Metropolis

Beauty & Decay

The derelict factory building had been the perfect choice. He had visited the location on a number of occasions, checking its suitability, its safety and of course, the best time of day for the effect he wanted to capture; it was perfect all it needed was the centrepiece.

Since they had last spoken occasional doubt had pricked at him, wondering whether she would go through with it, whether it was really what she wanted. He suspected she had hidden her full identity from him and he wondered who she really was that she needed to hide. The squeak of the small metal door set in the larger roller doors of the loading bay shook him from his musing. This was the only available entrance and exit, he had made sure of that and although not visible from his hiding place, was perfectly audible.

The high lattice windows were still remarkably intact for the most part and the last rays of sunlight filtered through the thick glass, picking up the dancing motes of dust he had disturbed during his preparations. He saw her at the edge of the light, her pale skin almost luminous against the dark shadows. He watched as she scanned the interior, looking for the area he had described. Stepping into the fading light she walked towards him.

He had imagined her in the outfit he had provided but the reality took his breath away. Her bare white skin gleamed against the deep purple of the tightly laced corset, her already ample cleavage enhanced, almost but not quite exposing the nipples. The skirt, individual panels of thick black silk joined at the waistband only, moved as she walked, exposing her white thighs down to the tops of the long leather boots, which laced to her knees.

He had picked his stage well, a high barred, steel gate had once separated two areas of the factory, the gate was long gone but the steel bar surround still remained. He watched her dark lips twitch into a faint smile as she saw where he had attached the leather loops, knotted to tighten with a slight pull. Turning, she stepped into the ankle loops, bending to tighten them. Reaching up she slipped her wrists through the leather and jerked to tighten the knots.

The pose was perfect, her legs spread wide, forcing the silk panels of her skirt to fall away, exposing her thighs; two panels fell between her legs and if she had followed his instructions to the letter, should now be caressing her exposed flesh beneath. He had placed the wrist loops high enough to force her to full stretch, her long dark hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders. Her eyes sought for the source of the sound as he stepped from his hiding place.

He said nothing as he approached her, watching her face as she first smiled at him, a slight frown appearing as he did not return the welcome. His own face displayed no emotion, encased in black leather and he saw a hint of apprehension in her violet eyes as she scanned his face, looking for understanding. The mask had been her choice and he had gone along with it, quite enjoying the effect it apparently had. She opened her mouth to speak, to engage him but he merely placed two fingers on her lips, a slight raise of his eyebrows requesting her silence.

Parting the silk of her skirt, he reached in; pleased to see her body quiver as his gloved hand touched her naked flesh. He allowed one finger to lightly brush her exposed clitoris, a slight spasm coursing through her body at his touch. Keeping the skirt drawn open and his eyes locked to hers he knelt in front of her, his breath as he spoke teasing her further.

'So far, you have not disappointed me; you have followed my instructions to the letter. Now, are you sure you don't want to change your mind?' he asked lightly as his tongue traced a line from her navel, flicking deftly between her legs.

He laughed as she gasped and squirmed at his touch. 'I'll take that as a 'no' then?'

Abruptly he stood up, noting the flush of colour starting at her neck. He loved it when there were obvious indicators of his subjects' desire.

'Now, just a few final decorations and we'll start'

He drew the metal trolley that had been out of sight towards him, the slight squeak from one of the wheels echoing in the large empty space. He saw her wince at the sound and her eyes widen as she saw the trolley's contents. He was quite fond of his collection of 'toys' and always enjoyed the reaction of a first appearance. Stainless steel glinted in the fading light, rattling slightly with the trolley's movement. For the first time he saw a hint of fear in her expression and it stirred him.

With her body pulled so tight it was easy to free her breasts from the confines of the corset, deftly attaching a small clamp to each exposed nipple. She stiffened at the sudden pain, a small yelp escaping before she could stop herself.

'Hmm,' he mused as if thinking to himself 'I had quite forgotten how vocal these things can become...'

She saw him reach to the bottom shelf of the trolley retrieving a ball gag which he teasingly dangled before her face. He watched her hesitation as he placed the ball against her lips.

Increasing the pressure, he felt her mouth open, accepting the invasion. Standing behind her he fastened the buckles, his voice low, as his breath caressed her neck below her ear.

'Please don't hold back, no-one outside will hear and I love the sound of muffled screams'

His tongue tasted her, tracing her neck, down to her collarbone. He smiled as the blush on her pale skin increased.

Darkness Revealed

He had been right, she photographed beautifully, her supposed helplessness and frailty against a backdrop of decay and twisted metal made for the perfect image.

Use of the timer had been inspired resulting in a collection of perfectly caught moments; her head thrown back in a silent scream against the gag, her muscles bunched tight, the red stripes on her otherwise flawless skin, the look of ecstasy as he finally gave her the release she craved.

He had promised to show her the photographs as soon as he had developed them, sure digital photography was all the rage but he still preferred the artistry of the real thing and the pleasure and skill in developing your own photographs. Her eagerness to see the images had amused him, her enthusiasm was almost childlike; it had been a fantasy of hers for some time and had been the ideal scenario for her first experience.

