House Of Syn Ch 01

(I ask that any who even think of following this type of fetish go get a blood pathogens test done for both partners. The risk to your health is incredibly great. With that note of warning enjoy the story)

Chapter 01: Father of Syn

Pulling the car to a halt in the parking lot of my club I shut off the old beast and open the door. It protests being opened with a casket like creak. Getting out I stretch, inwardly cussing the unholy hour of the day. I look at the setting sun and want to flinch away from it. Grabbing my sunglasses from my pocket, I clamp them to my nose hiding my eyes from the light.

Looking into the windows of my black T-bird I agree with my reflection ... it's too damn early. I walk away listening to the engine with it customary pinging of cooling metal. The smell of hot oil and brakes is in the air around it.

I unlock the large wrought iron gateway and push the doors open. The first guest will be coming in soon.

Beth will be here sooner.

I smile thinking about my wife. She called me and woke me to see if I would come to the club early today. Like I would refuse her anything.

Especially this.

As I walk past the tombstones draped in dead roses I check out the front of the club. With the sun still up it has the same feel as a haunted house in the daytime. Like something's not right about seeing it before dark. Like a very important part of it's being is missing.

I run the tips of my fingers across Aleister Crowley's stone. My black nails catching in the granite's rough texture. Reaching into my jacket I take out a single red rose and lay it on top of the pile of withered ones before the stone. His is one of the most popular in the graveyard. Among the men at least.

Elisabeth's Bathory's stone is almost hidden under the piles of roses.

As I stand up a yawn threatens. Like the prophet I wish I was asleep. Maybe just like him. I shrug away that thought. Tonight was going to be fun. I need to stay on an upbeat as much as I can.

Looking up at the dark neon lights above the door, I smile.

'Sanctuary'

Home.

Unlocking the thick wooden doors I swing them open. The inside of my club seems to protest the light as it comes through the doorway. It eats it, swallowing the offender whole into its dark depths.

Just as it swallows the part of me called Todd.

I give a shrug and a side neck pop as the part called Syn steps to the forefront. Walking through the hanging chains and into the large open entrance. I flip on the lights by the doorway. Again I feel an almost angry grumble from my club as I wake it too early. I smile. Like me it will enjoy this night enough to be worth the indignant awakening.

Especially when Beth gets here. Beth? The name sounds almost strange to me now. Looking into the large black framed mirror opposite the door I see myself realize why.

Syn doesn't really know a Beth.

He knows a Baethny. Baethny the Daughter in Syn.

My daughter? No...but most of the people who come here think that. I grin at my white haired reflection. I aged quickly my hair going white before I was thirty.

Baethny...well she could on a good day maybe look twenty. Not bad for a woman approaching thirty-five.

I walk down the red carpeted hallway to the former chapel in this old funeral home. Past the doors that open into rooms where bodies where shown. I look into them as I pass seeing the various themes. The sweet smell from the leather room, that acidic smell that new leather has. It had cost us a fortune to have the walls done in leather but it had been worth it just for that smell.

As I walk past the bondage chamber I see a whip has been left out on the table. I cross to it and shiver at the sensations of pleasure pain I feel from its worn handle. I hang it on the wall next to all its brothers and sisters. My fingers brushing the thongs as I walk away. I can almost feel the hot crack across my spine again as I pass an old friend of mine. I run a finger across the soft leather top of the whipping horse just as I leave the room.

In the chapel I go to the long bar with it massive wooden top. A single peace of wood twenty feet long, five feet wide, it's top a swirl with intricate patterns and whorls. The legend goes it was sawn a century and a half ago from a massive tree in California. It lived most of it's life after that in a brothel in Texas.

It's a good legend. I started it myself.

Getting a lighter from the bar I go around and light the dozens of incense bowls, the drifting smoke from them only strengthens the now permanent smell of sandalwood and frankincense the room will forever have.

I lower the five massive candle chandeliers down to the tabletops they hang over. I light the hundreds of candles, replacing the few dozen that have died and gone to candle heaven. As I pull back up the last one I see a single drop of wax fall to the table top under the first one I lit. The chandeliers would weep hot tears all night.

