Jaded
The wind held its breath as ten million snowflakes dipped and turned, captive partners in gravity’s dance. Each crystal’s flight followed a poetry of motion as unique as its shape. Yet each shared a common structure and would suffer a common fate, destined to add their small value in creating a mantel for his home. There was a time when this paradox would have interested him, a puzzle to be solved. Now he barely noticed the snowfall’s silent pageantry.
Jaded turned from the window, his long, handsome face showing no emotion, for he had none to offer. The window at his back was one of many that ran the length of the long gallery, each rising from the floor to the lofty ceiling above. The gallery was baroque in style, with an excessive amount of gold leaf on the mouldings and intricate pattern work on the tiling of the floor. Set high above the ground, it offered a variety of views of his magnificent gardens and estates.
Without a backward glance he entered one of the long corridors running perpendicular to the gallery. He had promised his brother and sister he would take them on a tour today. The corridors of his home were not always what they seemed. Things often changed, so even though they had seen his house many times, it was not unusual for them to explore it anew. Since they were his guests, he let them choose where they wished to begin. Not surprisingly they had chosen their favourite hallway. Like all the corridors in his lavish home it had a name, Passion’s Path.
Under his breath he exhaled a sigh. In truth, he had little interest in this walk, and, in particular, this hallway. Still, there was always a glimmer of hope he might find something of interest, though he doubted it. It was a long corridor with doors spaced evenly apart along both sides. Each was the same, cheap wooden things washed with a simple white primer. Inscribed on every door was the same message in dark red letters, written lazily in his own handwriting “You’ve been here before.”
In the shadows of his steps, pacing in perfect synchronisation, were his siblings, Cynic and Sarcasm. They laughed and joked, as was their way, about the length and character of the hallway. They enjoyed taunting him, endlessly trying to evoke a response.
“Your home is so different, so unusual, brother. How did you come up with such a unique hallway? You must give me the name of your interior designer,” quipped Sarcasm, her dark eyes flashing in sharp merriment.
Cynic laughed as he joined in, his voice pitched slightly too high betraying his excitement, “He dare not. He’s much too proud to share.”
Jaded did not bother to turn around as he made his reply, his words soft and dry as falling snow outside his home, “I remind you, it was your suggestion to walk Passion’s Path with me today. As I recall. You said it would help ‘cheer me up’.”
“All these years and you still never suspect me of an ulterior motive? Shame on you brother.” Cynic said.
Jaded had neither the energy nor motivation to respond. He paused for a moment and glanced over his shoulder, his lips compressed into a dour expression. Their grins were sardonic and wide. Both were dressed in their preferred fashion. Cynic’s clothing was always extravagant and flamboyant, an assault to the senses. Today he wore a cape with a swirling pattern of bright greens, reds, and for good measure, violet. Jaded refused to speculate on what might lie underneath. As usual, he wore a cap on his head.
Sarcasm preferred more muted garb, but always in the least to distinct tones. Today she wore fabrics of cream and aubergine and dressed in layers, allowing colours to overlap, so it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. Unlike Cynic, she radiated power and confidence in her every movement. She had a keen eye and a sharp tongue, as Jaded had learned on more than one occasion.
Jaded was dressed all in black, the same colour as his hair and his eyes. There had been a time when he enjoyed wearing colours, but that too was a long time ago.
Turning slowly, he continued his journey. The corridor now appeared endless in both directions. Its floors were bare wood, stained and dented, the product of too many footsteps pacing the same route of too many years. His footsteps.
He stopped in front of a door. There was nothing to distinguish it from the rest. All suffered flaking white paint over cracked wood, and the cheap plated doorknob had seen much use. As he opened the door, the rusty hinges squeaked in protest. It had been some time since his last visit.
An avalanche of music blasted from the room. Mostly a funky bass more felt than heard. Over it, a slinky blues line from a wailing guitar.. The door opened into a dark space, illuminated by a single overhead spotlight, tinted crimson. Captured in its circle of light was a woman, well curved, a generous amount of flesh without being excessive. She wore veils of red silk tied cunningly to her body. Long and flowing hair cascaded in all directions as she moved in time to the music.
