Descent Into Darkness (10 page)

Raven yanked and dragged Mela toward the corner where Katarina cowered on her side. Eventually close enough, Mela was propelled across her, crimson lash marks bold on Mela’s otherwise porcelain skin. The warmth of another body was welcome but the elfin girl now looked so miserably vulnerable.

Something in Katarina stirred. She guided Mela’s petite body so she was between Mela and the women, wrapping protective arms tightly around her as another blast of water struck. She arched as muscles tensed but clung on. “Thank you.” Mela could barely croak, her struggling, hoarse whisper hardly audible, even to her protector.

This time the cycle was more bearable as the heat of another body went some way to offsetting the cold. Lying there, clutching, cuddling Mela protectively to her, it was an inspiration to Katarina’s growing endurance.

Satisfied smiles settled across two pairs of lips as they watched but those of the blonde didn’t flicker. Amber only forced herself to look on, fearing the consequences of not doing so.

Sopping wet and chilled to the bone, the two young women clung to each other on the stone flagged floor. One was collared with arms bound, back throbbing from the attentions of a whip. The other was gagged, stretched thin through lack of sleep and the constant testing of her boundaries. Sodden, they didn’t move as the three women now stalked their approach.

The toe of a boot reached forward and was drilled between Katarina’s legs. “It seems that my pretty whore has a pet,” the luxurious voice of Mistress Raven oozed to accompany the booted intrusion.

Slowly the boot slipped back and forth, burying itself deeper. “Pretty whore and no more.” The words were whispered but hit an installed trigger. A frisson of excitement spirited from Katarina’s loins, compelling a tell-tale twitch in her hips.

“
Good
girl. It’s only right that I should excite you. Mistress Raven is your life.” The second trigger had Katarina’s hips jolt visibly, her body responding to Pavlovian training.

The intrusive boot withdrew to be presented squarely in Katarina’s field of vision. “It seems your body craves me.” The observation held a casual lilt and she pointed down to the slick trace of liquid now smeared over the toe of her boot as evidence.

“Your mouth is indisposed. You’ll use Mela’s to clean off your filth.” Her accent hinted toward francophone roots.

Without further instruction, Raven’s two leather-clad helpers looped around to Mela. Tugging her from the possessive hold of Katarina, Mela was roughly positioned on her haunches, then they turned their attentions to Katarina. She was similarly dragged to her knees at the feet of the woman who was the centre of her torment. Katarina’s hand was stretched out to rest on Mela’s head.

“Grip,” a soft Australian accent instructed. She couldn’t. Inflicting pain on this girl was beyond her. Katarina remained motionless. Defiant.

“Like this.” The louder bark of the American was accompanied by her grasping Katarina’s hair and yanking it back, making her bite down on the latex cock between her teeth. She had to do it. With her head held harshly back and her scalp pleading for the pain to stop, Katarina slowly closed her fingers into the hair of the elfin girl.

As her own head was guided down, Katarina mirrored the move on Mela. She knew the pain she caused, she was feeling it too but slowly, she pressed Mela’s lips down against the toe of Mistress Raven’s waiting boot.

She had been shown the start but dare not stop, holding Mela there even as the grip on her own hair was first eased, then released. Mela’s tongue obediently snaked out to lap at the boot of her brutal Mistress, fastidiously cleaning to restore the lustrous sheen. “Look at them Mistress, so cute.”

The American was clearly enjoying herself. Raven looked down. Two beautiful naked slaves were crouched at her feet and it was the sweetest sight to behold. Raven hooked a finger through the buckle of Katarina’s gag. She would take pleasure from this girl and with a sigh of contentment, she drew Katarina’s head to rest firmly against her toned thigh with a single word of command, “Serve.”

CHAPTER XIX –
Good Night Bad Night

“A night in my cages for them,” Mistress Raven toned. Such a matter of fact instruction. “Bring them.” Amber quickly stepped forward to take control of Katarina with arms around her waist, leaving Mela to the redhead whose narrowed eyes spoke of her possessiveness of her lover. As an outlet, Red roughly took hold of Mela, pulling her sharply to her feet and followed Amber’s sway out of the room.

