A Willing Subject

A Willing Subject is about the length of a short story and should pay off slowly.

*****

1

"Oh please! I'm sure Heather won't mind." Sarah pleaded, her expression affecting helplessness.

Sam couldn't remember her so animated. Blythe and always indifferent to him, she hadn't given him the time of day for years.

"There's money in it for you."

Sam was torn. As a struggling acting student about to become a struggling actor he needed an ear to the ground for the next gig. And as gigs go this one would be handy. It would be a rehearsal tonight helping Sarah and her friend Jennifer with their final presentation.

They needed a man and Sam had been singled out. His girlfriend, Heather, had got a late call a couple of days earlier for an audition in Edinburgh, which meant he would be free at least. He had been ready to spend the weekend in front of the TV or Playstation.

So there was a neat convenience to the proposition that made Sam more amenable; he'd be done before Heather returned, and could keep it secret from her, perhaps forever.

Because he knew she would never approve of it. Heather didn't like Sarah, and it was easy to see why. Heather was dedicated to her craft, while Sarah was there to pass the time and snipe at her peers. What talent she had was blighted by contempt for everyone.

Academically Sarah did just enough to get by, but it was hard to imagine a future for her in acting. It didn't seem to matter much to her. The rumour was that she was from a rich family. "Not just rich; crazy rich. Buy-and-sell our asses rich. Powerful rich.", he remembered a friend confiding to the group in the first year.

Sam had always been curious about her. He found her alluring even if he couldn't quite admit it to himself. She was a redhead with ever-changing streaks of colour in her hair, and always wore dark eye make-up with a cat-like tick.

She was kinky in a way he couldn't pin down. It was some blend of the vintage dresses she wore that cinched at her waist, and her aloof, arch demeanour. He hardly registered it, but when he saw those pointy Russian red lips in a closed smile he was totally disarmed. She knew it, even if he didn't.

But since those first months he had fallen in love with Heather and noticed Sarah less. To the point where he wasn't even sure if she had finally dropped out. Yet here she was, pleading with him on the front steps. He was taken aback by her uncharacteristic friendliness, but she was also being pushy, forcing herself into his space. The only way he could leave would be to nudge past her.

"Just the three of us, lucky you. We've got to present it next week, and we need a heavy couple of rehearsal days. This weekend we need a male voice, and we're going to have to pull an all-nighter tonight."

Hardened by a sense of duty to Heather, Sam was ready to tell Sarah no, but his resolve would be hollowed out.

"Course, there's two grand in it for you." She let it linger in the air, knowing the punch it would pack on a hard-up student in London.

This was crazy. Two thousand pounds for a weekend of reading from a sheet. It changed everything. So the rumours about her wealthy family had to be true.

The amount made Sam calculate sums in his head. It would not look good to disappear for a weekend with these two, and despite the money Heather would be upset. But Sam needed it; he could clear a couple of debts and wouldn't need to think about rent for a few weeks at least.

"Give me your details and the money will be in your account tonight. Yes or no. I need a quick answer."

Her big eyes examined him, and her freckled cheeks twitched as her lips parted in a confident smile. Sam's firm "no" melted to a compliant "yes" in his mouth, and like that it was done.

Sarah gave him the address: Suite 106, Park Hotel. She was definitely rich.

"Bring exercise stuff. There's going to be a bit of action." That naughty closed smirk curled on lips after she said this.

A weekend with Sarah and Jennifer. The gossip was that they were gay. Someone said they had seen them kissing somewhere, but as Sam thought about it they seemed like less of a couple than a duo, a sniping double-act with an endless list of in-jokes that bewildered everyone else.

He had time to go home and pack a change of clothes, uneasy with guilt, reminded himself not to speak to his friends as he marched back stiffly from the station. Fidgeting in his room he checked his account before he left. The money had already cleared. There was no way out now.

His final task was to call Heather, knowing that it would be their last contact of the day. Waiting for her to pick up he could hear his own shallow breaths in the receiver and tried to calm down. It rang through to her voice-mail, he told her he loved her and that they'd talk tomorrow.

It felt like he was stepping into a different world - the part of London sequestered by old money and oligarchs, off limits for everything but sightseeing trips when relatives were in town.

