by Gary Kemble
Without thinking about it, he pulled out his phone and dialled her number. The phone rang and rang until he was sure it was going to go to messagebank. Then she answered.
‘Hello?’ Soft, silky voice.
‘Hello, Mistress. It’s me. It’s Harry.’
‘I know who it is.’ She was smiling. He could hear it in her voice.
‘I was wondering . . . is there any chance you can see me any earlier?’
She laughed. ‘I’m busy.’
‘Please!’
‘Beg me.’
‘Please, Mistress. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll do anything!’
‘Get on your knees.’
‘What?’ Harry looked around the park. Cars passed by on the road, a personal trainer put some people through their paces.
‘You heard me. Get on your knees.’
Harry slid off the seat onto his knees. ‘Okay. Please, Mistress. I’m on my knees.’
She laughed again. ‘No, Harry. You can wait, like all the rest. But it’s good to know you’re so compliant. We’re going to have fun!’
The line went dead.
CHAPTER 26
Harry’s phone buzzed as he walked back to the car, pulling his coat tight against his sweaty karate uniform. The wind rustled through the trees. Harry retrieved the phone with one hand, absently rubbing his right thigh with his other. A narrow miss. A kick that had almost got through, because he wasn’t paying attention. He’d been thinking about Mistress Hel again.
He checked the screen. Hey. From Lee-Anne Stewart. Don’t call. He’s here. You wanted to talk to me?
Harry unlocked the car and got in, slamming the door behind him.
Hey. Have you heard Don talking about a Lilith Foundation?
Harry stared through the windscreen, watching the dark leaves rustle against each other. He flexed his free hand. The tattoo was healing quickly but looking at it and feeling the burning sensation blocked her out. That and the loud music were getting him through somehow. He plugged his earphones in and slotted the buds into his ears, then chose something loud to listen to.
Yeah. I don’t know who this Lilith mob are, but I know Don was talking about this big payment coming to the union. Rubbing his hands together. He said he was working on something with . . .
Harry sighed. Tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Behind the car, silhouettes formed and then disappeared into shadow. His phone buzzed.
Sorry. Almost got busted. He was working on something with some cop. Dunno what. Some function or event or something. Dunno if the fact he was a cop meant anything. Don’t know what the connection was. Just know that the cop had something to do with the Lilith mob.
Harry tapped out a reply. Do you know this cop’s name?
Yeah. Sorry. Constable Brooks. Dunno his first name.
Harry’s brain was so fried it took him a couple of seconds to place the name. Constable Brad Brooks. I have sinned. I give my life for the Goddess. Service pistol. Blood and brains all over his bedroom wall. Note on the bedside table. Marks cut into his back. Some cryptic note probably hidden in his house somewhere. Harry stared into the darkness. Goosebumps rose on his flesh. His breath plumed in front of his mouth. The music – he hadn’t been aware of it until that moment – ‘Revolution 9’, by The Beatles.
Harry’s phone buzzed in his hand.
Maybe you could try and get in contact with this Brooks character?
Harry laughed. Just a small exhalation of air. Dry. Lifeless. He stared at his phone until the screen faded.
Harry?
Yeah. Got it. Thanks for the info.
He switched off the music, and was almost instantly deluged with sights, sounds, smells. His cock throbbed. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. He groaned in frustration. Bit his lip until he could taste his own blood. The pain cleared his mind enough for him to dial Phil’s number.
‘Hello?’ Harry could hear the TV on the background. Some kid’s show.
‘Phil? It’s Harry.’
‘Hey, Harry,’ Phil said. He sounded cautious. Guarded. ‘You okay?’
No. ‘Kinda.’
‘Hang on.’
The background noise died out. Harry pictured Phil going into a bedroom, pulling out a notebook and pen. ‘Go on.’
‘Constable Brooks. Did you ever hear him mention anything about the Lilith Foundation?’
‘Lilith?’
Harry spelled it for him. ‘Yeah. As in the Jewish demon.’
