Lewis was having a bad day. Hell, he was having a bad life. First that bitch had threatened him with Assault and Battery charges unless he paid for her medical care. Fucking bitch! It wasn't his fault. Sure he had knocked her around a little -- she liked it rough -- they all did, but it was her fucking jaw that got broke, not his. The fractures on her arms where he had dropped the barbells on her weren't that serious, either. Now the fucking bitch wanted fucking nurses to fucking care for her for the next fucking three months until the fucking casts came off. Shit, she only had to fucking drink through a fucking straw. How much fucking trouble could that be?
Yesterday the fucking bank had repossessed his Beemer, his Baby. He'd only missed five payments. How was he supposed to pay for the car when that damn bitch demanded so much of his money? He had to fucking pay the bitch first, didn't they understand? That fucking 'three strikes' law had been implemented in this fucking state and he was already down for two A&B strikes. So now he was driving this fucking lame Ford piece of shit. Like this was going to help him get fucking laid tonight.
Then, on the fucking top of all that, he had had to go clear across fucking town to get his STD certification so he could get into the club tonight. Like fucking Hell that clinic was discrete. He had had to almost fucking tear down the fucking window to get at that fucking smirking bitch. She wouldn't give him his card and said he had to wait his turn. Well, he showed her. Fucking bitch would think twice before making him wait again. Just wait until she tried to drive on three flat tires. Fucking bitch.
Lewis popped the cap off of the vial of pills he kept hidden under the seat of his car. He'd managed to at least salvage that before the fucking RePo asshole had driven off with his Baby. He shook two different colored pills into the palm of his hand, then reconsidered and shook out two more. A double dose. He wanted to fly tonight.
He swallowed the pills as he approached the desolate door. He couldn't take them too soon, or that fucking black bastard that watched the door wouldn't let him in the club. No drugs, my ass. There were always ways around the fucking rules.
He started to sweat when no one answered the buzzer to let him in. That black asshole was probably off fucking a waitress instead of doing his job watching the door. In another couple of minutes the shit he had taken would kick in and his pupils would fixate, giving away his drugged condition.
Suddenly the outside door to the club burst open and two leather-clad men came out carrying a limp female figure between them. Lucky bastards. Lewis briefly considered following them and possibly getting their leftovers, but almost immediately decided to go in. He managed to get in the first door and then the second just before it closed. Shit, if he'd have known it was going to be that easy, he could have saved himself the two grand on the STD card. Fucking waste of money, anyway.
The big black fucker was nowhere to be seen. Lewis couldn't believe his luck. Not only was the big guy not around, but there was a fresh piece of meat just sitting there. All alone. Without a second thought, Lewis pulled a blindfold from his back pocket. He slipped it over the young girl's eyes and grabbed the leash tied to the hook over her head. Some bastard had thoughtfully gagged her already.
"Come on. Your Master wants you. I'll take you to him," he whispered in her ear.
Urging the compliant bitch to her feet, Lewis led her down the steps and into the dark interior of the club. The speed was kicking in and his thoughts were racing.
As he pushed her ahead of him into the crowed and dark labyrinth of rooms, he studied his prey. Young and pretty. Fresh, too, just the way he liked them. Nice white skin that would show bruises for weeks, reminding the bitch and all who saw her who the boss was.
He reached around her and opened her blouse, pulling it back off her shoulders and hanging from her cuffed hands behind her. It exposed her bra-less tits to the crowd. Not as much flesh as he liked, but they responded well. He squeezed them hard, then twisted the prominent nipples. The stupid bitch screamed behind her gag and dropped to her knees. Right, as if anyone could hear her in this crowd. He jerked the leash and got her back on her feet.
He turned into an empty area and looked around. Perfect. He led the bitch over to the hanging hook and slipped it though her handcuffs.
"He'll be here soon. He wanted me to get you ready for him," he whispered in her ear.
The cunt nodded eagerly. God, what a stupid bitch!
He kneeled down beside her and grabbed one of her bare ankles with his hand. There were shackles bolted to the floor and he snapped one around her ankles. The other shackle was a stretch for the small girl. The last slave here had apparently been a male. He didn't have time to reset them. When her other foot was fastened, her legs were spread painfully wide. Her groaning complaints were making him hard. But it would take a lot more pain than that before he could get stiff enough to give her what she wanted. What all the fucking bitches wanted. Take, take, take. That's all they did.
"He said you were a bad little bitch. He wanted me to warm you up for him," he taunted her, mauling her sensitive tits hanging down below her.
The panting girl groaned and shuddered. Lewis was disgusted. She was enjoying this too much.
Lewis stepped on the pedal and raised her hands. Higher and higher. She was screaming into the gag now, the pain intense.
"What, bitch, did you think your fucking Master was really coming?" he shouted at her now. He wanted her to know there was no help coming. He wanted her terrified. He wanted her to piss on the floor. He gave a really crazed laugh. He sounded, and probably was, demented.
It started to draw a crowd. This jaded collection of thrill seekers could sense something special was about to happen, something unstaged, unplanned, maybe even non-consensual. There was an electricity building around the pair in the spotlights.
Standing up behind her, he brought his heavy crop down as hard as he could across the bitch's jutting ass. Look at her, waving it around like that, just asking for it. The fucking skirt had hindered his swing and he could barely hear the sound of the leather striking. It was in the fucking way. He reached down and lifted the hem of the skirt up.
Fuck this shit. Lewis pulled out his switchblade knife and cut the fabric from waist to hem. The skirt fell to the floor, useless. Even high on speed he recognized a near perfect work of art. He gazed at the tender globes, forgetting for a moment his anger. The glittering blade in his hand reflected the bright spot lights overhead, making patterns on her unblemished ass. Someone, someone not quite caught up in the moment as the rest of the crowd, reached out and took the blade from Lewis' hand. It clattered to the floor, forgotten for the moment.
Lewis kneeled behind the sobbing, swaying figure. He touched the tip of his crop first to the dripping lips hanging swollen and exposed between her glistening thighs, probing and poking at them. A sadistic image passed through his addled brain and he reversed his grip on the crop. The large phallic-shaped handle was aimed right at her gaping cunt.
With the narrow shaft in his hand, Lewis whipped the heavy handle rapidly up and down. There wasn't much force to it, but when he moved his arm forward, the handle slapped loudly against the bitch's cunt. Ten, fifteen times it splattered in there, faster and faster, harder and harder. The mewling sounds from the cunt infuriated him. The fucking bitch was enjoying this, too!
Another sadistic gleam and the handle was pulled back, the slick handle grasped in his hand. With his free hand, he yanked her blouse up her arms and around the chain from the ceiling, out of the way. Moving around her as Damon had earlier in the evening her swatted at her now bare chest and back, landing blow after blow on her back, her stomach and her hanging tits.
She squealed when he hit those and focused his attack on them. He was still too spaced out to hit really hard, but it didn't take much force to cause real pain there. She was screaming constantly by now, dancing from foot to foot as best she could.
He was finally getting hard. He would have to remember this for the next slut he got a hold of.
He stopped behind her and fumbled with the lacings on his leathers. Fucking things cost enough, you'd think they'd make them easier to get out of in a hurry. Finally getting them pulled down and one leg free, he moved up behind the bitch, his respectable erection brushing her striped ass.
Just before he fucked the cunt's ass, he wanted to give her something to remember him by, something to think about while he plowed into that fuckable ass. Grabbing his crop once more, he took an underhanded swipe at the defenseless girl standing in front of him. The crop slashed upward, the flat leather tip splatting loudly against her navel. The braided leather stalk laid itself perfectly between the girl's labia, smashing against her extended clitoris and leaving perfect impressions of the woven pattern in the swollen mucus tissues.
