I am The Leopard of the Shadows. I am the essence you feel when you read the lines I have written. I stalk the souls of those who read my stories, thoughts, and poems. Enchanting them with the subliminal messages that hide amidst the lines. My spells swirl amid the words, entering through your eyes to fall upon your mind with the sorcery of a lost soul. You can not help feeling the energy and aura when you hear the howl of one who is nocturnal. Beware Reader of the wisdoms contained in that which I have written. For Wisdom is the theif who robs us of the naivette of innocence! There is truth to be found in even the greatest fictions. How much more in tales based upon the truth? There is more to the stories upon these pages than what I can write in them and many more written peices of these records that I have purposely left out for the next Outlaw Manuscript. I am a Pagan, a vessel spirits and creatures of other realms and dimensions use as a voice. They are calling you! It is not your adoration, nor you weath or worship that they seek. As you read through these memoires of confusion you will feel them tug at the energy inside of you, drawing heat from the flame which is found at the core of each temple we call our bodies. Do not be decieved by who I am or what I have done, these things were lessons meant to teach me what I need to know about the enemies of my mistress, the Night. email; leopardofshadows@hotmail.com Twitter: LeopardofShadow
An Order of Chaos
The Outlaw ManuscriptsAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 The Leopard of Shadows
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4772-8651-7Chapter One
The Witch
As a preteen, he had already learned how to hustle. When he was eleven, he made his first drug transaction, and with the help of a few other latchkey kids he had taken a man for a month's wages as well as a pickup truck during a day's worth of doubling up at the pool tables. The fellow that lost was an honest, hardworking sort, the kind of man whose pride just could not take getting beat by a snot-nosed kid. Yet it was also the kind of pride that made him feel obligated to pay, no matter how spiteful he felt about his defeats.
The kid had grown up with a Christian background; however, the tragedies of death and abuse had broken the heart of his mother and the mind of his father. His older brothers, reeling from the pain of his sister's death and the emotional solitude that was piling up upon them, had left home in their early teens. Still just boys, they left their broken home hoping to find some way to face the realities of an unforgiving and unforgivable world. Still, his brothers had been baptized in their beliefs for many years and stayed mostly to their moral upbringing. The boy had no guidance when he had questions; there was no one he respected whom he could follow or idolize, and as such he was a lost and lawless child.
The extended family and the peers of his parents only escalated his feelings by passing judgment on the family. He became the town's poster child for the devil's handiwork at prayer meetings and coffee shop gossip sessions. Life had placed a path before him, and having no other available options, he simply followed. Hungering for acceptance and someone to tell him it was not his fault, he awaited what was inevitable.
It was one o'clock in the afternoon on January 27, his thirteenth birthday. He had decided to skip school for the afternoon and had gone down to waste his lunch hour in the arcade; it was bitterly cold outside. He decided it was too cold to walk back to school. The only other person in the arcade building was the proprietor; he always stayed in the back smoking pot. He liked to play an illegally obtained, stand-up, video style, strip poker game. He would eventually burn out and then retire to a hidden room, where he would sleep like the dead.
The boy had a strange sense of honor that was not bothered by theft or robbery; it would never allow him to steal from a friend or family member, however. One might say he believed in honor among thieves. The pool hall was his second home and the place where he made money, so he was vigilant and protective of its existence and would not dream of shitting in his own back yard. The proprietor knew this and took advantage of it, having the kid work the business anytime he happened to be there.
So it was that the boy was minding the place while the proprietor slept. He had just finished racking the balls when he heard a car door slam harder than necessary. A woman's voice followed the loud intrusion; it was husky but feminine. She was yelling something along the lines of, "You son of a bitch! It was worth twice that just for the lie that fed your ego!" Another car door slammed, and he looked out the window to see a wine-colored Lincoln Town car peeling away from the curb. It was a car he recognized.
The woman, who had apparently been in the car, was chasing a few bills of unknown denominations down the sidewalk. She was wearing heels, a tank top, and a skirt. Her wardrobe was certainly not suitable for the temperatures. The only article of clothing she had somewhat befitting the seasonal weather was a dark-colored, short mink coat she had draped over her arm.
He shook his head in naive wonder at the odd behavior of the woman, and then he turned and walked back to the pool table. As he was chalking the cue, he heard the chimes above the door jingle and felt the draft of the door opening and closing. He turned his head to see a raven-haired woman in her mid-twenties. She had devilishly green eyes that took in everything as she entered the shop. At first glance, she seemed somewhat plain. Her face had a sprinkling of freckles, and her lips were plump but not full. As she moved closer, her incredibly large breasts demanded attention. The cleavage above the tiny white top showed a long, tight line; it threatened to burst the drawstring that seemed a small restraint for assets so large. Her hips and ass were voluptuous and seductively swung as she walked. She was the type of woman that was enjoyable to voyeur when she moved.
