by JJ Giles
Those things made for the female nipples enchanted him. He stood before her now, her breath slowed to an even pace. He opened the clamps and held them before her breasts. Quite close now, he lined up on them, meant to pierce them simultaneously. The long pin in the middle would get her attention, the teeth around would steal her breath.
How utterly beautiful she was, the weapons poised for attack before her, but did she know it? No, she trusted him now, perhaps loved him enough to let him have his fill of her, if that was possible. Those pin-like shafts only millimeters now from the boiling flesh of the most beautiful cherries he’d ever seen, could melt in his mouth and be swallowed whole.
How exquisite, the point ready to penetrate and his heart thudded uncontrollably. What would it be, the moment he contacted her like this? The moment he joined to her?
As if he stood outside of himself, he merely watched. His hands thrust forward, the pins engaged and seemed to pierce the soft fabric of her swollen breasts. A scream the likes he’d never before heard swept into him, obliterated him and he melted to the sound of it. The teeth of the clamps closed on the areolae and she shook uncontrollably, her breasts wobbling uninhibited, not deflated but swelled into great balloons filled with cream. The scream continued, drawing him into her, so that he could do nothing but comply. His hands reached out, took control of those breasts and flattened them against her sternum.
The scream ended in a violent pulsing. She shook uncontrollably, the pain searing into her stirring new life inside. Catapulted out of despair into something rich and fantastical, something filled with as much hope as she never knew, she began to sob.
“Ah, that’s it,” he whispered, a prayer of thanksgiving on his lips. Quickly, he wrapped his arms around her and forced her body to his, those clamps against his chest drilling them into hers. Broken sobs born anew every moment washed over him in undulating waves. Unable to let go, he clung, his hands to her shoulder blades pressing her still closer to him, the sound in his ear deafening, the most intoxicating thing he’d ever known.
Have to have to this woman. Yet he stood away and grasped the whip again. You will be mine as he stared at those clamps, the flesh behind them convulsing with her screams. You are mine, and he struck out again. Checkerboards, how devastatingly lovely to see the checkerboards of welted lines crisscrossed over the nipples. The pins drove even deeper, but didn’t deflate them. The rush of fluid to sustain them, to beckon him on maddened him.
* * * *
“Mother, what the fuck is your problem?” Brian yelled. “How the fuck did Dad live like this? You’re packing to go to France so your boyfriend can beat you up again?”
Cheryl hissed like a vicious demon. Glaring at him, she screamed, “You don’t know anything about love. And if you tell that motherfucker I’m married to anything about this, you’ll never see me again, either.”
Astounded and speechless, Brian stared in horror. “I left the only woman I’ve ever loved and ever will love to come stay here with you and keep you from killing yourself because your husband walked out on you. As far as I’m concerned you can go to hell!” Enraged, he made for the door.
“Brian, you little brat!” He turned only to see a heavy crystal vase headed for his face and he ducked just in time.
Get the fuck outta here, was all he could think. “If you’ll excuse me, I owe my father an apology.”
Only a few minutes down the freeway, Brian pulled into the parking garage at the Tower. How the hell has he lived like this? Brian thought of his father as he hit the elevator button. Inside the penthouse, Brian switched on the lights. He heartened a little to see the pile of feminine clothing puddled on the floor. Renee, he thought with a smile. A little of his father’s fire ripping through him right now would help.
The black light was sultry, decadent as it illuminated the lateral surfaces in purple. He moved further into the room, heard the rush of water in the cleaning room. And then he froze, his intestines convulsed to see her hanging there.
Horrified, Brian stared through the darkness of black light to see the spot light trained on the body dangling from the ceiling. She was alone now, the Master of the Lair making preparations elsewhere. In shock, he stared at the soft round breasts beaten with a whip, the swell of the hips, but it was the soft amber down between the legs that caused the churning in his stomach. Morgan, he thought, he knew. And he turned and ran from the Lair, about to vomit.
