This follows Haven: The Eighth Rank
The heat of the early spring day had begun to vanish now. A freshness in the air. Martha had limped and skipped playfully along the bone dry sidewalk to the Asylum...loitering outside to keep her meeting with The Prince. She had made an effort with her appearance tonight. Twin tails in very neat bunches. Red ribbons to tie each up. Her straw boater neatly brushes, her school gymslip long and newly ironed. Satchel at her side and black blazer too...her red neck tie neat with white blouse. Her concession to the club was that underneath her uniform she wore the corset - bought for her as gift and the new knee high black boots. Feeling like she wanted to fit in a little more, she had also neatly applied some scarlet lipstick: her only obvious cosmetic. Minty toothpaste and newly applied lavender soap from her earlier bath. Her cane she held close.
Having watched several patrons enter the Asylum she had admired the sheer effort applied in their attire. One man seemed to resemble on the more frightening and villainous dolls on sale at Justin's comic store...all tight leather, gloves and very tall with very carefully groomed hair. He looked....strong and full of youth.
The young lady that had followed along shortly behind had taken equal care. Short black bobbed hair, her red shoes had dangerously high heels...her legs...they seemed to be used to the strain on them in those shoes. She had concealed whatever she wore under a knee length black Trenchcoat. A silken choker peeked from the coats opening.
Martha watched and waited for The Prince's arrival. Paying attention to shadows...rooftops...parked cars. She moved about...to test her own boots. Smiling to herself as she tried a simple ballet step in them, to explore the movement possibilities.
Her mind filled with the theory of BDSM...the latex...the strange consensual Domination and Submission...the experimentation with pain and pleasure. There was a lot of trust required between those involved.
Asa's now-familiar car pulled up to the front, negligently coming to a stop alongside the curb despite the NO PARKING signs. He emerged from the front passenger's side dressed in black slacks with satin piping -- tuxedo pants -- and a dark shirt that flashed deep purple when the light hit it just so. Although it was one of the rare occasions he was without a tie or jacket, sparks of silver shone from cufflinks and the shirt sported a tall, formal collar.
He smiled at the sight of Martha; if she were closer, or the ambient noise less, she might have heard a soft laugh. It was more at the situation than her; if he'd thought about it, he might have mentioned schoolgirls were a favorite 'theme' attire. A raised eyebrow joined the smile as he made out the lipstick, but he didn't stare.
As always, he thought of the blonde Lord who had once been the Mistress of the club, and wondered what she would have thought of Martha.
"Good evening, Miss Villiers," he greeted the small blonde as formally as he might have at Court, offering her his arm. Still, there was something subtly different about his body language; something larger, more aggressive. Here, many Kine considered themselves predators, and so he warned them in ways they might understand, lest he have to show them a true predator.
Martha's eyes widened at another display of power! The car...the parking...the style! She gasped, a mortal relic of a gasp, but it was genuine. His panache was obvious and carefully constructed. He reminded her of the aristocrats at the European Courts of her youth.
Limping a few steps closer, she bobbed a humble and sincere curtsey. Feeling that here was as good a place as any to do so. His smile pleased her, feeling she had done something right for him - even if she did not know what it was - only encouraged her!
"Good evening, sir!" she enthuses with eager sincerity and, recognizing his Might for what it was, it took her less than a second to adopt a meek and servile demeanor. He was her Lord and both he and others should know it too. Limping with great care, she meekly took his arm. Watching him with wide eyes...attentive to the shadows too...you never know what lurks there...but equally as attentive to any signs she mike gather from her Lord as to his mood and intentions.
Asa gestured to the bouncer/doorman to open the door for them, and as they crossed the threshold, he said, "A good friend once told me there were no secrets here."
Inside, standing as if she'd been waiting all night, was Cozette Muriel. She's dressed in a long black coat with flowing plackets, a burgundy silk blouse with an elaborate bow, and black pants tucked into knee-high leather boots. She looks as if she's stepped out of a 18th century French court... or a pirate ship. An expert eye might recognize the ghoul's coat as authentic, and it was as old as she.
"Bonsoir," she greeted the pair. "Lord, lady, The Asylum is at your disposal."
The light French accent and attire was enough that the words flowed naturally, and Cozette executed a bow which would take another Invictus ghoul to rival.
"This is Cozette Muriel, manager of the Asylum," Asa explained for Martha. "If you cannot find Twist or Nika to reach me, then she will be able to."
No secrets? she mused Is this a super-secret elite Elysium? nodding - more to herself really - in vague understanding as she assimilates the message and the meaning. Trying to walk with a grace to match his. Clearly impressed at Cozette's attire Martha nods respectfully to reply to the bow, her gaze loiters on the lady's boots and trouser clad legs for a moment.
