Ch. 06 – Recruitment
A knock upon my apartment door startled me out of the dream-like memory I had been enjoying while writing up my report. I grumbled in frustration and pushed my chair back from the desk. I was wearing an old pair of jogging shorts and a Stanford Wrestling t-shirt. I briefly considered throwing on a pair of jeans, at least, but then checked myself. Why do I need to get dressed to run off a Jehovah's Witness? On the way to the door, I mussed my hair a bit rather than attempting to flatten it. Might as well give the crazies a good show.
I jerked the door open, my face a mask of unassailable impatience, poised to bite the head off whomever dared attempt to sell me their particular flavor of Jesus. My mouth fell open and I stared helplessly, incapable of thought.
Sylla giggled, cupping a hand over her mouth, as she eyed me head to foot. She had nearly gotten control of herself when her inspection reached my bare feet, sending her into further convulsions of barely suppressed laughter.
"Sylla!" I choked out.
"Hello, Adam Wayne," she replied, finally composing herself. "Nice of you to get dressed up for me."
"My name and my address," I mused, unsettled. She should not have been able to find that information. "Don't get me wrong, I've been wanting to see you, but..." I trailed off. The Club guards its secrets jealously, even the personal information of its lowly Rulers, the bottom rung of the male hierarchy. "How did you...?"
"Find you?" Sylla grinned impishly at me, her cheeks dimpling in a girl-next-door way that made me wish I hadn't been wearing such revealing shorts. Looking at her summoned memories of the most recent Gathering to mind. How she had sexually dominated one experienced lover after another before settling upon me. How she had ridden me endlessly while watching the challenge match between Michelle and Kara on the stage next to us. And how Candace's manipulation had caused Sylla to orgasm so powerfully that it had, in turn, caused me to climax so explosively that I was finished for the night. At that thought, blood emptied from my brain, relocating below my waistband.
I shifted my hips and shielded myself behind the door. "I seduced Annie. She runs The Club's computer networks," she answered, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly, as though it had been no more trouble than checking my Facebook profile. "You were so determined to talk to me the other night. Now's your chance." She smiled expectantly.
I stood awkwardly in the doorway for a few seconds, hiding my erection and stalling for time. "Aren't you gonna invite me in?" she prompted, playfully peeking around the door at my shorts.
I couldn't let her inside. My notes were scattered all over the office. My laptop was open on my desk with a detailed report about
her
on the screen. And even if I had been prepared, I couldn't speak openly in the apartment. The Club had bugged the office, living room, and bedroom. They had not installed cameras, luckily, or I wouldn't be able to get any work done at all.
"Let's take a walk. I need some fresh air," I said. Grabbing my keys from the hook next to the door, I backed Sylla onto the porch, pulled the door shut behind me, and guided her down the sidewalk.
Sylla took it in stride, placing a hand on my arm and allowing me to lead her down a dark, shrub-lined path between apartment buildings. She seemed content to walk silently beside me, which was fortunate, because I was having to think fast. The Club had eyes and ears everywhere. If she was being followed, they would have to keep their distance so as to not be spotted, so I needed a large open area with good visibility. But the bigger problem was Sylla herself. Or, specifically, her clothing. I had to get her out of, and away from, her clothes.
Because, you know, they could be bugged.
That gave me an idea, though. I diverted us down another path towards the center of the complex. It was late on a Tuesday, so there shouldn't be anyone else around. The evening was clear and warm, and a sudden breeze blew back Sylla's hair as we reached our destination.
She looked gorgeous. She was dressed simply: sandals, shorts, and a t-shirt which read 'Han Shot First' below a picture of Captain Solo, leaning back with his boots upon the Mos Eisley cantina table, the smoking corpse of Greedo across from him.
Unable to control myself, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her against my body. I didn't kiss her the way I'd kiss one of The Club's other Members. There was nothing professional or measured in the kiss. I just kissed her the way I wanted to. Long and deep. She kissed me back the exact same way.
Long before I was finished, she gently pushed me away. "I thought you needed to talk to me about something. 'It's important.' Isn't that what you told me?"
