Debutant & Sacrifice

THE COLLECTIVE

A DARK STAR STORY

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Prologue -- Alison; The Debutant

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Watching her as she walks slowly ahead of me.

The gentle sway of her hips as her heels strike the hardwood floor.

Her slender form is squeezed into the royal blue short cocktail dress that sits on her shoulders on two slender little spaghetti straps, her dark brown hair is scraped back off her face and sits in a coiled bun on the top of her head.

She looks back offering a little grin as she presses her hand against the double doors, doors which swing open to reveal the apartments master suite.

Stepping up behind her as she steps before the four poster bed that graces the centre of the room.

I slip my hand around her slender waist feeling her press her body back to mine. A soft groan passing her dark red lips.

"Are you sure?" I offer on a gentle whisper to her ear.

She simply nods twice; I turn her to stand before me. Looking deep into Alison Mathews stunning blue green eyes, the pupils of which dilate forming dark pools in which I can see my own reflection.

Pupils dilated by the little blue tablet discreetly slipped into her final glass of Red wine a little over half an hour ago while she had excused herself to use the facilities at the Michelin star restaurant I had taken her to. Such trappings were not meant to impress her, such finery was my decedent pleasure, alongside of the truly stunning company I had for the night.

My hand slips up her spine as she stands before me, her eye lids falling softly closed as I find the zipper at the rear of the dress.

I take my time, I build the intimacy alongside of the trust. Lowering the zipper down her back, the gently sound of the zip seems to fill the room her breath like mine momentarily held.

I remove her from my touch as I step back a half a step, Alison's eyes falling gently back open, fixing on me as her left hand slips diagonally across her chest to peel the thin strap down her right arm, I let go a breath as she slowly repeats the process with her right hand over her right shoulder.

Stood before her barefoot in a black shirt over black suit trousers I watch intently as she lets the dress slip from her perfect body to the mahogany floorboards.

Drawing a deep breath into my lungs as my eyes devour her, perfect breasts spill free of the garment. A flat toned stomach leads to hips on which sit a slender little black suspender belt over a little black G-String, leading to black stockings held up by taught suspenders over perfectly toned legs.

I press forward I embrace her, my lips pressing to hers and she kisses me back.

"Hector" she breathlessly whispers as I break the kiss on lowering myself on top of her on the bed. Before kissing her passionately as she crawls up along the black satin sheets of the bed beneath me.

Straddling her hips, I gently press my left hand to her right shoulder as I press up from over her, looking down on her I admire her beauty, her soft pale skin accentuated by the jet black sheet on which she lays.

Her sentiments of our only other date prior to tonight pass my mind, that meal in bijou private dining experience had been as perfect as this evenings fare. We had held engaging conversation throughout, her admission and honesty leading me discover I was her first step back towards rediscovering herself following the untimely death of her husband. I already know the Widowers story, from a different perspective but I do not let on.

The gauntlet unofficially laid down in my mind that this moment would transpire that I would be the first to rediscover Alison, the plan playing out sooner than anticipated avoiding the drawn out pursuit that could have easily accompanied such sport. Alison was the reward on offer at the end of the challenge created in my own mind.

Now she fell under my spell, all be it surreptitiously.

Her lips part on silent breaths, her pert breasts rise and fall as I press my lips back down onto her chest and then over her sumptuous breasts, peppering her breasts with kisses that lead on to her midriff. As I press down her body my fingers find the delicate thin waist band of the little black G-String slipping the garment from her hips and down her thighs unopposed.

My lips leave her body as I kneel between her legs, legs she delicately shifts to assist my removal of her underwear.

I look down on her as I part her stocking clad thighs with my hands firmly pressing her parted legs apart to butterfly them open, I glance across the soft, freshly shaved little mound that sits between her legs briefly before I press my mouth over her, my tongue running firmly over her exquisitely neat vagina, parting her with my tongue as she draws a deep breath of anticipation.

I hear her gasps and moans instantly, her body writhes under the control of my tongue as I feast on her. She tastes divine as my fingers eventually assist and I probe intermittently with my digits and my tongue.

