Madison

Madison slowly regained consciousness. She gently shook herself to check if she was hurt – no pain anywhere except her head, which felt as though she was waking up from a night of heavy drinking. Yet she had only had a few drinks, not nearly enough to produce anything resembling a hangover. As she became more and more aware of herself she realized 3 things immediately; 1) her arms were bound behind her back and her legs at the ankle, 2) a soft cloth of some sort hugged her face, clearly meant to inhibit vision, and 3) when she tried to remember how she got in this state, the last thing she could picture in her mind was the strangely seductive man with the piercing blue eyes who brought her a gin and tonic – Madison's drink of choice. Beyond that, she knew something had gone awry from her initial plan of going out for a few drinks and returning to her empty apartment. She was trying to piece together the night logically, but every conclusion she came was frightening, but at the same time… morbidly exciting.

She rolled onto her stomach and began to pulling at the bonds. She was tied with some sort of silk. Its cool textures slipped along her wrists, neither chaffing her pale skin nor allowing any escape. Her ankles are bound together to what she assumes is the bedpost. She can move freely on the bed but not beyond it. The blindfold has left her in darkness. Temporarily abandoning hope of escape, she lies still and listens. Silence. She shivered at the cold air and realized suddenly that she was nearly naked, save for underwear that barely covered her. Just how much modesty she was left, she could not tell. The sheets below her were also of a silken texture quite unlike her own. This was not her bed. This was not her city even. New York was never silent. The stillness here was paralyzing, she had not heard such emptiness in years. Or ever, maybe.

Madison was born in the city, the daughter of wealthy parents with high-profile, white-collar careers. She lived in various apartments in Queens, her early life a blur of expensive caretakers with strange accents, high-rise picture windows, and later parties full of beautiful people and beautiful drugs. Even the liquor was contrived, strange neon colors and elongated glasses, nothing harsh or bitter to swallow until the morning after. No whiskey, no beer, no leaf-strewn hills or unbroken horizons. And no silence. Certainly no silence.

So here, fettered and bare, blinded in a strange bed far from home without explanation or assurances, it was the silence that paralyzed her. That made her want to tear at her bonds, scream and cry for help. Anything to slice through the mantle of solitude that wound its way over her exposed skin. She began to writhe. If not for the soft material, her wrists and ankles would have sustained great damage. She screamed, and her voice was a low, horrid thing.

"Stop." Madison froze as the low voice broke through her own banshee wail. That voice, did she know it?

"Wh, wh…", the words choked in her throat. She listened again. Silence. Had she been imagining it? Was she hallucinating already? She realized she had no idea how long she had been here. She was thirsty. And hungry. And she could recall nothing. Whatever had knocked her out was blocking her memory. Couldn't this be done every night? She began to panic again, frantically yanking her legs, trying to get some slack.

"I said stop." She had heard him. Yes, it was real.

Oh my God

, she thought,

there is someone here with me

. This time she found her voice. "What the hell? Who are you? My family, they'll come looking, let me go, what the fuck?" She fell into silence, ashamed at how girly her voice sounded. How helpless.

"Your family. Let's see, no siblings, no relatives who know you exist, and your parents? They are in Cordoba. I was good enough to set them up with a villa there. The rent is free, I assume they'll stay for quite a while. Most of the winter, in fact. They called to let you know last night. The message is on your machine. Perhaps I'll let you hear it. And don't bother talking about friends, Madison. You don't owe anyone money, so no one will come looking for you."

He paused as the words took their effect on the girl. Her parents were…damn them! That's so typical. They weren't the type to check on her. And he was right about everything else too. A slight cold began to form in her stomach, the icy beginnings of a profound fear.

"How do you know that?" He chuckled, an easy laugh with the hint of Creole to it.

