Mesmer Read online

  I pulled my fingers from inside her and stepped away. She wobbled, her juices stringing from her cunt.

  “I’m no longer that scared little teenager, Hannah.” I let my voice saw into her, low and rumbly. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  She stared at me, doe-eyed and dazed, and I stared back. Watched.

  If my mesmer bros knew I was keeping her, they might want to join in on my fun. They might want to kill her. Why? We had a code. Don’t mess with what works for us. No connections to our collectables. Which means I probably shouldn’t tell them? Though having all of us fuck her at once... that idea had me wiping my mouth. So, I could? Keep it in the files as a maybe.

  And that spread-eagled angel concept might do for a finale.

  Last thing on my to-do list for little lost Hannah.

  I sat on the bed, legs apart, and pulled her to me until she was snug against my groin where I ached. Still dizzy from the orgasm, she slipped to her knees. Just the right level for cock.

  I worked my fingers through her thick hair, tangled into the roots, wrapping in like I was a part of that hair, then I twisted my wrist backward. A little bit of pain.

  Mouth open, forced to look up, she made a high-pitched noise that reminded me of a cat crying for assistance.

  “You want something, Hannah, girl from my past? You sound a little...” I savored the warmth of her body wriggling against my legs. “Desperate.”

  Still she had not talked. I frowned. What if erasing her memories did something irrevocable? Could I bring them back at a command?

  I leaned down, put my elbow to my knee, and regarded my latest acquisition. “Have you no thoughts?”

  “Only of you,” she murmured. “Tomik.”

  “You’re a zombie-robot-girl, right now. I hate those. I may as well have a well-made blow-up doll. I’ll find the dials, the levers, the strings to pull in your mind.”

  I knew little of messing about with their heads except for in a blunt instrument, basic mesmer way.

  Now to see if I could bring the memories back.

  “I want you to remember the years I took from you, sweet angel.”

  “I...” Horror dawned this time. Her eyes fixated on mine. “Oh God. No. No.” She covered her mouth. “What am I doing here? Why...”

  Her face went through enough spasms to make me wonder if she was seizing, and then tears erupted. The memory dump must suck. Still, it’d worked. She choke-sobbed and I held her to me, again, for the same reason as that night when I’d made her shower and pack.

  “Shhh. That’s enough. Stop thinking. My poor little killer angel, I will make it better. You’re going to forget again now. Forget what you just remembered. I want to mindfuck you, and to do that, I need a mind.”

  When I first turned mesmer, when the brothers taught me what I was, I’d looked to understand. Why could I do what I did to these girls? Why me, why us? Why not Joe down the street? How did the mind become so vulnerable? I still wanted answers and maybe now I could have them.

  “You’re going to be my experiment, Hannah. Forget...”

  3

  Hannah

  I’m not supposed to be here.

  That one thought banged through me, and for a moment I could only feel panic. My eyes went wide, frantically looking around the curved edge of the small, private box.

  There were six seats, I counted them fast, but we were alone. Only me and him—the large man standing beside me with his fingers wrapped too tightly around my arm.

  I pulled back on instinct, and then he faced me, looking at me like I’d pissed him off.

  Tomik?

  “Sit,” he commanded in a hard tone, and my body buckled. Ass into the cushioned seat, arm still grasped in his hand, and a second later I couldn’t remember where else I wanted to be. I’m supposed to be here, in this seat, with him—right?

  “Where are we?” I whispered, watching the people milling about below the balcony as they searched for their seats. The blood-red curtain on the stage was closed, a pattern of light swirling across the front of it that reminded me of water.

  “We’re seeing a play. You still like theatre, right?” It was a question, but he was gripping my arm so hard I wasn’t sure if I should answer. Shaking me, he released a low growl under his breath before he repeated himself. “Do you still like the theatre, Hannah?”

  Hannah. I’m Hannah.

  “Yes,” I answered quietly, and he finally let me go, but I couldn’t stop looking at his hand. I wanted it back, wanted it on me... but I didn’t. He’d felt dangerous. Everything inside me was telling me to run, but I couldn’t even lift myself out of the seat enough to adjust.

