by Jessica Rael
When she grew tired of the game Rebecca called in two servants, who took the girl down and attached her to the large black leather chair behind the Inquisitor’s desk. The girl was left sitting on the floor, her back to the chair, bound tightly to it with thick leather straps, her head bent sharply back and inserted through a small hole at the chair’s base, so that it rested conveniently face upward on the seat.
Elena felt her will slipping gently away, the thing she had guarded so fiercely for so long. She had been an independent child, fighting back against a growing decay that not only ate at the small house she lived in, but that seemed to crawl its way into her mother with the same inexorable inevitability, the rotting wood and crumbling plaster matching its occupants’ tattered, dirty clothing. Elena’s mother had no weapons with which to fight this nameless menace, except vodka, but the more of the deceptive liquid she used in her little war, the worse things got. Men came, and Elena’s mother had given her to them without question, her eyes empty and hollow as she watched her only child marched to a waiting car. Elena fought the men, and then she fought their killers, the ones that took her like plundered silver. And now she fought the killers’ killers. She had fought in that wheel, clinging to her dignity like a life raft in a cold, expansive ocean. But the pain had been so little, really; little enough that even Elena in her naked vulnerability could sense the underlying game, see what was expected, and so she surrendered, too tired to fight.
She had played the game. Now, strangely, things were more complicated than ever before. She was clean and well fed, a little sore perhaps and missing her dignity, which had been so cleverly stolen from her on that wheel, but she was so tired of fighting. Elena let her muscles relax, falling into her bonds as if they were loving arms. She stared at the ceiling, adrift in her own thoughts. It was funny, she had never even experimented with another girl, never given it much thought, but now she was about to.
The teenager watched the smooth tanned flesh as it entered her view, descending till it became her view. Elena smelled the perfume, and other very human smells, feeling the tension flow out of her as she acknowledged her own surrender, sticking out her tongue to meet the descending flesh.
Rebecca eased herself into the large, commanding chair, feeling the cool leather against her skin. A little fizz of electric pleasure danced between her legs as she felt herself settling onto the teenager’s waiting face, it raced into her belly, pulsing through her breasts, making her nipples jump to attention. The girl’s tongue dallied at the entrance to her anus, licking and kissing, and the slave’s hesitancy had a message all its own, the simple idea of conquest sending further, harder waves pulsing through the Inquisitor’s body. Then the Ukrainian took the plunge, her virginal tongue pushed past the opening to Rebecca’s ass, squirming and wriggling its way inside, then it began to dance, twirling and lapping, probing deeper and deeper.
Rebecca gasped. She grasped the arms of the chair, forcing herself down onto the fleshy intruder, welcoming it into her body, demanding it tunnel deeper, and the tongue responded, squirming into the Inquisitor’s expectant anus. Rebecca pulled her knees up, balancing her heels on the edge of the chair, imprisoning the slobbering, sucking, licking mouth, holding it close to her ass in a passionate embrace as an orgasm rode the nerves in her spine, crashing into her brain like a freight train and causing her whole body to spasm.
Shadows Within Shadows
The night lost its appeal, gnawing at Rebecca’s impatience till she could fight the sleepless twisting and turning no longer. Conceding defeat at around four-thirty the Inquisitor threw off the sheets and climbed out of bed, literally peeling the naked, tightly bound Ukrainian teenager from between her sticky thighs. The unexpected treasure had lost none of her skill as the evening wore on, drawing orgasm after orgasm from the Inquisitor, but after hours of extremely physical multiple orgasms sleep still eluded the Inquisitor.
Rebecca left the tightly bound bundle of fun laying on the bed, her face glistening in the half-light, making her look like a wide-eyed, varnished doll. Dragging two curators from their beds, and own secret pleasures, the Inquisitor made her way to the main elevators, descending deeper into the desert to examine the lower slave pens she hadn’t had time to look over earlier in the day.
The catacombs of the hidden base excited her, as they always had. The dark, cool vaults that usually held a small contingent of unfortunates, deemed unprepossessing enough for standard rental, were now alive with a throng of new inmates. Rebecca never tired of sifting through the human debris of raids and acquisitions for the diamond in the rough, and she found such treasure on many occasions, little things others had missed, like a fierce independence hidden behind a plain face, or a burning intelligence staring out from average eyes, or something as simple as pretty feet, all potentially interesting to certain clients.
The curators moved ahead of the Inquisitor, rousing the sleeping inhabitants. Her employees had wanted to turn on the main lamps, but Rebecca preferred the dull yellow light from the single night watch lamp that stared down at them all from its high vantage point like a coyote’s eye, full of insatiable hunger. She reveled in the surreal edge, the pleading eyes that stared out from shadow-masked faces.
Rebecca had held the girl’s face in her hands for several minutes, intrigued by the brilliant blue eyes set neatly into the slightly plump face. She reached for the zippers on the crotch of her fatigues and loosened them, and then she guided the whimpering face to her crotch, pressing the tightly closed mouth into the warm folds of her vagina. Rebecca held the girl there, she wasn’t trained, and so would do nothing but quiver and whine, but the initial innocence was exciting all in itself, a fragile thing, a Chiotilla bloom, something to be enjoyed for what it was, something to be crushed. Pleasure seeped gently into Rebecca’s tired mind, but there was a part of the Inquisitor’s brain that never relaxed, never slept, never got distracted. Even while the rest of her toyed with the slave between her legs it was vigilant, monitoring the subtle blend of sounds in the catacombs for any unusual change, and found it.
