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Neo

By: foreignbacon



After two weeks of being with Ella, I had gotten used to sleeping over at her place and waking up to an orgy or a party; usually both. We had an open relationship, meaning I didn't care if she slept with others, but she still had to make time of me, so if she was a part of an orgy, I didn't mind. I probably would join in. Though, it would always be women at the parties, never men. I knew Ella was bisexual, so I knew that she had men over before I came along.

One evening, I walked in Ella's home to see he being fucked, by a dark haired man, on the kitchen counter. She was enjoying it, too, which somewhat hurt. It looked like she enjoyed it more than being with me. With my great timing, the two came and finished up. The boy left to a different room, and I never saw his face.

Ella walked over, pulling down her dress and playing with her fresh-fucked hair. "My, oh, my." She licked her lips. "You haven't met Neo, have you? Holy shit, he's a good fuck. I think I should leave you two alone and let you see what develops. How about it?"

I was shaking my head violently. "I don't even know him- and he's completely naked!" But damn, that ass is fine. No! You love Ella. Ella. Ella... Neo, please.

Ella pouted. "Please, Immy. I can watch if you want!" She added excitedly.

To see her so happy, I agreed to one. "You leave, if it works, then you can watch next time." I smiled as she flung her arms around me. "He's such a good fuck, believe me. And he- oh, just... yeah." She looked me up and down. "Are you sure you're ready?"

I nodded. "Go ahead, now, Ella. I'll call you when you can come back."

"Oh, I'll cum alright." She winked, laughing along with me, pecked me on the cheek, and locked the front door behind her.

Neo walked out of the restroom, in jeans only, and into the kitchen. He leaned on the counter, touching it with his tanned skin. His bright blue eyes traced my body, and his jaw moved as he swallowed, bobbing his Adam's apple. Damn, how I wanted to literally rip it out with my teeth. "Hey." He started. His voice was low, sweet like hickory. "I'm Neo. You're the infamous Immy, am I right?"

I couldn't resist not talking to him. He was so beautiful. "Imogen, actually. Only Ella calls me Immy."

Neo's smile dropped. "I apologize, Imogen. Ella said she wanted us to meet. I know you're a lesbian and all, so we can just talk-"

"I'm not a lesbian!" I snapped, louder than expected, which made me feel bad. But instead of leaving or getting angry, Neo seemed to get pleasure from it, and grinned. "I just haven't tried with men. I'm not so sure yet."

He walked over to the dining table and sat on its top. "Would you like to?"

How could I say no? He had perfect features, but crooked teeth, which was one of the hottest things I could think of. Oh, Christ, I couldn't say no to him. "Sure. No dildos, though, those piss me off."

Neo grinned, his eyes squinted, laughing heartily. "Cm'ere, Imogen, let's try over-the-clothes stuff." He watched me intently as I stood in between his open legs. He leaned forward, making the first move, and kissing me. His lips were magic, and I wondered what they would be like in other places. Neo pulled back, and asked, "Do you mind French?"

"Such a gentleman," I slipped my tongue into his mouth and he sat (I stood) there for at least a dozen minutes, just kissing. It was more than just pleasure. I didn't know him more than that day, but I already liked him. He interlocked his fingers under my ass and laid back, pulling me with him. We broke the kiss, and just stared at each other. "Sex?"

I nodded vehemently. "Yeah, for sure." My fingers fumbled with his zipper for a few moments as he smoothly pulled my dress over my head and knocked my panties down my legs and to the floor. I finally got to the point of pulling down his briefs (a briefs boy! also a plus) when he gripped my hands with his left. "I don't want you to do this because Ella said to. Are you sure?"

My reply was pulling my hands out and gripping his already hard dick between the fabric. He grunted and grinned. "You sure you're inexperienced with a guy?"

My eyebrows answering, I slid down him and the table, catching the line of his underwear and pulling them to the top of his ankles. For a minute, I just looked at him, and he got pretty hard. He was really long, and sort of thick, too, which was a plus again? I wasn't sure, but I knew one thing guys liked. Blowjobs.

Neo gripped my head as my tongue played with his. He became rigid, trying not to moan. My mouth grazed the tip and I allowed him inside. My head was used by him, and my tongue swirled by me. He came quick, which was somewhat depressing, but I swallowed, and he tasted... better than Ella did.

I climbed off of Neo's dick and climbed back on him. "I'm a straddler." I told him, and he kissed me, hard, still gripping the back of my head. When he stopped, he watched me kneel over him and touch the entrance to my pussy, which was wet from his pleasure. "You ready?" I winked, sliding down onto his dick, but he pushed me up. "Condom." He said, sitting up and pressing against my breast as he dug in his pocket for a wrapper. He laid back down and ripped the package open with his teeth, throwing it across the room. I took the condom from his hands and slowly rolled it down his quivering cock. He was anxious, as was I. I repeated my kneeling position, and he finally entered me. It felt like I was going to break in half, and he held down my thighs for a moment, just feeling me. His hands explored my torso and he played with my breasts a second. A bit of cum from me slid down him and he chuckled as I tried not to make a noise. Then, we fucked.

Learning from Ella did me good. I bounced on Neo, again and again, and he gyrated, grabbing my shoulders occasionally to kiss me and scream with me into each others' mouths. That was amazing.

We rolled over on our side, and he gripped my back, pulling my close to him. He fucked and fucked me until his came all inside the condom, and so I continued the movement while he sputtered to keep quiet. He wanted to hide that he had pleasure from me. That was fine. I'd just have to make him screech.

Sliding onto him was easy, since my pussy was so wet, but when I had my orgasm, I screamed louder than I have ever with Ella. I drooped, shuddering. Neo was still inside of me, and we were just wrapped together, silent and motionless. He broke the quiet and licked my lips, kissing them after. Neo pulled out of me and went to clean himself up. I just laid on my back, biting my lip as my pussy tingled, closing my eyes just to imagine him back inside of me. And it worked to. I felt that dick back in me, well, because when I opened my eyes, it was, and Neo was grinning.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I simply let go.

I didn't make a call to Ella until the day after. 

Neo & Trinity's Sex Life



Neo watched as Trinity moved around the ship with Morpheus. He couldn't take his eyes off her. She moved in a sexy way and was in every way a fucking hot woman. Her tits were not large but when she wore a leather shirt, her tits became extra defined and her nipples jutted out from beneath them.

Neo watched her and watched her. His eyes followed her wherever she went. He even watched her shower by plugging in special cameras. Neo knew Trinity liked to masturbate although Neo always gave her the best sex. He had heard her masturbate after they were done fucking. He also knew Trinity used to be a fucking slut. He had seen pictures of her nude on the internet. Neo pulled up files on her. During 2099, people had to keep track of who they fucked. Neo looked at that list: Cypher, Neo, Agent Smith, and Morpheus.

The last name sent a shiver down his spine. He could fantasize Morpheus and Trinity in bed fucking doggy-style. Morpheus's enormous black cock into Trinity's white pussy. It was just so hot. Neo immediately got a hard-on.

Neo asked Trinity, "How would you like to fuck tonight?"

She said, "I'm sorry. I got a date with Tank at Zion. We're renting a room afterwards for some hot fucks."

"No problem. Just sometime soon."

Trinity's nipples got erect and Neo, with his eyes could see Trinity's pussy get wet and the drops roll down the insides of her legs. Neo could sense Trinity thinking about Neo's erect cock and thinking about how good it would be to suck it and have Neo's cum all over her mouth and tits.

Neo, with his new found abilities could sense anyone's thoughts and after going into the Matrix, he found many people with perverse thoughts about fucking. Take for example, Agent Smith, he thought about fucking his partner Agent Jenny Carter every day. Neo noticed Agent Smith looked at her legs and her ass every few seconds. Smith had often tried to trip Carter to make an upskirt because Carter wore cheerleader skirts that were very short.

Neo thought about all these things and locked his door. He stripped off all his clothes and started to stroke his cock. Soon, he started to jack off. Cum popped out and he started to wipe it away.

He walked out. Trinity was right outside his room. He sensed Trinity looking at something. Neo too looked at it. It was a little pool of cum that hadn't been wiped. Trinity took her index finger and wiped. it. She put the cum in her mouth and said, "Mmmmmmmm."

Trinity took Neo by the hand and laid his hand on the buckle to her shirt which had a buckle. Trinity made him push the button, the shirt fell to the ground soundlessly. Neo wasn't surprised to see Trinity not wearing a bra. Her nipples and tits were bigger than before.

"Uh, Trin, why are your tits bigger?"

"Can't you see, Neo? I got implants. They're just for you." She offered a nipple for Neo, "Suck on it. It tastes good. Sometimes I do it myself. When I get real horny."

Neo bent down and took her right nipple into his mouth. It felt smooth at the first touch. He started to play with it as his other hand moved down toward her inner thigh. He put two finger into Trinity's pussy. Trinity moaned. Neo thrust slowly with his two finger making sure he enjoyed every moment he had with her. They had fucked before but tonight was the best night. He thrust harder and faster and Trinity panted and moaned.

"Don't stop, Neo, I don't want you to stop. Don't stop fucking me. I want you to fuck me until I scream. Yessssssssssssssssssss. Don't stop. Fuck, YESSSSS! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I love this. YESSSSSSSSSSSS."

With one last thrust, Trinity orgasmed and she collasped on Neo's bed. Neo went to check if she was alright. Trinity surprised Neo and they flipped positions. Trinity held Neo and pushed him up next to the bed post. With two pussy juice-filled sheets, Trinity tied Neo to the bed post. Neo couldn't move. Trinity bent down and looked at Neo's cock.

Neo understood what Trinity meant. Trinity opened her mouth and enclosed it on Neo's throbbing dick. She sucked on it and pumped her mouth up and down. Neo rose his pelvis up and down to the rhythm of Trinity's sucks. Pre-cum flowed out of Neo's dick and Trinity licked it up like a wild animal. She licked up the shaft of the cock and all the way to his balls. Neo could just feel the load of cum passing through his cock. It spurted out all the way to Trinity's mouth as she choked on the large load. She put her mouth on Neo's cock once again to like up the remaining elements of cum.

Neo and Trinity started to kiss passionately and their tongues entwined inside their connected mouths. Neo played with her tits as they kissed and pinched her nipples. Trinity started to squeeze Neo's buttocks and with her other hand play with his balls. Soon, they let go of each other, and Neo's cock was inserted into her pussy which had so much juice it could become a gallon of milk. He inserted his cockhead in at first and Trinity moaned but centimeter by centimeter, his cock went in. Until it went fully, even his balls went through. As he did this, Neo used on finger and took all the pussy juices into his mouth. He put his tongue was engulfing and licking all her pussy juices and he made sure he was enjoying everything. He was thrusting his nine-inch cock slowly and surely. Neo thrust harder and faster as more and more pussy juices rolled down the insides of her thighs.

Trinity said, "OHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I want to feel your cock within me. Damnit!!! YESSSSSSS! DON'T STOP!!! DAMN YESSSSSSSSSS! I want to feel your load in my pussy. Fuck yess, fuck me."

While Trinity was saying this, Neo was saying, "Fuck me my little slut. OHHH YESSSS! Your pussy feels so good!"

For the second time, semen spurted out and straight into Trinity's pussy. Trinity screamed as the gallon of semen flew into her pussy. She screamed loud and hard and she panted. They started to kiss and soon fell asleep.



Neomodern Nosferatu



"You seem particularly distressed tonight. What's wrong?" Clive cooed with a genteel British lilt. He tossed back the long raven strands of his wig over a bared shoulder as he moved beside Gina to slip a lean muscled arm around her narrow waist. His eyes glimmered like emeralds set in gold glitter rimmed by lashes lacquered with mascara. 

"Nothing." Gina jabbed her fork at the fruit salad on her plate. She found his kinky getup disturbing and embarrassingly alluring.

He sucked in her pheromones through his ultra-sensitive aquiline nose. "Well, you're not menstruating, so it's not PMS."

Gina slammed the fork onto the plate. "PMS is not the only thing that makes a girl irritable."

"Shh-shh-shh, easy," he soothed. "I meant no offense." He hovered closer to gather in more of her scent. "I see," he mused through glossy red lips. The points of his fangs protruded from the corners of his rapturous mouth. 

Her left cheek sitting cockily atop the knuckles of her hand, she cast him a surly eye to query, "See what?"

He reached up to fondle her fine strawberry tresses. "It's obvious."

"It is?" She looked down at the melon she had mutilated.

The tips of his painted lips tickled her right ear. "Yes."

"Hey, back off, will you?" She swatted at him like she would any biting insect.

Clive caught her offending hand before it collided with his powdered face. He held it snuggly and whispered, "You're lonely and very, very, very horny." He planted a soft kiss on the back of her neck just below her right ear.

Gina separated from her seat with the push of an imaginary ejection button. Her kitchen chair with the autumn-leaves-patterned vinyl toppled over onto its back. She ran to the counter and opened a drawer from which she pulled a small serrated knife. "Stay away from me or I'll...." She looked at him then the knife and realized the ineffectiveness of her defense. She dropped it to the floor with a clatter and cried, "Oh, hell. I knew this arrangement wouldn't work. I kept telling myself it would only be a matter of time before you'd give in to your unnatural urges. Go ahead then. Make me one of your nightly meals." Squeezing her eyes shut, she tipped back her head. "Just get it over with – quickly."

He approached slowly. Wrapping his arms around her, he stroked her silky hair. "Lambchop, I've told you over and over I'm not going to feast upon you." He gently pulled down her chin. "Open your eyes." He met her fretful gaze with assurance. "Besides, you're so puny, you wouldn't make a very satisfying meal. Maybe a nice snack." His lips landed dove-soft upon hers. 

Wiping his lipstick from her face, Gina eased away. She flushed with desire. "What's the matter with me?" she squeaked, "This isn't right."

"Why isn't it?" He set his slender fingers with their long black press-on nails upon her hot round cheek.

"It's not as nature intended." She hesitatingly pried his hand from her face.

"What does that mean?" He twiddled the tiny gold crucifix suspended around her neck between his thumb and forefinger. His pinkie subtly stroked her left breast. 

"First of all, when we met that fateful night behind the dumpster in the alley off of Bonifant Street – remember? You were hiding from the vigilante harpooners, and I was ducking from a pair of female night fliers."

"Yes, the Lesbovamps. They only drink the blood from human women who fit a particular profile. Twenty to thirty-five. Single. Childless. Working the late shift. Very limited in range, in my humble opinion. Why drink a domestic brand of such a young vintage when there's a world of full-bodied, properly-aged wines and spirits?"

"Whatever. My point is, when we cowered together and poured out our scared-stiff souls to one another, you told me – in fact, you insisted – I wasn't your type, as in chromosomes, not blood." 

"Did I? I don't recall." His groin pushed up against her pelvis.

Gina's vaginal lips burned from the heat inside the crotch of her jeans. She arched her back against the cool kitchen counter. "So, uh," she swallowed, "was that just a bunch of bull to convince mortal ol' me that you'd be safe to harbor in my humble home?"

He maundered a vague, "hmm-hmm," and let go the crucifix to bracket her between his strong arms with his palms pressing down on the smooth tile surface of the counter.

"Well, isn't that enough to make a double-X type like me have concerns?" She ran her small hands over the sensuous satin of his pearl chameuse tunic.

"And what's second of all?" He playfully nibbled her left earlobe.

"You're an undead who makes his living sucking the life from the living. It really creeps me out to imagine where those lips have been." She grimaced through the long wig hair tickling her face.

"Did you like my kiss or not?" His ripe cherry lips poised to drop upon hers.

"It was nice." Her tender breath tried shaking down a fruity kiss.

"Nice?" He dangled the word wetly over her mouth. 

"It made the blood rush to my cheeks." Her pink lips parted in quivering anticipation.

"Only your cheeks?" Sliding a hand between her thighs, he rubbed her zipper with his thumb. "Look, I suggest you don't think so hard about it and simply take me up on the sumptuous treats I have to offer." A plump juicy kiss fell to her mouth.

As though tasting fruit unripe for the plucking, Gina sputtered, "This is bogus. You like dressing up as a woman and sucking on men. How can you come on to me? How can I–? " she stopped.

"How can you what?"

"How can I want you," she stammered, "knowing what I know and seeing you like... like this?" 

Clive sighed before launching into a diatribe. "Gina, I am over five hundred years old. In that exceedingly long time I have had thousands of lovers of both genders. It doesn't matter to me which way I swing as long as I feel for that person and she or he does me." He clasped her hands in his. "I don't know why, but after having shared the confines of this – no offense – derelict apartment with you for the past two months, I have developed profound feelings for you. That's not to be taken lightly coming from an immortal being like me. Most humans bore me to tears with their tedious fleeting life stories. I treat them with the same affection I do the cockroaches crawling around this kitchen every night." Without taking his eyes from hers, he reached over to smack one skittering across the tiles. "But you, Gina, my love, are different. You have worked your way under my non-decaying skin. Maybe it's your sweet vulnerability; maybe it's your unquestioning generosity toward the unfortunate. Or maybe it's because you accept me for what I am and are not after me for the immortality I have to offer like so many pathetic mortals who court my favor – as if I were a heavy-metal rock star or the blasted Pope." 

Gina scrunched her smooth brow in bemusement. "That doesn't make sense. If you're gay you're gay. If you're straight you're straight. Those are the fundamental determinations of nature's hardwiring as empirical studies have shown." 

Clive chuckled. "Gina, my naïve little short-lived mortal, it has never in all of human history been as black and white as that. There are many gay men who have loved women and fathered children in this world. I happen to be one."

She recoiled from his enlightenment. "I hope that's not what you're after!"

"No, no, no," he assured. "I fathered mine when I was a mere man with limited longevity eons ago. As a vampire, I can no longer procreate. My seed duly expired upon conversion." He stepped over to the sink and rinsed off his bug-crushing hands.

"That was because a vampire bit you, right?" He shook the water from his fingers then dried them off with a paper towel deftly torn from its spool. "As the story often goes, I was seduced and fell in love with my mentor/transformer."

"Who was she?" Gina ventured.

Toying with her crucifix pendant, he clarified, "He was a powerful lord in fifteenth-century England. He found me cast upon the shores of his coastal estate after my ship foundered in a storm. I was the sole survivor, or so I was told – although I later learned he had drained my crew dry and discarded their desiccated husks of flesh into a deep well. Smitten by my dashing good looks, he spared me..." he paused to reflect, "in a perverse sort of way. I was on the brink of death, and he offered me eternal life – to the risk of his own, I might add. We became centuries-old lovers until the changing times and diverging points-of-view forced us apart. I won't get into that now." Smiling at its mythos, he left the tiny cross to dangle powerlessly about her slender neck. 

"And you can create other vampires with your own bite, right?" She reached up to touch the glistening points of his fangs with her fingertips. 

His mouth pursed against her fingers, "That is the tradeoff," then plied her lips, "for the forfeiture," before juggling kisses down along her throat, "of fertility." The thumb of his left hand ventured over her cotton tank top to tease a perky nipple. 

"Keep away from there!" Gina yelped. She threw up her hands as a shield.

"What?"

"My neck. You... you don't go near it with... with... those." She pointed at his fangs.

"Only the fabled Dracula and his followers are neckophiles. As for me, I prefer to place my bites in anatomical areas unseen." He winked and resumed his labial ministrations with gentle squeezes to her firm round breasts.

Gina fought the swoon he stirred in her. "Wait. I...," she lapsed and gently pushed him back.

"Now what?" He took a deep breath to stave his frustration. 

"What about STDs?" Gina blurted.

"STDs?"

"Sexually transmitted diseases. I would think with all the screwing and bloodsucking you do, you'd be rife with the stuff. And me being a mere mortal, I wouldn't want to be infected then die some miserable agonizing death." She let go a jittery cackle.

"If you let me transform you, you could avoid both agony and death." He kissed the back of her hand. "Forever."

"I told you that I'm a vegetarian. Remember? I don't eat the flesh of any living creature, and I certainly don't ever want to drink any poor critter's blood. I'd rather die – agony aside."

Clive took her by the hand and led her back to the table. "Sit," he ordered before opening a cupboard and pulling out a bottle of Beaujolais and two jelly glasses. "Ugh," he commented with a roll of his eyes. "We have got to get you appropriate stemware." He offered an answer to her question as he poured wine into one of the glasses and bought it to her. "And I told you – when you asked me about possible contagion when I first moved in with you – we vampires produce powerful germ-killing antibodies."

"Yeah, but that explanation didn't exactly cover the topic of intimate relations which wasn't even a consideration at the time you gave it," she determined.

"I assure you, it's urban legend. It has never been scientifically proved that vampires spread infectious disease," he said as he opened the fridge and pulled out a packet of blood. He squeezed it to half-fill the other glass, added the wine then stirred the cocktail with his index finger. He sucked the concoction from it. "Mm-mm, delectable," he purred. He picked up the fallen chair and sat down next to her. "Drink up."

"You think getting me drunk is going to change the issue?" She eyed the rich red substance with suspicion.

He took a sip and licked the thick crimson line edging his upper lip. "I just think you need to relax. You're suddenly very uptight."

"I see men haven't changed their strategies when it comes to getting laid – at least in the past five hundred years." Gina sniffed at her drink.

"It's not bloodied." He noted her sustained caution. "Nor is it drugged."

"Damn the torpedoes to hell then." She kicked back a hard swallow and exhaled. She downed the glass and grabbed the bottle for a refill. 

"Whoa! Why so rash?" he warned.

"You want me plastered don't you? So, I'll be numb to your intended teething on my tender loins." She kicked back another glassful and poised the bottle for another dose.

He snatched it away then reached over to fondle a curl fallen across her brow. "Gina, I assure you –having sex with a vampire doesn't have to," he sought the appropriate vernacular, "bite. Don't be afraid. Don't deprive yourself of one of the greatest pleasures you will ever know." His eyes trailed his hand down to her breasts.

Her bosom heaved beneath his tender squeeze. She slugged back what she had managed to pour. "I suppose it's the wine affecting my better judgment, but I'm willing to believe you." 

He pried the glass from her fingers and gently drew her hand to the bulge in the crotch of his black spandex skirt. "Sweet Gina, your life is so very short. Don't let your youth and beauty get covered over in cobwebs and crumble up waiting for the right man or moment. Take it from my half-a-millennium's worth of experiences – it doesn't happen that way."

"You won't hurt me or turn me into... you know?" She lightly stroked his throbbing penis with the knuckle of her forefinger. 

Clive clamped her hand tighter around his organ and searched her eyes. "My sole intent is to carry you up to breathtaking orgasmic heights." 

"You're not hypnotizing me to make me do your bidding, are you? I mean, that wouldn't be fair." Her vocal cords tweaked to a high pitch.

His nostrils flared at the relish of her adrenal-driven lust. He breathed heavily under her manipulation of his hardening dick. He closed his eyes and honed in on the muffled sounds of her rapidly thrumming heart coming from deep within her breast. His eyes opened to reveal his desire. His intense stare bore into the core of her soul. "No, it wouldn't be fair to deprive you of shrill ecstasy by placing you under a spell." 

With her other hand, she pulled up his tight skirt and reached in to finger the hot moist flesh of his groin. A timid groan climbed up his throat to squeak past his bared fangs. He realized the effect his preternatural powers were having on her and pulled her tantalizing hands from his yearning genitalia. "If I did," he explained with a hard swallow, "you would only recall our passion as a fading fragmented dream, or perhaps not at all. I want you alert and alive, but not a nervous wreck. So," he poured a dash into her glass and passed it to her, "you sip slowly and get mellow – not mashed – whilst I ready the conjugal chamber." He gave her a peck on the cheek, finished his drink, and disappeared into the bedroom.

Gina was feeling the buzz of the wine and the rush of hormones. She puzzled over the how and why of her attraction to the forbidding man in feminine apparel who kept her place pristine, set a fresh rose in a vase with every breakfast, and understood her womanly needs. She pondered their strange arrangement – he, a cross-dressing bloodsucking burlesque performer with the stage name "Dragula," and she, a straight Wonderbread-fed American girl who worked as a data-entry drone for a government contractor. They shared her tiny one-bedroom apartment in the Takoma Park area of Washington DC. He slept in her walk-in closet by day while she drew the covers of her double-bed up over neck by night. She promised to give him haven from harpoon-wielding vampire killers while he saw to protecting her from hungry exsanguinators. She shuddered at the memory of how close she had come to becoming a midnight lunch to a pair of lesbian vampires the night they met. 

She flinched at the touch of his hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see him sans wig, clean of cosmetics, and devoid of pointy nails. His wheat-colored hair flowed in feathery waves around the chiseled contours of his face. Fine silky hairs covered his bare chest. The taut musculature of his abdomen drew her eye down trim lines to his erect organ. 

"Come," he invited and led her into the bedroom. The spartan room glowed red through crimson gossamer draped over the two nightstand lamps bracing the bed. He wrapped his arms about her willowy frame and his mouth around her puckering lips. Passion stirred his blood and engorged his penis. He swirled her onto the bed and began stripping her down. Their limbs entwined. His lips peeled back from hers with a succulent pop. "Now, I will lead you into rapture. However, we will need to use protection," he quietly advised.

"But you said you were sterile... and disease-free," she added for reassurance.

"I don't mean that sort of protection." He reached down to the floor and pulled up a chain connected to the leg of the bed frame. On its end was a padded metal cuff. "There's one on each side. And here," he reached over to pick up a leathery device on the nightstand.

"Wha... what's that?" Gina asked with trepidation.

"It's a butterfly gag."

Gina shot up and ran for the door. In a lightening-fast black streak, Clive moved to block her way. Looking back at the bed where he had been sitting nanoseconds before, she swung her jaw on its hinges. "How did you move like that?"

"Gina, you don't understand. The bindings aren't for you. They're for me."

"I don't care. That's twisted!" She tried pushing past him but found her arms firmly pinned to her sides in his powerful hold.

"No, it's necessary if you don't want to be bitten." He read her terror and confusion and responded, "When a vampire is in the throes of passion and fully erect, he naturally wants to bite his lover, and usually, although not always, the lover wants to be bitten. Since that is not your case, you'll need to prevent it from happening. You know, safe sex – sort of."

"But that's not...," she flustered. "I mean, it's really one-sided... I mean, I like it when you kiss and caress me," she softened. "I want to feel your hands and lips on my body. Can't you just wear those fake human teeth you use to hide your fangs from the sight of mortals instead of that... that thing?" Gina shot a look of loathing at the mouth plug in his hand.

Clive relaxed his grip and guided her to the bed on whose creaky edge he gently made her sit. "The urge to bite is too great. I could still draw blood even with the prosthetic teeth, and then I'd have to fight off a frenzy. No, this is the best prevention," he dropped his eyes to the wide black band, "until I ejaculate. After I am spent –as we used to say in the day – you can release me, and I will be most delighted to fondle and kiss you in the most stimulating manner. But first, you must do your part to get me to climax." He strapped the gag tightly over his mouth and snapped it at the back of his head. He clasped a cuff to his right wrist and motioned with his eyes for Gina to cuff his other hand to the chain fastened to the other side of the bed. Prone in a crucified position, he eyed her helplessly. 

Gina stroked him from neck to groin. She kissed his face and nibbled his nipples. She slathered his cock with her tongue and sucked in its essence. Vaginal juices oozed down her inner thigh. She straddled him and slid up and down his rigid pipe to her vocal eruptions of fiery pleasure and searing passion. 

Clive let forth an unearthly ecstatic moan. His body shivered violently. The metal frame rattled with such ferocity that its bolts burst free from their nuts. The bed collapsed to the floor with a bone-jarring crash. 

Clive's stifled breathing fell with Gina's sighs into a post-climactic lull. She laid her sweaty brow on his heaving chest. "God almighty," she exclaimed.

He gently nudged her head with his chin and curtly grunted. Gina looked up to see his eyes pointing toward the small key on the nightstand. She took it in her fingers and unlocked the cuffs. He pulled the gag from his lips and set them to covering her mouth. His freed hands cupped her pillowy breasts and caressed her creamy thighs and buttocks. Taking care not to pierce her skin with his fangs, he worked his tongue and teeth around her nipples. He tickled her clit with the fingers of one hand while he captured Gina's shrieks of orgasmic joy in the palm of the other. Throughout the night, he devoted himself to serving her pleasure culminating with a candlelit ablution in the bathtub followed by a soothing massage of scented oil into her soft skin. 




Neomodern Nosferatu



Gina was dozing off secure in his arms when he quietly reminded her, "It's nearly sunup." He kissed her softly on her nape. "I have to go."

She turned and glowered. "It seems men never change – even when they're the undead."

"You know how photophobic I am." He pulled back the sheet and sat up on the fallen bedspring. 

"Well, at least that's one of the most novel excuses for a man to cut and run from a woman's bed once he's grabbed the trophy." Gina sat up on one elbow and brushed her hair from her face. 

"I'm a vampire, remember? I can't abide daylight."

"But the shades are down. How can it hurt you? What does it matter? I shouldn't expect anything anyway. Thanks for the pity fuck." The sheet billowed in the wind of her temper. 

Clive pounced on her. "You can't seriously think that?"

"Come on, Clive, you smelled desperation on me, and like a mongrel in heat you made your move. Don't deny your animalistic tendencies. They come with the territory of being a blood-feasting denizen of the night, don't they?" 

"Gina, I made passionate love to you. Just look at the bed! I took precautions. I didn't stalk you like prey and devour you. How can you be so heartless?" He stood up and began dressing.

"What are you doing?"

He pulled on his wig and stepped into his pumps. "I'm going out."

"But it's dawn. You can't go out."

"What do you care?" Tears filled his eyes. Hurt torqued his voice.

Gina got up to grab him. "What is wrong with you? Come back to bed." She urged him onto the sorry collapsed mattress and kissed the salty trickle from his sallow cheek. "Geeze, I would think in five hundred and forty years you would have grown up, but like most men, you're just a big baby."

"Disappointed?" he sniffled.

"No." She pressed her lips lightly to his and sighed, "I'm just being a typical mortal woman hungry for love." She pushed him back on the bed and pulled off his skirt. She kissed his soft penis curled up in the cushy down of his pubic hair. It unfurled like a flag in a stiffening breeze with each draw of her tongue. 

Clive groaned with delight and damned the onset of day. He hurriedly strapped the gag to his face and sank his fangs into the leather bit. He tore off his clothes and hastened her to fasten the restraints to his wrists. 

The radio alarm clicked on and gleefully chirped, "...with temps in the mid-eighties and no storms on the horizon until late Tuesday, it's going to be a perfect Saturday in July. So fire up that barbeque and grill up some tasty meats...." 

Gina didn't have to be told. She was already sizzling like shish-kabob on Clive's skewer as the hot rays of the day peeked past the corners of the window shade. 



Neon Delights







Neon Delights



There seemed to be an almost primal, animalistic urgency in our hunger for each other. I was right, her lips were created for kissing as we ravished and explored each other's mouths with a passionate urgency. I couldn't help but wonder if she would manage to stretch her jaws around my overly large cockhead. Little did I know that I was soon to have that question answered! I rolled her onto her back and started nuzzling her neck and ears. 

I wanted to explore every square inch of her body and memorise every lovely detail. I wanted to offer her such pleasure so that she could never forget our night together. Her groaning increased as she reached between us and clawed at my hypersensitive dickhead.

"Oh my Bear, that's it honey, suck on my tits. Mmm, yes that feels so good, aaaaahhh yesss, God I'm cumming already!" Claire screamed, her eyes wild with surprise, gripping my rod almost painfully and holding on for dear life. 

