THE WAGER
by MILO MINDERBINDER
“How is your Chicken Marsala?” Molly Fields asked her sister.
“Excellent. Francesca’s never disappoints,” Tessa said, referring to the high-end Italian restaurant where they were dining. The five-star establishment sat high atop the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.
“It’s good for us to get together like this,” Molly said. She wore a black leather jacket festooned with plenty of silver zippers over a designer white t-shirt, leather mini-skirt, fishnets, and black knee-high boots. She had recently gone blonde, her hair straight to her shoulders. “We should do it more often.”
“I do love to come back and visit,” Tessa said. She wore green blouse, matching her eyes, with the top three buttons undone, brown skirt just above the knee and gold high-heeled sandals. Her brown hair was up, and a crystal pendant hung from a silver necklace. “But it’s tough to get away. Being the Bay Area’s top Erotic Hypnotist means my schedule fills up way too fast.”
Molly said, “You’re not the only one who’s busy, Sis. As one of Vegas’ most sought dominatrices, I’m lucky to get any free time at all.”
“Really?” Tessa said. “I’d think all these boys would tire of being beat and whipped. Hypnosis on the other hand provides for an endless stream of novelties and inventiveness.”
“Three, two, one? Deep sleep now?” Molly rolled her eyes. “Boring and predictable. But exploring the limits of what the human body can endure, then pushing even farther. That’s exhilarating.”
“Sounds more like flogging a dead horse to me,” Tessa said. “Literally.”
“Maybe we should settle this once and for all,” Molly said.
“What are you suggesting?” Tessa asked.
“A contest.” Molly’s eyes lit up with possibilities. “No, a wager. We’ll pick a target and see who can enslave him first. Me using pain, or you with your mumbo jumbo.”
“Hypnosis is not mumbo jumbo,” Tessa said sharply.
“Whatever,” Molly said. “What shall we make stakes?”
“Since it’s for bragging rights, I suggest one dollar,” Tessa said.
Molly laughed. “Making us the twenty-first century equivalent of the Duke brothers?”
Tessa nodded. “Just don’t go out and try to corner the frozen orange juice futures market.”
“I do know this trader who runs a hedge fund...” Molly said.
“Back on topic,” Tessa said. “We’ll select someone at random and both take our best shot. Meet back here tomorrow night and demonstrate whose method of control is superior.”
“Sounds good. Now we just need our victim.” Molly giggled at the prospect of some unsuspecting tourist being used by the sisters.
Tessa said. “How about the next guy who walks into the restaurant?”
“Deal,” Molly said.
They raised their hands, extended their pinkies, and twisted them together. “It’s a bet,” they said in unison. The sisters turned their attention to the entrance of Francesca’s.
The next person who entered was a top-heavy blonde in a strapless black evening gown.
Tessa laughed. “Not what I was expecting.”
Molly squinted at the blonde. “That’s Kate Upton, the supermodel. Too bad you didn’t say next person to walk in. I’d love to wrap my leash around Kate’s pretty neck or strap her to my Wheel of Pain.”
“All may not be lost,” Tessa said. “Maybe her hubby, Justin Verlander, will come through next. I’ve always wanted to lock up a Cy Young winner in one of my giant birdcages.”
Molly frowned. “You and your birdcages. Besides, it’s baseball season. Justin won’t be in town.”
“Good point.” Tessa focused on the entryway, willing a hot guy to appear and not some portly conventioneering schlub. She wasn’t disappointed.
Their target, the next man who entered, was blond, six-two, and maybe one-ninety. Broad shoulders strained beneath his sports coat. It was clear he worked out.
Molly and Tessa raised their glasses. “May the best sister win!”
Molly approached Francesca’s maître d’. “Can you help me? I wanted to know the name and room number of the gentleman you just seated.”
The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that information.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Molly muttered under her breath.
“Excuse me,” the maître d’ said.
Molly moved around the host’s station and jabbed her spiked heel into the man’s instep.