The group first turned through dark corridors, up one flight of steps before emerging into a softer-edged section of the manor. Furnishings were plush here and lighting decided by taste rather than pure function. A second flight of stairs, carpeted and classy, was incongruous with the look of the quartet that ascended them. Two leather clad and in control, two naked and controlled. They reached the upper landing and turned into a large room to the right.

The flickering flames of candles cast shadows that danced across the walls. Silken drapes framed a large four poster bed against the far wall. Sumptuous white pillows were arranged carefully at its head. The uppermost displayed an elegant ‘R’ picked out in a jet black heraldic script. Above them against the far wall, an outsize black and white picture hung, dominating the room as the picture’s subject had dominated the two naked woman.

Mistress Raven stood resplendent in the artwork, stance wide, broadcasting sexual power. Seen through her legs was a naked slave. Kneeling, visible only in body, the slave’s face was masked by hanging hair. A crop rested against the Dominant’s leg. It was clasped in a hand sheathed in a silken glove. On the other side, a pair of gleaming handcuffs, one clasped around her wrist, the other hanging open.

The laces of her corset dangled provocatively down to the cleft of her butt, above which emerged the T of a black G-string. Garters stretched down to claim the top of black seamed stockings which rose out of knee high black leather boots that pricked the floor with thin steel stilettos.

Her shoulders were bare but the shadowing defined muscles honed through hours of activity perhaps in the gym, more likely in the bedroom. A pure black pony tail from hair scraped-back and slicked rested between her shoulder blades, a stereotype perhaps but nonetheless alluring.

The only colour was the scarlet slash on her lips seen as she looked over her shoulder to the camera, perhaps in servitude, definitely in seduction. Was she asking for allowance? Her look left a question, was she controlling or controlled?

Katarina’s gaze wandered back to the naked woman tucked into a tightly crouched ball, perfectly framed between the endless legs. The collar was familiar and Katarina immediately understood. Mela and her Mistress. The two came as one. She had blundered into a relationship and that just spelt danger.

Past the chaise longue bedecked with cushions that matched those posed on the bed. Slowly Katarina was shuffled forward, a tug on her gag reminding her that she wouldn’t be allowed to simply linger.

The fire warmed her bare flank, the logs crackling and cracking their protest at the all consuming blaze. Brass columns flanked either side and were topped with depictions of ravens in flight. Rounding the four poster bed, incongruous with the sumptuous opulence of the room, a small cage sat beside it and Katarina’s destination was known.

She froze. A pleading look shot to Amber. “In,” she breathed, nudging the door open with the toe of her boot. Katarina shook her head but across the bed saw Mela willingly take up the same position that was expected of her. “Go on then, resist. Make it fun for me.” An additional tug pulling the gagged girl against Amber’s leather-encased chest.

The thought flashed of kissing those lips but Katarina quickly shook the delicious image aside. There would be a time for that hopefully but this was not it. Slowly, with eyes locked on Amber’s, Katarina sank to her knees, summoning all the feeling she could to project into that look.

Crawling slowly into the waiting cage, the added sway Katarina added to her hips was rewarded with the caress of a gloved hand to her butt. It told her all she needed to know. There was something there, something she could use.

A smile would have betrayed Katarina if the thick leather panel had allowed. Potential weakness. She carefully stored away the idea. Another time. A
better
time.

A metallic click of a lock, the cage door locked shut. A second click caged Mela too. Facing the wall, Katarina had to adjust. She had to face them, be ready, just in case. The cage was small, or she was too large. Probably just another tool used to wear her down. A graze on her shoulder was the prize for successfully turning round.

A figure appeared in the doorway, a vision in a draped silk nightgown, her hair cascaded over a silken shawl slung across slim shoulders. The silhouette against the bright hallway hinted toward the drama of the body that lay beneath. She shrugged the shawl off, Red darting forward to catch it. No soiling of silk on the floor, it draped across a leather gloved hand, Red bowing as if in reverence.

