The Femme Fatale's Curse Ch. 01

Hi everyone - As always, this is FANTASY, and just meant to be fun and hot. I'm trying to do stories in all of the classic genres; this one is the noir installment ("Lady Mielikki's Amulet" is the fantasy installment, so check that out too). As always, everyone here is over 18 years of age. This story goes pretty hard in the foot fetish/femdom/harsh humiliation/spanking stuff, and also includes a fair amount of hypnosis. If those aren't your things, it might not be something you enjoy. If those *are* your things, though, then, as always, it's fantasy...but let's hope it's filthy fucking hot fantasy.

***

Jace came awake in waves.

At first there was only a blurred version of the world, a dim room smeared with the low red glow of an array of candles. He could only see the colors as dueling shapes though, bleeding into one another, before it pitched beneath his feet as if it were a ship at sea and then it was gone. Jace had slipped back into he blackness.

The next time he came to, the world was much more concrete. There were, indeed, shelves of candle low candles in this room, burning with a soft, crepuscular glow. The carpet beneath Jace's feet was thick and a deep crimson, almost wine-colored. A floral fragrance hung in the air but as far as he could tell, he was alone.

He moved -- or tried to -- and that was when the sharp metal of the handcuffs bit into the soft insides of his wrists.

His hands were cuffed behind him, he realized, and his ankles were also tied to the legs of the chair in which he sat. Immobile.

Jace blinked; it took effort. His eyelids were heavy from whatever drug must still be coursing through his bloodstream, he realized. He scowled, but even that took effort.

The night wasn't supposed to end like this. He knew that, because as many times as Jace Falcon had wound up handcuffed or tied up in some remote location, it had never been planned.

No he'd been...working a case, he remembered. The Zena Abramova case, actually. It was coming back now: the darkened expression on Ludwig Abramova's face as he told Jace he needed to find his daughter, that she'd gone off the grid again, but that it needed to stay quiet. Out of the papers. The oil baron had slipped him the name of the Krazy Kat on a piece of paper -- as if even breathing the name of the speakeasy would cause the family mansion to crumble all around him.

Jace hadn't had the heart to tell the money-grubbing old man, but he'd been to the Krazy Kat before. More than a few times actually. Enough to have a usual drink, a corpse reviver with a vintage absinthe. Enough, to, to know that the Krazy Kat's usual clientele could possibly be dangerous for someone with as much to lose as Zena Abramova, someone who had a father as rich as Ludwig Abramova himself. The old man loved his reputation and his money more than he loved his daughter -- of that Jace had no doubt -- but it didn't matter.

Jace liked money too. And Ludwig Abramova paid a fair amount up front. Jace had slipped on over to the filthy alleys and darkened streets of Acidalia's lower west side that same night. He'd gotten a corpse reviver at the Krazy Kat.

And had apparently been drugged, he realized, trying the handcuffs again. They held tight; they weren't the cheap kind some knuckleheads used these days. Nor were the knots at his ankles simple overhand knots. Whoever restrained him knew what they were doing.

He frowned again; the world was steadying itself. His stomach had settled some.

And behind him, a heavy door creaked open. Again, the floral perfume flooded the room, sought to overwhelm his senses.

"Awake, I see," said a voice behind him.

A woman's voice.

Jace swallowed hard. He hadn't expected this.

The woman who stepped into view was tall, and she didn't have shoes to thank for that; she wore only flat, strappy black sandals. She looked like she'd just come from somewhere far classier than the Krazy Kat -- the tight black dress and the long matching black gloves betrayed a class Jace had never seen at the speakeasy.

She seemed like she could have held her own in a place like that though, he thought. She moved with an effortless confidence, and hopped up on a dark hardwood table just off to his right as he watched. She crossed one leg over the other, betrayed a delicious view of one garter belt high up on her thigh.

"Jace Falcon himself, I see," she said, as she reached behind her on the table and produced a tumbler of whiskey and a highball glass, both of which probably cost about what Jace paid in rent each month. "Acidalia's most famous private detective drugged and handcuffed in a basement room like a common goon. The society pages would just love to hear about this, don't you think?"

She reached behind her again and scooped up a large chunk of ice, dropped it into the glass. Then she poured herself a few fingers of the whiskey and raised the glass to her lips, didn't smear her deep scarlet lipstick at all.