He yelped in pain and buckled over. “What are you doing?”
Molly grinned evilly. “I’ve always found pain to be an excellent motivator.” She grabbed the man by the hair and yanked his head up.
He found himself staring into blue eyes the color of the summer sky before a terrible storm.
“Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know? Or do you need more motivation?” Still gripping his hair, Molly rammed his head into the wooden stand.
The man gasped for air. Blood dripped from his forehead. “Please.”
Molly laughed. “I’m beginning to think you like the pain. It’s my theory that all men do, it’s just a matter of uncovering their secret desire.” She jabbed her heel into the fleshy part of his inner thigh.
Tears streamed down the man’s face. “Stop. I’ll tell you.” He scrambled to his feet and consulted his tablet. “It’s Mr. Tomlinson, he’s got a suite on the forty-fourth floor. Forty-four seventeen.”
“You were a Bad Boy not to obey the first time.” Molly kicked him in the shin with the point of her boot. The man collapsed. She grabbed a business card from her purse, scribbled on the back of it, and let it fall to the floor next to the sobbing man. “Stop by the dungeon sometime. Show that card for an extra free fifteen minutes.” The hard clicks of her boots on the marble floor echoed as she walked away.
The maître d’ watched in perverse fascination until she turned the corner. He picked up the card: Mistress Molly, Specialist in Pain and Human Endurance. His heart raced. He swallowed hard and shoved the card in his wallet.
Tessa sat in the lobby of the MGM Grand, legs crossed, foot swaying. She pretended to tap on her phone as the subject of the wager passed by, then spoke to the hotel clerk. After a brief conversation the target crossed to the elevator bank and pressed the up button.
Tessa stood, smoothed her skirt, and sauntered across the lobby. As she rocked her hips like a tree swaying before a storm, she could feel the weight of the stares of all the males in the lobby. She smiled to herself. Men: so unsurprising and so helpless. She approached the red-jacketed clerk and flashed a stunning smile designed to unbalance his mind.
Rodrigo, the clerk, reflexively smiled back, his eyes appraising Tessa. Working in Las Vegas, he had been fortunate enough to view some of the world’s most beautiful women. And Tessa certainly qualified. “How may I assist you?”
“Rodrigo,” Tessa said in her most seductive voice, reading his name tag, “could you tell me the name and room number of the man who was just speaking with you.”
Rodrigo’s smile disappeared. He would had loved to do a favor for this most exquisite creature. “I’m sorry I can’t do that. Guest privacy is paramount at the MGM Grand. If you wish to leave the gentleman a message, I can see that it is delivered.”
“That is unacceptable.” Tessa’s voice took a hard edge. “And I am unaccustomed to men telling me no.”
Rodrigo found himself involuntarily shaking. “Uh, I’m sorry, Ms. uh...” He found himself lost in the fury of Tessa’s green eyes.
“Fields. Tessa Fields.” Her voice softened, and her lips curled into a knowing smile. “I know you want to say yes to me. It would feel so good. Can you imagine it...
“Saying yes to me...
“Bending to my will...
“You like to please me...
“You want to please me...
“You need to please me...
“You will please me...”
Tessa leaned forward. Rodrigo’s eyes were inexorably drawn to her pendant, resting in the cleavage of her lovely breasts.
“You like to listen to my voice...
“You want to listen to my voice...
“You need to listen to my voice...
“You will listen to my voice...”
Rodrigo’s eyes were blank, unblinking. His breathing shallow.
“You like to obey Tessa...
“You want to obey Tessa...
“You need to obey Tessa...
“You will obey Tessa...”
“I will obey Tessa,” Rodrigo mouthed silently
Tessa smiled triumphantly. “Now, Rodrigo, be a very Good Boy for Tessa and tell me the name and room number of the man you were just speaking with.”
“Yes, Tessa.” He tapped robotically on his keyboard. “Mr. Tomlinson. Suite forty-four seventeen.”
