Nawashi (11 page)
Authors: Gray Miller
Tags: #thriller, #action, #bdsm, #sex magic, #rope bondage, #kink, #graydancer
Ada’s eyes had turned colder. “Yes. Well. You’ll
pardon me if, as a Wiccan, I’d prefer using life magic rather than
lethal force as our weapon of choice.” She softened her tone at
Brian’s fallen expression. “Right now the priority is to safeguard
your daughters, though, isn’t it?” With that reminder she’d all but
pushed Sullivan and him out the door, to meet up with Sally at the
park.
Now Brian and Sally were standing downtown in front
of an industrial-looking building. A slight drizzle had coated the
asphalt with a sheen of reflected lights distorted and broken.
Sally was wearing a black velvet dress, cut low in back, and white
opera gloves. She would not have been out of place at an opening at
the Met, with smooth glittering silver decorating her neck and
ears. The only thing that was a bit out of place was the extreme
height of the heels she wore, which pushed her arches forward and
gave a subtle accent to the curve of her ass as she walked, her arm
woven into Brian’s.
Brian was more simply dressed, a thick white cotton
shirt that was slightly puffed out in the sleeves and tight black
trousers, a shining leather belt mirroring the polish of his shoes.
He carried a dark green bag over his shoulder as they walked
towards the grungy door and pressed the button. The harsh
buzz-click of the latch opening signalled the acceptance of the
closed circuit camera Brian saw mounted over the door, and they
walked up the steep stairs in greenish florescent light.
At the top of the stairs, an older leather daddy
with a bristling gray crew cut gave Sally a big smile. “Sal– er,
Monique, my dear, so nice of you to join us! And you brought me a
toy to play with! Sign here, big fella, and tell me you’ll be mine…
”
Brian smiled at the man as he signed the waiver.
“Sorry, ‘big fella’, I’m spoken for this evening. Maybe next
time.”
The man grinned toothily at Brian. “Don’t tease,
boy, I may take you up on that.. Ok, you two, go on in. Whatever
you do, don’t play nice.”
Sally smiled at him, and turned to Brian, bringing
her lips to his ear. “Brian… Don’t forget what we are trying to
do.” Her soft murmur caressed his neck and he felt his cock thicken
slightly at her nearness, the curve of her velvet-covered ass
filling his hands with warmth.
Giving her a reassuring squeeze, he opened the door
for them and they entered Thornhall.
man. The room was built around him. He is naked, covered with
wrinkled brown skin, encrusted in places with some unnamable
substance that he occasional peels off and chews meditatively.
He doesn’t do it for sustenance. He doesn’t
actually need food, drawing his energy from a more direct source,
the three women and one man dreamily sitting in puddles of urine
and excrement outside of each wall of his room. Intravenous drips
shunt directly into their jugulars, and their bodies are thin and
malnourished, the skin hanging off their collar bones, ribs framing
bloated bellies. They are all smiling as the cloudy black liquid
drips down the tubes into their bloodstream.
They will need to be replaced soon, the man thinks,
with the same sort of emphasis with which a person might consider
changing a roll of toilet paper. People were cheap these days; so
cheap, in fact, that feeding them was no longer cost-effective. He
sends out a stabbing will that sends a couple of clean-cut young
men in black suits into a homeless shelter thousands of miles away.
They believe they are bringing lost sheep back to the fold of their
Lord and Savior; they will write home about the incredible feelings
they had as they watched the homeless couple enter the School for
the Disadvantaged sponsored by their church, knowing that they had
saved the married couple from the wages of sin.
They would not see the couple stripped, pumped full
of a combination of aphrodisiacs and barbiturates, and used as
extras in videos not sold in stores, but only to certain
“collectors” with specialized tastes. The Wrinkled Man knows how to
reward and feed his tools’ addictions. Eventually the couple would
lose even the appearance of attraction, though, just as his current
four energy sources had. And they would end their lives here, yards
away from each other, oblivious to anything but the constant waves
of pleasure coursing through them.
They would die smiling.
The Wrinkled Man is not smiling, though. In a town
full of troublemakers, a new threat has appeared. It is something
he has not seen before—and for a man as old as the Wrinkled One,
that is quite disturbing. Twice he has felt it directly through his
tools, and other times he has seen the aura the—man, yes, it is a
man, a Troublemaker—has left behind after he has done some
work.
The Wrinkled Man is not smiling at all. The
Troublemaker’s work is wicked. It is sacrilege, and it takes away
what is rightfully his. So the Wrinkled Man decides to take away
something that belongs to the Troublemaker.