"I've been watching you, pet. And I picked you. Be proud. I'm quite selective." There was a brief silence, and when he spoke again, she jumped. She had not heard him move, but his voice was now right next to the bed. "You are wondering what I mean by 'selected.' I mean, you belong to me now. The life you had is empty, pet. There is no glory for you there. Only loneliness, early death. You drink too much. You swallow whatever they give you. They use you, they can't see." She shivered as a warm hand ruffled her long, blonde hair. "You've been walking with the blind, Madison Anna Shallot, and I would have you see." With that, the blindfold fell away. She gazed up at a man, arrayed in a shapeless black cloak. Strong jaw-line, head shaved, and luminous blue eyes that swathed the dim light and held her own. Even under the cloak, she could see he was broadly built, and his posture held erect his physique in a manner that seemed to tower above her. She reluctantly broke his gaze and examined the room while he waited. The only illumination came from a line of sable sepulchers whose flames threw undulating waves of light across the intricate mahogany walls. A thick carpet stretched away from the bed, and beyond the immediate bedchamber, cornices carved with ghastly beasts and elegant

fleur-de-lis

, a rotunda rose beyond her vision, from which issued a soft glow of uncertain origin. The bed itself was high, she could see that, and of the old, four-poster style. Black silk sheets, which she sprawled atop, and shifting her body, she found an erotic scene carved into the headboard.

"Zeus," he told her, indicating the carvings, "lord of the gods, keeper of the thunderbolt. Quite Freudian, don't you think? Do you think? Well, you will learn to. He was master of Olympus, immortal and omnipotent, yet he had a taste for mortal girls. His conquests are the stuff of myths." He smiled, and his harsh expression softened somewhat. "Yet myths, my dear, are the seedlings of truth. 'The kingdom of heaven is here upon the earth and men do not see.' Do you know who said that? A great man, a pure man. A god like Zeus, and unlike him. I am not like this man. I am Zeus." He strode away from the bed, and turned away from her. His face was caught in shadow.

"I don't know what you mean," she asked, "I'm still not sure…why am I here? What the hell are you talking about? Let me go!" She threw the last words at him. He was silent but a moment.

"I am Zeus, pet, and you are mortal. I am not pure, it is not my fate. No more than you." He looked at her again, and his eyes entered her suddenly, deeply. Like a lover's would. "We are unclean, you and I, yet we are not equal. I have brought you here because you have been chosen. You will serve. I too have a taste for weaker flesh. You shall indulge me." He began to move towards the bed.

"Rape! You're going to rape me. You pig, you little bitch, that's pathetic, that's, oh god, please, don't, I'll…," she paused, desperate now, unbridled, her body an iceberg of fear, "I'll kill you, I swear. I'll bite it off." He had stopped when she began to yell, and now he moved swiftly forward. He seemed to blur, and suddenly she was pinned roughly against the bed. His mouth was inches from her throat. She could feel his warm, even breath on the pulsing veins of her neck.

"You resist me, pet? I do not tolerate disobedience." His hand disappeared into his cloak and produced a blade, a curved dagger whose edge glowed white in the darkness. He ran it over her shoulder, caressing the flesh there with the dull edge. "This is Damascus steel, my dear, Saracen steel. The man who once owned this also owned over three hundred concubines. In fact, he took a special interest in the women, particularly in fresh ones, unbroken. It was customary for a small contingent of palace guards to be present during the, shall we say induction ceremony? For security reasons, you understand." He moved the knife up her neck to her jaw. "However, this fellow always refused their presence. He insisted on working alone, with no tools other than this particular instrument. Of pleasure? I doubt it. He was not a tolerant man." His lips were next to her ear. "I too am impatient." With a sudden thrust, he sliced the bonds on her ankles and wrists. Sheathing the weapon, he grabbed her shoulders and threw her forward off the bed. The heavy carpeting broke her fall, but an instant later her was beside her, one hand pressed gently against the back of her neck. "I value you unspoiled, slave, but I cannot let your impudence go unpunished." His grip tightened on the nape of her neck, lifting her up easily and pushing her face-forward over the bed. "The more you struggle, the more severe the punishment. I am firm, but I am fair. In time, I hope, you will appreciate this."

