Strange Meetings

I threw down another scotch and soda, wondering where the time went. It was one of those parties, an insidiously boring cocktail thing following a lecture on "Bioethics into the 21st Century"- and after that kind of b.s., let's be honest, a person just wants to get drunk or laid, or hopefully both. I was having good luck with the former, avoiding the latter, as the case would have it, and feeling more or less wretched.

What the hell was I doing here? Other than getting progressively more soused, not much. I felt out of place. I had hoped this would have been different, at least informative, as I did have other offers for the weekend-a few of them even paying offers. Pretentious people stood around with their chardonnay and foreign cheese, seeming engrossed in their little conversations, their little worlds. It mattered not a bit to me that I wasn't legal for drinking-I was better off loaded than trying to follow the snips of lame-ass intellectualism I could just about pick up over the sound of the equally lame-ass DJ. And then I felt someone come up to the bar from behind, standing so close I felt warmth and a strange tingle, as if his presence was sobering me up. His hand rested on my shoulder and he whispered,

"I've got scotch up in my hotel room and I want to see you naked." A slightly British-sounding accent. I don't know what it is, but that does give me shivers. Maybe because I know I sound like some refugee from a "Rocky" picture. Hardly attractive, my voice.

I looked up, then looked him over, handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed (Oy, if this isn't a combo I fall for!), leather jacket, typical bad-boy…yes. What can I say, I'm a sucker for the sweet-talk. I quickly threw a fifty down on the bar to cover my tab, and was pleased to note that he swept it up with a practiced motion and then hustled me out of the lounge. I was giddy with the booze and the excitement of a good-looking stranger. He was a definite improvement over my usual.

Once in the elevator, he hit the button for the floor, then pressed me up against the side of the elevator and thrust his hand up my mini-dress. I was too startled to protest, rather, I melted under his touch, becoming so involved with the sensations he gave me I barely noticed the people who got on at the next stop. And who promptly got off at the stop after.

We got off at the next floor, and made our way to his room. No sooner had I entered, before I could even ask about the scotch or get naked, he grabbed me by the hair and spun me around. I looked into those piercing eyes, one scarred, lending a touch of danger to his face-he kissed me, roughly, then grabbed me by the wrist and twisted my arm. My knees went weak-I was nearly kneeling.

"This is how it's going to be," he said, by way of explanation. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "I am the end of time."

Sure, I thought. I bet you say that to all the girls. With my free hand, I touched the obvious bulge in his jeans. "Lucky me," I leered, and in a flash, I had his jeans undone. If he wanted it rough, I was ready. I've played rough before. But now, I was in something of a quandary. I did have his jeans undone and his obvious attention, but he still had my arm twisted in the uncomfortable position that had me, knees bent. Maybe I should have been a bit afraid--but I was in no mood to struggle with such an obvious attempt to get me down (a lesser creature might have whimpered at this point, but I'm stronger than I look-and I don't look too weak). Snarling, I pulled my weight down and sat there with my face at briefs' level.

He looked down, pleased as I licked my lips in what I hoped was a sensual way, and then, again with my free hand, I grabbed the side of his BVD's (yes, tighty-whitey's…I would never have guessed!) and yanked. His eyes widened slightly, surprised at my boldness, but at the same time wanting to chastise me for it. I felt a momentary qualm as I looked back into those eyes, and wondered if he didn't seem a bit psycho-but I also felt his other hand going back to my hair, ensnarling it, and my neck tightened. Was I going to play that game? If he wanted foreplay, he was going to work for it, or at least let go of my arm. I gave a serious yank as I lowered myself to a prone position, pulling him on top of me.

I couldn't say at that point which of us was more put out by my sudden show of force, but he pulled himself up slightly, next-to-naked from the waist down, and still wearing his bad-ass leather jacket. I took note of his lowered lashes, his face momentarily serene, but then his eyes opened, and I realized I was in for it!

"You want this, don't you?" he purred, his face anything but serene, now. "What I'm about to do to you, you'll never forget!"

