The Mystery of Ryn
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RYN Part 5: Princess of Pleasure Unanswered Questions It was well past seven and she had still not returned. George waited anxiously at the kitchen table, turning over again in his mind what he had learned about this extraordinary woman. His body was more eloquent than he though, and craved her presence keenly, ineffably, in an intense way that transcended words. Suddenly he felt a rumbling below his feet. It was the garage door opening. She was home. He walked down to the foyer adjoining the garage entrance. His ill-fitting, shabby clothes, though clean, made him the picture of dejection. But his face brightened when the door opened and Ryn entered. "Hello George- how are you?" Her face was flushed and her eyes searched him tenderly. "Wonderful...fine I mean." He ached to put his arms around her and get a hug, but dared not. She saw the tentative movement of his arms and walked up to him, her 6'2" form towering over his 5'6". She gave him the snuggest squeeze he could desire, and he breathed in the chilled but perfumed air that enveloped her. George gripped her tightly. He suffered from skin hunger, a need for tactile stimulation caused by the high stress of his former life. He could be, literally, saved by a hug. So simple and easy it was to use one's arms to prevent a suicide. "Sooooo, its nice to see you too" she said, gently mocking his intense affection. "Yes" he mumbled. His face was turning slightly red. "I've got some stuff for you in the car. Clothes- as promised. Come help me unload." She had been busy shopping for him. He found Polo turtlenecks and fine slacks, Jockey underwear, and silk socks, an entire wardrobe. An extremely loud purple Bill Blass shirt caught his eyes and delighted him. "I'm going to give you your own closet and later we'll find a nice chest of drawers. Come up here, follow me." He followed her upstairs to her bedroom, carrying many bags with him. One wall of the bedroom was a huge curtained window. Two other walls were closets and she gave him one. It took several trips up the stairs to bring it all in. "Why don't you unpack this stuff...take all the pins and wrappings off. I'll wash and press some of them tonight so you can start wearing decent clothes. I'm going to start dinner now. Hungry?" "Oh, yes..very!" His hard life on the streets had emaciated him. Though he had eaten well during the day, he had held off having dinner out of respect for her. Dinner with Ryn was an experience well worth waiting for he told himself. "Come to the kitchen when you're done. I've got another surprise for you." He was overwhelmed. His stepmother had been a tightfisted, parsimonious bitch, always grudging him his food and clothes. All she had ever cared for was the check she got each month from the state - supposedly for taking care of him. But in the end she had simply abandoned him at a supermarket one day. He had spent a horrible afternoon wandering the store and parking lot, looking for her. She had gone. By the time he had hitchhiked his way home hours later he found she had moved out and the apartment was empty. The bitch had never left a forwarding address. He had been dumped as a 14 year old. The world had indeed been cruel to him. He felt a warm glow in his chest and he faced away from Ryn, turning towards the bed to hide his face. Something deep inside of him was starting to come out and he fought hard to keep it bottled up, but failed. She sensed his internal struggle and walked back towards him and grabbed his head in both of her hands, staring directly into his deep brown eyes. "You're going to be OK George" she told him softly, and embraced him. She felt the beginning of a sob as he heaved his chest. She held him for a long time, swaying back and forth like a tree in a spring breeze, and he calmed down in her arms. She was a tower of strength and power: in her arms was the safest place in the world, and the most dangerous. "Would you like some red wine?" "Doctor's orders?" he asked, looking up into the divinity of her face. "Yes. Definitely. Get to work here and I'll bring you some." He felt better now, and turned to unwrapping the gifts. He knew from a quick examination of the labels that she had easily spent thousands for him. She returned with a chilled glass filled with dark red wine. "Drink this up...it'll make you feel better." "Thanks Ryn." "Ever have wine before?" "No...there's lots of things I've never had...Umm...it's good....dry, slightly sweet." "Yes, it will go well with the steak we're having. You like steak?" "Oh, I love it!" "Good! And there are going to be lots and lots of things that you ARE going to start having. I promise." Her eyelids