“And I am to beat some brashness into him?” I asked, hoping that my tone wasn’t too facetious.
It was, but the Magician let it pass. “If that is what it requires, we have specialists who can see to that. I thought we would try a gentler approach first, which is why I’m asking you to do this. You will take him in the darkness. I would consider it a favor if you refrain from revealing your face to him; in fact, it would be preferable if you didn’t even reveal your gender. Simply initiate him however you feel appropriate.”
“Is he there now?”
“No, but he will be soon. You might want to make your own way down there now.” “One question” – one that had been bothering me, ever since my experience with the Executioner. “Where do I hide when the light goes on?”
The Magician looked closely at me. “You never figured that out? I’m surprised. There’s a small hatchway set into the corner, on the same wall as the chains. You’ll find a few buttons and switches in there. Excellent for setting up some atmosphere.”
“Like moans and sniffles?” I asked.
“Exactly. You see, you knew all along.” He left and I set out on my mission. I was onto my fourth whistle. I’d tested the sounds laid out in my hiding place, but decided to go without. Creaking doors, rattling chains and wolf-like howls, they were like some sound effects track for a 1930s horror movie. Not that my low whistles were much better, but at least when I pounced on the victim, he wouldn’t think he was being ravished by Bela Lugosi.
He was still calling out, his voice cracking on the very edge of hysteria. It was now or never.
I approached… one step, two steps… seven, eight, nine; my toe brushed his foot; I felt him start back, but he didn’t scream. That would come in a moment.
I’d caught a glimpse of him as he was brought in and chained down. Not bad looking; a little too haughty around the mouth for my liking, and his eyes were set too close together – if I’d encountered him in the outside world, I’d have assumed that he knew exactly what he was doing, and I could take a guess at why. He was probably gay, he was certainly in denial… which was why the Magician didn’t want him to know who or, more correctly, which was with him in the dark.
I knelt. I had not touched him again, but some sixth sense told him that he was no longer alone in his little patch of dungeon. His arms and legs were thrashing, trying to break their bonds; of course that wouldn’t happen, but I shuffled back instinctively, so as not to be sent sprawling by an even halfway flailing limb.
“I know you’re there,” he shouted. “Show yourself.” I stretched out a hand. If my instincts were correct, if I judged his position correctly… yes. My finger ran up his inner thigh, and now he really was panicking. I tried to remember back to my experience; to how I felt when that first touch caressed me, and what did it take to calm me?
Time, take your time. I continued stroking him gently, allowing my finger tips to stray a little further every time. He was still screaming, but there was less urgency to his bellowing now, and even less as I scraped against his scrotum for the first time.
Gossamer soft, my fingers simply brushed at the hairs there, allowing them to relay the sensations to his body. That’s good, now he was settling down. I cupped his balls gently in one hand, waited a moment and then massaged them slowly.
“Who… who are you?” He still trembled, but the terror was abating. I placed a finger on his lips, then withdrew it swiftly. He fell silent.
I was still rubbing his balls, but now my fingers were groping for his shaft. It was still soft, but I didn’t believe it was completely disinterested. No doubt fear was keeping its true feelings hidden for the moment. We would see about that.
I walked my fingers to the tip; moistened one with my tongue, trailed it across the glans, then leaned forward and blew slightly.
He shivered. “Don’t do that. Hey, stop! Who are you?” I nipped his balls sharply between two fingers; he shouted, but fell silent again, and I resumed my finger dance. Life was beginning to flow into his member; very slowly, I felt it gathering weight and strength. Grasping it, I began to palpate it very slowly in my fist. He moaned slightly. Gently, I began to jerk him; it crossed my mind to perhaps do more… really give him something to think about… but, if the Magician was right and this was his first time, I’d rather that treat was saved until he could see what was going on.