  When had I ever liked dangerous?

  Something was very wrong. Looking down, I tugged at the dress riding high on my thighs—too short. I would have never worn something like this, definitely not in public. Bright white and cut so low that I could see the round of my breasts in the V. No bra and, as I fidgeted in the seat, I realized there was no underwear either. “Tomik, what—”

  “Spread your legs.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when my knees started to move, but I grabbed onto my thighs to stop them.

  “Now,” he added, and I felt the vibration of the word. It made my muscles quake, shuddering under my grip as my knuckles turned white, my nails digging into my skin as I tried to fight it... but my legs parted anyway.

  I wanted it; I didn’t want it. The opposites flooded me, denying logic.

  Now that I’d spread my thighs, I was happy. More than happy—arousal frissoned between my legs, along my slit, burgeoning.

  My eyelids closed slightly as I remembered desire from long ago, when we’d held hands while sitting on the reservoir wall. Tomik and I, teenagers, fumbling flirtatious teenagers, his thigh nudging mine and his thumb pressing on the back of my hand.

  Today it was both desire and dread.

  Fear trickled down my spine, unease unfurling in my stomach as I built up the strength to look at him. He wasn’t even looking at me, he was staring out at the audience like he hadn’t just told me to spread my legs. Why had I obeyed? Why couldn’t I close them now? I tried to stand, bracing my hands on the armrests, but I didn’t lift more than an inch before my body dropped back down.

  “Why can’t I get up?” I whispered.

  “Stop fidgeting,” he replied casually, without even a glance.

  His words weighted my limbs with sandbags, and my hands slid from the armrests and landed limply at my sides.

  Panic inched up my throat. I wanted to scream, to lift my arms and grab onto him and shake him. There was no way this could be happening. No way that this could be Tomik, my Tomik. Not the boy who had been my best friend and my first heartbreak. My Tomik wouldn’t do this to me.

  “Please stop?” I meant to say it as a statement, a demand, but it came out like a question. A quiet little plea that held more of a whine than I wanted it to… not good. This was definitely wrong. A bad dream. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Please stop, Tomik.”

  “No, I don’t think I will,” he answered, finally turning to look at me again.

  There was a slight smile on his face, just a tilt at the edge of his mouth as if he found it funny that I couldn’t move. Tongue sliding over his bottom lip, his gaze traced over my breasts, down my body, only stopping when he reached the edge of my small dress.

  My thighs were still apart, my lack of underwear obvious to me, and I had a feeling he knew. Making as small a movement as I could, I swallowed. I hated this—being made to display myself.

  How was he doing it? Hypnosis?

  “I tried so hard to stay away from you, Hannah, girl who stole my fucking heart. I did so much to spare you. And then you had to fucking call me.” Those last words he’d snarled out tersely. I’d have known he was angry even if he wasn’t throwing in fuck like it was punctuation confetti.

  “I called you?” I shifted as much as I could in the seat, trying to remember that
, but the harder I searched for the memory, the more I found only empty space. Empty, scarred space.

  There lay a pit where memories had died, and more than just the one. As I tried to focus, to make myself remember, I found the strangest image. Not a memory of Tomik or of any call I may have made to him, nothing helpful.

  Instead, I saw ten gray fingers inching over the lip of a dark pit.

  Vertigo swam in. Those fingers clutching, holding on, wriggling even, like they had thoughts about coming out—something had thoughts. Not me. That was not me.

  “Never mind. The play is starting. Pay attention.” Another command, but at least this one I wanted to obey because it broke me away from the creepy thing in my head.

  It wasn’t real. Just a… thought, a dream.

  Two men strolled onstage and I recognized the play almost immediately. Hamlet. At least I liked this one, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Tomik wasn’t answering any of my questions, he barely responded even when I managed to assemble the words I needed.

  His heavy hand arrived on my thigh. I stared down at the dimness where my legs and his hand must exist. His warm fingers played with me and the dress, inching it up, toying there, drawing intricate and unseen designs. At times I shuddered, overcome by what seemed a perversion, forced to endure his skin on mine.

