One of my earliest stories. A young woman in Victorian England finds a way to realize her revenge. Warning: for mature readers only.
“Je étais , tu étais , il était , nous ét-é–,” Clara squeezed her eyes shut, thinking hard. The heavy French book lay on her lap, open. Why couldn’t she remember the damn imperfect tense of to be? She had been sitting in the library forever and she still didn’t know it.
Drawing a deep breath, she gazed down at the page with the imperfect tense, concentrating hard. After studying the tense for awhile, Clara tried again and found that she still didn’t remember it. With a cry of frustration, she heaved the French book at the fireplace, completely missing and hitting a porcelain vase on the mantle over it.
The vase fell to the floor below with a great crash, breaking and sending shards of blue and white porcelain everywhere. Clara sighed, stood up from her chair and, gathering up her skirts, bent down to carefully scoop up the sharp pieces. She placed the porcelain shards in a handkerchief and then set out to rearrange the various objects on the mantle that had been disturbed.
As she was moving two figurines back to their proper places, Clara caught sight of her own reflection in a tiny mirror on the mantle. Her curly hair was orange, not the gorgeous, breathtaking red like her sister’s, her face round and marred by ruddy blotches. Purposely she averted her eyes from her reflection and turned the mirror around so that she would not have look at it.
Then she picked up the French book, smoothing the pages that had been rumpled when she had angrily thrown it. Clara replaced the book, having given up for the day. After all, she decided, she could never be as intelligent as her sister Louisa, the one who had received all the physical and mental gifts. Louisa had always been better than she was: only a year older, she could fluently speak French and Latin, and often read the works of Voltaire in their original versions. Not only that, but Louisa was the beautiful daughter in the Chester family, her body svelte, with large breasts and creamy skin.
Clara tried hard to be as perfect as her flawless sister, but she secretly knew that it was in vain. Beautiful Louise already had a suitor, a wealthy gentleman who came from a distinguished family. Clara had never even had a male visitor.
Clara bit her lower lip, recalling the best friend of Louisa’s suitor. Such a handsome man Albert Wellington was; tall, his hair sandy-blonde, eyes the color of rich mahogany. That, and he was so sensitive, and almost seemed to like her.
The thought of the handsome man stirred something very un-ladylike in her, and Clara impulsively headed upstairs to her room, her high, laced boots creating a rhythmic din on the wooden floor. When she reached her room, she slowly locked the door, put the key on her bureau. Then, after glancing warily about, she took her Bible from the bookshelf. Opening up the leather-bound book, which was hollowed out, she took out a small pamphlet, yellowed with time.
Settling down on her bed, she opened the translation of the Marquis de Sade’s Juliette, rolling up her skirts and yanking down off her numerous undergarments with animalistic frenzy. Plunging the fingers of her right hand down into her sex, she moaned, allowing herself to melt in the Marquis’ words. Her index finger rubbed her clitoris slowly, gradually picking up speed until she was close to orgasm. Instinctively she brought her legs together, her vaginal muscles closing around her fingers and…
A brisk knock on the door frightened her, and Clara sat up, shoving the thick pamphlet underneath her blankets. Pulling on her undergarments, she hurried to answer the door, her vagina slick with her secretions.
Louisa was standing in the hallway when she opened the doorway, her face flushed with embarrassment. Her sister frowned, looking at Clara’s rumpled dress and her messy hair.
“What were you doing, Clara, that took you so long to answer the door?” Louisa asked, her thin arms crossed.
“Reading.” That was the first thing that popped into her mind.
“You lie.” There was venom in Louisa’s voice.
“It-it was Charles Dickens’ latest book, if you must know,” Clara said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.
“Yes, I am sure that is what you were doing.” Louisa looked past her suspiciously into Clara’s room. “The reason why I came was to tell you that Father is having a special dinner tonight and Mother wants you to look your best.”
“Tell Mother that I will.”
After Louisa had left her alone, she picked out a random dress and put it on, not really caring what she wore. Next to her sister, Clara didn’t look good in anything. Although she had a full-length mirror, she kept it underneath her bed, so she brushed her curly hair the best that she could without it.
When she headed toward the library, she left her door open a crack, light spilling out from her room into the long hallway. Clara had already went downstairs and she wasn’t aware when Louisa slunk inside the room, curious.
