Message-ID: <40691asstr$1044429008@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: Toran User-Agent: NewsPro/3.3.5 X-Original-Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 01 Feb 2003 19:49:33 GMT X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sat, 01 Feb 2003 19:49:33 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Story: Shadow Mists (1 of 2) (BDSM, M/f) Date: Wed, 5 Feb 2003 02:10:08 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: hecate, dennyw The following is a work of erotic fiction and is the sole property of the author. It contains elements of bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism.. All comments welcome. Part 1 of 2 SHADOW MISTS By Toran PROLOG The hunger was on me, frightening in its intensity. Romantics would call it passion, realists lust. I called it The Beast. Trickling into me, almost unconscious in the beginning, growing until it throbbed at my temples and pulsed through my veins, it was a thirst without end, a need beyond fulfillment. My eyes grew focused, my head clear, my senses animal. I would neither eat nor drink nor sleep, all three out of the question until I was consumed and satiated by the blood and pain and hopelessness of the look in their eyes, the feel of their body, the frantic little movements, the helpless yielding of their flesh, the strange wrongness of it all, and above all, their desire, their animal desire... I closed my eyes...and felt His eyes open. APARTMENT St. Louis, June 3rd, 1984 Tracie Martin flipped open the single black travel bag - the only piece of luggage that had made the flight from London with her. Her plans of buying as much as she could during her three week stay in the States included buying more luggage to carry back her loot. The exchange rate wasn't that much better and the Yanks were still in the punk phase that had grown old in Britain, but this was her first trip across the pond and she wanted to taste everything, smell everything...feel everything. Even with the six hour jet-lag telling her that this was really 1AM, her first request to go down to the landing right away was going to be honored. She wasn't much of a sleeper anyway. She tossed a tight leather mini and matching red T-shirt on the bed. She was wearing the boots already - her feet were in agony from wearing them all day, but they wouldn't fit in the bag. She was routing along the bottom of the bag for a belt to wear over the mini when her fingers found the first item she'd dropped in, on a whim, when she was packing half a world away and what now seemed like so long ago. Crass popped his head in the doorway - the apartment he shared with his lover was large enough that Tracie actually got a room of her own. His real name was Andrew, but it hadn't taken long for Tracie's mum to coin her twin brother's nickname. Even though the Brass name that was the other pair to Crass had worn off Tracie while she was still a little girl, Crass grew into his name, almost with a vengeance. The purple mane he was currently sporting helped nicely. "Bus leaves at 8, hon." His eyes caught the item Tracie held in her hands and a slow smile spread. "Two peas in a pod, we are. Hold on, I've got the perfect thing for that." Then he was gone. Butterflies alighting in her stomach, Tracie took a deep breath and slipped the thin black collar around her neck. Bought on a whim at one of the fading punker stores on Camden High Street in London, the collar had seemed to be just another punk statement...but this had nothing to do with punk. Not for Tracie. She closed her eyes as her skin registered the tight leather encircling her neck, the dark, musky smell filling her nose. She worked a finger in the collar and pulled, wondering what it would feel like...and what he would look like... There was a metallic click, followed by a deeper ratcheting click and Tracie's eyes flew open. Crass had slipped back in while she was lost in thought. And clipped a thin leather leash to her collar. And locked it on with a small padlock. The collar wasn't coming off now and neither was the leash. An evil grin on his face, Crass dangled the little key in front of her. "Be a good girl, little sister, and maybe I'll unlock that later on." Her stomach flipped and the requisite reach for the key was half-hearted - the collar was locked on and it was out of her hands when it was coming off. And she was leashed...Without warning, Crass twirled her around and delivered a smart crack to her butt. "Bus leaves at 8, little slave...get dressed." Her cry was more moan than anything else. Long after Crass had left her to dress she was standing in the center of the room, eyes closed, a smile on her lips, one hand holding the end of the leash, the other fanning the warm tingle that had started in her ass and spread through her body. And they just made the bus. BAR We were in the third and last set before the swill-hole called Murphy's on Laclede's Landing closed down and sent the pathetic little students back to their drunken weekend grope-a-dope parties. I played with an intensity the rest of the band hadn't seen in me before. Ever. I used Rodford's bass line from the Kinks "Destroyer" as a whip, lashing out and punctuating each transition hard enough that I almost blew my E string. The leather-sheathed slam dancers in front of the small, step-up stage fueled my anger and frustration and I slung it back without thought. By the time I ran U2's "New Year's Day" through the dingy plaster and pipe roof, dragging the rest of the band along behind me, management was giving us the hard stare. There had already been two fights. The music and inherent rage of the punkers started those. I