Chapter 8

Round seven was anticlimactic. The bikini clad wrestling match between the two women was a complete domination by Helen. In more ways than one. Stacy’s new passion for restriction and bondage was used against her ruthlessly by the taller, angry woman.

Those that took an interest in that competition were sorely disappointed in the contest. Clarence in particular had a displeased expression and words for his unrepentant student. He was so looking for a good slippery mud fight. With two pretty girls in skimpy outfits ‘to boot’. Not that he would ever mention that to his wife.

Stacy took one look at the three cards after the match and broke down crying. She didn’t even say a word, just pointed at the ‘Devotedly’ card and crawled to her bed with her ass up in the air waiting for the shot to end her independent existence. Or any chance of ever becoming a Heroine again.

Three years later...

“Why have you brought me to this place?” Leonard demanded of Catherine.

“A Morning in Bethlehem,” my wife answered.

“What about it? It’s destroyed and lost forever,” he snapped back, causing the people around us to look worried at the elderly man in an exquisitely tailored suit.

“See the blonde in white and silver, the one with the single-braided, ‘mane’?”

“Is that your Student out there, Smith? Standing and walking well, I see.”

This was Cat’s show. She was one of the very few that could influence the ancient Inhuman Vampire.

“Syd took those two that ruined your painting under her heel. The blonde used to be a Villainess; it was she who was trying to rob the museum when that brunette on the other side of Syd came to stop her, causing wanton destruction to that whole exhibit.”

She wasn’t helping his anger, making the spectators around us nervous from Leonard’s soul force leaking out.

“The brunette, can you see what she is wearing?” From 500 feet away, I couldn’t unaided. But Leonard easily could.

“Restraints and a chastity belt, what of it?”

“Sydney broke her and tamed the Heroine to the bond. She craves her Mistress’s binding and attention. That woman is my husband’s student’s dedicated slave. Willing slave.”

He snorted, “and the blonde?”

“Look closely, Leonard. Does she look happy to be there? At the center of attention, bared breasts, hands bound, boots emulating a horse. That white plume and ribbons woven in her braid? That tail, stuck in her ass for all to see? I can tell from even here that she is mortified. Each and every time Sydney takes her to one of these events it is worse than the previous one. But come she does,” chuckling evilly. “And quite hard afterwards too, I hear. Those two are not exactly quiet.”

“Why doesn’t she run away?”

“She does, Sire,” Clarissa added from the other side. “All the time. Last month, Helen fled to Paris. She was there for nine days of partying. On the tenth day, when she and a few of her girlfriends came down to eat in the hotel restaurant, Sydney was waiting at a table.”

“And?” he demanded imperiously from his oldest living Childe. A better explanation than the one provided so far was required.

“I have a friend that was in the same hotel that afternoon with a client. He said that Helen dropped her purse in the middle of the floor, white as a ghost. Staring across the room at a tiny girl on the other side of the restaurant, who was eating soup and not responding to the stare Helen didn’t move a muscle for minutes. Soon everyone’s eyes in the hotel were flickering back and forth between the two.

“Helen’s friends tried to get her attention, with no luck. Instead Helen removed her top, revealing a white ‘swimsuit’ and then stripped out of her boots and jeans. Right in the middle of the Ingis! The maître d’ tried to stop her but Helen is a B-Rank super and shrugged him off.”

“Barefoot and clad in only a black leather collar and white bodysuit she walked with head down, over to that little blonde girl out there. Bending forward, she lifted her chin and uttered one word. Can you guess that word, Sire?”

“No.” He was never one for games. Claiming that he tired of them millennia ago.

“‘Owner’. Owner was the word she used. Helen is not Sydney’s slave but her possession. Just like any of your horses in Florence. Sydney treats Helen lovingly as you do any of your current favorites. Even letting her run now and then,” Clarissa added gleefully. To her, the whole situation was so far out of hand, it was ludicrous. Amusing the younger, two-century-old vampire, to no end.