Not Quite a White Knight Pt. 01

The City Of Angels, Spring 2008

Introduction

After her 21st birthday, naive Gracie wanted something special sexually, to explore that fine line between pleasure and pain. But her traveling companions were not quite as advertised so she found herself on a path that took a sharp turn towards "does not end well." Just in time she was rescued, but he was not a white knight.

A credible threat of death from a killer obliterates consent, so this series was nominated for NonConsent/Reluctance. The pain she embraces is balanced with pleasure. The use of bondage equipment suggests this story could be in BDSM. Perhaps a subsequent series might qualify as a Romance or Novel.

There is a considerable backstory to the protagonist and his dual life as a lawyer and a law breaker, a backstory which might be published as Non-erotic. Only glimpses are presented here. He is the child of rape who, at a young age, was challenged to kill the rapist slowly, to avenge the mother he does not remember. A diagnosed psychopath, he is not "good people" by any measure. You may consider him quite beyond redemption, he shares that view and would not hold it against you.

This is a series, sex may develop slowly. A different piece of sex/BDSM equipment/furniture/machinery is used in each of the first three parts.

Part 1: Chapter 1 has violence. Chapter 4 has the first equipment. Chapter 6 has more sex.

Part 2: Chapter 8 has more sex. Chapter 9 has the second equipment: X-Cross.

Part 3: Chapter 13 has the third equipment. Chapters 14, 16 and 17 have sex.

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Chapter 1. Friday Night Patrol

Except for a black bag over her head and the red high heels, her body was naked the first time I saw her through a basement window. She looked very good indeed; I have been with some of the finest female forms in this City of Angels, females you have wished about while looking at magazines and videos. She was on the par with the best of them.

She was helplessly bound bent over a table, legs spread, positioned for rough sex. Not that she could do anything even if she was free, there were three large naked young men who were openly discussing the sick, painful things they were going to do with her. Cruel cable ties held her long, perfect legs to the metal table legs. Her upper body rested on the filthy table but was rotated to her left side with her arms held awkwardly by more cable ties. This forced pose showed off her heavy breasts, which looked outstanding. For some reason the three Black Kings had already distended her front and rear openings, the wicked toys they had employed were on the table next to her. The cloth bag over her head was held with duct tape around her neck, and she wore red high heels, but otherwise her clothes had been crudely cut off - there were scratches on her otherwise flawless flesh and her expensive apparel was reduced to rags scattered around the room. The fools had added wicked clamps to her nipples and vaginal lips.

It looked like we arrived at this pain-rape party shortly before it got to the point of flesh penetrating flesh. The three dicks each wore only their gang colors as a buff wrapped around an upper arm. I recognized one fool, he was part of the Black Kings command group and was usually smarter then this. But his eyes showed that he was very heavily medicated. It was clear when they moved that they were already tuned up on their drugs. What drugs? I would find out in the autopsy.

All three were as ugly as the girl was beautiful. They were were very well-muscled, perhaps 18 to 22 years old, so younger than us, and all taller than Cosmo. One looked about 6 foot 5 so he was taller than me.

When they noticed us they figured we were somebody else they could add to the pain side of their party.

Now, if it was me who was naked, flying gang colors and showing a hard cock in enemy territory, I might have wondered why two men wearing ski masks, gloves and obvious body armor entered from both the basement's only two exits at the same moment; it was just not a likely or friendly coincidence. But then, I am always in my right mind.

We also flew our colors. This particular abandoned industrial/commercial district was the subject of ongoing friendly negotiations between Cosmo's "Crystal Aztexs" (their spelling) and my gang, "49." Both gangs are mostly hispanic. This area was clearly tagged as off-limits to other gangs. The Kings had been considerate picking this spot, it was deserted and damn near soundproof; no doubt they didn't want to disturb anybody when their victim expressed herself at their attentions.

The Kings first move was to throw dumb insults at us. That was not going to cut it.

Machetes, razor sharp with chromed steel blades, cut it. Before the bullshit got too deep I gave the word. Cosmo and I pulled our machetes - we each had two - from the 'handles down' sheaths strapped to our backs under our windbreakers. Live steel, changed the mood real fast, it cut through the drugs for two of the Kings. Machetes mess with the mind; maybe it was a racial memory thing but the tall Black King actually shit himself when we showed the 4 steel blades that would free him from all pain.

