The Scream of Feyer: hitching a ride with a suicide bomber

by Steve Hammond Kaye

  "Listen Feyer. I keep losing people who are close to me. For once I guess that I’m ready to occupy a quieter corner – to temporarily tame my ferocious existence. You see right now my heart is crying out for simple pleasures. Is lathering your hair and anointing your skin such a crime? In the context of what I could do to you? In four days time I will go to Paris with the other front-liners. We are going to celebrate the fifth anniversary of Mr Wheeler’s tenure in the highest project office. He is our ultimate leader and the masquerade-ball that is planned, will be the perfect way to congratulate him. We recently lost a brilliant front-liner and Mr Wheeler seemed to lose his usual energy a short while ago when we were in the States. When all things are considered, a few dark clouds seem to be gathering on our project horizon. I want calm if another storm awaits us and spending a few hours of relaxation with you partly restores my inner-peace."

  Levene’s reflections had allowed her softer side to briefly shine through and although Feyer still feared the project woman, she didn’t feel as though her life was in immediate jeopardy any longer. Feyer let her mind wander to distant memories as Levene’s hands set to work. She didn’t leave any area untouched and her vigorous finger-work had a power that was firm yet strangely soothing. Feyer tensed as the hands neared her genital area, but when Levene reached her pubic mound she didn’t alter her method of coverage, or spend longer on that region of Feyer’s body. Marcia did want to penetrate Feyer with one or more of her fingers, but with the exception of one brief forefinger stroking motion, she managed to resist her temptations!

  After Levene had finished massaging Feyer’s body, she turned her attention to the woman’s face and hair. The long fingers were utilised to apply a form of pressure that intensified at the apex of her cranium. A warm rushing feeling pulsated through Feyer and as Levene’s method increased in pace, the heat started to fuse with the hypnotic rhythm generated by the finger-work. Feyer momentarily relaxed in an ambient dream-like state. She felt weightless and almost astral in terms of consciousness.

  Her black hair was washed through twice with a shampoo that Levene normally reserved just for herself and her scalp tingled after this cleansing. After twenty minutes Feyer was eventually brought back to her state of restriction, when Levene started to undo the straps that bound her! The project woman spoke again after what had been quite a lengthy period of silence.

  "Your co-operation has activated my compassionate side Feyer! Those who fight me suffer my vengeance, but those who have a more subservient relationship with me are treated well. I tire of being the dominatrix all the time and like a little brutalising myself on occasions! Today my reward for your partial-compliance, will involve taking your tether-straps away with me! You can have your room freedom, although still a bolted-room as I’m sure you’ll understand! When I return from Paris we’ll take things a stage further, but until then this will have to do!"

  Levene savagely pulled Feyer to her and briefly rammed her tongue into the woman’s mouth. Feyer was taken aback and didn’t respond or pull away. As the project woman rose to leave, Feyer flickered a half-smile, grateful for the small-mercy of being able to walk around her room.

  That night Feyer initially slept well due to her new-found freedom of movement, but at 04:33 she was woken by an intense cold that had enveloped her room. In the weak chink of lighting afforded by the outside corridor, she could sense that she wasn’t alone. The voice of a young girl cut through the semi-darkness.

  "So cold. I’m so cold. I need a friend."

  "Where are you?"

  "Under your bed. Why do you hate me so – lady? Why do you kill my kind?"

  "I don’t hate you. Let me see you. You can have my blanket to warm yourself. Please let me see you."

  The child crept out from under the bed and Feyer could just discern the thinnest juvenile that she had ever laid eyes on. She gasped in horror, trying to reduce the audible nature of her shock. The child spoke again.

  "Those needles hurt you know. Ever realised that? We’re left red, dead and lonely – you know! Ever realised that?"

  Feyer froze when she realised that somehow the child knew about the abortion that she had undertaken. She felt sorrow and guilt, but also a form of anger that her dark secret had been discovered. Her uneasiness was evident in her next utterance.

