TRANCE, Inc. 21

"I remember you mentioned there was something you had to do while we were downtown. Do you want to slip away for that right now? The place seems pretty busy, so you can probably be back in time to order."

That's right! I nodded, remembering. There was something I'd promised myself I would do.

I smiled at my girlfriend as I pushed back from the table. "If I'm not," I said, coming to my feet and meeting her eyes. "Get me something adventurous. I trust you."

* * *

Mooney's bar was bustling tonight.

It was Happy Hour on Valentine's Day, and all the single men and women in the City were flocking to bars to find their one true love. As I stepped up and through the open front door, scanning the bustling venue, I tried not to feel sorry for them.

I found four.

I wasn't quite sure what I was looking for, hadn't known much beyond knowing that I had to come here. I certainly hadn't been looking to run into the man who had shamed me, all those months ago. But then, through the crowd and the patrons standing one or two deep at the bar, I could see them — a familiar table of jean jackets, buzz cuts and work boots. My old friend was with them, and he looked just as big, burly and bearded as before.

I hesitated, unsure what I should do.

You could take him. It was the new DC, and I could feel him rising inside of me, seeking hungrily for any feelings of anger or aggression to latch onto and inflate.

And, when I considered the matter, I knew the words were true. When I first encountered that man, I'd been nothing more than an out-of-shape corporate drone without a hint of backbone. Now I was trim, almost lean, and I'd had months of martial arts training from a woman who could probably give special forces boot camp a run for its money when it came to training warriors.

Do it, the voice urged. Make him bleed... And my own primal savagery shocked me back into focus.

I pulled in a long, slow breath. Then, as I moved calmly toward the bar, I disarmed the beast that writhed inside of me. Where would you be, I asked myself, if he hadn't confronted you that night with your own weakness?

Several minutes later, when a harried bartender stopped in front of me and asked for my order, I pushed Landon Shrike's credit card across the bar.

"See that table over there?" I asked, gesturing with one thumb. "He doesn't know it, but one of those guys did me a favor that changed my life. For the rest of the night, their drinks are on me."

* * *

When I returned to Delicieux, Elsa had been replaced by a short Asian woman with jade-colored nails and long, pendulous golden earrings. She gave me an appreciative up and down, and our eyes met just as I finished giving her a similar scan.

She smiled flirtatiously at me, but then turned it into a little pout. "Sorry," she started. "But I'm afraid we don't have any available—"

"Oh," I interrupted. "Don't worry. I've already been seated. I just stepped out for a moment. I'm with the four ladies in the back." It was gratifying to see the woman's almond-shaped eyes widen when she followed my gesture and caught sight of my table.

"Ah... ahem, well then. Please go right ahead..."

With a little smirk turning up the corner of my mouth, I nodded and walked past with a murmured, "Thank you."

While I was gone, candles had been placed in the center of the table. The glow illuminated four welcoming smiles from the members of my harem. But, as I started to pull back my seat, Victoria's hand stretched out and landed on my wrist to stop me.

I glanced over at her, then around the table. I raised my eyebrows. "What?" I asked, feeling like I'd missed something.

Daisy was the one who answered. Her green eyes reflected the bright, flickering flames of the candles. "I think you should take a visit to the bathroom," she suggested, leaning back with a satisfied smile on her red lips.

I furrowed my brow. What?

"The ladies bathroom," Carmen added, her own emerald orbs flashing with heat.

Wait... I glanced around again, uncertain.

"Hurry," Amber encouraged, her blue gaze glittering in the firelight. She gestured with her chin. "The lonely mamacita at that table over there is halfway through her bottle of wine. And you probably don't want her going in first."

Victoria had released my wrist, and so, with dawning comprehension, I took a step away from the table. There was wonderment in my face. But how? Who?

Pressing her lips together and managing to keep control of her growing smile, Victoria made a shooing gesture at me. "Go on," she urged. "What are you waiting for?"

