Post by GO FUCK YOURSELF NICK on Jan 18, 2015 17:12:56 GMT -6
December 29, 2014
New Orleans, LA
Vivienne looked down at the young man before her, watching as he muttered and moaned with a smirk on her face. She waited a beat, then picked up a bucket of water and dumped it over his head. He spluttered and shook his head, trying to bring his hands up to wipe the water away from his eyes, only to find that they were cuffed behind his back. The handcuffs had also been threaded through one of the rungs on the straight-back chair and his ankles were bound to the legs. And while he grew more panicked, struggling against his bonds, Vivienne tapped a bladed riding crop lightly against the palm of her hand and looked toward the small folding table beside her. In addition to a small statue and some candles, there was also a rather interesting array of instruments - a bladed whip, a knife, a belt, large sewing needles, and clothespins. The young man followed her gaze, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.
“What kind of bullshit is this? I knew I should’ve just fucked you in the bathroom and gotten it over with. Freaky ass bitch.”
He was breathing heavily, giving the lie to his bravado. Vivienne did appreciate it, though - she liked a challenge and while this wasn’t much, it was enough to keep her interested.
“Oh honey, if you’d wanted me for that, you never would’ve had a chance,” she told him, shaking her head. “See, I know what you are, Kevin Parker. Tonight, I claim vengeance in the name of Alysha Stratton, and I exact my judgment as Queen.” She narrowed her eyes at him, taking a few steps closer and laughing to herself as he flinched.
“This ain’t real. Come on, Aly must have hired you cause she’s pissed that I dumped her ass. Figured she’d scare me with her ma’s voodoo crap. Like anyone except tourists believes in that shit anymore.”
Vivienne laughed and snapped her fingers. Several bright worklights turned on at her command, putting Kevin in a spotlight. He blinked and tried to turn his head away from the light, but Vivienne’s riding crop came up under his chin, forcing him to look at her.
“Of course. A rat will always scurry away from the light, but with you, Kevin, it’s a useless endeavor. You cannot hide your sins from me. I have seen every mark you left on her. Every bruise, every scar. And I will not rest until you know the depth of her pain and suffering at your hands.”
Earlier that evening…
“Black eye, bruised ribs, dislocated shoulder, wicked bruising on your arms, legs, and stomach… someone really tried to fuck you up, didn’t they?” Vivienne asked, her voice soft as she lightly stroked the girl’s back. She was eighteen, only a few years younger than Vivienne herself, but she was curled up into a ball with her back to Vivi. She was trembling despite the blanket over her, her breathing fast and shallow. Post-traumatic stress reaction, most likely. After a beating like this, Vivienne knew she would never be the same. The bruises would fade, bone and muscle would heal, but she would carrying the scars from this on her psyche for the rest of her life.
“If you need to cry, cherie, go ahead and cry. That boy put you through a hell no woman deserves. But you survived it. You’re bruised and broken, but you’re here, girl. And that counts for a lot. You survived this.”
Nodding, the girl curled into herself harder and started sobbing. Vivienne could feel the shame and anger radiating from her and it enraged her. The girl, Alysha, wasn’t much of a believer, but her mother was, and it was Vivienne’s duty to protect the people in her community. This piece of shit boyfriend needed to learn what happened when a Queen was displeased. Reaching into her bag, Vivienne pulled out a white candle with markings carved into the beeswax and darkened with the ashes of herbs before it had been encased in glass. She set the candle on the bedside table, next to a lamp, and lit it with a match. The scents of lavender and allspice filled the room, promoting peace of mind and healing. What this girl needed to do now was rest and begin the process of putting herself back together. She was still shuddering and crying, lost in a world of pain both physical and mental. Vivienne slid a small packet underneath her pillow, then laid two fingers lightly on the spot between the girl’s brows.
“Sleep now, ma fille. You will not dream of him tonight. Only good things, light and love and laughter. I call upon Erzulie Dantor, goddess of all these and more, to bring you peace and protection.” With her other hand, Vivienne drew symbols on the mattress to draw the power of the loa to the person who slept in this bed. It was all in the goddess’s hands now, and when she was flooded with a sense of relief and release, Vivienne knew that her prayers and her sacrifices had been accepted. With a smile, she stood up in one fluid motion and picked up her bag, closing the door behind her.
