Clockwork Stalker: The Dirty Heroes Collection

by Silverwood, Cari

  It took her a minute to assemble her answer.

  “I’m not sure,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “It’s so very stark and in front of people.” As she looked about, her forehead sported a frown, her lower lip wriggled under her teeth.

  “They’re all doing it. We need to blend in so I can gain the confidence of the right people.”

  But who were the right people?

  “Besides, you just swallowed my dick in front of them. Everyone will know why you’re here.”

  “Oh. Yes. There is that. I should’ve have worn a mask, sir.”

  He eyed her speculatively. “Perhaps. It might be arranged.”

  “But it’s too late now.”

  “Hmmm.”

  The wall where the woman was chained and being whipped was elevated, he realized. It was a narrow stage that ran along the whole wall. A different man was now torturing the girl, shoving something into her that was not a part of him. It was in fact the whip handle. Being chained, she had no choice.

  Sherlock wondered if he’d asked her permission.

  If he had not asked? Intriguing. Enervating. Delightful.

  His heart thumped. Not asking was bad, immoral, and it called to him, a siren luring him onto the rocks, but that was the curse.

  He reined in his emotions. Lust was not his king.

  The man turned from his blonde girl, tossing the whip to a waiting male servant, and his eyes found Sherlock, then switched and slid past him, over his shoulder, and he was looking at Willa. At his pet. The man seemed fascinated and was already walking this way, jumping off the stage.

  Bare-chested, trousers immaculate, but no shoes. Sandy hair, slicked back, a fit physique.

  Sherlock catalogued him as he approached them. A soldier in the past and a dancer in the fluidity of his moves. He’d studied fencing and probably ballet.

  This is an enemy, he decided. A predator of women and of men, also.

  It both angered him and made him curious. What if, murmured the Curse, blackly. It slithered in. Two is better than one. Two of them, at Willa, at once.

  Damnation. He gritted his teeth. This place was as dangerous to him as a block of pure opium was to an addict.

  “Evening.” The dancer-soldier nodded to Sherlock, his gaze again drifting over Willa. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  He thickened his accent, merging it closer to working class. A lesser class would often make the upper class underestimate a man. “No. I’m recently from overseas. I was given a special invite. Lucky, hey?”

  “Indeed you are. This place is for the adventurous and the special. Name? I’m Robert Smith.” He placed a hand on the timber back of the couch.

  That was a false name most likely, though he lied well.

  “Arthur Tatum. I can see you like my pet.” He indicated Willa where she kneeled on the cushion.

  “I do! Love redheads. Whenever I get to sample one, I grab the opportunity.” He inclined an eyebrow.

  Sample? Sherlock decided to ignore the hint to share Willa with him. For now.

  “Do you come here often?”

  “I do. Weekly.” Robert snagged a glass of white wine off a passing waitress, quaffed some. “Those who come often… hahaha… get the best offers. Especially…” he leaned in and smiled at Willa then Sherlock “… if they share.”

  “I see. And the blonde you were flogging?”

  “Her?” The woman kneeled in chains, waggling her bottom enticingly at people passing her. “You can have her. Free sample, that one. Whip her, spank her, fuck her? Just, I would expect an equal exchange.”

  “So you’ve implied, three times? Yes, three.”

  “If one does not try, one fails inevitably. From Europe, you say?” He swiped a stray lock of fair hair from his forehead, hitched his hand over his belt, twisting it. His eyes took in far more than he meant to let on. On the belt buckle holding up his trousers was engraved a distinctive star symbol—the same one Sherlock had seen in the basement and the alley.

  The man was probing, and he knew things. Perfect. Sherlock clicked his fingers to attract a waitress and took a glass of wine for himself and another that he gave to Willa.

  Now to decide whether he should use the woman he possessed to gain information. Of course, she had volunteered to do as instructed.

  “From thereabouts. Shipping business. Tell me, Robert. What are these advantages a regular member gets? Apart from sexual pursuits.” Casually he waved his hand, indicating the room in general.