The change was an absence, the gentle background murmur of restless slaves continued as before, and although the curators were almost silent in their work, going from girl to girl with practiced ease, the occasional footfalls and quiet whispers that marked their progress had ceased. Rebecca pushed the girl away, zipping up her pants and inwardly cursing the fact that she had felt comfortable enough in her fortress to be without a firearm. Something was moving along the far left wall, undetectable by itself, noticed only by the subtle increase in tension amongst the captives, like a flock of sheep being stalked by a wolf, except that this time it was Rebecca who was the prey.
Rebecca stroked the soft leather gauntlet strapped to her right wrist. The silver scorpion lay flat against the dark material, facing its mistress, its curved metal tail curled in a majestic arc, ready to strike at her enemies. The ruby eyes shone in the weak glow, a demon peering into the shadows, where lurked another kind of demon entirely. Rebecca pressed gently on the scorpion’s bejeweled head, and heard the tiny click as the small spring in the creature’s belly pushed the needle-like spike out of its tail, a slither of metal, a glinting shard… not much of an edge against whatever moved silently through the darkness, but it was all she had.
Ice Maidens Aren’t Afraid of the Dark
The Ice Angel’s cell phone buzzed silently in her jacket pocket and she pulled it out, flipping it open with one hand. ‘Yes?’
‘Someone got to the Commander-in-Chief.’ McKenna’s voice sounded numb, her professional detachment kicking in, as automatic as an airbag in a car wreck.
‘How bad?’
‘You’re the leading lady, Ice. Understudy days are over.’
‘Jeez, Mac, who the fuck could get to her?’
‘Best guess? You’re sniffing around her lair right now. Happened at Babel.’
‘How long ago, amiga?’
&
nbsp; ‘Maybe a couple of hours, tops. My money says she’ll be at your location any time now. I sent backup, but it’ll take time, so you’re gonna have to handle it with what you have. Be careful, okay? You know who the next in line is, and I ain’t doing this job wearing a diaper.’
The phone cut off, leaving Amber replaying the last moments in Rebecca’s office in her head. Not much of a goodbye, but there was no changing that now. Amber hadn’t been raised to feel loss, only the deep, irrepressible need to get even. It rose within her like a well of liquid nitrogen, colder than death itself, inexorably wiping all other thoughts or desires from her mind. It was her survival trick – a gift if you like. Then something sucked the light from the room. Amber’s hand went instinctively for her pistol even as the smothering blackness enveloped her. The darkness was terrifyingly tangible, like a choking smoke that left her feeling like she should be struggling for breath. Something moved where it shouldn’t, behind her, off to the left.
‘Dak, get the fuck out! She’s got night vision!’ Amber shouted into the void, feeling her instincts take control as her faltering mind struggled to keep pace. The Ice Angel was already spinning, pivoting on her toes like a ballerina, her arm snapping the pistol into the darkness like a whip. There was no hesitation, her finger squeezed the trigger loosing shards of white-hot metal into the impenetrable gloom, three sonic booms numbed her ears, and she heard the shattering thuds as the bullets missed their target and struck the walls.
There was no initial pain; a deadening blow to the midriff then a dull ache, growing in intensity with every second. When she was a child she had played a game where she wore a rope round her middle, she would run against it, her friend somewhere behind, giggling and trying to hold her back, then a big kid, unseen, had grabbed the rope, pulling it so hard and so suddenly she was lifted completely off her feet and dragged sharply backwards by her waist till she landed sobbing on her butt. It was a lot like that, the sudden force in her belly knocking her off her feet. She heard the sound of the shot a moment before she crashed into the corner of the room, a jumble of flailing limbs. Amber lay in shocked silence, feeling the warm blood soaking into her shirt, seeping onto her thighs. She raised the barrel of the gun slowly, not moving her hand, aware that her opponent could see everything in infrared clarity, then emptied the rest of the clip into the black void.
‘You’re empty.’ The emotionless voice seemed to come at Amber from no particular direction.
‘I know,’ the Ice Angel said into the darkness as she let the pistol fall heavily to the floor.
‘Dak’s dead… shame, I liked her.’
‘Me too.’ Amber coughed and tasted blood in her mouth.
‘You drew blood, if its any consolation. Nicked my arm. So now I’ll have a scar to remember each of you by.’
‘Each of us?’ Amber could feel consciousness slipping away as the blood pooled in her lap.
‘Yes, my dear, Rebecca ruined a perfectly good jacket before I killed her, with that eccentric little hidden knife. To be honest with you I’ve had worse paper cuts.’
Amber spat blood onto the floor. She couldn’t see the other woman’s self-satisfied smirk, but she could feel it. ‘But she drew blood?’
‘A little, but I’ll live.’
