Shadows in Mind Ch. 00 ProloguebyJoshuaX©
Foreword: At its heart, this tale is a sci-fi; story is my priority here, so expect stretches that do not contain sex. That being said, when it does appear, fair warning: I intend this story to include non-consent, slavery, bondage, and lots of different flavors of sex; my goal here is an adult themed story -- if the story calls for a fetish or sexual theme, it will appear. Expect a bit of darkness to this tale, especially at first.
He stepped out of the squat, glanced around and frowned. For a moment, he could have sworn that someone was watching him. The garish neon lights from a hundred brothels, peeps, squats and bars bathed the dirty street in a thousand colors. Nothing --and no one- moved. Silence, except for the buzz of electricity, and the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. The melt he had smoked in the squat was doing its job; molten light was flushing through his veins, the rush of blood in his ears sounded like crashing waves; his senses were both dimmer and sharper at once; his memories faded, cast in sepia tones, vague as if they were the memories of someone else, where they weren't burned away entirely. His skin felt like wax, amiable and fluid, ready to melt and drip away. Melt. The drug of choice for the lowest of the low, the ones that wanted to forget. Tripper was a man that needed to forget.
He left the squat behind, and glanced up at the towering city; he was in the lowest level, a fitting place, a place of bones and antiquity. The modern city, far above, was built on the backs of an untold number of city-corpses, covering the planet in a shell of steal and plastic. The Underworld, the Sewer, it was the place humanity loved to forget. Thousands of feet above, in the decadent splendor of Top Side, the city-world of Trandor went about its business, doing its best to forget the Underworld and everyone that lived there.
But the Sewer was where Tripper called home. It was the only home he could recall; though there was little enough he did recall. He was tall, and thin as a reed, despite wide shoulders. Years of malnutrition and abuse had left him a frail thing, though he still took pride at his agility; he could outrun most Sec's on foot, had only been nabbed that one time, when he slipped and twisted his ankle. His stint in the local Sector Security holding facility had been the worst four months of his short life; hard to believe anything could actually be that much worse than the Sewer itself. If he were to guess, he would put his age at around eighteen years; under the dirt and oil, the stringy thin beard, his skin was smooth and fresh. His blonde hair hung shoulder length and ragged, trimmed just recently on a dull blade he kept at his right ankle; the knife had been a gift from Donovan, his pimp.
He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the rush as the melt had its way with him; the blissful oblivion it threw him down into. It made him forget what he did for a bite to eat, for a bit of shelter in the hovel Donovan kept for him, and the others. It made him forget the faces. Screaming, crying, groaning, grunting, panting, huffing, horrible, twisted faces. Tripper was a man that needed to forget, and it mattered little to him that the drug had taken more than just the bad; it had burned away his past, his identity. Even his name was lost to him. Now, he was just a whore named Tripper; called that, because he could trip up the Sec's when they chased him, getting away every time --except the one time he didn't. That was a memory he could hardly wait to lose. The faces in the holding facility were the worst. He wished the melt would hurry up and do away with that place. He shook his head, wishing his thoughts would stop straying there.
He stumbled down the street, watching the colors; his mind twisted them, like wet paints bleeding together, a kaleidoscope of physcadelic visual noise. He knew he would trip for at least a day or two; then he would have to return to Donovan. Then he would have to make more memories that he would want to erase. It was a vicious cycle. He ginned at the thought, and spun a little pirouette in the street.
"You there, boy," a voice interrupted his buzz. He felt disappointed, and a brief moment of irritation, before the drug washed it all away. "How old are you?" He shrugged. "You live around here?"
"Yeah, man, the Sewer is my pad. I live eeeeeverywhere." He dragged out the syllable, and laughed at the sound. He turned, wanting to see the source of the voice, and felt his jaw drop in surprise when he saw her. "Wow, man. I mean, you're no man."
