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From: corvidae1@aol.com (Corvidae1)
Subject: (ASS/M) RP Nothing Like The Sun: 12 (F/m, nc) 2nd Try.
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* * * *
Nothing Like The Sun
By L.Corvidae
Chapter Twelve: The Mummy of
Damocles
Friday Night
We battled that night like two ships from an old pirate movie. The courts
thundered with the sound of our volleys. Each of us was determined to win and
we were banging off the walls ourselves every bit a violently as the hapless
rubber ball was.
In the end it went to another tie breaker. She'd switched days and we'd both
just come from work; which added to the fact that by the time the tie-breaker
started i was played-out and barely keeping my feet. After tying the game
six-all, it began to slip away from me at last, and in the end She won 11/ 6.
A crowd that had gathered just outside the court burst into applause as the
ball finally hit the hardwood and the game came to an end. The two of us
wobbled on our feet like a pair of drunkards.
As i headed for the locker room, She grabbed my shoulder and in a weary
voice said, "Fuck it! Just get your stuff and meet me at the car!"
"But..."
"Going to YOUR place tonight," She said. "Don't give a fuck how sweaty you
are!"
A short drive later we were in the elevator up and leaning against one
another for support. The first thing She did upon entering my abode was to flop
on my couch and let loose a long, weary sigh.
"you're getting better," She observed.
"Thank you, Mistress."
"Drinks," She ordered.
"uh..."
She managed a wan smile. "Water would be fine michael. Get whatever you like
for yourself."
i went to the kitchenette and filled two glasses with ice. i put one under
the faucet in the sink, the best i could do, and poured a tall glass of coke
for myself. i fully expected Her to switch the glasses once i rejoined Her.
Instead, She picked up the water, craned Her head back and held the cool,
dew-covered cup to Her throat.
"michael?"
"Yes, Mistress?"
"Does my glass have a... smurf on it?"
"um..... yes, Mistress."
She gave a fatigued little laugh and then suddenly seemed to snap back
awake. "OH SHIT!"
"Mistress?" i asked as concern washed through me.
"Damnit! I left something in the car!"
The butterflies began to take flight in my gut. After all, i HAD lost.
"It's in the trunk," She said handing me the keys. "Only thing in there,
'sides the spare, so you'll know it when you see it."
"Okay," i sighed, wrenching myself up off the soft couch.
"Calm down, michael, I'm not a machine, you know."
i looked at Her curiously.
"Just want to go over some ideas for tomorrow," She explained, interrupted
by a yawn.
i trudged down to the car and popped the trunk. Inside there was only a
magazine with an airbrushed drawing of a terrified young woman hog-tied on the
cover. THE ART OF BISHOP, the title read.
i leafed through it on the ride back up to my apartment. It was filled with
airbrushed and pen-and-ink drawings of comely young women in a variety of
extreme and often disturbing bondage: ideas for tomorrow.
i thought Mistress was asleep when i came back in the apartment, but She
roused Herself slowly and patted the cushion next to Her, inviting me to sit.
We leafed through the book, each of us going through our drinks quickly. She
picked out some poses She liked and had me identify those that particularly
excited me, out of both fear and lust. Her yawns were infectious and soon i
found myself blacking out and waking with my chin on my chest. After the third
time She finally relented and said, "Okay, we'll deal with this tomorrow. Got
some ideas, probably should call it a night."
i escorted Her to the door and just before She left She turned and planted a
soft, quick kiss on my lips.
"What was that for.... Mistress?"
She smiled coyly. "Do I need a reason, michael?"
"No, Mistress."
"Good."
"See you tomorrow, Mistress."
She had a strange smile on Her face. "Not if I see you first," She said, a
little TOO coyly.
i waited until She was on the elevator and closed the door. i lacked the
energy to give Her words and actions a second thought. i was so tired i
scarcely noticed the odd taste in my mouth left over from the soda; and what
thought i did give it was to chalk it up to not having brushed my teeth.
i barely made it into the bedroom and crashed flat onto the mattress like a
felled redwood. Sleep came a second later.