Going to the bar I reach under it and open a small sliding panel. I pull out one of the few remaining bottles of true European absinthe. I've have had them smuggled to me by friends over the years. I opened this bottle last Saturday and it's all but gone. Counting the remaining bottles, I know I need to make a few phone calls some times soon. I'm getting out sugar cubes and glasses when I hear Baethny's bike pull into the parking lot.

Knowing I have a few minutes, I go through the ritual of properly fixing a drink of absinthe. There is just enough in the bottle for her and myself a drink. I sit the empty bottle on the dark wood bar mourning its loss. I watch a single wet line run down it's side. I pity that waste.

The trickle of cold water melts the sugar cube as I ever so slowly poor it over the silver spoon. When it gone I give the drink a stir with the spoon watching the white green liquid. The anise scent comes to my nose and I wonder again how many thousands of these drinks this spoon has stirred. The spoon, unlike the bar top, really is over a hundred years old.

I can hear her heels even on the carpeted floor of the hallway.

As she steps into the chapel I start my eyes at her feet. The five-inch black stiletto boots encase her to the knees in shiny ebony. The crisscross of black fish nets starts there and running up her thighs to just under the edge of her short skirt. I can see the clamps of her garter belt pulling at their tops. The short skirt of black Spanish lace rides atop an under skirt of red satin. Her midriff is bare above the wide shiny belt that encircles her narrow waist. A red bra top shows through the short sleeved jacket of black lace. At her throat is my collar. It's metal ring begging for it's leash.

Maybe later.

I watch her take the dark purple Gargoyles from in front of her eyes. The kohl above her eyes making them shine out at me. She shifts her head and the shadowy black hair with its red tips falls in front of her face hiding it from me.

My eyes drop to the silver armor ring on her right hand. The razor tip glitters in the pale candlelight. The jeweler who made it for me thought I was crazy to have a ring made with a scalpel on the end of it, but then he doesn't know me.

Or Baethny. The Daughter in Syn.

My eyes go up from the ring across the black lace gloves she wears to the dark bands of tribal tattooing that runs up her arm and across her shoulder. I'm one of the very few who know that it does covers her 'whole' right side. Only her face has nothing not given by needle and ink.

I don't speak to her, nor she to me. We never have, not here. Not in 'Sanctuary'. Here there is no need for words between us. Only need for... need.

Not taking my eyes off her, I never do when she's in the mood I know her to be in, I reach over the bar to flip the switches. With a thunder of sound all three sound systems start up. I turn the dial and lower the volume to manageable levels. Set to different genres of music they fill the bar with soft sounds that blend with no kind of harmony, but impose one by shear will. 'Siren' by Theater of Tragedy, wars for dominance with piano by Chopin. My vote is for them till the powerfully angry cello of Tina Guo comes alive.

I pick up our drinks and take Baethny hers. The thick glass a swirl with cloudy greenish white.

Baethny takes hers and inhales the scent. She moved the glass from under her nose to met mine as I lift mine in toast. There is no need for words. We both know the toast is to each other.

I watch her shiver in pleasure as I sip at mine. The green anise a sweet bitter rush of flavor across my tongue.

Sitting her glass to the side half-finished she glides the last steps to me. She rests her face against my chest, looking down I can feel a tremble in her as my hands come to rest on the soft lace on her shoulders.

Beth told Todd earlier on the phone that she had been having a 'bad day'

Syn knows without words that Baethny has spent the day screaming.

I lift her chin with a hand and look down into her eyes. I kiss her. I taste her lips reveling in the mixture of her and absinthe that my tongue gathers in. The soft feel of her lips, the slick feel of her dark black lipstick.

I feel cold metal on the side of my face as her lips pull away. I watch unmoving as she backs up a step. I try not to shiver as I feel the scrap of the side of her ring across my cheek. I watch her dark eyes as it goes over my jaw and crosses my jugular. Her hand stops at the top button of my shirt.

A curl of her finger and the button drops to the floor. I watch her unblinking eyes as it brothers soon join it by my feet. She slides my shirt off my chest. It comes to hang like a black kilt around my belted waist. At her silent command I back up till the back of my thighs are against one of the big tables. I feel the sharp point as she centers it between my pecks on my bare chest. When my leather-encased leg hit the wood the point pierces my skin. I flinch, but remain quiet. I feel the hot trickle flow a second latter down my chest.