“Good Boy.” Tessa giggled. Using and manipulating men never got tiresome. She retrieved a card from her purse, fiddled with Rodrigo’s lapel, and slipped the card into his shirt pocket. “You won’t remember our little encounter. But in a week, you’ll discover this card and feel compelled to call me for a hypnosis session.” She snapped her fingers. “Wide awake, now.”
Rodrigo blinked his eyes open. He seemed confused. “How may I help you?”
Tessa half-smiled. “I got what I wanted.” She turned and walked away.
Tessa stood outside Room 4417. Breaking this boy’s will would be effortless. Then Molly would learn that hypnosis was a superior method of control to turning men into life-sized pincushions. She knocked on the door.
Tomlinson, six-two, surfer blond hair, dazzling smile, opened the door. He didn’t know the woman before him, but she had the most entrancing green eyes. “Yes?”
Tessa flashed her million-watt smile. “I’m Tessa Fields and I’m going to make you my Good Boy.”
As alluring as this woman was, Tomlinson felt uneasy. Maybe she was drunk, or some sort of scammer. He closed the door.
Tessa’s slim fingers stroked her pendant. “Stop!” she commanded.
Tomlinson froze in place, the door half open. On his face a mixed look of confusion, fear, and desire.
Tessa reached out and caressed his cheek. “You’re going to come back to my room and do whatever I say.”
Tomlinson, deep in trance, lay on the couch in Tessa’s suite.
“I will be dining at Francesca’s tomorrow evening. You will come to see me. Arrive promptly at seven-thirty. My sister will be present and you will tell her that you are Tessa’s Good Boy. Eager and willing to do whatever I say. Eternally in love and enslaved by me.” Tessa paused for dramatic effect. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Tessa,” Tomlinson said in a monotone.
“Perfect,” Tessa said. “You will walk back to your room and have no memory of our encounter. But you will be compelled to follow all the suggestions and commands I have implanted in your mind, including coming to Francesca’s tomorrow night.”
“Good Boy!” Tessa snapped her fingers. “Off you go. Back to your room.”
Molly, over-sized gym bag in hand, knocked on the door to 4417.
Tomlinson answered. “Yes? Can I help you?” He approvingly looked over the leather-clad (jacket, skirt, boots) Molly.
“Actually, it’s I who can help you.” She grinned and pulled her whip from the gym bag. “I’m Molly Fields and I’m going to make you my Bad Boy.”
Tomlinson’s eyes filled with alarm. “Are you crazy?” He closed the door.
“Not so fast.” Molly shoved her boot in the door to prevent it from closing. She pushed Tomlinson in the chest. He was unprepared and off-balance, tumbling backward into the suite. Before he could rise, she was kneeling on him. She ripped open his shirt, buttons flying in all directions. She ran a shiny red nail across his well-muscled chest. “Now we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” She giggled. “Please tell me ‘the hard way.’”
Tomlinson struggled to toss her off of him, but Molly could see his heart wasn’t really in it. Deep down, all men really were Bad Boys. They wanted to be punished and they knew it. She pulled a leash from her gym bag and fastened it around his neck. The fight was quickly leaving him. She tugged on the leash and led him to one of the three bedrooms in the suite. She forced him on the bed, then slipped on the paincuffs, and strapped him to the bed.
An hour later, Tomlinson lay on the bed, exhausted, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily.
Molly said, “What do you have to say, my little Bad Boy?”
“I love you, Molly.”
She rolled her eyes. Why did her subjects have to be so dramatic? She supposed it was because men were the weaker sex. A simple round of pain and punishment would permanently rewire the emotion center of their brains. “Excellent. But playtime is over. And I must be going.” She packed up her toys and uncuffed Tomlinson from the bed.
“Molly, please, don’t leave,” Tomlinson pleaded.
She laughed. “I know, I know. It’s Molly, I’ve never felt this way before. Or Molly, I need your pain. I’ve heard it a thousand times. Does that make you jealous?”
Tomlinson swallowed hard. “I don’t care about the others. All I want to do is serve you. That’s all that’s important to me. Do whatever you want. I’ll endure it for you.”
