{Gait}

Sagan glanced at Matt, who peered between her and Razor. Both wore a carbon fiber jumpsuit. Both recently brushed their red hair. Presentable. Though Matt’s freckles swayed for easier trust. It also helped his eyes were a solid dark brown and not a freaky two-toned orange and green.

Something weird passed between the trio. It reminded her of Korac’s words from not even five minutes ago, “He knows how to lure you in before you realize he’s caught you. Beware the other flies in his web. They’ll watch him eat you if it spares them his voracity.”

Razor smiled bright white teeth against his tanned skin and stepped toward her.

Sagan frowned and took a step back, almost opening a conduit to escape. She clutched the pendant on her chain. It unnerved her that she thought so much of the pain experiences while with Korac. No matter how much he gave her, she still wondered what experience Razor cultivated for her next. She wrote it off as curiosity. But it gnawed at her like hunger.

And that’s why she stayed.

The Pain Curator retreated and carried himself loosely, appearing harmless. His eyes swept over her again. Never appraising. More assessing.

What would she look like wrapped in his silk?

He spun his web carefully with a gesture toward Matt. “We’re preparing for the evening, but you can begin now if you like.”

The younger redhead gave a wave.

She nodded to him and turned back to her “guide.” Her next question concerned her, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, right? “In exchange for tonight’s sample, I want to bring Korac to the Emporium.”

Her words rang in the empty warehouse. Echoed off the decorative copper and tin ceiling tiles. Bounced along the metal and glass walls. The Emporium passed judgment on her.

The swanky space translated her request to “Bring a convicted galactic war criminal into this establishment to suit the whims of one Earth girl.”

Matt stared at the back of Razor’s red head as if he found the man’s stiffness alarming.

Said stiff alien darted out his tan hand between them. Empty nail beds and all. “Deal.”

Sagan took his hand and shook it. Instantly, she relaxed. No matter what he planned for her tonight, at least she helped Korac and Pehton.

Razor let a small smile slip at her relief before he turned and led her to the booth. He sounded eager as he directed, “Tonight’s event is special, and you unknowingly dressed for the occasion. How delightful.”

After the reminder, she snuggled a bit into the collar and breathed deep of Korac’s scent. Snow and pine. Home to her now.

“I’ll head back now, boss. Unless you need me,” Matt asked as he backed toward the kitchens.

Razor shared a certain smile with his employee. “Enjoy yourself.”

After Matt disappeared, Sagan asked, “What’s the behind-the-scenes work like?”

The depth of the alien’s chuckle startled her. “Don’t worry, Seamswalker. He’s fine. And while I appreciate the innocence in your curiosity, you’re not quite at the level to prepare you for it just yet.”

She cocked her head to the side. “What level is that?”

“Desperate for it.”

His words burned her. Too close to the yearning she already felt for these experiences. Sagan wanted to understand her desires at their core. And Razor offered her that insight in a way too unique to ignore. But enlightening enough and infrequent enough to crave.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

With a knowing smile, he raised a chair from a panel beneath the floor. He fell into it as he announced, “I’m sitting in on this one.”

Sagan recoiled. “No. Why?!”

He laughed, full and happy. Genuine. Razor’s strange eyes even glistened as he finished and said, “I need to measure your reactions to prepare the next one. I have a few ideas, but I want to cater it properly. Also… You’ll want someone here to catch you. The floors are hard.” He tapped the parquet wood with his heavy boot.

At her frown and continued hesitation, he assured, “I’m a professional. While it’s true that you are my favorite client, it’s not for any sexually nefarious reasons. I’m simply charmed by your Earthiness. Pun intended.”

Okay, so she smiled a little at that. “All right.”

Razor stood once more and retrieved the goggles from the console. “Here. Let me help.”

She met his eyes as he installed the gear over her head. The green swirled to the top of his iris. Orange to the bottom. Close enough to kiss, he appeared truly unaffected by their proximity. The only indication came when he returned her gaze for a heartbeat or two. “Beautiful,” he said, as if stating a fact. Then he sat back down.

How confusing.

The experience started in a place devoid of light. Complete darkness. No. Not exactly. Something sat over her head. A hood. Black, hot, and coarse. It made it hard to breathe.

This wasn’t Sagan.

“Hold your arms above you and take the grips.” The distorted voice came from behind her. Nothing identifiable about it.

The memory holder raised their hands, and Sagan copied. Only a small part of her wondered what Razor thought as he watched before she cried out with the memory holder.

Scalding water. Hot to the point of boiling. It poured down her shoulders and back. Blistered her skin. Immediately, the cool air kissed the torture. Even with the sting, it still made it better.

But that couldn’t be all. Her chest heaved while she almost hyperventilated in the waiting. Waiting for more. Blind. The genderless tormentor moved silently. When would it come? It had to come.

Sagan shrieked when it finally poured down her front. Breasts, abs, between her legs. The heat steamed her eyes. The grips crumpled like foil in her fingers.

The cool air once again rewarded her for staying conscious. Ice applied to her skin, soothed her. She wept in gratitude.

“You were good this time, 324,” the distorted voice assured. “We can try the pokers again tomorrow. And if you behave, you’ll earn another break.”

324?

The experience faded. The memory with it.

When the next experience loaded, she fell blissfully into the familiarity of it. Her memory this time. The dream where Korac confessed his preference for their kind of sex.

“I have wronged you,” he said. When she opened her mouth to protest, he stopped her with a finger to her lips. “I let this go on too long.”

In this experience, Sagan sat astride Korac. He returned to coaxing out her pleasure as he went on with the confession. She remembered feeling relieved. She wasn’t alone.

For so long, she wondered if there was something wrong with her. When he pinned her to the bed, was it one-sided? The way he refused to let her orgasm for four years. Was he cruel or was it a mutually shared intensity? His control over her. The promise of pain. The kind of sex he asked of her. The love he wanted from her.

By the time he finished confessing and chained her to the wall, she was well on her way to another orgasm. So when he produced the knife, she cried out in acquiescence. She trusted him.

So young. So fortunate Korac proved a man worthy of her trust.

The experience melted away. They always came in threes. Maybe she should tell Razor she’d prefer finishing on a familiar note—

Someone locked their legs around her on the floor and strung something around her neck. Strangled her in a hold of inter-threaded limbs and… she was pretty confident they choked her with a belt.

She coughed and squeezed air in and out. The effects of hypoxia kicked in quickly, alarming her. Blood rushed to her face, and tears poured from her eyes. She scratched every bit of exposed gray skin. Coughed. Choked. Died.

“Say ‘banana,’ and I’ll release you.”

That voice.

Outside the experience, Sagan collapsed. Powerful arms caught her and swept the goggles from her face. She coughed and choked in his embrace. She hoped he thought the crying was from the strangulation and not from hearing—

Whose voice again? It slipped from her memory already.

But warmth… a loving warmth stayed with her. Unfortunately, the enduring kindness left her clinging to Razor on the floor. Don’t let go. Hold on to it.

No way he’d mistake those sobs wrenched from her heart for remnants of the experience. As the memory poured down the drain and left her empty, Sagan wept onto the Pain Curator’s offered shoulder to cry on. Enveloped in his arms, the warm vanilla scent surrounded her.

He even rocked her. Whispered soothing words to her. “Shh… I won’t let go. I’ve got you now. You’re all right.”

It was kinda nice.

But oh dear Elden, this was a dangerous and precarious position she got herself into. How in the Two Worlds could she get out now? When he squeezed just right, her heart cracked in two.

In Razor’s arms, Sagan whispered against her enemy’s chest, “Please don’t let go.”