Thursday, December 13, 2012

The "new company" unveiled ...

Well after several long months of not being able to talk more about "the new company" I can FINALLY reveal who they are:

Dermal Synthetics specializes in extremely high end realistic silicone masks with a focus on "average" looks that will allow the wearer to blend into any situation. I hope that in the near future they will also do some "good-looking" or "lovely" masks. A truly "handsome guy" (like this) would be very much appreciated!

The first five masks the company has released are a good representation of the breadth and depth of the services that they will provide; more masks in different ethnicities and age groups will be released.

So without further ado, here are their initial offerings:

"Derrick" - the young black guy,

"Martin" - the slightly overweight white guy,

"Jae" - the young Asian guy,

Emma, the white girl

Denise, the black girl

Being the superior fabrication process, Dermal has also licensed the Duraflex technology from Composite Effects. I hope to see (and purchase) many more masks from them in the future!

Friday, October 12, 2012

My New Creator

Enjoy the story ... If you sit bolt upright in bed, covered in sweat, I've done my job...


The day I decided on fulfilling my dreams of several years, everything went smoothly, if not exactly according to my own plans for my future.

I had up till now lead a perfectly normal gay life, with a rather successful professional career — I am, or used to be, in the movie business — and a more than satisfying sexual one, unattached and carefree, with the good body of a man of 34, a youthful and straight appearance and special interests that attracted a surprisingly large number of guys.

At work, no one would suspect what was hidden behind my impeccable suit and tie. At the local fetish club - for gay men only - I had no problem, exhibitionist that I am, to put on display my naked body, which I kept shaved from the neck down, ever since my very first sexual encounter involved a mutual shaving orgy, a little less than 20 years ago. Ten years later, a casual acquaintance introduced me to a tattooist and piercer with an almost mythical reputation in my circles. He turned out to be an intuitive and emphatic guy with great professional skill and a limitless imagination, and he performed my first tattoo, a large, multicolored lizard making its way up my right calf, and my first body jewellery, steel rings, one in each of my tits.

A couple of years later, my shoulders were covered with the results of our collaboration, my ideas, perhaps induced by him, developed and sometimes transformed in his creative mind. I remember having told him that perhaps he knew me and my fantasies better than I did myself, and his strange, mocking expression with which he reacted to what I had said. From then on, until yesterday, my visits became as frequent as time and money would allow, and my body is now completely covered with tattoos, every inch of it from the neck down to my toes. Only hands, neck and face have been spared, for obvious reasons. My tits now carry twin rings, there are 30 rings inserted in my scrotum and I also wear a navel ring, a Prince Albert, an Ampallang and a large Guiche. 

Maybe because our relationship, deep as it is, never developed into a sexual one, most of my tattoos would be considered by most people quite obscene: the gigantic cock covering most of my back, making my buttocks seem like a decorated ballsac, mythical animals like unicorns, centaurs, and sphinxes involved in sexual activities, dancing dicks, snakes ending in cockheads, leather scene paraphernalia... only my genitalia carries no imagery, the scrotum and my uncut cock colored an even bright red, like blood.

Until yesterday, the day I decided to take the consequences of the fantasies that our relationship had formed in my mind. I had prepared for the occasion by selling my belongings, announcing at work that I planned to take a leave of absence for at least six months and renting a small unfurnished flat, a couple of blocks away from the tattoo parlor. Carrying a dispatch case containing my bank account number, an authorization for my friend to use whatever he felt necessary to cover his expenses for my metamorphosis, and a signed slave contract of sorts, stating in not so many details the nature of my deepest felt urges, I walked, still wearing my suit and tie, to his house, pressed the button and waited.


Although my arrival was unannounced, my friend — whom I now think of as My Creator — reacted as though he had expected me, which of course he might have, in a sense. Instead of shaking my hand or hugging me — our usual way of greeting each other — he looked at me intensely but with a blank expression, approached me, took my wrists and locked my arms behind my back in a firm grip, forced me inside and brought me to his studio. He studied the contents of my dispatch case, nodded slightly, and produced a knife that he always carried in a holster attached to his body harness, the only thing he ever wore apart from heavy boots when relaxing at home or working in his studio.

Within minutes, my expensive clothes was in strips and disposed of in a waste bin along with my shoes. Without a word My Creator ordered me to lie down, front up, on his black leather work bench. Once on my back, I completely relaxed, closed my eyes and tried in my mind to anticipate his next move. Not until a stinging, but not unpleasant, pain emanated from my cock, I realized that a catheter was entering my piss slit and forced deep into my intestines, or so it felt. I opened my eyes and saw that it ended in a plastic bag. 

His firm grip around my neck forced me on my feet again and my body bent over the bench, stomach down and shaved ass exposed. Enema has never been my bag, but I realized its necessity although my body shivered in a pang of nausea when a butt plug was inserted in my anus, forcing me to keep the fluid inside me — but for how long?

On my feet again, standing straight and keeping the butt plug in its place was not done without struggle. The catheter and its still empty plastic bag in front of me, I was kept on my feet until my hands were cuffed with heavy steel cuffs behind my back and my legs connected with a steel bar, ending in heavy steel bands around my ankles, enabling me to move my feet no more than a couple of inches.

It took forever to "walk" the short corridor, ending in a steel door behind which, I knew, was the cell, my home for who knows how long. My Creator firmly directed me with a leash connected to my Prince Albert and once inside the cell, a windowless room with a black tiled floor, concrete walls equipped with an assortment of hooks on different levels, unfurnished but for a steel basin in a corner and a shower stall, I was allowed to hear his voice, a warm, manly voice with a sharp edge to it, for the first time since my arrival. "Memorize it", he ordered, indicating the small space, "and don't move". He left me standing in the middle of the room, bare feet cold against the tiled floor, turned, left the room, locking the iron gate behind him.

My Creator returned, an eternity later, carrying a wooden case the size of a shoe box. He opened it, rather ceremoniously, I thought, and felt a sudden urge to giggle, in spite of my position, but managed, luckily, to suppress it. I was ordered to open my mouth wide as he produced from the case a black rubber ball, the size of a small apple. With one finger he pressed my tongue to the bottom of my oral cavity, pressed the ball behind my teeth and sealed my mouth with a stripe of transparent adhesive tape. As a final touch, he dressed me in a tight black rubber hood, which seemed completely closed until I realized I could breathe, if with some difficulty, through tiny holes for the nostrils. I was to wear it always, I was told, hearing his voice as from a distance through the rubber, except for the daily body shaving routine which I was expected to perform myself. And as long as there were no other circumstances that prevented me from wearing it. In my mind, I tried to imagine what other circumstances he might be referring to. The thought alone excited me almost to ejaculation.

"Find the basin and remove it", he said, referring to the butt plug, and the relief when the fluid finally flushed out of me and into the steel basin made me euphoric. I also managed to find the shower stall and the ice cold water splashing on my body seemed to enhance the euphoria. High, without drink or drugs, I bent down to have a new butt plug installed and then lay down on the tiled floor as ordered — and made my first serious mistake that day. He had told me to find the lowest hooks fitted in the concrete walls, and I simply could not remember where to find them. My Creator used his booted feet to give me directions and as I finally reached the goal, my body felt bruised and sore. The euphoria was gone.

He stretched my arms behind my back far enough to be able the attach the handcuffs to the hook. Then, with a firm grip at my ankles, he adjusted my body in a strange angle so that my leg cuffs reached the hook in the opposite wall. With head tilted backwards, I could feel there was a wall behind me, though too distant for me to lean on. I felt certain this was the position I had to endure for many nights to come...


Amazingly enough, I managed some light sleep and woke up sensing a presence in my cell. My instinct told me it was not My Creator, but the person released me, brought me to my feet and led me gently out of my cell to a large room. The person — I felt certain it was a man — removed the rubber hood, the gag that filled my mouth and released my arms from its bondage, and when my eyes had adjusted to the sudden light I recognized him as Chris, one of the bartenders at the local fetish club. We were standing in the middle of a luxurious bathroom. Hot water steamed in the bathtub, thick black towels lay on a small table along with shaving equipment. I opened my mouth to greet him, but he put a finger to my lips and shook his head. I looked at him and it dawned on me that my stay with My Creator would be a fairly silent one, on my part at least. His face, fully tattooed as his bare skull and the rest of his body — clearly My Creator's work — showed some amusement at my reaction when I discovered that, in the region where I wore some bright red protruding man's meat, he wore — nothing but his tattoos! I had had no idea that the guy had been nullified; I had interpreted his refusal to, in opposition to some of his collegues, tend the bar in the nude as pure prudishness. Was this what was in store for me, too? I certainly had not included the prospect in my slave contract, simply stated the term Body Modifications, indicating some general directions and otherwise left the matter open to interpretation... The fear I felt must have shown in my face, since a broad smile entered Chris's studded lips when he noticed my cock suddenly come to life, stiffen and stay hard. Chris poured the content of the plastic bag into a drinking glass, repositioned the bag, told me this was breakfast, stayed to make certain I would finish my "meal" and left me to attend to the coarse stubble covering my body.

