The City Of Angels, Spring 2008
Introduction
After her 21st birthday, naive Gracie wanted something special sexually, to explore that fine line between pleasure and pain. But her traveling companions were not quite as advertised so she found herself on a path that took a sharp turn towards "does not end well." Just in time she was rescued, but he was not a white knight.
A credible threat of death from a killer obliterates consent, so this series was nominated for NonConsent/Reluctance. The pain she embraces is balanced with pleasure. The use of bondage equipment suggests this story could be in BDSM. Perhaps a subsequent series might qualify as a Romance or Novel.
There is a considerable backstory to the protagonist and his dual life as a lawyer and a law breaker, a backstory which might be published as Non-erotic. Only glimpses are presented here. He is the child of rape who, at a young age, was challenged to kill the rapist slowly, to avenge the mother he does not remember. A diagnosed psychopath, he is not "good people" by any measure. You may consider him quite beyond redemption, he shares that view and would not hold it against you.
This is a series, sex may develop slowly. A different piece of sex/BDSM equipment/furniture/machinery is used in each of the first three parts.
Part 1: Chapter 1 has violence. Chapter 4 has the first equipment. Chapter 6 has more sex.
Part 2: Chapter 8 has more sex. Chapter 9 has the second equipment: X-Cross.
Part 3: Chapter 13 has the third equipment. Chapters 14, 16 and 17 have sex.
-
Chapter 1. Friday Night Patrol
Except for a black bag over her head and the red high heels, her body was naked the first time I saw her through a basement window. She looked very good indeed; I have been with some of the finest female forms in this City of Angels, females you have wished about while looking at magazines and videos. She was on the par with the best of them.
She was helplessly bound bent over a table, legs spread, positioned for rough sex. Not that she could do anything even if she was free, there were three large naked young men who were openly discussing the sick, painful things they were going to do with her. Cruel cable ties held her long, perfect legs to the metal table legs. Her upper body rested on the filthy table but was rotated to her left side with her arms held awkwardly by more cable ties. This forced pose showed off her heavy breasts, which looked outstanding. For some reason the three Black Kings had already distended her front and rear openings, the wicked toys they had employed were on the table next to her. The cloth bag over her head was held with duct tape around her neck, and she wore red high heels, but otherwise her clothes had been crudely cut off - there were scratches on her otherwise flawless flesh and her expensive apparel was reduced to rags scattered around the room. The fools had added wicked clamps to her nipples and vaginal lips.
It looked like we arrived at this pain-rape party shortly before it got to the point of flesh penetrating flesh. The three dicks each wore only their gang colors as a buff wrapped around an upper arm. I recognized one fool, he was part of the Black Kings command group and was usually smarter then this. But his eyes showed that he was very heavily medicated. It was clear when they moved that they were already tuned up on their drugs. What drugs? I would find out in the autopsy.
All three were as ugly as the girl was beautiful. They were were very well-muscled, perhaps 18 to 22 years old, so younger than us, and all taller than Cosmo. One looked about 6 foot 5 so he was taller than me.
When they noticed us they figured we were somebody else they could add to the pain side of their party.
Now, if it was me who was naked, flying gang colors and showing a hard cock in enemy territory, I might have wondered why two men wearing ski masks, gloves and obvious body armor entered from both the basement's only two exits at the same moment; it was just not a likely or friendly coincidence. But then, I am always in my right mind.
We also flew our colors. This particular abandoned industrial/commercial district was the subject of ongoing friendly negotiations between Cosmo's "Crystal Aztexs" (their spelling) and my gang, "49." Both gangs are mostly hispanic. This area was clearly tagged as off-limits to other gangs. The Kings had been considerate picking this spot, it was deserted and damn near soundproof; no doubt they didn't want to disturb anybody when their victim expressed herself at their attentions.
The Kings first move was to throw dumb insults at us. That was not going to cut it.
Machetes, razor sharp with chromed steel blades, cut it. Before the bullshit got too deep I gave the word. Cosmo and I pulled our machetes - we each had two - from the 'handles down' sheaths strapped to our backs under our windbreakers. Live steel, changed the mood real fast, it cut through the drugs for two of the Kings. Machetes mess with the mind; maybe it was a racial memory thing but the tall Black King actually shit himself when we showed the 4 steel blades that would free him from all pain.
(We also had guns, I carry a Glock 29. But if you use a gun at a crime scene you really have to toss it after. Plus, some animals did not merit a quick death.)