A casual flick of the hand and the assistants retired from the room, arms coiled around each other’s waist. Had the blonde hesitated? Katarina wasn’t certain whether real or just wanted.

Katarina’s eyes were drawn back toward the refined beauty, the same woman celebrated in the picture. With practiced grace, Mistress Raven glided toward her waiting bed. No acknowledgement of the twin cages flanking it. Not a sign it wasn’t normal.

Katarina pressed up to the bars to see Raven carefully lifting the hem of her ivory silk nightgown and placing a knee on her bed. She almost slinked across the sheets, small moans of satisfaction emanating from her as appreciative hands swept across the luxurious material.

The vision passed beyond sight now and Katarina tried to settle inside steel. She first stretched a leg but it struck the end of the cage when only halfway extended. An arm had similar misfortune. Her entrapment was devilish. She couldn’t stretch. She couldn’t relieve those long tortured muscles and she kicked out in utter frustration at the steel caging her.

The thump of a thrown cushion resonated through Katarina’s cage. “Silence! My pretty whore.”

The contrast could not have been starker. The Dominant, luxuriating in the comfortable rewards of her position. The slaves, confined in discomfort on the floor at her sides. Katarina hated her with a passion and as overdue sleep started to slide over her she made a promise to herself. She had been so naïve but she would get through this. She would have her own time and she would endure.

CHAPTER XX – Wake Up Call

Her dreams would
’ve filled a lifetime’s quota. Vivid, turbulent, a multitude of images and scenes tumbled from Katarina’s subconscious. A replay of the rush to the station. Flashing photography though this time, perhaps on account of her being well bound. Posed and preened. Pushed and punished. Katarina’s mind sifted through image after image in an attempt to make sense where there was none. Faces leered close and then leant away. One followed another then one of the faces smiled.

Mela. Katarina’s dreams shifted focus to her source of comfort. Laughing and joking, wrapped in each other, running through a flowered meadow. She was hurt now and Katarina embraced her. A figure loomed in, slender and sadistic. Katarina snarled defiance at the whip-wielding shape, hunching protectively to shield Mela from blow after blow, falling to the floor.

The scene changed again. A lapping tongue at her clitoris had Katarina’s eyes rolling to the heavens. With effort she pressed the head closer as the tongue pushed her on. The hair she was holding was blonde, not Mela’s black. Katarina snatched back the hair, locking eyes with the lustful look of Amber. Around her neck was a collar and a silvered word held the explanation. ‘Kat’s.’

Dream Katarina’s eyes closed. A deeper moan and the head was thrust back in place to continue its service. She needed to slow down, savour it and she drew the head back. It was Mela’s sparkling eyes and mischievous smile this time. Mela’s urgent whisper crept into Katarina’s spinning world. “Keep quiet!”

Not for her the psychotic bitch-style like the one who had inflicted such pains. No, Katarina’s dreamt dominance was different, caring but firm. Rewarding and reprimanding in equal measure. Her own style. Yes. Gently Katarina reached down to brush away the hand that gripped her ankle.

Thoughts came confused now. The dream was fading beyond focus. Katarina reached out to grab the images back to her, stopped by the bump against bars. “Shhhhhh!” A sound shot from the side. Her eyes flickered open only to look directly into Mela’s.

Displaced, Katarina could do nothing more than look as the haze of deep sleep edged aside. Just a dream but she remembered. The images and information? All processed. It was how she did things, how her mind worked. Though revealed in a dream, something had etched in her mind. The seed of an embryonic plan had been sown.

Her fingers tightened around steel as the plan started to coalesce, taking shape, taking form in Katarina’s mind. Feminine fingers closed around hers and looking up she saw Mela through the bars. “I must wake Mistress.” The elfin girl shot a fearful look over her shoulder and slunk back into the shadows before crawling carefully, quietly, onto the bed where her duty lay.

A groan, low and animalistic. It filtered down to Katarina from the head of the bed. She couldn’t rise to see but the sight of a leg rising in accommodation under the silken sheets was confirmation enough. Mistress Raven was receiving a most welcome of wake ups. It was then that Katarina realised her idea may indeed have a chance to succeed.

