by Amy Cross
"Is John the Pig in tonight?" I ask eventually.
"Might be," Wolff replies. "Who's asking?"
Without even bothering to reply to such an inane question, I grab my beer and struggle through the crowd. John the Pig is perhaps the one person who can help me. A short, stocky man renowned for his bald pate and his bright pink skin, Tim the Pig knows more about London than anyone I've ever met. He could tell you why the Angel Islington turned against the Plantagenets, or who pushed the Bard Elder into the Thames at Bright Point, or whether the weak timbers beneath Earl's Court are ever likely to break. I'd never previously thought to ask him about the likes of Mr. Blue and Mr. White, because I believed the matter to be too arcane even for John the Pig's scope. Right now, however, I'm out of ideas and I figure I might as well give it a shot.
When I finally get to the far corner, I spot John the Pig sitting alone, drinking from his pint of beer while he observes the chaos around him. Despite his diminutive stature, John the Pig has earned a great deal of respect around these parts, so he's generally allowed to sit undisturbed. This, of course, suits him perfectly, since it enables him to watch the other patrons and listen in to their conversations. That's the best way to describe John the Pig: he's a watcher. He watches and watches and watches, soaking in all the information that comes from the mouths of those around him. He's also very careful and very discreet; he never looks at the people to whom he's listening, but instead tends to glance in completely the opposite direction. He's a dangerous man, but he can be very useful.
"I need a word," I say, sitting next to him.
"Quiet," he spits back at me. "There's a man in the next booth, talking about the Beetle Market. He says it might be moving to Camden. There've been complaints in Hammersmith about the smell."
"I don't care," I reply.
"You should," he says, fixing me with a beady-eyed stare. "If they move the Beetle Market, who knows what's next? The Flesh Weavers won't like it, and the Loom People will rise up in revolt!"
"I don't care," I say again. "I'm not here to chat shit, John. I need to know if you've ever heard of a certain group of people. Three of them, to be precise. The first goes by the name of Mr. Blue, the -"
Suddenly, John the Pig clamps his hand over my mouth and stares at me in shock. "Don't say that name!" he hisses as I struggle free, disgusted by his foul, shit-smelling hand.
"Jesus Christ!" I splutter. "Where do you keep those fingers? Up your arse?"
"Go fuck yourself," he spits back at me, but I can see from the look in his eyes that something has changed. Whereas a moment ago he was interested in the conversations around him, suddenly he seems entirely focused on me, and there's a new edge to him, as if he's nervous.
"Come on, John," I say, keen to get straight down to business. "We both know you owe me some decent information. Tell me what you know about these people."
"I don't know nothing," he replies.
"Bullshit. Tell me."
He shakes his head, staring at me with his eyes wide open in terror. "Where did you even hear those names?" he asks, before jumping down from his stool. "I don't know what shit you've got yourself mixed up with, Mr. Pope, but it's really none of my concern. In fact -" Suddenly, he turns and runs off through the crowd. Abandoning my beer, I race after him, struggling through the sea of drinkers before finally I spot John diving out through the back door. It takes me a moment to follow him, but I soon emerge in the alley and quickly gain on him, grabbing his collar and hauling him back into the shadows before he can get away.
"Tell me everything," I shout, pinning him against the wall. I put extra pressure on his shoulder, just to make him realize that I'm serious. "I can already feel your collarbone starting to bend, Pig. A little more force, and it'll bend so far it'll snap. Do you want that?"
Short of breath, he stares at me as if he expects me to rip his heart out at any moment. "I never thought you'd be part of this," he splutters. "No offense, Pope, but I always thought you were a piece of shit, mixed up in nothing more than a few mundane heists here and there. But that's all in the past. What matters now is that you understand I'll do anything I can to make your life easier. You got that? Consider me your humble servant, and rest assured that I'll never, ever breathe a word of this to anyone!"
Hauling him across the alley, I throw him against the opposite wall before pinning him against the brickwork. "Don't bullshit me," I say firmly. "Just tell me every damn thing you know about Mr. Blue, Mr. White and Lady Red."