* * * *
That night my sleep was troubled by a weird and terrifying dream. Mistress
was a barker at a carnival freak show (though She was dressed more like a
circus ringmaster) and the "freaks" were all people in the kinds of extreme
bondage She'd shown me from the book.
i only remember two now. "One" was really a pair of young women, twins i
guess, whose bodies were severely strapped together face to face. Mistress went
over to them and in a voice reminiscent of Jack Palance in his Ripley's days,
said, "Behold! Truly never were there such DEVOTED sisters!"
She pulled an "X-ray" screen over, revealing that the two women were
impaled at their mouths and vaginas by two-headed dildoes. The nameless sisters
squirmed and made faint, grunting sounds.
The second "freak" was much more vivid in my mind. "His" - for somehow i
just knew it was a male - body was wrapped in bandages like a mummy and he was
"seated" astride what looked for all the world to be the peaked roof of a
doghouse. Weighted balls, like a convict's, were chained to each ankle, so that
he was slowly being split in two by the "roof." One of the weights was pitch
black and the other was a bright gold.
"Behold the saddest denizen of our twilight menagerie!" Mistress cried. "The
Mummy of Damocles! Forever being pulled in twain by conflicting wants and
contradictory needs. TORN!" She yelled, tapping each weight as She spoke,
"between the carnal delights of the dark and the simple, wholesome pleasures of
the light!"
She leaned "in" close and Her eyebrows arched sinisterly. Only something
about the image was wrong.
i realized i wasn't watching this all from the perspective of the spectators
- i was watching it from the point of view of the mummy!
"And if you listen close..." She whispered into my wrapped ear, "you can
still hear him screaming!"
i woke doing just that.
The sensation of being torn apart carried into my waking existence as well,
as my guts threatened to rupture upon waking. i flung the sheets off my body
and staggered at full speed into my bathroom where my bowels erupted in a
massive torrent of liquid shit.
By the time that had passed, my sluices had backed up and i had to fling
myself to the floor, stick my head into the disgusting bowl, and let forth an
equally explosive projection of vomit.
i dimly became aware of a deep-seated pain throughout the entirety of my
body before my intestines were churning again. i careened back and forth, from
siting on the toilet to heaving into it, for ten minutes. Finally, my insides
were exhausted and i was able to crawl into the tub like a dying animal off the
side of the road.
i lay there for a minute, gathering my strength to turn on the water. She'd
poisoned me.
That had to be the only answer. She'd slipped some poison into my soda while
i was fetching Her magazine from the car. Now i thought about that odd taste in
my mouth; now i contemplated Her words and actions.
Why She had done it was beyond me, but before i could go any further, the
phone began to ring. Obviously the psychotic bitch was checking to see if i was
still alive!
my face twisted into a horrible mockery of a grin, i dragged myself out of
the tub and across the floor of my apartment to the phone. It was luck or God
or some power beyond those of mortal men that caused my eye to fall upon the
caller ID before spewing a tidal wave of obscenities into the mouthpiece. The
number was that of my work.
"Hello?" i croaked.
"Michael?" Lindsey. "Jesus... are you okay? You sound horrible!"
"Sick," i replied, "stomach flu maybe." my own words gave me pause. i'd said
stomach flu because i'd come down with that once in high school and the
symptoms had been almost identical. That got me to wondering. How did i know
that WASN'T what i was suffering from? i'd ran myself ragged the night before,
and it was entirely possible my system had been depressed and vulnerable to a
viral attack.
Jesus! I thought about what i'd been on the verge of saying to Mistress.
What had i almost done?
Lindsey had kept oddly silent through all of that.
"You sure that's what it is?" She asked.
"Yes," i replied, certain of it.
"So... I should tell Mr. Christian you're not coming in today?"
"Why the fuck should he care! It's Saturday!"
Long pause. Long, long pause.
"Uh... Michael? It's MONDAY!"
****
Monday
i went through another spell of being violently sick after hanging up on
Lindsey. When i was done i slithered back into the tub. For the first time i
noticed a film of grayish, waxy, congealed sweat covering my skin. i worked the
shower controls with my feet and spent a long time under the hot water, washing
every last speck of filth off of me.
By the end of my shower i was feeling well enough to try and stand on my
rubbery legs. Using halting, cautious "baby-steps" i worked my way out of the
bathroom. my destination had been the kitchenette to try and get some water or
juice into my system, but i halted halfway through the living room.