Their encouragement spurred me on, and I wound my way between tables towards the homme and femme sign with growing excitement. It can't be... I thought. There's no way. I hesitated for only an instant in front of the door with the female pictograph.

I pushed it open and stepped inside.

Elsa was waiting for me.

She stood against the back wall with her hands clasped in front of her, naked but for a matching set of lacy blue underwear. Her clothes were folded neatly and set on the counter. I hadn't checked before, but I'd assumed from her height that she was wearing heels. She wasn't, but even without them she was almost as tall as I was. Her body was all athletic lines and sleek curves.

To my even greater amazement, her blue eyes were clear and bright. There was only a hint of hesitation in them as they widened in alarm at my sudden entrance. Then, they sparked with recognition. There was no indication at all that my girls had used a copy of the TRANCE video on her like they had with... like they had the last time they'd given me this kind of present.

Was it possible? I thought, and then the heat that flushed my body drowned out my doubts. This woman wasn't here because she'd been hypnotized. She was here because she thought I was sexy and powerful. She knew that I had arrived with my four lovers, and before I left she wanted a sample of the goods that they were enjoying.

Fire coiled in the pit of my stomach as I leaned calmly back against the door, a slow, tantalizing smile spreading across my mouth. Who knows, I thought. Maybe she'd been waiting for this chance ever since she'd caught me and Carmen on our last visit. Maybe she'd masturbated night after night, fantasizing about being taken in public, at work, her underwear around her ankles while my cock penetrated her to the core.

My manhood throbbed, hard and ready and waiting, behind my zipper. The lock clicked under my hand and the woman's eyes sparked bright. I certainly wasn't going to disappoint her.

Then, gathering herself, Elsa sashayed across the tiled floor toward me.

"I've heard you like to be called Sir..." she said, her voice going sultry and her lips shaping the word with sensual promise. "What can I do to please you?"

* * *

Epilogue

Later that evening...

Downtown...

The night was bright, full of light and life.

Music vibrated through the walls from the club next door, but in here the din was blessedly reduced. This bar had been around for years — maybe decades, it was easy to forget — but had stayed in style. Part of it was the vibrant night life on all sides, but part of it was the sea of relative calm within. Cover 13 cultivated a relaxed, intimate mood that was the perfect counterpoint to the energetic hustle and bustle that made this neighborhood of downtown perfect for drinking and dancing and staying out too late.

I slid onto a stool at the corner of the bar, casting my gaze about. There were deep shadows in the corners, but no one occupied them except for a couple at the far end of the room. They believed they were out of sight in the darkness, but I could see the woman slip her hand across the man's lap and squeeze, teasingly.

"Ohfuck..." the man gasped, ever so softly.

"Let's head upstairs," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

I looked away.

It had been some time since I last visited, and Cover 13 had a new bartender. He had warm, cinnamon skin and dreadlocks pulled back behind his head in a neat, hipster style.

"Miss?" he asked.

I ordered, and he gave me a significant look. I smiled, and he hurriedly averted his eyes.

"Right away," the man muttered. He returned not long after with the requested potion.

I sipped it, then set it down and drummed my long fingernails clink-clink-clink against the glass.

Bitter, I thought, wondering how long they had cured the poppies. But I couldn't complain. It was bitter, but exactly what I needed.

I felt warmth tingle through me as my body reacted to the poison. I wanted that warmth. I wanted the slow, easy feeling that would spread through my limbs and my mind until my body had cleansed itself. I could remember the words of my master, advice given years ago.

Above all, you must be a consummate actress. Focused. In control at all times.

Tonight, however, I did not wish to be in control. I wanted to act automatically, to get out of my own way.

When I went out, I tried to vary my watering holes. If anyone happened to be watching my movements, they would find me quite unpredictable. This was as it should be. The human brain is wired to pick up on patterns, and most of the time I didn't wish to be picked up.

Tonight was a different story. I wore a black dress, short enough to show off my legs and tight enough to tantalize. My drink was hardly halfway gone when I was approached. I smelled him as he sidled up, even before he leaned up against the bar next to me. His cologne was expensive, and intriguingly subtle.