(We also had guns, I carry a Glock 29. But if you use a gun at a crime scene you really have to toss it after. Plus, some animals did not merit a quick death.)

After the insults Cosmo could not keep his own mouth shut as he pruned his first hand clean off. He kind of giggled. "Partner, will you look at this? We going Mau Mau on these black asses, all Hutu-like. They probably remember this shit from the bush, black home." Cosmo was rather proud that he had read an old "Time" magazine once. The magazine may have been older than he was.

Things moved quickly for a time as we danced. The Black Kings reached for their clothes where their weapons were; that extended their arms so we had plenty of limbs to hack. I like to leave the limb still attached by a little skin and muscle, seeing that is so demoralizing and does this brain-lock thing. Cosmo, who lacked my experience, clearly liked to take the limb clean off. To each his own.

Once they were all disarmed (literally) we took our time making more interesting cuts before and after they bled to death. I mean, as long as all this was about sending message, it behooved us be clear as possible. Everybody knows that in this hood, trespassing with colors flying is a capital crime and no appeal is entertained.

I was an old hand at using a blade on somebody, repeatedly, without quite killing them. It's a long story, call it a child's hobby.

There are different type of gangs, 49 is actually pretty benign. We sold grass and some party pills, but we didn't use or market hard drugs, like these mastoids. Our main gig was keeping a safe place for our own. You know the saying, "when life or death is a matter of seconds, the police are minutes away." In our neighborhood, the police might not come at all, so 49 picked up the slack by providing safe school busses and shopping trips.

Keeping our folks safe meant our territory had to be defended or it was lost to the more violent elements all around - like the Black Kings who treated cocaine marketing as a death sport. Defending territory meant patrols. If we detailed young gang members to patrol they would fight each other for bragging rights. Instead old vets like Cosmo drew the job. As the secret boss of 49, I put myself on this job just to have a look around. This was our third night on patrol, and the first incident.

Cosmo was 25. He was out of prison for less than 3 months after catching a full nickel with no parole; boring patrol duty was part of his path back into the Aztexs inner circle. Too bad it was a short path.

I was 28, I had stepped out of being the 49's Warlord some years ago, when I started law school. Even with a 150 IQ there were only so many hours in a day. After I graduated my Uncle Toad semi-retired so I became co-boss. Today I am the Jefe, the CEO, the Chairman of the Board, whatever. Only a few officers know my true authority. Like Toad, I delegate. I am a different sort of cat, but I try to keep the troublesome stuff disguised. Nobody still alive, except Aunt Marta in Detroit, knew the whole story, and she had given her eye as proof she would never tell.

The Black Kings looked like they were having this "In Your Face - In Your Territory" party here purely because they knew they weren't supposed to be here, and I guess they figured they could get away with it. Evidence of their presence was a plain insult to both of our gangs. Having obscene fun with a white girl, then killing her in a gruesome manner so it would make the papers, all in marked territory, would up the publicity and thereby greatly multiply the insult.

Trespassers getting hacked to bits, including hacking skulls open to leave their brains exposed (sub-message: really stupid idea) would send a very different message.

While the Kings were going to pieces I had one other bit of business that required my careful but immediate attention. Part of the reason I am run 49 is because I head this branch of the family import/marketing business. Part of my longevity in such a role is that nobody knows much about me. There is a story behind that, it helped that I had family backing. Plus I was a psychopath.

In the current setting I was not about to put my very confidential life in the hands of a drugged out two-time loser like Cosmo. Who knows, he might be tied to this crime or some other crime or just have dumb luck and get dragged in for questioning. We had shared whores side-by-side because he thought it was a bonding experience, that was his sole motivation to keep my part secret. (Honestly, I considered it animal behavior, but our gangs were negotiating so I played nice and we fucked a couple of expensive whores.) I know he owed me next to nothing, and he did not want another full ride in the slam, so what could he offer in trade if Cosmo was facing 25 to life? He knew where I lived and would give me up in a minute!

