“Lana,” she replied breathlessly.
“Welcome to the family Lana,” Timothy chimed in.
“And what’s her name?” Jacque asked, pointing to the obese woman still clinging to Lord like a symbiote.
“My name is Sue.”
“Welcome Sue.”
“Are we going back to your house now?” she asked Lord.
“Not yet. We have more recruiting to do. Jacque and I are going to create a masterpiece. You all will be a part of it. But it requires a few more models.”
“Jacque Willet?” Lana chimed in with a star-struck look. They all ignored her question and spilled out of the exit into the night air. The limousine pulled up to retrieve them and they sped off down the street.
Again Lord thought he saw Anja standing in line outside the club. He stared at her features as they sped past, trying to positively identify her. It was only after they were well past the club that Lord noticed something wrong, something not entirely human, not quite alive, about the other club-hoppers standing in line. He could not be sure because he’d been so focused on Anja that he hadn’t really paid much attention to them, but he had the vague impression of tusk-like fangs and jagged pieces of shattered bone sticking out like horns and spikes, ill-fitting mis-matched limbs, several different faces grafted to the same head. Demons dressed in the flesh of the dead. Time was running out.
***
“Shackles” was a leather bar notorious for its rough trade. It was not entirely uncommon to see an ambulance pulled up in the alley beside it or even the coroner’s van, the illicit sex acts that took place in the men’s room having ruptured one artery too many and left some poor slob in a pool of his own blood, shit, and semen. It was a perfect spot to recruit more subjects for the book.
The limo pulled up in the alley beside the bar and Jacque and Timothy stepped out first, looking like just the type of meal the sharks in this place were used to dining on. Then out came Lana and Sue and finally Lord himself. A bald fat guy with absolutely no muscle tone but with hair growing down his chest like a wool sweater, wearing a leather vest without a shirt, chaps without pants, his pierced and perforated genitals hanging free in the night air, and police issue riding boots identical to the ones Lord himself wore, stared right through Lord’s entourage of slaves and right at him. It was a challenge. Lord spotted the swastika on the man’s arm and bared his teeth in an evil grin. He locked eyes with the man and walked toward him.
A cold fury burned in Lord’s gaze as he strode toward the bar, toward the burly bear in the leather chaps. Lord’s eyes were filled with the blood and screams of his many past slaves as well as the terrified and agonized cries of those he’d been paid to torture by his friends in various crime families. Friends with an appreciation for those talented enough in the art of pain to extract information from men who’d learned not to fear death. Cruelty and power radiated from him as he approached the man with every intention of walking through him, staring the man down until he was nearly on top of him, his shadow falling upon him blocking the moon and stars. The man lowered his gaze and slid quickly out of Lord’s way. The leather-clad queens in back of him did the same. Lord stepped into the bar while his entourage followed.
The bar was half-empty. It appeared the handful of guys standing outside represented nearly half the bar’s occupants.
“Fuck. This place is dead,” Lana said.
“Sit at the bar,” Lord replied, “I’m going to the men’s room.”
Lord walked into the men’s room and the smell of blood and anal sex wafted up into his nostrils. He’d anticipated the smell and had long grown used to it.
Every stall was filled. Grunts and moans echoed in the bathroom along with the sound of balls and coarse hands slapping against bare asses. Against the sink, three men who had been unable to find an empty stall, were engaged in a furious ménage à trois. Two of the bar’s more typical clientele were savagely fucking and abusing a guy who looked more like a businessman who’d been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time than the normal trade this place attracted. A muscular black guy dressed similarly to the guy Lord had met outside, was fucking the guy’s throat with a dick roughly the length of an infant’s arm. The man gagged repeatedly but never choked even when the black guy’s semen erupted into his throat. The other man, who was even larger than the first, the rough leatherman biker type, a combination of muscle, hair, and fat, had his entire arm shoved up the guy’s ass and was sliding it in and out, punching up into his colon like a heavyweight boxer. Far from being distressed by the unnatural distension of his anus, the victim of this bizarre prison rape fantasy was vigorously masturbating, each thrust of the man’s arm into his rectum eliciting a moan of profound ecstasy. He flagellated his own miniscule erection until his cum shot out onto the piss-stained floor.
Lord smiled. This guy would make a welcome addition to their little menagerie. He thought about the woman back at Anja’s little dungeon who’d had the corpse’s head crammed into her ass and marked with satisfaction that this guy would have no problem accomplishing that feat. He wondered how long Timothy could hold his breath.
The black guy who’d just shot his load down the little businessman’s throat, turned to face Lord with a courage born of both the normal male post-coital over confidence left from his recent sexual conquest, and an unnatural stupidity.
“’Da fuck is you looking at bitch? You want to suck this dick too?”
Lord wished he had more time to enjoy killing the man. Instead he simply thrust his fingers through the man’s eye sockets and into his skull, settling for the satisfaction of watching the man’s death convulsions as his fingertips pierced his brain.
The huge biker dude cried out as his partner collapsed to the floor and abruptly wrenched his shit and blood covered arm from his bitch’s anus. Tears were streaming down his face for his fallen lover as he started toward Lord.
