Chapter Three

If anything, he was better looking in the flesh than he was in his photographs. His skin looked pore-less, his eyes were sky-blue, and his hair was a pale gold that would have suited a little boy and looked magnificent on a grown man. It was impossible to tell how old he was.

“Porter?” he asked, well aware of her scrutiny. He was used to being looked at and admired. His voice was deep, and he spoke with authority.
”Yes,” she replied. He smiled, showing even, perfect pearly-whites.
”I’m Patrick,” he said unnecessarily. “And I’m here to keep you company until Jake gets back, you lucky girl.” She backed away from the door, surprised when he straightened up to realise just how tall he was. He strolled past her.

“Ah, all the comforts of home,” he said. “I’m looking forward to some decent coffee.”
”I’ll make some,” she offered immediately, turning towards the kitchen.

“No,” he said. She turned back, surprised.

“You’re not supposed to be walking around on that sore ankle,” he said. If she’d been surprised at his height, she was stunned at this display of compassion. “And besides,” he added. “I want a good look at the woman who’s been filling our esteemed Governor’s time lately. Take the shortie off, Porter.” All thoughts about compassion flew out of Jessie’s brain.

Already blushing in anticipation, she raised the t-shirt up quickly and drew it over her head. Patrick whistled low.

“Turn around, sweetie,” he said. “Let me see all angles.” She turned, her face hot and her body cold, breaking out in goose bumps under his scrutiny. As she turned to face him again, he caught her chin with one hand and tilted her face up to his.

“You look just like a beautiful doll,” he said. “Particularly with that little baby face. I’m not surprised Jake’s kept you.”

“May I put the t-shirt back on?” she ventured. He smiled.

“Not a chance,” he said. “If you’re comfortable enough standing, you can assume the display position.” She looked confused. She knew vaguely what it was, having seen some of the women put into it, but the exact mechanics were a mystery to her. Patrick raised one perfect eyebrow.

“You don’t know it?” he asked.

“Sort of, but I haven’t had to do it,” she admitted. He widened his eyes in exaggerated surprise.

“Jake has taught you nothing,” he said. “Well, it’s just as well that I’m here to step into the breach, isn’t it? Hands clasped behind your neck. Legs apart – just far enough apart for a man to be able to slip his hand in between them for a good feel around.” She jumped as his hand did just that, sliding between her thighs, and she winced as she landed wrong.

“Sit down,” he ordered quickly. “I begin to see why Jake hasn’t taught you.” He all but lifted her off her feet, his hands on her hips, and propelled her backwards into a chair. “Now just keep your hands where they are so I can drool over those pretty breasts, there’s a good girl.” With that, he left her and went into the kitchen, casting several long, deliberately lascivious looks back in her direction. If she hadn’t been nude and at his mercy, Jessie would have found him entertaining. The head dazzler was nothing if not charismatic.

“How do you have your coffee?” he asked.

“Just black,” she replied. “Thank you.”
”Ah, a woman with manners, I do like that,” he said. He brought both coffees over. “I always think that a little thing like a lack of clothing is no excuse for rudeness. You can bring your arms down now, baby doll. Unless you’ve mastered holding the cup with your teeth?” She lowered her arms gratefully, reaching for the cup with one hand and covering her nipples with the other.
”No,” he said, pleasantly but firmly. “No covering up. That’s a lovely body you’ve got there, and I intend to enjoy it as much as possible. So,” he continued, folding himself comfortably into the chair opposite her. “Your first name is Jessica, yes?”

”Yes,” she said, seeking refuge in her coffee. There was a sense of the surreal about this, sitting naked opposite this famous, divine-looking man, drinking coffee and introducing herself.
”And what do they call you, Jessica Porter?” he asked. “Jess? Jessie?”
”Jessie,” she replied.

“Jessie it is,” he smiled. “And while we’re here, you can call me Patrick. Never Pat. If you call me Pat, things will become very ugly. If you ever do make it into the Institute, I’m afraid it’ll have to be ‘sir’, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I see no reason for us to be formal now.”
”Does that mean I can get dressed?” she asked, not holding out much hope. He sipped his coffee and grinned.
”What do you think?” he asked. She sighed, then wished instantly that she hadn’t. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. When she glanced at him, she was relieved to see that he looked amused.

“Have you had your shame pill today?” he asked. Not knowing what that was, Jessie looked confused as she shook her head. He shook his head as well, but his was at her lack of knowledge.

“Every day, we give a pill to the inmates,” he said. “It’s one of the staples of the Institute. It stimulates the part of the frontal lobe that causes modesty and shame.” She was nodding now. She had heard about it. Angela had mentioned it, too.

“So, just in case anyone becomes accustomed to having to parade around naked in front of all and sundry, doing all manner of appallingly humiliating things,” he dragged those syllables out, relishing them. “The pill makes sure that they’re just as horribly embarrassed the next day. Clever, isn’t it?” Diabolical was the word that was coming to mind.