“This isn’t real. You rigged it somehow so that the lights would come on like that! Magic’s not real, it’s not fucking real!”
He jerked and strained against the cuffs that held him in place. The leather ones around his ankles were more forgiving, but those around his wrists were police issue, stolen from a member of New Orleans’ finest during one of Vivienne’s dalliances, and were cutting into his flesh more as he continued to try and fight his way out. Vivienne was standing in front of him and watching, tapping the riding crop against the palm of her hand with a smirk on her face.
Quick as a snake, Vivienne lashed out with the crop, her backhand strike connecting with his cheek. He cried out in pain and she did it again, this time on the other cheek, leaving matching red welts on his face.
“That’s it, scream for me! No one can hear you in here, so yell as loud as you like. I’ll enjoy it so much more if you scream,” she told him with a grin, tracing a line from the hollow of his throat down the center of his chest to his waist. She had stripped him down to his boxers prior to getting him into the chair, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Pausing at his waist, Vivienne changed her grip on the riding crop and dealt him a blow across the stomach. He coughed and spluttered, but Vivienne did not give him time to recover. She lit into him with her riding crop, leaving stinging welts over his chest, stomach, and upper arms.
The assault only lasted a few minutes, but to her victim it seemed to last much longer. He was hissing in pain, clenching and unclenching his hands. As Vivienne moved back to her table, she saw that all his straining was starting to chafe his wrists, though he didn’t seem to notice. She donned a pair of latex gloves, snapping them to get his attention. He looked up at her in pure fear, even though she was approaching him with an innocuous-looking plant instead of the needle or knife he expected. The minute she touched the plant to the welt on his cheek though, he screamed and tried to turn away. Her other hand gripped him around the throat, holding him in place as she traced over the welts with the plant stalk. He could feel every single mark she had left on him, his skin angry and red where she touched him with the plant.
“Stinging nettle, to make sure you cannot forget these first marks as I leave more on you. Tonight, you will learn more of pain than you have ever known before. By the time I am through with you, Kevin Parker, you will beg for my mercy. You will not receive it, but you will beg for it all the same.” Tossing the plant to the floor, Vivienne took off her gloves and dumped them as well, wiping the residue off on her jeans.
“God, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I did what I did! I won’t do it again, I promise, just let me go!”
Vivienne hit him with a right cross to the mouth, splitting his lip. She shook off the punch and straddled his lap, grabbing his chin to pull his face toward hers. His lip was bleeding sluggishly and with a wicked grin, she pressed her thumb against the wound before licking his blood from her finger. “For a scumbag, your blood certainly tastes good. But then again, I have always enjoyed the flavor of fear. Your apologies now mean nothing, Kevin Parker. All you want to do is avoid future pain and suffering, but you will not.” She patted him hard on the cheek, making sure that she hit the mark she had left on him. He whimpered in pain as she shifted position, putting one foot down on the floor and her other knee between his legs.
“Don’t even think about moving,” she warned him, taking something from her back pocket and reaching around the back of the chair. She took the handcuffs off one wrist and brought his arms forward, cuffing them once more in front of him. His wrists were raw and bruised but she tightened the cuffs just a little bit more, forcing them further into his flesh. From underneath the table, she took a long length of heavy rope and tied one end around the chain that connected the bracelets of the cuffs. She then undid the binding around the chair legs, freeing his ankles. Only then did she stand up, tugging on the rope viciously. He fell forward onto his knees, knocking his head against the concrete floor.
“Get up, you worthless piece of filth! Stand before your mistress!” she yelled and he forced himself painfully to his feet. Once he was standing up, Vivienne threw the rope up over a crossbeam and took hold of the end that had fallen on the other side. She pulled on this until his arms were stretched above his head and he was standing on the balls of his feet, then wrapped the rope around a pillar to secure him in place. From this angle, Vivienne got a better look at her handiwork so far and it made her heart sing with pleasure.
