Amorous Goods: It Began with Bolt-Cutters

Prologue:

A lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left the entire collection and the business built around them to the only remaining relative, a niece on a career path of her own. Vikki has taken on the task of administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However, she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. These are the stories of some of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods.

"HEY!" he yelled at the windows above, hoping someone could hear him. He couldn't believe it. He was fucking trapped in some ancient skylight or chimney or something. It was dirty. And it didn't smell great. It was too small for a prison cell. And his head fucking hurt.

A window was thrown open two stories up. Startled, a woman leaned out looking down at him.

"Help!" he called, waiving his hands, trapped in hand-cuffs above his head at her.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Please?" she called, ducking back into the building.

"Pretty please!" he called back, oddly comforted by the bemused lift to her lips and confidence she held in her bearing as she sized up the situation.

A bit of a breeze sucked her white curtains out into the bricked opening he was trapped in. A clean, woodsy, tantalizing scent tickled his nose on that breeze. When she returned, she fidgeted at the window frame, muttering to herself at a level that he couldn't distinguish the words. The tone was business-like. Then she reappeared leaning out the window, holding a rolled up rope ladder. She frowned on the verge of dropping it, "Protect your head, okay!" Then she dropped it, letting it unroll as it fell.

It missed him, and the left over portion settled in the slushy ground. Grabbing the nearest rung, he realized there was a problem. "I can't climb in these handcuffs," he told her as she watched his struggle.

She groaned, and disappeared from the window again. Shortly she reemerged climbing out onto the ladder. Her cute derriere and legs wiggling out first. He inhaled in surprise. She was wearing green tights and a leotard. And a utility belt with bolt-cutters. He couldn't help himself either, as she descended, he swallowed spying the contours of her labia. When she stopped descending, just out of reach he guiltily adjusted his gaze to her face.

"Nice bruise." She pointed at her head in the area where his own throbbed painfully. "So what happened?"

He shifted his focus and was caught by her direct, twinkling gaze. "I, I lost a bet."

"Go on," she prompted, unhooking the bolt-cutters to twirl them like a baton.

He dropped his gaze to the slush that he had been laying in when he awoke which was drying on the left side of his body. "I was in this stupid store with a bunch of stupid crap, and my stupid friend..ex-friend..dared me to play some stupid card game. I lost. He knocked me out and left me here in this open air chimney or whatever it is."

"It's an air shaft." Sighing, she finished climbing down, and he lifted his cuffs holding them out for her to cut. With a quick snap, the chain between the handcuffs broke, a bolt of heat stabbed into him, and his head jerked up. Without looking directly, he found himself aware of her body, everything perfect. He licked his lips fighting himself from thinking about licking her nipples visible through her leotard's material.

"You're a mess." Rolling her eyes she reascended the ladder, "Wait till I'm done then come up."

Lustful hunger wracked him as his eyes tracked her labia all the way up the ladder. "What's your name?" he asked as he climbed up after her.

"Bridget," she told him when he reached the window. The window accessed her bedroom.

His shoes left muddy prints on the floor, where she had pulled back the carpet for easier cleaning. "I'm so sorry about messing up your space." He was a stinky, walking mud monster in her pristine living space.

Shrugging, Bridget backed up. "Aside from 'sucker', what's your other name?" she shook her head with that bemused smile firmly in place.

"Sean."

"Well, Sean, there's an emergency phone out front that you can use. Okay?"

He followed her towards the apartment's open door nodding and paused after walking through it. "I owe you Bridget."

Shaking her head in disagreement, she shut the door in his face. He overheard, but was certain she didn't mean for him to, "I expect I'll end up collecting." The tone was dark self-foreboding.

Fighting the headache, Sean made sure to memorize her apartment number and location.

On getting home and cleaning up, Sean decided concussion-be-damned, he was going to pay a visit to his ex-friend's condo...The fact that he couldn't break the cuffs being the major factor in the decision. By the time he reached Gomer's place, his fury had notched up to a crescendo. As soon as Gomer got to the door, Sean forced it open. Burning rage burst out. He first slammed the door into Gomer's face, then grabbed him by the arm, and winched it into a position to force the shit face-first into the wall. Sean knew how to fight and was inherently strong from staying in shape. "You look surprised," he growled.

