Hellraiser: The Will of One

The final Chapter..thank you for your patience. Enjoy.

Chapter 13: Bargains and Endgame Part 1

It was eight thirty-five, Friday night, and Harold was in a fit. Late from the office on the most important night of his life and the auditors choose Friday to begin a recount. He stood there, fighting his rising anger and helplessness at the situation, he watched as they went over figures over and over for the better part of two hours, then closed the books with self-satisfied smirks, eager to get to the pub for drinks and skirt-chasing. They were morons, Harold concluded; with no more love for the company than he had, only a love of covering their own asses, and increasing their individual profits. He sighed; there was no more love of an organization, only love for themselves.

He drove on, the traffic even at this time of night still hectic, hoping to reach the Goddess and not incur further wrath.

She had said after nine but was not specific, which meant any time after the stroke of the hour but gave her latitude to punish if she felt he was late. The black carved case of the Flagellum on the seat next to him flashed its lacquered surface in reflection of the street’s lights, vivid splashes of blue and red neon as he drove, increasing his speed to match his desire. He had to slow down, knew it would not do to have the police stop him for a traffic violation, and again risk the same said wrath. But impatience was rising in him like flood waters over a dam wall, threatening to spill over, and he could not afford to look hurried. The Goddess disliked a man who looked too eager.

Finally, after winding through narrow streets, some not even wide enough to support parking on both sides and flowing traffic, he was there; Number 11, Rillington Place. He parked the car and walked across the street, tugging his suit jacket closed. Late fall always brought about the chill in the air, but this time the heat in his own mind kept him warm. He walked up to her place, still he wanted to move her to fancier digs, but she was adamant about liking where she was. He stopped before the lair of his Goddess, looked up from the street. The familiar brown front door was nondescript as always, the peephole visible but no other indication of what lay behind that door could be seen. Harold checked his watch, nine oh three. He’d made it. He almost knocked when he realized something.

Dammit, he’d forgotten the gift! He ran back to the car, rounding its front end as he fumbled for the keys in his pocket. Mumbling curses, he opened the car door and retrieved her tribute, ignoring the looks from a couple walking arm in arm, wondering what the man was cursing so much for. He pulled out the case, slamming to door shut in an angered outburst and walked across the street again, trying to calm himself. He could not look hurried, and certainly not appear to be angry when she opened the door to let him in. That would be disastrous.

He reached the step again, walked up, took one last breath to calm his nerves and rang the bell.

The door opened, and the first thought Harold had was...Blue lighting, why blue lighting?

She stood there, looking at him, draped in her now familiar black robe. “Well...come in.”

Harold almost beamed with delight. It was a childish look, he was certain, but he didn’t care, she’d allowed him back to her lair; she could have been holding syringes filled with acid and he wouldn’t have made a qualm. “Thank you,” he replied too quickly, walking in. He noticed at once her hair was worn up, held into place by six-inch long needles. She shut the door behind him just as he entered, locking it tightly, her eyes scanning him with cold determination and appraisal.

“Is that my gift, Harold?” She asked expectantly.

He looked down at the case, stammered. “Y-Yes, it is, Goddess.” He held it out to her, smiling.

“Not yet.” Kirsty ordered. “Downstairs. I want it to be…special. This night will be special, Harold…for both of us.” She smiled at him, a rising eyebrow and the slight lift in her lips indicating…what? Harold couldn’t be sure, but he was certain he wanted it, no matter what it was. Kirsty gestured the way down, to the lair, and he stepped lightly knowing the path from many visits.

Once through the door that led to her dungeon, he could sense a noticeable change in the room. The floors had been recently polished, and the blue lighting scheme followed him down here as well, only the glow of some candles brought any sort of cheer to the surroundings. And most confusing, a small bed, freshly sheeted was there close to the cross. He was confused.

“Goddess,” he began, licking his lips nervously,”the lighting’s changed.”

“Yes.” She replied, a whisper completely seductive reached his left ear. “Psychodrama, Slave. We’re going to play a new game, this time. Something I’ve never tried before.”