Shocked out of her lethargy by the extreme pain, Alex reared up as far as she could without dislocating her shoulders. The pain coursed through her, blazing away the cobwebs of arousal that had been accumulating all evening. Accumulating for the past two weeks. For her entire life. It was like a bolt of lightning burning everything away, searing in its intensity. Then came the thunder, and Alex was suddenly very confused. And frightened.
She screamed, the noise increasing in pitch until it went beyond the capability of the human ear. She began convulsing violently in her bondage, inadequate volumes of air whistling into her lungs through her nose. The rubber ball wedged in her mouth prevented her from biting her tongue as a result of the tremendous blow to her genitals. Alex fought the urge to vomit, then realized she was just dizzy. Very dizzy and very relaxed.
Just before she passed out she heard a surprised yell and a crash, like something heavy falling over. Then there was lot of shouting, but she didn't care anymore.
Harold thought he had died and gone to heaven. This new company was paying him a shitload of money to do nothing. No fucking shit! No meetings, no memos, no reports, no fucking sales calls, no lame-ass traveling. Seriously! Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. He did nothing all fucking day long. Except fuck his big-titted secretary, Marcy. God, did that girl love to fuck! And suck, and fuck again. A certifiable nymphomaniac.
Every morning at 9:00 sharp he would get to work. Marcy would meet him at the door to his office with his coffee. As she closed the door behind her, he would hear it lock. Within minutes she would be naked and dancing around while he finished his coffee, watching her. Then she would suck him until he was hard, something his bitch wife had never done. Following that they would fuck. All day. Over and over. She even let him do her in the ass, something else Miss Icecube had never let him do. Until he forced her.
By five o'clock they would drag their clothes on and wobble out to the parking lot. She never let him touch her outside of the office, barely acknowledging his existence when they parted. Except once.
She had invited him to a party once just after he had started the new job. Sort of a way for him to get to know some people. He thought it was odd that she was acting cool towards him at the party after having invited him and all. He was beginning to think about leaving when he started up a conversation with this guy. He was a fast-talking insurance salesman, and Harold let the guy know in no uncertain terms that he didn't need any more fucking insurance. The guy had laughed, slapped Harold on the back and thanked him for speaking so plainly. It was refreshing, he said, to be able to hang out with someone who didn't want something from him. He was really tired of making all those fucking rich assholes even richer. Harold liked him right away.
The conversation went on from there and by the end of the evening and a fifth or two of Jack Daniels, they had hatched 'The Plan.' Nobody could know about it. It was ingenious, brilliant, if Harold did say so himself. The insurance salesman had been stupefied at Harold's brilliance as the plan had developed. It was as if they were two minds totally in concert with one another. Of course, being Harold's plan and with him now being an executive, Harold had insisted that he get the lion's share. It took some arguing, but the guy finally agreed on an 80/20 split. After all, it was only fair.
They had met a couple of more times in the following week, each time starting sober but not ending that way, to hammer out the details. They had finally agreed that there needed to be a third party between them so that no one would be able to discover a connection between them other than the huge insurance policy. A cut-out, the guy called it. The cut-out needed to have some bucks, too.
The insurance policy would be explainable because the insurance guy sold a lot of policies to the executives in Harold's company. The next day, they arranged for one of Harold's colleagues to casually introduce them over a beer in a trendy Yuppie bar. Marcy, who knew them both, could act as an intermediary for any communications that needed to go back and forth.
That left the third party, the cut-out. This was going to take a lot of cash to bankroll, what with the huge initial premium and then the living expenses on the island and so on. The third guy had to have some ready cash. Harold could put up a lot of it for the premium, but he was tapped out after that.
Harold was at a loss, despairing. His beautiful plan could die before it was even born. He didn't know anybody with that kind of dough. Fortunately, the insurance guy knew a lot of guys with money. He had one in particular in mind.
Tonight they had called him, this guy named Smith. He was a tough bastard, but Harold had held firm and had gotten every single thing he wanted.
The plan was simple. Harold, due to his new executive-level position, would obviously want to secure his family's future with an insurance policy. A lot of guys did and the insurance company would eat this up. Even better, because Harold was older and his family was young and expected to grow soon (Harold and the insurance guy had a good laugh at that one), the policy was rather large. Five million large. More than enough to take care of the survivors for life.
The plan called for Harold to continue in his job as if nothing had changed. Then, when everything was ready, on one of his trips back to his lovely wife, he would disappear. Mr. Smith had a plane and a condo in the British Virgin Islands. Harold would be met on the road near a private airstrip, spirited to Miami-Dade Airport, board a yacht and sail to the islands.
Mr. Smith said he had a friend in the morgue. He said it wouldn't be difficult to get a hold of a body matching Harold's body. When it showed up the plan would go into effect immediately. Harold's identification, car and charred remains would be found along a deserted stretch of road, the sad result of a happily married man anxious to get home to a loving wife. It would appear as if he had pushed too hard and fallen asleep at the wheel. Sad, sad, sad. All the while, Harold would be living it up in the islands. Marcy had even hinted she would give anything to go with him to help pass the time.
Of course, there were a couple of things Harold had to do first to finish setting up the plan. The primary one being to get his wife, his beneficiary, to sign the application for the life insurance policy without her getting suspicious. Harold wasn't worried. He could get her to do anything, he boasted. He also needed her to sign some signature cards that would open up an offshore bank account where the insurance company would deposit the money from the settlement. With his own name, he would be a second, silent signatory on the account and would empty it out as soon as the insurance company put the money in. The BVI bank wouldn't check the death certificates in the US. It was absolutely foolproof!
So, as soon as the insurance company had reviewed and approved the policy, the clock would start ticking on the plan. Then all they needed was a body. And Alex' signature.
Harold was smug on the way home that night. Finally, all those years of being passed over, getting the shit jobs, doing all the hard work. Finally, it was going to pay off.
He had thought about this from every conceivable angle. He couldn't lose.
Alvin didn't panic. Miss Alex couldn't have disappeared into thin air. She had either been taken outside or was still inside the club. He immediately barred the door, then stepped into the tiny security office and rewound the surveillance tapes for the past 10 minutes. He only ran the one for the door and that at high speed.
As he suspected, only one exit was made during the time he was away from the door. The two homosexual Doms were escorting their sub out the door. Fucking assholes had refused to tie down her legs while they branded her. They were intending to brand their names, Bruce and Martin, up one side of her pussy and down the other. On the third letter, she had reconsidered and kicked Martin into the hot coals. Bruce, going over to help his lover, fucking stood on the hot coals and burned his feet through his fucking expensive boots. Alvin shook his head remembering the look of surprised indignity on the asshole's face when he felt the heat through his expensive kickass boots.
The three of them together could hold each other up, barely, and had rushed out of the club. Just as he was about to fast forward again, Alvin saw a blur on the screen. Someone had entered as they were leaving. He wouldn't have thought much of it but it placed the person at the right time and in the right place. With a cold knot twisting in his stomach, Alvin slowed the tape down and replayed it. He almost got sick when he saw it was that little shit, Lewis.
Lewis was on Alvin's black list. He couldn't prove anything, but a couple of months ago they had found a waitress badly beaten, raped and tortured. Broken bones, teeth knocked out and bleeding vaginally and anally from a brutal sexual assault. She was also bleeding from being whipped within an inch of her life. One eye was useless, the lens dislocated from a direct hit with the tip of a crop. The only reason it didn't explode from the impact was that she was wearing a blindfold.
Alvin had asked several of the people in the club if they had seen anything that night. Obviously, the private parties like this one frowned on tapes of what went on inside the club and regardless of his recommendation, Mr. D made him turn off the cameras. The little shit wouldn't have got in at all if Mr. D had sprung for the triple door security checkpoint. He had demonstrated to the boss just how easy someone could get in unchecked with just two doors. Just like now. But he had demurred.
The BDSM Club members reluctantly agreed to security tapes of the outside entrance, but the tapes and cameras had been off during the party that night, like they were tonight. In his investigation, Alvin had narrowed it down to a couple of unlikely possibles and one very probable culprit. Lewis. The guy had had the opportunity and was a mean little shit. Loco. Crazy. Nuts.
