Sadistic Games: The Invitation

by Lucian Bane

  She sat there with a There, are you happy pervert look on her face. He was pretty sure happy wasn’t the right word for what his body was in that burning second, and yet his mind was still untouched by all of it.

  But what he really wanted to know now was, “What does it feel like?”

  She stared at him, burning accusation slitting her gaze, so sure that he knew the answer to that. But he surely did not. Having an orgasm was one of those urges he’d never once experienced. No urges for him meant zero interest in a non-existent urge.

  “It feels amazing,” she said sarcastically.

  “Why is it so hard for a student of science such as you to believe a man diagnosed by three doctors as a psychopath might be missing basic components in his life experiences?”

  “I was just thinking you’ve surely experienced at least a nocturnal orgasm?”

  “No. And if I happened to experience one in my sleep, how the hell am I supposed to know what that feels like? I’m sleeping.”

  “A dream?”

  “I haven’t experienced an orgasm, Miriam, I think I would fucking know if I had and what that’s fucking like.”

  She stared at him before guilt finally cast her gaze down. Mordecai watched her in frustration while mildly fascinated that masturbation would be the thing to shake her out of her four years of preparing for this exact thing. Masturbation, pleasure, and shame. The puzzle piece was crystal clear, and he already knew exactly what to do with it, where to put it, and how to play it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It was… very stupid of me to behave or even think in such an unprofessional way. Please forgive me. It won’t happen again.”

  “There’s no forgiveness where there is no offense.” But he loathed wasting time over senseless shit.

  “Well, I’m offended with myself, so.” She kept her head lowered.

  “Then you’ll need to forgive yourself, I guess.” He shifted a little in his chair, careful not to give voice to the heat still boiling in his body, especially his cock. “Why are you ashamed of having orgasms?”

  “I’m not,” she said more softly. “I’m… not used to discussing sexually private things, that’s all.”

  “I hope you can get over that because I have a lot of questions related to those things.”

  She nodded. “I’m fine.” She gave him a smile, and he had to lower his gaze. He couldn’t chance her seeing how far gone he was, how far he was undone. But his mind was still steady, demanding he continue.

  “Since I have an inability to connect with your data, I’ll have to ask questions that will help me connect. Can you handle that?”

  “Yes,” she assured.

  “I need to understand you thoroughly in order to connect your data to other data.”

  “I understand,” she assured again. “I’ll help you.”

  He stared at his paper, knowing this question was nowhere on it. He didn’t think he would’ve ever thought to wager such a question. “I can’t ask what it looks like, but I’m going to ask what it sounds like.”

  “You… want me to make the sounds of an orgasm.”

  “Please.”

  “There're things you can—”

  “I need to hear you, my subject,” he insisted, keeping his tone even while his body silently writhed in the fire. “I can close my eyes.” Then he’d have to find a way to ride his torment in complete stillness and silence.

  “Um… Okay. It’s just a biological thing, nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. Sorry, I need to work up the courage.”

  “Just… reenact it. Verbally.”

  “I can’t guarantee its going to sound right, this is not something you can just… do on demand.”

  “I have nothing to judge you by.”

  “Okay,” she said, sounding breathless already. “I’m still a little… stunned by that one.” She cleared her voice and took a deep breath. “Here goes.” Another voice clearing and he was officially curious about the vocal performance this required. He braced for impact, hoping he could survive it while in a prison of immobility.

  She started off with a small, barely there moan then gradually added more just like it, each one a licking fire on his cock. He quickly realized having his eyes closed made it impossible not to see her in bed with her legs open and knees pulled back, her fingers moving in a circular motion over her clitoris.

  He had to clench his eyes tight when her moans began to grow, louder, longer, her breaths coming in strained pants. When her sounds of pleasure turned to rapturous torment, Mordecai couldn’t keep his “Oh fuck,” from rushing out of him.

  Then there was silence. “That’s… that’s it,” she said, sounding like she’d literally just had an orgasm. Had she? “Are you… okay?” she asked.

  Her soft concern burned all along his balls and cock, making him grit his teeth and seethe through the painful torment.

  “Oh God,” she whispered as though finally realizing just how effected he was. “You’re…”

  “Fine,” he grit, slamming his palm on the desk. “Fucking…” He forced his eyes open and the second his gaze landed on her he closed his eyes again, his breath ragged from his effort to not lose control. He wasn’t sure what he was holding back, what he was stopping, he only knew that it was bigger than his ability to govern.

  “I need… something,” he said, angling his head, struggling to understand what his body was demanding.

  “You need an orgasm,” she cried, like it was obvious.

  “I have a feeling I need a lot more than that.”

  “Do you want to… take a break?” she asked, at the edge of her seat now.

  “I want to finish our hour. I’m not done.” He stared at the notebook before him, forcing his eyes on the list.

  “We were… at you wanting to hear what an orgasm sounded like,” she said kindly.

  “I remember, Miriam.”

  “Sorry, I was… just trying to help.”

