zzz NEW STORY: Ghost City, Part IV
_marycatherine
Ghost City By Mary Catherine Whitney. Copyright 2008. All rights
reserved.
Allyson looked up, startled, and tumbled off the rock and into
Bartlett’s arms as the Heavens opened. In seconds a torrential
downpour was upon them, soaking them both to the skin.
Bartlett lifted her out of the bowl, setting her gently back on the
ground. He then took her hand and, as another bolt of lightning
flashed across the sky, yelled, “RUN!”
Side by side they streaked across the slick, wet courtyard and skidded
around a corner. A hundred yards ahead of them was a large circular
building with winding steps.
“There,” Allyson cried, pointing at the building.
They reached the entryway and hurried through the arch. Rain was
pounding against the building and the narrow arch provided minimal
shelter.
“We have to go up,” he said, looking at the stairs. “There’s cover at
the top.
They made their way up as quickly as the slippery stone stairs
allowed. At the top of the tower, Bartlett pushed against the heavy
wooden door and they staggered inside, drenched, but out of the rain
at last.
A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the circular room and Allyson
had a quick impression of a low ottoman, an alter of some sort, and a
couple of unidentified objects hanging from the ceiling.
Bartlett reached into the messenger bag he carried, fished out a small
flashlight and turned it on. A weak beam showed that the alter was
covered with fat candles in various heights. He crossed to it, located
some tall matches and lit a number of candles until the room had a
pale, golden glow.
In the dim light, Allyson made her way over to the narrow slit of one
of the tower windows. Her dress was plastered to her skin and she was
shivering.
“Here,” Bartlett said, crossing the room as he removed his navy blue
blazer, brushing the rain off of it, and handing it to her as she
turned in his direction of his voice. “It’s dry on the inside. Put it
on, you must be freezing.”
“No, I can’t,” she protested even as she felt him press the jacket
into her hand. “I’m soaking wet; I’ll ruin it.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he insisted.
A small puddle was forming around Allyson’s feet and she shivered
again. “Ok,” she reluctantly agreed, “but I have to wring my dress out
first. Otherwise I’ll just soak your jacket too.”
Bartlett pointed toward the alter, which came to about shoulder
height. “Change back there and give me your dress. I’ll take care of
it.”
Allyson hurried toward the alter, trailing a thin stream of water
behind her. Suddenly she stopped and swore under her breath.
“Problem?” Bartlett asked.
Damn, the man had ears like a bat! “No, no…it’s nothing, not a
problem,” she said, hurrying behind the alter. Turning her back to
Bartlett, she quickly untied the straps of her sundress and stripped
it off, rubbed herself briskly with her hands to dry off as best she
could, then slipped on the blazer. It fell over her hips and bottom,
stopping a scant six inches below the crease of her cheeks. She
slipped off her shoes as well, as they squelched when she walked.
Pulling the blazer as best she could over her breasts, she buttoned it
at the waist and came out from behind the alter, her wet clothes in
one hand, while the other held the blazer more tightly across her
body.
Bartlett took the dress from Allyson and twisted it tightly a dozen
times until all the excess water was removed, then hooked it over the
top of a bamboo pole propped against the wall. She dropped her shoes
next to her now, wet, but no longer dripping dress.
Lightning continued to strike at regular intervals, illuminating the
room with narrow bands of light. “Oh god, our group!” Allyson
exclaimed suddenly. What time is it?”
“Not to worry,” Bartlett reassured her. “We’re not supposed to meet
for another hour and as long as the rain keeps up the way it’s going,
they’ll be delayed getting back to the meeting point. They’re probably
holed up in another one of the buildings.”
Relaxing slightly, Allyson looked around the room for the first time.
Spying the low ottoman she walked over and sat on it, pulling the
blazer around her bare thighs.
They fell silent then and Allyson watched as Bartlett crossed to a
window overlooking the courtyard. She watched him look at the rain—
slicked courtyard far below for several minutes. Finally, determining
that it wasn’t going to let up any time soon, Bartlett turned his
attention back to Allyson.
“That isn’t for sitting, you know,” he said, gesturing to the object
on which, she was in fact sitting.
“There doesn’t appear to be a chair to go with it,” Allyson replied,
stating the obvious.
“It’s not a footstool either, Miss MacKenzie.”
“No? Then what, exactly is it?” she asked.