Her body undulated within the confines of the light’s sharply defined space. The pieces of silk were slowly removed. Her flesh was perfect, without blemish, without scar. Her lips were slightly parted an exquisitely subtle expression of desire.
Jaded closed the door and opened it again. Same room, same music, but a different girl appeared. This time she was long and slender, with thick, red hair and sea green eyes. He performed the same routine and found another, this one a black haired gypsy beauty. And yet they all moved in the same way, for they were all aspects of the same female. She had many faces, many guises, but her name was always the same. She was Seduction, and few could resist her charms.
There was a time when Jaded would have entered the room and watched the dance to completion allowing the girl to weave her magic upon him. Each body type was another territory to be examined. But when all had been explored, what was there left to discover? Now he felt no reaction, no budding curiosity to see what lay beyond the final wisps of silk. He turned and slowly continued his journey.
“Hold a moment brother, why are you so quick to depart this innocent scene?” asked Sarcasm.
“He feels if he does not look he will be able to resist her charms, isn’t that right Jaded?” answered Cynic tossing his cape back from his shoulders. Beneath his clothing was a riot of yellow and purple. Jaded winced at the sight.
Jaded’s mood was barely touched by their teasing. “Would you enter then Cynic? You are welcome to stay and watch the show while Sarcasm and I continue.” As he expected, his brother shook his head back and forth in a series of quick jerky movements. Cynic would not be content with merely watching.
“Come on then you asked to walk with me today. Let us continue on our way. There is nothing for us here.” His words pulled them away from the door where Seduction continued to dance, the music spilling into the hallway. Although there was a fair amount of sighing and teeth gnashing from Cynic, Sarcasm only smirked as they took up their positions, flanking Jaded on either side.
The music faded as they walked. Soon, there was only the sound of their footsteps. Jaded came to another door and stopped. He contemplated the closed portal for a long moment before deciding to open it.
The door revealed a room of character and shape familiar to anyone who has ever stayed in a hotel. Non descript and common, it contained a table, a desk, and a poorly done print hanging from a frame bolted to the wall. A large bed with many pillows and bolsters, covered in a dark mauve duvet, was the room’s primary feature. It could have been any of a thousand rooms, interchangeable and without lasting memory. It was a room forgotten as soon as it was left.
On the bed was a female, naked and bound. The binding was a simple thing, an x created with cheap nylon rope attached at her ankles and wrists. Her arms and legs were stretched out on the diagonal, pulled tightly allowing little movement. A pillow had been placed under her ass, so her shaven cunt would be easily accessible. The aroma of sex was persuasive, filling the space like a stuffed suitcase. Her hips rose and fell with a thrusting motion, an expression of need. As the door opened she turned her head to face him. He could see the wildness in her eyes. “Take me, Master! Use me! I am your fuck thing!” Jaded knew her well, for he had visited her on many occasions. She was called Slut.
He closed the door and opened it again, and again, and again. Same room, different women, but each and every one of them was a slut, all eager to serve as a vehicle for his lust. But what was the point? He had fucked them all, more than once. Many, many times in fact. Too many times perhaps.
He stood examining her ively. Noting how her hands clenched at the ropes binding her, and how the lips of her cunt throbbed in the same rhythm. Once upon a time, his dick would have hardened at even the though of visiting her, using her completely, having her orgasm over and over and then leaving her a whimpering, crying thing. Once he had longed to conquer her, and make her his possession. Now he had no reaction, felt no arousal, no interest. He couldn’t even be bothered to close the door as he turned away. Behind his back Cynic snickered.
“Jaded,” Cynic drawled, his words dripping with false sincerity, “as long as you’re not going to use her, do you mind if I have a go?”
Jaded was not surprised at his brother’s request. When it came to sex, Cynic was predictable. He turned and waved his hand saying “with my compliments brother!” there was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in his voice.
Cynic wasted no time entering the room. Not bothering to remove his clothing he unzipped his trousers and pulled out his dick as he climbed onto the bed. Straddling the girl’s shoulders he stuffed his dick down her throat. Jaded could hear a deep primitive hum of satisfaction coming from Slut’s throat as she applied herself to the task. This was her sole purpose.
