Muse

Muse


Summary: Karl is a painter who gets inspired from tormenting his models. And Elijah is his one-time muse.
Rated: R – NC17
Warnings: S&M (or torture), non-con, pedophilia (or underage), violence, rape (alluded to), character death (implied)
Disclaimer: This never happens.
Beta: Celandine Goodbody


Prologue


He could not take his eyes off the artist. His breath held fast for a moment when the painter seemed to glance his way, but apparently no. He would not stand a chance of being noticed. Karl Urban unquestionably admired beauty and what he meant by beauty was a definite glory, obvious from his paintings. Karl needed a delicate-looking model for his muse and Elijah would not dare even to dream of it. He was not in that category. In truth, he was nothing. Nothing.

Looking around in terror, Elijah made sure he was still alone, hiding in a corner of the gallery where Karl was displaying his artwork. No one he knew was anywhere in vicinity although his father would eventually realize his flight and begin to seek him out.

Knowing his hiding spot would not be safe for long, despite the shadow protecting it, Elijah crept out toward the tall, floor-to-ceiling, blood red drapes. But as he lifted his face, a pair of crimson-angry eyes fell to his and Elijah shrieked, fleeing to a room where Karl had just retreated from his fans. His heart pounded hard, anticipating the horror that the future would bestow upon him.


~ * ~


Karl crinkled his nose as he rearranged Elijah’s stance. The stench of blood and semen – his semen – assaulted his nostrils. The lad was unconscious now, he observed, as he tightened the leather cords around Elijah’s wrists. The ropes hung down from the ceiling, suspending the model in free space. Dark lids covered the boy’s clenched shut eyes, now drenched with sweat running from his brow. Those liquid pearls of sweat doused the boy’s face and body – including his bare chest and red, welt-covered back.

Karl tilted his head sideways, marveling at his own artwork, and that other lovely shape--definitely not his work--a well-rounded rump swathed with angry marks. The artist smirked, full of contentment. A little push spreading the legs apart and he would be ready to capture Elijah’s amazing expressions on canvas. He smiled, thinking of how it had all started.


“You have to be careful, Karl. The bobbies are beginning to suspect. And they’re looking for the lost boy…”

The door slammed open, bowling Karl and his manager over.

“What the—“

“Help. Help me…”

Karl drifted back into his own artist’s world, fingering the smooth wood of his easel absently. His eyes went to the hanging, insensible body several paces before him. Elijah. What a beautiful name.

“Who are you?!” Karl’s manager stood up. “What are you doing here?” Karl could feel rage and panic emanating from his friend. He patted the other’s shoulder gently.

“Hush, Dave. Let me take care of this.” He turned to the frightened child. “So you surrender your life to me, hmm?” muttered Karl, so quietly the boy couldn’t hear. He smiled in anticipation. “Do you know what lies on your path?”

The artist started to mix the colors. He had to be very careful. Elijah’s face was a depiction of an angel in perfect agony and he could not make a mistake or people might scorn him. That is, he mused, if he is still able to present his work to them. Again, his mind drifted.


“But Karl – the police…”

“Ssh, quiet.”

Karl turned to face the pale, frightened boy at the door.

“Your name is Elijah? What’s your problem, lad?”

The boy was trembling visibly.

“Please,” he begged. “Let me come with you. Let me be… be your servant. Just don’t let him get me again.”

“Him? And who is ‘him?”

But Elijah would not speak more. Or rather, could not, for the boy collapsed, falling to the floor. His lips twisted visibly, warping his smile with thoughts beyond the evil of most people’s minds. Karl gently gathered him up and his voice was equally soft. “Are you alright, boy?”

Elijah could only shake his head, over and over, while tears poured down his face.

Karl’s brow kneaded, as if he were thinking hard, but actually he had known what he would do with this broken boy. He had just ‘lost’ a boy, his model, had he not? And now, all of a sudden – such luck! A lad had turned up, offering himself like a little lamb to a pack of wolves. Karl sneered inwardly as he looked down at the pretty boy in his arms. He rolled his eyeballs to Dave but his manager shook his head slowly. No. No! He knew the meaning of that gaze. Karl could not do this again. Could not!

But with his eyes, Karl was speaking, telling Dave not to worry. Nothing bad could happen this time. He would be ‘very’ careful with this one.


Smiling at the sweet memory, Karl sighed with contentment. In a fairly short time he could finish the sketch of Elijah’s face and the upper part of his body. Of course he would not paint the restraints and other details of the boy’s naked form, except perhaps the chest and a bit of his narrow hips. Karl was not some hack painter who would capitalize on that kind of thing. He focused on the deeper aspects of life, on the suffering and despair, and not just on bare bodies. He would leave that to the hapless amateurs catering to the masses.

