Consumed by Lizbeth Dusseau, general erotica Dana learns the truth about her profound sexuality, as a series mysterious paintings and their enigmatic owner, Lucien, lure her into their mystical realm. Lizbeth's novels Elena's Lovers and Hush! are now available in one paperback volume for just  $10.75 (not available separately) Ebook are available separately. Click here to order the EBook of Hush!

      

My god!” Dana was terrorized seeing the bold and garish color dance across the canvas.  Embracing, intertwining lovers reached out to her from the dimensional surface as if to grab her crotch and bring her in. Their stare a shameful invitation.  She shuddered, unable to take her eyes off the painting that leaned against the wall, left there by some errant soul, as if to deliberately incite an unsuspecting woman just waking from a sexual moment.

       Lucien, sensing her trepidation, pulled out of his slumber and turned her towards him where she buried her head in his chest.

       “What’s wrong, my love?” he asked.

       “The painting.  Good god, I can even feel it at my back.  I have to get out of here.”  Her agitation soaring, she jumped from his arms and the bed.  Grabbing her clothes, she took them to the other side of the attic where she couldn’t see the painting moving before her eyes.

       “Ah! The magic must be beginning,” he said.

       “What magic?”

       Lucien was at her side, with an arm surrounding her huddled shoulders, stroking her tenderly.

       “You saw that painting animated by the sun, little more than that.  Come, let me show you.”  He led her back to the cot and sat her down, forcing her to see the mélange of purple color that was bathed in sunrays streaming in the attic window behind them.  “It’s just a painting,” he said.

       Dana gazed at the multi-layered surface of the canvas, the forms of bodies distinct, facial expressions meant to seduce, and eyes – eyes that took their toll on any viewer by the intensity of the dark black irises peering out of the purple hues.  It was compelling now, but not terrifying, and not in motion.

       “So why do you call it magic?”

       “Because that’s what Ariel’s paintings do.  They surprise you, play tricks on your mind.  You’ve already seen them do that.”

       “But not like this time, Lucien,” she said. “I thought for a moment they were going to grab me and pull me inside.”

       “And how would you have felt if they did?”

       “I have no idea.”  She shook her head and looked into his eyes.  She felt like a young girl, innocent and unsophisticated in light of the demanding feelings that were battling inside her brain.  Lucien quick to catch the sexual desire in her eyes, pressed his hands between her thighs, and demanded they part so that his fingers could make their way to her juicy portal.

       “Now.  So soon? We just –”

        “Hush.”  He put a finger to her lips.  “You’ve only begun to express what is here,” he said, toying with the lips between her legs.  “You would never respond to Ariel’s paintings if you weren’t bound up, needing some means of release.”

       “But I –”

       “Hush,” he repeated quietly.

       Laying her back on the cot, his exploring hand opened her thighs wider still.  And while she stared up at him with a fixed gaze, he manipulated her flesh, pulling at her labia, fingering her parted cleft and with his other hand squeezing her warm white breasts.  A deep roar began quietly.  Skirting through her body in a little dance, she jerked at every twist of her nipple, at every well orchestrated gesture, all for the purpose of raising her stimulation to a full-bodied crest.

       “Ah, oh, yes, my god,” she gasped in little phrases, one by one whispered as her tormentor moved from tease to tease.  “I would die for you inside me now,” she wailed.

       Lucien’s “hush” was almost angry, as if he was tired of making the demand for quiet.  “I know your need.  I know the depths you want this space of yours plummeted by my penis.  And so it will be. But not now. The longer you wait this time, the more passion will consume you.”

       “Consume, consume, consume.”  The word repeated in her head.  Over and over, its meaning became clear to her, feeling as if she was diving into the deep waters of herself, down, down to unexplored territory.  He was holding her on a precipice of an underwater cliff, about to push her into the vast depths of sensation where she might be lost.

       “Please no!” she whimpered to him.