"I don't know anything!" he squeals. "Not really! I mean, I've heard the names, but that's all! There's been information on the table in the past, but I've always preferred not to look. You can tell Lady Red that I'm completely safe! There's no reason to worry about me!" He struggles to get free, but I'm holding him too tight. "Which one are you, anyway?" he asks. "I could see you as Mr. Blue or Mr. White."
"I'm not one of them," I say. "I'm nothing to do with them. The only connection I have with them is that they want to kill me! Unfortunately, killing is something they're very good at."
"You're not one of them?" He laughs nervously. "That's a little hard to believe, Pope. You're looking very healthy for a dead man, and if they wanted you dead, trust me, you'd be dead by now."
"A few hours ago," I explain, "they killed Inspector Arthur Matthews of New Scotland Yard. At this very moment, they're probably outside my home and very soon they'll realize I'm not going back there. That's when they'll realize I'm running, and then they're going to start hunting me down. And do you want to know something funny, Pig? If they do track me down, and if they do hold a knife to my throat, do you know what my very last words will be?" I pause for a moment. "I won't say anything eloquent. I won't pray to God for my soul to be saved. No, I'll tell them that I got all my information from you, you little piece of garbage. I'll tell them you squealed your heart out. So if you want to live, if you have any hope of seeing the sun come up tomorrow morning, I'd suggest you tell me what you know and I'd suggest you tell me right now."
He stares at me for a moment, and finally a nervous smile spreads across his lips. "It's kind of hard to talk when you're holding me against the wall."
"Try," I say firmly, pushing harder against his collarbone. Just an ounce more pressure, and it'll snap in two.
"What do you want to know?" he asks. "It's a fucking big story. Where do you want me to begin?"
"What's this game all about?" I say. "Give me the potted history."
"It's old," he says. "No-one knows how old exactly, but it's very, very old. At least a century, probably two. The history and the rules are set down in a book that remains at all times in the hands of Lady Red. If you want to know the full details of the game, you need that book. But good luck getting to see it. You see, Lady Red's the guardian of the -" Suddenly he pushes me away, almost knocking me to the ground. I momentarily lose my grip on his collar, and he scrambles a few feet away before I grab his leg and haul him down to the ground. Pulling him closer, I climb on top of him, turn him to face me and wedge my arm against his neck, determined to make sure he can't get away again.
"Nice try," I say. "Keep talking."
"Fuck!" he shouts in frustration. "What do you want from me, Pope? These walls have ears. If I talk to you, they'll find out, and then my life won't be worth living."
"You're life isn't worth living now," I point out. "It never has been."
"I've told you everything I know," he splutters. "Lady Red's the one who's in charge. Mr. White's always the enforcer, the one who deals with problems as they arise, and the one who uses the really kinky stuff. It's all about sex, you see. Mr. Blue's the one who secures the girls initially and tests them before passing the successful ones on to the others. The aim is to find a girl who can reach the final stage of the game and then meet the challenge that's laid down in the book, but beyond that..." He struggles for a moment. "I don't know anything else! But I can tell you this: they're the most secretive people in the world, they have connections to t
he most powerful people in London, and they know how to get what they want. And any girl who's drawn into their world, who falls under Mr. Blue's spell... She's history. There's no way back."
"Someone must have found a weak spot before," I start to say. "They're not -" Suddenly, John pulls himself partially free and slams his fist straight into my face, knocking me back. I recover quickly, but it's too late and I see him racing away down the alley. I could probably chase after him, but right now I don't see the point. I already know everything I need to know in order to make a stand, and I'm starting to come up with a new plan.
Elly
Today
"You look nervous," Mark says as he approaches the bed.
I smile weakly, unable to take my eyes off the coiled whip in his hand. Everything about this night has been so soft and sensual so far, and it's a shock to see something so brutal introduced to the mix. I don't like it, but I'm not going to surrender so easily.