  His brain was on fire with his body now, wanting, demanding he ask questions he wanted and needed answers to. “Have you ever… performed oral on a man?”

  “No,” she said confused. “I told you, I’m—”

  “I have to ask the actual questions. Please.”

  “Okay.”

  Her submissive tone wasn’t helping him, he realized. But he wasn’t sure there was any particular tone she could have that his brain and body wouldn’t receive wrongly. “Have you touched a man sexually in any way?”

  Her hesitance brought a new kind of heat and he raised his gaze to see her. “Once, I… I kissed a guy. And… touched his…”

  The burning seemed to lacerate his insides, and he fought the sneer wanting to twist his mouth. “Tell me. Every. Detail.”

  C H A P T E R F I V E

  First Revelation

  Miriam’s heart clenched in her chest at the torture Mordecai was under. But this last request was clearly linked to something more sinister. The loathe in his tone implied trouble. He either saw her sexual life as something bad or wrong or saw her as such. With nothing to write with, she engraved a mental note of his offense as she prepared to do as he asked and tell him every detail.

  Could she do that while somehow making it count heopefully to him and her efforts? If she knew more about his issues, she might know how to do that. “I was nineteen.”

  “This college?”

  She stared at him, his gaze lowered and fixed on his paper. “Yes.”

  “Go on.”

  She’d say it quickly, taking a deep breath. “It was at a student meet. My first one and my last one like it. They were drinking of course, and I was… inexperienced and trying to blend in. That was before I realized blending in required things I didn’t want to do.”

  “But did.”

  “Live and learn,” she said, not allowing him to anger her with his righteous judgments. “I ended up in a room. It was dark and there was a group. I was in a corner with a friend who had been kind to me, who I trusted. He�
�d had too much to drink, and he kissed me. I… I didn’t stop him.”

  “Did you want to stop him?”

  “Yes. And… no. I wanted to experience the kiss, it was new, and I’d… never had a real kiss.”

  “And that was a real one?”

  “I… I’m not sure, really. I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

  “Your first kiss and you don’t know if it was good?”

  “No, I don’t,” she admitted, not bothered by that.

  “What else.”

  His biting tone nipped at her patience and she took another deep breath. “He put his hand on my breast and I… put mine on his chest. He slid it down to his… crotch and… things just went kind of fast. The next thing I knew, I was… touching his… penis.”

  “Who opened his pants?”

  The words were low and lethal sounding.

  “I think… I did. He helped.”

  “And what did you do to his penis?”

  “I held it in my hand and… moved my hand along it.”

  “Did you hold it hard or soft?”

  God, why those details? She didn’t understand, but she’d just answer the damn questions. “At first soft then harder as he made sounds. The sounds helped me know what… felt good so I tried to do what felt good. It ended when a couple of friends interrupted. I was so ashamed and… left. I never talked to him again.”

  “Who was this?”

  She stared at him, meeting his brutal blue eyes. “You know I can’t give names."

  “Do you think about it? What happened? Do you think of that when you masturbate?”

  “Not… exactly.”

  “When then?”

  “Just… in general, I… I just imagine a penis when I… do that, not one connected to any particular person.”

  “Do you use sexual toys when you masturbate?”

  “No,” she said. “I have thought of that but wouldn’t dare buy one. I’m too afraid of somebody finding it.”

  “But you want to use one?”

  “I’m not opposed to them. I just haven’t given it much thought.”

  “You seem to have given it enough to know you don’t want somebody finding one you would have.”

  “Okay, maybe I have, maybe I wonder what it feels like to have one… while masturbating. I think that’s a perfectly normal thing to want as a woman of my age who would normally know such things by now.”

  “And why don’t you know those things by now?”

  “Because of my religious beliefs. A woman is to be married before she has sexual relations.”

  “Including jacking off a man’s dick?”

  She wasn’t sure what bothered her more, her sin, or that he sounded disgusted with her. “I’m not perfect. I made a mistake, and I corrected it. Have you not made mistakes?”

  “I’m asking the questions, you’ll need to wait your turn,” he said, still sounding angry. “So…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at his paper. “What about masturbation, or sexual relations with yourself and floating cocks without faces? How does your religion view that?”

  Wow. He was playing hard ball. “The floating cocks without faces I’d wager is a sin.”

  “But sexual relations with yourself isn’t?"

  “It... maybe it is."

  “How long have you been in this religion?"

  She took an even, slow breath. “All my life."

  “Really,” he said, sounding unimpressed with her ignorance on the masturbation matter. It just wasn’t something she’d given a lot of thought until that second.

  "And how is marriage defined in your religion?”

  “A man and a woman who commit to each other for life and only have sexual relations with each other.”

  “Why aren’t you married?”

  She forced herself to think before responding. “Because I feel an obligation to help people more than I feel the need to be married.”

  “You seem to have miscalculated, what with the sexual urges you give in to.”

  “Are you now a judge?”

  “I’m asking the questions, wait your turn.”

