by Gayle Keo
“Mistress,” Dana said adjusting the ropes. “The wolf-man still refuses to – oh? What have we here?”
“We have,” Vanessa said “a wayward witch with a tribute; three new slaves to test.”
“And I thought,” Dana said, “that this was going to be just another boring night.”
“That’s gross,” Mai said walking up to the tormented Jason.
“What you see,” Vanessa said, “isn’t half as gross as what it feels.”
And to demonstrate Vanessa took up a riding crop and slammed him on the fur between his legs. Jason half howled and half shrieked, twisting in his bonds.
“It continues to resist my charms,” Vanessa said. “Perhaps Mai, your gifts might help; if your tributes are well and truly enthralled.”
Mai walked into Marla’s view. She clipped a delicate, filigree silver chain to a collar that Marla didn’t know she wore. Without a word Mai handed the chain to Vanessa and in that moment Marla felt the soothing hand on her soul evaporate. She was suddenly filled with rage. The hand on her leash directed that rage and jerked her face to face with Jason. The werewolf’s eyes were filled with hate and Marla’s eyes were filled with heartbreak. Then Marla was yanked away.
“This is just too much,” Mai said, “Just too much. Is there like a bathroom someplace? I need some cold water and to – you know.”
“Save Brittany,” Vanessa sang. “Show our guest to the powder-room.
“Aces,” Mai said. “Brittany, is it? You’re cute.”
“Now,” Marla said when Mai left, “show me something slave.”
Marla felt life in her limbs. She moved and she found a whip in her hand. She snapped her head. She looked about. Laird was lashed to a rack, his hands and ankles bond by wood stocks. Janet stood by like a naked zombie. Jason hung in agony.
“Marla pet,” Vanessa said. “Show me what a good slave Mai has brought me.”
“Yes Mistress,” she said in a voice she didn’t know.
“Lay on.”
“Yes Mistress.”
With a will of its own her arm reared back and lashed. Jason wailed as the thongs laced his chest. Marla’s head burst as she watched her lover’s pain at her hand. Vanessa and Dana laughed in delight. They cuddled, reveling in the mingled pain wafting through the air. Laird was squealing like a girl as Marla lay lash after lash onto her lover.
Jason shrieked and cursed. Marla wanted to wail and weep as she was forced to torture her lover. She wanted to turn and slash that vile woman. She wanted to whip the witch’s tits open. But she had no will of her own and her body acted like Vanessa’s puppet. Jason began to bleed.
“I think,” Vanessa said, “that Mai has brought us something special.”
“I think,” a new voice said. “That Mai is ever so much smarter than you.”
Laird stood free. But it wasn’t Laird. It was Laird as a female. His slender, delicate wrists and ankles easily slipped their bonds. Naked and free she walked to Dana.
“You can’t,” Dana said with a forced laugh. “It’s impossible.”
Laird smiled, touched her forehead, and the Hroth woman groaned, then collapsed into a glimmering golden ball.
“Touché, alien boy,” Vanessa said. “Or girl. Now do you think you have what it takes to go mano-a-mano with me? In my house? Under my magic?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mai said sweeping into the room. “Look what I have.”
Mai held an old, worn corn-broom. It was the sort of thing that every household had in that place between the refrigerator and the cabinets. Hairy dust clung to the twisted bristles. The naked slave standing with Mai held a Benz-o-matic blow-torch and a Bic lighter.
“You scheming little bitch!” Vanessa said.
Vanessa hung bound and gagged in Jason’s place. Jason lay on the elegant bed, Marla and Laird at his side. They tended his wounds with a soothing balm that Brittany had brought. In his half transformed state the werewolf trembled, but his eyes were clear and forgiving. Marla’s eyes welled with tears. She kissed him softly.
Suddenly squeals of joy filled the dungeon. Janet and Rachael wept and laughed as they hugged and kissed. Other slave-girls looked about in some disbelief, rubbing their wrists where their manacles had been.
“I’m sorry I had to deceive you,” Mai said. “But it was vital that Vanessa smell your fear. If she had any hint of suspicion we’d have all been grease spots. Funny though; in the end it was her own sadistic lust that brought her down. They were so intent on torture that they just missed a few things. Stupid bitches.”
“I don’t care,” Janet said sobbing in joy. “I just – thank you.”
“So,” Brittany said timidly, “what’s going to happen to those two?”
“Well,” Mai said. “Dana is going to stand trial at The Haig. I’m sure that Laird will see to that.”
“I will insist,” she said.
“And as for witchy-poo,” Mai said strolling to the struggling woman. “We’ll think of something.”
“Can we go home now?” Janet asked.
“All in good time,” Mai said. “Wolf-man has to heal. In the meanwhile, this is such a lovely palace. Let’s do some exploring. You can thank me properly in prettier surroundings.”
Marla gazed down at Jason, stroking his slowly receding hair.
“It’s alright baby,” she cooed. “Everything’s alright now. “We’ll all go home soon, and then everything will be like it always was. Just the three of us.”
“Um,” Laird said.
“Oh, right.”
THE END
Another bonus story is on the next page.