This time, instead of her riding crop, she picked up a cat o’ nine tails and cracked it on the floor behind him, making him cower. Each tail was knotted at several points and made of designed to inflict maximum pain and lacerate the skin. Vivienne stood to the side of her victim, planting her feet and raising her head high as settled the baton of the cat o’ nine tails in her hand.
The first strike was not enough to break the skin, but it did draw a painful scream from him. “Oh shut up, that was a love tap!” she spat, swinging harder with the second strike. The tails wrapped around his side, right near the kidney. He was crying now, shaking as he tried fruitlessly to protect himself. This only seemed to excite Vivienne further, her blows increasing in frequency and ferocity. Bloody stripes criss-crossed his back, blossoming in the wake of her flogging. He was marked from shoulders to hips and he was pressing his face into his arm, trying to muffle the sounds of his own terror.
“You thought you were the big man in that club when you found me,” she said venomously. “Now look at you. You’re garbage. You’re nothing. Say it!”
“I… I’m nothing! I’m garbage!”
“That’s right. Nothing. A piece of gutter trash to be scraped off the bottom of my shoe. Worthless. Disgusting. I should leave you here to rot, let the possums and stray cats come in to feast on your flesh until you are just another pile of bones, a John Doe to be sent to the scrap heap because nobody cares about you. Nobody loves you. No one will even notice that you’re gone.”
“No one… will care…”
“Exactly. Alysha’s mother asked me to leave you be, because she was afraid that you would come after her daughter seeking retribution. But you aren’t going to do that, Kevin. In fact, you are never going to bother anybody again. And to make sure that you don’t, I curse you in the name of Erzulie Dantor, protector of abused women. I dedicate your pain to Baron Kriminel, the most vicious of the gede, pronouncer of swift judgments. Your screams please him and he takes great joy in your pain, as do I.”
As he tried to catch his breath, Vivienne took a small paintbrush and a plastic water bottle from her bag. The bottle was half full of yellow-white liquid and this she dumped over his now-ruined back, making him shriek.
“Lemon juice, salt, and cayenne pepper. Works brilliantly as a cold remedy, but I’ve found it has… certain other uses. Like this, for example.” Taking the paintbrush, she dipped it in one of the open wounds on his back and used the blood to sketch a few symbols on his skin, just above his nether regions. Pushing the waistband of his boxers down, Vivienne retrieved the chair and her bag and brought them both around so that she could sit in front of him. From her bag she withdrew a scalpel and she used it to trace over the lines she had painted on him in blood, making sure that the symbols would become scarred into his skin.
“I curse you in the name of Erzulie Dantor. I curse you with impotence and with shame for your deeds. You do not deserve love. You do not deserve comfort. You deserve only this, only pain and humiliation. You will experience no pleasure, not even from yourself. You will not father any children. Your seed is dormant, useless just like you. And when you depart my company, you will not remember my face or my name. No one will pity you. You are nothing. You are garbage. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes. I am nothing. I am garbage.”
“Very good. Now, one last thing before I go…” Vivienne went to the pillar and untied the rope holding him up, and he collapsed into a heap on the floor. She went over to him and put her boot gently on the back of his neck. “...Beg me.”
“Mistress please… forgive me… don’t leave me here to die, please…”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure someone will find you eventually.” Vivienne kicked him hard in the side of the head, knocking him out cold. She gathered up her things, packing them into a large duffel bag with the exception of a small packet of herbs, which she sprinkled over his prone body. Murmuring a few words, she woke their powers of forgetfulness. His mind would come up with some other excuse for the injuries - a particularly vicious mugging, perhaps. But he would not remember Vivienne.
She stole quietly out of the abandoned warehouse, careful to keep to the shadows as she made her way back to her house. It was quite a walk, but she didn’t mind too much. All the work she had been putting in at the dojo and with her two mentors had strengthened her body enough so that this seemed easy. On the way, she congratulated herself on a job well done. He wouldn’t bother another woman as long as he lived, and Alysha would heal from her experience. Vivienne simply hoped that she would have better taste in boyfriends going forward.
Upon reaching her house, Vivienne sneaked inside and dropped her duffel by her bedroom door. Tomorrow, she would clean off everything, but tonight, she merely changed into pajamas and put her hair up into a loose bun before crawling into bed and falling into a deep, satisfied slumber.