== ~ ==

The kiss of silk on skin as she slid up the bed was a daily luxury for Mela. She’d become accustomed to the buzz of the timer each day. The metallic clank always followed and when the lock slid back she nudged open the door to emerge. Almost in her sleep now, she could find her way onto her Mistress’ bed. It was required to be that way, to wake her in the sumptuous manner she expected.

Today though, Mela’s first thought had been of another. The nameless abducted young woman was kept in a similar cage on the opposite side of the bed. Mela had paused. It would be frowned upon but still she had diverted her ascent. She had wanted just to reassure her that she had a friend and she had done that. But she had needed to wake the young woman, part to show she was there, part to stop the sleeping sounds that risked betraying Mela’s diversion.

Mission accomplished, Mela slowly drew down the soft sheets. A leg of the slumbering body shifted to one side. She had the access she needed and Mela crept forward, hands carefully pressing toned thighs apart, guiding them to positions to accommodate her approach. She pressed further forward, tongue stretching out, finding its target, finding favour.

Mela’s mind drifted back to
that
evening. It’d been a bold move, she’d been summoning the courage for weeks and when the day came around, the knots in her stomach almost forced the plan to be abandoned.

She’d long been intrigued by bondage. If pressed, she would admit to the trigger being her first boyfriend. He had held her wrists to guide her into a position to fulfil his needs at the expense of hers. That was the night she chose to explore it further. She needed that release, needed that journey.

She’d planned it ever since spotting the discrete ad in the back of an obscure local paper. A BDSM evening. Demos, talks, everything a curious girl needed. Mela knew she would have to go.

Mela. Teased tomboy. Wallflower. She was going to step outside the comfort zone described by her ‘oh so conventional’ upbringing. A tentative step but one into a world that even hours of research on the net couldn’t fully prepare her for.

The outfit she chose was edgy for her. That said, it would barely scrape in against the dress code the evening demanded. A PVC bustier scooped up breasts that she convinced herself were ‘just right’, though in more open moments after the loosening effects of wine she would admit to them being too small.

The skirt she wore flared wide. Black taffeta laid layer on layer to flare out the uppermost PVC. She’d cut holes in it too to create the punkish look she’d strived for. A gauntlet adorned her right wrist, a cheap oversize watch, the other.

Boots were a must. Buying them off the internet was the bravest thing she’d ever done. She remembered how she’d paced back and forth, waiting to intercept the parcel before her parents got to the mail. The cheap-looking black patent belied the cost but if the height of the platform and heel were a gauge on price, they would have cost the earth.

Two hours on her hair and makeup but the reflection in the mirror had told Mela it was worth it. Hair spiked ‘just so’, dark heavy makeup completed her look. Purple lips matched purple eyeliner and emphasised the hint of purple she’d earlier washed into her hair. She looked every inch the dangerous punk she’d aimed for.

An all-night function, Mela knew that if she took her keys she’d be tempted to turn around before she got to the club. She had needed to be bold, so leaving her key inside, Mela had slammed the door behind her. No turning back now. Nobody would let her back in until morning. If she hammered on the door, there would be questions, disapproval, perhaps more. With that definite click of the lock, she was on her way.

== ~ ==

A satisfied moan from above told Mela she had hit the right tempo. Tasting her Mistress, she smiled and recalled more of the night she was taken.

== ~ ==

She’d wobbled down the street like some desperate street hooker out turning tricks for the first time but she’d soldiered on. Shortening her stride, Mela had learnt how to walk in her unforgiving boots.

God she’d been brave to do that. She could still remember the turmoil in her stomach as she’d walked down that street. She was a new invention, new Mela, a Mela unrecognisable from her regular look. She looked like who she wanted to be, on the outside at least. She recalled the way the doorman had looked at her. She’d known him from the bookshop she worked in but he’d searched her somehow familiar face, found nothing to spark his memory, shrugged and just let her in.

