Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 09

This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are 18 and over

Hard-nosed businessman and billionaire ivory merchant, Zhang Jingli, stood frantically swiping through reams of photos on his phone. Sweating in spite of the aircon, with an erection tenting his boxers, he looked up every now and then making sure he still had his viewer's attention.

On the other side of the sliding glass door, still soundly jammed by a line of pebbles, Ally stared wide-eyed at the impromptu exhibition; Zhang's naked body tied to a chair, ball gag in his mouth, clamps biting into his nipples; down on all fours, handcuffed to the plumbing of a hot-water radiator, a brick zip-tied to his scrotum, ass striped with purple welts from the blows of a split cane. Pins pushed through his eyebrows, bloodied ear stitched with staples. Some disembodied hand, patently female, grinding a cigarette out on his blistered anus. Bound and gagged in another frame, ball sac nailed to the seat of a wooden chair.

Behind him, fists pounded on the apartment's barricaded door, Zhang's servant trying to enter. The VVIP was meant to prepare for the hastily convened celebration, and if he didn't get a move on he'd be late. Not fashionably late, nor merely typically tardy. But ten years in prison late, for insulting his majesty.

Ally looked up, swiping her fringe. "Well, well, well, you kinky little perv. So that's what spins your wheels?"

Zhang nodded fervently in obvious excitement. At last, she was getting it... like he'd been trying to tell her all along, they were made for each other. He was aching to be hurt, and she had the wherewithal to hurt him. Repulsed and enthralled in equal proportion, Ally studied yet another photograph, the clear plastic barrel of a biro jammed deep in Zhang's urethra, a toothpick goading ants to their doom. She shook her head. "Those poor bloody ants."

Another photograph- the same abused dick caught in a rat trap, veins bulging, the tortured knob and an inch of shaft already dark purple. Ally raised a hand. "I get it. I get it." she said, then looked at him and pointed at herself, "And you want me to...?"

Zhang nodded eagerly. Yes, he did.

"And you won't try to... you know...?"

While he couldn't hear a word, he knew from experience what the young female was asking. And the answer was 'no', he wouldn't. And in return for his not trying to stick his dick inside her, she could do what she liked with it. Do what she liked with him, just as long caused him maximum pain... delicious, delirious, sharp searing agony, thrilling as a drug and just as addictive. Zhang rapped the sliding door with a knuckle and beckoned.

At the very same instant, the apartment's entrance burst open behind him and his steward stuck his head in the room. "Excellency?" he quavered in Mandarin, "I implore you. It's time to dress."

"When do we gather?" Zhang grunted.

"Within the hour, Excellency. It's very important. You must ablute. And the female must go."

Go? He'd just reached an understanding with the young round-eye. Zhang looked over his shoulder, face turning beetroot red. "Outside! I have business to attend to."

"But, Your Excellency." the steward pleaded, "You must not commit-"

Zhang sucked a huge breath. "INSOLENT DOG! GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I HAVE YOU EXECUTED!"

The steward bowed deeply then withdrew, ruing the day he'd signed up for the gig. He thought back to how his squad-mates had all urged him to go, but it wasn't until he reached to the island that he figured out why. The joke was on him. Now, if the angry Chinaman turned up sullied from breaking the protocols, and the seers cottoned-on, then he, the steward would pay, not the VVIP.

By the time their exchange had come to a frosty end, Ally had flicked the pebbles aside and opened the door. Zhang stepped back as she edged into the room, fondling his hard on, already breathing hard with expectation. Ally swiped her fringe then jammed her fists on her hips. "Okay." she growled. "I don't give a fuck if you get off on it or not, but one false move and I'll kick you so hard in the balls you'll be wearing 'em as earrings."

Zhang almost swooned. She'd just used the words, 'kick', 'hard', and 'balls' in the very same sentence and he could hardly contain himself. This glaring young female was both angry and physical, she knew how to hurt and didn't pull her punches. A pitiless angel straight out of heaven. Bowing and scraping, he led the way to the walk-in wardrobe and pulled a beaten, brown leather suitcase out of storage. Dumping it on the bed, he snapped the catches and threw the lid open.

Ally moved closer in spite of herself, the better to see the contents of the well-travelled case. Inside she saw a collection of devices, from industrial tools to surgical instruments; pliers, clamps, haemostats and staplers, hammer, nails, handcuffs, a whip. A miniature taser with a fixed pair of tangs, chili oil, a funnel, a fifty-mil syringe. A ball gag or two, a few rolls of duct tape, crocodile clips, torniquets, a black fabric hood.