“And here you are, with no shame pills, and a luscious little body that anyone should be proud to show off, and you’re squirming and wriggling around just because I can see you in the buff,” he finished.

“I can’t help it,” she defended herself. “I’m not used to this.” He smiled again, showing that dentist’s dream of a set of teeth.
”Do you have any idea how many naked women I’ve seen?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Because if you have, I’d like you to tell me so I can answer that question the next time I’m interviewed. We’re talking well over a thousand, Jessie. This is not to say that I don’t like seeing more, because I most certainly do, but there’s nothing much I haven’t seen by now, girl. Relax.”

“If you want me to relax, let me get dressed,” she pointed out logically. She was finding it impossible to stand on ceremony with him. He rolled his eyes.

“And what if you do end up in the Institute?” he asked. “Stark naked in front of twenty dazzlers and untold thousands of onlookers?”
”Being dressed or undressed now isn’t going to make a scrap of difference to how I feel then,” she responded. He considered that.
”Damn,” he said fairly. “You’re right. Okay, you can put the shortie on. No, don’t get up. I’ll get it.” He reached out one long arm and picked it up off the floor, tossing it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. She was distracted by the smile he sent her in return, and as a result, missed the keen intelligence and the calculating look in his eyes.

If someone had told her she’d actually enjoy spending time with King Dazzler, she’d have thought they were mad, but they’d have been right, at least for the first hour. He was quick-witted, funny and inclined to be friendly towards her for some reason. He insisted she stay seated and even lifted her foot up onto his knee to elevate it. He lifted it a bit higher and wider than necessary and laughed when she rushed to place her hand between her legs, but still. After all of her enforced nudity over the previous day, he was more of a tease than anything else.

He coaxed her story out of her, where she worked, where she’d lived, where she’d been born – the whole life story, and he got all of the details of her accident and court case.

“I see why Jake is looking out for you,” he said.
”I don’t,” she admitted. He looked surprised. “Well why would he?” she asked. “You people here at this place don’t have a reputation for compassion and care towards women.”
”This place is a prison, Jessie,” Patrick pointed out. “If we were compassionate, we’d be out of business. But it’s Jake’s baby. He created it. Do you honestly think he wants the bad publicity associated with having an innocent woman caught in our net?”
”So he’s scared of a lawsuit?” she asked. Patrick shook his head.

“I wouldn’t think so,” he said. “The Institute is a license to print money. No, Jake genuinely believes in what we do here. It would offend his sense of decency to have a woman who didn’t deserve the treatment going through it.” Jessie’s snort was soft, but still audible.

“That was a very derogatory, and might I say unladylike sound,” Patrick rebuked, laughter in his eyes. “What was that about?”
”It hasn’t stopped him from making me go about in this thing,” she said, indicating the t-shirt. “Or making me go without it at times. Or making me see that horrible doctor.”
”Frank?” Patrick guessed. He grinned. “He is a piece of work, isn’t he? Well, Jessie, what if it turns out that you really should be here? I suspect that Jake has been hedging his bets, just in case, giving you a taste of it, but not throwing you to the sharks.”
”The sharks being you and your dazzlers,” she said.
”Exactly,” he smiled, showing that impressive row of teeth again.

“Enough socialising,” he said, standing up. He took her empty coffee cup from her. “In Jake’s absence, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on things. Let’s have a look at the monitors.” A twin of Jake’s console came out of Patrick’s pocket and he aimed it at the screen wall. Monitors blinked to life. Jessie looked only long enough to determine that many of the same games and activities as she had observed that morning were taking place again.

“Usual stuff,” Patrick confirmed, scanning through. “Although we have someone in the Display Case today. We’ll have to have a look at that.” He zeroed in on the big, transparent box the Governor had shown Jessie earlier, combining the middle eight monitors into one picture. Jessie winced. The Case was definitely not empty now.

“Williams has been in there for a couple of hours,” he said. “She’s looking as if the novelty may have worn off.” The woman Jessie had seen in the work detail that morning was spread out in the case, in a position not unlike that of “The Vetruvian Man”, the famous work by Leonardo Da Vinci. Like the subject of that work, she was nude and splayed wide. Unlike the subject of that work, however, she was constantly in motion. People were pushing buttons on the outside of the case. One of William’s legs folded at the knee and lifted up, exposing her sex to the people outside the glass. Another button was pushed and her other leg folded and lifted, showing even more. Then another control was touched, and her upper body began to shake from side to side, setting her breasts bouncing about. Someone held up his hand, pressed a sequence of buttons, and Williams’ legs straightened and she was flipped over backwards in a graceful arc that left her hair hanging straight down, her breasts flopping up the wrong way, and her audience applauding the skill of the controller.

