River Street

Thunder rumbled outside and lightning flashed, illuminating a small apartment living room and a dumpy red couch. James lazed on the couch, holding his paperback copy of The Wind Chimes of Love and trying to pretend like there wasn't a raging storm outside. He was average height, skinny, with dark, thin hair and dark eyes that sunk into his face like wax candles.

Storms made him nervous. They were always brief here, so there was that, but something about the combination of the rumbling and the flashing made him feel like his apartment was paper thin. Amelia had said she'd be home early tonight. Something about trading shifts. The thought made him feel a little safer and he curled into the couch, trying to sink into the fantasy of Harper Reginald and his tryst with the Housemaid.

The thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed, coating the pages in a blue-white hue. James snapped the book shut in frustration and went to the window, pushing the curtains aside and looking out in the dimly-lit street, as if hoping that by confronting the storm, it would take the hint and go away. He glared out the window. Pouring rain spattered against it, harder it seemed than before. Through the mist he saw the outline of a car and some blurry shape running toward his door.

Immediately his mind went to Amelia. He dashed over to the door, his book forgotten on the mantle, and dragged the heavy door open. Before him stood a strange girl, covered entirely by a wispy silver poncho.

"Can I come in?" she said over the din of the torrent outside.

James hesitated. Amelia had very particular feelings about letting strangers into homes at night. She wouldn't approve at all. The strange girl shivered. Thunder rumbled and a flash of lightning seemed to illuminate the two of them for a brief moment, dancing over them like a light show.

Sympathy won over. James felt a tingling in the back of his head as he gestured her in and slammed the door shut behind her, clicking the locks in place.

She thanked him and shed her poncho, draping it on the couch like she owned the place, "Thank you for letting me in. My car broke down." She gave him a timid look with pale green eyes and wrung her hands. "Do you have a phone I can use? I'm Rachel, by the way," she said, offering him a hand.

He shook her hand, lost in her eyes for a moment, "James." She pulled her hand away and stood there in abject silence.

"In my room," he stammered and led her into his cozy room. "It's just over here..." he said, sorting through a pile on his nightstand looking for his phone.

The sound of the lock turning hit his ears like a siren and he whirled, realizing that the front door was on its way open, "My roommate," he hissed, "stay where you are." He rushed to his bedroom door and slammed it shut, clicking the lock with a rush of adrenaline.

"What's going on?" she said.

"Hold on, Rachel."

"James-"

"Shush." He strained to hear. The familiar sound of Amelia's boots clomped outside, followed by a rap on the door.

"I got takeout if you want any," came Amelia's voice through the door.

"Ok, thanks!" said James. He turned back to Rachel and saw her eyes wide with fear. "Are you ok? Rachel?" He waved a hand in front of her face. She didn't even flinch. She was standing stock still at attention, her arms at her sides and her mouth clamped shut.

A thought struck him, but if this was some kind of weird game she was playing, he didn't want to fall for it. "You can say something," he said.

"James, what-" she blurted out.

"Shh, quiet." He strained his ears again, hoping Amelia hadn't heard. If she found out he'd invited in some random girl, he'd never hear the end of it.

Rachel's mouth was clamped shut like before and Amelia wasn't making any abnormal sounds.

"If this is some kind of game..." he whispered. Rachel merely stared back, wide-eyed and tight-lipped. He had visions of the girl stabbing him when he turned his back, her mouth curling into a devious sadistic grin. The suddenness of it shook him and he had a strong urge to get as far away from her as possible.

But the possibility... he hedged his bets on embarrassment and went for it, going for something that would be outlandish and embarrass her if she did it, "Piss yourself. Just a little."

Her eyes gave the impression of widening even more, despite staying in the same place. She let out a low grunt and the crotch of her white sweatpants turned grey.

James waved his hands in panic and took a step backward, smashing into the chair behind him. It let out a crash over the beating of his heart and Amelia's footsteps came running. She pounded on the door.

"James, are you alright? James!"

He gathered himself, taking a deep breath and trying to calm the building lump in his throat, "Everything's fine! Just slipped." He forced a laugh for added effect, immediately berating himself at how stupid it sounded.

Amelia seemed to buy it, "Well alright. Let me know if you need anything." Her booted feet clomped off.

James sat down on the bed with shaking hands and frowned at the girl standing at attention in the middle of his room. Her figure pressed itself at him like a beacon of temptation. She was on display, like a mannequin; her chaste, silk red hair; her pert, round breasts pushing against her cut-off white t-shirt; her sleek, tucked stomach; her full, coiled hips; her quiet, nimble feet; her snug, drawstring pants, now with a pool of gray maligning the white.

No, this is wrong. It's a trick. He got up from the bed and paced back and forth, stopping every few seconds to glance at her, as if to reassure himself that she hadn't moved. He thought about the puddle at her crotch. It would need to be cleaned and how? No, stupid. She can clean it when she leaves.

If she leaves.

No! He clenched and unclenched his fists. She was still there, wide-eyed and unmoving, silent and invisible. Like another object in his room. He cleared his throat and tried to speak, but the words caught and came out garbled. He tried again.

"Who are you?" he whispered. Then, realizing she couldn't respond, he added, "Tell me who you are and do it in a whisper."

