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stared at Jason as he stopped his half-hearted attempt at dance,
swaying slightly within a clearing of the crowd.

Jason had stopped dancing for a moment as what she had said sunk in,
then he did his dazed best to pick up where he had left off. He was
swimming now in the latex knickers. The scotch, though it had been
excellent, was now making him sweat, this conversation was making him
sweat, and the fantastic, delicious appearance of Mayhem herself was
making him sweat. He felt almost ready to faint from heat, stress, and
simple, unrelieved lust.

The music had changed to a current rock tune, and he refrained from
picking up the pace. He noticed that while Mayhem’s stilletto heeled
boots were definitely not made for dancing, she seemed surprisingly
nimble in them.

Mayhem, seeing him falter several times, finally grabbed him with both
hands by wrist and bicep, saying, “Come on, you’d better sit down
before you fall down.”

She steered him back toward the bar. There were no unoccupied stools
anywhere near where Maid Marion sat waiting. Next to her, a man who
looked like nothing so much as a used car salesman was trying to engage
her in conversation. She remained a statue, staring off across the
dance floor.

Mayhem pulled up short in front of the polyester suit replete with
polka dot bow tie, Jason swaying every so slightly at her side. Jason
hoped this guy’s outfit was a costume. He looked like Soupy Sales. He
wasn’t particularly tall either, at least sitting down, and Mayhem’s
sky-scraper heels brought her up to where her leather-armored breasts
jutted straight into his face. It occurred to Jason that he had never
seen heels as tall as the ones these women wore, except in fetish
magazines. He had certainly never seen anyone walk in them. Mayhem’s
confident stride, and precise, if tiny steps gave her a cachet of
power, of potency.

She was giving the used car salesman a hostile stare that should have
melted his suit to his skin. He was oblivious in his determination to
get Marion’s attention.

Mayhem tapped him on the shoulder saying, “She can’t hear you or see
you- she’s deaf and blind,” she said.

The suit had obviously had too much to drink. “Well uh, thash okay, he
said, reaching out to hold Marion’s hand. Jason watched Mayhem’s hand
shoot out, grabbing the drunk’s in a funny way, his wrist bent forward
sharply. He heard the man hiss with supressed pain, saw him surge to
his feet as if to begin battle. Something about his potential opponent
made him pause, however. Perhaps it was the fact that even with him
standing up, Mayhem was still a head taller than he. Perhaps it was
that her leather and rubber costume, while undeniably sexy, made her
appear less a fragile creature and more the armored amazon. Or maybe
it was just that she still had his hand and wrist in that odd grip, and
as he stood, she put her other hand atop his, twisting downward, just a
bit. The suit gasped, grabbing the bar with his other hand for
balance.

“You were just leaving,” she observed. Mr. Polyester seemed to agree
wholeheartedly, his beligerence evaporating in favor of a frightened
look over his shoulder on his way to the door.

Mayhem seemed to forget him the instantly, and within a few seconds,
had Jason ensconced in his chair with a cup of coffee, and was
examining Marion closely. While Jason watched, fascinated with her
every movement, she ran her hands over Marion’s face, removed one kid
glove to feel under Marion’s armpit, touch her forehead. She acted
like a doctor examining her patient for a fever. After only a moment,
she seemed satisfied, and turned back to Jason. She looked at him
seriously.
…End of the part12. To be continued..