“She’s one of the most obnoxious prisoners I’ve come across,” Patrick said. “So don’t feel too sorry for her, Jessie.”
”It doesn’t matter what she did, she doesn’t deserve that,” Jessie said stubbornly. A dazzler had strolled over to the case, and Williams was turned right way up. Then someone pressed a button and she bent forward, her backside swinging from side to side this time.

“She embezzled funds from a group of elderly patients in a nursing home,” he said. “They all lost their homes and every cent they had. She’s hidden the money somewhere and won’t tell anyone where it is. Meanwhile, her victims are penniless and destitute.” Jessie chewed her lip.

“Moving on,” Patrick said. “And we have someone in the stocks today, I see.” Again, he combined monitors, cancelling out the image of Williams, this time in a slow roll forward, her breasts hanging down in front of her, her mouth open in silent protest. The screen now showed a woman standing bent over, feet held wide apart by wooden stocks, head and hands held by another set of stocks that kept her facing her audience. Predictably, she was naked. Her breasts swung freely, swinging more as she wriggled about, jerking her hips from side to side. The reason for her movement appeared to be something to do with the man behind her, sitting comfortably on a chair. Patrick shifted the camera angle. To Jessie’s distaste, the man was tickling at the woman’s buttocks and nether regions, spread wide in front of him, with his fingers and a feather. On one of her buttocks was a red birthmark. It was receiving a lot of attention from the feather.

“Tickle torture,” Patrick said. “She’s been a very naughty girl. That’s Righteous. She arrived in the same intake as you, yesterday. Depending upon how bad she’s been, up to ten lucky men will be drawn from the crowd to each spend five minutes tickling wherever they want to. And she slapped a dazzler, so we can safely assume she’ll get the maximum.” A dazzler stood by, watching to make sure that tickling was all that occurred. The image receded and Patrick focused in on another outdoor scene.

”Ah, the crowd pleaser,” he said, still smiling. “And it appears that a lot of tickling is going on today. You haven’t met The Cat yet, have you?”

“No,” Jessie said, squirming in sympathy with the woman they’d just been looking at. “And I’m in no hurry.” Patrick laughed.

“Wise girl,” he said. The monitors combined again, and there in front of them was The Cat, sharing the space with a woman with ash-blonde hair. Her hands were tied at the wrists and fastened to a beam high above her head. Her ankles were spread and anchored to a bar of some sort, and she was gagged with a cloth that was tied smoothly around her head. She was naked and big-breasted, a fact that the large crowd seemed to appreciate. Patrick hit the sound button.

“…and yet you still seem to have some problems with the concept,” The Cat was saying. He was wearing the usual black jeans and t-shirt, but on him they looked like a fashion statement rather than a uniform. “Now, let’s try again. Whose breasts are these?” The woman nodded her head towards him, setting the breasts under discussion bobbing about. “Mine?” he asked. She nodded as the crowd laughed. “Well, that’s very nice of you, but really, I’ve done nothing to deserve such a gift. Now answer the question properly, loud and clear so everyone can hear. Whose breasts are these?” The woman tried to answer, making a string of unintelligible sounds. It was impossible for her to speak at all, with the gag in her mouth. The crown roared with mirth. The Cat shook his head.

“I said loud and clear, Carstairs,” he said. She made a frustrated sound, then tried to pull back as he took a step closer. “Obviously you haven’t learned your lesson yet. We’ll have to finish out the hour, it seems,” he said, raising his hand. Jessie went to turn away, then realised what he was holding in his fingers. It was a makeup brush, one of those big soft ones you used to apply powder. And all he was doing was brushing it lightly over her taut nipples. The woman squirmed and struggled, still trying to talk through the gag. The audience showed every sign of enjoying the movements of her nude body.

“This could get a bit extreme,” Patrick said. “He would only have put the gag on if she refused to answer the question properly earlier, and by the look of her, she’s probably been there for close to an hour already. You can look away if you want to.”

“From that?” Jessie was confused. “It’s only a soft little brush.” Patrick raised his eyebrows at her, then rolled his eyes. He stood up and walked over to the Governor’s console. He pressed a button.

“Daniel,” he said. On the screen, the man Jessie knew as “The Cat” turned to look directly at the camera.

“Yes, Patrick?” he replied, speaking into the microphone unit that was hooked over his right ear and ran down to the side of his mouth.

“Do you mind sending one of your brushes to the Governor’s residence?” Patrick said. “There’s a little lady here who can’t understand what the big deal is with the brush on the nipples routine.” The dark-haired man grinned.

“Want me to come along and show her?” he offered. Jessie was shaking her head frantically. She did NOT want to meet The Cat.

“No, I think I can manage on my own,” Patrick replied.
”I’m sure you can,” the man replied. “I’ll send one through.” He turned away and beckoned to one of the other black-clad guards, handing him something from the slim leather case at his hip, saying a few words to him. Then, with a wink at the camera, he turned back to the woman.

