"A Goth's Story" (MFdom, tg/v, nc, sm) [1/8]

Chapter 1. The Club
==============

It's sunny outside, according to the newspaper. If I listen closely, I think I
can hear the shouts of children. I used to hate children, strange the things you
miss when they are taken away from you. It's dark in here. The only light is
from the two large candles, mounted in two twisted iron candleholders, either
side of me. There is just enough light for me to write by, my ink pen scratching
on this coarse paper. 

In these stolen moments, while he is otherwise occupied, I'll fill in my story.
It all began a year ago, in Islington, on a thunderclouded night.

The rain was drizzling against my car window, forming sheets on the tarmac,
making the road-markings indistinct beneath the eldritch street-lighting, as I
looked for a place to park in the busy Saturday-night streets.

I had been told the club was special, that I would like it. James, my friend,
had laughingly referred to me as a wannabe Goth, and told me that I should come
up and see what real Goths looked like. He also assured me that the women in the
club were quite stunning. 
"Your jaw will drop." He said
"I don't know what to wear." I replied, attempting to avoid the touchy ‘Woman'
subject. I was still single. In the three months that I had known James he had
had three different girlfriends. 
"Something black." He responded, sarcastic tones cascading. Then, in a 
different tone of voice, "It won't matter anyway."
"Why?"
"Oh, it's dark in the club." I sensed this was an evasion, but I didn't know
why. James continued, "Can I borrow a fiver to get in?" James was always short
of money, and I was always lending it to him. I didn't really mind.
The journey was amusing to say the least; we bounced merrily along to a 
compilation of Sisters of Mercy, The Mission, Depeche Mode and Bauhaus. 
"I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead." Throughout the journey, I felt that James was
watching me. I didn't quite know what made me think that; I could certainly
never catch him doing anything unusual. It was just a feeling.

The Murk-Dwellers club in London is an unprepossessing building, looking like a
derelict warehouse tucked behind an underground station. We queued outside, me
fretting, hoping my appearance - black jeans, black T-shirt, would be 
acceptable. James seeming distracted, slightly on edge. He signed us in and led
me inside. The main corridor of the club is painted in slate grey reminding me
of a prison. My attention was only briefly on the walls however, as my gaze was
torn forcibly by the creature that stood five yards in front of me.

The first thing I noticed was her hair. Jet-black, it hung almost to her 
derriere. Streaks of purple and white ran through it. She turned and I saw her
face. She wore white face powder, with black lipstick. From her heavily mascara-
lined eyes intricate designs were painted in black, coiling and swirling across
her cheeks. Around her neck was a silver collar. She wore a tight corset, 
apparently of black velvet and, beneath her narrowed waist voluminous black lace
skirts billowed. Beneath those I could just make out the lines of fishnet 
stockings. On her feet was a pair of PVC ankle boots with spiked heels. I would
have fallen in love with the shoes alone. James was right. My jaw dropped.

James waved to the girl. On seeing him, she smiled slightly in recognition. He
led me up to her.
"Hi Seppy," he said, "how's it going."
"Not bad," she replied in a soft, melodious voice. "Who's your friend?"
"Ah." James said. "Rob, meet Sepulchre, commonly known as Seppy."
"Pleased to meet you." To say I stammered would be false. I was, however, very
careful over my words. Sepulchre semi-smiled at me before turning back to James.
"Is he the one?" James nodded.
"Yep. What do you think?" Sepulchre cast an assessing glance over me.
"He'll do. A touch on the large side but a diet will deal with that." 
"What the hell are you talking about?" I interjected, insulted. Sepulchre 
turned to me.
"Oh, never mind. You'll find out later." I subsided, determined to find out
from James what she had been talking about.
"Is the Patrician here yet?" James asked. 
"He's upstairs. I'll tell him you are here." She turned to go, before turning
back to me, a glint in her eyes. "Enjoy the club, Sab".
"Rob." I corrected.
"Whatever."

After Sepulchre had climbed the concrete stairs, James led me through a narrow
and somewhat busy corridor into a room filled with people. Like the Cantina
Scene from Star Wars, I felt that I had stepped into a different universe.
Everywhere I looked were strangely garbed and made-up people. In the corner, on
a bench, a couple writhed together. The air was filled with voices and the
steady beat coming through a thick door at the other side of the room. James led
me, sliding through the press to the doorway. Pushing it open, the noise hit me
like a hurricane. I didn't recognise the track, though the style was familiar.
On the now-revealed dance-floor, through the haze of a smoke machine, I could
make out the forms of people dancing, vaguely to the beat, their arms waving in
elegant coils.

