Home Fiction Adult Fiction Art Mail List Staff Links

Title: Agape’s Tale I : The Dare
Author: Eritae Halcyon (eritae_halcyon@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Vader, OFC.
Category: Romance, Fic challenge

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this, and he doesn’t belong to me. Darn.

Summary: You answer a personal ad on a dare. 

"We know that where there is great love in one direction there may also be, in another direction, a tragically necessary blindness." - Martha Nussbaum

It’s 9 am and you are standing, outside the door at the address the message you received the day before told you to be at. For a few minutes you stay there, motionless, debating whether or not you should go in. Eventually you gather up your courage and enter.

The receptionist mostly ignores you, merely takes your datachip and sends you into a waiting room. You select what should be the most comfortable chair and wait.

While you do, you run the personal ad you answered a month ago through your mind again: Wanted: companion for high ranking military officer. Must be intelligent, pleasant to look at and prepared to deal with the unexpected. The agency you are sitting in was listed as the contact. You had submitted your c.v., holo, and the other details that had been asked for, not really expecting an answer. How many men would consider you as an acceptable match for those requirements?

Then the message had arrived telling you to be here.

And now you are wondering if you should stay or leave.

You turn as you hear the door slide open. Someone comes in.

‘I’m Lieutenant Jir,’ he states. ‘Follow me.’

For a moment your resolve wavers, then you let him lead you down a hall and to an airspeeder.

‘Get in,’ he orders, using your arm to guide you inside.

You hesitate. This may be your last opportunity to walk away, but the secrecy has you intrigued and now you really do want to meet this mysterious ‘military officer.’

You get into the airspeeder. The Lieutenant joins you.

‘You’re braver than most,’ he notes. ‘The last one refused to go with me.’

For a moment you wonder if this really was a good idea after all.

‘What is going on?’ you finally work up the nerve to ask.

‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ he smoothly avoids the question.

The ‘speeder lands in a private hangar. Your escort takes you through the corridors of what must be a large residence to a sitting room where he leaves you alone once again. To occupy yourself, you wander about the room, familiarizing yourself with its contents. A comfortable couch beckons, so you seat yourself on it and wait.

You hear the door open behind you.

Measured steps. Even mechanical breathing.

You slowly get to your feet, anticipating that in the next few seconds you will be face to mask with the second most powerful man in the Empire.

‘You may leave if you wish, now or after I tell you why you are here,’ he cooly states. ‘I have no intentions of holding you against your will.’

A nod is your answer. You will stay for his explanation, at least.

‘My position requires that I maintain a harem,’ he bluntly admits.

You don’t react. This is common knowledge. The Emperor himself has a number of concubines.

‘You have passed the screening process, and I have decided to spend a day in your company to see if you are suitable,’ he tells you.

A day? With him? Doing what?

‘Whatever you think will convince me to take you as one of my concubines,’ he replies to your thought. ‘You have exactly one day to do so, but I usually know within a few minutes who I want.’

Your mouth drops in surprise. The stories are true, then. He’s a mind reader.

A low rumbling chuckle emerges from his mask.

You nod reflexively, before you can stop yourself, then realize what you have just consented to - an entire day in Darth Vader’s company.

‘Very well,’ he decides, and for some reason you suspect he is relieved or perhaps pleased that you have chosen to stay. ‘Introduce yourself and tell me why I should keep you.’

Keep you? You stand there, before him, silent. It sounds like once he makes his choice there will be no undoing it. And now that you have made it this far, what are you going to say? If you admit the truth, he will probably kill you, or even worse, laugh at you before sending you home.

Second thoughts go running like a herd of panicked banthas through your mind, overriding any of your earlier courage. You have only one goal now - getting out of here as fast as you can.

‘I think I have made a mistake,’ you quickly tell him, ‘a really, really unfortunate mistake. May I leave now?’

