Truth and Lies (The Eternal Dungeon)

"Thatcher was having difficulty deciding who to attack first."

When you're a prisoner, having a torturer who's mad can be an advantage. Or maybe not.

Thatcher Owen is a soldier who has been sent to the Eternal Dungeon for doing his duty. Accused of committing war atrocities, he is faced with the possibility of being manipulated by his torturer into confessing to a crime that was no crime. So Thatcher sets out to trick his torturer. But how do you trick a man whose very sanity seems in question?

Seward Sobel is faced with a similar dilemma. As senior night guard to the Eternal Dungeon's High Seeker, his job is to prevent that brilliant torturer from abusing his prisoner. But how do you tell the difference between madness and genius?

As these two men perform their delicate dance of duty, their fates will depend on the High Seeker's truthfulness . . . and on the nature of his lies.

This novella can be read on its own or as the first story in the "Balance" volume of The Eternal Dungeon, an award-winning historical fantasy series set in a land where the psychologists wield whips.

This is a reissue of an older story.

Excerpt

Once again, the High Seeker's voice was light, as though he were chatting with an old friend. "It's rather late for you to make that decision, Mr. Owen. You have already told me several lies. Most of them I think you are genuinely not aware are lies, for which reason I will take no notice of those falsehoods. But one lie I believe you are very much aware that you told, and the manner in which you spoke the lie reveals that."

Thatcher did not even bother to ask which of his truths the High Seeker disbelieved. He simply snorted. "So you think I lied to you. Right, then. Do whatever it is you Seekers do when you're lied to."

"I very much regret it, Mr. Owen, but I fear that I must." The High Seeker's voice had turned soft. "The Code requires that punishment occur after any prisoner deliberately lies to his Seeker."

Thatcher felt his back grow stiff, and he cursed himself for showing that much weakness under the High Seeker's scrutiny. He had known that this would come – had known that the High Seeker would find an excuse to torture him. Now all he must do was endure the pain, until the High Seeker finally realized that no amount of pain would cause Thatcher to lie about what he had done.

The High Seeker had made no gesture that Thatcher could see, but the redheaded guard outside must have been listening at the keyhole, for he entered the cell, carefully locked the door behind him, and pulled out his whip from where it hung looped on his belt. Thatcher did not like the look in the guard's eyes. He had seen that sort of look in the eyes of Vovimians who, in the moment of their charge, wished not only to shoot but also to disembowel with their bayonets. The first guard, the one who shadowed the High Seeker, was far more reassuring; his expression was bland and businesslike. Thatcher turned his attention back to the High Seeker, to see whether he could read anything in the man's eyes.

He was just in time to see the High Seeker begin to remove his shirt.

"What the bloody blades are you doing?" Thatcher was disconcerted. It was not as though he had been unaware of the possibility of this type of attack – he had heard rumors about where the High Seeker's tastes lay. But he would have expected the High Seeker to be more subtle – to send away witnesses before he began proceedings.

The High Seeker did not pause. He completed untying the fastenings on his shirt and handed the shirt to his first guard, who was frozen like a statue. Out of the corner of his eye, Thatcher could see that the redhead had likewise gone completely still. If this had happened before, the High Seeker was apparently not in the habit of allowing his guards to watch.

Thatcher's rapist – Thatcher could think of him in no other way now – walked toward him. He said, "I am preparing, Mr. Owen, for the punishment."

Thatcher thought this was the most unnecessary speech he had ever heard in his life. He braced himself for the fight to come. The High Seeker might have the right to search him, but Thatcher would sooner have given up his right of rebirth than to endure this particular punishment passively.

He was disconcerted once more as the High Seeker walked past him. The High Seeker stepped over to the far wall and stood facing it; he did not turn. Instead, he raised his arms high over his head. Thatcher was still trying to form theories as to this strange position for an attack when he noticed that the High Seeker was touching a ring that was inset into the wall.

"Mr. Sobel," the High Seeker said in a matter-of-fact manner.

The first guard broke out of his paralysis. He placed the shirt aside on Thatcher's sleeping bench, and then came forward, pulling something from his pocket. Thatcher had time enough to see that it was a set of keys before the guard reached up and inserted one of the keys into the wall, just above the ring. There was a click, and the bottom of the ring sprang out a couple of inches from its flush position. It now looked like any other whipping ring Thatcher had seen in his years in the army.

Thatcher was slowly figuring out the reason why the ring was normally kept stored within the wall, and was grudgingly admiring the Seekers for their care in preventing prisoners from having a means to hang themselves. Thus he missed the moment when the guard began to bind the High Seeker's wrists to the ring with a leather strap he had taken from his pocket.
 

¶ Available as an e-book (HTML, PDF, Kindle, ePub): Truth and Lies.

Barbarians (The Eternal Dungeon)

"With a movement too quick to see, the master torturer used his whip to send the prisoner to his knees. 'Crawl,' he said in the flat voice a man might use toward a stubborn animal."

Vovim was renowned for its strong monarchy, for its love of the theater, and for its skill in the art of torture. In other words, it had all the qualities needed to become a civilized nation. But would anyone be willing to defy Vovim's tyrannical king? And if they did, would they survive?

Grieving over an acrimonious departure from his love-mate, a youthful ambassador from the neighboring nation of Yclau has come to Vovim on a mission to help that barbaric kingdom's prisoners. But he faces unexpected barriers: An insane young king. The king's effeminate companion, who holds his own plans for the ambassador. And a populace whose greatest wish, it seems, is to see the ambassador die during a theatrical performance.

Then arrives the only Vovimian who seems to have a shred of sanity to him. But this man is a skilled torturer, and he is hiding depths that even the ambassador may not be able to penetrate.

This novella can be read on its own or as the second story in the "Balance" volume of The Eternal Dungeon, an award-winning historical fantasy series set in a land where the psychologists wield whips.

This is a reissue of an older story.

Excerpt

Though the Code forbade Seekers all private belongings, long-standing custom permitted them a small allowance for luxuries. The High Seeker, being Vovimian-born, spent most of his allowance on books and art, and one evening in autumn, while the rain beat upon the crystalline rock that shed the only light into the underground Eternal Dungeon, the High Seeker had shown Elsdon Taylor an etching of a Vovimian theater company in performance. For the next two hours, Elsdon had listened with fascination to the talk of stage scenery and costumes, of introductory mimes and dramatic dialogues, of divisions into acts, of conflicts, climaxes, and finales, and (since this was, after all, a Vovimian theater) of bloody corpses on the stage afterwards, and of the theater companies' decision whether to fake the deaths or use criminal volunteers who had decided to let their execution be a final act of theater.

"But don't the condemned criminals panic at the last moment and spoil the show?" Elsdon had asked.

The High Seeker had bestowed upon Elsdon that look he often gave when they were discussing his native land, as though a lifetime of words could not complete Elsdon's education in this matter. All he said, though, was, "Not in Vovim."

Elsdon had spent the following night dreaming that he was watching a play in Vovim, performed by the world's finest players. For the next few weeks, his thoughts had lingered upon the regret that he would never have the opportunity to watch a Vovimian theater performance – not unless luck turned his way.

Luck, unfortunately, had turned his way. Amidst all his past dreamings, it had not occurred to Elsdon that he might take part in the performance himself, and that he would play the role of the criminal.

It was perhaps not surprising to learn that the King's palace was equipped with a theater, nor that the theater was located directly across the hallway from the throne room. Nor was it particularly surprising to learn that all of the courtiers and palace guests who had been milling about in the hallway, waiting for the King to emerge from his private audience with his High Master, were delighted to accept the King's invitation to enjoy the performance. They crowded into the vast theater, jostled their way into cramped rows, and stood on benches at the back and sides of the theater in order to get their best glimpse of the stage.

The stage itself had been stripped to the bare minimum, making a striking contrast with the fripperies and frills that usually adorned a royal performance. At Master Toler's orders, the only scenery left on the stage was a blood-red curtain, which would make for an arresting contrast with both the master torturer's uniform and the prisoner's lack of clothes. The middle part of the curtain had been pulled up to reveal the naked stone wall behind, and here a wooden post had been fastened to the stage floor. Attached to it halfway up was a set of iron chains, which sparkled under the lamps. The other lamps in the room shone their light on the stage, or on the narrow walkway leading from the theater door to the stage.

Elsdon made his entrance down this walkway. He was not permitted to walk.

"Crawl," said Master Toler.
 

¶ Available as an e-book (HTML, PDF, Kindle, ePub): Barbarians.

Excerpt from Rules Were Made To Be Broken by Lenore Black

Successful businessman. Future pillar of the community. Stick in the mud. That's Aaron Fitchley, and since his father retired, leaving him in charge of the business, it’s been all work, work, work. Dale Lambert is a free-spirited, responsibility-shirking charmer who has been spicing up Aaron’s upstanding life since they met as kids. So when Aaron gets Dale’s phone call for help at three a.m., he’s sure he can handle it.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Dale in his underwear, wearing lip gloss, and handcuffed to his bed. After the initial shock, Aaron lets Dale loose and plans a hasty escape. But the cuffs quickly go back on… only this time Aaron is the one chained to the bed! Now that the tables have been turned, Dale has a few things to teach Aaron about breaking the rules.

Excerpt:
“Fitchley’s Sporting Goods,” Aaron answered the phone for what felt like the millionth time that day.

A voice blared in his ear. “These damned straps won’t come off!”