New Orleans, LA
Vivienne looked down at the young man before her, watching as he muttered and moaned with a smirk on her face. She waited a beat, then picked up a bucket of water and dumped it over his head. He spluttered and shook his head, trying to bring his hands up to wipe the water away from his eyes, only to find that they were cuffed behind his back. The handcuffs had also been threaded through one of the rungs on the straight-back chair and his ankles were bound to the legs. And while he grew more panicked, struggling against his bonds, Vivienne tapped a bladed riding crop lightly against the palm of her hand and looked toward the small folding table beside her. In addition to a small statue and some candles, there was also a rather interesting array of instruments - a bladed whip, a knife, a belt, large sewing needles, and clothespins. The young man followed her gaze, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.
“What kind of bullshit is this? I knew I should’ve just fucked you in the bathroom and gotten it over with. Freaky ass bitch.”
He was breathing heavily, giving the lie to his bravado. Vivienne did appreciate it, though - she liked a challenge and while this wasn’t much, it was enough to keep her interested.
“Oh honey, if you’d wanted me for that, you never would’ve had a chance,” she told him, shaking her head. “See, I know what you are, Kevin Parker. Tonight, I claim vengeance in the name of Alysha Stratton, and I exact my judgment as Queen.” She narrowed her eyes at him, taking a few steps closer and laughing to herself as he flinched.
“This ain’t real. Come on, Aly must have hired you cause she’s pissed that I dumped her ass. Figured she’d scare me with her ma’s voodoo crap. Like anyone except tourists believes in that shit anymore.”
Vivienne laughed and snapped her fingers. Several bright worklights turned on at her command, putting Kevin in a spotlight. He blinked and tried to turn his head away from the light, but Vivienne’s riding crop came up under his chin, forcing him to look at her.
“Of course. A rat will always scurry away from the light, but with you, Kevin, it’s a useless endeavor. You cannot hide your sins from me. I have seen every mark you left on her. Every bruise, every scar. And I will not rest until you know the depth of her pain and suffering at your hands.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Earlier that evening…
“Black eye, bruised ribs, dislocated shoulder, wicked bruising on your arms, legs, and stomach… someone really tried to fuck you up, didn’t they?” Vivienne asked, her voice soft as she lightly stroked the girl’s back. She was eighteen, only a few years younger than Vivienne herself, but she was curled up into a ball with her back to Vivi. She was trembling despite the blanket over her, her breathing fast and shallow. Post-traumatic stress reaction, most likely. After a beating like this, Vivienne knew she would never be the same. The bruises would fade, bone and muscle would heal, but she would carrying the scars from this on her psyche for the rest of her life.
“If you need to cry, cherie, go ahead and cry. That boy put you through a hell no woman deserves. But you survived it. You’re bruised and broken, but you’re here, girl. And that counts for a lot. You survived this.”
Nodding, the girl curled into herself harder and started sobbing. Vivienne could feel the shame and anger radiating from her and it enraged her. The girl, Alysha, wasn’t much of a believer, but her mother was, and it was Vivienne’s duty to protect the people in her community. This piece of shit boyfriend needed to learn what happened when a Queen was displeased. Reaching into her bag, Vivienne pulled out a white candle with markings carved into the beeswax and darkened with the ashes of herbs before it had been encased in glass. She set the candle on the bedside table, next to a lamp, and lit it with a match. The scents of lavender and allspice filled the room, promoting peace of mind and healing. What this girl needed to do now was rest and begin the process of putting herself back together. She was still shuddering and crying, lost in a world of pain both physical and mental. Vivienne slid a small packet underneath her pillow, then laid two fingers lightly on the spot between the girl’s brows.
“Sleep now, ma fille. You will not dream of him tonight. Only good things, light and love and laughter. I call upon Erzulie Dantor, goddess of all these and more, to bring you peace and protection.” With her other hand, Vivienne drew symbols on the mattress to draw the power of the loa to the person who slept in this bed. It was all in the goddess’s hands now, and when she was flooded with a sense of relief and release, Vivienne knew that her prayers and her sacrifices had been accepted. With a smile, she stood up in one fluid motion and picked up her bag, closing the door behind her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“This isn’t real. You rigged it somehow so that the lights would come on like that! Magic’s not real, it’s not fucking real!”