"Jesus Christ!" Ally whispered. "Were you in the boy scouts or something?"

Zhang turned away, then picked up a padded chair and placed it emphatically at the end of the bed. "You tie me." he said, "Quickly! Here! Here!"

"Tie you?"

Zhang leant past her and picked up a roll of heavy-duty duct tape. "You tie me."

Tie him up? The proverbial offer too good to be true. "Aren't you meany to be going to dinner?"

"You tie me first." Zhang said, desperate for a taste, even just a little one. Then, after dinner... hammer, nails, chili oil up the ass. Nipple cramps, cock slapping, maybe the taser. His penis began leaking at the very idea. "You beat me, short time."

Ally looked around, weighing her options. She'd been planning all along to bust out of the gymnasium and just take her chances in the desert, not yet aware she was out in the gulf, miles from the mainland. But a different solution had just presented itself. This place was an insane asylum, the whole country in fact, and there was only one sure fire way out of there. "Okay." she nodded. "You want to play?"

Zhang proffered the duct tape, nodding. "You beat me."

Ally gestured at Zhang's expensive boxers with the big, wet stain over the top of the tent pole. "Take 'em off."

Zhang dis-masted his boxers. Like passing a car crash, Ally couldn't resist taking a peek, at the short, fat slug with a big mushroom head, sticking straight out under the overhang of the billionaire's gut. His scarred, wrinkled ball sac was black and blue from recent beatings, some of them served up by Ally herself. Ally ripped a meter of grey plastic duct tape from the roll. "Sit!"

The sweating VVIP did as he was ordered, and sat, squirming with arousal at the thought of what was to come. Namely a beating. Followed by him. Kneeling at his feet, staying as far away from the dribbling erection as she could, Ally taped one ankle first, then the other, to the legs of the chair. She straightened, surveying the results, her face a portrait of concentration. Then, forearms on the armrests, Zhang watched Ally bind his wrists. No token effort, either, but wrap after wrap of the heavy-duty tape, till not even a lowland gorilla could have torn free. Next, for good measure, several more layers around his chest and the back of the chair, promising quite the ripoff once playtime was done.

Hyperventilating fit to pass out, Zhang watched Ally bend over the toy chest and rummage around inside. She returned a moment later with a length of parachute chord, and a big red ball gag, pocked with teeth marks, souvenirs of some livelier sessions. Working quickly and methodically, Ally tied the chair legs to the carved wooden foot of the bed, then took a step back, admiring her handiwork. "That should hold you." she nodded, brushing her hands.

Zhang looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. It took a special kind of woman to physically hurt a man- to really hurt him. He called them diamonds, and while this one was still un-polished, she was a gem.

"Comfortable, Buddy?" Ally asked, ticking Zhang under his trembling chin. He nodded, eyes burning with ardour. His cock was sticking straight up, while his balls lay expectant and vulnerable on the seat between his thighs.

In no apparent hurry, Ally wandered back to the suitcase and rummaged around. No knives, she noted, and probably just as well. To expose himself like this was a true act of trust, but such unbridled faith did have its limits. He was a billionaire, after all, and subject to the all-consuming envy of mere, poor mortals. She picked up the stapler, turning it this way and that, before popping off an exploratory round. It would sting, there was no doubt, but do little in the way of actual damage. Unless shot into an eye, no mean feat, especially with a moving target. Hammer? No. Once again, too blunt an instrument, both physically and metaphorically, in a situation best served by surprise.

Watching the young woman so carefully choose the tools was enough to make Zhang whimper. It was excruciating, sublime, as if she were choosing a morsel from a tray of exquisite delicacies, preparing to feed him. She picked up the taser, turning it on, then flashed-up the fifty-k arc. Zhang kicked and wriggled, straining against his bonds. "Shoot my cock!" he panted, "You shoot my cock!"

Ally raised a hand. "Steady on, partner." she said and looked herself over, searching for some means of concealing the small hand-held device. But her slip had no pockets, and she lacked even underpants for emergency storage. Placing the taser back in the suitcase, she picked up a short, coiled whip. No, she wanted to wound, not simply sting, if her plan was to stand any chance of success. She picked up the hammer again, and a ziplock baggy of two-inch nails. "For ball bag!" Zhang exclaimed. "Nail to chair."

"I know, I know," Ally huffed, "I just saw the pics." Looking up, she brushed her fringe aside. "Most of this is pretty tame." she said, "And difficult to hide."

"Hide? You no hide."

"Yes. Me hide."

"No. I see you. You taser. You taser cock. You nail balls on chair. Quickly! Quickly!"

