by Lucian Bane
Miriam sat on her bed, in shock. A sadist. And… possible psychopath. Wow. Holy. Wow. What were the odds?
Impossible, really. Except for God. And God ordered her path so that meant He’d ordered her right to his door.
Holy, holy moley.
She raced to the desk near the bed and fetched her laptop at what this meant. It meant she had a lot to prepare for. It meant God had just provided her exactly what she’d been praying for, for weeks! “Thank you, thank you, thank you God!” she squealed, getting comfortable at the cute table in front of the circular wall of windows.
She logged into her email and hurried to her drive, finding the paper she’d written over a year ago. Likely it would need some adjustments now that she knew who her subject would be. She was more certain than ever that she’d begin with her exploratory study. With somebody like him, she’d propose that for one month. After, she should have enough data to develop a more targeted study.
She paused, wondering what he would use? Hopefully, the same thing. How would he not? She wondered again about him. What was he doing?
She was ready to start her study now. Maybe she could stroll the house, get to know it better. Take notes. See what she can see about him based on those things.
She closed her laptop. She’d go see about her laundry even though she knew it wasn’t ready. She’d start there and work her way around with her… would be weird walking around with a notebook. And time consuming. Oh, she could take pictures with her phone and make a collage to study later. Yes, perfect. And if he caught her, she’d just… let him know the truth. She was eager to get started and would knock out the inanimate information so she could focus on other things. Like him.
Grabbing her phone, she remembered to be tidy and grabbed up everything for a quick toss in the closet. She’d tidy it later.
Hurrying downstairs, she entered the kitchen, finding it spotless. Pulling out her phone, she took pictures. Then it hit her she could record. Might be an even better way to gather information. She could get snapshots from the recording. She could do both.
She selected video on her phone and double checked she was alone before turning it on. She needed to get accustomed to this clinical study thing. There was nothing wrong with what she was doing; it was part of the job. She needed to keep that in her head at all times. She didn’t need false guilt clouding her studies in this. It was too important.
“The kitchen at 8:45 PM,” she mumbled. “Clean as a whistle.” She went from cabinet to cabinet, videoing more evidence of his need for spotlessness. She passed her finger over several surfaces and held it close to the camera to capture the absence of dirt or dust.
She glanced around before she opened the fridge then proceeded to video slowly. She did the same to the freezer, deciding she’d gather data first then review it later. She had a lot of square footage to cover.
After videoing the laundry room, she made her way to the hall near the garage and the workout room. Shoot, what if he was in it? Pulling several times on the door, she finally managed to open it and peer in. “Oh, sorry,” she called at finding him at the weights without a shirt. “I was… videoing,” she held up her phone, looking off to the right. “The house. To eliminate all the inanimate parts of my study? Video is much faster. I’ll leave you to your workout.”
“Stay,” he said.
Stay? His tone made it sound like an order in the form of a suggestion. “I can wait.”
“For what?” he said winded. “Just video what you need, I’m nearly done.”
“Okay,” she said, making her way in while aiming the phone at the opposite side from where he was. She jumped a little at the loud rattle of metal hitting metal while blindly capturing who knows what.
She made her way toward the pool just to put distance between them, aiming the camera at the water while fighting her peripheral vision that demand she look and see what sort of muscles he had. “None of that,” she mumbled videoing the pool. As she made her way around the rectangle, she spotted something at the deep end. She stooped down next to the edge and zoomed in, trying to make out what lay on the bottom of the pool. A piece of jewelry?
She glanced up at seeing him rinsing off in the shower next to the pool, his back to her. She couldn’t tear her eyes off of that one shot and quickly aimed the camera at him. She’d look later. Before he could turn around, she continued shooting the wall and ceiling where she was, making her way to the other side, hoping he’d either leave or just be in another area.
She headed toward square one, aiming the camera at the wall on her right with the windows. In her haste to get out while appearing engrossed on the angles of the ceiling, she ran right into one of the lounging chairs and fell like a fool, phone flying across the floor.
Dear God, how embarrassing! “I’m okay,” she called out, not even looking where he might be in that second. Hopefully underwater. She stood and spotted her phone, right before he made his surprise appearance behind her.
“I think you’re bleeding.”
“Shit!” she cried out, glancing over her shoulder while limping for her phone. “Just a scratch. All good.”
“Let me see,” he said, his tone gruff and breathless.
“Ah geez,” she whined, picking her phone off the floor and hopping around. She looked up when he knelt before her and lifted her dress.
“How in God’s name,” he muttered, sounding amazed.
“I was videoing!” she cried, keeping her eyes on the ceiling. “Is it bad? It’s kind of numb.”
“You might want to talk to your God about ordering your steps better,” he said, standing. “I have a first aid kit in my bathroom.”
And there she was, locked in a prison of lust with her half naked subject, two-feet before her. Slick, bulging muscles.
“Or you can stand there and make me feel naked and dirty.”
