Chapter 9: Gatekeepers

The sound from above rattled my teeth, a not altogether unpleasant sensation. The band was good enough to have my shoulders twitching in time to the beat, with a little hip sashay on the three-four, right, left.

My inner thigh, and muscle memory of a mountain filling me with his seed and his lack of self-control, reminded me I’d thrown a man to the wolves because I could. Richter’s gift was looking more pervasive than I had first imagined. Shaking off those twinges of guilt, I focused on assessing the labyrinthine passages and dizzying stairwells leading further into the sub-basements beneath the old cathedral.

Usually claustrophobia wasn’t a problem, but as we descended, the ambiance of a pleasant stroll through a dank and dirty dungeon morphed into clinical and experimental. We halted at a door that looked like any number I’d seen in laboratories: frosted glass, reinforced steel, industrial grade fire extinguisher and fire hose prominently displayed on the puke green wall on the left.

Ushering me inside, Gatekeeper one handed me off to Gatekeeper two and my fun meter pegged at oh shit I’ll take two of those and left me wondering why most of the vamps I’d met came across as just average. Instead of model-gorgeous, misdirections promo’d by the Council looking to set aside squeamishness in favor of increasing the take at clubs like this one, most vamps looked like they needed a Happy Meal with a double order of fries.

Tall, dark and hunky was two eyeblinks away from me prostrating my body on the altar of do me, do me now. He grinned, displaying an impressive set of fangs.

“You may place your … personal belongings here.”

Here was a locker, not the standard high school half-pint issue, but the kind you’d find in a gym, a high end gym. The bag with the pea shooter and the Nikes, along with a change of clothes in case I soiled myself in the excitement, fit on the top shelf.

I glanced at Mr. Gorgeous, and nearly did pee my non-existent panties. He wore a nametag on his golf shirt. A fucking name tag.

My Adonis was going by the moniker “Stanley”.

Murmuring, “So, Stanley…” I slide the skirt up my narrow hips and cocked my right foot on the lip of the locker, taking my time sliding the blade from its sticky holster. If I got out of this alive, I faced serious maintenance work on a few of my favorite fashion accessories.

Since I might need quick access to something sharper than my wit, I hung the holster on a hook and turned to face … Stanley. The brain might find amusement in his name, but the rest of me was altogether obsessing over a bulge that filled out his Dockers with sin in mind.

He pointed to a set of double doors toward the rear of the room. “Showers are that way.”

Before I could grunt, “I’m fine,” he had me up against the row of lockers, my palms slapping steel hard to keep from doing a face plant. With one hand he scooped my two into an unbreakable grip, nudged my legs apart and proceeded to unlace the corset with vamp speed.

Oh no no no no… no!

The corset fell away, hitting the linoleum with a thud. The skirt was next, but at parade rest, the damn thing was too narrow to slide down my legs. Stanley compensated by lifting me off the floor until I dangled like a fish on a line, and the offending garment dropped away. I tried ignoring that world of hurt, and what it was doing to my shoulder sockets, by congratulating myself that it wasn’t my long hair being yanked out by the roots.

I should have shielded my thoughts because Stanley chuckled and gave the few straggles framing my face a good tug.

To my “Asshole,” he answered with, “If that’s how you like it, bitch,” and goosestepped me toward the doors, then thrust me against the far wall with a powerful shove.

I shouted, “I thought you jackasses weren’t supposed to touch. Wasn’t that a rule or some such shit?”

Again with the fangy grin, he growled, “New set of rules,” and closed the doors.

I’d been so occupied with the manhandling, I never gave a thought to the scarring that I was hoping to save for Dominic’s eyes alone. Nicky knew from experience I was quick on my feet when it came to squirming out of tight spots, but this didn’t match anything I’d ever seen in his playbook. I was being herded through some kind of gauntlet. That I’d gotten this far was both encouraging and a hair worrisome.

The short hallway led to another small changing room with benches and a rack of white towels. Shampoo and soap bars, hair dryers and other accouterments were artfully displayed on low shelves. I grabbed a bottle and a washcloth and charged through the adjoining room with toilet stalls, and then into an open area with shower nozzles spaced along the tiled wall.

“Fucking high school.”

Considering how sticky I was, luxuriating under steaming hot water had a certain appeal. A girl was never at her best when her thighs mushed together, cemented into place with cum, so I scrubbed myself raw.

As much as I’d deny it if accused, I was a total girl when it came to hot water. Spas, hot tubs, unlimited time under a set of designer spray heads… Nothing said indulgence like steaming out your pores and releasing the toxins. I felt Annie’s sweat and slippery juices, Sam’s seed and greedy lust, the ache of being jerked until tendons and muscle and ligaments hyper-activated in a chorus of pain … all of it sluiced away, swirling in lazy patterns, then disappearing down the drain.

Resting my head against the slick tile, I lost all train of thought and went to that happy place for a little resuscitation.

I never heard him come in, but I heard his intake of air, air he didn’t need, and then he sucked all resistance from my body with a grip so tight my bones brittle fractured and ashed inside a shell held together by pale skin.

“What do you want with me?” That was a dumb question, but when you lose your focus, that’s what happens. Stupid is as stupid does.

He lifted me off the floor and settled his enormous cock in the ass crack, rubbing with abandon, and I gave fleeting hope to him beating his bishop against my tight buns without invading Dominic’s territory.

