Pat barely knocked a third time when the door opened. Behind it stood a tired Alyssa Shaw. Visibly shaken and worse for wear, she still stands half a head taller than Pat. She was even more gorgeous in life than on-screen. Television has a subtle funhouse mirror effect on people, and well... perfect definition definitively triumphs high definition. Perfect definition was definitely worth the hassle he went through sneaking out of Christine’s apartment and getting on the first plane to LA.
“You’ve been looking for me,” said Pat. “I think we need to talk.”
She whimpered and let him into the house but, as he turned around and closed the door, she kneed his gut and pinned him against the wall.
Pat just smirked at her. She stared at him silently, waiting for him to take her seriously. He just laughed.
“You done?” she asked quietly, looking at him squarely in the eyes.
“I guess you really do all your own stunts. I’ve always loved that about you. You know I have your Bond girl poster at home. Live-sized too, so I can jack at it.”
Alyssa flipped open a switchblade.
“And now you’re showing some claws,” he said, and started meowing at her.
“Listen, asshole. I don’t know care why you had Christine Latour signed me that cheque, but I want you to take back every penny and leave me the fuck alone, alright? And don’t you dare pull whatever you did last time or I will cut you wrist to wrist and watch you bleed out. You won’t come back from that and I bet I won’t even go to jail for it.”
“Go and tell your Mommy Conway and Mommy Latour that I’m done with their bullshit and I don’t respond well to threats, never have.”
“Or else?” asked Pat, giving her a crooked smile.
“You know I can always tell people the truth, right?” she said. She pricked him with the knife, but pulled back before it drew blood. It seemed she was showing off her control with the knife.
“What truth would that be?”
“That you raped me.”
“Let’s assume you have the evidence...” he said, doubting her presence of mind that day. Alyssa probably didn’t remember most of it. She was tranced out as he whispered things in her ears and liberally used her body.
It was Alyssa’s turn to smile crooked. “Let’s assume I don’t, it’s still not always about the evidence, is it? Especially, when it’s true. Especially, when it’s a hill I’m willing to die on.”
“Attention is the silver bullet for people like you and Christine Latour. I gave you a taste of my positive press last week. Now just you imagine the kind of press my rape accusation brings.”
Pat reached out a hand to grab Alyssa. She slapped it away and brandished the knife at him, but he grabbed her face and forced her to face him anyways.
“No, you will not do that,” he said shaking her head for her. It was a little awkward playing rough with a taller, more statuesque woman. He even pulled loose a few strands of her pristine blonde hair. She didn’t stop him.
“Will you?” he said staring deep into her eyes, her big round blue eyes that expanded like the ocean. He’d definitely spent more time staring into those eyes through his computer screen than he cared to admit. His celebrity crush was definitely the reason behind all this mess.
“Try me,” she hissed. Her Academy Award was definitely not just for show. She was Best Lead Actress.
“Right, I totally believe you,” he said, gripping her face harder. Her skin was softer than most toddlers’. “And if I tell you to take that knife and slit your wrist open because it suits my whim, you certainly wouldn’t do it. At least not without some hesitation.”
There was a flicker of something in her eyes.
“Furthermore, if I tell you to get naked on all four while I breed you from behind like a broodmare, you certainly wouldn’t do that. At least you wouldn’t enjoy it, right?”
Pat released her. Alyssa dropped her knife and walked backwards away from him. She bent over a little and covered her mouth. She felt like throwing up.
“You are a talented and self-respecting woman who does whatever she wants and you certainly wouldn’t jump at the chance to do anything I tell you. In fact, this house isn’t completely empty and you didn’t send all your staff home. You didn’t compromise your security just to obey a short text I sent, and then rationalised it as needing to have a private conversation with me.”
Alyssa hyperventilated, but Patrick petted her head gently and rubbed the back of his hands on her newly wet cheeks. It calmed her down, and she instinctively rubbed her cheek against him. A little fanboy in him vowed never to wash that hand again.
“See? Like the feet of clays, you crumble,” said Pat. “Scientists call this the falsification method, Ms Shaw. Once you’ve rejected all the false hypotheses, what remains can only be the truth.”
“We learn something new about ourselves every day, and not all of it pleasant, you know.”
“Oh, shut the smug, asshole. This goes a little beyond self-discovery, doesn’t it? What, I suddenly discover new kinks that’s all too convenient for you? A creep with a crush?”
“Mee-ow,” he said scratching her neck and she let him. It felt so right being petted by him. “Feeling sassy are we?”
“What, the fuck, did you do to me?”
“I’m sure you have an active imagination. What do you think I did? Better yet, why don’t you do a little soul searching and ask yourself who am I, to you?”
“You’re my... my...”
“That I am.”
“How... did you...”