He jerked and strained against the cuffs that held him in place. The leather ones around his ankles were more forgiving, but those around his wrists were police issue, stolen from a member of New Orleans’ finest during one of Vivienne’s dalliances, and were cutting into his flesh more as he continued to try and fight his way out. Vivienne was standing in front of him and watching, tapping the riding crop against the palm of her hand with a smirk on her face.
Quick as a snake, Vivienne lashed out with the crop, her backhand strike connecting with his cheek. He cried out in pain and she did it again, this time on the other cheek, leaving matching red welts on his face.
“That’s it, scream for me! No one can hear you in here, so yell as loud as you like. I’ll enjoy it so much more if you scream,” she told him with a grin, tracing a line from the hollow of his throat down the center of his chest to his waist. She had stripped him down to his boxers prior to getting him into the chair, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Pausing at his waist, Vivienne changed her grip on the riding crop and dealt him a blow across the stomach. He coughed and spluttered, but Vivienne did not give him time to recover. She lit into him with her riding crop, leaving stinging welts over his chest, stomach, and upper arms.
The assault only lasted a few minutes, but to her victim it seemed to last much longer. He was hissing in pain, clenching and unclenching his hands. As Vivienne moved back to her table, she saw that all his straining was starting to chafe his wrists, though he didn’t seem to notice. She donned a pair of latex gloves, snapping them to get his attention. He looked up at her in pure fear, even though she was approaching him with an innocuous-looking plant instead of the needle or knife he expected. The minute she touched the plant to the welt on his cheek though, he screamed and tried to turn away. Her other hand gripped him around the throat, holding him in place as she traced over the welts with the plant stalk. He could feel every single mark she had left on him, his skin angry and red where she touched him with the plant.
“Stinging nettle, to make sure you cannot forget these first marks as I leave more on you. Tonight, you will learn more of pain than you have ever known before. By the time I am through with you, Kevin Parker, you will beg for my mercy. You will not receive it, but you will beg for it all the same.” Tossing the plant to the floor, Vivienne took off her gloves and dumped them as well, wiping the residue off on her jeans.
“God, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I did what I did! I won’t do it again, I promise, just let me go!”
Vivienne hit him with a right cross to the mouth, splitting his lip. She shook off the punch and straddled his lap, grabbing his chin to pull his face toward hers. His lip was bleeding sluggishly and with a wicked grin, she pressed her thumb against the wound before licking his blood from her finger. “For a scumbag, your blood certainly tastes good. But then again, I have always enjoyed the flavor of fear. Your apologies now mean nothing, Kevin Parker. All you want to do is avoid future pain and suffering, but you will not.” She patted him hard on the cheek, making sure that she hit the mark she had left on him. He whimpered in pain as she shifted position, putting one foot down on the floor and her other knee between his legs.
“Don’t even think about moving,” she warned him, taking something from her back pocket and reaching around the back of the chair. She took the handcuffs off one wrist and brought his arms forward, cuffing them once more in front of him. His wrists were raw and bruised but she tightened the cuffs just a little bit more, forcing them further into his flesh. From underneath the table, she took a long length of heavy rope and tied one end around the chain that connected the bracelets of the cuffs. She then undid the binding around the chair legs, freeing his ankles. Only then did she stand up, tugging on the rope viciously. He fell forward onto his knees, knocking his head against the concrete floor.
“Get up, you worthless piece of filth! Stand before your mistress!” she yelled and he forced himself painfully to his feet. Once he was standing up, Vivienne threw the rope up over a crossbeam and took hold of the end that had fallen on the other side. She pulled on this until his arms were stretched above his head and he was standing on the balls of his feet, then wrapped the rope around a pillar to secure him in place. From this angle, Vivienne got a better look at her handiwork so far and it made her heart sing with pleasure.
This time, instead of her riding crop, she picked up a cat o’ nine tails and cracked it on the floor behind him, making him cower. Each tail was knotted at several points and made of designed to inflict maximum pain and lacerate the skin. Vivienne stood to the side of her victim, planting her feet and raising her head high as settled the baton of the cat o’ nine tails in her hand.
