Dark Needs (Tales of Dystopian Decadence Book 1)

by Finley Blake

  “If this had laces, I would just cut this off you. These buttons are far worse.” His glare was full of concentration as he ran his finger down the front, working his way through each button.

  I laughed despite his grumbling and rose as the corset fell away from my body. He pulled me against him and rolled the silky white panties down my thighs. “These have to go, too. I need to do something to you or I’m going to explode.”

  Batting my eyelashes, I grasped the lapels of his jacket in my hands and said, “I have a feeling that’s a double entendre.”

  “It isn’t. I need to fuck you or I’m going to spend the whole night on edge.” He pushed me toward the bed and said, “Get up there and kneel for me.”

  Without a word of protest, I did as he commanded. After living in his home and spending each and every night with him, not to mention attending parties on his arm, I knew Icharus’s moods much better. If he said he wanted something, then he wanted it immediately. The headmistress told me one day over tea that we didn’t need words to strengthen our union. Icharus and I certainly enjoyed everything the other had to offer. But it was the words – the intimate details of our lives that we had shared and the empathy we had for each other – that truly bonded us together. I had refrained from telling the headmistress any details about what our “union” entailed, but I had a feeling she already knew it had leapt beyond business to pleasure, and perhaps something more.

  I watched as he rummaged through the bedside table drawer and withdrew the pair of handcuffs, as well as a few other implements. Icharus walked around the bed and grasped my wrists, pulling them behind me. I arched my back to make it easier for him, and heard the snap of the handcuffs, then felt him tighten them until they bit into the flesh right above my hands. It was just painful enough to remind me the cuffs were there, but not so tight as to cut off my circulation.

  I took a long, deep breath. “The sadist is in,” I murmured when he crossed back in front of me. This was not a side of him I saw often – the side that wanted something hard and fast, with very little play. It was always titillating when he brought pain into our scenes.

  “If that’s what it takes to make me relax, yes.” He picked something else up off the bedside table and held it out to me. “We’ll see just how much of a masochist you are.”

  “That’s something the school never explored much,” I said and looked down at the nipple clamps as he affixed them to my breasts. Over time, I had also become less shy about watching his actions and returning his heated gaze when he was buried deep inside me. He tightened the clamps until I gasped, and then tightened them a bit more. “Oh,” I groaned, looking down at the small cogs around each of my nipples. The pressure forced my soft pink tips into hard, pouting buds that were sensitive to the touch. When Icharus lowered his face to my breasts, I held my breath in anticipation. He darted his tongue over one nipple, then the other. With each contact, my chest heaved toward him and a quiver shot through me.

  Straightening and giving the chain a tug, Icharus grinned. “Does it hurt when I do that?” he asked. When I nodded, he said, “Good. I wouldn’t mind putting you on display like this, in front of the right people. Of course, they wouldn’t get to touch you. Nobody gets to touch you but me.”

  At his words, I felt a trickle of fluid run down my inner thigh. Icharus turned away to pick something else up and looked back at me with a mischievous smirk on his face. He knew what those words did to me…

  “I’m going to have you begging soon,” he said.

  “For what,” I asked in a breathy voice.

  “More pain, more pleasure, and definitely a release.” He held up a long, thick vibrating wand and touched it to first one nipple, then the other. I felt my whole body shudder in response as pain and pleasure shot through me. The constant pressure on my nipples only intensified the sensations and I arched into the vibrator.

  With deliberate slowness, Icharus ran the length of the wand along my abdomen and down to my legs, not even touching my crotch. For long, torturous minutes, he glided the vibrator up and down my inner thighs while avoiding my glistening pussy. He alternated this with tweaks to the chain connecting my painfully constricted nipples, and hard, steady bites on my shoulders and neck. I shuddered against him, especially when my breasts brushed against his suit. My tight nipples radiated throbbing agony throughout my entire body, while transmitting bliss as well.

