Being the size of a thimble, it was natural for Goethe to be afraid of a few things that normally wouldn’t give Helen or any other woman pause. The relatively mundane objects of Helen’s daily life could take on a frightening perspective for him as they loomed over him and could seem poised to crush him in an instant. When he was younger, he had always kept a wary eye on Helen’s hand mirror. Though Helen had never been so careless as to set it down on him, she did use it once to crush a spider that had caught her by surprise. For a while after, Goethe couldn’t help but let his childish imagination create the picture of it coming down on him instead of the spider, his terrified reflection being the last thing he saw before being pulverized. It was a fear he had outgrown, but that had never stopped him from catching his breath whenever Helen picked up the hand mirror.

Of course, there were things that always remained threatening for Goethe not matter how much he grew up. Any bird might as well have been a bird of prey to Goethe; he always shivered when remembering the robin that flown into Helen’s bedroom, only being saved by Rena’s timely arrival with her broom. But birds paled in comparison to cats. Goethe had overheard maids talking – Helen would never speak of such things to him – of cats stalking men and pouncing on them like mice when a woman was particularly careless. Though he had never seen one up close – another debt he owned to Helen – he had had more than one nightmare about feline eyes watching him in the dark. 

Now, it was like one of those nightmares had come alive for Goethe as he felt Myra’s hungry eyes look down on him. All those fears and potential perils he had known before now seemed insipid and harmless when compared to the towering woman that was before him now. Though she hadn’t pounced on him like a cat, or swooped down on him like a bird, or crushed him like that hand mirror could have, every instinct in Goethe told him he was in more danger now than ever before in his life.

Suddenly, Goethe felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he heard Myra shift in her seat. Slowly turning around, Goethe was left speechless as he saw two mounds of flesh, barely concealed by her dress, seemly fell from the sky to the wooden surface in front of him. They appeared to grow in size as they spread across the wood and inched closer to him. By the time they settled, he couldn’t have even extended his arm all the way without touching them. The heat emanating from them caused his brow to grow wet with sweat, or was it from fear? A humid, lilac smell hit him just like the heat did, making him lightheaded. He regained his self-possession when he heard a throaty chuckle from above.

“For propriety’s sake, I didn’t tell the princess one little detail” Myra breathed, lowering her face close to her breasts, close to him. “According to the legends, men and women used to lay with each other…. And you are becoming quite a handsome man.” White teeth bit sharply into her lip as she cut off a moan, brown eyes never leaving him. Goethe noticed that she was rocking gently in her chair, one hand inching towards him, the other invisible under the table. “With a little imagination, I am sure that still can be done. Maybe we shall find out together?” By the way her voice sounded, it seemed to Goethe that she wanted to find out at right there and then.

Her visible hand cupped around him and gently brought him next to her plush lips that trembled with a sultry moan that resounded in his ears, though it couldn’t have been above a whisper. Goethe wanted to cry out in surprise but he was too stunned watching her mouth curl and twist in such a sensuous fashion. Each breath washed over Goethe, sending flecks of spittle that made him close his eyes and dampened his hair slightly. Her breathing was becoming more rushed, and her fingers began to caress Goethe, which, to his dismay, sent electrifying sensations wherever they touch him. He was vaguely aware that her hand as well as her body was moving in a rhythmic motion; even her heavy breath seemed to keep in time with the rest of her body.

Goethe was struggling to register what was happening when Myra whispered: “We will continue later”. With that, she lowered him slowing back down to the table, in front of trembling breasts. Still laying in the palm of her hand, Goethe eyes were frantically darting around, but they stopped when they meet Myra’s firm stare.

“I trust you will not tell the princess” Myra eyes darkened, and the seductive smile gave way to a faint snarl. Goethe could only manage a feeble yes, but that was enough for Myra, whose eyes softened again, though the snarl persisted.

“Good.” Myra said in a cold tone. Goethe saw her lift the hand that had been under the table and bring it close to him. Two of her fingers glistened as clear fluid trailed down the length of them. “Good.” She said again, though in an expecting tone this time. “Next time, we’ll finish” she touched the left side of his face with one of her glistening fingers. He felt the ridges of her fingertips as she lightly rubbed the warm, thick fluid on to almost half his face. A queasy sensation grew in his stomach as he looked into Myra’s eyes, which flickered with a malevolent joy.

A string lagged from her fingers she moved away, clinging to his face. She chuckled softly, seeing the fluid plastered on him. She brought the two fingers to her mouth and sucked on them slowly, never losing that predatory stare that was bearing down on him. Taking the fingers out of her mouth, she brought them back down to Goethe.

Goethe winced a little as Myra dabbed her finger against his face, getting rid of the first fluid. He gagged as the smell and warmth of both her strange fluid and salvia mixed together. Finally, she sat him down on the table and moved away from him, like a wave receding into the ocean.

What am I going to do? Should I tell Helen? He stopped his thoughts as he caught Myra’s dangerous look. I better not, but what does she want to do with me? Myra adjusted her gown, somewhat disheveled by her rocking back and forth, and grabbed a book from the table, beginning to flip idly through the pages.

Myra sat there with such composure that Goethe was beginning to doubt that she ever, let alone just minutes ago, did anything that was improper or lewd. Her eyes that had toyed with and threatened him like a cat with its prey were focused squarely on the book. Her body, which had been moving to such a passionate tempo, was as still as a statue; even her once-heaving breasts seemed only rise in the most subdued of movements. She didn’t even seem to acknowledge his existence.

But, in spite of that convincing façade, a bewildered Goethe couldn’t help but see that she was using those two fingers to turn the pages.