If that was the first time I was told that, I don't think I'd have been up there in a strange man's hotel room. Both of my arms were free, so it was my turn to grab him, one arm about his neck, pulling his face down to mine-I wanted those lips, warm and profane. God, but I thought he was gorgeous! He might have been a bit of a kink-but Jesus! If he wasn't fine! My other hand roamed, pulling at the jacket…. I would've ripped it off of him, but he obliged me by getting rid of it, and flinging it across the room.

It wasn't long before his hand was back, working its way up my mini-dress, and then my mini-dress was working its way up-oh, hopelessly stretched out of shape, now! It found itself snuggled up against the leather jacket. Bra, hose, and panties soon joined them.

"Oh, but, who…are you?" I gasped, suddenly aware that I had never asked this magnificent creature's name. I had to know.

"I told you I was the end of time," he replied, his voice husky with sensuality.

"No, I mean…" What did I mean? He never asked my name and could probably care less what my name was. And I usually never did ask for names, but this felt different.

"Myron Cole-um," he began, about to give me some lame alias, but then he corrected himself. "Kronos."

The name of a titan, I thought, of a god.

"Then call me, 'Vixen,'" and of course that isn't my birth-name, just a pseudonym, one I've used off and on-but honestly, "Kronos"? How likely a name is that? Why should I give my name to this character, if he's going to hand me some myth?

The "god" was kneading my thighs with warm, insistent hands, prying them apart-I obliged by spreading them."Kronos," I started, and I didn't even recognize the sound of my voice-that was as far as I got! He was on me, no, in me, filling me. I don't know if I ever felt more excited. I threw my head back, half out of my mind. What kind of man is this? I wondered. It was all I could do to wrap my legs around him and try to match his rhythm, which was like thundering hoof-falls, like the beating of my own heart.

My hands pressed against his chest until he caught, first one wrist, then the other. I was pinned to the floor (Had he thought this was necessary? I was far from struggling!), hopelessly being ridden out of my mind by this-this-horseman! I was being carried away with the roughness, the abruptness, of his rude sex."Oh Goddess, oh, God, oh, Kronooosss," I moaned. And then I felt something strange, painful. My eyes rolled up in my head, and I was out of it.

*****

When I came to, I realized how very out of it I had been. Now, I've passed out during sex before, albeit never on business, but it usually had more to do with alcohol and being bone-tired than with the amazing prowess of my lovers. But this was different-had something happened, like a hypodermic in the thigh, maybe, to put me out longer than I'd normally be? Because for one thing, I'd obviously been moved, for I was presently tied spread eagle on the hotel bed. I distinctly had not been tied up before!

For those of you familiar with hotel-room bondage, you may know that hotel room beds rarely have bedposts, just squared-off headboards. I suspect that this is to discourage a little tie-em-up, tie-em-down action. I was pleased to see that this astonishing rude gentleman was aware of the little trick of attaching the ropes to the underside of the bed-and oh, but he had done this before! Usually, a few shrugs and I'm out of the bonds of an amateur-and I was most pleasingly gagged with the remnants of my own discarded underthings! A sentimentalist! Oh, joy. Oh, shit. I was in the hands of a potential serial killer or something. Lucky me.

I awaited his approach with interest, and then looked at the dried blood on my upper torso. How the hell? I wondered, my thoughts hazy. I could barely remember pain, a brief struggle, but I couldn't quite place it. I was obviously fine.

"You're alive now because I wish it," he intoned, and if I had felt a tingle at his approach before, I was sure feeling one, now, and not just because of fear, or the possibility of a little more play! It was dizzying, half-migraine, half spine-tingling. Something had changed. Although my mind was full of questions, the gag prevented me from asking any of them. He produced a knife and ran the sharp edge down my collarbone to my navel. I watched in horror as the blood welled up, and then my senses reeled as a shock went through me and the bleeding stopped.

Kronos leered in an impossible-to-describe sexy-twisted way that had me wondering what I was doing still be aroused by this freak. "We're going to have a lot of fun, you and I." Again, I thought I might have detected a hint of madness-he was obviously out of his mind, but still, I did not doubt it-a lot of fun, for him-but how curious I was! What new twist was this? And now, what was I? Shouldn't I be dead?

He went on, tracing the point of the blade over my flesh without cutting. "You make a nice plaything, but I think you'll make a better student. I have a lot I could show you…."

