Fresh Meat

THE COLLECTIVE

A DARK STAR STORY - CHAPTER 7 (Can be read in isolation)

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The Dark Star was alive.

The venue once again a metaphor of a flourishing debauched beast as I sit alone and watch him from my vantage point.

I've no idea how the acerbic cunt does it but Logan Hughes, or Andrew Baxter as he now identifies has breathed life back into the venue. Life that the change of name above the glass front doors to the premises cannot be accountable for alone.

The venue once again is a credible threat to what I seek to build, what I have built, at Warehouse 43. The Dark Star was always for the masses, just as it was tonight, but by its very nature it is attracted attention. By my own admission the venue had slipped in stature under the stewardship of Laura Mancini, the face lift she had deliberately undertaken still scars the venue, the sheer lack of neon pink and electric blue lighting that sits unilluminated during a hectic Friday night is testimony to the lack of taste the young Italian had applied.

The young Italian nobody has seen or heard from in over a month now, much to the consternation of her elder brother and to myself given the clear warning I had been issued by Chloe Macready. I had known Logan Hughes was planning to make a move to usurp Laura from the club but I had become distracted, already ruminating that my failure to act had contributed to her now unexplained disappearance.

My network only stretched so far hence one of the many reasons I now sit in the shadows of the raucous humid venue facing the hulk like form of Marlon Pickford. Pickford's stock had risen immeasurably over recent years itself, an ambitious individual who self-servingly ascended the ranks, before usurping control, within 'The Threes' one of the most notorious street gangs that operate organised through to petty crimes, drug dealing and prostitution rings mainly within the confines of the notorious and depressing Hillcliffe Estate.

The man sat before me held a ferocious, well earned, reputation for extreme acts of violence to crush any man or woman that stood in his path.

As we sit there he too watches the venue with a vested interest, the spiders web of his own dealers I know to have laced the venue under Laura's tenure still operate freely. For how long they achieve their ambitions I do not know, to his credit Hughes had always ruthlessly controlled the supply and demand of narcotics within his club.

Already, since the Dark Stars re-emergence I have seen a fall in price of the profitable little blue amphetamine come aphrodisiac blue pills I had heavily invested in. Purity of content seems to have no value in face of cheap alternatives laced with all manner of impurities no doubt. I have been genuinely shocked at the rise in prominence and awareness of the synthetic substance over recent months alone, very much making it a drug of fashion, demand peaking at the loss of revenue in the face of a heavily discounted market.

All this will be of no consequence to Hughes everything around him is set up for his selfish gain. I can only assume the presence of 'The Threes' to be detrimental to Hughes burgeoning relaunched enterprise, I can only assume Pickford will have his own fight with Hughes before too long.

"You've heard nothing then my friend?" I offer as Marlon Pickford takes a swig from the tumbler clutched between his sizeable fingers

His stature cuts a menacing presence, well over six feet tall, muscular and dressed casually only in shades of black, including a black baseball cap with a monotone logo that sits upon his head with its peak pulled down over his ebony features.

"That girl is not in this City..." he finally graces me with a response, "...whatever become of Mancini's Sister... she's either dead or trafficked to a world beyond our control."

Pickford pauses to take another slug of his drink, before offering, "Dead end reached my Ecuadorian friend."

His words fill me with dread, as time has passed I have increasingly tried not to fixate on the likely dark fate that has befallen Laura Mancini. I cannot begin to contemplate if death or a fate worse than death would be the best outcome for the naive young beauty who I had manipulated and taken advantage of myself several months earlier, barely meters away from where we now sit. My stomach twists as I supress the memory of her wanton submission under the influence of the little blue pills she had willingly consumed.

As Pickford drains the last of his drink his eyes no longer meet mine from under the rim of the cap. His eye-line fixates on a curvy blonde in a criminally short black dress sat in the booth that faces ours, I note her seductively heavy look back in his direction, blissfully unawares. or perhaps fully aware. of the menace with which she flirts.

"As we'd feared" I offer sipping from my own Whiskey over a fast dissipating cube of ice as I look towards Artero who sits to my right-hand side.

