by Lyn Cash
A Total-e-bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Pandemonium
ISBN #978-1-906590-53-6
©Copyright Lyn Cash & Alexis Fleming 2008
Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright April 2008
Edited by Michele Paulin
Total-e-bound books
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-e-bound eBooks. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork
Published in 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road
, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.
Sexy Mythconceptions
PANDEMONIUM
Lyn Cash and Alexis Fleming
Dedication
For Kelly
Good friend, adopted niece, terrific writer, & fun conference buddy – I love you, girl!
~ Sunny Lyn
For Kelly
My best friend, my most exacting critique partner, but more importantly, the best daughter any mother could have been blessed with. I love you, sweetie.
~Alexis (Kelly’s Mom)
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Harley: Harley-Davidson Motor Company
Pocket Rocket: RAZOR USA LLC LTD
Chapter One
Kris Selenium closed her eyes, relying on her other senses. Her fingers traced the contours of the dildo, familiarising themselves with the implied strength reminiscent of masculine girth and length. As a psychologist, she knew the benefits of masturbation, even if as a woman she didn’t understand the ramifications of nurturing a polyurethane facsimile to life using an electrical cord or a set of highly charged batteries.
She cocked one eye open. This wasn’t doing it for her. The clock read one minute and thirty seconds past the last time she’d checked the time.
“Come on, Kris. Focus.” She set aside the sex toy and thought. Why was it that so many of her patients could come just thinking of one particular man? What was it about his music that enthralled them so?
She sighed. If only she could identify with them, but her personal affliction that no one could see and none knew about in this incarnation, other than her parents and her personal physician, kept her isolated. Which is probably one of the reasons you went into psychotherapy to begin with, twit.
She looked to her right at the photograph she’d clipped from the local newspaper’s celebrity section. He was truly handsome in a dark, swarthy, mysterious way—he looked more pirate than pin-up, more masochist than musician. What was it about the man that drew women to him?
Maybe it was his appearance. Now that she could understand. Had she dwelt on that face before picking up the dildo, she probably could have easily relieved the tension that had built since she’d lain down to contemplate ways to help her therapy group.
Pussy. She needed to bring anatomy into their discussions in order to guide her patients into relying on their own femininity rather than their male counterparts’ cocks and chests to bring them to climax and to empower them during the day when sexual relief wasn’t an option.
Pussy, cock, brain, muscles. The words tumbled about inside her head like gems waiting to be polished. The key to unlocking the women’s collective problem lay somewhere mingled with those words, but where? She had to keep searching for the answer.
Maybe it was his voice. If so, perhaps he’d allow her to do some recordings of him, to study the results and to measure the impact his voice had on women. The more she knew about men like him, the better she could probably help women such as the ones in her groups.
Kris flipped the knob on her bedside radio, knowing what she’d hear, realising how angry she’d soon become, but needing to hear the deep timbre anyway.
* * * *
“This is Pan, your luuuv doctor, here to spin you a few discs for the next hour.” He lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “Kick back and relax, ladies, while I bring a little romance into your lives.”
Pan flipped the switch on the compact disc terminal and waited for the music to take over. Then he dragged off the headset and dropped it onto the console. Tucking his hands behind his head, he stretched to get the kinks out. Almost finished. Another couple of ring-ins and he’d wrap up the caller segment for the evening. A little light pan music to round it out and that was it for the night.
Grabbing the headset as the lights on the panel in front of him flashed, he held it up to one ear as he opened the connection to both the show and the caller. “Good evening, this is Doctor Pan.”
“Hi, this is Mandy.” A breathy giggle filtered down the line. “I just love your music, Doctor Pan.”
“Why, thank you, m’dear. You got a favourite song you’d like me to spin for you tonight?”
He grinned, already anticipating her answer. He reached out and caressed the pan-pipes resting on the chair beside him. A curved row of small flutes made from different lengths of reed all fixed together, the pipes had been his only companion for an eternity. Now it was time to spread the love around. His music was capable of arousing inspiration, sexuality or panic, depending upon his intentions. Right now, after so long on his own, he was into sexuality in a big way.
“Oooh, Pan, I’d love it if you could play for me. I just adore the sound of your pan-pipes. It makes me feel all squishy and warm inside.”
“Your wish is my command, Mandy. Let me take the last call for the night and then I’ll play you a tune I guarantee will put fire in your blood.” He thumbed the button to cut off Mandy and reached out to accept another call. The board was still lit up, but only one lucky winner this time.
“That was Mandy, folks. Now I’ll take the last call for the evening. After that, another selection of recordings for you before I tempt your taste buds, tease and tantalise you with a little pan music until you’re hot enough to combust.” His hand hovered over the lights on the board before he stabbed at one randomly. “Hello there, this is Doctor Pan. And what can I do for you tonight?”
