“You have no idea what you are getting into little boy.” Lord replied staring at the kid like the world’s biggest fool.
Jacque rushed to Timothy’s side and draped an arm around his shoulder as if to protect him. He tried to turn the boy and lead him away from what could only lead to his death in screaming anguish. Timothy shrugged him off and approached Lord. His body shook as he stepped directly into his shadow and the voluptuous power that radiated from Lord’s flesh washed over him. With a Herculean act of will he managed to hold Lord’s fearsome gaze with his own. His knees shook but still he did not blink.
“It might kill me? Is that what you are thinking? Do you think I care whether or not I live or die! Fuck, I don’t matter! Don’t you think I know that? The only thing that matters is the art. Art is the only thing that has made my life worth anything. Until you and Jacque found me I was selling my ass on the street and getting high everyday. I’d have died out there before the end of the year. Either some trick would have killed me or I’d have overdosed or caught AIDS or something. Now I’m fucking immortal! My life has meaning. I am living art now and that’s how I’d like to die.” Finally Timothy dropped his eyes. Exhausted by the effort required to maintain eye contact.
Jacque smiled, brimming with pride. Even Lord nodded his head in admiration of Timothy’s courage. The boy understood. He knew the significance of their art, of what they were about to do. The creation of art was the closest man came to godliness and being a part of that art was the closest this boy would ever get to heaven. Though Lord wondered how long Timothy’s conviction would last once the pain began; pain many times worse than anything the boy had yet experienced at their hands.
“Then help us recruit more souls for our little journey to hell and you shall become a part of something that will last forever.”
Timothy stared at Lord the way a child would look up at priest or pastor during a sermon, his eyes filled with awe and reverence. Jacque shuddered, imagining what horrors Lord had in mind for his young model. Before they left, Lord called a few of the slaves he knew would be up for this type of thing. Trying to select mostly the ones who would not be missed if they were to inexplicably disappear.
His first call was to Vanessa, the woman he’d been servicing when Anja had first barged in demanding information on the Book of Sins, info he now regretted having given her. Vanessa answered on the first ring.
“Yes Lord?”
“I need you tonight.”
“I’m still sore my Lord.”
“Are you refusing me?”
“No . . . uh . . . of course not my Lord.”
“Then go to the dungeon and collect my toys. Gather everything you can carry.”
“Where would you like me to meet you?”
“I’ll call you and let you know.”
He made three more phone calls and got commitments from each to stand by the phone. Then he told Jacque and Timothy to get dressed and they all went out to troll for rough trade in the leather bars, fetish dance clubs, S&M clubs and swingers bars that proliferated in the City of Sin. They were confident that Jacque’s money, Lord’s physique, and Timothy’s beauty would be all the bait they would need to procure the subjects they needed for their art.
With Book of A Thousand Sins in tow, tucked firmly under Lord’s arm, they piled into a limousine Jacque rented for the evening and sped off into the night. As they rounded the corner, Lord spotted a woman standing across the street and gasped. She looked just like Anja. They sped past and she disappeared behind them before he could be sure, but the woman had looked exactly like his former slave and sometime mistress. He shuddered, imagining what she must have come there for. He knew that time was running out. He would have to work quickly.
***
Anja watched the limousine cruise by and growled low in her throat. She could still feel the flesh and sweat of a million damned souls like an oily film on her skin. She clutched the cat o’ nine tails she’d fashioned of their hair, bone, and sinew and imagined it cutting into Lord’s back. She imagined flaying the skin from his magnificent body and finally hearing the screams he jealously held within him.
Lord was off to assemble his slaves presumably to mimic her own journey into hell by way of the Book of Sins. If he was successful he would escape her punishment, deprive her of the chance to ever hear the love pour out of him in tender shrieks of mortal anguish. He would never belong to her.
She knew that there was no way she could love him, no way that he could love her, unless she made him bow and crawl, beg for her mercy and her love. Only as his mistress, only as his dominant superior, could she allow herself to love him, would he ever allow himself to love her.
Lord remained the only man she’d ever topped who hadn’t screamed for her. She’d whipped, cut, and burned him until he passed out and still he endured his torment in stoic silence. He’d refused to scream for her in life. But now she had many more ways to mine his flesh for the screams within each tender nerve. So many more devices at her disposal.
She stroked her pets as they groaned and complained, uncomfortable with the flesh she’d made for them from the protoplasmic soup and lava that had filled the fiery lake. They gnashed their terrible claws, and bared their terrible teeth, and stroked their long, throbbing, razor-barbed cocks. Anja gazed upon their ghastly ramshackle bodies and imagined what Lord would look like as one of them.
Their bodies had long ago disintegrated in the lake of fire so she’d fashioned them new ones, twisted flesh sculptures each in the form of her own nightmares. The tortured souls within still shrieked in rage and pain as she pointed them in the direction of their prey.
***
Jacque led them to a dance club in the South of Market warehouse district, where the bondage and fetish crowd mixed with the rave club scene. Lord doubted that there would be any reasonable prospects among these “Fetish for fashion” types, but it was early so he was willing to be open-minded.