Amber managed a painful laugh. ‘No… no you won’t.’
‘Sorry, child, but you’re not in much of a position to make threats.’
‘Why do you think she has a scorpion on the wristband, you dumb fuck…? Her sting… it was her sting. Taipan venom… most poisonous snake in the world… nothin’ you can do… nothin’… guess you have to call that a draw then, huh?’
Shalyn left the dying bitch where she was. For a moment she had taken the story to be a last bit of bravado, but then she felt her legs getting cold, felt the tightness in her chest. The assassin’s last moments were consumed with an irrational need to protect her creation. She hunted her artist like a ravenous wolf chasing down a wounded deer. As her dying mind collapsed into some apocalyptic Egyptian funerary right, she decided her closest servant must cross the final river with her; they must take their vision with them, forever into that sweet night. But in the end the Shadow Stalker failed, the woman had gone to ground and Shalyn’s strength began to fail massively, till she collapsed onto her beloved bed, the dark, windowless house a pharaoh’s tomb. In the distance she felt certain she could hear a gentle splashing as the oars of Rá’s boat dipped into the river of night, ready to carry her soul safely to morning.
Epilogue
Two black SUV’s growled purposefully through the entranceway to the trailer park, flanking a slate-gray Mercedes. The invasion sent the residents scuttling for cover. Like bugs when you lift a rock, thought Amber.
The entourage drove the short distance to the service road, pulling to a halt in front of the last, dingy trailer. Dusk’s elongated shadows crisscrossed the park, leaving patches of golden light, pools of warm radiance amongst the clutter of human detritus, not all of which was inanimate. Amber stepped from the car and into one of the pools of light, the color of her name, bathing her in the place she was raised. Life was strange. An inheritance that had come draped in blood had left her powerful enough to crush every living thing in this miserable, forgotten slice of the world with a word… a single word. Yet now she was here she found she no longer cared. Her father was perhaps only a few dozen yards away, and it all seemed so unimportant.
Except what she came for.
Amber rapped on the flaking, dented door and waited. Jackie stared out of the gloom, looking exactly as Amber remembered her, as if time itself couldn’t be bothered with the last trailer in the lot.
‘I’m going to give you a choice,’ the redhead, dressed in black, stared levelly into Jackie’s surprised eyes, ‘and I want you to think carefully, because it may be the last decision you are ever allowed to make. You can follow me to that car and I’ll enslave you so thoroughly, so completely, that you’ll need a permission slip just to piss… or you can stay here. I won’t bother you again.’
Jackie stared at the dark figure, her face, as always, an unreadable mask. Then she walked silently to the waiting car, and Amber stood by the trailer’s open door, smiling.
Amber ran the palm of her hand over the new plaster, the smooth, flawless finish hiding the many holes she had blasted into the wall several months ago. She slid her other hand inside her T-shirt, the raised outline of the scar a permanent reminder of how close she came. The wall had fared better.
Megan had found the strange woman, Angelica, working calmly in her workshop. All she would say was that angels sometimes fought. The new Inquisitor had decided to keep the dolls’ house, as Angelica quaintly referred to her life’s work, despite some painful memories the house held… or perhaps because of them. Angelica continued to labor in her basement workshop, melding flesh with metal, while Amber and the higher echelons of the organization enjoyed the practical side of the woman’s work, using her creations as they were intended. As McKenna had so aptly put it, ‘The world’s only works of abstract modern art that could lick your ass.’
The women had stripped her, then bathed and manicured her and rubbed scented oils into her skin. When they finished Jackie watched with breathless excitement as her soft leather restraints were attached and locked into place. She was then carried to a strange room, it was bright and colorful, and the sun seemed drawn to it, streaming through the delicate pink curtains, suffusing it with a rosy glow. Jackie was placed on her back in a long box filled with toys. She lay quietly while the women placed straps around her thighs, clipping them to the side of the box so she couldn’t close her legs, then they piled more toys on top of her and left.
After the lid of the box was closed she lay in the cool darkness, wrists and ankles still bound, knees spread, and waited. It was a pleasant place to be. Jackie had never been claustrophobic, and the box was quite insubstantial, as the pinkish su
nlight filtering in through the many gaps at the joins showed.
After a while there was an unexpected flash of light as the lid was raised and someone else climbed into the box. She was naked like Jackie, and wore wrist and ankle cuffs, but hers weren’t locked. Jackie caught a quick glimpse of a pretty blonde before the lid shut again.
‘Hi, new doll,’ the girl said, ‘welcome to my toy box. As I’m the senior doll and everyone likes me best, you’re going to be licking my special places, and I like it done all the time, so you won’t get bored.’ The girl began to wriggle and squirm, and Jackie felt soft thighs sliding around her cheeks. She could smell the musky scent of the young woman’s vagina as it neared her face.
‘Oh, and while you get your silly tongue busy on my precious pussy and ass, I’m going to introduce you to a few of the smaller dolls.’ The girl giggled, moving between Jackie’s legs as her shaven sex pressed against the new doll’s mouth. Jackie pushed her tongue into the succulent flesh, wondering what it was pressing against the entrance to her own vagina.
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