The Persephone Society: Orpheus Descending (LikesIntense & Sensualist)

The amethyst lighting and rough-textured stone walls of the exclusive Geode Club played to its name, and gave a sense of truly being in an gem-filled cavern. The live band's achingly trendy indie beats resonated from the polished, marble-esque concrete floor, wind through the scattered groups of people chatting, dancing, socialising, relaxing. Somewhere amongst it all the client Robert Jameson was meant to be babysitting was probably running wild.

Cecilia Lian stared at the tattoo on Robert's hip for a long moment; so long that he wondered if he'd offended her somehow. She was a smokey-eyed, raven-haired beauty – a law student, she'd remarked in their earlier conversation, and more than 10 years his junior. She was dressed in an elegantly risque designer little black dress that seemed pretty high price tag for someone on a student's budget, but she certainly wore it well. Absently, she reached up and brushed the five-flanged pomegranate tattoo on the back of her neck, fingering it as she gazed at his. It was a little stretched and faded (it had been there for a long time, after all), but it was still, distinctly, the entwined triple-dog's-head of Cerberus that marked the Hadeans.

“I've never... seen that as a tattoo before...” she mumbled, reaching out as if to touch it, then pulling her hand back. Cecilia glanced up at the corporate executive, and there was something very different in her eyes. Before there had been polite interest but distance as they conversed and she kept glancing around the crowd as if waiting for someone, or looking for something, but now as she gazed up at him through lowered lashes he saw something quite unfamiliar in her expression. A sudden warmth, interest... eagerness, excitement, apprehension? Some kind of hunger, even?

“What do you want, Mr. Jameson?” she asked, and there were all kinds of perplexing and intriguing layers and subharmonics in her voice as she said it. Cecilia's perfect white teeth pressed into the coral-pink curve of her lower lip briefly as she asked the question, and she smiled secretively but alluringly.

Darkness was rudely interrupted by the flashing strobe lights but still effectively hid the flush of embarrassment that colored Robert's cheeks. The girl was staring at his tattoo, nearly reached out and touched his flesh. Quickly, he pulled his shirt back down, stuffed it crudely back into the waistband of his suit pants and forced his eyes away from the angelic face of the girl sitting next to him. He'd actually gasped in anticipation of her touching his hip and felt like he'd cheated on his wife even though she hadn't even made contact.

"I've never seen a tattoo like that before..." Oh god, was that the kindest thing she could find to say about the faded tattoo that had been on his skin for the past 32 years? Robert focused on his martini as the girl's demeanor changed. Dramatically. Asked what he wanted. Something was different about her voice now, about the way she asked that question. In a sudden flash of recognition, Robert's mind did a 'bloop... bloop... bloop' like a TiVo, rewinded several seconds, replaying the awkward interaction in his head.

"I've never... seen that as a tattoo before..." "I've never... seen THAT as a tattoo before..." The emphasis, the way she said it. She wasn't surprised to see his tattoo or where it was located on his body. She was surprised to see WHAT his tattoo depicted. She recognized it. She recognized it!

Robert's head whipped around to look at the girl. Her eyes had changed. Her smile had changed. A depth... a hunger had washed over her face and where she had at first appearances been attractive, Cecilia was now deliciously wanton. In Robert's mind, however, a spark had been born, like flint on steel. She knew. She KNEW! In a quick motion, Robert reached out and grabbed the girl's wrist, practically dragged her across the club, nudging the drug ravaged ravers out of the way. The doors swept open and Robert pulled Cecilia out into the cool Autumn air, marched her down the sidewalk.

"You know. You know! Tell me..."

Cecilia gasped as Robert's hand suddenly closed around her slim wrist, and instinctively leaned back in surprise. She was taken aback by the quickness of the change in him, but after a moment her training and indoctrination took over, and she slipped off her stool, found her balance on her black stilettoes and stretched her gait to match the taller man's urgent pace. They made their way across the Geode's dancefloor and up the steps to the entrance in haste. The bouncers lurking by the door scrutinised the pair, concerned by their odd body language and abrupt departure... but they saw that Cecilia was entirely willing, eager even, and not being dragged out by some creep, so let them pass out into the brisk evening air.

“Where are we...” the young Asian woman began to ask, but stopped at Robert's own question. “I know? You mean you don't know? How is that even possible? How did you get the mark without being told about the Society?” She frowned, pulling back slightly from his grip, unsure about what information she should give out to someone who, inexplicably, seemed not to know what he was a member of... but then came the imperative, tell me, and her training came to the fore again.

“It's... the symbol of the Hadeans. It means you're a member of the Society. It means I'll do whatever you want me to.” She smiled at him, her brows curled together slightly in confusion, unsure if this was a test or a trick or the like.

Robert stood there, his jaw slackening, confusion, uncertainty in his eyes. He let go of the girl's wrists and took a step backward. Waves of memories crashed through his consciousness. His father, long beard, long hair. Gatherings at the house when he was so young - gatherings of women while his own mother stood quietly in the corner. Obediently, he now realized. Servitude.

Society. "It means I'll do whatever you want me to." The words, so many words. A gust of wind blew down the street carrying the threat of winter and a tumble of leaves. The goose bumps on Robert's skin came not only from the bite in the air. It came from an avalanche of understanding. The understanding, though, was so misplaced. The understanding went to the Mason's, to the Knights Templar, to things esoteric. The hundreds and hundreds of hours spent researching his tattoo had infused Robert's mind with fantasies of things magical and demonic. He had no idea that it was far, far simpler. It was all about carnal lust.