"You have to understand the purpose of pain, Elly," he continues, standing before me, his large penis still rock hard between his legs; in fact, it looks bigger than ever. "Pain is your body's way of telling you that something's wrong. Fundamentally, it's your body's way of saying you need to react in order to avoid a threat. It's a vital part of life, but in certain circumstances, it's possible for the mind to dominate the body and push the pain into submission. When you bit me just now, for example, I was able to withstand the pain by forcing myself to remember that it was just a bite, and that I was in no real danger. It's in this way that the mind is able to establish its dominance over the body."
I take the tip of the whip in my hand and run my fingers along the knotted, textured surface. It doesn't feel dangerous or terrifying, but I know deep down that its real power comes in the way that it's used. Although it feels like just a length of material, I know that in the right hands it could cause real damage.
"You've gone very silent on me suddenly," Mark says.
"I don't know what to say," I reply, still touching the whip.
"You can turn it down," he continues. "You can say you don't want this, and I'll put it back in the cupboard. Then, you'll have to put your clothes back on and walk out of here, and we'll never see one another again. As I told you before, you have total freedom and I won't do anything without your consent, but this is who I am, and there are no half measures. You're either in, or you're out. Do you understand that, Elly?"
I nod, not sure what to say. I feel as if I'm venturing into the kind of territory that terrifies me.
"Would you like a demonstration?" he asks. "Something to help you get an idea of how this works?"
"Sure," I say after a moment's pause.
"Get on your hands and knees," he says.
"You want to demonstrate it on me?" I ask, desperately playing for time. This time a week ago, I hadn't even heard of Mark Douglas, and now I'm sitting naked on his bed, waiting for him to whip me. I feel as if I'm already going beyond my comfort zone. "Where?" I say. "I mean... where on me?"
"Just get on your hands and knees," he says. "Unless you want to back out, in which case..."
"No," I say, feeling a new sense of strength surge through my heart. I know I could turn and walk out, but I'd spend the rest of my life wondering what might have happened. Mark's not a bad person, and I'm sure he won't hurt me too much. This is probably on the same level as a little light spanking, in which case it's nothing to worry about. He's probably more bark than bite, so I just need to hold my nerve and let him do what he wants. If this is what it takes to get him to cum, I'm willing to put up with some light role-play.
Taking a deep breath, I get on my hands and knees, and I stare straight ahead as Mark gets up and walks behind me. I hear him fumbling with the whip, getting ready to use it on me. My heart is pounding, almost as if it might leap out of my chest. I don't know if he's going to use the whip on my back or my ass, but either way I can't help imagining what it's going to feel like when the leather of the whip cracks against my skin. Damn it, does Mark really need to do stuff like this in order to get properly turned on? Is he really the kind of guy who gets off on pain, and am I really the kind of girl who's willing to submit to this kind of treatment?
"Elly?" Mark says. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"
"Yeah," I say, trying to hide my nerves. "Go on. Do it."
He pauses for a moment. "You're trembling," he says eventually.
"I'm fine," I reply. "Just do it."
"Are you aroused?" he asks.
I open my mouth to reply, but then I realize it's true: I am aroused. I'm scared and frightened and freaked out, but I'm also extremely turned on. It almost feels wrong to be feeling like this, but I can't help thinking about Mark's desires. It's not the whip that's turning me on; it's the thought of Mark wanting me, and using my body for his own pleasure. I bend a little further forward, keen to give him the best possible view of my ass. As I do so, he reaches closer and runs his hand over my buttocks, as if he's sizing up the area he's planning to target with the whip.
"Try to focus on the cause of the pain," he says. "Try to remember that your mind is in control."
I smile weakly, trying to brace myself for what's about to happen. After a moment, I feel something moving in the entrance to my vagina, and I realize a single drop of wetness is starting to dribble down the inside of my thigh. I take a series of deep breaths, determined to remain in control of my body. I never thought I'd be turned on by something like this, but the truth is that while I'm dreading the possibility of pain, I'm also excited about the chance to break through to another level of intimacy with Mark. This is what he wants, and I like the idea of giving it to him. Whatever he needs in order to be able to cum with me, I'll let him have it. What matters the most to me right now is the thought that -
Suddenly I hear a cracking sound, and a sharp pain lashes my right buttock. I let out a short scream, and I instinctively turn around to face him.
