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Ritual Games

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Ronnie ‘Z-Man’ Barzell was a certifiable freak. If anyone cared to verify that fact, and suffer greatly upon learning it, Harris could. There wasn’t just the question of his sex, but that of his ever-changeable moods and whims. He was a real-life Holly Golightly; one moment he was genial and charming and the next he became possessed of such mean reds that Harris found himself wishing there weren’t quite so many antique swords and daggers in easily accessible areas.

Every night was a party and this night was no different. Z-Man had taken to dressing him to complement himself. Harris now wore velvet and cravats and all manner of items he would have scoffed at before. He brushed his hair neatly now at his lover’s command.

“There, my prince,” Z-Man patted him down, brushing out any wrinkles in the fabric, “Thou art more lovely and temperate than a summer’s day. And do I please you?”

He did a little twirl for Harris’ benefit, showing off his long, slender limbs encased in the tight fashion of the day.

Harris grabbed him by his sharply jutting hips and pulled him close.

“Now, rakish boy, behave yourself. We must grace those in wait with our undisturbed presence.”

“Ronnie,” Harris pleaded. He couldn’t get enough.

Z-Man smiled beguilingly, “Later,” he said, the word a heated promise. He headed to the double doors of the master bedroom. He crooked his finger and Harris followed, like they had that weird cat-lady’s chain stretched between them.

The Strawberry Alarm Clock was well into their fifth song by the time they arrived on the scene, and the air was pungent with the scent of grass and cigarette smoke. Z-Man launched into his usual nonsensical spiel, greeting his guests with a curling smile and offers of drinks. Harris trailed behind him. He would never really get used to such scenes. Nothing was for real, not really.

He spotted Casey leaning against the far wall and left his lover’s side to say hello. She didn’t like Z-Man, he could see it in her narrowed brown eyes.

“Hello Harris,” she said when he approached her. Her dress was low cut and high-hemmed and his gaze flickered to her generous bosom for a second or two. This was who he should be thinking of bedding: some sexy, sweet girl. Not Z-Man. But even now he followed the darker man’s progress across the room with barely concealed jealousy.

“I’m surprised you came,” he said to her, referring to her tendency to skip parties when she could.

“It’s a drag, man, but Roxanne asked me and, well…you know.”

He did know. The two brunettes couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. He supposed, out of all his friends, Casey had to understand him the most, even though she probably didn’t approve of the person he was re-experiencing his sexual awakening with.

“Kelly can’t believe it, you know. She’s been flipping out for weeks. Pet says you’re just confused.”

“I’m not confused, Casey. Are you?”

She smiled at that, lowering her spiky lashes demurely. “No I’m not. I can dig it Harris, really. We’re just worried, that’s all. We barely see you any more.”

“Kelly barely saw me anyway,” he muttered. It still hurt.

“Look,” Casey pointed through the writhing mass of bodies to the front door. Kelly had just entered, her red hair extra bouffant and her pretty face soured by a tense, flat mouth. Lance was behind her, his hands squeezing her shoulders. “She’s here.”

“Sure,” Harris wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He wanted to find Z-Man and clutch him close right in front of her, or something. “Congratulations on the new single, Casey.”

He left her, winding his way through the dancers. He caught snatches of conversations, nothing that made much sense, and then Ashley St Ives stuck her arm out to stop him. She shimmied and licked her lips, appraising his makeover with knowing eyes.

“Groovy,” she said, “you look good, loverboy.”

“I’m not yours,” he removed her hand from his chest, “not anymore.”

“That’s a pity.” She shot a sly glance in Z-Man’s direction. “I like you much better now you’re kinky. Tell me, which way is it?”

He frowned at her.

“Who’s on top?” she asked bluntly, courtesy of her experience via controversial box office blockbusters. Harris ignored her, pushing past to find someone who didn’t vacillate between wanting to rape him and wanting to insult his manhood. She pouted suggestively and made the sign for a telephone with her fingers. He shook his head.

Now he had Z-Man in full view and Ronnie didn’t look happy. He was glowering at Ashley in the way a cat might stare at another cat encroaching on its territory. It was terrifying and terrifyingly hot, all at once. Since the Genius Music Producer was now without company, Harris began to head towards him, but his path there soon became blocked.

Kelly stood in front of him with big watery eyes, Lance hanging casually at her side, his smirk telling Harris’ that he knew every dirty thing he and Z-Man did together. Everything, that was, except the secret, because only Harris was trusted enough for that.

“You don’t even look the same,” she said sadly. “It’s all my fault.”

“Yeah, Kelly, you brought out the faggot in me.”

“You never really initiated sex,” her lower lip trembled, “not unless you were high.”

Z-Man was really listening now, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. Lance was enjoying it, the fucker.

“Harris,” she whispered, and he could see how she was trying to avoid causing her manager any upset. No matter how much she didn’t seem to want them together, she still valued Z-Man and his opinion and his magical a-star-is-born talent for propelling her, and others like her, to greatness. “If you’re trying to hurt me…”

“You hurt me,” he whispered back just as vehemently. Then he took pity on her. “Not everything is about you, Kelly.”

You’re more than this, her saucer-eyes seemed to say, you should be more than someone’s kept boy. What would your mother say?

“Hey man,” Lance had had enough. He wanted to get down and get stoned. “Whatever turns you on, right Barzell?” They looked for Z-Man but he had vanished like the fickle butterfly he was, flitting in sight one moment and then gone the next.

He didn’t reappear for the rest of the night and, when Harris went to find him, he discovered the doors of the inner sanctum had been locked. The portcullis drawn up, barring him from Elsinore and the tormented royalty inside.

He spent an hour or two in the pool with Casey, Pet, Roxanne and Emerson, sharing joints and easy conversation. Otto threw everyone out around 3am, apparently on his master’s orders.

