The Mending Hearts Club
Richard took in a deep breath as he stood outside the small building. In gentle neon, the sign at the top said, “The Mending Hearts Club.” From what Bob had told him, it was a place that guys went to when they got dumped, were too lonely to stand it anymore, or when they were… late. His hand wrapped around the small item in his pocket, and he looked down with a sigh at the last word.
A creak caused his ears to twitch, and he saw a young woman step out of the place with a broom in hand. He could hear her mutter about needing to oil the hinges, before she began to sweep. The garter belt she wore, along with a small, black skirt that barely hid her underwear from sight, completed with the frilled, French Maid’s top, all made him turn red, and look down. His cheeks only turned brighter when a small squeak escaped the girl.
“Who are you?”
He slowly stepped back into the light, his hand staying in his pocket as the other one scratched at his head. He tried not to focus on how cute she looked in the outfit, especially with the twinges in his chest that accompanied such thoughts, but it wasn’t very easy with her blush and slight cowering. “I’m Richard Smith. A friend told me I should come here.”
The woman nodded, her body still shaking as she tried to stand up straight, and she flicked some of her hair behind her ear. “W-well, my name is Caroline, and if you’re suffering from heartbreak, loneliness, or simply wish to have a friend to confide in, you have come to the right place! All we ask is that if we helped you, then please donate to the club, and follow our rules.”
Richard stepped closer, his hand staying intermingled with his hair as he tried to think. He had thought that this might be the type of place Bob was talking about, but he had really hoped to be wrong. “What rules?”
Caroline reached into one of the pockets in the outfit, and produced a small sheet of paper. “The rules, as written by the owner, are that you show complete respect to the woman within, do not divulge the identity of any of the employees, or the clients, and that you only touch the woman if they explicitly ask you to, or they guide you to touch them. Inability to follow this last rule will immediately mean your dismissal, and a high probability of having charges of rape pressed against you.”
Richard blinked at the last one. If this was some whore’s house, why would they be so severe about that one, or worry about it to such a degree? “Umm, but, isn’t this place for such activities?”
Caroline shook her head. “While most of us wear outfits, well, like this, there are many of us who do it to help make the men feel like the night is special, or that they’re still in a situation they would not normally be in. As an example, I have a very strict no touching policy, as the thought of it makes me a bit, umm,” she paused as her legs quivered, “dizzy. Instead,” she shook her head and patted the front of her outfit, “we find out what the man needs, and pair them with an available volunteer who fits the bill. In fact,” Caroline stepped towards him, “what brings you here tonight?”
Richard was silent, still a little shocked, but also because he still didn’t want to say why, not when it was to a stranger. Instead, he pulled the small object out of his pocket, and held it before the woman, so as to not let his tongue trip him up. She gasped, before grabbing his hand. ‘Please, if you’ll follow the rules, then also follow me.”
Richard hesitated for a moment, before sighing, and coming in with her. He doubted that this would actually help, but after the insistence that Bob showed about him coming here, he thought he may as well. Entering the building though, he was somewhat shocked. It was simply a narrow corridor, with about a dozen doors on either side, leading to a final one that also had a donation jar right outside of it. That was also the only marked door, and it said, ‘Manager.’
Caroline pulled him along to the last door before knocking on it. “Ma’am, the one you’ve been waiting for is here.” She then backed away, and a soft click could be heard from within. She almost flattened herself onto the wall to let him pass, and held out a hand to lead him in. “Please, go on.”
Richard’s brow was furrowed at this point, but the girl’s smile at least seemed sincere. Why did they expect him though? Was it that obvious that he was hurting? He hoped not, as Richard actually prided himself on his stoicness. At least, at times. He gripped the item in his palm again, and walked in.
“Hello, Sir. I’m happy to see you. You see, I,” The woman stepped out from the darkened corner of the lavender room, smiling at him as she strode forward, “deal with only very special cases, such as yourself. While I’m happy I am not needed most times, I must admit, I’m overjoyed to be able to work again.”
Richard swallowed hard as he began to slide his prized possession between his fingers, and took a step back. The woman was in something even more provocative than who he now assumed was her assistant. No, provocative wasn’t the right word, as her in a long, elegant, white dress, full, red lips, and curves that almost dropped him to his knees, she was almost the epitome of beauty. Add to that the cut up to her waist to show off her long, long legs along with heaping amounts of cleavage, and he felt that like he had been lured into a trap. “Wh-what types of cases?”
The woman stepped forward, one hand slowly running down his arm, until her fingers came to his wrist. She looked into his brown eyes, her own blue shining as a tear came to the edges of them. “You would not be here, sir, if you did not know what cases I deal with. I can’t help you though until you ask me to be what you need me to be.”
Richard became silent to that. What did he want? Yeah, the idea of sleeping with a girl sounded nice, to get back… to move on… He lowered his head, and felt the gentle peck of the woman’s lips against his cheek, as well as the uncomfortable graze of her bosom against his chest. “My name is Julian. May I know yours?”
“M-my name is Richard.”