Jaded remained at the door with his sister watching the brief performance, hoping he would get some small vicarious thrill from the role of voyeur.
“He certainly is…. Endowed, isn’t he?” said Sarcasm quietly. She was careful not to do anything that would distract her brother’s rutting. It would put Cynic in a bad mood, which would be no fun at all.
Jaded knew Cynic’s overly small appendage was an ongoing source of irritation. That Cynic should sport such equipment was indeed irony. There was a time when this thought would have made him chuckle. But he had not laughed in a long time.
“How gracious you are to offer him your leftovers,” his sister suggested,” our parents would be pleased to see how you take care of him.”
Jaded enjoyed his sister’s company. At least when she spoke the words sounded pleasant, even if the meaning was not. Still one doesn’t get to pick one’s family.
While he was the eldest, all three of them were the bastard offspring of Truth and his occasional coupling with their mother, Futility. There were other siblings, but they rarely saw each other. Their family gatherings were not happy affairs. Truth did not care to be reminded of their existence, and so he had commissioned the noble architect Care to build each of them a dwelling place, far from his own palace. Each house had its own name. Jaded’s home was called The Balances. Care, it appeared, had a sense of humour.
In the room Cynic had become hard enough to fuck the girl. Slipping down her body he entered her and began frantic humping. Leaning forward he grabbed onto her breasts savagely twisting her nipples. From past experience Jaded knew it would not be long until his brother was ready to climax.
“You’re a bitch! You love it, don’t you? Tell me you love it, you whore.” His words were gasps, punctuated by his thrusting.
“Yes Master. I love it. I really do!”
“I knew it you cunt. You’re all the same. Tell me you want to drink my cum. Tell me you want to drink it all.” Cynic couldn’t keep the venom from his voice.
“Oh yes, Master. Let me drink it. I love drinking cum!” Slut knew how to appear sincere.
As he reached his climax he pulled out and tried to get his dick in her mouth. He has waited too long, it seemed, for he ended up splattering her face instead as he came in long gasps. He used his fingers to wipe the stuff up and had her lick them clean. There was a big smile on her face.
When he was done, he got off the bed and headed to the door.
“Don’t go, Master! Please fuck me again!” she thrust her cunt up as far as she could, straining against her bonds.
“You really are a slut, girl,” said Cynic closing the door behind him.
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. Please come back, Master!”
Rearranging his clothing, Cynic rejoined his brother and sister.
“What did I tell you, eh? They’re all the same.”
For the first time, a ghost of a smile lit Jaded’s eyes. Cynic always said the same thing after his visit with Slut. He seemed to never tire of making the same observations. Then the smile faded. Jaded realised that Cynic was completely right and that was why he no longer visited Slut himself. No matter how many ways he used her, she was always the same. And, knowing that, she lost her appeal.
His sombre mood reasserted, Jaded turned and continued down Passion’s Path. Slut’s pleadings faded as they walked away.
After a time he stopped again. Sarcasm would be miffed if he didn’t find something for her amusement. He opened another door with a tired, practiced ease to find another room with yet another girl.
Sarcasm peered over his shoulder. “Well, here’s a pretty sight to make the fit of your trousers uncomfortable, brother!” she said, her eyes quickly filling with interest.
The floor was grey slab concrete. The walls were once finished but now revealed bare studs, with only small spots of drywall still clinging here and there. The air was damp, redolent with the scent of mildew. Thick wooden joists ran the length of the room, running parallel until they disappeared into the darkness at the other end. Three white candles formed a triangle around the girl. She hung from chains, arms stretched above her head, wrists locked into leather cuffs. In her teeth she held a whip. A black thing with tight braids and a vicious thong at its end. Her body was a map of welts and bruises from previous beatings. It was evident she had been well punished.
She saw him and opened her mouth letting the whip drop to the floor. Her eyes were filled with defiance. She would not be conquered, she would not be controlled. She spoke just a single word, “More!” It was a challenge.
But Jaded was unmoved. Neither the whip, not the body could capture his interest.
“Used to be a time when even the thought would arouse you Jaded,” remarked Cynic taking a quick glimpse. “It’s so very, very sad when the thrill is gone, eh?”
