by marat
Chapter Five
If only the pain
would stop.
It seemed
centered down deep, near her groin, but there was not a square centimeter of
the heroine’s body that wasn’t wracked with pain.
‘Crimson Flare?’
she heard the familiar voice ask.
Yes, master?
‘Do you know
this woman?’ There was a tumult crashing thunderously around the god, as if all
of his minions had decided to shout and argue simultaneously. Before the
battered Maiden’s eyes ghostly figures raced to and fro bathed as if in
gossamer drapes.
Oh, yes, my
lord.
‘Who is she?’
The raucous shouts seemed to increase even more. But she was unable to
comprehend what was being said.
She is my
friend, my lord. She can help me.
As soon as she
had said this, Crimson Flare felt the familiar comfort of Lynn’s slim but
strong arms embracing and caressing her body. The intimacy that they carried
with them seemed to at last ease the pain of the broken Champion. The sudden
relaxation allowed her to finally slip into unconsciousness, finally finding a
respite from the agony that had been her constant companion for many hours.
*****
Lynn stared at
Gouyannou, hatred and anger evident in her gaze.
‘What have you
done to her?’ the blonde demanded.
‘Nothing,
nothing,’ replied the drug lord. ‘Nothing she didn’t allow me to do.’
Easing her
friend to the floor, Lynn rested Crimson Flare’s head on her thighs as she
knelt on the hard wood. The sweat-soaked body of the avenger of Mitropoulos
finally seemed at rest.
‘I’m taking her
out of here,’ Lynn stated flatly.
‘I’m afraid I
can’t let you do that,’ came the reply. ‘You see, there are some things I need
her to do for me.’
‘Crimson Flare
is not going to help you commit crimes,’ Lynn shot back. ‘She’d rather be
dead.’
‘Her desire for
a fix will change that attitude. And, well, if she doesn’t help me, then I’ll
gladly grant the alternative you offer.’
Gouyannou’s
statement struck Lynn like a hard blow to the chest. She knew that the crime
kingpin didn’t bluff, and he didn’t make rash statements. She was certain that
he would kill Crimson Flare without a second thought. Words stuck in her throat
as she considered hurling a simple invective at the heroine’s tormentor.
But she thought
better of it.
‘Don’t hurt her
any more. I’ll do whatever you want.’
‘Take them
downstairs,’ he ordered. ‘Leave them together… for the time being.’
Two well-dressed
criminals moved quickly and flanked Lynn. One of them placed his hand gently on
her shoulder. She slowly rose to her feet, after soothingly brushing her
friend’s face and placing the head of the unconscious Champion of Women
delicately on the floor. A third, larger, figure easily scooped up the nude,
insensate heroine and followed the trio to the door at the far end of the
ballroom.
When the procession
disappeared, attention turned to the last female in the room. Maria Blakeman
felt all the eyes on her and she knew that the next thing she said would
determine whether she lived or died.
‘All right,
missy, who are you?’ one of the dark-suited figures near her asked roughly.
Speaking with
the thick Hispanic accent that she had grown up with and which she had worked
assiduously to rid herself of, she replied, ‘I met her on the way here. She
said she was coming for a good time.’ She turned and seemed to flirt with the
nearest thug. ‘I, too was looking for a good time.’ She pressed herself against
him.
‘She’s a cop!’ A
voice from the rear of the room spoke with certainly and clarity.
Bruce Sealing
strode through the crowd and into the light. ‘She’s a cop!’ he repeated. ‘Her
name’s Maria Blakeman. She was partnered with Tim Westbrook.’
‘Westbrook? The
guy who’s got the tape?’ Gouyannou asked.
‘Yeah, that
Westbrook. And it looks like she may be joining him.’
*****
Lynn was led to
a starkly lit cell in the basement of the great house. It looked like a wine
cellar, though larger than the ones Lynn had seen previously.
A moment later,
the door opened again and a large thug carried the unconscious Crimson Flare
into the room. He took only a step or two into the cool chamber and then he
unceremoniously tossed America’s Darling toward the bare centre of the room.
She struck the stone floor hard and did not move.
Quickly, Lynn
rushed to her side and lifted her head into her arms. Tears formed and rolled
down her cheeks. ‘Oh, god, Karen, what’s happened to you?’