After the insults Cosmo could not keep his own mouth shut as he pruned his first hand clean off. He kind of giggled. "Partner, will you look at this? We going Mau Mau on these black asses, all Hutu-like. They probably remember this shit from the bush, black home." Cosmo was rather proud that he had read an old "Time" magazine once. The magazine may have been older than he was.
Things moved quickly for a time as we danced. The Black Kings reached for their clothes where their weapons were; that extended their arms so we had plenty of limbs to hack. I like to leave the limb still attached by a little skin and muscle, seeing that is so demoralizing and does this brain-lock thing. Cosmo, who lacked my experience, clearly liked to take the limb clean off. To each his own.
Once they were all disarmed (literally) we took our time making more interesting cuts before and after they bled to death. I mean, as long as all this was about sending message, it behooved us be clear as possible. Everybody knows that in this hood, trespassing with colors flying is a capital crime and no appeal is entertained.
I was an old hand at using a blade on somebody, repeatedly, without quite killing them. It's a long story, call it a child's hobby.
There are different type of gangs, 49 is actually pretty benign. We sold grass and some party pills, but we didn't use or market hard drugs, like these mastoids. Our main gig was keeping a safe place for our own. You know the saying, "when life or death is a matter of seconds, the police are minutes away." In our neighborhood, the police might not come at all, so 49 picked up the slack by providing safe school busses and shopping trips.
Keeping our folks safe meant our territory had to be defended or it was lost to the more violent elements all around - like the Black Kings who treated cocaine marketing as a death sport. Defending territory meant patrols. If we detailed young gang members to patrol they would fight each other for bragging rights. Instead old vets like Cosmo drew the job. As the secret boss of 49, I put myself on this job just to have a look around. This was our third night on patrol, and the first incident.
Cosmo was 25. He was out of prison for less than 3 months after catching a full nickel with no parole; boring patrol duty was part of his path back into the Aztexs inner circle. Too bad it was a short path.
I was 28, I had stepped out of being the 49's Warlord some years ago, when I started law school. Even with a 150 IQ there were only so many hours in a day. After I graduated my Uncle Toad semi-retired so I became co-boss. Today I am the Jefe, the CEO, the Chairman of the Board, whatever. Only a few officers know my true authority. Like Toad, I delegate. I am a different sort of cat, but I try to keep the troublesome stuff disguised. Nobody still alive, except Aunt Marta in Detroit, knew the whole story, and she had given her eye as proof she would never tell.
The Black Kings looked like they were having this "In Your Face - In Your Territory" party here purely because they knew they weren't supposed to be here, and I guess they figured they could get away with it. Evidence of their presence was a plain insult to both of our gangs. Having obscene fun with a white girl, then killing her in a gruesome manner so it would make the papers, all in marked territory, would up the publicity and thereby greatly multiply the insult.
Trespassers getting hacked to bits, including hacking skulls open to leave their brains exposed (sub-message: really stupid idea) would send a very different message.
While the Kings were going to pieces I had one other bit of business that required my careful but immediate attention. Part of the reason I am run 49 is because I head this branch of the family import/marketing business. Part of my longevity in such a role is that nobody knows much about me. There is a story behind that, it helped that I had family backing. Plus I was a psychopath.
In the current setting I was not about to put my very confidential life in the hands of a drugged out two-time loser like Cosmo. Who knows, he might be tied to this crime or some other crime or just have dumb luck and get dragged in for questioning. We had shared whores side-by-side because he thought it was a bonding experience, that was his sole motivation to keep my part secret. (Honestly, I considered it animal behavior, but our gangs were negotiating so I played nice and we fucked a couple of expensive whores.) I know he owed me next to nothing, and he did not want another full ride in the slam, so what could he offer in trade if Cosmo was facing 25 to life? He knew where I lived and would give me up in a minute!
So while he hacked up his share of Black Kings I did some personal risk management and nicked his artery at a gap in the armor. He bled out, it was painless and quick for him. He would be reinstated to his gang with full honors, posthumously. His fellows would blame the Black Kings and extract an extra helping of retribution. After the retribution three or four other neighboring gangs would then have a go at kicking the weakened Kings while they were down. To salvage their pride the remaining Kings would have to strike back at their weakest neighbor; that might occur after a coup. (Another Hutu moment, if you know some history. In a group of thugs there are always Hutus and Tutsis who are looking to use their long knives.) After a short delay the chain reaction would get ugly.
All because these three drugged out muscle-brains deliberately disrespected our tags.
