Hell To Pay by Marc Cabot

his parameters for their playmates. No children, no animals, nobody who wasn’t already looking for a good time. But Lily saw a “Gothic Lolita” magazine at the airport and nothing would keep her from dressing up in the most romantic, decadent, sexually provocative yet totally unrevealing getup she could put together in Harajuku. (For once, she wouldn’t just summon it up: Simon, as he hauled out his wallet, thought that this was a fine time for her to discover the meaning of integrity.) She thought it the absolute apex of the seductress’s art. Tall, pale-skinned Simon and his luscious companion would have gotten stares enough in Japan, but once she was (literally) all dolled up, Simon didn’t think other people even knew he was there.
    Groping pretty girls was more or less a national sport in crowded Japan, but miraculously, Lily always had a small cushion of personal space, even on the infamous Tokyo subway. Every time a crowd of would-be frotteurs moved in her direction, she was somehow smiling at them pleasantly. The ones that didn’t scare off got a little closer and then dropped to their knees in uncomprehending agony. The first time it happened Simon looked at her with alarm.
    “Nothing to worry about, Simon. It’s just... there’s such a thing as too much lust. At least for these weaklings.” She waved her parasol imperiously and gave a sniff that would have done a Duchess credit.
    That night, half-a-dozen “Lolitas,” in name if not in age, worshipped mindlessly at the feet of a dark goddess. Midnight hair writhed around her in waves and moans and musk filled the air. For once, Simon was content to watch.
    And make the occasional suggestion.
     
    New York...
     
    “You’ll love it, Simon. Trust me.” She tried very hard to look trustworthy. It didn’t work particularly well, but he had to give her an A for effort.
    “Let me get this straight. You want me to take you to a bondage club so we can watch people hurt each other.”
    “Of course not. I know you wouldn’t like that.” Her face said that this was still a mystery to her, but she went on. “These aren’t real slaves, and they’re not allowed to actually abuse them. Everything that happens happens because somebody wants it to. It’s not like the old days.” She looked wistful for a second and Simon had a vision of her cheering on the lions in the Coliseum.
    She snapped out of it. “Anyway, it’s all about pushing boundaries. Just look at how much more you can take now than you could the first time.” A smirk.
    “If you think I’m letting somebody paddle me, you can think again.”
    Lily made a reassuring gesture. “No, no, no. No paddlings for you . You can even stay dressed. But it will do you good to expand your horizons a bit. Really it will!” Another attempt at angel-face. (And another failure.)
    “Oh, all right...”
     
    “See? What did I tell you?”
    “I have to admit that listening to you scream while you were strapped to that... thing... was very intense.”
    “'Very intense.' Is that why you grabbed the strap and gave me a dozen strokes? Three times?”
    He tried to look dignified. “You obviously enjoyed it.”
    “Not as much as you enjoyed fucking each hole between-times, I bet. You know, they usually don’t allow that kind of thing on the main floor. Good thing the bouncers were so distracted.”
    Simon didn’t bother to answer this. There was no way it would go favorably for him.
     
    New Orleans...
     
    Lily laughed at voodoo (“Silly little people calling silly little spirits.”) but loved Mardi Gras. Men tossed her beads in a constant rain before she even did anything. When she tossed them to other girls, they didn’t just flash her, they started throwing clothes. Simon put a stop to it, at least to that part. No policeman would interfere with anything sexual when Lily was on the street, but if they wandered off they’d be arrested.
    “Spoilsport.”
    In the strip bars she watched quietly with a