To Rub, Honor and Obey

by Melinda Barron

  “That’s good to hear.”

  Part of her expected him to gather her in his arms, to say things were fine and always would be. But he didn’t. He just stared at her, and she looked off toward the trees again.

  “Do you visit him?” he asked.

  “No. Randy blamed me for his going to prison. Said when he got out, he’d look me up and make sure I regretted my freedom. He sends me a letter about every six weeks, smuggled out by someone who visits him, I’m sure. I moved, but they always found me.” She toyed with her half eaten sandwich. “Now when I get them, I just burn them.”

  “Typical of someone like him to blame everyone else for what they’ve done, sort of like the way you blame Aliya for the start of your downhill slide.”

  “Don’t go there.” She glared at him, her anger rising. “If she hadn’t spread that lie about me, none of this would have happened.”

  “Maybe not. But maybe it would have happened anyway. You can’t second guess life. What you can do is put the past behind you and make a better life for yourself now.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” She tried to keep her voice from breaking. “I have nothing to offer. No skills. No friends. No family. Nothing.”

  “Poor pitiful Moreen. So put upon.” He sounded bored. “What’s the childhood saying? ‘Nobody loves me, everyone hates me. Guess I’ll go eat some worms’?”

  “Screw you!” She threw her plate at him, sending meat and bread flying. The plate landed on his chest, then fell away, leaving chunks of potato salad on the black material.

  She scrambled to her feet and took off running.

  Moments later, he tackled her from behind. They went down together, tumbling to the ground and rolling in a dizzying blur of fabric and green pasture. When they finally came to a stop, his body covered hers, his weight pushing her back into the dew-damp grass.

  “You must learn to control your temper. Be glad the f-word didn’t slip out, or you’d have a mouthful of soap right now.”

  She tried to fight her way out from under him, but he held her firm. He didn’t talk until she’d stopped struggling. “Since you’ve told me your story,” he began quietly, “let me tell you mine. I’m a demon, born of two demons. When I was five, my parents began to teach me how to drive people crazy, to slip into their dreams and plant visions that would frighten them into heart attacks. They laughed as I became stronger, encouraging me to use my evil to spread hate and discontent.”

  He held her close as she tried to wiggle away from him. “They taught you to kill?”

  “Oh no, that would be too easy. Better to make a person crazy, to make them live the rest of their life in pain, frightened of what would happen next.”

  She clawed at the grass, more anxious than ever to get out from under him. “So you’re evil?”

  “Deep down, yes. But I’ve learned to overcome it. When I was in my late teens I watched a woman I’d invaded go mad while her children sat nearby, crying and helpless. Their cries tore into my soul, something I never even realized I had. It hurt me. I couldn’t let it happen. I soothed her, helped her come back to reality. Then my father appeared and attacked me, told me what a failure I was. We fought, and I wounded him badly enough that he almost died.”

  She turned her head so she could see his face. The pain written there made her breath catch in her throat. “What happened then?”

  “I walked away from him, from my family. I reinvented myself, so to speak. I tried to do good, to undo everything I’d done. It was hard, and I didn’t get to undo everything, of course, because I’d done a lot of evil. Then I found the Djinn. I had to prove myself to them, and it took a while, but it worked. Now I spread pleasure and help people learn how to help themselves.”

  “How old are you?”

  The cocky grin he gave her made her toes curl. “More than nine hundred years now.”

  She had no doubt he was telling the truth. “And your family?”

  “My mother is dead. My father is a weak shell of what he used to be, but I have half a dozen brothers and almost as many sisters who would kill me on sight. Or try to, anyway.” He rolled off her, stood, and held out his hand.

  She took it tentatively and he helped her to stand. “At least your family didn’t abandon you like mine did.”

  “Your parents still love you.”

  Moreen snorted out a laugh. “Right. They wouldn’t even bail me out when I got arrested that last time.”

  “Who do you think paid for your rehab?”

  “The state.”

  “Wrong.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “I searched the records. Paid for by Mr. and Mrs. Patrick McGee. More than five thousand dollars.”

  Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “If that were true, they would have tried to contact me. It’s been almost ten years. Not once have they called me. Not on my birthday, not on Christmas. Nothing.”

  “How do you know they’re not thinking the same thing? That if you wanted to be in touch with them, you would call or write? Didn’t you tell them you hated them, and that you never wanted to see them again?”

  When she didn’t say anything he took a step closer to her. “Your problem, Moreen, is that you hate yourself. You hate what you’ve done, and you hate what your life has become. No one knows more about hating what they’ve done than I do. But I’m going to teach you how to overcome it, to love yourself again.”

  “Like I said, it’ll never happen. You should just give up now, and let me go back to the way I was.”

  His grin seemed wickeder than before, if that were possible. “I give up on nothing. You’ll learn that very quickly.” He pulled her into his chest, his hands cupping her buttocks, grinding her pelvis into his erection.

  Her guess had been right on the mark. He was very well formed.