Bonus Story 10 of 36
For the Melody
A single drop of water, cold and shimmering, worked its way down a real crystal glass. The condensation caught the flicker of warm light from the single taper candle at the center of the table, slid down the stem and over the base, carefully eking out a long wet ribbon. It hung on to the base for just a moment, like a hiker perched over a cliff; a perilous trembling blob of water, held in place by its own tension. It looked as if it might stay there, perfectly balanced along the smooth edge. Then a second droplet came rushing down, following in the wake of the first. It bombarded against the hesitating droplet and both went tumbling across the edge to the expensive red cloth beneath. There is sat maintaining its soft circular shape right before the cloth gobbled the droplet down. Poor little water droplet...didn't stand a chance.
It was the most interesting thing that Melody Quinn had seen since walking into the restaurant.
She glanced at her phone, a cheap but sturdy pay-as-you-go from the Dollar General. It steadfastly informed her that it was 7:15. Melody held back a wistful sigh and ran her finger over the rim of her water glass, disrupting multiple drops of water. Her date was officially fifteen minutes late.
A swell of anxious fear rose up in her gut. There was a chance that show as about to get stood up. It wouldn't be the first time, just the most recent, and a fitting end to a day that could only be described as terrible.
She turned her gaze from the growing dark ring around her cup and looked around the restaurant once more. It wasn't that she had this enormous thing for being punctual. A person had every right to be late from time to time, but she really thought that a first date shouldn't be one of those times. Then again, maybe people in New York City didn't care about punctuality the way they did down in Wisteria, Georgia.
For the millionth time that day Melody regretted her hasty decision to move. It wasn't the fact that NYC was loud, or crowded. Melody came from a family of nine brothers and sisters. She was used to everything being loud and, having grown up in a three bedroom house with all of them, knew how to handle crowded. It was all the other nuances that she couldn't seem to get a handle on. Like the fashion, or the move fast attitudes, or the lack of common courtesy that she had grown up with.
Like not letting someone know when you were running late.
“Did you still want to wait?�
��
A woman, tall and slender, with a fine crop of hair too perfectly black to be natural looked down an aquiline nose at Melody.
Now here, Melody thought to herself, was a woman who looked like she belonged in New York. The other woman may have been clad in a uniform of a button down white shirt, black vest and matching pants, everything else about her screamed modern and forward thinking. Her wrist was marked with a simple tattoo, almost hidden behind a chunky watch. Her eyes, already luminously dark, were decorated liberally with liner and her full lips were lacquered with a color deep enough to be called plum. Melody would never have worn such a dark shade to work. She didn't even think that she could pull off that color without looking, as her mother would have put it, sinful.
“I...uh...”
She pulled the fancy menu towards her and tried not to wince at the prices. Why was everything so much more expensive here? Maybe it was the fact that there were only seven tables per restaurant, and everyone wanted to be trendy. She resisted the urge to sigh again. Even if her date didn't show up she needed to eat? If she was very careful the rest of the week she might be able to afford something now.
She wasn't sure that she had the courage to walk out without ordering anything anyway.
“I don't mean to intrude, miss, but perhaps you might suggest something?” Melody asked, fully aware of her deep Georgia twang.
The woman's lip quirked up, and for just a moment Melody could see the tiny plastic circle a the side of the waitress's lip that signified she had taken out some kind of piercing. With a blink it became apparent that there was another one at her eye, and several more up her ear. It surprised Melody. Not because the woman had them, in her two months in the great big city she had grown accustomed to seeing all kinds of body modifications. No, what surprised her more was that the woman wasn't wearing them at work. Facial piercings didn't hold quite the same stigma in New York as they did in Wisteria.
“Well, that depends,” the waitress, who was lacking a name tag completely, said, “what are you planning to get as a main?”
“I...don't know.” Melody dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I've never had Thai food before.”
The woman blinked at her, they her plum colored lips spread into a glamorous smile. “Are you for real?”
Melody lifted her chin, feeling a little put off. “Well I'm not imaginary, now am I?”
The waitress's laugh was infectious. She shook her head until the crop of dark hair looked prettily rumpled around her pixie like face. “Fair enough. Are you a vegetarian or meat eater?”
“I like all foods,” Melody responded.
The waitress bent over and Melody felt the startchy brush of the uniform top against her cheek. A moment later she caught the wiff of baby powder and mint. It was a very nice combination.
The woman's nail, painted a shade of blue so dark it nearly looked black, poked at an option near the very top of the menu. “Our coconut and galangal soup is really great. We got a write up about it in The Times a few weeks ago. But I suggest if you go hot with the appetizer, go cold with the main.”
Melody followed the trail of the waitresses finger as she pointed out several options. At the end of it she decided on the soup, and the beef carpacio. How bad could it be?
“You wont regret it, I swear.”