Not content to just suck on her teat, I had clenched her rubbery nipple between my teeth and pulled. I smiled to myself as I felt the last of her quivering orgasm ripple though her body. Now I could only hope that she was capable of multiple orgasms, but I needn't have worried about that. I managed to make her cream herself twice more while I feasted on her splendid tits and each climax seemed to out shine the last.

Time for a drink at her oasis, I decided, and I started a trail of blazing wet kisses from the peaks of her breasts, across the quaking, sweaty plane of her belly. I then paused to dip my tongue into the well of her belly button and enjoyed that salty tang of her pooled sweat. Then it was time to move on and her thighs eagerly parted to allow me easier access. 

Though I so desperately wanted to taste her slippery nectar, I instead traced my tongue lightly down the inside of her left thigh, but only got as far as exploring her knee. "Please don't tease me, I need you to eat me out now Bear! Please Bear, please..." She pleaded with a whimper. 

Who was I to deny a damsel in such distress? Quickly switching to her right inner thigh I followed my nose to the source of her pungent, musky odour, nibbling and kissing the whole way. "Oh please, please Bear, please, please..." Claire chanted in near delirium.

How could I even begin to describe the holy sight before me? To say that her steaming, slick snatch was perfection still wouldn't do it any justice! Clearly grooming was high on this girl's agenda. There was not a single strand of pubic hair to hide any of the marvellous detail from my appraisal. 

Instead, a black tattoo of a full-mane-lion crouched just above her mound, as if it were stalking her beaver. Her birth sign maybe? Maybe I was reading too much into her tattoo because I happened to be an August baby myself. It didn't really matter though, all that I knew was the her little Leo was about to have some stiff competition as I too had my eye set on her quivering quim. 

Plump, puffy outer lips were forced slightly apart by the delicate folds of her engorged, glistening pink inner lips. A milky fluid still oozed from the lower part of her clammy opening and dribbled down between her ass cheeks, the remnants of her earlier orgasms. Hmm, I'd definitely have to pay some attention to her winking butthole, but first things first. I startled by slurping up all of her tasty juices, starting as low as I could go. 

"Oh MY God!!! Nobody's ever done that to me before, that feels like, Wow!" That statement made me take my time as I lapped across her tightly puckered, brown little anus, letting her know the delights of a good rimming. I stabbed and licked at her clenching ass with my tongue. But then it was time to move on, flattening my tongue as much as I could, I slurped, nibbled and tugged my way up and across her succulent lips.

For good measure I allowed my tongue to flutter lightly over her clit-hood and got the response I wanted when her hips bucked up and down and she sang her glee yet again.

"Gnaah! Bear you are amazing, aaAAHH!" She called out, "and I've never felt a man's beard on my pussy before, it tickles, ooh so nice, so nice..."

"Don'f worry baphy, I'm ony juft geffing starfftered..." I mumbled in return, my mouth full of the tastiest of puddings. I then plunged my stiffened tongue into her as deep as I could, curving it towards the roof of her moist pleasure chamber and savoured the ribbed texture of her G-spot.

"Ah, um I'm cumming again!" Like I needed to be told as she gushed into my waiting mouth.

Mmm, nothing quite like the tart tang of cunt cum, I though as I cleaned her delicious fountain yet again. Now I moved up a little, used my left hand to pull her hood up, exposing her swollen clit and I went to work on that while first two, then three of my fingers of my right squished into her lube tube and I started pumping away. 

As I expected it didn't take her long to cum again and I used an old trick of mine that I knew worked a treat. I pulled my well-oiled fingers from her gash and plunged them knuckle deep into her quivering ass. She squealed in satisfaction like a smoke alarm going off and I drank more than my fill as she spurted again and again. I just loved the way her anus muscles compressed and pulsed around my fingers rhythmically, while I battled to keep my mouth fastened in place on her rearing gash.

"No more, please Bear! I can't take any more just yet, I'm just too sensitive." She uttered in surrender and her spent body went limp. I gave her cunny a loving kiss of appreciation and her thighs snapped closed, trapping my head as she whimpered her shock. Maybe that was one step too far, I thought with guilt, but no.

"Ohmygod! That was amazing... Do that again!" She squeaked breathlessly, and I did, with much the same result. But enough was enough; besides, my well-used tongue and mouth were tired and I needed to catch my ragged breath. 

I crawled up next to Claire and she grabbed my head and we kissed with a wonderful, breathless urgency. Our tongues duelled and twisted for what must have been a good ten minutes.

"Your turn now!" Claire said happily, breaking off and wrestling me onto my back. "Although I don't know if I'll be able to fit you into my mouth!" she finished with a worried frown. 

That didn't bother me at all because I was still a virgin as far as oral sex was concerned. No woman to date had managed to do much more than lick, kiss and on the odd occasion, suck but a portion of my joystick.

"Just being with you is more than I could ever dream of, Claire. So if you don't cope, please do worry about it, okay? Just don't hurt yourself." I pleaded with her. I had no intention of ending this marvellous evening in an emergency room. But I needn't have worried because Claire was no inexperienced fool.

Claire started off by sizing up my rampant manhood with her warm hands clasped firmly around my girth. But no, I was wrong yet again. Using both her hands, she stared at the base and slowly slid them up to the head, where I leaked a steam of pre cum. Smiling in fixated rapture as the clear fluid slithered down my shaft, she captured the dribble of slick on the tip of her tongue and closed her eyes in ecstasy.

"Mmm, you really taste good, Bear. I hope that you have a lot more of that for me?" She complimented me, with a look matching a kid who has just been given the keys to a chocolate factory. Then she returned to the task of milking me of my pre-cum and only paused for breath when her tongue had captured the very last drop from within my slit. The feeling of her rooting tongue at my opening was insane. It almost drove me over the edge and I really had to clamp down, so as not to give her more than she had bargained for.

She then traced every vain with her tongue tip, but my piercings seemed to hold a special allure for her. She took her time inspecting how each ring and barbell cut through my flesh. With fascination she slithered her tongue around each of the studs, before tugging at them gently with her gleaming teeth. 

Peering over the head of my twitching hard-on, much like she had earlier with the flower at the coffee shop, she asked, "Didn't it hurt Bear? I mean when I had my nose bridge done it stung like crazy!" I was truly touched to see the pained expression on her beautiful face.

"A little my Baby," I admitted, "but I think that the increased pleasure for you would be worth any pain I may have felt."

With a winning smile, followed by a deep breath to muster her courage, I suppose, Claire fastened her lips to my tip and stretched her mouth wide. Try as she might, she couldn't manage to get her teeth past my swollen bulb, though she did manage to slip her lips a little lower. She pulled off and sat back on her haunches to study the situation in barely concealed annoyance.

"Don't worry about it my Baby, no woman has ever got that right before." I tried to reassure her.

"Well then Bear, I'm going to be your first!" She told me with a determined smile and returned to my erection with vigour. I can't fault her for trying, but I could see her frustration mounting. I tried to reassure again and again that I'd understand if she gave up, as I feared that she would get cold feet on the whole evening. But she would have none of it.

She changed tack and nuzzled my nuts for a while, making me groan with lust. But soon I felt her mouth creep up my rigid pole to my helmet. I don't know who was more surprised, when with some effort I felt her teeth slip past my knob and for the first time I knew what it was like to be inside a woman's wet mouth. 

I marvelled at the intense heat of Claire's mouth and the sensation of feeling her lips around my shaft. Then I had a thought which just about made my skin crawl. Christ, what would happen if she couldn't get me out of her mouth? I had visions of emergency rooms again and some very awkward questions being asked by smirking medical personnel. That would really be the feather in the cap on a humiliating evening!

"Um, honey? Could you maybe get off me for a moment?" I requested rather fearfully. With an audible pop, she released me and sat back on her haunches, gasping an erratic lungful of air.

"Don't you like it?" She asked in distress, her lower lip trembling in obvious disappointment.

"Oh God no," I replied eagerly. "I just didn't want you to get stuck or anything!" I replied rather sheepishly.

"That would never happen to us now my silly Bear, my mouth was made for your tasty cock, watch this..." She smiled sweetly and pounced onto my organ again, devouring my gland whole without much effort this time. 

I will never forget her or this night for as long as I live. With her head bobbing ever so slightly I took pleasure in my first mind-blowing blowjob. Somehow she managed to gather momentum and I felt my cock reach the back of her mouth. I felt the magical sensation of her tongue caressing the piercing just under my hood and I knew beyond a doubt that I was in heaven.

Suddenly I felt her throat convulse, as if she was swallowing. My tip slip into her throat and the feeling was unbelievable. This skilled lady had accomplished the impossible. Who could ever have imagined that I'd get to experience any deep throat action? But all too soon I felt the cum churning in my balls. I had to stop her before I blew my load and so prevent bringing an untimely halt to our evening together.

Claire joined me at my side and we snuggled and chatted a bit.

"So did you really like it Bear, did you?" She asked with a child-like excitement and she had every right to feel pleased with herself. I could only nod my delight while I tried to get my ragged breathing under control.

"I can't wait to ride that thing and feel you stretch me like I've never been filled before, but lets take a break for a while and get something to drink, okay?" I could only nod in agreement.

"I hope that you don't mind, but when I got the ice earlier, I asked them to bring up a bottle of champagne too, for just in case." Mind, how could I possibly mind? I was so head over heels in love with this woman at the moment, she could have asked me for a sports car and I would have made damn sure that she got it in any colour she chose!

There was one thing that was bothering me though.

"Um Claire, how were you so sure that we would need it, I mean I was wounded and champagne, ah, um. What I mean to say is... Ah, I mean how were you so sure that we'd..." I faltered, hoping that she wouldn't take out her eye when the champagne cork let go.

"I didn't know that we" POP! "would be doing this, silly." She said pointing in the general direction of me and the bed. The cork grazed my shoulder after narrowly missing the expensive looking light fixture, bouncing off the ceiling and ricocheting of wall above me.

"But after I felt the size of you in the coffee shop, I knew that I had to try and get you into bed and see that amazing cock of yours for myself. I hope that you don't think that I'm a slut or anything? I normally don't jump into bed with the first man I meet, but with you it was different." She qualified happily.

I assured her that I thought that she was far from a slut as she returned to our rumpled bed with two flutes of bubbly. We were both quite for a while as we enjoyed the phenomenon of the tingly micro-explosions of the champagne in our mouths. With my arm around her and Claire snuggled up to my hairy chest, we chatted for a while. I found that she was a resident of the fair city of Seattle and owned a small, but burgeoning soap manufacturing business. She had just broken up with her live-in boyfriend and had decided to spoil herself and see the exotic Far East.

I had never found myself so at ease, so comfortable around a woman before. To my delight, we had somehow managed to click, despite the obvious age difference. But ultimately I knew that we could never be together, no matter how much we may have wished it to be otherwise. We both had our own lives to lead, in our own home cities separated by more ten thousand miles of land and ocean. Feeling a little melancholy, I tried to suppress a sigh and failed hopelessly.

Bless the heart that beat within Claire's bountiful, shapely chest. Sensing the gloomy feeling that had invaded our nest of passion, she dispelled that aura in the most delightful manner.

"Oh no Bear! You've gone all soft on me, let me fix that quickly..." and with that she gulped the last from her champagne flute and fell upon my flaccid manhood with a vengeance. How could I ever hope to describe the miracle of her mouth full of bubbly, as she devoured my growing cock? Otherworldly may come close, but I'm afraid that that expression would still be found wanting.

It didn't take long for me to grow to my full size again with the fizz of champagne and Claire's talented mouth. But ultimately she was forced to the top of my tool and only managed to hold my sensitive swollen tip in her mouth. Swallowing the sparkling liquid I once again felt myself slip down her throat. This time she plunged her head all the way down my rampaging hard-on and I felt her lips at the root of my python. Nothing can come close to explaining how it feels to have a woman's breath caress your balls while being planted deeply within her throat. 

Going in was mind blowing, feeling myself slithering out was the most awesome, most amazing thing I've ever felt to date. Well there are no words that can describe that marvel! Claire gave my cum-slit one last loving swipe with her cool tongue, dribbling some of the sparkling wine down my veined shaft. 

She sat back to admire her handiwork with a faint smile curving her lips, her lipstick now smudged a little. I doubt whether I have ever seen such a more erotic look before.

"Mmm, I just love the taste of your precum and that bubbly... I wonder what it'll taste like with your cum in it?" Claire said licking her lips with meaning. Very erotic indeed!

Claire slithered up my prone body, growling with lust as her aroused nipples rasped across the crisp hair on my chest and we kissed again. I felt her weight shift slightly and she reluctantly broke away from me. I found her kneeling astride me, and God I was more than ready for her.

Even straddling me at the full height her thighs would allow, my cockhead still managed to soar well past the front of her shaven cunt and easily swept past her navel. This is usually the stage at which most women suddenly realise their hazardous predicament and chicken out, and to be honest, I can't blame them most of the time.

Like I said, she was a smart girl, and a brave one at that too. She got to her feet, bracing herself against my knee and squatted over me. Grasping my lance in her other hand she then took aim at her sopping quim and slowly lowered herself. Claire then wiggled my cock, spreading her nether-lips and I slipped into her entrance. A sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead, her eyes were scrunched tightly closed and she wore and intense expression of concentration on her face.

I watched in fascination as my bulbous head disappeared into her silken crease. God she was tight, but then all women feel tight to me. I could not help but marvel at this wondrous creature perched on top of me. Firstly she had managed to deep throat me, now I was hoping for the same at this end. 

Let me put this into perspective, earlier I mentioned that my cock was as thick as a coke can. What man has not measured himself, right? I certainly have! At a little over eleven inches in length, I'm well above the average length of six inches. Factor in the three and a half inch thick head and a shaft circumference of eight and a quarter inches, that makes me very, very thick. Maybe the thick end of a baseball bat without the taper would be a more accurate comparison.

Slowly I felt Claire slide down my pole. I had to fight every instinct not to thrust into her. This first stab into her body would have to be at her pace.

"Oh God! Ow, ow, ow! Oh my God, it hurts Bear! It hurts so much Bear, but it feels fantastic at the same time!" she squealed in blissful agony. I had to stop this lunacy. I grasped her waist and tried to ease her off me, but she would have none of it. "No! Gnah! I need all of you in me Bear, Please Bear, I've got to try!" she pleaded, batting my helpful hands away from her body.

About halfway down she stopped, slowly eased herself up a little and hovered in a half squat. My hands flew out to her waist again to steady because I could see her thighs trembling from the strain. The last thing I needed was for her to loose her balance and impale herself. Who knew what sort of damage that would cause the both of us if that happened? Seeing her gash spread so wide caused even more blood to pump into my pulsating cock and it seemed to dilate her even further. I wasn't too sure if her whimper was pleasure or pain.

Gradually she worked her way down again and managed to straddle her knees to either side of my hips. Hips that were fighting to break loose and plunge deep into her.

"So far so good Bear!" Claire said, her breath heaving and her eyes wide with awe. She reached down with her hand and clung onto the remainder of my organ and we both shuddered, I with pleasure and she, I'm sure, with dread.

"There is still so much to go!" She gulped. A long forgotten thought sprang to mind. My father has always said that a half a loaf of bread was better than nothing at all. I was well pleased that she had managed to take a little more than half of my loaf into her tight little oven and that I could live with.

Now I faced a problem though. I could not thrust at all in case I hurt her and she could not rise any higher than her quivering thighs would allow. The story of my life, a standard fuck was always out of the question for me. But I needn't have worried because this amazing woman had a trick up her sleeve. I watched her mesmerising tits bounce as she bobbed up and down, in tiny movements, until I was almost three quarters the way in. "Oh my God Bear! Mmph, aah! You fill me like I've never been filled before. Oh yesss Baby!" She hissed my praise.




Neon Delights



By now I felt confident enough in Claire's vaginal ability and I slowly started rocking my hips. The sloppy, squishing sound of my cock pumping into her yawning cunt really got me going. Though her groans of delight also seemed to add to my urgency. Suddenly I felt my pubic bone mashing into her groin and I lost it. I really started pumping and I thought I'd add to her pleasure by twiddling her peeping, swollen clit. My heart did a flip as Claire started to screech and I realised that she was a vocal girl with a really dirty mouth, my favourite kind. She certainly could do no wrong in my eyes as she climaxed again and flooded me in her slippery joy for the umpteenth time.

"Bear, I think that I'm in love with that monster of yours. I really could get used to you fucking me silly with that thing!" She said in a delirious rush, collapsing onto my chest while heaving, trying to catch her breath. Her delectable, shuddering pussy still chomping at my burred penis and she haltingly sighed with pleasure again. 

"Do you think that we could try it doggy style now?" Claire asked with her searching, soulful grey-blue eyes. No one alive could deny those eyes anything and I nodded my agreement so as not to break the trend. She quickly scrambled off me and assumed the position.

I certainly admired the view as I zeroed in on her shapely rump. There is something almost primeval about a sexy woman in that position. I loved the way that Claire laid her head on her folded forearms, her blonde tresses fanned out in wild disarray. Her trusting eyes glancing back at me. Her sloping back sweeping up to her beautiful ass and I just couldn't resist it. She squealed in surprise as I slapped her rear and she wiggled it rather saucily while giving me a girly giggle. She was everything a man could ever hope for and oh so much more.

Ultimately my admiring eye was drawn to her wide-open, glistening pink snatch. Taking my shaft in both hands I took aim at her tantalising target. Knowing that Claire could take all of me, I plunged all the way into her steaming cavern and was rewarded with a quick indrawn breath and a torrent of vulgar words. 

Her lewd descriptions of how I should fuck her really got me hot and I truly started to put an effort into giving her soppy, sucking cunt a thorough reaming. I'd alternate between long, slow lazy strokes and pick up the pace until I was almost bashing into her. I could feel the tip of my dick bumping into the opening of her womb on the really deep strokes and she managed to cum just about every time that happened.

Friction can be a bit of a bastard sometimes, no matter how much I wished it to be otherwise or how hard I fought it. I felt the batter bubbling within my swinging nut sack. Good thing too, because Claire's earlier smutty outburst had been reduced to nothing more than incoherent murmurs, animalistic grunts and moans. Right! Time for my final party trick and I reached around and found her pearl nestled within her folds. That really got her attention and she returned the favour by reaching between her legs and latched onto my crown jewels. 

By now we had become more animal than human in our efforts to give pleasure to each other. From that moment on, things became a bit of a blur for me. I do remember sinking all the fingers of my free hand, including my thumb, knuckle deep into her convulsing ass-ring. I even felt the bulge of my helmet through the soft, thin wall separating her two hot, tight tunnels. With a not too gentle wring on my nuts, Claire and I came together and our guttural cries of pleasure mingled in the air. I doubt whether I have ever experience such an intense climax before and I doubt that I have managed to spew such a magnitude of jism before.

I eased my softened phallus from Claire's well-fucked cunny and collapsed in a daze.

"Bear!" Claire called out, shattering my sated stupor. She still had her backside pointed at the ceiling and I was amazed as her gash slowly shrivelled from its cavernous, accommodating size.

"Bear! Pass me a champagne flute quickly!" Puzzled at this strange request, I handed her the stemmed vessel. Slowly and carefully she eased it into her cunt and unbelievably came again. After her final shudder, she casually got off the bed and stood holding the container in place, all the while smiling serenely at me. I watch as our mingled love juices flowed from her sweet well and collected in the bottom of the glass.

With an audible, sucking pop, much like the champagne cork of earlier, she slipped it out. Claire then held the stemmed flute up to the light and swirled our gathered secretions as if it as if they were the finest of wines. She then calmly walked to the bedside table and filled the cum-smeared glass with the remainder of the bubbly. Crawling over the bed to where I watched with a morbid fascination, she took a sip of the one of a kind cocktail and snuggled up to me.

"Delicious!" she informed me with a smack of her lips, "Want some Bear, it tastes really good, I promise?" Those damned eyes of hers again! I had more than some of our love potion and the strange thing is, it didn't taste at all bad.

Later that night I woke and got up to close the room's window. I took the time to sit at the desk for a while. I wondered what I was to do in the morning. For the first time in my life I felt a pang of possessiveness, particularly after all that we had shared earlier this evening and I knew that my life was forever altered. Was I maybe expecting too much? God, all that I knew was that I couldn't think strait since that whirlwind named Claire had come into my life. Funny how you seem to find the all the answers to some of the most difficult questions when you are looking for them at such strange hours. 

Sitting there, I watched Claire's sleeping form as the outside multi-coloured, neon lights flooded into the darkened room from the open drapes. I sat mesmerised and watched the soft light paint an ever-changing pattern of the most remarkable kind on her gorgeous naked body. It's then that I realised that I had no right to try and imprison such a young and carefree spirit. No matter how much it may hurt, I had to let her go her own way in the morning and after a hearty breakfast the following morning, we did just that.

The trip to the Far East went off far better than I could ever have imagined. I had just finalised an open order to supply guitars to a chain of thirty-four music supply stores. I had also managed to get that new laptop too. It took a while to search for all of my old websites though. I did manage to bookmark one of my favourite chat sites though and I got online. Imagine my surprise when I was telling my old online buddy about my trip to Hong Kong. It went something like this:

Ms Neonpirate: hey that's great, I just got back from there too lol

Neon Gecko: wow how weird is that

Neon Gecko: so what were you doing there

Ms Neonpirate: oh just having a whole lotta fun really. I just needed to get away from things, you know

Neon Gecko: cool! I went on business but had a great time! I met this awesome girl there and we had some pretty mind-blowing sex

Ms Neonpirate:no shit! I met someone too! And no it wasn't a girl you dirty bastard lol

Ms Neonpirate:he was hung like a horse, just like you are always bragging you are lol. OMG!!! Bear is that you...

My heart sank as those words flashed on my screen. We had been attracted to each because we had both used neon in our online names and we kind of hit it off right from the word go. It had always been a shared fantasy of ours to meet up in real life and maybe experience some of the things we had so often chatted about doing to each other. Life's like that though, always full of little lessons, if you are bright enough to see them. I learned never to take another lover for granted again, because you'll never know what it is you have until it's too late.

We remained firm online friends for many years after that, even with each of us getting married and having families of our own. Though we tried many times, we never did manage to hook up with each other again. 

So whenever I think of Hong Kong, I always remember the bustling city for its many Neon Delights...



Neon Night



There can only ever be one woman in my heart, and this is dedicated to her. MK

Buzzing neon night in the city that never sleeps. Car lights streaking along the byways, and a symphony of noises and smells rising from the 24 hour hustle of the sidewalk. Sirens ring through the night air as gradually, the sequence of lights being turned on and off in the skyscrapers eclipses the twinkling of the stars. One of these is to be the star that this story follows – the slow dimming of a light, high in a Brooklyn apartment. As it fades to a rosy glow, a feminine hand with long and sculpted fingers appears in the window. It hovers for a while, before vanishing, inch by inch, out of sight. The curtains may be drawn and the city locked out for the night, but one thing is certain – there will be little sleep between these four walls until sunrise.

We’re in our apartment, sharing a drink with two near strangers. I watch you gaze absently into your glass as the atmosphere heats up. Our relationship has been shining on for five sensual years, our sex life only enhanced by the degree of emotional intimacy attained. How we met and the years of struggle we faced before living our dream is of no consequence for now. We are together, and things have never been so good. Open-minded, daring and kinky to the extreme, we have no limits as far as sex is concerned – only ideas; and our latest brainwave is sitting right in front of us right now, in the form of two beautiful women, smouldering in the eroticism of the moment.

We came across them in a small club named Henrietta’s – one of Manhattan’s best-kept secrets. Like most of the women that night, they were horny and shamelessly open in their quest for something different. But what made them stand out for us was the intense sexuality they exuded, and their oblivion to all eyes around them as they got dirty on the crowded dance floor. Together, they had a magnetism that reminded us of our own relationship, and as the music ebbed away our inhibitions, so it drew us into the act of inviting them back to our home.

Although names were exchanged, they have drifted out of my mind on a cloud of fired up hormones. We have indulged in small moments of exhibitionism in the past – kisses, fumbles, and even some subtle nipple-sucking on a transatlantic flight – but never have we performed full-blown sex in front of another living being. It is made all the more exciting by the fact that we know little about these women.

As the conversation flows and the champagne sooths any nerves, they explain to us how they met on a flight attendant training course, enjoyed the most breathtaking sex, and then gradually lost contact as they were scattered across the world, their flight paths never meeting again until now. In their early thirties, they give the impression of being veterans at this game. One blonde, one brunette, both tall and glamorous to a mind-blowing extent, it was they who called our bluff when we stepped out of the taxi, by asking outright if they could watch us fuck. 

For the first few minutes sitting opposite each other on two leather couches, it is almost as though this suggestion was never made. Instead, we make an effort to talk about pretty much everything while the champagne works its magic on our nerves. To out surprise, it turns out that these women have not seen each other in around seven years. After a month of breathtaking sex on a flight attendant course in Paris, they were separated by work and scattered to different corners of the world, their flight paths never crossing until now.

When we have exhausted all chitchat about life, travel, shopping and movies, the brunette, who is unmistakably the more dominant of the two shifts the topic back towards sex.

“So tell me, ladies,” she purrs, a glint in her eye as her foreign accent slips through our defences unchecked, “After five years together, you should have quite a collection of sex toys. What kind of things do you like to use on each other?”

There is a tense silence as your breathing becomes noticeably heavier, and I cave in to a fit of the giggles.

“We don’t actually use any,” you reply, never one to be outdone, “We can do everything we need to do with our fingers and tongues…”

The quieter blonde stares at the floor, struggling to retain her composure, but her bold partner merely arches her eyebrows, the corners of her lips spreading into a seductive smile. Although nothing significant has happened yet, I’m only too aware of how close the women are sitting. Throughout our entire conversation, my eye has been caught repeatedly by flickers of movement – a subtle finger running along a thigh, the slow brush of one bare leg against another – and instinctively I cuddle closer to you. I can feel the heat rising from your body in one sexual wave after another. Now, there can be no mistaking the tension in the air.

Sensing the competition, you slide a hand onto my thigh, running your fingers up the inside of it until they’re dangerously close to my panties. I feel the blood rushing to my clit and the inside of my pussy starting to get wet. Glancing up to see if our guests have noticed, I’m surprised to see that they’re miles away, kissing with such passion that I can see two pairs of nipples hardening like small acorns under their the thing fabric of their tops. I suddenly want you like I’ve never wanted you before.

With no warning, your hand moves right over my pussy, holding it through my panties as though you know it belongs to you. I turn around to find your lips, and we drift into a kiss that has us spellbound. I suck slowly on them, enjoying every second as my fingers brush lightly down the side of your face. Your arm moves around me, pulling me in closer still and stroking the back of my neck until I’m crazy with lust. Just as my fingers reach out for one of your breasts, I slide my tongue inside your mouth. The sensation is makes my head spin. As I begin to massage your soft mound, your gentle sucking on my tongue puts me in mind of the way your pussy muscles tighten when my tongue is inside you.

The flight attendants are now on the floor in front of us, watching as you unfasten my pants and slide your hand inside my panties. I moan softly as you fingers find my clit in an instant. No one has watched the intimacy with which you finger me, and the live audience is having an incredible effect on your sex drive. Suddenly, I want them both to see how bad you want me.

You offer no resistance as I slide my hands slowly down your top and lift it over your head. It takes just a split second for me to unfasten your bra, distracting you with a soft kiss on your neck as your breasts fall like two ripe peaches. Your nipples are at the height of their arousal, and in the flickering glow of the candles, you look so sexy and beautiful and vulnerable to my lust. I catch the brunette’s eye as I lower my lips onto your nipple. With your finger still busy inside my panties, we are a truly erotic sight to behold. 

“Why don’t you just take everything off, ladies?” she asks teasingly; and with that, lifts her partner’s short skirt to reveal a cleanly shaven pussy

In an instant, I find myself torn between exhibitionism and voyeurism. Closing my eyes, I wrap my lips around your firm nipple and begin flicking my tongue over it as I massage your breast slowly. Unable to move my mouth from your nipple, I rise to my feet, allowing you to start sliding my pants down. I step out of them and break free from you for a second in order to remove my top. Our guests are already in full flow, their clothes sprawled across the floor, and the brunette spreading her partner’s legs to such an extent that her clit protrudes visibly from between her full pussy lips. Slowly, the brunette takes a finger in her mouth, before pulling it out and sliding it up and down along the length of her lover’s slit.

Without even realising how far our encounter has progressed, we are kissing again, hotter than before, and our tongues clashing against one other as I begin to unfasten your pants. Tantalisingly, you grab hold of my thong and pull it up so that it’s pressing hard against my cunt. It’s as much as I can do to stand on my feet, and I position my feet further apart, almost willing you to slide the material into my crack begin rubbing it against my throbbing clit. But you don’t. Reaching behind me, you unfasten my bra and free my breasts. I turn around briefly to throw your pants to a random corner of the room, and you seize the opportunity, taking me completely unawares. I feel a sudden draught as you move my wet panties to one side, revealing everything I possess to the two ladies in front of us. Unable to stop myself, I am soon running my finger over my own clit, which is already soaked with my juices. You pull the panties off me, and I turn to give you a full view of how wet you’ve made me.

We look into each other’s eyes, and a million words pass between us, unspoken. I’m so proud to have someone as beautiful and wonderful as you for my girlfriend, and the effect that our lovemaking is having on the other couple has made me as rampant as a porn star. Pushing you back onto the couch and kneeling in front of you, I remove your panties and push your knees apart. It’s as much as I can do to stop myself from just driving my tongue straight into the crack of your pussy until it’s directly on your hard and insanely hard clit.

To a certain extent, we are playing to our audience. I spread your legs much wider than is necessary, causing you to fall backwards and surrender to my hungry lips.

“Spread her open for me,” insists the brunette, “I want to see how badly that cunt needs to be fucked.”

I am more than happy to oblige. You feel tight to my touch as I move your lips apart, and one glance at your gaping hole is enough to convince anyone of how bad you want me. I run my tongue along the length of your sex and you moan. Gently, I kiss your clit, unaware that behind me, at the centre of your field of vision, the two women are poised in the 69 position.

Slowly, I feel your pussy beginning to melt into my lips, and I want even more of you. While you watch our new friends eating each other out, my tongue begins to go crazy over your clit. Wanting more of you still, I pull you onto the floor, right alongside the other women, positioning you on all fours, just millimetres away from them, so that you can see absolutely everything that’s going on in front of you.

Running my fingertips as light as a feather along the insides of your thighs, I slide underneath you and start licking your wetness all over again. You’re taken completely by surprise, because all of a sudden you realise that I’ve not only learned how to tease, but learned how to do it really well. My tongue is everywhere – sometimes circling your clit, other times moving gently against the entrance of your pussy, but more often than not just taking one of your pussy lips in my mouth and sucking on it gently. And all the time, you’re getting wetter to the point where my mouth is filled with your sweet juices.

Almost desperate for me to just wrap my lips around your clit and massage it to oblivion with my tongue, you start moving your pussy against my face, grinding in tight to my mouth. I can’t resist, and begin eating you out with all the passion I possess. You know from my moans that with my spare hand, I’m busy fucking myself, but I can’t keep it up for long. Your pussy needs my full attention, and I am perfectly prepared to give it to you.

Feeling suddenly kinky in this sultry atmosphere, I move my fingers away from my own pussy and begin rubbing my juices against the entrance of your pussy while I continue to suck on your clit. Under my light touch, I can feel your muscles relaxing completely, and know that you’re as ready for me as you ever will be. I quicken the pace. My tongue now pushed firmly against the sensitive nub, I move it back and forth and an increasingly rapid pace. You begin to moan, and your moans are answered by those of the two strangers, hooked on our every move and dangerously close to cuming hard. I can feel your hips moving against my face and taste your wetness running into my mouth. I can’t get enough of you. Soon, I feel your muscles tense up and know that you’re on the verge of climaxing hard. I double my efforts, flicking my tongue even faster against your clit as a sweet ‘o’ comes crashing through your body. You whimper in protest, but I’m unable to move away from you until I’ve licked up every drop of your wetness. 