She sucked a breath in with popped eyes on his. “So sorry,” she barely whispered, closing her eyes. “I’m… not used to… naked men. I mean men dressed and…”
“Please, my God, stop,” he scolded lightly. “Can you hobble your way to the kitchen while I get the first aid kit?”
She nodded with her eyes closed.
“With your eyes open.”
She nodded again. “I will. As soon as you’re gone.”
“Wow.”
“Wow what,” she blurted. “I just think it’s better that I not see you with so few clothes! Okay? Is that a crime? Where I come from, men are to dress modestly, not just women.”
“How odd,” he said, humor in his voice.
“Not odd at all,” she shot back. “Men think it’s just fine to parade half naked and women can’t.”
“You can if you wish.”
“That is not my point. It’s about equality.”
“Oh boy,” he muttered. “I’ll go get that first aid kit.”
“Look here,” she defended. “I am not a-a feminist or whatever you’re thinking, I’m pointing out the unfairness in the biological—” The door shut, and she opened her eyes, finding him gone. She looked around and limped her way to the exit, humility and shame still warming her cheeks. “Just walks off? Really?” She looked at her phone and found it was still going. “Subject is rude,” she said into the mic. “And clearly needs to learn that men are just as accountable for their immodesty as women are.” She shuffled her way down the hall, still pissed. “Women are women, they have their own set of biological vulnerabilities, and it’s absurd,” she said into the phone, “how all of society has decided that men are free to flaunt their bodies for the world to see and not expect it to have an effect on their gender counterparts.”
She aimed for the first stool at the snack bar and hopped up on it. She grimaced as she pulled up her dress to examine her injury and let out an involuntary breath at the gaping, three-inch gash!
She aimed the phone at it, videoing the injury.
“Got it.”
She looked up to find Mordecai out of breath with
the first aid kit, still nearly naked.
“For crying out loud,” she barely wailed, closing her eyes.
“I suppose I’ll need to carry you to your room now.”
“I can surely walk. And crawl if I must.” She winced as he dabbed her leg with something, while chuckling. “We need rules,” she said, still upset. “Dress codes. How would you like if I… Never mind. I don’t want to live with a man who isn’t fully clothed. Hard line, hard rule. Ouch!” she cried, opening her eyes to see what he was doing. She ran into his naked chest and blue gaze and jerked her head right. “I should laugh at your rules,” she said in response to his laughter. “Maybe I’ll laugh as I re-arrange your cabinets?”
“I’ll dress,” he cried lightly. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted or threatened.”
“You can be ashamed, that’s what you can be. For making me see you. I could sue you for indecent exposure. Did I ask to see you nearly naked? No, I didn’t. It’s like…”
“Eye molesting?” he suggested.
“As absurd as that sounds, yes, it’s a form of molesting.”
“Maybe you should’ve gone for law.”
“Maybe you should’ve. I like what I’m going for.”
“Right,” he said, sounding like he was done and standing right before her, staring. “I like what I’m going for too.”
She swallowed, suddenly feeling like she was waiting to be kissed! Her eyes popped open in panic and she blinked at Mr. Near Naked, standing there.
“Aren’t you going to close your eyes?” he asked his voice too soft for the words.
Her tongue was tied up in knots along with her mind and she could only stare at him. She was literally frozen, like a scared person, unable to move!
He is your subject. He is your subject. He is your subject.
Ever so slowly, her fear left her muscles, and she relaxed. “Mordecai,” she said calmly. “Thank you for bandaging my leg. If you don’t mind, I’m going upstairs and I’m going to download the video that I have and start documenting. After that, I’m going to have a nice long bath in that wonderful tub you so unkindly gave me and construct the perfect formula that will teach you how to overcome your sadistic, psychotic, urges. Okay?”
Her heart hammered in her chest at the look he leveled on her. It wasn’t quite challenging, but it was on fire with eagerness. Good. He’d need that eagerness. But she couldn’t be intimidated by him. That was no good; no good at all if she was going to develop her theory, much less prove it.
“Enjoy your bath,” he said, stepping aside.
Miriam slid off the stool and hobbled her way toward the stairs.
“You sure you don’t want me to carry you?”
“Positive,” she sang, without turning back. “But thank you for offering. It’s very kind of you. Goodnight Mordecai.”
“Goodnight Miriam.”
Sadistic Games
Book 2
Lucian Bane
© 2018 by Lucian Bane
All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Lucian Bane or his legal representative.
To all the readers, fans, and or reader’s clubs. Thank you for supporting my work. I’d also like to ask nicely that you please not Pirate my work. That basically means don’t give it away just because you bought it.
Also, if you need a different format, please contact me, the author.
Dedication
To My Wife. With All My Love.
C H A P T E R O N E
Taste
Mordecai was in an absolute mind orgasm in the shower. With his hands braced on the granite wall, water set to hottest, full body hammering, he relived every second of Miriam. He let his mind flood with all the pieces of her, allowing them to float around in that space, the partition where he tasted the data, stroked mental fingers over it, slowly stalked it. It was much like when he hunted and brought down an animal. That moment when beast and man become one in purpose, when he knelt next to it and connected with the life, right before it ebbed completely away. There was something special about it, the shared bond between the hunter and the hunted, feeding each other in more ways than physical.