The room was a single large open space, pulsing
with a techno-trance sound coming from hidden speakers. At the
edges one could see traces of the industrial cement and unfinished
walls. Most of the roughness was disguised, however, by the layers
of Turkish rugs spread over the floor, plush and dark and lending
their warmth to the high ceiling crisscrossed with ductwork and
dimly-seen wiring. Most of the open sections were softly lit with
indirect torchieres or accent lighting, and the people filling
these spaces with low murmuring conversation were only gray
silhouettes of organic curves with the occasional glint of chrome
or sheen of leather reflecting the objects of attention.
These objects were set in pools of light every
twenty feet or so along the floor. First was a row of dark wooden
X-shaped frames, each reaching about eight feet tall, richly
finished in dark mahogany tones with shining metal rings at the end
of each limb. Attached to four of these were semi-nude forms, three
female and one male, their bodies adorned with black leather at
wrists and ankles and occasional scraps across their torsos. The
roundness of their bare buttocks shone pink in the bright light
over each them, the muscles sweaty and quivering under the floggers
and whips that whirled through the air and impacted with snapping
wet sounds. The arms of the doms wielding them were strangely
syncopating the music, and Brian could feel Sally’s hand excitedly
tighten on his forearm as they walked past them.
could feel the scars on his torso growing warm as his mark
responded to the surroundings. Sally could sense the change in his
walk, the stride slowing and lengthening, his shoulders pushing
back as he naturally extended into the space around him. His hand
released hers and fell naturally to his side, arm angled to subtly
hold her palm at his side. She could feel the change the way he
felt walking next to her, suddenly seeming far larger than the
six-foot man who’d hugged her at the door. For just a moment she
had the urge to kneel, right there next to him, and press her face
against his thigh… then she shook herself. She straightened her own
shoulders, pushing her bust out and adding a slight twist to her
walk that she knew would draw eyes to her ass. She kept her hand at
his arm… but sped her walk slightly, to pull ahead of him just
enough to allow herself to imagine she was leading him… this
handsome strong man becoming, in her mind, as much an accessory as
the glittering silver encircling her neck.
Sally suddenly squealed a high, girlish greeting as
she spotted some of her friends standing in one of the voyeuristic
groups, and there was a series of laughing hugs exchanged. Brian
waited to be introduced as she smiled and flirted with a
long-haired bearded man wearing a dark silk shirt inset with
crimson flames and his wife, a blonde in a tight red corset that
pushed her breasts into improbable balance over the edge of the
silk.
attire and matching silver-and-black dyed hair. The man’s suit was
subtly cut to accentuate his shoulders, and the woman’s matching
pinstripe was tight across her bosom, pushing it up and out of the
double-breasted fabric that strained at the buttons. Her legs were
revealed by the swatch of skirt that barely stretched to the lower
edge of her ass, seamed stockings going down into the sharpest
stiletto heels Brian had ever seen. Once again Sally went through
the ritual of hugs and smiling innuendoes, and once again didn’t
bother to include Brian. The snub was becoming painfully
deliberate, and finally Bettie, the woman in the pinstripe, asked
“So, who is your dashing friend here, Sally? He’s new and yummy…
”
Sally looked briefly at her companion, her eyes
cold and glittering in a shocking contrast to her glowing words
when they’d walked in. She said dismissively, “Oh, he’s just my boy
for the evening. Pretty, but not much for mental stimulation.” She
turned back to Ivan, the man in the business suit. “So, did you get
that new St. Andrew’s cross for your playroom?”
confidently shook hands with the four friends, their expressions
both relieved at the introduction and curious as they watched
Sally’s expression become annoyed. “I usually play north of here,
but I heard about this place from some mutual friends. Very nice
set up.”
Ivan’s smile widened. “Thanks! I was chair of the
dungeon committee, and it’s good to see we’re drawing new blood
into the local scene.” His hand came up and rested on Betty’s neck,
and Brian watched as her posture instinctively tilted up her chin,
feet spreading wider and her hands clasping behind her back. “So to
speak.” He turned and gave her neck a little nip. “You like new
blood, don’t you, pet?”
Sally gave a throaty chuckle and stepped forward,
pushing her breasts to brush against Betty’s arched bust, rubbing
them back and forth. “I’m so glad your tits are bisexual, Betty,
even if the rest of you isn’t.” She had stepped directly in front
of Brian, effectively shutting him out, again, from the circle, and
continued the slight by adding, “I’m so glad there’s fun people
here. I was afraid I’d be stuck with only this… decoration.”