The woman smiled at him, and he felt his knees melt. "No, boy, I'm certainly not," she said in a stern voice. Her voice was undoubtedly feminine, and Tripper grinned at the fact that he had been too nuked to notice at first. It was soft, sexy, but tinted with shades of authority; she spoke in a way that demanded his attention -and his obedience. She was as tall as he was, but built stronger; where he was a ragged bundle of bones, she was a trim and well-kept collection of muscles. She was dressed in a flight suit, the kind pilots and space travelers wore --he had seen them in vids. It was a white, form fitting one-piece suit, accented with bright red, like stripes on a racer; it left little to the imagination, and he found himself checking her out. Her long legs her were fit -thin but muscular; her tummy was flat; her arms looked strong; the zipper at her chest was pulled down, showing a pleasant swath of tanned skin, and a generous amount of cleavage --her breasts were large and firm. The bare skin of her throat was inviting, gracefully arching up to a gently pronounced chin. Her lips were full and soft looking, slightly pink, perched just beneath a small button of a nose. Her eyes seemed massive, sparkling blue gems with long dark lashes, and her brow was high and stern. Her raven black hair was pulled back in a severe pony tail, and she wore no make-up.
Tripper found his mouth watering at the sight; in his line of work, he was more than familiar with all shapes and sizes, but the woman before him out-classed anyone he had ever known. "Hey baby, you are one sweet dish. You looking for some company? I'm off today, but that jus' means you can enjoy me for free."
The woman scowled, but remained silent. She moved around him slowly, her eyes roving; Tripper knew when he was being checked out, and grinned at the thought. "Like what you see?" he asked.
"You are rather crude, and look about as strong as a kitten. If I stared at you hard enough, I'm afraid you might come apart at the seams," she commented, her voice thoughtful. She held out her hand, and ran a finger along the breadth of his shoulders. "But you have nice shoulders; a little filling out, and you might actually be quite striking." She ran her hand through his hair, and then petted at his beard; he was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, despite the melt. "This hair is dreadful, and the beard would have to go," she continued. She stared into his eyes. "Nice eyes though. And then there is your tor, which drew me to you in the first place."
"Um, thanks," Tripper muttered. "What the drek is a tor? And do you wanna fuck, or what?"
She slapped him, hard. Over the sudden ringing in his ears, he heard her berate him. "Much too crude. Watch your language, boy; you will not speak like that to me." She smiled then. "But I do like your spirit. Yes, you'll do." She glanced around, checking out the streets; they remained empty. "Come with me then, boy. I have a... place."
"Yeah, all right," Tripper nodded, rubbing his cheek. "But no rough stuff, yeah? That drek costs extra."
The woman started to walk away, and something in her demeanor said she expected him to follow. He took a moment to watch her ass as she moved away, and hummed appreciatively. "Yeah, I don't need no convincing," he muttered to himself. The world lurched a bit under the weight of the melt as he started forward, but he quickly fell back into his groove. The colors of the world around him seemed to shimmer with his every footstep, but somehow that ass ahead of him stayed firm and solid, the biggest focus in his world.
"So," he called at her back as he followed, just far back enough to keep the pleasant view. "You slumin or what? Don't see many like you in the Sewer."
"Yes," the woman called back. "I am slumming." Her voice sounded disinterested, and she made no move to glance back at him.
Tripper wondered if she were getting bored already; some rich lady from Top Side, come down looking for a thrill, most likely; now that she had found it, maybe she was having second thoughts. He didn't want to risk such a piece of ass, so he quickly decided to recapture her interest. "So, I'm Tripper," he introduced himself. "What's your name, yeah?"
She glanced back at him; "You may call me Veronica. Please, I do not desire conversation. We are almost there." She paused, and her eyes glinted like shards of ice. "Do not fear; I am not going anywhere without you, I promise." Tripper giggled, wondering if he had said his thoughts out loud --the melt hazing his brain made it hard to be sure.
He glanced around suddenly, noticing that the colors had become sharper, darker. They were in a nasty bit of town, not that any part of the Sewer was safe and pleasant. But this was gang territory; the area was shrouded in darkness, most of the lights shot out --maintenance wouldn't come near this block, any more than one would expect to see Sec's here. "Yeah, Veronica? We shouldn't be here." He looked around nervously. "Ain't safe."