Somehow he’d managed to reach the other shower head, both going full blast, waterboarding me so effectively my only thoughts were to avoid the harsh impact of bony hips against unforgiving ceramic tile.

Slap, unh, fuck, slap, the bruises spread, overlaying one after another, and each crack was a gunshot, a reminder of my own human weakness. He penetrated me so effectively, he didn’t need to fill me with his cock. All he had to do was demonstrate his superiority, getting his rocks off with minimal effort and when the hot cum coated my back and ran in rivulets over my hips and down my thighs, the hot water changed to punishment and my skin glowed rose red from strain and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Stanley shivered and set me down, freeing my arms but not my body. That he kept pinned to the wall, sheltered from the scorching torrents of water pummeling our bodies. I felt, rather than heard, his pants—his chest in rapid rise and fall, press, recede, return. My back ached as muscles bunched to the point of agony, abs like bricks grinding me to dust to flush away.

And then his tongue was in my ear, and I eeuwed under my breath, as he wormed and shimmied deep inside. Bile rose from a belly emptied of the capacity for tolerance, sick of the games and incessant testing, until Sam’s words haunted me and reassured me.

Next round won’t be so easy…

Stanley wanted me to fight back, he was goading me, probing in all those soft, fleshy places, suggestive of what I could have had but did not deserve. Spinning, my body reversed the image, and I faced him full on, faced the smirk and eyes of nut brown flecked in shades of sadism boring into mine.

He wore satisfaction but there was a thing I saw that he wasn’t able to mask: irritation at having to hold back. I wasn’t the only one being tested. That wouldn’t have bothered me, except for the fact I wasn’t acquitting myself well. I’d scored an easy layup with Sam, but Stanley was guarding me with man-on-man and keeping me from even getting close to the basket.

Again he grunted. I didn’t bother hiding the sports metaphor, letting my brain lose a torrent of gibberish as I slid down the wall and gathered his flaccid cock in my mouth. Hissing surprise, he angled away from the wall, letting the waterfall dissuade me from reigniting his interest. He was doomed to lose.

I let my fingers explore and tease and penetrate and rub him into velvet over steel, hard and needy and demanding, and he moaned his pleasure as I fisted him into setting a blistering pace. Thrusting deep, he pistoned his hips and gave way to what he wanted, not what they allowed, and this time not one shred of regret settled in the soft spot that my Annie had mined just a few short hours before.

I let myself go, absorbing the shock of cock slamming my head into the wall, ignoring his wails of despair as he shot his load down my throat, sobbing, “Don’t,” when I pulled my fist out and stood—defiant, half-drowned, parboiled and triumphant.

Two down.

I looked up at the camera in the corner and smiled.

Stanley caught up to me before I exited the bathroom proper, pulling me by the elbow, gently this time, into a corner by the farthest stall. He eased the door open and maneuvered both of us inside. When I scanned for cameras, he shook his head and held a finger to his ear.

Curious, I waited, unsure what was going on. Hands that had left deep muscle bruises that would purple and yellow, now scooped lengths of blonde, water-soaked hair behind my ears, the touch so tender it frightened more than soothed. My gut told me to turn away, to refuse to accept this offer that came out of nowhere.

Beware Greeks bearing gifts…

Tilting my head up with one hand under my chin, he took the other and put his wrist to his mouth, tearing a great, ugly swath of flesh away, the vein throbbing and pulsing, then spurting geysers of iron-rich sustenance.

He mouthed, “Drink,” and held his wrist to my lips. The first drops felt like acid on flesh tenderized to the point of collapse, but then the aromatic essence, a bouquet of such exquisite fulsomeness, captured and held me in thrall. I licked my lips, and it exploded onto my tongue and released such sweet passion all I could do was suckle and sigh my pleasure.

I drank ’til sated and my benefactor slumped against the stall door, nearly comatose.

I whispered, “Thank you,” and reversed our positions, guiding him into the small vestibule where I propped him on a stool and tended to my ablutions. A satchel sat on the shelf running the length of the mirror on the wall. Opening it, I discovered a leather vest and skimpy skirt.

Cosplay, great. If Dominic was trying to annoy me, he’d just scored a win.

I left Stanley in the bathroom and hustled to the locker where I reinstated the blade, switching thighs to avoid additional abrasion. The corset and skirt were gone, as were the impractical heels. In their place was a pair of knee-high bridle leather boots that fit like a second skin. The heels were high enough to cream jeans but not so clunky to keep me from moving fast if I needed to.

Gatekeeper one greeted me with a sniff of disdain and nodded to two henchmen who barged through the door and disappeared from view. I licked my lips, releasing the copper-iron scent still coating my tongue and gums and watched his irises narrow to pinpricks.

And then he grinned with satisfaction.

I had a bad feeling I’d soon find out why.



2 Responses to Chapter 9: Gatekeepers

  1. suzanawylie says:

    Every time, I think, “She couldn’t possibly top this,” and then you do.


  2. mo883mpetersdesires says:

    Oh, God, this really does get better and better. This is AMAZING. A-MAY-ZING, with extra ZING added for good measure. Incredible, incredible stuff, Diane. You’re not just subject to your Muse’s whims – you are the very powers it bestows. WOW.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Gravatar Logo

You are commenting using your account. ( Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )


Connecting to %s