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37
“There is a hole in Los Angeles,” Brad said, words Carol Edwards would remember for the rest of her life.
…
Life returned to the abnormal which had become normal for Carol. Not just normal, essential.
Late one Sunday morning in February Brad drove them north along the coast in his black Corvette convertible with the top down. He seldom drove the car. Now that he could afford it he wasn’t even sure he liked it, but he had always wanted one as a teenager.
Winter is the best season in Southern California, when the weather is so much better than in most of the rest of the county. The sun was shining and the temperature 80º. At one point they drove through the last holdout of agriculture from development, fields of cultivated flowers, cheerful rectangles of pure color, red, orange, yellow.
Brad had told Carol to dress normally and to stop wearing the dog collar. She had on a relatively modest peach colored dress, sleeveless, scoop neck, mid-thigh, with big wood buttons down the front. She did not think that “normally” extended to underwear, and so wore none.
He finally stopped for lunch at a seafood restaurant on the beach in Carlsbad, where they shared lobster and a bottle of Chablis.
Carol knew that there was more to the day than this, that some kind of degrading sex was ahead, and the lunch was pleasant. It was almost like a date. She was happy, until Brad said, “You know we are nearing the end?”
“Yes. But why?”
“I’m running out of ideas and time.”
“Time? For other women?”
“Yes. And business. These are hard times, and I’ve had to make changes. You haven’t fallen in love with me?”
“No. Love would ruin it. Compromise. Weaken.”
“We are going to Ooni’s in a little while. He’s been pestering me for months to have you pierced.”
Brad took a jewelry box from his pocket and pushed it across the table toward her. They both realized at the same moment that it was the way a man would have offered an engagement ring.
She opened the box and found a helix of ⅛” wide gold, spiraling through three complete circles. The ends of the helix were notched. There was also a gold cylinder the same length, with a small key hole. And a gold key.
Just then their waitress, an effervescent girl in her early twenties, returned and noticing the box, exclaimed, “Oh, you’ve received a gift. How lovely. And...unusual.” Her forehead creased, “But what is it?”
“A chastity device,” said Brad.
The girl turned as red as a field of flowers and hastened away.
“He wants rings in your nipples, too, but I said no. I did agree to one in your nose.”
Carol’s eyes widened.
“He convinced me with a striking photograph of a beautiful blond with one hanging down from her septum to below her upper lip. Eyes like yours looking directly into the camera. Bright red lipstick on a mouth like yours. She’d have to tilt the ring out of the way to give head. It would rub against the top of a cock. I’m curious to discover how that feels. You cannot look at the photo without imagining her being led by a chain through the loop. So barbaric it is erotic.
“That isn’t to be worn full time. At least not now. He will fill the hole with a spacer until it heals. No one will see. I’m told you’ll just feel as though you have a stuffy nose.
“He wants to marry you.”
“What?”
“Ooni wants to marry you. I think he loves you in his way. You’d be his slave as well as his wife. He’d still torture and abuse you. You’d get the sex you need. You could do worse.”
“Is that what you want? A way to get me off your hands?”
“I don’t want anything.”
“You’ve changed me. Made me need this.”
“I don’t know that I ‘made you need this.’ I may have just opened a door.”
“I don’t want to marry Ooni, but I will if you tell me to.”
“I’m not going to do that.
“There is a hole in Los Angeles--and I’m not changing the subject by the way. It is in one of those high rises along Wilshire Boulevard between the La Brea Tar Pits and Beverly Hills. I’ve been considering our problem--and I accept that it is partially mine--and I’ve made some inquiries. One way or another I know a lot of people.
“Call it the rabbit hole that Alice fell through into Wonderland. Or a black hole with an event horizon from which nothing escapes. Or a wormhole in time and space.
“Whatever, it is a hole. Enter it and you vanish from this world and emerge in another.
“The hole is hidden in full view. It is entered through an elevator door on the lowest level of the building’s underground parking. I’ve seen it. There is ample parking on the upper levels so almost no one ever ventures down that far; but if they do, they see only an elevator door like any other, with a small plaque that states, “For private use only.” If they persist and press the call button, a recorded voice repeats the statement and directs them to public elevators on the next level.
“But if you are expected and recognized on the surveillance camera, the elevator door opens. The true event horizon is when the door closes. You are gone.