The body shaving procedure had since long lost its erotic importance for me, it had become a necessity, a daily routine, and quite a tedious one at that. I had contemplated electrolysis, at least for my chest and the pubic area, but been put off by the costs as well as by some reports I had read about its effectiveness. However, the dream of being completely and permanently rid of all body hair excited me, and I had included the possibility in my slave contract. Maybe there is a method that would release me from this daily ordeal. It cost valuable time, too — just removing and re-inserting the 30 scrotum rings took about ten minutes, and there was no way of taking short cuts — I really enjoyed the uninterrupted smoothness of my body, and so had several other guys, throughout the years.

When the door opened, an hour or so after my entrance in the bathroom, and My Creator entered, water was still dripping from my body — I had had no time to use the towel. He seemed his usual self, the harshness of yesterday all but gone. He hugged me, but put his hand firmly on my mouth when I tried to tell him how happy I felt about my confidence in him and his ability to interpret my deepest and most secret wishes. He knew without my telling him, I felt certain, as I was certain that I wanted to comply, wanted to please him. There was little choice, of course, especially since I knew deep in my heart that, whatever he choose to do to me, in the end I would feel rewarded, as if given the gift of gifts.

And then he fucked me. Not brutally, not gently, but a genuine horse's fuck, me on all fours, he with his huge meat up my ass, the steel ring of his body harness teasing my sphincter. He did not come, though, and his cock was still fully erect when he replaced the butt plug. He reached for a towel and started to dry my neatly trimmed hair on my head and face while thrusting his cock into my mouth. My hair was dry when, finally, his cum exploded down my throat.

With a firm grip around my neck he had me keep his cock in my mouth as he motioned me, still on my knees, to a corner occupied by a barber's chair. He pulled out, and entering the chair took some time, my legs being cuffed and all. My hands were strapped to the elbow rests and from a cupboard he produced a head harness, complete with a dildo which he forced into my mouth. He strapped my harness on to the back of the chair so that my head became immobile, then lowered the back of the chair, for better access to my face.

He certainly had found one method for permanent hair removal. Tears streamed down my face when, with a simple set of pliers, he pulled the hair off my eyelids, straw by straw, until they were completely naked. He was careful not to leave the roots and no hair will ever grow on my eyelids again. At least I hoped so, I was not convinced I wanted to go through this ordeal again. He'd rather nullify me, I thought, hoping that he had not added mind-reading to his many other talents. Some time later, my eyebrows were gone, too, not quite as painfully, but still — the straight appearance, of which I had been so careful, was lost forever.

My head was released, the dildo removed along with the head harness and my body placed in an upright position. I could breathe again, my tears had dried, and I must admit that I enjoyed the familiar sound of electric hair clippers emanating from somewhere behind me. The feel of the cold steel of the clippers on my neck aroused me again and with no mirror in which to watch the result my mind started wandering in anticipation of my approaching baldness. My upper lip felt oddly cold when, with a quick final move with the clippers, My Creator had bared it of my thick dark brown moustache. He ended the session by, wearing black rubber gloves, applying some cream on the area where all that remained of hair was a short itchy stubble. He put some of it on my bare chest, too, and the cream covered areas stung terribly. He left the room and did not return until time had come to put me in the shower. I could but watch the disgusting mess of cream mixed with short hair running down my body and disappearing into the sewer..

Judging from the meal I was served for lunch, my stay with My Creator would include liquid nourishment only, if for the purpose of minimizing the need for removing my butt plug or of increasing my production of breakfast I will never know.

The evening meal that day was served to me in my confinement in my cell, where I was brought soon after the hair denuding process. Always wearing the rubber hood was more comfortable now that my head of hair was gone, or perhaps I just had gotten used to it. A couple of days after the first session, I checked my eyelids carefully while shaving my body, my face and head. No hair, thank God. Also the area where my eyebrows used to grow still felt smooth and hairless. My chest, where My Creator had had his experimental field, still produced hair, but more scarce and softer, thinner.

The results encouraged My Creator to repeat the procedure, and after a few more days, I lost track of time, and now I only know that permanent hair removal is a slow and rather painful process. I started longing for the day when My Creator would be convinced that hair would not return anywhere on my body, the day when the monotony of my life would stop. Then one day Chris did not appear to bring me to the bathroom and feed me breakfast. He arrived, later than usual, to my cell to serve my breakfast, left almost immediately, and I started counting the days again. With the exception of the less and less frequent occasions when it became necessary to remove my butt plug I was kept in the cell, in my sleeping position. It later turned out that My Creator had played a trick on me, simply by feeding me irregularly, sometimes double meals each day, sometimes not at all; the eight days I counted until the day I was finally brought to the bathroom again could have been anything between four and twelve days. Not that time mattered much, in my present position.

Chris never wore anything while indoors and no one else was allowed in the cell area, so from the sound of footsteps I knew something new was going to happen. Yes, this time My Creator had come to fetch me, thus breaking the monotony of the past days. He woke me from the semi-conciousness I had become used to call my sleep and brought me to my feet, directing me in the now familiar direction of the bathroom.

An extremely careful examination of my body followed, obviously to his satisfaction judging by the way he fucked me that morning. After the act, I was placed in the barber's chair again, this time with my legs up the back of the chair on top of which he secured the leg cuffs. Then he undid my handcuffs, brought my arms in front of my body and attached them again, told me to hold my arms straight in front of me, lifted my upper body until my hands reached my feet. It was an awkward position, and I could see no purpose for it until I realized that, if I stretched my tongue maximally, I was able to lick the top of my cock. It stank of piss and tasted heavenly. "Go ahead", he said, "all the way". I struggled hard to come closer to my erected, burning manhood and finally managed to close my lips around my cockhead. Moaning in excitement I sucked until my whole body seemed to participate in an eternal eruption. Semen pumped down my throat, I didn't waste a drop of it. Exhausted, I would have fallen out of the chair were it not for my arms and legs being secured. 

Finally My Creator released me and started the preparations for the final treatment.

As it turned out, he now declared my body hairless. I was allowed to touch, and it certainly felt smooth all over and in spite of everything I felt my cock quiver somewhat when my hand slid over my denuded skull. I felt a pang of fear when I discovered stubble circling my anus, the only area too sensitive to be subjected to the depilatory cream, but My Creator only shrugged, declaring that it would be taken care of. I knew what it implied — electrolysis! And the procedure was all prepared for.

He had to silence me for the duration of the electrolysis session — I would otherwise have stirred up the whole neighborhood. It involved a burning pain like nothing I had ever experienced before, and lasted forever. It was past dinner time when My Creator finally declared that he was satisfied that from this moment my all-over baldness would be permanent.

I did not sleep much that night. My mind kept wandering to the events of the day. I had been allowed not only to feel my hairless body with my hands but to watch my new appearance in the full length mirror that was kept behind an adjustable tiled wall in the bathroom. And I had been allowed to prove my maleness by sucking myself dry, thus feeding me a much needed extra snack, to ejaculate for the first time since I rang his doorbell that fateful evening. I had to get used to the idea that with all certainty it would also be the last time.

A First Final Step

I was left in solitude for a few days, using the time contemplating, reminiscing and anticipating my future. I was not bored any more, just relaxed, in spite of my awkward body position, in perfect harmony with what was to come. I didn't even worry about being nullified any more, if that should be the choice of My Creator. The thought even appealed to me, and maybe some day I would ask him to do it, beg even. But still I wished our ideas were compatible, that he at least would be patient enough to go step by step. Later that evening, Chris arrived, removed the plastic bag that contained my piss and attached the leash to my Prince Albert as usual, but this time he directed me in the opposite direction from the bathroom. An elevator brought us to the basement and judging from the muffled sounds that entered my ears through the rubber hood we entered a room packed with people. Chris, or someone, removed my handcuffs and my arms were tied, wide apart, to something that seemed to be a slightly tilted table. My legs were secured too, with cold steel bands around the ankles and just above my knees. Finally, a waistband prevented me from moving at all.