Eventually, you can take it no more, and turn over, pulling my head back up towards your face. We kiss, but this is far from the end of our lovemaking, as I have quite a big surprise in store for you. You look so sexy as you lie back there recovering from your orgasm, and I feel my hormones surge again. The cries of pleasure from the two women in front of us have reached their crescendo and are now fading into breathless exhaustion. I kneel over you, one leg either side, and pull out a double-ended dildo from behind the couch. Running my finger over my clit a couple of times, I take one end of it and position it against the entrance of my pussy. This was something you certainly hadn’t been expecting, but you conceal your amazement like a pro. With one firm push, the dildo is all the way inside me, and I am entirely at your mercy. Your eyes focused on my blurry gaze, you pull it back out slowly, before thrust it back in, deep and hard.

Wasting no time, I spread your pussy open and position the other end against the entrance. By now, the entire dildo is so wet with my juices that it slides inside you effortlessly. It feels so kinky and fantastic to be joined in this intimate way with you, and the fact that other people are watching almost doubles the pleasure. I move my lips to yours and begin to kiss you passionately. Within seconds, I begin rocking my hips and fucking you really gently. Your pussy has reached its peak of sensitivity, and I feel you melting away beneath me.

I want to tell you how much I love you, how your body and your imagination make me hot to the point of burning, but I am unable to pull myself away from your lips. The dildo is cumbersome, bending at inconvenient moments and threatening to slip completely from our grips at any given moment. When the brunette appears alongside us, however, the transformation is mind-blowing.

Guided by her unexpected hand, we are now able to achieve full penetration. I fuck you slowly at first, rotating the dildo around the walls of your pussy until every nerve you possess is standing on end. Her girlfriend soon appears on the other side. Her chest is flushed from her previous orgasm, and her face so close to our bodies that we can feel her hot breath blasting our pussies. Bending down once more to suck on your nipples, I quicken the pace of my fucking, and almost by accident discover that in this position, it’s possible to be rubbing out clits together at the same time. The first touch of your clit against mine makes me want to let go and just cum instantly, but I pace myself – sometimes just concentrating on rubbing my clit against yours, other times focusing my energies entirely on fucking you deeper with smooth strong strokes.

Gradually, the pace quickens until we’re both fucking each other senseless. Time melts in tune with our emotions, and it is impossible to tell how long it is before the change occurs. But soon, I know that I can’t hold back any longer and sense that you have reached a similar point. Our pussy muscles begin tightening and despite the efforts of the brunette, the dildo becomes harder and harder to move inside us. We keep fucking regardless, so deep that now we’re just rubbing out clits together. Suddenly, the world explodes as our bodies tense and relax in a series of multiple orgasms.

Exhausted, I collapse in your arms and lie there for what seems like an eternity before I have the energy or the will to pull the dildo out of us both. I look into your beautiful deep brown eyes and find myself melting into your lips once more. It is gentle, it is reassuring, and as we lose ourselves completely to its comfort, the moment when our guests leave escapes us completely. They have disappeared into the night forever, but yet we feel no loss. It was a fantasy that we hardly expected to fulfil, fleeting as a shooting star, and now that it has passed, we are left to the unfathomable pleasures of our love.

The candles flicker and fade as I take one of your beautiful, sculpted hands and press my lips against it. Nothing has changed in the city around us – cars continue to weave along the streets, and the pedestrian shunt stutters onwards. As the morning sun creeps over the horizon, it almost feels as though this episode never took place – a mutual dream that sweetened one night of eroticism. We drag ourselves to bed, oblivious to the buzz of Brooklyn at our feet. Our neon night has ended, and wrapped in each other’s arms, we drift into a satin sleep.



Neon Pink



Copyright © 2002 Fret Pearson. Note: This one is a few year's old... I decided to release it on Literotica in hopes of lots of getting lots and lots of juicy feedback. So if you liked this story drop me a line.

Part 1: A Mishap and a Mystery 

##############################

We found the bow and its quiver of arrows jammed way back in a rusty cupboard at the rear of the drama club's prop storage closet. Every year, Washington High puts on a stage performance, and the bow and quiver were from some long ago past production. Only two of the arrows in the quiver were real - the others were shorter fakes glued to the inside, to make it look full.

I was reading an Agatha Christie in the bleachers when it happened.

Rob started monkeying around with the bow, and before we knew it one of the arrows went straight into the gymnasium ceiling, where it stuck. The strange old guy who was supposed to be supervising us wasn't paying attention. Toby warned Rob to be careful, but it was too late. Rob's second shot was much more graceful; the arrow soared cleanly toward the stage where Janey sat with her legs dangling, doing her homework. The shaft embedded itself in her calf and she screeched.

Janey is my best friend, and has been since I moved here in grade school. We had joined the drama club together because we both kind of fantasized about becoming actresses, and because there are some really cute guys in the club every year. Now we were seniors, with graduation coming up, and neither one of us was likely to gain a lead role in whatever the upcoming play was going to be. (Mr. Lopez hadn't decided yet.) I had had my chance last year, but just because I'm Japanese, or Japanese-American, or whatever, doesn't mean I want to play Hiawatha, or any other Indian.

Anyway, since it was Sunday the paramedics arrived pretty quickly and prepared to carry Janey to the ambulance. There wasn't a lot of blood, but it was really gross to see the arrow sticking out of her leg. She was still unconscious, and Rob was really getting in the way trying to, first, apologize to her (and anyone else who would listen), and second, help carry her books and things.

"Let them take her to the hospital, asshole!" I shouted at him. I'm not really a mean person, but he deserved it. What an idiot. Mr. Lopez sure picked the wrong day to leave us unsupervised, and the old guy who was there hadn't done anything to keep the boys in line.

I grabbed Janey's books and papers and started carrying them to my car. The paramedics wouldn't let anyone ride in the ambulance, so Rob and some others started making plans to go in their cars.

I don't know. Don't get me wrong, Rob isn't an asshole. In fact he's a great actor but he sure needs to learn not to take things too far. I wondered what Janey was going to say to him when she woke up. I guess I'm the only one who knew for sure that she had a small crush on him. Okay, make that a big crush. It was a huge secret because all three of us lived in the same part of the suburbs, and also because Rob's girlfriend Cindy was kind of our friend sometimes, when she wasn't being a bitch.

I had driven pretty fast, once I signed out of school and got everything loaded into my car. After taking my name, the nurse prepared to show me to Janey's room. I hurried past her and peeked into Janey's room on my own, which was a huge mistake, because the nurse looked as if she might tackle me. All I saw was a brief glimpse of Janey sleeping before I was jerked away from the door and it was closed in my face.

"Hold on, you're not family, are you?"

"No..."

"Well, I'm sorry but-"

"I've got her books out in my car," I tried to explain. "The school told me she has to have her books here so she can finish her homework. It's important."

She bought my panicked expression (I did mention I was in the drama club, right?) and eventually agreed to let me deliver the books. I ran out to my car. It seemed to take forever to get to the parking garage and back, but when I did return with an armload of Janey's things the nurse was a bit more friendly. At last she showed me to Janey's room and started answering my questions.

"Your friend has had a traumatic experience, and is sleeping, so don't try to talk to her," she said. I nodded. Since my hands were full, she had to open the door wide enough for me to enter. "We're still doing some tests, and we'll be keeping her overnight for observation. She might have slipped into a brief coma after the accident but don't worry, she'll be fine. You can tell all her friends she'll make a full recovery."

"Coma?" I asked. Maybe the nurse realized she shouldn't have told me that, because she didn't say anything.

"And her leg?" I asked.

"We stitched her up nice and tight. She'll barely have even a scar. It was only a flesh wound, all in all."

I thanked the woman and she went back to the nurse's station.

They gave Janey a room by herself, which was nice. It was drab and painted in that ugly hospital green color, but it was okay enough, I guess. It had a TV. Janey looked so young sleeping in the bed, with her long blonde hair hanging over one side of the pillow. Asleep, she looked like she had in grade school. She was so cute! Her leg was under the covers, so I couldn't see it. (I didn't really want to see stitches, anyway.) I put her notebooks and things on the shelf by her bed and sat down next to her. I held her hand, wondering if she would wake up, but she didn't. Maybe she was on painkillers.

That's when I noticed a huge bouquet of flowers on one side of the room, sitting on one of the chairs. That's funny, I thought, I didn't see those a few minutes ago when I looked in, before going out to my car... At least I didn't remember seeing them. And who would give Janey flowers? I looked for a card but there wasn't one. Finally I decided that maybe the hospital had brought the flowers here, but they sure did look nice, and a little expensive.

On a shelf next to the flowers was part of the arrow, wrapped several times in a sheet of clear plastic. I guess the emergency room doctors put it there. Holding the bundle up, I unwrapped it enough to cringe when I saw some of Janey's blood on the end. Removing more of the plastic, I noticed that the doctors or whoever had sawed the wood off neatly. Turning it in my hands, I noticed that the shaft was hollow, and that's when some dark syrupy liquid started to leak out of the hole where the wood had been cut.

"Shit!" I whispered.

Reflexively, I cupped my hand and caught the thick black fluid before it could get on the floor, and hurried over to the tiny bathroom. I threw both the arrow and the palmful of liquid into the sink, and then washed my hand. Yuck, I thought. What is this crap? At first I had thought it was blood, but it was much too dark. I scrubbed with soap and hot water until it finally came off.

I started to walk back to Janey, but suddenly I felt really dizzy. You know if you get up too quickly after sitting for a long time? But my vision didn't blur or anything, I just felt really weird and unsteady, and my palm where that crap had touched the skin started tingling.

"What's happening?" I said.

I know this sounds really stupid, but the colors in the room started to change. But they were the same, still, too. The same, but different. It's like, how do you know that the colors you see match what everyone else sees? Maybe where I see green, other people see purple, or something completely different. Anyway, something weird happened to the color pink. As I left the bathroom, the pink in the flowers stood out like they were beacons or something. My eyes were drawn toward them, as if they were the most important things in the room. I shook my head to try and clear the dizziness, but it didn't help. The flowers were so important, so beautiful. I couldn't concentrate.

But as I neared them, I saw Janey's lips. They were an even more perfect shade of pink... even brighter...

Her lips were so beautiful, my eyes wanted to drink them up. I guess it was her lipstick. And suddenly I started to feel, I don't know, aroused. I was breathing faster, and like some sort of waking dream I was approaching the perfect rose tint of my friend's lips with a weird sort of anticipation that I didn't even understand, but that I felt in my hardening nipples, and further below...

I reached her bedside, and her lips were so small, while their color was so big. My hand was really tingling. It has to be that gunk, I thought. What was it? I knew the poison or whatever it was inside the shaft was doing this weird thing to me, but that didn't make it any easier to resist. I absently rubbed my tingling palm up my waist, my stomach, and over one boob and hard nipple as I leaned over Janey's sleeping form. Stop, I commanded myself, what are you doing?

I willed myself to resist, but the closer my eyes got to my best friend's lips, the more that delicious shade of pink enraptured me. I couldn't help myself. Lower, and lower, soon I could feel her breath on my face. I was so close that when I licked my own lips my tongue brushed her chin, and she stirred slightly. Thank goodness! Her brief movement away from me was all I needed to break the spell, and I turned away in a decisive act of willpower.

I was almost in tears, and one breast hurt. I realized I was still squashing my right boob with my hand, which was still tingling. I let myself go and noticed I was facing Janey's books and things. But why couldn't I see them? Why couldn't I see anything? Why couldn't I think?

Tunnel vision. Pink tunnel vision. What would Freud say about that?

Sticking out from under one of Janey's notebooks, was a brilliant triangle of pink - it's hard for me to describe - importance. The color... It was one of those fluorescent pinks that glows under a black light. Its necessity was so great that not only didn't I see the books around it, I didn't care about them. I didn't care about anything.

My tingling hand reached out for it, and by feeling the surface of the books and papers, I realized that it was an index card, or something similar, and pulled it free from beneath the notebook. It flared into brilliance in front of me, as if I had lit a match inside a cave.

I held it in front of my face, in both hands. The pink was so pure, so right. My fascination was so powerful that I felt helpless and scared. It dwarfed my tiny, unimportant thoughts. How could I be so interested in this piece of pink paper? Where had it come from? Was it Janey's? Did it come with the flowers? Had it already been here in the room, had I just put her books down on top of it? My head was full of pink fog. It was several minutes before I realized something was written on the card. It was hard to make out, because I felt so spacey and dizzy...

Finally I was able to read the typewritten text, by looking at the pink around it and doing a kind of subtraction in my head.

      I HAVE CAST A SPELL ON YOU.   YOU WILL DO ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING I COMMAND.     I WILL CONTROL YOU, IN MIND AND BODY.

And the most frightening thing of all was that it seemed familiar, like deja vu, like I somehow already knew it to be true...

I don't know how long I stood staring at the card. Feeling it with my hands, the side with the typewritten text seemed to have some sort of rough flaky stuff glued to the paper, like maybe glitter except not shiny. Or at least if it was shiny my eyes couldn't distinguish it due to the numbing onslaught of pink. Some of the stuff flaked off onto the floor but I could have cared less. I tried to be careful as I examined the card, because if I held it wrong my hands blocked too much of the color, and if I got it too close to my eyes the pink darkened a shade and wasn't as pretty. Holding it sideways was almost painful. I tried to maximize the color and get as much into my eye sockets as possible...

After a while, Rob and Cindy and some other kids arrived. The effects of whatever had happened to me seemed to have faded slightly, and I hurriedly slid the card back under Janey's notebook as I heard their approaching voices. My eyes felt suddenly heavy, bored with the remaining visible bland colors.

"Hey Mouse!" someone said. I turned around and saw half of the drama club (as well as Cindy) pour into the tiny hospital room. "Is she okay?"

In the commotion, Janey opened one eye halfway and smiled at me. "Keiko," she said softly, and closing her eyes again, turned further onto her side.

I left, knowing the nurse would be along any moment to throw everyone out for making too much noise and interrupting Janey's sleep. I wondered how they had gotten past the nurses' station in the first place. The only quiet one was Rob, who seemed strangely out of character in his guilt over what happened. Well, he deserved to feel guilty.

I sat in my car for about fifteen minutes, thinking about what had happened to me (and wondering if my hand was still tingling or if I was only imagining it) before I felt like I was steady enough to drive home.

Janey is the only person who actually calls me Keiko, except for maybe my grandma. All the kids at school call me "Mouse" because my ears are shaped kind of funny. They start out going parallel along my head, but then they curve out away to the side in almost a 90 degree angle, which I guess makes me look like a mouse. (Especially after I've been swimming and my hair is stuck to my head.) They're not big though, and not ugly, so don't get the wrong impression. I don't really remember my dad, but I guess I got them from him. Plus I'm short. I've had the nickname since grade school.

I've gotten used to it by now, but at first I hated it. (My hair is shoulder length, and I usually wear it back, but in a way to partially cover my ears.)

Once in the fifth grade I was doing a class project on Japan, and I was telling everyone what the Japanese characters in my last name meant. When I said that the first one meant "field," Toby Smith yelled out, "Oh, so technically you're a field mouse!" and everyone laughed at me, and I cried in front of the class and had to finish the project the next day.

I told my mother after school and she laughed and made me some chocolate pudding. From that day on, "field mouse" has kind of been my nickname at home. It's funny how things change. For example, I used to hate Toby for teasing me. But now, well, I'm embarrassed to say that he grew up to be really cute and I have a small crush on him. Only Janey knows. So if you're keeping score, she likes Rob and I like Toby. Yes, we're both pathetic. But I have to say that I am definitely less pathetic and at least I have my crush in check.

Monday was a boring day at school without Janey. I pretty much spent the latter half of the lunch period reading. Hercule Poirot and his little grey cells take the Orient Express. I already saw the movie, but wanted to read the original. I couldn't get into it, though. I couldn't shake the memory of what had happened to me in the hospital. Finally I figured Janey might be home, and went to the payphone.

Her mom answered. She said Janey had just gotten back from the hospital. I waited patiently, until I heard Janey's footsteps approaching the phone. She didn't seem to be limping.

"Keiko!" Janey screamed.

"Hi! How are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm fine. I can't believe Rob shot me in the leg with a bow and arrow! It's like fate exists, or there is some kind of meaning to things, you know? Did he get in trouble? Like, I hope nothing happened to him!"

"No, nothing happened. He got yelled at by Mr. Lopez, that's all. He really felt bad about what happened."

"I know," she said. "I kinda listened to him and Cindy in the hospital, pretending to be asleep and stuff. Then someone played the trumpet and they got thrown out. Wow, I don't know Keiko, do you think like this is my chance?"

What she meant was, was it her chance to replace Cindy as Rob's girlfriend? I looked over at the popular seniors' lunch table, and saw Rob sitting with his arm around Cindy. She was sorting their lunches, giving her dislikes to him and vice versa.

"I don't know..." I said diplomatically. We talked for a few more minutes, but my mind wasn't really on the conversation. Now, hearing Janey's voice, my experience in her hospital room seemed so far away and stupid.

After a few minutes the class bell rang, and we made plans to meet at the mall around seven o'clock to catch up.

Rob came over to my house after school, because he knows my mom loves him and will feed him anything he wants (even the snacks that, if I eat them, will spoil my appetite). Somehow he found out that I was meeting Janey at the mall, and wanted to tag along to apologize to her in person and treat her to ice cream. I really wanted to talk to Janey alone, but she would really be pissed at me if I told him not to come. Decisions, decisions...

We met Janey in the Food Court. She looked the same as always, the only sign of the accident was a little bit of tape on her leg. (She rolled up her slacks to show us.)

"Does it hurt?" Rob asked.

"No, not really. I got eight stitches, so there shouldn't even be a scar. I hope."

"Damn, Janey, I am so sorry! I never meant to hit you. I was just playing and-"

"I know, I know." She squeezed his hand, which seemed to surprise him.

As we ate our ice cream, I thought about how odd it was that we had all turned out this way. Three neighborhood friends, knowing each other since grade school, all grown up and about ready to graduate and go to three different colleges. In a way it made me feel really sad, and nostalgic for the watergun fights and hide-and-go-seek games in neighbors' yards so long ago. Too bad college was going to separate us. I knew Janey felt the same way, but sometimes I wondered if she worried more about parting with me, or Rob...

Rob had become a popular, strong, handsome - and terminally unserious - young man. But Janey couldn't compete with girls like Cindy who had great big boobs and a butt that probably had "for cheerleading use only" tattooed onto it. And me, future writer of The Great American (Mystery) Novel, still known to everyone as "the little Japanese girl" except now I was slightly taller and had tiny boobs shaped like the tips of a Nerf football.

I fell slightly behind as we walked through the mall, totally giving Janey every chance to talk to Rob. She'd have done the same thing for me, I'm sure. As I followed them, I started to wonder about the strange gunk inside the hollow arrow. If that stuff had gotten on my skin and made me dizzy and focused all my attention on various shades of pink, as it seemed to have done, what might it have done to Janey after being "injected" inside her leg? Or had it done anything? And what about that mysterious index card? Where had it come from? I couldn't ask her about this stuff in front of Rob. I wondered if he had plans to meet Cindy tonight.

Just then I interrupted myself.

"Toby," I whispered.

He was on the other side of the mall looking at some of the silver rings and pendants in the glass case outside of LeatherWorks. It's funny that when you're young, the boys from the bad neighborhoods are kind of disgusting and dirty, but when they grow up they become tough and strong and, let's face it, sexy! Well, the cute ones, anyway. Toby wasn't the kind of guy who wore a brand new leather jacket and was afraid to get his hands dirty; his jacket was years old, worn, and I could almost smell that masculine, old leather scent from across the mall.

As we passed him, he noticed us, and nodded at me. I waved to him. I'm sure I had the biggest, goofiest grin on my face. But to my surprise I saw he didn't seem to notice, because he was staring at Janey's butt! Honestly! (Of course she was walking close to Rob, so Toby could have been staring at his butt - if he was gay that is, which he isn't, so the point is moot.) That made me a little mad, and actually a little jealous, but isn't that one of the reasons why I like him, anyway? Because he doesn't play by the rules? Anyway, I tried to rationalize it. I was hung up on him, what can I say? I thought it must have been my imagination. Damn Janey and her green slacks.




Neon Pink



So he went back to looking at the rings and stuff, while I let Janey and Rob get further and further ahead. I kept sneaking peeks back to see what he was doing, until finally he was gone, probably inside LeatherWorks or the CD shop next door. When I turned around to face the way I was walking I stopped an inch short of running into Janey.

"What's going on?" I asked.

She and Rob were staring into Fleece's department store. I looked from her to him to her and then Rob shrugged.

"Beats me."

Looking into the store, I saw the usual racks of spring clothes. There were a few shoppers in sight but none seemed worth staring at. Was there a sale? I didn't see any signs. Janey had the weirdest look on her face. Her jaw was slightly slack and to tell you the truth I started to get creeped out. I shuddered involuntarily. Something was definitely wrong.

I stepped between her and Rob and tried to find out what she was looking at. Moving just a few feet changed my area of visibility and immediately it jumped out at me.

That neon pink color.

It was in the young ladies department, a rack of bright pink shirts. They were identical to the color on the index card I saw at the hospital. Fluorescent pink. Janey started walking toward them, and I felt that same fuzziness in my head. Though it was less powerful than I remembered, it was still incredibly strong and I felt obliged to follow Janey, even bumping up against her as we got closer and closer to that color. It was attracting us like moths to a flame. My palm throbbed lightly, not unpleasantly.

"Gotta be a sale," Rob was saying. He stayed behind; Janey and I ventured forward, soon leaving the mall and entering Fleece's. "There's a sale and I don't see the signs because it's one of those woman things."

His voice was receding. "Hey, I'll catch up with you guys later..."

"Hey sweetie!" That was Cindy's voice, behind us. I didn't turn. The closer I got to that color the less important all peripheral sensations became. I could barely hear them as I drank in more and more of the neon pink.

"Where are the wonder twins going, is there a sale?"

"NO! I mean, hell no, baby, they just want to check some prices. C'mon, let's go back to the Food Court..."

"Do I have a leash around my neck?"

"Right. I think we both know who has the leash..." They faded away.

Janey was breathing heavily as she clutched at the air in front of the shirt.

"What is it?" she mouthed. Finally her hands caught it and pulled it from the hanger. It was way too small for us, it was for a twelve or thirteen year old. "Teen Princess" was stenciled on the front in cursive script, but I was more impressed with the surrounding pink. Janey was too, and my muddled brain finally realized that the gunk inside the arrow had gotten to her, too.

"I need..." she murmured, bringing the shirt to her face, breathing deeply. It was a painful effort for me to look away from the shirt. Her eyes were shockingly wide, unblinking, and dialated. "So beautiful... teen princess," she mouthed. "Teen... Princess..."

I felt my own lips moving along with hers, but as soon as I realized it I forced myself to stop. I put my hands over Janey's eyes and pulled her to the floor. She turned to hug me and I kicked the shirt far away, out of sight. Too bad there were at least six just like it still on the rack. Run, I told myself, run! My hands still blocking her sight, I pulled her by the head to her feet and we stumbled back into the mall. I'm sure we caused quite a scene.

What the fuck was happening to us?

We didn't have time to compare notes, and besides Janey seemed kind of out of it. Sometimes when she's got her period she gets like that, too, all quiet and introverted. Doesn't want to do anything, and so on. I guess she was just scared and wanted to think about things. To tell the truth I was a bit out of it myself. I drove her home and we mumbled plans to pick her car up from the mall after school on Tuesday.

When I woke up on Tuesday morning the sun was shining and the previous evening's events seemed pretty ridiculous. I wanted to stay in bed, and I remembered how my mother would baby me when I had the flu or something. What would I do on my own at college? I didn't want to think about it. I stumbled out of bed and started to get ready. Only two more months of school...

It took me forever to get dressed. It was one of those days when nothing seems to match and the outfit I had laid out the day before was just hideous. All plain and boring. Some of that stuff was so cheap I couldn't believe I had ever worn it. Half my closet was all stuff that went out of style two years ago.

Janey and I met before school and I couldn't help but giggle. She obviously thought she had a chance with Rob and was going full out. She was wearing a dress and even had extra makeup on!

"Whoa, what's with you?" she laughed.

"Me? Look at you!"

"What, are you kidding? You look like a..."

"Teen princess," we both said in unison. I gasped, looking down at my own dress and jewelry.

You know that feeling when your heart starts beating faster, because you're scared? Everything up until that moment was seemingly harmless, but suddenly I got really frightened, and that feeling of doom came back tenfold. Somehow this morning I had thought nothing of putting on a dress and more makeup than usual; apparently the same thing had happened to Janey.

We had to go somewhere private to speak. There were too many people milling around the main entrance, especially since the buses hadn't stopped unloading yet. We went inside to look for a place to talk. As Cindy saw us heading up the stairs to the library she cursed.

"Janey, Mouse? Why didn't anyone tell me it was senior pictures today?"

Once we found an empty table in the corner, I told Janey about what had happened to me at the hospital, how the arrow had been hollow and I had gotten the dark fluid on my hand and what had happened afterwards. I could see her start to fidget.

"Oh thank god!" she said. "So you're in this too."

"In what?"

"After I got shot, I mean... at the hospital. I guess it was the arrow that caused it. I saw those flowers, you know, with the little pink ones. I pulled them onto my bed and made a mess. They were so beautiful, it was like I was drunk. Then that glowing pink color, the card. And I just stared at it for, I don't know, hours."

"Who brought the flowers?" I asked excitedly.

"I don't know."

"Do you remember what happened last night, at the mall?"

"That shirt..." she said. "It's like that color - bright bright pink - just does something to my head. I couldn't think straight. I wasn't thinking." She paused. "And I... I liked it." Briefly I wondered if she had been aroused, too.

"You were in a trance," I said. "The same thing happened to me, but I think it's effecting you a lot stronger because that stuff in the arrow actually got into your blood. I just got it on my skin, and I washed it off right after."

"The doctor said my brain waves were strange. He wanted to keep me longer."

I thought about that for a moment. I was about to say something when she shook her head. "But none of this explains why you decided to wear a dress today."

I looked at her in amazement. "Don't you remember what was written on the shirt last night? 'Teen Princess.' It's gotten into our heads."

"Oh my god!" she gasped, then lowered her voice. "Keiko, I didn't read it, all I saw was pink. I didn't see any words at all! But..."

She seemed confused, and I looked at her closely. She was nibbling on her lower lip. I'd almost never seen her do that before.

"I can't explain it, and I know it doesn't make any sense, but I am a teen princess. I've never been so sure of anything in my life!"

"No you're not!" I said. "Your father is a network something or other." But I knew how she felt. Deep down, unless I thought about it clearly, it seemed like I was a "teen princess," too. And all I had was a stepfather. It was like we were hypnotized, or worse!

"Keiko," she finally said, "I am a teen princess. I know I am."

"No you're not!" I said. "What does that mean, anyway?"

"I don't know," she said, tears filling her eyes. "I know I am. I just am!" She got up from the table. "I'll talk to you later."

Here's a lesson for you: If you want to be the object of ridicule at school, wear a dress, hose, and extra makeup and jewelry for no reason. The only good thing to come of it all was that I caught Toby staring at me a few times - but then again everyone was staring at me, so why should he be the exception? I came so close to going home sick that it's not even funny.

It wasn't until after school and after walking home that I realized what we were experiencing was a full-fledged mystery. It appeared that my years of reading detective novels were going to come to fruition. I ran the case through my mind so far. Only by occupying my mind with the facts could I remove the dress and wash away the already-smudged makeup and eyeliner. My jeans felt uncomfortable, tight and rough, but I forced myself to keep them on.

According to Janey, she had messed up the flowers trying to "see" as much of their pink color as possible, so she hadn't seen them yet when I visited. It seemed that the person who had brought the flowers had left the index card with the strange message on it, too, but I couldn't rule out anything yet. I could recall the card's message exactly.

      I HAVE CAST A SPELL ON YOU.   YOU WILL DO ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING I COMMAND.     I WILL CONTROL YOU, IN MIND AND BODY.

Who would write such a thing? Who had shot Janey in the first place?

Rob. But it had clearly been an accident, hadn't it?

I was about to call him when the phone rang. It was Janey. At first I thought she was going to ask me to take her to the mall so she could get her car (which I had completely forgotten about until then). But she didn't.

"Keiko!" she said, "I got another one! Another note. It was inside my mailbox!"

I hung up and hurried over to her house. She only lives five minutes away. Since her parents work with computers they sometimes aren't home until five or six o'clock. Like me, she doesn't have any brothers or sisters. I found her in her bedroom, sitting on the floor with her back against the bed. She was still wearing her dress. Her curtains were closed, like they always were in the evening. There was a weird fat guy across the street who we thought liked to look into her window.

The card was obvious, in the middle of her bedspread. As soon as I looked at it I got that pink tunnel vision thing again, and all else faded from view. I tried to shrug off the fog but it was so hard to concentrate on anything. Pink was definitely now my favorite color, whether I wanted it to be or not.

"I can't look at it anymore," Janey said. "I already looked at it for like half an hour. I can't read it, I can't think when it's in front of me. When I see it, it's like my head goes empty. And I feel funny inside." She spoke quickly, as if she was excited.

"Keiko..." she said softly. "It... did something to me."

Ignoring her, I bumped into her bed and realized I was probably close enough to pick the card up. My sense of depth was all screwed up, but I managed to get a hold of it and look at it. There was text on it, just like the previous card. It seemed to be typewritten, like before. Concentrating, I slowly read it aloud.

          YOU ARE THE PERFECTSLAVE.   IT PLEASES YOU TO OBEY. YOU WILL READ ALL MY NOTES            AND NO ONE ELSES.

Slave?

"Yes, perfect slave," Janey said. "That's right. I mean, I wasn't before but now I am."

"Don't you see someone's playing with your mind?" I asked. "And it's one word, too. No space between 'perfect' and 'slave.' I don't know what that means."

She whimpered.

"Did it come in an envelope or something?" I asked.

"No, it just was inside my mailbox."

"Okay, we have to find out who put it there. Maybe Rob, because he shot you. Someone who knows you would get the mail before your parents. We need to investigate." I realized I was talking much slower than normal, and threw the card down. It fluttered out of sight between the bed and the wall, and my head began to clear.

"Oh, if only it was Rob," she said. "But he doesn't have to send me magic notes to get me to do what he wants. He only has to dump Cindy."

"The notes aren't magical," I said. "Remember it's whatever was inside that arrow. That's another thing to look into. We have to find out what that stuff was, and where it came from. Tomorrow I'll ask Mr. Lopez. Maybe he has some information about whatever play that bow and arrow set belonged to."

"I know the school library has books on magic..."

Standing above Janey, looking down at her cleavage pushing out of the front of her frilly white dress, I had a nagging thought in the back of my head, a certain knowledge that this most recent card had effected me, just like the stupid "Teen Princess" T-shirt at the mall had. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was. In the back of my mind, I felt different, but only if I thought about it. I felt like a "slave." In fact it was a certainty only awaiting confirmation. And if I had been effected, so surely had Janey - only even more so. I decided a simple experiment was in order.

I interrupted her talk about magic. "Go get me a Dr. Pepper," I ordered.

