At first he was delighted at the nature of his incarceration. Then he grew suspicious that maybe he had made a terrible mistake and the situation wasn’t what he thought at all. Finally, he saw that he had underestimated his adversary. After that he stayed pleasantly impressed and relaxed into things as they presented themselves. Or, more accurately, into Amazons as they presented themselves.
His jailor relieved the schizophrenia of her hot-again cold-again upbringing on her prisoner for the better part of the first day. He had no complaints about this. No, none whatsoever. The décor may be seriously lacking in grace or character, but he couldn’t find fault with either of these qualities in its human occupant. When she had resolved her inner conflict with growls, screams and laughter for the umpteenth time, she decided she was finished. A small splash of blood-red sunlight crept up the wall towards the ceiling. He wondered what Lizereli’s boss had in mind for him. It wasn’t like her to toy with her prey. The Goddess of the Hunt liked a clean kill.
Lizereli opened the door to a closet he had paid no attention to up to that point and pulled out a clean set of sheets. Throwing them at him, she ordered, “Change the bed.” As he did what he was told, she started suiting up in the gear he had helped her tear off that morning. When he was finished, she pointed to a door that led to a miniscule bathroom and ordered, “Go wash yourself.”
The bathroom was even shabbier than the room, but still he had no complaints. So far this particular captivity had its merits. Who could tell what his sister had up her sleeve, so he would do as ordered. Besides, it had been long hectic years since he had not heard a cell phone go off for an entire day. That simple fact was a welcome note. The bathroom’s cracked and moldering walls were tiled with three-cent hexagons. The toilet was cracked, and the sink looked as if it were held up by spider webs. The shower stall was more suggested than separated by a torn dollar store curtain. The thick turquoise towel folded neatly on a corner of the sink was as incongruous as that diamond in a pile of shit An Huu Bao talked about the other day. Lizereli was serious about wanting him clean, and it had nothing to do with compassion.
So into the shower he went, and soaped down with a bar that smelled strongly of clove. When he finished toweling down, he returned to the outer room. There, Lizereli and the woman who had been standing guard outside in the morning stood chatting. Lizereli pulled at a strap on her vest, while the other woman fiddled idly with her weapon. When they saw him, the guard shot him a bemused glance. The two women saluted each other, and Lizereli left the room smartly, taking the high-tech weapon with her.
The amused glint stayed in his guard’s eye as she crossed her arms and examined him frankly. He leaned against the bathroom door frame and returned the favor. She had freed her hair, and now a wild orange mane haloed her face, highlighting a splash of freckles across both cheeks. Typical northwestern Celtic stock traits, with the thinner, longer frame that mortal men had whispered about for centuries, and the top-heavy type of physical attributes that modern mortal men glorified. Having spent his youth around the Mediterranean, he was fascinated by the soft, almost translucent white skin of the northern Europeans.
“Come here.” She gestured to a strap that kept her body armor on.
He walked over and undid all of the suit’s straps, setting the pieces on the floor as they separated from each other. When he stepped aside, the carapace lay in a neat pile. She shot her bemused stare at him and said, “You’re not going to stop there, are you?”
His towel slipped off somewhere in the rest of undressing her. She simply stood still, allowing herself to be undressed. He was delighted to find that her freckles extended over the entire surface area of her skin. When they were both naked, she stood a long minute more, appraising him with a very thorough and penetrating amusement. Then, with suddenness rare for mortals, she leapt and threw him on to the bed.
For the next indeterminate eternity, he found that he actually had to rise to keep up with her. She had a mastery of energy rare among mortals. In fact, she was the most voracious human lover he’d had in at least a century.
And when she was through with him sometime late that night, she ordered him to change the sheets and take a shower. And when he was clean she was in the room chatting with her replacement, a compact Japanese woman with hair that cascaded past the small of her back. This woman’s way with him was sinuous, and she showed a mastery of chi equal to the Celt. And when she was through with him, she was replaced by a long African woman with a well-developed polyrhythmic sense and an even greater mastery of chi.