‘No,’ he replies, moving a step or two closer, blocking your escape route to the door. ‘Not without a satisfactory explanation.’

There has to be some way to get out of the mess you are in. And you can’t tell him the truth.

‘Well?’ he questions when you say nothing.

‘I, uh,...’ your voice trails off into silence.

His hands shift. He’s growing impatient.

Perhaps you had better confess before he decides to use other means to get an answer. And he might just take pity on you and let you go.

‘It was a dare,’ you blurt out, ‘a stupid, childish dare. Please don’t get angry with me.’

‘A dare,’ he repeats, ‘and exactly what was this ‘dare’?’

You feel yourself starting to blush. The Sith Lord merely waits, patiently, for your answer.

‘Uhmm...,’ you dither a little.

‘I do not intend to wait all day for you to give me the answer to what was a simple question,’ he growls, annoyed.

‘Some of my classmates dared me to answer a personal ad,’ you admit, embarrassed, ‘they said I needed some experience with men.’

He says nothing for a few minutes. The sound of his mechanical breathing begins to make you feel nervous. It was far better when he was growling at you, you decide. At least then you had some idea what he might do.

Now, you have no way to tell if he is going to let you leave or not.

“Experience with men,” he quotes you. ‘I suspect I know what they meant.’

Your cheeks grow more heated. He knows. Somehow, he knows.

The Sith Lord draws closer to you.

‘I prefer companions with, shall we say, a bit more experience,’ he tells you, drawing a finger down your cheek. ‘It has been many years since I have had an innocent grace my bed.’

The finger repeats its path down your other cheek. You stay frozen in place while he pulls the ornament from your upswept hair, freeing it.

You hear him murmur something under his breath when he catches your hair in his hands. Then he is touching your body again, checking, measuring you against some standard he has. Being groped by the Sith Lord is perhaps the most humiliating experience of your life, but you don’t resist anything he does. Resistance, you suspect, will only bring a reprimand and he hasn’t tried to remove your clothes, only moved his hands over top of them. Eventually he tires of it, or perhaps you have failed whatever test this is.

You hope you have failed whatever test this is.

‘I will keep you,’ he decides, clamping a hand firmly around your wrist, preventing any attempt at escape.

You don’t flinch or pull away, much as you want to. Any sign of weakness, you are sure, will just make things worse.

And you are already in far more trouble than you can handle.

***

You are dragged from the room as he quickly heads elsewhere in his castle. After a number of turns in the path he takes, you are lost. There is no way you can back track from where he is taking you. Eventually he stops, activates the comm and the door in front of you.

‘Yes, my lord,’ you hear someone with a strong Twi’lek accent answer.

‘Sorra,’ he orders, ‘See that this one is properly prepared and bring her to my chambers tonight.’

Her delicate, but incredibly strong hand, takes a hold of you, pulls you through the room and down a hallway. She has no intentions of letting you get away from her.

Trouble?

You thought you were in trouble?

You are somewhere in Darth Vader’s castle, trapped in his harem, about to be served up to him as his evening’s entertainment.

Trouble doesn’t even begin to describe the predicament you are in.

***

Sorra tugs you along the corridor and into a turbolift. It rapidly descends deep within the castle, far from the public rooms you were in. She releases your arm once you can no longer make a run for it, so you rub your wrist to restore some life to your hand.

‘Who are you and where are we going?’ you ask, half-curious, half-afraid.

‘I’m Sorra. It’s my job to look after the new girls and we are going to his private quarters,’ she quickly answers, ‘You won’t be living in the harem with the rest of us at first.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ she confirms.

‘Why?’

She gives an amused laugh.

‘His Lordship likes to keep the new ones near his quarters. When he gets bored with you, which won’t take very long, he’ll send you to live in the harem,’ Sorra admits. ‘Since he’s delivered you to me personally, I know he’s already taken a liking to you.’

‘What?’ you ask, surprised.