She jumped up, looked at me oddly for just a second, then ran downstairs. Her stocking-clad feet thump-thumped on the wooden stairs as she hurried to the kitchen. A few seconds later she started back up the steps, and I could tell she was taking two or three at a time, like we had when we were kids. She burst into the room with a can of soda.

"Here," she gasped, thrusting it into my hands. It was cold, from the refrigerator. It had taken her less than a minute to run to the kitchen and back. I shuddered at the implication.

It was clear that Janey, and perhaps I, had to obey commands given by others. Someone really was trying to enslave us!

"Oh wow!" Janey smiled. "That was so totally amazing! I had to do it. I mean, I had to for real. Good thing we have Dr. Pepper or I would have ran all the way to the convenience store."

"You always have Dr. Pepper," I said, trying to concentrate. I felt like it was the beginning of the end. If someone could make Janey, and perhaps me, do whatever he wanted... "Oh my god! We're screwed. We have to find out what's going on and stop it. Someone wants to make us- I mean... you, into his slave and... We should go to the police."

She was still grinning at me.

"Why are you smiling?" I finally blurted out. "This is serious shit, Janey!" I was getting upset, and my heart was really beating like crazy.

"Sorry, I know it is, but it just makes me so happy that I brought you the soda." Her face brightened even more. "Tell me to do something else! Anything! Anything not dangerous, I mean."

I stood stiffly in the center of her bedroom. As soon as she had asked me to command her again, I felt an overwhelming need to do just that. I need to give her another order, I thought. I must. But I held back. The words on this new card had imbedded themselves in my mind, too - only not quite as deeply as they had with Janey. I fought to keep silent, but it seemed an eventuality that I had to speak sooner or later, and that when I did I would give her an order. She looked at me.

"Are you okay?"

It took all my will to remain silent. I even squinted, as if that would help my determination somehow. Does it really matter, I thought? Is it worth fighting to hold back against something so trivial? It's not like she told me to jump off a cliff, I reasoned. I decided to just speak and get it over with.

"Stand on your head!" I said sharply.

She hurried into the corner next to her dresser and, planting her arms and elbows against the carpet, swung herself onto her head. With a soft rustle her dress fell down around her waist. I laughed in spite of myself to see her underwear exposed... and well, because without warning a warm, happy feeling washed over me. I knew instinctively that it was because I had done what she had asked me to. It was kind of like a reward for obeying her.

Part of me was appalled that I liked following her simple order, but how can you stop being happy? You can't, of course. I forced myself to frown but I still felt good inside.

"You can get down now," I told Janey. She rolled onto the carpet and I shushed her before she could speak. It was obvious she wanted me to give her another order, and I had to keep my mind on the mystery. Otherwise we would be in real trouble. "Tomorrow, go to the hospital, with me, and we'll try to find out who left those flowers in your room while I was getting your books. They should have a list of names and maybe someone can give us a description. I had to write my name when I first arrived, so whoever left those flowers did, too."

"Okay!" she said.

I wore a dress Wednesday, too. I was tired in the morning and I figured I had already embarrassed myself enough on Tuesday, I might as well try and dress nicely. Mom kind of teased me, but it didn't start to seem like a bad idea until I was halfway to school. By then it was too late to turn back. Still, I reasoned, I had a serious investigation to carry out, and I couldn't be distracted by rough clothes like jeans or even slacks like the brands that the girls with poor families wear. Luckily I had forced myself to only use a minimal amount of makeup, but I did borrow one of my mom's expensive necklaces.

During my second period study hall, I got a hall pass and walked to the biology lab. Mr. Lopez is the freshman biology teacher, but he also runs the drama club. It was actually the first time for me to see him in the biology room in years, and he looked older than when I had had him for Biology I. He was reading the newspaper like always.

"What can I do for you, Mouse?" he asked. He glanced at my dress. For some stupid reason I felt like curtsying, even though I had never done so in my life.

"I want to ask you some questions about that bow and arrow set from the prop room."

He sighed. "Oh boy. I wish you kids understood how much flack a teacher takes over things like that. I know you didn't have anything to do with it, but the superintendent really busted my ass on that one. That's the last time I skip out and let some senile geezer play babysitter. Did you know we came this close to not having a play this year?" He pinched his thumb and forefinger together.

"Sorry," I said. "It was an accident." Probably, I thought.

"Well, it was just the 'accident' that the school board needed to finally 'convince' me that we should be doing musicals to take advantage of the choir. I guess some parents in the PTA think their kids don't have a chance to stand out as individuals unless they're singing solos. I hope you like The Peanuts because this year we're going to be doing You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown."

I groaned. I had been hoping that we would do a better play than that! It was my senior year, for goodness sake! You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown just sounded so... childish. I guess I'd have to read it first, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed. When someone mentions musicals, I think of West Side Story or Grease. Not Snoopy.

Mr. Lopez clearly felt the same way. "No kidding," he said.

"Well, maybe it will work out okay," I said finally. "Anyway, I was just curious. What play was that bow and arrow set from?"

He looked at me suspiciously. "Why do you ask? That thing should have been thrown out years ago. It's actually Daniels' fault. He was drama club coach before I came to Washington High. The play is called Season of Cupid and it's one of those old- Are you okay?"

I guess my sudden intake of breath startled him. Of course, I realized. It's so obvious. The color pink, the arrows. Cupid!




Neon Pink



"Can I see a copy of it?" I asked, perhaps a little too excitedly. I always get giddy and worked up over things at the most inopportune times, like making progress on my first real life mystery.

"I suppose. Come with me." He stood and folded his newspaper over the long-necked faucet of the lab sink. "But there's no way we can do the play. It's one of those Old English comedies from the classical period that only parents of club members will pay to see."

Now I need to explain something that might not be obvious. Do you realize how many commands people actually give you during the course of your daily life? Most of them are rhetorical, but they're commands nonetheless. The message on the second pink index card Janey had received was making me hyper-aware of these rhetorical instructions. Have a nice day, be careful, don't forget next weekend's assignment, etc. As soon as Mr. Lopez asked me to go with him, I was aware that it was a command and I desperately wanted to follow it.

And as before, a small part of me held off, afraid of giving in so easily. But I need to follow him to investigate this play, I tried to rationalize. But there was no time to think about it, because soon he was out of sight in the corridor and I hurried to catch up. Even as the pleasant feeling of compliance rose over me, I wondered if my rational for obeying commands was gaining strength.

We walked to the drama club office and he unlocked one of the filing cabinets. After a few minutes of shuffling through old folders, he pulled out a script that had been mimeographed using one of those old style photocopiers with the purple ink.

"Here it is," he said. He glanced at some notes on the side. "Props received from Pratt's Antiques and Collectibles. Two woodsman's outfits. One prince's outfit. Three damsels' gowns. One authentic set of Cupid's bow with quiver. One beggar's cloak. Six militia outfits. Performed two nights, civic auditorium, May 1965. Disaster."

"Who wrote it?" I asked. I couldn't see a byline on the yellowing paper.

"I don't know," he sighed. He seemed to be really suspicious of me for some reason. "We don't have the cover. But I guarantee it's out of copyright."

"Do you think I can borrow it?"

"Mouse, I'm not sure..."

I'm a fast reader, but reading some modernized form of Middle English or whatever the play was really taxed me. Back in study hall, I settled down to search for clues, eventually skimming through the play. It was one of those "comedies" in which a bunch of different lovers get lost in the woods and Cupid plays tricks on them. The plot mostly seemed to follow a Prince who couldn't get away from love-mad women. It was obviously written by a man.

When I hear plays like Season of Cupid are comedies (even though I know our definitions have changed), I always think of those librarians who put horror novels in with the mysteries. So you can't find a good mystery without tripping over all the gruesome books about monsters and haunted houses. No doubt the horror fans get upset, too. If I ever become a librarian (my dream part-time job) I will properly separate the genres.

I skimmed the play for about ten minutes before I found something that couldn't possibly be a coincidence:

  Prince:  Justinia, unto night I shall hie flighte!         Rather beneath non sweet trees she sighte.         This game hath done, I hope not cometh more         Fair Caroline, wist to play at paramour.                        [He hides.]                        [The tree shakes.]    Justinia: What, who arte thou sette hem high aloft so?         Do I espie yon frott'd visage of Cupido?

  Cupid:   She spied my hide place anon, parfay,         Let twice fortune play at mischief t'day!         Handly upon loves string I shall pluck;         Unto Justinias breast a shaft be struck.                        [Justinia is hit.] 

  Justinia: Help! I am pierc'd by lovelonging stronge,         Certes I be blind in fever woe begone.         Alas! Eros madness at my blood grippes.         Though dark, fast I gaze on mouth and lippes!

  Prince:  Spie she my face in pytche of night betoken?         I hope leaste way Justinia hath mispoken!

It wasn't exactly clear, but after getting shot by Cupid, Justinia seemed to be able to see the Prince's lips - even though he was hiding in the dark under a tree! Was I crazy, or hadn't a similar thing happened to me?

As I looked around the study hall, I noticed all the students reading, sleeping, and trying to finish homework due later today. How come the pink of their lips no longer stood out like beacons to me? Or how come Janice Anderson's sweater wasn't fogging my brain? A theory began to form in my mind. At the hospital, first I had been attracted to the pink in the flowers. But as soon as I saw Janey's lips and her bubblegum lipstick, I forgot all about the flowers. And as soon as I saw that neon pink index card, I forgot all about Janey's lips. Every time I saw a brighter shade of pink, the others became normal again. But how much brighter, pinker, could one go up the spectrum from neon pink?

What if the legend of Cupid was true?

I wondered about the history of dyes. I'm sure the Greeks and Romans had dyes, but probably not pink. Probably just red or purple or whatever they could make with berries. If someone was shot by one of Cupid's arrows back then, the brightest pink they'd ever see is someone else's lips, or flowers. Or nipples, or... well I don't want to be crude. And whatever the case, even if they could read they wouldn't see any messages written in pink like Janey and I had.

It was pretty clear that neon pink caused us to go into a trance-like state. What if the messages written on the cards were slipping deep into our minds, programming us at the lowest level, when the pink punched through our brains' defenses? In a way, we were falling in love with ideas.

And the idea was that we become someone's slaves!

Part 2: A Sleuth and a Slave ############################

I talked to Rob just before lunch, in our advanced math class. I wanted to get all the details straight in my mind. The key to the case seemed to be the flowers in the hospital. Whoever left them had to have done so when I went out to my car to get Janey's books. Since Rob shot Janey in the first place, he was my number one suspect. As I went back over the events that morning, it seemed clearer and clearer that I had arrived at Janey's hospital room a lot earlier than everyone else. What took them so long?

"It took me longer to get to the hospital because I had to pick up Cindy," Rob said, when I tried to ask him nonchalantly. "She was getting her transcript from City Hall. I picked her up. So I didn't bring any flowers, though I guess I should have, huh? Is she really okay with me?"

"Yeah, she's fine," I said. "But some weird things are happening and I can't tell you all the details."

"Like you guys trying to get voted best-dressed?" he laughed. When I frowned at him he became serious. "Yeah okay, I know what you mean about weird."

"You do?" I asked. "Like what?"

"Nothing. Hey, did you hear Mr. Lopez decided we're going to do a musical this year? We'll be singing and dancing. You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown."

He was obviously trying to change the subject. I wasn't sure, but he seemed nervous or agitated about something. As I stared at his handsome face, I suddenly found myself wondering if his father was as rich as everyone says he is. I mean, selling electronics doesn't make someone super rich, but they did have a nice house and Rob's car was new and had cool leather seats. I realized I was getting sidetracked and tried to concentrate.

"Rob, please be honest with me." My voice took on a tone that I don't normally use, and for some reason it made my eyes feel prickly, as if I might start crying. But I held it back. "Why did you shoot Janey? It's important that you tell me."

The bell was about to ring, and we both knew it. I probably should have picked a better time to be so direct. He turned away. "I told you, it was an accident! I never meant to hit her!" Brett Walters looked up from the math problem he was trying to concentrate on and glanced at us for a second.

I wondered about what Rob said... Two years ago, three years ago, I would have believed him. But now we were all so grown up, and he hung out with people I didn't even know. What was he hiding?

Jane Ann and Patrick verified that Rob had picked Cindy up at City Hall. They rode to the hospital in his car, and I couldn't imagine that both of them would lie to me. Some people seem so preoccupied with other things (volleyball tournaments, for example) that it's hard to suspect them of anything. Still, I couldn't let anyone out of my sight.

That included Toby. I had to keep my feelings for him in check. Everyone was guilty until I could prove their alibis. Though really, I couldn't imagine my crush as some sort of enslaving pervert! Staring at Janey's butt is one thing, brainwashing her is quite another! Of course I knew that it could be several people working together, too. That's how a lot of detective novels fool the reader. One person commits half the murders then another does the other half. So the clues get all jumbled up in the reader's head. I've never successfully guessed the murderer in an Agatha Christie novel!

Anyway, after lunch the opportunity to interview Toby arose, and I struck. His friends were doing something in the hallway with a skateboard someone brought to school, so I quickly ran over to his table and sat down next to him. He was pretty surprised to see me, but he tried to play it cool.

"What's up, Mouse?"

Something strange happened next that might be hard for me to explain clearly. It took me a few seconds to get everything straight in my head. I felt like my life was out of sync or something, because sitting next to him, I suddenly felt no signs of the crush I had carried with me for the past two years! What's going on? I thought. This is weird. Looking at Toby, and his greasy leather jacket and the chain hanging out of his pocket, he seemed so... lower class.

With a mental start that I tried to hide, I realized it was that stupid "Teen Princess" thing effecting me again. I am not a princess, I told myself. I'm not I'm not I'm not! Still I had these dumb little fantasies in my head. Like, what if my real dad was secretly royalty, and had to go into hiding or something? It seemed sort of plausible in a stupid way. Anyway, no matter how I tried to consider it, Toby now seemed so unattractively poor. I felt ashamed that my emotions were so easily manipulated, but how could I help feeling the way I felt? It's like how I used to love My Little Pony but now I think it's ridiculous. I can't help feeling this way.

Is it so easy to change who a person is?

I wanted to get the interview over as soon as possible. "What did you do after Rob shot Janey?" I stammered.

"Huh?" he grunted. The question definitely took him by surprise.

"On Sunday. When everyone went to the hospital, where were you?"

"What are you, playing cop?" he laughed.

"No, it's just that I'm trying to figure where everyone was, and when. I drove Janey's books to the hospital. Rob picked Cindy up at City Hall. Patrick and Jane Ann were with them, and Eddie and those freshman girls were supposedly in his car following them. You didn't, for example, go buy a bunch of flowers?"

"Yeah, right. It's none of your business what I do with my time. So Janey got a bunch of flowers from a secret admirer. What's the big deal?"

I pounced. "How did you know about that?"

"I didn't. I saw them in her room because as a matter of fact I happened to stop by, and besides, you just mentioned them. I think your Miss Marple novels are going to your head. Tell me, what do you really want to know?"

I actually tried to cover my mouth with my hands to stop the words from coming out. But he had phrased it as a command and after a day of "keep your eyes on your own paper, read silently until the bell, pass your papers to the front, etc." I just didn't have the energy to fight it, and I blurted out immediately:

"Who's sending Janey neon pink notes."

He smiled. I couldn't study his reactions in detail because I felt such a sense of relief at getting the secret off my chest that I sighed and for a moment was able to relax. I hadn't realized how burdensome it had been, but now I definitely felt much better. The problem was, did Toby know I had to struggle not to obey commands? In fact, as far as the mystery pervert was concerned, did he (or she) know I was even effected at all? Janey was the intended target - I had only become involved due to a stupid accident.

I realized Toby was talking. I had to get away from him before he ordered me to do something else, whether intentionally or not. If he was guilty then I didn't want him to know I was under Cupid's power, too. If he was innocent, well, I still didn't want someone like him ordering me around!

"Love letters, that's funny. Maybe you should do a handwriting analysis, or dust the paper for fingerprints? Or maybe do a chemical check for perfume, especially if they're pink. Maybe Janey's involved in a lesbian love triangle?"

Men. They must think about lesbians every waking moment. That, or breasts, anyway. I stood and started walking away to finish my lunch and collect my thoughts.

"By the way," he said. "I wouldn't trust that cheerleader friend of yours or her boyfriend. Is City Hall really open on Sundays?"

After the last bell I changed into my gym clothes, just to prove to myself I was still in control of my life. It wasn't easy and to be honest I couldn't see how I'd ever put up with this stuff. I shoved my dress into my locker then looked everywhere for Janey. I finally found her (I saw her dress out of the corner of my eye) staring into the school parking lot from the window in Coach Nelson's tiny office. Coach Nelson wasn't in. When I walked between her and the window she smiled, but continued staring at the cars outside.

"Hi Keiko!"

"What are you doing?"

"Looking out," she said matter-of-factly.

"For what?"

"Oh, nothing really."

"Well come on, let's go."

"Yes sir!" she chirped, winking at me. She seemed to really be getting into this "perfect slave" mindset. It scared me. At least she wasn't responding with "yes, master" and walking along stiffly with her arms outstretched like a zombie. Things were already out of hand as it was. I needed to step up the investigation. I knew she couldn't help herself, but still I was a little disgusted with her.

"Have you been doing everything anyone asks you to all day?"

"Of course!" she said. "It's so nice, and it makes me feel so good."

I knew what she meant more than I wanted her to realize. "Can't you see that's wrong? Doesn't it piss you off?"

She shrugged. "I know it should, but no. I like it! Like duh, I'm a slave, Keiko."

"We are in deep shit," I whispered to myself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

I decided we should go to the hospital first, then afterwards stop by the mall so Janey could finally get her car. As I drove I thought about what Toby had said to me. Did Rob really pick Cindy up at City Hall on Sunday? Patrick and his girlfriend confirmed that, but thinking about it I felt sure that Toby was right, that public buildings were closed on the weekends. I was almost sure they were. However the library was open on Sunday, definitely. Still... the more I thought about it, the more I was sure that someone was lying.

I guess I need to explain that the school had determined years ago that all class transcripts had to be officially stamped from the city. The story I always heard was that some seniors got a bunch of school stationery from the office and sent their own transcripts with straight A grades to some colleges a while back, so Washington High was being more careful these days. I remembered that I myself was scheduled to pick up my transcript this week. As if I don't have enough to worry about, I have to market myself to the colleges I've chosen, too!

At the hospital, we found the same battle axe nurse who stopped me in the hall on Sunday. It took her a moment to recognize Janey, but when she did her sour face became sunny and kind.

"Well, don't you look different! All beautiful, like a bridesmaid or an angel!"

She treated Janey with such compassion and kindness, asking how she felt, patting her on the head, etc., that I changed my opinion about her. She was a good nurse once a person made it past her gruff exterior. Finally we got around to business, and she located the visitors' log and I greedily scanned the names, Janey peering over my shoulder.

"Can we have a copy of this?" she asked. "It's really important."

As I remembered, my name was first on the list. But on the line just below mine was a sloppy signature that I could barely make out. It appeared to read "Johnny Johnson." I sighed. An obviously fake name. Wonderful. Whoever this was, they had brought the flowers, at least. After Johnny Johnson came Rob and Cindy and a bunch of other drama club members. Toby's name was near the end of the log, so he had stopped by after all. Then Janey's parents and some other names that were probably relatives. And Mr. Lopez. About fourteen people. Just to make sure we'd have to go over the list carefully.

"Can you tell us anything about this person?" I asked, pointing to Johnny Johnson. "Do you remember I went out to my car to get Janey's books? That's when he - or I guess it could be a she - must have come. It is important."

The nurse frowned. "Some fella I think, but I can't remember much more. Brought some flowers."

"Yes!" I exclaimed excitedly. "Did he have black hair, brown? Was he short or tall? Was he a really old man? Did he have a leather jacket?"

"Sorry," the nurse said. "I can't remember what he looked like. He had so many flowers I could barely see him. There are a lot of patients in this ward and I can't keep track of all the visitors."

Well, I supposed we were making a little progress, at least.

After picking up Janey's car at the mall (and resisting the urge to check up on some sales recently advertised on TV) we returned to the suburbs, Janey in the lead. When she began speeding faster and cutting her stops short, I realized why she was in such a hurry. She wanted to see if there was another note in her mailbox! I don't usually speed, but in this case I decided it was necessary.

Her mailbox had completely slipped my mind! We probably should have been staking it out instead of searching for clues at the hospital. Would there be another note, and if so what would it say? Don't be so curious, I told myself. Suddenly I realized a clever way to beat this "Johnson" character at his own game. Janey had to do whatever anyone said, right? So I could just order her not to read the next note. Easy as apple pie. This pervert had definitely chosen the wrong girls to screw with!

I pulled into Janey's driveway a second after she did, as she was running across the yard to the mailbox. Quickly I rolled down my window and yelled at her.

"Don't read it!" I shouted. "Don't read any pink notes!"

But when I stepped out of my car she was already opening her mailbox and reaching inside. What's the matter with her? I thought. Why isn't she stopping? "Stop!" I yelled. "That's an order!" But it was too late. Though it was just after five o'clock and there was plenty of daylight left, as her hand emerged with the bundle of mail - including another neon pink index card - it was like a flare in the night. We both were blinded.

She dropped all but the card and stood, slightly hunched over, slack-jawed, staring at the card. Before I could help myself I was standing next to her, breathing heavily with excitement. Though I was transfixed, my mind seemed a great deal less muddled than the last few times, and my palm didn't tingle at all this time. The effects of Cupid's poison were weakening. I felt a hopeful feeling. Still, I was unable to tear my eyes away from the crisp, pure pink.




Neon Pink



At first I was confused, but then I realized why I couldn't read the words on the card: Janey was holding it upside down. I don't think she noticed, and I didn't feel like telling her. At least, not while I was focusing on the beautiful pink... After a few minutes, I was able to read what it said. Like before, I experienced a mild deja vu.

   YOU'LL TELL NO ONE ABOUT MY NOTES.   YOUR BODY, YOUR WHOLE PURPOSE, IS TO PLEASURE MEN.

I peeked through the curtains down into Janey's yard. A newspaper, part of a philosophy-by-mail course, and a magazine about Chris Callaway threatened to blow pass the hedge and into her driveway. The sun was setting.

"You left the mail out in the grass."

"I'll get it tomorrow," Janey said. "Or Mom will get it." We were in her bedroom. She was holding a plate of warmed-up leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes in her lap, but had only eaten half. I had put mine on her bed because my stomach felt queasy. The mashed potatoes were from a mix and the texture was different from what my mom made. It was flakey and sort of pasty like soggy Grape Nuts. I closed the curtains and sat back down, with my back against her bed.

"It just makes good sense," she said, chewing a bite of meatloaf. I looked at her.

"Pleasuring men, I mean," she said, swallowing. She put her plate down on the carpet and stood up. She twirled and I saw a spot of gravy had gotten on her lace. She stared at her white arms, then looked down at her body. Maybe it was just the angle at which I was sitting, but her eyes seemed really bright.

"I mean, Keiko, we've got boobs. We're smooth and beautiful. We're women, we've got... you know. We can do things. Lots of things. Have you ever thought of all the things we can do, Keiko? We can do so many things. For men. We can do things even when we're not doing things."

She walked to her window and pulled the curtains apart, then leaned almost obscenely against the glass. Her right hand clasped her butt and I saw her breasts were partly flattened against the window. The dark window was like a portal threatening to swallow her up. I knew the things she was saying were crazy, but that didn't stop some weaker part of my mind from agreeing.

"I need to go now," I mumbled. I started to get up.

"Not yet! I have an idea." She turned to me and smiled. There was something in her face that I didn't like. Something in the way she was looking at me. "Bring me that Dr. Pepper!" she suddenly ordered.

I turned to look at the can on her dresser, the one I had commanded her to get from the kitchen yesterday. I wanted to bring it to her. She had ordered me and my fingers itched to retrieve it. I could have it in my right hand by taking one step to the dresser, and then pass it to my left hand while taking two steps to the window and Janey would have it. I closed my eyes, trying to think of anything but the dark red can.

"Keiko," Janey said sweetly, and a bit sarcastically, "Would you please be so kind as to fetch me that Dr. Pepper from the top of my dresser?"

I couldn't resist. It's just a stupid can of soda, I thought. Screw it. I had it in my hand and was one step toward the window before I even opened my eyes. I gave it to Janey. She laughed as she opened it, and I felt a twinge of satisfaction. She looked outside.

"I wonder if he's in there," Janey said. She handed me the can.

"Who?"

"My neighbor," she said. "You remember, Mr. Beergut." I looked at her neighbor's house and felt a bit of a prickle on the back of my neck as I realized he might be able to see us. The lights in the room across from Janey's bedroom were off, but the first floor ones were on.

"Drink the Dr. Pepper," Janey suddenly said. I turned the can around and raised it to my lips, intending to take only a sip.

"Drink it, drink it all now," Janey whispered loudly. Instinctively I poured it into my mouth. What am I doing? I thought. It was warm, room-temperature and too sweet and burned my throat as I gulped it down. I choked as I swallowed some air but still kept chugging it. It was fizzing in my mouth and I felt it dribbing down my chin. "Faster!" I grasped the can in both hands and raised the bottom, crushing my nose, my heart pounding, as I tried to open my throat and pour it directly into my stomach. A thin stream of the cola was warm on my neck as it ran down into the collar of my gym shirt.

At last the can emptied and I tried to swallow properly, but my mouth was still too full and more Dr. Pepper cascaded down my chin. I gasped for air as I dropped the can onto the carpet, wheezing like some old woman. My shirt was soaked. Janey was grinning and all I could feel was disappointment at failing to drink it all.

"What's wrong with you?" I gurgled, nearly gagging. My tongue and especially my throat felt like they had been burned by acid. My neck was all sticky and my shirt was glued to my boobs.

"Keiko, you really are beautiful."

"What?" I almost shouted. But there was something about her eyes...

My heart felt like it was on some kind of twisted ferris wheel, going up and down at the same time. I was standing too close to Janey but there was nothing I could do except lick the Dr. Pepper from my chin and drip onto the carpet and shiver as her glance washed over me.

She nodded at the window. "Just think about how happy he'll be to see two beautiful women, actresses, performing just for him..." She reached out a single finger and lightly poked my right boob, in the tiny wrinkle just above where the wet fabric of my shirt met my bra cup. I took a sharp breath and felt the damp shirt constrict my lungs. I realized what she meant, and shuddered, disgusted.

But also intrigued. I forced myself to shudder again, but it was just token resistance. Janey cupped my right breast fully in her palm and the wetness in my shirt made her hand feel warmer than it probably was. My stupid nipples started getting hard, especially the right one, and I realized that I could not get the thought of Janey's peeping tom neighbor out of my head. Janey and I were probably perfectly framed in her window. Unconciously I turned a few degrees, so my chest would be more visible to the neighboring house. Fight it, I thought. You're stronger than some ancient St. Valentine's Day magic. But part of me wasn't sure if I was, and my nipples were awfully hard. Janey squeezed my breast and I made some kind of strange sound in my throat.

"I love the little hairs on your forehead," she whispered.

She licked her lips and leaned against me. I felt her lips brush against my forehead, just below my bangs. It felt really good for some reason. I guess I should explain that I have kind of a light down or something on my forehead, like soft peach fuzz - but the hairs are really tiny and thin and not at all disgusting. They're invisible unless a bright light hits my head from the side. Anyway, I'm short and the top of my head comes up to Janey's nose, so it was really easy for her to kiss my forehead. It was about a minute before she stopped and looked at me.

She peeled the neck of my shirt away from my shoulders and the tops of my boobs. My right one felt suddenly cool as she removed her hand and slowly drew my shirt out from my shorts. All this time I had been looking sideways into the darkness between her house and the neighbor's, but I turned and looked into her eyes. They were wide, focused and determined. And bright. The air rising from the space between my chest and gym shirt was warm, damp, and smelled of Dr. Pepper. There were light brown droplets in my cleavage.

"This isn't you," I said. "Janey, think about what you're doing."

She smiled. "Okay."

She grasped my shirt firmly. I raised my arms complacently, blinking as she lifted it over my head. Was her neighbor watching us? Was he getting hard? Was this his fantasy? Two high school girls fondling each other at their bedroom window? As disgusting as it was, it was also... exciting. Before I could stop myself, with both hands I pressed my palms up against Janey's chest. Awkwardly I felt her, my thumbs slipping into her cleavage.

I had never felt another girl's boobs before. As if! And yes it did disgust me, but it was also interesting to feel boobs on someone else as kind of a comparison. Her chest felt more "fatty" than mine, probably because her breasts were a bit bigger. Janey's arms crisscrossed mine and we both held each other's chests. I felt myself warming below, growing flush and wet. I sighed in someone else's voice that was perfectly, clearly, recognizable as mine. I couldn't fight it anymore.

"Janey..." I said. It was just a word.

She kissed me. It was soft and quick. I hadn't had a boyfriend for more than two years and I had forgotten how it felt. Her hands were sliding away from my bra, which I felt like I could wriggle out of. What would it be like to see two young actresses, bare-chested, embracing at their window in a moment of soft passion? I closed my eyes and opened my mouth and she kissed me deeply. I had Dr. Pepper breath and she had meatloaf breath and I was excited and aroused and tingly, her dress had fallen away from her pale shoulders like some kind of flower petals in the moonlight, and we caressed each other because it felt good and right and most of all because we were giving a peeping tom, a man, the most exciting night of his life.

I woke up not trusting my own feelings. It was two hours before my alarm was set to ring. I sat up in my bed and became dizzy and then nauseated as I thought about the things Janey and I had done in her bedroom. I had enjoyed doing... lesbian things. Girl girl stuff. Blech! I looked at my hands, hands that had explored my best friend's body. They looked the same. I felt my lips. They were the same, too. But I was different. All because Janey had wanted to indirectly "pleasure" her stupid fat neighbor. It was even more ridiculous the more I thought of it. We didn't even have proof that he had... "came."

It was Thursday. Things were going too far. I needed to talk to my mom and stepfather about these things, but I knew there was no way I could mention the notes. I felt restless in bed, confused about my life and one step away from the funny farm.

I decided to make my parents breakfast in bed.

I put on one of the robes I rarely wore and padded down to the kitchen. I'm not a grand master chef, but I can handle making breakfasts. While I worked on the eggs and bacon, I felt my sluggish mind slip into gear. In mystery stories the culprit is always the last person you suspect. "Johnson" was probably Toby or Rob, but I couldn't leave out anyone. I knew for sure I was innocent, and Janey hadn't delivered the flowers to herself. There were any number of suspects, including a few that I was just starting to consider. But somehow I suspected "Johnson" was connected to the Washington High drama club.

For example, Mr. Lopez. He told us on Friday that the reason he was missing Sunday's drama club meeting was so he could pick up a special order of champagne for himself and his wife. It was supposedly their anniversary. I wondered if there was some way I could prove it. When you work with a director on a tight schedule in charge of dozens of inexperienced actors and actresses you really get to know his mannerisms and what his face can and can't do. The way he had looked at me out of the corner of his eye when I asked him about Season of Cupid wasn't quite right. And there was something else. That old guy who was hanging around the gym, supposedly supervising us. He hadn't done a thing to stop Rob from shooting the first arrow into the ceiling or the second at Janey. Who was he? I had never seen him before. In fact, as I thought more about Sunday morning, he might have been the one to leave the prop storage closet unlocked, too. I added him to my mental list.

Of course I had to be missing something. Something was nagging me in the back of my mind about the notes themselves, but I couldn't get a grasp on it. However, in a bit of ingenuity I had stolen the most recent note from Janey before leaving her house, after our... encounter. So I could inspect it in depth. The notes were the biggest clues we had, and I hadn't really focused on them yet! (Well, maybe because I couldn't focus on them properly, I was so "in love" with their pink color.)