  He finally drifted the wand over my dripping cunt, lightly at first, and I moaned in frustration. With two fingers, he parted my lips, and gently pressed the tip to my clit. “Oh gods!” I cried, my hips thrusting toward him. The cruel smirk continued to curve the edges of his mouth as he played with me, teasing and bringing me to the edge, then drawing out my agony with licks to my tender nipples.

  “Please,” I gasped as my hips worked back and forth, my body seeking relief from the intimate torment he was inflicting upon it.

  “Please what?” he asked, pressing the full length of the wand against my wet pussy.

  I gyrated and ground my hips against it, desperate to orgasm, only to have him pull it away once more. “Please fuck me!” I cried out in desperation. Of course, I knew Icharus. He wouldn’t do that. Not just yet. He would take his time and let the desire burn long and slow, before alleviating it.

  Icharus bit at my shoulder and reached one hand up to pinch one of my imprisoned nipples, while keeping the vibrator pressed against my clit. I gasped and rode the device in response, until my entire body trembled with the orgasm that I had begged for, the release shattering through me.

  Even before my panting and quivering subsided, he reached behind me to unlock the cuffs and shoved me onto my back. Before I could catch my breath, his tongue licked at my sensitive clit. “No, no, no,” I gasped, wriggling away from him. He gripped my thighs and continued the oral assault, first drilling his tongue into my needy hole, followed by long, hard suckling on my clit. He was merciless, eating my pussy as if he would never get enough, until I came again, my pelvis rocking me against his mouth.

  Once again, he did not give me time to recover. My body still tingled with ecstatic sensation as Icharus drove himself between my legs, his rigid erection filling me in a single thrust. Already limp with pleasure, I could only take the hard cock driving into me, the pinprick of pain emanating from my sore nipples, the teeth clamped down on my throat like those of a rutting animal… I could only lie there as he took me fiercely, and cry out as another orgasm made my entire body quake with ecstasy.

  Icharus shuddered as well and his entire body relaxed atop me. “That,” he muttered against my neck after a few heartbeats, “was just what I needed.”

  ~****~

  The embassy ball was wall-to-wall madness and glamor, a sight most of the people of Los Angeles would never see other than in the black and white of newsprint. What I saw, of course, were the marble floors and glittering white walls of the embassy ballroom, with a full orchestra at one end playing for the couples dancing on the floor just below the stage. The partygoers waltzed in time with the strains of the music, and I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the familiar sound of Vivaldi’s Spring. Like language, classical music was something I adored. Then again, music was a language all its own, and I allowed my thoughts to drift with the lyrical notes.

  When I opened my eyes again, I sipped my champagne and focused on the people around us, paying particular attention when Icharus introduced me to them. I knew he needed me to make as good an impression as ever, even if he intended to send me out of the country once the gruesome deed was done. The dark purple lace of my strapless evening gown stood out in the sea of black and white. Few ladies chose to wear color, but Icharus wanted me to stand out. I was not just representative of a DeVille coup. I was bait.

  “So, son, I see you brought your prize to our little party.”

  At the sound of Mr. DeVille’s voice, I pulled my silken wrap tighter around my arms. Both Icharus and I turned to face his father.

  “Welcome t
o our soiree, Miss Johnstone.” The older man took my hand and I had no choice but to accept his cold touch, while quelling the shudder that threatened to run through me.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. DeVille,” I said, keeping my handshake loose. It took some effort not to simply turn and walk away or, worse yet, perform the deadly deed here and now. But I pasted a coy smile on my face and forced myself to remember my training, if not my manners. “You look even more dashing than your son,” I lied and let my forefinger trail over his palm when I reclaimed my hand from his.

  “Of course I do,” he answered, his tone smug. “And you should really call me Aeron. There’s no need for us to be so formal with one another, especially tonight.”

  I let my gaze rake his body and tried to look pleased by what I saw. “He has large shoes to fill,” I said when I returned my eyes to his. After that, I decided I had exhausted my ability to flatter him. If I had to step up my game to tempt him into a liaison, I was going to need at least a few drinks in me to make the façade more convincing.

