The Marechal Chronicles: Volume V, The Tower of the Alchemist (27 page)

The wolf did not reply….

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Anna, Collected and Corrected (A Paranormal BDSM Story Collection)

An excerpt from
Anna, Collected and Corrected (A Paranormal BDSM Story)
, a collection of the series,
Anna Ixstassou, A Reluctant Witch in the Land of BDSM:

He pulls the cord that runs from my wrists up through a pulley above my head.  My arms rise higher and I feel the low ache in my shoulders flame up in protest.  I'm on the tips of my toes now, my calves are starting to burn and I can't help it if every time he makes an adjustment I only get wetter.

I should've known better, being who I am.  Or, maybe, that's the reason why I didn't see this coming.  Too close, too blind to remark what should have been obvious from the start.

The pulley creaks with my weight and a quiet whimper escapes through my lips.  I bite down any other sound that might try to get by my guard.  The master is exigent and will only make me pay if I don't follow his rules to the letter.

He doesn't notice, though, as he ties off the thin rope at a little T post thing.  It reminds me of something I once saw on a sailboat, only smaller, and that seems just about right for this guy.  A sailboat type...no, a yacht type of guy.  He has it written all over him, with his broad chest and heavy arms.  I've never seen anyone with shoulders so square.  It's as if he was press formed in a mold destined to turn out lovely men.  Which is what he is.  Lovely, gorgeous, take your pick of whatever man candy euphemism strikes your fancy.  He's all that and then some.

He bends down now and slides his hand down across my bare belly.  It's flat and tight.  I bust my ass at the gym and skip the pasta.  The price to pay for abs that make men want to touch me, to lick me up and down like a lollipop. 

He keeps going down with his hand and slips it in between my thighs, pausing just for a moment at my aching, wet epicenter.  He knows I'm turned on, but refuses me and my needs, sliding his hand down my legs instead.  At my ankles are a pair of leather straps that he buckles around each, cinching them in tight before finally descending to the tiny platform where I'm standing.  I didn't notice before but it's actually two platforms that he unlatches and pushes apart.  They follow the track of the half circle rail mounted to the wall behind me.  The effect is that suddenly my legs are spread wide open and there's nothing I can do about it.

Do I care that much?  It's hard to say.  On one hand, what I went through yesterday with him at the controls was awful.  He made me feel like absolute shit.  On the other hand, I came back today, didn't I?  Yeah, I did.

I think it's because he's just that beautiful.  And, I use that word, beautiful, for a reason, because it isn't often that it applies well to men.  Men are handsome, or rugged, or built.  But this guy...he has it all.  He owns the company I work for, he's built like the wet dream of a Greek goddess, and, right now, at this very moment, I'm what he's thinking about.  I'm at the center of his every intention and filling his lovely green eyes with lust.  And all of that's just fine except for one thing.

He's the devil.

There he is before me, perfect in so many ways...but the devil, just the same.  You don't think you're ever going to meet the devil, right?  That it takes a dark circle of naked worshippers off on some hill in the woods.  It has to be at night, the moon up high and full, and the wind whispering of foul portents.  There should be some blood letting first, then everyone whips themselves into a frenzied orgy that is meant to call up the dark one.

Only the devil takes so many forms.  I know this.  I am my mother's daughter, after all.  But the only thing I had to do was to ask for a meeting with the boss.  Mistake?  You tell me once I get done with this story....

***

We took the elevator down and I had trouble not fidgeting or tugging at the mask I was wearing.  Ewan was dressed in a full split tail tuxedo, with elaborate cummerbund and a golden pocket watch that he said dated to the twenties.  It didn't matter to me as he was as resplendent as ever, his gorgeous hands housed within impeccably white gloves.  He even wore a silk top hat which set his attire off perfectly.

He leaned upon a black cane, a roaring lion's head in ivory as its pommel, and looked me up and down.

After my bath, I had found my clothing, or what little there was of it, laid out upon the suite's bed.  I was dressed in a body suit of black mesh that hid next to nothing of my skin beneath.  A silver mask hid my face from scrutiny and I carried a sort of short whip that Ewan had called a scourge.  It was comprised of many strands of soft velvet cording, like an overlong tassel, finishing in a black, leather bound handle that felt good within my hand.

I doubted that it could ever inflict real damage as soft as the strands were, but the heft and weight of it gave me the illusion that I could yet control what was about to happen.