I finished brewing the coffee and the trays were ready. It was just before six o'clock, which was when I figured my mom and stepfather usually woke up. I balanced a tray in each arm and carefully manuevered myself upstairs. I sat my mother's cereal down on the carpet and knocked on the door. There were a few mumbles from inside.

"Breakfast in bed!" I said. I opened the door and they were rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. My mother looked at the clock on their nightstand then gave me a sleepy smile.

"None-chan, what's this all about?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd make you guys breakfast."

My stepfather's hairy chest was half-hidden by the sheets. His arm was around my mother and I thought about how lucky she was to have him. "This is for you..." He sat up as I placed the heavy tray over his lap. I almost forgot about my mother's food as I allowed my hand to rest on his arm. His forearms were really big! I shook my head as I remembered he was my stepfather. What was I doing? I hurried outside to get my mom's tray.

"Hey this is great!" my stepfather said. "You even put sugar on the toast like in fancy restaurants."

I smiled as I reentered their bedroom. I placed my mother's tray over her lap. She was frowning. I didn't realize why until I saw the trays next to each other. What had I been thinking about? My stepfather's plates were overflowing with eggs and bacon and toast. All I had made my mother was a bowl of cereal, which was probably soggy... At least I had made her coffee, too.

"I don't think this is very funny," she said.

I ran out of their room, crying.

I had only my yellow dress left and it was my least favorite. I had to get the others cleaned as soon as possible. Or better yet, go shopping. Until then I decided to wear one of my nicer, longer skirts and my really expensive black blouse with the off-center collar.

I couldn't concentrate on getting ready for school. All I could think about was the latest note, and how it was effecting me.

   YOU'LL TELL NO ONE ABOUT MY NOTES.   YOUR BODY, YOUR WHOLE PURPOSE, IS TO PLEASURE MEN.

My concious mind knew it was bullshit, but unconciously, like if I sort of let my mind drift, "pleasuring men" didn't seem wrong. I guess if you think about it, it's not really sexist bullshit out of some men's magazine. Men are built to pleasure women, too. We are opposites, after all. There are two sides to the coin - at least that's what I rationalized; but I hadn't really thought that way before.

I had to stop myself from being brainwashed like this. How long was this going to last? Shouldn't the effects of that gunk have worn off by now? Putting on dresses and makeup all the time was one thing, but being compelled to follow orders, and now stuff involving sex, was much more serious. I didn't want to turn into some bimbo airhead!

I guess I should mention that I'm not the most sexually experienced girl. Even though I am a senior, I'm still a virgin technically. It's not that I'm a prude, but I just never wanted to have sex badly enough with the few guys I dated. They were cute, mostly, but it just seemed to me that sex was something I could look forward to when I was more mature. I thought Janey was the same way, but we never really talked about this stuff in depth, probably because it's embarassing. Last night, what we had done with our hands and mouths... I supposed it counted as sex but I wasn't really sure.

Of course like all girls there have been times (okay, many times) when I wished my fantasy lover would appear and take me in his arms... Maybe I'm naive to have always thought of sex the way it was explained in health class, as an act of passion and sharing between a man and a woman. Now this stupid latest note was making me think of sex as just something I could do for a guy, to make him happy.

Something bothered me. I had explicitly ordered Janey not to read yesterday's note! But she had anyway. I couldn't forget that. I thought I had found a loophole, because she was a "perfect slave." Why hadn't she obeyed me? Now I thought I understood. One of the notes had stated that she would read all of the following ones. Maybe commands weren't strong enough to contradict what was written on the notes.

"None-chan! Can I come in?"

It was my mother. If only I could tell her what was really going on, but I didn't dare. How would she react if she knew I was having... erotic thoughts about my stepfather!?

There was still an hour before I had to leave for school. I opened the door, and I think Mom had one of those "mother" moments and knew the best thing to do was give me a hug. We sat on my bed and I tried to explain what was happening in vague terms, how I wasn't sure who I was anymore, how Janey and I were going to be separating for college, and a million other things on my mind. Of course I couldn't tell her directly about the notes. She combed my hair with her hands.

"It's going to be okay," she said. "Believe me, everyone in your class is going through the same things. It's a stressful time, but I've watched you grow into a really strong and capable young woman. I mean it. Your grades are fine, you've got great friends."

"I've got one best friend. The others I'm not so sure about. I don't even know Rob anymore."

She laughed. "Oh, Rob will be Rob. I think you know you've got plenty of friends. Yesterday before you came home I saw your cheerleader friend outside. I told her you were probably at Janey's."

"Cindy?" I asked. That was puzzling. Maybe she was looking for Rob? I wondered if she knew that he hung out here sometimes after school. I hoped she hadn't seen Janey and I through the window last night! If she had, the whole school would know and I would have to find the nearest cliff and throw myself off of it!

"Everyone worries about graduation," Mom continued. "But you'll never lose contact with good friends. I still meet my high school friends every now and then. You'll still keep in touch with Janey, even if you're a thousand miles apart."

"But we're turning into different people," I mumbled. My eyes were watering. Why do I always start crying all the time?

"You've still got the play to do. That will be fun."

"Yeah, but we're doing You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. It's a musical and I suck at singing. It's just that, I feel like I don't have any control over my life."

"None-chan, you worry too much. Worrying never helped anybody. Things are going to work out fine. You'll see. I'm proud of you. Now you'd better start getting ready. You've got to go to City Hall today to get the stamped paper with your grades. I'll write you a note." She patted me on the head, and walked to the door. "Don't worry," she said.

I decided not to, and felt a little better already.

There are a lot of boys at George Washington High School.

I noticed them getting off buses and pulling up in their cars and walking by the school sign and waiting in the hallways for the first bell to ring and... I remember reading in our science textbook that the population of Earth is about 52% female, 48% male. So us females outnumber the males. But that's still a lot of men! I had never really thought about it before, maybe because I always found English more interesting than science.

Right away I found myself in trouble. I opened the door for some cute, shorter freshman guys like it was the most natural thing in the world. But I'm a senior! I dropped the door handle like it was the wrong end of a hot skillet when I realized what I was doing. Even though my mom had told me not to, I started worrying. Then of course that upset me because I really didn't want to let her down.




Neon Pink



Get a grip, Keiko, I thought. You are not a slave and your purpose on this planet is not pleasuring men!

I tried to fight it, honestly I did. But my mind was swarmed by sexual thoughts about practically every guy I saw. I saw a bulge in Tommy Jackson's bluejeans and I thought about ways I could get my hands on it... I swerved at the last minute when I realized I was walking too close to some chubby kid whose name I forget, maybe with the unconscious intention of brushing my breasts against his arm... I put my pen back in my pen case when I saw a doodle on my English notebook looked like a penis...

Homeroom wasn't even halfway finished, and I was thinking, maybe even acting, like... a slut! How could I concentrate on solving this mystery and breaking Cupid's curse or whatever it was when all I could think about was putting some football player's dick in my mouth?

I had to be smarter than the notes. The answer must be moderation, I thought. Wearing dresses, for example, had allowed me to concentrate yesterday and the day before without being bothered too much that I was supposed to be a teen princess, of all stupid things. The most recent note had reprogrammed part of my unconciousness to want to "pleasure men" - granted - but that didn't necessarily have to equal sexual pleasure. That was the loophole I had to concentrate on. If I just went out of my way to help a few men here and there, like opening doors... maybe I could get through the day without grabbing some guy's hands and shoving them onto my boobs. Besides, I was already planning on leaving early, right after lunch. I had to go to City Hall, but more importantly I needed to do some more sleuthing, and get to Janey's mailbox. I had an idea how to toss a huge monkey wrench into "Johnson's" plans.

If I was feeling eager to please around all the guys at school, I shuddered to think what Janey was going through. But did she even care? Probably not, because the way the notes were screwing with her mind she couldn't even fight back. Every time I thought about her I remembered how we had grappled and twisted against the window... I couldn't blame her for what she had done to me. That wasn't the Janey I knew.

As it happened, I rescued her just in the nick of time.

There were two pieces of news floating through the hallways when I left homeroom. First, Rob and Cindy had broken up the night before after having quite a fight in the school parking lot. Second, Janey had exposed herself (according to the gossip from Kelly) to half the football team in the boy's locker room before the first bell. I found her in the hallway outside her homeroom, making out with some junior guy who always wears a sweatshirt, surrounded by a surprised and horrified group of senior girls. It was really disgusting. I grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the boy and whispered in her ear as I dragged her through the crowd.

"Don't say anything and follow me." Thank god she had to do what I said. We passed one of the nosy assistant principals just rounding the corner. Another few seconds and Janey and whatshisname would have had detention for sure.

I crammed the two of us into an empty stall in the third floor girls' bathroom and pondered the situation. No one else was on the third floor, so we had some privacy. I knocked the toilet seat down with my foot and sat her on it. Her dress was so wide that it almost completely hid the toilet bowl. What can I do? I thought. I needed a pair of handcuffs; I had to keep her from running out and trying to sleep with as many guys as possible.

Poor Janey. I realized I hadn't even had a real, honest conversation with her since all this began. I honestly believe that a requirement for "best friends" status is the ability to participate in interesting conversations about all kinds of topics. Sometimes Janey and I talked about the weirdest things, and a bystander would probably think we were on acid or something. Granted, recently Janey was fixated on crazy schemes to make Rob dump Cindy and whisk her away in a whirlwind romance, but I guess I had had foolish ideas about Toby, too. Though I never considered using blackmail or voodoo or astrology on him those two months when he was going out with that exchange student... And now Rob and Cindy had broken up on their own... or had they? Something told me that it had to be related to our predicament in some way. Rob was available. And here was my best friend ready and willing to do anything for any male.

Poor Janey. I couldn't tell her, "don't pleasure men," because the commands on the note would supercede anything I ordered her to do. And I couldn't tell her to go home for the day because I needed her to be here at school for my plan with her mailbox to work. Could she stay in the third floor girls' bathroom all day? Well, there was only one way to find out.

"Okay, you can talk now," I said.

"Keiko!" she whined. "What are you doing? I have to get back to that guy I was with!"

She pulled me into an embrace, resting her chin heavily on my shoulder. She was really wearing too much perfume. At first I thought she was going to try a repeat of the terrible things we had done last night, but she only wanted to hug me. I felt her chest pushing into mine - something I never would have really noticed before yesterday.

"It's important to me," she murmured, sounding on the verge of tears. "It's my purpose to make men happy. Our purpose. We're in this together, I thought. I know you want to do it, too. Keiko, it's why we have our bodies and, and.. and, you know, it's what we were made for. It's so simple and basic and you don't understand it!"

I understood it all too well. It was simple. And a seductive philosophy, too, if one could call it that. But I knew I wouldn't have thought so two days ago. And there was no way I was going to sacrifice my... "sexuality" or whatever you call it, like that.

"You're wasting your time trying to find out who's behind all this," she said.

"No!" I said, hugging her tighter. "We are in this together but we will not be turned into slaves!"

She pushed me away. "Let me go," she said. "Open the door and let me go fuck whoever I want!" I released her and opened the stall door before I knew what I was doing. It felt good to let her go, but I knew it wasn't right. "Don't tell me not to go," she added.

Which was precisely what I was about to do. My lips suddenly felt rubbery, but two could play this game. "Tell me to tell you not to go!" I said. Commands within commands within... Janey halted in front of the sinks and mirror.

"Tell me not to go," her reflection pleaded at me. I happily obeyed.

With Janey safely sitting in the fourth stall of the third floor restroom, I attacked a day at Washington High as the "ready to please" Keiko, not the "sexually sensible" Keiko that I hoped would soon reappear. Having new thoughts in my head and what I guess was a new personality didn't worry me as much as it should have, but I made sure always to think conciously about what I was doing. Basically, I acted like I was the same old Mouse that everyone knew and loved, not the new Mouse who somewhere deep down inside craved to use her body in the way Mother Nature intended. (Once again I should point out that I am a really good actress and it's a shame that I haven't been utilized more in the past plays.)

I hoped the only difference anyone noted was that I was extremely helpful. If a guy dropped a pencil, I picked it up. That only happened twice, but I was there to get it each time. I volunteered to push the VCR back to the AV Room for Mr. Sanderson. I passed out papers, collected notebooks, raised my hand (except in English, because I didn't really care about pleasing Mrs. Richards), complimented guys, and smiled at everything that had a dick hanging between its legs. You'd be surprised how a smile brightens someone's day.

It totally worked. All the nickel and dime stuff kept me from throwing myself on someone.

As the lunch bell rang, I went to the payphone. The book of yellow pages on the chain was missing quite a few pages, but all of the liquor store numbers were still intact. I dialed them in more or less alphabetical order.

"Hello, this is Mrs. Lopez. My husband James picked up some champagne from your store on Sunday and I'd like to order the same vintage for my literary club meeting next month. Oh, you don't? Well, sorry to bother you. Yes, it must have been another store. Thanks. Bye."

It was a gamble, but one that paid off in less than ten minutes and only $3.25 in quarters. None of the shops knew what I was talking about, until I called Gernhardt's Liquors. The guy on the phone said he'd be happy to get an order of Alain Thienot for me, and how many bottles would I be needing? I pretended to get confused and offered to call back after taking a head count of the club members.

So I had at least proved Mr. Lopez's alibi. Though it didn't necessarily make him innocent. I was thinking more and more that, whoever "Johnson" was, he was simply taking advantage of the mishap with Cupid's bow and arrow. I still suspected Rob, but unless he had been secretly training in archery there's no way he could have accurately targetted Janey from all the way across the gym! A more likely scenario was that someone who knew what those arrows were capable of was taking advantage of the accident... but who else except Mr. Lopez would know, how would they know, and how could they have acted so quickly?

I bought four chicken sandwiches from the snack bar, went upstairs, and gave two to Janey. We ate them silently in the bathroom stall. (It was my first time to eat in a school bathroom, let alone any bathroom, and it was definitely gross.) Janey couldn't say anything because she was under strict orders to stay sitting on the toilet until the final bell, without speaking or trying to get anyone's attention.

"Janey, I'm trying," I said. "Really, I'm doing the best I can." I didn't know what to say to her.

I decided to talk to Cindy before cashing in my mother's "get out of school free" card.

When we were kids, I went to Cindy's tenth birthday party, which her parents threw at some fancy restaurant that I've never been to since. And she came over to my house once to copy some biology notes in the eighth grade. But otherwise we've just kind of been friends at school. Like I said before, sometimes we're close when she isn't being a bitch, but with cheerleading practice and those huge boobs I guess she doesn't have time to keep any really close friends. She has her clique but I doubt any two of them are as close as Janey and I.

The cafeteria seemed quieter than usual. At first I couldn't find Cindy or Rob. Neither were sitting at the popular seniors' table. I scanned the faces and finally found Rob off by himself at a table in the corner where a group of freshman usually sat. I guess when they broke up, Cindy got custody of the lunch table. A tray lay on the table where Cindy usually sat. Where was she?

Toby was also missing. His friends were at their usual spot but he was gone. He sometimes finshed his lunch early (I watched him often enough to know) and went to the gym to stand behind the bleachers, but always in a group with his friends. Every now and then when the cafeteria serves stringbean and gravy casserole he doesn't eat anything; he goes to the computer room instead. But today's lunch was some kind of cheese pasta. I wondered where he was. The thought of he and Cindy in a closet somewhere making out popped into my head. I almost laughed at the image but then I felt slightly miserable as I realized it should make me jealous, not giggly.

I walked to the table in the far corner. Rob nodded slowly at me.

"Hey," I said, sitting down next to him. He looked like a kicked puppy. His outer shell of charming arrogance was gone and in a strange way without it he was no longer handsome. My heart went out to him and I felt responsible in some way. But he and Cindy had dated almost as long as the class couple, Brett and Flash, and had had some stormy times before, so there was no reason to believe they couldn't patch up whatever argument had caused today's break-up.

"I heard about the split."

"Yeah," he said, sighing. "I really fucked up."

Guys always beat themselves up over women. They shouldn't have to. Especially guys like Rob, who are good-looking and dress nicely. Rob could probably support three material girls like Cindy on his father's allowance.

"Where is she?" I asked.

He glanced over at the popular seniors' table.

"Who cares? Where's Janey? I haven't seen her all day."

"She went home," I lied.

I leaned closer to him and began massaging his shoulders. I'm not a masseuse or anything, but I could see he was tense even before I touched him. He jerked a bit but let me squeeze his shoulders and rub the back of his neck. His deltoids or whatever you call them were thick with muscle. How do guys get muscle like that?

"Hey, thanks Mouse!"

"My mom said Cindy stopped by our house yesterday. Any idea why?"

"Well, maybe because you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong? At least that's the way she put it. Let's not talk about her, okay?"

Why should Cindy care if I was asking questions about the accident with Cupid's bow and arrow? Unless she had something to hide... Even though I couldn't imagine her being smart enough to be behind all this, mentally I tried to thread her in and around the suspects and scenarios I was considering. Rob was rolling his head around and seemed to be enjoying my massage, inexpert through it was. I leaned closer to him and reached down between his legs to rub my palm against his crotch. He was warm and definitely not underequipped. I squeezed his bulge gently and he yelped and jumped up out of his chair.

"Mouse??" he said. "What the fuck?"

I realized what I had done and backed away from the table slowly. "Sorry!" I half screamed, half gurgled. He looked at me with a mix of puzzlement, his head cocked to the side, before I turned and fled for the hallway. My face was probably as red as a freshly-waxed fire engine reflecting a burning warehouse.

I ran right smack into Toby. Something crunched in his leather jacket and he dropped his large denim bag as we fell. I grunted as my butt hit the floor hard. Standing, he took a pair of broken glasses from an inner pocket. I jumped up and watched him warily, smoothing my skirt, and wiping my hands where I had touched his jacket.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry," I apologized. He didn't say anything, only looked up and down the empty hallway. He put some books back into his bag.

"I was looking for you a little while ago," I said.

"Where's Janey?" he asked, his lips pursed. It seemed everyone wanted to know where she was. He slid the broken glasses back into his jacket with a shrug of his left shoulder and a jerk of his elbow and for just a second I remembered how cool I used to think he was. Stop judging people by how much money they have, I ordered myself silently. It didn't help. Still, there was nothing to stop me from imagining him as a rogue prince, outlawed from his kingdom but heir to a fortune...

I blinked and tried to return to reality. He had asked me a question.

"She went home," I finally stammered.

"She's not there," he said.

"What? How do you know?"

"Maybe I called and no one answered." He leaned back against the row of lockers and I heard a click as a door that had been hanging ajar closed. He stared at me directly. I looked away, having never been able to hold a gaze when someone does that.

He's the one, I thought. I didn't have any proof, but just the way he was looking at me was sending shivers up and down my spine. That smug rebel attitude. He was so masculine. It was almost like he expected me to fall to my knees in front of him and unzip his pants, just because I was female. I shuddered. Just thinking about it made my legs twitch with uncertainty.

But the spell was broken as he pushed past me rudely and walked down the hallway. It was only then that I realized we were in front of Janey's locker. One of these lockers had clicked shut. Had Toby been searching through Janey's things?

The streets and people and even the way light bounces off of buildings all look different when you get out of school early. I drove immediately to the mall, which was nearly deserted. I had until four o'clock to get to City Hall to pick up my transcript. Until then I had time to investigate something that Toby had mentioned earlier: the index cards the notes were printed on. Everyone gets their school stuff at either the stationery store or Fleece's; if I found neon pink index cards for sale I could type a fake note, put it in Janey's mailbox, and de-brainwash her!

But first, a bit of genius. Sunglasses. It was so obvious in hindsight. I grabbed a pair of cheap "Surf's Up, Dude!" yellow-mirrored glasses at the novelty gifts store and glanced around the mall. All the colors were darker and a bit yellowish. Perfect! I took the card I had stolen from Janey's room out of my purse and glanced at it.

   YOU'LL TELL NO ONE ABOUT MY NOTES.   YOUR BODY, YOUR WHOLE PURPOSE, IS TO PLEASURE MEN.

I could still see the paper was pink, but through the glasses it was darker, a more normal shade, maybe even a light burgundy. It didn't effect me at all! The glasses shielded my optic nerve or whatever, so I could read the card like it was a normal piece of paper. The typeface was easily legible. I licked my finger and touched my arm, making a psss! sound. "Keiko, you are just too damn hot," I said.

I bravely walked past the "Teen Princess" shirt in Fleece's young ladies department. No effect whatsoever. I arrived at the school supplies and stationery aisle, and crouched down so I couldn't see the items in the other aisles. Then I raised the sunglasses.

Nothing. No sign of neon pink.

Back in the mall proper, I walked to the stationery store. It's more expensive than Fleece's Department Store, but it also has a better selection. I did the same experiment and immediately a small dot to my right burst into brilliance. It was only a dot, but it filled my brain with fog. I had to concentrate to lower the glasses back over my eyes. It was difficult because I honestly didn't want to, but the pink spot was small and far away so I managed. Imagine you've fallen in love with the most beautiful, wonderful, perfect person you know. Would you want to avoid being with them?

Protected by the glasses, I walked to the cards. There were three packs hanging on the shelf.

   New "Glow In The Dark"* Neon-Brite Pink 3x5 Index Notes    Patented neon-lamination process!  Standard, Non-ruled    4 cards per package. (*Cards may not glow in the dark)

They were on sale for $1.39 each. I grabbed all three packs and hurried to the sales counter. The middle-aged clerk looked like either her romance novel or the store's muzak was about to put her to sleep.

"Excuse me," I said. "I'd like to buy these, and I was wondering if you've sold any other packs of the same kind recently?"

She shrugged indifferently.

"Well..." I stammered. "Could you check in your computer system or something? It's for a school project. I'm learning about economics."

"Well then shouldn't you be at school?" she asked, her voice gravelly. She cleared her throat, and I wondered if she had talked to anyone all day.

"Not when I'm working on a project," I smiled. Actually, the sunglasses probably made me look younger than I was. I know most seniors would look older wearing them, but I'm just too short and my face is too round, like an onion.

She sighed and scanned in the three packages of Neon-Brite index cards, then typed a few keys on the keyboard. "At the beginning of the month we had four in stock, but somebody bought one last week and then we only had three. Then you bought three and now we have zero. Is that enough information to go home and write your paper on the U.S. economy?"




Neon-Purple Angels



Neon-purple, soft, plush light pierced through cigarette smoke to dance on the bare, tender curves of angels.   I wore a pair of loose-fit blue jeans, a black, loose-fit sweater, and a pair of glasses that allowed me a certain academic appearance.  The maitred’ wore a gold vested tuxedo that said, "we allow poor men but please have class."  He also kept a goatee however untidy he tried to make it appear, and he wore a serious have-fun-while-you’re-at-it expression.  Regardless of his tough demeanor, he proved to be a nice man when he remained patient with an absent minded boy who had misplaced his identification.  He nodded with a smile once the young fellow had presented it.  

Music thumped inside.  We walked across the room in search of a table; two coolers filled with beer in tow.  My sobriety encouraged my embarrassment as we surveyed the room for a table close enough to see everything, but once seated I knew that sobriety and embarrassment would soon be past issues for me.  As I opened the first beer, I promised myself that I would leave with money in my pocket.

Women wound themselves into various positions with sultry grins and sensual eyes. "Would you like a dance?" This question, spoken from the painted lips of an angel, whose body promised a sexual challenge, melted my heart and soul.  Her ability to approach me—slow and easy—and to place her hand upon my shoulder with gentle ease amazed me.  But I was at least a beer away from a yes answer, so with a grin I said, "maybe later."  The young men that accompanied me were many beers past a yes answer and they initiated their own solicitations with immediacy. 

The first woman to step upward onto our table with grace and poise was a beautiful blonde with an intelligent smile.  She slid her legs around the young men’s heads, and rolled her hips with sexual sagacity.   She also stood above us, hips pushed forward, hand upon her thigh, displaying herself with passion and erotic force so close to our face.  She knew which positions would please her audience, and she held those positions, no matter how contorted, with a smile and apparent satisfaction as her body’s elegance and dignity pleasured us.    

Numerous other women displayed their sexuality; intelligence; and raw, feminine power upon our table, but one caught my eye.  She stood upon our table and stared down with such sensual strength.  Her eyes swept from one young man’s gaze to the next allowing each of us equal, sexy eye-contact time.  Her hips slid side to side, her buttocks tucked tight and then relaxed as she rotated her hips; her movements were so slow and fluid that she looked like a delicate fish at ease in warm water. 

I had drank enough by this point that I would answer yes to almost any question asked of me.  She didn’t ask me anything though, I didn’t give her time.  As a bouncer helped her down off our table I walked up to her and asked for a VIP dance.  I realized how awkward I must have appeared to her or at least how obnoxious as I drunkenly strolled up with a twenty-dollar-bill in hand and stumbled over my words.  A welcome-home smile stretched across her face and she said, "sure."  She tried to hold my hand, but because I held money she had to wrap her arm through my arm as if I was escorting her to the high school prom.  She led me to a back room where a bouncer made eye contact with me as I walked through the door.  He looked at me without judgement, without question, without threat, and he made me feel comfortable.  I felt that he was there to protect me as much as he was there for the angels.  My heart warmed as I gazed at this young, virile man.  He guarded the gate to heaven, and instead of judging my life to admit or deny me entrance, he smiled and nodded as if to say welcome old friend, we have missed you.  

She sat me down on a plush couch and then took a seat beside me.  Her arm rested upon my side, and she leaned into me resting her feathery weight on me.  We talked for a while; she said her name was Blake, she told me about her future plans, and she asked me questions about myself... all of which I answered truthfully.  I told her she was the hottest girl in the club, I asked her how much she makes a night, and I promised her I was going to give her every cent I had.  As we talked, it surprised me to learn that she was younger than I was.  Angelic confidence flowed inside her, and it gave her power over me. A type of power stronger and more natural than the power a senior has over their minor, but a power that I could only equate to an assumed older age.   


She stood and asked me to sit in the middle of the couch.  I slide over and sat with my hands beneath my buttocks, because I had always been told you weren’t supposed to touch the girls.  She smiled and moved my hands to the arms of the couch as she said, "don’t sit on your hands, put them out here."  She stood and adjusted herself, preparing for her dance.  I raised my hand with the twenty-dollar-bill in it to let her know I was ready to pay. "I only take the money first from guys I don’t trust... I trust you." 

I puffed my cigarette; she frowned at me and said, "I don’t like guys that smoke."  I smashed out the cigarette without further question.  A psychedelic song furthered my inebriated state.  She wore a neon green and yellow tube top with a green g-string that created an odd shimmer when the neon-blue-light bounced against her body.  Her willingness to touch me, to not divert her eyes from my glare of desire, and to dance with eroticism stimulated me.  She sat upon my lap and straddled my face with her breasts.  I grimaced with lust, and she asked if her weight was hurting me.  "No, no," I answered.  Perfume filled my nostrils, hair tickled my face, and passion filled my loins.  The hairs on my arms stood on end, and it seemed that every inch of my body tingled.  Her dainty hands slide her tube top up with ease, and she stopped just before her nipples were exposed.  Slow, pause, slow, stop, go: she continued this until her nipples were bared, and my erection filled my jeans.  I noticed small scars on the underside of her breasts, and I wondered if she had been enhanced.  

She slid her body down mine, careful not to touch my sensual parts with her sensual parts.  Her strawberry-blonde hair flowed down my body: face, shoulders, arms, chest, waist, crotch, thighs, and knees.  When she arrived at my knees, she turned her eyes up to meet my gaze; she tilted her head to the side and gave me a come-and-get-it smile.  My erection became larger and more evident as it throbbed under my jeans.   She stood, unsnapped her g-string, and let it fall to the floor.  Her crotch — shaven close and thin - rotated and pressed toward me.  Blake then turned away from me and her long, straight hair dangled against her lower back as she curled up her ass.  She backed herself onto my lap, put her hands on the ground in front of my feet, and rested her weight on me.  Her hips undulated fast, and then slow, and then she would hold them in a position that allowed me to inspect every inch of her feline parts as she stared at me over her shoulder.  Tender butt cheeks tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed.  Eventually the music ended, she gave me a strong kiss on the cheek, she put her tube top and g-string on with poise, grace, and sensual deliberation, and then she pulled her garter belt out for me to place the twenty under.  This ritual was repeated three times, and it only stopped because she had won every last cent I carried.  

I left without remorse or regret, and experienced an emotion that could be called lust or maybe love. 

It wasn’t just the taunt skin, firm muscle, long legs, beautiful breasts, declivity of crotch, and defined buttocks that flexed and relaxed with every agile movement that made the experience heaven for me.  It was being in the presence of intelligent, beautiful women who enjoyed, celebrated and used their sexuality with talent, grace, and poise that made the experience heaven.  

My promise to leave with money in my pocket was forgotten; what good is money in heaven anyway?  These women amazed me with their talents.  They could dance, but most everyone can.  They were sexual, but most women are.  The women’s boldness, their wise demeanor, their deliberate sexuality, and their slow, easy approach provoked my astonishment, my lust, and my erection.



Neophyte



1

It wasn't getting any better. Two months had passed since his initiation and his life had not changed quite as spectacularly as he'd hoped. A few months ago, a new and fantastical world had been revealed to him, one that offered fulfilment of his deepest desires, but time had passed and his life had remained more or less the same.

After he'd left the Mansion House on the Monday morning he'd felt renewed, reborn one could say. Unconsciously he'd anticipated one of the sisters making contact with him within a few days or a week at the most. But no phone call, no visit, no letter, no e-mail, just silence. It wasn't easy returning to his life, the mundane 'normal' world had very little to offer after he'd experienced a level of pleasure that few others would ever see or experience. It wasn't just the sex, though he honestly knew that that was a large part of it, it was also the sense calmness, joy, love and warmth that the Mansion House seemed to emanate. Of course, he'd been lucky, but now it seemed as though his luck had run out. Time had passed, a few days became a week, a week became a month which rapidly became two and still no contact. So, he'd returned to the Mansion House intent on seeing the girls and finding out what was going on. Typical women he thought, lead you on, build your hopes up, then smash them into a pulp. Why did they do that? One day he might know the answer, but for the moment it just felt like cruel and spiteful prick-teasing. 

*

There was no one, as far as he could see, outside the house. In fact it looked as though the whole place was deserted. The tall double iron gates were locked and the statues of the dragons glared down menacingly towards him. The sky above looked just as ominous: low dark-grey cumulus clouds driven by strong winds passed swiftly from east to west. He felt nervous and decided to pause for a moment in an attempt to soothe his disturbed state of being. Looking upwards, he distanced himself mentally from his thoughts, bringing a renewed sense of self-awareness which he maintained until he could sense the feeling sweeping through him. There it was, that feeling of unity, of being one with the wind, that empathy that lay beyond thought. He could never adequately put it into words, it was simply a feeling of being at one with nature, flowing with the natural forces as they perpetually passed through time. 

The sound of a fast approaching car severed the subtle connection and returned him to his position outside the locked gates. 'Maybe it was one of the Sisters?' The thought entered his consciousness reducing the distance between his sense of true-self and his thoughts even further, soon it would be gone and he would become yet another sleeping human drifting on the ocean of thought, desire and emotion. 

The car came closer, Paul held his breath in anticipation, his heart beating a little faster. The nervousness had reappeared and he felt a warmth in his loins in anticipation of what might be, his limp penis eager to be attended to. The unseen car slowed as it made its approach. His heart bumped a little harder, the car approached and then passed just as suddenly as it appeared continuing its journey down the otherwise empty country road. A light rain began to fall. 

