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Message-ID: <40691asstr$1044429008@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Toran <toran29@insightbb.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 01 Feb 2003 19:49:33 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Story: Shadow Mists (1 of 2)  (BDSM, M/f)
Date: Wed,  5 Feb 2003 02:10:08 -0500
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The following is a work of erotic fiction and is the sole property of the 
author.  It contains elements of bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism..

All comments welcome.

Part 1 of 2

SHADOW MISTS
By Toran


PROLOG

The hunger was on me, frightening in its intensity.  Romantics would call it 
passion, realists lust.  I called it The Beast.  Trickling into me, almost 
unconscious in the beginning, growing until it throbbed at my temples and 
pulsed through my veins, it was a thirst without end, a need beyond 
fulfillment.  My eyes grew focused, my head clear, my senses animal.  I would 
neither eat nor drink nor sleep, all three out of the question until I was 
consumed and satiated by the blood and pain and hopelessness of the look in 
their eyes, the feel of their body, the frantic little movements, the helpless 
yielding of their flesh, the strange wrongness of it all, and above all, their 
desire, their animal desire...

I closed my eyes...and felt His eyes open.

APARTMENT

St. Louis, June 3rd, 1984

Tracie Martin flipped open the single black travel bag - the only piece of 
luggage that had made the flight from London with her.  Her plans of buying as 
much as she could during her three week stay in the States included buying more 
luggage to carry back her loot.  The exchange rate wasn't that much better and 
the Yanks were still in the punk phase that had grown old in Britain, but this 
was her first trip across the pond and she wanted to taste everything, smell 
everything...feel everything.

Even with the six hour jet-lag telling her that this was really 1AM, her first 
request to go down to the landing right away was going to be honored.  She 
wasn't much of a sleeper anyway.  She tossed a tight leather mini and matching 
red T-shirt on the bed.  She was wearing the boots already - her feet were in 
agony from wearing them all day, but they wouldn't fit in the bag.  She was 
routing along the bottom of the bag for a belt to wear over the mini when her 
fingers found the first item she'd dropped in, on a whim, when she was packing 
half a world away and what now seemed like so long ago.

Crass popped his head in the doorway - the apartment he shared with his lover 
was large enough that Tracie actually got a room of her own.  His real name was 
Andrew, but it hadn't taken long for Tracie's mum to coin her twin brother's 
nickname.  Even though the Brass name that was the other pair to Crass had worn 
off Tracie while she was still a little girl, Crass grew into his name, almost 
with a vengeance.  The purple mane he was currently sporting helped nicely.

"Bus leaves at 8, hon."  His eyes caught the item Tracie held in her hands and 
a slow smile spread.  "Two peas in a pod, we are.  Hold on, I've got the 
perfect thing for that."  Then he was gone.

Butterflies alighting in her stomach, Tracie took a deep breath and slipped the 
thin black collar around her neck.  Bought on a whim at one of the fading 
punker stores on Camden High Street in London, the collar had seemed to be just 
another punk statement...but this had nothing to do with punk.  Not for Tracie. 
 She closed her eyes as her skin registered the tight leather encircling her 
neck, the dark, musky smell filling her nose.  She worked a finger in the 
collar and pulled, wondering what it would feel like...and what he would look 
like...

There was a metallic click, followed by a deeper ratcheting click and Tracie's 
eyes flew open.  Crass had slipped back in while she was lost in thought.  And 
clipped a thin leather leash to her collar.  And locked it on with a small 
padlock.  The collar wasn't coming off now and neither was the leash.  An evil 
grin on his face, Crass dangled the little key in front of her.

"Be a good girl, little sister, and maybe I'll unlock that later on."

Her stomach flipped and the requisite reach for the key was half-hearted - the 
collar was locked on and it was out of her hands when it was coming off.  And 
she was leashed...Without warning, Crass twirled her around and delivered a 
smart crack to her butt.  "Bus leaves at 8, little slave...get dressed."

Her cry was more moan than anything else.  Long after Crass had left her to 
dress she was standing in the center of the room, eyes closed, a smile on her 
lips, one hand holding the end of the leash, the other fanning the warm tingle 
that had started in her ass and spread through her body.