So while he hacked up his share of Black Kings I did some personal risk management and nicked his artery at a gap in the armor. He bled out, it was painless and quick for him. He would be reinstated to his gang with full honors, posthumously. His fellows would blame the Black Kings and extract an extra helping of retribution. After the retribution three or four other neighboring gangs would then have a go at kicking the weakened Kings while they were down. To salvage their pride the remaining Kings would have to strike back at their weakest neighbor; that might occur after a coup. (Another Hutu moment, if you know some history. In a group of thugs there are always Hutus and Tutsis who are looking to use their long knives.) After a short delay the chain reaction would get ugly.

All because these three drugged out muscle-brains deliberately disrespected our tags.

Why were those guys here? It did not make sense. They must have known what they could expect if caught. As is often the case, the question answered itself, but I didn't have all the information I needed until Sunday.

-

Chapter 2. Introductions

When the screaming and whimpering turned to silence I switched to defensive mode. I was now without Cosmo's eyes watching my back plus I was at a crime scene, so additional caution was indicated. I pulled my Glock and grabbed up all 4 machetes into a bag I carried for that specific purpose - it would not leak blood.

Next I surveyed the scene like a CSI. There were four lifeless bodies - three in parts - and one very attractive loose end. My rules said I should not leave a witness, except she was very nice even by LA standards, and in this fabled city "very nice" gets extra consideration; it is our highest unwritten law. I could not help but stare at her perfect and well-displayed breasts, they were purely fine and held the eye. They even pulled my eyes away from her exposed and ready-to-use pussy and ass, which were very tempting, if Cosmo was still alive he would be all over and into that.

As I thought of it the term "witness" really did not fit since she could not see a thing. Unlike Cosmo she could not tie me to this in any way.

If her body was kept out of this, the cops would do a minimal investigation, classify it as a gang-on-gang Friday night and let it slide to the bottom of a big pile. They would have Cosmo's DNA and the tags, but that would not tell them who walked away. They knew they would never get those names. Despite our tags on the building 49 might not even be mentioned; we rarely got caught doing Friday night violence.

However, if the cops tied the white girl's pretty young body to this, it would make all the papers the cops would pour a lot of resources into it, the sexist pigs. I did not want that. But if I moved her, what then?

I had a few moments to consider her life or death in blissful silence.

Then, like women always do, she started talking; maybe she heard my breathing, hacking bodies is hard work. Damn, unlike most girls I find tied and bagged, she even had a sweet voice, like an angel drunk on honey.

"Hello," she said, using her polite indoor voice. "I can't see, but I am guessing that I owe you some thanks."

Such calm courtesy was not expected, any of the chicas I knew would start to bitch loudly, and the white girls I knew would whine and screech demands while crying. I supposed that said more about the girls I hang with. This white girl's voice was like a normal conversation so I did not have the immediate urge to cut her very pretty throat.

She continued. "I suppose I should explain. Honestly, I was not opposed to what they had promised for the evening, I was looking forward to a bit of rough handling with my sex, and I figured three was a good number... you know, no waiting? Airtight? Anyways, I was all in when they mentioned sharing some ex and cocaine. I figured that with the marching powder we could party all night. But after we got here they started getting out of hand with something else. Once I was secured they began talking about pliers and dry ice to make sure I could not ID them; also giving me extreme pain while they were inside me just, you know, to feel me twitch real bad. Then they talked about maybe removing my tongue, weighing me screaming in pain versus them enjoying my tongue on their cocks... or other places too disgusting to mention."

Amazingly, she kept her civil tone as she spoke. Like she was talking about furniture.

I saw the cooler of dry ice and the tools the animals planned to use on her fine body. I mean, I don't even think that way, and I be crazy, according to three expert doctors who declared me unfit for gentle society just before they died.

On a calculated whim I took the needle nose pliers from the detached hand of a dead Black King and followed through on what he intended, sticking about 4 inches of it into Cosmo's ear. He didn't object and it just added a touch to the story for his gang. Small details can make such a big difference sometimes.

White girl kept talking, from the tone she was inviting me to do something. Normally that irritated me but I must confess she sounded so good I listened.

She continued, "I guess the point is, if you are interested, I don't mind at all if you help yourself to a quick 'thanks' from my... well, either portal I guess, I seem to be pre-lubed... or maybe something... longer? I'm okay if you call some friends. I'm grateful, really. I have time. Like I said, I was looking for something rough and am inclined to co-operate."