  "What I did was carried out in rugged pasture many kilometres from here. How could you have shared my privacy, when I was forced into that option? Anyway, how did you get into my room and where the hell are your parents?"

  Feyer had been unnerved by the juvenile intrusion and she had asked several questions in a very short duration. When the child answered, she had another dark surprise waiting for her.

  "You’ve met my Father in his kingdom. I’m surprised that you don’t remember! Only for a short moment you understand, but my father just isn’t forgotten by those who meet him."

  Feyer had a horrible feeling that she was going to relive something unpleasant, but she hadn’t linked all the pieces together yet. The woman was rapidly getting frustrated with the distant, childish-whine and her annoyance surfaced.

  "Where exactly is your father? I want to see him."

  "We are one. We are Klue. Do you remember those drowning fishermen, their bursting lungs and the stench of Hell? Do you remember gliding down? You saw Klue’s plated-back didn’t you? We all have questions – don’t we fucker? Never demand an audience with Klue’s bestial nature. You’re just shit on his claws."

  The savage change in the juvenile form of Klue terrified Feyer into silence. She realised that this creature was from another darker world and she now linked her current danger to her previous nightmare-journey. The pungent smell that had previously soiled her lungs returned, forcing the woman to double-up and vomit. The child started to laugh in an uncontrollable manner. It walked right up to Feyer’s bed and delivered a final damnation, before fading through the darkness. The words stung.

  "I guess mummy not feeling well now. Well suffer fucker – just like foetal entities! You will meet my Father, but you won’t fucking thank us for the pleasure!’

  When the child had gone, Feyer walked around her cell. She trembled with fear, but at least the meeting had given her a form of clarity – proving that her vision had been a real experience. She wondered how many forms Klue could take and which one would seek her out next. Her constant walk on the edge of a blade was hardening the woman.

  NINE

  As the early morning July sunlight bathed Paris, Jess Wheeler envisaged the day ahead of him. He had been MC-Project leader for half a decade now and the impending masquerade-ball that evening would honour his tenure. Klue hadn’t visited Wheeler for several days and Jess was gradually starting to feel like he used to – although the satanic spectre hanging over him would never be far from his thoughts.

  The man walked into his luxury-suite window and started to scan the landmarks that represented the city of love. The Eiffel Tower was the most impressively designed structure, although the Rochaux edifice was forty metres taller. This structure had been completed in 2008 and it meant that an MC-Project division looked down on the rest of Paris. The masquerade-ball was due to take place seven floors below Wheeler’s suite in the retro-Baroque ballroom. La Maison de l’Amour Noir was the name of the selected venue and it was currently the favoured destination for intellectually-favoured Parisians. Although the venue had only been around for a few years, it had been designed on a site that had previously been associated with a darkened reputation. In the seventeenth century public executions had taken place on the site and then the area had become associated with witchcraft. The area had rightly acquired a reputation for ill-fortune and prostitutes gained sanctuary in the climate of fear that history had generated. The erection of the current structure sought to dispel the suffering of the past if not the mystique. Indeed the name of the structure admirably kissed history.

  Wheeler had to formally greet the MC-Project cohort, before the masquerade-ball could begin. The cele
bration was to be themed with clandestine liaisons proving the inspiration for the gathering on this occasion. Jess was looking forward to being the master of dark ceremony.

  Whilst Jess Wheeler finished fine-tuning his introductory speech, the ballroom was being made ready for the big event. The high ceiling was encrusted with plaster spires that hung down in a stalactite fashion and blue-marble fragments were sunk into the plaster in a symmetrical pattern. Choice landscapes by Claude and Poussin appeared on the west-facing wall and mannequins in seventeenth century costumes flanked the opposite wall. Glass screens in painterly Baroque colours were evident on both sides of the ballroom entrance and a canted figure-of-eight conveyor belt was placed five metres above the floor. That evening the conveyor belt would carry living models that would keep the Baroque theme and intertwine erotic clandestine elements. The back wall had a huge holographic-fountain projected against it and that night, a full orchestra would be simulated through the fountain. Nothing would be deemed too grand to celebrate Jess Wheeler’s five years in office. Everything pointed to another overshow of project opulence and as the ostentatious MC-ranks got ready for their evening, indulgent vanity was all around.

