Love, War, Myth, and Legend

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters within it are completely fictional. The Greek and Roman gods are completely fictional, and the author expresses no definitive position here on the Catholic one. I entertain the possibility that you are fictional and welcome you to do the same regarding me.

Names and characterizations of real-world people, places, and things have been altered to fit this story. Alabama is fictional. My previous sentence is fictional. But nothing particularly exciting happens in Alabama and any work that describes anything to the contrary is inherently fictional. United States military incursions into Russian territory are fictional, and if they're not, the author still steadfastly maintains that they're fictional and suggests you do the same.

If you are still reading, I salute you and welcome you to the dark, twisted, and seldom-shared corners of my mind.

Chapter 1: We Shall Never Surrender

"You gonna be all right here by yourself, Carson? Seriously, man, you don't need to be alone today."

"Pssht. Whatever. It's Valentine's Day. You and Stacey go enjoy yourselves. There will be plenty of free concerts at the amphitheater throughout the year, it's only February. We'll have plenty of other times to do things together."

"It's just a Hallmark holiday, you know. It's not a big deal to have you along."

"Then it's also not a big deal for me to hang out here."

"Carson ..."

"Lance, I may be blind and four years younger than you, but I will mess up your face if you keep trying to feel sorry enough for me to make me third wheel on your date with Stacey. Especially if you're planning what I think you're planning. Out."

"Yes, drill sergeant."

"Good. Make me repeat myself again and you'll be getting down and giving me fifty."

I finally convinced my big brother to get out of the house and go meet his girlfriend, and not bring me along. Stacey was a former Alabama Crimsonette and also sending all the "ready to settle down" signals—she was making bank as a traveling nurse, but that was also a tough road warrior life and she had told Lance that she was maybe ready to find a more consistent and less nomadic job somewhere, even if it meant a pay cut. In other words, put down roots. It was high time he locked that down if he wanted those roots to be entwined with his.

You never know when things can change in a big damn hurry.

For me, that moment was actually in Chechnya, but tell anyone that and I'll have to kill you. And anyway, you should see the other guy.

Wish I still could. Wish I could still see anything.

It's actually against one of the later Geneva Conventions to use blinding lasers as weapons. Unfortunately, some of the people I absolutely never encountered on missions that were absolutely never conducted by the United States military against terrorist cells that absolutely do not have nuclear weapons (this last part is true, but only because my unit and I absolutely did not kill all of them and seize those weapons that absolutely were not for sale on the black market) apparently did not care about the niceties of international law. We did what we had to do. And I caught a few thousand watts of coherent light to the face during a hot extraction, and it was the last thing I ever saw.

Fast forward to today, six months later, and I've got an honorable discharge, a veterans' disability pension, a decent lump of change from a disability insurance payout, and I'm crashing at my brother's house in Phenix City while I figure out what to do with my life.

In the middle of another quiet brooding session on that topic, the doorbell rang. I didn't need to see to know who it was. She had called earlier to let me know she was coming to pick up some of her things. That would be Callista Kostas, erstwhile Miss Georgia and significant other to yours truly. She'd hung on with me for a decent while after my incident, but unfortunately, we were on the verge of being over. Or maybe we already were, considering that she was just coming here to collect some of her personal things. It was hard to tell, but it was not a happy thought either way. And among the main reasons I focus my muddled thoughts on the future. The past is even more complicated.

I moved easily enough among the familiar furniture in the living room of my brother's house, and opened the front door.

"Hey Carson." Not Sir anymore. Just Carson. Well, maybe that's all I was now. I might not be able to see those Greek curves in all the right places, or the deep red volcanic eruption of her hair, but her voice alone was among the most beautiful sounds I'd ever heard, even when it wasn't mewling in helpless ecstasy around a ballgag. In fact, even when saying things that hurt.

"Hey Helena." My slave name for her had been the most beautiful woman in all the ancient Greek world. It fit. I'd have launched a war for her, too. Maybe in some ways, I was still fighting one. A losing one. But we all have our hills that we would die on.

"Don't, Sir. I mean, don't, Carson. God, why do you do that to me?"

