Long minutes in the blindfold sharpened his sense of hearing. He focused in on the rustling and the whisper of fabric. Years ago when he emerged the sole survivor of the Ritual, he could have never envisioned this, that he would be here like this, that this was his mission. Perhaps if the other candidates knew what awaited them, they would have fought harder to survive.
He was sitting handcuffed to a chair in a corner suite in the Tops casino. Muted jazzy music filtered up from below. His bare feet rubbed into the carpet. He had dressed in civilian clothes to come here, suspenders over a clean shirt, and trousers too tight in the crotch.
"Have you been a good boy, Ron?" Martina asked him from somewhere across the room.
Picus licked his lip and smiled. “No,” he said.
He wasn't used to waiting. And he'd been waiting. What was she doing? Was she changing her clothes? Women took forever to change their clothing… only to take the clothing off again. He would never understand.
He sensed movement, heard a susurrus of soft material. He felt stockinged toes touch his knee. Sensed a change in pressure and movement, her standing closer to him. He could smell the perfume warmed by her body.
Now her foot rubbed along the inside of his thigh. He couldn't hold back a groan. He'd suffered half an erection since the rumbling of the monorail, worsened by anticipation when he checked into the casino. He'd had to stand there smirking as the Chairman goon patted him down for weaponry. Whoa there pally, looks like you’re packin’, but I’m just gonna take your word for it.
"Have you right where I want you," Martina purred. She loved to play little games like these. Her strange little games. Mercifully she sidled into his lap, her arms slithering over his shoulders.
He was too tense for games tonight and before she realized it, he had handcuffed her to the chair. He felt her jolt and start to clink the cuff once she figured it out.
"Oh Ron. How'd you learn to do that? Blindfolded?"
In the darkness of the blindfold it was easy to recollect the terrifying moments before the plunge into the waters of the Colorado, the smooth voice in his ear saying, Now, brother, the key is not to panic. "Magic," he said.
Girl from Ipanema 1/?
He was sitting handcuffed to a chair in a corner suite in the Tops casino. Muted jazzy music filtered up from below. His bare feet rubbed into the carpet. He had dressed in civilian clothes to come here, suspenders over a clean shirt, and trousers too tight in the crotch.
"Have you been a good boy, Ron?" Martina asked him from somewhere across the room.
Picus licked his lip and smiled. “No,” he said.
He wasn't used to waiting. And he'd been waiting. What was she doing? Was she changing her clothes? Women took forever to change their clothing… only to take the clothing off again. He would never understand.
He sensed movement, heard a susurrus of soft material. He felt stockinged toes touch his knee. Sensed a change in pressure and movement, her standing closer to him. He could smell the perfume warmed by her body.
Now her foot rubbed along the inside of his thigh. He couldn't hold back a groan. He'd suffered half an erection since the rumbling of the monorail, worsened by anticipation when he checked into the casino. He'd had to stand there smirking as the Chairman goon patted him down for weaponry. Whoa there pally, looks like you’re packin’, but I’m just gonna take your word for it.
"Have you right where I want you," Martina purred. She loved to play little games like these. Her strange little games. Mercifully she sidled into his lap, her arms slithering over his shoulders.
He was too tense for games tonight and before she realized it, he had handcuffed her to the chair. He felt her jolt and start to clink the cuff once she figured it out.
"Oh Ron. How'd you learn to do that? Blindfolded?"
In the darkness of the blindfold it was easy to recollect the terrifying moments before the plunge into the waters of the Colorado, the smooth voice in his ear saying, Now, brother, the key is not to panic.
"Magic," he said.