He is Your Master Now Pt. 02

Ambrose Sweet meets the fierce Cassilda Chambers, a sexual wanton whom he comes to believe may be of eldritch origin. Before long, he finds himself ensnared in a scheme to eradicate his will and fundamentally change the nature of his entire being.

He is Your Master Now Part 2: A Most Eldritch Vixen

Six months ago, Ambrose Sweet was walking in Midtown Manhattan heading home from a job where he was little more than a paid intern. It was supposed to be an entry-level office position into the world of property management but for a young man with Ambrose' somewhat bitter disposition coupled with a lack of ambition, it was more of a continuing slide into an undistinguished life.

"Hey you!"

On a six pm on a Friday night at 57^th street and Sixth Avenue, the possibility that there could be as many as five hundred souls within earshot of that loud female voice was certainly possible, as offices, and assorted businesses disgorged an army of employees; each haphazardly wending their way to their various bus stops and subway stations on their way home, or to whatever distractions kicked off the start of their weekend.

Even if one accounted for the number of pedestrians wearing ear buds, there should have at least been a small smattering of reaction. But out of all the souls present, only Ambrose turned to see who yelled. New Yorkers may be jaded, but they are not that jaded; the fact that only Ambrose responded should have set off alarms within him.

When he turned toward the location of the voice, he found himself transfixed by a pair of ice blue eyes set into a cruelly sensuous, pale face framed by hair so black, that from that distance, he assumed it to be some sort of long, drooping knit cap, until he noticed the 1930's style men's fedora on her head. It seemed a curious hat and as he came closer, he realized why. To the band was affixed tiny animal and bird skulls studded with silver and turquoise jewelry.

The woman's lips, coated with a shade of lipstick so red that it appeared to lag behind like an after image, parted to reveal gleaming white teeth in a smile that was more predatory than warm.

She couldn't have stood more than five feet tall, if even that, and yet she commanded a strong sense of presence.

As they drew closer together, he began to discern a certain high quality to her attire. It was all meticulously tailored and imbued with a sense of well-kept antiquity as if borrowed from a museum. As the space between them, he perceived her scent. It was a heady mix of natural smells of the type one associates with incense and anointing oils, mixed in with the aroma of some vague and difficult to determine ethnic European cuisine.

Although he had pegged her at five feet tall, he saw now that some of that height was courtesy of platform shoes. Based on her height alone, and despite having just heard her yell, he had expected a meek, squeak toy of a voice when she spoke. Instead, it was normal woman's voice possessing an authority that seemed to slap him with the force of a command.

"What's your name?"

Ambrose snapped to his senses.

"Why do you want to know that? And who the fuck are you anyway; yelling at me like that?" he said with a scowl.

"Cassilda Chambers. Does that name mean anything to you?"

He thought for a few seconds. "No." he spat out angrily.

"Well then I suppose asking me my name made no sense then."

Before he could reply that her answer made no sense as she had just asked his name, Cassilda interrupted him.

"I'm going to get to the point here." She said sharply. "I look for strangers--- men, women, transgender, gender-fluid etc. I really don't care, it's all flesh, and I indiscriminately fuck their brains out. But not without first having them tell me their name three times."

Ambrose was taken aback. He wasn't sure he heard her right. Just like that, she picked him out of crowd and wanted to fuck him? God, he hated goth chicks.

"Hey--- Cass---ella--- Cassella? whatever the fuck your name is---"

"Cass-ILL=da." She said in a way that suggested he dare not forget it. "Emphasis in 'ILL' because I'll make you feverish with lust."

Ambrose couldn't suppress an angry laugh. "Hey--- Cassilda, I don't know what the fuck you're up to, but shit tends to happen to cock teasers---"

"Really? Tell me, what kind of 'shit tends to happen to cock teasers' on a crowded street where everyone can video a man assaulting a diminutive woman?"

Ambrose, who had always struggled with impromptu altercations, felt stupid.

Cassilda reached into the old burlap purse she was carrying and pulled out a modern-day women's wallet. As she opened it, Ambrose spotted a thick wad of neatly stacked cash on one side, and a collection of credit cards in individual transparent pockets on the other side. The topmost card was completely unobscured. It was a Centurion Amex card. The mythological Black Amex card, a singular symbol of great wealth flaunted by rich movie stars and rappers.