Aha, now there it was. My girl was still in there. "Maybe because it turns us both on and makes life worth living? Come on in."

"Ugh. I'm not even saying that you're wrong, but that doesn't change what, well, changed."

She stepped into the entryway. I recognized the clack of those heels on her feet. And this sergeant's privates had always rather liked it, too.

"Not everything changed. I still recognize those Sarah Flints." They were the 100mm Perfect Pumps, but I was never going to admit that I knew enough about women's footwear to be able to name them. You tell anyone and I will find you.

Callie laughed. Wistfully, but a real laugh. "Or you just know that I wear them everywhere I can."

"You can always wear them here!"

Callie merely sighed this time. "Maybe I will."

"Then I'll look forward to hearing them. Anyway, your stuff is upstairs. Master closet, same place you left it. I haven't touched it."

"Thanks, Carson." She walked past me towards the stairs, and I enjoyed the clack of her heels on the floor again, and hoped this wouldn't be the last day I heard it. The hem of her dress brushed my knees as she passed me, and I was honestly pretty certain that I remembered that, too. I felt the tickle of a tiny strip of lace just above the hemline. It was a vintage-inspired pinup dress in mint green gingham. I remembered zipping it up on her and I remembered zipping it down to take it off her. Fond memories both.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor, and I climbed behind her. I expected her to continue straight into the guest bedroom that I'd taken over since moving in, but she stopped. I was coming up behind her, using the railing of course, and my hand reached hers waiting at the top of the banister.

"Helena? Callie?" I asked gently.

I heard her breath hitch. "Look, I hate this. I don't want it to be like this."

"I don't either, Callie. But I get that this isn't what you signed up for."

"God, I'm such a horrible person."

"If I seriously believed that, I'd be more OK with letting you go."

"And I can't believe you're being like this about it."

"Like what?"

"Like a total gentleman about it. Seriously a better person than me. Ugh, no matter what I do, it just feels wrong."

I've killed at least six people, probably twice that many. And I wish I'd killed at least one more before he blasted me with that damn laser. "Oh, Helena," I said, switching back to her slave name as we began to cross the short upstairs hall towards the bedroom. "I've never believed you were a bad person. However, I definitely have some things in mind to make you an even better person before you go. And I guarantee you they won't feel wrong."

Callie stepped into the bedroom, with me right behind her. I waited for the sharp intake of breath, a moment later, there it was.

"Oh, Sir, I mean Carson, come on!"

I seized her wrists and pulled them back, then leaned over her shoulder from behind. "You said it right the first time, Helena."

"My God, Christ, can you not take a hint?"

While her eyes took in the expansive collection of tools of restraint and discipline I'd laid out on the bed, I wasn't in any mood to wait to begin the afternoon together, whether it was our final one or merely one more in a fantastic series that no one in their right mind would want to bring to an end. I had a length of soft red silk rope in my pocket, and I immediately began winding it tightly around her wrists.

"First, Helena," I said as I went swiftly about my task, "you wouldn't be the first to tell me I can't take a hint."

I already had the rope looped five times about her wrists, and I now tied them off. At this point, nothing she couldn't struggle out of with a bit of work, left to her own devices—she was delightfully lithe—but not with me holding her like this.

"Second," I continued as I lifted her bound arms upward, forcing her to bend over. I marched her forward now and bent her over the foot of the bed—exactly three strides for me, well-practiced even without sight. I'd done it in more normal pitch blackness on multiple occasions, including leading my dear slave in the dark. "Don't take the Lord's name in vain."

"Carson!" her voice was mumbling and struggled as her face was pressed to the comforter, not to mention distracted by the collection of other BDSM gear laying on the bed waiting for her.

"Third," I said. "You're here. You're properly bound. Or, actually, not even close to properly bound yet, but we're getting there. Address me properly."