“Good answer, Bad Boy.” Molly squeezed his nipple and twisted.
Tomlinson yelped.
Molly traced her nail across Tomlinson’s naked chest. She pressed hard, drawing blood. “You want to see me again? My sister and I will be having dinner at Francesca’s tomorrow evening. I want you to come by at seven-thirty and tell her all about your undying devotion to me. Deal?”
“Yes, Molly. Thank you, Molly. I’ll do this for you.”
After she left, he cried and the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. His encounter with Molly had left him a changed man. He could never go back to the way he was before. He needed the pain. He needed Molly. He needed her to inflict the pain.
The next night at Francesca’s, Tessa checked her watch, a AP Royal Oak Ladies, a gift from one of her most ardent admirers, the Norwegian Oil Minister. “Seven twenty-eight.”
Molly took a bite of her calamari. Tessa was putting on a brave front. Those mind games might work on her weak-willed hypnosubs who spent hundreds or thousands on Tessa’s custom mp3s. But it wouldn’t work on Molly Fields. She had won. She had easily broken Tomlinson, and he’d be along in a couple of minutes to deliver the sad news to Tessa.
As the time on Molly’s iPhone changed to 7:30, Tomlinson, wearing a dark suit, entered the Francesca’s. He glanced about the dining room, spotted the sisters, and crossed toward them.
Tomlinson stopped at table. Each sister turned to the other, a look of success and conquest on their face. Tomlinson slipped to Molly’s side of the table, knelt, and kissed her boot. “Molly, I adore, worship, and love you.”
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” Molly grinned. “So much for so-called Erotic Hypnosis.”
Tessa was stunned. How could she have lost? She had drilled deep into Tomlinson’s mind. Cemented her hypnotic control over his conscious and subconscious. Once under Tessa’s spell, no man had ever escaped. Perhaps a team of university-level researchers and psychologists, given unlimited funding and time, might make a dent in her power over a subject’s mind. But what she was seeing here, the man she had utterly enslaved last night, on his knees, professing his undying devotion to Molly was not possible. Or had she badly misjudged the power of pain as wielded by her sister? The evidence was right in front of her. Tessa reached into her purse and retrieved a single crisp dollar bill. “Here you go, Sis. You’ll have to tell me your secret. I was sure I w—”
“Tessa, I adore, worship, and love you!” Another man, who looked just like Tomlinson, knelt before Tessa, sucking on the spiked heel of her left pump.
“What’s going on?” Molly said.
“I don’t know,” Tessa said. “There’s two of them?”
“Joe?” the man at Molly’s feet said.
“Jim?” the man at Tessa’s feet said.
“Brothers?” Tessa said.
“Brothers!” Molly giggled.
The men stopped their worshipful endeavors, climbed from their knees, and sat in the two empty seats.
“Yes, Joe is my brother,” Jim said. “We came to Veg—”
“Freeze!” Tessa snapped her fingers, and Jim became silent and unmoving.
“What did you do to Jim?” Joe asked. “If h—”
“Quiet!” Molly jabbed her spiked heel into Joe’s stomach.
Joe’s face contorted in pain, but he said nothing.
“Twins?” Molly said.
“What are the odds?” Tessa laughed.
Molly shrugged. “Well, I guess, the bet is off. Doesn’t mean we can’t still have some fun.”
Tessa arched an eyebrow. “Maybe we could swap?”
“Making them endure both my physical punishment and your mental brainwashing?” Molly’s eyes sparkled as she considered the possibilities.
“Joe, Jim? What’s going on? You need to introduce me to these lovely ladies.” A man who looked just like Joe and Jim stood at the table.
“Triplets!” Molly said.
“Bet’s back on.” Tessa stood and stared into the eyes of the newcomer. “Look into my eyes, and listen to my voice.”
Molly rose. “Don’t listen to her.” She kneed the new guy in the crotch. “You want to feel the pain. My pain.”