Temptation's Tits

"There's no way you could've known about my moles. Only ten men in this world and my Mom and Dad would know about that detail."

"Call it a knack for the Truth. A property of the rich and powerful. Anyway, there's nothing to prove you didn't show me your breasts of your own free will. At this point it's my word against yours, in the legal system of a society founded on and enamored with money. And it's innocent until proven guilty. Without any hard proof, you just look like the money-grubbing girl who cried wolf. What do you think Miss Red Riding Hood lost in the forest? Do you want to start playing along now?"

"Lick my asshole."

"Maybe I should show you to my bedroom, for that delicacy."

"I was only joking. I want to leave now."

He stepped aside and waved his arms at the corridor beyond. "You're free to go. But remember, if you don't fulfill the obligations of your contract, you won't be duly compensated."

Temptation recalled the 250 thousand USD that had hovered like a vague but potential hope just beyond the horizon of her days for the past 6 weeks, since she had signed the contract, in the presence of a lawyer, and received her own copy.

She believed that what seemed too good to be true, usually was. But the contract at least gave her the confidence that she might be able to sue for a good portion of the money, when he backed out on his word.

"When do I get the 250 K? I know you're good for it."

"I have it prepared, in stacks of twenties, in a briefcase whose combination only you will know, waiting for you upon the completion of your performance."

"How am I supposed to bring 250 thousand dollars cash to a bank?"

"You have your contract, don't you? My wealth is no secret in these parts."

She took a deep breath, sighed heavily. "I don't know if I'm prepared to perform. I feel so disturbed right now."

"Maybe some anal tongue darts would help."

"I've got a question for you," she said, ignoring his suggestion as if she hadn't heard him. As if the temptation of those darts wasn't creeping like mold across the surface of her certainty that this was a bad man, and if not a bad man, then certainly not her type. "You have to answer honestly."

"I can't agree to anything like that in advance."

"You have to. Or else I won't ask."

"Fine. You win. I am at your mercy, for one question."

"Do you, like, masturbate...to that picture?"

"To your portrait, you mean?"

"Yeh, that one," she said, pointing back.

"When you ask if I masturbate to it, that would suggest that I would do it regularly, and to that I would say, I do not."

"It sounds like an evasion."

"It is an evasion. And to your next question, I say, I have done it, once or twice."

"You're clearly obsessed with me. Did you fall in love with me at one of my performances?"

"Something like that. Though I might rephrase that to say, I fell in love with the challenge of breaking down your barriers. The modest girl with the epic body that she never flaunts, trying to take all our attention with her music, because she knows underneath what we all really want when we see her, turtleneck disguise or no."

"So what? I want people to appreciate me for my music. Ever since I was a teenager, all the guys saw in me was a pair of huge knockers. It hasn't been a fair life to live."

"You mistake what it means to be a woman. And it has nothing to do with what's fair."

"What makes you think you should just have any woman you want?"

"I have built skyscrapers around you, while you have dawdled in them, gossiping, and deliberating over the color of your next set of fake nails. Think of that farm-boy you dismissed so easily. His family has made the ultimate sacrifice so you could have bread on your table, but how exactly was it you thanked him?"

"It's not right. Just because you do your job, you think I owe you something extra. You already have all the money in the world."

"It is a matter of contribution. What have you contributed to this world that sustains you, every moment of your life, even while you sleep."

"I've made beautiful songs that a lot of people love."

"And I do appreciate the merit of art in and of itself. But I am an eccentric. You can't expect a more practical man than myself to have the same level of sympathy for your predilection. If you're going to work, you have to provide a real service, or else it's not really work, is it?"

"Let me guess: the only work a woman is good for is sex."

"I'm just saying, that's the only work she truly loves doing. Besides maybe the creature comfort she takes in cleaning, preparing food, and tending to children, animals, and plants. It's a very old-fashioned view I'm propagating. I recognize that. But do you recognize that everything that is old was once new, and all things past and future have that newness in common?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is, you have only 90 minutes until you take the stage, and we have a lot left undone. Would you like to see the rest of the gallery?"

"Okay, but just know, I don't trust you, and I think you're wrong."