Besides, I wasn’t certain whether he was even going to last long enough to appreciate anything more than a friendly hand job. Though my fist was still barely moving, his breathing was increasing, there was a moaning in the back of his throat. I firmed my grip and jerked hard three times; a fountain of wet heat splashed my wrist, as he cried out his orgasm.
I squeezed him once or twice more, wringing out the final drops of his joy, then rose and, silently, stealthily, made my way towards where I hoped the main door lay, feeling my way up the wall to the dogleg, then more confidently marching towards the sliver of light that peeped around the frame. Outside I could already hear movement, the sound of a key in the door. I flicked the light on as the door opened; inside the dungeon, I heard him call out a loud “Hey” as he was suddenly dazzled.
The Magician nodded and handed me a piece of toweling; I wiped the dripping white from my wrist, then dropped it into the dustbin bag that a nearby attendant already held open. Then I returned to my room.
The Doctor was waiting for me, scrolling through the story I’d been writing that morning. “Affairs of the heart?” he asked, as I headed for the bathroom. “Or Affairs of State? The young Lumberjack, right?”
I nodded.
“Listen, if you want to take him on as your own… uh… project, just say the word.”
I shook my head. “Come on, you know my opinion about immature men, don’t you?
He laughed. “Just asking. Think of all the tricks you could teach him.” “I don’t think so.” I closed the door while I peed and washed my hands, then crossed the room and sat on the bed, watching him read. “What do you think?”
“An interesting notion.” I’d had the idea of taking the sex scenes from one of Empousa’s legends, and transporting them into one of my own favorite fantasies, a hundred mile blow-job as a moving vehicle traveled down a bumpy road. “It works well. Tell me, is this from personal experience, or wishful thinking?”
“A little of both,” I admitted. “Never got past ten miles in reality, though.” “Hmmm. Shame there’s no cars around here,” he mused. “It’s a pity to leave such a vivacious dream just lying unfulfilled like that. Do you mind if I make a copy?”
I shook my head and he burned a copy to disc, and stuck it in his pocket. “Oh, before I forget, Magdalene was asking after you earlier.”
I eyed him cautiously. Even now, my dealings with our beloved matriarch always bordered on the fractious; I could never shake the feeling that she was mocking me lightly, that she maybe knew a lot more about me than I did myself.
“She wants to see me, you mean.” He nodded. “Yes, you better run along. You know how she hates to be kept waiting. She’s probably in the anterior office. Do you know the way?”
“I’ll find it.” I opened the closet, wondering whether I should maybe change clothes first, but a glance from the Doctor dissuaded me. She really did hate to be kept waiting.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It took three wrong turns, and an impossibly convoluted conversation with one of the attendants before I finally found myself in the plushly carpeted hallway that led to the office. It was a wing of the building I’d often passed but never entered before. Although I’d often felt curious about what lay behind a huge PRIVATE – KEEP OUT sign that hung on the door.
At the end was a door and I tapped on it; a woman’s voice called out “Enter,” and I found myself inside a very plain, almost utilitarian room. An office, of course. Offwhite walls were broken with pale green panels, a handful of computer stations blinked green cursors at one another. A bank of television monitors flickered washed-out colo
r images of different corners of the community – one, obviously equipped with some kind of sophisticated infra-red system, was focused on the Canadian in the dungeon, screaming in the dark as a large bulky figure, it looked like the Executioner, pierced his presumably virgin ass with a vibrator. The woman who called me in was watching it with a wry grin, and toying with the sliding controls on a small black box. One raised or lowered the sound of the screams, the other caught the high-pitched buzz of the vibrator. She was panning the two between a pair of wall-speakers.
“Ms Ross. If you’ve quite finished playing sound engineers?” Magdalene’s voice boomed out of one corner; I turned and saw her seated at an oak desk, surrounded by paperwork. “Perhaps you could bring our guest a cup of coffee?” She beckoned me over to a seat in front of the desk.
“Miss America. How lovely to see you looking so well. And so helpful. I’ve been receiving ever such encouraging reports about you.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
She nodded towards the monitors. “That one. He didn’t cause you any trouble, did he?”