You didn’t get that impression from the ‘interview’ you just endured.

‘Trust me, he likes you,’ she insists, ‘and you’ll learn how to read his moods soon enough. When he’s in a good mood, like today, he has a lighter tone to his voice and tends to hook his thumbs in his belt. When he’s angry - well, you can’t mistake that for anything else.’

‘Oh,’ you reply, disappointed that she hasn’t told you anything that might help you make a getaway.

Somehow she knows what you are considering.

‘Don’t even think of trying to escape,’ she warns you. ‘If you try to run away, and he catches you - and he will catch you - you will wish you had never made the attempt. And forget about even looking at other men. The only one stupid enough to betray him that way he dragged by the hair into the harem, then slowly killed her to set an example.’

Sorra stops, opens a door, ushers you through it.

‘This will be your room for however long he wants you to have it. You can rest in here for the next few hours,’ she tells you. ‘I’ll be back in plenty of time to get you ready.’

You nod in reply. There is nothing you can think of to say to her.

Her final words, however, chill you to the bone.

‘As long as you please him he will treat you well, but you belong to him. Once he accepted you, the contract the agency had you sign became binding. You’re his now. Don’t ever forget that.’

She shuts the door after herself and locks it. No amount of poking or prodding at the controls succeeds in opening it, so you finally give up and take the time to find out what is in your assigned room, your ... prison cell.

The inventory you make is a short one. One bed, a small table and chair. There’s a ‘fresher with real running water, not sonics, and a closet full of clothes you don’t bother exploring. An autochef occupies some counter space and a small cupboard holds all the necessities for having a meal. Everything you need to survive is in here.

Everything except freedom.

***

Sorra returns a few hours later as she promised.

‘You’re a mess!’ she exclaims once she gets a look at you.

You haven’t slept at all, haven’t rested. All you did was pace your room like a caged animal and think about how to get away or avoid your inevitable fate. Your attempts to get the door to open have left cuts and bruises on your fingers.

‘This will never do,’ she scolds, ‘I can’t let him see you like this.’

She brings you a cold cloth for your aching head, insists on wrapping your hands in bacta bandages and fusses about, mothering you.

You wish she would just go away and leave you alone.

‘I have to get you ready,’ she finally announces.

‘No,’ you moan, ‘No, I want to go home instead.’

You get no pity or sympathy from this Twi’lek.

‘Then you shouldn’t have answered the ad or signed the contract, and you should have left when you had the chance,’ she reminds you.

‘He refused to let me go,’ you complain in answer, ‘I asked to leave and he said “no”.’

She lets out a snort of disbelief.

‘Likely story,’ she snaps, her patience with you at an end. ‘Stop this self-pitying act. It doesn’t fool me at all. I don’t care what drove you into this, but you had a choice, just like the rest of us did. Live with it.’

A choice.

She’s right, you admit to yourself. Even though it was done on a dare, you chose to answer that ad, go with the Lieutenant, and stay to hear what the Sith Lord had to say. No one made you do any of those things.

And both the ad and contract made it quite clear what is expected of you - you are to supply companionship and your body, for the next year, to one Anakin Skywalker. The name alone had you concerned, but you assumed it was simply one chosen at random to protect the advertiser’s real identity, which, ironically, it was. In hindsight, you should have listened to your instincts, called off the dare, and never returned the legal documents to the agency.

You sit back down on the bed with a thump as the reality of the situation hits.

It could be much worse, you decide as Sorra picks out a dress for you to wear. She seems to think the Sith Lord likes you, and he hasn’t done anything to hurt you. You could have found yourself in the grip of someone far less .... considerate.

You give your head a shake. There’s no point in debating what might have happened if you had been unfortunate enough to answer an ad placed by someone intending to do you harm.

‘Into the bath,’ Sorra orders, halting your musing.

‘Why?’ you argue back. ‘I’ve already had a sonic shower today.’

