Dungeon Mistress II
Copyright© 2026 by JayFriday
Chapter 7: Control
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 7: Control - The sequel series to Dungeon Mistress! Read that first. The D&D group's relationships are now fractured. Maybe Liz's campaign is an opportunity to grow something new -- or maybe it's just another playground for dominance, sexual tension, and desire. Can the Children of the Sun can renew their relationships, or will they just repeat the patterns of their past?
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Blackmail Coercion Consensual Reluctant Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Sharing DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Group Sex Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Interracial White Male White Female Indian Female Exhibitionism Facial Massage Oral Sex Petting Tit-Fucking Voyeurism Big Breasts Geeks Revenge
The table was very quiet.
Erin stared at me. Not Sahar looking at Cazimir; Erin looking at Chris. I could see exactly what she was thinking.
I’d just kissed her and then immediately weaponized it.
I felt bad, for a moment, but it faded pretty quickly into anger. She and Liz were mad that this wasn’t going as planned? That I wasn’t some puppet doing exactly what they wanted?
Too bad if it pissed them off that I’d found a way to claw back some minor measure of control after Erin had jerked me off in front of Mike and Fiona. I’d tried to talk to Erin as the Seraph of Secrets. Liz had been the one to give me that Sunkissed ability in the first place.
Presumably so that I’d fucking kiss someone.
Neither of them were communicating with me at all. This was just like last campaign when they’d pulled that secret admirer bullshit.
The truth was, they were no better than Monica.
They were no better than Monica.
The thought stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t like how accurate it felt, as Erin and I locked eyes.
For a second, I wondered if she was going to pause the game entirely, call me out, ask if we could talk...
But Erin was nothing if not committed to the bit.
“Roll Charisma, then.” Her voice was level. She picked up a d20 from the table.
I picked up two of mine. I got to roll with Advantage.
“On three,” I said, evenly.
We rolled simultaneously.
Mine clattered to a stop first: an eighteen and an eleven. With Cazimir’s Charisma modifier, the eighteen became a twenty-two.
Erin’s die spun, wobbled, and settled.
Thirteen.
Plus whatever modifier Sahar had — and it was probably decent, given that she was a seasoned caravan operator who dealt in negotiations daily — it was undoubtedly a good total.
But unless Sahar was higher level than I expected or secretly a demigod or something, Cazimir had won the roll.
One yields, one holds.
“Okay, you succeed. What’s it look like when Cazimir’s Mark activates,” Erin asked. Her voice was calm, but there was a kind of rigidity in it that said she was feeling something, just suppressing it.
“There’s a faint, shimmering play of light about his and Sahar’s lips as they part. Something flows, from him to her. In direct sunlight it might not be noticeable; in the dimmer light of her tent, it stands out,” I said.
Then I turned on Cazimir’s laconic tones, looking Erin dead in the eyes as I spoke.
“You could bring the four of us, no fee, and we’d earn our keep. After all, I got the sense that you found that entertaining, Sahar.”
A little resentment crept in on the final words; I couldn’t help it.
Erin’s expression was unreadable for a moment. And then she shifted back to Sahar’s confidence.
“Oh, it was entertaining. I suppose you’re right. It is a long journey. You certainly seem like the type of man who appreciates a woman taking charge. I’m sure that’ll be endlessly amusing on the road.”
I felt the blood rise in my face. Maybe it was Sahar talking to Cazimir, but it certainly felt like it was Erin, making an observation about me and Monica.
Erin smiled. It didn’t really reach her eyes. “But if you turn out to attract more trouble than you’re worth ... we’re going to renegotiate on price.”
Another tense moment of silence followed that.
“So, um ... Erin, you’re basically co-DMing, then? With Liz, I mean,” Mike ventured, hesitantly.
Fiona was silent, eyes darting back and forth between Erin and I. She looked like she was about ready to break out the popcorn.
Erin didn’t answer Mike. Eyes on me, still in Sahar’s voice, she just said, “We leave tomorrow night. An hour past dusk. Be there. All four of you. Don’t be late or we’ll leave without you.”
And then she stood, headed for the stairs; she paused to glance back at the three of us from the bottom. “Liz’ll be back in in a minute or two,” she said, simply.
And she was gone.
I cleaned up and tucked myself back into my pants with as much dignity I could manage, given the circumstances.
We were all quiet for thirty seconds or so.