“Now, where were we?” he asked. “I forget how much time had passed, so we’ll start again with fifteen minutes to go.” The woman writhed against her bonds, her eyes protesting even though her mouth couldn’t.

Patrick relegated that image back to the bank of monitors and scanned through several more, not finding anything that warranted attention. Jessie noticed that there was another woman pinned in the silver bath-chair, obviously suffering the effects of the itching powder.

“That must be awful stuff,” she said, pointing at the monitor.
”The itching cream?” Patrick asked. “No, it’s not too bad at all, really. I tried some on myself once, just to see what it was like. The sensation is magnified by the fact that she can’t move to scratch it, and by the fact that all of those people are watching so closely and laughing. That ups the shame factor, which brings blood to the surface of the skin, which makes the skin that much more sensitive. Very ingenious. If you make it into the Institute, I’m sure we’ll see you in there some day. You’re a natural for the BB show.”
”So the Governor said,” she replied, her face set. Patrick grinned.
”I’ll make sure I come and watch that,” he promised. “In person. Hell, I’ll put the cream on you myself, Jessie.”

There was a knock on the door less than five minutes later, and he walked over to open it.
”Special delivery, King,” said a male voice. Patrick thanked him, and came back in.

“Time for a demonstration,” he said. “Hobble over to the bedroom, Jessie, strip that shortie off and lie down.” Definite thoughts of argument were entering her head, and she didn’t move. She just looked at him. He looked back, and there was a very uncomfortable instant in which she realised that not only was he capable of forcing the issue, and not only was he in a position to make her life extremely unpleasant, but that he was also the possessor of an iron will. She could almost feel it sizzling down the line of her gaze. She could not and would not win. Sighing, she stood up, limped to the bedroom, climbed onto the bed, and took her t-shirt off, crossing her arms over herself. Having enjoyed the little battle of wills, Patrick followed her.

“Hands behind your head, baby doll,” he said, his gaze running appreciatively over her. “Now open up those legs, that’s it. And lie still while I use this harmless little brush on you.”

From the first touch of the fine hairs on her nipples, she was desperately uncomfortable, and within minutes, her sympathy for the woman The Cat was playing with knew no bounds. She bucked around on the bed.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” she protested.

“Actually I’ve made two,” he teased, tickling both of them with the brush. “Lie still, Jessie. This is going to take a while.” He’d stretched out comfortably on the bed beside her, and settled in for a long stay.

There were many, many times in the future when Jessie tried to put that experience, that image out of her mind, because there were so many reasons why it was a good idea to forget it. But it always stubbornly remained. She could always see it, as if in the third person: her, lying naked on the bed, legs apart, hands behind her head, while Patrick softly, persistently, tortuously, applied the brush to her nipples, around her breasts, under her arms, down her belly and between her legs (laughing when she squealed), and then returning, always returning to her nipples again. After fifteen minutes, she felt like she was in some sort of tickle hell.

“Well, that was fun,” he said, climbing off the bed. “Up you get, baby doll.” Jessie rubbed her hands all over herself, trying to get rid of the squirmy sensation.

“Feels like ants, doesn’t it?” he said, almost sounding sympathetic. He shrugged. “Ah well. I can fix that.” He sat down on the bed again and pushed her back onto the pillow, his hands on her shoulders.

“No more,” she protested. “Please.”
”No more of the brush,” he said. “This’ll make it feel better.” With that, he bent his head to her and began sucking on one of her nipples. The shock of his mouth made her jump, and the intimacy of his actions shocked her, but there was no denying that it did, in fact, make her feel better. What didn’t make her feel better was the fact that he kept going until her breath grew ragged, and the look in his eyes when he lifted his head was smug enough to make her want to hit him. He shifted his attention to her other breast, smoothing his hands flat over her body as he did so. Then he kissed down her body, warm, open-mouthed kisses all down her ribs, over her navel (where he’d tickled mercilessly), over her pubic mound, holding her hips steady as he went, and then parting her legs.

“Everything’s fine there,” she protested, tensing when all he did was laugh. She jumped again at the touch of his mouth on her as he pressed more open-mouthed, wet kisses on the core of her body. And then he stopped.

“Better?” he asked. The squirming sensation was gone, even if she was blushing to beat the band.
”Yes,” she said.

“No thank you this time?” he teased, sitting up.

“Sometimes goodness is its own reward,” she managed, making him laugh again. He handed her the t-shirt.

“You are definitely going to need an attitude adjustment if you come into the Institute, Jessie Porter,” he said, grinning.

…………….

Late in the afternoon, he decided she should have what he referred to as a “mini-shame experience”, and sent her outside to weed the gardens without the t-shirt.

