Loki gazed deeply into my eyes. I could feel him inside my mind, rummaging around in my memories like a child in a toy box.
“Perhaps a bit of atmosphere is in order,” he intoned softly, and the room began to change. Gradually, it filled with lit candles casting flickering golden light on all the walls. My stereo came on, and music from one of my favorite instrumental artists wafted gently through the room. I didn’t recall having that CD in the player. I also noted that the room was at least ten degrees warmer than it had been and smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla. The quilt underneath me also changed; it was now made of a soft, luxurious velvet rather than cotton, although the pattern and colors didn’t change at all.
Loki smiled upon seeing my reaction to each change.
“You have a very vivid imagination,” he complimented me, then changed his tone. “Roll over,” he commanded.
I frowned at him, but I did what he asked, scooting up onto the bed where he gestured for me to move. The velvet felt very different to my skin than the cotton had, making my breasts and stomach tingle where I brushed against the nap. He straddled the upper part of my legs, and I could feel his leather pants rubbing against the lower part of my behind. It made me acutely aware of his position. After a moment, he leaned forward and crouched over me, stroking my back with his chest as he covered my wrists with both of his hands and brought his lips close to my ear.
“Feeling a bit vulnerable, are we?” he asked with a smile, concluding his question with a quiet, dangerous chuckle.
My eyes widened as my breath caught in my chest. He could do anything right now, and I would be powerless to hinder him.
“That is the general idea, my dear,” he explained, then mused aloud, “Now what should I do next?”
Images from a recent erotic novel I’d read flashed unbidden through my mind.
“Now there’s a thought,” Loki laughed. “But do you really want me to do all that?”
He sat up and swatted my bare behind playfully with one hand. I yelped and squirmed underneath him; his action took me by surprise, not to mention the fact that it stung. I had never been spanked by a man before; my father was a man of words, not action. Mom was always the disciplinarian in our little family. In one thought, it was scary as hell, but in the next, it had an exotic, forbidden quality that made it enticing.
“No, not really,” I answered in a small, meek voice, while trying unsuccessfully to cover my behind with my free hand. He grabbed my shielding hand and brought them both above my head, where a forest green silk scarf appeared in midair and tied itself securely around my wrists.
“No, my lord,” he instructed me in a low voice, his breath warm in my ear.
I gulped. My lord?
“This could be ever so much fun,” he threatened softly, sitting up again and running his hands possessively over my back and posterior. I turned my wrists, but I couldn’t get my hands free of the scarf. “And you really ought to be punished for fooling around with arcane power and failing to recognize my divinity… and at least a dozen other offenses.” He patted my behind as if practicing.