‘Well, I didn’t work with him, but I can ask around if you like?’
Harry considered. There was a risk that whatever this was to do with was also the reason Brooks was dead, but Harry didn’t see that he had any option at this point.
‘Yeah, if you could. But be discreet, okay?’
‘Sure thing, Harry. And, Harry?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Thanks.’
Harry smiled. ‘Phil, I’m still chasing that other story. If I can nail that bastard for what he’s done, I’ll do it.’
Phil lowered his voice, as though that would save him if his phone was tapped. ‘I know, Harry. Thanks for that, too.’
Harry switched the music back on, letting it blast through his brain, cleansing him. All this would be over soon. He started the car. He didn’t really understand why this had transfixed him so strongly, why he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Or maybe he did, but . . . when he started to think that way everything began to go fuzzy. But he felt confident, deep within him, that seeing Mistress Hel would make it all much better. Everything would be clearer.
He put the car into gear and drove out of the school grounds. The Lilith Foundation. Brad Brooks. Don Clack. What did they have in common? What was pulling together this young cop and this grizzled old union official?
CHAPTER 27
Harry pulled up outside Mistress Hel’s place, heart thudding sluggishly in his chest. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he had clarity, but it was a kind of tunnel vision. He looked at the swallows on the backs of his hands. He bunched his hands into fists. He would make it through this. He and Bec would make it through this.
And yet, although he told himself he could totally fire up the car and drive away, he pulled the keys out of the ignition, climbed out of the car, locked it and walked to Mistress Hel’s front gate.
He pressed the buzzer. ‘Hello?’
He waited. What the hell am I doing?
Press the buzzer; wait for her; it will all be okay.
The speaker buzzed and the gate opened a crack. Harry pushed through, heard it clang shut behind him. He walked up the front path thinking no further than the next step ahead.
She was waiting at the door when he arrived. He smelt her first. Perfume and a deeper, musky scent. She pulled the door open wide and smiled. ‘Mr Hendrick, how lovely to see you.’
Harry thought he would cry. She was so beautiful. She had a silk gown wrapped around her, but he could see her perfect body underneath. Fishnet stockings led to high heels.
Harry’s legs gave way and he staggered over the threshold. Mistress Hel grabbed his forearm with surprising strength and kept him on his feet.
‘Not out here,’ she said. ‘There will be plenty of time for that later.’
Harry grinned. He felt like an idiot. A moron. He felt wonderful.
‘I . . . I don’t . . .’
She paused, looking at the tattoo on the back of his hand. ‘Hmm. Didn’t take you for someone who’d get their hands tattooed. Still waters run deep, huh?’
‘Yeah . . . I . . .’
‘Shh,’ she said. ‘Follow me.’
She led him through the house, heels click-clacking against the white tiles. Past the lounge room, kitchen, bedrooms. She opened a door, switched on a light. Stairs descended to a basement. Even through the fog, Harry’s face registered his surprise.
‘The house was made to order, with my special playroom. After you.’
Harry walked past her, feeling so gratef
ul to be here. The doorway led to a set of stairs, going down.
Get out! Now!
Mistress Hel closed the door behind her.
Down the stairs there was another door, standing ajar. Harry pushed it open. The room was as big as Mistress Hel’s lounge room. Black and red were the dominant colours. There was a cross-shaped rack against one wall. A table off to one side, like a doctor’s examination table, but with wrist and ankle restraints. Ropes hung from a pulley system in the ceiling. Sex toys and whips and paddles were lined up on one wall. On the far side of the room was a doorway through which Harry could see white tiles. In the centre of the room stood a throne.
Lily removed her gown and hung it on a peg by the door. She was dressed in a leather corset, like a fantasy warrior princess. She smiled again, revealing bright white teeth between blood red lips.
‘There’s a bathroom through there,’ she said. ‘Go and wash yourself. Leave your clothes folded on the bench. I’ll wait for you here.’