‘That’s not sufficient. You have to be as clean as possible for him,’ she tells you.

The soap she insists you use stings in your cuts. You try to avoid scrubbing other equally sensitive places with it, but she watches your every move, refusing to budge from the ‘fresher.

‘If you won’t do it properly, then I’ll do it for you,’ she threatens.

You do as you are told despite your discomfort. It is a relief when she finally decides you have done an adequate job of things and lets you dry off. Now for the rest of the preparations for tonight.

‘He wants your hair down and loose,’ Sorra admits as she fiddles about with your wet tresses. ‘We’ll let it dry naturally while I dress you.’

Her hands are nimble as she helps you into the light mothsilk creation. There is no underwear to hamper what the Sith Lord intends to do with you. And until it comes off, only a single layer of the soft, expensive fabric will separate you. You shiver a little at the coolness of the air on your skin. The low-cut bodice makes you feel completely exposed, vulnerable.

You wish you could pick out something else.

‘Time to leave,’ Sorra finally announces, before offering, ‘Anything you want to know, first?’

You nervously, shyly twist your hands behind you. There’s a million questions you need the answers to, but only one you can work up the courage to ask. You want to know if some of the stories you’ve heard are true or not.

‘Does it...’ you start, stopping when you lose the nerve to finish it.

‘...hurt?’ she smoothly finishes.

You gape at her, shocked.

‘He told me you were a virgin and asked me to prepare you for it - that’s how I knew - that, and that it is rather obvious you are inexperienced. Any experienced whore would have asked about his preferences by now. And the answer is yes. The first time for most human females is painful,’ she bluntly tells you.

You flinch. Confirmation of rumours.

‘He’s a big man and quite well endowed,’ she warns, sounding a bit sympathetic, ‘It’s not a problem once you get used to him, but tonight you’re probably going to bleed a bit and you will be sore afterwards.’

At the horrified look on your face, she tries to reassure you.

‘He likes you, so I think he’ll be patient with you and not expect too much,’ she soothes, ‘Just don’t act like a virgin in a cheap holodrama. Having hysterics when it hurts or carrying on like you don’t know what he is going to do to you will just irritate him. And he won’t put up with those sorts of theatrics for very long.’

You bite your lip and hang back, trying to delay the inevitable, when she opens the door.

‘Come along now,’ she coaxes, ‘it’s time and you don’t want to keep him waiting.’

***

Your destination is not far away.

Sorra reaches over and pulls off your earrings.

‘You won’t need those in there,’ she decides, ‘and the sensors in his suite will neutralize them anyway. Just walk straight ahead a few steps. He’ll see to you after that.’

You consider a protest, then abandon it when she opens the door, and instead take her advice. Slowly, cautiously you take a step, then another into the room ahead of you. The door sliding shut behind you seems like a death knell in its finality.

Trapped.

There is no way to avoid your fate now.

Another step, and you trip, but when you start to fall, two powerful arms catch you.

‘I prefer the dark,’ the Sith Lord’s deep voice sounds above your head. ‘And it will be easier for you if you can’t see me.’

He holds you steady while you try to adjust to your situation.

A gloved hand slides down, moves around to your back. He guides you along into what must be another room, from the noises you can hear, and settles you on the edge of a bed. There is a soft chiming coming from the room you just left.

‘Wait here, Agapé,’ he orders, using your proper name for the first time, ‘I have a comm-call to answer but I won’t be long.’

You sit there, debating what to do for almost twenty minutes. Stumbling around in his private rooms is probably not a smart thing to do, so you stay put despite the urge to get up and try to escape.

The air starts to smell odd and you hear a hiss as a steady stream of oxygen is added to it. The pressure climbs. Sealed environment, you guess. He must need that to take his armour off. Your stomach churns with nervousness. It won’t be long before he comes back.

The medications you are breathing in make you dizzy, so you let yourself drift into a light trance, distancing yourself from your predicament for a while. It is the only way you can escape.

