There was no great sin in Craig's appearance, yet he felt very Catholic about it. Each pimple scar on his nose and every inch on his belly felt like indelible proof of the days lived without sufficient discipline. His balding scalp wasn't the tonsure he imagined it as, yet he failed to style it, and his face was not the pathetic mask he envisioned it as, yet Craig always kept his hangdog grimace. Craig was, in short, inflicted with a vanity that believed every passing eye judged him harshly and so couldn't bear to be seen. Craig hated, then, that he sat on the steps of the Shaftesbury Fountain, on display for the midday Piccadilly crowd while he waited for his doom.

"Hello, sweet thing." She sat down without Craig noticing. He whimpered and buried his face in his hands. Craig couldn't leave any more than a frightened hound could break a choke chain. She laughed - knowing and light - and whispered like a razor blade.

"Look at me."

He had to. Craig didn't want to, but he had to. His stomach trembled like a schoolboy who knew he'd have to swallow whatever his bully handed him. She casually lounged on the steps in a much nicer suit than him. Technically, Craig could've reached out and grabbed her shoulder, but really he could never, so it'd be ridiculous to say she sat 'next' to him. The goddess - the woman - was slight, stylish, and had the profile of a falcon. Her dark curly locks suggested the shadows of some druidic grove. Her day collar suggested not just submission, but esoteric initiation.

"Please…"

"Please?"

"Please… just take the money." Craigh kicked the attaché case between his feet. "Don't make me humiliate myself."

"Oh, poor obedient thing," She cooed, with a twinkle in her eye, "You're the one who humiliates yourself."

Craig tensed, his shoulders knotting, his knuckles squeezing to the breaking point, every nerve screaming that he should flee, but every thought calling him helpless helpless helpless, pounding in the word until his skull creaked, helpless to resist her, useless to fight her, unable to deny her, her obedient thing who existed to please her , whether he liked it or not, Craig was helpless helpless helpless and SHE was holy holy holy and IT WAS RIGHT---

"But since you mentioned it, let's start with the money. What does my sweet thing have for me today?" Craig took an envelop from his case and put it down between them. She counted the notes inside. "You did so well! How did you manage this, sweet thing?"

"I realized that I can get to work by the tube and… ah…"

"Come, come, look at me."

"I sold my car."

"Aw, you thoughtful thing. I'm touched. Why are you so generous?"

Craig turned his face away like he'd been slapped. She asked again, with steel in her voice.

"Tell me why."

"Because I exist to serve you. Because I can't resist you." Craig intoned.

"Because my sweet obedient thing can't resist me. Because it can't resist the purpose I give it. Because it can't resist the chance to make me remember it exists. What is my obedient thing?"

"It is your paypig."

"That's right. You're my sweet, obedient paypig. It's no use fighting it. You know the effect I have on you. Even hearing my voice makes you feel helpless and obedient." Her honeyed timbre emphasized those words. "Something deep in you loves me and when it shows its belly, everything else turns to jelly."

Craig groaned. The world faded away. A distant part insisted he could still fight. He didn't believe that part. It was a tiny, unreal voice in the wind compared to the flensing power of her storm.

"Listen to my voice and feel yourself shrink. Feel how you empty out. Feel how you drain away and become hollow. And I fill that space inside of you, my voice flows through those hollow spaces, my words replace you - good thing, letting me in. You feel how I've become your foundations. You feel how I've become your will. Tell me you feel it."

Confused, dazed, losing his way, Craig slowly turned to look the women in the eye and nodded in confirmation.

"Then drop." She crossed her legs. Craig went limp. She scanned the passing crowd, pleased with her own power, as nobody noticed the man with his eyes rolling back. No one cares, the world said with a shrug, you can have him.

"Drop for me. Drop like you you always do. Ever since you listened to that first file, this is what you wanted, so drop for me, free of hesitation, free of resistance, treated exactly like you want to be treated. Drop because it pleases me, drop because it redeems you, shrinking away, letting me fill you, letting me make you flush and turgid."

Craig shivered. She continued.

"It feels good to please me. Dropping, pleasing, it's so good, knowing you made a gorgeous woman like me happy. When you drop and let me in, you get to be part of my sexy fairytale life. That's what you want. To be with me. To be me. Drop and surrender and be my sweet, obedient thing and enjoy it, enjoy being part of my story, borrow my perfection - drop into me, my sweet, obedient thing."

Lost, falling, insensible, Craig finally smiled. He was not Craig, failed specimen. He was a word spoken by Imaginatrix. Every day was a blessing.

"Feel my power in you. Feel my appetite teasing you from the inside. Feel my arousal become yours. You've watched me edge over and over - feel how desperate my clit is, how I smolder. That's the fire filling your veins now, the hot power inflating your cock, the neediness churning in your balls - the more I pour into you, the more aroused you are, the more needy your are, the more greedily you drink me in. Building, aching, straining, unable to stop yourself."

She traced a dark violet nail over the fabric of Craig's trousers, now tented by his erection.

"The more and more I speak, the more and more I fill you, the more and more I push you, closer and closer towards filthy release. Imagine, cumming here in public, for all those judging eyes to see, unable to fight it because you can't fight how my voice arouses, how I fill you with my heat, like a boiling ocean, filling you with pleasure, showing the whole world that you're at my mercy, proving how helpless you are against all the pleasure I give you, marking you-"

Craig came with a yelp. Hot cum pumped into his boxers. The spreading wetness threatened to ooze through even his trousers as his cock twitched and squeezed the cum out in dollops that were each an aftershock of pleasure. This time, people did turn and look. Imaginatrix only reacted with a smile. The voyeurs scurried away.

The woman chuckled. She stood up, cradled Craig's head, and kissed his bald spot. "Marking you as mine. Now, sweet thing, come back, that's it, rising back, coming up up up~!"

Craig awoke, face to face with his goddess. He immediately felt horrified.

"Oh no."

"I'll see you in a month." Imaginatrix teased. Leaving Craig in his own cum, she took the money and sauntered away, turning curious heads in her wake.