  Despite my confusion, I grew ever more aroused. If he kept on with his toying, I would leave a patch of wetness on the seat. Embarrassing.

  Tomik stroked a single finger along and up my thigh, drawing close to my most intimate parts. If he went higher, I’d move, wouldn’t I? I’d slap him?

  His thumb and finger pinched my skin, hard, creating sudden fire. I’d swear my clit felt the warmth and shift of air when his hand moved. Gasping, stunned at his act, I bit back a moan.

  “N—” The protest died on my tongue though I wriggled. Futile, I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Shhh, Hannah.” His finger and thumb released me. “The play.”

  I shut down. I kept doing whatever he told me to, my body on automatic.

  I was a passenger in my own skin, and the worst of this was that beside me was the boy I’d loved that day at the reservoir—the boy, now man, I’d dreamed about for years.

  Once, I would’ve rejoiced, now I only felt the rising anxiety. Tears welled in my eyes while below the actors carried on with their Shakespeare and tragedy.

  Once upon a time…

  As if through gauze, I recognized the scene with a ghost walking along a castle wall. Plays were usually my weakness. Not tonight.

  No. Not tonight.

  Tomik had me and I was happy after all. A smile hung on my mouth.

  He kissed my ear, saying softly, “That’s it. You’ll like this. Keep watching the play, unless I say not to.”

  “Hi there. Do you need anything?” A woman’s voice whispered from behind us.

  I tried to turn but found I still couldn’t move. Panic pulsed through my veins with each beat of my heart. Claustrophobia descended, stifling me as I failed, yet again, to look at her.

  “Isn’t this my lucky day?” Tomik said, chuckling under his breath. “Come here.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see a young woman, and I managed to turn my head enough to catch a glimpse of her, before my head snapped back to look at the stage.

  Watch the play.

  “Turn around, bend down, and put the tray on the step. Slowly.” Tomik had a low, thrumming edge to his voice that made my skin buzz, but he wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to the girl. The attendant for the balcony box. “Very nice. I think you’ll be much more entertaining than the play.”

  “Please, sir, I just want to get back to work.” The girl had a shake of fear to her voice, and distantly I understood why. That raw panic when you realize your body isn’t yours anymore.

  Tears sprang up as I fought the weighted feeling in my limbs.

  “Keep trying. Your little struggles amuse me,” he murmured before turning to the girl again. “Shut up and get on the floor. Yeah, right in the corner there so you’re nice and hidden.” Tomik’s hand landed on my thigh.

  The weight of it seemed to ripple massively, a shockwave that wrenched at my willpower.

  I gasped and shut my eyes a second, before stealing another glance of the small, dark-haired girl as she sat on the floor.

  “Tomik, stop it,” I said, a little louder, fighting the tears, trying to get him to be the boy I knew, the kind boy, and leave the girl alone.

  Suddenly he was at my ear, his exhaled breath brushing my skin. “You need to be quieter, Hannah. We don’t want to attract the attention of the other audience members, now do we?”

  “No,” I whispered, and he chuckled just before he nipped my earlobe, sucking on it.

  I sighed. So beautiful.

  Silvery threads of bliss bound up the panic in my veins, choked it off, and made it sink away, to become… nothing.

  “That’s right. Be a good girl and stay quiet.” Tomik turned from me, dragging away some of the peace. I needed him touching me. His hand squeezed my thigh, painfully—a good pain that anchored me and made my toes curl. Again, his voice carried that funny edge. “You. Take your clothes off. On your knees. There. Remember to stay hidden. This is our little secret.”

  “Tomik!” I jerked my body, almost able to lift my hand, almost able to grab him. He laughed quietly and my muscles lost their strength.

  A near-silent whine escaped my clenched teeth when I caught the edge of one of her legs in my peripheral vision. An arm’s length away at most. Lean forward and Tomik could touch her. She too obeyed, though perhaps with less questioning than I.