Aaron recognized the caller right away: Jerry Bryson, ninety-four years old, hard of hearing but still amazingly sprightly for his age with the spirit of adventure, if not the manual dexterity, of a much younger man. He’d been in the store earlier that afternoon to pick up a life jacket for the canoeing trip he was taking with his family next weekend.

“Mr. Bryson, you see the buckles? You just need to press in on the sides.”

“Reba!” Ida Mae Saunders called out from the dressing room—or shouted, actually, if you were going to be technical about it.

“Reba isn’t here today, Mrs. Saunders,” Aaron called back to her. “Remember I mentioned that when you first came in?”

Ida Mae wasn’t forgetful so much as she had a hard time accepting what she didn’t want to hear. She’d come in to try on bathing suits, telling anybody who would listen that she’d joined the gym out at the community college and planned to start swimming a mile a day if it killed her. She’d had her heart set on Reba helping her pick out the right suit.

“Reba?” Mr. Bryson shouted into the phone. “What does Reba have to do with anything? I don’t know why they have to make everything so dang fiddly these days. You can’t do a thing with stuff if you’re a day over twenty. What do these life jacket people expect me to do? Spend the rest of my days looking like I’m about to jump overboard?”

“Try to take it easy, Mr. Bryson,” Aaron said in his most soothing tone. “Is one of your grandchildren around who might be able to help you?”

“I don’t want them kids thinking their old grandpop can’t do things for himself. So don’t you go calling them, Aaron Fitchley, you hear me?”

“Okay, okay,” Aaron said. “Just—”

“I can’t tell if this bathing suit does a thing for me,” Ida Mae complained loudly from the dressing room. “I don’t know why Reba couldn’t come to work today.”

“Give me just a minute,” Aaron told her, “and I’ll see what I can do to help you.”

Bertie Simmons, an old friend of Aaron’s father and frequent loiterer at the sporting goods store, lounged on a stool behind the counter. “Why is Reba out today?”

“Her kids have the flu,” Aaron told him distractedly, and then he said into the phone, “How’s it coming there, Mr. Bryson? You having any luck yet?” If Jerry couldn’t get himself free, Aaron would have to go to the rescue. That meant closing up early, since he was the only one working today and Bertie had proven on more than one occasion he didn’t have much of a knack for operating a cash register.

A few more customers approached the counter, no one Aaron recognized, most likely tourists. Mortonsville was situated in a nice little spot in the Colorado high country with a lake just outside of town. They had campers passing through in the summer and skiers all winter.

“I’m kind of in a hurry,” one lady said.

Aaron nodded and started ringing up her purchase, the phone crooked against his shoulder. He could hear the distant sounds of cursing, which suggested Jerry Bryson was still waging war against the life jacket.

“Your daddy would have told Reba she had to come on in here if she wasn’t sick herself,” Bertie said conversationally, as if he were just making an observation, not a judgment.

In the seven months since Aaron had taken over the family business, he’d heard a lot about how his father would have done things, much of it in the almost daily phone calls from his parents. Apparently they were having some problems transitioning into the carefree life of fun and relaxation they’d retired to Florida to enjoy.

Bertie shook his head. “I know, I know. You couldn’t be hard-hearted with Reba. You’re a good boy. Going to be just like your daddy and your granddaddy, a real pillar of the community. Yep. That’s what I always tell them down at Nona’s Luncheonette.”

Aaron smiled weakly. “Thanks, Mr. Simmons.” He was thrilled to be the topic of conversation among the town’s most unapologetic gossips—not.

“Well, if no one is coming in here to help me, I’ll just have to come out there,” Ida Mae huffed in exasperation.

She threw back the curtain of the dressing room and stormed out. Everybody in the store turned to look and then couldn’t seem to stop staring.

“I’m thinking it’s a tad small.” Ida Mae plucked at the strap of the Speedo, her forehead scrunched up in a thoughtful frown.

A tad was rather an understatement. Most of Ida Mae’s underwear hung out where the swimsuit was cut high along the thigh. Aaron was pretty sure he was seeing parts of her no one had laid eyes on since Mr. Saunders had passed on to the great ice cream social in the sky.

“I feel certain we’ve got something that will work better for you,” Aaron told her. “That style doesn’t look all that comfortable.”

Ida Mae shook her head. “Like wearing a rubber band. I don’t know why they make things so persnickety these days.”

“Here.” Aaron passed the phone to Bertie. “Take over for a minute.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Bertie asked, trying to push the phone back at Aaron.

“Just—” Aaron waved his hand. “Try to be encouraging.”

“How about if I tell Jerry what an old fool he is? Is that encouraging enough?”

Aaron shot him a be nice look and hurried off to help Ida Mae. He searched the racks of swimsuits and found one with a much fuller cut.

“You ready for this other one?” he called in to her.

“Hold your horses. It’s like fighting the devil trying to get this thing off.” Aaron could hear rustling and thumping and one rather loud thud, and then Ida Mae’s pale hand shot out from between the curtains, the rejected swimsuit dangling from her fingers. “All right then. Let me have that other one.”

He traded swimsuits with her. Again he could hear rustling, but thankfully no thumps or thuds this time.

“Oh, this is going to do me much better.” Ida Mae pushed back the curtain. “What do you think?”

Aaron nodded. “I think you’re going to swim laps around those other people at the pool.”

Ida Mae broke into a big, pleased smile. “I think you’re right.”

Aaron hurried back up front to Bertie. “How’s Mr. Bryson doing?”

Bertie shook his head sadly. “Still an old fool.”

“Not helping.” Aaron took the phone back. “Mr. Bryson? You still there?”

He heard scuffling in the background and then a resounding “Glory be,” and then Mr. Bryson’s too-loud voice boomed over the line, “I finally taught the blasted thing a lesson.”

“That’s good.” Aaron smiled to himself. “I’m sure you showed that life jacket who’s boss.”

“Darned right I did,” Mr. Bryson agreed, and after a pause, added a little sheepishly, “I might have to come in on Monday and get a new one.”

“We’ll be open until six,” Aaron told him.

Ida Mae finished changing and brought the swimsuit up to the counter as Aaron hung up with Mr. Bryson. He got her sorted out with the goggles, swim cap, pool shoes, and earplugs she needed. She gave him a jaunty wave on her way out, the bag dangling from her wrist. “Tell your mom and dad ‘hi’ for me when you talk to them.”

Aaron checked the time on his cell phone: eight o’clock, closing time, finally. He nudged a reluctant Bertie Simmons toward the door.

“I could help you straighten up,” Bertie said, dragging his feet.

Translation: my wife’s mother is visiting, and I really don’t want to go home just yet.

Aaron shooed him on out. “Thanks, Bertie, but there’s not much to do. I’ve got it under control.” Bertie’s notion of “helping” involved chattering away about the latest news he’d picked up down at Nona’s and getting underfoot while Aaron desperately tried to finish up for the night.

He locked the door, leaned his back against it, and let out his breath. It was quiet for the first time all day. No phone ringing. No one wanted anything. And for a few hours, anyway, nobody would be reminiscing about the good old days when Aaron’s father and grandfather had run Fitchley’s Sporting Goods.

A loud knock broke the silence, and Aaron nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around and found his best friend Dale Lambert grinning at him from the other side of the door. Aaron’s pulse did a little hop, skip, and jump. Dale had been making Aaron feel hot and tingly since he hit puberty, a fact Aaron carefully kept to himself. In fact, he’d devised a “Big List of Rules For Hiding That You’re In Love With Your Best Friend” just for this purpose. Rule #4 was: seeing the guy really shouldn’t make your heart beat faster, so just pretend it doesn’t.

“You going to let me in, buddy?” Dale rattled the lock. “Or am I going to have to talk to you through this glass?”

Aaron opened the door, and Dale sauntered inside. He had on an ancient Metallica T-shirt and jeans he’d probably owned since high school, and as usual, the sight of him made Aaron’s mouth go dry. He was tall, tan from working outside, with messy dark hair, big brown eyes, and dimples that turned the girls he flirted with into puddles of JELL-O. At the moment, he wore an innocent expression that Aaron knew from long experience meant nothing but trouble.

Early on in their friendship, Dale had decided it was his mission in life to keep Aaron from becoming a total stick in the mud. Under Dale’s auspices, Aaron had tasted his first beer (because Dale had dared him to), experienced his first run-in with the Park County sheriff’s office (because Dale insisted spray-painting graffiti on the wall of the Mortonsville High gym was a rite of passage), and been fired from his first after-school job making deliveries for old Mr. Lindsey at the greengrocer’s (because Dale had convinced him playing hooky just once wouldn’t be a problem).

“I can’t go to Dizzy’s,” Aaron said preemptively before Dale could start up the usual strong-arm tactics. “I’ve still got stuff to take care of tonight, and I have to work tomorrow.”

Dizzy’s was the raucous town dive where Dale spent his off hours—and actually much of the time he was supposed to be working. Aaron had never stepped through the doors down at Dizzy’s without straggling out as the sun came up. It was just that kind of place.

“But tomorrow’s Saturday!” Dale sounded as indignant as if Aaron had said he’d be working on Christmas.

Aaron rolled his eyes. “It’s also our busiest day of the week, which you know perfectly well.”

“Come on, Aaron. You’re missing out on the summer girls! The other night I hooked up with these two blondes, synchronized swimmers from Colorado State. Man, were they limber, and they liked to do everything—and I do mean everything—together.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“You have the worst taste in women.” Aaron did his best not to sound bitter about it. Rule #9 said: you’re not supposed to be jealous of the girls who sleep with your best friend. It was always the hardest rule to follow.