*****
Maria Blakeman
was led at gunpoint down a different flight of stairs. Bruce Sealing led the
way and two very professional-looking toughs followed the policewoman, each
with his gun leveled at her back.
At the bottom of
the stairs, Sealing walked quickly along a well-lit corridor. They passed by
several heavy wooden doors, but finally he stopped in front of a door that was
bolted securely. Noisily he released the locks. The door squealed open. One of
the men behind Maria grabbed her ass, took a moment to enjoy the sensation,
then placed his other hand between her shoulders and roughly pushed her into
the dimly lighted room.
‘Who’s there?’
she heard a muffled voice say as she fell to the floor.
‘Tim?’
‘Maria? What the
hell—?’
*****
Fareed Gouyannou
walked among the crowd assembled in the ballroom. His status had never been so
high in Mitropoulos as it was now. True, he had long been a major player in the
capital, both as a drug lord and as a benefactor of the arts; but here, in the
great city of the state, he had always been regarded as something of a
pretender.
Crimson Flare’s
destruction of the Savoyards and the Normans, along with the deaths of Cos and
Chan, had left a large power vacuum in Mitropoulos. When Ape, a none-too-bright
triggerman with more ambition than talent, arose to try to take power, it had
convinced the immigrant that the city was ripe for the plucking. He had contacted the former enforcer with a
drug deal proposal, convinced that it would fail, and that that failure would
open the door to his own rise. He had not, however, expected Ape to fail so
spectacularly. His feigned outrage at the theft and destruction of his drugs
(what would Ape have given to know that it was actually a mixture of flour,
sugar, and crushed aspirin?) had put Mitropoulos into his hands. The
demonstration that Nancy, a mere woman, was, in fact, the real power in that
relationship told him that there would be no one to compete with him. Gouyannou
was taken aback when Nancy had emerged as a surprising rival, but he had not
risen to his formidable position without being able to adjust to the
unexpected. However, once again America’s Darling had ended the redhead’s grab
for power as well.
The stage was set
for someone with connexions outside the city; for someone who could draw on
wealthy and influential friends, and whose operations extended beyond the reach
of Mitropoulos’ masked avenger. Crimson Flare seemed to be the only impediment
to securing his hold on Mitropoulos and all the wealth that that promised. This
woman would have to be removed.
Gouyannou had
seen his opportunity and grabbed it. The day after he had arrived in
Mitropoulos to set up his operation, his underground network already reported the
ongoing blackmail of Crimson Flare. Within hours, he not only knew that there
were three tapes involved in the enterprise, but he even knew the names of
those involved. These policemen were rank amateurs! By midnight, he had two of
the tapes in his possession.
Gouyannou knew
the name Bruce Sealing when the cop had sought him out. At first, he had seemed
a typical corrupt cop, but the drug kingpin quickly discovered that it wasn’t
the usual kind of corruption he had dealt with back in the capital city. It ran
much deeper. Sealing was after more than money, and he was willing to parlay
any information, any skill, or anyone he knew to his own gain. He wanted power,
luxury, influence, and revenge in equal measure. This made him useful to
Gouyannou, at least temporarily so.
The revenge was
the key to his character. Gouyannou understood, after fifteen minutes of
conversation, that Sealing was always perceived as less than others: Not as
smart, not as strong, not as determined, not as able. The resentment of always
being less festered at him. Then, when his partners—Tim Westbrook and Gary
Paladine—had made their decision about blackmailing Crimson Flare while seeming
to disdain his ideas about defeating and discrediting the heroine, the fury
inside had rushed to the surface. Sealing’s hatred of Mitropoulos’ Champion of
Women was also something Gouyannou noted—and yet another thing he felt he would
be able to use.
Sealing had
turned over his tape and helped Gouyannou seize his erstwhile partners.
Paladine’s tape was quickly grabbed up. It was sitting on the shelf of his
video collection—hiding in plain sight never really works. There was no longer
any reason to keep him around, so he was last seen being hustled off in the
trunk of a Cadillac. That Cadillac was now a block of metal about one cubic
meter in size sitting in a junkyard owned by a Gouyannou subsidiary.
But Westbrook
was tougher. His tape was not in his home, nor in his locker at the police
station, nor at his gym. Efforts to convince him to reveal its location had
failed, despite the conscientious exertions of a few of Gouyannou’s men.