And they just made the bus.

BAR

We were in the third and last set before the swill-hole called Murphy's on 
Laclede's Landing closed down and sent the pathetic little students back to 
their drunken weekend grope-a-dope parties. 

I played with an intensity the rest of the band hadn't seen in me before.  
Ever.  I used Rodford's bass line from the Kinks "Destroyer" as a whip, lashing 
out and punctuating each transition hard enough that I almost blew my E string. 
 The leather-sheathed slam dancers in front of the small, step-up stage fueled 
my anger and frustration and I slung it back without thought.

By the time I ran U2's "New Year's Day" through the dingy plaster and pipe 
roof, dragging the rest of the band along behind me, management was giving us 
the hard stare.  There had already been two fights.  The music and inherent 
rage of the punkers started those.  I was leading this one.

The keyboards and lead vocalist, a sultry auburn tressed slitch that was the 
"Athena" in the band's "Athena and the Hubcaps", pulled my arm roughly, 
breaking a fingernail in the folds of my leather jacket.

"Shit, Val!  You broke my nail!  What the fuck are you doing?  Stick with the 
playlist."

The fact that we were coming down off a fast and furious run in the sack, much 
to the discord of the rest of the band, was apparently supposed to mean 
something.  Welcome to the brave new world, baby.  Val is gone.  Don't screw 
with what's left.

I regarded her for maybe a second, then ripped off the opening of Duran Duran's 
"Hungry like the Wolf."  The band followed - they knew not to screw with me - 
and Athena shot me a glare that bounced off harmlessly.  Steam, baby, steam.  
Save the whining for the song.

I scanned the faces bobbing up and down in front of me, seeing everything 
through a thin red haze.  I barely felt my fingers as they raced up the neck 
and pounded the fret board.  It had been so long since the hunger came on me 
and I was just pissed that the end of this little soliloquy was over.  We could 
have been a record band.  Athena had a knock out voice and our drummer was a 
punk John Bonham.  Six-stringer was coming along and would have tightened up in 
no time.

But it was over.  Fucking completely over.

It was her friend's purple hair that caused me to snap out of my funk.  The 
flash of purple puff caught my eye and the little brunette standing next to her 
held it.  She was staring at me, with the goggle eye that comes with too much 
beer and not enough control to fight the music as it wraps you up and holds 
you, caressing your heart in its hand and throbbing, throbbing...

She wore a thin black collar with a leash locked onto it.  Her purple headed 
friend held the end of the leash away from some dipshit in spiked hair and 
black mascara.  As we finished Duran Duran, Athena crying out in one final 
pitiful wail, I gave the brunette a wink.  She pulled the leash away from her 
friend.

I started "Riders on the Storm."  The band followed suit, relieved that we were 
slowing down, unaware that I was cranking up.  I let the bass line weave 
through the smokey air like a black snake, Athena's keys flowing like the ocean 
at dusk.  As I sang Morrison's words into the tinny mike I looked into the 
brunette's eyes and spoke to her.

The punkers, miffed at the slowdown, parted easily as she made her way through 
the crowd and towards the stage.  'Thena and I played the first instrumental, 
sharp '70s psychedelic rock stirring the '80s leather and rage crowd the wrong 
way.  Our first two sets had all the punk anthems from The Clash and The Dead 
Kennedys and every other disenchanted band with a hook on anarchy.  This last 
set was a mix of New Age and whatever I felt like pulling out of the past.  And 
through the restless throng she came, absently holding the end of her leash 
between her breasts, her lips slightly parted, her huge gray-blue eyes swirling 
and locked on mine.  I caressed her leather-skirted ass with the thumping bass 
lines sliding off my worn Stratocaster, and pulled her close with my voice.

Around me, the band was starting to feel the fresh anger of the crowd, who had 
as much tolerance for The Doors as they did for rules and capitalism.  I 
blocked it out.  The increasing pressure in my head, the return of the unwanted 
hunger, the murderous desire that would not let me be, all that was lost as I 
danced with the brunette girl with the silly collar and leash, she swaying to 
the beat of music long dead and me holding her up with power newborn.

