Page 46 of Killer Bones

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about this kinky fraternity we’re going to visit after the election. I’ve only been once, to the party they held in Marseilles, and I think you’ll fit right in. You’ll love it.”

I stroke her hair until she calms and relaxes into the rhythm of sleep, then I close my eyes and dream of all the filthy things I will make her do for me, once she is healed.

19

Izzy

Judging by the roar and the whipping of dust on my back, the helicopter must have taken off behind us,. I’m wearing a blindfold, and Adelmo has guided me this far with a hand on my shoulder.

“Stay there,” he murmurs. “Don’t forget I’m Diablo if you speak of me. You are Cinders. We don’t use our names here.” His fingers are at the knot then the blindfold is removed. “Come.”

We’re on a white-walled pathway that takes a slight bend to the left before opening onto a wide driveway. Opposite is a white, two-story castle affair with towers at either end. Though the tops of them are reimagined turrets with stepped terraces like Lego bricks, this makes me wonder if we are somewhere with real castles, such as Spain. The journey from London by private jet then chopper has been long and tedious, and I was blindfolded in the helicopter.

I have no real idea where we are, which Adelmo says is deliberate.

Some of these CNC Fraternity members are paranoid about being unmasked.

“Spain?” I venture out loud.

“You know I can’t say. If I did, I’d have to leave you here in their private dungeon, to be eaten by griffins.” With hand at mouth, he mimes some monster chomping on me.

I eyeroll and shake my head. My long hair is tied into a thick plait, and it slips over my corset at the front.

“Follow.” He guides me to the edge of the driveway, where we wait for a black limousine to cruise past. He sighs sadly. “Your one job was to laugh at my jokes and suck my cock when asked.”

Is this about the griffin? It has taken me a while to realize this man has a weird sense of humor.

“That’s two jobs.”

“Your two jobs then. Walk.”

After crossing the driveway, we climb a grand stairway where overhead spotlights flicker across the steps and glaze everyone’s hair with gold. Other guests throng about or climb with us. Some are in classic BDSM gear, black latex, leather, buckles and straps, gags, and leashes. Others are like Adelmo and me, roleplaying warriors or animals, anime characters, or maybe gods. I am sure I saw a Thor and a Medusa.

Adelmo wears a long brown leather coat over post-apocalyptic knight armor—replica shredded chainmail, black vest, and breeches, all in lighter materials than real armor. His scorched-earth short hair with shaven symbols, the black kohl around his eyes, and his plentiful scars make him look fearsome.

He is fearsome. I know this and have my own scars to prove it.

I chose a purple warrior’s garb—a low-cut, satin-and-metal corset, a swishy, ultra-short skirt, and buckle-adorned purple leggings. The chainsaw katana sheathed at my back had to be checked by the guards but, like Adelmo’s, it’s merely plastic. Purple-and-‘steel’ arm bracers and some gemstone trinkets complete my costume.

Though cosplay warriors, we are too ordinary and non-kinky for this party.

Once past the metal detector and the door guards, in their Victorian-era suits, we stand with a wide corridor running away ahead of us. Thick white columns form a colonnade that also separates the corridor into semi-private spaces.

We pass a girl in a white tutu and ballerina costume sitting on a platform atop a square column. A chain leash attached to her leather collar prevents her from escaping. It’s bizarre, but her leashed capture, and the day-of-the-dead skull mask she wears, are in keeping with the sado-masochistic theme of this party.

“That reminds me.” Adelmo draws us into a different alcove, pulls a purple satin bag from his coat. “Happy birthday, Izzy. The rest of my present comes afterward, if you behave. Kneel for me.”

When I kneel, he draws a black collar from the bag.

Rotating it slowly, he lets me read the writing. A thread of diamonds spells out words in script: IZZY is written near the dog tag—a gold heart that swings with the movement. Turning the collar further reveals My Kink Kitten, etched in red.

I guess no one else can see my name? Maybe showing it doesn’t count because I’m not one of the members.

I wait, willingly. Kneeling has become a routine for us since the day of the bloodbath—kneeling while he advises me of upcoming activities or rewards me. If it were not for our mutual respect and love of this kinky relationship, this would never have settled as it has into such a natural rhythm.

“Will you be behaving?” He inclines an eyebrow.

“I will, sir. Mostly.” Mostly because the key in this is how much I enjoy the resistance, the ability to say no and struggle against him. The feel of the collar going on my neck and his warm hands and blunt fingers buckling it is a thrill I will never tire of. His calluses scrape my skin.