Flesh Gothic by Edward Lee (22 page)

It wasn't gym equipment.

How could it be? She walked around, dismayed. Several
padded benches, with thinner benches branching off at adjustable v-shapes. Pulleys which appeared to be able to raise
the levels of each bench. Seats which seemed to be raised in
the air. But there were no weights, no cables or Soloflex-
like power bands. What is this place? she asked herself.

"I see you've stumbled on the playroom," Mack said curiously at the open door.

Vanni looked up, uneasy; he'd caught her by surprise.
Would he be mad? After all, he was paying her a lot of
money to open a safe, not dawdle around the house. "I
wasn't snooping, I just decided to take a short break
and ... I thought this was a gym. But I've never heard of a
gym with liquor and dirty paintings."

"It's no gym." Mack came in. "What you need to understand about the guy who owned this place is ... he was a
nut. A sex freak."

"I guess so," she said, looking at the paintings again.
"What are all these weird benches?"

"Playthings, for his parties. How about a drink?"

"I really shouldn't. I'm on your clock. You're paying me to do a job, I really shouldn't even be in here. Like I said, I
was just taking a short break. And I got the first five numbers of the combination, I think. The total's nine."

"That's great," he said but didn't seem terribly interested.
"What are you having?" He walked to the bar, got some
glasses.

"How about a little something to jazz this up?" She held
up her coffee, and he poured some Irish whiskey in it. Then
she squinted at herself. It wasn't like her to drink on a job;
she rarely drank at all.

Even before she took a sip, though, she was beginning to
feel odd. Something about the house? It felt heavy with
something. It was an overload of the senses. Her eyes kept
straying to the paintings ...

One robust woman lying naked, surrounded by monsters
appraising her. In the distant background, behind a veil of
smoke, she thought she saw a temple of some sort.

He opened a cabinet to grab a bottle of vodka. On the
bottom shelf she noticed several large bowls full of ...

"What's in the bowls? Mints?"

"No, I'm afraid not. It's dope. I haven't gotten around to
throwing it away-it's all over the place."

Vanni stared at the bowls. One was full of pills, the
other-"Is that sack cocaine?"

"Yeah. If you're into it, go ahead, I won't tell."

"I don't smoke crack!" she said, shocked.

He shut the cabinet, stirred his drink. "Don't worry, nobody here does drugs. It was the previous owner. He'd always keep dope in the house, for his party guests. He'd have
parties all the time "

"I hate to think what kind of parties."

"Well, the paintings should give you a clue. This house
was a non-stop orgy. Take a look-" He went to one paint ing of a woman's splayed buttocks, grabbed the frame, and
pulled. The painting was a hinged door, and behind it-

Vanni may have blushed. God!

Behind the painting was a pegboard rack hung with a
dozen vibrators, ben-w2 balls, and rubber phalluses.

"And all this stuff?" Mack pointed to one of the
benches.

Vanni looked more closely. They'refor uvmen to lie on, she
realized. Something else, dangling with an array of cables,
sported a pair of padded harnesses, a third larger harness behind it. Now she saw what this place was about, and could
picture what had gone on here. For the briefest moment,
she even pictured herself in the thing. Hovering in mid-air,
legs spread, back arched, as one man after another stepped
up to take a turn, while another woman, perhaps, would
dangle from a higher harness behind her, to precisely position her crotch above Vanni's mouth. This place is obscene,
she thought, mildly revolted. Rich people, Jesus`

Mack sipped his drink, looking at another painting: nude
women levitating before a chasm of flames, their faces
delirious with ecstary. What Vanni wasn't acknowledging to
herself yet ... was a growing sexual excitement.

She went back to the picture with the temple. It seemed
multi-dimensional the longer she looked at it. The woman
lay in obvious angst, eagerly waiting to be taken by the
monsters ...

She didn't know how much time had passed while she'd
been looking. She flinched at the next contact: Mack's
hands on her hips, standing behind her. Any other time, she
knew, she'd bolt. He was just some rich punk thinking he
could use her for some fun because he'd paid her a lot for a
job.

