CONSEQUENTIAL LOVE
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My Friday Tale is a day late this week. I hope the wait is worth it.
Consequential Love
The old Castle. Sitting just off of Clinton Road, one which many say is the most haunted road in New Jersey, and perhaps in the entire country, there is nothing left to this once stately building except scattered ruins, mainly in the areas of the foundation ramparts.
And yet . . .
On many evenings when the air is calm and sound seemingly carries for miles, wails can be heard, the sounds passing through the forests and reaching the road and beyond. Many a dollar is won or lost on those brave enough to challenge the legends that permeate the Old Dutch mysteries. Ah, for once, the Castle was home to a Satanic presence, and the ancient ones know what happened on these grounds.
Even though the Castle has been in ruins for a hundred years, destroyed by religious zealots not much more filled with love towards their fellow man than the Satanist Lords from another time and place who lived there, can evil not reside within the very soil, the very air, where debauchery once ran rampant?
* * * *
Taking the sharp turns so well in his nifty, brick red Ferrari, Brad doesn’t have a care in the world. The moon is bright, his car is handling like the superb machine it is, and Marie is hornier than a girl has a right to be. She is virtually removing his clothing as he powers the car along the road. The warm evening has called for the top to be down, and excitement flows all around them.
Brad pulls in to the road leading to the Castle, Marie is a little surprised at his sudden departure from the main road, but this is nothing out of the ordinary from her lover. She has had many lovers, but none have been as exciting as Brad. He is the master of spontaneous, anything goes sex. Oh, yeah! Another one of those grand moments is about to foist itself upon her.
“We’re here, Marie,” he says. “This will be our rendezvous for excitement tonight.”
Marie’s eye’s fall on the scattered rubble covering almost everything. “Couldn’t you have found a place a little softer, my love? Making love to you with bricks poking me in the ass doesn’t sound like a cheery proposition.”
Brad laughs. “That is what you see, and that is what most others see as well, but there is more here. Much more.”
“Well, lead the way, lover boy. Show me what awaits me.”
Brad walks to the south west wall and moves some dust-laden bricks out of the way, exposing an old oak cellar door with a huge, rusted ring attached to it.
Marie looks at Brad, her eyes questioning him. “A friend of mine told me about this place,” he says. “According to him, this is the play land to end all play lands.”
“And how is that? What could possibly be down there, and how would we see what’s there anyway?”
He pulls a small flashlight out of his pocket. “This will get us far enough to find a stronger light source.” Pulling on the ring, he lifts the door up and gently lies it down on the rubble. “We want to save this door for other romantic interludes, my love.”
As curious as she is to see what lies below, the dark opening before them sends chills up and down her spine. A musky stench reaches her nostrils and a dense, rolling fog works its way towards them.
“I’m scared, Brad! Let’s get out of here!”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Marie. This cellar is old. The stench is natural, and the fog will dissipate soon enough. You’ll see. As soon as the air clears, I’ll turn the flashlight on.”
Scurrying sounds from below reach their ears. Marie swears she can hear them walking up the stairs: if there are steps, anyway. Maybe nothing other than a ladder is present for all she knows.
“What’s that noise, Brad?”
“Probably just little field mice. Don’t worry about them. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“That fucking does it, Brad! I am sooo out of here. I can’t make love with mice running over me. Besides, what if they’re rats? Oh, my God!”
“Oh, you silly goose. Stay with me and there will be nothing for you to worry about. Worst case: my friend was wrong about this place. Then we simply leave and find another place to kindle the fires of our love.”
Damn that Brad! Maybe that’s why she loves him. Mystery and excitement surround him.
“Okay, Brad, I’ll go, but I still reserve my right to leave at any time.”
“That is always the option of a lady, my dear.”
Once the fog is gone, Brad turns on the flashlight, and they gingerly make their way down the stairs. Thank God for that! A ladder would have been so much more formidable.
“There they are, Marie. The candelabras that Josh told me about. Wow! They’re loaded with candles too.”
Next to the candelabras is a huge stash of box matches and more candles. As old as the legends might be, modern day adventurists obviously used this place on a regular basis.