  “Did I say there are other advantages?”

  “No.” He smiled thinly. “Though I have heard rumors.”

  “I see.”

  Perhaps a specific piece of information would trigger the man to spill more?

  “Otherworldly advantages, in fact, Robert. Eldritch. I have an interest in those.” He stared quite blatantly at the belt buckle. The man would either get the hint, or think he wanted to bed him.

  How smart was Robert?

  “Ah-huh.” The man straightened his mouth and his eyes bloomed with darkness, his stance widened, as if he saw a potential for violence. “You are a curious man. That isn’t well known, at all.”

  “It’s a hobby of mine, researching the monarchies of the world, wondering how worthy they are… Thinking of what lies on the other side of the veil.” He gathered Willa closer with one arm, and she snuggled into his side. “Is there a membership fee?”

  “There is, of sorts. A personal one and a monetary one. We also need to know you’re truthful about your reasons.”

  Personal meant Willa, he supposed, unless they wanted him to chop off a finger or something.

  “If you wish to be considered, tell me. I’ll be here all night. Also… admittance has to be voted on. First though, the application to join.” As he’d spoken, he’d come closer, until he was behind Willa. He trailed his hand in her hair.

  Since she had the side of her face on Sherlock’s thigh, she hadn’t seen his intent, and she froze, wide-eyed.

  Sherlock smiled down at her.

  “After the application, we look at what you offer us.” Robert stepped back. “Think carefully.”

  He wandered away, as if they’d merely been discussing the weather.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Kitten?” He didn’t look at her, too immersed in the past conversation.

  “You wouldn’t? I heard what he meant. Me?”

  “You?” Now, he looked at her, and he cupped her chin, lifted it so she must tilt her head. “Oh now, you’re backing away over this? Utter obedience. You wanted things, and this may be the price.”

  And what a lovely price she would be. The bass-beat thrum of sex had him by the balls, by the heart, and by the mind.

  What must be, must be.

  * * *

  Sherlock:

  The night wore on and I… I tormented her, thoroughly.

  Stripping her entirely, here, it would be too much, too soon.

  I teased, therefore. I sucked on her. I pulled down the edge of her top and played with her tits, her teats, squeezed on her nipples and bit them, whatever one might call them. I pulled her over my lap, removed her small underthings, threw those away, and spanked her. Then I bit her there until she squealed, and my bite marks stood up like brands. A brand, now there was an idea. I toyed with her clitoris, as well as her neat little asshole. Fingers, thumb, tongue, and I thought about a toy I’d brought with me.

  Soon. It could be my surprise.

  But I never let her climax.

  She wriggled on me after a while, in that hypnotized state I recognized as meaning she would allow me to do anything I wished to do, simply because I’d overwhelmed her. My trousers stayed on but became damp where she’d sat on them, her legs spread, gasping, making those sweet over-stimulated noises a woman makes when she’s one second, two, from an orgasm.

  Then, I would stop, and hold her by the neck until she came down from that high place, just enough. Panting, she pawed at my arm, my wrist, squi
rming like a hooked fish. She wanted me to release her neck. I did so when I judged it the correct time.

  Her red shoes lay toppled together by the end of the couch.

  I pulled her clothes back into place and had her stand before me, using the very tip of my tongue on her nub, playing there, penetrating her pussy only lightly with the smaller steel dildo.

  Judging her ready, for she was putty in my larger hands, a moldable woman, I tethered her collar with the steel-link dog leash I’d brought with me. Bordello bag in hand, I towed her to the stage, then up the single step. Here were recessed rings, sunken into the floor so one could not trip on them easily.

  The used-up blonde was still restrained onstage, by wrists and ankles, lying on her side, a soggy mess of come, dribble, and red marks. I doubted any of these fine gentlemen who’d done the deed with her would return.