“No. He came quiet as a lamb.” She smiled indulgently at my admittedly dreadful pun. “That isn’t quite what I meant. Of course he didn’t cause you any trouble. Trussed up like that, he can’t even scratch his own behind. So I will rephrase my question. Did your instructions cause you any trouble?”
“No, Ma’am. I mean… I was a little surprised when I was given them and I wasn’t completely certain what I was expected to do.”
She interrupted. “You weren’t expected to do ‘anything’. You were simply expected to do something. Which you did with
remarkable grace, I thought. As hand jobs go, I think he’ll probably remember that one for quite some time.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.” “What I now need to know is…would you be willing to take on more little commissions like that one? I realize that it will cut into what is already a very active day… your work in the library has been noted and allowances can be made to, shall we say, loosen the shackles on the attendant’s time, so that you may visit outside of the regular hours.”
She stopped speaking and looked at me. “I see you hesitate, so let me assure you now, you will be called on to undertake nothing that you find distasteful. As you may recall from your own induction into life here, there are residents aplenty who are simply overjoyed to indulge themselves in that respect. Similarly, should you find a subject utterly repugnant, or simply uninteresting, you may turn down the opportunity to work with them – and let me tell you, I’ve turned down plenty in my time.”
I smiled. “So it’ll be like it was today?” “If you wish. Of course, different subjects call for different treatments, but I think you are intelligent enough to understand that. Your handling of this one, if I may speak so literally, was exquisite. There again, I also enjoyed your treatment of Miss Chloe in the Main Hall. Very ingenious. Firm when you needed to be, but tender, too. She spoke very highly of your technique.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. And I can use the library whenever I like?” “Well, within reason. We can’t have you knocking the poor man out of bed at three in the morning, because you cannot sleep. Maybe we should just give you your own pass key.” She opened a drawer, rummaged around, then withdrew a pair of keys on a small silver fob. “The main entrance and the research room. Now you can come and go as you please. Tell me, how are your studies proceeding?”
“Very well, Ma’am.” And then, “I’ve been reading about you... your family.” She smiled. “You probably know more than I do, then. I’ve always intended to sit down with the archives but I’m not a big reader.” Her eyes flashed and I remembered where I was. I wanted to ask her about her early life, about her own arrival in the community – did she know what she was born to? Or was it as great a surprise for her as it was for me? But she changed the subject, returned to the matter in hand.
“Now, I just have a few things for you to sign.” She peeled half a dozen sheets of paper from the smaller of the piles in front of her. “This one is simply for our own register; basically, it states that the sexual preferences you have indicated in your time here are, more or less, the extent of your appetites?”
I must have looked as confused as I felt. “What I mean to say is, you don’t currently nurture some deep-down repressed urge to, oh I don’t know, start burning people’s feet with cigars, while masturbating over pictures of Hitler… not that we mind if you do, it’s just that we’d like some warning beforehand, so your profile can be adjusted accordingly. It allows us to ensure that you are not assigned to a subject for whom you may be grossly unsuitable.”
“No…nothing like that.” I signed. “Next. This is a contract of employment affirming that you will abide by the rules of the community, you will not divulge its existence to any person beyond these walls, nor will you actively solicit outsiders to enroll themselves here.”
“You make it sound as though I’ll be on the streets tomorrow,” I smiled. “I know, it’s an odd one this. I think it dates back to to Jacobean times. Something like that. Now it’s more of a tradition than a safeguard, although it remains no less binding.”
I signed. “Third. More or less a continuation of the last one. You will undergo regular health and medical tests. We recommend every three months, although you can stretch it to six if you wish. Recreational drug use will be confined to recreational purposes only – you’d be surprised how many people get hooked on different substances, but don’t say a word until it’s too late.
