Mrs. Ridgeway…” A voice emerged in her cloudy mind, sounding like someone calling from a great distance.
“Mrs. Ridgeway!” the voice repeated, this time crackling with impatience and far more real.
She was startled awake with her eyes opening on Friedrich, who stood some fifteen feet away. She sat up straighter, tugged at her skirt, which had ridden high up on her thigh, and wetted her lips as she finally looked at the face she’d been avoiding all evening.
“Mrs. Ridgeway.” Their eyes fused in that instant.
“Yes, Sir?” she answered faintly.
He paused, surveying her thoroughly. “Your husband has given you to my household for the weekend. Do you understand that?”
Of course, she didn’t understand exactly what that meant—though she could wager a decent guess.
“Yes, Sir,” she meekly confirmed.
“From now until Sunday afternoon, you’ll submit to the demands that are made on you by me and the guests I appoint to attend to you.” He spoke carefully, making sure she followed his every word. Even without looking around, she could feel every eye in the room staring at her. “You may assume that you are safe here. I would not allow anyone into my home that I do not trust. And, you can assume that most of what you’ll be required to do has been previously thought out and approved of by Thomas.” He apparently waited for her response and when there was none, he added,
“You understand what that means?”
“Yes, Sir,” she immediately chimed in, although she hardly sounded sure of herself.
Friedrich went on. “Being a gift to this household, your obedience is demanded.” He cocked his head curiously. “Obedience, you shudder at the word but you do know what that means, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered like the dutiful submissive she’d become again. Yes, she knew what he meant. Friedrich Max knew she’d understand. Was she that transparent? Was her longing so obvious that everyone in the room could see the evidence of her great need?
Friedrich toyed with a piece of sheet music that was lying on the top of his grand piano, looking introspective as the entire room waited for him to proceed. He finally gazed up at the mystified Marianne and said with all the force of a military order:
It took some seconds for her brain to acknowledge just what the man had said. And in those brief moments, he added the pointed remark, “My guests and I would like to see what kind of gift you make, Mrs. Ridgeway.”
Although she was clear now regarding what was demanded, Marianne could hardly rise to her feet; all the strength seemed to have been drained from her body. Her throat felt constricted as if she were about to gag, while every second of hesitation surely condemned her. Any second she expected Friedrich to bark the order again, but instead he waited, dispassionately—as did they all. Finally, with her face glued to the man’s, she moved to her feet, shaking noticeably. Her gaze did not drift now. She feared everyone in the room while Friedrich’s face seemed to be the only place where she could find some support…scant though that was.
“Move close, c’mon,” he motioned her forward, nodding, as he took a few steps in her direction.
She instantly regretted wearing her tallest high heels. They were certainly not stilettos like what she saw around her, but still her movements seemed awkward and girlish, like a young woman’s first attempts to navigate in a pair of adult shoes. She wobbled a bit and finally, after taking a deep breath, stood before the man without shaking.
With so many eyes staring at her, a flush of embarrassment rose on her cheeks. They pounded hotly as she heard Friedrich’s next command.
“Remove your clothes.”
He didn’t have to bark the order for it to shock her system like a bolt of lightning.
Her mind seemed to swim, becoming dizzy. All the naked exhibitions of her previous life with Miklos and Havel seemed to converge in that moment. Being naked among Miklos’ friends and Havel’s associates had been something she was accustomed to. Becoming naked before a room filled with waiting strangers was another matter.
She started to speak, words of protest rising to her throat, but Friedrich’s voice cut through the muddle in her brain:
“Marianne, take off your clothes,” this said a little more gently than previous, especially as he added, “Start with your sweater,” to give a clue where she could begin.
Her eyes had for a moment unfocused—her only means to escape the staggering emotions rising within her. But then they became transfixed on Friedrich again as she realized there was no way out for her now. Reaching for the bottom of her sweater, she pulled it up and over her head, letting it slide from her fingers to the floor, discarded. She reached back and unhooked the plain black bra, letting her breasts spill out into the steamy air. Only the vaguest of chills caressed her skin in the warm room, but her dark nipples began to tighten in anticipation.
As she reached for the zipper on her skirt, her fingers fumbled nervously. She wobbled in her shoes, immediately wishing there was something, anything, she could brace herself against. The hardest part was still ahead.
While cold shivers made her visibly quake, the room remained silent, every eye still fixed on her. In her mind’s eye, she saw the faces around her as critical judges, inspecting her every tentative move and her every exposed body part, as if they were making decisions about her worthiness.
As the skirt dropped from her hips, she lost her balance for a second when she tried to step from the pool of material. She righted herself, feeling foolish and clumsy, and met Friedrich’s gaze again, hoping that he’d let her stop while her panties and thigh-high stockings remained in place.
But his impassive gaze communicated his wishes quite clearly. She’d been under that kind of imperious stare before. While fending off a sob that threatened to turn her into a puddle of tears, she finally lifted the elastic at the top of her smooth black panties and peeled them off her bottom and down her thighs. A brief draft of air tickled her wispy dark pubic hair, and she knew her sex was wet. For all her fear and trepidation, this was the kind of erotic rush she dreamed about. Her clit throbbed so hotly in the protected valley between her pussy lips that she was sure the skin was flushed and the evidence of her physical arousal was clear for all to view. Something wonderfully evil was about to happen, and she greeted that prospect with a self-effacing smile no one missed.
Copyright (c) Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights reserved. May not be used without permission.