Clara’s sister saw the small lump underneath the blankets on the bed, and she lifted them up, noticing the yellow pamphlet. Reaching down, she picked it up and started to read…
Everyone was having a great time at the dinner, except for Clara. She poked at the food on her plate, trying to look proper and lady-like. She wasn’t hungry, and her corset hurt like hell, digging into her sides in a feeble attempt to hide her fat belly.
The only good thing was that Albert was there, seated next to Louisa’s suitor, Winston Somerville. She exchanged smiles with him and tried hard not to look at her sister’s boyfriend. God, how she loathed Winston. The man was a pompous buffoon who talked too loudly and who flashed his perfect teeth too much. Clara had only had a conversation with him once, and all he had talked about was how much of a pity it was that she didn’t have her sister’s elegant beauty.
Bastard. She hoped that a badger would come and bite off his penis when he was sleeping.
Sarah, Louisa’s friend, wasn’t much better. The willowy girl was from an aristocratic background, and she thought herself to be superior to everyone else. She refused to even talk to Clara, instead pretending to be too concerned with brushing her hair or inspecting her pristine white gloves to notice Louisa’s little sister.
“So, Clara,” her father said, turning the conversation to her. “What have you been doing lately?”
“Needlework. And studying French.” Clara could feel Albert’s dark eyes on her and her heart pounded in response.
Louisa laughed from across the table.
Their father raised one gray eyebrow and inquired as to what was so funny.
“Clara forgot to tell you about what else she’s been doing,” Louisa responded gleefully.
“What are you talking about?” Her father asked.
Clara watched, horrified, as her sister pulled out her pamphlet from her handbag and gave it to him. His face paled considerably as he read the title of the scandalous work.
“Oh, dear Lord. Clara, is this yours?”
“I-I-I…It’s-it’s…,” Clara sputtered helplessly.
Revolted, her father balled up the pamphlet and tossed it. The wadded up paper fell before Winston, who smirked when he saw the words “Marquis de Sade.”
“My, my,” she heard him say as she stared at Albert, utterly humiliated. “You have such, ah, unique taste.”
Her pillow was damp with tears as she buried her face in it. It was not because that she was ashamed, but because Louisa had maliciously embarrassed her in front of the only man who she had ever liked. Clara had never liked her sister very much before. Now, she hated her more than she would have ever thought was possible. Sarah and Winston she also despised; the two had cackled like hyenas after dinner and called her a common whore.
She loathed them all. All the years of being mocked by her sister and her sister’s prissy friends made her clench her hands tightly, her nails digging so deeply into her palms that bright blood ran down onto the blankets.
Louisa declared one night, several weeks later, that Winston had proposed to her. This took the attention off of Clara, whom rumors had marked to be an unclean woman. Her mother, who had not spoken to her since finding about her daughter’s sexual fantasies, promptly took her all the way to London to buy dresses for Louisa’s wedding.
Clara found that she loved the big city, which somehow seemed so much more tolerant than the small town where she had grown up. There were so many shops to visit, although she didn’t get to go into them because her mother insisted on dragging her only into the stores of the dressmakers, where she was measured and fit for dresses in the latest Parisian fashions.
While her mother was being fitted, she made up an excuse and hastily left, wanting to explore the huge city. She found a narrow street with a few interesting shops and went into each one. None had exceptional wares except for the last store.
The dirty little shop sold various antiques from around the world, and Clara went up and down the dusty aisles, clutching her handbag. A dark jewel, placed beside a Chinese dragon statue and coated with a thick layer of dust, caught her eye. It could have been an onyx, except for the bright red veins that crisscrossed its surface. Clara gasped when she picked it up; the stone was incredibly cold, as though it had been resting on a block of ice and not on a hot, dusty shelf. Amazed at how unnaturally cold the black jewel was, she went to the front, where the shopkeeper was reading a newspaper.
“Can Ah help ye, lass?” He asked in a Scottish accent.
“Yes. I was wondering what this is.” She held out the black stone, the light from the tiny window bouncing off the glossy surface.
“Tha‘?” The bored shopkeeper squinted his tired eyes. “Der Stein des dunklen Wunsches.”
“The Stone ay Dark Desires. Supposedly it has the power ta grant yer darkest wishes.”
“Really?” Clara visibly perked up.
“Aye. But only the darkest ay hearts can use it,” The shopkeeper turned back to his newspaper.
“Well, can I buy it? How much is it?”
“It’ll be twenty pounds, lass.”
She knew that she shouldn’t be spending such a large amount on a worthless stone, but something told her that this was answer, that it had been presented to her by some dark power…Clara handed him the money and took the stone, feeling its coldness spread through her hands as she headed back toward the dressmaker’s. Perhaps, if she had turned around before she had left the little store, then she might have seen the shopkeeper lower his newspaper, his eyes pure white and sparkling with mischievousness.
