The woman, peering into the reflective glass of the hand-held brass mirror, traced the fingertips of her first two fingers along the soft skin of her face. Madame Freeta’s skin was fair and her eyes were green. Makeup was applied to her lips and eyes. Smiling at her reflection revealed pearly white teeth. They quickly disappeared and she was wearing a frown.

She sat quietly in a high-backed chair in a quiet den. The light in the tiny room came from countless black candles placed on the fireplace mantle, the bookshelves against the wall, and on the oval coffee table in front of her. Her legs were crossed at the knee and covered by black stockings attached to a garter belt. She wore her black panties and a matching merry widow and heeled shoes with confidence. A silver ring pierced the nipple of her left breast. In her cleavage there was a tiny tattoo of a black rose. With a swish of her free hand Madame Freeta’s mane of long hair, dyed with a color somewhere between red and brown, wisped over her shoulder. Her probing finger moved down her chin and onto her throat as she tilted her head back. The beautiful woman inhaled with disgust as she noticed a slight wrinkle. Then she held the polished glass closer. There were faint crows' feet at the corners of her eyes.

Pursing her lips with anger she rested the mirror in her lap and tapped her black nails against the glass.

From another room she heard the sound of something breaking followed by a door opening. “Madame Freeta, Daddy’s home!” A voice called out brimming with sarcasm.

Footsteps came down the hall and she turned her gaze to the entrance to her parlor. A ratty old man appeared in the doorway.

“You were correct.” He laughed.

Freeta placed her mirror on the floor beside the chair. “Where is the dragon?”

He walked over to the bookshelf and held his finger in the flame of a candle until the air was filled with the smell of cooking flesh. Madame Freeta felt the pit of her stomach turn. She was disgusted by the sweet smell. Licking his burning finger extinguished the tiny blaze.

“You didn’t say bring it back. You asked me to see if he had it and I did.”

She snapped bitterly. “You know what I meant!”

“I’m in your service Madame Freeta; not your friend.” He fixed cold eyes on her and stepped closer. “I only do what you say.” By the candlelight Freeta could see a bleeding wound on his right cheek.

This was, by far, the worst experience she had had with a conjured spirit. It tested her like no other she had ever bonded in service. The woman nodded slowly. She could play this game if that’s what he wanted. Slowly, she stood up, the whole time holding the old shell’s gaze with her soft eyes. She kissed the tip of her long slender finger then reached out and dug the tip of her black nail into the man’s injured cheek. Dragging the sharpened point down his face brought forth a trickle of blood.

“Tomorrow night you will find and bring me the dragon. Is that clear enough?”

An executioner’s smile sprang to the old lips. “Mistress, I’d be happy to, but surely you understand I can’t do it alone. This mortal shell can only take so much damage before I’m released and Malton’s men are heavily armed.”

The yellow teeth sent a wave of fear down her spine. Madame Freeta was putting on a good show, but she was afraid. If the dragon weren’t so important to her, she never would have summoned this horrid creature. Reaching out with both hands, the old man caressed her breasts. His charred finger played with her nipple ring. “You will have to bring one of my subordinates from Hell, Mistress.” The man’s tongue dragged across his lips like a hungry dog. Madame Freeta knew the demon was much more powerful than her and was only here for a brief respite from the fires of damnation. Her control was very minimal and she was not about to insight his wrath. She took his groping in silence.

“Perhaps when I have fulfilled your request,” his speech was interrupted by sudden moaning, and the front of his pants displayed a large wet spot from his ejaculation, “you will take me to your dungeon of pleasure.”

She knew she had no choice. Once the demon was no longer bonded to her he would take her one way or the other. And under her own volition was, by far, preferable to his method.

“Better go get a victim, Freeta. Like I said, I can’t get this dragon alone.” He never took his eyes off her.

“I have a client downstairs waiting for me now.”

“Hmm,” he laughed. “I think you are gong to need to boil some water for this one.” The fear in Madame Freeta’s eyes pleased him.

She consented with a nod. There was simply no choice. She had to have the dragon. Her first demon had not returned from hunting the kid that stole the dragon in the first place. At this point she just wanted the dragon...fast.

“The price of vanity is high isn’t it my Mistress.”

She left the room and put a large pot of water on the stove to boil. From the kitchen she walked down the wooden steps into the basement. Once she reached the bottom, she heard footsteps on the stairs behind her. Looking over her shoulder she glanced at the old man. He had come to see her handiwork.

The room was lit by the glow of a single bulb throwing out a half-hearted yellow glow. In the center of the room a naked man stood looking like an X. Leather cords from the ceiling and the floor spread his arms and legs. He was wearing a leather mask that only had an opening for his mouth. He could not see anything but the blackness covering his eyes.

One of the walls of the basement was covered with an assortment of whips and bondage devices. Another wall was covered with dildos; leather, rubber silicone; and countless other sexual toys. There was also a bed covered with a black sheet.

“Mistress,” he asked, “have you come to punish me?”

Without a reply Madame Freeta grabbed a whip from the wall.

“Mistress?” The man was uncomfortable when there was no reply. “Wait a minute! What’s going on?!” The long leather tail smacked against the hard floor with frightening clarity.

“What the fuck is going on?!”

Freeta lashed the whip across the bare back, leather cutting deep into flesh. The man screamed and the muscles of his arms and legs tightened against the strength of the leather cords that bound him.

“Purple! Purple!” His code word to stop the sexual play did nothing. Another lash fell to his tender skin like the wrath of God on the wicked. His screams transformed into hideous shrieks of pain. Standing at the base of the stairs with his arms crossed, the old man was pleased. The glint Freeta saw in his eyes was one of pure evil. This serpent thrived on inflicting pain.

“His noise bothers me, Mistress. Silence him.”

In response to the request of her spirit slave she took a gag from the wall, little more than a red ribbon, and tied it roughly around his mouth.

Stepping back again she whipped widely. Blow after blow fell upon him causing his body to jolt with muscular contractions in response to the thin leather tail. Panting cries fell on deaf ears. She pitied him, but there was no choice. Madame Freeta would have her precious figurine. A hundred years had been added to her life because of the dragon’s special gift. For a hundred years she had been able to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh. One life would not stand in her way.

Exhaustion overpowered him, and the man hung limp, head hanging before him.

The old man didn’t have to say anything. She knew what he expected. It was time for the excitement. Making her way up the stairs, Freeta grabbed two potholders from the counter and picked up the pot rolling with bubbles, steam rising. Water sloshed up the edge of the pot as she descended into her dungeon.

The woman stood, preparing to throw the water.

“Ah-ah-ah,” her demon’s voice slithered from his lips. His words rang with the mocking tone of cruel adolescence. As he smiled, blood spilled from the wound on his cheek. “Where would the fun be in that, huh?” Finally he enunciated very slowly. “Pour it.”

Unbeknownst, her eyes must have betrayed her.

“You know how it works, Mistress. Damned spirits only come into this world through extreme suffering. I’m trying to make it easy for you by telling you how to do this.”

He lifted his shirt and smirked at the woman. The guts that were visible in the massive opening in his stomach were dry. “I didn’t steer you wrong the first time did I?

” She stepped close to the man and raised the pot of boiling water into the air. As water dripped over the edge, the man writhed as much as the cords would allow. Steam hissed as his flesh was cooked beneath the stream of scalding water. Skin reddened; blood began to blot through, and flesh blistered.

The gag did nothing to quiet the vocal incarnation of his agony. Blood mixed with the water and red streams ran down his body to the floor.




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