ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍ| Dark Erotica ⛓

II|Ropes. Gags. Chains. Clamps. Collars.

This was really happening.
Shit shit shit.
I heard the door lock.
I suddenly forgot how to breathe.
And somehow, I didn't believe it until Agatha's hurried steps vanished, that I was truly fucked.

From the corners of my bulging eyes I watched the Doctor stalk into the shadows, "she's a lively one, Master Vorden, I brought some tonic to tame her temper, if needs be."

But the old toads words didn't effect me, because holy crap.

Holy crap.

I was afraid I would die.

And then afraid I wasn't.

I was in a room.

A room that wasn't quite a room and resembled a Parisian dungeon leaked from the mind of a ill-tempered sadist.
It was agonisingly expensive, horrifically beautiful, and definitely not a place a dirt-poor scoundrel like me should have been.

My knees were little strings of Jello.

I was definitely going to vomit.

There were harnesses of leather and brass, some of them hung from the ceiling, some of them hooked up to the wall.
And they were strong and sturdy enough to have a woman my size fit in the straps comfortably.

And toy cocks.
So fucking many of them, c shaped double-enders, dicks long and thick and big and small, made of glass and wood and gold and silver, knobbly, smooth, veined, I wondered just who in the hell made a career of making them?
Oh, excuse me sir I'll have sixty of the solid gold dicks, please include a hefty set of balls.

My soul pitched a fit at the hundred bottles of oil, each one jewel-encrusted, shimmering and lovely and—

Oh, Christ.
I chugged back my squeak.
A brutal cross strapped with chain restraints stood in the corner like it was proud of itself.

Some kind of bicycle-machine, too. Giant, metal, propulsion-powered, a cock on one of it's arms and a paddle on the other.

Ropes. Gags. Chains. Clamps. Collars.
Great leather masks with spiralling horns and snarling snouts lay below a wall of brutal whips, floggers, crops and things I could never describe because before today, I had no idea this shit existed.

They surrounded me on perfectly polished cherry-wood shelves, platoons of debauchery come to really shit up my day.

A bed was there too, underneath a mirrored ceiling, nestled at the far wall, intricately carved with shining black bedding and chains of gold at each towering poster.
So many pillows.

At-least the ugly metal exam table looked ridiculously out of place with it's shackles at each end. "Nuh—uh. I'm gonna pass—."

I did the perfectly reasonable thing anyone would do.

I tried to escape.

My flustered hand furiously tugged the locked, lion-head door knob. "Agatha! Let me out, you bitch!" I screamed. "Don't do this to me! Because I know where you fuckin' live!"

I pushed. I pulled. I clawed. I pounded on the wood with the entire might of my burning biceps until I was a ragged heap riddled with splinters.
Fuck, I even shouldered it.

If I couldn't run.

Then I'd fight.

With a giant gust of air I slung myself towards the darkness, but all I found were the huge bay windows alight with purple stars and a low-slung moon.

"Show yourself, Vorden!" I roared through a broken breath as I winced at the heat from the crackling fire. "You coward sack of shit hidin' in the dark, where are you?!"