The two couples were beginning to realize that
there was a tension developing between Brian and Sally, and their
expressions became speculative as they looked at him, waiting to
see his reaction. Brian looked calmly down at the back of Sally’s
head, then up at the four of them. “I’d love to speak with you more
later, but there’s some matters I need to attend to first. Please
excuse us.” He quickly grasped the back of Sally’s slender neck,
wrapping his thumb and forefinger around and up under her jaw at
the nerve junction, forcing her head back. She gave an indignant
shriek as he turned, drawing her with him, and started walking
towards the stocks.
She stumbled but managed to keep her balance on the
spiked heels as he forced her up onto the small platform that the
stock supports were set in. He let his bag fall from his shoulders
with a heavy thud, and reached up to open the top slat, which
hinged at the end and lifted like a parking gate. Sally had both
hands up behind her head, grabbing Brian’s forearm but unable to
get any kind of leverage. Her body arched back, and the resulting
silhouette of slender curves lined with black velvet began to draw
attention from the people in the dim outskirts of the circle of
light which illuminated them. Brian could see the two couples that
had only barely met him at the front of the gathering crowd.
He drew his arm in, guiding Sally’s head towards
the center indentation in the stocks. She was spluttering and
starting to swear, first with variations of “What the FUCK do you
THINK you’re DOING you BASTARD!” followed by “No! NO! I will NOT go
in there!” as she realized where he was leading her.
pardon me if, as a Wiccan, I’d prefer using life magic rather than
lethal force as our weapon of choice.” She softened her tone at
Brian’s fallen expression. “Right now the priority is to safeguard
your daughters, though, isn’t it?” With that reminder she’d all but
pushed Sullivan and him out the door, to meet up with Sally at the
park.
Now Brian and Sally were standing downtown in front
of an industrial-looking building. A slight drizzle had coated the
asphalt with a sheen of reflected lights distorted and broken.
Sally was wearing a black velvet dress, cut low in back, and white
opera gloves. She would not have been out of place at an opening at
the Met, with smooth glittering silver decorating her neck and
ears. The only thing that was a bit out of place was the extreme
height of the heels she wore, which pushed her arches forward and
gave a subtle accent to the curve of her ass as she walked, her arm
woven into Brian’s.
Brian was more simply dressed, a thick white cotton
shirt that was slightly puffed out in the sleeves and tight black
trousers, a shining leather belt mirroring the polish of his shoes.
He carried a dark green bag over his shoulder as they walked
towards the grungy door and pressed the button. The harsh
buzz-click of the latch opening signalled the acceptance of the
closed circuit camera Brian saw mounted over the door, and they
walked up the steep stairs in greenish florescent light.
At the top of the stairs, an older leather daddy
with a bristling gray crew cut gave Sally a big smile. “Sal– er,
Monique, my dear, so nice of you to join us! And you brought me a
toy to play with! Sign here, big fella, and tell me you’ll be mine…
”
Brian smiled at the man as he signed the waiver.
“Sorry, ‘big fella’, I’m spoken for this evening. Maybe next
time.”
The man grinned toothily at Brian. “Don’t tease,
boy, I may take you up on that.. Ok, you two, go on in. Whatever
you do, don’t play nice.”
Sally smiled at him, and turned to Brian, bringing
her lips to his ear. “Brian… Don’t forget what we are trying to
do.” Her soft murmur caressed his neck and he felt his cock thicken
slightly at her nearness, the curve of her velvet-covered ass
filling his hands with warmth.
Giving her a reassuring squeeze, he opened the door
for them and they entered Thornhall.
man. The room was built around him. He is naked, covered with
wrinkled brown skin, encrusted in places with some unnamable
substance that he occasional peels off and chews meditatively.
He doesn’t do it for sustenance. He doesn’t
actually need food, drawing his energy from a more direct source,
the three women and one man dreamily sitting in puddles of urine
and excrement outside of each wall of his room. Intravenous drips
shunt directly into their jugulars, and their bodies are thin and
malnourished, the skin hanging off their collar bones, ribs framing
bloated bellies. They are all smiling as the cloudy black liquid
drips down the tubes into their bloodstream.
