Saved By Duty?
She looked like many other studious undergrads: dressed rather plainly, almost frumpy, absent-mindedly, her mousey brown hair pulled back, no makeup, and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that almost seems too large for her face. Jay, the grad student who did most of the actual teaching for this freshman Western Civilization survey course at City University, thought this new student-Amy Karessmah, the note said-at least looked like she came to work. That was a change from a lot of those he tried to teach, especially early in the fall term, when the frosh hadn’t yet learned that partying was not their major. All he couldn’t understand was how she got into a class that was supposed to be full, and three weeks into the semester, at that. She didn’t look like the type who could pull those kind of strings.
He seemed rather unassuming, she thought, sort of bookish. He didn’t seem to be getting enough sleep. Not unusual for grad students, she supposed. What was unusual was that his sleep depravation wasn’t, from what she heard, due to late nights at the tavern where the grad students hung out and seemed to themselves more and more profound as they finished more and more beers. Of course, she wasn’t privy, as a dowdy freshman, to all the news of the graduate department’s social schedule. Maybe this Jay was just very studious. Maybe he really was spending every spare minute absorbed in dissertation writing. Or maybe . . . It just seemed . . . interesting to her that he cut class short the same day that a blue clad, gold caped, masked hero swooped into that building uptown and removed a dirty suitcase bomb in the nick of time. Still, he hardly seemed the muscular, dashing, flying-hero type. Maybe it really was because so many of the airheads in class were more focused on getting to the heavy-metal concert downtown than on his lecture, just like he said when he tossed them out. Wasn’t Jay the one who kept telling them all not to jump to conclusions without all the facts?
Her paper came back with a red “D—” and a hastily-scrawled note: “Miss Karessmah, we need to talk.” She was quite willing to talk to him, and was waiting by the podium at the end of the next lecture. “You wanted . . . um . . . to see me?” she stammered.
Jay looked up. “I wanted . . . Oh, yes! Your paper. It was less then stellar, and you seem brighter than your work indicates.”
“Well thank you, Mr. . . .”
“Just call me Jay. Everybody else does.”
“Jay, this isn’t my major, and I started three weeks late-there was a big mix-up with my schedule-and I’m trying to catch up on the reading, but everything’s so busy, and I don’t know what to do, and . . .”
She looked like she was going to cry. Jay sighed-he didn’t get paid extra for doing therapy. “Look, I think we can get you caught up if you’re willing to get a little extra help.” This would shut her up; the frosh never assented to tutoring until after that first mid-term.
“Sure. Just tell me when and where.”
“Really?” Maybe she was willing to do the work. One more test: “Well, I can work with you tonight.” No way she’d ever give up a Friday night.
“O.K. How about nine?’
“You know it’s Friday, right? The library closes at 7:30.”
“I’m getting ready for a master class, and have to get in extra practice time.”
A music student. Well, this made sense; she had no life. Since he didn’t have much of a life either, he could deal with that; just had to push his other . . . appointment back a little.
“But the library will still be closed, and the dorm’s are way too noisy,” he said. Everywhere in the neighborhood is too noisy on a Friday night.
“No problem. The practice rooms in the basement of the music building are practically deserted on Friday nights. Nobody else is signed up for the room I have-Room “B”—besides me. If you could meet me there . . .” She paused, watching for a response. “Please??”
Since she seemed so sincere, Jay agreed. He spent the afternoon in the library stacks, working on his dissertation, and was the last one tossed out-he even managed to stretch his study time ‘til almost 8:00. Then he went to a café down the street to grab a bite to eat . . . except that he realized, after he finally got a seat, that he hadn’t brought his wallet. No time to go get it and still make his tutoring appointment with . . . what’s her name? . . . Amy. So, he went back to campus, found an open door at the music building (it was lucky most of the campus security guards knew him), and headed to the basement. It was quiet, and this room “B” was kind of out of the way. But he heard her playing, and he knocked. There she was, in sweatshirt and jeans, hunched over the keyboard, keeping up with a tape of an orchestra. Did he smell perfume? She didn’t seem the type; must have been the last student. “Come on in and have a seat,” she said. “I need to . . . um . . . use the lav.”