He lasted a few seconds longer than his partner had. Lord drove his fist into the man’s solar plexus, crushing his xiphoid process and collapsing his lungs. The guy slumped to the floor gasping for air as his lungs filled with blood. The little businessman started to scream and Lord silenced him by slapping him hard to the floor.
“You like pain little girl?”
The man nodded his head “Yes” then quickly changed it to “No” recalling what had just been done to his recent lovers. Lord smirked and whipped out his own enormous cock.
“Not that kind of pain. This kind of pain.”
The little businessman’s eyes widened with hunger.
“You want to be my bitch? My little slave boy? Or do you want me to leave you here? With them?”
The effete businessman looked from Lord’s impressive organ hanging inches from his face to the two corpses lying on the piss and cum stained floor in a growing pool of blood. He nodded his head.
“Say the words,” Lord commanded.
“Yes. Yes, I want to be your slave. My Lord.” He reached out and took Lord’s organ into his hands as if he were holding a sacred object and began kissing all along its length with eyes filled with love.
Lord smiled, pleased.
“You’ve heard of me?”
The man paused still holding Lord’s massive cock and gazed up at him.
“Of course I have my Lord. My name is William, William Gray. I paid for your services once. I was inexperienced then, practically a virgin to the scene. You’d been too much for me then but I’m better now. I’ve striven to make myself worthy of you. I’m willing to try again if you’ll have me?”
Lord smiled in reply. He drew his cock out of William’s hands and back into his pants noting the man’s sorrow at the loss. As they left the bathroom, Lord noticed that the sounds of sex from the other stalls had not diminished for a second during the entire encounter. The people here were used to minding their own business. Getting fucked was far more important to them than getting killed.
***
Even William felt it the second he s
tepped out of the restroom. There was something violent and malevolent in the air, something dark and unnatural. The air was charged with hatred and lust. Fights started to break out in the back of the bar and the sounds of passion from the restroom they’d just left turned to shouts and screams of rage and terror. Beyond the front door, the screams were even more agonized. Lord recognized the sounds of ripping flesh, sinew being torn from bone, bones crunching. He knew what was coming. He grabbed his small coven and headed for the exit at a dead run. Timothy and Jacque followed without a word, knowing better than to question his actions until they were all safe at home. The rest of them followed cautiously, shouting questions at their backs. The little businessman was at Lord’s side when they burst out into the alley. He assumed they were fleeing the scene of the murder before the bodies were discovered, attributing the pall of death and madness that had settled on the bar to the ferocious black man at his side.
They spilled out into the alley and tumbled into the open door of the limousine as savage guttural roars, barks, and howls echoed from within the bar accompanied by agonized shrieks and the smacking and sucking sounds of someone enjoying a grand feast. Lord looked back just before the exit door slammed shut, just in time to see the half-human creatures spilling into the bar. A gangly mob of vaguely anthropoid monstrosities with a profusion of asymmetrical arms and legs, fanged mouths, eyes tucked in places that would grant them no advantageous views, jagged bone protrusions from which the living flesh of their victims already dangled. They were ripping the place apart, killing and fucking anyone they could catch.
The smell of blood, smoke, burning flesh, and internal organs reached Lord’s nose as he slammed the limousine door shut behind him. Luckily he was the only one in the car who would have recognized the stench.
The man who’d first confronted Lord as he’d stepped from the limousine, spilled out the front door as they flew past the bar, out of the alley, and into the street. His face had been slit down the center, peeled back away from his skull, and pinned back behind his ears with nails driven into his skull. His ass had been so savagely fucked that it appeared to have exploded. His ass cheeks had been ripped apart so viciously that they were nearly falling off and his anus was now a gaping maw. It looked like a flower in full bloom. Lord recognized the technique immediately. This was Anja’s handiwork. Anja and her new pets. They were getting closer.
***
Lord’s heart beat against his ribs like a captive beast pounding the bars of its cage for freedom. Anja was coming for him. She knew that he would soon finish his work of art and secure an honored place in hell. Which meant that he would escape her torture. There was no way he could complete the translation before she caught up with him but perhaps he could finish the photographs. He looked over his growing tribe of deviant misfits. They had no idea what they were getting into. This was so much more than just an orgy of deviant lust caught on film for posterity. It was even more than the pivotal act of sexual and artistic sacrifice that Timothy and Jacque believed it to be. Not just sacrificing their bodies or even their lives for art but sacrificing their immortal souls, condemning them to eternal torment at the hands of Mistress Anja.
With Anja on his tail, Lord couldn’t risk another close call at a nightclub. He had to keep moving. That meant his only option was to pick up some street meat. He told the driver to head toward Polk Street, ignoring the frantic questions from Jacque and the others who’d all heard the screams and animalistic growls coming from the bar and seen the faceless death rictus on the dying leatherman. They were starting to piss him off. He didn’t have to explain anything to any of them.
“In for a penny. In for a pound,” Lord growled at them. They would all soon know what he meant. They belonged to him now, body and soul.
“Who’s the square?” Timothy asked, poking William in his soft little tummy.
“William this is everybody. Everybody this is William.”
