12 (F/m, nc) Nothing Like The Sun Friday Night

We battled that night like two ships from an old pirate movie. The courts
thundered with the sound of our volleys. Each of us was determined to win and we
were banging off the walls ourselves every bit a violently as the hapless rubber
ball was.

In the end it went to another tie breaker. She'd switched days and we'd both just
come from work; which added to the fact that by the time the tie-breaker started
i was played-out and barely keeping my feet. After tying the game six-all, it
began to slip away from me at last, and in the end She won 11/ 6.


A crowd that had gathered just outside the court burst into applause as the ball
finally hit the hardwood and the game came to an end. The two of us wobbled on
our feet like a pair of drunkards.

As i headed for the locker room, She grabbed my shoulder and in a weary voice
said, "Fuck it! Just get your stuff and meet me at the car!"

"But..."

"Going to YOUR place tonight," She said. "Don't give a fuck how sweaty you are!"

A short drive later we were in the elevator up and leaning against one another
for support. The first thing She did upon entering my abode was to flop on my
couch and let loose a long, weary sigh.

"you're getting better," She observed.

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Drinks," She ordered.

"uh..."

She managed a wan smile. "Water would be fine michael. Get whatever you like for
yourself."

i went to the kitchenette and filled two glasses with ice. i put one under the
faucet in the sink, the best i could do, and poured a tall glass of coke for
myself. i fully expected Her to switch the glasses once i rejoined Her. Instead,
She picked up the water, craned Her head back and held the cool, dew-covered cup
to Her throat.

"michael?"

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Does my glass have a... smurf on it?"

"um..... yes, Mistress."

She gave a fatigued little laugh and then suddenly seemed to snap back awake. "OH
SHIT!"

"Mistress?" i asked as concern washed through me.

"Damnit! I left something in the car!"

The butterflies began to take flight in my gut. After all, i HAD lost.


"It's in the trunk," She said handing me the keys. "Only thing in there, 'sides
the spare, so you'll know it when you see it."

"Okay," i sighed, wrenching myself up off the soft couch.

"Calm down, michael, I'm not a machine, you know."

i looked at Her curiously.

"Just want to go over some ideas for tomorrow," She explained, interrupted by a
yawn.

i trudged down to the car and popped the trunk. Inside there was only a magazine
with an airbrushed drawing  of a terrified young woman hog-tied on the cover. THE
ART OF BISHOP, the title read.

i leafed through it on the ride back up to my apartment.  It was filled with
airbrushed and pen-and-ink drawings of comely young women in a variety of extreme
and often disturbing bondage: ideas for tomorrow.

i thought Mistress was asleep when i came back in the apartment, but She roused
Herself slowly and patted the cushion next to Her, inviting me to sit.


We leafed through the book, each of us going through our drinks quickly. She
picked out some poses She liked and had me identify those that particularly
excited me, out of both fear and lust. Her yawns were infectious and soon i found
myself blacking out and waking with my chin on my chest. After the third time She
finally relented and said, "Okay, we'll deal with this tomorrow. Got some ideas,
probably should call it a night."

i escorted Her to the door and just before She left She turned and planted a
soft, quick kiss on my lips.

"What was that for.... Mistress?"

She smiled coyly. "Do I need a reason, michael?"

"No, Mistress."

"Good."

"See you tomorrow, Mistress."

She had a strange smile on Her face. "Not if I see you first," She said, a little
TOO coyly.

i waited until She was on the elevator and closed the door. i lacked the energy
to give Her words and actions a second thought. i was so tired i scarcely noticed
the odd taste in my mouth left over from the soda; and what thought i did give it
was to chalk it up to not having brushed my teeth.


i barely made it into the bedroom and crashed flat onto the mattress like a
felled redwood. Sleep came a second later.

*   *   *   *

That night my sleep was troubled by a weird and terrifying dream. Mistress was a
barker at a carnival freak show (though She was dressed more like a circus
ringmaster) and the "freaks" were all people in the kinds of extreme bondage
She'd shown me from the book.

i only remember two now. "One" was really a pair of young women, twins i guess,
whose bodies were severely strapped together face to face. Mistress went over to
them and in a voice reminiscent of Jack Palance in his Ripley's days, said,
"Behold! Truly never were there such DEVOTED sisters!"