He would leave his art and the exquisite suffering on the canvas for those few who were capable of appreciating it. As for the naked boy--only the artist would be allowed to relish that lovely body. He smiled as anticipation mixed with memories.


“You see, Elijah. You have to understand what – or who – are you dealing with. I don’t want you to blindly submit to me, only to regret it later.”

Karl’s voice sounded wise and understanding, guileless even to the innocent young man. But had he been more aware, the artist’s fast grip on his shoulder would have told him the opposite. The man gestured to his ‘play’ room and Elijah tensed as he saw the menacing, torture instruments.

A T-shaped frame with a hole at the top stood in a dark corner, and another one, upside-down with two holes at the bottom stood opposite. On the other side of the room was a kind of chair made of a simple pole and a seat. A thick rope was fastened on the pole and Elijah imagined that it would fit perfectly tight around the neck of whoever sat there.

And then – the most horrifying of all – was a chair covered with spikes: on its seat, on the back, on its armrests, leg-rests, and footrests. There were of course the inevitable restraints to keep one from moving their hands and legs from the pain.

And this was not all. He saw more implements, preferring not to think of their use as his eyes widened in shock. A shelf full of fearsome-looking whips, gags, and masks. Shackles hung from the ceiling, suspended over tables with straps hanging down. Elijah turned to Karl, apprehension and wonder flooding his eyes.

Karl smiled reassuringly. “These things are not that bad once you experience them. Most of my people like it.”

Elijah’s eyes widened even more.

“What?” Karl shook him tenderly. “You knew you would be on the receiving end, didn’t you?” He grasped the boy’s shoulder harder, more possessively. “I guarantee that you will enjoy it…in time. When you offer your will to me in obedience, when I have total power over you, when you are mine.” He smiled down at the boy. “Only then will you be happy and fulfilled…you will see.”

Elijah winced and tried to withdraw but the man held him tightly and his voice changed, becoming much darker.

“How do you think I draw such fantastic paintings? Did you think my models are acting?” He laughed to himself as Elijah swallowed hard.

“They must ‘feel it’ first—all of it, Elijah. How else could they show such a profound anguish.” His eyes left his intended model and gazed around the familiar room. “This is life, sweet Elijah,” the artist’s voice dropped lower, becoming almost reverent. “The pain and the anguish of life.”

Elijah was trembling now, remembering those faces he had seen in Karl’s work. It was no wonder he could feel their miseries. It was no wonder he was stunned by the beauty they had shown. They were all so beautiful in their pain. His heart was beating faster and faster. It was no wonder…Elijah flinched, pulling himself out of Karl’s reach.

“What?” asked Karl, his voice returning to its normal mocking tone. “You want to quit before you’ve begun? Oh, I understand. You would rather die like a rat in an alley, by your old man’s hand.”

Karl’s own heart was also beating unbelievably fast as he watched Elijah torn expression. He could return to his father’s torment or surrender himself to be the tortured muse of a sadistic artist. The artist caught his breath. That white, silky body and beautiful, perfect face, the tantalizing, fearful blue eyes that had not known real pain yet—would be his possession, body and soul. His.

Or perhaps not.

Karl’s fingertips turned cold but his confident smile never wavered. It was the most exciting moment in his life.


Time had flown by as he indulged himself in the familiar daydream. But it gave him inspiration, and that little bit of edge that made people gasp when they first saw his work. And he was done now. The first painting of Elijah was complete. The boy hung beautifully from the sky, like an angel with white clouds around him and crimson blood covering his body. A perfect angel, being punished by the invisible hands of the gods, about to receive their last, dispassionate verdict—with complete and exquisite submission.

Karl put down his brushes and stepped back, catching his breath as the full impact of the painting hit him.

It was the best thing he had ever done.

His breathing became more ragged as he pulled up his loosened breeches – that were not very loose anymore. He tore his eyes away from the canvas. His memories and the living character behind the sweet angel had made him feel restless yet again. Striding toward his tied-up muse, Karl considered what he should do next.

He knew he was the most creative when he felt this way. He knew all he had to do was punish Elijah more for whatever reason he could conjure up. Or for no reason. He didn’t need a reason. He smiled. And then would come yet another masterpiece.

Karl untied Elijah and captured the boy in his arms as he crumpled to the floor. Elijah’s lids stirred and he gazed up at Karl groggily.

“K-karl? Have I been a disappointment?”

“Hush.” The older man placed his arms under Elijah’s back and knees, deciding that his muse needed some more time. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”


~ * ~


Karl fingered Elijah’s back gently. The welts were still swelling angrily, red and gaping. Elijah was lying on his stomach in the bed, flinching a little at the touch but not trying to get away. He sniffed softly for the pain was still raw in his body and the shock of the experience still fresh in his mind. Elijah thought he had known what was expected from him – but apparently, he did not.