She suddenly had his complete attention. It could be that she was just rich enough to warrant the card, or she could have been filthy rich and easily afforded it. In Ambrose' imagination, the extremely rich believed they could buy anything or anyone, and that also included arranging all manner of sexual scenarios. It seemed certainly possible that she was the type accustomed to getting what she wanted and just wanted to fuck someone at random.

She pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and made as if she would hand it to him.

"Two blocks up ahead. Fancy hotel. Do you know of it?"

"Yeah?" Ambrose became even less dubious. "The--- uh--- Wanderlust Hotel." He said with eyes fixed on the money.

"The Wanderlust. Exactly. This is yours" she waved the hundred, "IF--- you walk me there, check in with me, and accompany me to the room. If I don't fuck you, you go home fifteen minutes later than normal, with lunch money for a couple of weeks. However, once I start sucking your cock, you won't be getting this." She waved the hundred again.

As dubious as the whole proposition seemed, he had nothing to lose and, potentially, a hundred dollars to gain. He reached for the bill.

Cassilda pulled it out of his reach. "Name first."

"Fine." Said Ambrose grudgingly. "Richard Sanders."

She eyed him skepticism. "Look me in the eye and tell me your name."

"Holy shit," he said angrily, "Richard Sanders."

At least, that was the name he was thinking. What actually came out of his mouth was "Ambrose Sweet." Confusion taunted him. He was certain that he mouthed the words "Richard Sanders", but he clearly heard himself say his real name.

"I would have found out your real name when we checked in."

He was still looking into her in the eyes, though confusedly now, when she asked him to keep staring into them.

"I'm going to ask you to repeat your name twice more. Think before you do it because if you repeat your name twice more, while looking me in the eye, you'll be bound to me spiritually until I release you."

"Yeah right." He said sarcastically, skeptically.

"You can walk away now, but without a hundred-dollars because remember, that requires you to check in with me and accompany me to the room. Or you can repeat your name twice and change the course of your mundane slide into a boring future."

"This is total bullshit. You're some kind of crazy bitch and I'm not having whatever the fuck you're up to."

"OK. Off you go." She made no move to return the money to her wallet. "As you can see," she looked around at the crowd, "there's plenty of flesh out today."

Ambrose suddenly wasn't sure if he shouldn't see this--- charade through.

Cassilda pulled the bill toward her wallet and regarded him shrewdly.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're not very convincing when you play at being tough?"

"You'd be surprised bitch."

"Bitch?" She laughed. "Now is that anyway to talk to someone who just told you they were going to suck your cock. And I'd be surprised by what exactly; that you're actually tough? Yes that would surprise me. Or maybe you meant that I'd be surprised by the number of people who've called your bluff when you're--- trying to--- intimidate, or whatever you call this act? That wouldn't surprise me at all.

"You know, most guys your age go through all sorts of ridiculous lengths to get laid; here I am, telling you outright--- in no uncertain terms, that I'm going to fuck you and you can't even work up the balls to determine if I'm full of shit."

Then to needle him further, "Ambrose--- sounds a lot like Ambrosia, food of the gods. You know, if you change Ambrose to Ambrosia and switch it in place of your last name, you'd have 'Sweet Ambrosia'. That sounds like a stripper's name don't you think? Who knows, you might have even slipped an occasional dollar into the G-string of a stripper with that very name and mercifully forgotten her name. Are you even a man, Ambrose Sweet? Clearly you are, but are you a REAL man?"

On the surface level, it was one of the most childish taunts to which Ambrose had been subjected in his adult life. On a deeper level, it filled him with perhaps too much anger. Here piercing stare withered his rage down to the purely impotent kind.

He wondered why he was still even engaged with this--- witch. There was no better description for her, when ordinarily he'd have walked away right there in any situation remotely as bizarre as this one.

"Where's the harm in just repeating your name twice?" then tauntingly, "tough guy."

"Fine." Ambrose looked her straight in the eyes and repeated twice: "Ambrose Sweet. Ambrose Sweet."

"Great." She perked up.

"Great? I didn't even fucking feel anything."