She pulled an "X-ray" screen over, revealing that the two women were impaled at
their mouths and vaginas by two-headed dildoes. The nameless sisters squirmed and
made faint, grunting sounds.

The second "freak" was much more vivid in my mind. "His" - for somehow i just
knew it was a male - body was wrapped in bandages like a mummy and he was
"seated" astride what looked for all the world to be the peaked roof of a
doghouse. Weighted balls, like a convict's, were chained to each ankle, so that
he was slowly being split in two by the "roof." One of the weights was pitch
black and the other was a bright gold.

"Behold the saddest denizen of our twilight menagerie!" Mistress cried. "The
Mummy of Damocles! Forever being pulled in twain by conflicting wants and
contradictory needs. TORN!" She yelled, tapping each weight as She spoke,
"between the carnal delights of the dark and the simple, wholesome pleasures of
the light!"

She leaned "in" close and Her eyebrows  arched sinisterly. Only something about
the image was wrong.

i realized i wasn't watching this all from the perspective of the spectators - i
was watching it from the point of view of the mummy!

"And if you listen close..." She whispered into my wrapped ear, "you can still
hear him screaming!"

i woke doing just that.

The sensation of being torn apart carried into my waking existence as well, as my
guts threatened to rupture upon waking. i flung the sheets off my body and
staggered at full speed into my bathroom where my bowels erupted in a massive
torrent of liquid shit.

By the time that had passed, my sluices had backed up and i had to fling myself
to the floor, stick my head into the disgusting bowl, and let forth an equally
explosive projection of vomit.

i dimly became aware of a deep-seated pain throughout the entirety of my body
before my intestines were churning again. i careened back and forth, from siting
on the toilet to heaving into it, for ten minutes. Finally, my insides were
exhausted and i was able to crawl into the tub like a dying animal off the side
of the road.

i lay there for a minute, gathering my strength to turn on the water. She'd
poisoned me.

That had to be the only answer. She'd slipped some poison into my soda while i
was fetching Her magazine from the car. Now i thought about that odd taste in my
mouth; now i contemplated Her words and actions.

Why She had done it was beyond me, but before i could go any further, the phone
began to ring. Obviously the psychotic bitch was checking to see if i was still
alive!

my face twisted into a horrible mockery of a grin, i dragged myself out of the
tub and across the floor of my apartment to the phone. It was luck or God or some
power beyond those of mortal men that caused my eye to fall upon the caller ID
before spewing a tidal wave of obscenities into the mouthpiece. The number was
that of my work.

"Hello?" i croaked.

"Michael?" Lindsey. "Jesus... are you okay? You sound horrible!"

"Sick," i replied, "stomach flu maybe." my own words gave me pause. i'd said
stomach flu because i'd come down with that once in high school and the symptoms
had been almost identical. That got me to wondering. How did i know that WASN'T
what i was suffering from? i'd ran myself ragged the night before, and it was
entirely possible my system had been depressed and vulnerable to a viral attack.

Jesus! I thought about what i'd been on the verge of saying to Mistress. What had
i almost done?

Lindsey had kept oddly silent through all of that.

"You sure that's what it is?" She asked.

"Yes," i replied, certain of it.

"So... I should tell Mr. Christian you're not coming in today?"

"Why the fuck should he care! It's Saturday!"

Long pause. Long, long pause.

"Uh... Michael? It's MONDAY!"

****

Monday

i went through another spell of being violently sick after hanging up on Lindsey.
When i was done i slithered back into the tub. For the first time i noticed a
film of grayish, waxy, congealed sweat covering my skin. i worked the shower
controls with my feet and spent a long time under the hot water, washing every
last speck of filth off of me.

By the end of my shower i was feeling well enough to try and stand on my rubbery
legs. Using halting, cautious "baby-steps" i worked my way out of the bathroom.
my destination had been the kitchenette to try and get some water or juice into
my system, but i halted halfway through the living room.

There was a package on the coffee table. It was wrapped up in the same paper
She'd used for my "gift" of the racquet and it had a card on top.

Shaking, i staggered over and opened the envelope.

