Chapter 8: The Seduction of Power

The Sex Dungeon

David shivered against the ritual altar/ Saint Andrew’s Cross in the rec center basement, the cold stone pressing into his back, his hands suspended in leather wrapped cuffs. The gimp mask  with a dildo on it’s forehead had been difficult to breathe in, initially, but he had grown used to it.  Candlelight caught the edges of strange symbols carved into the walls, casting shadows that seemed to writhe in time with the distant hum of the building's ancient heating system.  In the corner the wood stove burned, too warm for the season, making the room swelter with heat.  A metal rod stuck out of the open door.

Evelyn circled him slowly, her heels clicking against the concrete in a measured rhythm. She wore a custom-made red leather, strappy dominatrix outfit with the Cedar Lane HOA logo monogrammed over what little material covered the small of her back. She opened the zipper covering his mouth.

"Pay attention, David," she purred, holding up surveillance photos in front of his eyes. "The book is hidden in Margaret's study, behind a panel that's triggered by pressing the third skull from the left. Make sure you pay attention, that dumb bitch has a lot of skulls in her tacky faux-goth decoration and you need to be sure you press the right one, as pressing the wrong one could result in all new holes in your body."  She reached behind him and flipped the switch to ‘on’ for the prostate massager buried deep in David’s ass.  His eyes rolled and he began shaking. “While new holes might be fun and novel, I’m the one in charge of your holes.  Oh, don’t be dramatic, the prostate massager is on low, and this is the small one.”  It did not, in fact, feel like the small one at this moment.

David tried to focus on the instructions rather than his current situation. The photos showed Claire and Margaret in various compromising positions around Margaret's house from different angles - most of them either at hip height, as if from furniture, or from above.  However Evelyn had gotten them, they were comprehensive.  David winced at the picture of Claire on her knees in front of Margaret sitting on the couch.  

"Your wife seems to have quite the talent," Evelyn mused, tapping one photo with a perfectly manicured nail. "Though I suppose writing all that supernatural smut had to pay off somehow.”

David closed his eyes, torn between humiliation, a grudging admiration for the thoroughness of Evelyn’s control, and a need for release turning his legs into Jell-O. 

"Now then," Evelyn continued, producing what looked like an itemized list. "The book will be bound in human flesh, probably has symbols that move when you're not looking directly at them, and might bleed occasionally. Standard occult reading material."

"And if I can't find it?"

"Oh, babe." Her smile was sharp. "Let's just say the penalties for failing this task are... severe.”

With a slow, deliberate smile, Evelyn reached out and grasped the remote control for the prostate massager. She increased the intensity of the vibrations, and David's eyes went wide as he felt the device humming deeper within him. His hips bucked involuntarily, straining against the chains that held him fast. She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down David’s. "You've been a good boy," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "If you promise not to fail me, I think it's time you were rewarded."

  “Oh, God, I promise.” David screamed.

“Don’t pray to God, David.  Pray to me.” Evelyn laughed.

“Seriously… you’re quoting Batman right now?” David panted.

She pulled a small jar off of a shelf.  With a flick of her wrist, she increased the vibrations again, and David felt himself being propelled towards the edge of orgasm. He cried out, his voice hoarse with need, as she leaned in close, her breath whispering against his ear and her hand wrapped like a vise around his cock and began to stroke.  "Come for me," she whispered, her words a command, not a request. "Let go, and let me see your pleasure."

David didn't need to be told twice. With a strangled cry, he let go, allowing Evelyn to propel him over the edge into a shuddering, convulsive orgasm.  Evelyn filled the small jar, and the excess dripped down onto the altar and off the side of the stone base.  Evelyn watched, a triumphant smile spreading across her face, as his body jerked and twitched against the chains that bound him.

Evelyn went to the wood stove and withdrew the metal rod from the fire. There was a glowing piece of metal at the end, forming a squiggly symbol that appeared on many of Evelyn and the HOA’s effects.  Evelyn screamed loudly in a foreign, ancient language, and plunged the brand into the small of David’s back.  He passed out.

As David slowly came back to himself, Evelyn reached out and gently wiped sweat from his forehead. The brand on his lower back had been treated and bandaged.  She leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear, and whispered, "I own you, don’t ever forget it."

David nodded, still dazed, but a sense of peace and contentment washed over him. He knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be; in the hands of his master, bound and helpless, yet free to explore the depths of his own desire within the confines of acceptable HOA guidelines.  His lower back burned painfully, the newly branded HOA tramp stamp throbbing.