The light blinded me at first when my hood was removed and it took some time before my eyes could begin to scan the room. I was on a stage! There was a crowd out there, leather and rubber Masters, some of them accompanied by their slaves. They were cheering at me, or perhaps rather at what was going to happen to me, whatever that might be. The cheering grew to a roar when My Creator appeared, wearing a tight fitting leather hood, black rubber gloves, his usual boots and body harness, from which his cock protruded, revealing his exaltation. He looked at me intensely for a moment before ordering me to close my eyes, then fitted a rubber blindfold with solid rubber cups that pressed firmly against my hairless eyelids, hard but not painfully so.

My mouth was forced open and something smooth and cold was put in the cavity. I felt his finger probing my body, finally reaching my stiff meat, which he attached to my stomach by connecting my Prince Albert to my navel ring. Then his gloved hand tugged at my scrotum and I realized that he had begun to remove my scrotum rings — I could hear the clinking sound as they all landed on a steel tray beside the table.

Oddly enough, I was unprepared when a stinging pain emanated from my scrotum. A muffled sound was all I could produce, thanks to the unidentified objects that filled my mouth, but soon I felt no need to scream. The attack of the scalpel, unbearably painful as it was, at the same time represented a glorious dream coming true and as I felt the scrotum slowly slide open, I was proud and excited, my cock swelled against my stomach and the butt plug seemed to perform a hysterical dance in my asshole, my buttocks working hard to keep it in place. The crowd was silent now, as if attending mass, only a soft excited mumble was heard when My Creator removed my left testicle, obviously presenting it to the audience like he would a trophy. The display of the liberated right one caused a prolonged applause, and some even dared shouts of appreciation. The sound level increased considerably when My Creator forced my mouth open to remove the smooth objects hidden there, only to replace them with something warm and rather slimy which I realized must be the nuts he had just removed. My dazed mind could not figure out how the much larger steel replicas would fit my tortured scrotum, but obviously they did. I could feel his fingers slide the faked nuts into my scrotum, one by one, and stretch the skin around them. I had to fight not to faint when he closed the scrotum with what felt like innumerable little stitches .

I smelled smoke, and my blindfold was removed. I could see a small fire on the stage and, when as ordered I once again opened my mouth, my original testicles were put to roast on the glow. When done they were auctioned and the highest bidder offered along with a large sum of money the manhood of his two young slaves, who, standing straight with their dog collar chained to their cock rings so tight that they had to lower their heads, and with hands cuffed behind their backs were each fed one of my roasted nuts. I had to watch them chewing eagerly on my manhood and tried to imagine my nuts passing down their throats and entering their stomachs, in front of which their erected cocks stood at attention.

At last I was released from my confinement, my scrotum aching, my cock released from the navel ring. The hood was back in duty and I was brought, again with a firm tug at Prince Albert, back to my quarters, back to confinement.

I could not tell you how many days and nights I spent in my cell, hooded and tied up as usual. I only know that I had company. I could sense the presence of two other victims of My Creator's creativity, inhabiting the cells next to mine. I also came to realize that My Creator is a man of surprises and improvisations. It was proved to me by two unexpected visits, both of them including the visit of his cock in my mouth and both bearing evidence of the tattoo needle in action. As a result, the soles of my feet, my hands, yes, even the fingers and the palms, afterwards showed images that matched the ones covering my body up to my neckline.

The Second Final Step

The healing process took its time. Consequently, My Creator showed a rare trace of frustration the day I was summoned for my second performance before an audience. Once again I was strapped down to the surgery table. Once again I could hear the crowd, excited in anticipation of tonight's show. Once again I could feel My Creator's hands probing my entire body. This time, though, I kept my rubber hood on. This time, there were no spare parts to be kept in my mouth. Then I could feel his hands, and his instrument, remove my Prince Albert and my Ampallang. I knew then that he would perform according to my wishes, that he had interpreted my hint of the slave contract as I had intended.

Still I cried out when the scalpel with at sudden circular move removed my foreskin, exposing my black tattooed cockhead. By sheer force of will a numbness spread through my whole body by the time the cold steel of the scalpel attacked my piss slit and worked itself through my black cockhead, splitting it in two equal parts. Dazed as if heavily sedated or high on drugs I could feel the knife working itself slowly, painstakingly down the shaft of my cock. Was this happening in reality, or was it just a dazed dream? I concentrated on my fantasy about the visual effect of My Creator's performance and on the pure joy of having a secret dream come true. The burning pain still entered my consciousness now and then, so the ordeal must be real enough, and I knew that there was no way of preventing the sharp steel to do its job. It would continue, relentlessly, until it had found its goal at the base of my cock. The sound of the cheering audience, that reached my ears as from a distance, helped me wander off in a fantasy again, away from the pain, the absurdity, the glory of what was happening, right then and there.

Still, I must have passed out, for the next thing I know is that I found myself alone in my cell. I woke up an a cot, not wearing my hood, and realized that I no longer was kept immobile — the restraints on my arms and feet were gone, too. The pain from my genitals had worn off somewhat, and I dared to look down at my body, only to see the bandages covering my crotch. The gauze bandage looked blindingly, obscenely white against my tattooed body.

The First Aesthetic Phase

That evening, I was served the first decent meal since my arrival at My Creator's house. As a reward for my courage, perhaps, or maybe just to prepare me for the next step of my transformation. I had hoped to meet the cheering audience again, the memory of their appreciation still vivid, but the next morning I was brought to the bathroom again, and secured to the barber's chair. I could not believe it. There was no hair growing on my body, I was sure of that. The next step would be to peel my skin off, but that shouldn't be the task of a barber, surely? My Creator entered, forced my mouth open and put behind my teeth something that looked like a wide steel cock ring, preventing me from closing my mouth. Then a strange man joined us, carrying a small suitcase. He approached me, used his thumb and forefinger to expose my teeth, nodded appreciatively and fetched an odd instrument from his suitcase.

Anyone who has had a tooth extracted without a sedative can imagine what I had to go through during the next few hours, before all mine were gone except for one in each corner of my mouth. For those the dentist used a tiny saw to cut them off close to my gums. A few hours later, most of the pain had vanished and a mirror helped me investigate the result of the dentist's efforts. My gums were a mess, but there was no actual bleeding any more. The four remaining teeth were capped in shining steel. As soon as my gums had healed, I would be able to use them as securing devices for the shining steel dentures, resting on a tray beside the barber's chair. I noticed that the fangs of the dentures were considerably larger than my original canine teeth.

Before he left, the dentist used his precise instruments to remove all my nails on hands and feet. The pain involved was even greater than the extraction of teeth, but I pressed my lips together so hard that my cheeks suck into my toothless mouth and I managed to suppress the urge to scream. With blood still dripping from feet and fingers I happened to look at the tray. There, beside my dentures, lay the items that would replace my 20 missing nails. Two inch long, sharp steel claws.

The Second Aesthetic Phase

A week later, my gums were ready to receive my dentures and it was time for me to appear in front of an audience again. This time I was placed center stage in the barber's chair and My Creator ordered me to open my mouth wide, so that the audience would have visual access to the shining contents of my mouth. Then he strapped me to the chair, secured my head in a heavy steel collar which replaced the top of the back of the chair. I heard a buzzing sound and felt a stinging pain when My Creator's tattoo needle started working at the base of my skull, just above the steel collar.

A couple of hours later I knew that he had filled every inch of my skull, my ears too, with tattoos. During the process, to avoid the pain, I had concentrated on trying to follow his movements to figure out the nature of the images that would stay on my skin for the rest of my life, but to no avail.

My Creator needed a break, and so did I. My head ached, and I was fed coffee and some aspirin. I was released from the chair, only to be ordered to approach the audience, where the outcome of my genital operation were demonstrated. My faked nuts rested separately in my now divided scrotum. They were not heavy — obviously not made of solid steel — but big enough to stretch the skin around them to even, tender ovals. He unfolded my divided cock, now completely healed, and to my surprise managed to bring it to full erection, the two halves pointing in different directions from my body. Then he ordered me back in the chair, and, starting on my forehead, worked his tattoo needle down my face until every inch, including the eyelids, had been touched by it.

