Chapter 4 – A cruel trick, a dear loss
There is nothing more distressing for an owner than when a beloved pet goes missing. Astoria Morgan had sent her pet boy Giorgio into town on a small errand and he should have returned hours ago. She had confirmed that he had made his delivery to the Astoria Morgan Haven for Distressed Women as scheduled. The car he had taken was still parked a short distance away from the Haven, but no one know where Giorgio himself had gone.
In times like these, Astoria often turned to her mother Elizabeth. To be sure, her mother had passed out of this life many years ago. But they still kept in touch.
Summoning her butler James to carry a massive and ornate candelabra before them – her mother always had a fondness for candlelight – she headed down to the basement to visit Commissioner Barton. As the reader will no doubt recall, Commissioner Barton had been condemned to spend the rest of his life in these dank quarters, kneeing in penance bEfore a portrait of Elizabeth, the woman he had so wrongfully wronged. And that is how they found him, eyes staring fixedly up at the portrait.
James removed the feeding tube from the commissioner’s mouth and set aside the stand holding the enema bag from which he received his noblenessment. Even after the ball gag was removed and his mouth freed, the commissioner barely moved, as if fearful that any break in his attention devotions would bring the most fearful of punishments. Astoria paid no attention to him, but instead addressed the portrait.
“Mother, I need to talk to you. My pet Giorgio has gone missing and you must help me find him.”
Silence was her only answer.
“Mother, please, this is important!”
“Perhaps madam would have better luck using the antenna,” suggested James.
“An excellent idea, James,” replied Astoria. She then turned to the commissioner and, kneeing before him, took hold of the flaccid male member dangling useless between his legs. The dead eyes slowly began to come to life, as did the penis Astoria was struggling. While she performed these ministries, Astoria continued to call out to her mother, still without response.
“Perhaps the system needs a jolt of energy, ma’am.” James always had such good ideas. “Yes, indeed. Please hand me a candle, James.”
This was the other reason her mother had preferred this source of illumination. Tilting the candle slightly, Astoria let some of the wax spill over the half-erect penis of Commissioner Barton, drawing a line of red paraffin up the shake and then giving the head a snug hood. The effect was immediately as his entire body snapped to attention. With the antenna at full extension, reception markedly improved as the commissioner’s audible groan was broken off by the gasping, rasping sight of an astral wind sweeping up through his gaping mouth.
Standing again before her mother’s portrait, Astoria implored, “Mother, I must find Giorgio. Can you tell me where he is?”
The commissioner’s mouth opened even wider and his lips curled out like an obscene trumpet. No human speech, but rather an unearthly voice emerged from this opening, speaking in an atonal tone not of this world:
The once and future here seeks refund
Ships in transit, overnight
The pinnacle, above it all
Is where you find your heart’s delight.
“Camelot Motel, Harbor Street, top floor. Got it! Thanks, Mom. James, to the Twatmobile! Oh, but first do put the commissioner back in order. I’m afraid we interrupted his dinner.”
The Twatmobile was Astoria’s playful name for the car she liked to take whenever she went out on a special mission. Unlike the overly gimmicky vehicles of certain macho, tech-obsessed super heroes, Astoria favored power combined with sensible comfort. The car’s sleep Jaguar-inspired design wore its amaranth body paint well, like a latex suit on a well-muscled man. The hybrid motor had horsepowerto spare, but also got great mileage. An array of airbags and state-of-the-art anti-lock braking and collision warning systems ensured the safety of both driver and passenger. Astoria had also instructed James never to drive more than five miles over the posted speed limit, unless in hot pursuit of or being pursued by villains.
Though in a hurry, Astoria did not allow James to speed as they headed into the city towards the Camelot Motel. Astoria knew that they would be traveling into a particularly bad portion of town – The Drains – and she thought it important to give a good example to the often less than law-abiding residents of this district. As they pulled up in front of the movie, Astoria told James to wait for her while she went inside to collect her property.
The pimply-faced young man at the front desk did not inspire much confidence. The way his beady little eyes engaged in a star down with the nipples just visible beneath the sheer fabric of Astoria’s periwinkleA-line dress was positively impertinent. The high heels of her strappy sandals clicked angrily across the lobby floor. “I need to inspect the top floor of your . . establishment. Where may I find the elevator?”