There was a package on the coffee table. It was wrapped up in the same
paper She'd used for my "gift" of the racquet and it had a card on top.
Shaking, i staggered over and opened the envelope.
She must have scanned the image from the magazine and made the card on Her
computer. The picture on the front of the card was a piece of artwork by
Bishop, the man whose works She'd shown me "last" - Friday - night.
A woman was sitting astride a peaked punishment bench, not unlike the roof
of a doghouse. She had a noose around her neck and bricks tied to her ankles;
she seemed to be swooning from the pain. Inside, in fancy script, it read:
Thinking of you. C.
i was really shaking as i opened the package. Inside there was a video
cassette. All that was written on the label was a pair of dates: Saturday's and
Sunday's.
i didn't want to put it in the VCR, but somehow i had to know. The tape
began with a mechanical whine and i watched with mounting dread as the image of
a man appeared on the screen.
He was clad, head to toe, in rubber, save for an opening at his crotch which
exposed his genitals. His arms disappeared behind his back and he was seated
upon the top of a punishment bench exactly like the one from the picture and my
dream. Each leg was attached to a large, round freeweight, and each testicle
was tied off separately and pulled down the sides by smaller weights. It was
hard to tell with the rubber, but his stomach looked somewhat distended, like
he had eaten a full meal or something. my guts rumbled in sympathy at the
thought of "or something."
His penis was encased in a "cock cage" and there was a clear plastic
catheter sticking out from the tip; the tube stretching away to a point out of
the view of the lens. Ominously, a second clear plastic tube ran from "off
camera" to the subject's mouth.
The time/date stamp at the bottom corner read midnight, Friday. He was
trussed up so well you could hardly discern movement. i hit the scan button.
Only the fast blur of the numbers indicated any passage of time. The figure
being split upon the bench was as motionless as a statue. The tape was broken
up into three-and-a-quarter minute segments for each half hour of "real" time
that passed.
A sudden blink of activity caused me to stop and rewind. A jet of gold had
issued from the man's penis and disappeared down the tube for a moment. You
could faintly hear the play of some primitive pump, and then the fluid
reappeared, streaming down the pipeline directly into the poor bastard's mouth.
i was sitting on the couch as i watched and at the sight of this, fell over
onto my side.
An idea, a horrible impulse, seized my mind. i began to jack up the sound on
the TV until the green bar was all the way across the bottom of the screen.
And if you listened close, you could hear me screaming.
* * * *
i waited in my car, parked on the other side of the street, with the lights
off. i watched her pull into the driveway, kill her own lights and get out.
She had on the same black slacks and silk blouse combo as i'd seen her in
after work a few times before. She walked to her front door with the same
blithe arrogance that marked everything that she did.
i slipped out of my car and ran across the road and up the lawn, keeping my
body low. i hit her right as she was opening the door and shoved her through,
slamming it shut behind me.
She spun to face me, furious. She suddenly realized who it was and for an
instant, lost her composure. i forced her up against the wall, clamping my hand
around her throat.
"What did you do to me!"
Her eyes locked mine coolly. She pulled free from my grasp as if it had been
nothing.
"You drugged me you bitch!" i hissed.
"Yes, michael," she said as if she were talking about the weather. She
turned and began walking away from me, towards the kitchen.
i lumbered after her. She opened the fridge and got out a wine cooler and
took a sip.
"Bitch!"
"Stop using that language in my home michael."
"Fuck you! You fucking drugged me!"
She nodded and walked out through the other doorway into the small dinning
room. She sat down and took another drink from her bottle.
"It's called Rohypnol, michael. It's very popular amongst college boys who
can't be bothered with a little thing like consent when they wish to have sex."
"Oh, and that gives you the right..?"
"YOU gave me the right, michael."
"FUCK THAT!" i slammed my fist down on the table. "FUCK THAT!"
"I'm curious as to where all this anger is coming from."
"You're.... curious? I don't believe you!" i slowed my voice to a drawl,
enunciating each word. "You.. fucking.. drugged.. me!"
"You were never in any danger from the drugs, michael. I assure you I know
how to properly administer medication. The dosage was exact for you build and
weight."
i gaped at her in disbelief. "You don't get it? You really just don't get
it, do you?"