He started to collect up the additional set of prints he had done for her, and then stopped. Shuffling back through, he found it again, something he had not seen earlier. Deep within the shadows, what appeared to be a face, watching. He was not overly perturbed, it would not be the first time an accidental voyeur had got lucky and it was not as if they were doing anything illegal. Christ, fetish was the new vanilla on the streets in this day and age but it would be interesting to get a clearer look at their audience.

It took a bit of doing but the result was finally in front of him, the fact that he recognised the face worried him. Reaching for the scanner, he ran it over the print. A couple of key presses later and his suspicion was confirmed. Worse than the identification was the additional pictures of the rest of the secret voyeur's family; his new playmate was Lady Gabrielle Draegan which suddenly made her reasons for covering her identity all too clear.

Out on A limb

The session in the factory had left her feeling unnerved, she had never realised her capacity for such a strong response. The intensity of the experience had overwhelmed her, finally making her lose control until she begged him for release.

In the days leading up to the meeting she had changed her mind more times than she cared to mention but that uncertainty and apprehension itself had excited her curiosity and heightened her emotions. He had arranged for her to collect his parcel containing her outfit and instructions from relative anonymity of the City Freight Office. She had quoted the reference number to one of the bored looking orderlies and had the package brought to one of the private viewing cubicles; she was glad she had. The package would surely have not gone unnoticed had she returned home with it through the busy streets of Braeburn District. She almost gasped aloud when she saw what she was to wear, his taste was impeccable, the material rich and luxurious. She wondered briefly how he could afford such things and idly contemplated whether he too was hiding something. The thought soon disappeared as she read his instructions. Again, the little flutter of anticipation. Discarding the outer box she repackaged the contents into the leather holdall she had brought with her anticipating its use.

She teased herself for the next two days looking at the outfit, fingering the plush material, imagining herself wrapped within its confines but refusing to try it on. It was time, the shadows were starting to lengthen and the outfit and his will lay before her.

Delicately she dressed, savouring each item; the restrictive embrace of the tightly laced corset, the caress of the cool silk on her freshly exposed skin, the soft breeze weaving between her naked thighs as she walked. She had almost not recognised the woman in the mirror; a sensual, erotic creature with an air of abandoned wantonness stared back, challenging her, daring her to continue. A willing virgin to be sacrificed on the altar of pleasure. She smiled at the over dramatic image she had conjured; willing? Yes. Pleasure? Most definitely but virgin was stretching it too far, especially considering her lineage.

She had found him quite by chance through the new craze that was fast taking hold; social networking and creative forums. A gifted entrepreneur had discovered some ancient writing which when deciphered spoke of such a pastime. Using the descriptions in the old pages he created 'Graffiti' a system whereby people could register an account using a nickname, which was then allocated a locked pigeon hole with a number. Only the Graffiti staff knew which nickname matched which pigeon hole. Members could submit anything for the public Graffiti Boards via the central drop box, it would then be posted for all to read. Anyone wishing to leave a message or comment could submit their missive in the same way, addressing it to the person's nickname. Staff collated all the written slips and posted them to individual accounts.

Gabrielle had been thrilled to be able to showcase her work without anyone being aware as to her identity. She used the nickname 'Raven' and regularly found pigeon hole number A91 stuffed with comments on her work; his had stood out. He was Master Wolf and he had commented on all her writing and hinted at the darkness he saw within. Impressed she continued to court his opinions and had finally sent him some of her more personal pieces direct. Finally she needed to hear his voice, to talk to him for real. It had amused her that never once had he asked to see her picture or push her into any further contact than she was ready for; the control was all hers yet he was still pulling the strings and she loved it. Her own kind only took, never gave in such a fashion.

Their first meeting had sealed it. They had met at The Underground, one of the many urban clubs in the empty inner city premises of the Streets.

History said something dreadful had happened in the Island's past, something that had turned its inhabitants on each other, something that had left death and destruction in its wake. History said the Streets had been home to prowling gangs of pirates, the starving, the dispossessed and diseased; the human fallout of a world gone insane. The area had been left to its own demise and annexed off 'for its own good and the good of the true citizens' so history says. History never did say what happened; only that it did.

The Streets, however, were proud of their history and built on the legends, manufacturing urban myth upon lie upon wish until no-one any longer was sure of the truth; needless to say the place now thrived on its own notoriety.

A whole sub culture had emerged in the old industrial buildings, the unused basements and underground car parks, the abandoned prisons and asylums. Left alone, they policed themselves, some kind of warped code of honour. The Streets found itself in business as 'True Citizens' knocked on its doors and pleaded for entry to sample the delights on offer, to escape their ravaged existence, for a short while to be free of their burdens. In the new city of the True Citizens rule was harsh, cruel and strict; in the Streets nothing was taboo.

The clubs provided social meeting places where deals could be struck and anything you care to mention, exchanged or partaken of. The music was loud and hypnotic, the cavernous rooms were dark, dinghy and anonymous, black market produce freely changed hands with anything or anyone available for a price. Discretion was always assured.