Quickly determining that Miss Alex was still in the building, Alvin set out to find her. He systematically scanned through the public areas nearest the door, examining and eliminating every female regardless of clothing, hair, skin or build. She wasn't in the public areas close to the door.
Next on his list were the closest less-public areas. He barged into the women's restroom, then the men's, checking every stall and every trash can for evidence. Hair dye, discarded clothing, large chunks of beautiful reddish hair. He found nothing.
He went back to the starting point, the front door. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. Too much time was passing. Mr. D was off the phone now and was walking towards him. He had just looked to see that Miss Alex missing and saw the look on Alvin's face. To his credit, the cold bastard had blanched white as a sheet when he saw she wasn't where she should have been.
Just then, there was a noise from out in the club. Why it caught his ear, he didn't know, but he knew it was Miss Alex.
Alvin was flying through the crowd, knocking people over, hurdling the Subs crawling on hands and knees. He reached the room with the hanging hook and saw her, Miss Alex. She had been strung up tighter than he would have believed possible, her feet shackled tightly to the floor.
Alvin lowered his shoulder and put his whole being into getting into that room. A crowd had gathered around. The macabre always attracted a crowd. The unsuspecting spectators gave with a groan. One huge black hand swept low off the ground and came thundering up, catching the shit with the flat palm on his chest. The fucker lifted off the ground, sailed over the ducking onlookers and crashed solidly into the wall, his erection a fading memory. He didn't seem to be into pain nearly as much when it was his own. The crowd, not wanting to be witnesses, dissolved into the anonymous hubbub of the party.
Alvin hit the emergency release and the strain came off Miss Alex' screaming muscles. Her legs were too widely spread to allow her to sink down and she just hunched there, moaning softly behind the gag. Alvin fumbled with the shackles, then finally just ripped them from their anchors. Miss Alex collapsed into his arms and he was cradling her protectively when Mr. D finally made his way into the room, pushing past the dispersing spectators.
Two legs were flopping in spastic panic over against the wall. One leg was bare and hairy, the other had a pair of cheap leather leggings around the ankle. The rest of the body was deep in the shadows of the room
Damon saw the big man holding Alex, one hand covering her lower nudity in a manner so chaste, he almost laughed. Covering her but not touching. The look in his bouncer's eyes told him not to try to take her from him. It wasn't romantic. It had been his job to watch out for her and right now it looked like the man had fucked up royally. That wasn't like him at all. Damon decided to wait and hear what he had to say. Then he would kill him. Or someone. Someone was going to pay, that much he knew.
Alvin motioned with his head at the legs on the floor. The man's dick was glistening, droplets of fluid refracting the harsh spotlights even from the side of the room. Damon went cold. Someone had touched Alex, his Pet. Effortlessly, he began the process of picking up the struggling man. Finally upright, the light in the room revealed a hopped up prick he had seen a few times before. Bad news. No one liked the little fucker. He smelled, too, and Damon looked down at what he was standing in.
While the little shit got his pants on and laced up, Damon used a piece of discarded cloth on the floor to wipe up the puddle of urine the guy had been laying in. It took him a minute to comprehend that it was the shithead who had pissed himself, not Alex. Somehow that made him feel better. Not much, but a little.
A firm grasp on his arm propelled the man out the door, down the hallway, and into his office. A forceful hand in the chest had flattened the jerk into a chair in the center of the room.
"Stay there!" There was no misunderstanding the order, high on drugs or not.
Damon went next door. He suspected Alvin had already taken Alex in there. Knocking twice, he waited. Alvin opened the door and stepped outside.
"She's alive and appears to be in one piece. The guy in your office is named Lewis something or other. Give me a couple minutes and I'll come in and give you a report." Seeing the look on Damon's face, he added, "A full report." He knew Damon would want to know who, what, why and how this had happened. He also knew his boss wouldn't like the report.
The bouncer slipped back into the dimly lit room. Damon turned and went slowly back to his office. He had known Alvin for several years and the man had never lied to him once. There was no reason to believe he would start now. If anything, Damon and he had had some heated disagreements about the security arrangements for the club, the manager always arguing for better security for the customers. But it was expensive. They had discussed this very thing happening. Even after the incident with the waitress, Damon hadn't relented.
Now it was personal and close to home. He had an uneasy feeling he wasn't going to like the full report Alvin had promised him, especially as Alvin hadn't seemed worried. Damon knew the manager was getting constant updates over his wireless. No doubt he had made several inquiries about the little shit in his office. Alvin didn't usually hesitate to state what he felt was the truth and to name names. Even when the name was his own or Damon's. Odd, he reflected, it was that very trait of integrity that made the bastard so fucking indispensable.
What he couldn't let Alvin know was that the first thing that had gone through his mind was not about Alex being OK, but that if anything happened to her now, the whole scheme of the newly hatched insurance scam he was building around her would be fucked up. A delay was almost as bad. The bitch Marcy could only put up with that prick Wilson for so long. It was going to cost a bundle to keep her on the team, and, after talking to that asswipe of a husband on the phone for nearly an hour, he couldn't really blame her. What a jerk. Cute trick, though, putting Viagra in his morning coffee.
Alvin slipped into the room and held his finger up to his lip, signaling for silence. Two glittering points of light across the room followed his every move. Alex had regained consciousness while lying in his arms on the walk down the hall. She had not tried to cry out or struggle against his huge hands holding her. He had noticed the change in her breathing and sensed more than anything that she was awake. Looking down he had seen her clear green eyes gazing calmly up at him. She had seemed more ashamed and confused than frightened and Alvin suspected he knew the cause. The same bright eyes were watching him now from the cot on the far side of the room.
He stood silently by the door of the room, holding it open just a crack, listening to the faint footsteps outside. They were so faint he had to will himself to hear them, going towards the main office. Then the office door opened and they could see Damon enter his office through the one-way mirror. His boss headed for the well-equipped bar in his office. Good move. Give yourself time to think.
Alvin flipped up a switch on the wall underneath the mirror. She noticed he had flipped it the wrong way, up instead of down, where the 'On' marking was. The clink of ice tumbling into a crystal glass filled the room. Alex looked at him with a bemused smile.
"I swapped out the switch." He shrugged, grinning mischievously, then grew serious. "Miss Alex, I have to examine you. I'll be as gentle as I can, but it may be uncomfortable." He had already removed the handcuffs and the ballgag. She had removed the tattered remains of her blouse herself. All she was wearing was the collar and the leash. It was locked on and Damon had the key.
Alex lay back on the cot when he pressed her down. She looked up at him without fear as he began to examine her body, looking for bruises, swellings and sudden pains which might indicate internal bleeding or other soft tissue damage.
Gently he spread her legs. "Did he penetrate you, Miss Alex?"
"No. I don't think so."
"Here?" He touched her swollen labia. The fluids still seeping from her were thick and sticky, much like semen would be. He smelled his finger. It wasn't male and now he was sure what had happened.
"I don't know. Maybe." She turned her head to the side, biting her lip.
"I'm sorry, Miss Alex." He moved his finger down. "How about here?"
"No, I don't think so. I don't remember," she said and stifled a sob.
"It's OK to cry, Miss Alex. It wasn't your fault."
"I know. But I don't have any clothes to wear. He cut my skirt. And I... I..." She didn't say anything more. She just sat there hugging herself.
Alvin never ceased to be amazed by the tiny details the human mind would grasp onto in a crisis. Silly little minutia that would later seem odd, but he knew that those were the things that helped people hold onto their sanity. He shrugged off his vest and draped it over her shoulders. She looked like she could disappear under it, but she was covered.
"I have to go out for a minute, Miss Alex. I'll be right back."
"OK." She called out as he reached the door, "Can they hear us, too?"