“It’s a penance bench,” he explained.
“Penance bench?” she repeated.
Bartlett motioned for Allyson to get to her feet. Standing to the
side, she watched as he bent over and repositioned the low, brocade
stool a few feet from the alter, under the pair of objects which she
now saw were in fact a pair of heavy, silken cords with loops on the
dangling end.
“There, now, let me show you, Miss MacKenzie. Kneel, please.”
Allyson half laughed, before she caught sight of his face. He was
serious! The laugh turned into a slight gulping cough.
“Come now,” he said, beckoning to her.
Her feet crossed the distance between them even as her brain was
telling her not to move. Before she knew what was happening she was
standing before the stool and, with gentle pressure on her shoulder,
she found herself guided down onto her knees, her feet tucked beneath
her and crossed at the ankles.
She raised her face to him, but he shook his head. “Not yet. Place
your hands in front of you, lower your head, and close your eyes. I
want you to take a few minutes and think about your misdeeds.”
“My misdeeds? What mis…” another look cut her off.
“Think,” he repeated as he walked behind Allyson.
Allyson twisted her hands together, trying not to fidget, though it
was hard to keep still on the low, narrow stool.
Suddenly she felt his mouth against her ear, the words a hot whisper.
“Now, let’s have a little discussion about those misdeeds, Miss
MacKenzie.”
Allyson’s eyes flew open and her head snapped up. Ian Bartlett was
kneeling in front of her, their bodies’ mere inches apart.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Bartlett brought his index finger
up to her lips, as he shook his head. “Your chance to speak will
come.”
She closed her eyes as his finger trailed from her mouth and down to
her neck. Bartlett’s mouth moved back against her ear again and he
said, “Your pulse seems to be rather fast, Miss MacKenzie.”
Allyson moaned low in her throat.
Bartlett’s hand moved away from her neck. “Shhhh.”
”I’m…” Allyson began as she opened her eyes.
Bartlett stopped her, putting his finger back to her lips. “Obviously,
the first thing we should discuss is that you cannot seem to follow
simple instructions, Miss MacKenzie. Since that is the case, I will
take it upon myself to still your tongue for you.”
He leaned in to kiss Allyson gently. His mouth held her to him,
suspended. Allyson could feel her lips swell against his. Try as she
might to pull away, she instead felt herself being drawn deeper into
him. Bartlett skillfully worked her mouth open and slipped his tongue
between her teeth, letting it dart against her tongue and the roof of
her mouth.
He continued for several minutes, stealing her breath away. When they
finally parted, he sat back, studying Allyson intently. “There, that
should do nicely for now,” he said with the hint of a smile in his
voice.
Allyson opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. Her mouth, her
tongue, her lips, even her throat were numb. Her eyes widened and her
hands flew up to her neck as she tried to cry out.
“Not to worry, Miss MacKenzie. I promise your voice will be given back
in due course.”
As Bartlett spoke, he took one hand, then the other from Allyson’s
throat and stretched them over her head, slipping the looped ends of
the silken cords that dangled above her head around her slender wrists
and adjusted them until she was firmly bound.
Allyson had to stretch her torso to its fullest in order to not pull
against the restraints. They didn’t hurt exactly, but they weren’t
comfortable either.
When Bartlett was satisfied he sat back on his heels and admired his
handiwork. “Much better I think. Now, you’ve been quite the little
troublemaker for Lu Mei and the other minders, haven’t you” he asked.
Unable to speak, all Allyson could do was shake her head, which she
did rather vehemently.
“Now, now, you know how I feel about liars, Miss MacKenzie and you’ve
learned what happens to them in the afterlife, so shall we try again?”
he asked.
Allyson shifted uncomfortably.
“You’ve been a handful to Lu Mei and her assistants this entire
journey, haven’t you?”
Allyson started to shake her head again, caught sight of the look in
his eyes, staring right through her as though he were reading her
every thought, and nodded slowly in agreement.
“Good girl,” Bartlett said encouragingly, reaching up and stroking her
damp hair away from her face. “Now, you’ve gone off and done exactly
what you want, when you want, with no regard for others...or yourself.
You were asked repeatedly not to wander off on your own, but you did—
over and over and over again. You put yourself in danger; you put
yourself in a position to be hurt.”
He paused, letting the words linger for effect.