fluttered as she gazed at him and he felt a thrill surge through his body. This then was her covenant with him, informal but clear, radiating from her but encompassing them both in its intimacy and promise. "I'll come get you when dinner is ready. How do you like your meat?" "Oh......I don't know...no one ever asked me that before. Whatever you're having." She accepted his simple solution and walked back to the kitchen favoring him with an enigmatic smile. Soon marvelous aromas started coming from it and he inhaled them deeply. She was a master cook. He shook his head unbelievingly at his incredible good fortune: from stale breadcrust to haute cuisine was but a step, or so it had turned out for him. He suspected that he wouldn't be rooting through dumpsters for his dinner anymore. They ate in the Fire Room, a huge cavern in the basement lined with white stone and dominated by a large hearth. The head of a buffalo sprouted from the wall above the fireplace. Thick shag carpeting made it a warm, comfortable room. As he looked closer at the carpet he decided he could not tell what color it was- observed from different angles it appeared as many soft pastel colors, and he blinked his eyes as if seeing a magic trick. It seemed that Ryn had captured a rainbow and made its lambent light into a promenade for gods to walk upon. The wall opposite the fireplace was a giant waterfall and fountain. Water cascaded from the ceiling into a large curved basin in the floor. The moving water ionized and washed the air and made it sparkle with electricity. In the distance he heard the mundane chugging of a washing machine - she was getting some of his new clothes ready for him. The meat was still sizzling on the plate when she placed it before him. She had made some delicious concoction out of a baked potato- it was adorned with chives, sour cream, and a thick, spicy sauce that he licked from his lips greedily. The wine was going to his head and freeing his tongue. This was the first time he had ever tasted alcohol in quantity. A single brass oil lamp burned on the oak table before them. Before eating he noticed that Ryn faced the far wall of the room, closed her eyes briefly, her lips moved silently, and her hands crossed her bosom in some unknown gesture of reverence. He did not know that she was facing due north. He felt himself a crude, untutored rustic for having no ceremony of his own to give thanks for his food, though he couldn't even guess to what or to whom she made obeisance. But inwardly, with all the innocent sincerity of his being, he gave thanks in a few simple words uttered in the silence of his soul. Though spoken in silence his prayer was heard and accepted. Companions now, they broke bread together and began eating. The food was delicious and he ate ravenously. Muted music played in the background from hidden speakers. A complex melody interwoven with itself fascinated him and almost made him forget his food. He was hearing the Goldberg Variations for the first time. His fingers caught the melodic line and responded automatically. It was an epiphany for him. Ryn watched him for a moment noting the skill of his fingers, then broke the spell of the music with her words. "George I have a cutting tomorrow afternoon. It's going to be here, in the Machine Room. Would you like to watch?" "Wow! Some guy you mean? A cutting?" "Yes, a full penectomy - its going to be different though. I will be using some advanced technology." She grinned furtively. "Yes...I would love to see that." "OK. I'll bring you with me to the office tomorrow. And you can watch when we bring him back here. His name is Rogers. His girlfriend is going to be with him too. She will be present during the cutting." Ryn told him about her various clients, most of them highly placed in industry, academia, and government. He was astounded. "You are like Madame Pompadour Ryn....its just amazing the people you have met, and who you know." She smiled at his compliment. "How do you protect yourself though? From wackos or crazies trying to break into your office?" "From people like you George?" She teased him. "No! I'm just a.....well, an admirer. But there's that guy out there cutting up women. Slasher I think he's called." "Yes, I know about Slasher. I'm working on him. I have an elaborate security system - for the house as well as the office. People can enter the anteroom freely, but they are never admitted to my office unless I choose to admit them. They don't even see my office or know where it is unless I allow it. The doorknob on the outer office door reads fingerprints, and Hal, my office computer, can usually give me a complete profile of every visitor before they even set foot in my inner