* * * *
Every molecule of her body seemed to quiver with uncontrollable pain. What Jerry was doing at the moment was beyond her comprehension. Only slowly, she began to regain some sense about her and sense told her she was alone. A sudden and debilitating stab of fear shook her heart.
Ah, but she wasn’t alone. She could feel his approach like a wicked demon. He touched her, his hands feeling like the iced fingers of the netherworld as they brushed against her breasts to remove those insidious clamps.
He hadn’t left her alone entirely. But what he was doing now wasn’t entirely clear. She felt her breasts enclosed in something metallic and harsh. That same thing drove into her belly button. Something else divided her legs and another phallus was slid into her dripping vagina. It felt like she was swaddled in wire and then she began to move. Dangling from the ceiling, it felt as if she were a piece of meat hanging from a hook in the cutting room ready to be packaged.
Again, she felt those iced fingers at her ankles raise her legs. Her legs were laid on cold metal bars. Quickly, her elbows were unhitched from the hook and she was laid back, nearly fell back on yet more bars, unable to sustain herself. Her wrists were reattached to something else.
Suddenly, she began to move. Was she being dragged along over the bars? It was a conveyer belt. She was being pulled by an electric motor and it felt good. Sort of like being massaged. Her head in the lead she could only lie there, feel her body conform to the inversions and rises, a miniature roller coaster at extremely slow speed.
It began to build, the sensation of energy, a sparkling, tingling sensation building slowly, ever so slowly. It gathered faster now, like the forces of lightening racing toward her to shatter her senses and then it struck, discharged on her body, spilled through her breasts into her belly button. It sent the phalluses inside of her into a fit of vibrating passion and shook her clit violently. It was a single strike and it dissipated as soon as it landed.
Jerry sprawled on an elevated exam table and watched wholly satisfied as his submissive strolled around the room on the thing he thought of as his toy train. It moved through the valley, folding her body in half and then chugged up the mountain stretching her long. Through a tunnel, she was treated to the broiling heat of a sun lamp and then through another where a little wisp of liquid nitrogen could burn her with cold. The sound as the static electricity gathered and then grounded out on her body at various points, sometimes all of it and always ended with the soft refrain of a moan.
His arm cocked high to hold his head, he sipped the scotch and smiled. How adorable she was to think she had seen everything already. Hanging out in some scuzzy S/M club made her think she knew all about it. In the morning, after a night of passion, he would walk her through this place and let her visit it with her right mind. But for now, let her relax a little, the sensations with every revolution around the room lessening until they simply disappeared.
Her body merely rolled around the room now, the expected shocks, the sensations of hellish heat and bitter cold having disappeared also. She merely laid on the conveyor, every muscle in her body beyond her control and the limpness in it quite soothing. He was a Master, alright, she thought. Had mastered the fine art of bondage and discipline.
Slowly, she rolled to a stop on a lateral. His hands were warm now as he unhitched her. The wires around her body were removed. His tongue strolled over a breast reigniting feeling into it and causing it to throb. The cloth was removed from her head and allowed her arms to fall before her. But the only thing she could see now was his face before he
rs. Feel his measured breath on it as his eyes danced with curious passion.
“You belong to me now,” he whispered, his voice deep and soothing.
“Yes,” she gasped. “I belong to you.”
He leaned just a little and hoisted her limp body over his shoulder. Draped over his shoulder, she rode away from the most incredible evening of her life.
* * * *
Staggering into the house, Brian found himself in the wine cooler. Without hesitation he grabbed a bottle of bourbon and half a bottle of scotch. With mindless incredulity, he trudged the stairs, sat in the chair in his father’s room and rolled a joint.
“Oh, God, Morga…” He was filled with a sensational hopelessness. “Oh honey, what have I done?” He lit the joint to drink down it’s essence wishing it were a happy draught of poison to take this away from him. “A switch.” His mind filled with nothing but the sight of her, a fantasy that he had reveled in so long, a fantasy that led to nothing more than frustration.