He got off at Bond Street and walked in a daze to the hotel vaunted for its luxury. It had always looked nondescript from the outside, which only inspired the curiosity of the people who passed by. He felt honoured when the concierge nodded him through and wordlessly accompanied him to the correct lift - a private one that would open out straight onto the suite.

His pulse raced as he ascended. It was the rush from going behind Heather's back, mixed with the giddiness of crashing this unfamiliar, palatial setting. The lift slowed, stopped, and the doors opened out on a hall-like living area, where Sarah and Jennifer were watching from a couch.

"You made it! There's no time to lose. We simply must get started right away."

Hot air sent him reeling as he entered. The room wasn't just warm; it was tropical, and he shed his jacket as a reflex. There was an ambiguous fragrance of spice weighing heavy, a feminine perfume that he couldn't discern, strong enough to make him dizzy.

Hair-tied back in pony tails, they were wearing matching belted pink leotards that reminded Sam of a Kate Bush video. Both a few inches shorter than Sam, they could have been doubles were it not for their hair colour and subtle differences in their body shapes. Jennifer, fuller-figured was also darker than Sarah, with a delicate, heart-shaped face and doleful, down-turned eyes that were lifted by a vacant joy when she smiled. And she smiled often.

The suite was gigantic, and its sleek decor contrasted with the baroque style of the hotel's lobby and lift. Alone in the second bedroom he got into his workout gear, flinging his stuff onto the emperor bed, eager to get started.

"OK, we'll do some warm-ups first. Come over by the window you two."

Most of their acting classes involved some kind of preparation to help the students relax and begin to look outward rather than inside. Sarah led them in some stretching, reaching up towards the ceiling and sinking back. Sam was weakened by the heat and scent of the room, and as he breathed deeply it felt like every nook of his body was being filled, invaded by the mysterious, heady aroma. He turned round numbly to see ribbons smoke quivering from an incense burner on the coffee table.

Jennifer then took over the preparation, and asked Sam and Sarah to close their eyes. She was a gifted singer and her voice was expressive and melodious. Unlike Sarah she had a talent for performance, and there was something authoritative in the way she implored Sam to relax and become open, loose and pliable. They stretched again, and at long last returned to a comfortable position. She told them to close their eyes and forget themselves, and the room, the women, everything melted away.

2

In a dream or long-forgotten memory Sam could feel himself standing, supported by the thick warmth. The London skyline in the window became opaque, like a twinkling fresco, while the suite stretched out boundless in front of him. Sarah and Jennifer were awake and looking at him, and Sam, unable to move, responded to their words over and over with one response - "yes".

They would giggle, pink cheeks lifting with menacing smiles, and swap the kind of conspiratorial glances they were known for. Sarah, propped lazily against Jennifer, would reach out and touch Sam's face, but Sam could not move and was planted helpless and statue-like in the room.

When Sam became aware again he was on the couch with the booklet of lines and directions on his lap. Sarah and Jennifer were talking through the scene. Sam zoned in, and flicked through the thin booklet to find his lines. They were minimal - four or five in total. "Easy money" he thought, but as the idea crossed his mind the cash became less important. He was just glad to be here. Sarah and Jennifer stopped chatting and tittered softly when they noticed Sam studying his lines

The scene began. Sam wouldn't be needed for a while and followed the dialogue::

Cassandra: So everything's in place?

Catherine: Yes, all we need is the subject - Mr Cross

Cassandra: And you're sure that this will work?

Catherine: Of course, I've seen it in countless clinical trials. We need some time to soften him up and make him pliable, and then, when he's loose and ripe, we pluck him from the branch.

Cassandra: But how do you know he won't suspect anything. What is the pretext for meeting him?

Catherine: The poor fool thinks he's coming to help us. And because he wants us, because we make him hard, he'll step right into the trap without even thinking about it.

Cassandra: What do you plan to do with him once you've got him.

Catherine: I think we both know the answer to that. I'll see where my fancy takes me. We can get him to do almost anything, he'll be so besotted there's no way he can resist.

Cassandra: Well we both have the need.

Catherine: We do indeed, and I don't want to fight it any longer. I don't want to see any more shrinks. I just want it. I want to cross the line - and I want it as much as I can get it.

Cassandra: So he won't finish.

Catherine: He'll never finish again. Not without our say-so.