They will need to be replaced soon, the man thinks,
with the same sort of emphasis with which a person might consider
changing a roll of toilet paper. People were cheap these days; so
cheap, in fact, that feeding them was no longer cost-effective. He
sends out a stabbing will that sends a couple of clean-cut young
men in black suits into a homeless shelter thousands of miles away.
They believe they are bringing lost sheep back to the fold of their
Lord and Savior; they will write home about the incredible feelings
they had as they watched the homeless couple enter the School for
the Disadvantaged sponsored by their church, knowing that they had
saved the married couple from the wages of sin.
They would not see the couple stripped, pumped full
of a combination of aphrodisiacs and barbiturates, and used as
extras in videos not sold in stores, but only to certain
“collectors” with specialized tastes. The Wrinkled Man knows how to
reward and feed his tools’ addictions. Eventually the couple would
lose even the appearance of attraction, though, just as his current
four energy sources had. And they would end their lives here, yards
away from each other, oblivious to anything but the constant waves
of pleasure coursing through them.
They would die smiling.
The Wrinkled Man is not smiling, though. In a town
full of troublemakers, a new threat has appeared. It is something
he has not seen before—and for a man as old as the Wrinkled One,
that is quite disturbing. Twice he has felt it directly through his
tools, and other times he has seen the aura the—man, yes, it is a
man, a Troublemaker—has left behind after he has done some
work.
The Wrinkled Man is not smiling at all. The
Troublemaker’s work is wicked. It is sacrilege, and it takes away
what is rightfully his. So the Wrinkled Man decides to take away
something that belongs to the Troublemaker.
The room was a single large open space, pulsing
with a techno-trance sound coming from hidden speakers. At the
edges one could see traces of the industrial cement and unfinished
walls. Most of the roughness was disguised, however, by the layers
of Turkish rugs spread over the floor, plush and dark and lending
their warmth to the high ceiling crisscrossed with ductwork and
dimly-seen wiring. Most of the open sections were softly lit with
indirect torchieres or accent lighting, and the people filling
these spaces with low murmuring conversation were only gray
silhouettes of organic curves with the occasional glint of chrome
or sheen of leather reflecting the objects of attention.
These objects were set in pools of light every
twenty feet or so along the floor. First was a row of dark wooden
X-shaped frames, each reaching about eight feet tall, richly
finished in dark mahogany tones with shining metal rings at the end
of each limb. Attached to four of these were semi-nude forms, three
female and one male, their bodies adorned with black leather at
wrists and ankles and occasional scraps across their torsos. The
roundness of their bare buttocks shone pink in the bright light
over each them, the muscles sweaty and quivering under the floggers
and whips that whirled through the air and impacted with snapping
wet sounds. The arms of the doms wielding them were strangely
syncopating the music, and Brian could feel Sally’s hand excitedly
tighten on his forearm as they walked past them.
The other furnishings of the
dungeon space were more varied—here a traditional wooden stock,
straight out of a Puritan town square, set next to a seat that
seemed to be a dentist chair as designed by Scandinavian furniture
designers. There were several couches set along the walls, and in
one corner a full medical examination table, stirrups extended and
holding a squirming woman being stroked with glittering chrome
instruments by a couple wrapped head to toe in stretched rubber
outfits.
Prie-dieux
were set in each corner of the room, set slightly higher than
the Catholic standard, and all but one had people bent over them,
their skin turning red as they were spanked by hands and paddles.
Traveling between these stations were dominants and submissives in
various states of connection, leashes, shackles, or chains pulled
tight as they were led to or from the areas of activity.
could feel the scars on his torso growing warm as his mark
responded to the surroundings. Sally could sense the change in his
walk, the stride slowing and lengthening, his shoulders pushing
back as he naturally extended into the space around him. His hand
released hers and fell naturally to his side, arm angled to subtly
hold her palm at his side. She could feel the change the way he
felt walking next to her, suddenly seeming far larger than the
six-foot man who’d hugged her at the door. For just a moment she
had the urge to kneel, right there next to him, and press her face
against his thigh… then she shook herself. She straightened her own
shoulders, pushing her bust out and adding a slight twist to her
walk that she knew would draw eyes to her ass. She kept her hand at
his arm… but sped her walk slightly, to pull ahead of him just
enough to allow herself to imagine she was leading him… this
handsome strong man becoming, in her mind, as much an accessory as
the glittering silver encircling her neck.
Sally suddenly squealed a high, girlish greeting as
she spotted some of her friends standing in one of the voyeuristic
groups, and there was a series of laughing hugs exchanged. Brian
waited to be introduced as she smiled and flirted with a
long-haired bearded man wearing a dark silk shirt inset with
crimson flames and his wife, a blonde in a tight red corset that
pushed her breasts into improbable balance over the edge of the
silk.
