It was dark as he turned away from the door, and walked towards his car. It was late- late for normal people, but not really for him. It was just before the new moon, so there was almost no light, nothing save outlines and shadows that guided him to his car. The wind wasn't strong, or cold, but it was loud. Loud enough so that he couldn't hear the footsteps behind him, soft footfalls on wet ground. Loud enough that he didn't sense the hand reaching round, or the rag, until it was too late.
His back seized up, arching in pain.
"Don't worry; the pain is only passing. The after effects of the drug, you understand."
He shifted. The voice was right, it was subsiding already. He opened his eyes, and tried to sit up, only to find that his wrists were bound tightly, and were held out, stretching his arms. There were ties on his ankles that held him likewise, and he found that he couldn't move his limbs at all. His head, though, was unbound, and he could see around the room.
It was beyond opulent, beyond even garish. The walls were red, a deep rich red, as were the divans that rimmed the room, the passion surrounded by rich mahogany. There was a lit fire directly down from him, and the roof was black, save for the mirror that was directly above him. It made staring straight up uncomfortable- Mark was not narcissistic at all, and he was totally naked.
"I would imagine you have questions, Mark. That is what I am here for; ask them. There is still time vacant before we are all blessed."
He craned his neck, trying to find the speaker. It was a male voice, but it was high pitched, like a boys.
"Who are you? Where am I?" he asked, his voice slightly panicked.
"It matters not where you are, but I am Nathan, a Brother of the Order of the Lamia."
"What the fuck is the Order of the Lamia? And Why the fuck am I here?!"
"The Order of the Lamia is the only true faith still in existence. We can see and converse with our gods whenever we wish- given that certain... criterion is observed beforehand. And our deities have real power; to grant wishes, to do our wills. As to why you are here, you are to be a sacrifice to the Gods."
Mark was definitely worried now. Panicking, he tried to force the bonds holding him, furiously trying to loosen them, but they did not budge. The ties were not even slightly moved.
"Relax. It will not hurt. I am told that it is rather pleasant to be the subject of a Lamia. But it could never be me who partakes in this honour; I am the God's Seneschal, and am thus to defer all potential that I have to be subject to Her desires. My position requires certain... sacrifices."
Mark gave up. He certainly did not care about the seneschal's inability to satisfy whatever a "Lamia" was. He heard a door open.
"A real pity. I could have told you so much more. But it is too late for instruction now."
Mark felt hands at his bonds, and as they loosened he felt his wrists. The marks were not deep; they were almost nonexistent.
"Mark", came the voice, and instantly Mark fell under the spell. It was like that of classical music; a beautiful flute solo. "Mark, how are you this day? Are you well?"
Mark sat up, still massaging his wrists. Before him was a woman. She had blonde hair, and my god, what a figure. Her breasts were big- at least C-cups, if not D's- and her hips flared dangerously. She was sex to him, everything he had ever wanted in a woman. Her face was gorgeous, the face of a movie star or an angel. He felt his cock stand up just looking at her.
