Feature Writer: T_Silverwolf
Feature Title: Fig Leaf Leatherworks Prologue
Published: 21.03.2021
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: A demon finally grows tired of her Mistress’s bad behavior. A young leather worker is drawn into a game of power between a daemon and her Mistress, but in the struggle to save his family business and his own soul, the daemon awakens a new desire within him to ply his trade to tools of submission instead of armor and saddlery.
Author’s Notes: This story is a work in progress novel unrelated to any of my other works, you can expect some punctuation and spelling errors, but I will try to keep them to a minimum. I haven’t given up on my other projects, but 2020 knocked me on my ass in a big way. Dragon (S)Layers is on my list of projects for this year, but right now I am trying to get back into writing while scraping the rust off my skills. Thank you for your patience, and please feel free to comment your thoughts on this story as we go forward. I’ll do my best to reply!
Fig Leaf Leatherworks Prologue
The Demon
Glysless’s knees cracked loudly against the stone floor of the basement. She barely registered the pain in the conflagration of raw agony scorching her to her soul; every breath filled her lungs with coagulating blood and plumes of ash as her body reformed around the silver blade buried between her shoulder blade and right supracoracoideus muscle. It left her wing hanging limp which only torqued the blade more and every time her heart pumped it sliced itself open on the tip, sending fresh waves of crippling weakness through her. Glysless didn’t scream, though.
Partly because the act of walking and maintaining her Glamour had taken most of her effort, partly because the idea of showing such weakness in front of the Mistress’s guests was as revolting as their downcast eyes and mournful baying.
Oh sure, they howled and begged for the blade to be removed, and of course they tried to use their safe words to save her- and why shouldn’t they? She looked like the bodyguard the Mistress had been hiding behind for years since they met her. Glysless was a ‘friend’ to most of these idiots, and there she was prostrate in front of the shrine to the Fates pumping blood out on to the dais usually reserved for the Sweat Sacrifices and orgies.
It’d have been hilarious if it wasn’t so painful.
The Mistress’s Cult had forgotten that Play may have stopped when you uttered the magic word, but the Fates of this world didn’t care about your ideas of Play. What was done was done and all that remained was the consequences.
“Leave us!” The Mistress said sharply. Her guests looked confused- at least that was the vibe Glys got, their masks hid their faces. “Now!”
It’d been such a long time since Glyss had heard panic in her voice, she almost confused it for concern. She thought for just one split second that she heard the little urchin girl crying out from across the decades from the empty streets into the cold basement— but it was a fantasy. That girl was dead and gone and the soulless apparition that had become her Mistress was all that remained. Her panic was momentary. Her concern vapid and shallow.
As soon as the last petitioner meandered out Glys dropped the Glamour and snarled, “Get it out!” A hacking cough racked her body as the ash in her lung burst from her throat which only helped matters.
“Now, now — It’s fine! Just heal.”
She wanted to scream. She wanted to reach over her broken shoulder, yank the fucking thing out and shove it right up her Mistress’s ass. “I can’t!” She wheezed and coughed some more.
“It’s never been a problem before,” the Mistress said pitilessly.
Glys doubled over onto her knees, bracing with her good hand. “S- s-”
“Yes?” She swept up beside Glys. Her brown robe had black blotches where it’d absorbed some of the assassins’ blood. “Come on, speak up.”
“Sihl- Sil-”
A moment of clarity swept over the Mistress’s face and her eyes widened. Again that flicker of panic, but this time it was tangible. It was real and it was personal. Glys could smell it like a fine opium, just there ripe for the taking if she could only get up the will to do so.
“Silv-” Glys coughed again. The Mistress was rising.
“Well why didn’t you say so? Hold on.” A boot touched Glys’s lower back. Pressed down- she was too much of a waif to add any weight, Glys barely noticed. Slender hands wrapped around grip of the dagger. Wrenched.
Glys did scream that time.
“Bare with it!”