“Oh, a gentleman never tells. And besides, your cliché reaction bores me, miss.”
“Fuck you, what?”
“Fuck you, master.”
“Good girl,” he said. The words made Alyssa felt so... yummy and even a little drunk.
Teary eyes Alyssa finally let herself go and rubbed her face against his hands in earnest. She purred into them and shook with pleasure at her own surrender. It felt every bit as good as the voices in her head had been promising for weeks. And no, she’d never deny him anything. He owned her mind, body, and soul.
“On your knees now,” said Pat pulling her up on her knees. She didn’t resist. He reached into his carry-on backpack for a collar and a leash. Oh yes, the pay-off was very much worth the looks he got at airport security. If only they knew who these were for. “You know what to do with this?”
She swept her hair back and put on the collars. She then clipped the leash and gave him back the handle. It was his turn to smile crooked as he emptied his backpack for more toys. Alyssa just gave him a dirty look through her teary eyes.
“Hey, don’t kink shame other people, especially if you’re also into it,” he said.
Alyssa snorted. “Me? Into this?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” said Pat with a lop-sided grin as he fed her a ball gag. “Now, princess, say ahh.”
“Alright, you win,” said Alyssa. “This whole slave business? Feels too good to be a one-time thing.”
They were lying naked in her bed and she was spent. She laid on his chest. It was a bit of an awkward pairing with a taller woman resting on the man’s chest. Her torso ending where his knees were, and then her leg went on for days. The collars and harnesses were dropped on the bedroom floor, discarded.
“I’ve been told it does,” said Pat.
Alyssa gave him a wicked grin. “Oh, you have no idea,” she said.
“Tell me something,” Pat asked, picking a cute mole on her sideboob.
Alyssa stared up at Pat seductively, two large diamonds peered into his soul. He felt like a mouse staring into a constrictor, and it made him very weak in the knee.
“Uh huh?” she said, pride welling up in her chest from his reaction. She wanted to stop herself from grinning, from being too obvious, but she grinned anyways. She was just so very satisfied with herself.
“Tell you what?” She asked, forcing her face back to nonchalance.
“Come on, babe. Spit it out and I’ll give you an autograph,” she said, grabbing a Sharpie from the bedrest.
“No,” he said.
“Pretty please, master? I’ll do anything you want, master” she said in a sing-song voice.
“Fine. How’d you know I was behind Christine’s cheque?”
Alyssa part laughed part snorted.
“What?” he asked.
“I know you were affiliated with her?”
“Well... that and she was a little weird with me.”
“It’s more like a hunch, but she was... avoiding me.”
“Yeah, Christine avoids everyone.”
“That’s what I thought. Before I notice your massive, massive crush.”
“What? I never...”
“Said anything? No, you didn’t,” she said. She crawled up and nibbled his earlobe.
“But you wear your heart all over your face.” Alyssa chuckled. “It’s kind of endearing now that we’ve... updated our relationship status.”
Pat rolled his eyes, and Alyssa giggled some more.
“So you figured Christine was a fuck puppet just cause her intern was staring at you a little too long? I’m surprised they didn’t put you in a straightjacket.”
“No, but I didn’t need to figure all that out to realise something’s up, right? At least not when a dodgy heiress, who probably hates my gut, signs me a massive cheque.”
“No. Fuck... I actually thought I was being discrete.”
“Let me put it this way. You are a very sentimental person with very expressive features,” she said, smiling coyly and signed his chest with flourish. It was most definitely not her legal autograph. “In fact, I think you’d be a great actor if you channel that. You’d get type-casted a lot though.”
“And then my career would plateau, and I’d never get a shot at the Oscars.”
“Not unless you layer up, babe. And I promise you, it’s not just your hypothetical acting career that’ll suffer if you don’t.” She entwined her legs with his, sighing contently. Just touching him made her wet again.
“You know, for once, I’d hope that the brainwashing wouldn’t create another advice machine.”
“Gee... crank the affection meter up to twelve and see what happens,” she said.
“That’s not how any of that works.”
“How does any of that works actually?” she said.
“Well... your mind is an impossibly complex machine such that the parts you called ‘affection,’ ‘love,’ or ‘jealousy’ doesn't exist, just as the concept of luck doesn’t exist for a rational statistician. They are simply observed emergent patterns, often erroneously attributed. Case in point: if you asked ten people to define love or affection, you’d get ten different answers.”
“Yeah, but we can all agree on what they feel like, right?” said Alyssa.
“Can you?” said Pat.
Alyssa touched a finger to her lips, batting her eyes at him playfully.
“Hmm... you know what I think?” said Alyssa, pausing. “I think you’re so dreamy when you talk smart. I want you to keep telling me things, anything at all. And I’ll say ‘Yes, master. Anything you wish, master. My mind is chained to your will, master.’ And I want to be the number one fan to your big, sexy brain,” said Alyssa breathlessly.
