~Pride~

Look at him. He thinks he's perfect, God's gift to the world. Everywhere he goes, people throw themselves at him, wanting the chance to touch him, be him, be with him. Men and women alike, he doesn't care. Anyone that can satisfy his urges, stroke his ego - they're all nameless, faceless holes to him. In his mind, he is the greatest being to ever walk the face of this earth. We should all fall to our knees and worship him, for he is the closest thing to God we will ever know.

Triple H. Hunter Hearst Helmsley. The epitome of all that is manly and strong. I chuckle to myself as these thoughts go through my head, and he turns to look at me, to see who dares laugh at his pre-match ritual. He's preening in front of the mirror, making those faces that are supposed to intimidate his opponents, but actually serve no other purpose than to make him look more ridiculous than he already does.

He smiles when he sees that it's me. He likes me, you know. Sometimes, I wish he didn't, but tonight his like for all things cute and sweet will serve my purpose quite well. He approaches me with that predatory smile of his - the one designed to make anyone drop their pants and do his bidding, just for the personal knowledge that for one brief moment, they had a taste of greatness. Like the well-trained slut they all think I am, I do not shudder when he touches my hair, and I giggle appropriately when he leans down and whispers his lewd invitation in my ear.

"Why don't you come to my room later?" His seductive purr fills my head and I smile up at him, acknowledging the question and nodding slightly in return. I look around, making sure no one is watching, and I place my lips next to his ear. "What time?" I ask, and I know I've pretty much made his night. He gives me a time and his room number, then whispers the magic words - "Let's keep this between us, okay? I don't need any shit from anybody over you." In the midst of his insult, I nod. His need for secrecy is going to provide the perfect cover.

I leave him then and make my way through the arena, planning my strategy. I know that I have to make him aware of his sin, because frankly, I don't think he has a clue. He doesn't realize that, although pride can be a good thing, too much of a good thing can kill you. Pride - the excessive belief in one's own abilities. It has been said that pride is the sin from which all others arise. Tonight, I will put him to the test, see if he is that damn good. I will see if he can rise above his sin. And, if he cannot, I will make sure his penance is paid in full.

It's midnight when I slip out of the elevator, first making sure there is no one to witness my journey down the well-lit hallway. I knock on his door - two long hard knocks followed by three short taps, his own personal signal, designed to let him know that the fun has arrived. I carry my bag with me, and he eyes it strangely when he opens the door. "I hope you're not planning on spending the night," he says as he stands back to allow me to enter the room. I shake my head no and begin to offer him an explanation before he cuts me off with his first command.

"On your knees," he says, dropping the towel from his waist. I wish it was dark in here, so he couldn't see my face, but that would be defeating his purpose. I am not afforded the luxury of rolling my eyes at him as he says, "C'mon, you little bitch. You know you can't wait to taste that big boy." Boy would be the key word here - I've seen prepubescents with bigger dicks than him. But, I say nothing as I drop to my knees and allow him to grab my hair, pulling me closer. I don't see the need for this, as even fully erect, he doesn't reach the back of my throat.

I suck him just like he likes, hard, fast and thoroughly. I make the appropriate noises and use my tongue, making sure he's completely satisfied. He encourages me with his hands pressing on the back of my head, and with the sounds of his pleasure echoing throughout the room. As he releases into my mouth, I fight back the urge to gag, not wanting to taint myself with any part of him. He pulls his now flaccid member from my mouth, and, true to form, tells me to fix him a drink, then undress for the second act.

I was counting on his request and watch as he slips into the bathroom. As I hear the water running, I grab a small vial from my bag and pour a few drops into the glass before filling it with liquor. Just a bit of chamomile to help him relax - or knock him out, hopefully. I've done my research well. He steps out of the bathroom and takes the glass from me as I slowly begin to undress. He downs the shot then relaxes on the bed, watching me as I strip for him, sensuous and innocent at the same time.

He asks for another drink and I prepare it, my back to the bed so he cannot see me slip a few more drops into the glass. That should just about do it. I walk back to the bed and hand him the drink before slipping into the bed next to him. I lay my head on his chest, slowly running my hand over the hardened muscles he is so proud of. He makes small talk, asking if I've heard about the book he is writing. I nod, knowing he is very proud of his endeavor. Unfortunately, his baby will never come to full term.

He reaches for me and pulls me on top of him, kissing me for the first time. I pull back, not wanting to consume any of the herbs in his system right now. I tell him that I'm ready for him, that I don't want to wait to feel him fill me. The cocky smirk that spreads across his face reminds me again of why I have to make him pay. At least he has the decency to prepare me before he enters me, stroking my erection and whispering words of lust in my ear. He begins to move, his hips snapping forward, thrusting into me and pulling out again.

