Paying a Neighborly Call

  House Guest

  Kain vs. The Daema


Paying a Neighborly Call - June, 1997
Blood Red Rose, Kain Locke

Subj: Paying a Neighborly Call.
Date: 97-06-03 13:13:29 EDT
From: BldRdRoseV

As the slaves carrying her sedan chair pick their way over languidly rolling foothills thick with timber and the heady scent of evergreen and oak, she glances out frequently, a little unsure of her bearings - but drawn by the moonlit glow from pillars jutting into the distant sky, and by the winking of their mullioned glass windows.

The chair emerges from the shadowy wood and stops at the edge of a rather tall brick wall, its stones grey with menace. A few slender, gloved fingers curl around the edge of a black drape, drawing it back, and Rose emerges... first one elegant PVC-clad leg glimmers under the moonlight, followed by the other, stretching unhurriedly. Her pale features lift with a regal tilt as she stands, her attention immediately drawn by the the twin towers looming before her and the expanse connection them. Her neck cranes as she looks towards the windows closest, straining for views of the farthest. A shiver of pleasure runs through her at the harsh, sleek cool of the design ... perfect ... a structure almost businesslike in its efficiency, and yet, somehow, glowing from within, with the perverse heat of torment and ecstasy.

The thought elicits another shiver, and an impassioned hiss.

She approaches boldly, just a few steps farther, extending a gloved hand and running it along the smooth stone and peering down the wall's length for some type of gate. With a little frustrated 'harumph', she swivels back to look down the length of the wall to her other side, her lips twitching in a moue of consternation. Above the gentle whistling of the night breeze, she hears the comforting howl of a wolf ... and then another, an answering call, clearly from somewhere deep within the nearby forest.

She pouts, she ponders, she pouts some more ... for a brief moment, she considers just climbing over, then looks down at her suit, remembering how easily the last one shredded when she decided to go climbing after Kaelen. The thought brings a little flicker of amusement to her eyes as they continue in their search for an opening in the wall.

Subj: Paying a Neighborly Call.
Date: 97-06-03 18:27:14 EDT
From: XBlackdrgn

Tendrils of almost lucid shadow coil about her right hand, embracing her fingertips in a gesture of welcome. With silent fury, pillars of solid carved stone erupt from the sleeping earth, a bridge arcing with delicate grace and extending an entry to the Mannor itself, proud curtain wall suddenly withered away in offering.

Crimson rose petals flail earthward in the breeze, settling in a perfect trail across and pooling beneath a single black rose, set perfectly before bloom and cut from his slave Gardens. A note sitting beside it reads "Welcome".

Subj: Paying a Neighborly Call.
Date: 97-06-04 14:04:03 EDT
From: BldRdRoseV

Catching a little gasp of delight in her throat, she draws her fingers through the welcoming shadows, then curls them back and lowers her right arm to her side. Her porcelain features are a mask of cool composure, her excitement betrayed only in the sparkling of emerald eyes.

As the bridge extends before her, she steps carefully - one stiletto clicking on the stone, then the other in languid succession - taking her time and carefully surveying her surroundings over the rims of cat's eye shades.

Plucking a wayward rose petal from the breeze, she lifts it to her lips and inhales. The deep crimson nearly matches the rich hue of her lips, so stark and bold against her alabaster skin. With a careless gesture, she crushes the petal between thumb and forefinger, embedding the lush scent to linger in the leather of her gloves, then tosses it away. A few more clicking steps, and she is beside the coalescing petals ... croucbing to take the black blossom into her hand, wrapping her fingers around the waxy stem, she peers about her, examining the garden and its contents.

She brushes a fingertip across the top edge of the note, her head swivelling, eyes darting warily. The rose is a delighting gesture, and she has received a far grander welcome than she expected, but she is much too wise to step deeper into the web, to pry into the business of the manor, until the owner and master of this grand house should come forward to lead her in.

An invitation is indicated, but unspoken nonetheless.

Lifting the rose to caress her pale cheek with its velvety-softness, she rises from her crouch and pushes the shades to her forehead. With a patience borne of intense curiosity for the intriguing Kain Locke, she turns her eyes skyward to watch the moonlit clouds pass behind the twin towers as she waits.