“Now you’re pandering,” Pat said. He could have said the Earth was flat, and she’d marvel at his profound insight.
“Come on, man, deflection is a sign of insecurity. Take your compliments like a champ, say ah.” She came in for a kiss but pulled away giggling before their lips met.
Frustrated, Pat tried to grab her. Still, she kept swatting his hands, and the whole affair devolved into a lover’s scuffle, with Alyssa giggling uncontrollably as Pat tried and failed to get ahold of her. Eventually, they both gave up and laid back, exhausted.
“You know,” he said after a pause. “I never imagine you quite this... bubbly. God knows how much Jimmy Fallon I watched when you were on. And you’re always this classy, funny person. I’ve never even seen you giggle.”
“Pffft,” she said. “You really need to stop fangirling because I’ve definitely had stalkers who were much less of a fan. Although... I think I haven’t let my hair down this far since I started acting.”
“So what, twenty-three years?”
“Twenty-two,” said Alyssa.
“Thirty-one minus nine, inclusive, is twenty-three. You forgot to count the first year.”
“Like I said, master. Stop fangirling,” she said with a wink.
Pat sighed. Then, he sat up and deliberately disentangled himself.
“But, really, you wouldn’t have signed my chest if you wanted me to stop obsessing, would you? In fact, I could’ve brought you to my bedroom, plastered the wall with your posters and screened your face on my duvet. You would’ve offered the token outrage but gladly let me fuck you into your face anyways,” he said.
“Anything to keep me happy, right? You know what I think? I think you’re just a caricature of a person. I think the real Alyssa would’ve been crept the fuck out and hurt me real bad at the door.”
“I bet if I met her on the streets, she’d disdainfully treat me like just another superfan she had to avoid. And if a guy Alyssa was seeing – not me, cause Christ knows it ain’t gonna be me – asked her for a signature, it’d be over. Right then and there, it’d be over.”
“See... you’re a shitty cartoon imitation. Just my mailed-in porn with extra steps. In fact, I think I’m just talking to one of my sock puppets that say whatever I want. It’s always the same motherfucking pattern with slaves.”
“Master, master, master,” said Pat sarcastically. “Well... guess what? You. Fucking. Disgust. Me.” Sometimes Pat felt like a grown man playing in a wind-up dollhouse.
“Mee-ow,” she said, smiling from the corner of her lips. “You’re super cute when you freak out too.”
Pat breathed in angrily, but Alyssa put a hand on his chest before he could go on.
“Hang back a second, Midas. Let me explain,” she said, sitting up. “From what I gather, you think you corrupt people with your touch, and now you’re all alone in a funhouse with a bunch of lifeless puppets.”
“Bullseye,” said Alyssa with a smirk. “Well... I say guess again cause, news flash, this is it. This is the real me.”
Pat raised an eyebrow.
“You know I’m not who I am on TV. But do you think there’s an inner self that I kept away from the world? My hopes and dreams and prayers? Fuck no. I told myself I wanted Best Lead Actress since I was a fetus. When I got that, I told myself I wanted to make a difference in the world. Whatever that means. Then, I said I wanted a successful marriage and some kids. Guess what? Hopes and dreams are just random moving goalposts. There’s no inner Alyssa except a fantasy created out of necessity. A glorified bedtime story I used to cope with the gaping black hole that is my life. Organic Xanax, babe. Twice as potent.”
“What do you think Alyssa, the real Alyssa, is doing every day? It’s not charity and it’s not working on successful a relationship. I can tell you that much. Trish sends out all my progressive tweets now, and sure I’m invested enough to take the heat if any of it backfires, but guess what? My fucking PR is outsourced too. And my love life? That’s one hell of a train wreck if you like looking at one, and I don’t give a fuck. The real Alyssa cares about another Best Lead Actress, about selling my boring book, about making another billion dollars.”
“Do you even know how good it feels? When people say I’m one of the greats? When my face is all the ID I need? When I use my fuck-you money?”
Pat made a gesture with his arms and torso.
“Yup, exactly, Skynet,” she said.
“That’s who I am, minus the fairy tale, Pat. That’s who we all are. The real Alyssa does what’s right for Alyssa. What feels good for Alyssa.”
“So, did you think I let you put me in a harness because you’re my master? You think I’m buttering your ego because it suits you? Pffft. I’m doing it because it feels good for me. It feels fucking good to do whatever my motherfucking master wants, so I do it. That’s my free will. That’s what makes me who I am. That’s the real Alyssa. In fact, I bet you could make me a gimp who eats my own shit and I’d still do it because I want to.”
Pat raised his eyebrow even higher.