I had thought that now the ordeal would be over, but not quite. To the crowd's audible amusement I cried out when My Creator started applying the red color on the insides of my split cock, changing to black when he reached the cockhead. As a final touch, he used the black for my lips, too.

When he released me from the chair, I knew that my neck must look almost obscenely bare against the tattoos that now covered the rest of my skin. I was standing up, oblivious of the uproar around me, contemplating the work of art he had performed on my hands to forget the throbbing pain in my face and skull, when I felt cold steel touch the skin of my neck. A clinking sound, and the steel necklace fit snugly, even tightly around the base of my neck. The procedure was repeated once, twice... until the fresh tattoos on my face and skull prevented any further development of the neck stretching procedure. My Creator assured the audience that he would resume his work, adding more rings, as soon as it would be physically possible for me to receive them.

I spent the healing period in my cell, my neck secured in a wooden contraption, not unlike a scaffold. I was checked out several times a day by Chris, who would not refrain from playing with my healing genitals as soon as he had a chance, and there was nothing I could do about it, not even a verbal protest. The swelling of my black lips had worn off some, but still just moving them was a struggle and, realizing my helplessness, I concentrated on watching — awed, resentful, fascinated — the elaborate, large tattoo that started at his anus, covered his demasculinized crotch, and spread over his stomach up to the navel; a surrealistic version of a female sex organ, surrounded by flames and an endless parade of happy little cocks, all individually drawn and all playfully performing some kind of wild, ritual dance.

Only once during that time I had the pleasure of My Creator's visit. At the end of the first week of the healing period he entered my cell, bringing with him a pair of tongs and a scalpel, brought me to a sitting position and ordered me to open my mouth. When he entered the pair of tongs between my still sore lips to stretch my tongue out, I thought for a horrible moment that not only was I expected not to speak, in a few minutes I would be unable to, for ever. As usual he would not reveal his plan before it was carried through, but when the operation was over, I realized that my tongue had been cut in two equal halves. It healed quickly, and by the time the last flake of dead skin fell from my lips I had learned to perform small playful tricks with my forked tongue, like squeezing my toothless gums or pressing the tongue to my lower lip until the two halves pointed in different directions. It would take some severe training before I was able to speak properly, though, but who cared? As long as I stayed with My Creator I wasn't supposed to, anyway. Before leaving my cell he skillfully used his surgical instrument on my toes and fingers, and that night I forgot all pain for the sight of my new claws.

The Final Aesthetic Phase

After my last public performance, speech training had met with another obstacle, as My Creator began the session by piercing the outer edge of my tongue — in the end it carried steel bars, twelve in all, shaped like tiny barbells. My tongue swelled immediately and for a moment I feared I would choke. It was a good thing, though, because concentrating on this fear made me care less about the thick needle penetrating my upper lip, right at the Cupid's bow. Unfortunately, my awareness of the here and now was higher when the measure was repeated on my lower lip, and when the wings of my nose were attacked, I could not stop the tears run from my eyes. He pierced the nose four times, twice in each wing, and inserted pins on with crooked steel horns, about an inch long, was attached. For the string between my nostrils he had designed one crooked steel bar, tips ending at the corners of my mouth for the upper hole, and a straight one for the lower one. 

Later I baptized the pair My Chevy-52, since, worn together, they resemble the front grill of that classic automobile.

After this ordeal, I hardly noticed the rather thick rings he placed in my earlobes, one in each. My fear of choking had vanished, although my tongue was still quite swollen, forcing me to keep my newly penetrated lips a bit apart. No more real pain was involved in that evening's session, but, as he finished it by adding four more "necklaces" to the six that already adorned my neck I thought I heard, inside my head, a cracking sound as if my spine had been disconnected.

Instead of bringing me back to my cell that evening, My Creator looked at me with a new, warm expression on his face and told me to follow him to his private apartment. He gave me my dentures, which I skillfully put in place, now handling my steel claws on my fingers as if I had been born with them, and followed him.

He had invited some guests for dinner, and for the first time since my arrival I was allowed to meet people from the outside, the real world, or so I thought. They all attended the party in different stages of nudity, and while being served soup and wine — I had to use a straw on account of my still sore mouth — I noticed that, after the first introduction, I was in the center of their attention no more, and secretly started studying them. Still, not until the handsome guy to the right of My Creator, obviously encouraged by him, got up and started stripping — he didn't wear much, no rings, no tattoos, just boots, a studded dog collar and his harness — it dawned on me: teasingly, the guy loosened the last strap of his harness, stroked his erected man's meat — and let it all drop to the floor. The area between his legs just showed the faintest hint of a scar... I was among my peers.

Over coffee and small talk, I got acquainted with all the guests, all of them eunuchs like me and with interesting stories to tell, and I never noticed that My Creator left the room. He returned, carrying my dispatch case and called for silence. He announced that today was they day when his work on me was completed — "for the time being", he added, mockingly — and I was to return to my own flat. He showed me the contents of my dispatch case — my keys, two steel rings, a letter of introduction, and a new slave contract for my further treatments which he made me sign — and handed the case over to me before accompanying me to his front door.

I was put in the street outside his home and forced to walk the streets to my flat wearing nothing but my tattoos and my jewels and with my split genitals for the whole world to see. For half of the first block I tried to conceal them behind my dispatch case, but quickly saw the futility of it. I let my hands drop to the side and walked proudly, head up high — I really had no choice, had I — the remaining distance. To my amazement I was not arrested, just gawked at.


Of course I did not return to my work. The movie business may be comparatively liberal, but I wanted to avoid situations where I had to explain — and defend — why I had wanted to have my face and hands tattooed, why I had chosen to replace my head of hair with these exotic patterns, why... Besides, I had gotten used to never wearing any clothes, if not for keeping my body warm in cold weather. My wardrobe only contains a pair of black laced leather boots and a full length leather cape.

Thanks to the letter of introduction, I got a new job, and for the last couple of years I have been the manager of a small gay hotel in the city center, close to my flat and the local leather club. My staff consists of close friends from the leather scene — in short, my surroundings are favorable, and even my neighbors, ordinary people in the district, have adjusted to the sight of me appearing as My Creator made me. Nowadays they even comment on, quite favorably, any change in my appearance. Sometimes I answer them simply by stretching out my divided and pierced tongue in their direction, and we all laugh at the tricks I am now able to perform, like having the two halves point in different directions, as if they were never connected.

I have been careful to follow my new slave contract to the letter, and, as instructed, still visit My Creator twice a month for adjustments and/or sex. In the mirrored lobby of my hotel I have the opportunity to see — and expose to the public — the results of his efforts without turning my head; that is quite impossible, now that I am wearing twelve rings around my neck and begin to doubt that there is room for more.

The first thing I did upon returning to the flat on the first evening of "freedom" was putting steel rings in the still existing holes, formerly the home of my Ampallang, in my split cockhead. I wear them now, connected with chains to the rings in my tits, causing my divided cock stand as a red and black V-sign against my stomach. Later, I had a jeweler manufacture two heavy ball stretchers, each designed with a flat surface to accentuate the fact that they each surround one half of my split scrotum without keeping the two halves too far apart. I enjoy the feel of my two faked balls swinging half way down my tattooed thighs and there is an inviting cling accompanying my every move.

Two years — well, 22 months this midsummer, to be exact — is a long enough period for stretching sessions to be effective, and the stud that was originally put in my lower lip has gradually and successfully been replaced by wider items. It now carries a plate, made of steel colored titanium and with a diameter of three inches. I had wanted the same thing for my upper lip, but My Creator refused, since it would look out of proportion. We settled for a two inch plate and will probably stop there. Two inch rings help keep open the holes in my earlobes, and at our next meeting My Creator will trade them for slightly wider ones. My goal is to have my earlobes match the length of my neck, if it is possible without tearing them apart.

Alone in bed, I sometimes daydream about breaking my contract with My Creator, or talk him into changing it. I am extremely happy the way my fantasies turned out once I dared to realize them, but at the same time I feel a kind of emptiness, as if my imagination have been drained. Now and then, when stroking my split cock to erection or offering my ass to some stud at the leather club, to reach the peak of satisfaction I need an inner vision, and more often than not the image would be the one of Chris, offering me breakfast at My Creator's house, standing over me, exposing his empty, tattooed crotch close to my face...