  Marcia Levene was nearly ready for what she knew would be another decadent night of S&M-driven sex. As she finished preening her finery, she looked at herself in a full – length mirror. She had opted to wear a satin full-length black dress with a split up to her hips on each side. She deliberately let the scars from her Tavini sessions show through. These were of a symmetrical nature running down each outer-thigh in an S-pattern. As she remembered the violent sex that she and David used to share, she became damp between her legs. Those times had answered the callings of her savage sexual gratification and her skin longed for his type of lacerations!

  Levene tried on her black leather face-mask. She felt at home with the relative anonymity that the mask provided. Her eyes and mouth were partially visible, but soft layers of leather covered the rest of her face. She would be hunting Stags that night! She hadn’t felt the pulsating veins of a penis inside her since Necsexing with Saskia. Her vagina ached from under- use.

  Marcia then accentuated the fullness of her lips applying a black-cherry lipstick. This colour brought back good memories for her, of distant times and a distant lover. She still loved being locked in her vanity.

  She looked at her dressing-table and laughed when she saw a dark purple wig. She had played-along by wearing it for the MC-Project several years ago and she suddenly thought that it would add to her masquerade if she wore it again. In just a few minutes her new form of disguise was complete and a largely unrecognisable Levene walked out of her room.

  She chose to walk down the spiral- staircase. This was glass-panelled and her descent could be seen from outside the building, because the staircase was appended to the outer-walls in a corkscrew-type design. Levene knew that those arriving for the ball would witness her gradual descent and she figured that a lot of hyper-sexed males would be able to see right up her – from their low-angle vantage point.

  Marcia was still a head-turner in her forties and when she entered the ballroom, many gave her more than a second glance.

  The leading global MC-Project personnel were in attendance and each of them had adhered to the masquerade dress code. The Chinese delegation had the most ornate facial masks and the said form of disguise compensated for what they collectively lacked in height. Their masks involved a black-leather base like Levene. Jewels and gold dragons were appended to the leather, making the overall effect more sumptuous than their global counterparts. Just fewer than two thousand project staff had received an invitation to the event and the ballroom was packed by their collective presence. As Wheeler approached the speakers’ podium to formally open the masquerade ball, he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder at the massed ranks. Hope was returning to his dark heart and he wondered, just wondered – if Klue had left him for good! Confidence was thus gradually returning to the MC-Project leader and his opening words revealed his new-found strength.

  "Five years on the throne of paradise my people! Five years of growth and success as we forge a better world. I may be at the helm, but I think all of you know that the captain is nothing without a crew to serve him and what a crew you are! Just over a month ago, one of our finest project players made the ultimate sacrifice for our beloved cause. David Tavini’s death was a great loss to all of us, but his spirit lives on with each new milestone we accomplish. As a mark of respect for the great man, we decided to implement his Leanworld Vision the day after his remains were found.

  "You will have already noticed the results of his no-provision policy. Already the numbers of the wasted are significantly lower. Soon those who were totally dependent on our subsistence will be no more and the world will be a haven for the intellectually gifted. No one will be left to slow us down. Our perfect community has started!"

  The man paused briefly to let his words strike home and then continued to extol Tavini’s achievements.

  "You see David is talking to us from his grave. His intellectual genius will get closer to immortality in terms of effect, as each member of the wasted withers and falls! His planning has paved the way for our dream-world and before we celebrate tonight we will initially bear the man the respect he deserves, by standing for three minutes of silent appreciation."

  The requested silence was honoured to a person and then Wheeler spoke again.

  "Tonight is our celebration. You will honour my five years in office by living the wild-culture of excess! This venue is yours, Do with it, as you will. Every room is open, every want provided for. Catch the Tavini-spirit and entertain yourselves like there’s no fucking tomorrow! Go for it!"

