The Marechal Chronicles: Volumes I, II, and III (An Erotic Fantasy Tale)
Page 14
He leaned upon a black cane, a roaring lion's head in ivory as its pommel, and looked me up and down.
After my bath, I had found my clothing, or what little there was of it, laid out upon the suite's bed. I was dressed in a body suit of black mesh that hid next to nothing of my skin beneath. A silver mask hid my face from scrutiny and I carried a sort of short whip that Ewan had called a scourge. It was comprised of many strands of soft velvet cording, like an overlong tassel, finishing in a black, leather bound handle that felt good within my hand.
I doubted that it could ever inflict real damage as soft as the strands were, but the heft and weight of it gave me the illusion that I could yet control what was about to happen.
In very short order, that illusion was wiped away.
The elevator came to a stomach fluttering halt and its doors slid open upon a great hall filled with animals and other queer creatures milling about. The rustling of elaborate costumes and voices muffled behind all manner of masks came to a perfect silence in the instant after we stepped into the room.
There might have been one hundred of them, two hundred, even. I could not say, but they each and every one stopped in mid sentence and turned to face us.
My thoughts were a ruddy mix of pride and fear under their regard. Pride to be found at the side of Ewan Crest, my master, and for whom all before us then inclined their heads in an unmistakable gesture of respect. Fear because I knew that Ewan was an extravagant man and that if this masquerade was meant for his amusement and those assembled here, then I would soon find myself the center around which this hub of decadent beasts would turn.
We stepped down among them and they parted like the sea before us. The murmur of their voices surged up in excitement and the line opening before our steps led to what appeared to be some sort of bizarre table.
Our steps were slow, measured, and as we move closer to the wooden contraption in the center of the room, a wolf faced man leaned in and said, "Oh, Ewan...the boxing is going to be wonderful this year."
Ewan gave no answer other than a slight nod then seized my arm as we drew near to what I had thought was a table.
It was not flat as any table should be, but a series of opened wooden compartments. The wood was old, its veneer polished and shining. The surface had been inlaid with marquetry of the finest sort. French craftsmen had placed capering animals etched in precious woods, their colors contrasting with the rest of the piece. There were astronomical symbols, of a quality meriting a place among the most precious works of black magic.
I looked at it and with a feeling of lead settling into my stomach, I could see that it was lined in red velour and in that interior, the velour would hold the form of a four limbed being. A human being. Its parts were articulated with heavy, antique hinges where the joints of a person would be but its soft interior could leave no doubt. It was as much a prison as an iron maiden rusting and blood stained in an ancient chateau, only lacking the needled interior to terminate its macabre charm.
Once closed it would hold a person completely. The only openings that I could make out were at the juncture of where a pelvis would fit, both front and back. There were also cutouts at chest level. Two of them through which breasts might be drawn and punished.
I looked to Ewan, alarm flashing through me, but he did not notice, his gaze intense and staring at the articulated device.
"Master...I can't. Not this time," I said. My tone was low, meant just for him, but he was uninterested.
He called out, "Strong Man! To me."
And the crowd rippled as the mountainous form of the man made his way among them.
I had already encountered him in Ewan's office and he was dressed in the same manner as then. He was enormous in every sense of the word. His height only diminished by his width, and his body sheathed in black leather leaving only his snarled crotch exposed.
He grunted as strode up to us, then turning to me, he picked me up as if I were but a doll, a trifle in his hands, and set me down into the nest of red velour.
Its color was that of blood swallowing me up and I screamed. I had been laid upon my back and I burst upward, my hands gripping the sides of what now felt like a coffin.
"No! No, no, no...."
Heavy hands forced me back down and then wooden doors began closing down upon me, locking me into place as surely as if I had been buried.
The last one was the one covering my face and it was Ewan who lowered it into place. His look was grim as I implored him through the slitted eyeholes of my silver mask, but without sympathy, he closed the lid, shutting me off from the world.
I was in muffled silence. I could not move.
I think that I became stark raving mad for several moments as panic slipped into the cracks of the box, wafting into my mind and sending me into blazing insanity as I convulsed in terror.
Rough hands found my breasts and I could feel them being pulled through holes. I screamed endlessly, sure that my throat was bleeding with the force of it. The horror of being enclosed with no means of escaping carried me down the fly blown alleys of insanity.
My legs were stretched wide apart until I though my hip bones would crack and burst through my overstretched skin and then I felt the beginning of what would soon become an endless procession of fingers, tongues, lips and cocks that prodded at me, nudging me, urging me to respond in kind....
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Table of Contents
Volume 1, The Path
Volume 2, The Hunter
Volume 3, The Prey