Photograghic Memory

Title: Photographic Memory
Author: Lilith
Pairings: Viggo/Orlando, and various others
Rating: *Adult*, *NC-17*, not for children!
Summary: A Halloween party captured on film can leave lasting memories, and scars. Some scars go too deep to ever fully heal and some memories are better left undisturbed.
Warnings: I will try to cover everything now. Individual chapters will also carry warnings specific to that chapter.
This story contains Bondage/domination, Bestiality, Blood play, Drug use, S&M, Non-con, Occult, Rimming, and Watersports.
There will be NO character deaths. This story contains ghosts, which are dead and not-living characters. But I didn't kill them. They were already dead when I got here.
Warning: This chapter.. non-con.
Disclaimer: This is fiction. I don't own these people; their names, or characters. Any similarity to the actual character is a miracle entirely coincidental and really unintentional. I don't know them. I make no claims about anyone's sexual preferences or any other life-style choices. There is no profit being gained from this.

What follows is the final draft of Photographic Memory.

Chapter 1
*********

He had been sitting in front of the monitor for hours. His tea was cold and his back was stiff, but still he persisted.

Viggo had been at this for weeks now. Looking for a house, but not just any house, this was to be their house. This place had to be perfect.
The fact that he wasn't quite sure what “perfect” was, didn't matter. He would know it, when he saw it. It would call out to him. Of this, he was certain.

The house was waiting for him.

The Realtor in charge of the property seemed to be waiting for him too. She dropped everything to accommodate Mr. Mortensen. But not because of is name.
************

They turned off the main road onto one that was nothing but hard packed dirt. That, and deep potholes that seemed to go on forever. They almost missed the next turn, as it wasn’t marked, and this road was no better than the first. They eventually came to another unmarked road, but this one had a hard top and curved around into a thick forest.
Just beyond the curve stood a huge gate with a fence made of concrete and steel extending in opposite directions into the dark woods.
The lady realtor got out with a key and unlocked the gates. After she punched a code into the plate mounted on the side, the gates slowly rolled open.
Dirt and grime, metal and rust, combined in a bone chilling moan as the gates slid back.

It was varying shades of weathered gray. That was the only real way to describe the color. Okay, so it needed painting. It was a huge two-story house. The original structure being around 200 years old, or so he was told. Having been built onto over the years by the inhabitants as they saw fit gave it an unbalanced appearance.
It probably needed more than paint, judging by the price. The land itself was worth more than the asking price, Viggo had mused to himself.

The young female realtor was going on and on with her sales pitch. Talking about how much land surrounded the house, the fence that ran around it, the fence surrounding the cemetery, the outdoor lights, security system, back-up systems and on and on.

"Wait a minute," Something she said had finally grabbed Viggo’s attention.
"Excuse me, did you say, cemetery?"

"Yes, it's just a small, private, graveyard. It has a lovely wrought iron fence surrounding it. Quite the conversation piece. If you would like to see it, I'll show you."

Apparently, Mr. Mortensen was not a mind reader or he surely would have heard her "nononononononononono, please god, no." chant that she was currently reciting in her mind.

*****
They walked around the house and down a path worn bare of life. There, with the afternoon sun shining down, he got his first look at the graveyard. It was over-grown with weeds and had a near dead tree in the center. The gate hanging open on one hinge gave it that perfect touch.

Staring at the desolate scene, Viggo smiled.
This was perfect.
He hadn't even set foot inside the house and he knew. Yes, this was the house and it had been waiting for him.

There was a cold breeze at their backs as the lady led him back to the main house. Viggo was so deep on his own thoughts that he missed the nervous glances she cast back over her shoulder. Walking faster and faster, she hurried him around the house. There were other doors around back, three to be exact, but she insisted they had to go in through the front.

"This is the best first-glance at the inside. It is beautiful, I'm sure you will agree! You said you were an artist… Well, I am certain you will appreciate the beauty you will find in the intricate details…"

Viggo tuned her out as he took in his surroundings. Hardwood floors that shone a deep mahogany and a huge staircase that led up to a railing that ran in opposite directions. The doors to the right opened into an enormous room that had a high ceiling, and large windows that let the sunlight through. On the far wall was a huge fireplace.

"The fireplaces are all fully functional." She was saying. "The kitchen and baths were remodeled about ten years ago and no one has lived here since. The heating and air were upgraded at the same time."

She led him up the stairs and showed him the six spacious bedrooms, each with their own walk-in closet. "Which," She quickly added, "is unusual for a house built when this one was. The fireplaces were the only source of heat originally and they used candles and oil for light."
Going on and on, pointing out every feature that accented the age. The high ceilings and large windows, dark rich floors and the hand carved trim work around the fireplace, even the light fixtures has been made to look authentic, mimicking oil lamps and candelabras.