Looking round I saw that, although I was under-dressed, I wasn't out of place.
Black did seem to be the recurring motif. Odd flashes of purple, white, silver
and blood red splashed, here and there, across the black canvas. I felt that I
had stepped into a different world, a world behind the one I thought I knew and
that I was very much the learner. James led me back into the antechamber room
and sat me down on the, somewhat wet and chilly, floor in the corner.
"Wait here." He told me. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes." With a nod
and a wave to someone across the room, he wove back into the press. I was alone.
I looked around, across from me, an alien with pierced eyebrows and a purple
Mohican sat deep in conversation with a girl dressed in PVC hot pants and a
black lace top. He turned and looked at me, I glanced away, my eyes alighting on
a somewhat surprisingly tall lady. I think. I sat there, unconsciously staring,
trying to work out whether or not it really was a woman. I wasn't an 
archconservative, being fairly liberal in views, but there were some things that
just didn't turn me on, and that was one of them.

After I had been sitting there about five minutes, my bottom starting to get
slightly wet and cold, James returned with his fist clenched tightly. 
"Come on." He said, leading me back through the crowd to the corridor. As we
entered the corridor he swung a tight left through a door. Looking around, I
realised that we were in the toilet, although there was nothing on the door to
indicate that.
"Close your eyes and open your mouth." James ordered me.
"Why?" I responded, confused.
"Just do it." Reluctantly, I shut my eyes and opened my mouth as instructed. I
felt something small, round and pill-like enter my mouth.
"Swallow." I paused, tried to get a question out.
"Ot I it?"
"Swallow." James ordered, vehemently. Startled, I swallowed. Nothing happened.
"What was it?" I asked. James smiled. 
"You'll find out. Come on, let's go dance." We went back to the dance-floor,
where something loud and with deep gravelly voices was being played. I tried to
copy those around me and soon I felt I was getting into the swing of things,
relieved that a sense of rhythm appeared to be purely optional. "Roll head like
I'm drunk, wave arms like ‘Lets Pretend to be a Tree', twitch body in time to
last track." I thought repeatedly to myself. Surprising, I actually started to
enjoy it, despite the fact that I looked silly.
As we danced, I became aware of a blurring at the edge of my vision, a slight
tunnelling effect. I waved at James, he didn't notice, possibly assuming it was
a dance move. I tapped him on the shoulder and mimed taking a drink. He nodded
and led me off the dance-floor into the antechamber room. In one corner stood a
Coke machine and, relieved, I bought us a Coke each. James, of course, had no
money. We sat down in the corner.

"Well, what do you think?" James asked me.
"It's cool," I responded "I didn't think I was going to like it, but you're
right, it is good. And I don't feel threatened and out-of-place at all, like I
do in normal clubs."
"Good." James smiled. "I was sure you'd like it."
"And I'll give you one thing. " I said quietly.
"Yes?"
"You were right about the girls." I gave ground gracefully. I drank more from
my can hoping I was just dehydrated. My head felt like it was stuffed full of
wool and sounds were getting fuzzier.
"Any in particular?" James grinned. I cast my eyes around the room. There were
many exquisitely made up and interestingly dressed woman standing around, but in
my mind I was comparing them to one who was not in the room. Eventually, I gave
up.
"Ok." I confessed. "I think that the girl you introduced me to, Seppy, was
easily the most attractive here." To my surprise, James giggled, something he
didn't normally do.
"How are you feeling?" He asked.
"Woozy," I admitted, "What was that thing."
"Just a small pill to make you a little more tractable. You can be remarkably
stubborn when you set your mind to it."
"What?" I interjected, shaking my head in an attempt to clear it.
"I had to rectify my current financial situation, you know."
"Eh?" I found it difficult to work out the implications of what James was 
saying. 
"Stand up." James commanded. I tried to work out what I should do, failed, and
therefore stood up. I noticed that Sepulchre had entered the room on the far
side. She looked over and beckoned, like a siren. Even had I not been in my
fogged state, I would have bounded over to her. As it was, I unsteadily wove my
way across, James in hot pursuit.
"Hi!" I said, when we reached her, trying to sound cheerful.
"Hmm." She said. "Come along. The Patrician will see you now." She turned,
and led me along the corridor and up the concrete stairs to the upper floor.

The upper floor was much smaller than the lower, and had much more of a ‘private
club' air. There was a plush deep purple carpet on the floor and the black
painted walls had traces of silver filigree-like paintwork sliding vein-like
across them. Ethereal light came from recessed lamps in the walls and from the
multiple candles burning in candelabras across the room. There was a familiar,
slightly musty, scent to the room and a faint haze filled the atmosphere.  Music
played softly, much more quietly than downstairs, with a less pronounced bass
line as well. I took the room in at a glance, before my eyes fell on the person
at the end of the room. Fell, and then were locked. Mentally, I gasped.

At the end of the room, on a raised plinth, sat a chair. Baroque and gothic,
this chair, or rather, throne, was designed and executed with such over the top
extravagance, such brio, that it defied anything that I had seen before. Celtic
crosses were interwoven with pentagrams, with cobwebs binding them together.
Silver snakes, frozen in an instant, slithered across the sides. The arms of the
chair were curved bones. Atop the backrest, which was lined with purple velvet,
sat a malevolent-looking silver spider, with sparkling gems as its eyes. Sitting
on this throne was a man, who I assumed to be The Patrician, examining me with
interest.