Dark buildings crowded both sides of the street. If there were lights within, the habitants had blocked the windows to prevent any from reaching the street. Windows and doors were boarded up, and litter filled the street; the pavement beneath his feet so old and cracked it could almost be called a dirt road. The glaring lights were gone; nothing was advertised here.
"Do not fear, boy. We are expected."
"What?" He didn't have time to protest. Bangers were separating from the shadows like wraiths, surrounding them. They were trapped. Tripper glanced around nervously, quickly realizing there was no escape. "Drek, what the fuck you getting me into?" She glared at him for his language, but remained silent.
One of the gangsters stepped forward, away from the others. He nodded respectfully at Veronica, and voiced a very precise and polite sounding greeting. "Hello, Veronica. It is good to see you again. 'dis the one?" the gang leader said, motioning towards Tripper. Tripped had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "He just a junkie. What do you want him for?"
Veronica glared. "That is none of your concern. Yes, he is the one. Have him packaged and loaded on my ship immediately. You will receive the agreed upon credits."
"Wait..." Tripper stuttered. "What did you say? What the drek is going down?"
Two of them came up behind him, aiming to take his arms. But Tripper was fast; he lunged forward, and the bangers missed. His eyes darted, his melt addled senses actually taking in everything with crystal clarity. He ducked as another man took a swing at him, quickly found an opening in the ring of men surrounding him, and ran for it.
He jumped a pile of garbage, gliding into an alleyway between two decrepit looking buildings. He ignored the screams and curses from behind, grinning as he let the melt guide his feet. He tore down the alley, hearing the clatter of pursuit falling behind, unable to keep up. He laughed as he ran. "I trip you all up, bitches!" he called out, taunting.
He reached an intersection, and grabbed a section of drainpipe on the corner of the wall, using his momentum to carry him around the corner at breakneck speed. His feet hit pavement, landing in a puddle; in his mind, the multi colored water crashed in tune with the sound of his hammering heart. He ran. About two blocks ahead, he could make out another intersection that he actually recognized. He was almost clear of the gangs territory; on ground where he was familiar, they could never catch him.
He reached the end of the first block, the mouth of the alley blocked by a chain-link fence; and he leaped half-way up the blockade, catching the links with nimble fingers. He scaled it in moments, and dropped back to the ground below. He stood, ready to run, when a voice shocked him, and he stumbled.
"We have a date," Veronica announced, her voice streaked with anger. And something more. Amusement? He would have almost sworn there was a hint of attraction there.
He glanced at her, and her eyes blazed, sparks of light flashing with unnatural fury. He stumbled back; somehow he knew the strange effect had nothing to do with the chemicals coursing through his veins. For the first time, he truly felt fear, overwhelming the melt. "What-?" he managed to stutter, before something very hard, and very invisible, clubbed him in the back of the head.
When he awoke, he struggled immediately. He was strapped naked to some kind of cold metal slab, vertically. Thick straps held him in place, more than he could count, across his chest, waist, arms and legs. He could wiggle his fingers and toes, turn his head, and that was about it. He glanced down at a sharp pinching feeling in his arm; some kind of clear plastic tubing, filled with a dark fluid that reminded him of oil, punctured his flesh, feeding something to his body.
"What the drek?" he cursed, struggling, flexing against his bonds. There was no give at all, and he quickly relented, sagging in his bondage. His penis was encased in some kind of metal tube, cables and tubing stretching from the device to somewhere behind him; wires were taped all over his body, running to a row of machines off to one side, their green and red lights offering the only illumination in the otherwise dark room. A steady beeping from one of the machines seemed to match his thundering heartbeat.
"Hello? Someone there?" he called. "C'mon, lemmie out of here!"
An electric whir, the sound of air whooshing, and Tripper was sure a door had opened; he had heard the sound before, in a hospital in the Sewer, where they kept bad air from spreading room to room. The sound of footfalls, and Veronica appeared in the electric light, her features cast in shadow. "Enough screaming, boy."
"Fuck you!" Tripper screamed. "Let me the fuck out of here, bitch! What the blaze is this drek?"
The woman scowled, and her eyes flashed again, though not as intense as the last time he had seen it. A light began to flash red on one of the machines, and suddenly Tripper felt pain. It started slowly, a tingle in his ass, pressure on his balls. He met Veronica's gaze, and watched her smile. "I told you to watch your tongue," she warned.
