The Deviant Of The Dark Ages Ch 05

Chapter V: Pets Come In Many Forms

The famed sorceress Annabeth was a mess. Her long sanguine hair stuck to her sweat-soaked shoulders and breasts like creepers to a castle. Her grey eyes were raw and bloodshot, staring defiantly ahead. Her chiselled face was cleaved into bulging quadrants of flesh from the strict leather harness that kept her gagged. Her fused arms burned to spring forward into a more natural position, but multiple straps held them securely against her back. Her entire lower body was trembling from the navel down, her innocent pink flower all but kissing the iron rod that threatened to leap inside her.

She was alone in the dungeon cell: Richard had left to return his loyal thralls to their musty home, and Ripper stood outside her door like the watchful hound he was. Her life as she knew it was coming to an unscrupulous end, and her heartless captor didn't even care to see it.

Anna closed her eyes. She wondered if she would be missed. This might not be the end of her life, but it would be the end of her crusade as a force of justice in the world. She thought of her informant, a distressed young woman who would never have the satisfaction of hearing her cruel tormentor had paid the ultimate price. Instead, Anna had fallen victim herself, never to help another unfortunate soul again.

The sorceress focused her attention on her straining thighs, clenching her eyelids against the pain. This was it. She could hold out no longer. Moaning a smothered scream, she relaxed her muscles and braced for impact. Then suddenly a cold hand caught her crotch, halting her descent towards the perilous shaft. Anna opened her eyes in disbelief.

Richard stood before her, having silently returned from his task, now grinning as infuriatingly as ever just inches away from her flushed face.

"On second thought, it might be handy to keep a pet witch hanging around," he mused, moving the oiled shaft out from beneath her. Anna's crotch dropped into its place, leaving her outstretched in a complete split, legs parallel to the ground below. Her overworked thighs burned from their sudden tautness, but her virginity was mercifully intact.

Anna didn't think much of this alternative—losing her powers would be devastating, but becoming a sadistic vampire's lackey for all eternity was a far more daunting prospect. When Richard said "hanging around" he really wasn't joking.

But she was helpless to resist him in either case. She watched apprehensively as his eyes burned red and fangs appeared in his mouth as they had before. He bit his tongue so that small beads of blood began growing there, then loosened her head harness and prised away the hard leather gag, locking lips with her before she even considered articulating a spell.

Though Richard held her head firmly against his, forcefully reminding her who was in control, the kiss itself gradually became as passionate as one between two long-separated lovers. Their tongues danced with each other, his releasing a trickle of sour blood onto hers while it writhed in response. The kiss induced an astounding change in the sorceress: her muscles were rejuvenated, her bloodshot eyes returned to a healthy silver, and her fused forearms went from feeling dislocated to merely a dull ache. She was no better off than she'd been mere seconds ago, but somehow her plight seemed a hundred shades less terrifying. The straps binding her slender figure seemed less intrusive and more natural. Less obscene, and more... pleasing. It was right that she be bound before her master, was it not?

When Richard withdrew, her lips were left hanging slightly open as though shocked at being free to form coherent words at last.

"You are never to use magic against me or my subordinates," said Richard firmly. "You are never to use a spell to free yourself from any restraints I have applied. You are never to use your power to wreak any manner of destruction upon these premises."

Anna nodded dumbly to show she understood. Instinctively she tried to utter a spell to loosen her arms, but a searing pain through her temple made her reconsider. If his other thralls suffered from similar inhibitors, it was no wonder they remained unwaveringly loyal. Every misdeed—or even the thought of misdeed—was met with an immediate dollop of searing pain.

So she was his thrall now, was she? How could a mere few drops of blood hold any power over her, let alone the absolute control he now commanded? She sensed another presence in the back of her mind, a haze of subservient bliss attempting to seduce her conscious mind into letting it swarm her thoughts, but the sorceress was wise enough to keep it at bay. Why was her mind still her own if she was bound to his will?

"Make this harness float," commanded Richard, eager to test his new pet's abilities. Anna found herself obeying before she even considered the request. At her word, the leather harness in his hands lifted gracefully into the air, swivelling slowly on the spot.

Richard clapped his hands together in glee. "Excellent, excellent," he applauded her. She grimaced, pained to see her talents reduced to petty spectacle. Richard smiled as he considered the opportunities his new pet presented, then rushed out of the room and left her swaying helplessly in the air.