sanctum." "Wow! The doorknob reads fingerprints? That's amazing!" But his keen analytical mind went to work and thought it discovered a weakness in this system. "But Ryn, not too many people get fingerprinted. Even if you can somehow get access to the FBI database." She smiled secretly and he paused, then went on. "OK, I guess YOU can.....but again, a stranger could just go in there.....someone not in the database.....you wouldn't know them...." "75% of the adult population is in the database George- including partials and latents." "What? How? That's impossible!" The wine was loosening his restraint. It took him an instant to catch himself, and realize who he was challenging with his skeptical questions. He feared to anger her. "I'm sorry Ryn...I don't mean to doubt you in any way" he stammered. She stared at him silently, with a bemused expression on her face. Brilliant as he undoubtedly was, he didn't have a clue about the real world. Most people didn't. "Ever see your parents file a tax return George?" "You mean like a Form 1040? Yeah...my stepmother...she used to get extra money back for having me. I used to watch her fill it out. She hated the IRS. She hated doing it." "Yes. So she filled out a paper tax return and mailed it to the government." "Yeah. Like most people do." He didn't see where this was leading. "Did your stepmother wear gloves when she filled out that return?" "What? What do you mean? Gloves? Oh my god! You're not serious? It's not possible! They wouldn't do that!" She laughed bitterly and finished the last of her rare sirloin. "You know this for a fact Ryn? Really?" She nodded once and continued eating her creamed squash. He had wolfed his food down quickly and his plate was licked clean. He was dumbfounded, and it felt like a bomb had gone off inside his brain. He wondered idly, feverishly, what else she knew about the government, about life, about everything. She took the dishes away and returned shortly with a fat-free cinnamon coffee cake hot out of the oven, and a silver carafe of Hawaiian Kona coffee and cream. He managed two big slices of the cake and gulped down several cups of coffee. She was feeding him good, fattening him up and putting flesh back on his emaciated bones. He perceived the hand of an expert dietician in planning and preparing this meal, finely balanced as it was in carbs, protein, fat, sugar, and vitamins. And it seemed that she was feeding his mind as well, subtly whetting his appetite for forbidden knowledge. His mind was ablaze with possibilities and questions. Never before had he been in the presence of a person who could seemingly answer virtually any question. Ryn could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head and she maintained a coy silence during desert. So she knew all about what the government was up to he thought to himself. One question arose from all the others and filled him with a burning curiosity. "Ryn....I've got to ask you a question." She had expected him to ask something bizarre and she merely nodded and watched him with an amused smile on her face. He was such a treat she thought to herself. His innocence and sincerity were precious to her. "Area 51. UFO's...that big government facility in Roswald out west...aliens. Is it all true? What do you know?" He stared at her urgently, prepared to hang on every word she would give him. He did not expect a titter of laughter from her. A titter that erupted into a gale which ended after several moments. "Ohhhhhh George.....hahaha.....Area 51? Humbug! Hahaha!" She subsided, but his hurt expression prompted her to answer him fully. "George it's a huge fraud. I've talked to people who know. Believe me...there's nothing there." He believed her, but was surprised when a stern and sober expression crossed her face and her brows knotted. He noticed that she had placed a slight, subtle emphasis on her last word. His curiosity was unabated. She knew something. He waited for her to resume. "That doesn't mean it's all hogwash though. There is a place...out west.......fifty miles or so southeast of Shelby Montana....It's been cordoned off for years.....It's a so-called black zone, no aircraft overflights allowed and so forth." A profound silence fell. His attention was riveted upon her every word. He was listening to a person who knew, and who would tell him only truth. He restrained himself from speaking, afraid that even one word from him would dissuade her from talking further. "It's called the Clovis Anomaly...there is a massive secret government file. I've seen it. Thousands of pages...and photos. And one very strange artifact. It was discovered in 1958 and a scientific team tried to analyze it. Most of them died." The silence lasted too