  “We’ll have great fun together. Every time you learn something, I’m going to fulfill a fantasy for you.”

  Moreen groaned. It felt wonderful to be in his arms, to have him hold her close. She started to melt into him, and then reality set in. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to learn anything. She tried to push away, but he held her close, snaking his hand between their bodies and into khaki pants she wore for her job—her former job—at the coffee bar.

  His hands found her clit, circling it lightly until she thrust her hips in response.

  “That’s it. Just a little taste of the pleasures ahead.” He pinched her clit and she came, the pain turning to sweet pleasure as she writhed under his touch. “You’ll learn that not all pain is bad. For the next thirty days you’ll learn to obey me, and you’ll learn to honor and love yourself for who you are.”

  She was clasping his shirt now, her breath coming in heavy pants as her orgasm slowly faded away. “And if I don’t?”

  His laugh was wicked. She lifted her gaze to him as if some unseen force had hold of her chin and lifted it. “You will. And if you don’t, well let’s just say punishments aren’t merely for errant children.”

  Chapter Four

  Moreen wasn’t sure why she was here, standing in front of the Cave of Pleasure. When her probation officer had told her he approved of her working at the bar, that he’d talked to Matuse, the owner, she’d been stunned.

  “As long as you don’t fall behind on your community service hours or your payments on your fine, it’ll be good,” he’d said. “From the paperwork he gave me, it looks like you’ll be making more money, which is a good thing. No drinking, though. Understand?”

  “Yes sir.” She’d nodded, still floored.

  Then she’d gone home and found a note from Paran floating near her refrigerator, telling her to meet him at the club at nine. She’d thought about saying no, but she was afraid that if she did, she would lose her new job before it even started.

  Her body still tingled from the orgasm he’d given her that afternoon. Letting him get too close to her would be dangerous, though. No relationship had ever worked for her. A
side from Randy, there had been only one man: James Nixon. He’d wanted to get close to her so he could play with her breasts. She quickly found that out, and when she’d refused him one time, he’d tried to force himself on her. She’d responded with a well-placed kick, and that had been the end of that. Since then she’d stayed away from men.

  Until today.

  Her clit twitched at the memory of Paran’s fingers, of the caressing and pinching. She pushed the feelings aside. They would give her nothing but trouble.

  After showering and dressing in her best jeans and blouse, she took the subway to the club. Now she stood outside, wavering between going in and going home. The man working the door made the decision for her. He saw her, cocked a finger at her to motion her forward, then pulled aside the cord and ushered her through.

  “He’s waiting for you upstairs, Moreen. We’re glad you’re here.” She didn’t question how he knew her. If Paran was a Djinni, and had gotten her this job at the club, there was no doubt in her mind the man who’d just admitted her was a Djinni, as were the owner and most of the workers, probably.

  When she got inside, she tried not to stare at the colorful pieces of fabric that floated down from the ceiling, at the small braziers of light that hung in mid-air, or the low sitting tables filled with laughing people. She hadn’t been in a club since her early twenties. And those clubs were dark and dingy, nothing like what she stood in now.

  The waiters and waitresses, dressed in light, gauzy clothing, all greeted her by name, their smiles infectious. They warmed her up inside as nothing had in a long time. Her co-workers at her jobs had always been leery of her, since they all knew her background. She was sure these people did, too, but they didn’t seem to care.

  She felt Paran’s stare before she saw him. She followed the feel of him and found him standing near a staircase.

  “You’re late,” he said, shaking his head. “I was afraid I would have to come after you.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m here to meet the boss.”

  “No, you can do that tomorrow when you’re actually working.”

  “But I need to discuss hours. I missed my volunteer time at the center today, and I have to make it up tomorrow to stay on track. I have to put in twenty hours a week.”

  “And you will. You need to stop worrying about things and let me be in control.”

  “Randy said the same thing. And look where it landed me.”

  He laughed, then held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t question me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me where we’re going.”

  The wicked smile was back. “Don’t ever tell me you’re not going to do something. Do you remember what I said? You will obey me.”

  “If I’m not meeting the boss, I’m going home.” She turned to leave, screeching when she was lifted into the air before she could take a step. She floated beside Paran as he walked down a wide hallway.

  Moreen struggled against the unseen binding that encased her body. “Let me go!”

  “You’re far too tense. This will relax you.”

  “Right!” She continued to struggle. “I’m real relaxed, floating through the air with invisible ropes tied around me. You son of a—let me go!”

  “That’s your own fault. You should have done what I said.”

  A scream of frustration tore from her throat and reverberated through the hallway. There were several people walking nearby, but no one stopped to see if she was all right, or to ask her if she needed help.

  Paran pushed open a door and she glided inside. Candles hovered in mid-air, their fire the only illumination in the room. The scent of lavender hit her nose, its smell pleasing to her nostrils. Within seconds she was lying face-up on a padded table, her body strapped down.

  “I’m going to take your clothes off now,” he said. “Just a warning so you don’t scream again. I have very sensitive ears.”