Subj: Paying a Neighborly Call.
Date: 97-06-04 23:53:26 EDT
From: XBlackdrgn

With a burst of chilling winds, he is behind her, leaning with casual and detached grace against the stone bridge upon which they stand.

<qw> "Wha's a lovely young Mistress like ya'self doing in a Slaver's paradise like this?"

Muscular arms folded across a broad chest, his pale lips offer a dashing smile in welcome, trench coat fluttering about his leather pants as a nervous child does before an angered parent.

<w> "Perhaps the grand tour ...?"

Subj: Undone.
Date: 97-06-05 16:04:17 EDT
From: BldRdRoseV

A little shiver of pleasure takes hold of her senses as she feels the blast of his sudden presence behind her. Tensing, she holds herself perfectly still - the only movement is the slow glide of the black rose across her too-white cheek and the conniving grin curving her lips, hidden from view.

Shaking a few red curls into place across her shoulders, she erases the grin and lets any sign of interest melt from her eyes. Slowly, she turns, her head first, the emerald eyes peeking just over her shoulder, those eyes so full of dark promise ... and then her torso begins to wind, and slowly, the full picture of statuesque curves comes gleaming into focus before him. The silver chains at her belt clink gently ... her voice issues whisper-soft, washing over him like a velvet caress.

"I had been hoping for the grand tour, in fact."

Lifting her chin in an aristocratic upsweep, she deigns to lift her eyes to him...

And she freezes, stock still. A breath catches in her throat as her gaze alights on his imposing figure. She has seen Kain Locke before, but in the somewhat less auspicious ambience of the inn. Here, surrounded by all that is his domain, his very presence cleaves the darkness, penetrating the night itself and bending it to his will.

"I've been very curious..." The words slip over her tongue in a nervous rush. "Very curious, you see ... I want to learn more about your operations here, if I may be granted the privelege, that is."

Her heart hammering in her ears, she forces the syllables out as quickly as possible, so as not to stumble and trip on them.

"I know so little about the Gorean styles of slavery, and I was hoping that you might be able to tell me a story or two ... I hear that the kajira are exquisite creatures."

Realizing that she is babbling, she stops short, with a tiny gasp, and struggles to find her usual placid smile. For focus, the dark emeralds follow a few strands of ebony hair as they blow in the winds stirred by his arrival. She is once more a vision of cool serenity, but the repture in her mind is all French horns and piccolos.

Subj: Pearls.
Date: 97-06-06 21:20:23 EDT
From: BldRdRoseV

Startled beyond imagining at the eager response of her own senses, she darts her eyes away, gazing into the blackness of the night garden beyond.

A winking in the foliage, beyond the bridge of stone, catches her eye ... and then another tiny glimmer of white light thrusting itself out of the darkness. They are several feet away, and perhaps a closer examination would have revealed them to be a pair of loose pearls, torn from a gifted strand on an ill-fated wedding night.

But Rose cannot keep her eyes away for so long from the captivating master of the house, and though intrigued, she does not spare a moment longer to ponder the matter of the gems on the garden floor. She simply files the matter away for later perusal and lifts her eyes once more to examine Kain Locke.

Subj: Paying a Neighborly Call.
Date: 97-06-07 15:06:53 EDT
From: XBlackdrgn

A soft hiss is emitted from the sole of his boot as it swivels against the stone, another fierce bout of wind carving past their forms. Lucid, piercing eyes are drawn to the curves of this lady in askance of his Mannor, from the delicious swell of her breasts, to the deliberate sway of her hips. His eyes finish their journey, slithering over PVC-clad thighs. For a long, perhaps unnoticed moment he is completely enthralled with her beauty. Once more his eyes meet hers, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

With the collision of razored boots to this entrance he has created solely for his guest, he slips past her, his leather-wrapped hand scooping up hers and bringing her in tow towards the manor. Moments later, tendrils of shadow begin to flutter away from the stone bridge and escape into cool night air. A star-stricken night sky their blanket, he leads her past the Garden of Slaves, from which her thorned, crimson rose was born.

(w) "And now, for the grand Mannor itself."