Dale laughed. “At least the ones I pick are fun. What was the name of that girl you dated in college? Karen?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened. “Carla.”

“Man, was that girl uptight.” Dale shook his head sadly. “Whatever happened to her?”

I brought her home to meet you. Carla had spent one night out with them at Dizzy’s, a pinch slowly forming between her eyebrows as she looked from Aaron to Dale and back again. She’d been quiet the rest of the trip, and as soon as they got back to school, she’d broken up with him. Aaron could still remember the pitying look she’d given him. It had taken her one evening to see what Dale hadn’t figured out in nearly fifteen years.

“It just didn’t work out, I guess,” Aaron said aloud.

“Huh.” Dale gave Aaron a scrutinizing look. “I had this idea you were going to marry her.”

Me too, Aaron thought.

Dale slung his around Aaron’s shoulders. “Okay, so no Dizzy’s, but it is Friday night. I’ve got my cooler in the back of the Bronco. You’re not too old for a beer in the parking lot.”

Aaron did his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. “Oh, yeah? When will I be too old for that?”

“When you’re dead. Come on.” He steered Aaron out the door, hurried him through locking up the store, and hustled him over to the Bronco.

Dale slid behind the wheel, and Aaron settled into the passenger side. Dale reached over the seat, fished around in the cooler, and came up with two Heinekens.

“I’m only having one,” Aaron said as he accepted the bottle.

“Mmm,” Dale said noncommittally. “Just one beer” amounted to heresy as far as he was concerned, a fact Aaron knew all too well.

“Have you given any thought to what you’re going to say if you get pulled over by the cops with that huge-ass cooler of beer in the car?”

“I really haven’t.” Dale angled in his seat to look at Aaron. “So, you’re really not going to come out with me tonight?”

“I’m really not.” Aaron took a sip of his beer. “I’ve still got the books to go over when I get home, and that’s going to take….” He shook his head. “I don’t know exactly, but way too long.”

Truthfully, he felt bad to be missing out on whatever shenanigans Dale had planned—and there would definitely be shenanigans, because there always were with Dale. This all-work-no-play thing had been happening way too often lately. Running the business without his father had proven a much bigger job than he’d anticipated. He spent almost every waking moment working at the store, thinking about the store, or feeling vaguely guilty he was somehow neglecting the store. He desperately needed some help, an assistant manager, somebody he could share the responsibilities with the way he and his dad used to do. Until he found the right person, though, he was stuck working long hours with no possibility of shenanigans in sight.

“I’m beginning to think you like that store more than me,” Dale said sulkily.

When Aaron first took over the business, Dale had been patient about it, or at least what passed for patient with him, but lately he seemed to be feeling neglected.

“You know that’s not true,” Aaron told him tiredly. “Things will be different when I can get some help.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve just got to find the right person.” The words came out strangely clipped, and Aaron had no idea what that was about.

“Hey.” He nudged Dale with his elbow.

Dale turned a look on him, and slowly his expression softened. “Okay, but tomorrow is party night.” He pointed his finger at Aaron. “You’d better get your ass down to Dizzy’s. We’ve got a serious fun deficiency to make up for.”

Aaron smiled and tipped back his beer.


Buy it now from Dreamspinner Press

See more from Lenore Black

Chapter Excerpt From Valentine's Vindication - Keta Diablo

Which . . . of course, you can find listed on the GLBT Bookshelf here: KETA'S PAGE ON GLBT BOOKSHELF 

About Valentine's Vindication, Keta Diablo 

The dreaded day had arrived. And this year, February 14^th had a dual meaning. Not only was it Valentine’s Day, but it was also Valentine’s day. Since his breakup with his boyfriend, Valentine Giovanni, a month ago, Deke’s life seemed meaningless. What had he expected? The moment Val found out he’d cheated on him, the shit hit the fan . . . and Deke’s shoes hit the pavement.

He didn’t have time to explain the why of it. Val wouldn’t believe him, and even Deke didn’t fully comprehend why he did it. He told himself Val deserved better, a submissive who completely trusted him, who’d commit wholly to his rough sex and demands. So rather than talk over his fears and insecurities, Deke forced a breakup by admitting he’d cheated.

It was a painful scene, an angry, gut-wrenching, debacle that ended in a screaming rage. Deke thought he’d feel relief when it was over, but every day was more dismal than the last, and all he felt was emptiness. He’d never loved anyone like he loved his former dom. He realized that now.

And tonight, he planned to prove his love to Val.

Special Content Alert: M/M, Light BDSM, Spanking

EXCERPT:

Deke nodded, walked over to the polished mahogany bar and plopped onto a stool. At the moment, Val was at the far end, filling two glasses with champagne. As if feeling Deke’s presence, Val looked in his direction. When their eyes met, Deke couldn’t help but notice the man’s body tense. A stab of jealousy pierced his heart as a tall, nice-looking man gave Val a familiar smile and took one of the champagne flutes from Val’s hand. Could he be his exdom’s new lover?

He pushed the thought from his mind and concentrated on the speech he’d been preparing for days. God, this was going to be much harder than he’d anticipated. Val oozed sexuality and strength. Never more so than now. Deke had an overwhelming urge to bolt from the stool and reach out and touch that long, sable hair, run his hands over the ridged muscles of his chest. His white cotton shirt was open at the neck, but Deke didn’t need it to be to remember the feel and scent of his skin. What a damn fool he had been.

He drew a deep breath and thought of his mother’s words that afternoon. Thank God, she accepted that he was gay. “You’re no longer a child, Deke. Be a man, tell Val you made a mistake and you want him back,” she had said. With that in mind, he commandeered his courage as Val walked toward him.

Deep, blue eyes looked into his. “How goes it, Deke?”
 

Val’s familiar, rich voice sent Deke’s heart into triple beats. The room stilled and Deke had the feeling everyone was watching them. “Good, fine.”
 

“I see you got my invitation. What are you drinking tonight?”
 

“Huh? Oh, nothing for me, thanks.” Deke ducked his head to avoid Val’s curious gaze. “Things aren’t good; I’m not fine. Can I talk to you . . . in private?” There was a long pause during which Deke held his breath.
 

“What would we have to talk about? It’s all been said.”
 

“No, it hasn’t. At least not on my part. Two minutes, Val, that’s all I ask.”
 

Val leaned back against a large wall mirror. Long minutes later, he walked out from behind the bar and stood in front of Deke. “Two minutes, outside.”

Thank goodness for the temperate weather in St. Louis this time of year. No snow, sleet or rain in the last month, and even the nights only required a lightweight jacket. By the time they walked outside, Deke’s courage wavered like the flickering lamplight in the front yard.

Val broke the ice. “How’s it going at the radio station?”

“Okay, we’ve been busy as usual. How are the restaurants doing?” All three of Val’s restaurants were located in St. Louis’ prestigious downtown neighborhood and every one financially lucrative.

“Busier than hell this week with Valentine’s Day reservations.”

Deke watched his lips move as he spoke and before he knew it, he closed the short distance between them and covered his mouth with his. In an instant, his cock grew hard. Val didn’t try to stop him, but he didn’t respond like he normally did either.
 

Moments later, Val pushed him back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Apologizing, trying to show you I made a mistake.”

Val’s brows drew together with a scowl. “You think it’s that easy. You just come waltzing into my restaurant after a month of not talking to me and kiss me?”

“I-I thought―”
 

“That you could fuck someone else and I’d be here waiting?”
 

“No, please, Val, I made a mistake. It wasn’t about him; it was about . . . about my fear.”
 

“Fear of me?”
 

Deke expelled a long sigh. “No, I didn’t realize it at the time, but now I know I did what I did because I was afraid I wasn’t good enough for you. I thought you deserved someone who willingly . . . .”
 

“Are you shitting me? You cheated because you believed you weren’t making me happy; you weren’t good enough for me?”

Deke nodded. He felt Val’s rage in the space that separated their bodies. This was going to be much harder than he’d imagined. Even if Val gave him another chance, which was doubtful, Deke would have to prove once and for all he could take whatever the man dished out.

Deke closed the distance between them again. “I’m asking for one more chance. I won’t ever hurt you again.”
 

Val stared at him and pushed a long lock of hair from his forehead. When his blue eyes narrowed, Deke almost dropped to his knees and begged. “Why should I believe you wouldn’t cheat again?”

Stammering like a school boy, he said, “I’ll prove it, do anything you ask.”
 

“Anything?”
 

“Yes.” His heart thudded. “Whatever it takes to have you back again.”
 

“Your punishment will be severe.”
 

Deke swallowed. Hard. “I expect it to be. I can take it; just let me come home with you.”
 

Val grabbed his shirt and sent the buttons flying as he ripped it apart.
 

“We’re meant for one another and you know it,” Deke whispered. “Let me show you it can work.”
 

“You trust me not to hurt you after everything that’s happened?”
 

“I trust you. If those old feelings of vulnerability surface, I’ll tell you right off, I promise.”

“One thing I don’t understand, Deke. You always had a safe word. If you were so afraid, why didn’t you use it?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re not a submissive, Val, you’re a dom, through and through. I felt weak, and I hated myself for being scared. I thought if I talked to you about it, you’d dump me in a heartbeat and find a more experienced sub.”
 