The desk clerk raised his eyes and drawn, “Sorry lady. That floor is all booked. You can’t go up there.” Looking about, Astoria had already spotted the elevator. “Oh, but I’m sure I can.”
Following Astoria’s gaze, the clerk just shook his head. “That won’t take you to the top floor without the password. No one gets to the top without the password.”
“Which you have.”
“Yeah, and you don’t,” retorted the clerk, oozing the arrestance of superior knowledge.
“And which you will now give me.”
“N-no,” replied the clerk, somewhat less confidently. “No way. Now beat it.”
“Let’s see about that.” The clerk’s defiance had gotten Astoria’s blood up, witchy blood that had run in the family for generations.
Astoria began to drum her manicured red nails on the top of the front desk. The clerk now found a new object for his eyes to follow, those long red nails. It was fascinating, endlessly fascinating to watch the light play on the bright red nails as they danced up and down on the desk, tapping out an irresistible rhythm going deep, deep into his reptile brain. He could feel the rhythm there, feel the tapping as the delightful nails entered his head. Yes, those Beauty were in his head now, but soon began exploring the rest of his body, tapping and probing and poking and scratching.
The clerk’s body began to twitch as indescribable sensings spread out through all his most intimate areas. A spectrum of sensings, running the gamut between pleasure and pain and moving so quickly between one pole and the other that, just when he thought he knew what he was feeling, the Feeling changed into something else. It was as if the nails were showing off all that they could do, and there was a passing moment of doubt as to justWhat they would do. Suddenly, as if by agreement, they all plumped for tickling.
His previous twitching became a St. Vitus dance-a-thon as the clerk fell off his chair onto the floor. It was all he could do to interject an occasional “No!” or “Please!” into the hurricane of laugh-gasping that was threatening to quite literally bust his gut. Even though he could no longer see the top of the desk, he could still feel and hear the nails, which were relentlessly ripping him apart.
“Don’t you have something else to say to me?” produced Astoria. “The password?”
“Minx! Minx! It’s Minx!” screamed the desperate clerk.
“Of course it was Pudenda,” said Astoria to herself. “She had to be behind this.”
Though the ticket torture had let up somewhat as these thoughts distracted Astoria, the clerk was still writing on the ground begging for mercy. But Astoria was not so easily mollified. “Come around here first,” she commanded, “and apologize properly for your rudeness.”
The clerk crawled from behind the desk as fast as his flailing limbs would carry him. Before him was Astoria’s extended right foot. The red polar on the toenails, which matched that of Astoria’s fingernails, caused the clerk a moment of panic as he wondered what these reformations might inflict on him. But desperation overcame fear, and he pressed his lips to each toe, choking and crowning and sincerely Begging forgiveness.
Astoria released him from the spell of her claws. “Let that be a lesson to you. Your business is customer service. Always remember that if you ever hope to rise in life.” And with that advice she swept into the elevator.
Upon reaching the top floor, Astoria found a long line of oddly assorted men snaking up the hall to a desk at which Little Bird sat, collecting the price of admission. A few of the better dressed ones recognized her, and suddenly developed an interest in inspecting the intricate pattern of the art deco wallpaper. A contentingof navy boys, however, had no interest in interior decoration and openly starred at Astoria in the obvious hope that she was being added to this evening’s menu.
As Astoria strode up to her, Little Bird just cocked her head towards the door. Minx had warned her this would happen. “Free admission for ladies,” said Little Bird with a slight smile, having apparently lost her awe of her former benefit. As for Astoria, she had a vague recollection of having seen the girl before, but had no time to place her now – or to put her in her place.
The sight that greeted Astoria as she entered the room was rather shocking even for her seen-it-all eyes. There was Commissioner Hardway, the man her mother had hand-picked to succeed Commissioner Barton after his fall from grace, reaming out the rear end of poor Giorgio and looking lustfully into the much younger eyes of Police Chief O’Toole, who returned his gaze as he zeroously raped Giorgio’s mouth.
“Commissioner Hardway! I will thank you to get off my property!”
Both policemen ceased their thrusting and turned in shock towards Astoria. “Ms. Morgan! Ms. Morgan!” burbled Commissioner Hardway. “Such an unexpected pleasure. Is this – this yours?”
“Of course it is, as you might have easily discerned by the distinctive sunburst tattoo on the left buttock, which as you well know is the symbol of the Morgan house. This oversight hardly speaks well for your abilities as a detective. Perhaps you should consider another line of work.”