Westbrook’s closed-mouth resistance actually convinced Gouyannou that he might
not have known where the tape was. Was it possible he had given the tape to
someone else to store?
In any case, it
was a moot point now. The capture of Crimson Flare, coupled with his control of
two of the tapes would allow him to first discredit and then destroy the
avenger of Mitropoulos. Westbrook and Sealing were no longer necessary.
*****
‘Tim, what are
you doing here?’ Maria Blakeman asked, her voice hushed, as if fearful that she
might be overheard.
Westbrook’s
response was in a normal tone, though swollen cheeks and jaw muffled his words.
‘You know,’ he said simply, painfully.
‘The tape.’
‘Yes.’ Each time
he tried to speak Maria felt a shaft of pain pierce her heart. Tears welled up
in her eyes. The spandex-clad policewoman moved to embrace her partner. As she
did so, he broke down and sobbed.
‘We should never
have got involved in this,’ he struggled to say.
‘I warned you.’
‘Yeah, I know.
Do you still have the tape?’
‘Yes.’
‘That tape is
the only reason I’m still alive.’
‘Gouyannou has
Crimson Flare.’
‘Then we’re both
dead.’
*****
Pain continued
to wrack Crimson Flare’s body. The only moments of respite she had experienced
in the last few hours had been those moments she had given herself over to her
gods and their minions, and when unconsciousness had come at last, with the
arrival of Lynn.
Lynn.
Why was she
here?
Through the haze
of pain, she felt Lynn’s hands stroking her face and shoulders. Cutting at last
through the white noise, she heard Lynn’s soothing voice, comforting,
reassuring.
‘…please, Karen,
please. What can I do to help?’
Drawing her
knees up to her chest, the masked heroine tried to get the words out. But her
dry throat and the ever-present pain allowed her to emit only a hoarse gasp.
She felt Lynn’s tears drop onto her and roll across her cheek and neck.
*****
Looking around
the room, Lynn saw a bare mattress sitting in the corner. The athletic blonde
lifted her friend and carried her to what was nothing more than a battered
sack. Laying Crimson Flare’s tortured body down, Lynn looked for something to
cover her naked form. There was nothing.
‘Oh, god, Karen.
I have to help you, but I don’t know how,’ she whispered. ‘What do you want me
to do?’
Behind her, the
door screeched noisily as it was pushed open. A tall, thin figure stood there a
moment, as his eyes got used to the gloomy interior. ‘Here,’ he said, as he
tossed the familiar crimson-and-gold sequined costume toward the figures in the
far corner. As it hit the floor, there was a soft thunk! barely
noticeable even at the distance of a few feet.
Rushing to pick
up the Champion’s garb even before the door had closed, Lynn saw that Crimson
Flare’s belt had been wrapped in the uniform.
The athletic
blonde quickly picked up the gift and unfolded the dimly glittering prize. Yes!
The baton was still attached to the belt!
*****
‘Bring Crimson
Slut up here!’ Gouyannou ordered.
There was
laughter around the room as the men gathered for the humiliation of
Mitropoulos’ Champion anticipated a further degradation of the beautiful girl.
Two hours had passed since she had been carried from the room. The worst of the
storm had passed, but driving rain could still be heard spattering the windows.
Two men walked
quickly to the exit. As they approached the door, they turned toward one
another and smiled, then skipped forward and began to jog. The sound of male
conversation was ratcheted up a notch. Word had been passed from the earlier
rapists about Crimson Flare’s attributes. Everyone in the room hoped, prayed,
that Gouyannou would select him for the next round.
But Gouyannou
had different plans. Crimson Flare must prove her value and fidelity to him.
She would demonstrate her fidelity when she arrived here in the ballroom—yes,
he thought, laughing, the ballroom—only a matter of moments from now.
Then she would prove her value, by using her powers to secure a supply of drugs
from a few specified locations around Mitropoulos. Her doing so would establish
his position as premier drug lord in the city.
*****
Lynn fingered
the baton that she held in her hand. For a long time—she had no idea how
long—she had desperately been trying to determine what she had to do. She had
been taught the rudiments of the weapon, but her control of its power had never
been very good. She had a tendency to use too much force for the job at hand.
Karen had told her that that was the same problem she had had to overcome, but
with a little practice it would come. Lynn had always suspected that Karen said
that just to reassure her, to encourage her.
