Butterfly Dreams (11)

(A sequel to The Strange Story of Mr. Black and Ms Gray.)

They had died when helping thwart a plan to undermine the government of the United States. Now Ben and Susan have returned from the dead and they must bring that government down. Standing in their way are Michael Black and Michelle Gray, the bodies of whom they now occupy.

-(The Story begins HERE)-

Nets of Wonder
At first there were a series of faint clicking sounds. My head felt weighted, my chin pressed against my chest. The clicks were growing louder as if the source were moving closer to me.

I forced my eye lids open and through narrow slits I gazed in shock upon myself. My chest, lap and legs were bare. Instinctively I tried to cover myself, but my arms remained frozen. My wrists were strapped to the armrests of the chair.

The source of the clicking sounds came into my line of vision. A pair of red shoes with stiletto heels came to rest on the floor before me. The one to the left rose from the floor and came to rest on the edge of the chair inches from my exposed loins.

Straining to move my head, my eyes followed a path from the ankle and up the long black-nylon-stockinged leg. At the point where nylon gave way to an expanse of milky white flesh, a taut garter disappeared beneath what appeared to be a black satin loin cloth. Strategically draped, the material had been intended to both hide and to leave little to the imagination of what lie beneath it. It was quite effective.

The woman's arm, sheathed in black elbow-length gloves hovered for a moment above my exposed thighs. Mesmerized, I watched as her fingers deftly unsnapped the garter from the stockings.

"Who are you?" I muttered with dry mouth. "What do you want of me?"

There was no response as her foot slid from the seat edge only to be replaced by the other. As before, she released that garter's grip on the nylon material. Despite forced thoughts of elsewhere my will power could not stem the stirrings of arousal.

She reached forth and ran her fingers through the hair atop my head. I grimaced in pain when she pulled on the hair and forcibly yanked my head backward. She backed away and stood before me with her fists on her hips. Her stance was defiant and menacing and yet, alluring.

I gasped as I gazed upon her. Her face, except for her lower lip and chin were hidden behind a black veil. Her breasts, like her loins were covered by the same material.

I attempted to display similar defiance and said to her, "You seem to have me at a disadvantage. Perhaps a more formal introduction is in order ..."

The force of her backhand against my face twisted my head to the right. A tripod stand towered above me, a camera at its apex. It was apparent that my tormentor was recording the proceedings. I swallowed hard and realized that if I were to survive that ordeal, there would be damning footage out there in someone's hands.

I turned to face the woman's movements. She tore the material from her breasts and let it drift like a leaf to the floor. Without a hint of inhibition the loin cloth met the same fate. Her charms were fully exposed but her facial features remained hidden. She stepped forth, her unseen eyes trained upon a certain prominence.

She spoke for the first time, her voice vaguely familiar, "Our nets were laid out and we've caught our fish." She pointed to the camera and added, "We've decided to make a movie to document our successes. We were thinking that we should give it the title, Nets of Wonder."

"Blackmail, no doubt!" I snapped. I strained my arms and legs in a fruitless attempt to free them from the restraints. My helplessness gave way to anger and I snarled, "Fuck you!"

She tossed her head backward and laughed. She then maneuvered her legs on either side of mine and hovered above my lap. As she lowered herself she cooed, "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

Tensing I stared at her and said, "Why, why are you doing this?"

She laughed again and replied, "Let's just say that it's for old time's sake."

Unwanted pangs of pleasure shot through me as she allowed her full weight to come to rest upon me. She gently patted my cheek with one hand while the other pulled the veil from her face.

I was jolted with simultaneous desire and shock. "Susan!"


Annoyed by the hand tapping at my face I struggled to escape the onslaught. Shame and anger dominating my thoughts, at first I didn't hear another voice calling out to me.

"Michael! Michael, snap out of it," bellowed a gruff male voice.

The police officer's face came into focus and I barked, "Brock! How did you find me?"

"How did I find you?" he remarked with a puzzled frown. "You were in an accident. You plowed into a utility pole. You knocked out the power for three square blocks in Post Office Square."

Dazed, I queried, "Did you catch her?" His silence and blank stare were his only responses. Dismayed I sighed, "She got away?"

"She? There was no one with you. You were trapped in your car ... alone and unconscious."

I shook my head which resulted in sharp pain across my brow, "No. I wasn't in the car."

He raised and waved his hand, "Michael, I was there. I supervised your rescue. They had to use the jaws-of-life to get you out of the car."

I became aware of the strange surroundings and tried to sit up. "Where am I?"

"You're in Mass General Hospital." He pushed gently on my chest, "You have a nasty contusion on your forehead. The doctors are trying to determine if you've suffered a concussion."

I eased my head onto the pillow and tried to will my muddled thoughts to coalesce. I decided, whether hallucinatory or not, not to make any further mention of the woman. I rubbed the spot on my neck where I was certain that a syringe had penetrated. It was possible that the vivid images of my bondage and the presence of Susan had been drug induced.

Ignoring his raised hand I positioned myself on my elbows and implored, "Michelle! Has anyone heard from her?"

O'Day nodded, "I was talking to her not five minutes ago. She knows about your accident and I assured her that you were okay. She's on her way here as we speak."

Relieved, I eased my head back onto the pillow, "...And Professor Jordan? Has any one seen or heard from him?"

O'Day sat up straight and leaned toward me, "Jordan? You were in contact with him too? It seems the professor has had a very busy day."

I hoisted myself onto my elbows again. "Besides Stu Jankowski and myself, who else has he contacted?"

"Your wife, Michelle," he replied. "She said he asked her to meet him on the quad at Northeastern. According to her, he never showed up."

At that moment Michelle walked through the door. "Michael. You're okay? I got here as fast as I could." She leaned over me and kissed my cheek. Worry etched upon her face she asked, "What happened?"

Brock O'Day rose from the chair next to the bed, nodded in Michelle's direction and declared, "I'll leave you two alone. We'll talk later." He turned and headed for the door but paused for a moment and added, "There's a lot we need to discuss."

Once he had disappeared into the hallway I addressed Michelle, "I'll tell you about the accident later. Tell me, did anything ... ah ... unusual happen to you? I mean, something that felt real ... but wasn't ... but maybe it was ..."

There was a slight flush in her cheeks and she lowered her head. "My God, it happened to you too!" she exclaimed. "I feel so dirty and violated. I was naked, my feet and hands strapped to the bed posts." She looked at me before continuing, " He took me. He raped me! I couldn't do anything about it!" She sat down upon the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. "Michael, it was him. It was Ben!"

( To be continued 4/16 with ...

Where Butterflies Dare )
№ 1953