A low moan escapes me when I feel her mouth on me in a rush. Her tongue is hot against my skin as she licks the carmine trail from by my belly button back up to the puncture. I feel the lace of her jacket brush my chest as she places her mouth on the bleeding wound and sucks hard at my skin.

I give a jerking gasp as hot wax falling form above hits my shoulder and back. I shudder as I begin to anticipate the next one to fall.

For several minutes she licks and sucks at my chest. Greedily taking from me. I give the occasional flinch when the wax greets me with heat.

A wet sound other than her licking attracts my attention then. Opening my eyes I look down past her breast and see her hand up under her skirt. I can tell by the sound I'm hearing she is fingering herself with a fury.

She shouldn't have to do that. I can see that the wound on my chest has almost stopped bleeding. I catch her around her waist and lift her feet off the floor. Taking a half dozen steps I sit her on top of the bar. Looking up at her face I watch her lick the last drops of crimson off the black lipstick.

Placing my hand between her breast, feeling the red silk soft and warm under my fingers, I push her back onto the bar top. She leans her face against one of the tall copper draft pulls. I watch her lick the side of the tap, her piercing clicking on the metal.

I run my hands down her side across her hips then down the length of her legs. My fingers revel in the texture of her fishnets. When I touch leather I step back a bit and lift one of her boots. I caress the shiny warm leather my fingers trace the curve of the dangerously sharp stiletto heel. Moving a hand up her inner calf I catch the zipper and start to very slowly pull it down.

Leaning in I let my tongue taste the side of her boot, as I look down into the dark place between her thighs. I see nothing, but skin under the red satin skirt.

Slipping off her boot I bring her foot to my mouth and place soft kisses against the side from her toes to the heel. The warm fabric of her stocking carries the smell of leather from her boot along with a darker musky smell from where her feet have sweated in the thick leather boots. I kiss the round bump of her heal, then nibble at the side of her ankle. I pull her fish nets away from her skin with my teeth then let them lose. I pull her foot to my chest and holding her firm by her ankle I place soft kisses on the tips of her toes. I can see the dark red polish under the cloth. I let my teeth scrap the top and bottom of her big toe for a second then I begin to kiss my way down the inside of her foot. I pass her ankle again, kissing up past it I follow the soft curve of her calf muscle. The line where her boot had been is like a border between nations. The leather smell on one side, a totally different smell on the other.

I'm determined to track that smell to it's source.

Running my hands up ahead of my mouth I feel satin then warm skin even softer than satin. My hands cup her ass cheeks as I kiss down into her inner thigh. The smell of her sex drawing me down to it like a wolf to prey.

My tongue lashes at the warm metal of her pierced hood. I move the metal ball around with my teeth making her squirm. I lick slow long even strokes through her labia feeling the folds of skin slip into my mouth, I suck at them.

I fell her hand come to rest on the top of my head her fingers warm and demanding as she forces me deeper into her. I drive my tongue as far into her as I can, lapping at the deliciously thick fluids I find there. My chin grows wet as her juices run down my face.

I turn my face to the side when her hand with the metal ring brushes the side of my cheek. I hear an audible gasp from her then a low moan.

My mouth is flooded with the taste of copper pennies. I lick at the red flow following it to the source, the small cut on her thick outer lips near her hood. I latch my mouth onto it like a leach and suck in the taste of blood and pussy.

I feel her shift under me and then the back of my head is being driven into her by the warm leather of her boot. I feel the sharp stiletto heel touch my shoulder and like a spur I double my efforts to pleasure her.

I feel her fingers curl into my hair, then they tighten. I listen with pride and pleasure as I hear the intake of air that proceeds her 'orgasmic death scream' as she calls it.

Her loud cry of pleasure fills the bar and drowns out the music. Her warm wet thighs press hard on the sides of my face as her boot drives me into her. I feel a moments panic when I can't breath.

I feel pity for anyone who was ever been water boarded as she lets lose a near flood of moisture under my mouth. I feel her hand leave my head and the sound of metal on wood as she digs the armor ring into the bar top.