She was too terrified to move, still feeling the sensation of cold steel against her skin. She could not resist him physically, that much was obvious. But what did he mean by punishment? Thus pinned over the sheets, he tied her hands together above her head with the same black, silky ribbons that had bound her before. Taking one end, he leaped nimbly onto the bed and secured it to the far bedpost. Then he slowly stepped down and walked behind her. She felt the thin panties she was wearing slowly being lowered, inch by excruciating inch, over her ass and thighs, down to her bare feet. "Leave them there, do not kick. If you do, it will go worse for you." He ran his hand over her exposed ass. "You are being punished for your insolence, for your refusal to cooperate." He brought his hand down hard, and she gasped at the stinging pain. "You are being punished for your refusal to serve." He began spanking her in earnest, pausing occasionally to caress her rapidly reddening bottom. She tried not to struggle at first, but soon began to squirm away from his palm. He stopped. "Remain still, pet." His fingers traveled between the cleft of her ass to brush the opening between them. An opening mysteriously wet. "There are certain rules you are to follow. Now is a good time to learn them. First," and as he spoke he brought his hand down. She jumped at the pain, and the warmth that came immediately after. "First, you will not make eye contact without permission. Those who serve are not meant to look into the eyes of God. Second," and again the stroke, each point was punctuated with pain. "Second, you will not speak unless spoken to. When you do, you will address me as 'sir.' Third, you will not initiate any contact without permission. Your body is a shell for my pleasure. Do not defile yourself with your own hand. That is my task alone, the subjection of the body, the degradation of the soul. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the kingdom of heaven is theirs. For you, I and I alone am this door to the light."

She waited for more. The pain was intense, but not unbearable. In fact, it seemed to lift her, to separate her somehow from herself. The sensation of physical discomfort was foreign to her, and as such, she had never really divided her mind from her body. Now, as the flesh rebelled under her chastisement, her mind stood apart. Gently though, but a step, as though a cloud was lifting, a landscape just beginning to glimmer before her.

He leaned forward and began untying her bonds. She lay still. Slowly the knots were loosened and pulled apart. She heard the slight hiss of ribbons rending against each other, the cords coming away. She was free. "Stand," he ordered. She did. "Strip completely, kneel before the bed." She kicked away gently the black lace g-string at her feet, and undid the snaps of her bra. Even in her state of half-awareness, dulled somewhat by the burning of her ass and the hazy plane of her mind, she could not help but notice the brilliance of her undergarments. Black lace, dotted with tiny pearls coruscating in the firelight, priceless black stones, magnificently cut. These were priceless garments he had arrayed her in. Swallowing her amazement, she quickly dropped them and knelt in front of the bed. It rose before her like an unholy cathedra, and she the pagan hierodule. "Look down, do not look at me, I will not remind you again." Eyes downcast, she could not see him, nor hear his movements. She jumped when he stroked her hair. "Such golden tresses, such white skin. I rather liked the welts that rose from it. You will be bruised tomorrow." He caressed her face. His hands were rough, scarred with work, but there was a warmth beneath them, and his touch was gentle, barely there. When he touched her like this, it was as though the wind was playing upon her cheek, or a phantom caress from beyond this world. He took her face in his palm and lifted her. She rose with him, sliding deeper into her core, her inner self. He turned her. His body pressed into hers. The robe was gone. His body was thin and hard, and she broke upon him like waves on a cliff. "Do you wish me to kiss you?" he whispered.

"I…yes sir. Please, kiss me, sir."

"Beg for it, slave. Beg for this pleasure," he commanded.

"Please, kiss me, I'll do anything, I'll serve you, I am yours. Please, your lips, I must have them, sir, I must." He kissed her, deeply, and the fragile cords of her psyche began to come loose. At that moment, as she drank the lips of her lord, her soul began its wandering. Cleaved from bondage, it embarked upon the moors and mountains of freedom, the landscape of lunacy.

He broke the kiss. Lifting her bodily, he placed her roughly on the bed. His naked body rose above hers. Rising to his knees, he seized her hair and lifted her head to himself. She took his cock in her mouth and began to move it up and down across her lips. "Yes, pet, take it. You will serve me. You will please me." She devoured his masculinity, forgetful of a past life in which she, the tease, would never go down on the guys, no matter how they would beg her. She had always despised such servile enticements, the whining, unsatisfied boys who she had called lovers.