"Your man that now runs this place again is cold," Marlon offers on his thick West Indian accent as he sucks air through his teeth while he stands and starts to step away from the booth. "...But him's an amateur."

I cannot disagree with the blunt appraisal of Logan Hughes as Marlon Pickford slips away without offering the courtesy of a farewell as he flashes a grin towards the blonde who as if hypnotised grabs a jacket from the seat next to her and slips her tall, curvaceous body from the booth.

My eyes fall back on him though as I spot him once again from a distance as he makes his way through the venue, sticking seemingly to the shadows himself. I feel my ire raise and sneer etch across my face as I observe him approach a young-looking redhead on the edge of the dance floor that is pulsating with writing bodies. I watch him with contempt as his hand slips around her waist. I wonder if she knows the devil she dances before and by what name she knows the vile cunt I know as Logan Hughes.

Hughes reemergence, despite his newly assumed identity had been brazen. For a man tried and found guilty for two counts of murder in his absence his appearance had altered but not so as to make him completely unrecognisable. His hair now shaved short, and the sporting style of a beard barely concealed his identity.

Even being bold enough to even reach out to myself in attempt to reintegrated himself within the realm of 'The Collective.' A concession I had immediately decided I would never make. Although I had humoured him and availed myself alongside of Artero with the exquisite tribute he had provided for us in the confines of the hotel suite he had spared no expense to lay on. I struggle to recall her name now, but her beauty and physical form was not to be turned down and she had provided a memorable enough submission.

Hughes passes from sight briefly as he escorts the lithe redhead away from the dance floor. I am darkly amused as he then draws closer. I do not hide I have no need to hide. If he spots me he does not acknowledge me, nor do I him. Shortly they are joined by two other girls who seem to remain aloof to Hughes as they sit in the booth and are served drinks by one of the venues plethora of beautiful hostesses.

"Should we head back?" Artero offers from my side.

We have no pressing business, Warehouse 43 will not be as energetically busy as the Dark Star, the venue hosts a sedate Friday night of exclusive entertainment for the select members of my own establishment. I take a final sip of my whiskey before catching the attention of a dark haired Chinese hostess.

"Let's observe the wildlife" I state to Artero without turning by head towards him.

My eyes no longer set on Logan Hughes but the delightful little young auburn haired girl to his side with whom he seems infatuated with.

**********

Her cry echoes throughout the bedroom as the tight walls of her sated cunt clench around me and I feel the last shudder of her vigorously earned climax subside from her lithe body.

On her hands and knees facing the head board of the four poster bed I keep fucking her.

She holds herself up before me, I'd brought her straight to the master bedroom, almost impatiently, on our arrival. The remnants of her clothing strewn across the floor of the room where I had all but torn them from her.

Her eyes had been wild and dilated in the night club, I had no idea what she had consumed in his company, and I cared even little. There had been no manipulation or coercion she had followed us from the venue, corralled as she danced on the dance floor alone like a little lamb before being escorted through back streets to the waiting Range Rover parked a short distance from the Dark Star.

Logan Hughes slender little auburn haired attraction had consumed with glee the little blue pill I had slipped into her mouth whilst pressing her fragile form against the side of the black four by four vehicle.

The feel of that same warm mouth wrapping around me as she dropped her head willing into my lap as Arturo drove through the City streets had been divine her talented little mouth earning a climax that she had swallowed without question before we'd even entered the underground car park of Warehouse 43.

"You're a work of fucking art." I breathlessly whisper, referencing the colourful predominantly flower tattoos that cover swathers of her body.

The exertion of the prolonged fuck I've just given the energetic little red-head showing but I've not finished with her, not yet.

Slipping from her I hear her groan, a groan that becomes a gasp as I lift her and fling her onto her back.

She smiles as knelt between her legs I pull her to me embracing her into a deep passionate kiss as I lower myself over her pressing her into the mattress beneath her.

The black sheets exaggerate her pale colourfully decorated skin.

My frame trapping her young slender form beneath me as I pepper her upper body and then the side of her neck with kisses while I remove my sweat soaked shirt from over my own head.