Sue and Lana welcomed Lord’s latest acquisition with cool suspicion. Sue was already growing jealous and snuggled close to Lord for reassurance. Timothy rolled his eyes and laughed at her insecurity. Secretly growing jealous himself.
“So what’s your trip William? What are you into?”
“I found William in the restroom with this big muscular dude’s arm halfway up his ass.”
“Impressive,” Jacque squealed, already thinking of the perfect pose to take advantage of his unique talent.
“So what happened to the guy who had his hand in your ass?” Timothy asked.
William looked over at Lord who smiled back at him and winked. William lowered his head and fell silent. Everyone noticed the exchange but said nothing. Each of them filling in their own blanks.
Lord turned to the Bettie Page wannabe who’d joined them back at the nightclub. He reached out for her throat and pulled her close to him, dragging her across Sue’s lap and onto his. He ran his hands over her body as he growled in her ear.
“And what exactly is your specialty Lana? What is it that brings you into our demented little family?” Lord questioned.
“I’m . . . I don’t know. I saw Timothy’s scars and I somehow knew what it was that I’d been missing. I’m sure you could tell that I was a submissive before I decided to make the switch to a dom. I was sick of all those bumbling tops that were even weaker than the bottoms they were trying to dominate. When I saw Timothy, I knew that whoever he belonged to was the man I’d been looking for.”
“And what if you can’t take it? What if a real dom is just too much for you?” Jacque chimed in.
“Then I’ll suffer,” she said solemnly. Lord nodded his head in approval and sent her back to her seat.
“That you will dear Lana. That you will.”
“Hey Sue! Show William what Lord did to your tits! This is fucking great! You’re gonna love this!” Timothy was trying hard to hide his nervousness behind a veil of cocky self-assurance and puppy-like enthusiasm.
Timothy started unbuttoning Sue’s blouse and this time she allowed it. Anything to erase the memory of the man with the missing face. William leaned in close to gawk at the design carved across Sue’s massive breasts.
“Beautiful,” William marveled.
“So what the fuck was going on in there?” Jacque asked, voicing the concern etched into all of their faces just below the surface of their forced smiles.
“I could show you if you’re curious,” Lord replied, leaning forward until the heat from his eyes threatened to sear off Jacque’s eyelids. “Are you curious Jacque?”
Jacque’s eyes began to water and his face broke out in a riot of ticks.
“N—n—no. I’m not curious. I don’t give a fuck.”
“Good,” Lord replied, leaning back into the plush leather seat as the limousine hurtled through the dark deserted streets like a black submarine in the open sea.
***
Anja was livid. Lord had escaped her again. Her meat puppets had gotten overzealous and started ripping apart the drummer boys outside the club, fighting with and fucking the bouncers with their long, lethal, prehensile phalluses, making them scream for their lives, ruining any chance they’d had to catch Lord unaware. They’d wasted time and alerted Lord to their presence, allowing him to slip out the back.
Withstanding the urge to tear the idiotic creatures apart, which would only have wasted more time, as she’d have had to reconstruct them, she let her pets vent their frustration on the club patrons. Anja stared listlessly at the blood-soaked walls, the ceiling fans strung with human intestines and flinging viscera around the room, the heads lined up like empty beer cans atop the bar, and the few patrons still alive and gagging on demon dick, dripping scalding semen down their chins, out of their distended rectums, waiting for their turn to die. She tried to block it all out and concentrate on where Lord might be headed next.
Her hell-spawned Frankenstein rejects were starting to go mad in their makeshift bodies. Their souls were still human beneath the layers of tortured flesh a
nd they were rejecting their infernal forms with an instinctive spiritual revulsion. Their egos rebelling against their own hideousness and driving them insane.
Her pets were turning on each other, ripping and clawing at their own bodies and those of their demonic brethren as they fought over the heart and sexual organs of their victims. Anja had to use her whip to restore order. But even still they shambled about as if in a daze, shrieking and convulsing like severely retarded children.
Both the pain of manipulating their ill-crafted muscles and the affront to their vanity at having to exist as these repulsive abominations, was taxing the limits of their sanity. Soon they would be no good to her. It took yet a few more cracks from the whip to get them moving again.
She hadn’t yet figured out Lord’s destination. He still didn’t have enough slaves to reenact even those positions described in the first chapter of the Book of Sins and she didn’t dare take her pets wandering from club to club with their bloodlust steadily growing and Anja just barely managing to control them. She had to figure out exactly where they were going. Anja sat back and tried to remember the names of his other slaves; his repeat customers. She’d met a few of them back when she was one of them and he’d even slipped and told her one or two of their real names once while bragging. Anja grinned malevolently and picked up the phone book in back of the bar. She sifted through the white pages trying to locate those slaves whose names she could still recall. She had an idea where he might turn up next.
***
“Fucking Anja!” Lord thought to himself as he stroked Sue’s long curly brown hair as if she were a lap dog. “What the fuck does she want me so bad for? It was her dad and her twisted uncle that abused her. All I did was show her a way to enjoy her pain. Why isn’t she going after them? Why me?”
The Book of a Thousand Sins Page 22