Gezza hung in the dark purple nothingness, the air stuffy and dark, smouldering in the air around him.
His greasy hair floating, his backpack lost, the warmth of the Playbook was missing.
His nose was being stung by the metallic tang replaced the warm lavender scent.
His chest pondered, and the skin of his arms and legs still numbed where her hands had touched him. What the fuck is this place?
There was a quick flick of the eyes, the emptiness throbbing, the shadows twisting like snakes, no walls, no floor, only limitless purple haze. His breath stopped, the palms were wet, the fingers were jumping to grasp the Playbook. Where's my book?
The voice came again with a guttural low rumble that was like a drum beat in his chest. "I am the Playbook."
His legs were jerking in the air, and with a wide gap his eyes searched the air, trying to trace the cause.
There was a shape flickering, a formless smear of ink and runes, smouldering faintly, presiding in front of him.
Its edges flashed, scrawling hand washing--the name of Elena, Mia and Tara, Linda, names that whistled in the air, their letters turning like smoke. Holy shit, it's alive.
His throat was getting narrow, though his mouth was curling, a smutty smile growing in. Talking book? That's new.
It said, in a sharp cutting tone," You use me to your own profit. From now, you serve my purpose." The runes were flashing, hot, red as they burnt his eyes. "Do my bidding, or I steal what thine foul soul".
The cold in his chest was even more sharp, his ribs aching, and he remembered the shocks in the kitchen of Linda. Wanna screw with me.
He crossed his arms, trying to appear cocky, yet the weight of the void was making it so hard.
"What's the deal?" The voice shook, Gezza scratched his patchy beard. "I'm already winning. Elena, Mia, Tara, Linda--all mine."
His smile broadened, and he remembered: moaning of Linda, tearing his flesh with nails, her bouncing breasts.
That empty thing was throbbing, the runes drawing together, as though a cord round his neck.
"It was the first task", it said, the voice of the Playbook, "which was reproving, to create and consolidate a powerful harem. Loyal, powerful, yours alone."
The names swirled round, became brighter, blank spaces arose, to which ink needed to be applied. "No less fifteen women, bound to you. Fail, and you lose everything." The blankness was blackening, the steely taste becoming sharper, piercing his lungs.
"Fifteen? Shit, that's a lot". Gezza barked, a deep laugh, and kicked in the air. "That's it? I'm already doing that, book. Piece of cake."
The runes were vibrating, a taunting beat, the shape of the Playbook changed, to jagged edges growing sharper. Not very easy, it hissed, dripping with threat.
"They should not be purchased, but made one. Loyalty, not lust. Strength, not submission and all united." The emptiness became sealed, pushed in, against his chest, his breath shallow.
Please ictures flashed--the predatory look of Elena, the coy smiling of Mia, the trembling defiance of Tara, the shy moans of Linda,--all twisting, and their faces blurring, as though they were struggling. W
hat's it mean, united? His smile wavered, his fingers contracted, the cold was all the more, his ribs burning as though they broke.
"You think this is pleasure?" Playbook grumbled, flares of runes flushed his flesh with pain. "I'll make it hard. without lust they struggle against you, distrust you, ruin you."
The gap whirled, the smoke round his ankles was purple, chilled as ice.
His heart was fluttering, and Gezza was more burning with sleaze.
Fight me? They're already begging. He imagined the body of Linda arching and her walls tightening and smiled.
"Try me, book. I'm loving this." His voice trembled, though he leaned forward, the hoodie fluttering, and feigning the nothingness not to frighten him. It's just playing tough. I got this.
The shape of the Playbook throbbed, a low chuckle rattling down and shaking the emptiness. "Disobey me, And thou wilt cry mercy."
There was a rush of the runes, a brand-like picture that was a glowing number--15.
"Begin or I take all." The empty grabbed him more and more, his throat was choking with metallic tang and he could no longer see, chilled to the bone.
"Fuck you", I'm not scared. he raised a middle finger to the void, his sleazy grin keeping it together, yet his guts knotted.
Flash, blindness, the emptiness closing down. Gezza gave a start of surprise, and the eyes opened, again in the bedroom of Linda.
It was hot, full of lavender and sweat, creaking soft bed. Linda was huddled up against him, her auburn hair tangled, her green eyes shut, drool evaporating on her lips, her bare breasts face-to-face with his.
His shoes hung over the bed, with laces knotted, his hoodie and pants heaped up. He was slumping against his pillow with his backpack and the leather of his Playbook shining slightly with runes.
Back to reality. Still king. And he felt his heart jump and his ribs aching, and a slight chill.
He took the Playbook, which was burning his fingers, and pages crackled in his hands as he opened it.
Elena, Mia, Tara, Linda, the names were glowing, and now was a new page, the number 15 in red ink, beat like a heartbeat. Fifteen girls. Harem time.
His smile broadened. He imagined them all, coy lips of Mia, the dragon tattoo of Tara, the curves of Linda, and more--his own battery of lust.
Mike is going to choke and I have not begun. His fingers were pulling the empty spaces, already planning, itching to his pen
.
Linda woke up, and her hand had touched his chest, nails scratching, and her lavender smell bringing him back. "Gezza..." she grumbled, drowsy, with fluttering eyes, still under the spell of the Playbook.
He grinned, hand stroking her hip, her flesh very warm and smooth. Mission's easy.
They're all mine. He swung his backpack on his shoulder, the Playbook flak as it was, giving his sneakers a bang on the carpet. He looked at Linda, her body across the floor, the sheets in confusion and moved to the door, prepared to search further names, his harem to be raised.