Otherworldly Discipline: A Witch's Lesson

by Korey Mae Johnson

  “Yes. Well, so sue me if I think that men should watch after women. Not me, of course, but men… in general… out there,” he twiddled his fingers in the direction of the window.

  In lighter tones, she said, “You’re doing a pretty good job if you’re going for watching after me. You bought me smashing pajamas, didn’t you? Bought me a picnic! I am feeling like Pretty Woman. You’re my Richard Gere. Might you have a Learjet to fly me out for an opera on?”

  “Unfortunately I don’t have one in my arsenal,” he replied simply. “And I don’t like Richard Gere.”

  “Yeah, you look more like a young Tom Cruise, in my humble opinion,” she decided. “You know—like in Top Gun…. Only with black hair. And you’re probably taller. But I was trying to draw a parallel.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Wait—is that a compliment? To compare me with some poofty American?” he already sounded offended, like he thought himself much prettier.

  “You talk like Jeremy Irons,” she added, as if she hoped that might soften the blow.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Who do I look like?” she asked him curiously, a mischievous smile on her face.

  “You look like…” He looked at her analytically at first, but then his face melted in to admiration. “You look beautiful. Unique. Actors should try to look like you, not the other way round.”

  She looked coyly down at the covers underneath of her. “Thanks.” She looked him over and grinned. “You know, when I met you, I thought you were sadistic. But I actually think you’re a really sweet man.”

  “I think I’m just going through a sweet phase,” he replied defensively. “Why would you think I was a sadist?”

  “I still have your fingerprints on my bottom!” She giggled, rising to her knees to wiggle her bottom at him in illustration, unable to keep from flirting with the man.

  Yes, flirting with this man came as naturally as breathing.

  “Hm,” he hummed. “If I recall properly, young lady,” he said, looking up at her, amused. “You enjoyed it as well. If you didn’t make me believe you had no hymen, I would have had easy entry. You were absolutely wanton.”

  She had to be blushing crimson. She didn’t know quite what to say to that—it was true. For the first time in her life, she could even call herself that. Wanton. There were certainly parts she liked. And probably if she hadn’t been so damn nervous, she would have liked it more…

  She didn’t say anything, just grabbed a plate full of desert and asked, “Cookie, Darling?”

  He grabbed a cookie, chuckling. “Don’t be a tease, now. You know what that got you last time. And I’m even more sauced than I was then.” He stuffed it into his mouth.

  “Already excited again? It’s the pajamas, isn’t it?” she rubbed her hand down the leg of them. She knew there couldn’t be anything sexy about them. They were just cozy.

  He swallowed hard, and then washed it down with his cordial. “My Dear,” he replied. “I’ve never stopped being excited.”

  She smiled mischievously and winked at him. “I tell you what—walk a straight line, and I’ll give you round two.”

  He seemed to know he was foozled right away, and gave her a tortured look. “I couldn’t even stand up and get to the line on which to walk,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean that I won’t try…” He got fell clumsily out of bed with a heavy thunk. “No. As I predicted, I fear…”

  She crawled to his side of the bed and looked down. “Need help?” she laughed, giving him her hand to climb back up to the bed. “You know,” she said, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Moriarty Miles,” he replied, straining his voice like he was climbing up onto a mountain.

  “Moriarty? Like… Sherlock Holmes’ arch-nemeses?” she laughed.

  “The same,” he said, unamused in a manner more befitting to someone who thought the fictional villain was named after him, rather than the other way around. He stretched out on the bed and relaxed his head on the pillow. “Although I haven’t made nearly as many take over the world attempts, but I am a master of disguise…” He winked at her.

  And then he passed out.

  She sighed and brushed his hair out of his eyes and pulled him over to his side. “I wish everybody was as good of a surprise as you,” she told him.

  She looked towards the door, knowing she should scoot out and back to collecting. As the Queen had said, she couldn’t come back empty handed.

  But she was so delightfully full, and the sound of his snoring, however soft, was as soothing as the ocean. Her muscles cried to lay down next to him, and she did, spooning her body up against his, feeling his member through the layers of cloth between them, remembering his feel. She fell asleep recalling the feel of his touch.

  When she woke up, he was mumbling in his sleep. He might have been speaking in English, but it was impossible to discern. She was unused to sleeping with a man, but certainly liked to do it with Moriarty. She liked his smell, at least—it was earthy, like cigars mixed with the smell in the air after a rain storm.

  Do not come home without pollinating a man. You will not get another handout. The queen’s voice in her head rang out, making her tremble. Your blood is half filthy. The other half is of a traitor.

  She used to hate her mother for falling in love with another man, letting him impregnate her. For giving birth to her at all. Now she understood better. Her mother had found a good man, and gotten attached. So attached, appearantly, that she didn’t even admit his identity to protect him. Protecting their relationship was more important than being punished by the hive, more important than being whipped, more important than being deprived nectar for sometimes whole months at a time.

  Alice couldn’t allow herself to get attached. It was difficult, but it would kill her in the end. She needed nectar. She craved it. She would do anything for it. Anything treacherous, anything that would make her feel guilty. What was guilt? There was only nectar. Nectar was the only important thing on the planet…

  Alice looked over at Moriarty hungrily. She could wake him up. She could play with him. She could get him in the throes. She knew it.