The girls let our belly laughs like camp super-villains. This was Sam's cue, and he entered the scene, wondering who had written this rubbish. As directed, Jennifer grabbed him from behind in a full nelson. Sam was jolted from his amusement. He was shocked by the power of her grip, rendering him immobile as she pulled him up with improbable strength to face Sarah, playing Catherine. Was this real or part of the play?

He craned his neck to see his line in his helpless hand. "You won't get away with this."

Sarah responded with a leer - "Oh but I will. Do you know why? Because I can see that you're only too pleased to be here."

She pointed at Sam's shorts. Maybe it was an instinctive reaction to Jennifer's control, but Sam's cock had become hard and visible through his clothing. The booklet fell from his trapped hand. Jennifer's perfume and the yielding press of her breasts against his back made him ache, while Sarah made him uneasy him with her strange assuredness when fixed her dark round eyes on his. She drifted closer until she was face-to-face, her nipples pushing against the sleek material of her leotard. Sam could feel her breath on his cheek, and could make out the individual freckles on her pale face.

At last she pressed up to his body, urging against the cock that was rigid in his shorts, before turning her head and meeting Jennifer's lips in a passionate wet kiss. Still trapped he could hear their murmured moans and see their tongues slipping against each other, millimetres from his own mouth.

Sam wasn't sure if he was still in character. Some combination of the atmosphere in the room and his studied, actor's detachment impaired his defiance. He didn't understand why he was so weak to Jennifer's control, and tried to assert himself. He gasped as she pulled the nelson tighter, leaving him tottering on his tiptoes. Her ease was incredible. She had no problem restraining Sam and devoting her full attention to Sarah's glossy lips.

No, this was not part of the act. Dampened fear began to creep in, and Sam nudged Sarah away with a raised knee, "What the fuck's going on here?"

"Nothing that you didn't want the moment you first saw me." Sarah replied, as if she were intimate with his weakness for her.

"And nothing that you weren't prepared for when you accepted the proposal." Sarah knew how to subdue him.

"We dropped out months ago. You must know that. When you said "yes", you knew that this wasn't going to be a rehearsal. I've always had bigger plans than acting. From this moment on you're out of that game too."

"Seriously, you need to let me go right now.", Sam stammered. "Heather -"

Sarah cut him off, "It looks like she means less to you than you pretend." She said, drawing attention to his hard-on. She let one hand drop to Sam's shorts, and began, lightly, to trace the tip of his cock with a single manicured nail.

"Please don't!", Sam complained meekly.

But Sarah had a flair for the chase, and with each feather-like stroke, each whiff of the room's strange fragrance, Sam's defences were being worn down. She spoke steadily as she touched him, and when Sam tried to reply she had a more pertinent counter-answer that rendered him weaker. She was smarter or at least more spontaneous and prepared.

Sam's reserves of defiance almost exhausted he tried to project confidence, but was appalled to hear himself whimper, "I'll call the police." Yet shuddered when her finger grazed the head of his cock.

Sarah batted the notion away nonchalantly, "Pfft! We could make this scene look so bad for you, Sam. Within minutes you'd be the one answering charges."

Her demeanour softened, "But Sam dear, I know you'd never do that. You want to be here. You're desperate to stay and see what we're going to do with you, don't you?"

In a strange sing-song, Jennifer chanted behind him. "Desperate to stay, desperate to stay.", pulling closer until he could feel her lips dabbing against his ear.

Sarah grabbed his face and looked deeply, inquisitorially into his eyes. "Aren't you?"

Sam dizzy, confused, and viscerally aroused, searched himself and found more defiance than he expected. "No, shut up, let me go."

Jennifer continued to chant, and Sarah kept time by sliding her finger up and down the outline of his cock.

"Aren't you?"

Sam wanted to fight, but was losing himself in the endless refrains. "Desperate to stay." It was like his hands were clinging to the tip of a precipice, and with their words they were tugging him down, weakening the grip of every finger. He couldn't hold on. Jennifer changed the chant and raised the tempo, "Desperate to stay, desperate to stay, desperate to stay" .

"Aren't you?", Sarah inquired. Sam took a deep breath, as he prepared for his inevitable surrender.

"Yes", and with this word he felt the panic flushed away by a pulse of relief and excitement.