“Okay, okay, maybe please do not do that ever. But point is, you haven’t changed me or perverted me. Not one bit. You messed with my head and shifted my priorities around, sure. Gave me my newest goalpost, sure. Big fucking deal, man. This is still all me, all proud.”
“That’s the limit to your power, and that’s one hell of a blessing for you. Because clearly, you have so much power you’re going off the rail questioning the nature of your reality. Like no shit your life is a loop, Dolores. Everyone else’s is too. Truth is when you’ve gotten everything you want out of life, you’re left with a bad movie that never ever ends. That’s the happily-ever-after we all get. Boring, lukewarm, traumatising. And we’re all coping.”
“Trust me, I was there before you were. Back against the wall, neck-deep in my own shit. Too rich, too pretty, and too savvy not to get away with everything. That’s where you’re at still. But now I’m out. Free. Collar around my neck. Happy as a puppy. And honestly? You’re probably the only one in our little gang hanging out in the toilet.”
“So, you know, fix your lot before you condescend mine,” she said.
“Mee-ow,” Pat said.
“So,” he said after a long pause. “Not just a pretty face, huh?”
“Just doing my job, boss,” she said, biting her lower lip in mock shyness. “A girl’s got to eat.” Oh God, it’s those eyes again.
“You know, the one where I get into people’s heads and, sometimes, pretend to be them?” she said, playing with her gold locks and scrutinising at her nails.
“Huh... turns out you’re not terrible at it,” he said.
“Not at all,” she said, kissing him for the first time ever, slowly and deliberately. “Besides, like I said...”
“It feels good?”
“Mhmm-hmm,” said Alyssa meekly, batting her eyelashes like a little girl caught with her hands in the cookie jar.
Alyssa moved lower, to the chin, to the chest, and to the crotch. She purposefully planted kisses all over him. She went to every nook and crevices, and she baptised them with her attention, all while dangling her cleavage and toned body in front of him. She jacked him, then she rubbed her pussy against him, and then she licked him, always improvising a variation on the theme. Evidently, this was no intercourse of equals, yet it wasn’t apparent which way the scale tips.
She didn’t moan at him. For the most part, she was silent, but occasionally a quiet, sexy growl would escape her. A growl that told him she was getting off on servicing him, and she was the one losing control of the situation. He’d be fucking her brains out just by existing as if he had grown from man to some profane fetish that corrupts her presence. The rational voice in his head told him that Alyssa was doing what she did best, putting on a show, and that he was watching yet another one of her movies. Alas, he was but a man and no stoic paragon of rationality.
He had always known that some women would have been too much for him without the power, but he knew then that Alyssa was a different octane of too much. Without his power, Christine would have frozen his balls and cut him up piecemeal, but Alyssa, oh great and terrible Alyssa, would have exploded in his face like the Oppenheimer bomb. She was Death, the destroyer of worlds. If Helen of Troy was the face that launched a thousand ships, Alyssa Shaw was Venus with a surface temperature of 700 degrees Kelvin. If only she took all that energy and focused it back on herself, well... he would utterly be at her mercy. Pat finally understood the high divorce rate in this strange little Californian town.
“Hey, hey,” he said. “I was thinking... what’s that Tilda Swinton character in Dr Strange again?”
She bolted upright. “Are you saying I’m old?” she said, growling for real.
“I’m saying you have a sagely vibe.”
“Dude, way to kill the mood,” she said.
“Hey, you’re both Irish, right?”
Alyssa deadpanned him and flipped him over on the bed. She pinned him down. Unsurprisingly, she was strong. Some people really did exercise for a living.
“Hey, hey, stop. I’m ticklish too,” he said.
“Uh huh,” she said flatly.
Between the soft cleavage, hard nipple and toned wet crotch pinning one of his thighs, Pat was rocked hard. Added to the fact he was being tickled by his celebrity crush, and he drifted so close to blessed release, but there was nought he could do cucked by his own hysterics. Alyssa hovered so near and yet, if desires are measured in yearnings, so far. She smelled of cinnamon, saffron, and amyris. She was fire made flesh.
Pat surrendered himself to the sensation but, just as he was nearing the final approach, her hand choked his cock, and she repositioned herself. She nimbly inserted him and the incandescent warmth of her cunt caressed him over the limit. An intense curl ran into the depth of his balls, and he violently emptied himself. Alyssa came as Pat came, loudly and with complete abandon, her sacred charge accomplished. Both were finally sure there would be no more sex that night.
After Alyssa retreated, Pat found her staring at him. A sheen of sweat now christened her person. “Promise me one thing, master,” she said. “Whatever’s eating at you, fix it. For your sake. For all our sakes.”
She kissed him chastely on the cheek and snuggled in for the night.