* * *

This Halloween, I decided to do something different. Instead of a regular story, I figured I re-post something I read a long time ago that is both exciting and viscerally disturbing at the same time. This was a story that was on the website in 2001. There are some themes here that you are familiar with - inking (forced or otherwise) and hair removal (again, forced or otherwise) - and others which will induce deep-seated dread (pulling teeth, castration, extreme body modifications). I wanted this entry to sort of be like a trainwreck - it's so disturbing you want to look away ... but can't. 

So on behalf of the angels (fallen or not), Venezuelan crime lords, MMA fighters, British porn stars and hot Asian studs... 

Happy Halloween!!

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Stinger - Part VII - Union


With my arms braced on either side of his shoulders, I stared down into the face of my  husband. Emerald eyes looked back up at me and his sensuous lips – surrounded by his silky beard - quirked up in a happy smile.

"What wicked thoughts are running through your mind, amor?"

"Well, besides the normal ones whenever I look at you, Mattie … I'm just thinking that you're all mine." My legs straddled his; our crotches ground together and I could feel how hard Mateo was – just like myself.

"I was yours the first day I saw you in your uniform in front of Starbucks, sweetheart…" Mateo raised a hand and brushed my face. His fingers lingered as they stroked around my lips. "Now and forever, Charlie…"

I lowered myself slowly onto the man beneath me and felt a bolt of electricity as our  naked torsos came together. Lips touched and Mateo slid his hands through my hair and pulled me hard down to him. Damn, he's gotten strong. I didn't know how much time we spent just kissing, but he could have done it forever.

I, however, had some other plans in mind.

I sat back on my haunches and began to undo Mateo's belt.

"What are you doing?"

I gave my partner-for-life a delightfully evil grin. "What do you think?" I unzipped Mateo's pants  and pulled them down to expose a royal blue leather jockstrap straining (and failing miserably) to contain a cock swollen with need. The head of his dick peeked above the pouch and was weeping copious amounts of pre-cum. I pulled the jock off and stroked my hands along his muscular legs before giving the manhood in front of me a slow lick. I was happy to see that he was also wearing a steel cock ring. Mattie moaned.

I continued to lave his shaft the same way one would lick a particularly rich and delicious ice cream cone, nibbling as I went along and savoring each mouthful. Mattie began to thrash and claw at the comforters beneath him as I watched his shaft grow larger, harder and more purple with need. I opened my throat and took him down to the cockring in one movement. I set up a steady rhythm that echoed the beat of my own heart; all at once, I felt the mushroom head in my throat expand further. Mattie arched his back and screamed as I felt the explosion of my Greek's hot seed down my throat. After sucking him dry, I laid my head down on the shredded abs of my lover.

He stroked my hair. "Oh God … oh God … " Mateo panted. "Oh, shit … Oh, Charlie … I … I don't think I can stand up …"

I began to kiss the hard-muscled mesas beneath me. "Well, after the reception and tonight, sweetheart,  I'm afraid you're not going to be able to sit down, either…"

* * *


After getting ourselves presentable once more – thanks to a young monk and use of the monastery's shower -  we arrived back at the villa. The reception – at least the cocktails - was underway and the crowd outside cheered as we exited the car. Hand in hand, we went inside.

"Holy shit …" Charlie stopped and looked around. In the space of only a few hours the interior of the villa had been transformed. Huge sprays of white flowers – jasmine, lilacs, stephanotis and Casablanca lilies – were placed in angular blue and white vases with geometric Greek designs perfumed the air. A large bar was set up across the room  and several tables covered in blue and white cloths with golden accents were heaped with food. The guests – about 200 of them – were circulating about. The smell of roast lamb and other foods were intoxicating. I had a bit more of an idea than Charlie since Chara couldn't keep a secret, but this was extraordinary.

"Well, there they are! The groom and the groom!" Orestes and Hector came up to us. My cousin handed his drink to his lover and nearly jumped into Charlie's arms. His bright white smile was a stark contrast against his darkly tanned skin. My policeman was showered with kisses.

Hector stood back and looked at me. "You don't look too disheveled, exádelfos…" [cousin, ed.].

"Fluffy enough for you?" Ori's eyes were twinkling.

"You BOTH are swine!" I laughed as I wrapped an arm around Charlie. "I can't believe the villa looks so different in such a short time … it's incredible."

"Well, the wedding planner Damien hired did most of the work. The guys he has on his crew are amazing! Wait till you see the dance floor and tables!"

The four of us moved further into the house; Charlie and I were congratulated and hugged by everyone we met. My husband still looked a bit overwhelmed; he was still trying to get his arms around my huge extended family; thank God he could speak Greek now – although how he managed that was still a mystery to me. Hector was grabbed by a large, matronly woman and rolled his eyes as he was tugged away.

"I saw Dante and Enrico around – tight security, Ori?"

Galinis nodded his head. "Plus more. Amongst others, we've got a few heads of state, the Patriarch, a crime syndicate boss and a Saudi prince."

Ori must have enjoyed the shocked look on my face. "Oh, the Saudi prince is Charlie's. He doesn't appear to need protection, though. It's his CO's brother's partner - he looks like he could break someone in half … "

One of his guards caught his eye. "…excuse me, fellas. I'll be back." The chief of security threaded his way through the crowd and disappeared. We continued our meet and greet with the guests; even I didn't know some of them.

"Liebchen! There you are!"

We turned around to see a slightly chubby woman with a beatific smile on her face. She had short, honey-blonde hair and merry blue eyes.

"Tante Dotty!" She grabbed my face and pulled me down for a somewhat sloppy kiss. I always loved her German accent. She then turned to Charlie.

"My, what a handsome young man!"
Charlie blushed. "You two are so fortunate to have found each other! You must come and visit me!"

Charlie gave her a bright, sweet smile. I could tell that Tante was already falling in love with him.  "We'd love to, Tante …" Her eyes were already filling with tears of happiness as he hugged her. "Mattie is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I'll save you a dance later on …" He gave me a wink. "Perhaps you'll tell me some deep,  dark secrets about him … something I don't know already…"

She laughed. "And you're the best thing that's happened to him … I'm sure that you haven't seen all of his baby pictures … or his carrot costume?" Both of them laughed at the stricken look on my face. "…but you should get back to your guests." She patted Charlie's cheek. "Until later, Knuddel …"

After she disappeared into the crowd, Charlie turned to me. "Sweet lady … who was that?"

I gave him a grin. "You met her on the reception line outside the church. That's Angela Merkel. The Chancellor of Germany."

* * *


Mattie and I walked to the upper level of the villa and strolled into the dining/dancing area. Damien's home abutted a natural amphitheater and he made excellent use of it. Off to the side I could see that a large band area had been set up, as well as some pretty extensive electronic equipment – and if memory served me right, there was a large MOOG synthesizer as well.

Again – blue, white and gold decorations dominated; the airy atrium had bright white canvas shading the area from the strong Greek sun and crystals strung along the edges glittered and moved, drawing attention to our wedding cake and the raised dais behind it.

Damien was talking with Colonel Morgan and a drop-dead handsome Arab that must have been his partner. Outside of the Colonel, Travis, Uncle Danny and RIG, I didn't know any soldiers at The Castle; but I think that was a safety precaution for all involved. Both of the men had deep bronze tans and their loose shirts only accentuated the powerful muscular bodies beneath them. The Arab had thick black hair and his square jaw was covered in razor-cut designer stubble.

"God, what fucking studs …" Mattie breathed. He turned to me with wide eyes, blushing. "Oh, shit Charlie – did I actually just say that?"

I slid a hand into one of his back pockets and kissed his ear. "Yeah … so if you bring one  home, we both do him like we did Ricky…" Mattie's eyes widened in happy shock as we approached the group.

Our movement caught the Arab's attention and a bright white smile lit up his face. He murmured something and Damien turned to face us – arms open wide.

Mattie and I were enveloped in a crushing embrace and Damien showered us both with kisses.

"Everything meets with your approval?"

"Yes, Uncle – everything is beautiful!" Damien beamed.

Colonel Morgan grinned at us. Even though they were twins, between my CO and the commandant of the Castle, Tyler was the more easygoing and casual of the two. "I don't think you two have met Sid – Charlie, Mateo – this is my partner – Major Siddig Bin Talal."

"Tyler and the Prince have been extolling your virtues, Charlie! Almost as much as your police captain!" I blushed again beneath my tan.