The revelation of this to Harold sent his heart into overdrive. He was being tested for a new torment? This went beyond his wildest hopes. “I-I hope to be worthy of your new game.” He went on, but she silenced him with a glove to the back of his neck.

“No more talking until I say so. Now strip.” She commanded, pointing to a chair for the deposit of his clothes. Harold followed to the letter, placed the case on a table, silently removing everything he had on, unashamed of his nakedness in front of her; he’d been this way so many times before, it scarcely mattered by now. He stood there, hands at his sides, waiting.

She looked over him, still a perfect physical specimen, nodding her head in approval. “You’ve kept yourself up, Slave.” She noted with amusement. “That pleases me.” Her hands went to the belt of her robe, she looked at him squarely. “Maybe this will please you.”

She undid her robe in front of him, and let it fall. Harold looked down for a moment, knowing she thought it ill when he gazed on her for too long, took it as a sign of disrespect. “Look at me, Slave.” She commanded. “Look at your Goddess and kneel.”

Harold raised his head, and went to his knees automatically. Her outfit was different this time, less revealing, but somehow, far more enticing than he’d ever imagined something like this could be.

The corset of the outfit almost covered her form neck to waist, high-collared and somehow he sensed thicker than normal. Stitched in a way to represent her own form and musculature, it was ribbed along her sides but open at the middle and exposed her breasts, which Harold had always thought perfect, in symmetry and size. A flowing black leather skirt attached to the corset, split in front, offering her body servant a glance at what lay underneath. A leather chastity belt encircled her, covering her sex, but conspicuously open in the center, it ringed her labia in spikes. The boots covered her thighs, the entire outfit giving an air of absolute untouchabiility and was yet to him wonderfully accessible, if you didn’t mind shredding your cock to try and be so bold as to enter her. Long gloves completed it, save for a tool belt of sorts bolted to the front of her corset, holding several menacing-looking objects.

Looking closer now, Harold also discerned one other detail. He left nipple held a silver ring in it. She had undergone some form of ritual before he’d ever been welcomed back. It was as if she was somehow new to him, even her demeanor was different…somehow, more aloof, calculating. She walked closer to him, took hold of his law in one hand. She looked down at him expectantly. “Well?” she asked, it was absolutely rhetorical.

“Goddess, I…you’re more beautiful now than ever.” He said, and the shock in his heart told him this was utter truth he was speaking to her now, baring his soul. “Far, far more than a worthless shit like me deserves.”

She tsked, shaking her head. “No, Slave. You don’t realize how important you are to me.” She smiled, and for one moment, Harold saw something in her eyes…sadness? No, innocence, touched with regret. Then it flashed away from her visage, as she placed a collar around his neck, buckling it into place. “Shall we begin?” she looked down at him.

The eyes that met hers were filled with utter adoration. “Yes, Goddess.” He replied, kissing her hand.

She walked to the table, running a hand over the case. “Is this it, or are there contents?” She asked him perfunctorily.

“Open it, Goddess, please.” Harold begged, kneeling on the polished flooring, his every breath a measure of sincerity. This was the moment he’d waited so long for; the ultimate expression of his desire.

The Goddess of Misery undid the latch on the case and opened it. The lid raised and it was revealed. Kirsty gasped in surprise. “Harold…this is…exquisite.”

He practically beamed again, smiling widely. “Do you like it?” he asked, ever the eager puppy. “Please tell me you like it.”

Kirsty raised the flogger from its case and held it like a mink stole. Her eyes roamed over the details of the handle, its carvings, and the braided straps, each ending in lethal-looking barbs and slicers. The pommel shaped like a phallus drew a raised eyebrow. “Am I pegging you tonight?” she asked quietly, a touch of mirth in her voice. “I will treasure this, Harold, my precious Slave.” She walked back to him, took hold of the ring in his collar. “Stand.”