“But why can’t I wear it?’ she asked, lulled enough by his friendly manner to at least try to fight him.
”Because I said so,” he smiled sweetly, his implacable will nevertheless showing through. “Now whip it off and get out there while I watch the screens. Several of the women will be out for their afternoon exercise at the moment, but the extras, the people who contribute to the punishments, are being brought in now, and I want to watch the briefing.” He walked out to the garden with her, waiting until she’d eased herself down to her knees and found a comfortable way to place her sore ankle.

“I’ll check on you through the window every now and then, baby doll,” he said, enjoying the view of her kneeling nude beside the flower bed. “No covering up, okay?” Jessie looked over her shoulder at him, mortified when she realised he was looking straight at her bare bottom. She tried sitting on it, but hurt her ankle.

“Why not?”she tried again. He grinned and shook his head.

“No-one argues with me, Jessie Porter. Just do what the King says, there’s a good girl. If you do cover up, I will make it much worse. And don’t doubt me, pet. I’ll do it.”

She was not impressed. Jake had been gone less than a day, and already Patrick was exposing her to the world. Granted, the world around her was currently empty, but the main track was right in front of her, on the other side of the flower bed, and there was a lot of open space and trees behind her as well. Who knew who was going to come driving or walking around here any minute? Feeling naked, vulnerable, helpless and annoyed, Jessie had trouble understanding how he could make this worse.

The thought had hardly passed through her head when she heard a shout, and looked up to see a group of women running towards her down the track, running from outside the grounds. It horrified her to think that they were exercised in the woods and fields outside of the Institute, where everyone could, and probably did see them. To make it worse, the women were nude except for what looked to be transparent webbing that supported their breasts without concealing them in any way or stopping them from jiggling around with every moment. Jogging along beside them, on the side nearest to Jessie, was a tall man who looked as if he’d be more at home on a surfboard than running a gruelling exercise detail. And it was definitely gruelling. The women were breathing heavily, their skin was wet with perspiration, and they all looked tired. The dazzler, on the other hand, looked like he was out for a short afternoon jog.

“Speed it up!” he called out to the twenty or so women. “Get those knees up and keep the pace going. That means you too, Morina!” As he spoke, he brought his hand across in a sharp smack on a bare backside, eliciting a squeal from the woman. Jogging backwards, he administered more smacks, yelling threats at several other women as they went past him.

“Aaaaand, stop!” he called, level with the flower bed. They stopped, chests heaving. He walked back up to the head of the line, swaggered, more like, his long, muscular body obviously coping much better with the exercise than the women’s. “Push-ups!” he called. “Give me thirty to start with. NOW!” The women hit the dirt, and he walked around, critiquing them. “Slow it down,” he said to one. “Strength, not speed, Linmark.” To reinforce the point, he put one booted foot on her bottom and pushed down, holding her down and only letting her lift up slowly. As he moved away from that unfortunate woman, he happened to glance up and see Jessie. A smile spread across his boyishly good-looking face, and he abandoned his charges without a backward look and strolled over to her. Oh great, Jessie thought.

“Porter?” he asked as he came close.

“Yes,” she said quietly.
”Stand up,” he instructed. She did so, noting the blue eyes and shoulder-length sun-bleached hair as she did so. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, and he was as stunningly handsome as all of the other dazzlers other than Patrick and The Cat, who were in a league of their own.

“So you’re the Governor’s girl,” he said, smiling. “Display position, Porter. And turn around…slowly.” Gritting her teeth, she put her hands behind her neck, his eyes going immediately to her breasts. “Slowly,” he said again, as she began to turn. “Oh yes. Sure you don’t want to come join the exercise detail?”

“I’ll pass, thanks all the same,” she said. His blues eyes darkened slightly.
”We’re going to have some work to do on adjusting your attitude when you join us in the Institute, Porter,” he said, mirroring Patrick’s earlier comment. “I’ll look forward to it.” He turned back. “Make it fifty!” he yelled as he walked back towards the women.

She waited until he was back with the sweating, straining women before she lowered her hands and dropped back to the ground to continue gardening. She was thinking very dark thoughts about both him and Patrick when she heard another noise and looked up to see some more of the inner-sanctum guards walking along the road, but from the other direction, from the gates. There were six of them, all in black, all tall and built, and they walked directly up to the group of women and joined the blonde leader in pointing out what they were doing wrong, smacking exposed backsides, correcting the positioning of limbs and generally making a difficult and humiliating task almost impossible. With her head lowered, trying to be inconspicuous, Jessie looked up through her fringe. There were another two blonde men, a third one with sandy brown hair, two with chestnut locks (one of them with his hair half-way down his back) and one with straight black hair that was…oh no. Jessie looked down fast as the man turned to look at her. It was The Cat.