More pain erupted from within in so many colors and varieties that even with senses finely tuned to the nuances of pain, Glys couldn’t properly coordinate an understanding of it all. Her heart was pounding now, slamming against the flat of the blade as it pushed her organs this way and that. The bones in her back were trying to knit together around the intruder, but for all her faults the Mistress knew how to handle this.
Keep it from healing then pull it out.
And she did.
The blade wedged this way and that and eased up- the pressure release was slow. Slow. Slow. And then all at once, as the poisonous silver was freed from her flesh her body knit back together with the crunch of bone and squelching muscles until even her skin was joining in the cacophony of healing. She’d taken a lot of souls tonight protecting her Mistress and the cult, it was enough that she could burn through them to mend her flesh and purge the silver even if it left her lethargic and cold.
The blade clanged next to her head. Glys flopped on to her side, curling into a shivering ball as her gaze drifted up to her Mistress standing over her. She was busy wiping her hands on her bloodied robe. They stared at one another, breathlessly anticipating something neither of them seemed to agree upon. Was she waiting for Glys to utter her own safe word and end their little game once and for all? Would she even abide it anymore? Did she even remember what it was?
Humans grew up so fast and some part of Glys was looking for something that no longer existed. Tonight had only proved that nagging suspicion that Glysless had been right for nearly a decade now; this woman was no longer her friend and mistress. Glys had a plan, though. Tonight was going to be a night of many surprises: It wasn’t going to be limited to the appearances of the assassins or the pants shitting terror the would-be murderers found when they discovered the rumors about Glys were true — no, Glys still had plenty of surprises to pull from her bag of tricks.
When she wasn’t offered a hand she rolled over and sat up, stretching her wings to either side of the basement chamber. Everything hurt but she could still feel. For example, she could feel the fringes of her wings glide over the racks and saddles used in the ‘rituals’ these idiots performed for the glory of their Fates. They were rough hewn and sloppy appliances with thick rope oiled smooth from years of sweat and submission, they were fit for common use by the Mistress’s playthings, but they were a far cry from the masterwork that graced Glys’s skin when she was cared for.
Back when such things were respected between them.
The Mistress was pacing. “How did you let that happen?”
Glysless drew one of her six shot revolvers and began reloading it- a simple, mindless task that helped her refocus. “Typically when someone saves your life you say ‘thank you’ or have you forgotten that?”
The Mistress sighed. “You’re right. Thank you … I’m sorry, I—”
She wasn’t. They both knew it. Glys slid the final percussion cap onto her gun’s cylinder and punched the heavy iron back into its holster. Getting up was an exercise in patience and pain management, yet the look on her Mistress’s face when she had to crane her neck to meet her gaze was well worth it. She might not have been sorry, but her heart was still thrumming in Glys’s ears. So close now to her demon ‘pet’ the realization seemed to finally hit her that she was alone, she was so dreadfully alone with Glysless. Her body radiated fear and surprise.
Glys stepped into her space, drew up to her full height as her spurs clanged in the cavernous room like the dropping of an executioner’s axe. Her Mistress had enough good sense to hold her ground, she even smiled and ran her hand over Glys’s chest in that special way she had since she was a child.
“Thank you.” Their Play continued. She was wearing her Sincerity mask, but she couldn’t hide the trembling in her fingers or the intoxicating draw of her terror. She had such a slender neck, it fit so neatly into Glys’s palm, the human form was so delicate. So fragile …
Glys’s fingers slid upward out of the zone of temptation, she cradled her Mistress’s skull. “I told you it was a bad idea, I told you those jackals wouldn’t listen to reason. You don’t play with organized crime no matter how rich you are …” Glys ruffled her wings to shake out the last bit of nervous energy. She needed to stay composed, she needed to focus.
“I should have listened,” her Mistress whispered, turning into Glys’s palm with closed eyes. A greying strand of hair slid over to hide part of her face. She kissed Glys’s wrist. “Forgive me, my pet …”
“Why should I?” Glys enveloped her in a hug. “Smell my sweat and my blood? None of it is your doing, you’ve tarnished your prized toy with the blades of your enemies.” A soft primal growl rumbled in her throat despite her best efforts to tamp down her anger. Her muscular arms crushed her Mistress into her bosom, hoisting her off the ground while her wings wrapped around them both protectively. “Time keeps stealing you from me, Mistress …”
“It does,” she whispered weakly.