“What’s Cazimir’s Mark even do, anyway?” Fiona was the first to break the silence.
“Some kind of charm or suggestion spell, seemed like,” Mike said.
But his reply was absentminded. Mike was looking at me, concerned. “You okay, man? I’m not even talking about the physical stuff. Things between you and Erin seem pretty ... um, tense. Why ... why did she...?”
“We’re, uh ... not communicating well.” The understatement of the century.
“Couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t seem surprised to see Erin,” Fiona noted. “Not like Mike and I were, anyway. Is she playing your patron, too?”
I glanced at Fiona; that was way more perceptive than I would’ve expected. “Yeah.”
Fiona looked inordinately pleased with herself. “Thought so.”
“Wait, really? So you’ve known she’s been playing since last session?” Mike’s concern was shifting to hurt, now.
“I have. Sorry,” I added, a little unrepentantly. “Things have been weird, y’know. I’ve been trying to go along with the game Liz wants to run, but...” I trailed off and shrugged.
“I get that.” Mike commiserated. “Anyway, sorry ... that you, uh ... that Erin...” He trailed off, tried again. “The situation there was pretty charged, there’s no reason to feel bad for...” Mike just gave up.
Fiona slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, stop. Chris did very well, given everything happening today. He has nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Her eyes on me were knowing: she’d seen me with Monica in the bathroom beforehand.
Mike, on the other hand, hadn’t. He was nonplussed. “Yeah, that’s ... what I’m saying. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I was registering just how even-keeled Fiona had been throughout all of this. “You’re pretty at ease, Fiona, given the kind of game we’re playing.” I made the observation suspiciously.
Fiona just rolled her eyes. “I’m not in cahoots with them, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
The slight accent — rounded vowels, crisp consonants — made the word cahoots even more cartoonish than it normally sounded, like she was some Victorian-era villain.
I snorted. “Then how can you just... play?”
I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, and failed completely. Erin had left that little hourglass full of sand on the table; all the sand had long-since run out of it, but I stared at it balefully.
This was just so ridiculous. Liz and Erin were my friends. Hell, I wanted Erin to be more than a friend — or at least, I thought I had.
And I’d been under the impression that they hadn’t liked Monica’s game any more than I did.
Well, maybe saying I hadn’t liked it wasn’t right, it was-
I realized I’d been silently staring at the hourglass and seething for the last fifteen seconds. I looked up to see that Fiona was watching me. As I met her eyes, she gave me a calm, if understanding smile.
“I’ve got practice. And Liz has never run this kind of game before, Chris. I’m sure she’s trying to find the physical fun from last campaign without the ... emotional fallout it seemed to have for you guys. It’s probably harder than she thinks.”
“That is honestly a pretty thoughtful take from someone who can’t tell me how many hit points her character has,” Mike observed.
Fiona pouted at him. “I can, too. Hit points are how much damage your character can take. Fleur has...” She looked down at her character sheet, searching it for a moment.
Then another moment.
Then another.
“ ... Fourteen? My Constitution is what gives me hit points, right?” She was clearly not at all certain. “Oh. No, that’s my Constitution score, not my actual hit points. Um...”
Mike just laughed, gesturing to the box on her character sheet labeled HP.
“Very rude. I will get you back for this.” She frowned at him disapprovingly.
That shut him up. Satisfied, Fiona turned back to me.
“Anyway, There are lots of feelings. Look, take it from me. Give yourself space — and them space — to get this a little wrong. Don’t rush to judgment.”
But I thought Mike’s earlier point was a good one. “Wait, what do you mean you have practice? Isn’t this like your second time ever playing D&D, Fiona? You’ve never done this before either.”
She shrugged. “Not with D&D, no. But Monica has always liked stuff like this. When she and I used to date, she was always looking for ways to, y’know, play. I didn’t mind, but it took a while to get used to her always trying to escalate things.”
When she and I used to date?
“I’m sorry, what?” Mike blurted.
I glanced at him. The shock on his face mirrored my own — although on his face, it was giving way to a mix of fascination and jealousy.
I couldn’t blame him. The mental image of Fiona and Monica together was an extremely attractive study in contrasts.
Fiona gave the two of us a slightly sardonic grin. “I figured this might be how you all would react. I thought you should probably know, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”
“So you and Monica...” But Mike trailed off as we heard a door open down the hall.