“Porter!” It was the blonde surfer again, calling out to her. She looked up. “Back in display position!” he ordered. Face set, she straightened, brushing dirt off her knees, and forced herself into the humiliating stance, breasts thrust out, legs apart. “And turn again,” he called. She did, knowing that this time, seven guards were watching, all of them looking directly at her. She looked down at the ground and just kept turning, favouring her ankle, but not daring to stop until she was told she could.

“Stop,” a deep voice said, very close, startling her. She looked up into jade green eyes. “What a pretty little thing you are,” said The Cat.

Jessie sighed inwardly. Two celebrities in one day. That was two too many, as far as she was concerned. She tried to control her breathing as he stepped closer, moving with the eerie grace he was known for. The man was huge. He had to be way over six feet tall, and his shoulders were blocking out her view of all of the people on the track. She looked away.

“Look at me, Porter,” he said. Obediently, she looked up, surprised by the mischief in those amazing eyes. She revised her earlier thought. Patrick was an incredibly good-looking man, but even he wasn’t in the same ballpark as The Cat. The adjective that was springing to mind was ‘magnificent’. And those green eyes were unearthly. He looked down into her face steadily. “Russ tells me you need some work on respect,” he said. Not knowing what to say, she said nothing.

”Is that correct?” he asked.

“Well, the dazzlers are never wrong, are they?” she said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. One corner of his beautifully shaped lips twitched.

“I see what he means,” he said. He stepped around her, making her jump when he reached out and ran one long finger down over her bottom, then back up, lightly touching the cleft between her buttocks. “You are going to be my personal project when you arrive, Porter,” he promised. Or was that threatened? Again, she concentrated on standing still. She had no other option. Even if her ankle had been working properly, there was nowhere to run. And she had no doubt that The Cat could easily outrun her even if she was silly enough to try.

“Did you like the brush?” he asked quietly, right in her ear. He was bending down, his breath tickling at her hair.

“No,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing a whole lot more of you, girl,” he finished. With that, he patted her lightly on her rear end and walked away, back to the trail. “You can resume your work,” he said, not looking back.

Patrick walked out minutes later, grinning.

“Well, you’ve met The Cat now,” he said, proving that he had, in fact, looked out of the window. “Are you all excited?”
”I’m cold,” Jessie said.

“Ah, don’t sulk, baby doll,” he teased. “Come on inside now. No, wait. Don’t try to walk on that.” Her ankle was complaining after being constricted by her kneeling position and she was limping badly. To her discomfort, Patrick swung her up into his arms and carried her in, depositing her on one of the big chairs in the living room.

“I’ll get you a coffee,” he said.
”Can I have my t-shirt?” she tried. He laughed as he walked to the kitchen.
”Don’t push your luck, Jessie,” he cautioned. She made a noise of pure annoyance, and he grinned, but said nothing as he poured the coffee from the percolator.

“What is it with the modesty?” he asked, sitting down opposite her, both of them with coffee mugs in hand.
”It’s just normal modesty,” she protested. He shook his head.
”Not after you’ve already spent a lot of time nude in front of me,” he said. “Not to mention a delightful fifteen minutes or so wriggling around naked on a bed while I tickled every bit of you.” She blushed at that, bringing a wicked gleam to his eyes. “Why do I get the impression that you haven’t had much in the way of bedroom experience?” he asked. She shrugged, then wished she hadn’t, as the resultant movement of her breasts drew his blue eyes down.

“You’re not a virgin,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He already knew that, she mused bitterly. In addition to administering an injection to protect her from pregnancy and to prevent her from having a period during her stay in the Institute, the cold, clinical female doctor had given her a very thorough pelvic examination – even more thorough than the horrible, groping little doctor had given her in the admissions centre.
”No,” she said anyway. “Not that it’s any of your business.” His grin flashed back.

“Damn, I wish I hadn’t made that promise to Jake,” he said. Jessie’s expression signalled her query. ”I promised I wouldn’t fuck you,” he said simply. Jessie’s eyebrows flew up, and one corner of his mobile lips twitched. “Which is a real pity, because I have rarely met a woman who needs a night of good sex more than you do, baby doll.”

”I do not!” she protested without thinking.

“And how would you know?” he demanded. “Never having had one in your life, I’d be prepared to bet.”

“I’ve had sex,” she argued.
”Not good sex,” he countered. “Not sweaty, slippery, everything shaking from your toes to the top of your head sex.” Well no, she hadn’t had that. But had anyone?

“Ah well,” she said, pleased beyond measure at the promise he was obviously intending to keep. “I’ll survive without it.”

“Not if you keep that smug look on your face you won’t, Jessie Porter,” he countered, warning and humour in his eyes. “I don’t normally break my promises, but I could be prepared to make an exception in your case if you provoke me.” He let that threat sink in. Then his expression changed. “Hmmm. I’ve just had a thought.”