She sat in the throne and crossed her legs.
Harry stripped, trying to get out of his clothes so quickly that he almost fell over. He dashed under the shower. The room filled with perfumed steam. Harry felt dazed. His heart slammed in his chest, sending blood pulsing through his excited body. He washed quickly then dried himself, then folded his clothes and hung up the towel.
‘My, my!’ Mistress Hel said. ‘You are eager!’ She laughed. ‘You know what to do.’
Harry dropped to his knees and crawled across the floor. He felt exposed. He felt ashamed. He felt alive. He looked at the swallows on his hands, but couldn’t quite remember what they meant. He felt nothing except the gloriously warm air on his skin.
‘Jesus,’ Mistress Hel said, ‘what happened to you?’
At first Harry didn’t know what she was talking about. He was so used to seeing the burn scars on his body he didn’t notice them anymore.
‘I . . . I was struck by lightning,’ he said.
‘And you survived,’ Mistress Hel said. ‘Wow. There’s more to you than meets the eye, Harry Hendrick. Over here, quickly.’
Harry crawled to her feet.
‘Now, before we get to the fun part, Harry, I have some rules,’ Mistress Hel said.
Harry looked up at her. She launched herself forwards. He saw the hand coming but did nothing to stop it. The slap rocked his head, sending stars across his vision.
‘The first is that you never look me in the eye. You can look at my pretty shoes. Do you understand?’
‘Yeah.’
She grabbed his hair with one hand, pulling it so hard that he cried out. She slapped him on the other cheek then tilted his head towards hers. He frantically looked away.
‘Another rule. You address me as “Mistress” or “Mistress Hel” at all times. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘That’s better.’
She let go of his hair and he slumped. He watched her shiny black shoe bob up and down in front of his face. He could see his reflection. Shame bloomed, and then wilted, drowned out by desire.
‘Kiss my shoe, slave,’ she said.
‘Yes, Mistress.’ Harry leant forwards. The shoe was still bobbing up and down. She moved it from side to side, making it hard for him. She laughed. Eventually, he managed to plant a kiss on the tip of her shoe.
‘You asked me how it was that I could make men do what I want. Do you understand now?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘No. No, you don’t. But you will. Follow me.’ She got up and brushed past him. He crawled along the floor behind her. ‘Stand.’
Harry stood. She went to the wall and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. They looked like the real deal, not the sort of thing a sex shop would sell. Harry’s mind flashed to Constable Brad Brooks’ brain splattered across his bedroom wall. And then the image was gone.
‘Hands out.’
Cold steel dug into his wrists. Mistress Hel yanked down a rope and tied it to the cuffs, then disappeared behind him. He heard the pulley wheels over his head, then raised his arms to make it easier for her. She pulled the rope until his arms were stretched over his head and he was standing on the balls of his feet.
She returned to his field of vision.
‘Ta da!’ she said, grinning. She sauntered to the far wall, running her fingers over the wide range of whips, crops and paddles.
‘Men are so easy to control. It’s so easy to get into their heads. I’ve been in your head this week, haven’t I?’
Harry looked down. ‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Of course I have. And I’m going to stay there.’
She returned with a riding crop. Smack, smack, smack! Harry cried out. Mistress Hel cooed in his ear, her body pressing against his. Then more of the crop. Smack, smack, smack! Harry dropped into a trance, his mind engulfed by the pain coming from his wrists, from his calf muscles, from his back and arse and legs where the crop kissed his skin. And yet the pain became pleasure. Every smack was followed by the warm glow of relief. The physical relief matched the mental relief. He was no longer in control.
‘Slave, what’s this?’
Harry came to. Mistress Hel was still behind him, gloved hand entwined in the hair at the back of his head.
‘My hair, Mistress Hel?’ he said. He couldn’t concentrate.
‘No, idiot! This!’ She slapped the back of his neck.
‘A tattoo.’
She hissed. ‘I can see that. What is it?’