The same gasp of pleasure passes her lips barely minutes later as now stripped of my shirt and trousers I penetrate Alison's perfect body, feeling her tight folds accept me on a deep slow penetration that leads to a prolonged tantric missionary style fuck. Alison's body writhes and contorts below me until she finally climaxes hard, her back arched, breathless with her arms stretched out to her sides as her fingers claw at the bed sheets.

Gasping for breath and physically trembling as her thighs clench tight around my waist and her lower legs wrap around the backs of my thighs, Alison clings to me as I press up over her sweat soaked body and deliver I huge deposit of semen deep into her perfect body.

We lay side by side recovering from our exhaustion. I turn my head to view her profile as she lays there. Her hair having come undone during our prolonged intercourse splays across the surface of the black satin covered mattress.

"I knew Mr. Hughes had exceptional taste but..."

I let the statement hang, her mind not sharp enough, her senses confused and dulled by the heightened euphoria that still rages through her addled mind and body, an effect that will last for several more hours if what I'm told rings true.

"Who... who?" Alison asks on a confused soft voice.

"Logan Hughes," I state coldly.

Despite her dulled mind I see the recognition, the impact that the name holds for her.

"You don't remember do you..." I offer rolling onto my right-hand side tracing my fingers along her toned stomach as she turns her head to face the mirrored canopy of the four poster bed. "...I first met you... when I first met him at the Sapphire Club."

She processes my words, piecing together the clues I offer up to her. A brief look of confusion grips her beautiful visage, confusion that fuses with contempt.

"We've all a history..." I offer, "...we are what shapes us."

"He..."

"He is inconsequential..." I state coldly my own contempt for the man I've only scratched the surface of getting to know barely refrained. "...for now, I've something to show you."

Pressing off the bed I walk around to her left hand side, extending an arm that she willingly accepts as I assist her off the bed.

Lacing the fingers of her right hand through the fingers of my left hand, her heels still buckled around her stocking clad ankle on the slender strap as I lead her across the room, her legs a little weak and unsteady as we approach the set of double doors that sit on the wall opposite of the doors we had entered an hour or so ago.

The doors open onto a small narrow dimly lit corridor, and another set of closed doors. Weak light spilling from the master suite offers as much illumination as the dim ceiling chandelier.

Standing Alison before the doors I reach to a corner tables on which sits a familiar object.

"Hold still for me" I offer as I step up behind Alison, feeling the heat that still radiates from her recently sated body.

Sweeping her dark hair aside over her left shoulder I raise the thick black leather collar in my hands and wrap it gently around her slender neck. I feel her tense just a little, the little hitched breath she takes indicates her surprise as my fingers thread the buckle and fastener at the rear of the collar, repositioning the soft lined abrasive appearing adornment to her neck once I have it firmly secured.

"Dinner and jewellery... you're a luck girl," I offer slightly caustically without receiving a response.

Alison remains silent, her mind second guessing what lies ahead for her what I have in store for her. If she remains this compliant and submissive throughout she will truly earn my respect, as will the drug that holds her in its grip.

Stepping to her side I take her upper right arm in my hand. As the doors to the bedroom softly latch behind us the doors in front of us slowly creep open.

The room beyond is immersed in darkness, I know what awaits her. Allison Matthews can have no idea.

Stepping her forward the heels of her little black ankle strap shoes meet the stone tiled floor of this room. I hear movement to my left and to my right. I hear Alison's shocked gasp as hands lay upon her, the metallic click of the chain metal lead I know will be fastened around her neck. The process of claiming her, of surrendering her to 'The Collective'. The protocol that is adhered to implicitly.

I feel her led away from me, hear her uncertain steps as she's taken from my grip.

In the centre of the room spotlights slowly illuminate. Spotlights that cast dim light at first on the beams of the thick black wooden pillory in the centre of the room.

Three hooded male figure silhouette her slender form even in the gloom, they lead the slender brunette to her fate.

I clear my throat as I watch the pillory swung open before her.

"Gentlemen I present you Alison."

