He might as well have some fun at her expense.

Ophelia was nearly upon John when he turned to regard her; her instincts stopped her just short of putting her hands on him. She stood barely a foot away from the man, an inch shorter than her and yet still... a presence. He wasn't flinching because of her approach, wasn't squaring up to defend himself... his arms were crossed, but she had kept her eyes on them throughout. He was unarmed. He was overconfident, then... but something in her gut told her to show some caution. She did, but kept her gaze hard.

"You put one hand on her, and I'm contractually obliged to beat your sorry ass until I decide to let the police enter the premises to arrest you."

She meant it, John could tell. Hell, I'm almost convinced... but even with that mana bar, I don't think she's really got any magic up her sleeve... But could John bank on that? "What if she wants my hands on her?" He decided to test it, and fired his first spell at the Marine.

Augmented Ophelia's appreciation of your moxy by 45%.

Telemancy is now level 9!
Augment/reduce emotion is now level 9!

Her Relationship score ticked up a full three points, and she awarded him a smirk. "Well, Vanessa," she asked without taking her eyes off of John, "do you want him to punish you?"

John interjected, "Things are obviously over if she-"

"I didn't ask you." John closed his mouth, but his message to Vanessa was probably clear enough.

"I..." Vanessa's voice shook as she looked at the two. How the Hell did I get into this situation?! I'm supposed to be in control!

"If he's blackmailing you," Ophelia suddenly declared, with significantly less amusement, "you know damn well he doesn't stand a chance-"

"I-It's fine!" the heiress suddenly declared, and groaned with immediate regret. "It's fine... he's, like, totally right..." I just need to get past tonight... I can still work him...

Ophelia seemed unconvinced, but John wasn't going to bother waiting for her to be impressed. Then again... maybe she's just what I need to get one over on Vanessa, enough to put her in her place... "Vanessa," John started, now feeling safe enough to pace away from the bodyguard, "I'm going to let Ophelia choose for you, since you seem to trust her... but if you say a word, or try to indicate to her what you want her to pick, then I walk out of here, and your hopes for our future together go with me."

John fingered an expensive-looking perfume on one of the two vanity sets in her room, and listened idly to her thoughts. He's toying with me... but that's what he is. I saw that side of him already... and it's how I can control him. Fine. I'm a Hawthorne, you cocky shit! I'll break you with your own dick if I have to! "Fine," Vanessa finally declared, and walked to her bed to sit innocently on its edge. Looking back at her, the pristine image of an innocent girl ready for bed was ruined by the field of toys that still awaited some victim that was never going to be John.

"Yeah, well, this is beyond my job description," Ophelia muttered, "and I've got shit to do, so by your leave, Princess-"

"No, Ophelia," Vanessa almost shouted, "please... stay." You'll ruin everything, you musclehead!

John nodded, and paced the room as he narrated. "I'm pretty sure I know how you tried to screw me over just now with the maids... so I need to screw you in return." John observed Vanessa with a tight smile. "But I won't let you pick... and it's no fun if I pick... so Ophelia: what hole should I use?"

Vanessa turned to porcelain. What the... fuck...! He's going to let this cripple pick a hole?! I mean, it's Ophelia, but fuck you! I can barely keep her in check as it is, but if she has this one over me- wait, if she makes him take my... no... oh God, no!

For all of Vanessa's panicking, Ophelia made no outward reaction other than an exhausted sigh. "Allegedly dropping two hundred grand on some maids, and now this... are you rich kids always this twisted?"

You're not helping, Ophy!

"Vanessa's counting on you, Ophelia," John reminded her. "That being said: did you ever get back on birth control?"

Vanessa knew the question was directed at her... and she swallowed hard before trying to reply as neutrally as possible. "N-No." In her nervousness, Vanessa grabbed a vibrating egg and held it in her grasp like a worry stone. A soft-pink, vibrating worry stone.

Ophelia's eyes went wide. "What the- you told me you got an IUD!"

"She had it removed a while ago," John semi-fibbed. It's been plenty of hours, at least... "So? Which will it be?"

Is he going to cum inside... no. He wouldn't; that would be checkmate for me, and he already took it away once. I mean, allegedly, he- God, magic is so fucking dumb and complicated for no fucking reason!

"Can I pick... any hole?" Ophelia carefully asked.

Vanessa's hand squeezed the vibrating egg viciously. NO! YOU STUPID BITCH, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU MAKE HIM FUCK ME IN THE ASS-!

John sealed his lips, doing his best to hide his grin. I really shouldn't be enjoying this... "Yes. Any hole at all."

Ophelia sighed with relief. "Good."

Vanessa proved to have an excellent poker face, compared to what was going on in her head. VAGINA! SAY VAGINA!! PICK MY VAGINA! God fucking help me, you better get him to knock me up again, you stupid heifer! Read the fucking room, don't you dare make me suck it- oh God, she's going to pick anal, isn't she-!