Still, Elijah had agreed to do whatever he had to do, had he not? Besides, Karl paid handsomely and now all that was left was to carry out his obligation.

“You were not a disappointment at all,” whispered Karl, drawing circles on Elijah’s skin. “You were very beautiful. You made a great painting.”

Elijah turned his head on the pillow to face Karl, lying beside him. The man gasped at the long dark lashes framing stunning blue eyes. He pulled his hand, interrupted by a “Thank you,” murmured by Elijah, and smoothed the boy’s lids with his thumb.

“I think…yes…next time you will open your eyes for me. I must have those sapphires on one of my canvases.”

Elijah did not answer. Next time… Of course it would involve more torment and pain, and – he should open his eyes? Elijah shuddered inwardly, closing the object of conversation in dread.

“I – I … as you wish, Karl.”

Karl shuddered, too, but for a completely different reason. Elijah’s faint, submissive answer had suddenly warmed his blood and an ardent feeling was pooling in his groin. He grabbed a handful of Elijah’s hair and jerked the head backward.

Elijah instinctively opened his eyes wide, the fear of displeasing his master adorning them quite compellingly. What had he done wrong? “K-karl?”

But the man had yanked him up again by the hair, and Elijah was forced to let out a small cry.

“I don’t know what it is with you,” growled Karl. “But you’re the best muse I’ve ever had. You make me want to paint and paint…”

Part of the boy was pleased to be wanted, and even needed, but the other part knew that he would be tortured again. He whimpered as strong hands tightened over his upper arms, whirling him around and steering him, still naked, to Karl’s play room. To Elijah’s surprise, Karl took him to the upside-down T. He stiffened and pushed back.

“Tsk, tsk,” Karl squeezed his shoulders hard. “You cannot do that, Elijah. Remember…your will is mine. I decide.”

God help me, prayed Elijah, as Karl pushed him to the floor and lifted the top half of the wooden board with the holes. He placed his muse’s legs and hands on the half-circles below and slammed the top down, locking the limbs in the holes securely. Elijah had no idea how that could inflict pain upon him – until he saw the man retreat to the shelf and return with something in his hand – a whip consisting of three barbed chains attached to the handle. Elijah turned to jelly, his bones quivering within.

He braced himself, thinking resignedly that this was nothing compared to what his father had done to him. And with Karl, at least he was appreciated and even thought to be beautiful.

Yes, he was…

Splat!

Elijah had so barely realized what had come upon him that he forgot to scream. Comprehension came quickly when white-hot pain slithered up from the sole of his left foot to his brain. He gathered up his wits to look down and take in the horrific sight. Bits of crimson flesh severed from his foot, and he

screeched!

Elijah was panting hard. His tear-dampened eyes looked up in trepidation at Karl, who was coming at him with another instrument of torture.

Please, pleaded Elijah silently.

“That’s it,” coaxed Karl softly. “That’s the eyes I want to see and draw. But—” He reached out with the creepy-looking thing. “I don’t want to hear that scream anymore. I need to concentrate on what I’m doing and you could’ve wakened the dead.

With his hands and feet bound, Elijah was helpless as Karl clamped a gag made of cold iron that reached inside his mouth and tied tightly around his head.

“You still have to suffer several more beatings, and I will make sure you cannot even whimper.”

Elijah huffed, drops of sweat broke on his brow, and he closed his eyes in despair as he realized he was totally helpless, unable even to plead or beg for mercy.

Karl slapped the back of his head hard, and the eyes he sought were thrown open.

“Do not close your eyes!” Karl barked.

Elijah jerked up, nodding frantically. Tears were running freely on his cheeks but at least Karl was smiling.

It might have been only seconds but to Elijah it felt like hours as Karl unceasingly beat the soles of his feet and sometimes his hands as well. The boy never dared to close his eyes but he never stopped weeping until at one point he thought he had cried bloody tears, just like the liquid that flowed from the pores of his skin. Finally, he thought he must be drained of all the essence of his life and Elijah fell onto the wooden slab before him, succumbing to the darkness.

Karl sighed, half with pity and half with exasperation. He was not done with the lad. Besides, how was he supposed to paint those lovely eyes with the fool unconscious? Now what? The boy would have to pay more.

The man threw the chain whip carelessly into a corner and stooped to release Elijah’s legs and hands from their entrapment. It was fortunate for the boy that he had not lost his appetite to craft torture to its utmost perfection. He gazed down at the limp, naked body on his game room floor, lust rising in him again as he viewed his handiwork. He was painfully hard and perhaps he should just have a go. He chuckled to himself. Elijah could wake later. But then he frowned, rubbing his groin. Was it not unlucky to lay a cataleptic person yet again? He might as well go to a graveyard and find a corpse.

