Twisted Tales of the Dark Star

Her chest gently rises and falls, her eyelids sit softly closed as her arms gently rest at her sides across the navy leather chaise longue beneath her.

I step around her, admiring the physical beauty of her dusky appearance.

Nisha had approached me for assistance not long after the start of the academic year, seeking empathy, validation, and guidance. A word of mouth referral made to her by her housemate Ari Walker-Smith following the guidance and cognitive therapy I had offered the stunning platinum blonde eight months ago. Much to my disappointment the enigmatic little blonde had never returned to my office, on the ground floor of the University's Psychology faculty, certainly not for professional advice or guidance at least.

Nisha is a second year finance student and by the evidence of year first year's assessments she is a knowledgeable and driven individual, despite room for improvement in her achievements and grades to date. By her own admission she knew that the weight of her academic workload and personal expectations to achieve have become a burden of anxiety that have clearly begun to take a toll on her mental health.

Anxiety to achieve being the youngest of three siblings her brothers already qualified accountants forging career paths with prestigious London financiers. Nisha suffered from a crippling lack of confidence and belief in herself that she could achieve. self belief

Lofty expectations born of being raised in a family that has placed a strong emphasis on academic and personal achievements. From our preliminary discussions I had easily diagnosed how this had led Nisha to feel as though she constantly needed to prove herself, in the face of her parent's constant criticism of balance of her need to follow the perceived normalities of an active social life, just like any of her peers.

As I step before her as her body, she remains motionless, relaxed into the deep state of hypnosis, I have lulled her into.

Pulling her down across the leather surface to leave her flat on her back I kneel upon the chaise longue. The new piece of furniture had been an elaborate purchase made at my own expense. The stigma of such a cliche adornment to the office was genuinely unnecessary for any legitimate process, the opportunities the wide two meter long leather chair afforded me were more than compensation.

Straddling her midriff, I ease down the sliver zip of her casual little black hooded sweatshirt. Revealing a black sports bra that covered her ample breasts. She had admitted weeks ago to always wearing such gym-wear to our weekly sessions as she wanted to hide the truth of where she truly was from her friends and associates. Her subterfuge matters little to me as she lays without stirring beneath me, blissfully unawares that I lower the zip fly of sage green corduroy trousers. Slipping my erect length through the gap I create I lift the thick elasticated band of the sports bra that sits below her breasts. Easing myself forward pressing my phallus across her toned sternum so that my length slips beneath the black Lycra garment and between her ample cleavage.

Letting the tension of the elasticated garment fall across the base of my shaft I groan at the tension its tightness assures, her breasts held firmly around me as a result. Resting my hands on the cushioned back of the chaise longue I look down on Nisha's peaceful face. Allowing the chaise longue to bear the weight of my upper body as my hips begin to slowly move back and forth, glancing between us to see the swollen head of my glans slip in and out of the dusky cleavage that is exposed by the cut of the garment.

Minutes later spurred as much by the tension of the garment across the base of my shaft as her breasts pressed up against the thrusts of my erection I groan. The intensity of the friction spurring my climax as I look down to see the thick white deposit of ejaculate that spills in a puddle across her neck towards her right collar bone. Noting how ejaculate also streaks the underside of her jaw.

Breathlessly I observe, as a satisfied grin creeps across my features.

"Thank you, Nisha," I offer as I slip myself from under the sports bra dragging the tip of my dick between her cleavage one last time, before I dismount on the urgency born of needing to removing the evidence of the deposit I have left across her chest, in case it should seep towards her clothing.

Twenty minutes later, brought back to consciousness by simple commands and reverse countdown I watch as Nisha steps from my office into the reception beyond blissfully unawares of the sordid act I have used her body for.

**********

I set the empty pint glass down on the bar.

The dimly lit L shaped bar that wraps around the interior of the building is painfully quiet. Casting my eye across the bar I stand at I watch as a bar tender in her mid thirties wipe a cloth across the far end of the bar cleaning incessantly in attempt to stave off the crippling boredom of the painfully quiet venue.