He grinned back at her, his gold tooth flashing, "That wouldn't be any fun now, would it, Miss Alex?"
Her light laugh followed him into the hallway.
He stepped into the office without knocking. He delivered his report to Damon, knowing Miss Alex could hear him. "About twenty minutes after you left Miss Alex in the holding area, I got a call from the marking area. The brass holder with the hot coals (The one I told you not to use. Soldering irons work just as well.) had been kicked over by two imbeciles doing an arts and crafts project on a runaway with what turns out to have been a fake ID. She was probably underage.
"The bartender reacted quickly and properly, (trained by myself for just this situation) contacting me first, then quietly clearing the room of everyone not involved or injured. By the time I got there most of the coals had been neutralized with the water cannon (which I had brought in since we had to turn off the sprinklers to use the fucking coals) and the three main parties treated. They were getting ready to leave as I got there (leaving Miss Alex alone and unprotected as it is your own fucking rule that puts the club first and everything else second).
"I helped treat a couple of the injured bystanders, calmed one or two persons, then came back. My total time off station was no more than seven minutes.
"I immediately noticed Miss Alex was missing. As you were still on the phone I had to assume someone else had taken her from the holding area. I barred the exit and reviewed the security tapes. The only persons exiting the building were the three individuals from the marking room. On their leaving, however, both doors were open at the same time, (just like I fucking showed you) allowing Lewis, here, to enter without being checked.
"I searched the club, starting with the public areas nearest the door. There was no sign of Miss Alex. I then searched the restrooms, looking for evidence of any altering of her appearance. I didn't find any.
"I was going to head down into the club when I heard a noise that sounded odd, out of place. You know what happened next."
Alvin took a deep breath. There was a lot he could have said, wanted to say, but parenthetically, he just added it to his report in his mind. They could assess the blame later. It wouldn't be his.
He continued, "I have checked Miss Alex. She is still out, probably sleeping as a result of the excitement of the party and then the brutality of the attack on her. She was not penetrated vaginally or anally, but she was badly beaten and with even less skill." Holding up Lewis' crop, he said, "I imagine that he used this. It's certainly cheap enough." He tossed the crop to Damon.
Damon's face was death. He continued. "There is evidence of a severe whipping and at least two serious blows landed, one across the buttocks which broke the skin, the other a vicious cut to the genital area. Her breasts were a favorite target of Lewis and she will have marks on them for several days if not longer. The blow to her genitals will mean Miss Alex will be unable to walk for a week and will be sore for another week. There is no evidence of internal injuries or of permanent injuries or marking, but a visit to a clinic would probably tell you better if anything occult was damaged. Finally, there is no DNA evidence of penetration or of the attack and I could find no witnesses who would admit to being at the party tonight, much less be willing to testify."
As he said this last his eyes met Damon's. No DNA evidence and no witnesses meant that they couldn't report this to the authorities and hope for any satisfaction. Alex had been blindfolded and couldn't identify her attacker. A good lawyer would make the case that Lewis was the Good Samaritan and was in the process of saving the poor girl when he was set upon by Alvin and Damon. No, if this was going to be handled, it would be done quietly without the authorities.
Damon suddenly realized that Alvin knew what he was doing. He was delivering this schmuck, for whatever reason, to Damon gift wrapped for execution. Alvin had never, ever involved himself in the dirty side of the business before. He was a good club manager, excellent even, but he drew the line at getting his hands bloody. He probably knew what happened around the club, any good manager does, but always before he had given himself an out, an excuse to be away when the dirty deed was done.
He usually made sure it was Damon's decision to punish or forgive and then to adjudicate any judgments, usually terminally. This time it was different. Alvin, by specifically telling Damon there was no physical evidence against this bastard, had just signed Lewis' death warrant. He smiled to himself. There was hope for the black SOB yet!
It didn't surprise him when Alvin bowed himself out of the room and indicated he would be in the next room with Alex. Damon's eyes flicked towards the tiny telltale he had had concealed in the ceiling. The indicator light was off. Good, they wouldn't hear what he was saying.
"I can walk, Alvin. Why did you say I couldn't? I'm a little sore, but I'm fine, really!"
Alvin came over and sat beside the girl. He was silent for a long while, then picked up her hand in his giant paw. He held it as if it were a piece of fragile glass that would shatter if held too tightly.
"I've seen a lot of bad shit working for Mr. D, Miss Alex. I don't think you belong here. I just wanted to give you a couple of weeks to think about what happened tonight before he could pressure you any more."
"I'm not afraid of him, Alvin," she said quietly.
"I am. He's a bad man, Miss Alex. You should be afraid of him, too."
"Well, I don't love him, if you're worried about that." She wasn't defensive, but wondered what made her say that to him.
The big man guffawed. "He doesn't and won't ever love you, either, Miss Alex. Make no mistake. Mr. D is only out for Mr. D."
Alex was silent. "But Alvin, I--, I liked what happened tonight. I was excited when that man took me. He said he was taking me to Mr. Smith. He called him my 'master' and I was so thrilled. I--, I knew it wasn't right but it felt so good. Then he tied me down and said I had been bad and that I was going to be punished."
She looked up at him. "I was so excited, Alvin. I had never felt so alive. Then he hit me. A lot. And cut off my skirt. That's when I knew Mr. Smith wasn't coming. That's when I got scared, but I was too excited by then and then he hit me down there and I... I..."
"I know, Miss Alex. You think you're a pervert or crazy right now. Some crazy fucker takes a whip to your privates and you have the best fucking orgasm of your life. You're confused."
Alex buried her face in his broad chest. He knew. She was confused, but Alvin knew. It was going to be OK. He put his hand up to stroke her hair instinctively.
"How could you tell? Does everyone else know? Am I a pervert?"
"I don't know how I know, Miss Alex. Something about your scream, maybe. And I was holding you right after, no one else knows. I could tell you weren't scared anymore. You just seemed happy." He hesitated. "You're not a pervert. Believe me. You sang to me, too," he said softly.
"You heard that?" Alex blushed. She had sensed it was Alvin carrying her after she was released and that she was safe. From out of nowhere - no, from out of her heart she had sung a song just for him. She was gagged and handcuffed, but safe and relaxed in his strong arms. It just seemed right. It just came out, somehow. There were no words, just soul to soul. And he had heard it.
"Miss Alex, please be careful. Think about what you're getting into here. I know it's exciting. But use the time to think."
He paused for a moment, considering something. Then he continued. "I can't tell you how I know, but something is going on with your husband, some big scam or something. That's what the phone call was about tonight. Mr. D wouldn't have left you if it wasn't important, and the only thing that is important to him is money. Lots of money. I don't know what or how your husband is involved yet, but I'll let you know as soon as I can."
"Oh, Harold is always trying to get into some scam or another," Alex giggled. "He's harmless."
"Maybe, but Mr. D isn't. Just be careful." He got up. "I have to go check on the club. Think about taking a couple of weeks off, Miss Alex."
Alex watched the big man leave, her face thoughtful. Maybe she would take his advice and give herself a chance to cool down. But it had been so exciting tonight and there was so much more she had to learn still. It was too tempting.
Damon had had two drinks while waiting for the little shit to stop crying. God, he hated wimps. The sobbing slowly abated and finally he could get some answers. The big man stuck his head in the door on his way by. He was going back to check on the party. That meant at least that Alex was resting quietly, if not comfortably.
"So, Lewis, you've had a rough day, no?" he started gently.
"FUCKING BITCH, THE FUCKING BITCH! I should have FUCKING killed her..."
Damon started toward the cowering fool in a murderous rage. Then he stopped, visibly controlling himself. Too many people had seen the little shit hauled in here.
"...while I had the FUCKING chance. But no! The BITCH called the FUCKING cops and now I've got all those FUCKING medical bills."
Oh-ho! A gift. A bloody gift.
"And the fucking bank. My baby. They took my baby and I have to drive a fucking ass Ford. My baby. They took my baby."