Sid rolled his eyes. "Damien, forget all the 'Prince' crap – it's just 'Sid' – Congrats, Charlie!" and hugged me. Whatever was up with the soldiers in The Castle must have followed them here; my sex drive started to redline and I felt my cock slithering down my leg. The Arab prince felt my hardness and gave me a knowing wink as he let me go. He gave Mattie an equally impressive embrace and I watched him redden as he reacted the same way. Tyler snaked a powerful arm around my waist and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. We both grinned at Mattie's discomfiture.

"Mr. Kriatos … we're ready to start the festivities … and congratulations to the two of you! I apologize for not greeting you sooner, but I was rather busy with all the preparations."

I turned to see a tall, dark-haired young man with a closely cropped black beard approach us. I wondered if he was a plus-one from The Castle since I could feel my dick begin to leak just looking at him. Then I noticed Colonel Morgan and Sid were responding to him the same way. Obviously not. As he drew closer, I could see he had the most amazing violet-blue eyes surmounted by heavy, but well-sculpted dark brows. Diamond studs glittered rainbow bright in his ears and I had the near-uncontrollable urge to run my fingers through that sable hair gleaming darkly in the Greek sun.

Kriatos grinned. "This is Viktor Hexxen, the wedding planner … he arranged for everything that you've seen so far!"

"I do hope everything is to your liking, Charlie, Mateo … but what you've seen is only the tip of the iceberg as far as my plans for you two. There's more …"

His voice was like velvet and maddeningly familiar for some reason; looking the way he did, though, I know I would have remembered meeting him before.

"…so much, much more … " Hexxen gave me a bright smile; and just for a heartbeat,  his eyes gleamed a deep gold and I saw small, bone-colored horns on his forehead. He gave me a wicked smirk and a knowing wink.


Do you think I would let anything or anyone fuck up your wedding day? His voice laughed in my mind and curled around my spine to caress me like the softest fur.

Hexxen gave the five of us a slight bow. "If you'll excuse me, I have some details to attend to … I'll see you later. You should start heading towards the dais."

* * *

After a slight hubbub, the guests - as well as those on the dais (me, Mattie, Damien, Uncle Danny, Gabril, Hector and Ori) were settled down for the festivities. An army of waiters - in crisp white shirts and black pants - began to deliver the food. Hot and cold appetizers were served first - feta and graviera (soft cheeses), baskets of still-warm fresh bread and loads of dips (tzatziki, scordalia, and melitzanosalata) along with fried zucchini, eggplant and peppers along with mezedakia (greek sausage) and keftedakia (meatballs) sauteed in wine sauce with fresh lemon - and were piled high on each table. My mouth was watering as the aromas swirled around me.

Damien leaned over to me and squeezed my thigh. His eyes were twinkling. "This is just the beginning, Charlie. Pace yourself. There's going to be a lot of dancing afterwards, too."

I smiled back. Damn, I was so happy. "Yes, sir - I mean,  Uncle ..." He kissed me on the forehead and turned to talk to Uncle Danny.

After a bit, the next course showed up - horiataki (salad).  These were fairly large bowls packed with romaine, tomatoes, feta cheese, red onions, olives and stuffed grape leaves. There was a balsamic vinegar dressing that was sweet, sour and tangy at the same time.

Damien stood up and tapped his fork against his wineglass. The guests quieted.

"Twenty-six years ago, my nephew Mateo was born. Twenty-five years ago, he came into my life after a tragic accident took my sister Calista and her husband Henrique away from him. 

Mateo has been like a ray of warm sunlight on my soul from the first day I held him in my arms.  Eleven months ago, a young policeman in New York found that special place in Mateo's heart and Charlie Hawke is everything I could have asked for - a handsome, brave, generous and honorable man that is the perfect match for Mateo. 

And today ... today, they have become one, joined in the sight of God as well as all of you. Now, he begins a new life and there will be another man to whom he will turn for love and protection. But I want them both to know their uncle will always be there for them. So, please raise your glasses and join me in toasting the happy couple ... to Mateo and Charlie - my nephews - may God continue to bless them and grant them safety, love, and happiness all the days of their lives."

The applause was resounding and many of the people stood up and cheered. Among those standing were Cap Morgan, Jamie, Tony and all the guys from the Castle. The surprise was Chancellor Merkel. She was up too and clapping like mad. She blew both of us a tremendous kiss with both hands.

* * *

The main course was as amazing - plates and plates of  kebobs, spring lamb, swordfish, flounder, salmon, as well as moussaka and pastitsio - kept appearing in a never-ending cascade of food. I had an amazing appetite and yet, I didn't feel full. Neither did Mattie. Or apparently any of the guests. I guess I had Carreau to thank for that.

We received another standing ovation when we finally got around to cutting the cake. Mattie and I sliced into the multi-tier confection and we got a big laugh from the room as we smeared the white and blue frosting all over each other's faces. What I didn't know was that Sonia Hong had also baked cakes for each table; every guest got a slice from their own white and blue cake.

I mentioned before that Damien had quite an electronic collection for the entertainment. As it turned out, there was a DJ as well as a live band. And singers. As they were setting up, my mouth dropped open and I grabbed my husband's hand.

"Mattie! Look over there! Is that who I think it is?"

Mateo shock mirrored my own. Beyonce Knowles sashayed up to the dais and gave each of us a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Hi boys ... congrats on the wedding!" She put delicate hands on her slim hips and a wicked smirk crossed her lovely cafe-au-lait face. "I think you're gonna love the music for your first dance together!" She glided back to the band area and picked up a microphone

"Ladies and gentlemen ... please welcome the new couple - Mateo and Charlie Castilion-Hawke - in their first dance together."

She motioned to the band. "At Last" began. Several of the violins started playing. Then the piano. Finally, the saxophone player joined in.
At last
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
I took Mattie's hand and we left the dais. I took him in my arms as we began to move slowly around the floor. Every time I held him was heaven; I looked into his verdant eyes. "Oh, Mattie - I'm the luckiest guy in the world."
Oh yeah yeah
At last
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clover
The night I looked at you

"I could drown in those blue eyes of yours, amor ..." and laid his head on my shoulder. My fingers intertwined with his as we held each other moving to the music.
I found a dream, that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to press my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known
Oh yeah yeah
You smiled, you smiled
Oh and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
for you are mine...
At Last ...
The final note of the saxophone died away; Mattie took my face in his hands and our lips met in a soft kiss. There was a moment of silence and then the applause broke like a tsunami over us.

* * *

There was a lot of Greek dancing as well. Particularly the Kalamatiano and the Tsamiko. 

The Kalamatiano is a lively, 12-step, open circle dance and it's usually the first dance to occur at celebrations, particularly in Greek communities outside of Greece - which in this case, was about half the guests. There was also plenty of time to get comfortable with the steps because the band liked to play 15- to 20-minute marathons of this music.

The Tsamiko was, by contrast, a much slower, open circle dance. Damien, the person leading the circle,  performed various tricks (fygoures), while the rest of the circle followed a simple 12-step routine.

After a break where everyone was catching their breath, the band started playing a tango and Mattie leaned over to whisper in my ear. "I owe Tante a dance, amor … I'll be back." He got up from the dais and walked over to the chancellor. She actually blushed when he put out his hand and guided her onto the terrazzo.

She was good - amazingly good - but Mattie was even better. I licked my lips as I watched his tight ass and powerful legs glide around the tiles. I felt a ghostly caress across the back of my neck.

Charlie, come out to the veranda for a moment, please?

I stood up and excused myself.

* * *

Carreau was leaning against the stucco wall, with his arms hooked over the railing. He had dropped his illusion of mortality; the inhumanly handsome face and golden eyes smiled at me as his lips curled into a happy grin inside the well-trimmed goatee. His dark hair tumbled over the russet skin and the small, pale  horns on his forehead. The sun was dipping towards the horizon, tinting everything with a soft, aureate glow. The fallen angel straightened up.

"Having a good time?" He opened his muscular arms and I walked into them. It always felt so good to be in his embrace. He stroked my hair and I snuggled into his hug.

"Having a great time – thank  you for everything, Carreau. I still can't believe it's all real."

"Charlie, you're one of the few mortals I take this much interest in … which is both a good thing and a bad thing."

"How so?"

His grin grew even wider. "My boss wants to see you."

* * *

I felt my heart climb into my throat. "S-Satan?"