       “Don’t fight,” he returned with a calm but decisive tone in his voice.  His manipulating hands brought her to one peak and then another, another yet, where she thought she might swim over the edge, but he held her off.  A vicious torment, there were tears of wonder streaming from her eyes.  But then, while lying by her side, his hand still fondling the opening of her vagina and its soggy interior, he at last brought a steady rhythm to his gestures, and she glided to a pulsing climax that seemed to last as long as his torturous fore-play. Lucien, rising above her, watched the muscles of her abdomen and thighs as they tightened and released, and then as she relaxed back into the pleasure that continued in quivers and jolts until there remained just a warm glow of satisfaction.

       “I feel so limp,” she said, when she finally had words to speak.

       “I would suspect so,” he said.  “Are you chilled?”

       “Hardly.  I’m hot.”

       He smiled, looking down at her. “Such beautiful flesh. It shimmered so when you orgasmed.  A sight I never tire of.”

       “You would watch Ariel too?”

       “Always. Sometimes she’d lay for hours on this cot, naked as you are now.  She’d climax once and then again. I couldn’t pull her away.  But then I didn’t want to.  To watch her was an elemental bliss for me.” He snickered.  “Sometimes I made her a captive in his attic.”

       “How is that?”

       “I’d lock her inside.  Like she was a bad child.”

       “And she protested that, I’m sure,” Dana said, though she wasn’t sure of herself at all.  If Ariel felt half of what she was feeling right then, she wouldn’t want to leave.

       “No. She rather liked being “sent to the tower” as she called it.  I’d leave her here for several days.  Of course I’d come make love to her, but she’d remain here naked.  I imagine she would even have liked to be chained to the wall.  But I never did that.  Her desires were always a little darker than my own.  I simply liked the ecstatic way she remained in her sexual heaven.”

       “And she worked here?”

       “No.  Never.  It was her vacation time, I suppose.  Though she always wanted some of her paintings about the place.  Would stare at them and masturbate.”

       Dana listened, finding the roar within her not fading away in the least.  In the past, it was simple to push sexual thoughts aside after one climax, now she was as sexually alive as she’d been when Lucien had played with her.  The thought of Ariel masturbating in this attic made her want to follow in the siren’s footsteps.

       “Funny, I don’t find that as bizarre as I might have once,” she said.

       “Oh?  Perhaps you’d like me to capture you?  Take your clothes and lock the door behind me?”

       “And I’d be forced to confront this body of mine,” Dana admitted.

       Lucien chuckled.  “Well. I’ll not do that.  But I will leave you here.  If you choose to remain unclothed lying on this cot all day, it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.  If you wish to work, or if you don’t, that’s all right with me.  The paintings you’ll want to review are in that corner over there.”  He pointed to the far side of the room, where a drop cloth covered a number of canvases that were leaning against the wall.  “I’ll be up in a hour or so to check on you.”

       “And you’re not going to lock the door?” she asked with a hint of a grin.

       “I think you want me to,” Lucien said.  “But no.  I’m sure this room will work its magic very well without restraining you.”

       Dana wasn’t sure that was so.  The thought of capture and confinement had always scared her, but this time, her frame of mind was so utterly in the midst of lust that it was as much an aphrodisiac as all the other things connected with Lucien Broussard, and his wife, and the unusual house. Lucien left her sitting naked on the bed, watching his retreating form.  When the door closed, shutting her inside, and she heard his steps until she couldn’t hear them any more.  Bolting for the door, she discovered it opened easily.  She half wished that Lucien had locked it; and yet, she was certain that her saner self would have panicked if he had.

       Turning around, Dana eyes caught sight of her clothes lying in a pile on the floor.  To put them on seemed almost crude, as if this place was meant for a more unconstrained activity.  Knowing it was Ariel’s vacationland away from the stresses of her work, that she lived inside this space naked and without pretenses, it felt sacrilegious to her memory to taint the air with the formality of clothing.  It was rationalization, surely.  But the plain truth was, she was becoming hot again. The heat between her thighs was blasting.  If for just a moment, she laid back on the cot, Dana was sure the moment would pass.