The club was dark as most clubs are. The wispy smoke of dry ice swirled at knee height adding cliché to the atmosphere as music thumped. The easy option first, the bar. Mela had settled at one end, fortifying alcohol firmly in her grasp, soon followed by a second, a third, and she forgot how many more.

Mela remembered how in awe she’d watched people breeze past in outfits only previously seen on her laptop. A five minute talk barely raised her interest but when the demonstration started interest was soon hooked. Shibari Techniques it was called. Mela watched wide-eyed as a man was bound uncomfortably in an intricate web of rough hemp rope.

== ~ ==

A hand reached down and rested gently on Mela’s head. It was confirmation that her mistress was waking in her preferred way. She breathed a small sigh at the relief. Punishment had been avoided, for now at least, and Mela’s mind drifted again to the club to place her back where she had seen her for the first time.

== ~ ==

The tall woman’s presence electrified the room, exuding a confidence Mela found compelling. She was introduced as Mistress Raven. Announced as the grand finale of the evening, she would give a final, formal display. Enthusiastic applause rang out.

All endless legs, slim waist and full bust, Mistress Raven’s body was emphasised by the dress that skimmed toward her high heels. A strange material, it clung hungrily to each curve of her body. The sheen caught the light. Mela had seen such things on the net, latex. She was quite something.

Though slightly blurred after too many drinks, the friendly barman nodded. “Yes it is.” Had she really spoken that out loud? She returned a smile of thanks as best she still could. If Mela be a moth, the woman was the flame, one that flared a remorseless allure on a moonless night. Transfixed by this woman, this mistress was the first she had seen in the flesh.

The minutes flew past. Mela stared at the woman on stage who held the room in her thrall. To Mela though, they were the only two in the club, all else irrelevant as she watched, mouth slightly open as the woman displayed skills with whip and crop on a blindfolded female.

Deliciously intoxicating, Mela pictured herself as that girl, shuddering from each snap of the whip. A pause in the proceedings and appreciative applause rang out. Mela slid off the chair and placed one foot forward, her ankle buckling at first, forgetting her heels.

Slowly, she had moved forward, veering with drunken care between the huddles of people who talked openly of things she’d thought of as taboo. She didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t reason why, but her legs still carried her forward and as the alcohol compelled to focus on her walk, her rational mind was oblivious to the danger she might be placing herself in.

When volunteers were called for, Mela had found herself already climbing the stage. She heaved herself up right in front, ignoring the steps to the side, breathing heavily, still fighting the spinning of the room.

A single finger had hooked under her chin to lift her head. As Mela looked up, she heard her own faltering voice whispering, “Take me, Mistress.”

Laughter? From the crowd perhaps but not from
her
. “Rise.” A single word of command and Mela’s legs had answered. And there she stood, the crowd watching confident, feminine hands explore her. Sampling. Gauging. Assessing. They squeezed as if testing livestock at auction. No more words were spoken. No more were needed. Mela fought to remain upright and still while her brain stumbled to sort through the fog.

== ~ ==

Mela remembered now how naïve, how stupid, it had all been but also remembered the thrill of feeling a collar slipped around her neck, the collar she still wore to this day.

She’d never looked back, never wanted to before. That evening she’d found more than she was looking for. Constraints that strangled her had been shaken off, replaced by restraints that freed her. Memories that haunted her found a refuge.

And yet, as her head was pressed deeper into the crotch of her mistress, Mela felt her first tinge of regret. She’d been hasty. The seething brutality of her mistress had first shocked her before it became routine. Only in seeing this new woman had Mela awoken, as if seeing her new persona from the outside for the first time.

The hand pressed harder, clamping Mela deep into the woman’s need. She felt dirty, used in a way she’d never done before. And as the woman came to the attentions of her tongue, Mela was oblivious to the pleasure, her only thought of another direction that beckoned.

== ~ ==

The candles now long dead, shafts of morning sun edged into the room. Katarina could only listen. Her release from the cage was probably close though as sounds and movements above on the bed told of morning. There were moans but that seemed the way of things here, they were incongruous to her cramped muscles which could only scream. She was glad she was gagged. Swearing would no doubt see her punished. That seemed the way of things too.