***

Sara jerked to her senses, immediately wishing she hadn't. She was suspended by her bound ankles in a small pitch-black room. Her wrists were fused together in solid metal shackles against her naked rear, rendering her incapable of any movement besides a gentle swaying. A stiff gag filled her mouth completely, held in by a tightly-fitting web of straps that filled her nose with the distinctive aroma of freshly-treated leather.

In any other dark chamber, the darkness would only last as long as it took for one's eyes to adjust to the gloom. Here, there wasn't the slightest hint of light to which Sara's eyes could adjust. She could well have gone blind and never realised. Instead her spatial awareness slowly heightened, and she gradually became aware of the trembling forms of others like her—girls stripped of their dignity and bound in the same suspended position. Occasionally they brushed against one another, the spontaneous flesh-on-flesh contact sending a jolt through Sara's body each time it happened. From this she speculated that they were packed quite closely together, though it gave her little comfort to think that a group of unknown naked girls kept her company.

Foolishly she tried communicating with one of them, but a mere huff sounded through her gag. She tried to take a deep breath and found that she could not—there was simply no air to breathe. Her lungs burned in protest and Sara thrashed wildly in a futile attempt to escape. This only made her muscles burn too, and soon her entire body was on fire from within. Her blood had turned to acid: every fibre of her being screamed in agony.

Her throat constricted and she froze, paralysed with pain, as blood rushed to her head. She felt like the slightest prod would split her in two, sending her on a one-way journey over the pain threshold. But as the seconds dragged on, nothing happened. In fact, her heart continued to beat strongly—she could hear it pounding away in the darkness and feel it pumping acid around her helpless body.

Sweat poured off her in rivers. It felt like an oven in here. Sara was ready to die, but death refused to come. She struggled to make sense of the last few memories she could recall.

She'd started to gain their kidnapper's trust. He always seemed so curious about her younger sister, so Sara had fed him bits and pieces of trivia that Fira herself had probably long since forgotten. Her favourite childhood play areas. Her first crush. Short anecdotes about her mischievous exploits over the years. The more she shared, the more William pried, ever more curious about the unique relationship the two sisters shared. "Family love is something I can work with," he'd explained. It hadn't occurred to her to ask what work he was talking about.

She'd been a fool to play along, Sara realised. She'd known all along there was something off about him, but his many cruelties had never seemed to matter to her. It was his blood, thought Sara. She remembered her first taste of it—sickly sweet and filled with false comforts. Its power must have waned with time, for she didn't think him any sort of hero now. How could she? She was currently hanging upside-down in a closet suffocating to dea- well, suffocating—because of him.

But though she now saw him for the monster he was, Sara was still, by some dark power, compelled to obey his every whim. Fira could never know what it was like—being trapped inside your own mind, your body betraying your will, yet remaining fully conscious of the pain you inflict on the one you love. No matter what dark influence might be at play, the sense of guilt and shame was inescapable. So Sara had seen to it that Fira would never follow in her footsteps. Flayed her to the brink of death, she had, and she'd do it again if it somehow freed her from this torturous existence. This was her life now: powerless, burning muscles and the ever-present smell of leather restraints. Fira deserved better than this.

Suddenly the wardrobe door swung inwards and blinding light split the darkness, accompanied by a wave of stale but breathable air. Sara sucked it in greedily, the fire in her muscles receding to a bearable ache.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, Sara watched William enter lugging a squirming figure over his shoulder. The newcomer was shouting all the usual pleas Sara had heard countless times before, not yet realising her manhandler was about the most stone-hearted being ever to befoul the earth.

The new girl was pretty, like all the others, with hair the same colour as her new companions. William bound her ankles and chained them securely to the rack above, making her the thirteenth subject in his growing collection. Sara no longer even wondered at this one's story—she'd seen too many of them tossed into the group already, and not once had William removed anyone's gag to give them the opportunity to socialise. In fact, their heartless captor hadn't even glanced at Sara in what felt like a lifetime—she was just part of the scenery.

William finished hanging the girl and proceeded to gag her, humming a tuneless song under his breath. Once she was gagged like the rest of them, he slapped her cheek and walked out, slamming the room back into darkness. Sara wondered if the girl realised he wasn't coming back for her—that this was it, this was her fate.

She'd realise sooner or later.