“You can cut this shit. You’re destroying all my hard work.”
Pan jerked back his head. Well, this was different. He was kind of getting a bit blasé about all the women fawning over him because of his music, so this was a change of pace. Not that the station would appreciate it. The ratings at Radio KY23 had jumped considerably since he’d started this music segment. He was supposed to cut off any obnoxious callers, but he was intrigued enough to listen.
“What’s your name, honey?”
“My name is…Doctor Kris. A real doctor. Not a phoney like you. And I’m not your damned honey!”
He could have sworn he heard her growl. He couldn’t help but chuckle, although he made certain she couldn’t hear. “Okay, Kris, appears you have a problem. Want to tell me about it? Maybe Doctor Pan can soothe
your tortured soul.”
“You pretentious prig, you have no idea what you’re doing. I’ve spent a lot of time teaching my women they don’t need a man to survive. That they’re responsible for their own happiness. Now you come along with that stupid music, and they’ve all turned into drooling puddles of hormones. What’s worse, they figure the only way to deal with that problem is a man. Not just any man. You!”
“Lady…er, Kris, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I think maybe we need to end this conversation and—”
“No, don’t you hang up on me. We need to talk. Together! Face to face. And I don’t mean next week. I mean right now, before you totally ruin my reputation. You could be doing so much more to help these women!”
Pan cut the connection and quickly set a reel-to-reel tape of romantic music playing. He had approximately ten minutes before the music was finished. “I guess you can’t win them all,” he said into the microphone. “Here’s a selection to ease those sad hearts. I’ll be back with you shortly.”
Ripping off the headphone, he tossed it down and leaned back in the chair. So what the hell had that phone call been about? He didn’t have a clue who this Doctor Kris was, although he wouldn’t mind hearing from her again. Something about her voice, even ranting as she was, stoked the fires inside him.
“You really are a pompous ass at times.”
Pan stood up so quickly his chair rolled out from under him and smacked into the opposite wall of the recording booth. “What the fuck?”
A flash of brilliant white light illuminated the room, and when it faded, a man stood just inside the door. Pan stared. “Sheeze, Eros, give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you?”
“Ahh, but you’re a god, not human, my friend, so no need to worry.” He flicked an imaginary piece of fluff off of his expensive-looking suit. “But you’d better worry about how you’re turning out. When I suggested you give up your self-imposed exile in Arcadia and come live in the human world, I didn’t expect you to turn into a womaniser.”
Pan flashed a quick look at the clock on the wall then turned back to his visitor. “I am Pan, the son of Hermes, the Arcadian god of lust and magic, the symbol of everything sexual.” He puffed up his chest in pride. “You think I’m going to be a garden variety man here on Earth?”
“Do you have any idea how arrogant you sound? What’s wrong with finding one special woman instead of enticing them all to you with your music?”
Pan shrugged. “What can I say? They like my music.”
“Your pan-pipes enthral them. Is that the type of relationship you want? I hope one day you fall for a woman who isn’t turned on by your music. A woman who makes you work for what you want.”
“Ain’t gonna happen.” Pan pulled the chair back to the console and lifted the worn pipes from the other chair. “Why settle for one bite when I can have the whole apple?” He chuckled. “Hell, the whole Garden of Eden!”
His eyes widened as his friend extracted a small gold bow and accompanying quiver of miniature arrows from the inside breast pocket of his jacket. A frown creased his forehead. He wouldn’t…would he? “Just because the modern world knows you as Cupid, or CB, as your former assistant called you, don’t think you can use that…” he pointed to the bow and arrows “…to match me up with a woman. Not all of us want that one true love bullshit. I’m into quantity, not quality.”
Pan tried to ignore the heavy ache inside him that bespoke loneliness. After millennia of hiding away in the wilds of Arcadia, he was entitled to enjoy the sexual smorgasbord laid out before him, wasn’t he? So what if the music attracted the women to him?
He lifted the musical instrument to his lips, prepared to give his adoring women—er, public—what they wanted. As he did so, an errant thought trickled through his mind. What would it be like to find that one woman who wants you for who you are and not for your music?
A flash of light erupted and his friend Cupid disappeared. Pan tried to concentrate on his music but a voice echoed in his head. “Be careful, Pan. Over-indulgence often necessitates a session with a doctor. One that you may not survive as the man you have become.”
* * * *
Kris paced up and down. Arrogant, irritating bastard! How dare he treat her like some stupid airhead, panting for a few minutes of his time? She flicked a quick glance at her watch. The show should be about finished so she wouldn’t have to wait much longer. She dug into one of the bags attached to either side of her motorbike just under the pillion pad. Pulling out the portable radio she’d stashed there earlier, she turned it on and fitted the bud of the earphones to one ear.