She looked at
the locked door, wondering whether she would be able to make a getaway, leading
the powerless Crimson Flare to safety. How many obstacles and enemies would she
have to defeat to do so? Were there simply the large number of criminals here,
or were there other devices she would have to overcome? Would the baton’s
charge last that long? What would happen to them if she failed?
She turned and
looked at the masked Champion.
The heroine’s
gold-and-crimson sequined uniform had been restored to her, tightly clinging to
her petite but muscular figure. Covering her nakedness was the one thing that
Lynn most wanted to do to spare her friend any further humiliation. But Crimson
Flare was confronted by a much greater danger.
The pain that
still wracked her body was evident. If anything, the agony that wracked her had
increased. Crimson Flare’s form curled and stretched on the mattress, rolled
and drew in upon itself, as she sought respite from an anguish that Lynn could
only begin to guess at. Her small hand covered by a crimson satin glove pressed
against her crotch, seeking entry to her sex and rubbing against her
clit—searching for any kind of stimulation to drive away the pain. Her moans
and grunts told of her frustration. Her legs, now bare, with only the ragged
edges of her tights visible above her still-glistening black leather boots,
coiled and uncoiled slowly.
What to do? Lynn
had no idea of how much time she might have, or of how much time she had lost
in these futile imaginings.
Suddenly, the
sound of the outside locks being loudly opened cut through the cold silence of
the wine cellar. She was out of time. She quickly backed up against the nearest
wall, pulling the baton behind her as she pressed against the cold stone, and
wrapping her hand around the object.
Two men opened
the door very forcefully, practically rushing into the large room. Without a
word, they fairly raced to the helpless heroine. One of the men, the taller
one, with long blonde hair, roughly grabbed the masked girl by the back of the
famed costume and yanked Crimson Flare to her feet. Her face hung low toward
her chest as his partner, laughing, placed his hands on her hips and pulled
them toward him. Then he mock-raped the insensate girl, bumping his own hips
against her ass, moving rapidly in and out at the same time he alternately
pulled her towards him and pushed her away. The rapid movement made Crimson
Flare’s head shudder and dance like a bobble-head doll.
‘Stop it!’ Lynn
yelled.
Both men stopped
and stared at her. The blonde man took a step toward her, but his accomplice
grunted. He shook his head vigourously, and mouthed the name ‘Gouyannou.’ The
furious stare that was directed at the petrified girl told her that he would no
doubt be back.
The two men
dragged America’s Darling quickly into the hall. The slam of the heavy door
shook the room, and the heavy metal locking mechanism sounded sharply in the
cold air. Crimson Flare’s boots dragging across the stairs leading to the
ballroom echoed faintly in the stairwell and into the wine cellar. The sound
quickly faded and a cold silence surrounded Lynn.
*****
The pudgy drug
lord walked around the centre of the ballroom, sweeping it in his gaze. He
sensed that all eyes were on him, and he knew that what he did in the next few
moments would establish or undo his reputation in Mitropoulos.
‘George,’ he
said in a low tone.
A tall, thin man
with a grey crewcut stepped forward. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘You will keep a
record of this.’
‘Yes, sir.’
George Joachim had worked for a series of gangland princes both in the capital
and here in Mitropoulos. He was a good soldier, reliable, capable, and loyal,
until he sensed that his boss was about to fall. He had an innate sense about
that. He seemed to know intuitively when each of his employers was about to
tumble in the never-ending power struggle of gang warfare. When this warning system
fired off its message, he would first distance himself from his chief, and then
move to the likely successor, taking both talent and information that his new
patron would find useful. It was a talent that had served him well.
George drew out
a camera and began photographing the ballroom, taking group shots of the
guests, but ensuring that the only individual portraits were of Fareed
Gouyannou. Many of those shots were taken at a low angle. Many showed the crowd
surrounding him, gazing at him admiringly.
After a moment
or two, the door leading to the basement slammed open and the two thugs
returned, dragging the barely conscious avenger of Mitropoulos. Before they had
taken three steps into the room, Gouyannou loudly barked his next order. ‘Thank
you, gentlemen. Leave her there and you go join your friends!’
The two stopped
in their tracks, looked at one another and released their charge from their
grip.