She must have scanned the image from the magazine and made the card on Her
computer. The picture on the front of the card was a piece of artwork by Bishop,
the man whose works She'd shown me "last" - Friday - night.

A woman was sitting astride a peaked punishment bench, not unlike the roof of a
doghouse. She had a noose around her neck and bricks tied to her ankles; she
seemed to be swooning from the pain. Inside, in fancy script, it read: Thinking
of you. C.

i was really shaking as i opened the package. Inside there was a video cassette.
All that was written on the label was a pair of dates: Saturday's and Sunday's.

i didn't want to put it in the VCR, but somehow i had to know. The tape began
with a mechanical whine and i watched with mounting dread as the image of a man
appeared on the screen.

He was clad, head to toe, in rubber, save for an opening at his crotch which
exposed his genitals. His arms disappeared behind his back and he was seated upon
the top of a punishment bench exactly like the one from the picture and my dream.
Each leg was attached to a large, round freeweight, and each testicle was tied
off separately and pulled down the sides by smaller weights. It was hard to tell
with the rubber, but his stomach looked somewhat distended, like he had eaten a
full meal or something. my guts rumbled in sympathy at the thought of "or
something."

His penis was encased in a "cock cage" and there was a clear plastic catheter
sticking out from the tip; the tube stretching away to a point out of the view of
the lens. Ominously, a second clear plastic tube ran from "off camera" to the
subject's mouth.

The time/date stamp at the bottom corner read midnight, Friday. He was trussed up
so well you could hardly discern movement. i hit the scan button. Only the fast
blur of the numbers indicated any passage of time. The figure being split upon
the bench was as motionless as a statue. The tape was broken up into
three-and-a-quarter minute segments for each half hour of "real" time that
passed.

A sudden blink of activity caused me to stop and rewind. A jet of gold had issued
from the man's penis and disappeared down the tube for a moment. You could
faintly hear the play of some primitive pump, and then the fluid reappeared,
streaming down the pipeline directly into the poor bastard's mouth. i was sitting
on the couch as i watched and at the sight of this, fell over onto my side.

An idea, a horrible impulse, seized my mind. i began to jack up the sound on the
TV until the green bar was all the way across the bottom of the screen.


And if you listened close, you could hear me screaming.

* * * *

i waited in my car, parked on the other side of the street, with the lights off.
i watched her pull into the driveway, kill her own lights and get out.


She had on the same black slacks and silk blouse combo as i'd seen her in after
work a few times before. She walked to her front door with the same blithe
arrogance that marked everything that she did.

i slipped out of my car and ran across the road and up the lawn, keeping my body
low. i hit her right as she was opening the door and shoved her through, slamming
it shut behind me.

She spun to face me, furious. She suddenly realized who it was and for an
instant, lost her composure. i forced her up against the wall, clamping my hand
around her throat.

"What did you do to me!"

Her eyes locked mine coolly. She pulled free from my grasp as if it had been
nothing.

"You drugged me you bitch!" i hissed.

"Yes, michael," she said as if she were talking about the weather. She turned and
began walking away from me, towards the kitchen.

i lumbered after her. She opened the fridge and got out a wine cooler and took a
sip.

"Bitch!"

"Stop using that language in my home michael."

"Fuck you! You fucking drugged me!"

She nodded and walked out through the other doorway into the small dinning room.
She sat down and took another drink from her bottle.

"It's called Rohypnol, michael. It's very popular amongst college boys who can't
be bothered with a little thing like consent when they wish to have sex."


"Oh, and that gives you the right..?"

"YOU gave me the right, michael."

"FUCK THAT!" i slammed my fist down on the table. "FUCK THAT!"

"I'm curious as to where all this anger is coming from."

"You're.... curious? I don't believe you!" i slowed my voice to a drawl,
enunciating each word. "You.. fucking.. drugged.. me!"

"You were never in any danger from the drugs, michael. I assure you I know how to
properly administer medication. The dosage was exact for you build and weight."

i gaped at her in disbelief. "You don't get it? You really just don't get it, do
you?"

"Frankly, I don't. I've done this many times before with my other slaves and they
never reacted the way that you are. Most of them beg me to do it again."