  I scanned the crowd to be sure of that, then spoke with her a moment, remembering my reason for being here. She was new but enthusiastic, overcome by the night’s activities, and easily tapped for information. No, she didn’t know of Greta, a woman I pretended had worked here once. She’d heard of staff mysteriously vanishing, though. Women seemed to. She’d been told to take care not to do the same. There were rumors something monstrous lurked in the basement area below the Kitty Club.

  I released her, shooed her away, and had a waitress cleanse the floor.

  In the blonde’s place I attached my kitten using the cuffs they’d had on the other woman.

  On her knees.

  Wrists at one ring, ankles at the other.

  “Now I have you where I want you.”

  Slack-mouthed, she stared up at me, barely bothering to tug at her bonds. They were leather and steel, and she wasn’t getting free.

  I kneeled and kissed her sweet lips, then angled back her head with a fist in her hair. “You want to come, kitten? To climax?”

  She nodded quite vigorously. So much for shyness. An hour and a half of playing with her had her begging for it.

  “Good.”

  From the bag I pulled what I needed: the fluffy black tail that had a conical dildo attached at one end, similar to the small, steel one I’d already used on her, a pair of black cat ears for her head, and a long thick strip of black cloth. Then I blindfolded her, wrapping the cloth around and around her head at eye level then knotting it. I put the ears on her head and fastened them in place.

  Whistling to myself, I picked up the dildo-adapted cat tail, tossed it in the air and caught it. The balance was good. With the special flange, once in her it would stay in until I chose to remove it.

  I dropped off the stage and found a padded square footstool of the right height then returned and wedged it under her so she could just reach the floor with her toes and the flats of her hands.

  The perfect position.

  I scooped her breasts from the bodice then changed my mind.

  In the bordello bag I found the knife I’d put there for emergencies, hidden in the lining. Harvey had been lax in his searching. Then I sauntered to her. On one knee, I pricked her under the chin with the knife tip.

  “Cutting off these clothes now, kitten. I wouldn’t move, if I were you.” Not that she could.

  She raised her head and whimpered. The steel chains tinkled, tightening due to her minor resistance.

  Nice. I was feeling so evil, so intent on her, jittery but fierce, as if I’d taken a huge hit of cocaine all at once. But this had more purpose than just me taking her in public…

  I had to stop to remember what that was.

  Mycroft. British government. Otherworldly cult.

  That.

  It took a few slices of the knife then a few vigorous yanks to free her of clothes. I gagged her with one strip, tossed away the rest. The white cloth fluttered to the floor.

  Beautiful ample ass up and on display, as well as her cunt. A naked, squirming girl presenting herself for any man who looked.

  Damn, damn, and damn.

  I undid my fly again for the second time that night, went behind her so I could see her slit, and stroked myself a few times. Both her holes were easily accessible.

  I squeezed the head of my cock and gasped. Getting in there, soon, I reminded it. If it grew any harder, it’d pop. Now that would be a shame.

  So I pulled my belt from its place and doubled it over my hand, swinging it. She could do with being a little redder.

  My final words to her? “Now you won’t know who is fucking you, pet.”

  Robert had been watching this unfold, of course.

  I raised the belt and began to beat that ass, to fuck her in between the strokes, to get my dick thoroughly wet, then the little tail dildo was dabbled into her slit also, then fucking her a few more times before I pulled apart her ass cheeks and wormed the steel cone into her nether hole, that forbidden place, in spite of her squeals and protests.

  She was ready now, for anything—gagged, blindfolded, tied in place, and maybe I’d take her ass tonight also.

  Or both of you can…

  Robert leaped onto the stage, making a huge thump, and stood a few feet away, hands on hips. “Mine?” He tilted his head.

  “Not… yet.” There was something wrong with my last thought, but I couldn’t pin it down, unlike kitten. I lifted my bare foot and planted it on her derriere, just for the feel of it.

  I squashed her down, wobbled her ass side to side. How she lay, stretched over the footstool, her breasts squashed into view at the other end. I thought of the two nipple clamps I’d found when I returned to the bordello—little silver cats that had some weight to them attached by silver chains to each clamp.

