When the Dark Wins

The rustlings, the rip of zip teeth, the jangle of buckles...the gasps and small cries. I’d known, but I was unviolated, and I wanted to stay that way. I hadn’t dared to turn and see what they were doing for fear I’d attract attention.

On the floor was evidence of civilization. Clothes. A diamante ivory dress with a bodice of fake gems. Chiffon and lace. Black and ice. In the open middle where the sofas faced, was a three dimensional work – shiny steel pipes led from ceiling to floor, parts clamped to each other. A geodesic decorated rug covered that middle area – dense black with thick interlocking lines of red and orange.

Two women were locked into the scaffolding as if ready for a construction workers’ ball.

One had her hands high, tied above her head. Classic, kinky fucking position.

One was tied in a bent-over position, from chains that hung from a steel-frame cube. A pipe led into her ass, another led from within her mouth. She breathed and wriggled, and didn’t bleed, which was how I knew the pipes didn’t run all the way through. Guess she was a showpiece. Above her back, her arms were locked in a sleeve of black leather, with the wrists of the sleeve chained to the pipes. Her legs were spread in a V and locked to the floor.

Black thigh-high boots with chrome heels and buckles.

Obscenity in steel.

Bent over offering. Strapped and tied. Gagged with steel too.

“We have theme nights. This one is Construction. Let me introduce you to everyone.” Isak gestured at four men on the sofas and at Vitor, who stood near the bent-over and chained girl, with his hand running along her naked back.

Vitor extracted the inch-wide pipe from her rear orifice. No soft dildo decorated the end. Steel had been in her and I couldn’t tell where it had been seated. Inside her pussy? His caressing fingers dripped with lubricant and left a shining trail over her vertebrae. He reached her ass and his hand partially disappeared from view. The girl grunted, legs shaking, her spine bowing as he no doubt screwed those fingers into her.

The man didn’t even look where he was going with that hand. He kept his eyes locked on mine, his smile fixed.

His hand seated itself deeper, worming in as he fisted her.

The girl rocked back and forth in her cradle of chains, grunting louder and louder around the pipe in her mouth.

“You know Vitor.” Isak nodded toward his obedient man-pig then at the nearest seated man. “And this is the mayor – his wife turned out to be a collectable. This is the local head of police – he likes to fuck the girls in handcuffs. You’re going to forget who they are after tonight.” He rambled on, saying more names.

Men in suits, blond and bald and dark, their faces already blank.

Remember, remember. Blond. Dark. I stared. The blur where their faces should be frightened me beyond anything Isak had yet done. I couldn’t even see them. Isak was deleting them from my head.

The dark curls on Vitor’s head looked perfectly formed and neat. He was suave, and confident as a snake about to swallow something plump, something with a beating heart.

Isak kept talking – words that meant nothing.

Vitor extracted his hand and stuck his cock in the girl instead. There was blood at her mouth now as the pipe bumped her lips.

“Two of these are new. Women arrested for minor offences who I found were susceptible. Vitor makes sure we let them go after these little parties.”

He’d chosen an odd man to be his conscience.

More than five women in total then, over the years. He’d lied, hadn’t counted ones like these who were casual captives. How many had he made fuck him and his friends?

Isak had cultivated the most influential, local men. The best of the worst.

With my hand in his, he led me further, through a break in the sofas then he sat and had me stand before him. A metal tray lay on the sofa. The contents had slid noisily when he sat and disturbed the upholstery. Scissors gleamed, as did clamps, sharp things, and strange devices.

My throat burned as if he’d stuck something metal down there.

“That’s got your attention,” he murmured. “Inch up your dress and hold it so I can see your nice bits.”

Nice bits? Demeaning term.

I strived to disobey and my hands obeyed him not me.

“Let me see that underwear I gave you.”

It matched my satin and silk, raspberry-red gown.