Say, "Yes, Miss."

"Yes, Miss." It felt wrong. The title gave her an authority she didn't deserve.

"Good, Sam." Sarah grabbed a remote on the table and music filled the room - down-tempo music with a slow steady beat, and searing bass that Sam could feel in his core.

"I think you can let him go."

Jennifer released Sam's arms but continued to hold him from behind, while Sarah completed the sandwich once more, her lycra-wrapped body pressing up against Sam's chest. Sam felt a distant pang of fear and tried to avoid Sarah's gaze. She laid her palms on his chest before drawing them up slowly towards his cheeks, manoeuvring his head with alarming lightness so his eyes were in line with hers.

"We're going to have some fun with you. But don't stay if you don't want to."

Sam assimilated the information blankly, as Sarah and Jennifer started to dance in time to the music holding him between them as they moved. Sarah picked a glass of wine up from the table, holding it to Jennifer's mouth and then Sam's before taking a mouthful and kissing it back to Jennifer.

The heat was close and damp, and as Jennifer danced her hands ran up and down Sam's clothes, fingers catching the hem of his shorts and t-shirt and nail scratching lightly at the skin of his thigh and midriff. He felt the material tauten around his cock, now damp and overtly hard.

Almost lost in the feeling of anticipation, Heather shot in to Sam's mind, and he said her name aloud. Sarah laughed and cooed at him with a spoofed sympathy. "You won't even care about her after this."

"Guess who set up her audition."

Slipping off to another place, Sam regarded her with confusion as her hands ran up his chest and grazed his nipples. He told himself that he might not be able to escape, but at least Heather wasn't gone forever. These women were forcing themselves on him, and he wouldn't reciprocate. In the heat it made sense to strip down, but Sam wasn't ready for the rush of arousal that ripped through him as the two girls began to peel back the tight material of their leotards.

Sam's top was removed, and he he felt the the smooth flesh of Jennifer's breasts slipping up and down his back. He looked down and saw Sarah's small but buoyant breasts, curving upwards, nipples pointing temptingly towards Sam's mouth.

Vaguely summoning the determination to resist, Sam remained passive, fixed in place by Jennifer's mysterious strength. Jennifer's fingertips teased Sam's chest, while Sarah danced close to his body, grinding against him with each throb of the bass.

Sam tried to turn away, and was surprised to find that he was met with no resistance. He turned, but only into Jennifer's gaze. Two heavy breasts hung confidently on her chest, her hair was still pulled back tightly like a dancer and she wore a smile that was pure unrestrained joy. The thought of not being able to see what Sarah was up to made Sam's heart race.

He felt gentle pressure down on his shoulders, but his knees almost buckled underneath him, and as he sunk back on his heels the women closed in together in an embrace that encompassed Sam from the neck up. He looked up at Sarah's lean stomach, and the pleasing, soft swelling of Jennifer's belly as their mouths locked in a kiss.

His face was pressed on the ridge of Jennifer's pussy, he could smell thick arousal as she gyrated slowly. In unison they slipped their panties down and kicked them away. Sam's cheek was being gently buffeted by the upper contour of Jennifer's sex and puckered his lips to lighten the blows.

The the command came down from on high and hit Sam like real blow. "Lick"

Sam's head fell back, he grabbed the back of Jennifer's thighs, and pulled himself up to her eager pussy, plunging his tongue into her. He heard a muted cry far overhead and set about his task, hungry and diligent. In his daze he reasoned that his mind was not his own, but he still thought of Heather. The thrill of transgression guided his tongue as it slithered in and out of Jennifer, its slick path eased by abundant moisture.

Dizzy Sam, felt himself being pulled back. Sarah had crouched down alongside him. He longed to return and bring Jennifer to orgasm, and he could hear her song-like pants as she fell back on the couch a few feet away.

"Sam, you still have a choice. You can go home now if you want. This will all end, and we'll never speak about it again. Heather will never know."

Sam battled inside to focus on her words.

"Or it can be a lot more fun."

She made her way to a handbag and produced a small vial of pink liquid.

"If you stay then we will carry on, and I can see how much you want to do that. All you have to do is drink this. I can't tell you what it is. But you'll know about it afterwards, that's for sure."

Jennifer laughed breathily.