Trying to moderate her enthusiasm and a little apprehensive anyway, Martha tries to keep herself restrained; "Bon soir. Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle Muriel. Vous avez un manteau excellente, Mademoiselle!" Martha offers happily in passable French to the lady...nodding eagerly and respectfully to The Prince as he takes the time to explain things. "Yes, sire." she adds, replying to The Prince. There was a lot to learn...she quietly looked forward to getting to know Twist better - they had barely even spoke, but Martha was left with the view that Twist knew a trick or two that could be useful.
"Thank you, your French is excellent, and if you like the coat it is yours," Cozette replied demurely, her eyes including Asa as her choice of English for reply had as well. It gives the distinct impression that no matter what Martha were to say, she would reply in English and include a translation in her words for the Prince.
Asa smiled, amused. Perhaps it would be Martha's first lesson in having power behind her words now; that what she liked or found interesting could be taken as law. He waited silently, watching and waiting to see how she would respond.
The offer of the priceless coat came as a surprise to Martha. She had meant it as a simple and honest compliment. She paused a second. This was a new sphere of Power.
She smiled and in a friendly tone; "Oh, goodness! Thank you for such a kind offer! Thank you, Mademoiselle; but you look so splendid in it! I think the magnificent coat should stay with it's equally magnificent present wearer!" she offers happily, sincerely too...still arm in arm with the Prince, cane in her other hand, Martha takes a moment to lean harder onto her cane.
Asa gave the barest of nods to Cozette, who gave a small bow as she stepped back and away. The ghoul's silence isn't curt or abrupt, and it's easy to guess that unless information is required from her, that is what can be expected.
Asa began moving again, walking slowly enough so that Martha could look around. Unlike Avalon, where flirting and posturing made the Kine seem like a yard of senseless chickens, Asylum is filled with people who want... more. Or less.
"Have you ever been here before?" Asa asked, looking down at Martha to study her. He was curious to see her reaction, and what she was looking at; whether or not this was a simple tour.
Martha was having a hard time taking it all in. Wide eyed and slightly bewildered, she had only read of this subculture before...explored it's fringes on the Internet. To see it, to now be part of it...the encounter wasn't what she expected. She looks, with wide eyes, to Asa. "Oh, master! No...no, I have often bicycled by...or walked close to here, but never before dared to enter! I confess, Master, I expected it to be more like the debauched Fall of Rome...or the Rape of the Sabine Women...but...this, sire, it is as if watching some new Art meeting a Science experiment, sire!" she gestures to the nearest St Andrew's Cross with its pristine metal and leather straps. Her eyes drawn to the strapping, she gasps at the sight of the straps on the chairs and poles. The novelty of it all to her is palpable. Sure, the Ember had similar acts...but nothing quite like the true atmosphere of this place...or the resources. The Ember played at BDSM; this was where you went for the Real Stuff...even Martha could grasp that now!
One hand tugs at a twin tail as the other supports her with her cane. Martha was unable to help herself, she watches a young lady strut by with black PVC thigh high, high heeled boots...watching the strut and posture of her long legs...the poise of the corset...then her eyes watch a Dungeon Monitor heading to a cage nearby...all high heeled elegance...Martha studies the lady's legs...then looks to Asa, her face pale. She leans hard on her cane. If her school uniform, limp and demeanour are attracting attention, she seems unaware of it. She is glad she is here with Asa though, her smile will tell him that!
"Like anything, it can be taken to excess, and be closer to those examples than what you see. At the other end of the spectrum, it can be an existential journey," Asa answered, watching what Martha watched, moving toward the cross she had gestured to.
"Many of us come here, whether by design or curiosity. Most of the stereotypes can also be applied," he continued, referring to the different clans. "It can also be quite risky, given the intensity of experiences possible."
It had only been a couple of months since Katrina had exploded in Frenzy, and she had not been the first -- nor would she be the last.
Asa came to a stop next to the cross. "You should also be very careful with your terms of address here. It is perfectly acceptable to call me Mr. Clarke; the term you're using implies a significantly different relationship."
"Unless that was your intent?"
Martha watched Asa talk as an attentive pupil would listen to a favoured tutor. Limping badly, she followed him to the cross...her attention upon Asa as he talks.
"Mr Clarke..." she experimented carefully with the name, nodding and playing with one of her twin tails. "Thank you, sir. I should, sir, wish to understand this existential experience too. I can well imagine that these..." she gestures to the instruments of pain and torment, "can perhaps assist with my more esoteric studies, sir. Of course, sire, some cultures practice such self torture to inspire ecstatic revelations...I can no reason not to emulate that." a bright, beaming, smile and rubs hard at the upper thigh of her maimed leg.
"I should also, sir, wish to understand more of this too...with you as a...a Master, I am sure it would be a most illuminating experience, sir!" she offers, thinking to Asa's days as a member of the Ordo. He would know what was needed more than most, she smiled. Confident in her Prince's credentials and qualifications. "I am also grateful, sir, for your timely reminder that vocabulary here will have a different syntax and meaning." she dips a humble curtsy.