  She screamed again anyway, making sure her head was turned toward him. When he laughed, she tried one more time. Within seconds she was naked, her legs and arms tethered away from her body.

  “You need to relax.”

  Instead, she panicked. “Please, please let me go,” she pleaded, then stiffened when he put his hands on her shoulders and began rubbing her.

  “Shush, just relax. A nice massage will feel wonderful.”

  His hands didn’t roam away from her shoulders, and that relaxed her a little. She didn’t think he planned to rape her. Still, being naked in front of him, despite the low lighting, was disconcerting. She wanted her clothes back. Now.

  He placed his hands to her temples, gently moving his finger in circles. She moaned softly, trying to ease her breathing.

  “That’s it, just calm down. I’m not going to force myself on you, or do anything you’re not going to like.”

  Calm rolled over her in a gentle wave. In her heart, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

  His hands shifted and were back on her shoulders now. He had put some sort of oil on his fingers and it soaked into her skin, warming her on contact.

  “Close your eyes. Think about nothing but the oil and my fingers. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Deep breathes. That’s it.”

  His soft voice soothed her, making her feel as if she floated on air. She closed her eyes, loving the feel of him. His hands moved down her chest, stopping just above her breasts, his fingers stroking in soft circles.

  She let out a moan and he gently patted her shoulder. “That’s it. Keep your eyes shut. Trust me.”

  She felt it, the change in his position. She opened her eyes and stared at him.

  “Bad girl. What did I say?”

  Her breath left her lungs as he placed one hand on her stomach and reached for the pot of oil floating next to him with the other. He dipped his fingers inside, then held them over her chest. Warm liquid trickled over her breasts, her nipples peaking under the dribble.

  “At the risk of sounding like a teenage human, I just have to say you have gorgeously huge breasts, topped by those fantastic nipples.”

  She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side.

  “Do you have something to say to that?”

  “What? For making me feel like I’m back in high school with the guys staring at my tits?”

  “How about ‘thank you’? That’s the common response when someone pays you a compliment, isn’t it?”

  “I have large breasts because I’m a large woman. Or did you miss my large stomach and my large hips staring you in the face? You couldn’t have missed my huge shoulders. My father used to say they reminded him of a linebacker’s shoulders.”

  He studied her for a few minutes, then his hands caressed her stomach. “Did he say it as a joke, or was he being cruel?”

  “He always laughed, and he always said it to try and lighten the mood when I was upset about being large.” The memory of his laugh made her squeeze her eyes shut. She enjoyed memories like those, memories of happier times.

  “Let me ask you something.” He trailed his fingers down her left leg, leaving a trail of oil in their wake. “When I complimented you on your breasts, did you take it badly? Did you think I was making fun of you? That I was pointing out a deformity?”

  She moaned under his touch as he dripped oil over her feet, coating each toe. He tickled the soles and she giggled, fighting against her invisible bonds. “You’re being mean. Stop that.”

  “Answer me.”

  “No, you weren’t making fun of me.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you say thank you?” He lightly brushed a finger up the instep of each foot then back down, circling around her ankles.

  “Thanks. Is that better?”

  “Humph, talk about a backhanded thank you. We’re going to have to work on how you take compliments.”

  She relaxed into the table, enjoying the soft caress o
f his hands as he massaged each calf. She could feel the heat from his body, and when he bumped her, she realized that he, too, was naked. The idea flooded her senses. She opened her eyes and looked down.

  His cock stood at attention, long and thick. There was a silver ring on the end and even from her position she could see … bumps? She realized his shaft was also pierced, a row of five piercings on the underside of his penis, the balls from them decorating the sides of his cock.

  “They will bring you great pleasure when I fuck you,” he said as if reading her mind.

  “That must have hurt. Or is it a demon thing?” She stiffened again, almost afraid now that she remembered he wasn’t really human.

  “No, I had it done. It hurt a little, but not much. I healed them with my magic so it didn’t take long before I was ready to use them, and enjoy them. I wouldn’t recommend it for a human male.” Their gazes locked and he narrowed his eyes in amusement. “Would you like to touch them?”

  “Yes.” It had been so long since she was intimate with a man that the word tumbled out before she even thought about it.

  Within seconds he was sitting on his knees above the table, his body not touching anything, his hard cock bobbing in front of her. She licked her lips. The ring gleamed in the light from the candles and she could see the balls better now, their rods inserted just under the skin at about one inch intervals.

  The bonds that held her left hand released and she lifted it toward him, reaching out with her fingers, but stopping right before contact. She gazed back up at him, her chest moving rapidly with excitement.

  “It’s all right. Go ahead.”

  She gently touched the ring, moving it just a little before pulling her hand back. “It doesn’t hurt?”

  “No, it feels fantastic. Run your finger along the side of piercings.”

  She did as he said, and his sharp intake of breath let her know it felt good. Would she feel the rings when he was inside her? She was sure she would. But then again, it had been so long since she’d had sex, she was practically a virgin again.