Karl shrugged and lifted Elijah’s limp frame, dragging him to one of his “work” tables. The boy was drenched with sweat and his legs with blood. Had he been awake just now he would have screamed through the gag with agony. But Elijah was still unconscious and unaware of the bleak fate he was about to face.

(Not that he did not realize what had happened the first time he had awakened with soreness around his rear.)

Elijah was then draped over the table, face down. Karl smiled a little, caressing the curvaceous, lithe bottom, caressing it tenderly with his fingers. Elijah was not unlike his previous muses: chaste, trusting, and sweet. So sweet that Karl could almost taste it in his mouth. It felt positively delectable. He rubbed the soft flesh harder, dipping his fingers into the lush cleft between them and then out again. The red, swollen weals only added to its beauty and enticements. Karl removed his hand from his muse and grappled at his erection through his trousers. Throwing his head back and snarling deep in his throat, he kneaded the hard on that had grown steadily ever since he had started the beating.

He had only to set himself free of this soft confinement that was growing more and more uncomfortable, and everything would be back to normal. Elijah would surely be awake by that time and after he was finished with the boy, Karl could start drawing his startling eyes – along with that tantalizing body—both of which would be saturated with their limit of pain and lust. Ah, such a potent combination for an artist. The tormented look and the damaged flesh mingled with the height of sexual pleasure. And he would see that Elijah felt it all. He would bring him alternately to helpless climax and helpless pain, over and over and over, sensual overload bursting through those expressive and sensitive eyes.

Karl started to shake with his own passion. He had better take the boy soon or he would be splattering all over him instead. And if he did not feel enough inspiration, they could start all over again. He leaned down and shook Elijah by the shoulders. There were still so many things in this room Elijah would look pretty with.

“Elijah!” He shook the boy harder. “Wake-up.”

Suddenly, panicked raps at the thick door wrecked Karl’s concentration. He dropped Elijah onto the table, and throwing obscenities to the air, strode furiously to see who had been so bold as to disturb him.

The door slammed open and Dave stormed in, face flushing red. “Karl! The police are here…! They – they found out about the—”

“Quiet!” hissed Karl. Foolish Dave! Whatever had he revealed to them? Karl grabbed Dave’s arm but the next moment he froze. A squad of law enforcement officers barged into the open doorway.

“What on earth…?”

“Mr. Urban,” one of the officers spoke harshly. “You are under arrest. We have evidence proving that you have committed abduction, violence, and rape against several underage lads. We also have those boys’ parents as eyewitnesses to your debauchment. Now you will come with us to the police station.”

“Why, this is outrageous! I have my rights!” Karl shouted at the police as he stepped outside, trying to close the door behind him.

But it was too late. One of the policeman forced himself past the artist and his colleagues soon heard a cry of dismay as the boy was discovered.

“You can not do this…you will hear from my lawyer! Don’t you know who I am?! You morons will…”

Karl’s voice was laced with panic but he could only babble as several pairs of hands restrained him and his wrists were cuffed behind his back. He looked briefly over his shoulder as some police picked up Elijah’s slumped body and unfastened the gag wrapped around his mouth. Elijah whimpered softly as he was stood up on his bleeding feet.

“Ssh. You’re all right now,” shushed the young bobby, his voice seething with anger as he surveyed the damaged boy. “We’ll get you to the hospital right away.”


~ * ~ * ~


Epilogue


If only he could just choose to die. Even a life of pain with Karl was not to be granted to him.

It was after the short time he had spent in the hospital. Even the hospital seemed like heaven now.

“Father, please,” Elijah sobbed miserably, quietly. “I’m not sick. I’m fine. Just don’t do anything to me.”

It was still clear in his mind. The memory of his sick mother, and of his father, an ambitious scientist and surgeon, who had made every attempt to craft his own medicine. But he had failed to save his beloved wife. And this had impelled him to try again when Elijah’s brother’s got ill.

Needless to say, his father failed again.

And that had made him lose what was left of his sanity--which made him think that his only remaining child, Elijah, was sick and needed to be healed.

Elijah writhed and twisted against the straight jacket embracing him snugly like a second skin, scraping against the gashes Karl had left. Panting exhaustedly, he continued to struggle, staring blankly at the high, dark ceiling looming over him in this windowless cellar.

But with the last of his dying sanity, his thoughts turned to Karl. At least with Karl, he had never been left all by himself. At least with Karl, he could still feel someone else’s breath warm his skin.

Karl gave him pain but he also gave him love.

Elijah’s lips curved into a small smile as he closed his beautiful blue eyes, spilling the small amount of tears that had formed there. He would not open them again.

~ * ~ fin ~ * ~