“Jesus, Deke. I could search the world over and not find another like you.”

Deke traced Val’s bottom lip with his thumb. “You mean it? You’re willing to work on this?”
 

“With two conditions.”
 

“Tell me. What?”
 

“If I ever find out you’ve cheated on me again, the rage you saw before will be minor in comparison.”
 

“What’s the second condition?”
 

“I don’t ever want to know his name, don’t want to know anything about him.”

Deke crossed his heart. “Agreed. Punish me and let’s be done with it, never talk about it again.”
 

“You sure?”
 

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

Val placed his hand on Deke’s crotch and rubbed his cock. “I’ll let Geoff know we won’t be returning to the party, and I have to find someone to take my place behind the bar.”

Deke nodded.
 

“Tonight, we find out if you can trust me completely. If so, I’ll do everything I can to keep you. If not, we agree that we both move on.”

BUY VALENTINE'S VINDICATION HERE:  Noble Romance

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part nine of ten

Chapter 9 - The Gift

I didn’t know how long I’d slept, waking so stiff and sore that I didn’t want to move. Groans made him smile sheepishly.

“Oops. Don’t move. I’ll get some aspirin,” he breathed warm into my ear.

Slowly I emerged from the sheets. My mind, reliving it all vividly, had held me there more than abused body. He ran a bath for me and need for its healing warmth beseeched me to make my way. I soaked, watching his back as he shaved. That and the razor revealing high cheekbones and strong chin hypnotized me.

Roaming eyes took in shoulders not overly broad, abs strikingly toned and sleek. He had a derrière to die for, just the right amount of curve filling the seat of his favorite aged jeans. He often preferred to lounge in those jeans and I enthusiastically approved. Infinitely touchable, he made me long to reach for him even now but I contented myself with the view and let the pills and warm water do their work. He’d even added Epsom salts to the bath and the thought made me smile.

“What?” he queried, catching my flash of teeth in the mirror.

When I admitted thinking how considerate he was, he came and knelt by the tub. His aspect serious, he slipped a hand below the bubbles to caress my arm.

“It’s because I love you.”

Having contemplated the growing depth of my own emotions over the last few weeks, I replied with virtually no hesitation, “I love you, too.”

‘There, I’ve said it.’

Whether or not this was meant to last, I intended to appreciate every moment of it. Kissing, tongues delicately sucked, warmed me more than the water. His hungry mouth tasted of peppermint mouthwash and I thought of the holiday season still months away. It occurred to me that I’d gotten the greatest gift of all.

‘Merry Christmas,’ I told myself.

He dried me tenderly. Rubbing lotion into chaffed thighs, bruised butt, rough heels, and between toes transported me. This treatment suited royalty in the comfortable chair.

Who truly dominated? Our relationship genuinely one of equals, a typical outsider would surely not understand. Others in similar circumstance would know more how we felt, the intricacies of our interactions and the substantial bond involved. I could tell he spent more time concocting his scenarios than we took enacting them. These exhibitions meant to please me (!) required extensive planning. He gave as much or more than he took.

We really just dabbled in the art of S & M. Although the news would probably stress family and friends, our arrival to this supposedly menacing sexuality had been accidental. Straightforward and unabashed requests led to gradual discovery of our inherent traits, treasure unearthed for which we were both perpetually grateful.

I thought now of our private stop code. “Stop” is too easy to say. Submissives need something of true meaning that can’t be misconstrued by their dominant. That’s when accidental injury can most likely occur. The bar’s name where we met our safe word, he’d let me choose it. His enthused acceptance had made my day.

“Durango” yet to be invoked, the need had never arisen. And I did not remember who suggested we take that step, prudent for continuing recent bedroom behavior. Neither of us wanted to desist nor had any intention of doing so.

Certain he was up for it (he told me!), I planned to eventually top him. I remained unconvinced of my preparedness. There is very real commitment to detail and groundwork to which I am unaccustomed. I had thus far been the grateful submissive throughout.

I lost all track of time in thought and only knew the hour would be considered very late in most places. But this was New York City. We planned attendance at a semi formal gathering. He surprised me again, presenting a lovely gown of red silk. Thin straps crossed the back, cut so low he’d bought matching panties in both color and design. The greatly correspondent undergarment would remain well out of sight.

The bodice of the dress offered a tasteful hint of cleavage and kerchief skirt barely reached mid calf. Completing the look, lace banded stockings rose just to my thighs and high heeled pumps again exactly matched. All in a style I would have readily picked out for myself, I was never so well coordinated. I considered my usual little black number hanging in the closet for tonight’s affair. How refreshing to leave it behind for something so bold. I almost looked forward to attending tonight’s fête. If only it didn’t mean leaving our intimate haven I’d be thrilled.

Subtle makeup tints dramatized the ruby lipstick. He’d picked that out, amazingly. He downplayed it, telling me the lady at the cosmetics counter selected it upon seeing my outfit. My rejoinder made it clear that merely thinking of lipstick surpassed most guys. Matching it to dress would not have occurred to me.

I eyed the deepening discoloration at my throat, dubious at camouflaging the blotches. Seeing the set of my features, he returned to my side in the dressing room bearing my lovely collar. Raising my eyebrows, I started to protest. It was hardly appropriate for the upcoming event, especially if you took into consideration the client throwing this party. Visualizing leather bondage gear alongside his Italian tailoring almost made me laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’m not that socially inept,” he joked.

That’s when he gave up the collar’s secret. Pressing hidden latches, he lifted the net of diamonds free. My jaw dropped and I must have looked ridiculous. Even if I did, his smile widened compassionately. He stepped close and draped the icy cascade against my skin. Asking me to lift my hair out of the way, he proceeded to firmly close the many clasps. I let my hair swing back in a wave and leaned in toward the mirror. It covered the marks flawlessly, worthy of water cooler gossip in place of contusions.

He called for a driver and we walked hand in hand to the car. My escort opened the door. Thanking him, I got in trusting he knew my humble statement regarded much more than rare courtesy in a coarse age.

Cordially mingling at the soiree, I couldn’t resist seeking him out repeatedly across the room. More often than not, his gaze met mine. After fulfilling our social obligation in the briefest amount of time politeness allowed or, honestly, less, he materialized at my side. Fingertips resting against my cheek, he leaned close to whisper intimately.

“Let’s go.”

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part eight of ten

Chapter 8 - House Training (continued)

No doubt relishing my impaired state, he must also love his ruse. He said little scams always satisfied more if he first taunted me with snippets of information I could later piece together. He’d spun the fable about the blinds and innocently showed me the features on his new camera.

I mused over these puzzle pieces, struggling to pull myself onto the bed. Claiming the Manhattan skyline sometimes bothered his eyes, he extolled the necessity of shutters for better sleep. Realizing that I’d never seen him unable to sleep, I snorted.

‘But then,’ my mind crooned, ‘every time you’ve seem him sleep you have always just fucked him within an inch of your life.’

There’d been more, too, not all so direct. Conversely, he’d charmed me with his display of the video camera’s direct to TV capability by a real-time screening of the pigeons on his roof. Their cooing and rustle of wings soothed me, minor spectacle enjoyed from the comfort of his unpretentious sofa. Iridescent feathers improved the cloudy daylight as the flock moved about. It made a pleasant distraction to his newspaper that lazy Sunday morning.

I recalled how whistling from the kitchen made that day decidedly less gloomy. Delicious aromas heightened AM hunger. Soon we ate a breakfast of crispy bacon and his signature crepes smothered in strawberry sauce. I’d all ready sampled some of the homemade whipped cream off of his lustrous skin earlier that morning. Ransacking his refrigerator as he slumbered, I had come back to bed. Waking properly, he acted incensed at my raid. Animated caricature of protest soon fell silent when I distributed two dollops onto the tips of my breasts. I tingled at that memory.

“I thought the cherries were meant to go on top of the whipping cream, not the other way around. But then again, these are more like strawberries, so pink and plump,” he argued with himself comically before sucking the topping off.

And there was the night vision demonstration another time. We’d walked the park after dark, filming feral cats and foraging raccoons. Their presence had been customary during childhood summers on an upstate farm; I got a revealing look at the familiar critters in this urban setting. He’d known I was a sucker for animals, both agreeing they had more of what we laughingly call “Humanity.” They certainly didn’t treat others like the majority of people.

Still in the dark I thought of how he treated me. Rolling over, my effort caused the constraints to ratchet maliciously tighter behind my back. I found the blinking light of the camera and spread my legs to it.

“Your cum is starting to slide down my ass,” I said in a sultry voice, trying to provoke his return. “That dirty cock of yours needs me more than I need it. You can jerk off, or you can have this.”

Murmuring various enticements, I lifted my hips toward that winking little beam. Exposing myself ever further, I tilted my pelvis and spread legs wide. Defiantly I derided him.

“You couldn’t even have me if you hadn’t shackled me to your lousy bed. You call me a dog sometimes because that’s all you could get before you lured me here.”

Struggling at my bonds helplessly, I found my brain responding to the sensory depravation by magnifying the aches settling in major muscles. I fidgeted still more with the rising awareness.

When he did come back, he lifted the camera from its stand so he could hold it close to see me in the blackness. He picked up the leash. Off the bed and kneeling at his will, I heard it rasp across the sheets. And he had lubricant, audible pop of the top informing me. After a long moment the cold liquid dripped onto my backside. Still sightless, I felt the fluid slither down the crevice of my posterior. It seemed to be the only occurrence in the whole universe.