Fiona grinned, raised a finger to her lips. “Shh. Us players are allowed to have our own secrets too, aren’t we? I’ll tell the story another time. Or Monica will. Anyway, boys, if you are feeling like this is all getting a little complicated and fraught for you, I’m happy to have Fleur take charge of things for the next little stretch.”
I rubbed my face. Honestly? At this point, that sounded just fine.
I nodded gratefully. Mike did, too, still staring agog at Fiona.
A moment later, Liz entered the room.
She was dressed differently.
Gone was the High Priestess’s flowing, translucent attire. In its place: tight black leather pants that sat low on her hips, a loose linen blouse — cream-colored, unlaced at the collar, sleeves rolled to her elbows.
An honest-to-god whip hung from a leather belt slung at an angle across her waist. Her brown hair was back in a practical braid. She’d done something with her makeup — darkened her eyes, sharpened the angles of her face.
She looked like someone who operated in morally grey territory and was completely comfortable there. Roguish. Dangerous. The kind of woman who’d get you just drunk enough to steal your horse and then you’d never see her again.
Like ... a lady Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones with fewer scruples and a much nicer butt.
“Liz, your costumes are starting to rival Monica’s,” Fiona said, approvingly.
“Thanks.” Liz was pleased.
I couldn’t let that pass without getting a dig in. “Agreed. A lot like Monica.”
Fiona gave me a let’s not do this look.
Liz’s gaze met mine; her expression was cool, unreadable. She settled into her chair calmly.
“So, You all have secured passage with Sahar’s caravan. We’re moving to the next scene,” Liz said.
Secured passage with Sahar’s caravan. Everything that had just happened between Erin and I, summed up in five words that didn’t really touch on it at all.
“ ... Where is Monica?” Mike asked, peering behind her towards the hallway that led to Liz’s bathroom and office.
Liz just smiled.
“Well, Maye went to the temple,” she said. “But she hasn’t come back.”
“Ah.” Fiona said. “How long has it been?”
“Several hours. It’s now well past midnight. The night market goes late, but even that is starting to wind down. And your companion, who you all decided should just run off alone-” Liz let the word alone land with surgical precision, her eyes finding mine for just a moment, “-has not returned.”
I decided that I was taking Fiona up on her offer to have Fleur lead the way, and didn’t respond. I was processing too much.
After a moment, Fiona spoke. “So ... we’d be worried, right?”
“Well, you tell me. The four of you are eighteen, away from home for the first time in your lives on an important quest in a new city, and your friend is nowhere to be seen.”
“Okay, so let’s go find her,” Mike said.
What followed was a no-nonsense, run-of-the-mill stretch of investigative Dungeons and Dragons. The sheer normalcy of it after what had just happened with Erin was strange, but welcome. The familiarity of skill checks, a little puzzle-solving, character-building. Roleplaying. No sexual tension. Just D&D.
I considered the revelation that Fiona and Monica had dated. It felt like it made everything more complicated. Monica had decided to bring her ex-girlfriend into a sexual D&D campaign she was running. Fiona’s decision to go against Monica in the last campaign landed differently too.
Hell, Fiona had gone down on me, and Monica knew it. Monica had watched Fiona toy with Mike.
The list just went on and on and on, and I wasn’t at all sure how to feel about it. I wouldn’t have said Monica and I were dating, but we felt... involved, certainly.
While I mulled this over, the three of us retraced Maye’s likely steps. There was a modest temple to the Sun at the western edge of the oasis — a single room affair, Liz described, with a stone altar and a few devotional candles, tended by an elderly priestess who was half-asleep when we found her.
“Hm? She didn’t give her name, but I think the girl you’re asking about was here, yes,” the old woman confirmed. Liz made her voice reedy, quavering. “Pretty thing? Dark hair? Kind of full of herself? Yes, she prayed for a good while. She got into conversation with another worshipper. I didn’t hear details, but it seemed to turn into a more heated exchange. They left together.”
The three of us glanced at each other. “She was arguing with someone?” Mike asked, in Milo’s voice.
The old woman nodded. “Oh yes. Some theological disagreement over how the Sun liked to be worshipped, I think? I didn’t hear details, I’m afraid.”
I frowned. “Can you describe the other supplicant?”
Liz’s lips quirked. “Well ... she didn’t look especially religious, if you ask me. Dark hair too, in a braid ... a loose lighter top, dark leather pants. Maybe an adventurer? Hard to say, dear.”