Taking one last glance through the gates, Paul walked over to the intercom positioned on the left gatepost. Pressing the buzzer, his heart raced again. The dragon-statues continued to stare menacingly. Who would answer? What if it was a bloke? God, that would spoil it, he thought to himself. Or maybe it would be the young girl who'd been present at his initiation? He imagined hearing her voice…

"Hello?" A female voice said in a harsh enquiring tone, abruptly cutting short his fantasies.

"Yes, hello," he began nervously suddenly feeling a little foolish as the unconscious desire of sexual fulfilment suddenly become apparent as his true motivating force.

"Can I help you?" The voice asked before Paul had chance to continue

"Er, yeah, my name is Paul, I was wondering if Lucy was around?"

"Lucy? I'm sorry I think you must have the wrong house?"

"Er, well, er…" Paul muttered in bewilderment as he tried to find something to say, "Er, well is Diana there then?" He asked finally. 

"Diana?" The voice said in another questioning tone.

"Yes, Diana?" 

"I'm sorry, Diana is not here at the moment." The voice answered after a rather long pause. Paul let out a breath, at least one of the two names that he'd been given was correct.

"May I ask what business you have with her?"

Business? Oh God, what can I say to that? Paul thought to himself.

"Or perhaps, if it is private," the voice said immediately alleviating Paul's concerns over providing an appropriately socially acceptable answer, "would you like to come up to the House and we can discuss it in person?"

"If that wouldn't be too much bother that would be most appreciated." Paul answered politely.

"Of course not, here I'll open the gate, come up the drive and go round the back of the house, I'll let come and meet you." With that the intercom went dead and the gates creaked into life.

2

He could feel the beginning of a hard-on, but tried to suppress it, despite aching for the affections of the female he'd just spoken to, or maybe an encounter with her friends, or should he call them 'sisters'? he wondered. His cock bulged in his trousers, she'd be sure to notice he thought. He was near the house now, the drive splitting into two, the left hand lane forming a circle in front of the house, the right lane, passing under a hedged archway and evidently leading to a courtyard, garage or something similar. Following the woman's instructions he took the right hand fork, passed the house and eventually came to the expected courtyard which was complete not only with a number of expensive and well kept looking garages but also a small square of terraced stables. 

Pausing for a moment, Paul heard laughter coming from one of the stables, followed by the interchange of a few words which he couldn't make out and then more laughter. The voices were female which both unnerved and relieved Paul. At least he wouldn't be embarrassed in front of any blokes. 

God, I don't even know her name or what she looks like? The thought suddenly occurred to Paul. Laughter came from the stables once more. What should I do? Paul wondered, wait here? Go round the back of the house? Or go and see the girls in the stables? Hearing laughter once more, he decided on the latter option. So, feeling a little awkward and intrusive, he slowly made his way across the courtyard, trying to keep his erection mentally under control. 

"Yes this one would be a very good stud, judging by the size of his willy, maybe we should suggest it to Diana?"

"Well, I'm not sure, I mean, a big dick, doesn't necessarily mean a good breeder, does it?"

"I suppose not, but it is a big one isn't it, plenty enough to please the mares and that's what's important!" Bursting into laughter the girls made their way out of the stable back into the courtyard. 

"Oh, hello," the first of the girls said as she saw Paul walking towards them.

"Who's this?" the second girl said. Both girls were aware that the stranger had probably overheard them talking about the size of the stallions penis, but rather than feeling embarrassed, they used the situation to challenge Paul with a non-verbal look. 

*

Startled, Paul hesitated for a moment. Two young ladies were leaving the middle stable, which was about 10 yards away from him. Both wore riding jodhpurs, shiny black riding boots and tight fitting red riding jackets encircled by black polished leather belts replete with a shiny silver buckle. The only notable difference between the two was the style and colour of their hair, the first girl had her dark brown hair cut into a short bob. She was typically attractive, with small lips and a small nose. The second girl wore her blonde hair in pigtails, as attractive as her friend, though a little taller in height and with beautiful blue eyes. Talk about sexy Paul thought to himself as his erect penis pushed harder against his trousers, surely one of them would notice. Trying to maintain as confident and natural a manner as possible he continued towards them.

"Hello," he began, "I was looking for the lady I spoke to on the intercom?" 

"Intercom?" the brunette repeated intrigued at the unexpected visit of this masculine stranger.

"I expect that would be Brigitte," the girl with pigtails said looking Paul up and down, noticing and the bulge in his trousers, before glancing at her friend, whose eyes seemed almost mesmerised by Paul's.

"We can show you the way if you like, we're about to go back indoors."

"That would be great, Thankyou." Paul said as he turned and began to walk alongside the two girls.

"What's your name?" The girl with the bob asked.

"Paul" He answered

"I'm Chantelle and this is Emma."

"Why did you want to see Brigitte?" Emma asked looking past her friend to Paul.

"Well," Paul began feeling more than a little embarrassed and searching for a reasonable answer. "I came here about a month ago, with one of the Sisters…"

"Which one?" Chantelle interrupted.

"Lucy. I met her at one of the Churches in Canterbury."

"Ah yes, Lucy, she's not here at the moment..." Emma begun before being interrupted by her friend.

"There are some nice Churches in Canterbury." Chantelle said eager to prevent her friend from hogging the conversation. "Have you been to the one at Harbledown? It's got a motif of Mithras slaying the bull in one of its walls. It was taken from the Mithraic Temple that was built there before the Christians came." Chantelle said revealing that she knew more than a reasonable amount about local and ancient history.

"Yeah, I've been there, it's very impressive, though a little smaller than I had imagined. Did you see the stained glass window of Satan submitting before St Michael?"

"Yes it was very," Chantelle paused, searching for the right word, "striking. You know that the symbolism that the Christians adopted goes back many thousands of years. It's symbolic of the battle within oneself. The problem with Christianity is that as its wealth and power in the physical world increased, its power and knowledge over the inner world decreased. But the knowledge is still there – if you know how to read it that is, but that requires a system or guide."

They'd reached the house by now and Paul's interest in the conversation had brought with it a forgetfulness concerning his earlier sexual desires, his penis having become limp once more.

"Okay, well you'd better take your clothes off then." Chantelle said finally as they entered the laundry room.

"Sorry?" Paul said surprised at the turn in conversation.

"No men are allowed to enter the Mansion House clothed. That is one of the rules of the Sorority. I thought you'd been told that after your initiation?" 

"I expect he thought it wasn't really enforced." Emma said to her friend.

"Yes I'm only here for a quick visit" Paul said by way of an excuse.

"Well that may be so, but rules are rules and men are not allowed in the house wearing clothes, unless specially designated by one of the older Sisters."

"It is one of the fundamental house rules." Emma said trying to soothe his obvious embarrassment. 

"Come on, hurry up." Chantelle barked destroying Emma's attempt at easing Paul out of his clothes.

"Chantelle, go easy." Emma said glancing towards her friend whose look implied that harshness was the most suitable method. Understanding, Emma turned to back Paul.

"You heard her, strip off!" She barked, the change in her manner as sudden as her friends. Seeing Paul's hesitancy, Chantelle quickly closed and bolted the door behind her. The sudden movement worked on Paul's subconscious, his heart raced, his cock remained limp and his face began to turn red.

"He's blushing!" Emma laughed.

"Emma!" Chantelle barked at her friend, before turning to Paul and saying in a calm voice "Paul, will you wait here a minute please." Chantelle walked across the room indicating to Emma that she should do the same. Within a few seconds they had passed through another door and closed it behind them. Paul heard nothing. Should I strip? He wondered to himself. Have I got in over my head again? He looked around the room which he figured was a typical room for a large Mansion House, five washing machines that gleamed under the long fluorescent ceiling light, two driers, a large ironing board with an expensive looking iron, white painted cupboards, a few washing bins, a single large flip top bin and a large practical looking work surface complete with sink and draining board.

3

The sound of the door opening turned Paul's head to face the two girls as they re-entered the room.

"Listen," Chantelle began her tone low but still sharp, "we're not even sure, you should be here, so if your not, then its better that you do as we say to avoid any problems occurring at a later date. We're new here as well you know and we don't know what degree of levity there is." Emma by now had walked past Paul and was standing behind him.

"CLOTHES OFF NOW!" She shouted loudly into Paul's right ear "NOW!"

Paul jumped, shocked at the ferociousness in Emma's voice.

"Get those damn fucking clothes off or I'll rip them off you" Emma ordered, her tone sharp and controlled. 

"YOU HEARD HER!" Chantelle barked, eager to torment the unfortunate, but obviously sexually frustrated young man. Both girls had known as soon as they'd seen him that he was after one thing and one thing only. He might talk about spirituality and personal development, but his real raison d'être was to emit his seed as often as he could. 

"Right, that's it," Emma said, imminent action apparent from her tone. Stepping forward she began to pull at Paul's jacket.

"OFF! OFF! OFF!" She shouted pulling it down over his shoulders. Chantelle keenly joined in, pulling his shirt roughly out of his trousers before pulling it apart without bothering to unbutton it.

"Hey, okay, okay, I'll strip." Paul said fearful that his clothes would be in tatters within the next few minutes.

"Too late." Emma said having cast his jacket to the floor whilst Chantelle's expert hands had almost torn his shirt from his body. Paul tried to back away but bumped into Emma. The feel of the contours of her breasts outlined against her jacket triggered a slight arousal which rapidly escalated as his shirt was finally discarded and the two girls began to pull on his trousers. He could feel Emma's fingers tugging against the waistband, every now and then descending just a little further than was necessary. Chantelle quickly dropped to the floor, drew a knife from her boot and adeptly sliced his shoe laces in half.

"Shoes off!" Emma commanded as her friend stood up.

"You know the last male that was caught wearing clothes in the House was severely punished." Chantelle said her face suddenly close to Paul's. 

"What happened to him?" Paul asked looking nervously into Chantelle's eyes. 

"That's something that you're better off not knowing. Let's just say that the mercy of the Great Mother was not apparent on that day." Emma said from behind.

"The mercy of the Great Mother?" Paul repeated nervously.

"Hekate has many faces and many weapons, do you know what kind?" Chantelle said 

Paul didn't answer, he knew exactly what she was referring to. One of the more famous representations of the Phrygian Goddess Hekate was a statue that depicted her as a composite of three beings with three heads - the head of a dog, the head of a lion and the head of a horse. Each body had two arms and held varying objects, one of which was the scythe. Paul drew his own conclusions of which the outcome could have been any of a number: castration, death or a severing of the initiates occult work. The first two were the most dramatic and the fact that the girls didn't elucidate any further was certain evidence that they were leaving it up to his subconscious to flesh out an answer.

Chantelle's hands had once again begun pulling at his trousers and he answered her movement with a growing erection.

"My someone's pleased to see us!" Chantelle giggled as she noted the pushing against fabric created by his hardness. His erection had caused Chantelle's role to change from forceful dominatrix to that of a giggling schoolgirl.

"You're going to rip my trousers." Paul half-said half-gasped. The girls answered by pulling their knives from their boots and cutting into the material.

"Now hold still" Chantelle said smiling to herself, "I don't want to cut anything I'm not meant to!" Replacing their knives the girls renewed their efforts, effectively ripping the trousers into two sections which obediently fell to the floor. 

"That was my trousers!" Paul said the concern in his voice weakened by his state of arousal. 

"Ah boxer shorts! Not quite as nice as jockey shorts off course, but still nice." Emma said deliberately ignoring his concern.

"I like G-strings personally!" Chantelle teased from her crouching position. "My he's got good thighs hasn't he Em'." She said to her friend who had stood up and was once again positioned behind directly Paul. "Mmm and a nice flat muscular stomach, you must work out Paul."

"A bit…" Paul said.

"Let's have these off as well then." Emma said interrupting her friends admiration by pulling his boxer shorts down.

"You might have a bit off difficulty Emma." Chantelle giggled.

"Has he got an erection?" Emma asked sounding tired, impatient and annoyed.

"Er, I think so, come and have a look." Chantelle replied.

"First things first," Emma said pulling his shorts down over his backside. His hardness resisted the movement. Emma paused a moment, enjoying the stimulation she was causing to this poor soon-to-be-naked male.

"Nearly there Em'." Chantelle enthused with delight as she caught site of his pubic area, then the base of his shaft. Suddenly his shorts were at his ankles, his cock springing freely upwards, bouncing for a moment or two before finding its natural position where it stood hard and outright.

"My clothes, you've ruined my clothes." Paul said finally, highly aroused at the turn of events..

"Socks off as well Paul" Chantelle said clearly delighted at the site of his erection.

Without thinking Paul lifted his feet enabling Emma to remove his shoes, socks and what remained of his trousers.

"There, I'll just discard of these." Emma said finally standing up with the remains of Paul's clothes in her hands. Paul watched as she walked over to the bin, flipped the lid and dropped his clothes inside.

"Don't worry, we'll find you some new clothes!" Chantelle said.

"Yes, don't we have a maids outfit that would fit him Chantelle?" Emma said seriously as she returned to stand beside her friend.

Paul gulped, his face turning red once more.

"You'd look good in a French maids outfit, don't you think Paul?" Chantelle teased.

"I think that that," Emma begun indicating to Paul's hard-on, " might be a bit of a problem though. I mean, the maids outfits have very short skirts…"

"And skimpy knickers!" Chantelle said enjoying the fear and arousal they were causing.

Skirts! Now I'm worried, Paul thought to himself. CFNM was one thing, but I'm not a transvestite. Deep down he wasn't so sure though, what would it be like? Would it be a turn on? Or would he feel sleazy, dirty, guilty? 

"I'm not wearing any women's clothes" he blurted out uncontrollably trying to prove his masculinity.

"You'll wear what we tell you!" Emma barked, "and if that means wearing a skimpy little maids outfit then that is exactly what you will wear, okay?"

Paul shivered, fearful of the direction this might be taking, next thing they'll want to fuck me up the arse. He thought to himself and there was no way he would allow that to happen.




Neophyte



"Are you cold?" Chantelle asked him

"A bit." Paul replied looking at her briefly. Eye contact made him feel all the more vulnerable.

The two girls stood in silence, aware that the sense of power they both felt must be equal to the same level of Paul's humiliation.

"Well the cold certainly hasn't stopped you getting a hard-on has it?" Chantelle teased at last.

"Sorry…"

"A bit late for sorry" Emma said looking from his cock to his eyes which Paul avoided.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." She said suddenly becoming fierce again. Hesitantly Paul obeyed, another unspoken connection made until Emma looked away.

"Right, now we can proceed" she said triumphantly briefly glancing down at Paul's cock once again, then at Chantelle with whom she exchanged a grin and then finally back to Paul.

4

Brigitte sat at the office desk reading an article on the 11th century Abbess Hildegaard von Bingen. Hildegaard, as she was more commonly referred to, had been extremely creative during her lifetime, writing mystical essays on the Christian Tradition as well as writing some extraordinarily evocative Gregorian Chant. Unfortunately, due to the predominant masculine influence of the Church, a number of her musical works were later to be destroyed, what did survive however remained as some of the most notable and hauntingly beautiful plainchant ever written. 

Every now and again Brigitte would glance across to the glossy picture on the opposite page, which depicted an attractive blue-haired, black woman dressed in black leather motorbike clothing. The woman was seated and standing to her left was a naked white male, penis erect, hands bound behind his back. Brigitte let out a sigh, it had been ages since she'd had a man and the forced celibacy of the last six months had been tiresome and frustrating to say the least. At least at the Sorority they understand women's needs and desires she thought to herself. 

The magazine she was reading was one amidst many on the bookshelf behind the desk, all were issues of 'Sorority', which the Sisterhood had originally published, now it was published by an independent female who was keen to address all issues of feminine authority in all aspects of life, hence the inclusion of an article on Hildegaard. 

Turning the page Brigitte laughed at the image before her; a tall dark haired man stood, his head hung low, wearing a pink maids dress holding a tea-tray, while two women dressed in expensive looking clothes sat in armchairs. 

"My kind of women!" she said laughing to herself amused at the situation depicted. Flicking the pages more sequences of submissive men in situations of female dominance appeared: a naked mechanic working on a car as two wealthy looking females looked on, two chef's wearing nothing but apron's both of which had holes cut out from which their penis' hung limply, whilst naked waiters served with erections at an all-female business conference. Turning the page another pictured article appeared with a heading that read 'Young Male Thugs – A Possible Remedy'. The pictures accompanying the article commenced with what seemed to be a real-life thug vandalising property, being abusive to women, beating up weaker boys and other such acts of mindless thuggery. Turning the page the boy was seen breaking into what looked like an abandoned property at night. Inside a group of five girls, all dressed in fatigues waited in the darkness. Within a few sequences the thug was on the floor and stripped naked. A fearful look on his face showed the reality of his comeuppance as he was firstly threatened with castration before being dragged outside and tied to a tree outside the local girls school. The final sequence of photographs showed the local schoolgirls walking past him to school until finally two WPC's untied him and carted him off in a police car. 

Putting the magazine down, Brigitte let out a sigh, how different the world might be if women were fully in control she thought to herself. No more wars, no more rapes or muggings or murders or hate crimes, a complete transformation from hell to heaven. The plaque on the desk reminded her of the mission that she had come to be a part of 'We work for the betterment of humanity through the submission of the male ego' it read. "And I have my Aunt to thank for that." Brigitte said aloud. 

*

Brigitte's aunt had been a deciding factor in her life as both of her parents has died at the age of eleven in an automobile accident from which she had been the only survivor. The driver of the other car had been a drunk, high on drugs and three times over the limit. Typically he'd misjudged the corner, which he'd taken way too fast, his car veering onto the other side of the road straight into her fathers car. So her Aunt had taken her in and immediately sent her off to boarding school. 

Initially Brigitte had resented her Aunt for abandoning her, but it wasn't long before she realised exactly how much love her aunt had for her. The boarding school was run by an order of Nuns who were rather unorthodox. Normally, from what she'd heard – though she'd been fortunate enough not to experience them herself – Christian Nuns were very severe and their idea of love was one of a cold, harsh and brutal morality where the natural instincts and inclinations of the child were ruthlessly repressed in the name of a 'loving' God. The Nuns of the school that Brigitte attended were far removed from the sexually frustrated Catholic version. Rather, Brigitte's Nuns enjoyed the company of men on a regular basis. The girls even whispered amongst themselves that somewhere under the college, there was a dungeon of sorts in which local men and boys were kept after they'd been lured there by Sister Agnes who was the youngest Sister there and whose looks and figure was rumoured to rival the prettiest page three model of the day. As it was, Brigitte was to find out that there was more to the rumour than just teenage girl fantasies. Two weeks before the end of term, Brigitte and her best friend Samantha had been heading to the back of the sports hall where they were going to meet their friends Juliet and Tara.

"I didn't tell you what Lucy Smythe told me in maths yesterday did I?" Samantha said as they walked past the Sports Hall.

"No, what was that?" Brigitte enquired looking at her friend.

"Well, you know the rumours about there being a dungeon under the Nuns quarters."

"Yeah, but that's just a myth." Brigitte interrupted.

"If you'll let me finish." Samantha replied haughtily.

"Sorry, carry on." 

"Right, well, as I was saying, the dungeon under the Nuns quarters... Apparently, one of the older girls actually found it." Brigitte looked at her friend questionably.

"Hold on, you haven't heard what I'm about to say!" Samantha replied indignantly upon seeing the look on Brigitte's face.

"I didn't say a word!" Brigitte said laughing.

"Anyway, this sixth former – I don't know her name, but I think it was Lisa something or other – was on detention and was made to scrub the floor in the generator room." The sight of another girl interrupted Samantha's train of thought. "Look there's Sharma Davies. God how I hate that bitch. She always wears those knee high stockings. It's not as if there's any boys around here to impress. Maybe she's a dyke!"

"Just ignore her and tell me the story" Brigitte said as they passed the other girl.

"Yeah, so this Lisa, was scrubbing the floor and had to move these chairs that had been stacked there – I think they'd been left over from the previous summer." 

By now the girls were at the front of the sports hall.

"Why was she in detention?" Brigitte asked.

"She'd back chatted a teacher or something like that. So anyway, under these chairs she found a trap-door. At first she wasn't sure what to do, but then she realised that she couldn't go back to her friends and say she'd found a trap-door without exploring further. So, after a lot of effort, she managed to open it. Of course, it was all dark and cobwebby, but as she was wearing overalls she knew that the only real obstacle was her fear. She thought about going to get a friend or torch, but knew if she was caught she'd get another detention and her chance at unravelling the mystery of St Mary's dungeon would be lost. So, she went for it." Samantha paused, taking a moment to pull up her socks before continuing with her story and their journey.

"So what did she find?" Brigitte asked.

"If you'll wait a minute I'll tell you." Samantha replied annoyed at her friends continual impatience. "A ladder took her down to a long dark corridor which she followed by feeling for the walls. Every now and again she'd light a match which illuminated the walls of the corridor which were wet and slimy. At one point she thought she heard rats and thought about turning back, but after striking another match and confirming there was nothing there she decided to continue."

"Wasn't she scared?" Brigitte asked naively

"Of course, she was scared!" Samantha retorted. "She was scared shitless! But she kept going because she wanted to know if there really were male slaves kept by the nuns and, if there were, she wanted to see them! Just like any of us would! Anyway, eventually she came to an iron gate. It wasn't locked, but it was very rusty so it took her quite a bit more effort to push it open. Of course it made a terrible creaking noise so she had to do it slowly and open it just wide enough to get through." 

By now the two girls could see their friends seated on the grass.

"On the other side, the walls seemed drier and eventually she could see a distant light at the end of the tunnel." Samantha continued. 

"Hello girls, what do you think of my new hairstyle?" It was Tara, her hair was a bright platted pink whereas yesterday it had been a curly brown. 

"Wow!" Samantha and Brigitte said in unison as they both sat down with their friends. "When did you do that?" Brigitte asked.

"This morning, Elizabeth Jameson had a free period so she offered to plat and dye my hair. Do you like it?"

"Yeah, but what's Sister Agnes said?" Brigitte asked.

"She hasn't seen it yet."

"She's going to go mad!" Samantha said 

"Yeah that's what I've been saying, even before she had it done." Juliet, their other friend, said.

"Well, no problem, what can she do? She can't expel me, that's for sure. And a detention only lasts a few hours, I'm intending on having this a lot longer than that!"

"You never know, you might even get lucky and have to scrub the floor of the generator room!" Brigitte said.

"What? Lucky? What are you going on about?" Tara said bemused.

"Samantha's been telling me about this sixth former who got to see the legendary dungeons!"

"Oh, not Lisa Jameson?" Tara exclaimed

"You know her?" Brigitte asked whilst Samantha and Juliet remained silent.

"She's Elizabeth's older sister. So yeah, I know her and her 'story'."

"Well what have you heard then?" Brigitte asked interested to hear the end of Samantha's story from either one of them.

"I was just telling Brigitte the story actually." Samantha said in an attempt to keep Tara from taking the lime-light.

"Well, don't let me interrupt." Tara said well aware that her friend wanted the story telling role herself.

"Do you know about it?" Brigitte asked Juliet. 

"Yeah, Tara told me ages ago, I thought you knew."

"No one tells me anything" Brigitte joked opening her bag and pulling out her a sandwich and a can of coke. 

"Okay," Samantha said continuing with her story, "so Lisa passed through the gate and sees a dim light at the end of the corridor. Hesitantly, she keeps going until she begins to hear some noises. She stops, her heart beating fast against her chest. She waits, the noises remain. Should she go back? She wonders, but she knows that if she does she'll never know the truth. So, she waits and as soon as she's sure that no ones coming along the corridor towards her, she moves stealthily onwards."

"God, you're a good story teller Sam!" Juliet joked. Ignoring her, Samantha continued.

"Gradually she approaches the light. It's still some distance away, but already she can see another closed iron gate. But it's what she sees on the other side that really makes her heart pump." 

"Or should that be pussy wet!" Juliet laughed.

Again ignoring Juliet, Samantha paused to take a drink from her bottle of juice, well aware that Brigitte was dying to hear the story and that each pause was causing her to become more impatient.

"Well?" Brigitte said when Samantha's pause lasted a little longer than necessary.

"Hold on," Samantha said still deliberately being awkward. "I'll continue when I'm ready." Taking another swig from her bottle, Samantha replaced the cap and continued with her story. 

"So, she creeps closer – as close as she dare and watches…"

"But what did she see?" Brigitte interrupted, her impatience getting the better of her.. 

"She looks through the bars and sees two large wooden crosses nailed to the walls. Sisters Theresa and Sara are both kneeling before the cross to her right, but, although she can't see their profiles, she can hear their voices so she knows that its them. But they're not alone, because both Sister Agnes and Sister Josephine are also present, kneeling before the cross which is nearest to Lisa. But none of them are wearing their habits or robes. Instead – and this is what Lisa couldn't believe – they were both dressed up as Femdoms!"

"What?!" Brigitte said.

"I didn't hear that part!" Tara exclaimed while Juliet almost choked on her sandwich.

"Well, this is what I heard," Samantha quietly continued pleased with the reaction from her friends. "The sisters were kneeling in twos before each of the crosses upon which were bound naked males." She paused again, waiting for her friends to interrupt, but Tara and Juliet merely looked knowingly towards Brigitte who was starring with a mixture of disbelief and interest at Samantha. "Sister Agnes was dressed in a black basque and fishnet stockings with thigh high PVC boots and a small pair of skimpy black knickers. Sister Josephine on the other hand was wearing a full PVC open-breasted bodysuit, also in black and a pair of knee high boots, with…" she paused searching for the right word, "oh, what are they called? Those things cowboys wear on their boots?"


"Spurs" Tara said knowingly.

"Yeah that's it, a pair of spurs." Samantha said looking from Tara, who was lying on her back looking up at the sky, to Brigitte who was still listening intently whilst Juliet began to brush her hair. "Well, they were both kneeling down before the naked male who was bound to the cross in front of them. Lisa watched the two Sisters as they teased the poor – or should that be fortunate? - " she asked jokingly, "mans willy which was jutting out in front of him.

Lisa still couldn't see what Sister Theresa and Sister Sara were doing, though they were both dressed in their Nuns outfits. But the sounds of the man bound before them seemed to be more of pain than pleasure, so Lisa could only presume that they were either teasing him so much that he was bursting but that they were preventing this, or that they really were hurting him. Either way," Samantha concluded, "Lisa had seen enough to know that the dungeon myth was true and not only that, but she'd also been lucky enough to see not one, but two naked blokes, and one with a huge erection!" 

"So that's it?!" Brigitte asked, "Didn't she stay and watch what was going on,"

"I don't know," Samantha replied.

"I do," Tara piped up with a touch of humour in her voice "she stayed and watched as the four Sisters untied the two men, who then made the sisters all strip off, kneel in a row, one beside the other, where the two men then proceeded to fuck them all from behind!" Collectively the girls roared with laughter save for Brigitte who wanted to know more. "No seriously, didn't she stay and watch a little longer?"

"I don't know…" Samantha began

"Apparently," Tara interrupted, "she did stay and watch - anyway this is what her sister told me – Sisters Theresa and Sara came over to watch the two younger Sisters as they teased and denied the bloke on the cross nearest to Lisa. Lisa said that the blokes were both bound and blindfolded so there was no risk of them seeing her and giving her presence away to the Sisters. The only worry she had was being seen by the Sisters, but they were so intently involved with their two 'sex-slaves' that as long as Lisa remained quiet and didn't get too close she should be okay."

"So what happened?" Brigitte asked her eyes closed as Tara, her hairdressing completed. Began to massage her friends shoulders.

"Well, first the two younger sisters simply rubbed their hands over the mans body, then, one of the older sisters passed them a bottle of lotion, which Lisa presumed to be body oil or something. In turn they poured some of the lotion into their hands and then began rubbing it all over the blokes body. 

"What did he look like?" Brigitte asked as Juliet continued to gently massage her shoulders. Juliet's touch, combined with the conversation had made her nipples stand erect and she was already debating whether or not to have a bit of time alone later so she could satisfy her urges. 

"Dark hair, muscular build, a bit of a hairy chest, but not too much, strong legs, medium size penis – not circumcised - clean shaven." Tara said answering her friends question before continuing, "Of course, the man had a huge hard-on all along and they hadn't even touched his willy!" This time Tara paused to take a sip of her drink. "So the older Sisters instructed the younger ones where to apply the lotion, where to avoid – most notably Lisa said they were told to avoid his cock and balls, but to massage his thighs and lower stomach as this would maintain his hard on and keep him at bursting point. Lisa said this went on for what seemed like ages until the man began to cum without any of them even touching his cock!"

"I didn't know you could do that!" Juliet exclaimed taking a moment to stop massaging Brigitte's shoulders.

"Well apparently so," Tara replied. "Anyway, the Sisters didn't want him to cum too early – obviously they hadn't tormented him enough!" She joked, "so Sister Theresa instructed Sister Josephine to grip his willy really tightly around the base of the shaft so that it would prevent him cumming. Then, they poured what must have been cold water over him – to cool him down I suppose – before they started all over again. By now time was getting on, so Lisa had to go back. The funny thing was, that on the way back down the corridor, although she'd kept quiet and remained in the dark, she could have sworn she'd heard the Sisters calling her name after her!"

"You know, I've heard that the Sisters know more than they let on, that they have some sort of weird occult power of clairvoyance or extra-sensory perception or something." Samantha said.

"Yeah, have you noticed how Sister Theresa always knows when someone's lying?" Juliet enthused. "Last week she nearly caught Patricia Clarke out when she'd bunked off from class. Patricia said she'd been ill, but Sister Theresa knew that she was lying, she just knew."

"Yeah, but just because someone's a bad liar – and Patricia's not that good at lying is she! – doesn't mean that the Sisters have supernatural powers now does it!" Brigitte said.

*

That had been three years ago. Now Brigitte was 18 and had been at the Mansion House for just over a year. And here she was awaiting the arrival of another male candidate. Apparently he'd already undergone initiation but it seems that he had failed his first the test. His frustration had been so intense that he'd arrived uninvited and of his own accord. His failure would be a disappointment to the older sisters, but at least the younger ones would have the opportunity to 'punish' him. 




Neophyte



Leaning back in the expensive leather armchair she smiled to herself, what should we do to him? She wondered, before quickly realising that she'd better get changed out of her jeans and T-shirt and put on something a little more appropriate.

5

"This way" Emma instructed, leading Paul into a large kitchen. The tiled floor was cold on Paul's feet.

"So what are you cooking for us today Maria?" Chantelle was standing in front of a Spanish maid – the same maid that had brought Paul his breakfast on his first visit to the Mansion House.

"You see when it ready, now leave us alone." Maria replied seemingly annoyed at the interruption, before turning towards another young senorita. "Margaret, how are those potatoes doing?" Maria said noticing that Margaret's concentration was aimed at the naked young man who'd just entered the room, rather than the pot of boiling potatoes on the stove.

"You supposed to be checking potatoes, not looking at naked man." Maria admonished her younger assistant. Paul briefly caught her eye, before turning away feeling once more both embarrassed and aroused.

"This, as you see, is the kitchen." Emma said coming to a halt.

"And this is Maria and Margaret" Chantelle said looking across the kitchen table at Paul. "Maria this is…"

"I know who he is." Maria said sharply, "he like to be naked in front of women. He a flasher."

"He's not a flasher!" Chantelle said half laughing, "Margaret would you like to meet Paul?" 

"She busy." Maria answered before Margaret had chance to speak. "Besides, she not speak English well."