"Get you another?" She offers on a pleasant enough smile from a weary face.

"I'm good thanks... that's me done." I offer folding the evening edition newspaper under my arm, silently cursing the crossword puzzle that has me stumped, as I take a brief look to my watch.

Slipping from the wooden seat of the high legged chair at the bar I cross the narrow venue in a matter of paces, as I pull open the brass handled door a collective groan comes from the three males congregated in the far corner of the run down little public house. My natural assumption their reaction being to an unwanted event in the game of football they collectively watch on a muted wall mounted television.

I do not care for their collective disappointment, even as they futilely start to argue amongst themselves as continue out into the cold autumnal night. The wet pavement reflects back the bright lights of the takeaway food establishments that line the streets. The heavy baseline of music fills the air from a premises just to my left. Crossing the quiet street as rain starts to steadily fall once more, heading into the shadows and the deep recess of a doorway of the abandoned former retail premises opposite of the Kings Arms pub I have just frequented, glancing back to my watch I look over at the venue that's the source of the constant drone of music.

'Velvet' a blue white neon sign reads above the only door of the two storey building. The doorway to which is blocked by two imposing looking security staff in dark matching raincoats. It is a little after eight forty five by the hands of my watch as I keeping my eyes on the venue Nisha Bulsara had referenced earlier that afternoon. The venue that she was heading to in order to celebrate her friend Kayleigh's birthday.

She had freely offered up details on the pre-planned night out on idle conversation following our weekly therapy session, an unremarkable hour in which I had not even abused the privilege of the control I held over the young Indian girl. That was until she had offered me detail on the night out, specifically relaying the unnecessary information that they always get to the venue before nine pm to avoid paying for entry. She had gratefully accepted my offer of guided mediation and positive affirmation at the end of the session, an opportunity I took full advantage of as she had rested herself across the chaise lounge.

Time creeps by, my attention pricked by every approaching group to the venue, but I do not see her. The proposition that she has already arrived, already entered the garish looking establishment crosses my mind more than once. Until at two minutes to nine o'clock I witness a black Ford Mondeo bearing Taxi plates pull up opposite of the venues entrance, I instantly recognise the front passenger.

The doors of the taxi hurriedly fling open, the platinum blonde in the front seat heads around the front of the vehicle whilst the passengers in the back head around the rear of the vehicle. Ari Walker-Smith's slender physique silhouettes against the cars headlights her heels strike the road and pavement hurriedly. In a blur all three passengers enter the premises as the door staff part for them in the pouring rain.

Crossing the street, I pull the lapels of my jacket up against the rain, my head down as I approach the venue. A leather gloved hand presses to my chest as I look up a little startled by the physicality of the blunt obstruction to my route.

"Where you going?" the pudgy faced bouncer offers on a grunt rather than a sentence.

"Inside for a drink," I offer with a neutral tone, conscious not to rile the meathead who stands between me and the entrance.

"Student night..." he offers reminding more and more of a bipedal pig as I observed his blotchy face, "...not gonna be your kind of thing old man."

"And I'm a mature student" I offer, minded to engage in discussion of the concept of age discrimination. Instead, I slip my hand into my pocket for my University ID card, which features the shield logo of the City's Academic Institute alongside of my photo.

His hand just about to snatch the ID from me when a disturbance erupts over his shoulder. On a missed development I witness his colleague's hands slip around the throat of a young male in a baseball cap who is promptly pushed up against the side of a White Vauxhall Nova parked on the street outside the club.

"Fucking Ell.... Markus... No... No... Don't..." he growls as he ambles into the fight his far more muscular colleague can surely handle.

Using the distraction to my advantage I do not look back as I press open the door to the venue at enter, only to be stopped in my tracks by an acerbic looking dark haired woman in a booth who demands the sum of ten pounds from me to enter the bar that sits behind double glass doors.