She looked directly into the boy's eyes as his roamed nervously over her body. Finally, his eyes met her own in a puppy dog fashion. Then she acknowledged his manhood by saying, "Well, hello there, Mr. Incredibly Handsome. Do you own this establishment? What does a lady of the night need to lick to get a coffee around here?"
His response came like anyone with hormones that travelled at the speed of light. She had placed the confusion upon him when she had addressed him as an adult, and that caused the stutter. He replied, "Um, uh, well, no. Um, I do not even, uh, really, um, work here. But I, uh, can get you a, uh, a coffee, if you would like. Uh, free! And well, uh, well, a woman as beautiful as you, should not, uh, well, need to lick anything for it, anyway! Uh, should you?"
As he rounded the counter and grabbed a cup and the coffee pot, she put out another hook. "My, my, a gentleman with a silver tongue. I bet the girls your age enjoy such a tongue. Have you tickled any virginities lately?" She looked around. "Are you here alone?"
As he did his best to pour the coffee without spilling it all over, he answered, "No, the owner is here. But he, uh, he is in the, um, he locks himself in the backroom and sleeps when I am here. He will not wake up, uh, unless I go kick the door. No one usually comes here on, well, on days like this. At least until, uh, well, until after school is out." He handed the brown-haired woman her coffee. She had an intoxicating smell: it was sweet and musky at the same time. He had occasionally encountered women with the same smell. Nevertheless, he could not name the perfume. He was not sexually inexperienced; he'd had several conquests in regard to the fairer sex. A few of the high school girls liked to hang out at his place and enjoyed going the distance. A couple girlfriends his age were always together, and they liked to share their victims. However, this woman overstimulated his senses. The way she spoke so dangerously inviting and dirty was amazing.
"It's so nice to meet a sweet guy like yourself and have the opportunity to enjoy some quality, one-on-one time with him. It is really a shame we could not just close the curtains to block the view from the street and lock the door. That way we would be guaranteed some brief privacy," she said knowingly. As she said this, she circled her thumb and forefinger around the pool stick he held, moving the small circle up and down slowly. Then she asked, "Would you allow a single girl to take a stroke with your cue and scatter your balls?"
His jaw dropped as she took the pool stick from his hand. She leaned over the table, parting her legs enough that her hips lifted her skirt and he saw heaven. Her female parts looked kind of red and puffy. The intoxicating smell grew stronger as her gender bared itself for him to admire. He unknowingly took in a huge breath through his nose in a very unattractive way. "Hey, handsome, the curtains and the door?" she hinted without looking back.
"Uh, um, uh, ya!" he stuttered. He quickly did as she told him. Upon returning, he was disappointed to find that she had broke shot, sinking the deuce and nine balls. He was more perplexed that she was standing and had pulled down the skirt covering her. What was that smell? Believing she would have no idea what he was up to, he began to take his breaths through his nose. He did it slowly but still loudly enough that she smiled knowingly.
"Do you recognize the scent of the perfume I'm wearing there, stud?" she asked.
"Um, well, yes, now that you mention it. I have smelled a similar perfume before. Uh, is it, uh, a common one?" he asked her innocently.
She leaned the cue upon the edge of the table. She strolled the few feet separating them, swaying her hips solicitously. Then after moistening her lips with a promising lick, she reached for the swollen bulge in his jeans, firmly latching onto what was beneath the fabric. She looked directly into his eyes for a moment, and then she pressed her breasts against his juvenile chest and put her lips next to his ear. With a hungry smile, she whispered with an angelic voice, "It's the smell of a woman who was just fucked for an hour in a very unsatisfying manner. Not by a nice fellow like you, either, but a dirty old man whose money pays her bills as long as she allows him to treat her like a filthy whore. All so he has something to ask the good Lord to forgive him for on Sunday! Do you enjoy the smell of sex, slavery boy?" she asked. She stared at him with a look of wonder regarding his character for not having tried to force his want upon her.
"Um, uh, no I don't, at least not in that way! I mean, uh, yes, I do enjoy, um, your smell. But, uh, you should not need to do, uh, things that you do not want to, to smell so good. Er, what I meant to say was that you're pretty, and uh ..." he replied, feeling conviction for his sincerity. At the same time, he was being tongue-tied, imagining the old creep balling his tiny cock into her ample ass!
When she spoke again, her lips moved, but no sound came out of them. The video games also were silenced. And a cloud seemed to fill up the room until he could barely see. He felt like he was in a crowd and people were staring at them. There was no one around. but his eyes discerned objects in shadows. It all seemed sort of like the state of utopia or nirvana that he had tried many substances to find but never reached. The seductress smiled at him lovingly, and there was an aura of beauty around her persona. His attention was drawn by the dancing of her lips: a mouth that was full, moist, and warm administered a spell of suggestion upon him. He thought of lovers in their entangled passions and even heard their cries as he watched her mouth weave some enchantment amid a magical silence.