Nothing more? No admission of guilt? No shame? Maybe it was too much to expect from someone who’d taken every lesson Glys had given and turned it to their own gain. Maybe contrition was a big ask, but people had died unnecessarily so she could attempt to have her way.
“Are you going to kill me now? Have I finally pushed you that far?”
Again with the shallow homages to her crimes. Glys set her down, cupped her cheek with a tender smile. “I will never kill you … we have a deal, have you forgotten?”
The Mistress returned the smile. It slowly faded, turned into an ugly, angry thing. Corrupted by hubris and smoldering hatred that her plans hadn’t gone the way she envisioned them. “I’ll see to it the rest of those thugs pay for what they’ve done to you. We will see this tarnish wiped clean. . .”
Glysless stepped back. She knew what she wanted to say, she knew how she wanted to scream at this ingrate for all the trouble she’d caused and how damn close she’d come to getting Glys’s heart cut out of her chest. Instead, she smiled placidly.
Then she flicked the first in her domino run of surprises. “Thank you, Mistress. I’m going to get cleaned up and offer my thanks to the Fates that we both saw this night through. If I may be excused?”
As she’d hoped, her Mistress’s eyes widened slightly. It just dawned on the little twit that she’d entered the shrine without due prayers. She pushed past. “Yes, go clean up. I’ll have Corsel make you breakfast.”
“Thank you.”
Glysless reformed her Glamour and made her way up the steps towards her room. The mansion sprawled like a cancer clad in walnut wall panels that were broken up by massive windows. Early morning light was beginning to crawl over the furniture like a burial shroud in shades of peach and indigo; Glys welcomed it as a quiet invitation by this world’s Fates to enact her plans. She prowled like a jaguar through the house to the Mistress’s study from where she pulled a piece of paper with her measurements written upon it.
It was old news, one forgotten promise of many, and in the messy splatters of books- both opened and stacked- the yellowing paper fit in well. Glys tucked it strategically between the cushion and pillow of the favorite arm chair- she already knew this would be the second stop. It was always the second stop when times were difficult and she needed to think; habits were funny things.
Glys rearranged the stacks of books to face away from the chair with the least interesting titles in the collection on the top to prevent any distraction. The paperwork on the desk was similarly buried among more pedestrian financial reports from the brothels and, just because the risk of her trying to occupy herself with something was too great, Glys set up the logs in the fire place and tinder close at hand. None of it was obvious, all of it purely subconscious to a human mind; this room was boring and uninteresting and so easy to sink into there was no chance of her suddenly finding interest in the tomes or frustration. She wouldn’t let her Mistress miss what she was meant to see.
Upstairs in her room she went through perfunctory ritual of bathing- the water was, as ever, too cold. Trying to get anything up to near boiling was too time consuming for what she had in mind. She bared with it through her already foul mood. Normally, in any sane day, bathing usually meant she was going to be invited to the quilted throne installed in the corner of her room, today had not been a sane day, though.
Even after all these years the piece inspired a thrill in her- the four post bed she could care less about, she’d slept on plenty of dirt floors in her time- but the throne with its mahogany surfaces and quilted leather called to her on that elemental level. The straps were snug and molded to her contours by this point, a variety of tools and treats lined either side of the piece of furniture with a thin layer of dust gathering atop them- they were her Mistress’s tools left to rust but still sharp and gleaming in Glys’s mind.
She ran her finger over the wood, tracing the memories she’d written into the furniture with her sweat. Maybe she was too sentimental to think that she could recover this broken situation- but then again she’d seen it all unfold first hand. One year after another, one step down the road of corruption to the next; the girl that’d built this throne and the mansion that it resided in was never coming back. She needed to stop hoping.