"Why wasn't the exterior painted?" It seemed odd that so much work had been done inside, yet the outside had been totally neglected.

"It was last painted..." She shuffled through her papers, "About 25 years ago...um, right before the owners moved out."

"I thought you said they remodeled in the last ten."

"Yes, yes they did. They uh, moved out after their daughter died. Couldn't stand the memories, you understand. They held onto the place for a while. They had a lot of work done when they finally did decide to sell it."

This was the part she hated, the part where they always lost interest.

"How old was she?"

"Excuse me?"

"Their daughter?"

"Oh, I'm not sure..."

"Buried out back?"

"Um, yes." She frowned at him for a minute. Let's just get this over with, she thought. "I suppose you aren't interested now. Most people don't make it past the cemetery. They ones that do don't seem to realize that with a house this old you have to expect people to have been born here, and died here."

"I'm not superstitious, that doesn't bother me." It actually adds to the appeal, he thought.
"How did she die?"

"She fell down the stairs one night, broke her neck. They thought she may have been sleep walking. Her parents found her in the morning. It's really amazing that they stayed as long as they did."

"Hmmm, yes, I'm sure losing a child would be very tragic."

"Three. They lost three children in two years."

"Three children?"

"Well, um, yes. There were a series of unrelated accidents."

"How did the other two die?"

"The first one fell from a tree. During the funeral, the youngest child disappeared. They found her two days later, in a trunk in the attic."

"Attic?"

"Yes. Follow me, please. It's accessible with a pull down ladder."

She was hoping to change the subject. She was really hoping to finish up and go home. More than anything else, she wanted to sell this house. Hell, she would gladly give up any commission to unload this gargantuan monstrosity.
She led him dutifully into the hall and pointed at the square in the ceiling with a dangling rope.

"How could a child get up there?"

"I really don't know."

"So, about two years later their last child fell, and broke her neck too?"

"The first child didn't break his neck when he fell. He got cut falling out of the tree, bled to death before he could reach the house."

"Oh..." He was wondering if she could point out where it happened.

"Yes, it was very tragic." With just the right amount of sorrow in her voice, she was a professional, after all.

She knew how to sell a house, even made a nice living at it. It was simple.. accent the good points and detract from the bad; whatever the client determines good and bad to be.
So far she had gotten few verbal responses from this man and only for the more gruesome aspects of the house. Well, if Mr. Mortensen had a taste for the macabre, who was she to judge? He could dig up the cemetery and use the skeletons for lawn jockeys for all she cared. She just wanted to be done with this and get out of here.

She started toward the steps then paused with a sigh. "There are three bathrooms up here, if you would like to see them. The one off of the master bedroom has a Jacuzzi."

"Really, that's great." He knew someone that just loved those bubbles and photographed quite nicely with them cascading down his wet chest.

After checking out the bathrooms they headed back down the steps. The realtor really wanted to hurry this along. It would be getting dark in a couple of hours and she didn't want to be anywhere near this place when that happened. This house gave her the creeps.

They finished the downstairs tour and ended up in the kitchen.

"I think that about covers the house, I would show you more of the grounds but I'm afraid we are going to lose the light soon. Do you have any questions, Mr. Mortensen?"

He thought for a moment, "Why did they wait so long to sell, after moving out?"

She really hoped there wouldn't be questions.
"The house has been in Mrs. Jacobs family for several generations. She has family other than her children and husband buried there. Selling wasn't an easy decision to make. There were also issues with lawyers and power of attorney to work out."

"Her husband, too?"

"Mr. Jacobs had a heart attack when they were remodeling, he was doing some yard work. His wife is the one that found him."

"Will Mrs. Jacobs be wanting to visit the cemetery?"

"Oh, no. Mrs. Jacobs.. She's in a private facility."

Now, she thought, to wrap this up and get out of here. "I don't suppose you are still interested?"

"Actually I am. I don't mean to sound callus, it was tragic what happened to that family, but this is a beautiful house and the price is unbelievable. It's got everything I'm looking for. How soon can we have the paperwork drawn up?"

*****
He hired contractors for the exterior painting and yard work, and movers for what furniture he was keeping. He had hand picked it all after he and Exene had split up, but this new house had its own character and deserved its own furniture. The bedroom furniture was top on the list to keep, of course. There were too many memories to leave that.

His private photos and paintings, he carried over himself. They were priceless and irreplaceable. Not to mention, some of these could destroy people if they were ever lost.
He practically had to swear a blood oath to Orli, and certain hobbits had threatened to personally castrate him if they were ever published.