"The curse was supposed to break," Gomer gasped surprised.

And the asshole stank. Sean started tapping Gomer's head against the wall, "How does it feel to be attacked by someone you thought was a friend?" Each dull hit just made the tearing heat in him burn higher.

"Fuck you! You won't kill me either. I'm going to curse you for real now!"

Sean didn't like losing his temper, and despite what Gomer thought, if Sean wasn't careful, he was entirely capable of doing something he'd regret. A wash of freezing self-disgust filled him. Gomer was a piece of shit and wasn't worth it. Sean gave up and threw Gomer to the ground. "If I see you, ever, we're doing this again." Then he kicked him in the ass. Wet ass. Apparently the source of the smell.

Shutting the door, still fuming as well as ashamed, he decided it was time to head to the clinic, get his head checked out, and see if they had something to cut the damn cuffs off.

About a week later, Sean's head was on the mend, but he was no closer to getting the remains of the cuffs removed. The doc said he'd have to break his hand to get them off after a few attempts failed. The machinists that he'd visited said that their equipment would probably be successful at taking his hand off first.

The constant presence of the cuffs initially bothered the shit out of him. Once he associated them with meeting Bridget though, he found he didn't mind and stopped tugging on them. Both the doc and one of the machinists commented on their unusual design in the metal, some kind of knot. As soon as the next weekend arrived, Sean returned to the stupid shop where they had been purchased, Amorous Goods.

Sean wrinkled his nose at the odd mixture of scents as he entered. Under the overwhelming spices and decay was something dark, and he didn't like it. The shopkeep smiled broadly as he entered the store, "Welcome back, slave."

"Sean." He must have heard him wrong. Marching up to the counter, Sean showed the man his cuffs. "Why won't these cut off?"

"It's called a 'Celtic Knot', slave." The elliptical answer pissed him off, and calling him a slave in public made him want to break something.

"Sean. Where's the fucking key?"

Laughing at him, the shopkeep replied, "You must go get your mistress' permission to unlock it."

Bridget popped unbidden into his mind. Along with the urge to protect his savior. She shouldn't get involved in this. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The shopkeep stopped laughing. Somehow that was a lot more menacing. "I physically can't get the key unless your mistress comes in."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You belong to her now."

"Get. The. Fucking. Key." Sean snarled. He was not having this conversation.

"Go. Or else I'll call the police. She'll collect you when she's ready."

The last person he wanted to see Bridget in the vicinity of was this creepy asshole. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

The shopkeep picked up the phone raising his eyebrows and pointed at the exit.

Raising his hands in surrender, Sean walked out. It was an excuse to see Bridget again at least. A lousy one.

Bridget was tapping at her astronomy book annoyed when the outer door buzzer blared. Getting up and gazing at the outside video, she wasn't too surprised to recognize Sean. He was cleaned up, still vibing a strong surliness, "What do you want?"

"To thank you." His head swiveled around, spotted the camera, then gazed at it earnestly.

"What?" Somehow he was a natural at derailing her thoughts.

"Come on down, I'll take you out."

Well...she was curious. "Do I get to hear more of your story?"

"Guaranteed," his eyes sparked, and his brows resumed their initial surly expression.

Whether surly or focusing on her, he was kind of cute. "I could use a coffee."

"You got it." His face cleared, and a flash of some emotion quickly suppressed passed. Her heart beat a little quicker as she shut down the connection and headed out. He wanted her for something...which could be something good...or could be something bad.

As soon as she emerged, Sean, who had moved away from the door, marched up to her holding his hand out in greeting. She glanced at it nervously, but sighing inwardly, she grasped it. A tingle of awareness ran through her with the connection, and her gaze was yanked down to their mated palms. Unsettled, she held on to his hand when Sean released his fingers to let go. "What's with the bracelets?" Then she turned his hand over, recognition dawning. "These were the handcuffs weren't they?"

Sean held still as she inspected them. Her fingers touching him tingled.

For whatever reason, Bridget realized he couldn't take them off. Then she spotted the Celtic Knot in their surface. "I don't believe it." she muttered, releasing his hand with a consoling pat. Uneasiness settled into her stomach.