  As Icharus turned to shake hands with another guest, Mr. DeVille sidled up to me and murmured, “In many ways,” in my ear, before turning to pluck a glass of champagne off a tray as a server walked by. “If you care to find out more, you could meet me in the billiard room in five minutes.”

  Well, he certainly had made it easy. Icharus was right, not that I was learning something I hadn’t known before – his father was a vile man. I kept my gaze focused on a point across the room and raised my own glass to my lips for a sip before replying in an undertone, “I’ll see what I can do, Aeron.”

  Once he walked away, I caught Icharus’s eyes and gave him a nod. He turned and continued speaking to the woman next to him, sending her into peals of laughter. After another moment, I edged out of sight, and then threaded my way through the crowd until I was in the hall. A casual stroll along it showed the billiard room to my right, and I walked in and studied one of the paintings on the wall.

  After a few tense moments passed, I heard the door close and latch behind me.

  I turned around and said, “So, Mr. DeVille, I’m surprised by you. I thought I didn’t live up to your lofty expectations. You’ve made that perfectly clear every time we’ve met in public.”

  “Yes, but now we are in private, Miss Johnstone, and I have a feeling you can give me exactly what I need.” He crossed the room and gripped my upper arms, his long fingers digging into them so hard, I was sure he would leave bruises.

  So much for playing the brazen seductress. He wasn’t interested in my consent. He was only interested in violating what belonged to his son and to his former mistress. Twisted fuck, indeed.

  “That is,” he continued, “if that school hasn’t trained all the fight out of you.”

  “Oh, trust me, it hasn’t,” I said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps I can interest you in a drink first? There’s nothing like a brandy to release inhibitions.”

  “I’ve yet to meet a woman who isn’t averse to at least something I demand, no matter what she drinks.” His fingers tightened on my flesh and I tried to push aside my rage. I just had to string him along a little more. He sneered down at me and hissed, “I usually just take what I want. I find drinking only serves to make whores like you more acquiescent, and that’s no fun.”

  “Really, Mr. DeVille!” I cried, struggling in his grip. “I did not expect this when you proposed a… a meeting!”

  “Didn’t you? What did you think you would do – seduce me and then enjoy yourself, before going back to the party? That would be no fun for me.” He spun me around and shoved me against the billiard table. I barely managed to catch myself, my arms splayed to either side on the wooden rails. Mr. DeVille gripped the back of my neck to hold me in place, his hand clamping down so hard I coughed for breath. I heard clothing rustle behind me as he said, “Do feel free to fight back. No one will hear you or care once they realize what’s going on.”

  I flailed back at him with one arm and grasped at the side of the table with the other. “How dare you! Why would you do this? I came here of my own accord!”

  “Then no one will believe you if you decide to press charges, particularly against the Regime’s leading financier. The word of a whore means nothing. Your mother’s word was certainly worthless.”

  You. Are. Fucking. Dead. I snarled and struggled in earnest, bucking back against him in an attempt to dislodge his hand from my neck. He only laughed and thrust back at me, then curled his fingers over my shoulders for leverage so he could rub his crotch against my raised ass.

  The fabric of my dress inched up, his movements baring my backside. In another moment, he would be between my legs, trying to hammer himself into me. He hadn’t even considered giving me pleasure as Icharus did; only violating me as brutally as possible. And why? To show his power within the Regime, to shame his son, and to desecrate my mother’s memory.

  Not going to fucking happen.

  My little show of fighting had gone on long enough. I finally let my flailing hand drop to the bosom of my dress, pulled out a tiny derringer, and cocked it. I felt his hands hesitate on my body. “One more move and you will be in a world of pain,” I hissed, pushing away from the table so hard, he stumbled back away from me. When I turned around, Mr. DeVille had recovered from his surprise. His hands were raised, but he wore a smirk on his face.

  “Oh my, you do like to play rough,” he said in his rumbling voice. “This is going to be much better than I anticipated.”

