Asher called her every day to her shock and confusion. Why was he being so nice to her? Now that Jezebel was coming out of a drug haze, she was realizing that she wasn't actually a very interesting person.
Smart, sure, but Jezebel didn't have friends, didn't do much of anything besides drug shenanigans, and fucking. After that... she was lost with a lot of time on her hands.
It was amazing how many hours were in a day when Jezebel wasn't frantically sleeping off some kind of hangover.
Jezebel ended up buying a Rosetta Stone course on Russian and doing it sporadically with her free time because she was sick of him spouting off at the mouth with the language at random times.
Jezebel read some more Stephenson, looked into Simmons' Hyperion.
Jezebel flitted from topic to topic and puzzle cube to puzzle cube and remembered why she hated sobriety.
See, she would pick up a cube and study it, noticing how sides reacted, how to tuck them safely away to change another side instead, and how to turn pieces back so that more would come back solved.
It was easy to look at it and see the patterns unfold, and Jezebel refused to use algorithms. But then, once she would see the rhythm of a side and watch the pattern be correct, she would get bored, wouldn't even want to finish the cube.
You see, if Jezebel could figure out the separate pieces, it made her know beyond doubt that she could solve the cube. And knowing she could made it boring.
Why did Jezebel want to finish figuring it out after realizing her own prowess? The puzzle wasn't there anymore once she got the gist of it, so she'd just be solving the rest to have the satisfaction of seeing a finished cube, and that felt dumb.
But then, in moments like those, Jezebel would glance at her phone. There was one puzzle she didn't have all the answers to. That icy look in his eyes. Jezebel still didn't even know his name either, but even so, he was a far more interesting puzzle.
Especially now that she had seen his more relaxed form of dominating. That had been every bit as strict as his other dominance and yet, somehow with less... severity, maybe?
Asher's punishment dominance was harsh and serious, while that other version had allowed her to flirt with him.
Jezebel picked up the phone and called him. Maybe she could flirt again and tinker with him like he was her own personal Lament Configuration.
"Hello, Pet." Asher's voice sent desire pulsing through her clit, even soft on the phone as it was.
"Good evening, Dr. Lecter."
Asher chuckled. "Ah, still on that, are we? You might want to wait for those kinds of accusations until after you try the fava beans and Chianti. They tell me I'm not supposed to take those with my medication, so it's good I'm not on it, Clarice."
Jezebel laughed happily. "No one ever knows the real joke behind that quote."
Asher's smile was quite warm. "I'm afraid you're not alone, Pet. I enjoy Thomas Harris and do know that joke, as well."
"Well, at least you're only eating people and not trying to feed a stray cat to an ATM. Honestly, Lecter was sexier than Bateman."
"I think that unlikely to be the image that Harris was going for. But I would agree anyway, relatively speaking. A controlled sociopath does seem hotter than a broken psychopath."
Oh, this was fun. Asher knew his books and he kept up with even her obsessive references. "I contend that his being hot was absolutely what they were going for in the show."
"You'll lose me on that one. I only know books and opera."
"Gross. Not to the books, but the opera. That's weird. And um... can I show you the show then? I'm bored. I... would like some company, please, sir."
Anytime Jezebel would ask for something like that, he would chuckle with this soft way he had. "We can spend some of the afternoon and early evening together, but I will have to be back for the night, as you know, Pet."
Oh. Right. Asher had to watch over the club and his kinky subjects, rule as their king and god. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Polite. Always be polite. Asher was inherently teaching her very good manners, and those were even more reinforced by their lack of names.
He was Sir, and she was Pet, so far. And those names commanded her manners with him almost as easily as breathing.
Where once the names had felt like an intimate tether, they were starting to seem more like a protective guard against their real relationship.
So that day, when he got to her little college apartment, Jezebel opened the door and forced herself to ask him, "What's your name?"
The smile he gave her made her go weak at the knees. It was dark with intent. Asher stepped over the doorstep and shut it quickly before he caught her by her hair, and Jezebel felt sticky arousal between her legs within seconds.
"I do have a name, but it is not for young, barely alcohol legal girls who show up in my club on hard drugs. It is also not for girls who show up on a fun date with me with their flesh razored and their eyes swollen red from confused tears. No, those girls get a different name for me, and it is the only name permitted to leave their lips. Those girls had better politely call me 'Master'."
Jezebel whimpered, drenching her thong. "But you aren't my master and I'm not your slave."
Asher's wicked smile only grew. "Not intimately, but in a vague sense? I soothe your wounds, and I'm a guidance figure for you. Can we both agree on that?"
Jezebel nodded quickly because he most certainly was a guidance figure. Asher was a sensei, a teacher, who commanded her in things like discipline.
"Those figures often go by that name. Try it on your lips. Go on and say it, just to feel how it tastes on your tongue while looking at me."
Jezebel opened her mouth, feeling that sensation of flirting and dealing with the devil, especially when he looked down at her with such glittering ice in his eyes. Once again, she had that sensation of a storybook.
Asher was Joe Black and she was the daughter of the man he was sent to fetch, except Jezebel didn't think this version of Joe had enough mercy to leave the daughter in the world of the living when he found her.
Jezebel kind of didn't want him to, just like she kind of didn't want the movie version of Hannibal, the one where he cut off his own arm to let Clarice escape unscathed.
No, she wanted the book version where he so thoroughly corrupted her, so twisted her mind that she finally fell at his knees and broke to feed on Krendler with him. Jezebel wanted to be the purity of Clarice and fall to his corruption.
Alright, well, she certainly wasn't the purity of anything, really, but even so. Jezebel stared up into his eyes, heart thundering, imagining that he held her hypnotized by his gaze, like the Phantom holding Christine thrall. Angel, her soul was weak. Forgive her. Enter at last-
"I'm waiting." Asher's voice was soft, his eyes intent, and that calmness drew her in so that Jezebel forgot her fears and fell to her storybook fantasies.
"Yes, Master."
___
*Author's note*
*Currently accepting bribes from characters to change their plot fates*
Listen, I know protagonist #2 slipped some chocolate under my door to avoid that tragic backstory, but I REMAIN UNCORRUPTED!
...mostly.
However, YOU, my beloved readers, could influence the story with something far more powerful – your thoughts and feedback! Much more effective than the coffee beans the antagonist keeps leaving on my windowsill.
*Munches suspiciously on gifted chocolate while maintaining eye contact*
***