But it never occurred to her to leave. She didn't want to.

It didn't take long, his hands sliding up and down her
breasts, stomach, and hips. Without any reservation at all,
she was reaching behind her, to caress his crotch ...

What am I doing! This wasn't her style at all-it was trampmorality, the same as a fly-by-night screw with some guy she
might meet in a bar, or actually responding to the whistles at
a construction site. Mack's groin rubbed her buttocks from
behind, his large hands now intent on her breasts, shucking
them from her jumpsuit, then peeling the entire suit off.

No morality now She turned, kicked out of her boots as
she let their mouths suck together. She didn't. even consciously know what she wanted but the crudest impulse,
way down deep, pulled his shirt over his head, dragged his
tennis shorts off, and urged him to the harnesses ...

She was aloft in a minute-Mack obviously knew the
system. He stood between her floating legs, lowered her
head back further from one pulley, parted her thighs wider
with another, and was penetrating her at once.

It was all so perfunctory and animalistic; it didn't even
last long, just a minute or two, but in that short period,
Vanni's entire body flexed in the air, and her orgasm rolled
over her. Mack paused momentarily, his muscled chest
straining as he bucked, didn't make a sound, and finished.

He left her exhausted, floating on the harnesses. She
could hear him dressing but didn't move; instead, she lazed
there as if on clouds. Behind her, her head was upsidedown, and when she stared beyond, she was looking right at
the painting of the woman being watched by demons.

"That was great," Mack said. "I gotta go now, but lemme
know when you get the safe open. Just call around on the
intercom."

She couldn't respond, her bare bosom still heaving in the aftermath. When she inclined her head, she could see him,
already back in his clothes. He was leaving.

What did I expect? Cuddling? She was as guilty as he. He
came onto me and I went for it. Without a second thought.

But she didn't regret it, either, so why did she feel dirty
now?

She looked back at him through her obscenely spread
legs. What was he doing? He seemed to be getting something out of his pocket.

On her stomach he tossed down a stack of bills.

"Hey!" she finally objected.

"Relax, it's for your kids. You said you had kids, right?"

It looked like a lot of money but still. She hauled her
back up higher by grabbing a cable. "I'm not a prostitute,"
she said, disgusted. Mack held a blank gaze, then halfsmiled, and walked out of the room.

Damn him! She felt humiliated now, hanging there, with
money on her belly. When she counted it, it was a thousand
dollars.

Then she sunk in further humiliation, because she knew
she was going to keep it ...

She didn't know what was coming over her; taking the
money was bad enough, but what came next was even more
inexplicable. She got out of the harness and presumed she
was going to get dressed. She picked up her jumpsuit,
though, and just stood there, staring at nothing. Change and
keys spilled out of her pockets ...

She never put her clothes back on. She walked back to
the hinged painting. What ... am I doing ... now? the
thought groaned in her head.

She looked at the assortment of toys, bewildered at herself. Why did they look enticing now? She'd never been into such things but she took several down, fingering them,
feeling their surfaces. Some were riddled with bumps and
rings or two-pronged, another had rubber feathers branching out, while another's tip was shaped like a small fist. Several of the phalluses were so large she couldn't imagine any
woman putting one in herself ...

Next she took down a phallus that looked like a row of
rubber balls connected to each other.

This is the one IT use ...

She was back in the harness, splayed again in the air. She
felt so keyed up she couldn't stand it. Mack had left her
dizzy for more contact but when she thought back to him,
pretending he was with her again, the fantasy did nothing.
She blanked her mind, easing the balled phallus slowly in
and out. The sensation was nerve-racking and delicious at
the same time. Faster, then, and deeper ...

At one point, panting, she opened her eyes and was looking absently at the painting of the woman over-watched by
monsters. Immediately, the image trebled her excitement.
Was there something she didn't know about herself? Was
she subconsciously attracted to women?

No, she was looking at the monsters.

Her pleasures were mounting, threatening to crest. Had
the demons in the painting moved closer to the subject? Of
course not, but they'd seemed to. They were pallid things
like skinny sacks with arms and legs, the color of butter. She
noticed something else, too. How could they be watching
the woman when they had no eyes? No eyes, noses, nor
ears-just gaping toothless mouths.