"Neither do you!" Chantelle teased.

"Oh, surely she's got time to say hello!" Emma said amused at Maria's behaviour. Maria always made the two girls smile with her short and sharp manner and it was fun to watch men squirm when in her presence.

"Margaret, this is Paul." Chantelle said once again. "And Paul, this is Margaret."

Margaret's face went red, embarrassed at the site of Paul's erection which had remained hard throughout the conversation. "Come and say hello."

Hesitantly Margaret wiped her hands on her apron before walking up to Paul whose heart beat a little faster.

"You remember the traditional greeting at the House don't you Margaret." Emma reminded her with a knowing look.

Margaret's gaze moved from Emma to Paul who, despite remaining still besides Emma, waited with baited breath for the young girl to give him the 'traditional greeting'. They hadn't said what it was, but he had his suspicions... 

"She not touching him while she cooking food." Maria remarked to the two girls. 

"It's okay, she can wash her hands after," Emma said quickly, concerned that Paul might catch on to what the traditional greeting actually was.

"It's okay Margaret, you can touch him." Chantelle said.

"I not sure." Margaret said in a strong Spanish accent. By now she was standing before him staring into his eyes. "Lovely eyes." She said before her eyes dropped down to look at his manhood. About to put out his hand, Paul realised that the traditional greeting was indeed not the same as a normal day-to-day greeting.

Margaret's hand reached forward and time slowed for Paul as he felt her fingers gently closing around his shaft until she locked her grip with her thumb.

"This one, likes to touch himself." Maria said to no one in particular seemingly uninterested in the younger girls sexual games. Margaret's head half turned, but her concentration remained on her holding action.

"That's it," Emma said, "now remember the movement we taught you." Obediently, Margaret's hand began to move slowly back and forth along Paul's shaft. 

"Three full lengths." Emma narrated noticing a sudden strong sense of arousal. 

"Now you say, 'please to meet you Paul.' " Chantelle said her eyes changing between Paul's red face and Margaret's flushed look. 

"Pleased to meet you Paul." Margaret said barely able to look at Paul in the eyes. "I name is Margaret."

"Pleased to meet you Margaret." Paul gasped as her hand massaged his shaft.

"Okay, that's enough." Emma said anxious that Paul not shoot his load before he'd even met Brigitte. 

Letting go of Paul's cock, Margaret turned and walked quickly away, her heart racing. If truth be told she would have liked to have had the opportunity to have met him alone where she was in charge of the situation, but as it was, she was new to the Sorority having taken the opportunity to work in England after applying through a classified advertisement in a Spanish magazine. The job had only specified that a young trainee was required to work as an assistant at a large well-to-do Mansion House owned by a businesswoman in the South-East of England. There had been no mention of the 'work' that took place there, or the fact that the only male presence was nearly always naked. Her first few days had been in somewhat subdued circumstances as the majority of women were packing to attend a meeting somewhere in Scotland, where another Mansion House was housing an international forum of some sort or other. When she eventually saw a naked man being lead along by a cock-leash she was simultaneously surprised, amused and aroused. Maria had then taken the opportunity to educate her young study in the actual 'work' that the Sorority did and that the fact that Margaret had been accepted meant that she possessed certain qualities that the Sisterhood were seeking in young women. That had only been a few weeks ago and she was still getting used to the site of seeing naked men around the house.

"You girls know what doing? Diana and others not back 'til after weekend you know." Maria said her mood suddenly concerned for the girls welfare.

"Yes, we know Maria." Emma replied tiredly. 

"We've already got him well under control. Can't you tell! He is naked!" Chantelle said.

"Just because no clothes, don't mean he not man! You be careful and come get me if he gets out of hand." Maria said obviously worried that, despite his nudity, Paul was still a potential danger under such a sexually charged situation.

"The only hand he's going to get out of will be ours!" Emma said laughing

"And that'll be when we decide!" Chantelle said breaking into a laugh also. "Anyway, we're taking him to see Brigitte, she'll sort him out, don't you worry. Come on." 

Obediently and erect Paul followed the two girls through the kitchen and further into the house. 

6

The three girls remained silent. He hadn't seen Brigitte yet as he'd been ordered to stand eyes closed, feet at shoulder width apart, hands behind his back, right hand clasped into left. He'd heard Emma and Chantelle leaving, their riding boots echoing across the tiled wooden floor, which had been so highly polished that it was like walking across a mirror, every now and again his eyes would glance down seeing the reflection of the two clothed horse riders leading him naked across the room. The extra visual stimulation had ensured that he maintained a hard-on. Then he'd been left alone, reminiscent of his initiation he remembered. His cock went limp and he began to feel a little cold and terribly nervous. Finally, he heard a door open followed by the sound of footsteps which grew louder as they grew closer until almost as abruptly as they'd interrupted the silence they stopped. His cock remained limp, his heart taking all the blood as it pumped faster. He could sense they were behind him, were they close? A yard? A foot? An inch even? If he leant back would he feel the contours of a female body? Or smell her fragrance or the cool touch of her breath upon his naked back?

"So, you came back of your own accord then Paul?" Brigitte said shocking him back from his fantasy. Involuntarily he opened his eyes. His penis twitched. "Very naughty." She said smiling knowingly at Emma and Chantelle who smiled back. 

"Yes very naughty indeed." She continued. She knew they were clichéd lines, but they would work wonders on suppressing the male ego and that was one of the main tenets of Sorority: Any male that has the ability to submit his ego willingly before any of the Sisters is regarded by the Sorority as a true neophyte.

Paul went to turn his head.

"Face front! Eyes closed!" Emma shouted immediately taking a step closer. Paul complied, turning his head forwards once more and closing his eyes. 

"You've been told how to stand and I expect you to obey. Or do you have trouble understanding instructions in English?" Chantelle barked. No answer. "Well?" She said sharply.

"I, er…"

"Have you got trouble speaking young man?" Emma interrupted.

"No, sorry, I won't do it again." Paul said. His throat was dry, his cock stirred with life, every now and again twitching as it began to grow erect.

The sound of slow footsteps took him off guard. What was going to happen? What have I got myself into? What will they do to me? They might have me arrested, or throw me out without any clothes or keys… No one knows I'm here, they could do away with me. Crazy thoughts raced through his mind.

"Shut up!" Emma said as if clairaudiently hearing his thoughts.

"Calm your mind Paul," Chantelle said softly. 

"Very naughty." It was Brigitte's voice. A soft well-spoken English voice.

"You came back. We didn't invite you, we didn't contact you, but you came back." She paused as she took a few more steps so that she was standing in front of him.

"Open your eyes Paul." She said, her voice soothing his fear, calming his emotions, arousing his desire. 

Brigitte was attractive, very attractive. She stood before him wearing the archetypal female horse riders outfit: black polished riding boots, white tight fitting jodhpurs, a thigh length black riding jacket with a shiny black leather belt wrapped around her waist, her brown hair was tied back in a bun. Her face was pretty, very pretty, beautiful smooth cheeks, full lips, painted with a glossy pink lipstick. A white cravat completed the sequence, enhanced by the fact that she held a flexed riding crop in her hands.

His eyes briefly met hers. He felt embarrassed at his arousal as his once again hard penis once pointed upwards. 

"Yes, your hard again aren't you." Brigitte said in a calming and loving tone. Lifting his eyes he looked back at her. Their eyes met and confirmed the existence of a form of communication that lay beyond the confusion of words.

"Do not be alarmed" Brigitte continued, "You have come back to us. You have returned to the place that you belong. To men like you, this is Aphrodite's Heaven, Venus' Passion, the cave of Lilith, the Garden of Eve. Here you will find what you are looking for, with us, through us and, eventually through yourself."

"Am I to stay here?"

Brigitte smiled at the stereotypical male question. "Stay here?" She said humorously, "No, not here. There is another place that you must visit. After you have been there, then we shall see how you've answered your own question."

Answered my own question? Paul thought. What did she mean by that? By my actions I create my life. He thought to himself. How I act in this new place will determine whether I can stay here or not. That made sense. But what was this 'other place'?

"The other place?" Brigitte repeated. "Well, you will have to wait and see. For now," she said as she glanced down at his erection, "you must undergo punishment and as neither Diana or Samantha are present it seems that it has fallen to me to determine the nature of that punishment." Her eyes had moved from his cock up his lean yet honed stomach to his chest, then his face until they finally met his eyes once more. "What is sure," she said as she stepped right up to him. "is that this little boy toy is now what we call a 'girls toy'." Her fingers wrapped slowly around his shaft until she was holding him firmly. "Do you understand?" She said in a menacing voice.

"I, I do.." Paul stammered feeling as if he were about to explode on the spot. 

"None of that" Chantelle barked from behind him. 

"There will be no unauthorised ejaculation!" Shouted Emma fiercely.

"It's okay girls, I have him firmly under control." Brigitte said her voice remaining strong. Her grip became tighter and tighter until Paul gasped out loud. The girls smiled between themselves.

"You're aching for release aren't you? Would you like Emma and Chantelle to rub some oil into that ache?" Brigitte said, her voice suddenly soft and sensuous, "would that ease the swelling do you think? Their soft hands caressing that cock of yours. Pulling ever so slowly on that foreskin revealing that lovely bulbous purple head?" Her tight grip eased off until she had him held firmly but gently in her right hand. "You know," she continued, "we have ways of teasing a man for hours, teasing and teasing him but never letting him cum. Would you like us to do that to you? But then, what sort of punishment would that be?"

Paul remained silent.

"Well?" 

"It, it wouldn't be…" He said at last, trying to control himself and prevent any pre-cum from appearing.

"Exactly!" Brigitte said sharply. "That would be no sort of punishment. Perhaps I should send you out to clean up the horses muck in the woods? Or scrub the toilets with a toothbrush? Or send you out late at night, naked to paint the guttering when the wind is up and the rain is pouring down?"

"That sounds more like punishment." Chantelle said, her voice contemptuous.

Ignoring her friend Brigitte continued. "You turn up here, uninvited, with a throbbing in your trousers that not even the most experienced whore in Bangkok could sedate! Turn up here, expecting… expecting… WHAT! Expecting to get some hand relief? A blowjob? A fuck even?!"

"I hadn't heard…"

"SHUT UP!" Brigitte barked echoed by Emma and Chantelle.

"It won't be long until the Ladies from the East arrive – end of the month I believe – and when they do, you are in for one hell of a surprise I can tell you young man."

"They have methods of male submission that we haven't even heard of." Emma said coldly, her intent to put fear into the man's heart.

"Okay, I've seen all I want to see. Take him down to the darkness." Brigitte said finally. 

Hands pulled at Paul's arms and he was led away.

7

Everything was dark. Dark and silent. Following Brigitte's instructions Emma and Chantelle had led Paul from the large dining room, through a hallway and down some steps into a basement. They remained silent during the brief journey which concluded with Paul being strapped to a large wooden cross nailed to one of the brick walls. Maintaining their silence, they left him alone turning the lights off as they went.

Another eternity passed. Paul's subconscious spending its time imagining worst-case-scenarios. I might be left here for ever, they might torture me to death, or as they had briefly joked, turn me into a girls strap-on fuck toy, worst still other men might be present and they might do any number of unspeakable things… The thoughts and emotions went on and on, each one working him into a further frenzied state until finally he spoke out loud.

"Shut up" he said to himself, trying to gather some self-control. 

The buckles that held his wrists and ankles were tight and evidently new as they cut into his skin. His feet ached, he was dying for a piss and shaking from the cold. CFNM is great he thought as long as you're warm and have plenty of women who want to play with your prick, but when you start to shake from the cold it wasn't as much fun. He remembered a time past during his involvement in the subculture of Satanism when he'd been instructed to lie on top of a hill from dusk 'til dawn without moving. The ritual was a test of the initiates strength of will. He'd tried it three times, but each time the cold had got to him. On his third and final attempt he had reached the first stages of hypothermia and knew that he could no longer continue. Was this then, he wondered to himself, a similar test? Brigitte had already said that he'd failed and would have to be punished, perhaps this was the punishment - left to finish what he had failed in the past. 

Time passed and his shivering increased. Gradually and almost inaudibly, he could hear a distant chant. Not continuous, but seeming to come and go. The sound stopped. Paul held his breath, straining to hear even the slightest sound, but nothing… then, again a chant, louder this time, closer perhaps. The slow, mournful ascending and descending of a melancholic chant. It sounds like the Dies Irae he thought to himself, the old Christian chant that was part of a larger series of chants used to re-enact the death and resurrection of Christ.

A door opposite him opened startling him. In candlelight, a silhouetted robed figure appeared, cowl up masking the face. Silently the figure walked into the room, holding a candlestick containing a single black lit candle, the flame typically danced in the breeze, but the candle remained alight. Behind the first figure the chanting came. "Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeclum in favilla, teste Satan cum sybilla," the final note rose a little from the others, "quantos tremor est futurus, quando Vindex est venturus, cuncte stricte discussurus, dies irae, dies illa." It was a slower version than the one used by the Christians, and he had known it well as it had formed an integral part of his own work on the Left Hand Path. 

By now three robed figures had entered the room, the last one closing the door behind them. Each held a candlestick holding a single black candle.

"Non usitata nec tenui ferer, penna beformis per liquidim et terra," standing before him the first figure spoke evocatively in a strong commanding female voice which he recognised as Emma's. Behind her the chant continued.

"You, who have failed the test, are deemed unworthy of initiation into our mysteries." A second female voice – Chantelle's - began in an ominous tone as Emma continued to speak forcefully in Latin: "Vates neque in terris morabor, longius invidiaque maior, orbis relinquaum."

"You have come here without invitation, unconsciously overpowered by your male ego, intent on fulfilling your sexual desires, but you have found nothing. There is nothing here for you anymore." As Chantelle spoke, Emma moved closer to Paul, her unseen eyes continuously looking down at his penis to see if anything she said made it harden. Behind her the Dies Irae chant came to an end. 

"We are not your whores." Emma continued

"We are your death mistresses." Brigitte said approaching Paul as Chantelle continued to speak in Latin. "Dignum et justum est. Agios Athanatos."

"You have stolen the treasure from yourself." Emma continued. "You have closed the door to the mysteries by your actions. Now, feel our wrath." With her final words the three figures began screaming, their voices full of black-witch-like hatred, misery, anger and despair.

Paul trembled. Cold, unable to move, caught in a fantasy world that had gone terribly wrong. 

"I do not want to…" he stammered, cut off as one of the women lashed out at him, her hand slamming against his face with a hard slap.

"SILENCE!" She shouted as her companions moved in upon him. Sharp nails dug into his chest, scratching downwards over his solar plexus and stomach being withdrawn before they reached his penis. Strangely he was becoming hard again. He felt teeth lock onto his right hand, they dug in, the jaw closed tightly then released as blood surged through the wound. Paul cried out as sharp nails dug into his scrotum, pinching his balls tightly, another hand gripped his shaft, pulling his skin backwards, revealing his purple head. Finger flicked at it, pinched it. Then the three girls started to smack his cock taking it in turns between them to flick or smack or pull it down then let it spring back upwards. Suddenly they ceased all movement, retreated away from Paul and blew out the flames of the candles that had been momentarily set aside. 




Neophyte



In the darkness Paul waited with baited breath. What next, his hand hurt, his chest felt sore, but the pain was as nothing compared to his cock and balls. He ached to touch himself, to gently hold and caress his wounded manhood. As if in answer two female hands softly ran their way up his legs stopping at his thighs where they moved inwards to his jointly hold his hard but sore prick. He felt a cool ointment being rubbed into his foreskin and scrotum. The pain eased off, replaced by arousal. Then, as swiftly as they had appeared the hands left him, hard and alone.

Again he was left to the darkness. Paul let out a gasp. For a moment he thought he heard movement then nothing. Just darkness and silence. Had they gone? Left him alone forever in this dark, cold place? 

Suddenly to his right, a flame ignited. The light flared, found a balance and remained constant. A robed figure appeared silhouetted by the naked light. 

"I am Wyrd," the woman said, her voice cold and emotionless, "from whence all life stems, from the place you" raising her left arm and pointing at him as she spoke, "came." She paused intent on creating a powerful ritualistic atmosphere, "And to me you shall return." She said her voice quieter, colder, detached.

Another flame, this time to his left. Again it flared, found its balance and maintained a stable state of illumination.

"I am Being," The figure began, her voice as cold and emotionless as Wyrd's, "the bringer of change. Without which" also raising her arm and pointing at him, "you cannot be."

In between the two flames another figure appeared, but no flame this time. 

"I am Death. The reaper of debt." The central figure said. "Collector of life. Reaper of the living." Again pointing at him from her outstretched left arm. 

"Together we are the cycle of existence. Without beginning, without end." Collectively they raised their hands above their heads, each sister forming a triangle by connecting the points of their thumbs and first fingers.

Suddenly a cold breeze swept through the room, artificial or magical it mattered not as the effect was still the same. The two flames extinguished and the room turned dark once more. His exposed body suddenly felt even colder. He heard a unison of sudden movement as if some form of ethereal presence had invaded the room. The cold air hugged his naked body.

"Naked at birth, naked at death" One of the sisters said.

"And to death you shall go." A second voice said.

"And to death you shall go, and to death you shall go, and to death you shall go." The words repeated, becoming a witches chant, working a spell upon his unconscious mind, creating the necessary vibrations to manifest his astral body. 

From out of the darkness a hand grabbed his chin, holding him firmly. Lower down, a sharp grip clenched his cock and balls ensuring that he would comply. The overpowering smell of chemical filled his mouth and nostrils as he was smothered with a cloth. The darkness turned darker, consciousness faded and life seemed to cease.

8

In the dining room, Maria and Margaret served the three girls dinner. 

"What time is it?" Chantelle asked cutting into her Gammon Steak.

"7.30." Brigitte replied looking at her friend. 

"Do you think he'll go mad?" Emma asked taking a sip from her glass of water.

"I doubt it, but he will know what kind of power we hold and the lesson will have been learnt." Brigitte said.

"What about Thomas?"

"I told him to get dressed and go home after he'd finished his duties."

"I like Thomas, he's got a funny looking willy hasn't he!" Chantelle said enthusiastic about Thomas' manhood. "It kind of droops even when he's erect!" She continued

"Is it ready?" Emma asked Brigitte, momentarily ignoring Chantelle's more interesting subject.

"It will be. Thomas is a good reliable man." Brigitte said taking a sip from her glass of water.

"Do you like Thomas?" Chantelle said to Emma not interested in talking about the forthcoming ritual.

"I like James', his is nice and big." Emma replied.

"They all have perfectly nice willy's if you ask me." Brigitte said spearing a small potato with her fork.

"But which one would you like to fuck?" Chantelle asked enquiringly.

"All of them!" Emma laughed.

"Yes, but if it could only be one."

"Paul." Brigitte said after thinking over her answer for a moment or two

"Paul?" 

"I like Steven." Chantelle said, he's got a great body – so muscular."

"Why do you like Paul?" Emma asked Brigitte

"There is something about him, the way he behaves, I mean, I've only met him once, but I think he'll go far."

"Emma and I teased him before he met you, we threatened to dress him up in a maids outfit!"

Brigitte laughed. "And what did he say to that?" 

"He said no way." Emma smiled.

"But he kept his hard-on, so he must have been turned on by the idea. I know, shall we leave it out on his bed for after the ritual?" Chantelle said suddenly eager to take the threat to a realistic level.

"Yeah that'd be fun." Emma enthused. "What do you think Brigitte?"

"I'm not sure if he is ready for that step…"

"He doesn't have to wear it, it'd just be to tease him and see if he really would be into the idea." Chantelle interrupted

"Well, why not have some fun, so go for it." Brigitte finished. "After all," she continued after taking another bite to eat, "men are funny creatures. They say one thing but want another. They are so constrained by the male 'code of conduct' that they find it almost impossible to do what they really want."

"I'm going to take a bath." Emma said finally having finished her dinner. "Anyone want to share?"

"No I'm going to meditate for a while." Chantelle said.

"What about you Brigitte?"

"I've got to phone Diana, and anyway you shouldn't bathe after you just eaten."

"I mean in about an hour. I want to read that text on cross-dressing that Samantha left me first – forewarned is forearmed as they say!" Emma replied.

"Well, if you're not going to take a bath yet, then I'm up for one later." Brigitte said, "I feel a bit dirty after that Left Hand Path ritual that we did." 

"Yeah me too" Chantelle said suddenly keen not to be left out. 

"Okay, meet in the bathing room about 9 o'clock then?" Emma said getting up from the table and turning to Maria who had just entered the room.

"Thanks Maria that was lovely." Emma said

"Good, and you girls like too?" Maria asked looking across to Brigitte and Chantelle.

"Yes it was very nice, you're a marvellous cook Maria, what would we do without you?" Chantelle said.

"Not me that cooked, 'twas Margaret." Maria replied anxious to ensure that Margaret's work was duly noted.

"We'll have to thank her when we see her next then." Brigitte said, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

"And how did go with boy?"

"Boy?!" Chantelle exclaimed.

"Paul's doing fine, we did a few darker chants and then left him to sleep." Brigitte replied

"And told him he didn't have a place here anymore." Chantelle piped up. 

"And he believe?" Maria asked

"Oh he believed all right " Emma laughed, "You've never seen a man so scared!"

"When do you get him?"

"About 2 o'clock.."

"You sure he okay?"

"Yes, don't worry." Brigitte said a little tired at Maria's continual motherly concerns. 

"I don't want you girls to get trouble, that all." Maria said collecting the dinner plates as both Chantelle and Brigitte got up.

"Actually I was thinking Maria," Brigitte began, "would it be possible to let Margaret have the morning free tomorrow?"

"Why you ask? Margaret a busy girl you know." Maria said unsure of Brigitte's intentions.

"Well, the ritual tonight would be better with four, we could generate more power and make the whole rite a lot more powerful. I mean, we could do it with three, but four is the ideal number."

"Yes, Margaret would make a great fourth!" Chantelle remarked.

"It would only be for a morning Maria," Emma said "and, if you like, we can all help out in the afternoon – Paul included."

"Yes, we've even got a pretty little maids outfit that he can wear!" Chantelle laughed.

"Well…" Maria hesitated ignoring Chantelle's last remark. 

"Oh go on Maria, it will be okay, I assure you." Chantelle said aware of Maria's hesitancy.

"If you girls promise to take care I suppose it okay."

"Brilliant! I'll go have a word with her right now then." Emma said heading towards the kitchen.

"I'll come with you," Chantelle said following Brigitte. 

"Well, I might as well go and make this phone call," Brigitte said leaving Maria to clear the dinner table.

9

"Is Margaret ready yet?" Emma asked Chantelle.

"Yes, she's just getting changed." Chantelle replied sucking on a lollipop.

"Is the location ready?" 

"Yes, that was done by Thomas, he came back and told Brigitte that he'd completed it and taken Paul to the location."

"Is he still bound?"

"Yes," Chantelle said taking her lollipop from her mouth and examining it in more detail, "he made sure he was tightly bound and still sedated."

"And how is Margaret? Have you seen her yet?"

"Yes, she looks fantastic. The clothes Brigitte chose for her are absolutely ideal. She is definitely going to give Paul a raging hard-on as soon as he sees her!" 

"Yes, but we're wearing robes aren't we. Aren't we?" 

"Yes, I know, but… well, you know, if we weren't she would give Paul a raging hard-on."

"It should be a successful ritual then." Emma said admiring the fine contours of her friends body which were accentuated by virtue of the tight fitting nature of her outfit. 

*

His mind foggy, Paul slowly returned to consciousness.

"You have failed." 

"You have failed."

"You have failed."

"You have failed." Each girl in turn repeated the words until Paul became more centred and aware of his surroundings.

"Paul, You have failed. We are your judgement." Margaret said from behind the veil of her black robe. 

Standing before an open grave, Paul's hands were bound behind his back. A little way in the distance the dark shadows of a night-time Church loomed up, hauntingly sinister to the average person. Ahead of him lay silent gravestones and further ahead trees swayed, pushed by the wind. 

Still naked, Paul shivered a little. It was a clear sky above and he could make out a few of the more well known constellations. Behind him dark shadows stood motionless before backing away into the shadows, leaving him to his naked solitude.

"10 of swords, I come to you. The End Complete." The black robed female walked towards him from his left.

"Judgement, not rebirth. I come to you. The End Complete." Another black robed female, this time from his right. 

"Five of Coins. I come to you. Out in the cold. The End Complete." The voice came from behind.

"Misery, sadness, rejection." Slowly the fourth robed figure appeared from the shadows walking towards him. "The three dark sisters come to you. Your End Complete. You have failed." 

"You have failed." The other sisters repeated as they all walked around to stand behind him. 

"Before you is the waiting grave." Brigitte narrated. "Open and receptive." Open and receptive – a play on the female role of sexuality and death, symbolised by the maiden, mother and crone.

"Kneel naked man." Two hands – one on either shoulder pushed him down to the earth. His manhood stood erect, attracting the attention of Margaret's eye, making it more difficult for her to maintain her level of concentration as the ritual progressed. The rehearsal the evening before had been a lot easier without the distraction of a naked and aroused male whose penis acted as a light beacon shining in the darkness of the night, attracting her eye, drawing her attention away from the ritual. What would it feel like to her touch? Her smooth hand gently grasping the hard muscle. Or, if she were to lay down, open her legs a little and feel his body upon her, his hardness nudging her soft smooth thigh, or pushing into her opening… The thoughts pushed up into her consciousness bringing an overpowering sense of sensuality and lust. Brigitte had warned that that might be the case and if it did occur she should practice self-awareness: just being present, in her body, in the graveyard, in her mind. Detached from all things until she could once again find her composure and add her own power to the ritual.

Emma continued the narration. "From the darkness of the cosmos you came, born from the Goddess that manifested itself in your mother." 

"And to the darkness you shall return, to the Goddess manifest in me." Chantelle continued as both she, Emma and Margaret took a few steps backwards. In the silence that followed Paul felt cold and fearful. Gazing into the black empty grave, he felt a lump rise in his throat. His penis still throbbed with desire, it felt so hard and he ached for release, but no hand had touched him, no lip gently kissed, no tongue caressed, no pussy waited wet and open. He had been teased and frustrated, the flame of his personal fetish had been lit and turned into a roaring inferno. But the girls had teased him and left him. 

Behind him Brigitte remained silent, he'd heard the sounds of movement a moment or two earlier and it felt as though the other girls had retreated some distance. Where were they going? To get changed? Would he end up getting a fuck? His cock-head bulged a little more as if agreeing to the scenario. 

"And now," Brigitte said, interrupting his train of fantasy, "you will be sent to the grave for ever." Lifting the sword blade back across her right shoulder, she took a final breath before casting the blade forward into Paul's neck. With ease it cut through the spinal column, bone, tissue and blood all parted in one clean sweeping blow. For a moment nothing happened. Mundane time ceased and eternity presenced itself from behind the veil of normal consciousness as it did in all times of great shock. 

The four girls remained silent, they had stepped over a line, taken things to an extreme. Had they forsaken the balance? Would they have to be punished in turn? Would Diana be pleased or, cast them out to serve with the other failed women at the House of the Master, stripped of their clothes – the symbol of power that they had over the male initiates to their mysteries. Stripped of their clothes, and forced to submit to the will of the male teachers. Bound, gagged, tormented, teased, stimulated until they each begged to be fucked. They watched silently as finally the head separated from its host body and tumbled downwards into the darkness of the grave. 

Paul's eyes looked up as his head revolved in mid-air, within his frame of view he could see his naked and kneeling body motionless penis still erect, at the edge of the grave. Behind it he saw the four black robed girls, the figure on the far right took down its cowl and his eyes briefly saw the attractive face of Emma looking down at him. Then she, the others, his body and the grave all faded away as the world of darkness faded into a beautiful white light, warm, attractive, loving, peaceful. Here there was no pain, no sorrow, no death, no tangible shape other than that constructed by the mind. 

The hilt of the sword in Brigitte's hand felt sticky. Margaret rocked her body backwards and forwards as she reeled from the experiences that had just taken place. Chantelle placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, her fingers making small circular movements.

"We'd better clean up…" Chantelle began.

Below him, Paul could see the girls again, the white light fading as the world below came back into focus. What is this? I died, I am in heaven. I don't want to go back. They released me…

A black cowled shape was leaning forward over the back of Paul's body. To either side, the other girls stood with their backs to him, slowly they all turned, pulled down their cowls and looked directly to the location in which Paul's consciousness momentarily existed. Surely they can't see me? Paul thought to himself.

Back in his body, Paul let out a loud gasp as he spurted his load deep into the darkness of the grave below him. Brigitte's stokes continued until she was satisfied that she had stroked as much cum out of the neophyte as she possibly could. Her hand was wet and sticky with the mans juice, Paul leant back against her body, she smelt good. In the distance a dog barked, Hekate, goddess of death and suicides prowled the night…



Neophyte



Six cloaked watchmen stood positioned on the outside of the long boat, two at the front, two in the middle and two aft. Each held a small ceremonial drum of stretched hide and wood carved with the sacred symbols of the Masters of the Lake. Orange light from the flaming torches that decorated the long boat illuminated their heavy jaws with beards trimmed neatly in anticipation of the night's coming ritual. Twelve initiates rowed, dressed only in small hide loincloths, their muscular bodies rippled under the sheen of moisture that coated their tanned skin. Each had thin symbolic ropes tied around their upper arms and necks that they had used their own hair to braid. 

Having just reached manhood, the twelve initiates had proven themselves in arms and intelligence to be above the other warriors. Tonight they would be inducted by orgy into to the order of Myr. They would be fucked by many for the duration of the night and if proved, one of them could be chosen to become the Masters of the Lake's elite. 

An elite warrior had not been chosen for two score years even though the city of Atman had sent their best and most handsome young men every turn of the wheel. Little separated the twelve sent this year in terms of skill and strength from any who had been sent the previous years; their intelligence was equal and their beauty as well. Still, it was hoped that this time the Masters of the Lake would be appeased by at least one of the young men as they had not been in a long time and would break the drought they had cast over the land. 

The night was eerily calm and the full moon reflected from the waters of the lake where it peeked from under the blanket of mist that enshrouded it. The six standing stared intently into the night from under their deep hoods, watching for errant rocks or flotsam that might hinder their passage. There were things far darker in the lake and more sinister than drift wood though; things with insatiable appetites that would be stirring from their ancient slumber, called by the beat of the drumming that came from the island in the centre of the lake as well as the small ceremonial drums that kept time for the rowers.

Rhiordan felt each beat on the stretched hide reverberate through his body and stir his loins. He heaved on the oar in his hands and leaned back to strengthen the stroke, his erection strained against the thin cloth tied around his loins. The drum beat again and the rowers leaned forward, their muscles rippled liquidly under their sweat covered skin and Rhiordan let out a soft sigh that almost sounded like a moan. He could not lose control now though, it was not time yet. He glanced up at the watchmen at the back of the boat and saw the Owen on the left, a small smile on his lips as he watched the young man lean back and then push forward. Rhiordan bit back his own smile but made sure he stretched languidly with each pull of the oar so that Owen might better see.

Owen was Rhiordan's master at arms. He had trained the boy to heights never achieved before. Each night he had bedded him as well and Rhiordan had shown him what the scribes had taught and had taken Owen to ecstasy unheard of. He had been deemed to be one of the best over a year ago and in preparation for the night's ritual he had had to abstain from intercourse for a year and a day. 

Owen was proud of him and had helped him prepare for the coming ritual. He had painted Rhiordan's face with blue woad and marked his chest with sacred symbols. He had oiled and stretched his passage with his fingers to prepare him for initiation into the ranks of Myr, of which he was an elder himself. It had been hard for them both not to indulge but tonight, the ranks of Myr's warriors would pleasure them and take pleasure from them in return. The past months of abstinence would make the orgy all the more pleasurable for the initiates.