The shit was fading fast and starting to babble, but with a little luck, well maybe...
"Lewis, I know it's hard for you right now. You've had a tough night, you're angry, you're confused, you're upset and everything is going wrong. Am I right? Of course I am." He had placed a sympathetic hand on the quaking shoulder and was patting him gently. He had to act quickly. The bastard was going to fall over soon.
"You know what I like to do to feel better, Lewis? I like to write all my problems down. Then I burn the paper, and 'Poof', the problems are gone. Like magic!"
The dip wad was stoned enough to actually buy that line of psycho-crap. He was nodding and sniffling, the snot glistening as it streamed down into his mouth. Damon took out a stack of paper copier paper, removing the top sheet. The one with his fingerprints on it.
"Tell you what, why don't you try it. Why don't you write 'Fuck the bitch' on the paper?" he said. "Here, use my pen." He handed him an everyday BIC pen. It would be untraceable.
He watched while the fucker wrote it out. It was laborious, but it was in his handwriting.
"Now, how about 'Fuck the bank'? They took your car, right?"
Lewis dutifully wrote it out. Then looked up, expectantly. This nice man was going to help him. Maybe he could get his car back for him. He looked like he was rich enough.
"Any other problems, Lewis? Your job? Your family? Kids?"
Lewis shook his head 'No' to each suggestion.
"Well, then, son, let's have a drink to celebrate the end of all your problems."
Damon went over to the bar and fixed another glass of scotch. With his back turned to the young man, he reached to the back of the bar and lifted off the top of a bottle of Cognac. The bottle looked full and sealed, but with the top off you could see it was hollow. It was a hidey-hole of some sort.
With practiced easy, Damon took out a small glass syringe and a vial of clear liquid. He pulled out the plunger, inserted the needle into the rubber stopper, injected air into the bottle and withdrew some of the fluid. The vial was back in the fake bottle and the bottle closed. The whole sequence had taken less than 5 seconds.
Damon held the syringe behind his back as he walked towards the trembling man, cupping it in his hand. He handed him the glass, picked up his own and said, "Cheers."
The crystal glasses clinked together and Lewis gulped the strong single-malt scotch whiskey. He choked. He wasn't used to such a smoky or strong flavor. He preferred those colored drinks with fruit in them. He coughed as a little of the burning fluid went into his lungs.
Damon stepped behind him, slapping him on the back to help him. To the casual observer, you would not have seen the syringe palmed in his hand that plunged into Lewis' neck. With the pounding on his back, even Lewis didn't notice the tiny pinprick.
Suddenly Lewis stopped choking and gave a funny little twitch, his arms and legs fluttering briefly. His eyes rolled up into the top of his head and then slowly drifted back down, glazed and unfocused. He sort of slumped down in the chair, like he was asleep. The empty glass thumped on the thick carpet, unbroken.
Damon dropped to one knee in front of the unnaturally still man. He slapped him once, hard. The man didn't react or flinch. The man's breathing was very, very slow and shallow. A sadistic grin spread slowly across Damon's face.
"Listen, you little piece of shit. That bitch you beat up tonight was mine and you touched her. Nobody touches my Pet until I'm ready to let them. I know you can hear me, so let me tell you what is going to happen. You're going to leave the party tonight very drunk and very depressed. Some friends are going to take you home. Then you're going to sit in your garage with the motor running, and you're going to die. Nobody fucks with me, asshole." He said all of this so quietly, than he wasn't sure if the man had heard. But he was sure he had. He would know he was dying until the last breath and be helpless to stop it.
But caution had made him say it quietly, almost in the guy's ear. A statement like that could get him put away. But he was so fucking mad. Anyway, only the best microphones would have been able to pick him up speaking at that volume. And those mikes weren't in this room. This room should be clear.
Damon went to the telephone and dialed a four-digit extension. An internal call.
"Hello, Vinnie? ... Yeah, it's me. I need you and Max to do a job for me. ... Yes, now, dammit. ... Well, tell him to wipe his ass and get up here. Now!"
He slammed down the phone. Surprisingly, within a couple of minutes two burly men rushed into the room, the larger of the two doing the 'wedgie-walk' and buckling his belt. The smaller one, Vinnie, was putting on a pair of rubber gloves. He would be driving Lewis' car home.
The note Lewis had written was now held between two other sheets of paper. Lewis' prints would be the only fingerprints on it. Using a gloved hand Vinnie fished the car keys out of Lewis' pocket and the two men escorted the unresisting man out of the office. Mr. D had given them their instructions as they were hoisting the guy up between them. They would make sure that several party goers would see him leaving alive. Very drunk, very sad, but alive. That was all that mattered.
When they had gone, Damon sat at his desk. He was furious. That dip shit had cost him several thousands of dollars. He was going to be delayed at least another two weeks before that fucker Wilson could get Alex to sign the papers. He couldn't let him near her until she was healed and back to normal. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!
The hooker, Marcy, was going to cost him a bundle more, too. She had already been making noises about bailing out. Maybe she should join Harold in the islands. The CFO of that company would need to be paid off for another month or two to keep the vacant office available. He was getting a good cut so that shouldn't be a problem, but sooner or later someone was going to realize that Harold and Marcy weren't in that office auditing the books. Or that they weren't real employees, either.
It could be done, though. Marcy was the key. He had to get her cooperation. He looked at his Rolodex and dialed a number.
"Hello, Marcy? ... Yes, it's me, Mr. Smith. ... Fine, just fine. Say, we had a little problem here tonight-- ... No, everything is still on, it's just going to be a little delayed. ... Oh, about two weeks, maybe a little more. ... No, Marcy, I know he's got a little prick-- ... I understand-- ... I understand-- ... Listen, Marcy, I really need your help with this. ... I know-- ... I know-- ... Just name your price, whatever it takes. ...Ouch! You sure know how to make a guy dig deep. ... No, no, it's a deal, if that's what you want. I tell you what. I'll even pay for your time to go with him to the Condo. .... Yes, the same rate for more three months lying in the sun on the islands. Just keep him quiet. ... Yes, I'll get you some more Viagra. ... Listen, Marcy, I have to go. I owe you for this. Big time. ... Yeah, me, too. Say 'Hi' to your Mom for me. ... You, too. ... Right. Bye, now."
He hung up the phone. "Fucking Bitch!"
Alex had a bad feeling. Oh, she had thought everything was going to be fine until she saw the needle. It wasn't that she was squeamish, but it had suddenly brought back unbidden a vague, unhappy memory.
Mr. Smith had been helping the man work out his problems. Alex had never heard of therapy like that, but if it worked for Mr. Smith, why not give it a try, no? She had thought the needle was a sedative for the man. He was obviously distraught and upset. Mr. Smith's sympathy for the man that had attacked her was touching.
She had caught the quick injection with the palmed needle. That's what triggered the memory. Mr. Smith did it just like Daddy had done, only Daddy did it on the cows and pigs. Just before they were slaughtered and bled out. The animals gave that funny little twitch, too, just like Lewis had.
But it was the man's eyes that brought all those bad memories flooding back, as clearly as if they had happened yesterday. She had been five years old. Bright, happy, smart as a whip. Two years earlier, just three and barely able to get around the farm by herself, she had been helping Daddy in the barn. She had heard a plaintive squeal from an empty stall and, investigating, had come out lugging a very large piglet. Well, large for a three year old. The piglet had been abandoned by the mother, being the runt of a very large litter. Alex had promptly adopted the runt and named her Petunia. Pet for short.
Pet and Alex had been inseparable for the next two years and both had grown. Pet a lot more than Alex. When Pet got too big to sleep in Alex' bed, Alex slept in Pet's new pen. In the summer, anyway. But Pet was a piglet and they grow into hogs and then into great big hogs. Soon Pet was inadvertently destructive. She couldn't help it. One time that Alex' family still laughed about was when her older brother, Benny, was teasing her and Alex had started screaming. They were in the family room at the time. Pet, frantic to help her owner, came running straight for the pair. Unfortunately, there wasn't a door or window in that wall. Until then. Daddy had had to put in a door to fill the hole. A double wide French door.
