Switch Pt 02 Of 03

The darkness was complete. My eyes could not adjust to it enough to discern even the vaguest outline of any object in my bedroom. The black had a gravity to it, as if it pressed upon me and made it difficult to stand up straight. I was lost—as lost as a child abandoned in the forest to the predation of wild beasts; as lost as a prophet forsaken by his God to the cruel justice of a wicked empire; as lost as a man from whom Death has stolen all hope of meaning and joy. In my disorientation and sudden fear it was as if I had been disemboweled. The infinite blackness of my interior self had spilled outward and now engulfed me. I was drowning in it. "Esme!" I shouted into the void to my own astonishment. Of course there was no reply.

"Sir?" A voice in the darkness. "Are you quite alright?"

"Who is there?" I cried out, trying to control my breathing.

"Just a moment, sir," the voice responded. A match was struck and put to a paraffin lamp, and a man's face emerged from the shadows. His visage was unknown to me. The years had worn lines and sunk hollows into his countenance, but his age was indeterminate. His hair had retreated, but not fled entirely. It was only somewhat grey, as were his eyes. His skin had loosened and he had acquired slight jowls, but his chin was square and firm. His clothing was decidedly unfashionable, having passed out of style many years ago.

"There," he said, "That's better. Now, sir, this way if you please." He turned to walk away.

"But where are we going?"

"You pressed the switch, did you not, sir?"

I admitted that I had.

"Very well, then. This way, please."

I followed, more from fear of being left alone again in lightlessness than from any wish to accompany this strange individual to any particular place. We walked. Impossibly, my bedroom seemed to have vanished. Where solid walls had been, there was now a vast emptiness. The weak light of the lamp illuminated little and obscured the depth of the surrounding dark. I was too astonished to protest, or even to ask what had become of my abode. In truth, I was in no small measure afraid.

We walked on. Presently, a flickering light appeared from off to one side, its source hidden from view. It became apparent upon our approach that the light emanated from a chamber on our left. I was not prepared for what awaited us there. Above us a wooden pole the size of a caber hung horizontally, suspended from the ceiling by lengths of chain. Metal eyebolts were attached to the underside of the pole, through which shorter lengths of chain had been threaded. On the ends of those chains were . . . women. Five women were bound with their hands manacled above their heads. They had been strung up so that they were forced to stand on tiptoe. By appearance, the women ranged in age from about twenty well into middle age. All were stark naked. They had been groomed to remove all body hair save the hair on their heads and brows. Their eyes pleaded with me for . . . I could not say what for. They could not speak; their mouths were choked with metal and rubber horse bits. Clamps connected by fine trace chains squeezed their nipples. Angry red welts covered their thighs and abdomens, betraying harsh punishment for offenses real or imagined. Their ankles were fettered by heavy metal cuffs joined by a stout chain that looked just long enough to permit a hobbled gait. Their feet, like the stone floor, were filthy.

It was an appalling sight. What could these poor wretches have done to deserve such torture? But there was worse to come. The wall torches that lit the chamber generated an insufferable heat. The prisoners were damp with sweat. Their hair was matted to their faces, necks and shoulders. Their glistening bodies aroused me; for that, I was surprised and ashamed. And speechless.

A woman clad in shiny leather approached us. Her dress was tight and short. She wore leather boots that extended to her thighs, and fingerless leather gloves up to her elbows. Her hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail gathered into a silver coil at the back of her head, increasing the severity of her appearance. She was clearly in charge of these pitiable captives.

"We need a girl," said the man with the lamp. The woman cocked one eyebrow and smirked lewdly, as if she shared with us a degenerate secret. Then she walked to one of her younger charges and released her from the caber. The mistress led this debased creature to us. "This is Merry. Use her as you will."

"We need her services only as a guide," said the man with the lamp.

"Only that?" asked the woman.

"Only that."

"Very well. Merry, show these men what they wish to see. Do as you are commanded. God help you if you disappoint them, or me."