Ophelia walked up to John slowly, doing her best to appear cold and detached. Vanessa was the only one affected, and she felt like she might faint as her body shuddered to imagine being anally **** in her own home, in the place where she slept, where she dreamed her beautiful, man-dominating dreams. If Vanessa wasn't so amusing with her terrified mental tirade, John might've swapped to glimpse into Ophelia's mind to try and figure out the arithmetic going on behind those stern eyes. Now mere inches from him, Ophelia loomed ever so slightly over him, and she finally managed a mean-looking half-grin.

"Well?" John whispered.

"Mine," Ophelia declared.

"Your choice," John affirmed. He thought that was what he affirming.

"My pussy."

"You got... what?"

POP. The vibrating egg exploded harmlessly in Vanessa's grip. "WHAT."

Ophelia shrugged, and gave John's slack-jawed face a pat with her metal hand. "You said any hole, right? I was thinking 'faucet' and the like, but I know you'd shoot those down... but how about it, big man? You're man-enough to bully my charge here..." The metallic fingers moved with a surprising grace, but having his chin gripped in its clutches was not a comforting sensation as she raised his head. "... think you can take me on instead?"

What... the fuck, Ophelia?! "What... the fuck, Ophelia?!" That was probably the first time John heard Vanessa speak her mind all day. "He's my boyfriend-!"

"He's your abusive boyfriend," Ophelia corrected her, "and I'm your bodyguard."

John was still reeling from the proposition. I... could refuse, but... The idea of sex with Vanessa, and all the baggage she seemed to attach, was a bit less appealing than this alleged trick of words. Ophelia was pretty, even with the vicious scar on her face. She was nicely-stacked too, and tall and lean... frankly, this trick she was pulling was turning out far better than what he had hoped for. Hell, I thought fucking Vanessa in front of her guard would piss her off... but this might be... "I think you've got me all wrong, though."

"I think you need to shut that mouth unless it's opening to munch my carpet, big boy." John swallowed hard. His optimism started to drain away. "Now get your skinny little ass naked, and let's get this over with."

"Ophelia, I'm ordering you to stand down from-"

"You know damn well I'm not going to take these orders from you, Nessie," Ophelia muttered, turning away from John as she began to unbutton her blouse, "and certainly not when you want this asshole to pound you... even if you probably deserve it..."

"What-?!"

"So you can stay and watch, or else you can go and do the homework that I know you've been putting off."

"I-I'll... I'll tell my father!"

"I have never, ever cared." Ophelia tossed her jacket and shirt in a single pile, and John, who was obediently beginning to undress, paused to look.

The warrior's left arm consisted of only a few inches of visible bicep before terminating in a black, plastic bowl of the prosthetic, with the bowl itself strapped to her with harnesses underneath her black bra. The mechanisms of the prosthetic, sheathed in flexible black plastic, almost distracted John from the horrific scarring for which his information on her didn't prepare him: the shining, leathery flesh of her torso crinkled in uneven cuts, with veins bared just beneath the surface of the hairless, poreless skin. It covered her everywhere on her left side from the bit of her left arm that remained, up to her neck, and down into her pants. Other scars, like cuts or bullet grazings, dotted her right flank, but none were as oppressive to the image of an enticing woman still in her twenties as the burns. She unhooked her pants, and down they went... revealing that the burns reached across both of her buttocks, and the majority of the left thigh, the rest of which remained sheathed in a second prosthetic of the same make. Her right leg, still natural, was mostly burns with deep trenches slicing across her calves, likely dug by shrapnel like the scar on her face.

She stepped out of shoes and pants in single, practiced motions. The care with which she moved put a burden on John's chest.

"O-Ophelia..." John started to murmur.

She turned to regard him, a questioning raise of her eyebrow as she nonchalantly undid her bra with just her natural arm. "Are you having second thoughts?" The bra fell away, and her right breast, a C-cup and beautiful except where the burns nearly crawled up its inner-side, was revealed. Her left fell away as a foam filling in her bra, revealing the smooth, featureless plain where a mastectomy had removed what had remained. She undid a clasp on her panties, and that sole strip of thin black cloth, amid the harness straps that kept her leg on by clutching to her waist and thigh, fell along with the bra. An overgrown bush of black hair, mismatched with the dye of her hair, refused to grow where her pubic mound had been burned.

Vanessa turned away, her face wrinkled in something like disgust. I thought she'd try to hide it, at least...

John fell silent.

"Am I not to your liking, John?" she said with a shadowed smile.

He met her eyes, and tried to **** the pity he felt welling in him. It was insulting. It was demeaning to the woman before him.

"You see... well, if I had to guess, from what I've seen so far of you..." she whispered.

He opened his mouth, as if ready to deny whatever her tone suggested.

"... you strike me as the kind of guy who likes his women broken."