I couldn't concentrate. His voice became a blur as I grew a little claustrophobic. I could never stand being a bottom, it's boring, and his macho trip wasn't doing it for me. I wanted to tell him, "Look, you dork, rough sex, sexy. Being tied up, carved open, and then bored to death...not all that sexy!" But I kept perfectly still. I knew that with some types of weirdo this was necessary. But still… even the weirdness of this new healing power was going to get old at this rate.

The point pierced my skin, and I looked directly at him. Damn, I've got to stop this getting picked up by strange men business, I thought. Lord, if I get out of this I will never turn another trick. His eyes glittered with intensity. He twisted the blade, and I looked down in horror as the blood welled, more blood than I thought I could stand to see. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but I wasn't giving him the satisfaction. I began breathing slowly through my nose, and looked up at the ceiling. There was a little crack, and I focused on it. White light, white…to the One…if you focus enough, your mind can go blank and pain can be overcome--or at least, partially ignored. It's a neat trick. It got me through eighth grade, cramps, the SAT's and freshman-year calculus. It got me through my first john, when I needed the money for school. He put the point up to my chin. Oh, great, I thought. Challenge me.

"Look at me," he threatened.

Slowly, in as not-at-all-threatened a way as I could muster, I looked at him, questioningly. A "what, now?" kind of face. I was getting a bit angry, myself. If there was some point to this besides demonstrating that this was one fucked-up situation (and let's just say I caught on to that), I wasn't seeing it. He was a good-looking guy and one hell of a lay…but yeah, I've got my limits.

Disgusted, he threw the knife aside, and stormed out of the room. I knew I probably didn't have much time. I twisted my left wrist slowly, first one way, then the other, to test how the ropes were tied. They were tied well, and tightened slightly at the test. I bit my lip in thought. Of course, there was one way, now….I folded my thumb as flat as I could against my palm, squeezing my hand until it was as narrow as possible. I sucked in a deep breath and then yanked my wrist, hard. I could hear the bones cracking-but it was free! I wondered at how, in moments, the hand went from a purple wreck to normal. I then set about the rest of the ropes.

Once free, I went to my purse. I had a few things in there my new friend might enjoy. I dumped the contents of my purse on the floor. My wallet was missing. Gee, I thought, I hope he doesn't try to use my Discover card, or my Visa. Heck, whosoever steals my wallet steals debt. I'm not exactly making a fortune, doing what I do.

Ah, there they were. My TENS unit (a gift from dear old Daddy, believe it or not, who worries about me when I have to use the subway) and my handcuffs (no fur-lined fluffies these, just the old-fashioned steel, one-way lock-so yes, they do get tight). I stripped the pillowcases off the pillows, and waited by the door for his return, not a little irritated.

His return wasn't long in coming. He came through the door laden with a bag of ice-I can only imagine what he intended to do with it. I quickly jabbed the TENS unit, dialed all the way up, to his neck, and with a neat judo move (another gift from dear old Daddy was a working knowledge of the martial arts), sent him to his knees. That had him just enough off-guard for me to put my knee to his back and twist his arms up behind him. His eyes were rolling up in his head. I momentarily prayed that I was correct, and that this treatment wouldn't kill him-or at least, not before I had my fun! The very least you can expect from a man is that he asks before slicing into you!

I bent down to slip the pillowcases over his hands and then the handcuffs on his wrists-tight! Thus mittened, I figured he'd have shit luck getting out. I had no intention of his being comfortable. He struggled and tried to rise somewhat. I grabbed his head and smacked it against the closet door, twice. He was out cold!

I pulled his body into a half-assed kneeling position (very difficult to do with an unconscious person). I wrapped his legs in the ropes, almost mummy-like, to the knees, then I ripped through the plastic of the bag of ice, and rubbed a fistful in his face.

"Wakey-wakey, end of time," I began. Damn if I don't like a good-looking man in a truly compromised position! I must have a little short-circuit in my cerebral make-up. "My, if you haven't messed with the wrong girl." I might look like a nice college kid, but where I come from, paybacks are definitely a bitch-and I can be all about paybacks.