Carreau looked as shocked as I felt. "Of course not!" A tumbler of scotch appeared in his hand. "Here – drink this." He gave me an abashed look. I took it with shaking hands and gulped it down. The glass refilled by itself.

"Charlie … oh, God, I didn't mean to frighten you – I am SO sorry about that – it was never my intention to do anything to upset you … after we first met, did you do any research on me?"

I sipped the drink and shook my head.

He took a deep breath. "I'm basically a free agent, Charlie. No longer quite perfect enough for Heaven and not damned enough for Hell. I am … was … a prince of the Order of Powers. Do you remember anything about the different types of angels from Sister Maryann's class?"

I was feeling calmer now. "A little … how do you know about Sister Maryann? Oh … Bobby…" Of course … my guardian angel reported to him now.

He nodded. "Powers are the ninth Order of angels belonging to the third angelic Choir. We act as protectors, guardians of peace and order, basically like the angelic police force to ensure order over creation. We came into being after Lucifer's Fall."

"You're a cop?"

He gave me a lopsided grin. "More or less. We maintain the laws set in motion by the higher orders of Angels and through God's Will. We're the information gatherers and providers throughout existence. We can work through human's sixth sense and sometimes act as warning angels – so when you get a bad feeling about something, it's usually one of them doing it. My guys just haul you away from danger and smack you upside the head for being stupid."

Carreau continued. He put his arm around my waist and we started to walk. Whenever he held me I always felt calmer. "We're considered to be warrior angels, completely resolute and ensured to not fall victim to the same weaknesses of Lucifer's ilk. We're supposed to be Heaven's best line of defense against all Diabolical activities, and we concern ourselves with human welfare against the forces of Evil. Unfortunately, since our major concern is with humans, we're subject to a whole different set of weaknesses."

"You keep saying 'we', Carreau … what gives? Are you really a fallen angel or not?"

The demon prince grew somber. "My work is mostly on the side of the angels, Charlie, but it would be a dangerous mistake to think me still one of them... But let me continue. Powers are also tasked to safeguard the passageways between realms to ensure the safety of mortals. Because of the proximity to the byways of Hell itself, a lot of angels in my order have Fallen. We just see too damn much, Charlie. It tears us apart. It destroys us. A lot of them wind up working for me; a smaller number Fall completely."

We stopped. "Before I was Cast out, I was Lord Captain of the Heavenly Host - second only to the Supreme Commander of the Host himself."

That last statement sank in and the realization hit me like a sledgehammer between the eyes.  I stopped dead in my tracks. Carreau's serious, jewel-bright eyes looked into mine. His dark brows arched.

"Does this meeting make more sense now, Charlie?"

I was almost as frightened as before. "Your boss … your boss is … was … is ... the Archangel Michael…"

A sparkling grin split the russet face. "Got it in ONE… and though I haven't been officially working for him for quite a few millennia, I still think of him that way … c'mon – he's waiting for us."

* * *

We turned a corner and there he was. The archangel had been leaning on the railing and looking out to sea. He turned to face us.

Just to give you a basis of comparison, I'm a hair short of six feet tall; Carreau is about a foot taller than me. Michael was huge – he was easily at least eight or nine feet tall and every inch of that heroic frame was packed with muscle. And from the bulge in his crotch, he was definitely, unmistakably male.

Pale golden skin was partially covered by a sleeveless homespun shirt half open to the waist to expose slabbed pecs and an eight-pack set of shredded abs; I could make out some blackwork tattoos running across his chest, but couldn't make out what they were. Sigils of some sort. A tight pair of jeans covered powerful legs and leather gauntlets wrapped around his wrists. Soft dark boots hugged his calves. Wow … nice to see he's into leather too.

He had hair the color of burnished bronze streaked with gold and his eyes were the same jewel-bright pale aurium as Carreau's. Vast white feathered pinions rose over his head and spread out behind his back. If it was possible, he was even more inhumanly handsome than the demon prince.

He looked determined and somewhat grim. Sort of like Cap when he had to dress down a patrolman.

"Hey boss, here we are!" Carreau slipped an arm around my waist and I was glad for that show of affection; I was scared to death to be the presence of the Being in front of me.

"Charlie, I'd like to introduce you to Michael, Archistrategos – Lord Commander of the Heavenly Host. Boss, this is Charlie Hawke." He nodded at me, but didn't say anything.

"H-hello, sir …" I stammered. How do you address an archangel?

Carreau looked at me. "Charlie, we have a little bit of a jurisdictional problem here …"


"To maintain Equilibrium …"

Michael interrupted. "HE DOESN'T NEED THE DETAILS CARREAU." The archangel's voice was like the tolling of great bells and the power in that voice staggered me. I think without Carreau's arm around my waist, I would've fallen down.

The fallen angel arched a dark eyebrow. "He deserves all the information he needs to make a decision, boss. And don't be such a tightass. It's his wedding day, after all."

Michael's jaw tightened and his eyes blazed. But only for a moment. The fleeting anger was replaced by a wry grin. "YOUR UNINHIBITED CANDOR IS SORELY MISSED WITHIN MY COUNSELS, CAPTAIN ... PRAY, CONTINUE."

Carreau grinned and picked up where he left off. "Because of my gift to you, Charlie, the cosmic balance is a little out of whack at the moment. As representative of the Almighty, my old boss is here to offer you one too…"

The shock must have been apparent on my face. "Now ... exactly about what is on the table…"

Michael grew angry again. "ENOUGH!!!" The ground trembled.

The fallen angel was nonplussed and held up a russet hand. "Sorry, boss – full disclosure. I don't hold back information from any of my clients. This mortal in particular."

Carreau's face grew serious. "You have carte blanche to ask for anything Charlie. ANYthing. There's no such thing as a mortal or deadly sin this time. No harm, no foul. No strike against you. Any fetish you want to indulge in, any iniquity you want to try out. You can have wealth, power, even immortality. It's your choice."

My head spun. I turned to the archangel. "Is this true, sir?"

The golden head gave a curt nod and his great white pinions rustled in agitation. "YES. ALTHOUGH I AM NOT PLEASED. YOU MAY EVEN ASK FOR SOMEONE THROWN INTO THE MAW OF HELL ITSELF AND I MUST ABIDE BY AND EXECUTE YOUR DECISION."

Jesus Christ. I thought about it. I really didn't need money – I had enough even before marrying Mattie; power – I always think about that old saying about power corrupting; and immortality … well, forever is an awfully long time. Unless I could share it with my husband.

"I can't ask for something to share with someone else, can I?"

The archangel gave me an odd look and shook his head. "NO, THE GIFT MUST BE YOURS AND YOURS ALONE."

All of a sudden, the words of my Joe Ramsey – my FTO – came to mind. "Hawke, you're a baby cop. You don't even know what you don't know yet. The only thing that's gonna change that is time. And experience. And it's my job to knock some sense into that head of yours so you'll be around long enough to pay that forward to another baby cop in the future."

I swallowed hard. "I've made my choice."

"I …"

Carreau looked at me and trailed gentle fingers down the side of my face. "Go ahead, Charlie. Tell Michael what you want."

"… I swore an oath to serve and protect those who need my help. I want the ability to make the best decision in any situation. And the courage to carry it out."

The fallen angel raised his brows. "That's it? You're sure about this, Charlie?"

The more I thought of it, the more I knew I was making the right choice. "Yes."

"No eternal life and eternal youth? No ability to kill with a thought?" He gave me one of his delightfully wicked smirks that lit up his entire face. "No ability to fuck someone into everlasting submission?"

"Nope. Final decision." Despite the knot in my stomach, I laughed.

A strange look passed between the two angels.  A wide smile split Carreau's face.

"See? I TOLD you he was a Boy Scout!"

A grin split the Lord Commander's visage. It was like the sun bursting out from behind a bank of heavy,  dark clouds.


He turned to me. "KNEEL BEFORE ME, CHARLIE." I got down on one knee and bowed my head.


I looked up and smiled at him. He stretched out a hand to help me to my feet.

Carreau cleared his throat. "Charlie, I want to catch up with Michael a bit … you should head back to the reception before you're missed. Oh, and ask the Chancellor for a dance once she's recovered from Mateo's tango. She likes the Laendler."

* * *


"Nice touch with the sword, boss … " I leaned against the low wall and lit a cigarette.

The archangel replied. "Well, I could not bestow upon him something already given by you. Merely enhance and perfect the gift itself. How were you so certain of what he would ask for?"