"Once again, my dear, it will have to be my word against yours. But hopefully we can always compromise in the bedroom."

Temptation was thinking about what it meant to compromise in the bedroom, when he led her into the next exhibit. She liked the theory of it, but couldn't allow herself to like the idea of practicing it will this man, who was obviously a master manipulator, and who knows what else.

"What are your other fetishes?"

"Ice cubes. Gas masks. Girls in nerdy glasses. Outie bellybuttons. Deep bellybuttonholes. Bellybutton piercings, like I said earlier. Military apparel with utility holes kept shut by Velcro. Bracelets. Anklets. Torcs. All of the metal variety. I once made a gown of safety pins for a former lover. Pricking. Cutting. Slicing. Sutures. Role-playing as an inanimate doll, or as one fucking a doll. Girls who make animal noises while they receive pleasure. And lastly, mud."

"A wet t-shirt contest never was good enough for you, was it?"

"Oh yes, and nipples that are concealed but revealed at the same time, as in a wet t-shirt or just some kind of sheer fabric. Or even, a woman who is fully clothed but with only specific parts of her body exposed, like a hole for each breast, or for her cunt."

"Don't say that word."

"I'm sorry to offend your sensibilities, but a cunt is a cunt, and I take that law to be as certain as gravity."

"It's a tautology."

"Leave it to the songwriter to be crafty with words. But what is the law of a tautology other than the most fundamental law of what is?"

"I think you might have a point. But I really don't like that word, and I wish you could just call it a vag, or a pussy, or something."

"I like a word that's direct, weighty, and touches your emotions, just like the thing itself."

"Fine. I can see there really is no compromising with you. But that's fine, because of all those things you mentioned, I might be willing to try two of them. Sorry I can't be the girl of your dreams, Mr. Rich and Powerful."

"But all dreams aside, I would make you my wife."

"What makes you think you want to marry me?"

"It is my wish that tonight would be your last performance. Any other time, I want you to play for only me. I have a fetish for naked girls playing guitar, and I think you'd fill the role aptly."

"I'm not going to marry you."

"Think of what you're turning down."

She stopped thinking then, and realized she had been standing before the next art work, looking at it without seeing it. It was a sculptural piece, affixed to the top of a white columnar pedestal by a metal rod. It was a piece of many fine lines of moulded clear plastic, with filaments inside that glowed with bright white light. The whole piece made the form of a snowflake.

"What made you decide on a snowflake? It seems a little sensitive for a guy who likes slashing and stabbing."

"I didn't say stabbing, but yes, I'd love to try it. In the safest way possible."

"You're not a doctor."

"I am a meticulous student of what is, and medicine falls as far within that province as it does in the narrower concerns of medical doctors."

"What if I did decide to be your wife. You're already old. I would get your billions when you die."

"Depending on the cause of death, yes, absolutely. And in the meantime you will still be rich beyond your wildest dreams."

"Or I could take the 250 K and run."

"75 minutes will determine the fate of that."

She ran her fingers over the cool surfaces of the snow-flake. It was beautiful, a Minimalist's industrial approach to construction of a life-like detail. She thought of Donald Judd, if he had the guts to build something someone might find pretty, and not just philosophically intriguing. If he had the courage to make it represent, and also to make it glow.

"There's one more piece, and though I don't think you'll appreciate it, I will show you anyway."

They walked around the next set of corners, and came upon another columnar pedestal with a peculiar looking object atop it.

"Is that a Flesh light?"

"Yes. This found object is a Readymade, my homage to Duchamp."

"R. Mutt," she said, savvy to it. "When was the last time you cleaned it?"

"Right before the last time I used it."

"And how many times was that?"

"Once or twice."

Temptation, without touching it, examined the item closer. She found that the rubber entrance to the device was moulded not to the form of a pussy but of an anus.

Her anus began to tingle again, and she found her glance train to his junk, driven by an unconscious pull.

"What are we doing here, looking at all this fine art in our skimpy swimsuits."

"I think we were just about ready to get all wet," he said.