My hand snakes out to catch the Absinthe bottle when I hear her knock it over. The cold smooth glass under my fingers gives me an idea and when she relaxes enough I pull away. Looking down at the wet folds of skin,I watch the little trickle of blood that still trails down into her.

The glass top of the bottle enters her suddenly. She arches her back up off the top of the bar as the neck of the bottle widens. Ignoring her piteous moans I lean back in when I have it as deep as I wish it to go and begin to lick around where the cold glass meets the warm skin.

My mouth is assaulted with a mixture of tastes. I taste her, and from the bottle I taste raw absinthe, but over it all there is the coppery taste of her blood.

Turning the bottle in my fingers making it spin in my hand I lick as hard as I can from between the cut to her clit and back.

Minutes feel like hours as I devourer her flesh into my mouth, reveling in the taste of her blood.

The violence of her orgasm scares even me!

I pull up away from her, taking in the sight of her black fingernails digging into the wood of the bar top. The scalpel blade sunk at least a quarter of an inch into the old wood. Her legs tremble and her booted foot comes up to the center of my chest. I feel the stiletto hit with unplanned perfection on the place she cut before.

I stumble back when she kicks me away from her, yanking the bottle from inside her as I go.

And I thought she was violent before!

My nearest neighbor is the length of my parking lot and theirs away and I'm seriously wondering about the possibility of the police being called!

I watch her eyes roll up into her head and then she goes slack. Her feet slip off the bar top to hang down, her heel slowly swaying to tap the wood. I watch the rise and fall of her breast with concern for several seconds.

Walking back the few steps to her I place the blood and juice smeared bottle back on the bar.

I place a hand on her bare stomach and give her a little shake.

I see her eyes flutter for a second. Her breathing slows.

"Beth..." I start the word but don't get more than the first part of it out.

I stumble back from the bar clutching at the left side of my face!

A hot line of fire runs from by my ear to just beside my mouth. Then the warmth spreads to cover the whole of my face as the sting of the slap registers above the pain of the cut. I pull my hand away from my face and look at my blood covered palm. I look back at the bar in disbelief

Baethny, the Daughter in Syn is sitting up with a look of true horror on her face. Her mouth, hidden under her hands. Tears flow out from her eyes as she hops down from the bar top. She lands on the one boot and with a limping gait comes to me.

Her hands come to my face. I flinch away from the one with the blood tipped ring.

Panting in fear she takes my chin and turns my head. I feel her hands pulling me down. She gently runs a finger down beside the cut. I see a look of relief pass across her face for a second.

For only a second.

Then another look replaces it. It is the most raw, pure look of lust I have ever seen in a woman's face!

Her tongue lashes the line of fire as she pulls me into her. I feel the blood smear up the side of my face, pushed away from her mouth by the force of what she's doing. Panting, shaking she clutches at me lashing my skin like a large cat licking blood from it's prey. The feeling is just like that! I see an orgasmic shudder shiver her from the top of her head down!

She drops to her knees in front of me, her fingers clawing at the buckles of my belt, the buttons of my pants. I feel air on my cock for only a second then it's in the warm depths of her mouth.

I moan as I feel her suck the length of my painfully hard cock into the wet warmth of her throat. I hear a gag sound then feel her clutching at my hips and ass determined to keep me at depth. Her teeth rake the side as she pulls back gasping for air, then I'm again feeling the constriction of her throat around the head of my cock. The warm plastic feel of her lips under the thick lipstick as they clamp onto the base. Then the wonderfully sinful feeling of her tongue going to work on the underside of my cock.

My hands go to the top of her head by their own accord. The fingers curling onto the black and red tresses. A slow in out pump through her lips starts with out any thoughts from me. As I start to move her head, fucking her mouth with the length of me I listen to the wonderfully obscene sounds coming from her mouth. The wet slurp from her as she works nonstop on me even as I fuck her lips.

Too much has happen, I've been hard for too long. I feel the begins of my cum as it starts to rise. I beg inwardly for it to hold off and at the same time for the release.

She takes the decision from me.

Her fingers in the scratchy lace gloves curl around the bottom of my cock allowing only the head and an inch or so to enter her mouth. I feel her fingers tighten painfully hard around me.