He wouldn’t share it with her, which worried her, because it looked like a thought she wouldn’t be at all happy about. During dinner, he talked with her, laughed with her, even shared a very nice bottle of Riesling with her, and was generally wonderful company, particularly since he let her put the t-shirt back on in deference to the drop in temperature. Occasionally he looked over her shoulder at the live screens and adjusted them to see more clearly. There was no doubt that he was keeping an eye on things in the Governor’s absence.

“Do you spend all of your nights in the Institute?” she asked.
”Not all of them,” he said. “I go out quite often, but I don’t generally stay out late. Daniel and I tape the show at 9.00 every morning, and I don’t bounce back quite as well as I used to when I was younger.”

”How old are you?” she asked. His eyes twinkled.

“Don’t you know that we don’t give out any information about ourselves?” he said. “No-one knows any of those sorts of details about The Cat and me.”

“How do you keep it all secret?” she asked, genuinely interested despite herself. In this information age, everyone could find out anything about anyone. But she knew he was right. There was much speculation about the two stars of the ‘Shame Game” show, but no definite information. Even their last names weren’t known.

“Jake has a lot of pull,” Patrick said. “And it suits all of our purposes to keep us as anonymous as possible.” He looked at his watch and then smiled at her. “Time to get you ready,” he said.

“For what?” she asked as he stood up. He collected plates, glasses and cutlery and put them on the kitchen counter.
”For bed, sweetheart,” he said. “Come on, take my hands.” Obediently, she put both hands into his outstretched ones and let him help her to her feet. With his arm around her, she walked into the bedroom, more confused than ever. He waited in the bedroom while she cleaned her teeth and used the toilet in the en suite, but when she came out, he was standing right outside the door, an unreadable look on his face.

”Off with the shortie,” he said, reaching for it and drawing it up.

“But…” she protested even as she lifted her arms to let him take it off her.

“And lie down on the bed,” he said. She moved over to it, hating the uncertainty, the lack of control she was experiencing.

“I don’t understand,” she said as she stretched out, resisting the ever-present urge to cover herself.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick pointed out. “You just have to do what you’re told. Lift your head up.” As she did, he slipped something soft and white under her, then positioned it and did it up, cutting off her vision completely. It was a leather blindfold that fitted to her face and blocked out all light. “Head down,” he said, easing her onto the pillow. “Now bring your arms up above your head, baby doll. “Mmmm. Very nice. I do wish I hadn’t made that promise to Jake.”

“But you did,” she said helplessly, frantically. She found him very attractive in a dangerous way, but she didn’t want to have sex with him. The thought of his undoubted experience in that area terrified her.

“I know,” Patrick said, drawing her wrists together and securing them in some way to the headboard of the bed. “I promised I wouldn’t fuck you. But I didn’t promise that anyone else wouldn’t.” Jessie caught her breath.
”Who?” she asked. He laughed softly.

“Use that sharp brain of yours. Why would I blindfold you if I wanted you to know?” he pointed out. “When you join us in the Institute, you’re going to know that one of the dazzlers has had you already, but you’re not going to know which one. It’s going to make your nights very interesting, trying to match up performances, isn’t it?”

Jessie couldn’t keep herself from tugging at the bonds that held her wrists. Lying there, nude and blind, was not pleasant, particularly knowing that he was finding her situation very entertaining.

“Sssssh,” he said. He moved his hand down, between her breasts, stroking gently. Then he stroked her belly and her hips for a few minutes, soothing her with his warmth. Another hand went to her face, cupping her cheek. It was only as the first hand travelled all the way down one of her legs and off her toes that she realised that the second hand belonged to a different man.

”Patrick,” she said imploringly, embarrassed at the pleading tone in her voice.

“I’m leaving you in good hands,” he said, amusement in his own tone. “Enjoy, baby doll.”

The bed moved as the man sat down beside her hip, and she heard the sounds of him removing his shoes, then his clothes.

“I don’t want this,” she tried. A finger touched her lips, telling her to be quiet. And then his mouth touched hers, gently at first and then more firmly. And even through her fear and trepidation, Jessie acknowledged that this was a man who knew how to kiss. But then all the dazzlers were known for their sexual prowess, weren’t they? The kiss deepened, her lips opening helplessly under his, and he made a long, slow, leisurely exploration of her mouth. If this was all he wanted to do, Jessie could have quite happily continued for a while – perhaps a few days or so. This was an education in a kiss. The man could do some quite amazing things with his tongue. Then his hands touched her waist, reminding her that this was most definitely not all he wanted to do.

He took a long time, journeying over every single part of her body, waking up erogenous zones she hadn’t even known she possessed. Patrick had aroused her and forced her to respond to him when he’d used his mouth on her after he’d tickled her with the brush. This man didn’t use force, he relied solely on skill, and he played her like a concert pianist played a grand piano, drawing responses and notes from her that she didn’t know she had in her. She had less than no chance of resisting him, and after a while, no desire to even try. The shivers of the revulsion and shock she’d been feeling had transformed into shudders of pleasure.