I'd also been feeling up her legs, ass, and back as I'd been marching her forward. "And fourth," I continued. "I actually can take a hint. And if you didn't know this was going to go like this, then I'm curious why you wore that sleeveless mint green gingham pinup dress when you came here on Valentine's Day, even though I couldn't see it. It was always among your easiest to do this with." Without further ado, I unzipped the aforementioned garment all the way to the waist. With no sleeves, it took only a light tug, at least for a guy built like me, to pull it free of her torso, even as she was still facedown on the bed. It slid down and pooled about her feet. By this point, I was already holding the ropes binding her wrists with one hand, and reached forward to run my hands along the back of her bra, confirming what I had both thought and hoped I would find. I had already felt her panties as I marched her across the room. "And," I added, "you came here on Valentine's Day wearing matching bra and panties. Now tell me which of us can and can't take a hint?"

"Sometimes I just like to feel beautiful for me!" she said. As she said this, I'd been unclasping her bra. "Men always think it's all abOWW!"

I always did like a little bratty backtalk to get things going, but the privates very much lower on the chain of command had informed me that things were very much going by now. I brought a strong, stinging hand down on her left ass cheek. The only time she got to take a breath was how long it took me to give her right cheek a firm squeeze, and then my hand came down with an equally satisfying thwack there, too.

"That could have been two, but I don't hear you counting yet, Helena, so we're still at the beginning. That's eight for taking the Lord's name in vain, twelve more for failing to address me properly when bound in this bedroom, minus four for dressing appropriately."

"Sir," she breathed, and her voice hitched. "Do you really want this? After ...?"

"Helena," I growled back. "In all this time, have you ever known me to be either shy or lie to you about what I want?"

"No, Sir," she answered simply.

"Then whatever comes after today, be damn certain that this is what I want. Now count. And convince me that your attitude is getting its much-needed improvement." I brought my hand back down on her left ass cheek again. The smack on those sensuous Mediterranean curves was every bit as delicious to the ears as the first time, and the voice that followed was all the more so.

"Ow! Fuck! Ugh. One. Thank you, Sir, for helping me work on my attitude."

Again, thwack, on the left. "Ai! Ow! Two. Thank you, Sir, for helping me work on my attitude."

After four on each side, halfway done, she was squirming thoroughly in my grip, alternating cursing and faintly crying. I cursed my blindness all the harder for not being able to see the little bit of pink that would be forming on her perfect ass already. I gave her a moment to breathe, and for the sting to fade before beginning again. During that time, I reached out to the bed, fumbling around in my sightless void for a little bit, even though I knew what I was looking for and had laid it there not long ago, soon after Callie had let me know that she was coming over today. I finally found them. With them in hand, I finally had to let go of the ropes connecting her wrists, because what I was going to do took two hands. Well, the first thing didn't--I'd slid her panties down and off her legs one-handed before. However, she usually kicked her heels off before doing the same to her panties once they reached her ankles. I wanted it clear I was having none of that now. The sound of those heels was too erotic to let go of, and they put her ass at just the right place for moments like this. And if rumor and Callie's own gushing about them was correct, they really were comfortable to stand and walk in for long periods. So I had obtained a set of shoe and heel restraints, simple straps curved just right to wind around the ankle and instep and under the heel of stilettos like this. I wound them tightly into place and slipped little padlocks onto them.

"Sir ..." she breathed as she realized what was happening.

"I told you you were welcome to wear them here at any time. I've got a better idea. You're not just welcome to wear them here. You're not welcome to take them off here. Legs like yours were meant for heels like this."

"How can you even ... God, never mind."

"I should add more for taking the Lord's name in vain again. Though not as much more as I would if you'd finished that thought." She had clearly been about to say something about how I couldn't even see her legs now. But feeling those legs and hearing the clack of those heels was a damn lot better than not having either of those things in my life. And I could still see the image of those legs better than just about anything else in my memory.

"I'm rethinking this whole Catholic thing. Can I go back to the gods of my people? Dear Zeus, please help a good Greek damsel in distress, I've been tied up by a barbarian with no ability to take a hint. Send some fucking divine lightning this way or something before I fall victim to his base desires."