He was in his late twenties, with jet-black hair and an aristocratic air. In his
eyes was a glint of steel and when he spoke his voice was laden with the 
overtones of command.
"Bring him closer, Sepulchre." He ordered. Sepulchre obeyed, taking me by the
arm and half-leading, half-dragging, me forward.
"Enough." He commanded. He indicated with his hand. Sepulchre dropped my arm
and moved to him, dropping to her knees by the side of his chair. With James
still lurking at the back of the room, I felt very much alone and slightly naked
under the scrutiny of this lord in front of me. I became aware of the other
people in the room, lounging on seats around the edge, standing in tight 
huddles, where, presumably, they had previously been conversing. Now all were
watching and studying me intently, adding to my feeling of vulnerability.

"Good evening, young man." He said to me, after a short time.
"Good evening, sir." I responded, the ‘Sir' coming unbidden to my lips. It
seemed appropriate somehow. He seemed pleased, and leant back, a half-smile
playing over his lips. I found myself studying those lips, anything to avoid
looking at the eyes, which cut through my defences like lasers, laying bare my
inner core.
"How do you like my club?" He asked, pleasantly.
"It's very impressive, sir." The sir's still seemed appropriate.
"Good. And what do you like best about it?" I paused for a second, thinking of
an answer. My eyes flicked to Sepulchre, kneeling next to The Patrician. I
wasn't given a chance to respond to his question, for he had seen my glance.
"I see. You are not the first, nor I trust the last, to find our Sepulchre
interesting." He looked down at her, reached and ran his fingers through her
hair.
"Sepulchre." He ordered. "To him." Sepulchre stood and strode purposefully
towards me. She stood in front of me, and looked into my eyes. I hadn't noticed
how tall she was, as tall as I, until this moment. Her raven-black eyes seemed
like oceans swirling and seething and drawing me in. The room faded around me.
It was just her and I, alone. I felt her hand brush against my face; still my
eyes remained locked to hers, enthralled. She moved closer, I remained 
statuesque. I felt her touch against me, her chest touching mine. The music
faded, all I could hear was my breathing, and my heart beat. She cocked her head
to the left and slowly, slowly, brought her lips close to mine. I closed my eyes
and I felt the soft touch of her mouth. Simultaneously she wrapped one of her
legs around mine; I heard the whisper of her stockings across my trousers. I
clasped my hands around her corseted waist. She slipped a hand down to the bulge
at my crotch and began to stroke it. I kissed her hungrily, desire making me
oblivious to the audience so interested in this performance. I held her close to
me as she began to undulate her body, entwined around me, her hand stroking
gently but purposefully. 
"Enough." The Patrician's voice whipped through the cloud of my ardour. 
Sepulchre stopped and stepped clear of me. I was left, panting slightly, my
passion displayed for all to see in the tent-pole like arrangement of my 
trousers. This passion quickly faded as mortification set in. I had publicly
disgraced myself. I blushed. Unabashed, the scarlet Sepulchre returned to her
supplication at the side of The Patrician, leaving me red-faced.  

Amusement sparkled in The Patrician's eyes. "Don't look so embarrassed." He
told me. "You haven't done anything wrong. Sepulchre usually draws that 
reaction." His faced hardened, "I grow weary of his current demeanour. Hawk,
Aisling, take him away." An extremely tough looking man strode towards me. I
turned to run, straight into the waiting arms of an equally fearsome woman. She
grabbed my arm and twisted it into an arm-lock. The man took hold of my other
arm and, kicking and protesting, I was dragged through a door that I had not
seen before, situated as it was behind the Patrician's throne. I was bundled
into a corner, to some kind of man-sized chest and the door slammed closed above
me. In fury I beat on the lid. It opened a crack. I heard the hard voice of the
woman, Aisling.
"Don't bother. There's nobody to hear you and if The Patrician finds out you've
been misbehaving, well, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."  This was followed
by the hoarse laugh of the man, Hawk.
"I wouldn't want to be in his shoes anyway."
"Well, he isn't going to be in them himself for very long." The door slammed
shut again, and I heard their laughter recede into the distance.

I sat in silence, stunned and disorientated, partly from the drug I had been
given, but mostly from the sudden and unexpected turn of events. What had 
happened to me? More importantly, what was to happen to me in the future? I was
scared, but inside, deep inside, a dark part of me had tasted abandon, in the
shape of Sepulchre, and was starting to crave more.

I heard a faint, muffled, but familiar voice. James seemed to be talking to
someone in the distance. "I get what we agreed then?" Followed by the sharp
crack of The Patrician's voice.
"Yes. I concede that you have delivered the goods as before. He should do well,
like the previous one."
"I think I'll prefer him when you're done. He's a bit of a pathetic worm now."
I closed my eyes. This was betrayal. James, it seemed, had sold me. Into what,
and for what, I had no idea. In addition, apparently, I was not the first to be
thus beguiled. Their voices faded as they walked away and I was left once again
in silence, to consider. After a while in the pitch darkness, having tried the
door and found it locked, my eyes closed and I drifted into sleep.