“Richard, hmm?” She smiled, and slowly stepped away from him, until she stood at the foot of the bed, and sat down on the edge of the frame. “Tell me, Richard, when you think of her, a room like this, and just the two of you alone, what had you always wanted?”
For a moment, Richard saw another set of eyes, another woman entirely, and heard her whispering in his mind. He took in a deep breath as they slipped through his head, but not through his ears, not like he so desperately wanted. Opening one eye, he saw the brothel owner’s tilted head and the tear rolling down her cheek. He swallowed hard, and felt a tear roll down his face as well as he pointed at her. “W-why? Why do you care?”
Julian stood up, and gently took one of his hands. Her fingers were soft as velvet and glided along his palm. She took ahold of the object in his palm before slipping it over his finger. “Because… because before this, I had been cheated on, stood up, left alone, and even was in the same boat as you. Thinking I didn’t deserve another, before watching another steal them away forever. Thus why I made this place at all.”
Richard blinked, staring at the ring on his finger, the ring he had kept in his sock drawer for so long while bells rung in his heart, but fear haunted his mind. He shut his eyes, and whispered, “Will, will you be mine, at least… at least for tonight?”
Julian raised herself a little bit, before gently pecking him on the lips, and whispering in his ear, “Of course I will, my honey bear. I… I couldn’t be happier to be.”
Richard wrapped her up in his arms, and began to sob. He never asked for more, and only went to the bed simply to be able to sit. He didn’t care about her body, or what she would have allowed, but instead simply laid beside her, talking about the one who had gotten away, while Julian always talked to him about why she had chosen to be with him forever and how happy she was about the choice.
So, for one night, he was shown not only what could have been, but also what could be. Just as any member of The Mending Hearts Club hoped to do for their beloved clients.
Author’s Note
We get the last story before the ones dedicated to expanding the lore of my series, though thos
e should be able to be enjoyed on their own as they were written to be that way, and it’s a pure showing of my writing style for erotica. More of a focus on feeling than sex appeal, and foregoing actually getting naughty for what is needed more by the characters. It didn’t even need to be changed for that from when I first wrote it.
I don’t have a lot to say on this one specifically, as the inspiration was more random chance than anything else, like a lot of my purely original short stories, so a quick note on how random this sort of thing can get: I wrote this at a casino. Not only did I write this at a casino, I wrote this while still not being allowed on a casino floor, so I was just stuck in my room and this was what came out.
Now, going from here, let’s start getting into some one offs, meant to be enjoyed by all, but also expanding the characters and concepts of different series I’m either doing, have done, or had/have planned to do.
The Immortal Experiment: A Sarafune Short
Germany, February, 1939
The air is cold, but I don’t feel it, despite wearing only a skintight leotard as a part of my act. Something tight against my small body to make sure all can see that I am unprotected. I’m just as vulnerable as the rest of them. As any human.
Now if only I was human, because what was to come would not have happened then.
I am with a circus troupe named Le Stella In Rilievo, or The Rising Stars. I’ve poked fun at the others for the name, but I understand why they picked it. It brings your thoughts to the sky, our specialty, especially with me, and if one couldn’t understand the it still sounded fantastical, as if we’re from some grand place, rather than an Italian Slum.
They are my family though, because when they found me, I was seventeen, still considered a child to my race, and they didn’t run away or shun me like most. No, they instead took me in, excited to see what my abilities could do for their performances and ever since I’ve helped them become famous in Italy, even to the point of having performed for Mussolini himself. In fact, it was that performance that led to this one in the capital of Germany, for their Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler.
It had been going well so far, though with none of our special tricks yet. We had clowns, strong men, but had already done several trapeze, tightrope, and wirework routines. We had a big finale left, but we knew that people might be getting bored, or skeptical of more aerial acrobatics, so now I came back on.
I had been on before, but just as a normal performer with my sisters as we juggled each other through the air and bounced between the many poles set up underneath our large, circus tent. I beam toward the Fuhrer as I bow from the tightrope platform. It’s a small, tight lipped one, but my sisters told me that it was better than any grin I ever tried to put on.
Antonio was below me, standing in the middle of the ring as he began to speak. He was our ring master, dressed in gaudy reds and golds on a suit that was too large for him, but he seemed to think that it hanging off of him like a damp coat was regal or something. He was the only person in our troupe I didn’t like, but he had founded the whole thing, and was the only one of us who could take care of business on a large scale, so I put up with him.
Now his voice booms through the tent as he strides towards Fuhrer Hitler, who was setup in a throne made out of respect for him. It had been quite expensive to have since he demanded it be made in Germany, and be grander than the one we’d given to Mussolini, but this performance was worth it. If he enjoyed it, we could be able to finally get out of Italy and into the rest of Europe.
“Now, ladies and gentleman, I know you thought of this little girl as just another person. As one whose skills were all she had. However, I promise you that our dear Sarah is far more than that. She is fearless, strong, determined beyond any of my finest men. To prove this, we shall remove the safety net!”
