by Lucian Bane
As she slipped her foot in the heel, she couldn’t believe it. “Impossible!” She tried to recall ever giving him her measurements for anything. She sucked in a breath. Her medical report! They’d have that. Didn’t they?
Putting both shoes on, she made her way back to the mirror and stared. Wow. She looked… like a different person! She angled her body left and right, holding her stomach all the way in. She quickly put her hair in different styles, her pulse racing in excitement. She’d never dressed in anything so… elegant! Her father would call it harlotry, but she knew he was just a righteous scrooge when it came to most things of that nature.
She wondered what his date would be wearing. Probably something a lot sluttier. She eyed herself again, and it was settled. She looked professional and yet sophisticated. With a touch of pretty. Beautiful, if she were being immodest. And yeah, she was but oh well.
She used the curling iron on most of her hair then pinned half of it up on top. She then applied her makeup, deciding to go a bit bolder with her eyes, leaving her lips a subtle looking rose. Which didn’t… really match as well with the entire formal theme. Maybe she could try red, just… wipe most of it off.
She dabbed the sinful color on her lips sparingly then smashed them together in every direction. “Oh Satan,” she breathed at the result, grabbing the toilet tissue. Wetting a little of it, she dabbed and dabbed. And dabbed. Was it getting redder?
She looked at the time and freaked. 6:50! She did not want to arrive after that woman and be ogled as she entered ungracefully.
She examined her hair once more before dashing out, feeling like Cinderella running from disaster. Only she was running to it.
She slowed her steps on the final staircase, trying to hear if anybody was there yet. Was that music? Where was it coming from? She glanced left and right as she made her way to the bottom of the stairs, figuring out the sound was coming from that sitting room next to the main entrance, opposite the dining room.
She tiptoed her way to the large opening of the room, looking around.
“You made it.”
She yelped and spun to Mordecai, holding a glass of something dark toward her. Dear God. He was dressed in a fitted black suit which made him look… sinfully dangerous, her mind supplied.
He was looking her over, and she found herself holding her breath. “I see I got very lucky,” he finally said when his blue eyes returned to her face.
“You did. I… I swore that if you got the shoes right, then you earned me wearing every bit of it. How did you do that?” she asked, her voice sounding like a frail wisp.
“I have this thing with details. Everything fit?”
He was on a second pass, his eyes devouring until she felt like he was imagining the things beneath. Oh shit, he was. “Perfectly,” she heard herself say, wondering who this person was speaking. She sounded love struck and in need of a good mental slap, which she promptly gave. “Perfectly indecent of you, but a deal is a deal.”
“I’m glad you made it with yourself,” he said, bringing his glass to his mouth.
She realized she held the other glass, wondering when that happened. “What is this?” she wondered.
“Juice. From the tree of sin.” He smiled a little. “I’m teasing you.” He held up the glass, eying its contents. “This one is special. From the Brotherhood Vineyard. Pressed by the feet of dancing angels. God, I kid, I would never drink anything trodden by feet,” he confessed, making her laugh a little too loudly.
“You listen to music?” she noticed, sipping the drink. “Mmm,” she said, looking at the dark juice. “It’s pretty good.”
“Yes, I listen to music. I can even dance, but never do.”
“You?” she laughed. “A dancing sadist, we’ve come full circle this century.”
He nodded with a smile. “I was made to take lessons when I was nine. My brain never forgot it.”
“Unfortunately?” she laughed.
He shrugged. “I never hated it or loved it.” He glanced at his watch and sighed.
“What… what time is it?” she wondered.
“7:05.”
“Oh. Really.” Her phone time must be off. “Well, she should be here any minute, did you… want to be in any particular area for that… reception?”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said, touching the screen. Miriam looked around, so she wouldn’t try peeking at what he was doing. He returned his phone to his pocket.
“Everything okay?”
“She had to reschedule.” He gave a shrug drinking all the contents of his glass as if it were an intoxicant, he needed all of. “That was a rather quick and pathetic outcome.”
Miriam’s stomach was a sudden mess. It wanted to be relieved about escaping what she was sure would be a disaster while feeling bad for Mordecai who was clearly embarrassed about being stood up.
“Well, her loss,” Miriam said lightly. “There are more chaotic fish in the ocean.”
At seeing his head remain lowered, her therapeutic senses kicked in. “How about you teach this klutz how to dance? I’ve never learned.” Miriam downed her drink like him then demonstrated her lack of skills with a weird sway and leg kick that drew his light laugh and headshake.
“That bad?” he wondered.
“Very,” she assured.
“Fine,” he said, setting his glass on the fireplace mantle and turning to take hers, placing it next to his. He walked to an open area of the floor and assumed a position with one arm out and the other in a semi-circle. He eyed her. “You go in here,” he instructed, nodding at his posed arms.
She hurried over and paused next to his stance before ducking under his arm and coming to stand before him.
He allowed his bent arm to lightly settle across her back and nodded at his other hand. “Your hand in mine, the other on my shoulder.”