Hideous, she managed to think, but that didn't slow her
progress with the dildo.

A more pointed glance: was there a figure standing at the
distant temple? She didn't care ...

She closed her eyes again and imagined ... the demons
watching her. They were reaching out with hands that appeared boneless, caressing her, playing with her as she played
with herself. She could feel them now, padding her skin,
squeezing her breasts. Was it in her mind or was the room
cloying now in some rich meaty smell? In the fantasy, many
hands were on her some monstrous and others soft and intent but very much human. Women's hands? In fact, Vanni
even thought she could hear feminine whispers now, and
something darker, like heavy guttural groaning. More fantasy hands glided up her breasts to trace gingerly around her
throat.

A snapping sound. An impact. Something was jerking
her up as if on a hoist. The dildo flopped to the floor and
when Vanni reached to her throat, she found no hands there
squeezing off her screams; it was a strap.

One of the harnesses.

Which now served as a hangman's noose.

Her eyes bulged. Pulleys squealed as she was jerked
higher, the motion slipping her legs out of the harnesses
she'd been using. She was jerked higher and higher, feet
kicking. In only a few moments, all that raw, hot desire that
ran through her veins had been replaced with raw, hot terror. She worked her fingers under the strap around her
neck, to relieve some of the strangling pressure. In gun-shot
glimpses she glanced down ...

Several women were looking up at her: stunningly beautiful women with perfect centerfold bodies, all nude, all
grinning. But they were streaked with blood. Black nailpolish and lipstick, vulpine eyes. Tiny ornaments dangled
from rings which pierced their nipples and navels: upsidedown crosses. And behind them ...

Worse things stood in attendance.

Vague pale shapes with eyeless faces. Somehow they
looked eager, in wait for something.

Vanni's ankles were grabbed by two of the grinning
women, her legs parted. Then, inch by inch, she was lowered several feet on the cable. Vanni hoped she'd die before
the things got their way with her. Her vision was already
dimming from strangulation. The last thing she saw before
the festivities began was an additional figure, a tall, lean man
with long wavy hair standing beyond the others,
watching ...

"Where are the girls?" Westmore asked. He'd just come
back down to the atrium. Mack was watching ball scores on
the TV with the sound down, while Nyvysk scribbled in a
notepad.

"Adrianne and Karen went to bed," he said quietly. He
pointed to their curtained cubicles. "They were both very
tired."

"Tired?" Mack chuckled, an imported beer between his
legs. "Adrianne tranked herself up, and Karen was hammered, as usual."

It didn't matter if it was true; Westmore was perturbed by
the young man's flaring cynicism.

"Cathleen's somewhere," Nyvysk said. "Wandering the
house, I suppose."

Mack looked over his shoulder from the couch. "And the
safe-cracker girl told me an hour or so ago that she was
making headway." Then Mack winked at him.

Westmore didn't get the wink. "What?"

"She's good at more than opening safes."

Westmore rolled his eyes. He didn't want to know "I
guess she'll come down when she's done. If we're not all
asleep."

"I'm sure I'll be up. I never sleep much," Nyvysk said.
"I'm a night-owl, and so's Cathleen."

Several clocks chimed distantly. Midnight. "I need to
find her. I want her to show me the cemetery, where this
psychic rape or whatever supposedly took place."

"Discorporate sexual assault," Nyvysk corrected.

"Sure. And Adrianne said something about several can
on the property."

Nyvysk sighed. "Please do me a favor, Mr. Westmore.
Don't go onto the grounds at night."

Mack laughed. "Maybe Westmore needs a little of that
ghost action."

Nyvysk ignored the remark, continuing to Westmore,
"You're not used to a place like this. You're very subject to
suggestion. And anything that might be out there can manipulate you, especially at night."

"What, the Witching Hour and all that?"

"Just don't go onto the grounds at night," Nyvysk stated
more firmly.

..Okay okay"

"And I need your help with something now if you don't
mind."