William, meet the Succubus…

Another excerpt from House of Sable Locks. 

****

William entered the room on Madame’s heels, expecting a laboratory, and eager to see what the famous Simon Carstair’s personal workshop would look like, if it would be anything like the man’s workshop at the Academy. He was taken aback for a moment when the room that they entered seemed to be nothing more than a large garret, full of draped furniture and cast off odds-and-ends. Then he saw the draperies along the walls, and rising above them, the machines. He walked forward, staring upwards, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Then what looked like a random arrangement of gears and pipes and wires suddenly resolved into something familiar, and William realized what he was looking at.

Slowly, he looked over his shoulder to see Madame standing by an odd object d’art–a shining metal statue of a reclining nude woman, lying on a wide velvet couch. Madame had a small smile on her face; she nodded once when William went to speak.

“You recognize it, I see?” she asked.

William looked up again. “This cannot be possible. We cannot be standing inside a Cerebral Engine. Can we?” His eyes followed the ever-shifting dance of gears that towered over them, remembering when he’d sat shoulder to shoulder with his father, learning how to build and maintain a much smaller version of this incredible machine. That one had given the Tin Men life, and had kept the hill stations safe from the uprisings. Until Rupesh…

William turned abruptly to face Madame, shoving memories of India away. “This is quite impressive.”

She nodded and smiled. “I thought you would find it so. Now, allow me to present you to the Succubus.” She gestured to the statue, stepped back, and folded her hands, a beaded reticule swinging from one wrist.

William blinked, momentarily taken aback; his memory brought to the forefront of his mind a conversation that he’d had with his father after the frustration of a day of making social calls with his mother. He could almost hear his father’s deep voice in his ear: Most of the time when someone puts you in an uncomfortable position, they’re trying to get the upper hand, prove they have some kind of power over you. It’s petty, but some society people like that kind of game. If you show them you’re confused, they win. So… brazen it out, Will. Confuse them, instead.

Brazen it out, indeed. William stepped forward and bowed slightly to the figure on the couch. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

For a moment, there was only the churning of the machines. Then that sound was broken by a breathy laugh that seemed to come from all around them, and a pleasant woman’s voice said sweetly, “My, he is polite, isn’t he?”

Startled, William took a step back; he stumbled and would have fallen if something hadn’t caught him around the body and steadied him until he could stand again. He looked down and saw a thick metal cable wrapped around his waist. As he watched, it uncoiled and vanished into the floor.

“Good Gad…” he murmured. “It… she speaks?”

“She does a great deal more than speak,” Madame said with a laugh. “You’ll be spending your first night in this house with the Succubus. From this point on, William, your consent is assumed, and your body…” she looked at him appraisingly, her eyes sweeping over him in such a way that William felt his face grow warm “…is at her disposal until such time as you leave. It will be that way whenever you come to call. Once your collar is locked on, you are a slave to the house and your consent is assumed in all things. Do you understand?”

William swallowed, feeling too hot. His shirt collar was suddenly too small, his trousers too tight. He swallowed again, tried to answer and had to cough to clear his throat to speak. “I understand. What do I have to do?”

Madame reached into her reticule, drawing out a length of silver chain. Before she could say a word, William was on his knees, fumbling to bare his throat for her. She looked startled at his reaction, but recovered quickly, moving towards him and looping the collar around his neck. William shivered as he heard the lock click, his eyes closing as the cold metal slowly warmed against his skin. He heard her moving away, the door open and close, and then nothing else.

“You’ve been trained,” the Succubus murmured. “This will be entertaining. Stand, my darling, and take off your clothes.”

* * * *

I watch him as he retreats to the chair near the door and starts removing his clothing. He does so with a surprising grace, and a complete lack of either self-consciousness or shame.

He has done this before.

He still strikes me as young, and I wonder who would have taken a mere boy and trained him to the collar, left their mark etched indelibly in his skin. There is a pair of odd, round scars on his collarbone, and as he strips off his drawers, I see it: a brand, just below his navel. It is a strange and exotic thing, sinuous lines that look like some kind of script; unlike the twisted horror of a scar that mars his thigh and inhibits his stride, the brand enhances his pale beauty. Such a brand, and in such a place, could only have been placed there by whomever it was who had taken him in hand. It is shocking and thrilling all at once, and it occurs to me that I have never before had a paramour who has come to me knowing full well what to expect. My William knows, and he is as eager and as nervous as a new bridegroom, his cock erect, his breathing quick, a most attractive flush on his skin. He is ready for what I have to offer, ready to offer all that he is on my altar.

“When you are finished, my dear, come and kneel before me.”

* * * *

William laid his clothing over the chair a piece at a time, lining his boots up underneath just so before removing the chain that he wore hidden beneath his shirt. He cradled the rings in the palm of his hand for a moment–his father’s heavy signet ring, his mother’s wedding band–then tucked them safely into the pocket of his discarded coat. He was debating removing the ring from his hair when the Succubus spoke, “When you are finished, my dear, come and kneel before me.”

He turned at the sound of her voice, his eyes once again rising to study the mechanism that soared over his head. He closed his eyes and let the steady rhythms of the machines wash over him, echoing his own rapid heartbeat. Opening his eyes, he started forward, limping more than a little from the strain climbing five flights of stairs had put on his leg. But he refused to let the old injury stop him, and he dropped to his knees three paces in front of the couch, arranging himself for punishment as he’d been taught: upright on his knees, his legs spread slightly, his wrists crossed behind his back, and his head bowed to the silver goddess before him.

“Lovely.” It sounded to William as if the Succubus was whispering in his ear, and he wondered how she did it. Thoughts of pneumatic larynxes and valve-driven speech were dashed from his mind when rigid metal shackles rose from the floor to clamp around his ankles and knees, locking him in place. They were followed by a supple metal ribbon that dropped from the ceiling, one end slithering down William’s spine to coil tightly around his wrists, invoking memories of heavy wire biting painfully into his skin, the smell of the cigars that Rupesh had stolen from William’s father, the searing pain of the brand that Rupesh claimed would mark William as his. Caught in the memory, William whimpered slightly and, as if in response, the ribbon slowly started to draw his wrists up and back, stopping only when William’s arms were almost parallel to the floor, his upper body tilted forward against the strain on his shoulders. When at last the pull stopped, the Succubus spoke again, whispering into William’s ear, “How long as it been, my darling, since you were last properly beaten?”

William shivered, feeling something stir inside of him that he thought had died in India with Rupesh. When he spoke, his voice cracked slightly, “Four years, Sahiba…”

“Sahiba?”

William licked his lips slightly, “It means… my lady. Or… Mistress. In Hindi.”

“Ah. Four years, you say?” she asked. “Tragic. And you obviously need it so badly. I promise you, my pet, you will never be so sadly neglected again.”

There was a sudden movement in front of William, and he looked up to see a metal arm swinging a crop experimentally. He caught his breath, then heard the whistle of a second crop cutting the air; craning his neck to see over his shoulder, he could see another arm, another crop raised and ready to strike.

An involuntary moan escaped William’s lips, and the forward crop came forward in response, gently trailing up his abdomen. “I cannot say this will not hurt,” the Succubus said. “But really, isn’t that the point?”