We stepped down among them and they parted like the sea before us. The murmur of their voices surged up in excitement and the line opening before our steps led to what appeared to be some sort of bizarre table.
Our steps were slow, measured, and as we move closer to the wooden contraption in the center of the room, a wolf faced man leaned in and said, "Oh, Ewan...the boxing is going to be wonderful this year."
Ewan gave no answer other than a slight nod then seized my arm as we drew near to what I had thought was a table.
It was not flat as any table should be, but a series of opened wooden compartments. The wood was old, its veneer polished and shining. The surface had been inlaid with marquetry of the finest sort. French craftsmen had placed capering animals etched in precious woods, their colors contrasting with the rest of the piece. There were astronomical symbols, of a quality meriting a place among the most precious works of black magic.
I looked at it and with a feeling of lead settling into my stomach, I could see that it was lined in red velour and in that interior, the velour would hold the form of a four limbed being. A human being. Its parts were articulated with heavy, antique hinges where the joints of a person would be but its soft interior could leave no doubt. It was as much a prison as an iron maiden rusting and blood stained in an ancient chateau, only lacking the needled interior to terminate its macabre charm.
Once closed it would hold a person completely. The only openings that I could make out were at the juncture of where a pelvis would fit, both front and back. There were also cutouts at chest level. Two of them through which breasts might be drawn and punished.
I looked to Ewan, alarm flashing through me, but he did not notice, his gaze intense and staring at the articulated device.
"Master...I can't. Not this time," I said. My tone was low, meant just for him, but he was uninterested.
He called out, "Strong Man! To me."
And the crowd rippled as the mountainous form of the man made his way among them.
I had already encountered him in Ewan's office and he was dressed in the same manner as then. He was enormous in every sense of the word. His height only diminished by his width, and his body sheathed in black leather leaving only his snarled crotch exposed.
He grunted as strode up to us, then turning to me, he picked me up as if I were but a doll, a trifle in his hands, and set me down into the nest of red velour.
Its color was that of blood swallowing me up and I screamed. I had been laid upon my back and I burst upward, my hands gripping the sides of what now felt like a coffin.
"No! No, no, no...."
Heavy hands forced me back down and then wooden doors began closing down upon me, locking me into place as surely as if I had been buried.
The last one was the one covering my face and it was Ewan who lowered it into place. His look was grim as I implored him through the slitted eyeholes of my silver mask, but without sympathy, he closed the lid, shutting me off from the world.
I was in muffled silence. I could not move.
I think that I became stark raving mad for several moments as panic slipped into the cracks of the box, wafting into my mind and sending me into blazing insanity as I convulsed in terror.
Rough hands found my breasts and I could feel them being pulled through holes. I screamed endlessly, sure that my throat was bleeding with the force of it. The horror of being enclosed with no means of escaping carried me down the fly blown alleys of insanity.
My legs were stretched wide apart until I though my hip bones would crack and burst through my overstretched skin and then I felt the beginning of what would soon become an endless procession of fingers, tongues, lips and cocks that prodded at me, nudging me, urging me to respond in kind....
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About the Author
I live in a land where giants have walked. Here, water springs cold and sweet from rocks cloven by legends in their passing.
Stone edifices mark the countryside, risen hundreds of years ago. Devils stalk the foothills and comely maids with webbed feet lie in wait along rough mountain passages.
France is my home and imbues all that I write ... come with me, for a short while, and we shall venture among the dark, twisting paths together.
Copyright 2014 Aimélie Aames
Cover Artwork Copyright 2014 Aimélie Aames
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Other Fiction by Aimélie Aames
About the Author
The Marechal Chronicles: Volume V, The Tower of the Alchemist Page 21