A strange, pulsing energy like the heartbeat of something primitive and instinctual entered the building. Drums beat somewhere near, and yet farther off than the farthest stars. The steady beat counted moments as they passed by, heralding the arrival of the unknown. He was spellbound, and moments of time slipped by him. He would carry no memory of what went on between him and the witch during the illusion, but the memory of Nyx's visitation would never be forgotten, nor the promise of comfort when he would need to escape from his hours of greatest pain.
An ancient, shadowy traveler who forever is immortally beautiful rose up and then fell upon him. Both his reality and life were darkened by the fulfillment of this fated encounter with the mistress of night. Strange visions flittered across his retina in blurs. The mystical, dark angel beckoned to him with the invitation of the sensuality of the first feminine. She held a scroll that contained the answers to his questions and the fulfillment of his dreams.
Coaxing with the caresses of a goddess, the shadow tugged the soul out of his body by the phallus of his immortality with a satisfying suck. The apparition joined with his spirit and carried it up the wall in a vertical position. For a while the spectral entity simply explored the innocence of his energy. With quick movements the shade took his shadow deep into its inky embrace. The spectral shapes became one writhing mass of shadow upon the blank wall; he could actually feel the darkness touching him, and it peeled away the naiveté of youth and gave him more contentment and satisfaction than he had ever had before. It ended leaving the deep shame that came with wisdom and knowledge of forbidden things.
What had just happened? He was standing there, looking into the eyes of the strange woman. His body felt spent and limp but was not messed in anyway. She smiled at him knowingly and then lifted his chin up with her finger so that she could look into his eyes. "Wake up, young leopard. The trip we have just taken has ended with pleasantry, but still our journeys lay before us. I have a bet for you, if you would take it. Would you, my charming little pussy magnet, like to have me for a sexual servant for an entire month? I would do anything you wish, even the most perverted thing your mind could conjure up."
Phasing back into reality, he paused, unsure of himself and his whereabouts. But her question quickly allowed his mind to put aside the likely strange, long-term effects of past drug use. He responded, "Hell yeah! I would fucking love that. Wahoo!"
"Well, don't allow yourself to go off too soon, just from the excitement of the thought," she teased. "You haven't heard my terms yet. So here is the deal, hustler. I broke the game, sinking two balls in the pockets. That makes it still my shot, right? If I win, for a full month you must promise to be my slave. You must agree to do exactly what I tell you. If you win, the stakes are the same. I will do any perverted thing or other various duties that you command me to."
Without acknowledgment of the weird change of tone, he agreed to the terms in full and gave her his oath that he would follow through on the bet. He believed that she wanted to lose the game; he expected her to lose. Just by how she spoke of billiards, he knew she did not know how to play.
Then she cleared the table.
"Wow? You hustled me? You're a pro!" he accused her.
"I've watched the game played on a television in the bar a few times. This was the first time I played it," she lied. "So kid, this is how it's going to be." She paused long enough for his mind to skip past what she said and imagine a million different ways he would enjoy being used. "The first thing you are going to do is realize that I am not going to fuck you, nor am I going to suck you off. You can save yourself for someone younger. I have been a whore since I was younger than you are now, but I dislike the needs of the flesh and only use my body to achieve the means to the ends. Do you feel that my interaction with you has been an assault upon you in any way?"
He was unsure of the flurry of conversation that was suddenly coming from her; her words had lost their sexual undertones. He realized that she had used seduction to catch him off guard. Still, if he was given the chance to repeat the bet, even if he had to break rocks the entire month, he would repeat the wager. However, he would make a clause of a coin toss to decide who would get to break. Overall, the day had been quite an experience, and he enjoyed her company, so he answered her with a simple, "No."
"All right, then we agree on that, much to my relief! I would rather not feel inside like I had become my father. Moving on, then. Do you know the apartment complex two blocks behind this building? For the next thirty-one days, you will not drink booze or smoke dope until after four pm. You will attend all your classes in school, clean and sober. Immediately after school, you will go to my apartment via the basement window—that, and the hole you made in the back fence while evading the police a few weeks ago. I will leave the window nearest the fence open a crack. Do not tell anyone that you go there, or who it is you are spending time with, or what goes on there. I really don't give a damn about your grades, only that if you are caught hanging around with me, I will be able to claim improvements to your behavior. Are you clear on my instructions so far, kid?"
Weird as it was, his teenage, hormone-driven lust that had been sated burned in him. Wow! What an extremely twisted reality today's daydream was. Hell, he even felt lightheaded and empty packaged. In this appeased state, he was intrigued by the cloak-and-dagger stuff, and his usual poise returned and his stuttering ceased. "Yes, it's all crystal clear. Except what happens once I'm there?" he responded with a sideways grin.
"If I am not home, you wash the dishes. If you finish and I am still not home, you clean the rest of the pad. If I still haven't returned, you sit and wait. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that a lady's underwear drawer is private, so stay out of mine! Do not remove the black cloths covering the windows under any circumstances. If I am not present, do not move any of the candles from the places where I have placed them." She ended the orders with a long breath that expelled the simple question, "Okay?"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from An Order of Chaos Copyright © 2012 by The Leopard of Shadows. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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