She opened her mouth and began to speak, as if she was a tape recording reciting history, "My name is Rachel Carson. My car broke down going past River Street, so I stopped at the nearest house." She paused and her mouth trembled. A frown formed on her face, "No, that's wrong. I picked this house for a reason. I've been watching you for weeks, James. Mapping out when your roommate wouldn't be home, so I could get you alone." Something like a twisted grin spread across her face, "I must have miscalculated. She isn't supposed to be here. I came here to kill you."

"Quiet," said James, with mingled rage and fear. His mind was reeling and a new kind of panic was clawing its way up his throat. The only words he could find came out in a hoarse whisper, "Why?"

Her face was a frozen mask.

"Tell me why," he said, more strongly, "then be quiet."

"Because you're an easy target." She seemed to shrug and then went back to being like a statue.

James covered his face with his hands and rocked silently on the bed. I should tell Amelia, he thought. She'll know what to do. Through his fingers, his eyes caught the supple body again. The flowing locks of red hair. Unbidden images of running his hands through her hair flashed and flowed, pushing him toward the inevitable. What he knew he'd wanted to do from the moment the possibility existed.

He moved behind her and his hand wavered over her pert, round ass, the flesh and muscle pushing against the fabric of her sweatpants. "I'm going to do what I want with you," he said with a trembling voice.

She didn't react. She couldn't. He thought of what she had said and knew that her staying like a statue wouldn't be enough. She needed to feel it. She isn't supposed to be here. I came here to kill you.

"When I ask you to say something, you will only whisper. You will be able to feel every touch and react to it, your muscles will move if they decide to, but you will have no control over your own movements. Tell me how you feel about the power I have over you."

There was a pause, while Rachel's body went into a more relaxed standing position. Then she said, "It makes me realize you're not an easy target. I should have been more careful." James thought he could hear a note of sorrow in her voice, but it sounded like an impersonal sorrow. Like a terrorist disappointed that she'd been caught.

He grasped her ass and squeezed it. Her body twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Every time I touch you," he said, his voice taking on new strength, "you will feel more aroused. You will crave my touch more and more, but you won't be able to cum until I tell you to." He moved around to her front and his eyes roved over her sleek stomach. He moved a hand down her belly and under her waistband, pressing past the cottons panties underneath.

Her face seemed to glow with a sudden heat and he felt a wetness already forming on the edges of her clit. He felt himself stiffening against the fabric of his jeans and smiled inwardly, as his other hand worked itself under her shirt and pinched her nipple without remorse.

"When I call you good girl or slave, you will feel intense arousal," he said and pinched her nipple for effect. "Slave." The response was instantaneous. Her thighs began to tremble beneath his grasp and a low cooing breath escaped her lips. "Good girl." She shook so bad he had to pull his hand free from her breast and catch her before she fell.

Realizing how messy this was going to get, he said, "Go where I lead you," and guided her over to the bed, laying her down on her back. "Hold your arms out to your sides as if you're being restrained by ropes." She complied and he licked his lips, craving to take her right there. He got her sweatpants and panties off in seconds and her shirt pulled up, exposing her stiff nipples. Her glowing, pink mound was soaking wet to the touch and she was letting out huffing breaths more and more.

He got his pants off in a hurry and clambered on top of her, pushing her legs up and instructing her to hold them there. His member was aching to be inside her, but he didn't want to give in yet.

"When you feel my cock touch you, you will feel as if your entire body is on fire with arousal. You will keep your arms and legs where they are. The rest of you can tremble, but you may not let out any sounds louder than a whisper. Say yes master."

"Yes master," she huffed.

"Good girl."

She let out something between a squeak and a moan, so quietly it could have been mistaken for a mouse.

He stroked her hair in satisfaction as his cock pulsed, begging for him to bury it in her. She isn't supposed to be here. I came here to kill you. He buried himself inside her, grabbing onto her buttocks to push himself harder with each thrust. Her thighs and belly twitched beneath him, her arms and legs pinned in place by an invisible force. Her lips stayed parted, her breathing coming out in cooing gasps.

"When I count to three," he said, feeling himself nearing the edge, "you will cum harder than you've ever come in your life. And when you do, you will forget all you know about me and remember me as your master and you as my slave. You will regain control of your body, but you will only have feelings of love, fear, and loyalty for me. The thought of someone doing harm to me will be terrifying to you. Show me how that makes you feel in your eyes."

Her eyes went dark with the cold fury of a killer bested at their game. Good, he thought. I've not misjudged you.

"One," he said, and thrust, clenching his muscles in desperation. The moving parts of her body seemed to be on fire with passion and fury, as if the muscles themselves were trying to pull free of her body.

"Two," he thrust again and nearly lost it. Lights danced across his eyes and his head rushed with heady satisfaction. He sucked in a deep breath, said three, and planted his lips on hers, cradling her head and stroking her hair, pumping into her with quiet rhythm.

He felt her clenching against him and thought he would lose himself inside her. She rocked soundlessly against him, her hips pressing themselves upwards to meet his, her tongue plunging into his mouth, her hands springing up and roving across his back.

It seemed that they hung in that moment for an eternity, glued together as one messy being of lust and fluids.

Finally, he rolled off her and lay on his side, looking off at the bright wall, as worries about Amelia came crawling back toward his conscious mind. Rachel snuggled into him and cupped his balls, her other free hand playing with his hair.

"I love you, master."

Weariness tugged at him and he laid his hand atop hers lightly, smiling into the glowing world around him. It was safe and warm in here. Amelia would have to wait.

"Of course you do," he whispered with a grin, and closed his eyes.