The first strike was not enough to break the skin, but it did draw a painful scream from him. “Oh shut up, that was a love tap!” she spat, swinging harder with the second strike. The tails wrapped around his side, right near the kidney. He was crying now, shaking as he tried fruitlessly to protect himself. This only seemed to excite Vivienne further, her blows increasing in frequency and ferocity. Bloody stripes criss-crossed his back, blossoming in the wake of her flogging. He was marked from shoulders to hips and he was pressing his face into his arm, trying to muffle the sounds of his own terror.
“You thought you were the big man in that club when you found me,” she said venomously. “Now look at you. You’re garbage. You’re nothing. Say it!”
“I… I’m nothing! I’m garbage!”
“That’s right. Nothing. A piece of gutter trash to be scraped off the bottom of my shoe. Worthless. Disgusting. I should leave you here to rot, let the possums and stray cats come in to feast on your flesh until you are just another pile of bones, a John Doe to be sent to the scrap heap because nobody cares about you. Nobody loves you. No one will even notice that you’re gone.”
“No one… will care…”
“Exactly. Alysha’s mother asked me to leave you be, because she was afraid that you would come after her daughter seeking retribution. But you aren’t going to do that, Kevin. In fact, you are never going to bother anybody again. And to make sure that you don’t, I curse you in the name of Erzulie Dantor, protector of abused women. I dedicate your pain to Baron Kriminel, the most vicious of the gede, pronouncer of swift judgments. Your screams please him and he takes great joy in your pain, as do I.”
As he tried to catch his breath, Vivienne took a small paintbrush and a plastic water bottle from her bag. The bottle was half full of yellow-white liquid and this she dumped over his now-ruined back, making him shriek.
“Lemon juice, salt, and cayenne pepper. Works brilliantly as a cold remedy, but I’ve found it has… certain other uses. Like this, for example.” Taking the paintbrush, she dipped it in one of the open wounds on his back and used the blood to sketch a few symbols on his skin, just above his nether regions. Pushing the waistband of his boxers down, Vivienne retrieved the chair and her bag and brought them both around so that she could sit in front of him. From her bag she withdrew a scalpel and she used it to trace over the lines she had painted on him in blood, making sure that the symbols would become scarred into his skin.
“I curse you in the name of Erzulie Dantor. I curse you with impotence and with shame for your deeds. You do not deserve love. You do not deserve comfort. You deserve only this, only pain and humiliation. You will experience no pleasure, not even from yourself. You will not father any children. Your seed is dormant, useless just like you. And when you depart my company, you will not remember my face or my name. No one will pity you. You are nothing. You are garbage. Do I make myself clear?”
“Y-yes. I am nothing. I am garbage.”
“Very good. Now, one last thing before I go…” Vivienne went to the pillar and untied the rope holding him up, and he collapsed into a heap on the floor. She went over to him and put her boot gently on the back of his neck. “...Beg me.”
“Mistress please… forgive me… don’t leave me here to die, please…”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure someone will find you eventually.” Vivienne kicked him hard in the side of the head, knocking him out cold. She gathered up her things, packing them into a large duffel bag with the exception of a small packet of herbs, which she sprinkled over his prone body. Murmuring a few words, she woke their powers of forgetfulness. His mind would come up with some other excuse for the injuries - a particularly vicious mugging, perhaps. But he would not remember Vivienne.
She stole quietly out of the abandoned warehouse, careful to keep to the shadows as she made her way back to her house. It was quite a walk, but she didn’t mind too much. All the work she had been putting in at the dojo and with her two mentors had strengthened her body enough so that this seemed easy. On the way, she congratulated herself on a job well done. He wouldn’t bother another woman as long as he lived, and Alysha would heal from her experience. Vivienne simply hoped that she would have better taste in boyfriends going forward.
Upon reaching her house, Vivienne sneaked inside and dropped her duffel by her bedroom door. Tomorrow, she would clean off everything, but tonight, she merely changed into pajamas and put her hair up into a loose bun before crawling into bed and falling into a deep, satisfied slumber.