I gave him a quirky grin as I took a final drag on the cigarette and flicked it over the side. "I'm an excellent judge of character…"

Michael shook his head. "How I miss that puckish smile of yours..." Michael cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. "I do not know how you accomplished it, Carreau – but I DO know you tricked me down here for this meeting."

I grinned at him and gave him an innocent look. "Boss – it's the art of diplomacy – getting the other person to do what you want and make them think it's their idea in the first place. Now … who else would the Almighty send when I'm involved, huh??"

I brushed a lock of hair back from my horns. "Besides, I wanted to see you again. There isn't a day goes by when I don't ache for you."

He looked ashamed. My eyes hardened. "Boss, I told you before I was banished, and I'll say it again – you didn't do anything wrong. You didn't abuse your authority and you didn't take advantage of me. I wanted to be with you. I still do. I always will."

"And, I'm claiming the wager on my bet." I put my arms around him and laid my head on his chest. Damn, that felt good.

The archangel put an arm around me and pulled me closer. The other reached up and stroked my hair. I relaxed into his embrace.

"Oh, Carreau – you and you alone of all the Fallen may return to Heaven … is it so much to swallow your damnable pride and admit the error of your decision? Do you not wish to be at my side once more as much as I? Oh, by the Gates of Heaven itself, holding you again in my arms is nearly too much for me to bear."

I looked into the sad golden eyes. I felt a tear run down my own cheek. "Boss, I didn't do anything wrong. I took the punishment for doing the right thing and I've accepted the consequences. I've done more good here than I would have ever done Above. And even if I did lie and say I was wrong, if something similar happened again, I'd do the same thing as before."

I pulled myself tighter into his embrace. "Shit … you make it so hard to stay resolute…" I stroked his wings and felt him tremble at the gentle caresses.

Time seemed to stand still as we held each other. After a while, I smiled up into his face. "Hey – want to join the party for a bit? I'm sure Charlie and Mateo won't mind …"

* * *


I was in a thoughtful mood as I rejoined the celebration. My head was still spinning after meeting Michael. As I went over to the bandstand; the guy at the MOOG caught my eye.

"Can you play a Laendler for me?"

"Of course, Mr. Hawke. No problem."

I looked at him closely; the illusion wavered and I could see that he was also a fallen angel. He was a younger version of Carreau: amazingly handsome, clean-shaven with a faint shadow on his jawline, russet skin, dark hair and pale gold eyes. I got an even bigger smile as he realized I was seeing him as he truly was.

"Thank you for the music - you're great on the synthesizer. What's your name?"

He gave me a slight bow. "I'm glad you're enjoying it. My name is Agares, sir. And I thank you for the compliment. Languages are a specialty with me. Music included."

I walked over to the Chancellor. She was speaking with her husband when I cleared my throat. The band began to play a flourish.

"Chancellor? May I have this dance?" I put out my hand. She blushed as she stood up and took it. I spun her around a few times as we moved to the center of the dance floor. I nodded to Agares and the music began.

Angela looked surprised. "The Laendler?"

I gave her a 100-watt grin. "Of course!"

The Sound of Music - Maria and the Captain dance the Ländler from Adriana LS Swift on Vimeo.

I gave her a sweeping bow; she returned with a full curtsy. I then took her hand and we stepped down the dance floor in 3/4 time. I took both of her hands and we step-hopped down the terrazzo. She was beaming.

Then, still holding her hands, we turned underneath each other. I held her hand as she pirouetted around the floor.

Coming out of the spin, I took her other hand and we promenaded side by side on the tiles. I could see the astonished looks on the guests' faces as we flawlessly completed each spin and turn. This wasn't an easy dance, but I was doing it as if I had done it all my life. Thanks Carreau.

Angela and I continued the spins and turns holding each others hands. I then spun her away. I began to clap in time to the music as she danced around me and swished her skirt. I then danced around her, still clapping my hands.

I wound up in front of her and she put her hand out over my shoulder. I took it and brought her in front of me. Holding our hands above our heads, I wrapped my other arm around her as we looked into each other's eyes and slowly spun around. "Mein Gott, Charlie, you have such beautiful eyes ... Such a deep blue ... and with golden flecks ... it's like dancing with an angel!"

That statement surprised me. Golden flecks? 

Carreau's voice whispered in my mind. No one remains unchanged after meeting Michael, Charlie... particularly after you've been knighted...

We switched hands and spun in the opposite direction. I gave her bright smile.

"Tante ... you dance divinely!!"

"Oh, Knuddel ... I haven't danced the Laendler since I was a young girl, but it's all come back to me so easily! But you ... how do you know it so well?"

Whoops. "Well, I know Mattie is very special to you, and I wanted to make a good impression."

We continued the dance until the music slowed and stopped. I held her hand as she curtseyed to the applause of the crowd. In the back of my head, I was thinking how I was going to explain what I just did.

* * *
A full moon hung heavy in the sky and combined with a generous sprinkling of stars, Damien's villa was awash in a silvery glow. With the exception of my guys from the precinct and the Castle, all of the guests had departed; the place was getting cleaned up, the catering materials packed and everything was winding down. Mattie and I had been out on the upper level, holding hands, staring out at the wine-dark sea. Now we were heading back down the stairs and inside, to spend our wedding night together.

Mattie grinned as he slid a hand into the front of my pants and gave me a squeeze. "From the looks of it, amor, I guess I WILL have trouble sitting tomorrow!" He pulled me to him and gave me a deep kiss. "I can't wait!"

We reached the hallway where our bedroom was. Mattie pushed me against the wall. He gave me a mock serious glare.

"First, it was speaking fluent Greek all of a sudden and then it was dancing like a professional with Tante today doing an German folk dance that a Greek band knew how to play perfectly ... what's going on, Charlie? Did you get three wishes from a genie?"

I couldn't tell him about Carreau; hell, I couldn't tell him about Michael either. So I did the next best thing.

I kissed him. Hard. "Yep. And the third wish came true too. Having you as my husband and spending the rest of my life with you!" I laughed as I grabbed him by the waistband of his pants with one hand and turned the knob on the bedroom door with the other. I pulled him in.

"Well, it about time you two showed up ..." came a drawl from within the room.

Mattie and I stopped dead in our tracks. Carreau - in the form of Viktor Hexxen - was standing by the sliding glass door to the terrace in nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his trim waist. He stood partly in shadow; the light from the moon and a single halogen in the ceiling served as the only illumination.

He had shaved off his beard leaving only a small goatee and had spiked his hair up with gel. His body was amazingly muscled and both arms sported elaborate blackwork tattoos. He turned and gave us a wicked grin. The towel dropped to the floor.

"I happened to overhear your comment about double-teaming ... well, let's see what you've got!" 

He grabbed us by our belt buckles and pushed us onto the bed.

* * *

Wow, this was harder to write than I thought! Charlie and Mateo's reception was something I wanted to do, but the actual details needed a good deal of thought and preparation. It's also been a miserable few months in work - too much to do, too many morons unable to make decisions and everything taking slower than it should. 

Because of work, I just hadn't been in the mood to write the story - or any story, for that matter - and writing something poorly just to get it done isn't what I wanted to accomplish. I figured it was better to hold off.

One thing that also kind of threw me for a loop was an idea I had about Danny actually being Charlie's father, instead of his uncle. That was sort of lodged in my head for a while, with lots of complicated relationships, deaths, adoptions, etc. Eventually, I discarded the idea because it was not only difficult to grasp and to write, it was also somewhat ... pedestrian. Having a plot twist like that was like something you'd see on an LMN movie of the week. 

As I sat down to do this, I found I really needed to channel David Tutera to get the work done. A wedding - and particularly a reception - takes a LOT of work. Also, some things just happen to stick in my mind like a splinter and I had to get them into the story. Angela Merkel is a perfect example. I don't know why I wanted her in this, but I did. 

I also wanted to do a little backstory on Carreau. The order of Powers is considered an angelic police force, and really ... who better to watch over Charlie Hawke than another cop? I also felt that Carreau must have had some involvement with the Heavenly Host, and by extension, the Archangel Michael. Carreau is a tragic hero, and I wanted to give a glimpse into his own sorrows.

I have to say that this particular story arc has been fulfilling, but not always easy - just like a good relationship. I'm sure that Charlie and Mateo - as well as the rest of the crew - will make an appearance again. However, I have plenty of more stories in my head that I want to explore!