"Frankly, I don't. I've done this many times before with my other slaves
and they never reacted the way that you are. Most of them beg me to do it
again."
"WELL I'M NOT LIKE YOUR OTHER SLAVES!" i screamed at her.
"I'm aware of that."
"Don't I know you are! Don't you think I've read all those stories of
yours? How your slaves are always so fucking perfect and.. and flawless and so
fucking beautiful? There hasn't been a day that's gone by that I don't feel
judged by their standards." my voice trailed off morosely.
"You've compared quite well," she said in a barely audible voice, "until
now."
i had to sit. My gut was still twisting and turning. i felt like throwing up
again.
"You went too far," i said weakly.
"michael, put your fist in your mouth."
i looked up at her, confused.
"Put your fist in your mouth."
"Why..."
"PUT YOUR FUCKING FIST IN YOUR MOUTH!" she barked, blowing her unnerving
calm for the first time.
i balled up my hand and put in my mouth.
"I'm sorry, michael. I don't keep any ball gags in this part of the house,
and I doubt you'd let me put one on you, anyway, in the mood you're in." She
was right about that.
"Now say your safeword."
i gawked at her for a second longer, then mumbled my safeword.
"Say it again michael. Listen to the way it sounds."
i did.
"I've been doing this for quite a while, michael. I could even carry on a
conversation with a gagged slave if I chose. Like a dentist, I suppose. I know
what your safeword would sound like, and I'm telling you that the whole time
you were here, you never used it.
"I know, michael, because I was there; the whole time. I didn't leave your
side for more than fifteen minutes total, the whole weekend. I slept on the
floor, in a sleeping bag, right there beside you, not upstairs. You were never
in any danger and you never used your safeword. I doubt you even really knew
what was going on. Most slaves experience it as a kind of horrible, erotic
dream."
"Can't you see," i moaned, burying my head in my hands, "that's the whole
point!"
"No, michael, I don't see, but I wish you would explain it to me. I never
intended to provoke this violently negative a reaction from you."
"i just... i just can't stand this... not remembering! This... HOLE in my
mind! It's just what... it's just like...."
"Just like what, michael?"
i sobbed loudly. "Just like what always used to happen to my father!"
She didn't say anything for a while after that, just let me sit there and
cry. Finally, She said, "Your father is an alcoholic." It was more a statement
than a question, but i moaned "uh huh!" from the depths of Her table top.
"And he suffers blackouts?"
i pulled myself back into a sitting position. my cheeks were bright,
arterial red and soaked with tears.
"He used to." i said. "He used to come home and say... say all kinds of
things. Vicious things, mean things. About me... about mom... about how the
whole fucking world was against him. But the WORST of it was when you'd try and
avoid him the next day... or maybe express your anger or resentment, he'd look
at you all surprised because HE didn't remember any of it! So... must not have
happened."
i swallowed hard. "And then one day... one day he was driving and the all
of a sudden 'woke up' in the hospital. Didn't know what had happened. Didn't
remember the man and woman on their way to their doctor to check up on their
baby. Didn't remember crossing the center line. None of it.
"He stopped drinking after that... but to this day- TO THIS DAY - he's
convinced that since he doesn't REMEMBER swerving and killing them, that it
must not have happened that way! That it must have all been THEIR fault! You
can't say or do anything to change his mind; and if you try you're just
persecuting him! He's convinced of his innocence because he doesn't remember it
any other way! And i swore, I SWORE i'd NEVER be like that! i'd never wake up
and be left wondering 'what the fuck happened?' 'What did i do?' and you... you
TOOK that from me!"
i couldn't meet Her gaze. my words broke into meaningless sobs.
"Oh my God," She said softly, Her voiced filled with mournful comprehension.
"You were in the car, too?"
i wouldn't look at Her, merely nodded through the tears.
She stood up and walked over to me. She touched my shoulder and i jerked it
away. She took my hand from off the table and gently pulled me to my feet. She
led me into the living room and eased both of us down onto the couch. She lay
behind me, pressing into my back. She began to tenderly stroke my hair, caress
my side.
We lay there in the gloom of the evening and She told me again and again
what a good boy I was for Her, what a brave boy i had been.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I've noticed that when we play games with girls,
you get captured a lot."
Calvin
"Some of us are just irresistable."
Hobbes
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