Sean's voice was soft, "What?"

"Where did you get those handcuffs?" Bridget looked off towards some of the nearby buildings thoughtfully.

Sean held out his hand. He wanted to feel her touch again. "I'll show you." When she didn't take it, he converted it to a gesture towards his car in the parking lot. A couple of steps later, he stopped. She wasn't following. He took a deep breath.

Bridget was shaking her head. "No way. I am not getting into a car with a stranger who's obviously got problems."

Sean returned to her, "I'm sorry. Wasn't thinking." He needed to follow her lead.

Bridget waved it away and pointed at the block of nearby buildings, "There's a coffee shop right over there."

Sean followed her as she led the way. When they entered, Bridget received warm greetings from the staff. And Sean received a silent lookover, particularly from another patron. Gazing at them both with a frown, the man approached.

"Who's the surly bear, Bridget?" he asked. His tone was both humored and hostile.

She shrugged placing her order on the screen in the table as she started to sit. Sean moved rapidly to manage her chair. "We're acquaintances, Bard. Thank you, Sean. Sean, Bard. Bard, Sean." She didn't bother looking up, and missed Bard's look of disquiet flash across his face.

Sean moved into Bard's personal space and settled himself at the table to her left. Narrowing his eyes, Bard moved to approach Bridget's right side when she stopped him, "I'm very sorry, Bard, but this is a confidential conversation. May we have some privacy?"

"Fine. I'll find out later." he answered with a soft smile. Squeezing her shoulder companionably, he left.

Sean stifled a growl that wanted to break free. His rescuer was better than anything the smarmy shit offered.

"So, my surly bear, start at the beginning," she ordered with a smile as soon as Bard walked away.

Sean enjoyed the possessive pronoun he'd just gotten and relaxed his hackles with Bard's departure. He told her about the store he and Gomer discovered, the sign that for a fixed price they could play the cards and the winner would get an object. "Ah, the handcuffs" she broke in, looking off in Bard's direction with a frown.

Sean's surly look returned, "And a curse."

"Don't tell me you believe in that stuff." she leaned back away from her initially intent pose.

"I didn't." Then he told her about the power outage damaging his equipment, the food poisoning incident, the mistaken identity incident with tube security that included a lashing, and how he finally called his friend when a screw driver fell out of the sky and embedded in the ground right where he was about to step but stopped when he saw a lovely pink flower.

Bridget's eyebrows increasingly raised throughout this account, and her glances at his cuffs strayed longer and longer.

He told her about how Gomer got him in the car, took off before he'd gotten his seatbelt on, then braked suddenly making him hit his head on the dashboard. While he was clouded, Gomer commented on being cursed, and that he had to put the handcuffs on him to break it and Sean was on his own from now on. He came to consciousness in the air shaft where she found him.

She shook her head in disbelief. "What a mess. Why there of all places?"

He shrugged helplessly, "He didn't say when I stopped by after you rescued my sorry ass."

She paused a full 10 seconds and took in his hostile pretend-passivity, "Let's skip that part. Do you know how he got you down there? It's not meant for people."

"Through one of the bottom windows I guess," he answered slowly, puzzled.

She patted his hand, "Think about that for a minute."

Happy endorphins sparkled around his body from her touch. At the same time he realized that there weren't any lower windows than hers. "Oh, I have no idea then."

Her coffee arrived. "You're not getting anything, Sean?"

He glanced at her thinking, 'What I want here isn't on the menu.' "I'm not familiar with the menu here."

She saw the glance but still was unsure of its source. "My surly bear should have some tea." She tapped the screen again.

"Anything you say," popped out of his mouth. And he realized he meant it.

Her cheeks briefly blushed. Sipping her coffee, she gestured for him to go on. Tugging one of his hands closer, she rotated the cuff to get a good look at it.

Sean rotated his palm upward both in supplication and for the opportunity to idly grasp her arm. "I can't cut them off. Went to the doctor's, went to the machinist's, nothing works without breaking bones. I have to use both hands for my job."

Bridget lowered her eyebrows, "What about the shop? Do they have a key?"

Sean shifted uncomfortably. 'Slave,' the shopkeep kept calling him. Dropping his eyes and his voice, he murmured, "The shopkeep said I couldn't have it and threatened to call the police if I remained."