long, and he was forced to speak. "What's out there Ryn? What is it? Why did they die?" "Have you ever read H.P. Lovecraft?" He paused significantly, absorbing this unexpected question, then replied. "The horror writer? Yes, he's great, on par with Poe and Stephen King. I remember his Lurker at the Threshold." He was grateful for the reassuring crackling of the fire. These were dark words and dark thoughts, and the comfort of a fire was almost essential. He huddled closer to it. A large pine knot burst in the heat of the flames startling both of them. He poured another cup of steaming brew into his mug. This was a fascinating conversation unlike any he had ever had before. A Shostakovich string quartet played in the background, imitating the sound of the cruel hand of Fate beating upon a door in the night. "You should say rather that they are on par with him George. But yes, he was a gifted writer. His Cthulu Mythos ranks with the finest stories in the genre. He created, or thought he created, a legend of the Great Old Ones...dark Gods of the outer night and chaos.....And consider the words of Arthur C. Clarke, another great writer: 'Any technology sufficiently advanced is indistinguishable from magic.' Ask yourself this question: what supreme level of technological advancement will confer God-hood or something very much like it?" She paused again, and his greatest surprise of the evening was to perceive, incredibly, that she herself seemed scared, afraid. He waited for her to go on and to gather her great strength. Finally he could stand it no longer and asked her bluntly. "Will you tell me about it Ryn? What is it? Can I see the file?" "No." Her response was swift. She seemed to be protecting him from something he couldn't even imagine. "Will you at least tell me a little? Something?" "So you've read Lovecraft? Read him again George, read everything he wrote, and read him thoroughly. Then come back and ask me about the file." Her tone was adamant. "I will tell you this though. Several days after a new President is sworn in, his science advisor is faced with the task of briefing him on the Clovis Anomaly. The head of the Pentagon, and the directors of the FBI, CIA and NASA are always present at that briefing. Less than 300 people in the country know of it." And then she stared at him pointedly, and spoke her next words in cold, precise tones. "And George, know that the government will stop at nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, to keep this a secret at all costs. I know this directly, from personal experience. Don't ever repeat this to anyone. Ever." He was completely overwhelmed, this time in a strange spiritual way. Though she would not tell him directly, though she would not state in words what she meant, he felt instinctively that she knew some profound truth, the hearing of which would forever alter one's philosophy and understanding of life. He knew this beyond doubt. One more thought occurred to him, and he asked his final question quickly before she could peremptorily change the subject. "Ryn, I know that Clovis is the name of a crater on the moon. Would you at least tell me if that has anything to do with it?" His tone was pleading. He would accept any last crumb she might allow. "Know that the Apollo moon project was no nationalistic vainglory, as Kennedy wanted us to believe. We did not spend billions sending men and ships to the moon merely to gather a few rocks and take some pictures, even though the astronauts themselves believed so. I will say no more." She spoke these last words with finality. It was time to stop probing her on the subject. But he hoped that one day soon he would learn more. Tomorrow he intended to get his hands on the complete works of H.P. Lovecraft, and heed her advice to the letter. So concluded what had been the deepest and most engaging conversation of his life so far. She sat upright in her chair and shrugged off the shadows they had summoned with their dark thoughts. The mood in the room brightened. "Oh yes George, I told you I had another surprise for you. Do you want another surprise?" She was smirking at him. He nodded warmly. "I love all of your surprises Ryn." She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a Rolex Mariner watch. It was solid gold and its diamond dial glittered brilliantly. "I have your wrist size believe it or not, and I think this will fit. Consider it a belated birthday present. I can only imagine how you spent your 16th birthday." He shuddered at her question. He had been down by the tracks that day, experimenting with a shelter made of cardboard and garbage bags to help him survive another winter. A gust of wind had smashed three hours of work in an instant and he