"I didn't say you would. But our souls are now joined." She put the hundred-dollar bill back in her wallet. "Now, I'm going to renege on the hundred and walk to the hotel. My other offer--- to fuck your brains out, still stands though. This means you now have no financial incentive to go with me to the hotel. Make the decision we both know you'll make. Or go home and jerk off while you ponder your failure as a man."

Before Ambrose could work up enough anger about the money, she briskly walked past him and headed to the hotel.

Ambrose stood there dumbstruck and watched her walk away, she was perhaps thirty yards away when he jogged to catch up to her. It was only then that he noticed just how enticingly curvy she was.

He knew it might all be a waste of time, but "fuck it", he might as well play this as far as it went. If she turned out to be for real, maybe he could engage in some rough sex, just to show her he's more of a man than she can handle.

He quickly reasoned that this was his own decision, of course, made out of curiosity and not at all because he felt strongly compelled to follow her as if he was under some bullshit spell.

By the time she reached the front desk he was at her side. It turned out she had already made reservations three weeks before, for exactly one day. Today. He did find that a little odd.

What he found even more strange, was the menu of conflicting emotions that played over the face of the female hotel clerk checking her in. Either this Cassilda person didn't notice or didn't care.

"There's history between these two." thought Ambrose.

He finally took notice of the hotel; it was by far the most opulent hotel he had ever been in. Not that he had been to many expensive hotels. Since they had no luggage, they weren't accompanied to their room by any hotel staff. In the elevator, Ambrose decided to test Cassilda's sincerity by placing a hand on her ass.

She pretended not to notice. He squeezed and got a feel for the firm flesh beneath her clothes.

"Classy." She said sarcastically.

Ambrose scoffed. "Really? You just Invited a stranger to come fuck you."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

She turned in his direction and looked up at him.

"I thought I was retrieving prey from a trap and preparing to field dress it."

"Let's just get this shit over with." Ambrose said with a forced air of exasperation that didn't quite mask a burgeoning sense of worry.

"Such bravado doesn't really come easy to you does it?"

As if to prove her point, Ambrose exhibited a number of false starts as he stumbled to work up a reply.

"That's OK, you don't have to answer. I can sense your uncertainty. And now I sense your dawning realization that I really do intend to fuck you. It's just that now you're not so sure that's a good thing, and--- you're wondering why you feel that way."

Newly confused, Ambrose wasn't sure if she had just read him correctly or had effectively planted a suggestion in him. He was in such a state of confusion that he would have no memory of walking from the elevator to the room. One moment they were in the elevator and in the next, they had passed the threshold to the room.

Once in the room, Ambrose barely had time to notice that it was actually a suite, when Cassilda locked the door and began to strip right there; letting her clothes fall where they may and turning as if to present a preview of her body.

She had sizeable breast for her height and build, as well as shapely hips and a divine ass. But what stood out the most, was the three-dozen solid black, tattooed rune symbols all over her body. The impression Ambrose had was that they were perhaps drawn from five or six different writing systems and cultures.

There was one symbol that differed from the rest, however. It was located on her chest just where her breast sloped outward. The symbol was rendered atop the only illustrated item: A yellow mask with a bland expression atop of which sat a yellow crown. The symbol, rendered in the same yellow as the mask, was only distinguishable by its black outline. It rested between the eyes of the mask.

Upon seeing it, Ambrose was temporarily held immobile as he felt every conceivable emotion at the same time. It was a brief moment and when it subsided, he sensed the most urgent erection he ever had. He lowered his eyes to the neatly trimmed, black triangular patch of hair on her mons pubis and was thankful that there was nothing abnormal about Cassilda--- down there. Though if asked at that moment as to what he had been expecting to find between her legs, he'd describe a demonic mouth with a writhing, slavering tongue extending from it.

"Bedroom, bedroom, where's the bedroom." Asked Cassilda aloud, nonchalantly.

Ambrose did not have quite the extensive experience he might have wished, but he was pretty successful with women even if his relationships were always brief. Even so, Cassilda's total casualness was something he could have never imagined from a woman or even from most men.

"Ah, over there I think" she said "OK, follow me."