  “You didn’t ask a question, you made a statement. I was merely establishing whether you’d switched vocations right in mid-conversation.” She eyed the clock on the camera. “Five more minutes, Judge.”

  "Hallelujah.”

  “Well, if you want to quit, just—”

  “I was merely celebrating in your native tongue on your behalf.”

  She couldn’t stifle a laugh after a few seconds at how funny that was. “Proceed, Mr. Meany McMeanster.”

  “Do you find me attractive?” he asked.

  Ohhh shit. She lowered her head, scraping at her nails. What was the big deal, she’d told him worse. She lifted her gaze with an easy smile. “I do. Yes. Very much. I have no idea how you’re not married by now or have a string of women waiting at your door or even have a contract for modeling.”

  He stared at her with his boiling gaze and God help her, for the first time she wished she had the gift of mind reading. “We’re done.”

  She stood without even thinking, feeling lightheaded.

  “I devised an exercise routine for you,” he said, still staring at his paper. “Are you still interested?”

  Her stomach was literally trembling along with her legs. “Of course,” she said, reminding herself she was a professional looking for every opportunity to study him. “Thank you for that.”

  “Do you agree to allow me to coach you?”

  She wanted to say ‘define coach’ but decided against it. “I agree. Sure.”

  He leaned back in the chair and it reclined a little with a squeak. His eyes remained on her and she swallowed at the intensity in them. “That means you agree to do as I say when I say,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

  “Unless you’re telling me to do things that violate my principals… I have no problems with following orders. Will be a great learning experience for both of us, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She stared at him, thinking. “Maybe we should trade those positions every now and then to even the playing field?”

  He lowered only his gaze over her. “Explain.”

  “I mean… we should both be in the role of leader and follower to increase the scope of behavior and study for both of us?”

  He seemed to consider then finally said, “What would you lead?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll have to think of something.”

  His eyes finally rolled up to hers. “Let me know when you do.”

  She nodded.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She had to think for a second. “I am."

  “Your dinner is in the oven. Eat and meet me in the gym in an hour. Do you have a swim suit?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t swim.”

  He quirked his brow.

  “I’ve never really had a need to… to learn.”

  “I’ll teach you,” he said immediately.

  She began to panic. “I don’t have anything… suitable to wear.”

  “Shorts and a shirt, perhaps?” he suggested with a slightly baffled look.

  Study. You can do this. “I have that.”

  “Good.”

  She nodded and looked at the camera, realizing it was still going. “I’ll go now. And eat. Meet you an hour after.”

  “Thank you.”

  ****

  Mordecai paced in his room, going along his usual track from his board to his bed for a sit, then back to his board, and back to his bed. On his fifth trek, the craving to hunt filled him, further agitating him. He never had the urge to hunt on a weeknight. Not like this where his palms itched for it.

  I think you’re very attractive.

  Those words brought blood to his cock with a menacing throb. And why? He’d never wanted to use his cock in the way he now did. In the many ways. How quickly his brain had constructed the endless
scenarios with her.

  Unknowns. That’s what it was. And yet, he’d never dreamed of wagering his sexuality coming into play with her in such a major way. After studying her for over a year, not once, not one time did sexual urges come up like they were now.

  And why now? What was the new variable?

  I think you’re very attractive.

  A flood of images filled his head, all of them of her in sexual situations until he was heaving for air. It was her needs that were doing it. He was responding to that. She was like a hunt, he’d always known that, embraced it. She was attracted to him and wanting sex, even while…

  That was it. That’s why he was aroused out of his fucking mind for her. His body served his addictions without his brain giving a command. It produced needs that served his urges. It didn’t think he needed sex; it knew she did. And her having sex was a contradiction to her beliefs. A breech in her wager—one based on her religious beliefs—meant she didn’t believe it, and if she didn’t believe it she couldn’t support it.

  That was it. That was it. The crack in her argument that his body knew needed exploiting and was ready to serve up that exploitation. Because he wasn’t there to challenge her thesis as much as he was there to challenge her. Challenging the thesis was icing on the cake, the doorway in, the offspring of the true challenge—she was the puzzle. She was the woman his professor called a stigma of sound science whose ideals entangled the masses. A tumor needing extracting, a cancer needing curing, and the only way to do that was to unravel the problem—her ideals, her beliefs, her faith. Layer by layer, he would de-construct, remove the noise, and reduce her to basic terms, and then, her thesis would fall apart with her. Challenge conquered.

  Her sexuality was clearly the key to that, otherwise he was damn sure his body wouldn’t care less about it.

  He considered his wagering principals then. The more effort he exerted in securing a wager, the less power he actually had, decreasing the potency of the win. That meant she would have to be the one to fall. On her own. He’d only set up the playing field, but the rest would have to be her. He’d merely make himself available and willing for whatever she desired. Whatever moves she made, he’d mirror them. If she hit, he’d hit back. If she gave, he’d give back, if she took, he’d take back.