Jace balled his hands into fists against the handcuffs before he could stop himself.

"Who are you?" He asked her through gritted teeth now. "What do you want from me?"

She raised her eyebrows, a small smile playing on her lips as she did. "Eva Weatherall is my name. A bit of a private I. myself, honesty."

Jace swallowed. "I've heard the name."

"Oh you have, have you," she said, in mock surprise. "The great Jace Falcon himself has heard my name. I reckon I've made it, then."

She giggled at that and took another sip of the whiskey. Jace forced himself to say nothing. Behind him, he worked his wrist back and forth through one handcuff. It was growing slick with sweat.

"You ever heard of the crime of kidnapping, Ms. Weatherall?" He asked.

"Please, it's Eva," she said. "And yes, I have. But I assume you're also aware of our esteemed government's recent ban on intoxicating liquors and marijuana cigarettes, both of which you seem rather fond of. To say nothing of your taste for...shall we say...ladies of the night? But the submissive type; you seem to prefer to dominate, Mr. Falcon."

Behind him his wrist had grown more slippery against the handcuff's metal surface.

"You've done your homework, Ms. -- Eva," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "You're as stuck up as everyone said, you know that?"

"Why do you have me handcuffed to a chair in some basement room in the middle of the night?" He asked.

"I think you can be useful to me," Eva said. "In a case I'm working on."

"Hell of a way to ask for help," Jace said.

He slipped his wrist back and forth against the handcuff; he was gaining traction now. This was definitely doable.

"I'm not asking," Eva said, and now she was full-on smiling. "You're going to help me, Mr. Falcon. Actually, you're going to work for me."

"It's Jace, sweetheart," Jace said. "And like hell I'd ever help you. You're daft if you're thinking I'd ever work *for* you or anyone else."

"We'll see about that," Eva said, and crossed her legs again; again there was that one tantalizing flash of the garter belt beneath her black dress. "You see, Jace, I'm looking to find a certain oil tycoon's daughter. I actually think we might be looking for the same woman. Does the name Zena Abramova ring any bells?"

Jace snickered. "God, you got some kind of nerve, you know."

Eva shrugged, unconcerned. "Ludwig Abramova is willing to pay a lot. As I'm sure you know. I'd be willing to share some of that with you if you'd be willing to help me."

Jace full-on laughed this time. Behind him he gave one final, strong tug and slipped his right hand out of the handcuff. In one fluid motion he reached for the knife at his belt then slashed through the ropes at his ankles. Then he stood, knife in hand.

Eva hadn't moved. Eva didn't even look concerned. She raised the glass to her lips again.

"The sheer fucking arrogance you got on you, you know --" he said and moved toward her with the knife.

She snapped her fingers and pointed at the ground. "Floor," she said.

Jace blinked and found himself on his knees in front of her without any real knowledge of how that happened.

"What the fuck," he whispered.

He tried to stand, but couldn't; the message simply would not communicate itself from his mind to his legs. He may as well have been shackled to the floor as much as he had been to the chair 30 seconds ago.

Except this felt much more secure.

"Give me the knife," Eva said. "Stupid, obedient boys shouldn't be playing with knives."

Jace watched as he reached out and dropped the knife in her gloved palm. He even felt his arm and hand and fingers move against his will, like an image in a silent film.

"Good boy," she said, and dropped the knife on the table behind her.

This couldn't be happening, Jace thought. Eva must have somehow found out about The Curse. But that was impossible. Or at least, it should have been. Only one woman alive knew about The Curse.

His heartbeat quickened and he swallowed hard.

Eva took his chin in her hand, gripped it tight.

"I've about had it with your fucking arrogance though, Mr. Falcon," she said. "You cast quite the ugly shadow, you know. You made some real enemies with that attitude of yours. I could make you work for me without much trouble. I'd still be stealing the biggest case of your fucking career and I could make you help me find Zena Abramova and toss you only a pittance of the reward money, just to rub it in your face."

Jace tried to turn his face away from her, but he couldn't. He couldn't even look away from those dark eyes, alive with true anger and malice. Her gloved hand moved down from his jaw, to his throat, and she pressed just hard enough to let him know she could do worse if she wanted to.