After a few moments, his thrusts become more erratic, not because he is nearing climax, but because the drug is taking effect. I brace myself, knowing that he will collapse onto my back and wait. I tighten myself around him, sure this will speed him along. He lets out a strangled cry, which stops midpoint as I feel his body relaxing. Carefully, to avoid hurting myself, I lower us both to the bed and reach around, pulling his cock from me and laying him gently down. I sit on the edge and stroke myself, seeing no reason to not satisfy my needs before I proceed with his punishment.

After cleaning myself, I quickly move to my bag and begin removing the articles there. I have to work fast, because I have no idea when he will awaken. I dress him, then go about the rest of my work. When I am done, I step back and look at him, satisfied with my masterpiece, before I pull out the leather restraints and place them on his wrists. I then redress myself and pull the chair over near the bed, sitting down to wait for him to come to. As I wait, I let my mind wander, going over a carefully planned list in my head.

Shortly after I sit down, he begins to stir. The chamomile has fogger his brain, and he is disoriented as he looks over at me. In a moment, he will realize he can't move. When he does, his face twists into a mask of anger, and I smile. I know he wants to ask me what is happening, what I think I'm doing, but he can't. I placed a strip of tape over his mouth before I applied his lipstick. His eyes are wild as he looks down at the restraints on his arms and sees the lush red silk covering his body.

I walk carefully to the bed, making sure he can't kick out at me, and pull him up from the pillows to zip his dress. He's a vision - of absurdity. His dark blonde hair is framing his face, and his eyes are covered in earth tone shadows. I had to forego the mascara, because I was afraid it would tickle him and he would wake up before I was finished. I could hear him mumbling behind his gag as I walked over and picked up a mirror from my bag. I made my way back to him and turned so that he could see his own image. I've had years of practice in applying makeup, having turned my former lover into a vision of loveliness that would rival Venus, and even though he didn't possess those same perfect cheekbones, I had done a magnificent job on Hunter, if I do say so myself.

His eyes reminded me of a wild animal. The hunter had become the hunted and he wasn't liking it one bit. I sat on the edge of the bed, in the same spot I had been earlier and turned to face him. When I reached out to stroke his hair, he jerked his head back away from my touch. The sound of disapproval from my throat caused him to look at me, perhaps seeing me for the first time in a whole new light. And when I begin to speak, rage takes over his face.

"You think you're all that, don't you?" I ask softly. He snarls behind his gag, causing me to realize that this is going to be harder than I first thought. I shake my head and continue. "You know, Hunter," I say, shifting around to make myself more comfortable, "I've waited for a long time for this moment." It is then that he notices the switchblade in my hand. I'm testing its weight against my skin, flipping it around in my hand. "From the first time you ever touched me, and made it clear to me that I was nothing in your eyes, I have wanted to show you just how vain you truly are."

With a simple flick of my finger, the blade extends, glistening in the light. "I've watched you, strutting around with your chest out, thinking you are the greatest gift God gave to us." I run my finger down the side of the blade, avoiding the sharp edge. "And every time I hear you say that you are that damn good, it just…does something to me." I test the tip of the blade and watch as a tiny pinprick of blood appears there. "You are not good, Hunter," I say, moving closer to him. "As a matter of fact, I would have to say that you are the epitome of evil. You are vain and pretentious. You have a delusion that you are better than the rest of us, and I was just wondering…"

I raise the blade and run the tip down his cheek, watching the crimson beads appear amidst the stubble of his beard. A single drop of blood makes its way down his cheek, like the tears forming in his eyes, and drips down onto the red silk dress he is wearing. It blends into the fabric with ease, being the same color as the blood - his blood. "Do you really think you're that great?" I ask. His pride is getting the better of him as he stubbornly refuses to answer me. He tries to turn away, but I reach out and grab his chin, forcing his face back toward mine.

I forget that the blade was in my hand and it pierces his skin near his temple, causing another rivulet of blood to flow from his face. He winces in pain, which makes me smile. So he does feel. Suddenly I am fascinated with the blood marring his perfect looks and I wonder how proud he would be to wear the scars of my blade. I drag the blade down his cheek, and he screams behind the tape. His makeup is ruined now, and I again show him the mirror. Tears mix with the blood, causing it to run faster down his face and neck.

I shake my head, surprised at how quickly he crumbled. I thought he would have been able to take more, but I guess I was wrong. He began to struggle, trying to break free from his bonds. His hard muscular thighs worked as he tried to push himself up, but the leather belt around his ankles kept him from moving much. His eyes spoke to me - why was I doing this, what was I planning on doing next. "Patience, Hunter," I replied. I walk across the room and pick up his most prized possession, after his body. I return to the bed and toss his championship belt across his stomach.

He looked up at me, a mixture of pain and confusion in his eyes. He was too proud, too vain to show his fear just yet. I tapped the belt with my blade. "This is it, isn't it?" I asked. "This is the thing that drives you." I smile. Without that belt, he was nothing. "Was it worth it, Hunter?" I ask. "Was this hunk of metal worth all the pain you caused?" He nodded slightly, and I snapped. For this, for the prestige of saying he was the best, he was willing to ruin lives, break hearts, destroy egos. Others around him had paid with their souls so that he could sit on top of the world. As this thought crossed my mind, I knew that it was time for this ruler to be dethroned.