Five minutes later I turn around from the main bar and press through the haphazard queues that have formed behind me. The venue is repugnant, the hardwood floors sticky on the underside of my desert boots. The dark walls plastered in posters of bands and presumably celebrities that I genuinely have no knowledge of. Dry ice fills the room from a number of machines that litter the venue and spew thick billows of vapour into the atmosphere that is strobed by a plethora of lights, all of which illuminate the venue in a various cold shades of blue, whites glowing under the heavy presence of ultraviolet. The only saving grace to the lurid establishment is how busy it is, offering me an anonymity of sorts amongst the sea of faces.

Conscious not to be observed despite the overcrowding I skulk the edges of the venue where I can, unable to find the group, or more so the girl within that group that I seek. In the far corner I discover a staircase leading to the second floor, pressing past a multitude of bodies who loiter on and use the staircase in equal measure I ascend the dog leg steps.

The second floor constituting a balcony that affords a view onto the mass of bodies squeezed into the ground floor. As I look opposite of me, I see them. Stepping back against the wall I casually observing the group of ten or so girls as I sip from the warm bottle of lager I have purchased from the main bar. A smirk passing my lips as they stand together, their backs to me, leant against the ornate cast iron railings of the balcony that suggests the venue once had a more decedent history. I watch them intently, safe in the knowledge that I am innocuous amongst the horde of patrons that fill the hectic venue.

Ari catches my eye first, drawing my attention away from the reason I am here tonight in the first place, the svelte contours of her young well developed body silhouetted against the blue light that bathes the entire room. A black strapless corset style top pinches in at her waste, a hideously short black skirt sits at the top of black presumably nylon clad legs complimented by heeled boots, the height of which I cannot determine from this distance, her long platinum blonde hair enhanced in the ultraviolet atmosphere, appearing pale blue hangs perfectly straight just past her slender shoulders.

She captivates me, just as she had done since she had first entered my office and I met the fragile young student for the first time last February. My eyes finally drawn away from Ari to her colleague. Nisha's physical form is not as slender as her friends but is close enough she stands nearly as tall also in a pair of long white heeled boots that sit as high as the mid point of calves her legs leading to the hem of a dark short skirt, that sits a little further down her thigh by comparison to Ari's. Nisha's upper body adorned by a black short sleeved crop top that exposes the base of her dusky spine to the waistband of her skirt.

I take a deep breath of contemplation. Urging my patience, biding my time as I blend into my unfamiliar surroundings. Letting the drink fuelled revelry of the evening play out around me. For over an hour I observe to group of girls, noting their own heavy alcohol consumption on a seemingly endless supply of trays of shot glasses that present themselves in between flute glasses of what I assume to be sparkling wine rather than lavish Champagne, given the budgets their student lifestyles must afford.

Nisha's body language I observe to be nowhere near as confident as the group of girls she stands with. My professional mind assessing her in this environment knowing how she has discussed her anxieties and fears about struggling to fit in with her peers. If surrounded regularly by such confident, brash, and outspoken fellow students, I understand how she feels overwhelmed, overshadowed and questions her own worth.

At one point I observe Ari peel away from the group, her attention garnered by a tall dark haired male dressed in a white shirt who looks to be of a similar age. The two of them stand leant forward over the iron railings on their elbows. Minutes later his arm drapes tentatively across her exposed shoulders an act she appears to accept, as they continue to chat their faces close to one another, her head craning back in amused laughter at one point. My mind wondering if this could possibly be the 'complicated' individual Logan who she has spoken of recently. Moments later as he turns her head towards his as he attempts to kiss her, I realise how wrong my assumption must be.

Ari turns her head sharply away, as her left arm swings up viciously. I expect a slap of her hand to land across the right hand side of his face. Instead, I watch as her hand presses against his white shirt covered chest and she pushes him viscously away, catching him off guard as he stumbles and she turns on her heels and steps angrily into the midst of the gaggle of friends. From the distance I cannot hear the commotion, but she announces something on a stab of a finger in white shirts direction, a reaction causing all her friends heads to turn in unison in his direction. I feel a little remorse for him as he stands there open mouthed, immediately shrinking in stature.