Chapter 8, section 5: sweet torture
At first he was delighted at the nature of his incarceration. Then he grew suspicious that maybe he had made a terrible mistake and the situation wasn’t what he thought at all. Finally, he saw that he had underestimated his adversary. After that he stayed pleasantly impressed and relaxed into things as they presented themselves. Or, more accurately, into Amazons as they presented themselves.
His jailor relieved the schizophrenia of her hot-again cold-again upbringing on her prisoner for the better part of the first day. He had no complaints about this. No, none whatsoever. The décor may be seriously lacking in grace or character, but he couldn’t find fault with either of these qualities in its human occupant. When she had resolved her inner conflict with growls, screams and laughter for the umpteenth time, she decided she was finished. A small splash of blood-red sunlight crept up the wall towards the ceiling. He wondered what Lizereli’s boss had in mind for him. It wasn’t like her to toy with her prey. The Goddess of the Hunt liked a clean kill.
Lizereli opened the door to a closet he had paid no attention to up to that point and pulled out a clean set of sheets. Throwing them at him, she ordered, “Change the bed.” As he did what he was told, she started suiting up in the gear he had helped her tear off that morning. When he was finished, she pointed to a door that led to a miniscule bathroom and ordered, “Go wash yourself.”
The bathroom was even shabbier than the room, but still he had no complaints. So far this particular captivity had its merits. Who could tell what his sister had up her sleeve, so he would do as ordered. Besides, it had been long hectic years since he had not heard a cell phone go off for an entire day. That simple fact was a welcome note. The bathroom’s cracked and moldering walls were tiled with three-cent hexagons. The toilet was cracked, and the sink looked as if it were held up by spider webs. The shower stall was more suggested than separated by a torn dollar store curtain. The thick turquoise towel folded neatly on a corner of the sink was as incongruous as that diamond in a pile of shit An Huu Bao talked about the other day. Lizereli was serious about wanting him clean, and it had nothing to do with compassion.
So into the shower he went, and soaped down with a bar that smelled strongly of clove. When he finished toweling down, he returned to the outer room. There, Lizereli and the woman who had been standing guard outside in the morning stood chatting. Lizereli pulled at a strap on her vest, while the other woman fiddled idly with her weapon. When they saw him, the guard shot him a bemused glance. The two women saluted each other, and Lizereli left the room smartly, taking the high-tech weapon with her.
The amused glint stayed in his guard’s eye as she crossed her arms and examined him frankly. He leaned against the bathroom door frame and returned the favor. She had freed her hair, and now a wild orange mane haloed her face, highlighting a splash of freckles across both cheeks. Typical northwestern Celtic stock traits, with the thinner, longer frame that mortal men had whispered about for centuries, and the top-heavy type of physical attributes that modern mortal men glorified. Having spent his youth around the Mediterranean, he was fascinated by the soft, almost translucent white skin of the northern Europeans.
“Come here.” She gestured to a strap that kept her body armor on.
He walked over and undid all of the suit’s straps, setting the pieces on the floor as they separated from each other. When he stepped aside, the carapace lay in a neat pile. She shot her bemused stare at him and said, “You’re not going to stop there, are you?”
His towel slipped off somewhere in the rest of undressing her. She simply stood still, allowing herself to be undressed. He was delighted to find that her freckles extended over the entire surface area of her skin. When they were both naked, she stood a long minute more, appraising him with a very thorough and penetrating amusement. Then, with suddenness rare for mortals, she leapt and threw him on to the bed.
For the next indeterminate eternity, he found that he actually had to rise to keep up with her. She had a mastery of energy rare among mortals. In fact, she was the most voracious human lover he’d had in at least a century.
And when she was through with him sometime late that night, she ordered him to change the sheets and take a shower. And when he was clean she was in the room chatting with her replacement, a compact Japanese woman with hair that cascaded past the small of her back. This woman’s way with him was sinuous, and she showed a mastery of chi equal to the Celt. And when she was through with him, she was replaced by a long African woman with a well-developed polyrhythmic sense and an even greater mastery of chi.