The Telemachus Story Archive

Part 7 - Heart Of Inferno
By Wolfpek
Email: Wolfpek

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Sin's battlefield, the deepest center of the complex was done in an Egyptian theme. To Nick's eyes it resembled ancient Hollywood's/Spielberg's view of ancient Egypt more than the place itself. The reds, and bronze tones of the cavernous ballroom glowed in the light of uncountable braziers which danced upon the burnished surfaces of the monumental columns, and varied phallic deities of this ungodly nether-world, reeking of incense and an overpowering funk of sex. Even standing at the top of the grand entrance stair, the warriors worked to breath in the steaming humidity of the grand hall, as they looked down with revulsion on the writhing sea of humanity below them.

"These sick fuckers are gonna pay" whispered Nick watching the in human display of three ring style cruelty that surrounded him. His remark swallowed by the cries of the victims and the resonant chorus accompanied by drums and cymbals, stationed in discreet corners of this Bosch-ean bacchanal emitting a monotonous chant so deep, and ancient that it might have been composed in the bowels of a Tibetan mystic a thousand years ago.

He was focusing on one of the most influential cardinals of the North Eastern United States, a man rumored to have ambitions to the papacy, inserting ice cubes into the asshole of an equally well known Russian gymnast who's legs were securely chained heels high to the vaulted ceiling, arms manacled wide onto a wooden turn table. At the same time dripping red wax from a candle running from the flat naval approaching the cock head, another prince of the church teased the screaming Olympian's nipples and underarms with a peacock feather, before plunging his withered cock between those full lips.

Similar scenes; whippings, enemas, piercings and random acts of rape and molestation were multiplied endlessly in every direction.

In contrast, to the oiled muscles of the objects for sale, each patron was dressed in formal attire appropriate to his home, often accented by varied fetish gear, a sort of depraved League of Nations, joined together in peace by the common bonds of wealth, power, and perversity. All of these men wore white hooded capes over their elegant clothes which were covered by mystical looking astrological symbols, such as the one a slave now draped around Nick's broad shoulders.

Throughout this deprived tableau, nude, or loin-clothed slaves decorated in gold paint, and Egyptian style jewelry, necklaces, armbands wafted gracefully laden with trays of refreshments, and drugs. Nick heard a crash as one of these, seized by a patron, dropped the tray, and was summarily bent over a pedestal and entered by the masked reveleller.

The center of this pit was an island ringed by a steaming pool built to resemble a river. Slaves ferried guests, carefully navigating past the decorative bridge which linked it to the rest of the room, and their fellow unfortunates submerged by those who preferred to enjoy their slave muscles wet.

The island reminded Nick of a fiberglass mountain that might be found in Vegas, or Disney World in hierarchical levels. The base was circled by a row of (Nick assumed) unprocessed men struggling against their chains. The second level contained a slab that seemed something in-between a sacrificial altar and high- tech medical examination table which stood in front a marble statue of a spider. Finally like a cue-ball yellow cherry on top sat Mr. Sin wearing a ridiculous Chinese Emperor style costume, red silk flowing off of the sides of the elaborate throne on which he theatrically lounged, wafting a large gold folding fan, absentmindedly groping at the two gilded slaves that flanked his throne contentedly surveying the world of his creation.

"Fuck me!" exclaimed the wide eyed Hunt, as they reached the bottom of the stair.

Nick exchanges a glance with Wronek, and silently wished he might have recruited someone with the sense not to say something like that in this place.

Nick continued to scan the room, and finally saw, like a ray of combed-over sunshine in the midst of these profound depths, Hal Danvers making a college try at inconspicuous, sweaty palms wrapped tightly around a martini, in a cheap rented tux in the shadow of an anachronistic statue of Priapus.

"Chief!" The once chilled vodka mixture rained backwards, past the oversized onyx phallus, toward the frescoed vaulting.

"Christ am I glad to see you… my recruits, Jake seal, and Jarrod Hunt, er..kinda plays football. You alone here?"

Danvers nodded at Wronek and Hunt.

"Thank God you're safe. No, I brought in seventy-five ops disguised as crew on a supply ship. I only managed to get fifty in this room. The rest are stationed near the boat. We don't have enough to bring them down, but I can get you and some of these guys outta here. I don't know how we're gonna get Farrington, he's got more security around him than the Pentagon. I say we get out now, and come back with enough fire power to do the job. I'm not sure about the safety of the men of got in here and I want out now."

"No I say we make the strike while we're here. We come in later, we won't be able to get out any of these guys alive. We can take em."

"Alive? I'm guessin most of these men would rather be dead than have to live like this." Nearby an ancient right wing senator from a southeastern U.S. state applied clothes pins to the nips, torso and balls of the Latino boxer he was fucking. " Sorry Nick, I say we pull back now and get the fuck outta here with all my men alive.

A resonating gong brought all other sound in the room to a halt.

Sin, now joined on the dais by a very high ranking member of the Saudi royal family, had risen.

"Thank you all for coming to my little soiree. I trust you are all enjoying yourselves?"

Thunderous applause filled the hall.

"For your discerning consumption we have brought together tonight some of the finest specimens of succulent manflesh, if I may humbly say so myself ever assembled. Captured by our brave raptors from the four corners of the earth for your selection at auction tonight. I am sure that many of you will go home tonight as very satisfied and, as always valued clients of the House of Sin"

Impatient applause again assaulted the hunky agent's ears.

"But first we have some very special captures who will be linked to their masters this evening. The first, I know we are all very anxious to see is Brent Farrington a young American footballer, who has brought the highest price ever paid for a slave in the history of our little auction house. You will see from his exquisite beauty that he is well worth every centime. And so, before we begin the auction. I hope that you will all enjoy the induction ritual of our beautiful new charges. As not to keep you in suspense too long we will begin with our stunning Mr. Farrington. If you will please prepare for the ceremony"

Nick, and Danvers followed the lead for the other guest by closing their cloaks around themselves and covering their heads with the attached hoods. Hunt and Wronek imitated all slaves, not impeded by bondage, in kneeling on one knee.

Sin raised his fan dramatically.

"Bring forth the victim"

To be continued………………………

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