Asa arched a speculative eyebrow and nodded. He gently placed his hands on Martha's waist and manoeuvred her to stand with her back to the cross.
Taking one of her hands, he slipped it into the cuff and fastened it.
That done, he waited a few moments in silence, and held out his other hand for Martha's cane, giving her a chance to consider her bound hand and reconsider.
Things were moving quite fast for Martha. She allowed Asa to move her y her slim and trim waist to the cross...wide eyed she watched, slightly afraid, as he strapped her hand into the cuff. She tested the cuff's binding power by giving her hand a tug. She blinked at The Prince. "Please, sire...might I enquire; what...what would happen if I stayed here? Might I ask, please...what will happen if...if I am fully strapped in?" she asks, her small English voice waivers. She might not be reconsidering, but she's certainly inquisitive! The tiny creature looks to Asa, then to her lame foot and the straps that would bind her feet, then back to Asa.
Asa moved to the small woman's side, leaning over to whisper.
"Here is where the Succubi experience and give in to their desires; where the Savages can satisfy their baser instincts; where Haunts can hurt others and punish themselves; and Lords can be in control. You... Shadows. Here is where we shine lights on secrets and see what is true."
"What will happen is we will learn something about Martha Villiers and something about Asa Clarke."
He straightened, moving back to face her seriously.
"Or we can leave, if you prefer. It is your decision."
So saying, he gave her a genuine smile, letting her know that leaving was a perfectly acceptable decision.
She still was unsure. It sounds an awful lot like...interrogation. If she could rub at her leg, she would. Pouting as she thought hard. This was a voyage of discovery. A journey with an expert guide. Know thyself...that is what the Oracle had offered as the ultimate advice for achieving Wisdom, she reminded herself. Truth. Gnosis and Areté...Wisdom. I seek these, and more...here is where the beginnings of ecstatic revelation can be achieved!
Smiling meekly to The Prince, the small lady nodded. "Yes, sire...I think I understand. I shall have a greater understanding once we are done. Thank you." nodding, her twin tails bob. This is what the Ordo should offer: a chance for instructional insight!
And she was momentarily distracted by a tall brunette thigh high boots as she offers the Prince her cane with a humble nod of the head.
Taking her cane, Asa leaned it against the cross next to her, then took her other hand and fastened it, as well. If he'd wondered if she were Impaled like the long-gone Headstrong or Gideon, that was answered. Her legs, he did not bind, unsure of her physical limitations or capability.
Moving beside her, a gentle tug at her hair was the only sign of him undoing the pigtails until she could feel her loose hair. Then he was in front of her again, taking her tie between two fingers and running it through them.
He leaned forward again to whisper.
"I want you to Blush."
He wanted to watch her pulse quicken, and the uncertainty of the situation to send adrenaline through her. To feel more than just her Beast.
Martha watched with interest as her other hand was strapped tight. Reliant upon only one fully working limb now. Nodding obediently as she was ordered to Blush: obedience...loyalty...Submission. These now carry greater Meaning than they did a mere thirty seconds ago.
"Yes, sire." Already she was apprehensive. Uncertain for the future and at the Mercy of a powerful Man. Martha tried a weak smile and tested the straps again as the Blood began to work at the Blush. He had already, and so easily, violated her hair...what was next?
Asa watched as the Blush suffused her, and turned to watch as she pulled at the straps again. He reached up to cup her jawline and ran his thumb lightly over her cheek.
"Shhhhhhhhh," he murmured. "You're doing very well. You have trusted me, and I will give you a gift: a safe word. If you want me to stop, just say 'Avalon'."
"Are you ready to continue?"
Something elegant...convincing...was in The Prince's commanding and charismatic presence. It overwhelmed her. With the offer of the Safe Word the small creature nods meekly. She fell into obedient silence.
He amputated my bunches... she thinks, a slight raise in her fear, wide eyed at this display of Power. Even my safety is now contingent upon his Gift... She wanted to look away: but knew she had to watch. Her old heart creaked into greater action.
At the nod, Asa mirrored the expression, nodding and taking a step away. The hand left her face, and he raised it, snapping his fingers. It wasn't loud, but it was loud enough to draw the attention of anyone in the immediate area.
The hand dipped into his pants pocket and came out again holding something; a knife, which he slowly and deliberately opened.
In a quick, deft move he reached out and slipped it against Martha's neck. A soft whisper of cloth and a brief tug, and then his other hand pulled her sliced necktie free.
The blade came to rest on the placket of her shirt, and he stepped beside her again.
"Do you know why I'm doing this?" he whispered, as he cut through the thread holding a button on.
Draft this Post