There was a big chair in the corner, probably hauled in there by some prof to sit while listening coaching students. The one lamp that seemed to be working cast a dim light in the room, and the chair was soft, and he was hungry, and he’d been up since seven in the morning, and the music wasn’t so bad, in fact it was kind of nice, and he couldn’t figure out how to turn off the damn player anyway . . .
“Jay?” . . . and he must have dozed off. How embarrassing! He bent down to grab his books from his pack on the floor.
“I’ve been thinking about the best way to get you caught up, Ms. Karessmah, where might be the best place to start, and . . .”
He glanced in the direction of the voice, still bent over, and noticed that there weren’t sneakers and baggy jeans over there, but a pair of pumps and rather nice legs. Confused, he let his eyes glance up and saw a short, tight, black leather skirt, and a white blouse that didn’t seem to want to staying buttoned-when did Amy have a figure? And why was he calling her Amy instead of Ms . . . ?—and a cascade of shiny, raven colored curls, and full, red lips, and-where were the glasses?—and . . .
And then he saw those eyes. Deep. Dark. Overpowering. Between his fatigue and low blood sugar and the element of surprise, he was pulled in almost instantly. He never saw it coming. “You . . . you . . . you’re so beautiful.”
“Why, Thank you, Jay,” the vision purred, in a voice that was deeper, richer, more confident, more . . . sensual than he remembered Amy’s voice.
He just couldn’t get over those eyes. They were, more and more, becoming his whole world, so much so that he hardly noticed as she moved closer. But he seemed to notice when she straddled his lap; there was a gasp. She gently stroked tiny circles on his temples. “That’s it. Look deep in my eyes and relax, just reeeelaaaaaaxxx. Deeper and deeper; there’s just me and my eyes, just me and my eyes.
The tape player had stopped by now, but it didn’t matter. The subliminals behind the music had opened him to respond to her “Thank you,” which she repeated. ”Thank you, Jay. Those words will bring you deep into this relaxed, safe place any time I say them to you. Each time you hear me say ’Thank you,’ you’ll be deeper than the last time, more open and accepting, because it will feel good to please me.” The last few months, she had left behind three other people with that same sort of suggestion, and she wasn’t sure if she had found her target yet. Not to worry: suggestible, receptive men could always come in handy in a pinch . . . or for a pinch.
“Now, if you’re enjoying this feeling“—she ground her own pelvis into his lap for a bit of emphasis—“maybe you can tell me who you are.”
In a dreamy state, he moaned, “I am the . . . I’m Jay.” Did he catch himself there? Was he about to say something else? She had to be sure.
“Jay, my name is Amora. I’ve been sent to find a man, and when I find the right one I will make him feel very good. My clients are anxious for me to find this man and . . . get his attention. Do you find me attractive?”
“You are GORGEOUS,” he replied as his breathing became shallow. It occurred to him, in the back of his mind, that this wasn’t quite right . . . that there was a danger . . . that this sexy woman in his lap was . . . There was a sexy woman in his lap who wanted him, and he was thinking of danger instead of getting laid? But there was a reason for that . . . oohh, but she smelled so nice that he forgot what the reason was.
She began licking is neck, very lightly, then nibbled his ear, and whispered “The deeper you go into trance, the more beautiful you think I am, and the more you want to look at me, to touch me. If you try to resist those urges, you will fall deeper into trance. Now,” -she paused for a blow and a light lick of that ear, and then its opposite—“do you go by any other names?”
Some voice tried to tell him that he was in extreme danger, but he didn’t care. Still there must have been some struggle in his face, so she reached down and tickled his balls through his pants, and the only thought in his mind was “LUST.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips, darting the tip of her tongue out, but pulling away before he could hungrily receive it. “Now, lover“—his breath quickened even more—“you like it when I call you lover, don’t you?” One hand teased his genitalia, while, with another, she stroked his chest. “Now, lover, do you go by any other names?”
“I . . . I . . . I am the Raider,” he replied, “hero and protector of the innocent.”