Sully, our drummer, caught the first beer bottle in the side of the head.  He 
managed another two stanzas before sliding to the floor and taking his crash 
and high-hat with him.  The bouncers were quick and the bartender-manager was 
hollering for us to get the hell off the stage.

And still she looked up at me from the foot of the stage.  Smiling, I gently 
reached down and took the end of her leash.  She stepped up onstage led by the 
soft tug I gave her collar.  A bottle whizzed past then and I moved quickly, 
scooping her up with my pick hand and slinging my bass over my shoulder.  My 
foot popped the jack cord as I hurried her past the mixer rack and off stage.  
As we plunged into the pungent darkness of the backroom hallway, her leash 
slapping back and forth between her breasts, I felt her slide an arm around my 
waist.

God, this shit is too easy.

BACKROOM
	
Sully was propped against a full keg of Miller Lite, blood streaming down his 
face the way only a head cut can.  Bubbers, the six-stringer was trying to get 
it to stop.  I unslung the 'Strat from my back, dishing it into its hard case, 
the brunette - Tracie was her name, I knew that as I knew most things when the 
hunger was in me - stood in the backroom corner, docile.

Athena made a grab for my arm.

"Want to break more than another fingernail," I snapped.  

She recoiled, but the fury was there in her eyes, unchecked.  She knew what the 
brunette meant, or at least she thought she did.  "What the fuck did you think 
you were doing out there?  You think we're gonna get fucking paid for trashing 
their bar, you asshole?"

I turned my back on her.  Such language for a woman...

"I'm outta here,"  I said to Bubbers.

His back stiffened but he didn't turn to face me.  "You're not leaving us with 
the stage, Val."

"Sure am, Bubbs."  I closed the hard case with a snap, glancing over my 
shoulder at Tracie, still staring at me, only me, from the corner, her leash 
laying placidly over one breast.  "Besides, house speakers, remember?  Monitors 
too.  Not much left after that."

Now Bubbers stood, forgetting Sully who was stirring from the floor.  "You want 
your share, you get your ass out there with me and 'Thena and Sul before they 
trash our shit."  Behind him, down the hall that led from the backroom to the 
bar, all hell was breaking loose.  "You don't help tear down and you're out of 
the band."

"Get a good look at my back, Bubbs, 'cause after it walks out that door you 
won't see it again."  It was true.  Some doors are one way.  "And I'm taking 
Athena for a few minutes."  I grabbed her hand, pulling her close.  She 
resisted at first, then softened and melted into my kiss.  She was mine then, 
for as long as I needed.  I swatted her ass.  "Let's go, hon."

As I took the 'Strat's case in one hand and Tracie's leash in the other - she 
sighed, her eyes sparkling - Bubbers made his big mistake.  His roundhouse 
clipped the back of my head and I took a quick step forward, almost dropping 
the hard case.  Straightening, I gave Athena Tracie's leash and set the hard 
case down gently.  "Take her out back to the car."  I winked at the dull glow 
and unconscious smile there and turned.

Both Bubbers and Sully, still a little dazed, were standing.

"You don't want to screw with me, Bubbs," I said mildly.  "Not now."

He did a half-turn, like he was going to forget it, all of it, then came at me. 
 My heart shifted gears and started pumping copper adrenaline.  I sidestepped 
him, kneeing him in the balls, hard.  He went down with a howl.  I'd never 
liked Bubbs.  He really believed the punk shit, more than the rest of us.  At 
24, he had some serious growing up to do.

Sully, on the other hand was almost a friend, if a creature like me could have 
friends.  I did Athena because she was there.  Sully, I liked.

"I mean it, Sul, don't screw with me."

And then he came at me, too.

I let him come, not sure if I had it in me to hurt him.  Lowered head, his 
shoulders hit me mid-chest and sent me back into the wall, ripping up a Spuds 
McKenzie poster tacked there.  He was jackhammering his fists into my 
mid-section as I finally decided to let him go, the last good deed I would do 
for a while.  I locked onto the back of his head and brought my knee up, 
sharply thumping his forehead.  He'd have a hell of a headache to match the 
beer bottle scar at his temple.   As he blanked for a moment I grabbed the 
'Strat and slid out the back door and into the night.