"Stop rushing me!" Ally glared, then rummaged around in the suitcase some more. She pulled out a coil of electrical flex and snapped it straight. "This might work." she said to herself.

"For whip top leg," Zhang nodded eagerly, "whip cock. You whip ear. Very hurt."

Ally compressed her lips. "Yeah... well... that's the thing, it has to do more than very hurt."

"No!" Zhang shook his head. "Just hurt, very hurt."

Ally tied the flex around her waist then wandered into the apartment's kitchenette. She opened the fridge. There, on the bottom shelf, was a big silver platter, with a selection of fruits, cheeses and other delicacies arranged on a white paper doily. And on the side, a slim, serrated paring knife, six inches long, with a gold-plated handle. "Hello, hello." she said. "What's this?"

Zhang looked at her blinking. "No. No knife. Hammer. Nail. You use taser. You no cut. It not permit."

Ally grunted with laughter. "And here I was, thinking you were hard-core."

"You no cut! You no cut!"

Ally slipped the knife under the flex behind her back. "I said shoosh, Silly Billy." she said, picking up the duct tape. "Me no cut."

"You use hammer. Nail balls on chair."

"Me no use hammer either." Ally said, ripping off a 6-inch strip of duct tape. "Too dangerous. I might hit my thumb."

"Whip ears!" Zhang implored. "Shoot taser in cock! Anything! Please hurry! Soon dinner."

Ally straddled the billionaire's thighs and sat down, then tacked the end of tape on Zhang's bare shoulder. "I've got a much better idea." she breathed, smoothing his eyebrow with the ball of her thumb. She looked down, double checking his leaking cock was well clear of her slip.

"Punch cock? Slap ears?"

"Even betterer." Ally said with a shake of the head. She slipped the knife from under the makeshift belt and held it in front of him, turning the blade side to side. "It's time to blow this popsicle stand. You fuckers are mad, the fuckin' lot of you. Doesn't matter how much money you've got, you're all fuckin' insane. So, fuck you retards, I'm going back to prison."

"Prison?" Zhang blinked. "You no go to prison. I save you."

Ally cocked her head. "You don't understand, Guv. I want to go back. Till Roger pulls his finger out and saves my ass. Prison's the safest place for me."

Ally's body shimmied from side to side as Zhang struggled beneath her, still confused and increasingly agitated. "I pay! You hurt!"

"Look, champ," Ally breathed, tapping his forehead with the tip of the knife, "I'd love to, really. But right now..." she dismounted, then stood in front of Zhang and straightened her slip.

"Where you go?" Zhang demanded, watching Ally slip the knife under the cord behind her back.

Ally curled her lip. "I gotta see a chick... with a dick... down in the barracks. And give that cunt a little nip and tuck. And if that doesn't get me sent back to the slammer..."

"You hurt me now?" Zhang pleaded.

"Is that what you want?"

"I want!" Zhang nodded, his red face contorted with yearning as tears rolled over his cheeks. "Yes, I want."

"You really want to suffer?"

"Yes! You very hurt me! Please!"

Ally lay the tape over Zhang's mouth, smoothing it flat, then took a step back and shook her head. "Nope."

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The king settled with a grunt on his throne, resplendent in his wedding garb- silks and cashmeres, gold thread and leather, a pair of curved daggers in silver scabbards under his sash. And a crown, nothing too pretentious, just a form-fitting, bejewelled band of solid gold. Droplets of maidens' milk spangled his beard... he'd taken a quick top up, just for luck... and he was breathing hard with all the exertion.

Nervous aides scurried to and fro in the dimly-lit chambers, making last minute tweaks to spur-of-the-moment rites. Not only was it not a full moon- the Blood Moon no less- the lopsided satellite had barely even risen. Not just a break in tradition, but a full-blown perversion, rituals twisted and customs trashed at the behest of a king who could only think of one thing.

Dragged once more from their evening meditations- consisting of sheesha pipes and hash tobacco, serving boys, a bottle of Scotch and a model or two- the seers stood in a huddle before their king, lacking so much as a skerrick of prescience. What was the silly old bastard up to now, they implored each other, with blank stares and shaking heads. The king belched and almost threw up. "WHERE IS MY GRAND SCHOLAR?" he thundered, and one or two of his aids looked set to pass out. An angry king was an impulsive king. And an impulsive king had the well-known tendency to dish out beheadings.

A volunteer was bodily ejected out of the huddle and shuffled in front of the monarch on his knees. "Sire. There's been no sign of his helicopter yet."

"He was due here over an hour ago!" the king growled. "What's taking him?"