YES! This was the hero who was her current assignment, the one whose activities over the last few years had so inconvenienced her current clients. He had already been so much more trouble than the usual wealthy businessmen, government officials, and even spies who were her targets; these hero-types really were serious about guarding their identities, and she had taken months just finding him. Usually, by now she would have the businessmen naked and kneeling before her. Spies might take a few more sessions; the college dean through whom she arranged “Amy’s” enrollment was hers within a lunch hour. But this is why she was getting paid more than ten times her normal fee . . . well, this, and the fact that, rather than brainwashing him, she had to kill him. To get his guard that far down would take time. Of course, now that she’s past the geeky pretense, she could see where this might be an enjoyable week.
“Then kiss me, Raider,” she invited, in a mock-breathless whisper. She grabbed his face and pulled him in, and he melted into her lips. But he seemed hesitant, tentative. Amora could sense more resistance than in her usual subjects. “What’s the matter, lover?” This word would be another trigger.
“I . . . am . . . the . . . Raider,” he said more firmly. “My job . . . my LIFE . . . is to protect the innocent and stop injustice. I . . . I can’t just fall into your arms, into your . . . your . . .”
The willpower was impressive, but inconvenient. If he managed to bring himself out of trance, she might never get him back under, even if she escaped having him connect her to Amy. And he certainly wasn’t far enough gone to take his own life. Not yet.
So she changed tactics slightly, gently stroking the sides of his head. ”Thank you, Jay.” His eyes locked into hers, and he was almost gone. “Do you want me, Jay? Raider?”
“Oooohhhhh . . . yesssssss,” the confused and partially enraptured grad student/hero whimpered. “But . . . I . . .”
She placed a slender finger with its long, lacquered nail to his lips. “Shshsh. You simply need to remember that you want me. You need to remember my soft and creamy skin, my shape, how my breasts feel against you, and this pleasant scent.” He was nodding and gently swaying and she pulled out a syringe. “You will only feel my lips now.” She brushed his cheek even as she jabbed his arm. This little blood sample would help her refine the perfume’s effects to his body chemistry, strengthening it little by little.
“When you wake up, you’ll feel rested and confused. You’ll only remember tutoring Amy, a sweet but slightly dull child. You’ll forget our encounter until you hear me call you lover. Then you’ll remember how you want me, and that feeling will be ten times stronger than the last time.
“In the meantime, you will work hard at your dissertation and teaching, but you’ll notice how much the hours are getting to you. Except for tutoring Amy, you’ll feel as if you’re accomplishing very little. You will return to your work as the Raider, as well. You will protect the innocent and do your duty, but you will not notice the activities down at the docks”—that would keep her clients quiet for now—“and you will be more and more aware of the ways the people of this city take you for granted, more and more aware of the physical toll taken by fulfilling this obligation. Deep in your subconscious you will remember that you chose this, rather than letting go and giving yourself to the bliss of my touch, my love, my control. Unless . . .” she kissed him again, “you’d like to reconsider.”
Oh, how he wanted her. She was as near a perfect woman as he had ever seen. To sink deeper . . . to let go . . . but his reason was insistent.
“I am the Raider”—he was almost crying—” hero and protector of the innocent.”
Impressive. She began to wonder if she could turn him, rather than kill him. If she could refocus that disciplined devotion . . . she felt butterflies in her stomach at the possibilities. Maybe she could convince the clients. But, for now . . . she stood up.
“Amora?” he gasped.
“Sleep, lover. Sleep and remember, but don’t be conscious of it. I’ll be back for you soon enough.”
It was past midnight when Jay, fully clothed, woke up on top of his own bed. He knew he’d been dozing before the tutoring. He must have passed out after. Never even got dinner. Damn; the Raider still hadn’t patrolled. Well, just uptown and the park would be enough for to . . . this morning. Sometimes he felt like he hated this job.
As he changed, he noticed a bruise just beneath the collar line of his shirt. It could almost be a hickey if he’d even had time for a date in . . . funny, that sort of thing wasn’t a big deal to him too often, but tonight he felt horny as hell.
He took the back way out before taking to the sky, and he adjusted his mask in the doorway. A nagging feeling almost seemed to be telling him that he’d avoided a trap tonight, but he dismissed it. Funny thing was, the feeling was almost like he regretted being saved from whatever it was.