"Cecilia, oh my god... you... you're the only link to my father." Totally missing the sensual mask that had molded itself to the young girl's face, Robert grabbed her by the hand, started to dash down the sidewalk. He could heard her stiletto heels striking an awkward cadence down the sidewalk as her slender legs struggle keep pace. "Come on, you're not leaving me. You said you'll do whatever I want? I want you to answer some questions."

Robert recognized that he was abandoning his client at the club but had no misconceptions. He had tucked three crisp hundred dollar bills in the man's pocket and knew that he would be quite all right. Six blocks later, Robert led the girl off the sidewalk into Central Park. He found a quiet area and sat her down on a park bench, turned sideways to look at her.

Wow. She looked so young. Her age and her Asian heritage, in the dark of the night with the NYC skyline silhouetting her frame... it made her look like she was from another time. She was breathtaking. But Robert didn't want her body... he wanted her soul.

"Tell me," he said, eyes wide as he took her slight hands in his own, "tell me about the Society. Tell me about my father."

“Your father?” Cecilia's perplexed look deepened into concern for a moment as she wondered what sort of crazy person she'd become attached to. She didn't resist as he took her by the arm and guided her into the park, where they sat down on a bench. Lacking a jacket she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her palms against her biceps to try and stay warm.

“Mr. Jameson... Robert...” she said gently as he pressed her for answers, his gaze so intent, so desperate for knowledge. “I don't know your father. That is, I assume I don't. I don't remember any men old enough to be your father who looked anything like you. I'm sorry.” She cocked her head, her diagonally swept bangs falling across her eyes. She brushed them away and asked: “I'm sorry, I don't understand why you're asking me. Did you not know him? Is he missing?” She shook herself suddenly, and ducked her head slightly. “I'm sorry, you said you wanted answers, not questions. Forgive me.”

Cecelia glanced around, her eyes running over the low dark clouds of the park's foliage, looking along the lamp-lit jogging path for anyone who might overhear them. But aside from a few dog-walkers in the distance, they were quite alone. “The Society is... people like you and me. Women with this mark,” she reached up and touched the pomegranate tattoo on the nape of her neck, “are the Persephones. We are recruited... trained... to please. To obey. To serve men like you, with the mark of the Hadeans. It's usually embossed on a business card, or a class ring, or a tie pin... I've never seen a man with it tattooed on him before, but I suppose it's possible. The Hadeans are invited to the Society to enjoy. We, the Persephones, are at your disposal.”

She smiled, gazing up at him from beneath long dark lashes, even as she shivered in the Autumn cool of the air.

Robert gazed at the girl as she spoke. Entranced by her perfect lips, the way her eyes reflected her words, the man knew that she was completely serious. It made sense in a bizarre kind of way. Robert knew that his father had been a maverick and had heard vague rumors about mysterious, shadowy people with whom he had been associated. A secret society, though. That was so disconcerting. His father obviously wanted Robert to be a part of the society but to tattoo him as a child for entrance into some weird club for slave girls?

"My father... he... he died a long time ago. I never knew him. But this... this tattoo... it's my only connection to him and I've searched for the past two decades for a meaning." Absently, Robert slid his hand down to where the esoteric image decorated his hip. "And now you're saying that it's like a membership card into a secret society. And..." he lifted his eyes to the girl, skepticism etched on his face and thick in his voice, "... and now you're saying that you want to serve me? To... please me?"

Robert had to admit that the girl... Cecilia... was remarkably attractive. She looked rather young but wow, what a knockout she was. And that look on her face, that look of eager submission. That was a look that Robert never saw in his own wife's face. His gaze was drawn once again to her lips, to the flash of pink tongue. "Wh...what... I mean... um... what do you mean, serve?" He stammered, still not able to wrap his mind around this girl and this situation. "D..d..did Susan set this up? Is she trying to trap me?" He looked around, suddenly paranoid, almost phobic about being seen with this gorgeous young girl. Yet the way she had reacted to his tattoo, that couldn't have been planned. It was completely spontaneous that he had even shown it to her.

A sympathetic look touched Cecilia's face as she listened to Robert's confessional about his father. Her hand moved from clutching her own arm to resting on his thigh – not a sexual one, in intent, but a simple act of human kindness from one person to another. She smiled as she saw the scepticism in his expression and heard it in his voice. “If that's what you want,” she replied, her hand brushing up and down his trouser leg a little. She shrugged at his accusatory question. “I don't know who that is.”

The young woman gave him an appraising stare for a moment, seeing his – rather understandable – incredulity about the situation and the Society. She decided that a little graphic honesty might help. “To serve you... means whatever you want it to mean. If you want me to get on my knees right here in the park and suck your cock, I will. If you want to take me to a hotel room and lie back as you do whatever you crave to me body, I will be your fuck-doll. If you want me to push you to the bed and fuck you all night, I will ride you like a cowgirl. If you want me to call a girlfriend and make love to her while you watch and give instructions, I will get my phone out right now. If you want to tie me up and make me scream, I will scream for you. Any woman who wears this mark will, at any time.”

Perhaps it was just the coolness in the air, but a little colour seemed to enter Cecilia's cheeks as she spoke, making them warm with excitement. The glitter in her eyes, though, could not be mistaken for a reaction to the chill... that was pure arousal, curiousity, submission and concupiscence. The idea of introducing this man to the pleasures the Persephones could offer was intriguing to her... it would be almost like taking his virginity.