“And I put the world’s finest disciplinarian together with what is quite possibly the all-time champion of submissives.” It made so much sense then. How could she train people so well if she hadn’t been there herself?
Straight from the bottle, the first stream of white-hot flames rolled down his esophagus and boiled in his stomach. “A switch, and she never told me.” His tears flowed profusely as he held the joint to his lips and hit it hard. “Never told me, Morgan.” But then again he never told her. He merely assumed she didn’t have it in her to lie down for a man. And because he had seemed so content to be the baby in the family, something he always was, she interpreted that as eternally submissive... Never believed he’d grow up.
Oh, Jesus, he prayed, knowing the bond that Jerry would create with her tonight would be eternal. No one ever experienced Jerry without falling in love with him, not even Brian. And Brian had squarely placed Morgan under Jerry’s foot.
Just then the door thrust open and there stood his mother, shivering with rage. Cheryl stomped into the room, a wad of papers clenched in her fist. Glowering, she screamed, “This is your fucking fault, you know.”
Suddenly angered, Brian’s half-lidded gaze trained on her. “You’re giving him a divorce finally?”
“This is your fault! If you hadn’t introduced him to that fucking slut, Morgan, none of this would be happening. He thinks he’s in love with her. There’s some shit in the neighborhood that he’s going to ask her to marry him. This is your fucking fault.” Like a lunatic, as she threw a pen at him. “So the least you can do is witness this shit and take them to him in the morning. Thanks to you, I’m not safe around here anymore. I’m not safe anywhere in the United States. Sign these fuckers!”
Quickly, Brian leafed through to the last page. Her signature was already there. He needed only to sign his name, which he did quickly. And then raggedly, he stood. Like a malevolent mountain about to explode with the searing white heat of molten rock, Brian rasped, “If ever you hurt Cherry I’m gonna kill you. I wouldn’t hack you open with an ax if you were on fire. Don’t fuck with my sister. And now you can leave.” Violently, he shook with rage.
“This is not your fucking house! I’ll leave when the fuck I’m ready to leave.”
Brian picked up the bottle of bourbon, his expression turned to something so vicious and evil she didn’t recognize him. He didn’t even feel familiar to himself. Without warning, he raised the bottle, ready to break it over her head.
“Brian! I’m your mother!”
“No.” His voice was low and rumbling like a volcano ready to erupt. “You’re not my mother. You’re someone who spread her legs to get knocked up so you could have this.” His arm raised and allowed the scotch to pour out, yet he was ready to smash her skull. “All you wanted was the money and you laid down with Alex. But Alex wasn’t gonna marry you, was he? Nope. Just a stipend for you, a piddly amount of child support. But Jerry wanted his nephew raised in the family, didn’t he? Jerry married you. YOU! A bottom-feeding opportunist. Even your sister Colleen said you’d die for the money and I thought she was fucking with me. Everything they ever said about you is true. Get out, Cheryl. Get out!”
“I’m your mother! I hope you and that bastard both rot in hell.”
His muscles inflated with a kind of rage he’d never known. He saw nothing but the most vivid color of red hanging in the air like an ethereal mist. His arm struck out; the bottle hit the wall. With a deafening shattering, the bottle broke into shards and the scotch splashed like a tidalwave.
He held the neck of the broken bottle, able to do serious damage to her throat. “GET OUT!”
With her eyes trained on him, her expression unremorseful, she backed away. “You’re a fucking lunatic like your father.” And then she turned and ran away.
Unable to any longer sustain himself, Brian fell to the floor with a thud. Copious tears with a debilitating realization assaulted him now. One more spew of lies from her mouth and he might have killed her just then. He laid on the floor and heaved with the regret of his actions, the regret of having left his father. The horrible remorse for having been gone for ten years. The unendurable guilt of having given him someone that could reawaken him to the possibilities of living a happy life and that someone was Morgan. Morgan who had once upon a time loved him and he knew what that was. It was quite simply salvation.