  She could feel her stomach churn, begging her to move on. Begging her to go home empty handed, to continue to plead with the Queen. That part of her didn’t want to taste Moriarty’s lust on her tongue. Poor Moriarty—he had spoiled her that evening. He hadn’t done anything at all creepy. He had been so caring and nurturing… It would seem nasty of her to want to pollinate him after everything he’d done. After knowing him.

  But then, she was going to have to teach herself not to feel this way towards mortals. How many of her clients were this attractive? This strangely, appealingly gentlemanly? Maybe she had assumed wrong, and they were all like this.

  If that were true, how good it would be for the world, and how bad for her.

  She found her hand trailing around the smooth muscles on his chest. His skin gleamed. He wasn’t hairy except a small trail that began at his belly button and trailed into his pants. Her hand played with the trail, too. There was something so satisfying about touching him—his skin tingled against her finger pads, even. She wanted more.

  Licking her lips, she thought about his cock. It had been blazed eternally on her memory. It had been gorgeous—scary, but gorgeous. Long, veiny, hard, with a fat, smooth head… She coyly plucked open the trousers he slept in. He didn’t wake; his eyes darted wildly back and forth under his eyelids, which kept closed even as she freed him.

  She watched the object of her affection in the pale moonlight, and rested her fingers upon it. It was hard, and strangely appealing. Appetizing, mouth watering. She was overcome with the urge to taste him, to put him into her mouth and brush her tongue across that smooth head…

  Timidly, she stuck her tongue out brought it slowly towards the head until she touched it. She felt drunk with the sensation, the naughtiness of just taking him in her mouth without permission, the feeling of his hardnes
s in her hand. Why shouldn’t she take him in her mouth? He’d already had her virginity. What was the difference? Why not let the same man hold both trophies?

  She continued to lick, and then she put the rest of his member in her mouth, nibbling and sucking on the tip.

  Suddenly, she felt his hand on her head, yanking her mouth away from him. She looked up and saw his eyes peering through the darkness at her. He continued to pet her hair, running his fingers through her tresses. “You don’t have to do this, Alice,” he told her in a whisper, as if he was scared he’d frighten her off.

  “You…Y… You don’t like it?” she asked shyly.

  “I love it,” he assured. “But you don’t have to.”

  “I want to,” she whispered back at him, as if they both were afraid someone was listening in.

  He brushed his fingers sensually across her forehead. “Good girl,” he purred, stretching his body back. And then he patiently began to tutor her, as it became very obvious that she had no idea what she was doing. He didn’t speak, merely would move her hands, direct her head, and said encouraging things, moaning.

  Even she was enjoying it. He was making her feel like a virile sex goddess, even though she was such an amateur. He was treating her and moaning like no one had given him so much pleasure.

  He was in the throes, she suddenly realized when he pressed down on her head. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, good girl,” he told her, rather—begged her.

  Her stomach clenched with guilt.

  Her mind also churned with the need of nectar, churned with the fear of not having it again.

  She warred with herself. Collect… Collect… It’s time.

  With a whimper, she allowed her needle-like fingers to protrude from behind her front teeth, lowering down until they pricked into his cock, and bit into him.

  She heard him gasp.

  After the bite, a mortal man was supposed to simply fall asleep afterwards with a happy smile on his face.

  Moriarty, however, sat up like a rocket and shoved her off of him violently, tossing her through the air and off the foot of the bed.

  The world around her was swimming—as if the air was turning into molasses. “Ugh,” she chirped, her eyes filled with fear. “Uh!”

  He nearly knocked the lamp over as he clicked it on. She could hear him making sharp pants, incredulous, no doubt, to find her small fang marks lodged into his member. But then he jumped over the bed and knelt down next to where she was sprawled on the floor. “Alice!” she heard his voice shout with concern.

  It felt like it was impossible to breathe deeply. Her head throbbed, pulsing. The world went black.

  * * *

  Moriarty tried to hold up Alice’s head, but her whole body went as limp as a ragdoll’s. “Fuck!” Moriarty shouted, unable to contemplate what just happened. He looked back down at his cock and rubbed over the small holes that were as small as a needle’s.

  “Alice? Alice, come on, darling…” he fretted, tapping her cheek, wondering if he broke her neck. He checked her pulse—pulse was there. Her breathing was fine. What…

  He watched her fingernails turn white. He narrowed his eyebrows and then, saying to himself how impossible it was, lifted up her eyelid. The once green eyes were now going white.

  She was going into honey shock. She was a goddamned honey nymph. And she had tried to pollinate him.

  A virginal honey nymph? He had never heard of it. He and Ashcroft used to constantly fight the honey nymph hives a few centuries ago, when their numbers were growing out of control, and they were all wanton sluts—even when they were fighting for their lives They were one of the most brutal races, all born warrioresses, but there was something unduly slutty underneath their blood-thirsty fierceness.

  And he was seconds away from just paying for chef school for her. Paying for an apartment for her. Paying anything and everything just to give her happiness, to keep other men from using her like he had. And all along, she was setting him up to pollinate him, to render his manhood useless.