"What're you thinking about?" he asked, cocking his head and smiling easily.

"Very little," I answered, honestly. I could feel the drink hitting me, pleasantly removing self-imposed barriers. "Of late, my thoughts have been my enemies."

The man chuckled, enough to let me know he was interested in me but not enough to come across as a bootlicker. "We all have demons," he mused. "Sometimes, talking about them can help."

Suave, I thought. But not pushy. I could tell without glancing over that he was my type. In addition, he seemed confident and direct, with a healthy physique and the ease that settles into someone's posture when they're used to success.

The man smiled. "If you want, you can talk to me," he offered, and I knew the dice were cast. "A beautiful woman shouldn't have to spend her Valentine's alone with no one to lend an ear."

I turned toward him, flashing a dazzling smile and meeting his frank gaze. It wouldn't have mattered, now, if he'd been interested or not. Nor if he'd had a girlfriend, a fiancé, or a wife of a dozen years. Once we locked eyes, it was over.

"Nice car," he commented, not long after.

"It's new," I answered.

We drove in silence for a time. I was careful, recognizing my own state of inebriation. Beneath the dullness, I could feel a cold ache, the emptiness in my belly, and knew that it wouldn't be long now. I forced my mind away from the thoughts that tried to invade it.

No, I thought. It cannot be him. You would not do this to a friend.

"Nice church," the man said, when we turned onto my street.

I realized I didn't know his name, and he hadn't offered it. I think he believed we were on the same page. Just two ordinary people, going back to her place after a night out at a bar. He tried to kiss me on the porch but I pulled back, giving him just enough contact to encourage.

"Wait a minute," I giggled. "Until we're inside."

Once indoors I offered to make us a nightcap, and disappeared into the kitchen. I had some alcohol in my cupboards, for guests, but I simply stood in the dark and leaned heavily on the table. My head swam and my fingers tightened against the wood.

What is wrong with you? I asked myself silently. It was one drink. It wasn't as special as all that. Get him out of your head. But I knew it was a futile effort. It had been two months, and the feelings wouldn't go away.

"What's this?" I heard my companion mutter to himself, through the wall. His footsteps crossed the moonlit front room, a little unsteady. By now, for all intents and purposes, he was drunker than I was.

Best to get it over with.

I ghosted across the hallway on gentle feet.

The light was poor, but I could see that the man's attention was fixed on the short sword that hung, unsheathed, above the mantle of the cheap, dead fireplace. I had placed it there for convenience, rather than ornament, but the man was peering at it as if it were a museum exhibit.

"It is a yatagan," I said quietly, entering the room behind him. "A blade from my homeland."

The man didn't turn. Instead, he bent closer. "Very cool," he pronounced carefully, like someone who was guarding against slurring their words.

I felt a double prick of discomfort in the front of my mouth.

The man grunted, putting a hand on the mantle to steady himself as he pushed upright. "Well, baby," he started to say, then trailed off as I slipped into position behind him. My hands slid up his front, under his arms, pulling him closer.

"Oh," he murmured. His hand fell back on my hip, fingers stroking the fabric of my dress. "That's nice..."

I gently nuzzled his neck, the scent of his cologne strong in my nostrils. My body was so ready that I could almost taste the chemicals that were beginning to seep into my saliva. I took a steadying breath.

The man jerked in my arms.

"What the hell?" he demanded thickly. His hand scrabbled at my face, fingertips tangling in my loose hair. "You bit m— Ahhh..."

The anesthetic kicked in almost immediately and my prey relaxed, hand slipping from the side of my face back down by his side. I could feel the pulse of fluids rushing through my hollow, needle-like fangs and into his carotid. The rest of the chemicals soon followed, and the man moaned with pleasure as his brain was bathed in a potent cocktail that would cloud his mind and warp his perceptions. He would not remember this. If I drank until I was sated, he probably wouldn't even remember meeting me tonight at the bar. Amnesia was a vital side effect of the bite.