"But I'm not going to make it that painless for you," she said. "No. Like I said, you did this to yourself with your arrogance and your bragging and your general shittiness to other people. I'm not only going to steal the biggest case of your career -- and make you work for me to do it -- I'm going to make it the most humiliating experience of your life. And when I let you go -- *if* I let you go -- I'll have made you burn bridges. You'll no longer be the filthy fucking Byronic hero of Acidalia's underworld. You'll be no one. A laughingstock. You will have to beg for cases. And maybe you'll have to beg *me* for cases."

He didn't see the smack coming. That made it worse. She slapped him hard across the face, and the fabric of her glove did nothing to dull the sting.

She giggled, then hopped back up on the table in front of him, her sandal-clad feet level with his face. She swung them back and forth. Beneath the floral scent of the perfume he could smell her sweat now, caked onto her ankles and soles and toes, the ultimate result of a sweltering summer day in the crucible of Acidalia.

"I know about The Curse, yes," she said. "I ran across Countess von Bokken at a party a few weeks back. Plied her full of fucking absinthe too. She told me all about the little hypnosis session she performed on you. She told me that she placed The Curse on you, and whoever knows the trigger for The Curse has complete control over you."

Eva winked at him.

"She gave me the trigger to The Curse too," Eva said. "She made clear you'd give up a great deal to find out what that trigger is. I just can't believe it works as well as it does. Actually...let's test it again, shall we? I've had a busy day and night, walked all up and down Acidalia's lower west side in these sandals."

She giggled.

"My feet are killing me, but I'm afraid they probably smell terribly, on a day as hot as today," she went on. "I'd normally wash them before I met up with anyone, but you don't get that treatment, boy. Take off my sandals and lick them clean for me. And then I want you kissing my feet, begging me to give you some of the money from the Zena Abramova job."

She snapped her fingers again.

"Do it now."

Every fiber of Jace's being screamed at him not to do this -- screamed at him that he didn't want this, that he couldn't humiliate himself in this way -- but Countess von Bokken's curse held strong, and Eva certainly knew the trigger, whatever it was.

He reached out and undid a few of the straps on Eva's sandals and slipped them off her ankles.

The smell of her feet -- sweat and vinegar tinged with leather and the dirt of the street -- now overpowered her perfume. He raised one of her sandals to his face.

"Oh no," she said, and reached out, tangled her fingers in his hair to steer his head. "Start with the soles. You're going to clean the filth of the lower west side off my sandals, bitch. I want to see the great Jace Falcon himself licking the fucking scum off the soles of my shoes."

Jace turned the sandal in his hand over and stared at the stains there, the dirt from the street, the way the varnish had worn down as Eva had walked in them. He couldn't tell if it was here feet themselves or her shoes that smelled worse. He didn't have time to figure it out, because he'd raised the shoe to his outstretched tongue before he could stop himself, had given that sole one really good lick. It tasted salty, but there was a more alkaline, dirtier flavor beneath it, something from the street. And of course, the smell of Eva's feet hung in his nose too, strong and sharp.

It only got stronger and sharper when he turned the sandal over and started to lick at the blackened imprint of her foot in the sandal's sole. Much to his dismay, he actually saw that imprint begin to disappear as he cleaned it with his tongue. His eyes were watering by the time he was done.

Above him, Eva laughed.

"Fuck, Countess von Bokken is good at what she does," Eva said. "I was skeptical. I really was. But this is too much fun. Nose between my toes, boy, right now. And breathe deep."

Jace had complied before he could stop himself, his nose deep between Eva's toes. If his eyes had been watering before, they certainly were now. The sharp, vinegary stench of Eva's feet had taken over his senses altogether. She gripped his nose tighter as he kept breathing deep, without really wanting to.

Eva laughed again, then pulled away and held the sole of her foot up flat in front of his face.

"All right," she said. "Lick. Heel to toe. Like you mean it. You know how hot it was today. I want all of that caked-on sweat off my feet."

Jace did lick, from the callus of Eva's heel across the softer skin of her arch to the toes she kept wiggling in his face. Her feet weren't just smelly and sweaty -- they were dirty too, dusted with a thin layer of black dirt. As he licked, he watched it disappear from her soles.

Above him, Eva shook the ice in her glass and took another sip. Jace couldn't smell the whiskey for the scent of her feet, as strong as it was down here, on his knees in front of her.