  Serves her right, he thought to himself callously. And then sat back on the ground, pressing his back against the bed, feeling uncomfortably sober considering the amount of drinking he had done.

  He stared at her. Damn it, if she wasn’t so beautiful. His heart ached as he looked at her. He had been so comfortable with her last night, she had been so sweet. Even her voice was innocent, like a breeze.

  He moved to a position so he could move her silky blonde hair away from her angelic face. “You tried to tell me, didn’t you? I didn’t let you leave…” He knew she couldn’t hear him, but he was fretting out loud, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair.

  She must have been a recent release from the hive. But she couldn’t have been trained as a collector—collectors came into the bedroom for the first time like they were Amazonian warriors stepping onto the field of battle. Not like a nervous little bride who didn’t know how to even suck him off properly.

  Pornography should have taught her more than that!

  No wonder she seemed so traumatized by losing her virginity. Was her hive punishing her? For what? What could she have done?

  Either way, she was in honey shock. Many nymphs could die from drinking from an immortal’s blood. Vampires could also die in such a way. They would immediately go down, just like this. Lifeless. And they would simply wither away without help.

  Maybe she was a honey nymph, maybe she had tried to pollinate him, but she didn’t deserve this. It was the nectar addiction—it did things to their mind. It made them treacherous. It made them do whatever their Queen demanded…

  He wasn’t going to just leave her to die. And he wasn’t taking her back to any Queen that would let an innocent collect for the hive, either.

  Damn conscience. Damn feelings. Damn concern! What was happening to him?

  “God damn it! This is all I need,” he groaned, getting up and quickly getting dressed. He threw on his jacket and then wrapped her up in a blanket to protect her from the cold air and the snow falling from the sky outside. “Hopefully, for your sake, Charlotte has smoothed things over by now with my master,” he told Alice, picking her easily up into his arms.

  He carried Alice down the hallway and quickly out the hotel, past the sleeping footman and the desk clerk playing on her smart phone with such enthusiasm that she didn’t even notice the limp girl in his arms.

  He placed her gently into the backseat of his car. “You’re not going to like me at all, My Dear,” he told her. “But I’m going to sever you from your hive whether you let me or not. When the nectar’s out of your system, only the sweet, pretty girl will be left behind, and you’ll be free.” He grumbled, “But you’re not free yet.”

  She was his now. All his. And he liked that prospect maybe too much.

  * * *

  Morning light was just flooding the sky when Moriarty found himself trudging through the heavily falling, very early-season snow with Alice still limp in his arms. The snow was falling thickly enough that it began to sting his eyes. He looked down at Alice’s face.

  She was just so damn beautiful looking at her felt like a punch to his chest. He had to convince Ashcroft to work up a honey shock elixir for her, and soon. Hopefully the man didn’t still want to kill him.

  He shifted her in his arms and then tried to get open the heavy oak door, when it opened for him, to his surprise, revealing Charlotte who, at seven in the morning, was already awake and ready for the day… And she looked healthy, which was just as surprising. “Moriarty!” she said, opening the door wide. “Who is she, and what’s wrong with her?” she quickly asked as he came into the foyer.

  “Where’s Ashcroft?” he demanded, looking around.

  “He left about a half-hour ago, looking for you!” she explained, incredulous. “He was going to apologize to you and everything… I think. Or at least grumble and offer a raise.”

  Although the prospect of either an apology or a raise from Ashcroft was appea
ling, Moriarty couldn’t care less at the moment. His heart simply raced at her response. “When do you suppose he’ll return when he doesn’t find me?” Moriarty asked, sweeping past her and moving quickly up the stairs. If she said anything other than ‘any second’, he was going to put Alice down and go hunt him down.

  Charlotte was right behind him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need honey shock elixir,” he told her, kicking in the door to his room already. “I need Ashcroft to make it.”

  She gasped and swept to his side. “She’s a honey nymph?” Again, she was surprising him with her concept of Otherworldly creatures. “How long as she been in honey shock? Did she try to bite you?”

  “Try? She did bite me! Not two hours ago. I left the hotel right after,” Moriarty quickly responded, becoming more and more amazed by her knowledge. Surely, Ashcroft hadn’t told her about the honey nymphs—they hadn’t dealt with them at all for more than a century. “I need to go get Ashcroft…”

  “We don’t even know where he is. I can make the elixir,” she assured, but looked nervous, faltering back on her heels.

  He narrowed his eyebrows. “You can?” Certainly, she wasn’t the same stupid, worthless Charlotte he’d come to know and tolerate. “Go, do, please!” he waved her off.

  “I have questions when I get back,” she assured, sweeping up towards Alice and putting her hand to the side of her face, staring deeply into her. Then just as quick, she visibly snapped out of it and said, “Ashcroft isn’t going to like this at all, you know. He won’t want one in the house.”

  “Charlotte, please,” Moriarty said, this time softer, allowing his desperation to show.

  Her lips pressed together and she sighed. “Get this wet blanket off of her, and get her warm.” She gestured to his wet coat, still covered in melting snowflakes. “You too, okay?”