In very short order, that illusion was wiped away.

The elevator came to a stomach fluttering halt and its doors slid open upon a great hall filled with animals and other queer creatures milling about.  The rustling of elaborate costumes and voices muffled behind all manner of masks came to a perfect silence in the instant after we stepped into the room.

There might have been one hundred of them, two hundred, even.  I could not say, but they each and every one stopped in mid sentence and turned to face us.

My thoughts were a ruddy mix of pride and fear under their regard.  Pride to be found at the side of Ewan Crest, my master, and for whom all before us then inclined their heads in an unmistakable gesture of respect.  Fear because I knew that Ewan was an extravagant man and that if this masquerade was meant for his amusement and those assembled here, then I would soon find myself the center around which this hub of decadent beasts would turn.

We stepped down among them and they parted like the sea before us.  The murmur of their voices surged up in excitement and the line opening before our steps led to what appeared to be some sort of bizarre table.

Our steps were slow, measured, and as we move closer to the wooden contraption in the center of the room, a wolf faced man leaned in and said, "Oh, Ewan...the boxing is going to be wonderful this year."

Ewan gave no answer other than a slight nod then seized my arm as we drew near to what I had thought was a table.

It was not flat as any table should be, but a series of opened wooden compartments.  The wood was old, its veneer polished and shining.  The surface had been inlaid with marquetry of the finest sort.  French craftsmen had placed capering animals etched in precious woods, their colors contrasting with the rest of the piece.  There were astronomical symbols, of a quality meriting a place among the most precious works of black magic.

I looked at it and with a feeling of lead settling into my stomach, I could see that it was lined in red velour and in that interior, the velour would hold the form of a four limbed being.  A human being.  Its parts were articulated with heavy, antique hinges where the joints of a person would be but its soft interior could leave no doubt.  It was as much a prison as an iron maiden rusting and blood stained in an ancient chateau, only lacking the needled interior to terminate its macabre charm.

Once closed it would hold a person completely.  The only openings that I could make out were at the juncture of where a pelvis would fit, both front and back.  There were also cutouts at chest level.  Two of them through which breasts might be drawn and punished.

I looked to Ewan, alarm flashing through me, but he did not notice, his gaze intense and staring at the articulated device.

"Master...I can't.  Not this time," I said.  My tone was low, meant just for him, but he was uninterested.

He called out, "Strong Man! To me."

And the crowd rippled as the mountainous form of the man made his way among them.

I had already encountered him in Ewan's office and he was dressed in the same manner as then.  He was enormous in every sense of the word.  His height only diminished by his width, and his body sheathed in black leather leaving only his snarled crotch exposed.

He grunted as strode up to us, then turning to me, he picked me up as if I were but a doll, a trifle in his hands, and set me down into the nest of red velour. 

Its color was that of blood swallowing me up and I screamed.  I had been laid upon my back and I burst upward, my hands gripping the sides of what now felt like a coffin. 

"No! No, no, no...."

Heavy hands forced me back down and then wooden doors began closing down upon me, locking me into place as surely as if I had been buried.

The last one was the one covering my face and it was Ewan who lowered it into place.  His look was grim as I implored him through the slitted eyeholes of my silver mask, but without sympathy, he closed the lid, shutting me off from the world.

I was in muffled silence.  I could not move.

I think that I became stark raving mad for several moments as panic slipped into the cracks of the box, wafting into my mind and sending me into blazing insanity as I convulsed in terror.

Rough hands found my breasts and I could feel them being pulled through holes.  I screamed endlessly, sure that my throat was bleeding with the force of it.  The horror of being enclosed with no means of escaping carried me down the fly blown alleys of insanity.

My legs were stretched wide apart until I though my hip bones would crack and burst through my overstretched skin and then I felt the beginning of what would soon become an endless procession of fingers, tongues, lips and cocks that prodded at me, nudging me, urging me to respond in kind....

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About the Author

I live in a land where giants have walked. Here, water springs cold and sweet from rocks cloven by legends in their passing.

Stone edifices mark the countryside, risen hundreds of years ago. Devils stalk the foothills and comely maids with webbed feet lie in wait along rough mountain passages.

France is my home and imbues all that I write ... come with me, for a short while, and we shall venture among the dark, twisting paths together.

Copyright 2014 Aimélie Aames

Cover Artwork Copyright 2014 Aimélie Aames

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five