“Performance enhancing drugs may be taken only under the strictest medical supervision. Similarly, male potency drugs. Six hour erections may look impressive during the floorshow, but they can also cause the most horrifying damage… and, before you say that doesn’t apply to you, it takes two to tango, even if one is only calling out the steps.”
There were a few more clauses of a similar nature. I signed. “Fourth. This covers intellectual properties. Any writings, art, moving pictures,
photography etc that you create whilst you are here remain the property of the
community, to be displayed, exhibited or buried away in the basement as is felt appropriate.”
This time I paused, but Magdalene smiled reassuringly. “Only after you die. Until then, it’s considered a work in progress. This is to prevent unseemly squabbles among residents, all laying claim to some little trinket or other that their dearest friend left behind.” She shrugged. “It happens. If there’s only one claimant, most of the time we let them have it. But if things turn ugly, this way there’s no arguing.”
It made sense. I signed.
“Fifth. This one we like to call our NonAggression Pact. It states that you will not knowingly or through ignorance, place in danger the life of any other resident, either in the course of sexual conduct – specifically, but not exclusively, unsupervised sexual conduct – or otherwise. We had an incident in the Main Hall some time ago…”
“Was that Suzy? With the auto-asphyxiation freak?” Magdalene tutted. “We prefer not to use the word freak, as you’ll see when you read on. But you would be correct. He claimed to be an expert, and performed well in solo tests. Unfortunately, his attempts to induct another resident, Suzy, into the same pleasures revealed his other experiences to be mere fantasy.”
“What happened to him?” “We were forced to resume his education from the very beginning. Only this time, he knows we’re serious about being told the truth. Anyway, where was I? Blah blah, danger, blah blah sexual conduct… ah. You will refrain from using any term that may be considered injurious, or prejudicial towards another resident’s sexual preferences. Freak being a prime example. Pervert, deviant, poof, cock-sucker…” she raised her eyes and looked deeply into mine. “We all have our own tastes. Respect others’ as you hope they would respect yours.”
I signed. “And finally…” she handed me a manila folder. “There’s a little reading room over there. Grab yourself another coffee, I believe there’s some pastries somewhe
re as well, Ms Ross will ferret them out for you. Read through this – the pages are stapled in the correct order, I would be obliged if you didn’t cheat and read them out of order. Then, when you’re done, we’ll finish up.”
“Okay.” I stood, curtseyed, and went in search of Ms Ross. She was still watching the monitors, messing with the color control while the camera closed in on a couple sixtynine-ing. “The end of that man’s knob is green,” she was hissing. “Which means, either the screen is on the blink, or we’ve got a nasty dose of something ghastly going around. Tell me, would you suck on a green cock end?”
“Not on this planet,” I shuddered. “Maybe if I was on Mars, though.” “Oh God, that’s the last thing we need here. Martians. And I thought you Americans were lowering the tone. I wonder what the Martian phrase is for ‘your cock’s the wrong color’.” She bustled off in search of those pastries, and left me staring at the screen. She was right. It really was bright green.
###############
The first two pages were a copy of an article from what looked and read like a
downmarket tabloid newspaper, dated 1971.
But the title MODERN SWINGERS EMBRACING VAMPIRE LOVE
GODDESS was more than sufficient to catch the eye, especially as the event had somehow been captured in a photo. With her back towards the camera, a young looking woman was kneeling before a bound and spread-eagled middle-aged man, her head (and presumably her mouth) obscuring his modesty from the camera lens. It was only as you looked more closely that you realized the nature of the dark patch on the ground, beside her and beneath him. It was blood.
The article was short, little more than a series of single-sentence paragraphs. A recap of the most basic elements of the Goddess’s mythology. A veiled
recapitulation of the acts that the
photographs appeared to show. A shocked tone warning that such horrors could well be unfolding in your own home town. Among your own neighbors. And so on and so forth, in that sanctimonious tone of voice that only grows more vicarious the higher the outrage soars.
Miss America - a BDSM Vampire Tale Page 19