Legs loose and watery, I rested upper body on the bed to support my weight. He snaked the oiled handle slowly within the dark reaches of my behind, powering past sphincter’s resistance. I found myself philosophically unable to pull away from the punishment.

‘How is he holding the camera?’ I pondered crazily, ‘I know he’ll want this on film. At least it’s skinnier than his dick.’

Wildly fragmented considerations choked out another strangled chortle. Hearing it, he asked if I had something to say. He waited for me to signal a stop. I offered nothing but a high pitched whine. Braided cable penetrated past the handle and the supple span made him toil harder. His fingernails pinched viciously as he labored. My bleating amplified with the stunning misery, conscious thought fleeing. I found divinity in the decadent spoilage of corporeal being.

He finally seemed satisfied with his feat and I felt him move to the bed, leaving me violated. Chain jerked hard caused the cuffs to bite into my hands as the links raced up my spine. I groaned loudly, shoulders straining. There was no expression on my face as I waited for his next exhibition of authority. I could hardly stand it, trying to intuit the next fiendish act in this play. The fiery ache in my rectum centered all attention.

“Suck me hard,” he said.

Sleek legs suddenly squeezed my sides painfully. Taking away my breath, he pushed my face to his crotch. The thick span of his penis slapped me as he pushed it up by the base. I eagerly took the soft skin of his semi hard member between my lips, tasting myself.

“Looks like my pet grew a tail.”

Smirk evident in his voice, callous jeer rippled over me in a warm exhalation. I concentrated on breathing, respiration noisy through my nose. He tugged my head up with a handful of hair and stood. I landed on my heels balanced precariously. There was a brief pause before the click of the latch, so I knew he replaced the camera to its former perch. I sneered toward it, over my shoulder, and shook my hips, agonizingly lashing my “tail.” I sensed him, sitting in his recliner, idly squeezing his erection as he watched me. Biding his time, he likely sipped a glass of wine or perhaps some juice. I made a show of acting bored this time, even sighing like I had somewhere else I’d rather be.

My ploy worked and the door burst open. Light flooded the room as he hit the overhead switch. God help me, hurtful light blessedly relieved the disorienting dark. There had not existed so much as a glowing clock face, only that evil red wink. I’m sure he switched his camera over from night vision. But I still adjusted to the brightness and he seemed instantly upon me. I considered that he would make me suck him again, tormenting me with the absence of him inside my pussy.

Handcuffs came off and, blinking rapidly in disbelief, I flexed my arms and rubbed my shoulders for a moment. He lifted me and wrapped my legs about his waist, lowering me firmly onto his cock. I held on tight, arms around his neck. Splayed hands pressed to my back for support, he stepped back to lie on the bed. Directing me not to move, he arched up into me smoothly, making me even more aware of the foreign object with which he sodomized me. One strong hand gripped my chain.

“Turn around,” he directed.

I couldn’t keep my fixation from his sensual lips as I rose up. I carefully gathered my artificial appendage, wincing as it moved within. It was a mystery to me how so many people found this pleasurable. Of course I’d received no preparation. Suffering fulfilled me like no other bedroom activity.

Feet near his shoulders, I held his calves. His length filled me and my wetness spread further over him with the new angle. The black leather strip draped across his stomach in stark contrast to his luminous skin. My breath caught.

But then he tugged on the leash and the air exploded from my lungs. I locked my thighs against him and froze my butt high in the air.

“Good. Now, touch yourself.”

Gasping sides heaved between my ankles. He withdrew the anal penetration another fraction of an inch. I pressed hard to my responsive flesh with impatient fingers. He continued thrusting steadily, almost gently. Overwhelmed with uneven extraction from behind, I shook from head to toe. Tightened chain let me lean into my collar for mild asphyxia.

Wheezing, I came again and again. Handle pulling out at long last, reedy growls rose to a scream upon expulsion. Still he fucked me, his erection fading. I folded my torso over his legs, completed by all that had transpired.

It signaled the end for now. He helped my clumsy fingers release silver buckles. Noting he’d had nothing left for his own orgasm, I extricated myself and expressed my regret. He disclosed to me that he didn’t care.

“It would just have distracted me from really appreciating what I was doing for you,” he said. “It was glorious.”

Wholeheartedly of the same opinion, I nodded groggily in satisfied stupor. We settled side by side snuggling in messy covers.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part seven of ten

Chapter 7 - House Training

Nipples swelled with his simple touch, fabric rubbing them seductively as I ambled toward the hall lavatory. The simple card on the ornate gift box said in masculine penmanship: My Pet.

My entire comical image of him picking reusable food containers went out the door when I lifted the velour lid. I almost squeaked. Whatever the worth of this, the value appointed me had ostensibly become immeasurable and slightly daunting. Could it be a loaner?

Diamonds sparkled in indirect lighting hidden somewhere above ornate cabinetry. Far from being a piece of elegant jewelry, the necklace clearly designated subservience. Precious stones arranged in a shimmering web of interlocking settings overlaid a heavy black leather collar. The inside padded and lined with velvet, twin outside buckles affixed it.

My hands shook as I lifted it to my neck. I finally managed to fix it in place, adjusting it so the silver D-ring aligned with my spine. Prisms danced over dark blue shirt collar framing it. I was mesmerized. A soft knock on the oak door at my back made me jump.

“How’s it coming? Do you need help?”

“I’ll be right out.”

“Do you like it?”

Muffled question held lurid promise, sending a thrill up my back. Reaching toward the door, I suddenly remembered the underwear. Moist lace indicated what affect simply donning the lovely gift had wrought. I grinned, recognizing how he’d purposely let me experience this first rush alone. He may have missed initial visual; his augmentation would be spectacular. I exited the bath and found him right outside.

Painted fingertips to bejeweled throat brightened his eyes. It made me think of the coldest winter day. Not the chill, I recalled those deep blue heavens from which unclouded sunrays warm the earth. Romantic notion baffling, I discounted it as spurious. Something in doting eyes contradicted my doubt. But it could have been my imagination. He bustled right by.

Unable to comprehend why he stepped past, I noticed the partially ajar cupboard mirror. He withdrew a digital video recorder. A feral leer assured dark delights were yet to follow.

My lover told me what I’d suspected, that he had neither wanted to miss my reaction nor had he wanted it to be influenced by his presence. Spying the black lace at his feet, he picked up the miniscule piece of cloth and sniffed approvingly. Then he whimsically aimed the still live camera back to me and zoomed in toward my face.

“What is it that you want? Today, from life in general, what would you ask for if anything was possible?”

It seemed a night for introduction to many varied sides of him. Stammering, I delivered a short list wishing good health, happiness, and similar banalities. It earned me a penetrating look. Gazing up from the display screen, his intensity bored into me.

“Don’t be obtuse. You’re smarter than that. I want to know what your heart desires.”

“Right now?” I tipped my head and lilted, “I want you to show me the part of this beautiful gift that you’re withholding.”

Glimmering white teeth flashed a grin. In my mind I wondered where this was going. It had to be some elaborate ruse. He stunned me yet again, setting aside the camera and stepping into my embrace.

“It seems you always know just the right thing to say. I want to know you, to learn everything about you. But here I am pushing it. When I decide on something I always take it too fast. I want you to have emotional breathing room, if not physical.”

This last pronouncement punctuated by the production of a braided leather leash, it clipped to the ring under my hair. He gave a wicked smile. I deemed his smugness worthy. I would do whatever he wished and not regret.

“Look at this. Now I can take you almost anywhere. Before I always feared you might try to run off.”

Trilling into my ear, he pulled me into the hallway toward the sofa. When we reached it he turned to me and moved the cloth free from my shoulder. One hand worked to bare my breasts. Leash around the other applied pressure to bruises hidden under leather. I moaned for his biting and licking, the dull throb at my throat.

His fingers brushed savagely down my back and loose silk whispered to the floor. He shivered when I bent to kiss his chest and lips touched his nipple. Encouraged by his speechlessness, I grazed my teeth over the swelling and he hissed.

I saw the length of leather uncoil from his hand and expected it to pile at my feet. Instead, he threaded it between my legs. His hands tugged it back and forth, sliding tight against me. Anchoring myself with a grip on his waist, I worked his flesh aggressively.

The plaited strap slithered out from between my legs and he jerked me off of him. I straightened brazenly. Taunting him, I thrust my tits out and palmed the left. As I pushed it up I squeezed the bullet tip. I wiped the fingers of my other hand across my mouth, wet from sucking at him, and thrust them down to touch myself.

He knew perfectly well I goaded him into whipping me. I wanted it. And we both loved the anticipation inherent in the game.

“Down,” he demanded, slipping his pants over slender hips.

I awaited him, lips parted, as he stepped out of the cloth. Astonishingly, he clamped his hand over my mouth and turned my head. His palm threatened to smother, fingers firmly holding my jaw. He grabbed his erection with a fistful of my red-gold locks. Mad with lust, I darted wild eyes to the side and watched his hand frantically knot slightly damp strands.

“It’s like screwing silk,” he growled.

I struggled and bawled against his hand, desperate for him to fill me. It was futile, his power too great. I felt strands of hair tear out by the roots with the terrible might he engaged. Buzzed from the discomfort, dizziness of desire brought me close to swooning.

‘I’m a teeny bopper seeing Elvis for the first time.’