The dimly lit club was packed with latex and leather-clad gothic types gyrating to the pounding thrum of a frenetic techno-beat. In every corner of the darkened club, partially illuminated by the electric blue flicker of strobe lights and lasers, pseudo-sadists whipped and pierced their tender-skinned half-committed subs. Lord passed amongst them, inhaling their perfumed and liquored pheromones. He appraised their pale anemic bodies, each with a profusion of superficial welts and scars, most appearing to be purely decorative, looking for one with scars deeper than the rest. One whose flesh bore the marks of a stronger commitment to pain and pleasure than the average horny club-goer looking for a safe alternative to casual sex.
Jacque and Timothy were both staring around the club with eyes wide and glossy with lust. The proximity of young flesh driving them into a feverish state of arousal. The crack of whips echoed throughout the club as wannabe doms whipped their slaves for the amusement of the other patrons. Lord was disgusted. This entire scene was a mockery of his profession.
A sign by the stairway announced a body-piercing booth upstairs. Lord decided to check it out. If there were any true masochists in this funhouse that was perhaps the best place to look for them.
Lord shouldered his way through the crowd ignoring the leering stares and not-too-subtle come-ons from the make-up masochists, drawn to the furious heat of his passion which blazed like a sun in this dark pit where everyone else seemed only slightly more passionate than the average married couple. They drooled over his powerful musculature imagining the intense agony and fathomless pleasure such a body would be capable of meting out. Other doms looked upon him with envy and some dared to imagine what it would be like to top such a man. Lord looked upon them all with a disdainful sneer, meeting their eyes until each one bowed their heads and looked away, subs and doms alike. To call Lord a dominant was like calling a tsunami a wave. He was so much more than that.
Timothy and Jacque watched him with possessive admiration as he disappeared up the stairs. They continued to wander among the dancers and lea
ther-clad pretenders orbiting the dance floor with whips and cats they’d probably never drawn blood with. Some of them had their “slaves” on leashes and both Jacque and Timothy noticed the absence of scars or welts on their backs and shook their heads in disappointment. Timothy thought about the symbol of Lord, a closed fist squeezing a serpent to a bloody pulp, which was branded onto his left ass-cheek. He reached over and patted Jacque on the ass where he knew he’d been branded as well. They belonged to a true dom. Lord had been right. These were all a bunch of poseurs. Not one of these charlatans understood pain. Not one of them understood the artistry of flesh. The multitude of layers that existed beyond the limits of ecstasy, where orgasm became agony and agony the most powerful climax.
Timothy shrugged off the attentions of a tall athletic-looking dominatrix, with skin the color of fresh cream and large lips that were a perfect argument for the idea that oral sex was not an unnatural act and that sometimes nature indeed seemed to favor it. Her ass was full and plump just the way Lord liked it. Too bad she thought herself a top.
The woman was trying her best to look sinister in a black latex Bettie Page get-up as she dragged her whip between her teeth and glared at Timothy. She had cold eyes but they were obviously hardened by pain and sorrow rather than cruelty. She was beautiful. Her voluptuous body was like a modern statue of Venus. Aphrodite in a latex nightie. Timothy had the urge to take one of her massive breasts in his hands to see if they were real. Jacque was imagining stabbing them with a dagger to answer the same questions.
Growing tired of her ridiculous attempt at seduction, Timothy lifted his spandex shirt to show her the runes and hieroglyphics carved and branded into his flesh along with the profusion of other scars, which were the results of Lord’s passion and Jacque’s art. Her jaw dropped and a shudder went through her. Laughingly her eyes teared up and her lips trembled.
“Would you like to see more or have you seen enough to know that you’re out of your league?” Jacque said to her stepping up and throwing a protective arm around Timothy with a cruel smile scarring his face.
The woman opened her mouth to speak but they turned their backs on her and headed up the stairs to find their Lord.
When they reached the top of the stairs they had no problem spotting Lord who was at least a head taller than nearly everyone else in the room. He stood at the piercing booth with a bemused expression on his face. The other club patrons were alternately looking at him and whoever was sitting in the piercing booth. Jacque and Timothy began to squeeze their way through the crowd trying to glimpse what it was that had captured Lord’s attention.
When they reached the booth they were greeted by the site of a scarification. An overweight woman with massive breasts whose bra size lay somewhere in the middle of the alphabet, was letting some bumbling buffoon carve a design onto her breasts. The man, who looked like a middle-aged Hell’s Angel was hesitating with each cut and every-time she winced he would pull away and wipe sweat from his brow. The woman was growing impatient.
“Fuck, I can’t do this. I’m just a piercer. I know I said I could, but I’m sorry.” The man said in defeat. “I’ll give you your money back.”
“Give me the scalpel.” Lord interrupted and now everyone turned to look at him.
“Uh, I don’t know.” The biker stammered.
The woman looked up at Lord as if he were indeed her savior.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Trust me.” Lord replied slipping the scalpel from the biker’s limp grasp and taking his seat in front of her.
He reached out and caressed the woman’s massive breasts, pinching each nipple causing her to squirm and squeal. He leaned forward and kissed her on the earlobe and she seemed to melt in her chair.