Then, less than a second later, the last of the fluids drained into his body. My fangs were clear, and I drank from the man instinctively, decades of practice and habit overcoming my momentary hesitation.

The taste hit my senses like a physical blow, and as predictable as clockwork the memories spilled across my mind like paint across a fresh white canvas. Just like they had every time I fed, ever since that fateful night in December.

Chance was on the ground before me. Blood stained his shirt. The Lunari bitch had her gun trained on the pair of them: my friend and his fallen enemy. Two loose ends.

I tried to block it out, but the image played across my mind with perfect clarity.

I had to act swiftly, had to keep my friend safe from that ruthless pack of hunters. So, I claimed him as my own, protected under the Accord. I claimed him even though I knew it was a lie, because he had told me himself that the tea had done nothing.

I gulped now, barely thinking.

"Make him forget," she had ordered, and I knew I had no choice. The Gwennen was at risk, and I knew the lengths she would go to protect it. There was no time for another plan, and so I obeyed. I sipped from his carotid, the process clouding his memories as predictably as black bars redacting a classified document.

Forgive me... I thought. I had no other choice.

The man twitched and murmured in my arms, bringing me back to the moment.

I forced myself to pull away. I'd almost gone too far, but he tasted good. Like a fine wine, well-aged. I could tell that my prey ate well, that he exercised regularly and had a healthy sex life. I could taste the expensive whiskey he'd polished off at the bar.

But Chance was better. The comparison was an instinctive reaction, and despite my resistance to the idea it was a judgment I could not deny.

My tongue flicked across the double puncture wound, and in a moment the skin had sealed back over. I eased the man down into a chair and stepped back, my hands clenched at my sides. I stood in the dark and struggled against the feeling that raged in my chest, a primal longing that seemed to come from the Beast itself. It was a feeling I hadn't had in more years than I could count, and for months I had tried to reject it from my thoughts.

Tonight, I could no longer continue the fight.

I saw him in my mind's eye. Cheerful and dedicated, devoted to the people he loved and to a vision of a better future. He would be safer if I left. He would be safer if he never saw me again. He could pursue that future, with those people.

Forgive me... I thought again.

Because as I stood there in that shadowed room I knew I couldn't bring myself to leave, couldn't bring myself to force him away. Tonight, I finally faced my feelings like a warrior. I wanted to drink from my friend, to drink until I was satisfied, and then some. I wanted to taste his lifeblood and know him more deeply than a lover.

Was I lonely? Perhaps.

Was he the first human in years with whom I'd built a genuine connection? It certainly felt that way.

But there had been something else in him that drew me like a drug. He had tasted like forbidden pleasures and helpless indulgence. Like stars in my veins and the moon on my tongue. He had tasted like destiny.

And, one and all, destiny drew us together with the irresistible strength of turning time.

* * *

ANNOUNCEMENTS:

Well, here it is! The end of the line...

We've come to the end of the first arc of TRANCE, Inc. and with Chapter 21 I put a pin in it for now. I plan on taking a break to work on other projects. Hopefully the ending satisfied you in some ways, intrigued you in others and overall hit the right chords with you (like it did for me). I'm grateful to you for all the time you've invested in this story, and I'm excited to take the next step with the City and its characters in my coming writing.

If you still have questions you can send me a message through Literotica or reach out to me elsewhere online. When I come back to the story there are still plenty of threads to be dealt with and plenty of questions left unanswered.

This is my most ambitious project yet, and I'd love to get this story into the Hall of Fame, so if you enjoyed TRANCE, Inc. then consider giving this story 5 stars.

It means a lot to me, and I'm grateful for your support.

You can find me elsewhere online if you want to get early access to future stories (multiple weeks ahead of Literotica). If you're still social distancing, I hope that reading my work gives you a little entertainment during long, boring stretches of time.

Lots of love, and I'll see you soon for my next publication!

JC