All of her friends turn to face him, except for Nisha. I cannot see the dark haired girl amongst the throng. My eyes peel away from the spectacle Ari causes on her refusal of the young male's clumsy hasty action. Looking left across the balcony I reach the limit of my periphery vision feeling a palpable panic before my head turns back and I see her pressing her way through bodies heading away from her friends alone.

Draining the final dregs from the bottle of lager I set it down on a table to my left, pushing indiscriminately through the crowd, the time to act presenting itself but catching me a little unawares. Passing the top of the stairs I brush past the baulk of a man in a polyester blue and white striped Football Shirt, a face I recognise. One of the three I had seen watching football in the Kings Arms earlier that night. Noting his appearance, I wonder if he is celebrating or drowning sorrows on his team's performance.

Headed through the building I reach a long corridor, three doors on the far left of the end of the brightly lit narrow passageway that leads to the rear of the building, ahead of me I finally spot Nisha once more as she presses open the furthest away of the three dark green painted doors. Silently I curse as I traverse the corridor, reformulating I plan as I linger as inconspicuously as I can outside the entrance to a female toilet, taking out my phone my head down as I pretend to tap out a message.

Every time the door opens from the inside I look up on expectation. A succession of young girls passing through the door in short dresses, skirts, and tight fitting denims.

Finally, she emerges, Nisha does not recognise my presence let alone look into my direction, allowing her a pace or two my eyes fall over her body. The off white colour boots sit over light denier nylons that in turn meet the dark skirt that sits just above her knee. The black tight fitting top accentuates her body perfectly.

The strike of her heels fills the corridor and my mind, even as the venues music disguises my only light footsteps, acutely conscious of my visible presence in the brightly lit open corridor.

I reach for her, my hand grazing from her shoulder down her right arm, over her short sleeve until I touch her light brown skin.

"Cantor... Aloe... Linear... Mallard," I offer the four control words, she pauses immediately, and my hands fall upon her shoulders.

Certain of my request I offer her implicit instructions as she looks back along her shoulder with her light brown eyes meeting mine.

She nods her understanding as her features fall slowly vacant of expression.

**********

I stand in the darkness, the rain holding off from the dark clouds that blanket the sky, tainted orange by the glow of a thousand lights from the City's streets.

From the position I maintain in the location I had scouted hours earlier I hear the approach of footsteps.

High heeled hurriedly moving footsteps, that trot along the cobbled pathway at the rear of 'Velvet.'

It had been less than eleven minutes since I had left her in the corridor inside the warm stuffy building, I feel the chill of the damp night air as I lurk in the shadows. I see her first, Nisha, as she steps confidently around the corner of the high brick wall on to the rough gravelled surface of the Car Park that sits to the rear of the premises. Her left hand trails behind her, his footsteps in her wake. The male whose hand she clutches steps into the Car Park immediately after her, looking around checking his surroundings, I recognise the blue and white polyester Football Shirt as much as I do his face. I had changed my mark on a snap decision, otherwise it would have been Ari's White Shirt who Nisha had led by the hand to the secluded dark location.

Enough light shed from an orange streetlight in the alley over their bodies to be able to view both Nisha and his average appearance, his face covered behind a scruffy beard that matched his out of shape physique assured me of the subliminal triggers I had planted in Nisha's mind over weeks of cognitive therapy and guided meditations. She had recognised my mark but the brief detail I had offered. Without the influence and the control, I hold over her mind I have little doubt that Nisha would struggle to find the male attractive in the slightest. Tonight represents a test of my abilities as much as her reaction to the triggers I have hidden in her mind.

The premise of the instruction I had given her had been simple, approach, seduce, make an irresistible offer, lead him from the venue, dressed in an outfit I had earlier made subliminal suggestion on as needing to be short, tight, and sensual.

"Oh, Fuck you're in a hurry aren't ya," he offers, his eyes undoubtedly falling over her body as she stands before him.

Nisha does not respond, the second part of my plan now triggering within her. She steps forward her hand on his shoulder as she presses towards him, making him step back against the wall behind him, his height several inches taller than her.