Crimson Flare
crumpled to the floor.
George continued
to alternately photograph and create digital movies of the scene.
America’s
Darling sat on the hardwood floor. She leaned heavily on her arms and rested on
her hip, the sweat on her bare legs gleaming in the bright lights. The gold and
crimson sequins of her costume glittered, identifying the heroine unmistakably.
Her cowl was torn, allowing a few tufts of her short chestnut hair to be
visible; the leather cowl, her shiny black mask, and her black boots still
glinted in the light, so that the most serious casualty of the evening’s events
was the mystique of Crimson Flare. Her masked face hung low, the high polish of
the black vinyl now visibly marred by her earlier experiences. She seemed to be
gasping for air, the pain inside her manifesting itself.
Gouyannou seemed
to be smiling as he approached her. The crowd fell silent, waiting to see what
the new lord of Mitropoulos would do with his captive.
‘Crimson Flare,’
he said quietly.
*****
Yes, my lord?
‘Are you in
pain?’
Yes, my lord.
‘Do you want me
to take the pain away?’
Yes, my lord.
Please.
‘Very well, I
will.’
Oh, thank
you, my lord.
‘But first…’
Yes, my lord?
‘But first, I
want you to serve me.’
What is it
you wish, my lord?
‘I want you to
get to you knees and crawl to me. Will you do that?’
Instead of
responding, Crimson Flare clumsily rolled onto her knees. Then, to the delight
and amusement of the men gathered in the room, she awkwardly pushed her body
toward the sound of Gouyannou’s voice. Even though the distance was barely four
meters, she still stumbled and pitched forward onto her face twice in that
short distance. Each collapse brought a roar of laughter and approval from
Gouyannou’s watching minions.
As she rose for
the second time, Crimson Flare fairly pleaded, Please, my lord, wait. I am
coming. I wish to serve you. What she said was barely intelligible. But the
sight of the heroine who had struck such fear in the hearts of Mitropoulos’
underworld stumbling and crawling toward their boss was the most memorable
moment of this night.
George captured
it all in his movie mode. Ten megapixels! Complete with sound!
*****
Fareed Gouyannou
enjoyed the sight of the last obstacle to his power in Mitropoulos on her knees
crawling toward him. As she finally reached him, first placing her hand
alongside his leg and then sidling up to him to sit at his feet, Crimson Flare
turned her masked face upward toward him.
He saw vacant
eyes there behind her mask. The dark green colour had no life; the sparkle that
was so common to young women was gone. Below the rim of the marred but still shiny
disguise, her flesh was filthy. A hard crust of a mixture of saliva, semen, and
muck from the ballroom floor coated her face below the mask. Only small patches
of the smooth, flawless skin showed through the dirt. The flesh on her arms had
been equally fouled by her earlier ordeal. But the worst was on her thighs.
Streaks of cum, now turned almost grey, stretched from both of the entrances
into the Champion, front and rear. The tatters of her colourless tights only
seemed to make the image more reprehensible. As she sat, her chest expanded and
contracted as she struggled to breathe, to find some respite from the pain that
she felt as a result of the good doctor’s cocktails and the physical beating
her body had undergone.
‘Crimson Flare,’
said Fareed Gouyannou, ‘please take me in your hand.’
Without a word,
the Maiden of Mitropoulos turned, then stopped as if stricken by a shaft of
pain through her spine. Finally, putting herself fully on her knees before him,
she reached out and pulled down the zipper of his trousers. Her crimson glove
disappeared into the opening, and then reappeared, gently fondling his prick.
As she held it,
it became visibly larger and harder. Soon it hardened to its full eight inches.
‘Take me into
your mouth, Crimson Flare.’
She did so, her
eyes staring upward at his face as if seeking approval.
‘Make me cum,’
he ordered, ‘but not too fast.’
For the next
fifteen minutes, America’s Darling sucked and savoured, bringing Gouyannou to
the brink of orgasm only to back off and allow him to enjoy the experience. She
sucked noisily as all the men in the ballroom seemed to relish the experience
vicariously.
Gouyannou felt
her tongue cross the sensitive tip and then traverse back again. He felt the
satin glove, covering her small hand, press and release, press and release,
traveling up and down his erection. But his countenance revealed a man in total
control. To all the underlings who watched the scene unveil itself, it was
Crimson Flare who had to struggle to bring the master to climax, an event that
occurred only when he permitted it.