“I hope not,” Melody thought out loud, musing on her dwindling bank account. “Thank you for the-”
“Hey!” A rich masculine voice seemed to boom out of nowhere. Melody jerked up and there stood her now half an hour late date. He wasn't half as attractive as the picture he had used on his profile. That's what she got for using a dating site. He was at least ten years older than the picture, and hadn't bothered to neaten up his several days worth of stubble. He hadn't dressed up either. It was jeans and a long sleeved shirt. Melody glanced down at her little black dress, which had seemed vastly appropriate to the prices for the restaurant. His face would have been handsome if it weren't twisted up in frustration.
“Did you already order?” he demanded.
“I..” she stammered, “I thought...it got to be a little late and...”
“I got held up at work.”
“I didn't...I mean...there wasn't a message.” She plucked her phone up off the table and double checked to make sure she hadn't missed a text or a call. “I thought..”
He made a sound of complete and total disgust. “So what? A man is a little late and you think that you can just go on without him?”
Melody was confused. She didn't understand why he was so angry or what he meant by 'going on'.
“Sir,” the waitress said, managing to turn the polite phrase into a term of condemnation, “I haven't even put the order in.”
His look twisted even further into an all out sneer. “Back off dyke-bitch.”
The restaurant went utterly quiet. While some people had already been watching the drama unfold, now nearly every head in the restaurant was turned in their general direction. A deep rose color had welled up in the waitresses cheeks. Melody could see the line of tension in that pretty face as the woman clenched her jaw. Her lips parted, and Melody could already see that anger fueled words were going to just spill out.
“Now see here,” Melody said, standing up and disrupting whatever outburst had been prepared. She placed herself easily between the angry waitress and the frustrated almost-date. “that kind of talk is beyond unnecessary, it's rude. You can leave.”
“What?” he demanded taking a step forward. He surged to a full height, apparently trying to use his masculine bulk in intimidation. Melody had five brothers, and an Aunt Ruth who could have topped his height. She was in no way impressed.
“Apparently your hearing has gone the way of your good manners,” Melody felt her deep southern drawl come out along side her cool anger, “I made it abundantly clear that I no longer wish for you to share my table, or my evening. Go.”
He glanced between one and the other and cursed under his breath. What he said Melody couldn't quite hear, but she understood the meaning well enough. He took a single step away, and Melody thought that the scene had concluded. She started to turn and felt the brush of the other woman's hand on the inside of her elbow.
“Thank -” she started to say.
“I just want to know one thing,” the man cut in, “if you weren't actually interested in men why bother going out with me?”
“I am interested in men,” Melody said, “You just don't happen to be one.”
This coolly delivered comment brought out a deep an unexpected rage. He surged forward and Melody did the only thing a girl raised in the crux of southern hospitality could think to do.
She picked up the cold glass of water and tossed it in his face. He stood there, looked as if she'd hit him with a cast iron skillet. His eyes big and round as droplets of water gathered on his chin. A cheer and applause went around the small dinning area. Melody felt her own cheeks go red with embarrassment, but she did not take her eyes off the man. It was at that moment that a manager, at least Melody assumed that's what the man in the button down shirt was, came out and escorted her would be date out of the building.
“Wow,” the waitress said as the chatter started up around the restaurant once more; this time with excited volume, “that was...classy.”
Melody patted her blonde hair, double checking to see if her movements had ruined the careful style. “I can't abide rudeness.”
“Sweetheart.” She plopped her pale hand on her hip. “You are in the wrong city.”
*****
“How did it go?” Yuna asked the moment that Melody walked through the door of the simple two bedroom apartment that Melody could never had afforded on her own. It wasn't just the help of a roommate, but a stipend from back home that kept her from living in one of the less idyllic parts of New York City. She was grateful.
Melody stood in a living room that looked like a whirlwind had gone through it. Yuna, her roommate, had promised to have it all cle
aned up before Melody got home. That had apparently not happened. Yuna's clothes, easily picked out since most of them were in day-glo bright colors or studded patent leather, were sprawled over every available surface. Yuna was into alternative clothing. If Melody was being fair, Yuna was into pretty much alternative everything.
The woman herself was sitting at the tiny island that separated the kitchen from the rest of the two bedroom apartment. Her hair was kept in a series of rich dark braids that swayed as she moved. Her pants looked like they were pulled from the 80's, with a few punk rock nineties embellishments. Her tank top was just barely enough to cover her swell of breasts, and left her very flat, very tattooed skin on display. A carefully manicured hand was gingerly navigating a spoon through the contents of a pint of ice cherry and chocolate cream.
Melody's ice cream.
It was pointless to try to bring it up. Yuna would just say that she'd replace the ice cream later and not get too bent out of shape about it. They had taken part in that conversation at least seven times since signing the lease together. Melody was already looking forward to the lease being up. She hoped that she had made some friends by then, or made enough in her new job to find a smaller apartment somewhere else.
Yeah, she snorted inwardly, right.
“It...sucked.” Melody dragged a hand down her face and hung up her purse on the hook inside the tiny front closet. Here, at least, there was some semblance of order. Her jackets were hung up and her three pairs of shoes were still lined up neatly. She tugged off her simple black heels and placed them next to her more professional flats.
“That bad?”
“He showed up thirty minutes late to start with. Didn't even send me a message to let me know he was running behind.”