was leading this one. The keyboards and lead vocalist, a sultry auburn tressed slitch that was the "Athena" in the band's "Athena and the Hubcaps", pulled my arm roughly, breaking a fingernail in the folds of my leather jacket. "Shit, Val! You broke my nail! What the fuck are you doing? Stick with the playlist." The fact that we were coming down off a fast and furious run in the sack, much to the discord of the rest of the band, was apparently supposed to mean something. Welcome to the brave new world, baby. Val is gone. Don't screw with what's left. I regarded her for maybe a second, then ripped off the opening of Duran Duran's "Hungry like the Wolf." The band followed - they knew not to screw with me - and Athena shot me a glare that bounced off harmlessly. Steam, baby, steam. Save the whining for the song. I scanned the faces bobbing up and down in front of me, seeing everything through a thin red haze. I barely felt my fingers as they raced up the neck and pounded the fret board. It had been so long since the hunger came on me and I was just pissed that the end of this little soliloquy was over. We could have been a record band. Athena had a knock out voice and our drummer was a punk John Bonham. Six-stringer was coming along and would have tightened up in no time. But it was over. Fucking completely over. It was her friend's purple hair that caused me to snap out of my funk. The flash of purple puff caught my eye and the little brunette standing next to her held it. She was staring at me, with the goggle eye that comes with too much beer and not enough control to fight the music as it wraps you up and holds you, caressing your heart in its hand and throbbing, throbbing... She wore a thin black collar with a leash locked onto it. Her purple headed friend held the end of the leash away from some dipshit in spiked hair and black mascara. As we finished Duran Duran, Athena crying out in one final pitiful wail, I gave the brunette a wink. She pulled the leash away from her friend. I started "Riders on the Storm." The band followed suit, relieved that we were slowing down, unaware that I was cranking up. I let the bass line weave through the smokey air like a black snake, Athena's keys flowing like the ocean at dusk. As I sang Morrison's words into the tinny mike I looked into the brunette's eyes and spoke to her. The punkers, miffed at the slowdown, parted easily as she made her way through the crowd and towards the stage. 'Thena and I played the first instrumental, sharp '70s psychedelic rock stirring the '80s leather and rage crowd the wrong way. Our first two sets had all the punk anthems from The Clash and The Dead Kennedys and every other disenchanted band with a hook on anarchy. This last set was a mix of New Age and whatever I felt like pulling out of the past. And through the restless throng she came, absently holding the end of her leash between her breasts, her lips slightly parted, her huge gray-blue eyes swirling and locked on mine. I caressed her leather-skirted ass with the thumping bass lines sliding off my worn Stratocaster, and pulled her close with my voice. Around me, the band was starting to feel the fresh anger of the crowd, who had as much tolerance for The Doors as they did for rules and capitalism. I blocked it out. The increasing pressure in my head, the return of the unwanted hunger, the murderous desire that would not let me be, all that was lost as I danced with the brunette girl with the silly collar and leash, she swaying to the beat of music long dead and me holding her up with power newborn. Sully, our drummer, caught the first beer bottle in the side of the head. He managed another two stanzas before sliding to the floor and taking his crash and high-hat with him. The bouncers were quick and the bartender-manager was hollering for us to get the hell off the stage. And still she looked up at me from the foot of the stage. Smiling, I gently reached down and took the end of her leash. She stepped up onstage led by the soft tug I gave her collar. A bottle whizzed past then and I moved quickly, scooping her up with my pick hand and slinging my bass over my shoulder. My foot popped the jack cord as I hurried her past the mixer rack and off stage. As we plunged into the pungent darkness of the backroom hallway, her leash slapping back and forth between her breasts, I felt her slide an arm around my waist. God, this shit is too easy. BACKROOM Sully was propped against a full keg of Miller Lite, blood streaming down his face the way only a head cut can. Bubbers, the six-stringer was trying to get it to stop. I unslung the 'Strat from my back, dishing it into its hard case, the brunette - Tracie was her name, I knew that as I knew most things when the hunger was in me - stood in the backroom corner, docile. Athena made a grab for my arm. "Want to break more than another fingernail," I snapped. She recoiled, but the fury was there in her eyes, unchecked. She knew what the brunette meant, or at least she thought she did. "What the fuck did you think you were doing out there? You think we're gonna get fucking paid for trashing their bar, you asshole?" I turned my back on her. Such language for a woman... "I'm outta here," I said to Bubbers. His back stiffened but he didn't turn to face me. "You're not leaving us with the stage, Val." "Sure am, Bubbs." I closed the hard case with a snap, glancing over my shoulder at Tracie, still staring at me, only me, from the corner, her leash laying placidly over one breast. "Besides, house speakers, remember? Monitors too. Not much left after that." Now Bubbers stood, forgetting Sully who was stirring from the floor. "You want your share, you