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Chapter One -- Sapphire; The Sacrifice

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Logan Hughes is a thoroughly reprehensible human being, a cunt of a man.

I watch him as he sits opposite of me, dressed in a cheaply tailored black suit over an off the shelf black shirt, leant forward in the leather bucket seat his eyes scan the room. His concentration barely on our conversation as the bar slowly falls silent at the end of the night. He'd only graced me with his presence a quarter of an hour ago, two hours later than our agreed rendezvous.

Several clients mingle amongst the staff and girls that operate in their midst, in the far corner a lithe brunette DJ operates, providing a subtle electronic jazz funk soundtrack to the smattering of conversations that play out, the night has been busy. The lack of clients and escorts left in the lounge bar area hopefully telling, in relation to the revenue generated by the private rooms and intimate services the resident hostesses provide on the floor below us. Over his shoulder I spot the graceful elegance of Winter Omertà who controls all of the operations on my behalf as she slips through the room in a striking flowing purple dress made of sheer material and worn over white knee high boots and exquisite looking white lingerie underneath.

"So..." I offer seeking to engage him once more, and breaking my own gaze from the mixed race beauty "...how's life as a nightclub manager?"

"You know..." he offers casting his eye around the venue as though there are any comparisons between the sophistication of the operation I run and the crass, if popular night spot he operates across the City, "...you never switch off ...there's always something ...but I wouldn't have it anyway other way ...it's become a way of life now."

"You've come a long way for someone who's not even started Mr Hughes," I offer sarcastically.

"Thanks," he smugly offers, assuming I compliment him.

"And financially I understand you've recently gained a little security... while dealing with an infestation problem " I sit back sipping from the glass of Merlot that I clasp in my right hand.

"How so?" Logan offers feigning ignorance to what I refer but I note the startled look in his eyes.

"The investment recently made by Gio Mancini..." I confidently state. "...And the subsequent leveraging out of the corrupt little Albanian"

"You're aware of that?" I note the surprise across his features.

"There are very few secrets in this City Mr Hughes..." I offer on a cautionary tone, "...your logic is sound, the Mancini's influence is wide reaching and loyal... unless you cross them."

"I'll tread carefully..." he offers, "...although I may already have young Laura onside."

I note with disgust the devilish grin that passes over his lips, the unspoken boast that he implies. I'm incredulous his womanising reputation is becoming well known, but I think better of Gio Mancini's eldest daughter. His demeanour triggers my attention and my anger.

"Laura Mancini?" I offer.

"The very same..." his grin spreads as he sips from a near empty glass of brandy. "...a memorable little encounter if I do say so myself."

"You play with fire Mr Hughes," I offer a warning, confident that Gio Mancini knows nothing of this man's 'encounter' with his precious daughter.

The twenty-three year and her much younger sister, Sienna are the apples of his eye. Any man, let alone a business associate, was truly brave to even look with any longing at his eldest daughter, a challenge admittedly given her natural radiant beauty. The consequences would not be worth the risk alone. Unfounded legend told of a family driver, Leo Smitts, who struck up an unhealthy acquaintance with Laura Mancini, ten years his junior, an acquaintance that when reciprocated led to Smitt's untimely demise, despite the coroners report recording his death a accidental, when he was crushed under a car he was working on in a workshop at the family mansion. The price of allegedly claiming the young Italian brunettes virginity had been high.

Logan Hughes demeanour stirs my own anger and emotion, for other reasons. He's obviously naively unaware of my own personal connection to Laura and the Mancini's or he would not impart the information he does. Its with a fair degree of certainty then that I conclude Gio Mancini knows absolutely nothing of whatever has played out otherwise Logan Hughes would not even be sat opposite of me right now, at least not in one piece.

Parking the knowledge he unwittingly surrenders for the purposes of leverage should it ever be required. I am loyal but also conscious of the murky environment in which I operate, leverage over a rival or an associate equals power. For tonight at least, Logan Hughes holds even more value to me.

Watching on as a Ekin, a dark haired Romanian hostess diligently brings forth a fresh tumbler of Brandy, implicitly following the instructions I had offered to her to never let his glass run dry. I wait for his concentration to leave the back of her legs as she walks away.