Brad lights the candles in a spur of excitement, needing to see if the rest of what Josh had told him was true. Once the light brings passage to their eyes of what the room holds, their mouths both drop. They are in the center of some kind of torture room, devices of all types scattered about the vast cavern. Most of what presents itself to Brad was designed to tear flesh apart and break bones: knives and swords of all sizes; stretching machines; maces; and face masks designed to screw their nasty impalement devices deep inside the brain. But in the center of the room are two lab tables with thick mattresses, unbelievably immaculate amongst the shabbiness of the rest of the room.
“Wow!” Marie says. “What do you make of this? This area looks like an operating room. And it’s sterile. Wait a second! You prepared this for me, didn’t you? You are a sly fox.”
Just as perplexed as Marie, Brad shakes his head. “This must be the work of Josh. He knew I’d come here after he described what was here. I took the bait. I’m glad I did. Look at this! There are a couple of bottles of champagne in ice.”
Marie reads the note attached to one of the bottles. “Have fun, Brad. Enjoy the room and all it has to offer. Josh”
“What a guy he is,” Brad says. “I owe him big time
They drink some champagne from one of the bottles as they undress each other. When they are both completely nude, Marie hops up on one of the tables and spreads her legs and arms out as far as they will go. “What do you say we make a mess of this clean linen, my dear. Ooh,” she says as her hands find handcuffs, “Looky at what I found.”
Brad makes sure the keys work first and then attaches them to her wrists. Slipping her feet into stirrups, he tightens the straps up and gently pushes her knees to the sides, exposing her luscious vagina to his view. The height of the table allows him to gain entry into that special opening, already expelling bountiful rivers of love juices pouring everywhere, while still standing on the floor. Bound the way she is, he has a captive of love pulsating before him. His hands are free to massage her breasts and clitoris, and he does not waste the opportunity.
He thrusts until she can take no more, and stops holding back so he can join her in her orgasm. The candles flicker from the rapid movement of air in the room as both of them are wild with the glory of their ride. A second orgasm follows the second as Brad thrusts wildly once more and refuses to stop.
The cellar door slams wildly and the candles are blown out. Brad fumbles for his flashlight but can not find it in the dark. Heavy steps come marching down the stairs and both Marie and Brad shiver in fear, not knowing what is happening. Someone . . . no more than one someone, is on the stairs. Now, their footprints come towards them, on the floor, fully cognizant of where they are. But how? The Dark is impenetrable to Brad’s eyes, but to those who are approaching, it is of no consequence.
A strong odor, like tar perhaps, is waved in front of Brad’s face before a rough hand hits him flush in the face and knocks him to the floor. He struggles to get up but other hands grab him, toss him onto the other table, and attach the handcuffs and stirrup straps. It is no use to struggle. He is bound tightly.
He hears a match being struck, and a torch is lit almost in front of his face. Others follow, until the room is flooded with light. Josh stands before him, wearing a black, hooded robe, a sinister look on his face. “I hope you had a good time before we arrived, Brad,” he says.
“You bastard!” Brad shouts. “Let us out of here. Undo our handcuffs and straps. You’ve had your fun!”
Josh laughs. “That’s where you’re wrong, my friend. Our fun is about to begin.”
One by one, the robed interlopers drop their robes and advance upon Marie. She screams in terror as all twelve of them rape her repeatedly, over and over again, not having the skills that Brad has. They care only about themselves. She is a mere pawn in their ceremony.
Brad hollers at Josh, pleading with him to stop, but Josh comes over to him and whispers in his ear, “Excuse me for being a poor host. I’m sure the sight of your beloved being tortured like this is difficult for you to handle. I have a remedy.”
Grabbing the face mask from its place of prominence, he places it on Brad’s head and fastens the hinges attaching the top and bottom pieces. Brad’s head is now completely covered except for his eyes and nose. Screw after screw is tightened, forcing themselves into Brad’s head. Blood pours out of his eye and nose holes, and excruciating pain tears through him.
He fights it, but all is for naught. Josh laughs maniacally as the screws pierce deep into Brad’s brain and all motion ceases from his friend’s body.
Tortured as she is, Marie sees what has happened to Brad and screams into the night.
Once more, the wails reach Clinton Road and beyond . . .
Blaze McRob