"Yes, Mum," said Merry, her eyes never lifting from the stone floor. I did not know how Merry's Mistress intended for us to "use" Merry, but when she learned she was only to be our guide, I saw both relief and disappointment cross Merry's face. Everything about this place was too strange and aberrant to comprehend.

Mistress was not finished. "You will remain cuffed and shackled, Merry. These, however, will need to come off." With that, Mistress cupped Merry's left breast. In one motion, she removed the clamp from Merry's breast, drew the nipple into her mouth, and suckled for several long moments. Merry gasped, then moaned. Then the process was repeated on Merry's right breast. Again, Merry gasped when the clamp was released and her breast sucked hard. And then she was given to us.

Or, rather, to me. To my surprise, my escort had slipped away while I was fixated on Merry and her mistress, leaving only his lamp on a small table that I had not noticed before. Merry's gaze now disquieted me. Her dark eyes held shadows that evaded understanding, and yet they were strangely familiar. Her unruly black hair might have curled were it not damp and clinging to her skin. Her features were small and fine; her figure neither slender nor voluptuous, but well-proportioned. Her nudity captured me completely; I could no more tear myself away from the sight of her breasts and belly, her rump and her bare pubic mound, than I could have willed myself to fly.

Merry picked up the lamp and walked away from me without a word, her gait deformed by her shackles. I followed. Her bare buttocks stirred feelings in me that I thought had absconded forever with the loss of my beloved. Yet it was her eyes that occupied my mind. Impenetrable, unreachable, unfathomable, luminous, breathtaking—Merry's eyes possessed all these qualities, and more. In the endless depth of those orbs were joy and melancholy, beauty and terror, guilelessness and corruption, aloofness and intimacy. None of this could I have explained to another soul, for it made no sense to me, but the truth of it I felt in my bones.

In the grip of my fevered imaginings I must have been distracted, for now two men walked alongside Merry where none had been before. They were considerably taller than she, and equally naked. I supposed them to be athletes of some sort from their lean, muscled physiques, and from the confidence with which they bore their nakedness. They had none of the softness indicative of affluence and indolence; rather, judging by their carved shoulder muscles, deep back groove, and small, rounded buttocks, they could have been sculptor's models—for Michelangelo, perhaps, or Bernini.

Each of the men held one of Merry's arms at the elbow. It would have appeared almost sweet but for the tension and rigidity of their grip. They stopped before a door. One of the naked men opened it with his free hand. Light and noise flooded the passageway in which we stood. The men hurried Merry into the room, with me in close pursuit. As I stepped into the room, however, a third man came forward and blocked my path. He was as naked as the others, and equally well muscled. The brawn of his shoulders, chest and arms seemed to strain at the skin stretched over them. Where most men are soft in the middle, his abdomen was as lean and cobbled as a London street. He could have been hewn from granite, so hard and chiseled was he. He smirked as he barred my passage with an outstretched hand.

"No further."

He planted his feet, and I saw that his thighs were like tree trunks; I would not have been able to move him aside in any event. The head of his enormous erection bobbed once, twice, as though acknowledging me lewdly with a nod.

"I am with Merry," I said. "Let me pass."

"No further."

A small drop of fluid appeared on the head of his erection. The man was an obscenity—and yet, startlingly, I felt my own manhood stir, and drops of fluid escape within my trousers. I raised my hand in a reflexive gesture of surprise and terror, but my adversary snatched my wrist before I could bring it to my face. "You are surprised?" said he. To my horror, he brought my hand to his member and caressed himself. He leered. "There are many surprises in this place."

In a panic, I found the strength to wrest myself from his grasp and recoil from this beast. More liquid dampened my trousers as my organ strained against the fabric. How the monster had caused me to lose control of my body I could not say—but neither could I deny it. The power of speech had fled from me; my rebukes faltered and collapsed without escaping my mouth. My captor made no further move against me, but continued to block my path.