had collapsed in tears. "Ryn...I can't accept this...it's too much..." She brushed aside his objections and came to his side of the table. She siezed his left arm, straightened it, and fitted the watch snugly around his wrist. He was cowed by her generosity. He stared into her eyes as she sat on his lap and brought her face close to his, caressing his head tenderly with both of her hands. The fire appeared as a fiery pit deep within her black orbs. He brought his arms around her and pressed his lips against hers. They kissed for a long time and then she brought him to the floor by the fire. "Let's see how far we can take this George...it may not be as far as you want though" she said cryptically. But he was far too engaged in pleasure to heed these words. Soon they were both naked and she was on top, returning his passionate kisses. She rose up and he saw again her incredible white patch of pubic hair. She rubbed it against his erection, teasing him. Her thick white pubic hairs tickled the head of his cock. He lusted for the heat of her cunt, but she restrained him and switched positions, placing him on top and bending his head down toward her breasts. He kissed them eagerly, fondling her ample bosom tenderly, stroking her erect nipples with his tongue. She brought his hand down to her clitoris and showed him what to do. After he got it right she arched her back in ecstasy, and gripped his shaft with her hand stroking it slowly. But he didn't want her hand. He ached to end his virginity and thrust his cock inside her soft, wet cunt. She seemed to resist this. He rose up and grasped his penis in his right hand pointing it towards the entrance of her vagina. She would not help him though and lay back, closing her legs, watching him. "You can't George. I'm sorry." "Please Ryn...I need it...please." "Look" she said, and pulled back the lips of her labia. He saw her inner genitals for the first time, and realized that the pleasure of penetrating her would be nearly impossible. She had made serious modifications to the vaginal entrance. What appeared to be small, sharpened knives were sewn into her inner labia. Each blade was nearly two inches long and meshed with blades on the opposite side. The gate to paradise was guarded by steel. Anything inserted into her would be pierced by many blades as she closed her legs. But he saw that if she kept her legs open and if he pulled her labia wide enough with his two hands he might be able to penetrate her. "Would you help me Ryn?" "We can try George...be careful..." She spread her legs, anticipating him. He placed his thumb in the center of each inner labial fold and spread them apart slowly, stretching them. Her skin was slick and dangerously slippery. He watched her face for any sign of pain, but her eyes were closed. Finally he had opened her up enough to create a small space between the blades for his penis to get inside of her. He would need her help to insert his organ, and he asked her to ease it inside. She gripped the cockhead with her thumb and forefinger and inserted it gently between the steel blades. Her hand trembled with excitement and the blades delicately brushed against his shaft without cutting it. His cock was kissed by cold steel and her hot pussy. He watched as the throbbing pink tip disappeared between the blades and slipped inside. His pleasure was overwhelming, and he trembled as each inch of penetration further removed the yoke of his virginity for all time. After a moment his organ was buried in her, and he felt the inside of her cunt: the promise of ecstasy inside, the threat of cruel steel outside. All of his concentration would be required to keep her lips spread, and prevent the knives from piercing him. Even one slip of his fingers would end his pleasure catastrophically. Once stuck in his shaft, the blades would not be easily removed, and he might end up losing his penis as well as his virginity at the same time. Fixing as much attention on keeping her lips as far apart as he could, he began pumping her. She moaned and began to close her legs, then stopped and opened them up again. The edge of one knife cut his shaft and it bled freely. Her salty wetness made it burn as he pumped faster. But the pleasure was incredible, her cunt was tight and he felt its heat surround his organ and bathe it in bliss. He saw her divine body moving with his, receiving and greeting his thrusts, bucking up against him. He humped her slowly for many minutes, forcibly restraining his passion enough to avoid the threat of the blades while savoring the pleasure of each stroke. Passion and fear combined into blissful agony. He came in a spasm of mind-blowing ecstasy that almost made him release his hands. He had