"Shows what you know about the gods of your people. Zeus hears that and he shows up to watch." Greek and Roman mythology was actually one of my hobbies. That meme about how often men think about the Roman Empire? I felt rather personally attacked when that went viral. I straightened. "Now, where were we?" I now slid a finger between her legs from behind, just to confirm what my nose had been telling me for several swats now. She was definitely getting aroused. Not all the way there yet, but well on the way. How fortunate that she still had eight strokes to go.

I regained my grip on the silk ropes binding her wrists with my left hand, and then felt back and along the bed to another thing I'd left waiting there. I heard another tense intake of breath from Callie. Helena. She was close enough to back in character for me to start giving her that name in my own mind again. And since my dear Helena could still see, and her head was apparently facing this way on the bed, she could see the paddle I was lifting from where I had laid it. The paddle was broad, had no holes, and was wrapped tightly in a soft leather cover. Those facts would spread the impact rather than concentrating it. However, the leather was thin and the paddle itself was almost two feet of guayacan. Stronger than hickory.

"That's right, Helena, I think you're properly warmed up now. Enough that it's going to take stronger stuff now to make a lasting change in your attitude. Whatever else happens today, you're going to feel this tomorrow."

I didn't give her a chance to retort about what else might happen here today. I didn't want to think about it further. Nor did I want her to go down that trail of thought, either. I circled the paddle on her left ass cheek for a slow, sensuous moment, in part for the sheer sensuality of it and in part to orient myself properly, and then brought it back and forward in a firm, almost leisurely smack.

"OW! Sir, please! I'll be good, I'll be good!"

"I like to hear that, Helena. But I haven't driven all thought out of your head just yet. That's coming. But for now, you still know how to count."

"Nine! Nine, Sir! Please let that count."

"Say it all together. You know what to say for the second half of a session like this."

"Nine! Please, Sir, I'll be a good girl now!"

"Now we're back into it. Good girl, indeed, Helena. Keep it up." I swung the heavy paddle again, enjoying another firm, satisfying thwop as it connected with her right ass cheek.

"Ayow!" An explosive breath, then: "Ten. Please, Sir, I'll be a good girl now!"

One thing that my blindness definitely did make much harder was observing her transition from brat in need of taming into real subspace. It was still possible, listening to her voice change, stopping momentarily to feel her arms as they began to go loose in the ropes that held them, even as the pain in her derriere would be mounting. But I would miss seeing the change come over her eyes and skin.

I continued bringing the paddle down in an alternating rhythm on either side of Helena's ass, varying my timing to keep her guessing and mentally off balance, but increasing the strength behind my swing just a little bit each time. It took focus, finesse, and strength of will to properly tame a redheaded Greek goddess. Fortunately, I still had all of those things even if I didn't have my sight.

"Aahhh aahh oooooh oww. Fifteen. Please, please, please, oh my God, mmhrrmm," she had clearly buried her face in the comforter on the bed. Another movement, another strong, gasping breath that told me that she had lifted her head back a moment later. "I'll be good, dammit, I'll be a good girl, Sir. I promise. God, why do you do this to me?" Despite her words, she was panting, not screaming, only even the faintest crying. Likely past the border into subspace by now, then.

"You mean this?" I said, drawing a finger again along her slit, now slick with her juice. She had waxed recently, too. Maybe even for this occasion. A man could dream.

"Yes, Sir," she said. "That." Subspace indeed.

"I think you know why," I replied. "One more, and then I'll give you a very thorough reminder. How long do you think I should wait for this last one?" I languidly circled the paddle on her right ass cheek.

"Oh please, Sir! Please give it to me! Please! Your Helena doesn't want to wait anymore!"

"I'm sure she doesn't. She is indeed such a good girl, after all, at least after a good dose of proper discipline. But that doesn't always mean she gets what she wants when she wants, does it?"

"No, Sir," she replied. "But please?" She even rocked her ass back and forth gently with the paddle still resting on her cheek. I let go of her bound wrists. She wasn't even close to fighting the embrace of the silk ropes anymore. I ran my free hand over both of her ass cheeks, envisioning how prominently they were displayed, with her legs locked in five-inch heels and her torso bent down onto the bed.