He kissed under her breasts, around her navel, just inside her hip-bones, behind her knees and even the small of her back when he rolled her over. And more, he tasted her nipples for what seemed like forever, initially just touching her, just stirring her until she was straining up off the bed, trying to either get away or press harder into his mouth. Then, just for an instant, he lay full-length on her, his naked body against hers the whole way down, warm and smooth and inviting every nerve ending in her body to get up and dance.

He slid down, touching his lips and his fingertips to favourite places along the way, and then spread her legs wide. She jumped as she felt his hair brush her inner thighs, and then she gasped as his tongue touched something even more sensitive. Already strung tight, taut, Jessie found the intimacy of the contact unbearable, and she struggled to move away, but his hands held her there, not letting her move even a fraction of an inch away.

“Please,” she begged, knowing it would make no difference, but finding it impossible to stay there.

He gave her no choice, and as her breathing rasped and her body writhed impotently, he licked at her while the heat and frustration and embarrassment and tightness intensified and concentrated. He shifted a hand and two fingers opened her up and slid inside her, going unerringly up to a place that caused her to jolt under his grasp.

“Oh God,” she moaned, still trying to move just the tiniest distance away, to give herself even just a fraction of relief. She felt like she was in a vice of pleasure and discomfort. She had never felt more helpless in her life. She hovered, right on that brink, between tension and release, her skin hot and covered in goosebumps and perspiration. And just as she jerked her hips up, ready to plunge over the edge, he stopped.

Her body cheated, Jessie lay still, trying to calm her own breathing, desperately conscious of the man lying between her legs, no doubt watching her face, her body for her reaction. She wasn’t going to beg. If he wanted to stop, then fine, he could stop. She was quite sure that if she just wriggled around a bit, she’d get there herself anyway. She heard him laugh, soft, low and wicked.

“So tense,” he whispered. “Poor little girl. So, do you still not want this?” Her breath caught in her throat. Oh God. She felt the ties on her wrists tugged loose.

“I’ll stop now if you want to,” he kept whispering. “Or we can keep going if you want to. It’s up to you.” Her arms weighed a ton, and it just seemed natural for them to travel to his shoulders. They were so smooth, so warm, so bare. She shifted one hand to her blindfold, but he caught her wrist.

”No,” he whispered, his breath warm on her skin. “What’s it going to be? Stop? Or more?” Trapped in darkness, in sensation, Jessie wrestled with her conscience. There was no way she wanted to have sex with an unknown man. But the unknown man in question was an incredibly skilled lover, who had already brought more pleasure to her body in what was probably less than an hour than three men had managed to do in more than ten years. Her conscience fought a last ditch effort, playing chords of shame and decency. And lost.

“More,” she gave in. With that, he moved up her body, gliding his hands under her bottom and lifting her as he went, and when he slid into her, he did it so smoothly, so easily, that all Jessie felt was the heaven of the stretch as he filled her.

Even in this, he was slow, drawing out the pleasure for both of them. She felt fuller than she ever had before, hotter and more on edge than she ever had before, and still he kept it teasingly slow, even when she shifted her legs and wrapped them around him, trying to make him go faster, harder. When she felt him ease back, felt the touch of his fingertips on her again, she moaned in desperation. She was too sensitive there, she couldn’t stand it, but his weight kept her still, held her trapped. As the already intense heat began to build higher, he finally began to move faster, the strokes of his hips, of his sex inside hers, setting the beat as sweat prickled her skin.

She could feel the slickness of his own skin now, along with the strength of the hand that was still under her, holding her up to him, keeping her wide open for him. Her breath was tearing out of her now, she was almost hyperventilating, the heat extreme, the pleasure outrageous, and when she shattered, she felt as if she did it literally. Her arms and legs shook and hurt, her whole body trembled, and her head went back, her neck arching in a rictus of unbelievable sensation. As she came back down to earth, she felt him let go, too, the powerful male body surging and shaking over hers. He collapsed onto her, his own breathing heavy.

It wasn’t the only thing that was heavy. At first, his weight was good. It felt solid and even oddly protective, but after a while, it was just heavy.

“You’re squashing me,” she complained. That soft, low laugh again, and he slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows. As he did, she realised two things: that he was still inside her, and that, unbelievably, he was still hard. And then he began slowly rocking into her again, and she decided that she had no alternative but to go mad.

She was asleep when he finally left her, exhausted by hour after hour of sensation, pleasure and eroticism the like of which she had never imagined existed. He was indefatigable and he was relentless. He was also fiercely determined to draw reactions from her that she would never have willingly given him. Even without the blindfold that narrowed her sensory world, she would have had no defences against his skill and his will. He removed her blindfold before he left, but she was so deeply asleep by then that she wasn’t even aware of it.