"I mean, could you imagine if the society pages got ahold of *this*?" Eva asked.

"Esteemed, respected private investigator Jace Falcon groveling and licking the feet of a rival private detective in private? God, who would ever hire you again?"

She pulled her feet away and leaned down, elbows on her knees, and grabbed his jaw again, forced him to look into her face, now alive with glee and malice in equal measure.

"It can get so much worse, boy," she said, deadly serious now. "It can. And I'm going to give you a taste of that here in a minute, partly because I want you to know how fucked up I can be, how much worse it can get. But also partly because I think you're cute and I want to selfishly enjoy that body of yours in the same way you've mocked and humiliated women in public for years, hotshot private detective that you are. At least part of this is payback.

"But the other part is serious," she went on. "I mean it when I say I will use you in finding Zena Abramova. And I'd like to have you help me in that endeavor of your own free will, but I can use The Curse if I have do. It doesn't matter much to me."

She paused, ran her tongue across her teeth and smiled.

"You know though," she said. "Countess von Bokken told me that once you know the trigger, you can break The Curse. You'd no longer have to obey anyone who knew the trigger. You would be free. If you are a very good boy and you work well for me, I would be open to telling you what the trigger is. You'd have to take a pay cut, of course. That's only fair. But you'd never have to obey me or anyone else anymore. You could go back to the person you thought you were. I, for instance, wouldn't be able to do this..."

She kissed him hard, aggressively, her tongue exploring the depths of his mouth as she did.

She pulled back.

"Mmmmm," she said. "And I certainly wouldn't be able to do this."

She sat back on the table and snapped her fingers again.

"Strip," she said. "Stand and strip, boy. Entertain me, like one of those women at the speakeasies I know you frequent. I want to see all of you and I want you to burn with shame as I do."

Panic gripped Jace now, more than the seething rage he'd felt before. He stood against his will and had slid out of his jacket and undone his tie; he was unbuttoning his shirt now.

It didn't matter, he told himself, he didn't care what Eva thought, it really wouldn't matter...

But still...

He undid his belt and his pants slid down to his ankles. Eva raised her eyebrows, the whiskey glass halfway to her lips as she did.

"Wow," she said. "It seems hotshot private detective Jace Falcon is a bit lacking in the endowment department. I'd heard rumors."

Jace swallowed hard, but the surprise must have shown his face.

Eva burst out laughing. "Oh God, I wish you could see your own face. You're damn right I've heard rumors, boy. I hate to be mean about it, but I kind of always hoped they were true. Looks like they are."

She gave a savage wink.

"Turn around for me," she said, and he did before he could even register that's what he was doing.

She stood from the table again now and gave his ass a hard pinch. Jace jumped; he hadn't expected it.

"Cute ass though," she said, and gave it a playful smack. "At least I can have some fun with that. I guess I can have some fun with that pecker of yours too, it just won't be anything you enjoy. But we can save that for later. For now..."

Jace felt something smack against his ass; the sting was sharp, sharper than he'd expected. Whatever it was, it seemed to be both elastic enough and hard enough to do maximum damage. He screamed, but it did nothing to stop the next blow from landing on his other ass cheek.

Eva appeared in front of him, one of her sandals in hand.

"Grab your ankles," she said. "I want this to really hurt."

He did, and stopping himself wasn't even an option.

"Look, Jace, how badly do you want to stand up right now," she said as he kept his eyes on her bare feet in front of him, cleaner now after he'd licked them. "How badly do you want to get out of here, take your revenge on me, do whatever it is you want to do? You would do that if you could, right?"

She snapped her fingers.

"You can answer me," she said.

"I would if I could," he said, through gritted teeth.

"I bet," she said, and walked back around behind him again, landed another vicious smack to his ass. "You must be so angry and so frustrated."

SMACK.

"But The Curse is strong," she said.

SMACK.

"So I want you to think about this spanking the next time you think you can disobey me," she said.

SMACK.

"Think about how badly you want to be anywhere else right now, and how you're still stuck here," she said. "Think about the degree to which I control you."

SMACK.

"And think about the fact that all I'm asking you to do is swallow your pride and work for me so that I can find Zena Abramova and get the pay and the good press and the glory," she said. "And in return, I can give you the trigger to break The Curse."