The place stank of death and there was foul blood and other things all over the place; it sort of killed the mood even for me. Also, I am not usually a sharing type of guy, just ask Cosmo. Oops, too late.

I just had to put my hand on her magnificent ass. Even with my surgical gloves on I had never felt skin softer, it was a real shame they had scratched it. Damn, I was tempted to kiss her sweet bottom. My hand traveled up her side and across her more kissable tits. Despite the bondage and death's presence her response was like a kitten I was petting, arching against the touch like it was so good; I half expected her to purr. She was sincere about it. Plus, DAMN, she was real nice stuff.

I got stupid and curious so I picked up the purse and dug out the wallet. Time to gauge my own risk.

I rested the gun on her back as I kicked my voice to a low register (a survival skill learned when I was very young) and sort of growled my first spoken words. "Miss Vacario... Gracie Vacario of... Hmmm, this is a good fake ID. But you are not 24 years old."

She stayed cool. "Thank you. The ID is even in the system so it will fool the cops and bouncers - at least on age. I don't need it any more... but force of habit... The real one is in the bottom lining..."

So it was, cleverly hidden in the bottom. She was damn smart, the Black Kings would never have found it, but the cops would have after - for notification of the next of kin. As a random thought while looking at her very nice body I wondered, for maybe the fifth time in my life, can a psychopath fall in love? I mean, if I really love coconut ice cream, can't I love a person the same way?

I read from the ID. "Yes, Gracie Robinson, just turned 21, of... my goodness, that is a nice address. Happy Birthday!" In this city, every zip code had a status rating. "Hmmm, didn't that guy from that live comedy show...."

"Yeah, we bought it from him after he was arrested last time. Mumzy says that when he dies we will make a killing."

It was a location I knew, I had been inside the house more than once, selling expensive medicinals and herbal crops grown by my family back home. I was running a different crew then. The funny guy had a nose like a vacuum cleaner and was devoted to self-medication at heroic levels. He also had too much money. I helped with both. To my eye the address said plainly that if Gracie went missing at least one first class PI would start looking. The thing about a really good PI is that, if he really wants to, he can question all kinds of people, using all kinds of motivation, so they can get critical answers the cops can't.

I had to ask. "Why would a person with your resources associate with... this street trash?"

"Oh, my own bad judgement, no doubt. Like I said, I was looking for a thrill, some rough handling not available from my usual wimpy limp dick boyfriends - that is all Mumzy lets me have. The cute one with the lip ring?"

The guy with the lip ring was NOT cute, he was the complete opposite but I let that pass. My bad.

She kept talking. "He and I were at the mall where we got into this charming risque conversation, with lots of sophisticated double entendre and subtle compliments." Now, I knew these chunks of meat were barely articulate when alive, so I should have stopped her there, but her voice had me entranced, so I just could not bring myself to interrupt.

"Like I said, the promise of the drugs sold me. Look, the thing is that Mumzy and her latest step-wimpy are doing their sex-month anniversary thing in Jamaica; she is fucking six young black studs each day and he is wearing a cock cage while strung up watching the show. She sends me pictures instead of being here with her own precious flesh and blood on the big day."

We shared a "YUCK" moment.

Then she went on. "Anyways, my 21st birthday was two days ago and I wanted a special day, something more interesting than vanilla cake and daring strawberry ripple ice cream at one of LA's finer restaurant. I wanted something dark, like Mumzy was getting stuffed with... Say, would you mind? The cable tie... I just realized I can't feel my right foot."

The ties were way too tight. I clipped the ties on her ankles, they were not looking good but would heal. Next I slipped regulation handcuffs on to one wrist, clipped that tie, twisted the hand behind her back, then clipped the other tie and brought her other hand smoothly into the handcuff. Exactly like a cop was trained to do it. She did not fight or object. Once cuffed she started to get up but I rested a hand on her back. Damn, she felt good. My hand had to wander a bit, we will say "the lower back" where the skin was so soft and warm. She stayed down, relaxed and did more of the 'kitten' stuff. That seemed either absent-minded or automatic, but either way it was sure nice.