I snorted with delirious joviality at the unbidden thought. Overwhelmed with frustration and equally excited at the same time, I toyed with the idea of throwing out the hand signal. Ever watchful, he would stop as soon as he saw. Before I decided it he stopped himself and fell back into the sofa cushions.

I slid to the floor. Turned toward him, I looked up at his countenance. His breathing a harsh rasp, eyes closed tight, he obviously struggled to recover from the verge of ejaculation. I lay quiet, immobilized by need.

Dimly I heard him announce, “You want me to beat you. Don’t you?”

Only then did I realize he looked at me. I nodded numbly and pulled myself upright with no small effort. He stood and scooped me from the rug. I lay limp in his arms. Returned to the bedroom, he laid me down.

He unhooked my leash and got a cardboard box from the bottom drawer of his bureau. Out came a length of well-made chain, slim but strong by his grimly displayed test, and two identical padlocks. One lock secured chain to the cuffs still heaped on the bed and he rolled my body over. Deftly threading, he linked fetters through D-ring to second lock. Clicked around a bar of the brass footboard, lock at my side formed the final connection. He could leave me to stave if he wished.

Told to get on my knees alongside the bed, I did so feeling clumsy and out of breath. The first lash struck and I realized he’d gotten out his short stiff riding crop at some point. It struck below my buttocks, licking inner thigh before withdrawing. He had expert aim and thrashes landed within inches of one another, alternating between one leg and the other.

He mounted and vaginally assaulted me, pressing the side of my face into the covers. He wrapped his other hand around my waist, driving in harder and faster. I sobbed, not from pain or despair, but joy at new vibrancy and vitality. He finished with a guttural snarl and heaved off.

Capriciously, I thought, ‘Apparently his epididymis has all ready regenerated and his vas deferens is in good condition.’

Frenzied chortle loomed imminently. I swallowed it, sputtering.

Coldly leaving without speaking, he chose to ignore my hysterical mirth. The room plunged into darkness with the closing of the door. Heavy curtains hid very effective shutters blocking city lights. A momentary brightness alerted me to his return so he could set up the camera on a tripod by the wall. When the room reverted to black, I understood he must have it set on night vision and would watch me on his television via live feed.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part six of ten

Chapter 6 - Geography(continued)

“You’re mine. Anyone, man or woman, who even shows thought of fucking you is going to wind up in the ER.”

Perversely joyful, I managed to retort spitefully, “How would you stop me if I wanted some other man or woman to fuck me? You leave me on my own for days, sometimes close to a week at a time. Don’t you think I have needs in your absence?”

His eyes aglow, another side showed unexpectedly. Suddenly speechless, taken aback, I just blinked up at him. I didn’t believe I’d heard correctly. He reasserted his offer.

“You heard right. Move in with me. I’m a selfish bastard, but I want to be everything to you. Think about it,” he countered my inanity. “I could always just chain you up. This place actually has excellent soundproofing – the main reason I chose it. Let’s me concentrate, not hearing some neighbor’s brat.”

I closed my eyes with a sigh when he bent to kiss the bruises at my throat. Then he suggested a shower. The large glass enclosure filled with steam as we soaped one another. He washed my hair, massaging my scalp as he held the shower head with its long flexible hose. Then he lowered the stream and, spreading my thighs roughly, aimed the pulsing spray up into me. The suddenness caused my eyes to roll back in my head. Now he knelt, looking up at me. For one insanely anxious moment I awaited marriage proposal.

“Time now to get you clean, and then I can make you dirty all over again.”

Water flooded my relieved self and he bit my thigh. I knew it left small even dimples because I’d seen the neat indentations many times, all over my body. Sometimes they filled with blood. Not today. He soon put the nozzle back in its cradle and we toweled off with soft bath sheets. I took time to soak up most of the water in my hair and comb it out properly before emerging.

Padding back into the bedroom, I picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it on as he watched. Water spotted the blue silk as I buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves. He told me as always how I looked better in his shirts than he did. Unbuttoning it exposed the even slices he’d put on my stomach and he bent close to examine them. Then he led me back into the warm bathroom. After smearing my skin with ointment, he affixed a square bandage. He surprised me again by presenting a pair of my panties. Left behind at some point, they’d been laundered and secreted in a drawer for my future use.

I took my time pulling them on, sliding them up my legs teasingly. He’d dressed himself in just cotton pajama pants and I liked the way the cuffs pooled around his ankles. It was a pleasure of mine to watch him while both dressing and undressing. In fact, it always amazed me at how sexy he made the most mundane acts. How beautiful on him were even the least exalted parts of the human form - his narrow wrists, overly large Tuscan nose, the shapely feet I was now admiring.

Offering me wine, he stopped a moment to extinguish the numerous wicks still lit. In contrast to his bedroom and office, the apartment’s kitchen sported warm colors and even a more clement temperature. Modern, no kitschy theme or tacky collectibles evident, he cooked in a chef’s showpiece.

He poured a glass of claret. The color reminded me of the gem in his ring and tiny orbs that oozed out behind the blade of his bowie knife. I sat down hard as my legs gave out. It went unnoticed, his absorption in arranging salads on tiny plates and garnishing them with thinly sliced strawberries. After that he ladled cold cherry soup into delicate matching bowls.

Besides doing me, he relaxed by cooking. It suited perfectly an outlet for his exacting nature, all the precision of putting together a combination of correctly proportioned ingredients to make something truly palatable and appealing. He slid open the big warming drawer. The crusty bread he liked to bake and stuffed mushrooms loaded the intimate ash wood table. Spinach and artichoke dip also joined china place settings. My stomach rumbled at the sights and smells.

“Dig in,” he chuckled, “I want to make sure you keep your strength up. Just don’t eat so much that you get sleepy. I’m not through using you.”

He toasted the future with an ambiguous expression. I echoed his words with a lopsided grin twisting my lips. Never quite certain what went on in his head, I’ve never minded. We mainly communicated with sex. I guessed the lack of over-sentimentality made me more comfortable. Uncertainty doesn’t faze me now that I’ve found sexual freedom.

An over simplification, this summation of a complex situation, all the same he gave exactly what I sought. I hadn’t even known what my life lacked until we began discovering our hidden natures together. Not about loss of control, the submissive’s environment is anything but out of control. More orderly than anything, the dominant carefully orchestrates everything and liberates his or her bottom companion.

What defined us? Pure sincerity. We let loose uncluttered passion, lust, and hedonism. We also instituted the greatest mutual respect.

The key is complete and utter trust shared between two responsible and mentally healthy persons. No fear exists besides what my own mind manufactures, perpetuating the fantasy in just the right way. I can’t truthfully conceive that he would carry things further than I wished them to go.

Our union without trepidation or apprehension, I can give myself over to it with no reservation or dread that I will be judged. There was no need to discuss what I could never articulate. With him I am the person forever sought and previously undiscovered.

Today we lingered, recovering our energy and savoring the food. I inhaled the perfume from the spray of roses, displayed in a crystal vase pushed to table’s edge along the wall. They were black, just as always. He’d started the tradition for me. Comparing them to what we share, he explained that they defined for him that disorienting and weirdly likable experience when a place is familiar and exotic all at the same time. He likened it to walking in the rain on a street you think you know in a city at which you’ve only just arrived.

Surprised to see the mysterious blooms in the first place that long ago day, in such a provincial setting to boot, I wondered at their origin. Just as in all that he did, there was considerable forethought involved.

He’d phoned his New York physician for his health report. Knowing him as a longtime buddy from the old neighborhood, he requested an additional favor. A few more calls procured the flowers and off they went, carefully packaged along with the documents. His way to never open a phone book or search the internet, he depended upon his extensive network of colleagues and cronies. He’d happily helped associates in turn and likely will again.

He cleared the table, telling me to relax. Dishwasher loaded, he sealed leftovers in identical Tupperware bowls. I pictured him attending a house wares party, perhaps hosted by the matronly assistant he sometimes employed. In my vision he choose the Deluxe set in Windsor blue and unpacked each piece carefully and meticulously. Washing each one first, he then arranged them in the designated cabinet for upcoming service. A grin tugged at my lips. Trying to contain the laughter threatening to bubble out, I excused myself to use the hall bathroom.

His long tapered fingers caught at my shoulder before he touched my chin, turning my face to his. I felt pulled in by his whisper.

“There’s a present for you on the counter. Put it on before you come out.” Cupping my breast, he continued firmly, “Then keep the shirt but I want the panties gone.”

I could do that. The trick would be walking straight.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part five of ten

Chapter 5 - Geography

I’d first heard him proclaim me beautiful in a dimly lit Minnesota bar. Ideologically speaking we’d travelled about as far from there as you could get. Upon our first meeting I’d looked at him with scorn, most of humanity not worth my notice as far as I’m concerned.

My work, photographing various cultures’ conflicts and hardships, took me on a horror tour of countless countries. I’d seen some of the deepest depravity humanity had to offer: Rwandan slaughter fields, refugee camps with inadequate supplies and sanitation, villages where a third of the population carried the HIV virus and scores suffered and died on lice ridden cots.

Some wonderful people I met along the way made it worthwhile. They kept me going back. My hope to make a difference, their stories fortunately sold magazines. It’s a cold world, I know; at least it ingested a little awareness feeding sensationalistic appetites.

I returned to the States ready for some serious R & R. My camera focused on landscapes and wildlife where I hiked and camped for days along the Temperance River gorge. That night, however, I quietly drank away some memories before attempting sleep.

