Mirror Space - Marianne de Pierres [51]
The questions flowed from there; some intimate and arousing, and others almost clinical. He managed to speak frankly for the most part and - surprisingly - found himself sharing his deep desire to change himself.
‘You wish to take control of your life, Thales.’
He became impassioned at that suggestion. ‘Control is supposed to be illusory and yet others seem able to manipulate and coerce me. Is it my naivety, Aleta? What is it that makes me such easy prey?’
‘Perhaps it’s what you secretly want, Thales. To be commanded. We could explore that idea.’
Thales wasn’t sure how to reply to that. ‘Just a few hours ago I found my. . . partner with . . .’ He could not finish. ‘Tell me Aleta, what pleasure can be gained from pain?’
She smiled so serenely that it might have been that he’d asked her to meditate with him. ‘Given the right conditions, the two are as one. Perhaps I can show you?’
He shook his head. A light sweat broke over his skin. That was not what he’d meant. But why had he told this beautiful stranger so much about himself? More than he’d told Bethany even? He had refused the disinhibitor, and yet words sprang to his lips as if he were a gauche and ingenuous teenager.
The drink! He stared at the empty tube. I should leave, he thought, and stood.
‘Wait!’ she ordered him.
Her imperious tone overcame his volition and his legs folded underneath him. He stared across at her.
The light flickered for an instant, and the plain blue room was superseded by an authentic reproduction of his bedroom on Scolar. Aleta lay on a bed in the centre of the room, where the platform had been.
Thales sat riveted to his chair fighting a wave of emotion. ‘Y-your virtual artistry is commendable.’
‘It is the best there is, Thales. Come here!’ She flicked her hair. It seemed longer, as long as Rene’s, and her face seemed to have aged a little. It now showed the fine, beautiful lines of a well-kept older woman. Her beautiful body lay draped in the soft fabric of her attire, which accentuated her hips and caught between her thighs.
He sprang from his chair and approached her. ‘How-did you do that?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘How did you make yourself look like my wife?’
‘It is part of the service - understanding what you want most and capturing it.’
‘What do you mean by “capturing”?’
‘It is obvious that you miss your wife, Thales, in many ways; her love, her interest in you, but mostly you miss her firm hand. She’s not just your guide, Thales, she is your Commander. Your Goddess.’
‘No. That’s . . . ridiculous. We are equals . . . were equals, at least.’
Aleta pulled the fabric down from her shoulders, revealing smooth breasts that lay heavily on her chest; larger breasts than Rene’s.
Thales had longed at times for Rene’s breasts to grow with the fullness of pregnancy, but she had never shown interest in such an idea.
He wetted his lips, unable to tear his eyes from her; so like his wife and yet almost...more desirable. He tried to reject the notion, but Aleta sat up straight, her expression stern.
‘Remove your clothes, Thales.’ The tone of her voice spoke to something deep inside him. Not his conscious or rational self, but the child who needed direction.
He stripped obediently out of his borrowed pants and shirt and stood trembling.
She looked him over. ‘Sweet and youthful,’ she remarked, as if to herself. ‘How lovely.’ She slid to the edge of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. ‘Kneel.’
He dropped between her knees overwhelmed by an eagerness to please her and the need to rest his face against her thighs. The gown barely covered her womanly parts and he breathed her scent. She tugged strands of his hair, murmuring instructions to him and the order in which they would proceed.
His head swirled with anticipation and the stimulation of gentle pain.
Rene had always been directive in their lovemaking, but in a restrained and modest manner. She had never aroused him through talk of what would come.
‘It is important,’ said Aleta, ‘that from now until our time together is over, you