He raises an upturned palm, the other still tightly clasped in her hand. Before them, House Locke sits proudly atop a swell in the earth, the tallest pillar of the Master's caste attempting vainly to reach for the very beacons of light themselves.

He halts directly before a set of large oaken doors, which remain guarded simply by a pair of stone dragons. Placing a leather-wrapped hand splayed against the solid wood, an uttered incantation spills quickly past his lips, and both doors slide open in silent offering. Sleeping within these powerful walls of stone is an entry room, lovingly crafted stairs spanning its width. Upon the second floor are hallways splitting to the left and right. Sky lights above offer a perfect picture of both towering pillars. Past the staircase's final step are a pair of iron double doors, both marked with the brand of a House Locke slave.

Their path takes a different course, however, directly across the room and towards a doorless entry, which gives berth to a set of spiralling stairs. Looping her arm through his, he escorts the lady at his side down into the depths of this lower floor.

"We call this 'The Pit' ... slaves are either broken or disciplined here."

His voice trails off, a haunting melody interrupted by screams of growing despair and agony as stairs level out onto floor, a wide chamber presenting itself. Bundles of torches line the walls every dozen or so feet, emanating a glow just dim enough to make dwelling here more and more painful to the soul.

A devilish smile curving thin, pale lips, he turns, placing powerful hands on her shoulders and pinning her into the cold embrace of a stone wall. His lips meet hers in a burning, hungry kiss, his body grinding up against hers in a slow, undeniable caress.

(qw) "Lady Rose, your tour is only just beginning..."

Subj: Paying a Neighborly Call.
Date: 97-06-12 10:38:57 EDT
From: BldRdRoseV

Eyes gently narrowed in a provocative glare, she sways before him, graceful, subtle undulations echoing the curve of her figure. She notes his lingering gaze, and it sends jets of girlish excitement rocketing through her system. But she says nothing, just meets his smile with a firm, polite grin of her own.

Her pleasure mounts as he takes her hand, and she gives only a moment's consideration to the fact that she never lets anyone touch her so easily and without permission. She can feel the pressure of his grasp through her own leather gloves, and it sends an odd sort of glowing bliss radiating up to the place where her heart should be.

As they enter the elegant foyer, she marvels at his taste, absently commenting on the luxuries she has tried to introduce at the MorCon estate ... simply making polite conversation, while her true focus is entirely on the meeting of their hands. Strange, she thinks, that to be so close and yet separated by layers of leather could inspire in her such a fervor.

She barely hears his words, so enraptured is she by the heady scent of his leather mingling with the musk of his skin.

A sudden jolt of uneasiness hits her, however, as he loops her arms through his - the very picture of polite gallantry - but instead of ascending the grand staircase, as she had expected they would, he leads her down, down into the bowels of the building. As they go lower, her senses are assaulted by the very distinct flavor of slaves' quarters. A little knot forms in the pit of her stomach as she recalls his appraising gaze in the garden just moments before. Was he sizing her up? Perhaps examining her bare neck, pondering the placement of a collar there?

The blood pulsing in her ears nearly drowns out his description of the place as they reach the bottom landing. But she does, indeed, hear him, and the echo of his voice sends a chill down her spine. The apples of her cheeks become slightly inflamed as she realizes, to her horror, that the fear sensations of fear and wanting have caused an embarrassing gemstone hardness which threatens to burst from the slick surface of her suit.

She turns her head away, and while she pretends to examine her surroundings her eyes remain placid and reserved, but every nerve is screaming at her to run as far and as fast as she can.

And the moment's glance away is all it takes. Taking advantage of her distraction, he is upon her, slamming her firmly into the wall. Her eyes flicker wide in defiance, but her body betrays her, curling against his in the heat of the kiss. Pinioned against the cool stone surface, she struggles with herself, all the reason that she possesses telling her that she should push him away.

But the heat emanating from their closeness, breathing in the air thick with agony, the hardness of his sinewy figure pressed against her - all of these things conspire to send a wicked combination of pain and pleasure coursing through her consciousness, like fire in her veins. She loses herself in the kiss, her gloved fingertips splayed and pressed against the wall behind her. His voice is like a shadow washing over her, and she stretches forward, anxious, and stops his words with another hungry kiss.