Her leg's butterfly apart beneath me as I press my hard length slowly back into her.

A soft gasp passing her lips and I feel her warm breath pass across my face at the same time my dick enters back into her exquisite body. I feel her slickened walls stretch back around me, the warmth of her young body envelopes my dick as I deliberately slowly penetrate her. She feels so divine.

Pinning her wrists, she arches her back immediately craning her head back as she accommodates me. Her breath rising and falling deeply.

Her dark red lip's part with a further gasp in my ear.

"Fuck me..." she whispers "...Fuck me"

I oblige, building my style as I keep her pinned beneath me. Fucking her with the same harsh abandon as I had whilst I had fucked her from behind.

Achieving a deep penetration once more as in the grip of the narcotics without need to restrain her body she succumbs to my will and gains an intense pleasure that's accentuated by the drug that courses through her blood stream and triggers her own wanton desire.

Within minutes I sense her second heavy climax building within her. Her core tightens around me as she struggles for breath as she endures the intensity I unleash.

Her body fucking back just as wildly as I now fuck her. Her eyes screw shut as her mouth falls open as she silently desperately gasps for breath to see her through the heavy orgasm that rips through her slender body once more.

I let her body goad mine, sinking myself deep into her as she clenches her core around me.

As her green eyes open to look up at me I hold myself over her my own arms trembling as I clench her wrists and reward her performance with a deposit of thick warm ejaculate that sprays into her cervix.

Holding myself up over her, studying her as both our bodies rise and fall on heavy breaths of recovery.

"What's your name?" I offer on a whisper as she looks up at me from beautiful, yet bloodshot, jade green eyes.

"Hetty" she breathlessly confirms.

**********

Naked and bound Hetty stands before me.

Tilting her head up in my hands I note how she attempts to focus on me in the dim light of the room. A docile grin forming across her lips.

"Stay with me.... You're about to go on an interesting journey."

Her slender wrists tethered tightly now by dark steel shackles attached to the wooden pillar raised up through the dark polished floorboards that constitute the bedroom floor of the master suite. Her ankles clamped into equally tight-fitting steel shackles.

Her expression is as increasingly vacant as I stand before her admiring my capture, the latest object of affection of Logan Hughes to fall under my control. Glassy eyed and slightly incoherent in her appearance my concern growing for ability to continue to perform across the remainder of the night following the energetic fuck she had already proven she can be.

Finally I hear the main doors to the room unlock, with a slight creak the doors swing open. Three figures stand in the open doorway. The first two, shirtless males with dark cowls wrapped around their heads like hoods step in but progress no further than just inside of the doorway as the doors swing closed behind them.

I meet the third male with a silent nod as he approaches Hetty from behind carrying a large square metal case.

"Hetty..." I offer with a sardonic smile "...meet The Curator."

Christoph Schmidt does not react, being a man of very few words at the best of times. Dressed all in black I watch as he places the case on its side on to a glass topped table sat directly behind young Hetty.

I know the contents well, I had admired the brutal savagery of the item Christoph had procured several months earlier. Tonight, the item in question will finally be utilised and Logan Hughes unsuspecting little slither of fresh meat will be the unwitting debutant.

Hetty stands bound before me blissfully unawares.

The sound of the latches being released fill the room, silence hangs between the five persons stood around the master suite. I glance over as Christoph opens the hinged case and removes the protective black foam packaging sat within the box from over the macabre device.

My breath hitching in my chest as I watch him take the item from the case, I look briefly to young Hetty as she's approached from behind, her eyes still lost as if she focuses on a granular spot of detail somewhere at my feet.

Reaching to his pocket Christoph takes a simple yet necessary tool and passes it to me over Hetty's left heavily tattooed shoulder. On doing so as metal scrapes on metal he separates the item he has taken from the case, with a nod one of the cowled assistants joins us, taking a position just over Hetty's right shoulder.

Retaining one half of the cruel looking device Christoph lays the second half into the hands of the faceless assistant.