He moaned and leaned his head back, while she sucked him like a beast at the kill. He again seized her mane and yanked her head back. She gazed up at him with angry eyes, enraged that he had come between her kill. Immediately, though, she remembered her place and dropped her eyes. "Lie back," he told her. She stretched herself upon the bed, feeling the heat of him above her contrasting with the cold of the sheets. His fingertips traced lines upon her skin, raising goose bumps and sending shivers through her tormented nervous system. He gently squeezed her umber nipples, proud and erect. She gasped and groaned. He flicked his fingers back and forth across the buds, bending to take one, then the other in his mouth. His fingers brushed the dripping furnace of her sex. She clenched her eyes and began to abandon herself to his will. "Walk with me, pet. I will protect you. Grace the forests of madness with me." Two fingers entered her and began to work in and out, twin tides of need and sensation that pulled her mind farther from itself. His tongue rolled across her nipples while he fucked her with his hand. She grabbed at his body and he stopped all at once. She screamed. It felt like the very ground had dropped away from her, and she was falling, falling.

"Do not initiate contact. I told you, you would not be warned again." He grabbed her right arm, pulling it towards the bedpost. She felt a coldness clamp down across it, the faint rustle of chains. Then the other arm. She looked above her. She was shackled to the wall just behind the bed. The metal was snug but not tight. She would not lose circulation, but she also would not be able to wriggle out. Securing her arms, he turned to her ankles, tying them together again, but leaving them free of the bedposts. Instead of satin, he used a thick white rope, which he looped over and over again around her legs, weaving it in and out like the folds of a snake. In a minute he was done. She was again helpless. "I will return when I think you are truly prepared to serve." He turned and walked from the room.

As he disappeared around a corner, the torches flamed up and vanquished themselves. She was dropped into darkness, unbroken but by the stillborn glow from the rotunda, which did not pierce the bedchamber. Restrained in this darkness, she understood the tenuous line between pleasure and madness, and how careful she must be to walk it. The temporary night she was caught in did not bother her now. Her master would protect her. She was sure of this. The silence gave her room to recover, try to bring herself back a little. The need that washed over her had rose to boiling as he had turned away, scalding her body with pain worse than any punishment he could inflict. The fecund earth he had led her through had succumbed, with a cruel suddenness, to winter and decay. On this frozen plain she shivered and stumbled back to join her vulgar body.

No

, she thought,

the body is not vulgar. He gives it majesty. In disgrace only am I made common

. She let the darkness enter her, and, though her nerves were frayed and her bones still humming from insatiable need, sleep overtook her and she knew no more.

Madison awoke to the sensation of her bonds being cut and unlocked. She looked down to see a figure in a cloak similar to that of her wayward Lord. She knew immediately it was not him, this being did not carry himself with the same majesty the man from the last night did, nor did he have anywhere near the physique. The strange figure was swathed in taupe linens. She could see it was dawn from across the room and out over a monstrous balcony. Mild cheese, fresh fruits and clear cold water were left for her as the figure departed. Madison had no

real

desire to leave, but curiousity provoked her to at least explore her new habitat. Modesty implored her to cover herself, but with what? She decided the black silk sheets would make as good a garment as anything and wrapped it around her curves as she plucked a ruby strawberry from the ornate alabaster bowl set for her.

Under her feet was a fur rug, the animal of which she did not know the name. But if no one returned in the near future, she made a mental point to come back and roll around on it for at least a few minutes. She fought the image of her and her Dark Lord entwined on it that almost reflexively flooded her brain….

Upon reaching the balcony she realized that she was on the coast. The crystal clear waters were bluer than she could have imagined and there appeared to be no other buildings as far as the eye could see. White sands appeared to….a noise startled her back to herself. She heard the sound of silk on silk and assumed it was the man from the night before. She recalled his rules as her backside still burned at the memory of his hand, but this recollection was too slow for his tastes and he brought her to her knees with a calculated cuff to the face, her desire to see his eyes again overcame her and she knew she was deserving of this reprimand. The sting brought quick tears to her green eyes which she flashed up for one fiery instant, then lowered them immediately to the marble floor. This subtle act of defiance thrilled Him. He knew she would be his greatest conquest, yet He wanted more than that. He truly wanted possession of her; mind, body and soul. He took her face in his palm and tilted it up to his, but she remembered herself and kept her eyes lowered.