“I’ve been told that there are no floor buttons. No ‘open.’ No ‘close.’ The elevator has only one stop. The people I’ve spoken to don’t know on what floor. And not everyone enters the elevator willingly. Vans appear. Parcels are dropped off. In that case those who unload the parcel obviously exit the elevator before the doors close. It is a commercial enterprise. Like cars and paintings stolen on order.”
“And what happens when the elevator reaches its destination?”
“You are sold. By the pound.”
“What?”
“Lower your voice. They don’t sell slices. Just whole beasts. But the bidding is by the pound. I’m told potential buyers find it amusing. And those being sold realize they are meat.”
“Is that what you’re going to do: collect a finders fee?”
“No.” He laughed. “Though I suppose I could.”
“I don’t want to talk about this now. Let’s go to Ooni’s.”
“All right. But think about it.”
----------
Ooni had been a pre-med student before he suddenly became a rich drummer and did the piercings himself, painlessly after administering local anesthetics and with surgical precision, assisted by a registered nurse. Pain, giving and receiving, was the essence of their mutual experience, but not that day. Ooni wanted the results to be perfect and, to some eyes, beautiful.
The procedures were perfumed on a tilting table on which Carol had often been tortured. Her septum with her head lowered. Her labia with the table level and her ankles secured to posts wide apart. Although her genitals were numb and she could feel nothing, she remembered being whipped while tied in that position.
Ooni did her labia first. He used an implement that cauterized the holes. Carol smelled burning meat. Herself. Meat. Being sold by the pound.
…
When he was finished with her nose, he freed her from the table and helped her stand. She felt a little woozy from the combined anesthetics. He gave her pain pills, two tubes of ointment, a page of written post-surgical instructions.
The nurse helped her dress. And Brad drove her home.
There was no sex, and yet back in her condo when sensation began to return and she felt the weight of the helix pulling at her lips, it was profoundly sexual knowing that she no longer had any control over her cunt. Brad had the only key. Idly she wondered if there was enough metal to set off airport security alarms.
38
Urine is sterile unless one has a kidney infection, which is a good thing. She had swallowed enough of it. But it burned as it flowed over cauterized holes, three in each labia minor, those on the right higher than those on the left. She quickly learned to pee slowly so it did not ricochet off metal. Urine could come out, but certainly nothing was going in. Her tampon days were over.
After patting herself dry, she walked naked into the bedroom, where she sat down on the carpet in front of the full length mirror, spread her knees and examined herself. Not even room for a finger, though she could peel back enough flesh to stroke her clit. She did. Slowly. Defiantly. The hell with them all, even if she needed them. This wasn’t enough. But it felt good.
She watched her reflection and tried to imagine what she would look like with the ring hanging from her nose. That and the helix. She knew she would be led around by them on a leash. Like an animal. A cow or an ox. She had lost--no, given away--control of her body months ago. But this was different. Solid. Real. Constant. ‘Barbaric.’ Brad had said. It was. And erotic. She thought about being a slave. Truly helpless. Falling through a rabbit hole. No. It would not be into Wonderland. A black hole.
While she continued to stroke her clit with her right forefinger, her left hand moved to her left breast. She squeezed the nipple. Hard. Shuddered with pain and pleasure. And came.
39
Ooni was a recluse.
Those few years of screaming Idolatrous crowds were enough to last a lifetime; and now he almost never left his isolated property, though he knew it would not be isolated much longer. The sounds of encroaching construction drifted over the eucalyptus trees. He owned several acres, but not enough if surrounded by subdivisions for the privacy he craved. Like mountain men of the Old West, the time when he would have to move higher into the hills was coming. But that presented problems. He was not totally self-contained.
He needed Maria, his understanding housekeeper, to come once a week to clean and bring groceries. He needed to be in reach of FedEx and UPS to deliver Internet purchases. And he needed access to a supply of women who let him do sadistic things to their flesh for whatever reasons of mind or money. With most it was money.
Twenty million people in two countries lived within two hours drive of his house. Ooni had the cell phone numbers of many men, and a few women, on both sides of the border who would provide him with female bodies to which he could do anything. Even kill. Ooni didn’t want to kill anyone. He simply wanted to make them suffer and fuck them while they did. But he had often been assured, without having asked for such assurance, that if a woman disappeared, she would not be missed.