When you feel his weight beside you on the bed, you try to jump to your feet.

An arm across your chest shoves you back down.

‘Don’t,’ he warns, but he doesn’t sound angry or annoyed at you.

Remembering what Sorra told you about his moods, you do as he wants and sit down beside him. You don’t think he will hurt you unless you make him mad at you.

‘Better,’ he decides when you relax a little.

He sets his hands on your shoulders, turns you to face him, and holds you still. You know that even in the dark he is looking at you, letting his eyes wander over your features and body.

Is he satisfied? Disappointed? Do you meet with his approval?

You wish you could see his face.

‘No, you don’t,’ he firmly states.

He doesn’t know, then. And you won’t enlighten him. Not right now, anyways.

You are pulled closer, feel the hard contours of the control panel on his chest push into yours. His embrace is gentle, but you know that at the slightest sign of resistance from you, he will crush you. Hot breath passes by your cheek as he moves his head and you force yourself to keep yours in place.

This waiting for him to do something is the cruelest form of torture. Why doesn’t he just get on with it?

Finally, he does. His lips brush yours, press hard against your own, but this is no ardent or rushed kiss. He slowly, patiently and most expertly kisses you. Your attempt to return it is a clumsy one at best, so he gives up and moves his lips to your ear instead.

‘Relax,’ he orders, the words escaping from his mouth on your skin. ‘I’ll teach you how to properly kiss me later.’

His next move is down your throat, his lips traveling to the top of the bodice. With a low growl he paws at the fabric, then grabs it and rips it open, tossing the material out of his way. You are now completely exposed.

Instinct prompts you to cover yourself with your hands.

‘Shy little virgin,’ he teases. ‘Shall I do something about that?’

You shake your head in a negative and shrink back from him as much as the large bed will allow, only stopping when you feel the edge of the other side with your hand. Despite Sorra’s warning, you find yourself acting exactly like a third rate actress would in a rather lame afternoon holoserial.

The Sith Lord doesn’t pursue you immediately, merely sits there and laughs at your reaction.

‘I think I will enjoy this,’ he decides, crawling further onto the bed, chasing you down. ‘A bit of resistance will make the final conquest that much sweeter.’

With a tug, you grab the bedcover and pull it over yourself, covering your body as best you can.

‘Hiding, are we?’ he notes.

You hold onto that sheet with a death grip while he yanks on it, trying to get it away from you.

‘Very well,’ he concedes at last, ‘I will join you under the sheets.’

‘No,’ you quietly refuse him. ‘No.’

He ignores your protest and gives the cover another tug.

‘Enough of that, Agapé,’ he growls. ‘Let go of it.’

For a split second your grasp falters, and the instant it does, the sheet is ripped away from you. When you try to replace it with the one under it, he pounces, grabs your hands, ensuring you won’t have the opportunity to do that again.

‘Don’t do that again,’ he coldly warns. ‘I will put up with a bit of nonsense if I find it amusing, but once I say ‘enough’, I mean it.’

‘Let me go,’ you insist as you try to get away again.

He releases you and taunts, ‘Very well, I’ve let you go. Now what are you going to do?’

You bolt off the bed, fleeing from him into the room with the main door, only to run straight into a wall. Stunned, you stagger back a step, to find yourself caught in his arms again.

‘That was a foolish thing to do,’ he tells you as he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder.

This is beginning to follow the script from one of those cheap datachip romances, you decide as you are packed back into the bedroom and dropped onto the bed. When he resumes his spot beside you, you start to inch away from him, preparing for another effort at escape.

He stops you immediately, seizing your wrists once again. Your attempts to free your hands from his grasp only produce more laughter from him.

‘You are a feisty little thing,’ he comments, amused, when you twist about and try to kick at him, ‘but your games are beginning to bore me. Stop resisting me or I will do something about it.’