grown weak from pleasure and started to relax his hands. At the last possible moment he pressed down again on her labia and kept them from closing and destroying his penis. The waves of pleasure crested as he filled her cunt with his seed. He saw his cock buried deep in her pussy as he came, and saw the wicked blades glitter a quarter of an inch away from his orgasming erection. He was flooded with relief and profound satisfaction. He withdrew his organ and hugged her in a tight embrace. She too was satisfied. It had been many years since she had a man inside of her. She had been a teenager that last time she engaged in coitus, and it had been brutal enough to make her modify herself in this drastic way. His knees were weak and unable to support him. An irresistible wave of sleepiness overcame him. Nuzzling his head on her shoulder they slept for two hours by the fire. Both of them were sated and fulfilled. This was the greatest pure pleasure he had ever felt in his life. His troubled soul was cleansed by it, and a thousand cares and worries were smoothed away as he dozed. They awoke around midnight. The fire had burned down to embers and the air in the room was chill. "George...let's get to bed." She prodded him gently. She cradled his sleepy head in her arm. He was still half asleep as he followed her upstairs to the bedroom. The warmth of her skin against his contrasted sharply with the cold air in the house. She had let the house get ice cold at night to make snuggling in bed all the nicer. She brought him to the marble bathroom and brushed her teeth quickly, then made him brush his using her toothbrush. She smiled as she watched him blink his drowsy eyes, and a strong wave of maternal protectiveness washed over her as she regarded him. With one exception she had never felt this way about a person before. He finished rinsing his mouth and started to put the glass back on the sink. But he misjudged the distance and let go of it while it was still several inches away. As his hands let go the half filled glass began its four foot descent to the marble floor where it would shatter into many pieces, showering his feet with glass splinters. With hooded eyes he saw Ryn blur into whirlwind. He had the slightest impression of her stooping down with her arm to pluck the glass from its downward descent. In the next instant she held the glass gracefully and placed it firmly on the sink counter. A thought hit him. Ryn had been five or six feet away when the glass started to fall. She had reacted in an impossibly small increment of time. Objects fall at 32 feet per second squared. He did the math in his head, manipulating Newton's equations with ease despite his sleepiness, and computed the required reaction time and speed needed to for her to pluck the glass out of the air. Impossible reaction time. Impossible dexterity, siezing a falling glass in mid-air without spilling a drop of water on the floor. Impossible action. His eyes widened in surprise as he stared at her. It had been so dreamlike, as if the logic of the world had been set aside for the briefest moment of time. She watched him, measuring his reaction, preparing to assuage it and lure him back into sleep. "Ryn...how...how did you do that?" he asked in a scratchy voice. "Do what? Come on let's get to bed. It's late. You need to sleep and I want to hug you tight." He could not resist her warm embrace and the comfort it brought him. They climbed into bed nude and he felt completely wrapped up by her warm body. Contact with her skin satisfied a profound hunger in him. At three am he awoke from a dream. She was on top of him, her head cradled on his shoulder, her arms and legs clinging to him. As he looked at her eyes he saw them flutter beneath their lids and blink open. He felt himself floating before her piercing vision. "Ryn..." he whispered. "Sleep George...sleep" she coaxed him, soothing his thoughts. "Be not afraid." "Ryn......who are you......what are you?" he asked, dreamily. Already he was falling back into sleep as she massaged his temples with deft fingers. She did not answer his last question, and pulled him back into the kingdom of sleep, where she met him in blissful dreams of everlasting rapture and succor, in a world with no pain, no suffering, no memory. In this too she nourished him, and cured his soul of its famine, smoothing away the stresses of his frightful past. Her touch was a balm, her caressing lips an anodyne for his despair and pain. His deepest need for warmth and love was fulfilled in her arms. Tonight she had stimulated his body, his mind, and his soul by revealing to him a part, and only a part, of the beauties that comprised her innermost nature. PART SIX: PRIESTESS OF PAIN