“That’s it, ladies. Doctor Pan is signing off for the night. I hope all your dreams are smokin’ hot and your night one to remember. And don’t forget. Tomorrow it’s a daytime show. I’ll be coming to you from the central court of the Olympus Shopping Mall in downtown Brisbane. Come on down and join me. I’d luuuuv to make you happy.”
“Yeah, I just bet you would.” Kris snorted in disgust as she tossed the radio back into the bag and fastened the straps. Give him time to clean up, then she’d nail him. The security guard wouldn’t let her into the studio so this was the only way.
Twenty minutes later, the automatic doors at the entrance to the radio station slid open. Kris gritted her teeth. Now to teach this guy a thing or two. Balancing her helmet on the bike’s pillion, she turned to face the man she’d recognised from his photograph as he stopped to talk to the security guard. Her eyes opened wide, and her jaw dropped. Well, crap, maybe the ladies in my group are onto something.
At five foot eleven inches, she was tall for a woman, but this man had to be at least a head taller. Dark curly hair brushed the nape of his neck. From what she could see, he was lean and well built. Dark trousers cupped a rear end that just begged for someone to come along and fondle it. Damn, she’d always been a sucker for a tight ass. A paisley patterned shirt pulled tight across a muscled back. Turn around so I can see your face.
As if he’d heard her, he spun about and strode across to her. Oh, baby, god material! This guy sure as hell hadn’t been standing behind the door when they handed out good looks. He had to be one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen.
The lights from the foyer of the radio station streamed out and bathed his face, highlighting the golden tan, the firm jaw decorated with the dark shadow of whiskers, and the high cheekbones. The only thing that saved him from sliding over into the effeminate was the bump in his nose where it had obviously been broken at some time in his life. His eyes were so dark it was hard to differentiate the pupil from the iris, but no darker than the thick lashes that framed them. Jesus, she could drown in those eyes.
Damn it, she was acting as bad as her girls. Snap out of it, you idiot. She fisted her hands and braced them on her hips. She tightened her lips and glared at him. “Doctor Pan, I presume?”
He bowed from the waist. “That I am. And who might you be, honey?” He moved closer and leaned against her motorbike, one hand clutching his pan-pipes.
“Hey, hands off the chrome!”
“I’m sorry.” He stared at her, a perplexed look on his face.
“Don’t touch the Harley.” At his continued frown, she groaned. “The. Bike. Get your ass off it.” She knew she’d been rude, but, damn it, she’d rebuilt that bike from scratch. No one, but no one, got to touch it unless she said so.
He jerked away from the machine. “My apologies, m’dear. How totally crass of me.”
“I’m not your dear any more than I’m your honey, you puffed-up bozo.”
“Ahh, Doctor Kris, if I’m not mistaken.” He moved in so close he invaded her personal space. “Do you have a last name?”
“Selenium. Kristine Selenium is my name.”
“Well, tell me, Dr. Kristine Selenium, what is your problem with me? I am only here to make people happy.”
“Women, you mean!”
Kris was having trouble keeping her mind on the reason she’d paid him a visit. It ha
d been a long time since a man had made her take a second look. This one did, and it wasn’t only his astounding good looks. He was so close, his heat reached out to her, pushing her body temperature higher. The woodsy freshness of his aftershave curled about her brain, burying itself deep inside her. Hell, even her nipples responded to his nearness, peaking into hard crests against her lace bra. A gasp escaped as she tried to mute the roar of hormones through her bloodstream. With a shake of her head, she fought to keep her mind on track.
He bowed his head in a courtly gesture. “Granted it is mostly women who listen to my show, but then I’m playing romantic music. How many macho men would admit to liking that?”
“It’s not the romantic music I object to.” She couldn’t believe how hard it was to focus her thoughts.
“Then what it is?”
“That!” She pointed to his pipes. “You’re screwing with the minds of my patients with your pan music. That has to be it! Your flute or your voice, one of those two things, and if you’d just work with me, you could be of benefit to so many women!”
He stepped in even closer. Kris backed up towards her bike. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him. She was more concerned with herself and what she felt like doing to him. She was here to save women, not to join the hordes who worshiped at the feet of Doctor Pan, the luuuuv doctor.
He followed her until her butt hit the side of the bike. Pan had caged her in, the handlebars stopping her sidestepping him.
Taking a deep breath, she rushed into speech. “I’m a psychologist. I run a clinic that teaches women they can have a perfectly satisfactory life without being dependent upon a man for their happiness. I give them back their self-confidence and their belief in themselves.”