The dominos had been painstakingly laid out just waiting for an excuse to tip forward. She needed to ditch the sentimentality and get back to basics- she was a demon; Fifth Serigar of the Lord of Pious Wrath and all that happy horse shit. . . .she was her own demon. She could do it.
Glysless swallowed. She could do it. She could find her way without a Mistress or a Master. She’d done it for centuries! This didn’t change anything, some short lived human who got way too full of themselves and forgot their agreement? No, she was who she was. She just needed to commit to the change. Glys slipped into clean clothes and threw on a house coat so she could make her appearance downstairs look as casual as possible.
Her Mistress was in the study with a cup of cold tea and a book. A twinge of irritation struck Glys, she’d missed the note.
“How are you feeling?” her Mistress closed the book and looked up when she knocked.
“Troubled.”
“Oh? Why don’t you come tell me about it?” She patted the edge of the chair.
Playing the good sport, Glys curled up against her legs with her chin on her Mistress’s knee as she’d done a million times before. They went through their ritual of strength and weakness, fingers raked through Glys’s blonde mane caressing each of her four horns in turn- this was allowed because it was the Mistress’s right, not because it felt good. Not because it tickled those erotic parts of either of them, certainly not because it made Glysless almost instantly wet.
“Mmmm? What’s on your mind, surely not those cretins. They were dispatched handily.”
Glys closed her eyes relishing the touch. Seemed they weren’t going to address the members of her cult that were killed in the fight? So be it, one more check off the list. “You work me too hard.”
“I don’t think that’s true …”
“Had I had time to sleep I wouldn’t have been so sluggish to act- he very nearly got the blade through me and into you.” She stroked the woman’s ankle, kissed her knee. “It was so very close.”
The words had their intended effect, a slight tremble, a shift in posture. Then she was back to stroking Glys’s horns with false confidence. “You desire your freedom, Glysless?”
“Did I say that?”
“Did you say what?” Her voice hardened with thin bravado. The years had sapped her vigor for this part of their Play. She couldn’t stage direct any more, her voice had gone reedy and wary.
Glys looked up, nuzzled into the fabric of her night gown. “My Mistress asks more of me for the security of her future. Again and again and again. . . .it’s tiring.”
“Hmph. You call what you do ‘resting’ when I barely see you four hours a day, no I think. . .” She seemed to catch herself before she said something too dangerous- maybe it occurred to her that pissing off the woman who’d saved her life was probably unfair. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
With an exasperated sigh the Mistress slumped back in her chair, eying Glys. “You’re right,” she admitted quietly. “I push you hard— I. . . .yes. We’ll put the plans for the gallery on hold until these thugs are sorted out. In the meantime, I think. . .”
“Hmm?” Glys asked with wide eyed innocence.
“I think you deserve a reward.”
“Oh?” The demon perked, chin atop both hands now as she took her place properly at her Mistress’s feet. “Is it sleep?”
The Mistress scoffed. “Yes, yes. Fine. But I had better see you around the house.” She stroked Glys’s horns. “We haven’t spent time playing for a long while, have we?”
“It’s been a couple years,” she replied tonelessly. “You’ve been so busy training your cultists that I figured you’d lost interest.”
“Mmh. Fine. Yes. Yes, a reward. . . .while I work on other projects, you will have a week to present yourself to me in new equipment.”
Glys went through all the rehearsed reactions she’d prepared for this moment: surprise, confusion, intrigue and maybe a little bit of amusement. It was always best for her if the Mistress thought she was having fun too.
“Equipment. Cuffs. A corset.” She plucked the folded paper from her book- turns out she had found it as intended- and presented it to Glys. “Find a leather store in town that will satisfy these requirements and get some rest. Is that clear? I don’t want to hear any excuses about you not being able to find what you need. You have five days to do it.”
“I. . . .see. If that is my mistress’s wish, I suppose I’ll have to abide.”
“You will and I look forward to it.” She said with a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She took Glys’s hand gently, kissed it and set it back down. “Don’t disappoint me, pet.”
And just like that, their Play opened a new act. Glysless couldn’t wait to see the audience’s reaction.
THE END OF THE PROLOGUE