  Those would do nicely.

  18

  The Bastard

  Willa:

  “This curse makes me feel like being a bastard.”

  He’d said that as he’d tied me down.

  I liked this bastard version of Sherlock Holmes.

  Towed up on stage, cuffed and tied down, manhandled and made to show everything while I could see nothing. The lack of sight amplified every sound, scent, and feeling.

  I echoed with lust, my body ready and willing, for this man.

  It was exquisite to be freed of all decision making. No one here would say what they’d seen. We were one, all of us perverted, debauched, sinful.

  I no longer cared.

  I trusted Sherlock and was now lost on the unknown sea… waiting for him.

  He whispered in my ear before he did things.

  Being penetrated when I was so aroused, it shoved me rapidly into that glorious territory of heart-thumping, taut-muscled readiness before a climax.

  I wanted him, wanted sex more than ever.

  Tied at wrist and ankle, tight, controlled, it was a form of ecstasy all of itself. A new nirvana that I doubted I would ever grow tired of.

  More, I needed more. I needed him to fuck me here, my Sherlock.

  What better way to say you love someone than by claiming them in public where all could see?

  No, wait. The usual doubts arrived. That was not love.

  Next,” he said. “This in here.”

  His hand pulled apart my buttocks and a metal thing slipped along, threatening to go inside more than once, inched in, popped out. Something furry teased my skin, brushing it. I whined past the gag of cloth, squirming.

  Then: “Shhh. Quiet. This will fit.” His palm clasped over my mouth, wrapping over my face, holding my head.

  The feel of something being wriggled into my bottom hole while I was tied down and gagged wrought changes inside my head. It was an utter violation that nevertheless blossomed new sensations, merging wonderfully with the throbbing from my pussy.

  He deserted me for a while, and I had to wonder if he was looking at how I lay, at how he’d tied me down. Surely, I was dripping back there. Swollen, recently speared into by his cock.

  Everyone will know why you’re here.

  It was true. I didn’t care, not anymore.

  He’d st
rapped me with his belt, spanked me, and still I hadn’t been allowed to come. Remembering that, moaning at the pressure, I rubbed my clitoris against the edge of the foot stool, hoping it would spur him into motion—to take me, here, now.

  Tingles of queerly altered pleasure washed from my thrashed skin and from the foreign object that invaded my bottom. It was filthy to desire public defilement, but I kept subtly humping the stool, moving in tiny circles.

  Until his hand landed on my butt, jarring me forward.

  “Stop that.” I heard him walk to my head and kneel. He kissed my ear and wrapped his hand over my breast, drawing his fingers down to my nipple which he squeezed, firmly, until I had to squeak. “Naughty Kitten. Be still, while I put my last decoration on my pretty pet. This might…” Something metal touched my breasts. “Might hurt.” And I held my breath as it came down on that most sensitive part of me and clenched…in…tight.

  My swear words fell softly through the gag, and I whined as he did the same to my other nipple. I flinched, swore.

  Pain, sharp pain.

  But I was stuck in place. He held my breast for several seconds, tut-tutting as I made whining noises.

  “Still. Be still. These have little cats attached, and look, they swing if I flick them.”

  I winced as I felt him do so, the weights dragging at my nipples.

  Then he slipped the gag lower, pried open my mouth with his fingers, stroking my tongue.

  “Stay like that, open. You want to climax?”

  Squeezing my eyes to lose the tears, I nodded and tried to make sense of the weird feelings scattered over my body—the bites, the pleasurable throbs, the stretching violation.

  “Good.”

  Then I heard other footsteps, a man’s heavy feet. Not shoes, bare. And quiet baritone voices as they discussed something. Me?

  A little panicked, I raised my sightless head to try to see but there was nothing leaking through the thick blindfold.

  Someone thumped the floor in front of me and again there were hands on my face.

  I trusted him, didn’t I? This person smelled different.

  “Now,” he asked. “You’ll not make me wait?”