"WELL I'M NOT LIKE YOUR OTHER SLAVES!" i screamed at her.

"I'm aware of that."

"Don't I know you are! Don't you think I've read all those stories of yours? How
your slaves are always so fucking perfect and.. and  flawless and so fucking
beautiful? There hasn't been a day that's gone by that I don't feel judged by
their standards." my voice trailed off morosely.

"You've compared quite well," she said in a barely audible voice, "until now."

i had to sit. My gut was still twisting and turning. i felt like throwing up
again.

"You went too far," i said weakly.

"michael, put your fist in your mouth."

i looked up at her, confused.

"Put your fist in your mouth."

"Why..."

"PUT YOUR FUCKING FIST IN YOUR MOUTH!" she barked, blowing her unnerving calm for
the first time.

i balled up my hand and put in my mouth.

"I'm sorry, michael. I don't keep any ball gags in this part of the house, and I
doubt you'd let me put one on you, anyway, in the mood you're in." She was right
about that.

"Now say your safeword."

i gawked at her for a second longer, then mumbled my safeword.

"Say it again michael. Listen to the way it sounds."

i did.

"I've been doing this for quite a while, michael. I could even carry on a
conversation with a gagged slave if I chose. Like a dentist, I suppose. I know
what your safeword would sound like, and I'm telling you that the whole time you
were here, you never used it.

"I know, michael, because I was there; the whole time. I didn't leave your side
for more than fifteen minutes total, the whole weekend. I slept on the floor, in
a sleeping bag, right there beside you, not upstairs. You were never in any
danger and you never used your safeword. I doubt you even really knew what was
going on. Most slaves experience it as a kind of horrible, erotic dream."

"Can't you see," i  moaned, burying my head in my hands, "that's the whole
point!"

"No, michael, I don't see, but I wish you would explain it to me. I never
intended to provoke this violently negative a reaction from you."

"i just... i just can't stand this... not remembering! This... HOLE in my mind!
It's just what... it's just like...."

"Just like what, michael?"

i sobbed loudly. "Just like what always used to happen to my father!"


She didn't say anything for a while after that, just let me sit there and cry.
Finally, She said, "Your father is an alcoholic." It was more a statement than a
question, but i moaned "uh huh!" from the depths of Her table top.


"And he suffers blackouts?"

i pulled myself back into a sitting position. my cheeks were bright, arterial red
and soaked with tears.

"He used to." i said. "He used to come home and say... say all kinds of things.
Vicious things, mean things. About me... about mom... about how the whole fucking
world was against him. But the WORST of it was when you'd try and avoid him the
next day... or maybe express your anger or resentment, he'd look at you all
surprised because HE didn't remember any of it! So... must not have happened."

i swallowed hard. "And then one day... one day he was driving and the all of a
sudden 'woke up' in the hospital. Didn't know what had happened. Didn't remember
the man and woman on their way to their doctor to check up on their baby. Didn't
remember crossing the center line. None of it.

"He stopped drinking after that... but to this day- TO THIS DAY - he's convinced
that since he doesn't REMEMBER swerving and killing them, that it must not have
happened that way! That it must have all been THEIR fault! You can't say or do
anything to change his mind; and if you try you're just persecuting him! He's
convinced of his innocence because he doesn't remember it any other way! And i
swore, I SWORE i'd NEVER be like that! i'd never wake up and be left wondering
'what the fuck happened?' 'What did i do?' and you... you TOOK that from me!"

i couldn't meet Her gaze. my words broke into meaningless sobs.

"Oh my God," She said softly, Her voiced filled with mournful comprehension. "You
were in the car, too?"

i wouldn't look at Her, merely nodded through the tears.

She stood up and walked over to me. She touched my shoulder and i jerked it away.
She took my hand from off the table and gently pulled me to my feet. She led me
into the living room and eased both of us down onto the couch. She lay behind me,
pressing into my back. She began to tenderly stroke my hair, caress my side.

We lay there in the gloom of the evening and She told me again and again what a
good boy I was for Her, what a brave boy i had been. * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * "I've noticed that when we play games with girls, you get captured a lot."
Calvin

"Some of us are just irresistable." Hobbes