He did as ordered, a breathy reply on his lips, when suddenly, without warning, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

It was long, that kiss, full and inviting, the kind one gives a lover who’s been left alone a while. Harold was shocked into stillness by it. He didn’t know how to react to it exactly, so he let her kiss him, gave a little back in response. She stopped, broke the kiss, looked at him. “Thank You.”

His mind, in spite of, or perhaps because of that kiss, went quickly to facts. “It’s called the Flagellum Iniquitatus.” He began, wanting to impress her with his knowledge of the lore behind the object. “It was made for the Marquis de Sade, but from what the seller told me, never used.”
Kirsty stared at Harold a moment, confused. “That old?... It looks brand new.”

“It had to be steeped…in special oils, then cleaned off and dried to look that way, and to...be used.” Harold glanced at her, hope pouring out of his eyes.

Kirsty looked at him, understanding of his intent flooded into her. “That thing, used on your flesh?” she asked, it was almost incredulous. “It would kill you…I can’t have that.”

Harold dropped to his knees, his heart bursting to tell her everything. “ You must understand, if you use it, my dreams come true. Mine…and yours.” He bowed himself to her, exposing his back, forehead touching the floor. “Please, Goddess, I beg you, I’m pleading…you’re all I ever wanted in my life, I’ve searched so long for the one. You’re that one, my Goddess.” Tears streamed down his face, but he didn’t care, he would bare his soul to her, nothing else mattered. “So long. Please. End my search.”

Kirsty realized what was happening, what his pleading truly meant. It came through to her as absolute clarity. He was finished, he wanted the sacrifice, for Harold was indeed the one she was searching for as well. And this put the final turn on the screw. They were for each other, in ways they both understood and wanted. No better match could have been made. She gripped the handle of the Flagellum. It felt good and right and solid in her hands, almost as if it was made for her.

“Rise up from the floor, Slave.” She ordered, her own voice breathy with anticipation, excitement and arousal rising in her like a tornado. She looked him in the eyes when his face met hers. “There is no going back, you understand this. No cries to stop, no safe words. This is for real. Do you understand me?”

Harold’s eyes shone with understanding and devotion. He was devoted to her, and he knew there was no turning back. “Yes, Goddess, I understand.”
She pulled him up from the floor, the knowledge this was the end of it all giving her strength to do what she must. She walked towards the cross, buckling his collar to the upright. He raised his arms to the crossbeam, and she deftly buckled them into place, his ankles following suit. It was a mockery of the crucifixion, the irony lost on neither of them. Harold suddenly remembered. “Sixty-six times!” he said almost all at once.
Kirsty stopped a moment. “What?”

“For it to work, you have to strike me…sixty-six lashes, Goddess.”

“For it to-“

“Work. For what it’s made for to happen. He told me so.”

What was this one he referred to, she wondered, did the demon visit him as well? Kirsty’s face appeared to him suddenly over his left shoulder, to scan his eyes. “This will be the end, Harold. You’ll die from blood loss alone.” She swallowed, and somehow, despite his pleas and agreement, she hesitated. Did she really have what it took, even after everything she’d been though, her whole life? Now in the moment, after all the preparations, she wasn’t sure. She walked around the cross, faced him, she needed to see his eyes fully, to make sure he understood.

“I know it.” Harold said flatly. “In my suit…there’s a letter. I…contracted a man to handle everything when you’re done. Just call him. It’s all paid for, no questions asked.”

“Somehow, I don’t think it’ll be necessary.” Kirsty replied forlornly. “You’re sure of this, Harold? I understand things like this…If I start, I won’t stop.” She asked with utter finality, and she knew there was no going back. Her studies in college had told her of other ways to summon them. This must be one of them, and she now held it in her hands.

“Don’t ask me again, Goddess,” Harold replied, he took a breath, then, “I’m sure.”

Kirsty knew what he expected, what he wanted, and that must have been why he kept wanting her to push him harder, not to let up, no matter what she could think up. He’d been preparing himself for this.

“As you wish, Slave.” She knew what to do. “Time to Play.”

Part 2 arrives tomorrow.