The black stone took the place of her Sade pamphlet in her hollowed-out Bible. For months, she would take the little jewel out, run her fingers down the cool surface and shiver with secret pleasure. When Louisa’s wedding finally came around, she realized the stone’s full potential.
Louisa’s wedding was a magnificent event. Their father, who was a wealthy lawyer, had made sure that his eldest daughter’s marriage was exceptionally lavish. Distinguished guests from all over England showed up, and this fact only heightened Louisa’s arrogance. Her sister paraded herself around the house, her stunning wedding dress complementing her splotch-less skin.
Clara just watched her sister, hating her.
“Oh, don’t sulk. You’ll find a man someday,” she said. “Why, I just saw the town drunk, James or whatever his name is, yesterday. You two would make a perfect couple.”
She snickered cruelly, but Clara just narrowed her eyes. I just want to get away from this place, she thought. Far, far away, where she wouldn’t have to hear the townspeople’s whispers, their dirty looks as they saw her at church. But first, first I want to see Louisa die…yes, I want to see her suffering, I want to see blood on that pretty face of hers, Clara thought, her eyes mere slits.
She retrieved her stone and put it into the pocket of her dress, then rode with some relatives to the local church. Everyone complimented Clara on her outfit; indeed, she did look nice in her lilac dress and silken purple sash.
When she arrived at the church, she did not immediately sit down, as the rest of her family did, but chose to walk through the church by herself. As she was passing by one particular door, she distinctly heard Sarah’s voice:
“I don’t know how you can put up with that sister of yours. She is the most unattractive creature that I have ever seen. I would wager that she’ll end up a spinster.”
“I know,” Louisa was agreeing as her sister stormed in.
“I’m tired of you always insulting me, Louisa.”
Louisa wrinkled her nose. “Go away, you little pest.”
Clara straightened her back, did not move. Exasperated, Louisa turned around.
“Clara, go study your French or something.”
“I already have,” was the smug reply.
“Then perhaps you can translate this sentence. Tu es une putain de révolte *,” she snarled, and Clara did not react.
Smoldering with hate, she went back to rejoin her family. As she sat there on the hard pew, she took out the black jewel. Surprisingly, it had lost its coldness; now it was burning hot, its red veins pulsating with heat. So focused was Clara on the stone that she hadn’t noticed that the wedding had actually started. When she glanced up, Louisa was already at the altar, her back turned, her gauzy veil nearly reaching the floor. Sarah was at her side, and Albert was near the groom, acting as best man.
There was two things that Louisa’s sister wanted at that moment: to be far away from the church (actually, to be far away from this world) and to get revenge. The dark jewel turned so hot that its owner couldn’t touch it anymore, and then most of the wedding party disappeared in a blinding light…
When Louisa regained consciousness, she was lying in a meadow of some sort. Except it was…well, bizarre. Everything was tinted gray: the alien vegetation, the cloudless sky.
The only things that weren’t that eerie gray were herself, Winston, Sarah, Albert and Clara…except…except her sister was gigantic, standing over them with her hands on her hips.
She pinched her cheek, saw that it wasn’t a dream. Confused, she glanced up.
“What’s going on?” Louisa asked, startled.
“I’ve brought us here, dear sister.” Her younger sister’s voice had somehow retained its femininity despite how thunderous it had become.
“Oh, sweet Mother of Mercy,” Louisa said, her voice strangled. “You-you’re some kind of witch, or a Satanist…”
Clara did not reply.
Louisa’s anger ignited quickly; furiously, she yanked off her long veil and shook her finger at her sister.
“Undo the spell, or whatever the hell it is that you did! Now!” She commanded.
Louisa’s anger quickly turned into terror when Clara grabbed her around the waist, her huge fingers unmercifully tight. Her sister let out a keening wail, desperately hitting the hand of the giantess who stood up, towering over the rest of her captives.
“Cl-Clara stop! Puh-please, y-you’re hurting m-me!”
Clara smiled sadistically.
“Good.” She liked her beautiful sister struggling in her power and pleading for her insignificant life. Truthfully, she hadn’t been expecting the stone to work, but it had. And her new power was delicious. Clara almost burst out laughing when Louisa started to weep, but she held it back. Instead, she had an idea.