And when he
came, it was with full force inside her mouth. The masked Maiden choked on the
semen as it exploded into her. Much of it rolled slowly out of her mouth and
down her jaw, hanging obscenely in a lengthening stream downward from her chin.
‘Swallow it,
Crimson Flare,’ he said.
And she did. The
audience roared its approval.
*****
Lynn pointed the
baton at the locking mechanism on the heavy wooden door. She hoped that she
would not make her usual mistake of using too much force. The very first time
she had done this, when Karen was teaching her to use the weapon, she had not
only blown a door off its hinges, but she had shattered it into a dozen pieces.
In the closed space of this basement, the sound would reverberate loudly and
bring dozens of murderous thugs down on her.
She only wanted
to open the door.
She thrust the
baton at the lock and hoped.
There was a
faint explosion and the lock popped open. Then, almost as a comic aftermath,
the heavy door slid open, squeaking painfully, a few inches.
Lynn was through
the door and on the stairs in seconds. She paused, looking back, wondering
where Maria had been taken. But there were no other rooms in this section of
the cellars.
She had to see
if she could save Crimson Flare.
Running up the
stairs in the tight spandex minidress was not easy. The heels didn’t help
things, either. By the time she reached the top of the staircase, she had
slowed to a walk. In front of her, another door, this one with a barred window,
separated her from the next room. She recognised it as the door that opened out
to the rear of the ballroom.
She stepped
toward the window, hoping that she would be able to make a determination of
what her next step should be. What she saw made her blood run cold.
Crimson Flare
was on her knees before a shortish, rotund man, who was dressed in an expensive
suit. Could that be Fareed Gouyannou? She could tell, even at this distance,
what the heroine was doing.
‘Karen, no!’ she
said softly. Then, catching herself, she looked about to see if anyone had
heard her.
It was only then
that the lithe blonde saw the large number of observers in the ballroom. If she
intended to rescue Crimson Flare, she would have to deal with a couple dozen
toughs.
‘I’m sorry,
Karen. I can’t… not… now.’ At that instant, a savage roar coursed through the
ballroom as the men watching the scene gave full throat to their approval of
Gouyannou’s actions.
She quickly
opened the door and slid into the ballroom. The athletic blonde pressed her
body against the wall and into the shadows. Lynn made her way toward the exit,
holding the baton at the ready.
The chatter in
the room quickly subsided as Gouyannou spoke. ‘Crimson Flare.’ His voice, she
thought, was surprisingly soft.
‘Yes, master.’
Lynn could barely understand the words.
‘In order to
relieve your pain, you must undertake a task for me. Will you do that?’
Lynn stood stock
still, right next to the exit. All eyes in the room were on the hapless
heroine.
‘Yes.’ The
heroine’s speech was even slower and more pained.
‘I want you to
go to Mitropoulos Police Headquarters and take certain evidence hags from the
Evidence Locker. That is room 442 on the top floor of City Hall. You’ll find it
filed in section 05, shelf 11-25, file number 0112-03. It will be two large
plastic bags wrapped in white paper. If anyone tries to stop you, you should
not be too particular about how you deal with that problem. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘When you return
here, I will give you relief from all of the pain you are feeling.’
Crimson Flare
seemed to shrink to an even smaller figure as she knelt before Gouyannou.
America’s Darling did not recognise what such an act would mean to her
crimefighter reputation, only that the promise of relief was genuine.
Lynn slipped out
the entrance and made her way across the foyer. She whipped out the baton to
its full length in order to deal with the guard she remembered at the entrance.
Pulling the door
open, she was surprised that no one stood outside. Taking advantage of the
security lapse, she made her way across the driveway, walking quickly toward
the closed gates opposite.
‘Hello, Missy,’
the dark-garbed guard said, smiling. There was no one else anywhere around.
‘Hello
yourself,’ Lynn smiled as she raised the baton.
The force of the
blast was increased by her anxiety. The smell of ozone filled the air and the
body of the guard was thrown violently backward against the stone pillar. Smoke
rose from his chest, but Lynn did not bother to examine her handiwork. She had
to get to City Hall.
End of Chapter
Five
Comments, questions, suggestions welcome:
contact the author at marat1793@comcast.net