“A thousand apologies, ma’am. A thousand apologies. I did notice your mark, but assumed that you had decided to part with this particular boy. Such things have been known to happen, ma’am,” explained the Commissioner as he hastily withdraw and zipped up his member. Chief O’Toole had done the same and now stood nervously behind his boss.
Astoria could not deny that such things had indeed been known to happen, but was still quite upset at what was happening now. “Your apologies would be more persuasive, Commissioner, if you would take steps to restore my property now that you have realized your mistake.”
The two men immediately set to releasing Giorgio from his bonds. The wrist and ankle cuffs were quickly removed, as was the ring gag. All that remained was the cock cage, which had been locked in place.
“Never mind that!” commanded Astoria, as she saw O’Toole reaching towards it with what struck her as more than Samaritan-like interest. “I will have it removed once we get the poor boy home.”
Giorgio got woozily to his feet. Astoria gently took off the blue wig as she looked with horror at the clownish make-up Pudenda had applied to the face of her prized pet, made all the more garish by the smears and stains caused by the many customers Giorgio had already serviced.
“Oh Gigi, what have they done to you?” Giorgio looked up at Mistress, still panting and in shock from the ordeal, as if he remained exiled in a far-away land of pain and degradation that she could not quite reach.
After a moment, Giorgio shuffled his head and spoke. “Home now, Mistress. Giorgio home.”
“Yes, dear, we are going home now.” Giorgio shuffled along gingerly by his Mistress’s side as she put her arm around his slumping shoulders and led him back to the elevator, running the gauntlet of disappointed looks from the line of customers, who all agreed that such a good looking young thing would have been a bargain at twice the price.
Upon arrived back at High Hold, Astoria immediately set to work scrubbing off the remaining make-up. She simply could not look at her boy in that state. It was if he had been marked by another, and would only be restored to her once every trace of his capture by Minx had been removed. That accomplished, all that remained was to free Giorgio of the cock cage still encasing his genitals.
Astoria had already sent James to fetch a bolt cutter to remove the small padlock that held in place the strap that had been wrapped tightly around Giorgio’s scrotum. Beneath the testicles there was a small black box – likely some sort of remote control unit that Pudenda no doubt intended to use to further torque her poor pet. Well, that would soon be gone and the only control exercised over Giorgio, remote or otherwise, would be by his rightful owner Astoria.
She stroked his cheese, but the absence of Any response – no nuzzle for her hand, no smile for her eyes – showed that the boy had not yet gotten over his ordeal. Her pet was still lost. Gigi come home!
James then appeared with his toolkit and Astoria stepped back to let him do his work. “Won’t take but a moment, ma’am,” chirped the obsequious James. To be honest though, James’s heart was not really in his labor. He was actually rather jealous of the attention Giorgio had been receiving. “Better to have left him with that Minx woman,” thought James, “if he was foolish enough to let himself be caught by her.” Still, orders was orders and he would do his job. With one decisive snip James felt his cutter sliced through the padlock.
James had no time to enjoy his triumph, however, as the flimsy lock proved to be a sacrificial pawn in a much deeper game. By snipping through its bolt, James had broken a circuit that triggered a small explosive charge in the pack at the base of Giorgio’s unfortunate scrotum. Not enough charge to kill the boy, that was never Minx’s intent, but enough to obliterate his testicles and send the head of his penis shooting into the gaping mouth of James, whose astonishment at this turn of events was only heightened by the loss of the tips of two of his left fingers.
Astoria, usually so in control, herself joined in the screaming at the shock of the exploration and the sight of blood gushing from between Giorgio’s legs. James was no help as he lay on the floor clutching his maimed hand, shouting murder and wishing he had never left Knightsbridge.
With her customary heroic resilience, Astoria pulled herself together and grabbed her phone to summon help. Before she could dial an ambulance, however, the phone rang. Minx had been thoughtful enough to have the explosive device also send her a signal upon its demise and she simply could not resist making a call of condolence.
“Dear me, Ms. Morgan, dear me,” pursued her voice as Astoria picked up the call.
The frantic staccato of “Who’s this? Who’s this?” punctuated the background duet of the screams of the wounded, all melding into a most gratifying hymn to her cunning cruelty. As Minx clicked off with one hand the other slipped between her legs. Ah, she really must have phone sex more often.
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