Now Miriam. She was special. She was… something he was in the process of pursuing and unveiling. What she’d be, what she’d become, all of it was yet to be discovered. The closest thing he had in his memory to what ran through this body was when he helped his cat deliver her kittens. A young boy, brand new to everything, he had no clue what that would be like, or what those kittens would look like, feel like, smell like. She was an embryo in his mind and every second he spent with her added more to that being inside him. She and he were creating something. What was it? What would it look like, what would it smell like, feel like?
That’s where he was.
He revisited the pieces again, particularly the ones that had an enormous physical effect on him. Her religious admonition had taken direct command of his cock and nothing he’d ever experienced compared, nothing had been more electrifying. Then she added to that new burn with her need to look at him. She’d needed it to the point of anger. The need was so great it caused her to become irrational and blame him for her body’s betrayal of her loyalty to God. She had no idea. No idea what sort of things that revealed to him. He’d nearly put his hands on her again. Bandaging her leg had flooded him with questions. Texture, weight, temperature and every anatomical and physiological thing that could be measured demanded to be explored. Was her skin hotter when she was angry? What was the increase in her pulse when she became that exceptional human? Did it match the one that had hammered his cock? He wanted to measure it all, and with his bare hands.
Mordecai paused with the new question that entered his mind, a question that officially set her apart from anything he’d ever encountered. Did she taste different while aroused?
He never tasted the things he hunted. Never even thought to taste. Only touch. What was this new, lethal craving to taste?
He finished his shower, ready to get to his wager board and lay the pieces out, stake his claims, and sleep. There would be no rest until he did. His brain would forbid it.
“I’ll go take a nice long, hot bath…”
Mordecai’s breath stilled again as another urge surfaced. To imagine her naked. It was another thing he’d not once had the need or urge to do, not with a woman or a man. Animals on the other hand were different. He not only craved to see them without skin, he had to dig into every part of them, dissect them, with his bare hands. He had to smell it, feel it, and hear it even.
He was a dissector. Of everything he had the urge to scrutinize. He even dissected why he had the urges to dissect the things he did. But never did he question the urges he didn't have. He never had a need to solve puzzles that didn’t exist in his mind, he was only concerned with the ones that did.
Maybe Miriam would do that. Dissect the odd and absent parts of him. Dig inside him, explore the dark spaces. The need to see her nakedness returned with that thought. That unexplored variable was quickly becoming a enigma he wanted to submerge himself in. At the same time, he was aware of the reservation alarms going off in his body. Would it be unpleasant? Like the feces of an animal? The smell of wrong packed into a substance that the mind instinctively knew to be repulsed by, to separate itself from? It was that one thing he could do without experiencing when dissecting but understood the nature of it and accepted the necessity of the bile.
But… her nakedness.
It seemed the more he turned the term over in his head, the more defined the puzzle piece became. He made a sudden wager. By the time he was done with his shower, those particular puzzle pieces would be developed enough that he could stake claims on them. Then he’d add them to the other parts of her he already considered his.
****
The second Miriam made it to her room her heart was
a raging sledge hammer in her chest. She closed her door and stared for several seconds. Her eyes fastened on the old-fashioned lock and her mind screamed—lock it! She immediately turned the lever and the dead-bolt engaged with a loud clonk.
She looked around, fighting to catch her breath. What had happened? She was sweating and dizzy. And it wasn’t just from her frantic climb up two flights of stairs, it was him. Him and that voice, him and those eyes, him and that… naked body.
Was he doing this on purpose? If he was, she’d see about fixing that. She’d not allow him to turn this into some… porn racketeering, she was a professional, not some toy he could play games with or use.
He’s a psychopath. Your subject is a psychopath. Think.
She searched blindly around the room, her mind racing for some kind of lifeline.
Counselor.
She hurried to the closet and got out her laptop, kneeling on the floor. Opening it, she made her way to email and hit compose. In sixty seconds she’d laid out her current situation, leaving out Mordecai’s personal information. But she made sure to leave her cell number and the address, along with their arrangements and plans.
She thought to add, I will report in with you daily. If I do not, I ask that you please inform… Inform who? My parents at 232-225-2989. No, she couldn’t get them involved. She deleted it, thinking. Mrs. Flanders, she was a personal friend even if she was just a librarian. That would work. She added the request and re-read it twice before signing her name and hitting send.
Lifeline sent. She shut the laptop and dropped it onto the carpet next to her. She leaned against the wall and drew up her knees, feeling like she’d been run over by a train. She’d be sure and let Mordecai know who and what she’d emailed, just in case he was more psychopathic than he led on to be. If he was truly as bad as he claimed, she couldn’t really trust anything he said. And here she was alone with him. Maybe this was a really bad idea.
She remembered the miracle of her being there at all, and the feeling that she was supposed to be there returned in her gut. If she just kept the brutal reality about her subject in the forefront of her mind, her stupid hormones should cooperate. Surely life and death would put a damper on them.