After coming through the wall, Pet had buried her snout in Benny's crotch, his family jewels in her mouth, and she was holding him up, pinned against the wall, his feet dangling off the ground. She held him there until Alex was able to sooth her and she lowered him and let him go.
Benny never bothered her much after that. But that was the beginning of the end for Pet. Soon after that Alex was bribed with goldfish, turtles, a dog and a cat, but she always preferred Pet.
When school started Daddy had suggested putting Pet in with the other hogs. She was bigger than all of the rest of them now. Alex had been proud when her Petunia had taken first prize at the county fair. Her runt was now the best of all. She felt guilty leaving her friend, but she was in first grade now, and there was so much to learn and new friends and everything.
Each day when Alex would get off the school bus and walk by the big pig pen, Pet would squeal and make that funny sound she made whenever she saw Alex. Alex would stop and rub her snout, but she had her good school clothes on and couldn't roll around with her like they used to. On Saturdays, because she was a big girl now, she had other chores and couldn't spend much time with her old friend. Daddy mentioned one night that Pet had started to lose weight.
It happened late in the Fall. She remembered because it was cold outside but not freezing, and the leaves were so pretty on the tree outside her bedroom window. It was dark out, too early even for Daddy to be up. Something was wrong with Pet. It was just a feeling, but to a five-year-old, such a certainty can be terrifying. She had gotten dressed and slipped out of the house to check on Pet.
Petunia hadn't been in her private stall. The door was wide open. Alex knew she had closed it last night, just after she had kissed Pet good night. Daddy had let Pet eat all her favorite foods and as much of them as she wanted, too. Benny had mumbled something about a 'last meal' but Mommy had shushed him real quick. Alex was just glad Daddy had finally let Pet back into her private stall. Maybe he'd even forgiven her for making the new door in the side of the house.
The light was on in another part of the barn and Alex had moved toward the glow. Daddy would be really mad if someone left on the lights and wasted electricity. That cost money. She was just about to turn them off, when she had heard Daddy talking. He was using his soothing voice, the one he used when he slaughtered the cows. He didn't like to scare them. Daddy was always so nice.
>From the shadows, Alex watched her father prepare the needle. She had seen him use it before. He always hid the needle in the palm of his big hands so the animals wouldn't see it and get scared. He didn't like to hurt them.
Daddy moved away from the table and, still talking soothingly, knelt down on his knee. Alex moved closer to see around the big workbench that held all of the medicines and the knives and saws for skinning and butchering. She saw Daddy's hand dart down and heard a familiar squeal.
"PETUNIA!" she had screamed, but it was too late. Too late.
Pet had shuddered, her body twitching. Then her legs had collapsed and she had crashed to the ground. Daddy had shouted at her and grabbed her just before Pet had collapsed. If Alex had been any closer, she would have been crushed under her pet. Alex watched Pet's eyes, always so expressive, so alive as they disappeared, then rolled back down. They didn't look right anymore, like Petunia wasn't in there. Slowly she moved to where Pet could see her, cradling her bristly head in her child's arms.
Daddy had said a very bad word, the first and only time Alex had heard him use the 'S' word. He had looped the short chain around Pet's hind feet. Using a block and tackle, Daddy had hoisted the unmoving hog up, until Pet was dangling over the big drain in the floor. He didn't say anything to Alex, but didn't make her move away, even when he cut the large blood vessels in the hanging hog's neck. The warm tangy blood flowed over Alex' arm and dripped down into the darkness of the drain, making tiny splashing noises far below.
Alex had seen a pig bled out before and had even been allowed to help. Everybody helped on a farm. But before, it hadn't been her Pet hanging there. That made it different somehow. Alex stayed by her cherished childhood friend until the light went out of her eyes.
Daddy had explained before that it didn't hurt the animals, that the stuff in the needle made them not feel anything and not able to move and jump around, but that it let their hearts keep beating so all the blood could be pumped out and the meat would taste better. You can't sell tainted meat and you can't eat it yourself.
After watching Pet, Alex had known better, that Daddy was wrong this time. The animals could feel things. She had watched Pet's eyes. She knew Pet had felt everything that had happened to her from the loss of the use of her legs, the chain around her feet, the rush of blood to her head as she hung upside down to the sharp knife slashing her throat. She knew Pet could even feel the warm blood dripping off her snout, draining the life from her with each belabored beat of her heart. Alex knew. She had seen her eyes.
She had never cried for Pet, not then and not in the weeks that followed. Alex was raised on a farm. She understood that Petunia was a pig, and pigs get slaughtered. She understood she was a just a pet and when you don't need them anymore or they're used up, they get flushed down the toilet like Benny's goldfish or buried in the backyard like Bowser and Meow.
It had been a long time since Alex had thought about the death of her childhood pet and she found herself crying uncontrollably on the cot. Damon saw her weeping when he looked in on her a little later and quickly backed out of the room, misunderstanding her tears completely.
Hearing the door close, Alex stumbled over to the one-way mirror and flipped the jimmied switch back to the 'Off' position. She didn't know why she was protecting Alvin. Maybe it was because she knew she was going to need a friend, and he was nice to her. But she wasn't sure of him. He seemed to be as tricky as Mr. Smith, because he had replaced that switch and didn't want Mr. Smith to know.
Alvin had not only replaced the switch, but he had replaced the microphone as well. Alex, unfortunately, had heard every word Mr. Smith had said in there.
Alex took Alvin's advice and spent the week in bed. Thinking. And being pampered. It was funny to watch Mr. Smith. Sure, he could do some things really well, and he wasn't afraid to try to do anything. But it was obvious he had never taken care of a sick or injured person before. He was a disaster. It was hard not to laugh, because he was trying so hard, but finally, after he had fallen into the bathtub while trying to lift her out, she couldn't help herself. It was hard to call him 'Sir' and laugh hysterically at the same time but she had tried, and then got the hiccups.
He finally saw the humor and started to chuckle, too. For a moment, she had thought he was going to be mad at her, but she guessed he was so pleased to hear her feeling better that he decided against it. After that, however, he had Alvin take care of her.
Since she supposedly couldn't walk, she had moved in downstairs below the club. She didn't even know the basement was there, but Alvin said there were still two more floors below this one. Vinnie and Max lived on the next one down and Alvin had a room down there when he wanted it. Mr. Smith had his personal apartment here and there were a couple of other rooms for 'guests' Alvin said. The rooms were all very sumptuous. There were a lot of closed doors in the hallway and, since she couldn't get around, she just had to wonder what was behind them.
She got used to seeing Alvin everyday. As opposed to Mr. Smith, Alvin had had some training taking care of sick people. She didn't feel like she'd just come through a car wash when Alvin bathed her. Oh, yes, she was pampered and she made him do everything for her. After all, it was his idea, no? Between Alvin and Mr. Smith, they would have held her spoon and fork for her at meals if she would have let them.
She got a perverse thrill of having those big strong black hands bathing her, kneading her muscles, patting her dry and the powdering her. She stayed naked almost the whole time and, after a while, it felt good, normal. She teased him with little jokes at first, but he had warned her off with his eyes. He was afraid of something. Still, it had been his idea, so he could just put up with it. She noticed that he never touched her in any way that was inappropriate, even when cleaning her privates. He was almost clinical.
Finally the day came when she could get out of bed. And not a day too soon for her. She was going stir-crazy. In the bathroom that day, while he was filling the bathtub for her, Alvin had quietly warned her to move slow and hunched over sort of, to look like she was in pain. After watching her the first day, he said she was a pretty good actress, just don't expect an Oscar anytime soon. He had made a joke!