“Which brings us to your current state, Miss MacKenzie,” Bartlett
said, looking at the ropes that held her in place.
Allyson, fully panicked now, stretched even harder and tried to pull
herself free. She twisted and turned her hips, even tried to push
herself off of her knees and onto her feet. She opened her mouth,
willing herself to scream, but not even a whisper passed her lips.
“Please,” she mouthed, her eyes pleading. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
“Don’t fear, Miss MackKenzie. I don’t plan to hurt you” Bartlett said
in his most reassuring voice.
Relief flooded over Allyson at that and her struggling lessened.
“You do need to learn a lesson though today, Miss MacKenzie, a lesson
that I promised Lu Mei I would give you.”
Allyson thought now to the encounter between Ian and Lu Mei before
boarding the van this morning. Their conversation in Chinese, Lu Mei’s
laughter at whatever he’d said.
Allyson’s struggles renewed in earnest.
As Bartlett spoke, he rose to his feet and walked behind her.
Suddenly, with a quick, tug, the silken restraints slid upward,
jerking Allyson forcibly and none too gently to her feet, stretching
her until she was standing on her tiptoes, her back to Bartlett. The
blazer crept up to her waist, exposing her bare bottom.
“So delightful and convenient that you chose not to wear panties
today, Miss MacKenzie,” Bartlett said, placing a hand on a full,
rounded cheek. His hand lingered possessively for a moment, his thumb
pressing firmly into her tender flesh, then withdrew.
Allyson’s face burned with shame. There was a perfectly good reason
for that as she was sure he was probably quite aware, but it was
humiliating nonetheless that he chose to comment on it. She felt very
stripped and exposed, more so than if she hadn’t been wearing anything
at all.
“Now, I promised to teach you a lesson…” Allyson heard Bartlett say
from what seemed a mile away.
A high, sudden scream hissed through the air and a white-hot flash of
pain exploded across her bare backside.
Allyson’s head snapped back and she struggled against her bonds as she
felt a thin, angry line begin to rise.
Allyson fought futilely against the searing heat for several moments,
and then Bartlett drew back his hand and took aim again.
Another scream, more like a whistle, and then another line of pain
across her bare bottom.
Her struggle against the bonds doubled, and then tripled, as Allyson
tried to escape the angry sting across her cheeks.
A third, then a fourth stroke, nearly on top of the last, landing so
quickly it didn’t seem possible.
“Resistance won’t help, my dear,” Bartlett said behind her, “only
acceptance will bring this lesson to an end.”
Allyson’s head twisted toward his voice, her sight compromised by a
flood of tears. She could just make out Bartlett behind her, a thin
rod in each hand.
He brought his right arm back and Allyson heard the whistle yet again,
then saw through her haze of misery the rod fly through the air and
smartly strike her bare bottom. A second later, she felt another
burning, welted line begin to rise, and a second beyond that a searing
ripple of pain coursed through her body.
“Accept, Miss MacKenzie,” he urged.
Another stroke, lower this time, across the crease at the bottom of
her cheeks.
“Accept,” he repeated.
“I won’t give him the satisfaction,” she thought dimly, closing her
eyes tightly against the rising pain. She couldn’t stop him, but she
wouldn’t give in either.
It took four more strokes, the last biting painfully into her tender
upper thighs to break Allyson’s pride and three more to bring the
acceptance of the lesson that Ian Bartlett demanded.
Allyson wasn’t even aware at first that Bartlett had stopped. Head
bowed, the tears fell freely down her face. She throbbed in more than
a dozen places.
Dropping the rods to the floor, Bartlett moved to Allyson’s side,
unwound the cords from the pillar to which he’d tied them, and slowly
lowered her until her knees once again touched the penance bench.
Allyson didn’t even notice her changed position until Ian Bartlett was
kneeling in front of her again. With one hand he brought her head to
his shoulder and held her the tears silently fell. With the other hand
he gently traced a finger across an angry red wheal on her throbbing
backside.
Bartlett brought his mouth to hers again, heat flooding between them.
When he pulled away several minutes later, Allyson gasped, her voice
hoarse and unrecognizable, but most certainly there.
After a moment or a lifetime, Allyson wasn’t sure, Bartlett whispered
in her ear, “Now we begin.”
She wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but whatever it was, it was
nothing like what actually happened next.
End of Part IV...