The curtly nodding stranger ignored my dismissive air and sat at the empty stool next to me. When he neither spoke nor moved away I found myself granting him a grudging respect. Despite myself, I began studying him out of the corner of my eye. When he ordered a vodka martini, my drink of choice, I smirked. This looked like the same strategy I’d seen men try in bars all over the world.

A few had succeeded, I must admit, but the affairs were always short lived. It seemed to always be me, the inevitable purveyor of bad news, to end the fling. Breaking hearts had somehow become a side effect of being me.

That cool night at the bar in Schroeder, my stranger got his martini dirty as requested, sipping it as he watched my reflection in the mirror. Then he left and I actually felt niggling disappointment. I went back three nights in a row, not admitting to myself that I hoped to see him even as I scanned the crowd.

The last night I planned to go, he showed. I had a dirty martini waiting. Dressed again in an expensive suit he still managed to look more relaxed, his silk tie loosened.

“What changed?” He remarked boldly, “The other night you seemed offended by my existence. And tonight you buy me a drink?”

We started off slowly after that. I abandoned my tent for better accommodation and he took me to dinner several times. At the end of each date he would walk me to the elevator of my hotel before bidding me goodnight with a chaste kiss and squeeze of my hand.

He always steered conversation back to me, keeping a great deal of him secret. I had to have him, the realization that I hardly knew the first thing about him increasing my desire. I very matter-of-factly brought up sex, insisting to see a negative AIDS test first. It had been a priority to get my own clean bill of health, practically the first thing accomplished after arriving in New York months earlier.

Fortunately as practical as me, he presented documentation with a flourish the very next night. He held a dozen black roses in one hand and the paperwork in the other. Grateful, I doubted my ability to wait months for results. I would have probably broken my own rule.

It seemed years ago and time had flown by. I landed an assignment in the Big Apple, happy to be close to family. A busy place filled with interesting characters, it was also his base of operations. Flood of memories screened in moments, I let him walk me to his bed.

“Lie down. Relax.”

I’d long since learned not to be deceived, my nipples hardening at his felonious advice. Various aches made themselves known and I knew they would be savored until healed. Some would take days.

He detoured to his bureau and my heart skipped a beat, several beats, when I saw the large knife in his hands. It looked new, like something a hunter might own. It glinted in the light of many flickering candles when he unsheathed it.

He snatched an incongruous canister of cashews from his desk. He fed me a few, chewing a handful. A thoughtful gaze on me, he picked up the blade again. He didn’t bother to dust the salt from his fingers.

“Remember when you bled on my chair last time? You were never properly disciplined for that.”

The scene flashed before my eyes. I could not have disagreed with his account more, argument unspoken.

My period had made a mess of his sheets and he surprised me with an order to sit in the chair. I draped my legs over the armrests and he immediately mounted me again. The chair had creaked complaint at the pounding inflicted upon it. Pulling out swiftly, he told me to look.

“See how slick it is with your blood. Now turn around.”

His dick against my anus, slippery as it was, still took effort for him to work into the tight opening. And the pain was immense, unending, as he forced himself in time after time, holding back his orgasm to prolong his pleasure. I rocked under his unbearable ruination, enduring the punishment without complaint. My low moan and his heavy breathing were the only sounds to be heard under the flat smacking sound of his genitals bashing against my otherwise neglected vulva.

He jerked me back to the present by putting the tip of his weapon to the taught skin of my stomach. I realized he’d sharpened the metal to a scalpel’s edge because tiny crimson drops appeared, no pain yet from the incision. It only began to hurt when he started a third cut and I held my breath, mesmerized.

Stopped at the count of five, they were shallow. Maybe three quarters of an inch long and a mere quarter of an inch apart, each one was ruler straight. He clarified motive for the deceitfully tasty snack when he bore salty fingers onto this latest handiwork. He destroyed oddly beautiful pinprick drops of blood, the salt rubbed in. Tears sprang to my eyes and he brought his hand up, demanding that I lick it clean. I lapped at it, a strange keening emerging from my throat. Erection forming during enactment of this diabolical scenario, he told me to move.

“You took that like such a good girl," he praised, taking my place. "I know what a hopeless slut you are and I want to reward you. Mount me now.”

I did so gladly, emitting the high strangled sound. I dropped to his chest and he allowed me to kiss him. As I tasted his salty lips it intensified sensation from the small precise cuts, compressed now against his hard stomach.

Pushing my shoulders, he got me sitting partway back up so he could suck at nipples briefly before curling up to lick at my wounds. Wanting to rub my clit as I watched, I brought my hand in. He crushed my body to him, dropping his head to the pillow in one fluid movement. Eyes blistering me, speech sounded dangerously soft.

“I didn’t tell you to pleasure yourself. Your purpose is to please me.”

With that he shoved me off, rolling on top of me. He put his hand on my throat, squeezing with alarming strength. For just a moment, he blocked my airway. When he moved his hand I knew that red phantom fingers would remain, later turning purple and finally fading to green and yellow before vanishing.

‘I’ll be wearing scarves and turtleneck sweaters for a week.’

The thought resonated giddy. He ignored it, weighty silence almost tangible, and then rolled away. My eyes followed him as he crouched between my legs.

“I want a close look at what you wanted to play with. You know you’d be worthless without this cunt, you little whore,” he breathed over my nakedness. With that he lowered his head and used his teeth on the smoothly waxed lips hiding my vagina.

The sharp nips caused me to jerk away from his teeth, almost as quickly bucking against his mouth. He told me how swollen my sex was, the lovely deep blush of my flesh, as he sucked my clitoris free from its hood, pulling it between his teeth. I let out a high pitched wail. He drew back his head, slapped my pussy tauntingly, and balled his hand hard against tender flesh. His fist ground deep, not entering so much as punching against me with short firm movements. His forearm moved like a piston and I struggled onto my elbows in order to watch it as if from outside myself. I was transported.

With malevolent glee he aligned the garnet stone of his college ring to punish sensitive nerve endings. Close to another orgasm, I was pulverized until I thought injury may result. This notion excited me still further and I contorted in ecstasy. It forced me to drop back onto the sheets, howling like a banshee. His jaws replaced his fist and he literally ate my climax, lips and tongue working. His constant groan vibrated against and, more importantly, within me all the while.

Beyond contemplation of consequence, I tangled my fingers in his hair. Flaxen curls felt luxurious between my fingers. Without warning he climbed over and pushed me back onto the mattress. Erection haphazardly aligned, it rammed in.

Shrieks were torn from my throat. His flat stomach slapped a frantic rhythm against mine. Tendons straining in his neck called me. I gave in to impulse and licked them, biting down on his shoulder as his cock ground into me still deeper. With a final shove he bellowed, his head thrown back. His entire taut body quivered with tension as he discharged inside of me.

We lay shuddering, silent in each others’ arms but for our labored breathing. When he shifted onto his back, arms behind his head, I caught my breath at the beauty of him, his chest gleaming in the light. I propped myself against him, unable to suppress my joy.

“You amaze me,” he rumbled, “I can’t get enough of you. I ought to hate you for it. I don’t. Why is that?”

“I can’t answer that. Hell, I can’t even begin to tell my family or even friends about you. I don’t know where to start, and so they keep trying to set me up with some investment banker or post grad frat boy.”

The last word died on my lips as he pounced. Pinning me to the bed, he snarled in my face.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part four of ten

Chapter 4 - Eminent Domain (continued)

My softly spoken delivery was less timid than it may have sounded. I loved testing the boundaries. Velvet laughter caressed me, raising the hair on my arms.

“True. I throw you out and you keep crawling back. I can’t decide sometimes if I should screw you or call the dog warden, you little bitch,” he retorted. “Maybe I should put you out of your misery.”

Cuffs clicking open freed my left hand and then my right. He slowly pulled my arms out and down to my sides as if we were a pair of ballet dancers. Gently soothing over the muscles, he gripped the straps again and yanked hard. Having ripped it down the length of my body, he let go. It lay tangled around my feet and he freed it from them, dropping the scrap of cloth.

‘How did the fabric hold? Is it entwined around my restraint where it disappears over the edge of the box spring?’ After this ridiculous hypothesizing another voice in my head said with much more force, ‘WHO CARES? Touch him while you can!’’

I blindly found the bunched muscles of his upper arm. He’d leaned in, licking my navel, and my groping hand prompted him to bite the soft skin of my stomach. Moaning and twisting, I sunk my nails in. I clutched nothing, not even knowing where he had gone. He moved so swiftly that the displaced air swirled over me. Changing quality of the light through my blindfold made me realize that he held a candle. I shivered with dread and delight.

“You scratched me, you worthless slit,” he thundered. “Now I’ll show you pain.”

I all ready squirmed in anticipation when the first drops hit my skin. I heard the first juicy plop. He moved his arm, slowly dripping a trail of hot wax along my hip and over my belly. Absorbed by the line of sweet agony, I didn’t realize he had extinguished the candle and held it the opposite way, poised to penetrate me.

He jerked his hand in and I screamed as the long taper infiltrated me. The shock passed and my cries softened, pussy virtually swallowing the smooth cylinder.

“That’s better; I don’t want you to lose your voice now. There’ll be plenty of reason to scream later, I assure you. The night is so young,” he mocked inches above my mouth.