Thinking about that pocket anus, and the obvious implication that he had used it with her own anus in mind, did more than make her anus continue to tingle. Her pussy was also beginning to soften, to wetten, to take on water and blood.

She regarded him again in a long, silent appraisal, trying to form a true judgement of him, based on the aura and flesh he presented to her in that moment, outside of all her pre-conditioned judgements.

She had liked Mike for his raw strength. This man was at least equally composed. He may be taking the adventurous side of things too far, but at least she knew he'd be willing to go as far for her as she wanted, without being cowed by the fear of its extremity. She could see this man giving her anal tongue darts all day, fucking her wrinkly sodden ass into the pleasure that comes beyond the pain.

"I'll go to your bedroom."

"As you wish."

He reached down along the side of the pillar and must've flipped a hidden switch, as the wall before her slid away to the side with a light rumble, opening up to a narrow hidden staircase. "Follow me."

"This is unbelievable," she said, penetrating the secret passage in this vast, mysterious house. They climbed the narrow but deep staircase in a light that was a couple shades fainter than the dim art gallery.

"I hope you like fruits, because I like to watch women eating it, getting their fingers all wet with their juices, licking the sweetness off their fingers. I like to watch them rub the citrus of a lemon or an orange into their cunt and then squirm with the burning discomfort of it."

"I think you have too much time on your hands."

"I have just enough time on my hands, to seize the world by the balls and squeeze the sweetness out of it."

"Why do you like things so mean?"

"Because it feels so good to watch something so pretty hurt. The prettiness always outlasts the hurt, and that is the main point."

"But what about the trauma of it?"

"Trauma is just another lesson in letting go. Which reminds me, I have a fetishistic desire to fuck a therapist during a talk session. Maybe that is a role you'd be willing to play?"

Just then, they arrived in what he'd suggested was the master bedroom. He clapped his hands, and the lights, which were embedded in the ceiling, came on.

As if the scene were already set, she saw a computer desk with a leather swivel chair, sitting across from a couch. The whole set-up reeked of the stereotypical therapist office with the standard couch.

"In the closet on the left, you will find a nice dress suit fitted to your proportions. You'll have to let me know if you like it. I think it is a perfect therapist costume, formal, modest, and comfortable. But with some minor adjustments to the design for ease of use."

"Does that involve Velcro too?" Temptation walked over to the siding closet door on the left side of the room, beyond the office desk. She took in the rest of the room, which was kind of an optical illusion, as it was only ten feet across from front wall to far wall, but extended at least sixty feet deep. At the far end of the room, was the bed, extending from wall to wall the narrow way. It was an urbanist minimalist's design, the black metal bed frame. Behind it, a panel of mirror covered the whole wall, adding to the illusion of infinite depth. Between here and there were his art supplies, and what must've been at least fifty unfinished projects. She didn't have time to look at all the pieces there, still holding the performance in the back of her mind, so she found the costume, the only thing in the whole closet, and found it fit perfectly. When she had finished with the last cuff-link, she found that he too had dressed himself, in a simple blue-grey polo shirt and slacks, and was lying on the couch, looking vaguely upwards, waiting.

Temptation took her seat, and asked, "When was our last meeting?"

"We meet every week."

"Of course we do. And how have you been this past week?"

"I don't really want to talk about it. Business is business."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I want your insight on an obsession of mine that is causing me a lot of inner turmoil."

"And what is that?"

"You must promise to tell no one. No matter how horrific you find it."

"That's our client-doctor confidentiality. I can't tell a soul."

"I have fallen into a deep obsession with a local musician, and I don't know why, but I know what I want to do with her."

"Why does it matter why? I mean, what's the importance of knowing a reason behind your attraction? Isn't the unreasonable nature of love its best aspect?"

"Love is unreasonable, but lust is perfectly reasonable. We are bodies, and a body needs. The needs that we would have someone fulfill, regardless of what they themselves desire, is the basis of lust."

"So that's all you feel for this girl, then, is lust? You're obsessed with the idea of using her? Am I hearing you right?"

"I want to make her my wife, and as my wife, I want her to want to consent to my every wish, no matter how much pain it puts her through."

"What about her feelings? How do you feel about giving her what she wants?"