  “You can watch her, Hannah.” With those words, I found I could disregard the play, turning just in time to see the girl sliding her dress over her head.

  Tears ran down her cheeks. A narrow shaft of light that speared her corner revealed wild eyes. Fear had her.

  I could only stare, listening to the thudding beats of my heart.

  Hell, I couldn’t move my own arms, how could I help her? How could I save her from this man I thought was Tomik when I didn’t even understand what he was doing?

  This was insane.

  “Sit on my lap.” He squeezed my thigh and with that I was freed.

  I was able to move, to pull my knees together, to shake out my hands, but only so I could stand and slide onto his lap. Without hesitating, he adjusted me, pulling me back to nestle against his firm chest.

  Throat tightening, I faced the poor girl huddled on the floor as she slid off her underwear, bra then panties. They lay in a dark puddle of cloth beside her. Naked, she hugged her legs to her chest.

  I could feel Tomik’s laugh more than I could hear it.

  “Both of you spread your legs.” His voice was steeped in lust, coated, glistening with it.

  In that moment I despised him, and then his touch settled me.

  No. No. I needed to do more than be this thing he manipulated.

  “No,” I said as loudly as I could, but my thighs parted at the same time hers did, and Tomik helped by draping one of my legs over the armrest. I swiped at the tears on my cheek, trying not to look at the girl on the floor who was now completely exposed. “How are you doing this?” My whisper was almost a squeak. “Why? Please, Tomik, please just tell me why.”

  “Because I can. You’ll see, you’re going to love it.” He slid his hand between my thighs and the second he stroked through my folds, my back arched, a soft gasp tearing its way into my lungs.

  “Oh God,” I moaned softly. The pleasure was instantaneous, even though he was barely brushing my clit with each stroke. My nails dug into my thighs, hips tilting, begging for more, and then he took his hand away and I choked on a quiet cry. I was so wet, I wanted more, I needed him to touch me again. Needed that back, even though it was horrible, even though the girl on the floor was crying and terrified.

  “Girl, why don’t you take that beer bottle and fuck yourself with it,” Tomik sugges
ted, casual as a man carving meat off the bone, and he slid two fingers inside me as he continued. I whimpered, tried to fight the moan that ended up as an undercurrent to his next words. “You can take your time, make it look really good.”

  I could tell the girl was fighting it, her hands shaking so bad that the other glasses on the tray rattled when she took hold of the beer bottle. I wanted to fight for her, to make Tomik take it back. I wanted to be disgusted as she held it between her legs, poised to enter herself, but Tomik was slowly fingerfucking me, and all I could feel was the teasing promise of an orgasm.

  Soaking wet, I leaned back on his chest, spread my legs wider, twitching my hips in time with each slippery plunge of his fingers.

  The girl pumped the neck of the beer bottle in and out of her, crying silently, but I couldn’t feel anything except near ecstasy. So close to coming. My hushed sounds were ever more desperate. More, I needed more of this man in me. More than fingers. I was pleading, whispering that I needed him, that I needed him to fuck me. I was saying things I’d never even thought in my head because I just needed more.

  “Good girl,” he murmured, and his hand went over my mouth, clamped down hard, and then… I came. My gasp caught against Tomik’s palm, delirious as he slid his fingers free and shoved them in my mouth, choking me a little as he flattened my tongue.

  I was still whimpering, still crying, still moaning softly when he growled out, “Deeper, bitch. Stick it deeper.”

  The beer bottle stuttered, her head was shaking back and forth, dark hair flailing over her shoulders, then she leaned against the wall behind her and pushed. Her mouth opened wider in a silent cry and I watched her body stretch to accept the foreign object.

  Horrified, I kept sucking at his fingers, starving for his taste, rocking my hips on his lap like some kind of whore.

  “Get on your knees, Hannah,” he snapped, almost shoving me off his thighs as he leaned over the arm of the seat.

  The second his hand touched the girl’s knee, she writhed, the beer bottle surging inward another inch, and I watched, dazed, as she slid down the wall onto her back, leg closer to Tomik so he didn’t have to reach so far.