  “How I like to play never has been and never will be your business.” I glanced along the billiard table and saw his champagne glass sitting there. A couple of strides brought me to the glass and I reached once again into the bosom of my dress, this time to remove a small vial. I uncorked it with my teeth and poured the contents into the glass. “Enjoy your drink,” I told him, picking up the glass and offering it to him.

  “What if I don’t drink it?” he asked, taking it from me with one hand, the other still raised in the air. “Will you shoot me?”

  “Yes. As you said, no one will hear the commotion, not with the party going on.”

  He sniffed at the glass. “What did you put in it?”

  “Just a teeny bit of good old-fashioned arsenic. You won’t feel a thing if you choose to drink it. Consider it the clean, easy way out.”

  “Hm, two ways to die. I suppose it’s a matter of picking my poison.” He smiled at his own humor and then raised the glass. “To your health, Adette Johnstone.”

  I watched as he downed the champagne and set the glass back on the table. “Thank you so much for not make this messy,” I said, a feral grin curving my lips while I waited for him to die.

  “Why, not at all, though I must tell you something.” He leaned toward me and whispered, “Considering the position of power I’m in, I’ve spent years building up an immunity to arsenic and all other poisons known to man.”

  “Oh my,” I answered, pressing my free hand to my chest. “That is bad news, indeed. Now let me tell you a secret.” I lowered the gun and my voice as well, and stepped close enough to let my lips brush over his. “That wasn’t a poison known to man.”

  I watched with pleasure as he drew back, a shocked expression on his face.

  “Thought I must admit, I lied,” I continued, with a shrug. “You will feel something, but it’ll pass quickly.”

  Mr. DeVille opened his mouth and then leapt at me, his hands wrapping around my neck. Even as he shook me, I felt his physical strength ebbing. He tried to strangle me, but to no avail. His grip loosened until he slumped to the floor. As soon as the low, watery gurgle from his throat ceased, I knelt and checked for a heartbeat.

  Nothing. Nothing but one dead Regime bastard.

  I tucked the derringer back between my breasts, straightened to my feet, stepped around his body, and found my way back to the ballroom.

  Chapter 12

  “Are you sure you won’t stay?”

  I held my hat to my head
as a particularly strong gust of wind kicked up at the port. “No,” I answered, gripping the valise in my other hand. “You’ve secured my freedom. Now I want to get out there and see what I can do to help others.”

  Icharus sighed and reached out to place his hands on either side of my face. “I thought, given everything, you were falling in love with me. We could still give it a try.”

  With a sad smile, I tried to think of how to answer him. I could tell him the truth – that I did love him, but… “I don’t want to take any chances. You’ve been good to me and I don’t want the truth of my crime to come back on you. Thank you for everything, especially this opportunity.” The lie came out more blithely than I’d expected, and I rose up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek so he couldn’t see the tears shimmering in my eyes.

  “Maybe we’ll meet again one day,” he said when I stepped back from him. “The Constitutionals always know where to find one another.”

  “Maybe,” I responded, my smile faltering, then returning. “Canada isn’t that far away. It’s getting there that’s the tricky part.” Regime border control was strict and if you didn’t have the right papers, there was only one way to bypass it – smuggling. Fortunately, Icharus had secured me legitimate passage on an airship, but I feared his good standing within the Regime wouldn’t last much longer after my departure.

  I gave him a small wave, trying much too hard to look happy, as if I were going on a vacation somewhere luxurious and beautiful. Then I turned on my heel and strode up the gangplank of the airship. When I looked back over my shoulder at him still standing there, I couldn’t help but blow him a kiss, followed swiftly by tears.

  ~****~

  Once we were high above the city, flying north toward the Canadian Free State, I reached into the pocket of my plush black overcoat and withdrew the small, square envelope bearing the seal of St. Eden’s School for Young Ladies. I broke the red and black marbled wax, opened the envelope, and removed the folded piece of paper to read the headmistress’s words to me.