I probably shouldn't believe him, but I do, and so I hear myself ask haltingly, "What should I do...so you won't hurt me?"
"It's rather simple, really."
I truly don't want to think he's crazy, but he has to be to say such a thing. Nothing about being kidnapped can ever be simple—-
"All you have to do is allow yourself to enjoy my touch."
—-as that.
I stare at him in shock, and he stares back at me unflinchingly.
"You c-can't be serious," I stammer.
"But I am."
"You abducted me!"
"An unorthodox way for two people to meet," he says dismissively, "but it happens."
A disbelieving laugh spills past my lips. Did he really just say that? He practically made it sound like abduction was just another form of meet-cute!
I slowly shake my head. "I just can't—-"
"No, my dove. What you really mean is you've been made to think you mustn't...but you can." He leans forward, and I stiffen involuntarily even as my heart starts to race. "It's not the world I abducted, but you."
It's like having a devil speak my most shameful thoughts out loud, and I'm tempted to cover my ears so I don't hear anything else.
"It's not the world's fate that hangs in the balance," he whispers, "but yours. It's not the world I'm going to punish...but you."
His thumb touches my lower lip at his last word, and it's all I can do not to cry out.
"So tell me, my dove. Why must you make yourself suffer pointlessly?"
Lust slithers under my skin at what my captor is suggesting. I never imagined he'd say such a thing, but now that he has—-
"I didn't kidnap you just to look at you, and you know that."
I am confused and appalled.
"I kidnapped you to claim every orifice of your body."
Ashamed and enthralled.
He's my kidnapper, for God's sake, but he truly expect me to allow myself to enjoy his touch.
The very idea is outrageously reprehensible. It's unacceptable in every society and impermissible when considering every moral standard we're supposed to uphold.
What he's proposing is utterly indecent, and while I know I mustn't ever say yes—-
His words are also like poison, and the more I try not to think of what he's saying, the more the idea ruthlessly takes root.
I feel his eyes start roaming my body, and it's all I can do not to cry out as I feel my entire being turn into a battlefield under his gaze. I can already feel the sinuously obscene tendrils of his words relentlessly conquering and defiling everything in its path: they rub erotically against the nerves in my brain until my thoughts scatter, and they wrap seductively around my heart until it's creamy, red-hot desire pumping out of its vessels. I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to stem the rushing tide of its poison, but it's too late: those lust-fueled tendrils have already snaked all the way down to my womanhood—-
Oh God, forgive me.
Mr. Sinister's nostrils flare when he sees me suddenly snap my legs close. Triumph glitters in his gaze, and I nearly whimper because it means he knows his words have successfully infiltrated my senses.
Fight it off, Sara.
Don't give up!
Resist it.
And I do try. I try to keep his poison from tainting the part of me that's already wet and quivering, but the devious tendrils of his words are unstoppable, and they inevitably batter down my painfully flimsy defenses.
His poison floods my core: it burns and takes shape, and just when I think it can't get any worse—-
"Surrender to me, my dove, and I will make your every dream and nightmare come true."
Oh God.
His words plunge inside of me almost like invisible tongues that hungrily lick every membrane I have in that secret place—-
And I am powerless against it.
His words consume me, and just like that, my fall from grace begins.
The First Punishment
Even though neither of us says a word, both of us know something has changed.
I'm still scared, but the taste of fear on my tongue is different. It reminds me of this ice cream I once tasted when I was a kid: vanilla topped with bits of chocolate-coated chili, a flavor that's sweet, spicy, and unforgettable. I even remember the ice cream guy telling me that I'm the first customer - of any age - to like it, and when I think about that memory now...
"Alright," I hear myself whisper.
I just need to think of Mr. Sinister as my vanilla with chocolate-coated chili.
"I'll t-try to do as you say."
"Which is what exactly?"
"I'll..." I draw a shaky and uneven breath. "I'll allow myself to enjoy it, but...before...before you punish me..."
His gaze narrows. "Go on."
Vanilla with chocolate-coated chili, I mentally chant to myself. Just think of all of this as vanilla with chocolate-coated chili.
I take one last deep breath before blurting out, "I want to know about the woman in the video."