I didn't answer, but turned my back to her as I pulled off my clothes. Leaving them in a small pile with my keys on the concrete, I dove into the cool, clear water of the swimming pool. I allowed my momentum to carry me half the length of the pool before surfacing. I turned around to coax Sylla into following me, but she was already kicking off her sandals and stepping out of her own clothing. Grinning, I swam to the opposite edge of the pool and vaulted over the wall into the large, round jacuzzi.
By the time Sylla eased her glistening, naked body over the wall and slipped into the hot tub, I had cranked the jets up to full blast. No one farther than a few feet away would be able to hear our conversation. And there was no one within sight, anyway. I relaxed, draping my arms over the sides, and watched as Sylla approached.
She wasted no time in closing the distance between us, pressing her naked body against mine and taking my cock in her hands. It sprang to full attention and I drew a deep, shuddering breath, eager to be inside of her again. But she paused, stroking my length idly and staring into my eyes. "Adam Wayne," she mused aloud, seeming to taste the name I had chosen for myself. "Your parents have an interesting sense of humor," she observed. "But how did they know you would grow up to look like Batman?"
"I don't look like Batman," I insisted testily, embarrassed that I had chosen the name, an amalgamation of Adam West and Bruce Wayne, for that exact reason. "But I guess that explains why you called me 'Master Wayne' at the Gathering," I said. "I couldn't figure out how you knew my real name." My real name. The lie felt heavy on my lips. My whole life was a lie. They came easily to me. But it felt wrong to lie to Sylla, even out of necessity.
Unfortunately, I didn't have a choice. The evening was going to be full of lies and manipulations.
With a sigh and a soft, slow kiss, Sylla released me from her grasp and moved to sit across from me in the jacuzzi. She fixed me with an expectant gaze.
How to begin with a woman like Sylla? How do you manipulate a woman who can twist others to her will as easily as the rest of us tie our shoes? The simple answer, of course, is by challenging her. By telling her not to do precisely what you want her to do. I took a deep breath and began.
"The Club is a bad place, Sylla, filled with dangerous people. You need to get out and get far away before it's too late."
Sylla's reaction surprised me with its ferocity. "Are you insane?" she demanded. "For the first time in my entire life, I've found a place where I belong and you want me to walk away?" She glared at me, seeming ready to climb out of the spa and out of my life.
I raised my hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just being honest with you," I replied, the irony not at all lost on me. "There are a lot of things you don't know about it. Who the other Members are. Where their money comes from." I didn't know all the answers myself. I had more questions than answers, to be sure.
She stared at me for a long time before nodding, her face softening by degrees. "Fine. You've warned me. But I'm not leaving. And that's not why you wanted to talk to me, so how about you get on with it?"
The hook was baited. Now to cast it into the water.
"I had to warn you because what I'm going to ask of you is going to put you into danger. Real danger. More danger than you're already in. And I'm not gonna ask if there is any chance that you're willing to get out while you can."
Sylla was already leaning forward, looking into my eyes with interest. "Ask me," she said, her words barely above a whisper.
The bait was taken. Time to reel her in with a whopper of a story.
"They have my sister." I dropped my eyes and stared at the churning water for several long moments, my face a mixture of pain, loss, and anger. When I looked back up, she was staring at me with concern. I heaved a deep sigh, making a show of gathering my resolve. I stared off into the distance as I began my tale, not wanting to look her in the eye as I performed my well-rehearsed speech.
"I am very smart and physically gifted," I began. "My father was a nuclear physicist at CERN and my mother a professional ballet dancer with a PhD in psychology. I grew up in a loving, nurturing environment, excelling in academics and sports alike. I graduated top of my high school class after breaking every meaningful school record in track, wrestling, and swimming. I attended Stanford University, where I was a four-time All American wrestler and graduated summa cum laude as a pre-med student. After finishing medical school at Harvard, I spent 6 years as a neurosurgeon at a hospital in New York."
I stole a glance at Sylla. She was entranced. I looked directly into her eyes as I continued.
"I'm telling you this so that you will fully appreciate what I mean when I tell you that compared to my little sister, I am a blithering mongoloid. If I am gifted, then April is a gift. She excelled at everything she put her mind to. At 12, she taught herself to speak Finnish fluently because of a Monty Python skit she liked. At 15, she made the US National Diving Team and could have qualified for the Olympics, but she had already moved on to other interests. The next year, she received three patents for her developments while interning at the cyclotron laboratory at Berkeley. You get the point.