She stretched her arm out and placed her hand in his, watching as his fingers closed softly over hers, sending a tingle throughout her entire body.
“Place your feet on mine,” he instructed next.
“On?” she double checked.
He looked up and locked his gaze to hers, stealing her breath. “Yes. You’ll learn the steps faster that way. And I won’t accidentally step on your toes.”
She pulled back enough to see his feet and did as he instructed, only to continuously slide off.
“I have an idea,” he said, stepping back and removing his shoes.
“But I’ll… hurt your feet,” she realized.
“Not if you take yours off too.”
“Oh. Right.”
She removed her shoes and tossed them next to his then found him staring at her messy habit. Crapola. She hurried over and set them precisely then straightened and hurried back to him.
He helped her stand on his feet before fixing his arm across her back and taking her hand in his. Without a word, he closed his eyes and began to move with her. One foot then the next until she recognized a pattern. But it was his face she studied while his eyes were closed. Those lashes were so thick and black. His forehead held two lines as though he were concentrating. And his cologne. Dear patron saint of aphrodisiacs, whoever created it should be shot. Or paid a small fortune.
“Do you feel it?” His eyes slowly opened to lock onto hers.
“Feel… what?” She found the task of speaking and breathing simultaneously difficult.
“The dance steps?”
“I do,” she said softly, feeling like she needed to be quiet and reverent. “I only know one kind of dance,” she added a few seconds later. “But… it’s not really a dance.”
He suddenly came to a stop. “Show me.”
“Oh… uh. Well. It’s kind of dumb.”
He stared right into her eyes, deeply. “Try me.”
His voice suddenly felt like it was all through her, prompting a need for distance between them that she carelessly ignored. “I put my arms here…” She placed them on his shoulders. “And you put you
r hands on my…” She took his hand and guided it to her waist. “There. Same for the other,” she instructed, placing both her hands back on his shoulders.
“What do I do with my feet?” he asked.
“That’s the funny part,” she smiled. “Nothing. You just sway left and right, like a tree being blown in the wind.”
He did the move, and she laughed, nodding. “That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.”
“What kind of dance is this?”
“It’s called slow dancing. I learned it in junior high, at school.”
“I was home schooled,” he announced, his eyes on hers until they were slowly moving over her face. They seemed to stop at her mouth. “That’s a new lip color,” he said, his warm breath tingling in all the wrong places.
“It… I never wear it. But this… dress needed something a little more…”
“Brave,” he helped, his eyes back on her face. “Like your eyes.”
She could only nod and swallow, her pulse racing when his gaze went on another perusal. “Did you like everything?” he asked, his tone like heat over her skin.
“I… I did,” was all she could say.
His hands became hotter on her waist it seemed. “The dress fits your body perfectly.”
The intimate term stole her breath right as his hands slid around to a stop at the top of her buttocks. He pulled her a little, bringing her lower body closer to him. She was stuck in his suddenly dark and narrowed gaze.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I have to confess.”
A sudden wave of dizziness hit her, and she held his shoulders tighter. At that second, his fingers sank into her lower back, feeling her with a methodical motion that drew a shaky breath from her.
“Remember what you said to me?” he asked. “That… your hands were tied, and you wish they weren’t?”
Oh God, what was he… She felt unsteady and leaned into his chest, holding him tighter. She wanted to say “Yes. Why?” but her tongue was too heavy.
“I drugged your drink,” he said softly, meeting her confused gaze.
Her brain panicked but her body remained locked in a warm cocoon.
“As soon as it takes full effect… I’m going to tie your hands… so that you will be free to receive everything I’m going to do to you.”
C H A P T E R F O U R
Operation Holy Shit
Mordecai stared down into Miriam’s face as the drug took full effect. Nothing left but the cloud of euphoria enveloping her in a harmless bliss, taking the hard edge off the panic and confusion on her pinched brows.
“I’m doing this for your own good,” he said, as he scooped her up in his arms and made his way to the stairs. “That sounded like a cliché line out of a horror movie, I’m aware. I hope you know you have nothing to worry about with me; I’m not like most sadists—particularly your new friends, Daniel, Jason and Darrel. Now those three are real trouble for somebody like you. You’re a sadist’s dessert, really. Just enough intelligence to give a sense of challenge. More than enough innocence to feed the darkest evils, and a body begging for that A-rated quality sadistic torture which more times than not, leads to death.”
He reached the top of the first flight of stairs, winded, looking at her. “I honestly can’t figure out why the good professor gave you their names, I’ve been going over that one for a solid hour which, for me in sadist time, is like a week.”
He made his way to the second flight of stairs. “How do I know all this about these three stooges? Fair and logical question, Dr. Beckett. It was while you were getting ready for tonight that I decided to slip into our online game room to see what was what. And lo-and-behold, there you were, name strewn about between the three sadistic stooges as they squabbled over which pieces of the slaughtered lamb they deserved. By the time they made it to the process of choosing how to acquire all of it while the subject was alive, I thought, now the good and noble Dr. Beckett will have an issue with this. So, what am I supposed to do? Obviously step in. And then the Miriam side of my sadism said, but will she believe you? Will she not, in fact call up Professor Dorchester—whom I now have serious doubts about—and question your claims, thereby exposing your secret identity in that highly sought-after sadistic group? Of course, she will. Shit this is the best exercise ever,” he huffed making it to the final landing.