       When she lay down, the blanket at her back was still warm.  She imagined Ariel’s body heat was still permeating the bedclothes.  Seduced by the woman’s obsessions, she was obsessing too, on that tender spot that Lucien had touched, the one just inside her vaginal opening that screamed for another brisk manipulation.  Without thinking more, her mind and body disappeared into another erotic moment.  Her own fingers retracing Lucien’s careful path, she was arching her back, bucking against her hand and feeling the wave of climax again.  It happened so easily.  In the past, masturbation had taken so long.  Now it was as natural as breathing.  She knew this would not be the last time this day.  As long as she remained in this erotic atmosphere, she could go on forever.

       After her body bliss passed for a third time that afternoon, Dana pulled herself from the cot and moved about the attic remaining unclothed.  She didn’t even think of dressing; the touch of her skin was too sumptuous a feeling not to want to relish it over and over.  She thought of Ariel, pretending for a moment that she was that decadent vamp, flitting about her attic completely free of all restraint.

       Moving to the corner where the paintings waited for her, Dana uncovered them, and began pulling them away from each other, so she could view each one separately.  The sun still shining in one of the attic’s small windows darted across the first canvas with a shard of light as though it was cutting the piece in two.  Dana’s first response was to cry, for the light parted the two figures in the painting so it seemed to sever one from the other. 

       One painting after another viewed, Dana allowed her emotions to surface, her thoughts to float free as the dead artist took life in her work and gave the photographer an unparalleled excursion into the sexual psyche.  Time passed, the day dwindling quietly.  Looking up at one point in the afternoon, she realized that the light was fading in the room.  Strange, she hadn’t eaten and she wasn’t hungry.  Lucien hadn’t come and she wasn’t worried.  Utterly lost in the room of dreams and visions, she was having a holiday of her own in a sensuous world, which to that point in her life she’d only glimpsed from a far off window.  Finally pulling out the last of the attic paintings, she felt a sense of completion as her eyes rested on the golden browns, the cranberry hues and the flesh-tinted oils of yet another of Ariel’s mythical lovers. This one was no myth at all however.  Clearly, it was Lucien, the final result of her sketches.  It was of the man alone exhibiting the boldness of his naked flesh, his hard erection a raw power that, at first, made her draw back and gasp, and then surrounded her as if Lucien was in the room himself.

       Though they’d been lovers, Dana had still not seen him in his nude glory.  She wondered when she’d be able to reach out to him and feel with her own hands the tight muscled torso, the swell of his ass, the roughness of his masculine cheek, the curls of hair between his legs where she would shiver to place her hand.  She could imagine herself on her knees before him, his penis at her lips.  First limp, she’d make it large, feel it as it grew in her mouth responding to her tongue’s playfulness. Cupping his testicles in her hand, she’d tease them gently, place one in her mouth carefully and massage it.  Then the other.  And lapping at the musty place of manhood’s feast, she would have him as inflamed as she was, his strong hands pulling her to her feet and then forcing her to the bed, legs splayed wide so that his nakedness could come down on hers and make them one fused body.

       A woman obsessed, Dana dragged the painting of Lucien to the place opposite the cot.  The canvas, though just four feet in height, loomed over her, the stature of the man seeming to grow with each second of scrutiny, so she was feeling cowered by its stark carnal effect.  Akin to being captive, the sublime feeling of being overpowered drew her into another rabid excursion of her body.  This one quick.  She pinched her nipples hard, as Lucien might do – though he never had – and tugged harshly at her labia, before she centered her attention on the pulsing bud of her clitoris.  Fingers inside the melting wetness of her vagina and fingers toying with the pulsing clit, she swooned over the edge looking at the sight of Lucien’s erection. 

       She closed her eyes for just an instant afterwards, and then opened them again.  The light in the attic suddenly dimmed, as if outside the sun had darted under a cloud.  In the gray twilight she let the mesmerizing shadows of Lucien’s body in oils engage her sleepy eyes as she lay wearily on the cot, until it wasn’t just the painting of Lucien looming over her, but the man himself.