Liz was obviously describing her own outfit.
“Which way did they head?”
We followed the trail. Investigation checks in the market itself: asking vendors, checking for witnesses. The night market was dying down, most of the stalls shuttered, but a few late-night merchants were still hawking their wares.
A jeweler, with a check from Fiona, recalled seeing a woman matching Maye’s description walking with another woman towards the northern end of the oasis. “Near the compound with the red tents.”
After a moment, Liz added, “She kind of wrinkles her nose at the end of the sentence, like they’re worthy of derision or disgust.”
“ ... Red tents?” I asked.
Liz nodded. “Any of you can make a History check.”
Fleur’s check succeeded.
Liz laughed. “Okay, it makes sense that Fleur would know about them. Fleur, there’s an active soul trade in the desert and the surrounding lands.”
“Soul trade,” Mike repeated.
“Yeah. You can barter away your own soul for any number of things in return, and many desperate folk choose to do so. I imagine Fleur probably considers it-”
“Blasphemous.” Fiona hissed the word out, delightedly. Then her voice shifted to Fleur’s lilting tones. “We’ve got to go rescue Maye. We should put whoever abducted her to the sword.” She slammed her fist on the table for emphasis.
Even I cracked a smile at that.
“Uh, maybe a more subtle approach until we know what we’re walking into,” Mike suggested, in Milo’s mild tones.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We should sneak in. Pretend we’re considering giving up our souls.”
“I’m not pretending to be some deviant who’d give their soul away the way that you have, Cazimir,” Fleur said, outraged.
I replied in Cazimir’s lazy tones. “But I haven’t given my soul away.”
“You’ve made a pact with some no-doubt profane entity in exchange for power. You won’t even tell us who’s on the other end of your pact. It’s basically the same thing, I’m sure,” she said, primly.
I laughed — and not as Cazimir. I had to hand it to her; whatever the hell Erin and Liz were up to, whatever Monica and I were doing, Fiona at least appeared to be having a great time.
As Cazimir, I replied, “Well, if that’s how you see it, that’s how you see it, Fleur. Perhaps you can just accompany me as a concerned friend who is worried about the welfare of my soul?”
“Hmph.” Fleur’s voice was disapproving, but I could see the sparkle of amusement in Fiona’s eyes. “I suppose I could manage that. I’m still putting someone to the sword eventually, though.”
The compound with the red tents was easy to find.
We approached from the north, where the oasis thinned out into scrub and sand. Liz described it as a small cluster of canvas structures, all dyed that deep, unmistakable red the jeweler had mentioned. Lanterns hung from posts at irregular intervals, casting pools of warm amber light that didn’t quite reach the gaps between the tents.
“Make Stealth checks if you want to approach unseen to scope things out first,” Liz said. “You can all see that there are a few guards posted — not many, but enough that you’d want to be careful.”
Mike rolled. I picked up mine to roll, too.
“Nah. I walk right up to the entrance,” Fiona said, decisively. She drew herself up in her seat, squaring her shoulders. Fleur’s bright, imperious tones: “These two men have been lead astray from the Sun’s light and wish to see what their souls will fetch in barter. I’m coming with them to try to make sure they at least get a fair deal for their most valuable possession.”
Mike shot her a look. “Uh?”
“Quiet, Milo.” Fiona waved him off. “ And Cazimir, you need to look more pathetic and wretched, act the part.”
“My mistake. I hunch over a little more,” I said.
“Okay. Roll Deception instead, then, I suppose,” Liz said.
Fiona rolled. Nineteen.
“One of the guards grunts in assent, waves you all through. ‘To the big tent. Isandra does all the valuations personally. Don’t waste her time, though, it pisses her off.’” Liz paused. “He does give Fleur an up-down and a really gross smile, before adding. ‘If you’re ever thinking about selling yours, girlie, come to me first. I’ll put in a good word for you if you rub me the right way.’” Liz waggled her eyebrows expressively.
“I would sooner gouge out my own eyes and eat them,” Fleur responded, promptly. “Then I wouldn’t have to look on you again, which would be a blessing indeed. Have a horrible evening.”
Liz blinked several times. “Okay. The guard looks slightly taken aback. Anything Milo or Cazimir would like to add before you head inside?”
Mike shook his head.
“Nah. Cazimir is happily following our fearless, surprisingly aggressive leader,” I said, sitting back with a grin.