“Play with your pussy. You’ll enjoy this more that way.” Lord grabbed the top of her skirt and pulled it out stretching the already taxed elastic waistband. He grabbed her other hand and slid it down between her thighs. Then he began to cut.
She started to wince and moan but her voice was low and smoky with desire. When Lord looked up at her face, her eyes were half-lidded and staring down at him. She was licking her lips and furiously fingering herself. Lord drew the scalpel through her flesh in long sweeping strokes carving what looked like a huge scorpion across one breast and a hawk on the other. The two were engaged in battle. The woman shook and moaned as the scalpel danced through her flesh. Then her entire body began to convulse as a powerful orgasm rumbled through her. Lord backed away with the scalpel as the climax took her and her enormous breasts flopped and jiggled. When she finally collapsed back into the chair, Lord continued cutting on her.
The woman said she was too sensitive to touch herself anymore but Lord had more work to do on her. He never left a masterpiece incomplete. He reached down her skirt and slid his fingers up inside her dripping wet snatch. He found her clitoris and began to circle it with his thumb as he jabbed his remaining fingers up inside her. With his other hand he resumed carving the design, finishing it just as a second orgasm rocked her corpulent form.
When Lord looked up, the crowd that had formed around them began to clap enthusiastically in appreciation of his skill. Lord leaned forward and spoke into the woman’s ear dragging his tongue along her neck and the underside of her jaw as he spoke.
“You’ve passed the audition my love. If you would allow me I can show you ecstasy like you’ve never dreamed.”
The woman’s lip quivered and she looked into Lord’s eyes with an expression still humid with lust.
“Oh my god yes. Take me!” She collapsed into his arms and Lord lifted her from the chair. Jacque and Timothy stood staring at them both, their faces beaming with excitement.
“My Lord you are truly a marvel! These philistines have no idea what a rare treat they have just witnessed.” Timothy reached out and caressed the blood soaked design on the woman’s naked breast. She winced and batted his hand away. She’d forgotten that her blouse was still open and immediately began to button it up.
“I was just admiring them. I’ve never seen breasts so big. They’re fucking marvelous!”
“They’re truly beautiful.” Jacque agreed smiling and scowling alternately in his nervous quirky way.
“Play nice my love. These are your brothers in pain and pleasure. Jacque and Timothy.” They both bowed before her with a flourish.
“Jacque Willet? Jacque Gabriel Willet the famous photographer? I love your work!” She beamed. Then she turned toward Timothy appraising him with a new interest.
“I knew I recognized you. You’re his model. The one in that picture with the fishhooks and sewing needles piercing him all over.”
“That’s me.” Timothy beamed.
“Would you like to model for me?” Jacque asked, feigning modesty.
“Oh my God. I would love to!” the woman cried out, her massive breasts jiggling with excitement.
“We never say that name. If you must exclaim like that than say ‘Oh my Lord’.” Jacque corrected her.
“Why? Why ‘Lord’ instead of ‘God’? What’s the difference?”
“Well, I believe you’ve already met Lord . . .” Timothy replied gesturing toward the massive black man whom she was still clutching as if afraid he would disappear if she released him. “. . . and there simply is no such being as God except for our Lord and master.” Timothy replied, gazing at Lord with a religious rapture brimming in his eyes.
“I’m not so sure Timothy.” Lord replied turning away from them and heading down the stairs with his new prize in tow.
“Lord?”
“Yes my pet?”
“Are you my master now? I mean, am I your slave?”
“I am your savior my love. You are now a child of Lord.”
Timothy and Jacque skipped down the stairs after them, giddy with excitement. Lord reached the lower level and was headed for the exit when a tall latex-clad woman stepped in front of him with her head bowed. Lord bumped right into her, knocking her o
ver and Jacque and Timothy rushed to help her to her feet.
“Sorry about that lady. You should have watched where you were going.”
“I knew exactly where I was going. Exactly where I wanted to be.”
“You!” Jacque exclaimed. It was the Bettie Page wannabe they’d met earlier.
Lord turned to see what the commotion was about and then paused when he saw the beautiful woman with the voluptuous body and the hard tragic eyes of an abused child.
“What do you want?”
“I want this!” She said, ripping Timothy’s shirt up revealing his innumerable scars. She started to say more but realized by the look in Lord’s eyes that nothing more needed to be said.
“Are you sure you know what you are asking for?”
“Yes,” she said shuddering inwardly as she stared at Timothy’s love trophies, “I know.”
Lord reached out and snatched the whip from her hand tossing it to the floor. “Then come with us. But from now on only one hand holds the whip. Mine!” His eyes flashed with a passion so dark and terrible that the woman dropped her eyes and shuddered again. Lord smiled, aroused by her sudden timidity. He wondered how such a woman could have ever imagined herself to be a dominant.
“What is your name?” Lord asked, reaching out to caress her cheek and then sliding his hand down her neck, between her breasts, reaching inside her latex bustier to pinch a nipple. With his other hand he reached around to caress her large round ass pleased with its fullness. He released her just as she started to enjoy his touch.
The Book of a Thousand Sins Page 21