“I’m so sorry, Clara,” Louisa apologized pathetically, and her giant sister pretended to actually consider this. Feigning forgiveness, she put on a friendly smile and loosened her monstrous grip, and Louisa thanked her over and over again as she was gently deposited on the ground.
Clara patiently waited until her sibling had stood up, and then, lifting her skirts, raised one of her boots over Louisa. Her sister, seeing the gigantic shadow fall over her, had sufficient time to scream before the boot knocked her over and then came down on her legs, crushing them with a sickening crunch.
Louisa’s shriek became high with anguish as she clawed at the grass before her, her own blood leaking out from beneath her sister’s boot. Sarah, seeing her friend’s frantic expression and hearing her wild cries, sprinted for her life, only to be snatched up by gargantuan fingers as Clara reached out for her.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” The giantess roared, her face contorted with pure fury. Sarah’s whimpered as she felt colossal fingers grab a hold of her chestnut brown hair, tugging roughly.
“You know, Sarah, you’ve always had such nice hair,” Clara mused aloud, and Sarah quivered in her hand, her eyes watering as her long locks were pulled. Without warning, the giantess yanked hard, ripping out large clumps of Sarah’s lustrous hair. Clara laughed malevolently before placing one massive thumb on Sarah’s pretty face. With just a little pressure, the head of Louisa’s friend caved in. She let the body fall, then turned her cruel attention back to Louisa.
Her sister was still alive and her expensive wedding dress was now stained the same color as her red hair. She had ceased her panicked screaming and her eyes rolled around in their sockets as she made tiny noises of pain. Clara removed her boot, pleased to see that Louisa’s slim legs were reduced to mashed flesh and shards of broken bone.
She allowed Louisa to squirm uselessly for awhile, intoxicated by her own power. Who needed Sade’s writing when she could inflict pain herself? Excited by that thought, she promptly stepped on her sister, her foot bigger than her sibling was long. Louisa squished easily underfoot, and she grinned coldly as she stepped away, her sister a ruined mass of crimson in her enormous footprint.
Winston was too petrified to move, and he blanched even more when Clara came for him. He found himself raised over a hundred feet above the ground and only then did he make a pitiful shriek. Clara studied him, enjoying her newfound power and dominance. Tendrils of warm pleasure spread through her lower belly, the area between her legs moistening, and she realized that being this way was turning her on.
Very un-ladylike, she thought to herself, but she didn’t care. Nor did she care about what she was about to do.
Winston saw the lust in her eyes, and he watched with growing horror as she took off her new dress, carelessly ripping the expensive fabric. She took off all the countless layers underneath and then proceeded to undress him. He did not protest; something in her huge eyes promised him death if he did.
“Like me now, Winston?” She questioned as she sat down, the tiny man close to her sneering face. He mumbled something; what it was exactly, she couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter anyway; her dead sister’s fiancé was nothing more than a source of pleasure to her now, to be used as she saw fit.
She lowered her free hand to her crotch, spreading her vaginal lips with her thumb and index finger, enjoying the man’s expression as it dawned on him what she planned to do. Before he could utter a word, though, she shoved him deep into her hot depths.
Clara sank both hands into the earth, moaning in happiness as he fought to get out, inadvertently stimulating her as he did so. It only took a moment to orgasm, and she felt her shifting muscles squash him into nothing. He emitted one muffled squeak before he died, and then there was silence except for her panting.
Albert cringed as she pulled Winston’s limp corpse from her pussy, his blood mixed with her thick fluids. His mangled corpse was casually dropped beside Sarah’s, and the lone survivor knew that his mutilated body would be joining theirs soon.
He was brought up to the gigantic face of his captor, the giantess’ eyes still filled with pleasure from her gruesome stimulation.
She said softly, “I always really liked you. Well, I suppose I still do. I was too afraid to ever let you know, though. Now it doesn’t matter much what you think, does it?”
Albert held his breath as she ran one finger down the length of his chest. When she felt him tremble in fright, she smiled warmly, benignly.
“You don’t have to worry. I told you that I liked you and I won‘t kill you.” Her smile became savage. “As long as you do what your Goddess commands.”
Frantically he nodded.
“Good, my little pet.” With extreme gentleness, she stroked his hair, in the same way that a woman would pat a small mammal. Albert found himself become aroused, and she noticed it as well. One of her digits began to delicately probe his erection, and he found himself crying out in pleasure. Grinning , she said, “I believe that we’ll get along just fine, Albert.”
* “You are a revolting whore.” (Or so Louisa thinks.) -Nyx