“Oh, God.” His stomach convulsed so violently its contents were expelled onto the carpet. “Oh, Baby… And you saved him like you once saved me.” Another flood of contrition, of self-condemnation swelled through him and his heart broke into sputtering shards as the hope for the life he once lived burnt out.
Unable to rise, he grabbed his cell off his belt and hit three.
* * * *
Cherry Abernathy sat in her own hell, so very much alone. She always hated to be alone. Her thoughts twisted around the labyrinth of her life, her mother a dead-end, her father the trail of breadcrumbs leading out of it. And then there was her son. His grandmother was about to turn his life inside out. And what the hell had their mother done to Brian?
She hated being alone more than the people she was with sometimes. But since her father’s trip to St. Maarten, since she met that beguiling witch of his, aloneness seemed the only possibility.
She poured another drink and made for the door. There was always something about the ocean that soothed her. With the ocean she wasn’t alone, its constant murmuring, sometimes soft and soothing, sometimes violent and crashing at her, but she was never alone.
Her hand on the knob, the phone rang. She winced to the sound of it. It was a human being, not some Olympian goddess able to visit sensual passions upon her. Yet she conceded to humanity and went to the phone.
Full of her dismal mood, she snarled, “Yeah.” But the only thing that greeted her was the most tortured sobbing, the most agonized of all pleading, a sound that summoned death. Quickly, she looked at the LED. “Oh, God...Brian, honey, what is it?”
“Cherry!”
“Oh God, honey, what happened? Is it Dad?”
“No. Things are such a fucked-up mess around here. I can’t handle it anymore.”
“Brian. Brian, listen to me.” But she didn’t know where to go with it. Listen to what? What kind of advice did she have to offer other than to hand him the knife to cut his throat. Panic assuaged her as easily as an angry ocean. “Brian.” Tears dripped from her own eyes.
“Mom’s gone.”
Cherry hesitated, her tears stopped by the thought. Mom’s gone, she thought and sighed. She was just a little ashamed it was relief. “How?”
She expected to hear car accident, suicide, beating. “She’s leaving the United States right now.”
A little stunned, Cherry heard his drunkenness in his lack of coherence. “You mean she’s not dead?”
“No, she just made me witness the divorce papers and she’s leaving for good.”
Shit, she thought. “Okay, Baby. And she told you it’s your fault, righ
t?”
“Right. And it is.”
“Baby, this is not your fault. She’s fuckin’ with you the way she’s always fucked with Dad and me.”
Adamantly, Brian shook his pounding head. “It is my fault, Cherry. You told me about Dad’s new sex therapist and that he brought her to St. Maarten for the weekend...”
“Yeah...”
“I introduced them. Rather, I gave Dad her card because...”
“Because he was in desperation for some tender affection, someone to throw him a life line.”
Brian paused. He hadn’t thought of it that way. Hadn’t realized that’s what his father had needed so desperately. But now that he knew what he knew about his mother, the affliction was like a terrible hemorrhage that left him slowly bleeding to death, the coldness creeping over him bringing it ever closer. “Morgan is the woman I’ve been living with for ten years.”
Only silence greeted that statement. And then he heard the most tortured wailing ever to escape a woman. “Brian, what the hell are you thinking?”
“I thought Morgan was going to punish him.”
“Oh, Brian, honey, you are fucked up.” In horror, she began to cry.
“Cherry, I need you.”
“I know. I haven’t even unpacked yet. I’m on the next plane.” Frantically, she paced a moment. The aloneness she felt earlier suddenly felt like a diagnosis of cancer. “Hang on a minute, there’s a call on the other line. Please tell me you’ll wait until I come back to you.”
“Yeah.”
Hurriedly, Cherry dialed out on the other line.
“Hey,” was the happy greeting.
“Renee, it’s Cherry. Listen to me, this is important. Whatever you’re doing drop it, because Brian is in trouble. He sounds suicidal.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she cried.
“I’m gonna keep him on the line until you get to the Mansion. Hurry.”
“Oh, Jesus. I knew this was gonna happen. Five minutes, Baby.”