Sarcasm didn’t wait for permission or invitation. She knew he had picked the room for her. Walking into the room, she bent down and picked up the whip. Then she began to walk slowly round the girl.
“I think you and I are going to be friends, my dear. There are lessons for you to learn, and I will offer you some gently help in learning them. Shall we begin?” Sarcasm’s words were languid, overlaid and sensuality. The bound girl took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She said nothing.
“Give it to her sis! You know she wants it.” While he didn’t like being interrupted, Cynic has no problem being a pest to others.
As the whip fell and the screaming began, Jaded turned away and continued his walk. The girl would keep his brother and sister occupied for some time, but he knew how the scene would end. The same way it always did. Her name was Submission. At some point the cries would turn to pleading and then to begging. She would end up on her knees weeping her need to serve. Sarcasm would take it, satiated and fulfilled. And Cynic as always would enjoy the show.
Jaded walked alone for a long time. Sometimes he would pause in front of a door, but never for very long. He knew every door and the contents of each room. They ranged from the innocent to the perversed. They covered the full gambit of desire, from sweet young virgins to orgies of man and beast. Passion’s Path had it all. And Jaded had sampled every pleasure, every desire, he knew them all. There was nothing left to try, nothing left to amuse him. He felt a certain quiet despair as he contemplated and eternity lacking in excitement and desire.
Lost in his funk, he was unaware he had reached the end of the hallway. Facing him, blocking his path, was a new door. A door that did not hold the message “You’ve been here before.”
For the first time he was surprised. He had always thought the corridor had no end, that it continued forever. Intrigued, he opened the door.
Inside was a simple, comfortable room. Rich wood flooring covered carelessly with Persian rugs. The walls were also wood panelled and had the rich sheen of decades of careful waxing. The furniture was heavy set and covered in leather. On one side of the room, embers smouldered in a fireplace. The scent of pine filled the air.
In the middle of the room, next to a small table, there was a girl. She knelt on the rug, her head bowed, wrists crossed gently behind her back and thighs wide open. He could see her weight was perhaps too high, her skin stretched in places, and somehow he knew if he lifted her chin and examined her face there would be lines that Age had inscribed, as she does to all mortals.
Other than the dark red glow from the fireplace, the room’s only illumination was from a peach candle sitting on the table next to the girl. Jaded found it strange the candle should be peach. For some reason the colour made him smile. Only a small smile, but even so it was a wonder to his heart. It had been a very long time since he had smiled.
Jaded walked through the quiet and sat in the chair beside the girl. She followed from her position and prostrated herself at his feet, her cheek resting on his shoe. Her movements were a joy to watch.
“Who are you, girl?” he felt no urgency to hear her answer. He wished to draw out the experience for as long as possible.
“Whoever you want.” her voice was a whisper, a breath of sensuality with a hint of desire. Her voice was a cleansing balm, it asked for nothing and offered everything.
“What do you want, girl?”
“Only to please you daddy.”
“Why? Why would you wish to please me?”
“It is who I am. It is my nature and my destiny.”
Jaded made a small movement with his foot. She understood, for she had been well trained. She slid her head up his leg and rested in his lap. He reached out and stroked her dirty blonde hair. Her sigh was one of complete satisfaction.
“And if it pleases me to rape your ass until it bleeds?”
“I would beg you for it, and I would thank you for the privilege of being yours.”
“And if it pleases me to whip you, covering your body in bruises?”
“I would only be grateful to be an instrument for the release of your passion.”
“Even if I took your life, girl?”
For the first time she raised her head and their eyes met. His so dark, hers the brightest hazel, almost shimmering. She spoke in a measured tone, “My life has always been yours, daddy. It always will be yours.”
In a quiet room, at the very end of the corridor known as Passion’s Path, in a house called The Balances, Jaded sat with a girl. Her name was Surrender and she was his. They spoke in quiet tones, of matter both trivial and weighty as the snow gently fell outside.
And perhaps, what he lost in passion, he gained in contentment. For all Truth’s children, even the bastards, are allowed moments of rest from time to time.
So thats todays news and woa's ... lolz