Words will not describe the outrage on his face. You'd think he'd never been tied up before. Now, I ask you, how many men do you run across these days that have never had a bit of "slap n'tickle" in light bondage? Just what passed for a coming-of-age ritual in his neck of the woods?

Anyhow, he was pissed. "You do not know what you're dealing with," he hissed.

I cracked a smile. "Oh, but I think I do." I picked the knife up off of the floor. "I think I know exactly what I'm dealing with." With that, I put the edge of the blade to his collarbone and drew blood. He bled. He healed. I cut myself on the wrist. "We're the same. You showed me that. The same."

He shook his head slowly, then stopped in thought, and began to laugh, a little too hard and a little too long. "Perhaps we are. Let me free and I'll show you just how alike we are, Genevieve." My real name, oh Christ, this maniac knows my real name, I thought, briefly, but then, I realized I better not show a moment's weakness. I went into domina-mode, and tried to look very in control while feeling very out of control.

I stopped him there. "We're also both very, very bright. In your position, I wouldn't question who was the wiser."

He was done. He looked at me, and opened his mouth-the stupid bastard was about to yell! I knelt close to his ear-

"Have you ever been soap-gagged?" This was a thing I knew about. A guy did this to me, when I started out. I never thought about being pimped again, I'll tell you that. His mouth closed. "I take a bit of that nice, fragrant, fine-milled hotel-room soap, I unwrap it, put it in your mouth, and then I take those nylons," I pointed for emphasis, "and then I tie them so that you can choke on the soap. Doesn't sound very pleasant, does it? You would rather I not do that?"

He was furious. "I will have your head…"he began, and then shut up.

Sometimes I can be fairly intuitive. This was one of those times. He'd have my what? I reached for the bad-ass leather jacket in the corner, remembering that there was something about the heft, the way it clunked when it fell to the floor. A hidden pocket, a scabbard, and just what I thought might be there.

I pulled out his sword. "My, my, my, what is this for?" I asked, but I already had an idea. We heal but we don't regenerate--not fingers, not hands, and definitely not heads. The scientist in me was fascinated. I rested the edge of the sword on his neck."I think you've just told me all I need to know," I commented, then caught a look at myself in the mirror-horrors! I was a wreck! Dried blood, hair out of whack-I needed to get my act together. I shoved the nylons in Kronos' mouth and went to find the wet-bar key.

Have you ever sponge-bathed in 12-yr. scotch? Do it at least once. It's fan-freaking-tastic, cold, tingly, smells like heaven-an alcoholic's brand of heaven, but heaven nonetheless. I was clean and exotically scented. The damn-it-all dress really was stretched out-of-shape, but I got into it, and stepped into my shoes, sans nylons. I was going to leave Kronos my garters as a memento. Ah, there was my wallet…I hummed to myself as I picked up my things.

Kronos spit out the nylons. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Leaving," I said in my most sunny voice. I looked at the clock on the bedside. "Nine-thirty in the a.m. I hope you've got the room for the week. Otherwise, isn't eleven check-out time?" I grinned. He was dumb-founded.

As I opened the door, he said, "I will track you down to the end of the earth."

"Aw, sweetie, I'm in the book," I replied, and with that I left. I switched the sign on the door from "Do Not Disturb" to "Housekeeping" on my way out. Funny how it's the little things like being tied-up, stabbed, and of course, pulling off wicked paybacks that simply make a girl feel better about herself. I wasn't even thinking about how nice it would be to slip into an alcohol-laced oblivion. And as I skipped down the hallway with a song in my heart, I commented to one of the housekeeping staff-"Hi, I was in room 1403? Down that way? We had us a little party in there, and made a mess." And the twice-filched fifty found its way into her hand.

Needless to say, that one-night stand was definitely going to call me back. And I couldn't say for certain whether the notion scared the hell out of me, or had me a little excited. Probably a good helping of both. But as soon as I gave myself time to think about it, I knew I had nothing but questions. I mean, just what the hell was that all about? I mean, besides the whole thing being interesting, just what had he done to me? What was I now, immortal? And what was the deal with the swords?

Only time was going to tell.

On to "Grave Indecencies"

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