get your ass out there with me and 'Thena and Sul before they trash our shit." Behind him, down the hall that led from the backroom to the bar, all hell was breaking loose. "You don't help tear down and you're out of the band." "Get a good look at my back, Bubbs, 'cause after it walks out that door you won't see it again." It was true. Some doors are one way. "And I'm taking Athena for a few minutes." I grabbed her hand, pulling her close. She resisted at first, then softened and melted into my kiss. She was mine then, for as long as I needed. I swatted her ass. "Let's go, hon." As I took the 'Strat's case in one hand and Tracie's leash in the other - she sighed, her eyes sparkling - Bubbers made his big mistake. His roundhouse clipped the back of my head and I took a quick step forward, almost dropping the hard case. Straightening, I gave Athena Tracie's leash and set the hard case down gently. "Take her out back to the car." I winked at the dull glow and unconscious smile there and turned. Both Bubbers and Sully, still a little dazed, were standing. "You don't want to screw with me, Bubbs," I said mildly. "Not now." He did a half-turn, like he was going to forget it, all of it, then came at me. My heart shifted gears and started pumping copper adrenaline. I sidestepped him, kneeing him in the balls, hard. He went down with a howl. I'd never liked Bubbs. He really believed the punk shit, more than the rest of us. At 24, he had some serious growing up to do. Sully, on the other hand was almost a friend, if a creature like me could have friends. I did Athena because she was there. Sully, I liked. "I mean it, Sul, don't screw with me." And then he came at me, too. I let him come, not sure if I had it in me to hurt him. Lowered head, his shoulders hit me mid-chest and sent me back into the wall, ripping up a Spuds McKenzie poster tacked there. He was jackhammering his fists into my mid-section as I finally decided to let him go, the last good deed I would do for a while. I locked onto the back of his head and brought my knee up, sharply thumping his forehead. He'd have a hell of a headache to match the beer bottle scar at his temple. As he blanked for a moment I grabbed the 'Strat and slid out the back door and into the night. ALLEY It was the cool breeze of the back ally and then the approaching sirens that brought clarity to Tracie Martin. Somewhere during the parade of beer she'd had inside the bar a feeling of hopelessness had enveloped her. I wasn't the jet-lag. It was the leash, she was sure of it. It meant something to her that she didn't quite understand yet. The freaks that wanted to hold it, the assholes that made all the silly, slutty comments - all that planted a feeling of unease in her. She was playing with something she couldn't quite see, but knew of its size from the shadow it seemed to cast. She was playing with fire. And the bass player, the one with the eyes that had looked into her soul and smirked - he knew. He knew what the shadow was. What the shadow's power would do to her. "You know he's a freak." It was the redhead from the band that spoke from beside her. Tracie looked at her clearly for the first time. Late twenties, maybe, pretty, cold. And she was the latest in a long string of many that night to be holding her stupid leash. "Can I have that back," she said, not waiting for the redhead to let go of the leash. The redhead shrugged, letting the leash slide away. She eyed the closed door of the bar warily. "He'll hurt you, you know. You'll think you want it, at the beginning, but by the time you know it's time to stop it'll be too late. She knew, Tracie thought. She knew a little about the shadow. "Maybe it will never be time to stop. Maybe not for me." Saying that started up the little twitch in her stomach, the one that was powered by the butterflies, the one that had never completely gone away while she wore that damned collar. The redhead, Athena was her name, Tracie remembered, sighed. "Maybe you're a freak too. A fucking English freak." The back door of the bar banged open and he strode out, carrying what looked to be a long suitcase in one hand. That's his bass, she thought absently, not wanting to look into those eyes just yet. She would be lost again if she looked there too soon. Athena turned on him, fresh rage clipping her voice. "So this is it, huh Val? Riding off into the sunset with a new queen, leaving the rest of us to clean up your shit and wonder when you're coming back?" Tracie watched him breathlessly. It wasn't the way his tight leather pants that were scuffed at the edges hugged his tight butt, nor the way his dark black hair, jet black, tumbled down his shoulders, nor even the complete gracefulness he had even as he walked over and gently put the case down. It was Him. Somehow he was the shadow. Or at least he had power over the shadow. Still not wanting to look into his eyes, Tracie shifted nervously from foot to foot, very conscious of the weight of the leash hanging limply from her neck. "I'm not coming back, 'Thene. This is it. You don't need me anyway-" The slap was sharp and hard enough that Tracie jerked her head up. He was rubbing his cheek against the crimson mark already starting to flower there. "Fuck you, Val." Athena had her hand ready to give him a second one but he stopped her, not ungently. Slowly, he forced her hand to her side, then kissed her. Tracie saw that Athena was rigid, like an ice sculpture. When he pulled back and gazed into the redhead's face, Tracie saw more pity than warmth in his eyes. She wondered if Athena could see that look, too. Apparently so. "You're an asshole, Val." She turned to Tracie, and for a moment