"Sire, His Holiness was not due until tomorrow. He may be in prayer, seeking inspiration."

"He is Grand Scholar, MY Grand Scholar, meant to be available any time night or day. He knew he was meant to officiate."

The country's towering religious scholar might have had a direct line to god, but here on Earth he did the king's bidding. "Your Majesty," the aide quavered, "there is still time. The moon has barely-"

"I DO NOT NEED A SNIVELLING SERVANT TO TELL ME WHAT THE MOON IS DOING!" the king thundered, then clenched his teeth. "I have seen the Blood Moon in the well of eternity. Its scarlet face full upon the water. Do not forget, I now dwell in a higher dimension." He snapped his fingers at the wide-eyed seers. "What is it called again?"

There was a moment's desperate silence then Short-Round caught on. "A Quantum paradigm, My Liege."

A murmur rippled through the king's quaking entourage. Given the elixir, now speeding him back towards the vitality of his youth, His Majesty apparently straddled two disparate temporal planes. If he said the moon was full, so be it. And if he deemed the moon to be directly overhead, while for the everyone else it had barely hurdled the horizon, then that was merely further proof of his ascendency. "You!" he jerked his head at a minion. "Check the flight track. Find out where that helicopter is."

The aide hurried away to a side office to check the machine's whereabouts. "Sire!" he said, returning moments later and dropping to his knees, "there is no sign."

The king looked around for something to throw. "Get out of here! Go! Contact the Sea Palace and find out where he is! And don't come back till you have an answer!" Snapping his fingers, he pointed at the seers. "The Grand Scholar has somehow gone missing. What say the heavens of this mystery?"

Short Round, who was a used-car salesman in a previous incarnation, gathered himself up. "My Liege, we have indeed foreseen this moment."

"Is that so?" the king grunted. "Well thanks for telling me."

"And yet I am." Short Round carried on, not missing a beat. "I had a vision. His Holiness the Grand Scholar, boarding a magic carpet. When about to take to the sky, a djinn caught a thread and caused it to unravel. My Liege, the magic carpet in this vision represents the helicopter. The machine His Holiness boarded has broken down. I gather that, even now, workers hasten to make the repairs."

The king arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

The 3 fakirs nodded in unison.

"Then have the pilots jailed. And the mechanics. And, pray tell. Why did he not take another machine? I have fifty."

"I...umm... we..."

Fat Cleric weighed in. "As we speak, he awaits a replacement."

The king gave a dismissive wave. "Someone get onto Household. Tell them to tell him not to even bother. And tell him... it might be better if he were not around when I return. With my new bride. Tell him he should seek safe haven over the border. No. Overseas. Once I hit my youth, no border will be safe."

The aide shuffled backwards, then got to his feet and dashed from the chambers, thanking the Herald for an excuse to be gone. "You!" the king snapped and another aide took his place. "Go to Her Ladyship's chambers! Have Doctor Ahmad prepare Lady Rebekah immediately!"

"Prepare...?"

"FOR MARRIAGE! What's the matter with you people? There is something afoot, I can feel it. I can see it with my quantum what's-its-name. Now go!"

The aide backed away, bowing, before fleeing the scene. The king watched him go, then adjusted his bulk on the throne. He jerked his multiple chins in the mystics' direction. "You three!"

The seers exchanged anxious side-glances and Fat Cleric bowed. "My Liege."

"I'm not waiting a moment longer for that idiot. You will perform the ceremony."

Fat Cleric pointed at himself. "You mean me?"

"NO! THE ROYAL ASS-WIPER! YES! YOU! OF COURSE I MEAN YOU!"

They may have been soothsayers, visionaries and diviners, but between them they had as much knowledge of the esoteric texts as the Grand Scholar had in his manicured fingertip. "I... I... I..." Fat Cleric stammered.

"We would be honoured." Reverend Rake bowed, giving Short Round a surreptitious nudge. He'd done it before, he could do it again.

Doctor Inayat entered the chambers, adjusting her ceremonial robes, head completely covered but for a mailbox slot for her eyes. "My Liege!" she panted, "I came as quick as I could."

"Where is my bride?"

"My Liege, I haven't-"

"WHERE IS SHE?" the king raged. "I sent orders to bring her! By the Herald's beard, my entire court has fallen into some sort of thrall! We are to be wed! Fetch my bride!"

"But, My-"

The king was on his feet in an uncustomary display of vigour. "ONE MORE 'BUT', DOCTOR AHMAD, AND I'LL HAVE YOU EXECUTED ON THE SPOT! ONE MORE 'BUT' OUT OF ANYONE!"