"Fuck!" I shout, dazed by the force of the lashing he just gave me. I knew it'd hurt, but I thought he'd hold back a little. Instead, there's a searing pain where the whip cracked against my ass.
"It's hard, isn't it?" he asks, unable to hide the smile on his face. "Your body's first instinct is to move away from the source of the pain. It takes so much mental fortitude to remain in place, to take whatever's coming."
Reaching down, I feel the sore spot on my buttock. There doesn't seem to be any damage, and I can't feel any blood, but there's a stinging pain along the line where the whip made contact. My heart is racing, but I can't help noticing that Mark's erection looks bigger than ever. It's clear that doing this to me was extremely arousing for him. I can't stop now. I have to keep going.
"The first time is always difficult," he continues. "No-one can conquer their impulses immediately. It takes training. It takes discipline. Trust me, I've spent a long time perfecting this side of my psyche."
"Why?" I ask, still a little breathless. "Why would you even want to do that?"
He pauses for a moment. "I'll show you again," he says eventually. "See if you can control yourself a little better. Just one more time for now, I promise."
I stare at him, trying to decide whether I can keep this up. I know Mark talked about going past my comfort zone, but this is crazy. I can't believe he'd want to inflict pain on me, but at the same time I've got this incredibly powerful feeling in my chest, like a combination of fear and desire. Part of me wants to run out of here, but I know I'm going to stay.
"One more time," I say, getting back into position with my ass presented to him.
"You've got a beautiful body, Elly," he says. "You know that, don't you?"
"Do it," I say firmly, wanting to get it over with.
"Such soft skin," he continues, running a hand over my ass before parting the cheeks slightly to get a look at my asshole. "So firm and tight."
"Just do it," I say. I take a deep breath. Damn it, the way my heart is pounding, I'm worried I might actually pass out
at any moment. I look down at the bed-sheets, willing him to get this over with. As I hear him step back, I tense my entire body and focus on controlling my breathing. "Do it," I say again. "Just do it."
I wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
"Mark -" I start to say, but as soon as I start to speak, I hear the cracking sound, followed by an even greater slash of pain than before, crossing a little higher on my right buttock this time. I let out another scream as I drop flat onto my face, and this time the agony lasts a few seconds and it's quite clear that he whipped me harder. I squeeze my eyes tight shut for a moment, and when I open them I realize I'm close to tears. I can't take this any more. I have to tell him to stop. I don't care what he wants or how much he needs to hurt me in order to cum, I can't do this.
"I -" I start to say.
"Okay," he says, interrupting me. "Let's do something else."
I sigh, feeling a rush of gratitude flood through my body. To my surprise, I feel Mark wiping a piece of cloth across the spot on my ass where he whipped me, and when I turn around I see he's holding a little white towel with a small spot of blood on the fabric.
"Is that mine?" I ask breathlessly.
"Of course."
I reach down and feel a small cut on my buttock. I can't believe he actually broke the skin. Suddenly this all feels far too real and far too dangerous, and I find it hard to understand how I allowed things to go so far. I watch as Mark climbs onto the bed and settles down flat on his stomach.
"Do me," he says, turning to look at me. "Just once. Across the back and the buttocks. As hard as you can. Don't worry, you won't hurt me. You can't."
"No," I say, shaking my head.
"No?" He stares at me for a moment. "Are you quitting, Elly?"
I pause. "No," I say eventually.
"No, you won't do it?" he asks. "Or no, you're not quitting."
I take a deep breath, before getting off the bed and grabbing the whip. I stare at Mark's perfect body and try to imagine causing him pain. Looking down at the whip, I think about how it's going to feel to use it against him. My right buttock is still hurting from the whipping he gave me, and all I want to do right now is climb back onto the bed and make love to him, but I know that's not an option. For whatever reason, Mark needs this kind of interaction, and I know better than to try talking him out of these demands. Even from the limited time I've spent with him, I can tell that he's focused and driven.