Tracie felt Athena's red rage fix her like a spotlight. "He's partial to blow-jobs, sweetie. Long, slow blow-jobs." Then she was gone, back through the bar's backdoor. He turned and looked at Tracie for the first time since the bar and the music and the haze that had hypnotized her and drawn her in. A slight smirk curled his lip, amusement glinting his dark brown eyes. "So what do we do with you?" The nervous warmth thrashed around in her belly in contrast to the sudden chill on her skin. This was it. This was a threshold, the first threshold. Her normal, strangely unsatisfied life lay on this side. Something dark, and warm, and wonderful lay on the other. In the land of shadows. She took a big breath, lowered her eyes, then stepped through the threshold. "Do what you wish to do with me. Please." She felt his hand lightly raise her chin so he could look deep into her eyes, and she felt a heat in him, strong, unyielding, and so darkly powerful. She would do anything for him, now and forever, she was sure. "Tell me this is what you want," he said, and she knew that it was what he wanted too, badly, so badly. She closed her eyes, feeling alive for the first time. She smelled the spring breeze, felt it gently lift her hair, heard it scatter the paper and crushed cans from an overturned garbage can further up the ally. "I want this. For me. And for you." DRIVE I popped the trunk of the '78 Impala and tossed the Strat in. Somewhere, a part of my mind, the part that was always rooted in the real world, screamed to watch the fucking bass - that it's a fucking Fender Stratocaster...But that was a part that would soon be pushed back, way back, like a simpering child that doesn't know whether he's being punished or forgotten. He would soon be here. The beast. And it was her that was calling it - with every word from her mouth, she was drawing him close. It was a dance, one that she didn't know the steps to. But she could feel the beat, move to it. And he would teach her the steps. Thena's handprint still warmed my cheek, but it was the fight that had gotten my blood going. I glanced at the girl...Tracie...and fought the urge to rip off her punker clothes and toss her in the trunk. The thin line between me and the thing that coiled inside me, the thing that had trolled the depths of my soul and found fertile ground to nest, was never hard to cross over. I could will a wall between me and Him and that wall would stay up for a time. But the volcano blew with the regularity of the full moon - I was powerless to stop Him when He took me. If I wanted to stop Him. Things would be happening soon enough. Things would take on a life of their own. I slammed the trunk shut and walked her to the passenger door, catching the smell of her hair, apple blossom, in my nose. I rubbed her bare arms against the cold, my eyes closed. She was soft and warm and thought she understood where we were going and all I wanted to do was crush her and make her mine, mold her into the creature that would follow me into the shadow mists where the beast lived... She slowly pulled my hand away from her shoulder, face turned up to me and tentatively brought my hand to her lips. Her kiss was soft, her lips trembling, her eyes watching me, seemingly ready to freeze everything at the first sign that I didn't want her to continue...and not finding anything from me to make her stop, she lowered her eyes and pressed her flushed cheeks against my open palm. "I think I've been waiting all my life for you." It was a whisper, barely heard above the rising pandemonium of what was going on in the bar. She looked up again at me and I saw tears in eyes that were so intense they almost looked right through me. "Only I didn't know it." A tear streaked down her cheek, her voice trailing off. I kissed the tear away with lips that wanted to do more, go further. I pulled her into my arms, felt her heat as she pressed into me, her breathing was thunder in my ears. Her heartbeat against my chest became the only noise that mattered... We had to go. I broke the moment and hurried her over to the passenger side. I wasn't afraid of the cops or what was left of Athena and the Hubcaps. I was afraid of what was to come between me and this girl. Afraid of more things at that moment than I could understand. But mostly afraid that one of us would balk at where we were going - loose sight of the path I knew like the back of my hand - and she had just glimpsed. She slid into the cracked leather interior of the Impala like a dancer performing a simple graceful move and I realized that I was lost. The beast was coming - God how he wanted her now...But I wanted her too. I had for years been the chosen tribesmen that offered up sacrifice to the Beast and run away before the Beast did his business. Fear, of course. Fear that I would like what I saw - that He would melt into me and then He would never go away... I slammed behind the wheel and fired up the Impala, not daring to look at her. I honestly didn't know what would happen if I caught her looking at me, with that stupid collar around her neck and the leash hanging limply from it and everything that that implied - the door to the world that would crack open if I just took that leash - not Him. Me. I gunned the engine and we shot into the night, putting wailing sirens and wee-hour bullshit behind us. I had never looked at the women I served up for Him this way. This one was different. So fucking different. She said she was waiting for me. I think I was waiting for her. But He would be here soon. And I would let Him come, stepping aside. Again. ....conclusion follows... -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+