  When Jess Wheeler had finished, the virtual orchestra were activated through the huge back – wall fountain. The first piece played was well known amongst project ranks – a Necrowaltz entitled The Love of the Black Horizon. This piece set the requested decadent tone!

  As soon as the virtual orchestra started to play, the conveyor-belt was put in motion. Initially the models adopted statuesque poses that mirrored the mannequins below them. They had drapes and sashes of Baroque colour schemes tied to their bodies and beneath the drapes each model wore skimpy black-latex undergarments. As the Necrowaltz started to approach its zenith, the models started to writhe and reach out for each other. They peeled off their sashes and threw them down to the dancing crowd beneath them. Then in pairs they started to cut each other out of their latex undergarments. Each model moved rhythmically, achieving choreographed harmony with the piece played by the orchestra. In a short time each model was naked and their sexual organs were masturbated to a state of high arousal. Because the conveyor-belt was angled at forty-five degrees, the project ranks were treated to full-view voyeurism! Occasionally a model would partially lose their balance, but they always recovered due to their professional agility. MC-Project staff had handpicked each model and the chosen were putting on a sexual performance of the highest quality. As the music beneath them became more decadent the models entered into a collective sexual frenzy. Each male was forced to adhere to a no-cum policy, because the audience were directly below him! Despite this factor, a few released on the quiet when they were penetrating a partner. Ejaculation was still viewed as risky by the majority of performers though, because they had been contracted for a twelve - hour shift with just a few ten – minute rest periods.

  The 'Shagfest' nature of this work always paid well as large numbers of the intellectually-favoured consistently expressed their appreciation for this type of background entertainment. Thirty-six models had been hired to perform for Mr Wheeler’s big night and it didn’t take long for the smell of sex to intertwine with the smoke and perfume. Marcia breathed in deeply and smiled. She thought the aroma was a fucking good smell!

  She had been one of the first people to hit the dancefloor, as the Necrowaltz was among her favourite musical styles. Levene had initially danced with two different project males,
but she had soon chosen to dance alone as neither of them had excited her wild sexual nature. Her predatory instincts involved a very selective type of pursuit and if anyone pursued her, she was usually turned off by their interest.

  The nature of the masquerade ball being followed that evening usually had protocol that frowned upon verbal interaction between prospective partners, but when Levene tired of the two males that were drawn to her both received a whispered fuck off in their ears! On each occasion she had pulled the male toward her, as if she was going to caress his neck and then she had delivered her stinging rejections. The men were left to wander the floor on their own, annoyed and bemused at her teasing style of rejection.

  After an hour on the dance-floor Marcia had found herself more interested in the sex on the conveyor – belt than trying to find a male who would match her sexual expectations. She was about to leave the floor and head for the bar when she was drawn to a man who danced alone underneath one of the lower conveyor-belt sections. At a distance he reminded her of Tavini. He was tall and another parallel was achieved because his long hair was black. She moved through the crowd in pursuit with her purple hair catching the lights – reflecting her presence. When she got close to her target the music changed. Levene wasn’t familiar with the piece, but she was drawn into the strange ethereal sound nonetheless. Her quarry turned to face her and his dark eyes had a piercing quality to them. He knew the dance and as he pulled Levene into his arms, she was held in a very powerful grip that exacted a trance-like spell upon her. He honoured protocol and said nothing. Marcia was greatly intrigued by his presence and she wished that he would speak. As the dance changed to a quicker tempo, Levene was tightly pulled into the man’s chest. She still had no comprehension of the dance steps that she was following, but she was distracted by carnal thoughts. When the stranger had pulled her to him, she had briefly felt the size of his manhood - as his groin area had rammed tightly against her stomach. She had visibly gulped in admiration and she couldn’t wait for him to penetrate her. She then took the lead and roughly pulled the man away from the dance-floor. In the shadows she thrusted her tongue into his mouth and then briefly spoke to him.