I watch intently my role in proceedings largely redundant in the moment but I am deeply intrigued nonetheless. I concentrate on Hetty's young face as Christophe's right hand falls over the top of her cranium, and his fingers slip through her auburn hair. Hetty inhales sharply as he guides her head upright and back. Guiding her head until it meets and slips between the black metal shell that slips across the back of her head and across the nape of her slender neck.

"Hold please," Christoph coldly instructs the assistant as he takes the second half of the device from the assistant.

The assistant reaches up taking hold of the rough metal shell that cocoons across the back of Hetty's head and neck. |She does not move, either mortified as the three of us encircle her or under the debilitation the narcotics she has consumed enforce.

Stepping aside I take a vantage point to Hetty's left as Christoph moves around to inspect both his handiwork and his victim.

Watching as he pushes his little metal frame glasses up the bridge of his nose as his glance meets Hetty's face without a flicker of emotion. I know my Curator is a cold merciless human being from the tales of the torture he has extolled on any number of the escorts who operate at the Warehouse. "Research" as Christoph callously justifies his methods.

Methods that eventually transfer into the culture of 'The Collective', often to the benefit of those whose insatiable desires seek pleasure and gratification from his sterile mercilessly methodical approach, including my own dark desires.

Christoph raises the face plate of the black metal mask he holds in his hands and brings it level with Hetty's face and the back plate the assistant diligently holds.

Hetty's eyes widen, a sudden flicker of emotion as she glances to me with a look of instant pure and unadulterated fear.

"Goodbye," I offer sardonically.

Christoph presses the face plate forward and I watch as first shadow and then the completely faceless black steel mask fall over Hetty's features. As the back and front of the mask align Hetty's wrists pull frantically at the steel shackles that hold rigid to the pillar she is held to.

Hetty's fast frantic breath echoes through the metal mask

"Please...." She softly begs "...please what are you... what are you...."

With a nod Christoph summons me. Taking the Hex Ket handed to me earlier I meticulously begin to sink screws that align with and hold to the metal lips that meet from the two halves of the mask. Working swiftly the seven screws take and hold with ease as I lock young Hetty's face behind the heavy sterile black metal mask.

"Please... please..." Hetty continues to beg as her wrists pull continually at their restraint.

"I thought we decided on gagging the victim" Christoph all but sneers as he looks towards me.

"I want to hear this one beg and scream for mercy..." I state coldly as I run my right hand over the faceless mask. "...I want to hear the surrender when Logan Hughes fresh meat becomes our fuck meat."

Stepping away to admire her as Hetty stands there tethered between us, snivelling away and completely at our mercy. I make no further comment as Christoph in turn steps away and meticulously starts to repackage the now empty case.

Turning my attention to the cowled assistants as the second now approaches us.

"Have her dressed and take her down to Chamber Three."

My eyes casting over the tattooed that intricately detailed and vividly colourful tattoos that decorate her naked body. Reaching out I tap my knuckles on top of the steel mask, causing a startled yelp to pass from behind unseen lips.

"See you soon... work of art."

**********

Her screams fill the room

Tethered to the thick black wooden beams of the St Andrews cross I casually observe Hetty's destruction at the hands of the three members of 'The Collective.'

A grin passes my lips as from behind the anonymous metal mask her snivels and whimpers echo until they dissipate, snivels and whimpers born from the fresh thick red welt that forms across the pale tattoo littered skin of her back.

I revel in her downfall. Dressed now in a hideously torn red sheer robe that falls just across the tops of her legs. Aesthetic black thigh high boots with a vicious silver heel cling to those same heavily trembling legs.

Thick steel shackles clamp over her wrists and ankles, shackles that mercilessly holding her to the cross she stands before.

The three members of 'The Collective' dressed in the familiar black uniform, their faces obscured by black faceless balaclavas, to preserved their identity, stand around her increasingly broken body.

The room is bathed in a deep red light, that casts ominous shadows as I stand silently in perverse unwavering observation of what plays out. Projected onto the wall above the St Andrew Cross is an image of a far demure looking young girl.

An image scalped from Hetty's mobile phone of a smiling young girl whose pale complexion sits framed by a straight auburn fringe. Her appearance so innocent, an innocence is had not encountered from a face obscured by the harsh metal casing clamped around her face, head and neck.