He bit my lip, a tiny pain. My mouth filled with the sharp taste of copper as his tongue licked at the cut and pushed beyond my lips. His strength became apparent by the way that deep kiss never wavered even as he continued brutalizing me with the candle. One arm steadily supported the body. I aspired to be eyewitness, my perfect acquiescence contending for this prize.

I was at last able to catch my breath, though only slightly. He let his body rest against me, breaking away from my lips. His pulverizing rhythm never faltered. It was another minute (or an hour?) longer before he tossed the object away from us. I made a sound of complaint, so close to orgasm. The penalty/reward instantaneous, he yanked my blindfold off.

A few individual hairs pulled out. This fresh, sharp pain and sight of blood discoloring his chin unhinged my mind somehow. I squeezed my eyes shut but the promise of relief vanished, vertigo spinning me into the darkness. I opened my eyes and they betrayed me. The world spun now, alabaster skin around a crimson stain.

It induced a series of deep flutters, my cervix a giant moth flapping frenetically toward some moonlit blossom. He sensed it, my gasping writhe the clue. The groan escaping his lips showed his excitement at my response to his abuse. That cool exterior was cracking.

I observed the real measure of his arousal when he pushed himself onto his knees – that single fat drop of emission leaking from the tip, nearly ready to fall. He moved close to my face. His organ loomed large, encompassing my world. I thought he might actually let me lick it off. Choosing the alternate, more degrading route, he smeared it on my face. It left a trail across my cheekbone. The head felt so soft and pliant, deceiving silk pressed to my skin. I knew how it could batter more tender parts of the female anatomy and the anticipation drove me even closer to the brink.

My face ablaze with the very humiliation I craved, I was ordered to stand up and face the wall. Ravening, dimly registering his edict, I failed to respond. He appeared truly angry and I felt fear – a sudden, faint terror. His long fingers closed over my wrists and began dragging me toward the edge of the bed.

A scared woman inside asked, ‘What am I playing at? He could kill me and not a soul would know.’

He let go before I would tumble to the floor and I struggled to find my legs in an effort to stand. His hands came to my aid, oddly gentle, untying my ankle and steadying me.

Guided to the wall and pushed into it, my tits were crushed against the surface with a force I found both uncomfortable and alarmingly delicious. He put a palm on each firm curve of my ass and pulled me open so that I thought I might tear in two. His breath came out in animal grunts. My cunt tightened around him, nipples swelling perversely, and my own cries began to drown him out. Heartbeat thundering in my head, I felt him come in a hot burst. As if given permission, my climax detonated a galaxy of stars. I vibrated in intoxicating afterglow.

He collapsed against me, his weight pinning me to the unforgiving wall before he suddenly stepped backward. I crumpled to the floor, blood still trickling from my lip as I turned to lick his ankle. Leaving a scarlet smudge I thought he would make me lick it off. And I would do it without pause. Instead he commanded that I stand.

“Get off the floor. You look like a fucking dog,” he griped.

Collecting my bearings, I took an upright stance. His next move shocked me, nearly unbalancing once more. He grabbed my hair without pulling, placing his hand on my cheek. Wavering on my feet, I expected this diversion to culminate in a violent tug upon my locks. My eyes followed fine tresses trailing between unfurled fingers to drape over his forearm in a translucent wave.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The proclamation spoken now and in this moment surprised me. All the same, I found my thoughts traveling back.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part three of ten

Chapter 3 - Eminent Domain (continued)

His tongue left a wet trail from collar bone to ear, where he tugged on the lobe with his teeth. Then he licked behind my ear, over it, and plunged his tongue into the canal. Over and over it darted inside, the wet sound imitating that which he usually induced from much lower. And then as he started to gnaw on my neck something loosened in me, the marionette’s strings suddenly cut. He let go and stepped back, watching me fall gracelessly to my knees with an impact that didn’t even register.

His dick right in front of my face appeared bigger than life itself. I wanted it in my mouth, to nibble and pull it in.

“May I, please?”

In answer to my plea, he grabbed the back of my head and forced himself in, nearly gagging me but for the fact that I wanted it. A hoped for fulfillment, it was never guaranteed.

He would push me away when I asked to suck him off or rub his erection against my face and neck. I’d pay later for licking. I always licked it, as many times as I could. As penalty he’d inflict some new suffering upon me or just leave me, bound and exposed, to endure his absence for however long he felt adequate. Abandonment by far the nastiest thing he had ever done, nothing worse came to mind.

Now I enjoyed the suede texture of him and started to reach for his hips. He wrenched back, leaving my hands half raised as if in supplication. I nearly drooled and felt my cheeks flush as I rolled my eyes up toward his face.

“What did I say about touching me?”

He told me not to move and I knelt there awkwardly, awaiting reprisal. Apparently he’d obtained new handcuffs. The last pair broke under duress. Technically, the key snapped off in the lock.

That’s when our liaison first showed a humorous element. Returning with bolt cutters he had said he now understood why the police started using plastic strip ties on suspects. He, however, preferred a good old fashioned steel pair.

“I like your steel pair, though I find them far from old fashioned,” I’d wisecracked, inelegantly chained to the desk.

He burst out laughing that afternoon. Then he whipped me with his belt for being facetious. That had become our pattern, seemingly endless rough sex followed by more hours of banter and even tenderness. If he wasn’t gearing up for another programming session, that is. I’d usually not know the situation until the scenario played itself out.

If lucky, I’d find myself lathered within a steamy shower. Perhaps we’d curl up later with books picked from his library, soft music or a smoldering fire as backdrop. Exhibiting plenty of sensual after-play, hands and mouths roamed over barely clad bodies. The flesh willing, bodies weak, desire usually became so unbearable that we’d join in lovemaking yet again right there on the sofa.


Other days, with him so distracted and serious planning a new venture, he might not have even given me time to retrieve my panties. There I would stand on the street, his cum running down my leg, a disheveled figure in the dark trying to hail a taxi. The doorman didn’t quite know what to make of me and called Yellow Cab if I failed finding reasonably prompt conveyance. I always made sure to tip him for his trouble, surprising him every time.

Eyes blazed as he strode toward me, bringing me back to the present from my reverie. He told
me to lie down on the bed. Quickly I complied.

“That’s good,” he sighed, as if he regretting his need to do this. “Get on your stomach. I want to see your pink ass in the air.”

Arms pulled over my head suddenly, his endeavor locking them in place to the headboard pinched narrow wrists. Another set of marks needed hiding or explanation. I’d think of something. Silk brushed my back. It whispered over my skin raising gooseflesh. The fabric wound and tied around my head effectively blinded me. I wondered if it could be the scarf assumed lost.

The reflection melted away upon slap from a rolled up periodical. My ass felt hot where he’d hit more than it stung. I nearly giggled as my cunt throbbed at the familiar, welcome sensation. The next landed with a thwack and I pushed up slightly onto my knees, rising up reflexively. It stung appealingly and I rose still higher. He slapped his hand lightly against my labia majora and rubbed roughly, working deeper. Spreading juices cooled rapidly, soothing burning flesh. He said nothing as he tossed the magazine on the nightstand.

Still not speaking, he got on the bed and I felt the smooth skin of his chest on my back just as his dick tore into me. My thighs spread wide under the onslaught of his and the fine blonde hair on them tickled my skin, inharmonious sensation alongside the brutal way he entered me. Penis buried deep, he twitched his groin muscles. He repeated the move several times, pulling cry after cry from me with each nudge, each minuscule lift inside me.

His breath on my ear told me I shouldn’t have this yet. And with that he was gone.

I whimpered, sensing he sat back on his feet. The weight of him shifted, my only indication. His hair brushed eager skin so softly and pleasantly until he bit my leg just above the knee. I flinched and he let out a low sinister chuckle. I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

There had been times when he’d walk out, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Left chained to a clothes rack in the darkened closet, I grieved the lack of him. Long and interminable, the minutes seemed to stretch into hours. As he sat at his computer, the real torment was hearing him describe some dark porn scenario.

Secretly, I guessed his narration came from his own disturbing imagination. And I hoped it was so, that he’d someday work it in with his plans.

Really not making me wait long at all, he’d come back and remove my restraints to take me on the floor or carry me to the bed as I blinked in the sudden brightness. Other times he would mount me where I stood. I’d grab onto the bar, his thrust hammering me against the neat row of suits.

After that I’d be whipped for soiling an expensive suit coat by supposedly sweating on it. He would soon stop to touch and admire the few thin welts left on stomach or legs. He’d seldom mark my back, liking it unmarred. The idea excited him that I could wear something backless while hiding evidence of our sport on neck or wrist with jewelry or cosmetics. Buying expensive apparel just for the purpose, he valued stripes on my stomach and/or legs lurking underneath.

I felt him grab my unleashed ankle. Lifting it to his shoulder, he licked the instep. Quivering as with fever chills, I waited for whatever may come. He let go my leg and let it fall, rolling me onto my back. Wrists twisted in the restraints, cruel metal encircling them in mean jaws.

“The teddy suits you… you’re really just an animal parading as human” he groused, “Just driven by hunger… the need to feed… to mate.”

Phrases disembodied in the air all around, licks and bites punctuated every pause at random places. Contact brought guttural cries, sounds accentuating his words. Fabric clinging to my skin from the water he’d flung, it peeled away as he tugged at the shoulder straps.

“Oh no,” he lamented. “How am I gonna get this off if you’re chained and bound?”

Unsure if I should answer, I offered quietly, “You could free me. I won’t run away, you know.”

To be continued...