They didn't know who or indeed if any would be chosen by the Master's of the Lake but Rhiordan was determined it would be him. He had worked for this day his entire life, his every thought, his every action had been dedicated to becoming the best he could be at every known preference of the Masters of Lake and then he had worked to excel even past his limits. He had trained relentlessly in arms and had used his beauty to entice the scribes into educating him in the arts of war and strategy so that he might train his mind as well; and they had taught him how to give and receive pleasure as well. He hadn't had to work hard to excel at that.

There was a loud splash to the side of the boat and Rhiordan turned quickly, instinctively, and caught an impression of a long limb or tail roll from the water before disappearing again. 

"Keep your eyes straight initiate." Owen said not unkindly. "You'll see the Masters of the Lake soon enough."

Rhiordan smiled and stretched back with the oar. Moments later the boat ground out on the soft sandy bank of the island and the watchers leapt nimbly over the side to haul it from the water. 

The shore was lined with the warriors of Myr and they watched eagerly as the initiates stepped from the boat. They eyed the young men who would soon be among them hungrily and Rhiordan was pleased to see quite a few had trained their eyes on him. Even though he was ruggedly handsome he thought he was the least attractive of the twelve and had worried he would be left alone. 

In the old days, the initiates were required to run through the ranks of hardened warriors who beat them as they passed. The few who made it through the gauntlet would proceed to the next, more pleasurable stage of initiation. That rule was changed a hundred years earlier by the Masters of the Lake who for reasons known only to them decided that a symbolic gauntlet would please them more. The warrior's of Myr arranged themselves in lines an arm's span wide that stretched from the shore to the inner sanctuary of the island where the ritual would take place. They smiled at the initiates in challenge, bracing themselves for when the young men attempted to run through the gauntlet. 

The beat of the drums picked up and quickened Rhiordan's heart. It thundered in his chest and reverberated through his muscles. He didn't wait for the signal to run and he leapt forward, his powerful legs hurtled his lithe body into the ranks of Myr's warriors. Hands reached for him but he dodged and side stepped them, ducked and weaved through the melee of hardened bodies until he saw the cleared sanctum at the end of the man tunnel. He dived through the air to cover the last few feet and rolled when he landed, untouched. Grinning he looked down and saw he had lost his loin cloth and casting a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he saw Owen, standing at the end of the line waving it like a flag. He laughed and the warrior tied it around his arm and then turned, waiting for the next initiate to pass. 

When all twelve stood in the sanctum, the warriors of Myr surrounded them in a large circle. One of the elders stepped forward and began the chant that would summon the Masters of the Lake. Another lifted a conch the size of Rhiordan's head to his lips and blew on it long and hard. The warrior's unified voices were almost deafening and the chant they sang washed over the naked initiate's bodies like a physical touch. The elders threw handfuls of sacred herbs onto the braziers and the flames burst into blue smoke that washed over the trembling young warriors and their senses sharpened as the chanting reached its crescendo.

Rhiordan shuddered with excitement, with anticipation of what was to come. The warriors set their wraps aside and stood around them like a wall of man meat, lustfully eyeing the initiate's lithe bodies, their erections. He found Owen among them and smiled. The warrior stroked himself while he looked at Rhiordan. His choice of initiate was clear. He would have to wait for the elite warriors of the Master of the Lake but if none chose Rhiordan, Owen and he could join finally, after their long abstinence.

The twelve elite warriors were seated on a dais set before a sheer rock wall on either side of a vast cave mouth. Owen had told Rhiordan that the Masters of the Lake would emerge from the cave when the orgy started and hopefully they would find one of the initiates pleasing. The chanting reached fever pitch and the elite warriors stood, resplendent with collars of beaten gold around their thick corded necks and swaths of white silk tied around their loins. They smiled and the initiates looked down as was the custom but Rhiordan didn't. He had already decided to do whatever he could to stand out from the beauties beside him. There was nothing between the twelve that would distinguish any of them physically. Rhiordan had to rely on his spirit to catch the eye of the Masters.

The war chief of the elites looked at Rhiordan, bemused, and raised an eyebrow. He walked smoothly toward the young man and even though he must have been centuries old, he looked no older than one of the initiates. The magic that the Masters of the Lake had instilled in their elites made them immortal. He circled around Rhiordan and slid his hands over the young man's body. 

"Rhiordan." His voice was deep and mesmerising.

"You know my name?"

"I chose you a year ago from among your peers to stand as one of the twelve today. For a year and a day I have watched you and anticipated this night, when I could fuck you, feel my cock buried in your heat." The war chief murmured in Rhiordan's ear and slid his hands over the initiate's body, along his ribcage and down to his groin until he found hard man flesh.

Rhiordan's body responded instantly and his testicles tightened. It was a great honour to be chosen by the elite war chief first. Perhaps Rhiordan's dream of being chosen to be among them would come true. If he was chosen, he would be at the lowest rank and would serve as the elite's comforter, giving and receiving their pleasure. After that he would rise through the ranks to become immortal himself. He cast a glance at Owen but the warrior was nodding in approval. 

Following his gaze the war chief saw Owen. He lifted his hand and motioned him to come forward. "Share him with me." The elite smiled at Owen. "I know you have both waited long to be rejoined this night."

The war chief pulled Rhiordan onto his broad lap and lifted his thighs until the young man's were splayed over his. Owen dropped to his knees between their legs and swallowed Rhiordan's cock into the wet warmth of his mouth. The warrior moaned and arched his neck back while his lover expertly worked his cock. It had been so long...

The war chief lifted Rhiordan effortlessly until the massive, well oiled head of his cock pressed against his anus. Owen sucked a tightened testicle into his mouth and then reached his hands under Rhiordan's splayed thighs to hold his buttocks wide. The war chief's cock was massive and Rhiordan squirmed slightly. 

"How many inches do you think you can take tonight Rhiordan?" The war chief kissed the lobe of his ear and traced it with his tongue.

"All of it." Rhiordan growled and tried to force himself down but the elite held him still. 

"Patience beautiful one," The war chief shuddered. "I want to make this good for you but I admit I'm finding it hard not to just impale you. How did you both manage to abstain for a whole year?" 

"And a day..." Rhiordan said breathlessly.

Owen slid his mouth from Rhiordan's cock so he could speak. "With great difficulty." 

He lowered Rhiordan until his puckered anus swallowed the fat tip of the war chief's cock and then he held him still so he could adjust to the thick girth. Rhiordan moaned and Owen ran the tip of his tongue around the stretched skin, his hand stroked the young warrior's cock mercilessly. Rhiordan was beside himself after a year without being touched. His climax coiled in his testicles and the warrior's soft chanting and drum beats vibrated through the sensitive skin of his shaft. More than anything he wanted to be fucked. He tried to force himself down so he could take more of the war chief's cock and the elite allowed him to work his tight body over him.

Rhiordan slid down the hard column a few inches further and rotated his hips slightly. The elite gasped and slid his hands over the warrior's pert buttocks, lifting them apart so he could watch his cock being swallowed. Rhiordan lifted himself slightly and then forced down again to take a few more inches. His skin was burning and stretching around the wide girth but Owen was lapping at where the two were joined, lubricating the elite's shaft and Rhiordan's tight ring of muscle. He rose one more time until only the head of the elites cock was nestled in his tunnel and then he thrust down hard. 

He groaned loudly and the war chief shuddered behind him, holding him still until he adjusted. Owen was nuzzling his testicles and stroking his cock. It was too much for Rhiordan. He had to come or explode. Owen swallowed him in his mouth when he felt his penis throb and swell, coaxing him on with his tongue, swirling around his head and licking the slit of his cock until Rhiordan shuddered and climaxed, filling his throat with seed. 

The war chief stiffened behind Rhiordan as the young warrior's muscles clenched around him. He flipped him onto his knees and held his hips. "Are you ready Rhiordan?" His voice was thick with desire.

The warrior nodded and lowered his cheek to the warm sand. 

"Spread your legs wider, I want to bury myself in your colon." The war chief growled. 

Rhiordan opened himself willingly and then the war chief lifted his hips slightly and ploughed his cock deep inside his stretched anus. His balls tightened with desire and his buttocks jiggled each time the huge warrior slapped his hard stomach against them. The war chief angled his thrusts so that his long cock struck Rhiordan's ecstasy button each time he ploughed it into him. 

When the young warrior ejaculated again and his body clenched around the war chief like a fist, the elite groaned loud and long and filled Rhiordan with his cum. He pulled his still hard cock –another boon from the Masters of the Lake - from the warrior's tight, slick heat and moved aside for Owen. He closed his mouth over Rhiordan's and kissed him for a long time while Owen fucked his arse with long smooth strokes, revelling in the feeling he had been deprived of for a year – and a day. It didn't take him long to reach climax. 

At last the war chief broke the kiss and smiling at Rhiordan's pleasure grimaced face he dragged his thumb over the young warrior's forehead. 

"Consider yourself chosen, Rhiordan." The elite said.

"Congratulations Rhiordan." Owen leaned over Rhiordan's shoulder; panting and he kissed him gently. "I better move aside, quite a few are waiting for their turn."

Rhiordan grinned and a number of hard calloused hands slid gently over his back, his buttocks, his thighs, stroking him before Owen had even moved away. Another fat prick slid against his anus and slowly split his cheeks open. A mouth closed over his cock and another throbbing shaft was placed enticingly close to his lips. Rhiordan dragged his tongue over the weeping head and then swallowed it. Over and over he was taken and pleasured until at last, the initiates and the warriors were satisfied at last. He could hardly believe he could come so much in one night. 

Perhaps the magic of being chosen had begun to work the instant the war chief had marked him. Rhiordan didn't mind too much either way. He had achieved what he had set out to do. He was now among the elites of the Masters of the Lake and drought had been lifted from the land. Best of all, he didn't have to abstain from Owen any longer and he used the last of his conscious thoughts to spoon his body around the man before sleep embraced them both.



Neospective



Luke Whittingham is an artist. He was born in 1967. He was prominent in the 90s on the London Art scene. His most famous work to date is "Committed to Death" (2004), an installation which can be seen in The Royal Academy, London. He currently lives in SoHo with his two cats. Lucy and Mary.

The shop window is full of televisions sets. Each one shows a different weather program. The mouths of the weather girls move in silence behind the pane. Tourists hide from the rain underneath the overhang of delis, coffee stands and theatre booths. Some art students sit in Burger King with cups of coffee. Their eyes dart from one visual flash to the next. Long hair - shopping bag - 99p - plastic chair – receipt - cigarette butt – yellow – purse - mobile phone – blue – umbrella – red – watch - shoes. Outside The Queen's Head, Maudlin Jugglers and mime artists continue their routines in the fine drizzle. Above the office buildings clouds wait. If you could read lips you would know that The Weather girl is saying, "Rain, with sun, later. Sunny patches. Winds up to 70mph."

"Wake up, you're going to be late."

"Me alone," Whittingham rolls over.

Mary sweeps apart the curtains of the hotel room.

"It's 6:30 in the evening. Get up," says Mary.

"Ok, ok," he drags the sheets over his head, and burrows under the pillow.

"You've got to be there in an hour. Get up," she repeats.

"Christ." Luke Whittingham is sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching for the bottle of vodka.

"Do you really need to do that?" says Mary.

"Yes, actually I do," says Whittingham.

"Have a shower," says Mary. Whittingham hired Mary as his token blond PR girl, not as his personal ball breaker. In this world she was his slave.

"Ok, Luke, the Limos here and Lucy is here to help you with you're stuff. You need to be there by 8:30 to talk to the press. I need to get to the gallery. Call me if there are any problems," says Mary after applying black lipstick.

Luke Whittingham, famous artist and alcoholic, rises from his chair and greets Lucy Mack, his personal assistant with an affable "Good morning, Luce."

"Mr. Whittingham, we really need to go. There's Champagne in the Limo and those other things you asked for," says Lucy avoiding his gaze.

"Merci bout coup, Lucy Luce," he says bringing to life a Cools Menthol, "These private views are a real bore, Luce. Can't we just nip off to pub for a few G&Ts. They won't even notice," says Whittingham. She smiles and looks down.

Whittingham hoovers up a line of cocaine off the top of the glass coffee table.

"You know what happened last time, Luke," warns Lucy.

"Oh, god," says Whittingham.

Whittingham does remember the last time, it was the first time. They often found them selves the last ones in the office on Thursday nights. Lucy had kept up her professional guard and resisted his come-ons, but eventually he wore her down. Until she couldn't resist, until her business suit shirt was hitched up above her hips and her panties were dangling from her stilettos. Whittingham remembers how her nipple ring scratched his chest and how her calf's gripped his ass, pulling him in. He remembers her asking him to hurt her as he twisted he nipple. It was all over very quickly and he was out the door with an "I'll make you famous." It was his new, very annoying, catch phrase. Lucy wondered how many other women had been treated this way. They had never mentioned it again. 

There are three sections in a standard limousine. The front section is where the driver sits behind the dark glass. The middle section has pull down seats on the driver's side, three seats facing forward and a mini bar on the side opposite the sliding door. The back section is under the tinted back shield. Lucy sits in the middle section of the white limousine, ordered from PrimeLimo.com, with the mini-bar. She passes glasses of champagne back to Luke Whittingham, famous artist and millionaire, who is flanked by two female escorts from Elite Modeling London. One of them is stroking his hair while the other one is administering him a blow job.

"Fantastic!" Whittingham downs the first glass of Champagne as they turn out of the hotel's underground car park. 

"This was a great touch Luce. Now I know why I pay you so much," he groans.

"Thank you, Mr Whittingham," she's gazing out the window at a homeless person huddled under a bus shelter, out of the rain. Would she always be his slave?

"Good evening, Whittingham, you old devil." It's Luke's drinking buddy and "lad about town", Daniel Hurst. His beer belly is sticking out from behind his Heineken t-shirt, but his Versace suit covers this quite well. He holds his cigarette between his teeth "Cheers mate. Great stuff again, I don't know how you do it. You're a fuckin' genius mate, a fuckin' genius. Cheers." They clink champagne flutes.

"For fucks sake, Daniel. You could have at least stayed just below annihilated until this shit was over." Whittingham is wearing a black Gucci suit and a black silk shirt from Dior and pair of classic ray bans he saw Jack Nicholson wearing at the Oscars. Jack is a close personal friend.

"Don't worry mate, here have another glass of Champagne and this," says Daniel as he slips Whittingham the small package the size of a stamp.

"You are incorrigible, Daniel," Whittingham says, heading for toilets.

"Here's the exhibition program, Mr Whittingham," says Lucy, handing him the neon pink pamphlet. 

"Thanks Luce. God, what did I agree to this time? This is tasteless. Who OK'd this?" asks Whittingham.

"You did, Luke," says Lucy. How long does this exhibition last?

The program outlines Whittingham's new retrospective at the Derpertine Gallery in London's Rabbit End.

NeoSpective by Luke Whittingham (21-10-2004)

This exhibition by controversial artist Luke Whittingham is an installation piece which plays upon the "Retrospective" phase of an artist's career. Usually this era of an artist's career is the final acceptance of the artist by the establishment into its elite club of internationally revered artists and results in the sale of many of the artist's works to fashionable art galleries around the globe. It is seen as the peak of a respected artist's career, a time for collectors and galleries to pay homage to a well established artist. The exhibition puts forward the idea that an artist who is at odds with this conveyer belt approach to art production should never have such an exhibition. Artist should always be pushing their boundaries and ways of representing ideas further. Hence the playful title of the exhibition. In some ways, paradoxically, the works on display for this exhibition are re-workings or thematically similar to the type of work the artist has always made. The conceptual framework of these works has become more complex while the individual works themselves have become more focused. The artist has always balanced the knowingness of conceptual art with the art styles of the naïve and childlike. 

- Charlotte Hampling, Curator of NeoSpective (2004)

NeoSpective

1."Serial Dudds" (2004) – Empty breakfast cereal boxes are set up to mimic the work of minimalist Donald Judd.

2."Up and Coming" (2004) – Knowing Knows Dive 2 – Crashed airmail envelope paper planes recover and fly skyward. Sold.

3."Persistence of Genius" (2004) – Children's colored card used to make poster of sun, land and sky with the slogan arched around top of the sun.

4."Silver Dreams" (2004) - Box covered in household formica. There is a window of silver foil like a cinema screen. The words on the screen read "Making It Is Easy". 

"Mr Whittingham, Are you ready for the press?" asks Lucy.

"If I must," says Whittingham.

The Prieze Magazine journalist says, "Some critics say you are not a serious artist anymore. That you are taking the, pardon the phrase, taking the piss. How would you respond to this type of criticism?" 

"I'm just not an existential artist. I'm not a demi-god passing on divine messages from some spiritual guru in heaven or hell. I'm just a guy who creates stuff out of the ideas that are around me. And when I went to the Judd exhibit I was left cold by his humourless po-faced work. So, I parodied it. It's homage in a way, but, God, he needs to lighten up, live a little. I mean he lives locked away from people on this sort monastic ranch, where's the fun in that?" says Whittingham.

"Luke, do you think this is your defining statement? There are rumours that you might give up producing art. That you've run out of ideas. You gonna do a Duchamp?" asks the hip journalist at the front.

"Well, that has crossed my mind, the frisson has gone, but as you know the money's too good and I wouldn't be able to meet up with you guys for our intellectual sparing, which I adore," says Luke Whittingham. He sips his Champagne nonchalantly.

"Mr. Whittingham: what about the rumours that you're dating Lady Penelope. Is it true?" calls a journalist from the back of the pack.

"That unfortunately is completely untrue. You rascals in the press." He wags a nicotine finger drunkenly.

"So who are you dating?" asks another journalist.

"I have no significant others, at this moment," says Whittingham.

A flash goes off.

Lucy steps in front of Luke Whittingham, contemporary art golden boy. Protect the master.

"No pictures, please. That's all Mr. Whittingham has time for tonight. Enjoy the fresh salmon and may I remind you that the bar is free until 11. Enjoy," says Lucy.

Back at the hotel, Whittingham opens a bottle of red wine. Soft classical music plays in the background and cold night air is coming in through the open window, a candle burns on the TV. There are scarves draped over all the lamps in the room. Whittingham is always very disappointed by the lighting in most of the hotels around Europe.

"Wine ladies?" asks Whittingham.

"Ok, I'll try some, gets me in the mood." Emma, a blonde with big tits, is on her first job working for Elite Modeling London. She is still on the bed with a black dress on. Smoking.

"Of course, my dear," says Whittingham.

"You're a bit posh, aren't you Luke." Tiffany, a brunette with a big ass, has been on the scene for a while.

"That I am. I am also a very famous artist," says Whittingham.

"Give us a glass then." Tiffany takes off her panties to reveal her shaved pussy. She swallows half a glass of wine.

Tiffany sits down next to Whittingham. She leans across him and they start kissing.

"Oohh an expert," she says as he flicks off her bra. She crawls on to the king size bed. Whittingham gets behind her and starts thrusting away. His skinny white body is in deep contrast to his slick greasy black hair. Tiffany says, "Easy tiger." when he becomes too enthusiastic. 

Shyly, Emma kneels beside Whittingham. 

"Get them out then," says Whittingham.

Emma gingerly rolls down her black nylon strapless dress.

"Here, put this on your tits." Whittingham hands her a small bag of cocaine. He is still banging away at Tiffany, casually drinking his wine. Tiffany keeps on moaning falsely, as he sniffs the cocaine off Emma's tits. Tiffany liked to make eye contact with her client when they were behind her. She, also, liked to open her mouth like she had seen other girls do in the videos. She had noticed that her rating had gone up on the website since she started using these two techniques.

"All I ever wanted to do was snort cocaine off beautiful models!" says Whittingham with one arm over his head, rodeo cowboy style. 

The two girls leave a passed out Whittingham at 4am.

Tiffany says, "That guy is real posho twat, he should try getting a real job." 

"Yeah, but he paid us twice as much as normal. Wait until I tell Peter," says Emma. 

"Love, maybe you shouldn't tell Peter," says Tiffany.

"Oh yeah," says Emma. 

Lucy looks down at the front page of The Star. 

The headline reads:

Luke Whittingham in Suicide Shenanigans. 

The story goes on:

Controversial artist, Luke Whittingham, was early this morning found dead in his hotel room of a supposed drug overdose wearing only a pink leather mini skirt. Police on the scene disclosed that Whittingham was badly beaten but had ruled out foul play. Whittingham was 43. No significant others survive him but the London art world has mourned the passing of a talented artist. 

Personal friend Daniel Hurst said "He was a great lad to go on the piss with. I'm devastated he stole my idea. You know, the ironic cocaine-hooker-suicide scene. He'll go down in history as mega." It is rumored that Daniel Hurst has been checked into rehab by concerned friends. As the scandal breaks, the two Elite Modeling London escorts who are rumored to have seen him alive last gave their comments to the Star last night "He was a shit shag but was generous in some ways." said Tiffany, 21, of Sussex. While Emma, 19, from Middlesex said tellingly, "It was my first time with Elite. He seemed like a good bloke." Lucy Mack, Whittingham's Personal Assistant for over 10 years, had no comment as The Star went to press.

Luke Whittingham is reclining on a sun lounger by the hotel swimming pool. It's another humid day in Bangkok. Across the pool, two girls are also sunbathing, wearing matching white bikinis, they haven't moved one millimeter since they lay down at 11 this morning. They look eastern European from this distance. Whittingham motions to the bar staff. As the barman makes his way across, through the palm trees, Whittingham looks at the newspaper. Headline Reads: Luke Whittingham Funeral Today. There is no reaction on his face, then a slight smile.

"What would you like, sir?" says the barman.

"It's John. Er, I'd like another Tequila Sunrise." He lifts up his mirrored shades.

"Thank you, sir." Off he goes.

"Make that two," Whittingham says when the barman returns with the first. Off he goes.

It's a month since Whittingham's death and the newspapers have had a fantastic time with his obituary. There have been full page spreads in the broadsheets and more banal headlines in the tabloids. Tiffany and Emma are releasing a hotly anticipated yoga video next month. Some rather embarrassing nude pictures have been circulating around on the internet and even a fake sex tape of him and Ashlee Simpson, the sister of that Britney clone, Jessica Simpson. There has been talk of a show at Milan's Space Gallery. Neospective was hailed as the best contemporary art show of 2004 and Cecil Seer, art collector and curator, bought "Set of Draws (Formica Box)" for a record undisclosed sum. Madonna has already bought "Up and Coming" from the Neopspective show. Whittingham knew his death would be good for business, but this is ridiculous. He sucks long and hard on the straw and the Tequila Sunrise rises fluently into to his mouth and down his throat. 

It seems that he might have got away with the ultimate con. He has cheated death and the media. He has finally pulled off his finest piece of work. "Committed to Death" is his most exuberant work yet. All the plans for faking his death and the intricacies of getting a new identity have all been chronicled in the book. Only one copy exists. How he dyed his hair and grew a beard and put on weight are only the surface details which pale into the background when the book turns to who is involved in this conspiracy. He is really only a pawn in a much wider propaganda. It would make him paranoid if he didn't know that even the rich and powerful are pathetic. He hasn't decided whether to put the book out for public display in the gallery, or to have it incased in glass, so no one can read it, therefore building the myth, always build the myth. As the sun goes behind the hotel, Whittingham floats around ideas in his head, as the tequila flows around his body, even his toes are numb.

Whittingham opens the door to his hotel room with the card. There is steam coming from the shower room. Whittingham turns on the TV, mutes the sound, and opens the complimentary drinks fridge. He pulls out an ice cold bottle of Corona and starts chugging from it as he walks into the bedroom.

"Are you drunk again?" Mary is wearing a white towel. Her hair is still wet from the shower.

"Remember you're only my PR girl," says Whittingham.

"Oh, Luke, for such a dim witted idiot, you sure have a big dick." She walks over to him and they kiss.

"Darling, my manhood directly corresponds to the size of your arse," says Whittingham.

"You are a bastard." Her Irish accent has been replaced with some sort of posh London twang. Behind closed doors Mary treats Whittingham with the respect he deserves. The World sees a potential she sees a pathetic slave.

"Language dear, you are in the presence of genius," says Whittingham. To her he is only skin and body parts. Parallel to the world we know there are other identities, other lives. 

"Ho,ho, you're a real bastard, Luke," says Mary. To the public Luke is God. Mary knows that in a broader context, Luke is only an artist. He is only a powerless image to condense and sell. He wants to be a slave.

"So they say," he finishes off the bottle of Corona. Could Corona do an advert for Luke Whittingham?

"Mick says that they are all set, a couple of months, maybe a year. They want to maximize your return. So that means me and you can get down to some serious fucking," says Mary dropping the towel.

"Not so fast my dear, I have to consider my options and besides your tits are sun burnt," smirks Whittingham.

"What do you mean? Consider your options. You're going back to be Luke Whittingham, contemporary art genius or you'll end up in a fucking body bag," says Mary.

"Darling, the situation needs a rethink. The public is going to rip me to shreds, it's a shot at everything that is holy. Death, the whole shebang. It's never been done before," says Whittingham.

"Well, you'll have to take your chances, come on and fuck me you bastard." Mary has positioned herself on the bed with her arse in the air.

"Jesus Christ," says Whittingham. He avoids the challenge by leaving the room.

"Look at you, your gut's hanging over your belt like a trucker and your beard, your beard is disgusting, Luke. What the fuck are you wearing, is that a football shirt? And those swimming trunks, Jesus mother of Mary. Stop drinking. Do you ever stop drinking?" says Mary.

"Not if I can help it." Whittingham lurches over and kisses the Thai bikini girl behind the ear.

"They love us for our freedom, darling," says Whittingham.

"It's been two years, slave. We have to go now. They said in two weeks. You look like shit. Oh, for fucks sake, Luke." Whittingham slithers over and kisses the other girl on the lips this time. This girl looks like a Russian call girl. After thirty seconds of tongue kissing, he rights himself and leans forward and does the cocaine off the chair he has positioned in front of him.

"Darling, I like it here. I'm taken by the way the sun shimmers on the pool's delicate shimmering surface and way the Thai girls lick my cock," says Whittingham.

"Luke, it's over. Tomorrow you're going to gym or I'm personally going to put a bullet in your head. I swear to Jesus," says Mary.

The first few days in the gym are hard work but after he cuts down on the beer he is looking almost the same as before, if a little tired around the eyes. His mind, however, is now sluggish and his witty banter has spiraled down into ugliness. By day, Mary is working him hard with a regime of swimming in the morning, gym and then a sauna. By night, Mary is also working him very hard between the sheets. Whittingham barely has time to eat after the sauna before her mammoth breasts are bouncing up and down in his face and her big ass is grinding away on his now red raw dick. After a week he's looking much trimmer, much emptier. The cocaine helps as well. 

Mary has found the suit he was wearing the night of his death and bought a shirt which fits the description Whittingham slurred to her over dinner last night. Squid salad. Try saying that after nine Tequila Sunrises.




Neospective



"There, you look the same." Mary is looking at him, head tilted.

"Darling, I am the same," says Whittingham.

"You're still a fucking slave," says Whittingham. Mary wouldn't be treated like the other women in Whittingham's "life". Lucy was his slave now. He was hers.

"So you keep telling me," says Whittingham.

"Flights on Friday, darling. I've got everything you need. Now fuck off back to those little Thai bitches you love so much," says Mary advancing on Whittingham with handcuffs.

"Certainly, my dear," says Whittingham as she closes the lock behind his back. 

On the morning of the flight Luke can barely get out of bed without a shot of vodka and snort of cocaine. The flight is early to make sure the papers and the whole media has a full day to collect themselves, recover from the shock that, actually, Luke Whittingham, who is now the stuff of art legend, is not strictly dead. He's not in art heaven with Warhol and Picasso, and all those other geniuses. No, he's just got off a flight at Heathrow and is back at his old abode in Chelsea. They need to be given time to take all this in and then write something half intelligible by the next day. To maximize his return. 

Everything has been planned, the first interview he will do for The Times, will be on the front page. The headline will be: Back From The Dead. There will be features in Prieze and Cash Art to control the most outraged in the art community and there will be pieces in Week and News Time, both for and against this affront to decency. Should he be locked up, is this art? Who cares? None of this will matter because Luke and everyone involved are protected. 

When "Committed to Death" first opens there are almost riots outside the Royal Academy. One art student attacks the piece with a pick axe and the gallery closes for a day. The hysteria around the work redoubles the next day. Whittingham is quoted as saying: "Now I know what it feels like to be more human than human." The media are happy, they love it, the public love to hate it, the wheels turn, and the money rolls right in, everyone gets paid. To the World, Luke Whittingham is Successful. Luke Whittingham is Famous. Luke Whittingham is Huge. Luke Whittingham is Universal. Luke Whittingham is the New Messiah. Luke Whittingham is Jesus. Luke Whittingham is God.

To Mary, Luke is a slave.

To Luke, Lucy is a slave.

We're all slaves.

With the new influx of cash Whiitingham, with the help of Mary of course, buys the top floor of an office building in London. It is going to be his new HQ. He has just finished the first wave of media, marked down on the schedule as Maximise Return. Mary says that they won't need him for a month now. Always leave them wanting more. It might be longer than that as Whittingham has taken every piece of furniture in the open plan office, and even the side offices, and rammed them up against the front door. There are four or five hefty filling cabinets, numerous desks and chairs all locked together, almost unmovable now. Before he barricaded the door, he had a king size bed and two fridge freezers delivered from Harrods. He hasn't made up the bed yet but the fridge freezers are full of Champagne and frozen gourmet meals. 

Whittingham has taken up residence in the board room, he's sitting behind the big conference table, wearing only a white PVC vest, leather boxer shorts, matching alligator cowboy hat and boots. His feet are up on the table and he is smoking a Cools Menthol using a cigarette holder. There are two open bottles of Champagne on the table, one in an ice bucket. At the end of the room there is a bank of TVs, three high and five across. Each horizontal row covers one of the five TV channels. First row is Channel 1 and so on. He's been monitoring his media coverage via the TVs and the online newspapers. There are nine remote controls scattered across the table.

At this very moment his image is on Channel 3, it's the 10'Clock News. He looks away, back to Channel 1, the news has finished. Now it's The Weather. That's something he can understand. The weather girl is quite buxom, Whittingham notes. The fashion for Swedish models seems to have given way to a glut of rather large British girls. The weather girl points to London on the map and says, "London will be cloudy with sunny spells, some rain in the afternoon, and maybe even snow, with winds up to gale force in some areas, with temperatures reaching high 20s later." Luke Whittingham lights another Cools Menthol cigarette.

"Hello, Luke. Fancy meeting you here, here of all places," says Lucy on entering the board room. "Here at your headquarters, at your central offices, where you control everything, where you are God. Or do you want to be a slave?" Lucy is standing at the office window, looking over the city. Her eyes move from building to building, nervously, looking for hope in each office window. She turns to face Luke and says, "Today, Luke Whittingham was found at his London offices. Whittingham was infamous for making a mockery of the whole art world earlier this year when he staged his own death, only to return a year later to more adoration. Now after being found truly dead, after being whipped to death by his own PA, Lucy Mack, it seems Luke Whittingham will be remembered for completely different reasons..." She is idling around the corner of the conference table, letting the whip trail behind her. It's ready to be cracked. 

"What do you intend to do with that whip, my dear?" asks Luke Whittingham from the far end of the conference table.

Lucy __________s. 

D. J. Sandwicher.