"Sounds to me like you've got the police case here," she muttered.

He raised his eyes, "Can I depend on you for witness testimony?" His tea arrived, and its fruity essence made his mouth water in anticipation. He sipped at it. Licked his lips. It tasted as good as it smelled, clean, rich, tantalizing. "Nice choice; what is it?"

Bridget frowned. "As far as the police and myself are concerned, that whole cursing thing is certifiable. I'll drive to the shop and talk to the shopkeeper first. At least there is a key, and he's got it." She petted his hand. "It's Llewelyn berry." Her family's symbolic fruit.

Between the tea, her petting, and her help, he relaxed to a level he'd never experienced before. His entire being just wanted to get closer. "I should go with you." He didn't want her approaching the shopkeep at all, especially not alone. Through a tight jaw he added, "Or take that guy that was just in here with you."

Bridget looked around, surprised. Sean was mollified that she'd not noticed Bard leave.

"Trust me," she smiled confidently.

He reluctantly agreed acknowledging that women had the advantage of getting more leeway in situations like this. When they parted, his giving her the address of the shop, he took an extra drive around the neighborhood taking note of signs of vacancies. Their separation was like getting his hair petted backwards.

Bard called as soon as she climbed into her car. "Bridget, the guy's a loon, and he's fixated on you."

"I've just got to get this key and then he'll be gone," she answered turning on the safety system.

"What kind of Knot Label did you find in the surface print?"

The banned Slave Knot. "I didn't see."

"Liar. You were staring at it."

"I meant, I didn't recognize it."

"Describe it to me."

"I'm driving."

"Fine. Catch you later, then."

"Yep." She reflected that Sean urged her to be careful while Bard was relatively unconcerned.

Storming into the shop, Bridget found the woman behind the desk and growled at her, "What are you doing peddling dangerous Celtic technology?" Then screwed up her face after taking a breath. Under the usual smell of such a shop was the unmistakable stench from banned technology of the extra-terrestrial sex trade.

The woman, her name tag read 'Vikki', was about to answer when a man came from the back storage area holding up a key between his fingers. His grin made Bridget's teeth grind. "Here's the item you're looking for I believe."

As she reached for it, she glanced up into his eyes; the contacts couldn't hide the golden flash from her UV sensitive gaze. He was a pan-dimensional gargoyle. She gasped. Glancing at Vikki again, definitely completely human, Bridget glanced down at her swelling pregnancy. At the last fraction of a second, she hesitated. "Just put it down on the counter, thanks."

Laughing, the gargoyle complied, turned around, then left calling over his shoulder, "Your slave has permission to enter this shop again." His guffaws echoed darkly in her ears.

"Feel free to look around," Vikki added as Bridget slowly backed away.

Everywhere she looked was filled with sensual traps for the naive. She pulled open the door, "Right." And left.

When she got back to her apartment, Bridget took out the family book on their ancient Celtic world from which they'd immigrated. She quickly found the Slave Knot in the pictures of their world's shameful history. But Sean's was subtly different. The ends of the Knot he had included smaller Knots in the individual threads. Flipping rapidly through the text, she found the purpose.

Holding up the key to Sean's cuffs, she studied it, the sinister Teeter-Totter Trap. "Sorry, Sean." she muttered.

Sean paused a moment to run his hands through his hair and make sure he was presentable. Then he knocked on Bridget's door.

Pulling it open, she jerked in surprise, "You. How did you..."

He smiled, contented with looking at her again. "I'm your new downstairs neighbor." The internal apartment, without any outside windows, was perennially empty. So, Sean acquired it with no difficulty.

She stammered, "...I was going to call you tomorrow. Wait. What?" She nervously glanced at his cuffs.

She had just arrived home. He could hear it clearly through his ceiling. His happiness became a soft emotional buzz filling his head. "Can I come in?"

Like a strict teacher, she replied, "Um..yes, you MAY." She knew without a doubt that he couldn't harm her.

Some happiness slipped into his practiced smile, hopefully making it more suave than goofy.

She frowned. "Please have a seat." She pointed at a chair at the small kitchen table.

Sean paused settling to see whether he could help seat her again. "How are you doing?"