"What she wants is what I want. I want her to see that and know the truth of it, that I am more than a God to her. While God created her and abandoned her to her freedom, I will be here to show her the way every step of the way."

"But what about my feelings? Could you care about how I feel?"

"You're my therapist. You're paid not to care."

"But I have feelings too. What if what you've said about this musician is making me jealous?"

"Don't push so hard. Let it come naturally."

"Tell me, then, what are these fantasies you want her to fulfill?"

"This musician, call her Jane, has the best tits in town. But never in a single show or public outing does she flaunt them to her audience. It's as if she wants to deny her best chance at success. I have a fantasy surrounding those tits. I'm afraid you'll judge me if I tell you what it is."

"I won't ever judge you. You know that."

"If you judge me, I will punish you."

"There'll be no need for threats, Mister," then thinking, long overdue, and asking, "What is your name anyway?"

"I'm Luxor. And you're my greatest temptation."

"I thought the musician was your greatest temptation. What do you want to do with her breasts?"

"I want to slice off her nipples and sew them on the opposite sides."

"That is horrible. Promise me you'll never do that to her."

"I can only promise you that, if you'll let me do it to you instead."

"You can punish me all you want with your hands, but I do not allow knives or weapons of any kind in my office. This is a safe space."

"I don't want to punish you yet. I want to talk some more."

"What else do you want to talk about?"

"I have a certain feeling that complicates matters for me."

"Describe it to me."

"Besides just using this woman to fulfill my lust, a small but important side of me wants to marry her."

"Why do you want that?"

"That part of me, call it the philanthropist in me, wants to give her a life of total happiness and fulfillment, without her having to ever lift a finger. All she would need to do is accept my gift."

Temptation shifted in the chair, noticing the flap in her pants that was sewed to open up to her vagina as it pushed out a little ways away from her. She had gotten a little wetter in there recently. "I can't think of any woman who wouldn't want that, deep down in her heart. How do you interpret the dichotomy between your love for Jane and your lust for her?"

"It's an unbalanced whole. Really, I only want to give her everything, after I've made her pay for every lazy day of her whole life without me."

"Don't you think she'd find that offensive, you calling her lazy?"

"She certainly would, and then again she's no lazier than you, sitting in your cushy chair, making blab for a living. Too good of a living, if you ask me, in relation to the contribution made."

"You seem to think women owe you something, because you are a builder, while their work is more subtle."

"Your work is blunter by far. Giving someone the possibility of consoling themselves through your talk, or Jane through her music, is like blindly stabbing at piano keys with no respect to key, rhythm, or tune, compared to the grand concerto that is a high-rise building erected in the inner city."

"Men always have been obsessed with their erections."

"And women continue to understate the power of erection to propel the world forward."

"My Dad had a saying, I keep going back to all these years later. He said, "It takes all kinds of people to make the world go round.""

"And he was wrong. The truth is, it takes the collosal effort of a few good men -- men with iron wills -- to keep the world going round. Everyone else is just a freeloader at the foot of the table."

"Would you make this woman your equal, to take her share of the credit of your duty, the side of you that wants to make her your wife."

"Yes. I would let all the other women out there be obscurely raped by fumbling partners, while only my wife could be made love to eternally, by a real man."

"What do you mean, obscurely raped?"

"I mean, none of these impotent men could bring a woman to submit to his will by the sheer force of his greatness. They take their wives by the violent force of their petty wills, and afterwards they apologize for not lasting long enough for the woman to get her's."

Temptation couldn't fully stifle back a laugh at that bitter truth. She looked down at her wrist, affecting the presence of time and a watch, in this place where the existence of both those things was suspended. "Speaking of time, we're running out of it. I'm afraid I can't let you punish me today. In fact, I hope you would thank me for my help."

"You make a good listener. You're very receptive. I can appreciate that. See I'm not merely a barbarian warlord in the age of steel, I'm also a sensitive soul in search of higher truths. I hope you can see that."

"I think you may exaggerate in both directions, but that kind of self-aggrandizement is common among men, only it is usually held in check by the social norms of all the classes below the top 2%."