He stared at her ample derriere as it jostled invitingly, alternately defining and diminishing the dimples in the small of her back. "

From an early memory, the words "wanton whore" wormed its way into his mind. He remembered seeing it in a small, pamphlet sized book which contained a pornographic story accompanied by black and white photos of graphic porn, which he guessed must have been taken in the 1940s. The very words "wanton whore" as well as the nostalgic vintage of the book and photos seemed to fit Cassilda .

He knew with a certainty that she was far older than she looked and suddenly felt completely exposed before her. Such a creature, he knew she must be a creature of some kind, could easily see right through any façade he put up.

Holy shit. He thought. Did she really yell out to him on the street to catch his attention, or did she call out to him soundlessly in his head? No one else had turned, after all.

An all too familiar anxiety, amplified greatly by Cassilda's cavalier approach to sex and her seeming supranatural nature, began to well up in Ambrose.

"Um, I don't think I want to do this."

Cassilda whirled on him. The rage on her face was too swift to fully register but it left an impression on him, nonetheless. He suddenly felt an intense need to please her and yet he felt just as strongly that he possessed the will to walk away.

But then, he suddenly began to doubt whether he actually had the will to leave. In fact, he surmised that if he decided to stay, it would completely feel as if it was his own decision, made of his own free will--- but he began to doubt that would actually be the case. He was suddenly fearful of putting this hypothesis to the test.

"Tell me what's wrong, Sweet." She addressed him by his last name, then again as, "My Sweet."

He wasn't sure if "my sweet" was an endearment, or an indication that she saw him as her property. Regardless, the request was delivered with a convincing affection that drastically contradicted all the behavior Ambrose had witness from her so far, and yet it worked magic on him.

What was wrong was that Ambrose could barely manage four inches when his penis was fully erect, and unfortunately, he had a proportional girth. And yet prior to before today, he had always managed to summon a confidence, even if he didn't exactly feel confident, when informing women of his shortcomings.

Having never before met anyone, male or female, as brazenly and self-assuredly sexual as Cassilda, he felt like a dying leaf ripped from a tree by a strong breeze and haphazardly thrown into the chaotic maelstrom of hurricane force winds.

"I'm very small--- down there" he said in weak, almost pleading voice.

Cassilda stepped seductively toward him. "Of course you are, my love." She whispered loudly. "I could sense it as clearly as I can see the color of your hair. It's amazing how quickly your ego deflated just now. I expected that, just not so soon. "

He now understood that from the very moment he looked into her eyes, he was laid bare to her like a frog pinned to a dissection board. Cutting through it all, however, the words "my love" seared him like a branding iron. He had no doubt that she loved him, he just wasn't too sure in what way, although "new, fascinating pet" seemed to be the most likely capacity.

"I've been watching you for a while. You try so hard to come off as a man. A real man, I mean. But I see all the signs you've blinded yourself to."

Ambrose felt that Cassilda was about to torment him with a terrible truth. It took tremendous effort to keep from throwing himself at her feet and begging her not to speak it. To speak it was to make it real and split him into two irreconcilable pieces.

He had known this woman for less than half an hour and already it was the most dramatic sexual relationship he'd ever had. And they hadn't even fucked yet.

She reached up and smoothed his cheek with a loving, calming hand.

He trembled as the memory of every moment where he had ever felt inadequate in any way, formed a single, vaguely formless mass and welled up into his consciousness. His eyes watered and the tears flowed copiously.

Too late, he realized that he had truly been trapped, and even this early in their acquaintance, he wasn't sure that he didn't want to be consumed by her and discarded for no better reason than it would please her to disregard him so.

She grabbed him by the hand, led him to the bedroom, removed his jacket and shirt and pushed him gently onto the bed.

She took an eternity to remove his shoes, socks and pants. It was apparent that she wanted to torment him and by the time she slipped off his briefs, he couldn't look her in the face for fear of witnessing a cruel, scornful expression. He turned his head sidewise and shut his eyes, squeezing out a few more tears.

"Yep. Wow. That--- is--- pretty small. Emphasis on 'pretty' because that is just about the prettiest little thing I've ever seen."

Ambrose began to lose his erection.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist."

He was completely soft when Cassilda spoke again.