She smacked his ass, playfully.  “Now, go get ‘em, tiger.”

The Failed Break-In

David crouched behind Margaret's recycling bins, feeling distinctly underdressed for burglary in his Southern University at New Orleans sweatshirt, Brooks Brothers khakis and sensible loafers. He'd watched enough heist movies to know he should be wearing black, but the darkest thing he owned was a navy blue golf shirt, and somehow that didn't seem quite right for breaking and entering.

He'd done his research, which mostly consisted of watching half of Ocean's Eleven before falling asleep on the couch. The plan was simple: get in, find the book, get out. Like returning an overdue library book in reverse. He could do this. He was a former marketing executive. He'd once given a two-hour presentation on brand synergy with absolutely no preparation. This was basically the same thing.

The first sign something was wrong came when he tried to pick the lock using a YouTube tutorial he'd watched on 1.5x speed. His makeshift lockpick, fashioned from an untwisted coat hangar, wouldn’t fit into the lock.

"Damn it," he whispered, then looked around nervously. Breaking and entering was turning out to be harder than the movies suggested.

David moved to the back door, only to find all his carefully practiced lockpicking skills unnecessary.  It was already unlocked. This should have been suspicious, but he was too busy congratulating himself on his master criminal abilities to notice the temperature dropping as he entered the house.

It was dark except for Edgar, Margaret's taxidermied raven, whose tiny leather pants seemed to catch what little moonlight filtered through the windows. David could have sworn the bird's glass eyes followed him as he passed.

"Nice bird," he muttered nervously. 

The study door creaked open at his touch, which was definitely horror movie behavior, but David was committed now. Inside, chrome skull doorknobs gleamed in the darkness.

"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Third skull from the left. Just press the—"

A sudden gust of wind blew through the open window, sending papers flying and knocking several books off the shelves. David jumped back, his heart racing. Had he triggered some kind of alarm? The house seemed to be growing colder by the second.

"This isn't happening," he muttered, backing toward the door. The wind picked up, rattling the windows and making the floorboards creak beneath his feet. Something about the house felt wrong, as if it knew he didn't belong there and was trying to push him out.

David tried to focus on the task at hand, moving toward the bookshelf where Evelyn had told him the book would be hidden. But the more he tried to concentrate, the more distracted he became. Was that the sound of footsteps upstairs? Had that door just closed on its own?

His nerves finally got the better of him when a particularly loud creak sounded directly behind him and the air around him dropped to near freezing. “Fuck this,” he said to himself.  David spun around, saw nothing, and decided that was quite enough breaking and entering for one night.

He made it to the back door in record time, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to escape. As he sprinted across the lawn, he could have sworn he heard the faint sound of feminine laughter coming from an upstairs window, though all the lights in the house remained off.

Edgar sat motionless on his perch, the tiny leather pants reflecting the moonlight as the lock on the back door quietly clicked itself shut.

Punishment

David knelt on the cold basement floor of the recreation center, his wrists bound behind him by thick leather cuffs that dug into his skin. His entire body ached from Evelyn's "disappointment" in his failure to meet her expectations; a disappointment that had been expressed through a series of sharp lashes from her whip and a stern lecture. The ritual altar's dark surface reflected the candlelight, making the stains look uncomfortably fresh. As he gazed up at Evelyn, she removed the gag and he coughed.

"Why did the suburban dad bring a ladder to the BDSM party? Because he wanted to take his submission to the next level!" Evelyn laughed wildly, and frowned. "You failed your mission," Evelyn said, pacing around him. "Scared away by noises in an empty house and a stuffed bird. I expected better from you, David. Though I suppose I should have known better than to send a cuck failure to do a cultist's job."

She stopped in front of him, lifting his chin with one perfectly manicured finger. "Do you know what happens to people who fail me, David?"

"Please," he managed, his voice hoarse. "I can try again—"

"Shhh." Her nail dug into his skin. "No more trying. No more chances. You've proven yourself... unreliable." She released his chin and stepped back. "But don't worry. I still have uses for you."

As if on cue, two robed figures emerged from the shadows. They moved with a plodding synchrony, as if they weren't quite human anymore. David recognized the vacant smiles, the same expressions he'd seen at committee meetings, on neighbors who'd gone too deep into Evelyn's influence.

"Take him to Preparation Chamber B," Evelyn instructed. "Standard purification protocols. And David?" Her smile was terrible in its beauty. "Try to relax. The process can be uncomfortable. But soon you won't care about anything except serving our cause."