ALLEY
	
It was the cool breeze of the back ally and then the approaching sirens that 
brought clarity to Tracie Martin.  Somewhere during the parade of beer she'd 
had inside the bar a feeling of hopelessness had enveloped her.  I wasn't the 
jet-lag.  It was the leash, she was sure of it.  It meant something to her that 
she didn't quite understand yet.  The freaks that wanted to hold it, the 
assholes that made all the silly, slutty comments - all that planted a feeling 
of unease in her.  She was playing with something she couldn't quite see, but 
knew of its size from the shadow it seemed to cast.  She was playing with fire.
	
And the bass player, the one with the eyes that had looked into her soul and 
smirked - he knew.  He knew what the shadow was.  What the shadow's power would 
do to her.
	
"You know he's a freak."

It was the redhead from the band that spoke from beside her.  Tracie looked at 
her clearly for the first time.  Late twenties, maybe, pretty, cold.  And she 
was the latest in a long string of many that night to be holding her stupid 
leash.

"Can I have that back," she said, not waiting for the redhead to let go of the 
leash.

The redhead shrugged, letting the leash slide away.  She eyed the closed door 
of the bar warily.  "He'll hurt you, you know.  You'll think you want it, at 
the beginning, but by the time you know it's time to stop it'll be too late.

She knew, Tracie thought.  She knew a little about the shadow.  "Maybe it will 
never be time to stop.  Maybe not for me."  Saying that started up the little 
twitch in her stomach, the one that was powered by the butterflies, the one 
that had never completely gone away while she wore that damned collar.

The redhead, Athena was her name, Tracie remembered, sighed.  "Maybe you're a 
freak too.  A fucking English freak."

The back door of the bar banged open and he strode out, carrying what looked to 
be a long suitcase in one hand.  That's his bass, she thought absently, not 
wanting to look into those eyes just yet.  She would be lost again if she 
looked there too soon.

Athena turned on him, fresh rage clipping her voice.  "So this is it, huh Val?  
Riding off into the sunset with a new queen, leaving the rest of us to clean up 
your shit and wonder when you're coming back?"

Tracie watched him breathlessly.  It wasn't the way his tight leather pants 
that were scuffed at the edges hugged his tight butt, nor the way his dark 
black hair, jet black, tumbled down his shoulders, nor even the complete 
gracefulness he had even as he walked over and gently put the case down.  It 
was Him.  Somehow he was the shadow.  Or at least he had power over the shadow. 
 Still not wanting to look into his eyes, Tracie shifted nervously from foot to 
foot, very conscious of the weight of the leash hanging limply from her neck.

"I'm not coming back, 'Thene.  This is it.  You don't need me anyway-"

The slap was sharp and hard enough that Tracie jerked her head up.  He was 
rubbing his cheek against the crimson mark already starting to flower there.

"Fuck you, Val."  Athena had her hand ready to give him a second one but he 
stopped her, not ungently.  Slowly, he forced her hand to her side, then kissed 
her.  Tracie saw that Athena was rigid, like an ice sculpture.  When he pulled 
back and gazed into the redhead's face, Tracie saw more pity than warmth in his 
eyes.  She wondered if Athena could see that look, too.

Apparently so.  "You're an asshole, Val."  She turned to Tracie, and for a 
moment Tracie felt Athena's red rage fix her like a spotlight.  "He's partial 
to blow-jobs, sweetie.  Long, slow blow-jobs."  Then she was gone, back through 
the bar's backdoor.

He turned and looked at Tracie for the first time since the bar and the music 
and the haze that had hypnotized her and drawn her in.  A slight smirk curled 
his lip, amusement glinting his dark brown eyes.  "So what do we do with you?"  

The nervous warmth thrashed around in her belly in contrast to the sudden chill 
on her skin.  This was it.  This was a threshold, the first threshold.  Her 
normal, strangely unsatisfied life lay on this side.  Something dark, and warm, 
and wonderful lay on the other.  In the land of shadows.  She took a big 
breath, lowered her eyes, then stepped through the threshold.  "Do what you 
wish to do with me.  Please."

She felt his hand lightly raise her chin so he could look deep into her eyes, 
and she felt a heat in him, strong, unyielding, and so darkly powerful.  She 
would do anything for him, now and forever, she was sure.