He adjusted her dead-weight limbs in his arms and turned for his room. “As a man who has committed to transparency—as per our agreement—I would love to say that I’m doing all of this to protect you. But no, my good Dr., I’m not. Because before this riff-raff came into play, we had a game going on, me and you. I know, I know…” He made it to his door and raised his foot, pressing the handle’s lever. “… you’re thinking, what game? Weren’t we done?”
He angled her body through the door before back-kicking it shut, nodding. “I thought we were, but then I realized you were still playing.” He laid her down on his bed, fixing her limbs in a natural resting pose then sat next to her, catching his breath. “Because you weren’t ready to quit. Like me, you don’t like quitting.” He leaned back a little and pulled his phone out of his pocket checking the time. “In about thirty more minutes, you’ll start to regain control of your limbs. But before that happens, I’ll have you tied up and ready for my best play ever. You’ll love it.”
****
Every one of Miriam’s muscles were literally non-functioning. She couldn’t feel her limbs. But she could see and hear everything, and in that second, she was seeing Mordecai removing his clothes while watching her, eyes locked onto hers as he slowly peeled off each piece.
In those seconds, just how much she didn’t know about him settled into place like missing pieces that finished a terrifying picture. She thought she knew him because he went to her school, and she stupidly interpreted that as them being school buddies. What a horrific error on her part. An error with a sadist who seemed to be under delusional, noble intentions.
How did this happen? Hadn’t God led her there? Was this in his plan? What was she supposed to do? Please God. Help me. Help me know what to do.
She wasn’t sure if it was seeing him completely naked that did it, but her brain made contact with one of her limbs; her big toe. She fought to make more connections, even as he approached her with black straps.
He took one arm and moved it above her head. She only knew it was her arm because she saw it attached to her, otherwise it may as well have belonged to another body. He then did the same to the other arm.
When he got to her feet, she fought to resist his tug on her leg as he stretched it out, but again, it was a mental event only. No feeling was attached to any of her efforts as he tied her left leg open. Then her right leg. She was wide open, God she was wide open.
She still had the dress. And underclothes. That was something. And it felt like hope.
Mordecai walked off and entered a doorway on the left and since her head was facing in that direction, she could see tile beyond. A bathroom. She heard the shower turn on and her heart raced as she continued to make more connections with limbs.
It felt like an eternity, but by the time he came out, she had all her bodily mobility back as best that she could tell but hid them. She’d hide them all and wait.
****
Mordecai eyed Miriam, knowing she had full function of her body by now. She lay there, pretending to sleep, waiting to make her move. He’d had a long shower and made some wagers, and that had been one. She’d fight him. Because what he was about to do went against everything she believed. A belief that she might die for, but he wasn’t ready to wager that one yet.
“I know you’re awake,” he said, walking over to her in his towel. “I need to talk to you about what I’m about to do. I’d like to have your full cooperation, but I don’t need it.”
He sat on the bed near her waist, glancing at her. She was going to make him work for every bit. He stood and removed his towel, then
climbed on the bed. Kneeling between her opened legs, his mind offered him all the images that had been playing on repeat as he stared at her. Stared at that forbidden, pure, undefiled place.
He moved forward until his knees pushed against her inner thighs, earning a spark of life in the form of the barest sound.
He pushed against the warm muscles again, his eyes making a careful pass over her body, stopping where the dress stretched tautly over her hips.
He caressed the hem of it with his fingers, slowly sliding it up as he listened attentively to her quickening breaths. With her dress bunched at her waist, he stared at her creamy skin surrounding the sheer black panties and garter. He studied the vision until his body burned to explore the data, moving his touch along the edge of the panties. He closed his eyes at the impossible softness that met the tips of his fingers.
“Mordecai!”
He paused his mental orgasm, finding her face turned and eyes clenched tight. Panic sharpened her breaths, making his cock hotter. “Miriam,” he answered softly.
He was interested in only one thing. Allowing the wager to play out. The one that said before the night was over, he’d have her. All of her. Every drop of her virginity. From her mind, her body, her Puritan spirit. And his body demanded he fulfill that exact wager, now.
“Why are you doing this? Why this? Can’t we talk about it?”
Her desperate plea brought a throb to his cock and he noted how his body liked her desperate to the point of begging.
“Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you,” he said, sliding his pointer fingers under the top of her panties. Encountering her pubic hair brought a wave of desire and thick groan from his chest. “You want to know why I’m going to force you? Is that it?”
Without looking, he saw her frantic nod with her strained breaths.
“Because you can’t do this unless I make you.” He tugged the front of her panties down, exposing her dark triangle. “Your convictions forbid you.”