The pain built; unable to move away, unable to even wiggle his hips to chase away the feeling, he began slowly shaking his head side to side. "What..." he stammered. "What the..." The pain grew, and he groaned. It felt like something was penetrating his ass --something big. The pressure on his balls increased, the pain growing. The thing in his ass felt like it was thrusting, moving in and out, faster and faster. His balls felt like they were in a vice. He screamed. The pain continued to grow; it was blinding. Around him, the room faded, and he wondered if we would pass out.
And suddenly it stopped. He sagged, his muscles gone slack, as he panted in relief, tears streaming from his eyes, washing up in his scraggly tangle of beard. "The... Fuck..." he panted. His balls were throbbing, and his ass felt like it had been raped. The melt still in his system numbed it a bit, and he dreaded what it would have felt like without the drugs effect. "Bitch," he muttered, not looking up at her.
Veronica rushed forward, and took his chin in her hand, forcing his head back and up. Her eyes, like hard icy shards of ice, bore into him, her glare enough to make him wince. "One. You will not swear again in my presence. Two. You will call me Mistress. Three. You will always obey me without question. If you fail again in any of these, you will suffer."
Tripper nodded wearily, his head barely moving with her grip on his chin. "Yes... Mistress..."
She smiled, and despite everything, he was again shocked how beautiful she was. He felt a tingle below, and his eyes widened; his cock had hardened. The tingle grew, enveloping his manhood, and he couldn't stop a moan from leaving his lips.
"You see?" Veronica explained. "I can be kind, if you do as you are told, as well as cruel." Her eyes glinted, and her smile widened.
Tripper groaned again. He was fully erect, and it felt as if his cock was enveloped in something warm, soft; something as velvety wet as a pussy, but with the dexterity of a tongue, running up and down his shaft, flickering over his head. It felt as if something was thrusting onto his cock now, squeezing, milking him. Faster, the sensation strengthened, and he felt his balls growing tight. Shocked, he realized he was not going to last much longer.
The sensations stopped abruptly, and he groaned in dismay.
"Now, let's chat, shall we?" Veronica said. "You are onboard my ship. We are awaiting hyperspace clearance, and then we'll be off. The journey will take two months or so. You will spend most of that time in stasis; all these wonderful machines will be doing some renovations on your rather abused body. When we get home, I will introduce you to my household. There, you will be a house slave."
"What?" Tripper started to protest. A flash of her eyes, a faint tingle in his ass, and he snapped his jaw shut, swallowing any complaints.
"Understand that there will be no escape. Where we are going, even the sight of an unescorted male is unheard of. You will serve me and my household for the rest of your life. How long that will be is entirely up to you. Your training will begin while you are in stasis; by the time we arrive, I expect you will be quite used to following my commands, whatever they may be."
She paused, and glanced at him sternly. "You have enough chemicals in your system to kill a grom beast. These drugs will interfere will your conditioning during stasis; and besides, I do not approve of these substances. In fact, you will not find any such things in my household. So. For now, you will remain as you are. You will be fed intravenously, and your waste will be carried away by catheter. You will remain like this until your detox is complete."
She turned, and began to walk away. Tripper panicked; detox from melt could take weeks, and was considered one of the worst drugs to quit cold. He would be lucky to come out of detox with his sanity intact. He screamed at her, shouting, begging for mercy. "There are detox drugs!" he pleaded. "Please! Don't leave me like this!" He screeched; the colors in his mind darkened to shades of grey, and started to dart about at the edge of his vision, as if the drug itself knew what was coming, and was gleefully dancing in anticipation. "Noooooooo!" he screamed, as he heard the door slide open, and then ominously click shut.
In his mind's eye, he could see her eyes, sparkling like flint on stone. (I will make you a better man,) her voice called, somehow in his mind. (When we are finished, you will kneel at my feet and beg me for permission to thank me for what I do.)
His head dropped, his body shaking in the restraints. Inside the room, there was silence, broken only by the beeping of his heart monitor, and the soft sounds of him weeping.