Carol Edwards was different. Beyond the rest of them, though at least a few--himself, Brad, Faye--sensed that. Not just incomparably beautiful--and in his rock star days Ooni had moved in ‘A’ list celebrity circles--and not just highly intelligent--though she was. There was something else. Something ineffable. Something untouchable. Perhaps several ‘things else’ that he did not understand. Among them that she accepted willingly more than any whore did for money. To torture her, to watch her exquisite face as she suffered excruciating pain and humiliation, to look into her eyes at the moment she felt a dog spewing come into her cunt, was so much more than torturing lesser women. Was the greatest rush he had ever experienced. And to know that even as she begged and screamed--if she could--that when in a few days or weeks he summoned, she would willing return to experience it all again.
Ooni did not want Carol to disappear into the black hole--Brad had told him about it, along with her response to the suggestion of marriage--but he did not know what to do.
Immediately he did know what to do.
“Tilt your head back,” he said.
She did.
He looked up her nose.
“Good. You’ve healed perfectly. There’s always risk of infection.
“This will feel strange, but I don’t think it will hurt.”
Inserting a miniature forceps into one nostril, he caught the end of the surgical steel plug and eased it from her septum. Then he looked in again.
“Excellent. You can straighten up.
“I don’t know if you will be able to see.”
He held a mirror beneath her nose. Eyes down, cross-eyed, she could. A hole. Quite a big one. A half inch above her nostrils.
“Sounds gross--that’s odd after the things we’ve done--but put your finger up there and feel it. You’ll have to do that to insert the ring by yourself.”
Carol did, and he was right, she was embarrassed to seem to be picking her nose.
“Head back. I’lll do it this time.”
The ring was 1½” in diameter and thicker than the helix spiral.
Ooni showed her how one end screwed in and out of the other at an almost imperceptible seam.
He opened the ends, carefully inserted the ring into her nose, feed it though the hole in her septum, rotated until the ends were exposed, and screwed them back together.
“By the non-existent gods!” His voice was awed. “Look at yourself.”
Already she felt the strangeness. Pressing against the inside of her nostrils, partially blocking them, brushing her upper lip. She might have to breath through her mouth. And the thought came: what will I do when my mouth is full of cock or a gag?
She sat up and looked in the mirror and was stunned.
“Take off your dress, but keep the shoes on.”
Carol stood and unzipped. The little black dress fell. No matter how often he saw her naked, each time Ooni was struck anew by her beauty.
Taking a six foot strand of rawhide from his pocket, he tied one end through her nose ring, as she knew he would, as she wanted him to, and led her from the room.
He did not look back, but he did unpredictably tug on the rawhide, causing her to lurch and break stride. Her hands were free, but she was a captive beast.
He finally stopped in the room of mirrors.
Carol looked at her infinite reflections reflecting to infinity all around the room. Tall, full breasted--she had never previously considered being pierced, but now that she was, nipple rings might look good, too--narrow waist, flaring hips, long legs. Gold glittering cunt. Obscene gold ring through nose.
“Spread your feet.”
Ooni walked around behind her and pulled on the rawhide, bending her head back as far as it would go, bowing her neck, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. Then he passed it between the crack of her ass--she felt it on her asshole--between her legs, splitting her cunt. Changing hands, he moved in front of her, and tied the end violin string tight to the loop on the front of helix locking cylinder.
Carol was startled to realize that she was totally helpless. Able to stare only straight up, she could not see to move. There was no give in the rawhide. The ring was pulled up now and pressing into the bridge of her nose rather than hanging down. To try to raise her head pulled painfully on her cunt.
She felt a finger touch her mouth, trace her lips, move slowly down over exposed throat. Hand closed around neck. Tightened just enough to cut off breath. Released. Moved lower. Memorized suprasternal notch. Dropped to breasts. Gently caressed nipples. Carol could feel how hard they were. Hands were gone. Then one returned with a resounding slap that knocked her off her feet. Pain from nose and cunt, as well as reddening breast, as she involuntarily jerked and was brought to an abrupt halt by rawhide. Hands caught her before she hit the floor and lowered her onto her side.
Carol could more hear than see Ooni lie down beside her. She felt and tasted his cock as it was shoved into her mouth and down her throat. Easily at that angle. Every stroke caused her head to jerk. Every stroke brought pain to nose and cunt.
When the familiar salty goo spewed into her mouth, her stretched neck made it difficult to swallow. She heard herself croak like a frog.
Ooni fell away and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He remembered what Brad had said. She was right. Love did comprise.
He got up and went to the bathroom, leaving her there tied nose to cunt.
Carol’s right eye was an inch above the hardwood floor. At the edge of her vision, an insect was crawling. She watched it until Ooni returned.
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