Harry opened his mouth and was about to tell her all about the tattoos and everything else that had happened the previous year. And then he stopped. He tilted his head back and looked at his hands, strung above him. He couldn’t see the birds but he could feel them.
NO!
He closed his eyes and envisaged an equilateral triangle, burning bright in the darkness. His neck tattoo burned hotter than he’d ever felt it burn before. He gritted his teeth.
‘I don’t know. I was drunk.’
She held his head. For a moment he thought she was going to snap his neck, but then she let him go. His hands were numb. His calf muscles screamed.
Mistress Hel returned to him with a piece of chalk. She drew a circle around him, muttering under her breath. As she completed the circle, Harry felt the atmosphere in the room thicken. She walked around him a second time, drawing symbols outside the circle. Harry’s ears hummed.
She stood, looked at Harry. Grabbed him. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
She smiled. ‘I can feel that you are.’ She threw the chalk into the corner of the room and disappeared behind him. The rope slackened a bit, so he could stand normally.
He curled his hands into fists to get the circulation moving again. He felt so grateful he thought he would cry.
‘Thank you, Mistress.’
As soon as the pain in his wrists and calf muscles was gone, Harry could fully appreciate the waves of pleasure washing over him. It felt as though his whole body was being covered in soft kisses. He gasped, panted.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ she whispered in his ear. ‘But it gets better.’
Mistress Hel sauntered over to the end of the bench where she kept her toys. She pulled out a small wooden bowl and a bunch of bottles and brown paper bags. Harry found it hard to focus, as though he was watching her through waves of heat coming off a furnace. She hummed under her breath as she worked, the sound both distant and intimate.
She returned with the bowl, and something in her other hand. She held it in front of his eyes, let the light glint off the small blade.
On some level Harry recognised the scalpel, understood what she was going to do with it.
‘You . . . you said no blood, Mistress.’
She assessed him. He looked at her shiny shoes. She twisted the scalpel in front of his eyes and let the light reflect across his face.
‘Yes . . . maybe you’re right,’ she said. She clamped the scalpel handle between her teeth, grabbed t
he base of his cock and slowly pulled. Harry felt the lip of the bowl press against his glans. He let out a shuddering breath.
‘No, please!’
She let him go and took a step back. She took the scalpel from her mouth and gently stirred the liquid in the bowl. ‘No, I really think I’d better not.’
Harry started crying. ‘Please . . . please, Mistress.’
‘Oh. Okay, then. If you insist.’
She disappeared behind him again. He felt her hand against his back. She muttered under her breath. He waited for the sting of the scalpel, but none came. Instead, he felt an intense burst of heat and vibration, starting at his upper back and quickly moving through his body. When it hit his groin, he tensed.
‘Easy,’ she whispered in his ear.
She cut him again and this time, although Harry wouldn’t have thought it possible, the pleasure doubled. He thrashed against the cuffs holding him in place. His knees buckled. He didn’t realise it was possible to experience such pleasure without orgasm.
Mistress Hel cut again, and again, each time sending a wave of intense pleasure through Harry. All the while, she muttered. Harry understood that she was using words, but couldn’t recognise them. Not English; not any language he was familiar with. The atmosphere in the room thickened more still. It reminded Harry of the tropics, thick balmy air washing against his sweaty skin. He opened his eyes, blinking away the tears of joy, and the room seemed hazy, smoky.
‘Are you ready, Harry?’
Harry’s skin was so alive he could feel the tip of the scalpel against the middle of his back.
‘Yes, Mistress.’
She cut. An explosion of pleasure tore through Harry, ripping him to pieces through the abdomen to his cock. Despite being held by the wrists, Harry fell into a warm, dark cave. He could hear Mistress Hel laughing at him as he fell away from her into the intense darkness.
* * *
Harry woke up on the floor, still naked. His whole body hummed. He was sleepy, but his mind was clear. For the first time in a week, his mind was actually clear. He felt no guilt. No fear. Just relief.