“Okay. The interior of the largest tent is well-appointed: layered rugs over packed sand, low tables with brass tea service. There’s incense burning in a brazier in one corner, filling the space with a smell that’s sweet. The lighting is dim, mostly candles set into alcoves cut from the tent’s supporting poles.”
Liz paused, pulling her chair out from the table slightly and straightening up. “Seated at the far end of the tent, on a low divan piled high with cushions, is a woman who must be Isandra.”
When she spoke again, the character was immediately present and complete. Isandra’s voice was unhurried, throaty. Like someone who had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it. “Well, well. Late-night visitors. I do enjoy the ones who come after midnight. You can always count on them to really want to make a deal.”
She settled back into her chair with a proprietary air, like the space was hers. The leather pants creaked softly. The whip at her hip shifted with the movement.
Fleur stepped forward. “These two wish to know what their souls might fetch.”
“Mm. So I see. Before we do that, some refreshments? Girl? Girl!” Liz’s voice shifted back to her natural one. “The woman claps her hands loudly a few times. Monica, you can come back in now.” She shouted the last sentence down the hallway.
Monica reappeared a moment later. Her features were a little flushed, but she looked sullen, was still in her Maye costume.
“My girl here can make you anything you like,” Liz said, back in Isandra’s tones. “I’ll take a gin and tonic, please, girl.”
Wordlessly, Monica walked over to Liz’s liquor cabinet and started pulling out drinks.
Mike and I stared at her as she moved across the room.
Fiona frowned, but stayed in character. “Where’d you find the servant, Isandra? She’s quite striking, I must say.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Isandra smirked. “She came into my employ quite recently, actually. Made a little wager and lost it; now she has some debt to work off. She’s quite headstrong, so I’m hoping she has some work ethic in her.”
Monica — back to us — stiffened, visibly.
“Does Maye look okay? Charmed or anything?” Mike asked.
“Roll Perception or Insight,” Liz said.
Mike rolled and succeeded.
“Nope, she just looks pissed off,” she said, cheerfully. “Right, Monica?”
Monica looked over her shoulder. “Maye is furious, yes.”
“Okay, so she needs rescuing. How’re we going to play this?” I asked. “Try to distract Isandra until one of us can get the drop on h-”
Liz interrupted me. “It’s not like you all can make a plan in front of Isandra,” she said. And then she shifted back to Isandra’s unhurried cadence. “Now. You two. What makes you think your souls are worth anything to me?”
Mike spoke first, in Milo’s slightly higher register. “Souls have inherent value.”
“What an idealistic sentiment,” Isandra purred. Liz stood, walked a slow circle around the table to stand in front of Mike. “And what’s your name?”
“Milo.” Mike looked like he didn’t have to roleplay being slightly intimidated by Liz standing that close to him.
Liz leaned in even closer, putting her lips next to his ear, but spoke loud enough that we could all hear. “Well, little Milo, not all souls are of equal value. Some burn brightly. Others gutter, on the verge of going out. Some souls have a fire in them — a conviction, passion, will.”
Liz pulled back, her face inches from his. “What kind is your soul?”
Mike swallowed hard — his eyes darted from Liz’s lips to the front of her loose blouse, which hung open. “I, u-uh-”
Liz glanced at Fiona. “You brought them. Tell me; what’s your opinion of this one?”
Fiona grinned at Liz, but then — glancing first at Mike, then at me, then back at Mike — her smile went soft. And when she spoke in Fleur’s lilting tones, they were appreciative. “This one? We do not see eye to eye, but — despite that — I believe he is a good soul. Loyal. He’s been a true companion as long as I’ve known him. Brave, in his way.”
“In his way?” Isandra got a cruel smile on her face. “Someone is either brave or they are not.”
Fleur hesitated. “I used to think that. But ... I am beginning to see that perhaps there are different kinds of bravery. Just as there are different kinds of faith.”
In the back of my mind, I was kind of impressed by Fiona’s characterization with Fleur — we were two sessions in and she already had emotional growth happening for the paladin.
But Liz and Mike occupied almost the entirety of my attention, a tangle of emotions running through me. A little irrationally jealous of how close to him Liz was. I could feel myself getting turned on — I was getting an excellent view of Liz’s ass in those leather pants as she stood in front of Mike.
And a growing sense of foreboding at what might be about to happen at Mike’s expense.