Mr. Smith was thrilled to see her up and about. He questioned Alvin closely about what activities she could engage in. With a straight face he had suggested that walking, shopping and light housework were fine, but she probably shouldn't see Harold for another couple of days. Alex thought that that was just a polite way of telling Mr. Smith that he couldn't have sex with her. She kicked Alvin under the table. She was getting very horny. Even Harold was beginning to appeal to her again.
Mr. Smith let her borrow a T-shirt and they found a pair of running shorts somewhere that weren't too big. The neck of the shirt came almost down to her naval and if she wasn't careful, one or both of her titties would pop out for anyone to see. Mr. Smith gave her a quick inspection and nodded. Then he took her shopping.
Alex came back from shopping subdued and thoughtful. It had been an experience like she hadn't dreamed possible. She had been thoroughly seduced by this man's charm, his style, his commanding presence and his authority. She had come back with a selection of clothes she would never have purchased on her own, yet each garment was perfect.
Mr. Smith had taken her in his private limo to the most expensive boutiques in the city. Some were private, by appointment only and they were always treated as if they were special customers. Everyone knew Mr. Smith. She had tried on tiny wisps of lace, sheer silk stockings that clasped her thigh, all right in front of him. He enjoyed looking at her and she enjoyed him looking. It was a tease for both of them.
High heeled shoes, higher than anything she had ever seen were placed on her feet. She walked back and forth, a bit unsteady at first, but she had strong ankles and soon she was doing much better. Then he made her walk just wearing her new panties and her thigh-high hosiery and then come and stand in front of him. He had run his hands down the back of her legs and back up over her ass cheeks, showing her in the mirror how it made her ass stick out and how it defined the muscles in her legs. Together they had watched his hands in the mirror as he caressed her legs and ass intimately for several moments. She had shivered and had to bite her lip to keep quiet.
That was early on in the day and he kept touching her often after that, always telling her how beautiful and sexy she was. And she was. She could see it herself in the mirrors that surrounded her as she tried on the beautiful clothes and lingerie. She was turned on, too, throbbing with unfulfilled needs.
Mr. Smith had made all the choices for her. Two pair of high heeled shoes, one pair black and one red. She had two new blouses to replace the one that was torn and a new pleated skirt. It didn't really replace her other one, as this one was so short she couldn't bend over without showing her butt. But Mr. Smith liked it, and secretly, so did she. With her new underwear that was barely there, she felt naked walking out of the store.
But the best part was the dress. It was light and it fit her so perfectly, like a glove. The bright green material was so thin she could only wear her new skimpy sexy thong panties under it. Even those showed a little bit of a line. She was supposed to wear the silk stockings that snugged her thigh so tightly, too. She didn't dare sit down in the dress that day as she was so wet she would have left a stain on the delicate fabric.
She recognized the dress and the other clothes from the videos. They were the same kind as the girls wore in the videos. Beautiful, sexy clothes that slid with your body as it swayed. This dress made her feel like dancing. A sexy dance, a dance that would inflame her lover, one that would make him take her and ravage her. Alex could imagine herself dancing in this dress and making Mr. Smith want her. She knew he would want her then.
She had cried when he gave her the necklace. It was a simple gold chain with a pendent that hung down between her breasts, tickling them with her every breath. The pendent was a pair of gold handcuffs. It was in the last store, one of the private boutiques. Harold had never given her jewelry, except the wedding band she always wore. They had kissed when Mr. Smith put it around her neck.
Then he had captured both her hands in one of his behind her back. He took his tie off and tied them there, keeping them there the whole way home, only releasing them to re-tie his tie as they arrived back at the club. She had knelt on the floor of the car on the ride back, resting her head in his lap while he had stoked her hair. She had worn it loose that day.
Alvin carried in the packages from the limo when they returned and took them to one of the rooms on Mr. Smith's floor. Into Mr. Smith's bedroom! Alex hadn't been forbidden to snoop during her recovery, but somehow she knew she was being watched. It was just a feeling. As a result, she didn't know what any of the rooms were except the room she stayed in and the next one where Mr. Smith slept. Alvin had taken all her new clothes in there. She was torn between hope and fear.
All the while Alvin took care of her, he was very careful with what he said to her, being very polite and respectful. She returned his cautious behavior, with a few notable exceptions, not saying anything about their conversation of that night of the party. In fact, until Alvin gave her a questioning look with a raised eyebrow on the way in from the car, looking at all the packages and back at her, and then having Mr. Smith tell him to put them away in his room, he hadn't made one reference to that night.
Alex gave him a smug look in return to his questioning look and pranced into the club ahead of him, swishing her cute butt in the tiny skirt. She knew she looked hot. Of course, it would have been better if she hadn't caught the heel of one of her new shoes on the threshold and nearly had a catastrophic pratfall.
Alvin was laughing silently as he helped her regain her balance. So much for being sophisticated.
When Alex came in for breakfast two days later, there was a package where her plate usually was. It was wrapped with a fancy covering and a huge bow. Since they had returned from shopping, she had not seen Alvin. She missed him.
"For me, Sir?" she squealed. It was like being a little girl again.
"Of course! Alvin said you could do some light housework, so I got you some work clothes."
"Oh, Sir," she faux pouted, "You spoiled the surprise."
He just grinned like the cat that ate the canary. "Just open the damn box, Alex," he said, still grinning.
Opening up the box was a simple affair. The top came right off. When the two layers of tissue were opened, he saw the puzzlement on her face, and then her eyes went wide.
Alvin had let him know not to have intercourse with her, but that didn't mean he couldn't fuck with her mind. What was in the box would keep her stirred up quite nicely until he could get her back in front of the screens. He had been going slowly with training this new pet and now he had had to chafe for two weeks because of that fucking creep. He had expected to be fucking Alex by now and having her well under control. His need was building and time was running out. He didn't like delays.
He watched Alex pick up the shiny garments. One of the boutiques did specialty latex garments. Since they had her measurements, he had had a bra and panty set specially made. As she would soon find out, they were very special.
She had already noticed the thick and heavy crotch and the extra weight in the ends of the bra cups. The inner surfaces of both were knobby where they would do the most good. There was one larger knob that would nestle up and tease her cute little anus.
Her eyes wide, she slipped off the terrycloth robe she had worn in from her shower. As usual, she was naked underneath. Damon felt a stirring that he just barely managed to get under control. This innocent child was getting to him.
Slowly she stepped into the latex panties and pulled them up her shapely legs. Higher and higher they climbed. He realized with a jolt that she had turned slightly to show her wiggling ass to best effect. She was enjoying teasing him. The thick crotch piece fitted between her legs and she tugged the sides firmly up on her hips, seating the knurled surface tightly against her own sensitive tissues.
The bra came next and it was tight by design. The shape of the cups forced her breasts up and together, and mashed her constantly erect nipples against the thickened ends. She moved around experimentally and grinned at him.
"Oh, Thank You, Sir!"
He thought she was going to run over and jump on his lap, an act he wouldn't have minded at all. She restrained herself, but remained bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Come here," he said pointing to a spot in front of his chair.
She came over to him, clasping her hands behind her back, her head bowed. She was shaking with excitement.
He took his hand and ran it between her legs, stopping to move the anal knob around until the sweat broke out on her upper lip.
"Is it in the right place, Alex?"
"If you mean, is it sticking up my butt, then Yes, Sir."
"Are you being smart with me?"
She hesitated. Then, in a more serious tone, "No, Sir. Just very appreciative. Thank you very much, Sir."
"We'll see just how appreciative you are tonight," he said ominously.
Raising his hand to her breasts, he ran his fingers firmly over the tightly held globes. There was hardly any movement between her natural firmness and the tight latex binding them. Taking his thumb and forefinger of each hand, he grasp the edges of the thicken ends of the cups and squeezed. A hole, like a pupil in an iris, opened in the center of the thickening. He manipulated the openings around until he captured first one, then the other of her constrained nipples. Satisfied, he released his grasp on the clamps and they tightened gently on the sensitive buds.