The new rulers of Metropolis, the new city, had tried in vain to quash the Streets but they had left it too long, it had grown strong. So the ruling Families made a pact with the Streets' leaders and devised a new set of rules for their own gathered clans. It was four hundred years since the first Families settled Metropolis.

It wasn't exactly against the rules for an upstanding member of Metropolis to take refuge in the Streets but there were caveats which sorely depended on social status, gender and marital status; punishment could be brutal. Some of the pastimes available in the clubs however, were completely illegal.

The myth of the Streets had drawn Gabrielle from a young age; she loved the beauty in decay, the poignancy of something once majestic, left to rot, to return to the earth's embrace. Like all children of the Families she had been taken to the Streets as part of their education; during attendance at the City University she had been in possession of an ongoing permit to allow her to conclude her studies in Social Anthropology.

She had learnt a lot, including the many secret ways in and out of the area. She loved to move, unseen, into the mass of humanity, different voices advertising different goods, different pleasures. The loud throb of the music the hazy neon signs flickering through the thick smoke pall that hung over the area. She knew she had a romantic view of the decay that surrounded her; that real people had to live here and all too often died here, on a daily basis. She also knew that even from her elevated position she could do little to change it

So she had chosen The Underground, not only for her own protection but for his. He proclaimed himself a Traveller, moving from city to city, no fixed dwelling house or even a Family Name; he certainly could not be found in her District without the proper papers.

During their communications he had regaled her with stories of his travels, of places she had never seen. Making her laugh at his observations, of his descriptions of the people he had met. In person she found him even more enigmatic.

They had talked until dawn that first meeting and on several occasions after that; she was thankful for the loyalty of her own house as she constantly snuck back in through the kitchens. Andrew, her butler, had 'clucked' at her a couple of times and raised his eyebrows but she was assured of his loyalty. It was she who had suggested Master Wolf and Raven take the next step. They had never revealed their true identities, she had insisted it was better that way. So he had asked if she was sure she wished to proceed and when she had nodded her consent ,had said he would be in touch but when he did, she would have to follow his instructions to the letter. She had agreed; on reflection, she had mulled over her decision time and again, she had never agreed to anything without knowing what that something entailed in detail.

She had smiled as she had seen the area he had prepared for her, it was perfect, he had asked if she minded him taking photographs, she had thrilled to the idea and seeing how he had arranged his stage, she knew she would not be disappointed.

She trusted him, knew he would not take her anywhere she did not want to go but that was what scared her; she did not know where she wanted to go or how far. She also knew she could no longer walk away from this side of her nature; one taste would never be enough. She would need to be careful, the risks were potentially huge.

Letting Off Steam

Steam quickly filled the bathing chamber, softening the edges, writhing and curling in the low light. The heady scent of frankincense and neroli filled the air. Gabrielle smiled, this was just what she needed, to relax and compose herself before returning home.

Few homes could afford to have fully immersed bathing facilities, most were fitted with timed shower stalls and allocated a basic allowance dependant on number of occupants; the water was always lukewarm at best and speedy ablutions were necessary if you were to successfully dissipate all remaining soap suds. The bathing houses had sprung up in response, from the luxurious establishments that few could afford to the basic mass bathing facilities that were accessible to the majority. She had deliberately chosen a mid range house where she knew no-one would pay her much attention. If she had attended her regular haunt she was bound to have known most if not all of the other clients and it was not unusual for the ladies to sit talking to each other as they bathed. Her marked body would certainly have prompted more questions than she would be able to convincingly answer.

The oils had been a bit of an extravagance, even more so as they had been obtained through other than recognised channels but the scent soothed her and would be worth it just to carry the scent on her skin for the rest of the day, reminding her of her recent activities.

She winced as she lowered herself into the hot water, the cuts and abrasions stinging as they came into contact with the heat and oils. The temporary pain subsided to a dull throb as her body became accustomed to the water. Slowly she explored the aching parts of her body, testing the extent of his handiwork. She had certainly gone a lot further than she had expected, forgetting she would have to hide the evidence for days to come.

Under the water, her fingers traced her inner thighs travelling up between her legs to the swollen flesh at their apex. She remembered her fear as she had seen the little metal clamps, the wires, the power cell and his indication as to where they were going. She had just become used to the sharp sensation when he had increased the voltage; bastard! She smiled at the memory. Later he had disengaged the wires and attached little leaden weights making her gasp into the gag. She had soon discovered though that if she just moved her body slightly she could set the weights in motion, teasing her clitoris, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She had been punished when he had realised what she was trying to do; once more a smile curved on her lips.

Her fingers had been idly teasing her swollen clit as she reminisced, moved faster, delving deeper as she replayed the various scenes in her mind. She felt her arousal rising, her body heating with the warmth and her longing. Biting her lip she felt her orgasm building, desperate no one should hear her. Her head thrown back in a silent scream as she could hold back no longer.

She felt her face redden as the reality of what she had just done hit her; okay, she had a single bathing cubicle but it was not exactly completely private, the walls did not extend all the way to the ceiling and she knew from the overheard conversation from a couple of rooms down, that sound carried. The doors to each room did not even lock, you merely slid the door sign to "occupied", anyone could have caught her. The thought embarrassed and thrilled her at the same time.