“Your drink, Miss Isandra,” Monica interrupted. She had an irritated expression on her face — whether it was intended to communicate how Maye was feeling, or how Monica herself was feeling, I couldn’t have told you.
Both, probably.
“Thank you, girl. Make some drinks for our guests as well, please,” Liz said dismissively, accepting the beverage. She sipped, turning away from Mike to face Fiona and I more fully. “Now. This one.”
She gestured, lazily, at me.
And then Liz sat, unceremoniously, in Mike’s lap.
Mike was suddenly very, very still.
Liz shifted a little bit, settling into his lap like he was just another piece of furniture in her living room — one arm draped lazily across his shoulders, legs crossed, the leather of her pants making a soft sound as she arranged herself.
The series of movements was so casual, so offhand, that it almost seemed accidental. Like Isandra had simply decided this was the most convenient place to sit.
“Tell me about him,” Isandra continued, her voice unhurried, addressing Fiona and me as though nothing noteworthy had occurred.
Fiona’s eyes had narrowed, like she was recalibrating her approach, her understanding of the situation. Her gaze flicked to Mike, then back to Liz.
“Well,” Fleur began, recovering. “Cazimir is ... complicated.”
“I doubt that. No man is truly complicated,” Isandra said, flatly. As she spoke, she shifted her weight in Mike’s lap. A small but deliberate adjustment.
Mike made a little sound, a grunt he couldn’t quite suppress.
He was staring down at Liz’s ass, the way her hips flared out from her tight waist, the way those pants clung to her curves.
I could imagine it easily: the warm weight of her settling against me, the pressure, the way you’d be able to feel the shape of her through the thin costume fabric.
I felt another reflexive stab of jealousy mingled with guilt. I was getting hard. Again.
“He is...” Fleur considered her words carefully. “Talented. Capable. The Sun chose him for a reason, even if I personally question the Sun’s taste.”
“Hey,” I said, mildly, as Cazimir.
“But I believe he chafes against authority,” Fleur continued, ignoring me. “He doesn’t take easily to his birthright, the Sun’s gift he’s been given.”
“How interesting.” Isandra uncrossed and recrossed her legs.
The motion made her ass shift against Mike. “O-oh,” Mike mumbled, redfaced.
Isandra ignored him. “Do you share that assessment, Cazimir? Do you have a problem with authority?”
I tried to keep my eyes on Liz’s face and not on her body, not on Mike’s stricken expression. She’d started a slow, almost subliminal, rocking motion.
“I don’t have a problem with authority. I have a problem with authority badly used.” I said it in Cazimir’s voice.
Isandra’s eyes glittered. “And who decides whether it’s being well-used? You?”
The question felt heavier than it should have. I could feel the layers underneath it. Monica’s campaign. This one. The decade of friendship behind all of it and the question of who got to decide what happened between us.
“Not me, no. It’s simpler than that,” I said. “If you’re using authority just to ... control someone else so you feel powerful, then you’re using it badly.”
Liz held my gaze for a moment. Something complicated flickered through her expression.
But then Isandra smiled. “A philosopher. How tedious.” She shifted her weight again in Mike’s lap, more obviously this time. A slow, grinding roll of her hips that she didn’t even pretend to disguise; she repeated it, slowly. “Your companion bears the air of one who worships the Sun. But what do you worship?”
“Why do I have to worship anything?” I struggled to keep up the verbal repartee.
“Everyone worships something. Some outwardly, like your friend here. Others only inwardly, in the darkest corners of their soul.” Isandra’s voice was soft, quiet. “Everyone worships something because every soul hungers for something. The desperate ones are easy. Money. Safety. Sex. The interesting ones...” She leaned forward, and the motion pressed her more firmly against Mike.
“Fuck,” he breathed the word out. “Liz, a-are you sure-”
Liz just ignored him, kept talking. “ ... The interesting ones want something they can’t name. Or won’t.”
“Maybe I just want to be the one in control, for a change,” I said. It came out rawer than I intended, more Chris than Cazimir.
Isandra paused before she spoke. The grinding slowed, but didn’t stop.
“Ah. Control.” She tilted her head. “You’re so resentful of being controlled, but what you want most is to be in control? Hypocritical. Like most men. And most philosophers.”
“It’s not hypocrisy to want power,” I countered.
She smiled, didn’t respond to that directly. “What bothers you so, hm? About being controlled? Is it that others are in charge ... or is it how much you like them being in charge?”