His threat makes you freeze in place. You know he intends to do as he pleases with you, whether you co-operate with him or not. And if you keep fighting, it will probably not be a very pleasant experience.

‘Better,’ he praises once he realizes you won’t try to escape from him again. ‘I don’t want to be rough with you, but I won’t tolerate any more defiance from you either.’

You are in a slight state of shock when he kisses your mouth again and eases you onto your back, flattening you on the bed.

‘If you promise to behave yourself,’ he offers, ‘I will leave your hands free; if you persist in fighting me, I will cuff them in place.’

He pauses, waits for your answer.

‘I’ll be good,’ you promise in a quiet little voice. ‘Just don’t hurt me, please.’

You don’t want to be chained up like some slave girl or prisoner, so you will do whatever he tells you to.

A warm, metal fingertip touches your cheek after he lets your hands go. You stay motionless as he caresses your face while he lets out what sounds like an almost-sigh.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he assures you.

Then his hands and mouth are on you again, touching, stroking, kissing you, creating a trail of electricity in their wake. Flutterings start up in your stomach and a need, an overwhelming ache, joins it. It is the most intoxicating mix of sensations you have ever experienced and like an addict you don’t want it to end.

You don’t resist him at all - you are no longer even capable of coherent thought.

All you can do is lie on the bed and moan softly to him.

His lips find a nipple, so he mouths it, mimicking an infant. You give a startled gasp as an odd twinge inside you matches each application of suction.

‘Such a passionate little virgin,’ he teases once he has enough of tormenting you that way.

His attention shifts to your sides.

‘And ticklish, too,’ he observes when you flinch a little at his light caresses.

‘Don’t, please,’ you beg him, ‘I can’t bear that.’

You hate being tickled.

He complies with your request, surprising you.

‘Something different next,’ he quietly decides, speaking more to himself than to you.

The Sith Lord runs his mouth down across your stomach and does not stop until he reaches the only part of your body he has yet to touch. Your legs are eased apart and knees pulled up to give him access. You gasp in shock and surprise as he kisses you there, sets his mouth on you.

Your hands twist and grip the sheets as you desperately try to hold on. The sensations that run through you now; the terrible ache in your stomach increases and the flutterings become unbearable. As your breath comes in short gasps, you try to pull away, only to be held securely in place by his arm across your body.

‘What are you doing to me?’ you plead with him for an answer.

He ignores your question and pushes you closer towards something your body craves at this moment more than anything. When you think you can bear it no longer, he gently slides a finger into you, carefully strokes you inside and your body arches in response. Soft moans escape from your throat despite your attempts to stop them as he continues to use his mouth and hand to nudge you closer still to an edge. Your body goes tense against him as you teeter on the brink, then another touch from him produces sweet release.

You feel your muscles clamp down hard around him, pulse in an ancient rhythm, and you lose yourself in the sensation of it. Vader stops his actions when he feels their ultimate effect, kisses the inside of your thigh, gives you a few minutes to recover.

Did that ever feel good, you decide.

‘Enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ he teases.

You shiver in response. That definitely felt good. Now what is he going to do to you?

His finger moves inside you, and you flinch a little at the pain when he adds a second one and stretches you a bit.

‘Small and tight,’ he notes after he pulls them out. ‘This will be far more pleasurable for me, than for you.’

He shifts quickly to kneel between your legs, moving you slightly as he readies himself. You feel him push carefully against you, only stopping when he feels the resistance. The pain forces a quiet sob from you, but remembering the first of Sorra’s warnings, you vow not to cry loud enough for him to hear it.

His hesitation lasts only a few seconds before he gives a hard thrust into you. You can’t help yourself and let out a shriek at the pain of it. When he pulls out a little, then shoves himself in again, tearing you even more, you claw at him. It’s like having an oversized red hot poker shoved inside you. Sorra wasn’t exaggerating how big he is, you realize, and he will expect you to do this whenever he wants to.