"Very nice," he offers a crass appraisal, I resist the opportunity to inform him that I know intimately she is worthy of a far greater adjective in appraisal.

"Mr Hughes..." I garner his attention with a slightly raised pitch "...we can enjoy such carnal pleasures shortly should you wish... I invited you here to discuss a business proposition."

"Really?" he almost nonchalantly offers.

"Your club could be very well suited as a ... as one of my centres of operations... for a very profitable little scheme I'm proposing." I deliberately massage his ego and the role I have in mind for his establishment.

"Profitable..." Hughes offers, "...sounds interesting."

"I thought it might appeal to your baser instincts..." I respond and he blissfully fails to spot the second heavily laden jibe I make at his expense. "...Tell me Mr Hughes ...have you ever heard of Blues?"

"No... Should I have?"

The look on his face tells me he does not follow my explanation. In truth I'm not sure I understand myself

A biochemists, alchemist and far more sophisticated scientific mind than mine might not be able to explain the complex chemical compound that binds together the light blue pills that came into my possession via a Russian business associate keen to use my network of contacts to distribute the unique methamphetamine derivative.

Knowing as much about the tablets as I have been told, which is very little. Suffice to say I have assurance that the 7 little blue pills handed to me as a sample are of the purest formula direct from a supply chain that connects to the laboratory that created the inimitable little tablets therefore resulting in the strongest most effective results on consumption. The tablets can be consumed by males and females alike but pertain to have far more intoxicating effects of the female mind and body. Their synthetic aphrodisiac effect exaggerating and distorting the pleasure sought and received by the recipient.

Broadly speaking the effects last for hours, alongside of the increased risks of cardio respiratory impacts the other noted side effect is that the user either clearly remembers every interaction under the influence of the drug or suffers temporary amnesia as a result of the induced brain fog and confusion to the senses. A fortunate or unfortunate side effect depending on the morality of your point of view.

With the exception of one dispensed pill, I can neither truly confirm nor deny the accurate effects of the drug as have been detailed to me. The test subject utilised coped admirably and performed beyond expectation. I could see the advantages of the drug to 'The Collective', the secretive society that operated within a select core of the members of my private club. I could also appreciate the financial constraints to a wider market, with each little pill holding a street value of two hundred and seventy five pounds the narcotic was certainly intended for an affluent market place. That is until an inevitable cheaper compound, cut like poor quality cocaine in order to spread profits and become more accessible, floods the market place.

To buy in bulk represents a risk, there are no complaints with or shortage to the volunteers sourced and surrendered by members of 'The Collective,' not presently at least but as last weekend had demonstrated any female could now become a tribute, could unwittingly and unknowingly participate and have little or no knowledge of the debauchery or heightened sexual adventure that plays out. The prospect appeals to the darker side of my nature.

For that reason I am convinced in my own mind that the positives far outweigh the negatives. Logan Hughes Dark Star night club presented a further opportunity to distribute as well as to recruit within. The dark seedy environment that he operated ahs grown over the last year in size and reputation. My sole reason for inviting Hughes into the fold as a member of the collective had been the unfettered access to the fast, young, loose patrons who queued for hours of a weekend to experience all that the atmosphere had to offer them. Choosing them selves to play safe or become involved with the decadence and depravity that was readily available.

The Dark Star was a veritable meat market of ripe opportunity I sough to gain access to, with or without the potent of expensive drug.

"Sounds almost too good to be true," is Logan Hughes fair appraisal of the proposal I have detailed to him.

"The Drug..." I offer hushing my tone, "...or the 10% cut I'm offering you?"

"Both," Hughes states rubbing his stubbled jaw, his demeanour contemplative. His eye line falling back to the little bag containing 6 of the potent light blue tablets I have placed on the table before us.

"I was sceptical myself" I offer finishing the last of my wine and setting the empty glass on the table next to the tablets. "Until last week I was privy to a demonstration... a perfect demonstration in my hands and the hands of several lucky members of The Collective."