I smirk a little as some of the troupe come out, swiftly undoing the precaution while the crowd gasps at such an action. For most shows, this would be their final act, but it’s merely the setup. So I stepped onto the tightrope, walking slowly as I go along. I could run across if I wanted, or do it while standing on my hands, but instead I wobble and shake, as if I shouldn’t be up here. As if I’m about to fall, until finally I cry out to the crowd, my arms spinning at my sides as I lean to the right.
The crowd screams as they see me begin to ‘lose’ my balance, and I keep screaming. It’s all rehearsed, but I couldn’t help but remember how the first time I did this, those shrieks were real. They weren’t the melodramatic howls that Mesamina had taught me to make. Not when i hadn’t been so certain on the rope as I am now.
I glance down, spotting the troupe slowly beginning to come out. Some of them are already beginning to scream my name, causing the crowd to only become more frantic as my foot leaves the rope. While the main actors are screaming though, others are wheeling out equipment meant for our finale.
It takes only a few seconds at most for me to drop the hundred meters to the ground. It’s hard, as it always is, and I’ll wake up bruised tomorrow on my left arm as my weight slams into it, dust flying up from my sudden landing. People are screaming, babies are crying, all while I stay still.
And then I am told of the lie. The lie that we were doing our normal routine. The lie that our troupe would ever spread themselves. The lie that Antonio ever cared about me.
German officers, perhaps a dozen of them, are immediately on the scene, pushing back even my adopted sisters as they scream at the crowd. I begin to try to get up, to show I’m okay, but one rushes to me, planting his boot into the small of my back, before, while everyone is focused on the other officers, slamming the butt of his gun into the back of my head.
Not that that knocks me out. No, not the immortal Sarah. Not the zombie that this person thinks he can keep down, but… I can’t move. I can’t get up. My mind is focused on the fact that we always warn the police. Let them know what is to happen so they don’t do something like this. I don’t suspect what has happened to me, not yet, and it would be centuries until I have confirmation of my suspicions, but for now I stay down, my head hurting as I try not to make the scene worse, or get my troupe into more trouble.
I would not leave that floor conscious, not after another officer realized I was still awake. As a zombie, that’s to be expected of course. Exhaustion is almost the only way for us to involuntarily fall asleep, but twenty slams to the back of your skull, and multiple fractures, will do it too.
And so I lost sight, fading away as I hear words I can’t understand around me, and feel blood slowly oozing down the back of my neck.
Berlin Germany, February, 1939
I groaned as I woke up. I wouldn’t ever find out about the drugs that they had already used on me to make sure I stayed asleep, but instead I believed that I was just waking up from being knocked unconscious. Admittedly, I felt terrible. My head still felt like it was cracked, my arms were pulled stiff by chains and the bruising that the ham fisted goons transporting me left on my body made sure that even slight movements hurt.
That would be a condition I would know well for the next forty years.
My eyes cautiously opened. My first thought had been regret, due to the blinding light that had been placed on me, until fear overtook it because of the sounds of safeties being turned off. I froze, not willing to move. Not willing to risk what may come if I did.
Sometimes I wish I had scared them, but they probably had rubber bullets, and it would have just been more pain. More and more…
“Sarah, do you need us to stop for today? It hasn’t been an hour, but I’m more available than a normal therapist.”
“No. No, I just need to…”
A man came out from the light. He was on the shorter side, hunched over, and looking as if he were some gargoyle brought to life with his pale, mal-nourished skin. It wasn’t quite my gray though, something he would desire for the next six years.
His white lab coat was a detail I could barely make out because of the floodlights, and I tried to lean away from
him, only to find unforgiving steel.
He smiled at the gesture, before placing a hand on my cheek. In a moment, I became all too aware of how naked I was, and I began to cry.
It amused him, and he must have been satisfied by my fear, because he left me to the men there, all given one order.
Test how much her body can take.
“Sarah…”
Berlin Germany, March, 1939
The equipment finally started being brought out. They were satisfied with how far my body could be pushed, and how I had enough stamina t-to… to conquer a whole platoon of soldiers, something that was quite attractive to them. Like that, their soldiers wouldn’t need sleep until the end of the week, if that, instead of the end of the day. Now though, they wanted to see what other resistances I could show.
And the first, and preferred, was gas. The new flavor of war that could be used without caution if their units couldn’t be affected by it. It’s not like they were afraid of breaking conventions after all. This meant that my chamber, a small, circular room, with nothing but a chair and plastic walls, was pumped full of whatever they wanted to test. Mustard, Cerron, pure Neon, anything. In fact, it amuses me looking back on it. Do you think my poison breath would be able to affect Kiren and Dari if I hadn’t learned how potent real weapons of warfare could be?
“Sarah.”
Not to mention how I can grip lightning like you hold onto putty. I mean, what do you think happened whenever they ionized the gas, trying to not only experiment on me, but also try to make a better weapon? Oh, and how they were excited when they realized electricity worked on me. That it was a chink in my armor, especially if applied directly to places like my clit, breasts, the insides of my ears, and even my eyes. Anywhere that could really feel some pain.
“Sarah, I think we should stop.”
“...You’re right. It’s not like I’ll have many specifics to give now anyways. Not anymore that I’ll… I’ll want to give.”
Legends From a Jumbled Man Page 4