‘No, no, no,’ you refuse him, crying now.

Somehow he rips your hands back from his chest and pins them above your head.

‘Stop that,’ he growls at you. ‘I want you and you are mine.’

You fight against your invisible bonds, but your struggles get you nowhere. The Sith Lord says nothing more, simply waits for you to give up. After a minute, you do and he starts to slowly thrust himself in and out of you again.

‘Please stop,’ you sob at him, ‘please, please, please. It hurts and you said it wouldn’t.’

A hand brushes your face, bringing a feeling of icy coolness flowing over your limbs. Your body relaxes at his touch. The pain is remote, removed, at a distance now.

‘Thank you,’ you whisper to him.

His pace builds again. Harder, deeper, faster, until he is bathed in sweat. You feel nothing as he continues to slam his full length into you. Then he buries himself completely in you and holds himself there, motionless a moment, before screaming in what sounds like agony.

Stunned, you find yourself pinned to the bed as he collapses on top of you, his controlled breathing over-ridden by gasps.

What just happened to him?

Is this normal?

‘My Lord?’ you ask, hoping he will answer you.

He shifts a little at your words and releases your arms from where they were anchored. After a few more minutes his breathing resumes its typical pace.

‘That felt good,’ he tells you, using one finger to trace a lazy path across your middle.

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ you reply with some sarcasm. What he did to you hurt.

‘It won’t hurt as much the next time,’ he reassures you, obviously fully aware of what your grievance is, ‘and if you behave yourself, I will make sure you enjoy it just as much as I do.’

You grumble a few more complaints, but he ignores you.

‘Move over,’ he orders, giving you a gentle shove, ‘I need to get some sleep and you’re in my spot.’

There is no point in fighting about who will sleep where, so you move as indicated and settle yourself in for the night.

‘My Lord?’ you prompt him again.

‘What?’ is his half-asleep reply.

‘Are you really going to keep me?’

‘Yes,’ he answers.

‘Even though I don’t want to be here?’

‘Yes,’ he repeats.

He is obviously not going to let you go. There will be no easy escape for you.

‘Do you love me?’

Silence.

‘That is a rather pointless question,’ he finally replies.

You brood a moment, then tell him, ‘I think I might love you.’

***

His quiet snores right next to your ear wake you early in the morning. You have a quick debate with yourself about what to do. He’s sound asleep, so you will take a risk and make one last try at escape. Slowly, carefully, you ease yourself away from him and off the bed, ignoring the soreness between your thighs. Tipping your head to listen intently, you use the echoes of your footsteps to navigate back to where the main door is. So far, so good.

Then a voice behind you casually comments, ‘Don’t bother. It’s locked and impossible for you to open. There’s no point in trying to escape - I won’t let you go - and if you persist in it, I will have you implanted with a homing transponder.’

You freeze, and slowly turn around to face him.

‘I am curious, though, how you managed to move so easily through a pitch-black room,’ he adds, keeping his tone light, but deadly.

‘A lifetime of practice,’ you admit.

‘But you are no Jedi,’ he notes.

You hear him draw closer. His breathing - him - is right in front of you now.

‘Lights, full,’ he orders.

You don’t flinch as he sets a hand under your chin and turns your face from side to side. What he looks like doesn’t matter to you - will never matter to you.

‘So it’s true then,’ he wryly comments, ‘love really is blind.’

END

acaoe [agape] Unconditional love. In ancient Greek, love of a spouse or family.

Author’s note: What’s in ‘The Dare’ is part of an unfinished story I later used the best bits from, in a modified form, for another fic. Since this part of the ‘original’ could easily be adapted for the fic challenge, I did so. The continuation of Agape's Tale is not extracted from the unfinished story, which was my attempt at parodying bad romance novels, cliches and all, and not a very good one at that.

Part 2

Home Fiction Adult Fiction Art Mail List Staff Links