Harris wandered through the debris, knowing it would be gone by the time the sun rose. He was surprised to find his way now unbarred. Sometimes Z-Man made him sleep out on the sofas as punishment for whatever grievous crime he had committed. Tonight was different, perhaps he was forgiven. His cock swelled as he walked, remembering the teasing dark promise bestowed earlier.

He found Z-Man staring at his ferns, the bath still filled behind him.

“Halt, vassal,” he ordered half-heartedly, “I would ask you a question, if you’ll allow.”

Harris nodded.

“If I’m a way of bitter retaliation, I’d like to know it.”

So that was it. Goddamn Kelly. “That’s not a question,” Harris said softly.

“Answer it,” Z-Man commanded.

“She was so far off she’s orbiting Jupiter,” Harris tried to assure him, wrapping himself around the taller man from behind. He smoothed his hands over the chest, which appeared so flat but was in fact home to soft breasts that fit just right in the palms of his hands. “You’re my Superwoman.”

“Sometimes I think about killing them all,” Z-Man said strangely. “Or myself.”

“Kill me first,” Harris said, quite certain the other man wasn’t joking. He wasn’t scared though.

“I would, and gently too, I vow it.”

He let Harris kiss him then, long and deep. “No one ever wanted what I am,” he explained in his cryptic way, “and so I became Z-Man.”

“I want what you are,” Harris growled, thinking about the warm bath water and how deliciously they could make it covered it suds and bubbles. Now he knew the odd workings of Z-Man’s clothes he was able to strip him quite quickly, guiding him down into the large square bath and following soon after.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Z-Man asked with a wicked glint in his green eyes as he rode Harris against the side of the tub, “what it feels like for a girl?”

Harris shuddered, his member sheathed by the tight, clenching walls of Z-Man’s cunt. He’d fuck the darkness out of him, if he could. Show him love, love, love until they saw galaxies and stars and sunbursts. His eyes rolled in his head. “Anything,” he agreed.

“Then I’ll arrange a gathering. Fair Maidens only.”




“A toast, a toast my friends! To our health and cheer and happiness! Otto, let the ritual begin!” Z-Man, unusually jaunty in a black hat, lifted his glass and gestured to his plump servant. Otto, dressed inexplicably as a Nazi, began to hand out shiny red boxes. One for Roxanne, one for Casey, one for Harris, and one for their host himself.

Z-Man dismissed him then, and began to address his bemused guests. “One for the Queen, so haughty and serene, and one for you, little page…”

“What are these?” Casey asked shyly.

“To sheath your supple body,” Z-Man replied, directing his gaze to Harris. “And one for you, fairest.”

Harris opened it and peeked inside, a blush staining his cheeks as he saw what the present contained. Casey and Roxanne left to change in private and Z-Man bid his lover do the same.

Harris went into the nearest room and stripped, watching himself in the full-length mirror as he pulled on a skimpy little superhero costume. But he wasn’t Superman or Batman or any masculine avenger, no…he was a skirted batgirl, complete with a headband and tiny black ears.

Hearing Z-Man talking to the others, he took a deep breath and ventured out into the hallway. The pleated skirt barely covered anything and he tried in vain to pull it further down his thighs.

“Marvellous,” Z-Man remarked, turning to see him, “it displays you to such magnificent advantage.” He himself was wearing the most important costume: the royal purple of Superwoman, she who was unconquerable.

Casey and Roxanne stepped out, dressed as Robin and Catwoman respectively. They all gathered back on the pillows spread out around the low table. Z-Man switched on the coloured lights and rainbows of red, green and pink began to wash over their waiting forms. He filled their glasses.

“An ancient potion by Merlin the Magician,” he announced, “One part peyote and some other benign goodies. It’s used in all the best rituals.”

Casey took her glass apprehensively, but at Roxanne’s assurance she drank it as deeply as any of them. There was more: hookahs and grass and dreamy mixtures that made them lightheaded and floppy-limbed. The two girls soon disappeared to one of the guest bedrooms, their hands roaming each others bodies hungrily.

Harris looked up from where he lay and let Z-Man pull him to his feet and lead him to the four-poster bed in the master suite. There he collapsed against the blood red sheets and let out a breathy sigh as long fingers trailed up his leg and beneath the tiny skirt.

Z-Man massaged his already hardening cock and smiled indulgently as he did so. Harris knew what was coming, he’d put two and two together, even in his drug-induced haze, and he couldn’t deny he was afraid. Fucking in and out of Z-Man’s pussy was one thing, but having the other man’s cock up his ass was quite another. Still, as two fingers passed over his balls and up to press against his hole he couldn’t deny he was intrigued.

Z-Man withdrew for a moment and then returned, his hand coated in something slick. He began to press in, seemingly fascinated by what he was doing, and Harris couldn’t hold back the breathy moans that escaped him. It was the oddest feeling but, as one finger crooked in just the right place - sending sparks shooting up and down his spine - it was so, so, good.

“Fair Maiden,” Z-Man cooed, “won’t you let me in?”

Harris groaned loudly, fisting his hands in his lover’s ruffled shirt. “Who am I to reject Superwoman?” He asked, almost delirious with sensation.

He was flipped onto his front, his skirt hiked up to his waist, and then there was a hot, wet tongue licking him and he almost came from the shock of it. Then followed the hard cock, pushing in with firm insistence. He felt as if he were being split in two, helpless against the thrusting sword wielded by a beautiful maniac.

They moved together, neither noticing Casey peering in at them for a moment or two. She continued on her wanderings, satisfied that he was safe.

“Ronnie,” Harris panted, “Ronnie, I love you.”

“And I love you, upon my honour.”