"Tell me this is what you want," he said, and she knew that it was what he 
wanted too, badly, so badly.

She closed her eyes, feeling alive for the first time.  She smelled the spring 
breeze, felt it gently lift her hair, heard it scatter the paper and crushed 
cans from an overturned garbage can further up the ally.

"I want this.  For me.  And for you."

DRIVE

I popped the trunk of the '78 Impala and tossed the Strat in.  Somewhere, a 
part of my mind, the part that was always rooted in the real world, screamed to 
watch the fucking bass  - that it's a fucking Fender Stratocaster...But that 
was a part that would soon be pushed back, way back, like a simpering child 
that doesn't know whether he's being punished or forgotten.

He would soon be here.  The beast.  And it was her that was calling it - with 
every word from her mouth, she was drawing him close.  It was a dance, one that 
she didn't know the steps to.  But she could feel the beat, move to it.  And he 
would teach her the steps.

Thena's handprint still warmed my cheek, but it was the fight that had gotten 
my blood going.  I glanced at the girl...Tracie...and fought the urge to rip 
off her punker clothes and toss her in the trunk.  The thin line between me and 
the thing that coiled inside me, the thing that had trolled the depths of my 
soul and found fertile ground to nest, was never hard to cross over.  I could 
will a wall between me and Him and that wall would stay up for a time.  But the 
volcano blew with the regularity of the full moon - I was powerless to stop Him 
when He took me.  If I wanted to stop Him.  Things would be happening soon 
enough.  Things would take on a life of their own.

I slammed the trunk shut and walked her to the passenger door, catching the 
smell of her hair, apple blossom, in my nose.  I rubbed her bare arms against 
the cold, my eyes closed.  She was soft and warm and thought she understood 
where we were going and all I wanted to do was crush her and make her mine, 
mold her into the creature that would follow me into the shadow mists where the 
beast lived...

She slowly pulled my hand away from her shoulder, face turned up to me and 
tentatively brought my hand to her lips.  Her kiss was soft, her lips 
trembling, her eyes watching me, seemingly ready to freeze everything at the 
first sign that I didn't want her to continue...and not finding anything from 
me to make her stop, she lowered her eyes and pressed her flushed cheeks 
against my open palm.

"I think I've been waiting all my life for you."  It was a whisper, barely 
heard above the rising pandemonium of what was going on in the bar.  She looked 
up again at me and I saw tears in eyes that were so intense they almost looked 
right through me.  "Only I didn't know it."  A tear streaked down her cheek, 
her voice trailing off.

I kissed the tear away with lips that wanted to do more, go further.  I pulled 
her into my arms, felt her heat as she pressed into me, her breathing was 
thunder in my ears.  Her heartbeat against my chest became the only noise that 
mattered...

We had to go.  I broke the moment and hurried her over to the passenger side.  
I wasn't afraid of the cops or what was left of Athena and the Hubcaps.  I was 
afraid of what was to come between me and this girl.  Afraid of more things at 
that moment than I could understand.  But mostly afraid that one of us would 
balk at where we were going - loose sight of the path I knew like the back of 
my hand - and she had just glimpsed.

She slid into the cracked leather interior of the Impala like a dancer 
performing a simple graceful move and I realized that I was lost.  The beast 
was coming - God how he wanted her now...But I wanted her too.  I had for years 
been the chosen tribesmen that offered up sacrifice to the Beast and run away 
before the Beast did his business.  Fear, of course.  Fear that I would like 
what I saw - that He would melt into me and then He would never go away...

I slammed behind the wheel and fired up the Impala, not daring to look at her.  
I honestly didn't know what would happen if I caught her looking at me, with 
that stupid collar around her neck and the leash hanging limply from it and 
everything that that implied - the door to the world that would crack open if I 
just took that leash - not Him.  Me.

I gunned the engine and we shot into the night, putting wailing sirens and 
wee-hour bullshit behind us.  I had never looked at the women I served up for 
Him this way.  This one was different.  So fucking different.  She said she was 
waiting for me.  I think I was waiting for her.

But He would be here soon.  And I would let Him come, stepping aside.  Again.

....conclusion follows...

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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