“Artemisia! You look
stunning
! I
love
the corset? Is it
new?” Sally pulled away from Brian and laid her arm
conversationally on the blonde’s, and they began discussing the
boning techniques used in the material while the man, who Brian
gathered was named Port, made slightly lewd comments and
occasionally patted one or the other woman’s ass with a light
spank. Obviously they’d played with Sally in the past, but Brian
found himself getting more and more annoyed as the conversation
continued with no acknowledgement of his presence.
attire and matching silver-and-black dyed hair. The man’s suit was
subtly cut to accentuate his shoulders, and the woman’s matching
pinstripe was tight across her bosom, pushing it up and out of the
double-breasted fabric that strained at the buttons. Her legs were
revealed by the swatch of skirt that barely stretched to the lower
edge of her ass, seamed stockings going down into the sharpest
stiletto heels Brian had ever seen. Once again Sally went through
the ritual of hugs and smiling innuendoes, and once again didn’t
bother to include Brian. The snub was becoming painfully
deliberate, and finally Bettie, the woman in the pinstripe, asked
“So, who is your dashing friend here, Sally? He’s new and yummy…
”
Sally looked briefly at her companion, her eyes
cold and glittering in a shocking contrast to her glowing words
when they’d walked in. She said dismissively, “Oh, he’s just my boy
for the evening. Pretty, but not much for mental stimulation.” She
turned back to Ivan, the man in the business suit. “So, did you get
that new St. Andrew’s cross for your playroom?”
Brian could feel his hair rising
in a flush of anger and his eyes widened at her dismissive tone.
His hands flexed, and for just a moment the anger flashing through
him made him simply want to turn and storm away. Just for a moment,
it almost carried him off… then a thread of insight wound around
the rage.
This is the way it
starts
, he thought, and with a
soul-filling click he suddenly grounded and felt himself expand
into the role she’d cast him in.
confidently shook hands with the four friends, their expressions
both relieved at the introduction and curious as they watched
Sally’s expression become annoyed. “I usually play north of here,
but I heard about this place from some mutual friends. Very nice
set up.”
Ivan’s smile widened. “Thanks! I was chair of the
dungeon committee, and it’s good to see we’re drawing new blood
into the local scene.” His hand came up and rested on Betty’s neck,
and Brian watched as her posture instinctively tilted up her chin,
feet spreading wider and her hands clasping behind her back. “So to
speak.” He turned and gave her neck a little nip. “You like new
blood, don’t you, pet?”
Sally gave a throaty chuckle and stepped forward,
pushing her breasts to brush against Betty’s arched bust, rubbing
them back and forth. “I’m so glad your tits are bisexual, Betty,
even if the rest of you isn’t.” She had stepped directly in front
of Brian, effectively shutting him out, again, from the circle, and
continued the slight by adding, “I’m so glad there’s fun people
here. I was afraid I’d be stuck with only this… decoration.”
The two couples were beginning to realize that
there was a tension developing between Brian and Sally, and their
expressions became speculative as they looked at him, waiting to
see his reaction. Brian looked calmly down at the back of Sally’s
head, then up at the four of them. “I’d love to speak with you more
later, but there’s some matters I need to attend to first. Please
excuse us.” He quickly grasped the back of Sally’s slender neck,
wrapping his thumb and forefinger around and up under her jaw at
the nerve junction, forcing her head back. She gave an indignant
shriek as he turned, drawing her with him, and started walking
towards the stocks.
She stumbled but managed to keep her balance on the
spiked heels as he forced her up onto the small platform that the
stock supports were set in. He let his bag fall from his shoulders
with a heavy thud, and reached up to open the top slat, which
hinged at the end and lifted like a parking gate. Sally had both
hands up behind her head, grabbing Brian’s forearm but unable to
get any kind of leverage. Her body arched back, and the resulting
silhouette of slender curves lined with black velvet began to draw
attention from the people in the dim outskirts of the circle of
light which illuminated them. Brian could see the two couples that
had only barely met him at the front of the gathering crowd.
He drew his arm in, guiding Sally’s head towards
the center indentation in the stocks. She was spluttering and
starting to swear, first with variations of “What the FUCK do you
THINK you’re DOING you BASTARD!” followed by “No! NO! I will NOT go
in there!” as she realized where he was leading her.
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