Sean Bean had been quite blunt with his "I'm a tough man, Vig. I have a tough man image to maintain. If I ever see these in print or at a showing, I'm gonna tough man all over your arse, understand?"
This was after Sean tried to buy them; it was amazing what he was willing to pay.

"Well, if I'm ever hard up for cash, I'll give you a call, Sean."

Viggo had been joking. Sean had not.

"It was all fun and games at the time. I was drunk, very drunk. In the cold, harsh reality that is sobriety, those are panties, excuse me, thongs, and that...that’s a dildo, and that, Oh. My. God.. That’s Elijah!"

He had begged Viggo to destroy the pictures. Viggo had compromised and told him he destroyed the negatives.

Now Sean calls at least once a month and insists that Vig keep his name and number in his wallet in case of an emergency. Yeah, he owned Sean, tough man act and all.

The shots of Orlando were the best. Those taken with him tied to the bed, breath-taking. The way his head tilted back, the red sheets crumpled around him and the string of cum hanging from his dick to his stomach.
Yeah.
The second shot his eyes were open and his face turned to the camera, but the third... In the third one he was struggling to get loose and there was such honest emotion.
It took a lot of touching, stroking, and kissing to keep him up for the rest of the shots. He had finally stopped struggling and gave up. Viggo knows how to tie a knot, there was no chance he could get loose. The last of the shots showed his face thrown back, mouth open in ecstasy, his cheeks still wet with tears.

"Untie me, Viggo.." He had whispered. His voice was flat and unemotional as he fought to hold back his temper and his tears.

"No."

"I'm not playing, let me go." He pleaded.

"No."

"Now! God-damn it!" He screamed as he pulled hard against his restraints.

"No."

Viggo had started touching him again. You cannot buy this kind of power for any price. Kissing him, licking him, he worked his way down to Orli's nipple, sucking on one while he pinched and rolled the other. He really loved that man's nipples. He could lavish attention on just them for hours... and had.

"Mother fuck! Viggo, stop!" He started thrashing harder in the bed, as much as the silk scarves holding him down would let him.

Viggo began working his way further down. Orlando thrust his hips, trying to dislodge him.
That's when Viggo pinned his hips down and started sucking him, swirling his tongue around the head and swallowing.

"Stop, Viggo, please.." He swallowed his anger as his body betrayed him.

"Please, Vig.." Barely a whisper.

"Please?"

Viggo had sucked him hard. Fingering him and striking that lovely little spot repeatedly, Orlando had been throbbing and hard when he had slapped that cock ring on, a move that earned him a string of profanities.

"You already came. It's my turn."

"FUCK YOU!! LET ME GO!!"

Viggo sat back to look at Orlando as he applied a generous amount of gel to himself.
Smiling, he leaned forward and brushed a wet lock from the younger man's forehead. His finger left a shiny streak of lube in its path. "No, Orlando," His voice quiet and calm, "I'm going to fuck you. When I am finished we'll talk about untying you, but I'm never letting you go."

With that said, Viggo thrust hard into his lover and set a brutal pace. Over and over he slammed into him, flesh slapping against flesh, the bed creaking and groaning beneath them. When Viggo felt the end was near he fumbled the ring off of Orlando's greatly abused and neglected cock. Squeezing tight and stroking madly he brought his lover over with him.

He pulled out and leaned down to kiss him, but Orlando turned his head and Viggo licked the tears from his cheek instead. "Don't cry, Orli, its okay." He said it softly, and with so much concern.

"It's not okay! Did you do this to your ex-wife, Viggo? Is this sort of thing the reason your marriage didn't work out?"

"You don't ever want to get up, do you?" He ran one finger down Orlando's chest and began to twirl it around his belly button.

"You're right, Viggo, I... I was out of line. Sorry, really, please let me up, Viggo. Please untie me, please."

"I can't until I know you aren't mad. I love you Orli; I wouldn't hurt you. I'm sorry if I did."

"S'okay. Just let me up.... Please."

Viggo moved closer, holding him and stroking his face.

"No, no, no.. Viggo.. Please, no more."

He lay there beside Orlando, kissing him, stroking his sweaty skin, and whispering endearments and reassurances. He succeeded in getting his lover calmed down and explained that they were private pictures for his private collection, it was all perfectly harmless. Viggo untied him and showed him his love.

The moral of that story is.. if a guy buys new red silk sheets, gets you to help him put them on the bed, then wants to tie you to said bed: be suspicious.

It took months before Orli would let Viggo tie him down again. No colored sheets for the background and an oath and a swear of no photos. Lucky for Viggo, he didn't mention video cameras.

His private photos were a story unto themselves. He kept them in a locked box in his safe. Yes, some things he would pack and carry himself. His “toy” box was another item that required his personal attention.

~Continued~