"Do you know what pride is, Hunter?" His head bobbed up and down slightly. "Pride is the excessive belief in one's own abilities, a belief that interferes with one's acceptance that something greater than us might have some say in what we do or how we turn out." A slight twitch in his eyebrows let me know he was listening to me. I begin to pace next to the bed, wondering what I would do next.

I walk over to my bag and take out my Polaroid camera. As I turn to the bed, his eyes widen, showing the first real sign of fear. I snap a couple of pictures and he begins to try and move off the bed, his arms moving frantically, as if he was begging and pleading for me to stop. For the first time since I had entered his room, that look of cockiness was gone. It has been replaced with many things - fear, anger, desperation. If anyone ever saw these pictures, he would be ruined. The false sense of respect he thought everyone gave him would be shattered.

The pictures I snapped show his progression as he moves around on the bed and rises up on his knees, trying to crawl toward me. The skintight dress makes his movements difficult and I have to laugh at him. I don't know what he plans on doing, with his arms and legs tied together, but it's interesting to watch anyway. I raise the camera to take another picture and it flies from my hands as he raises his arms and connects with it. Maybe I underestimated his resolve. He lunges forward and falls from the bed to the floor, again struggling to stand.

Taking a few steps back, I watch as he reaches for me again. Slowly, I smile. "Something wrong, Hunter?" I ask sweetly. "I thought that, seeing as how you liked looking at yourself so much, you might like a little souvenir of our night together." He hissed at me - actually hissed, like a snake. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!" he shouts. Funny, it looks to me like I already have. When I mention this to him, he moves forward again. He's surprisingly fast, so I back up once again.

My back connects to the door leading onto the patio. An idea crosses my mind, so I open the door as Hunter lunges toward me again, falling forward. His face hits the floor, the metal tracking of the door cutting his forehead. When he looks up at me, dazed, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. With blood trickling down his forehead - messing up the perfect eyeliner I spent so much time applying - he works his way back to his knees. "I swear," he hisses at me, the smeared lipstick causing a garish smile to cross his face, "if you don't untie me right now, I'm going to shove a sledgehammer up your ass! NO ONE treats me likes this, goddamn it! I AM THE GAME, YOU STUPID LITTLE PRICK!"

I shake my head, sighing deeply. He is not broken. He hasn't learned a thing. Except, maybe, for how to pull himself up to a standing position. He approaches me, and I back up onto the patio. He's in my face now, screaming at me. "I can't believe I let you do this to me!" he says, his chest heaving under the red silk. "You are…you're nothing. Nobody. If you ever had a chance to be anything before, you've blown it now. When I get through with you, you won't even be able to get a job as a fry boy at McDonald's."

I stare at him, my head cocked to one side. He thinks I'm nothing? Doesn't he know that I'm trying to save him? Despite his Neanderthal appearance, I was sure that under the Cro-Magnon exterior there was something resembling a human. I guess I was wrong. Saddened, I look at him. His face is almost as red as the dress he is wearing, and it's hard to tell were the carefully applied blush ends and his real color begins. His face blurs before my eyes and I realize I'm crying. Not because he has hurt me with his words, but because I realize I have failed.

I can't change him. Oh, it's not because I don't possess the skills to do so. Given more time, I could have convinced him that he was headed down the wrong path, that pride could only destroy you. The thing that saddened me was that he didn't want to change, didn't want to be a better person. He was perfectly content being the way he was, and that would never change. Realizing I was distracted, he took the opportunity to lunge at me again. Unfortunately for him, he misjudged his step in the 7-inch platforms he was wearing and I stepped aside, just in time for him to fall over the balcony.

I turned and watched as he plummeted the six stories to the hard concrete surrounding the pool below. With a sickening thud, he hit the slick pavement and slid into the pool. The water surrounding him slowly turned dark red, making it hard to distinguish from this height where his dress stopped and the water began. I walk back into the room and quickly begin to gather my things. I want to be as far away from here as possible, when they discover who he is and start to search his room for clues. Taking a last look around his room, I close the door behind me and head down the hall.

Alone in my room, I sit and contemplate what just happened. Outside, I hear a rush of activity and I look out the window, watching as someone tries to pull his body from the pool. The look on their faces when they realize who they found is almost comical. There will be questions tomorrow. Who was the last person to see him? Was he hiding some deep, dark secret that led to this end? Was it an accident, or some silly sexual fantasy gone awry? I'll look at them with all the innocence I possess and tell them the truth - I don't have a clue. They say that pride goeth before the fall. I just hope my next lesson turns out better than this.

Go on to read Sin #2 Envy