Alex' eyes flew open at that new sensation and her knees buckled.
"OH! Sir! My... They... Thank You, Sir!"
He grinned at the aroused girl. He wondered how she would make it through the day if that was all it took to push her over the edge. He decided to give her a demonstration of just how special this suit was.
"Alex? Walk over to that table and get me the orange juice, please."
She headed for the juice bar with a happy smile and a sexy wiggle in her latex cover hips. She never made it. With a groan and a gasp she slid to the floor, an orgasmic pile of flesh.
"Oh, my! Did I forget to mention the electrodes and vibrators?" he said teasingly when she could finally open her eyes and look up at him with a semblance of coherence. "I'm sorry. I should have said something. Anyway, there are tiny sensors scattered all around this floor. They activate the suit when you are close to them, like that one did. I want you to find them all and tell me tonight at dinner. If you don't find them all, then I will have to punish you."
He grinned down at her with a mischievous grin. He was enjoying this.
"Since you're going to be in all the rooms on this floor anyway, you might as well dust and vacuum while you're at it. You should be able to find everything you need if you look."
He paused. "And Alex? Don't leave this floor. If there is an emergency, Alvin will come and get you. Otherwise, stay here." It was an order and a threat. It made her tingle and shiver at the same time.
He leaned down and kissed her sweaty forehead. "I'll see you tonight, Pet. Oh, and one more thing. Put your hair into that braid like I showed you. I like it like that."
Bit by bit, he was taking control.
It took Alex a short time to find the vacuum sweeper and the feather duster. She figured she'd get that out of the way first, then search for the sensors, then do her hair. It seemed a simple enough plan.
By her third shattering orgasm, Alex was having severe doubts as to the simplicity of her plan. Sure, she had found the utility closet but after that, it was a blur. As soon as she started sweeping, the rubbery suit had started to vibrate and shock her. Tiny little shocks that swept though her and numbed her reasoning powers. Soon it was all she could do to drag the machine around. After her third climax left her gasping on the floor, it dawned on her. Mr. Smith had put one of the sensors in the handle of the vacuum sweeper.
Armed with this theory, she rushed to the kitchen to find something to take apart the handle. She found the junk drawer and extracted a 6-in-one tool. Every kitchen should have one! She wasn't daunted by the task of taking the appliance apart. If she could fix a tractor, she could disassemble a puny sweeper.
She lowered the handle of the sweeper so that it lay flat on the floor. Then, lying on the floor herself and extending her lower body away from the handle she pulled it toward her. She found she could reach the screws without activating the panties, although her boobies were getting a workout. But she could live with it.
Carefully extracting the plastic switch from the handle, she saw a small transistor taped to the switch. She assumed it was feeding off the power cord and that way it could be so small, yet so powerful. She loosened the tape and experimentally moved the tiny chip towards her waist. At about three feet the electrodes and vibrators in the panties kicked in. Oh, well. So much for needing a power cord.
Because she was expecting it this time, the shock and vibrations were less effective. Make no mistake, they were still a thrill, but now she knew what to look for and what the range of that little sucker was. Now it was a game and she was back in control. Mr. Smith would be so proud of her.
Methodically Alex swept the living quarters and the other rooms on that floor, just like Mr. Smith has asked. Every inch of it. She found 25 of the little transmitters, though one of them had been really tricky. Satisfied she had them all, she was positive Mr. Smith would be very pleased with her.
She finished vacuuming and dusting the apartment. Then she showered and braided her hair like he liked. It was hard, as she wasn't used to doing it that way but after a couple of tries, the thick braid lay perfectly down the nape of her neck.
As she knelt in the dining room awaiting his return, Alex had time to reflect on what she had seen today. In one of the rooms next to Mr. Smith's, the one on the other side from the room she had been using the last two weeks, she had found her new clothes carefully folded or hung. Because of that, she paid particular attention to room.
The first thing she noticed was that it was small, being more the size of a large closet. Or a cage. She tried to push that thought from her mind, but it was there, and kept coming back, nagging her. It felt like a cage.
The door opened into Mr. Smith's room. There was no knob on the inside of the door and the lock was on the outside. Fortunately Alex had seen that just before the door shut behind her and she was able to jam the tool she was carrying into the crack and stop it. She briefly considered hiding the tool in the small room for later, just in case, but quickly decided against it. It might make things worse, rather than better if Mr. Smith found it. And he could be watching her even now. She hadn't seen any cameras, but she really didn't know what to look for, either.
There were two shelves on which were folded her new panties and bras and the hosiery. A short pole held the dress, the blouses and the tiny skirt hanging neatly on plastic hangers. There were three pairs of shoes on the floor. Two were her new spike heels that made her legs look so sexy. The third was a new pair of running shoes in her size that he must have gotten later.
Most of the rest of the room was taken up by the bed. More correctly, it was a sleeping pad. A thin, cloth covered mat just longer than she was tall and flat on the floor. It was only about three feet wide. At each corner was a shackle set into the floor, two for her wrists, two for her ankles. She would have very little movement when she was locked in them, but, trying it out, it didn't seem that uncomfortable. She would have to get used to sleeping on her back.
What caused her to reflect as she knelt waiting for Mr. Smith to come home was what she had seen while laying down. From the corner of her eye, she saw something that seemed out of place. Unless you were lying on the mat on your back and twisted your head back and up, you wouldn't see it. Certainly no one standing or kneeling would see it.
Alex scooted over and looked at the bottom of the lowest shelf, about nine inches off the floor. There were a list of names and dates. All women's names. Gouged with fingernails in the soft pinewood of the shelf. The oldest were dark, tinged with dirt and dust, darkened by the oils left by fingers as they traced over the impressions in the wood. As Alex' fingers were. It was automatic. She touched each name lightly, trying to bond with the ones who had stayed here before her. Alex had no doubt she would be staying here.
The dates were in rough columns and there were at most two dates by each name. Two names only had one date in the first column. The first column was titled "owned." The second was headed by the cryptic "1st dan." The last date entered had been over a year and a half ago.
Alex had lain there reading the names, memorizing them. The ones with only one date tantalized her. The first was almost eight years ago. The last one with a single date was the last one on the list. She wondered what had happed to those two women.
It finally occurred to her as she waited for Mr. Smith that the girls who had come before had felt the need to hide the list. Why did they need to hide their names? From whom? She was no closer to an answer when he came home. A shiver ran up her spine. Home. This felt like home now.
Alex looked up at him smiling. He seemed surprised to see her kneeling there, calm and clean, hair perfect, the apartment spotless. No, not surprised. Disappointed. Confused. Even a bit flustered.
He was even more flabbergasted to see, carefully lined up at his place at the table, a neat row of tiny transistors stuck to a piece of tape laying face upwards. Unbelievable.
"Well, Alex. I see you have had an interesting day. Your hair looks lovely."
"Thank you, Sir. Uh, it was fun, Sir. I enjoyed it a lot, Sir."
You weren't supposed to fucking enjoy it, you stupid bitch. You were supposed to be a quivering mass of throbbing cunt by now. "Really? So. How many of the sensors did you find?"
"Twenty-five, Sir. They're all there on the table. Sir."
Damon froze. It couldn't be.
"How many?" he asked carefully.
"Please count them again, Alex."
"Yes, Sir. But, Sir?"
"I, uh, it would be really helpful if you didn't talk while I was counting. If you could, Sir? Please?"
"Just go count them, Alex. Now!" He didn't know if she was being insolent or what, but he was getting pissed.
"Yes, Sir." She got up off her knees and move cautiously to the table. She was carefully moving her finger over one after another, silently counting. When she was done, she stood up to move away from the table.
Damon had walked up beside her. "Well, how many?"
A look of terror crossed over the girl's face as she heard his voice and she sank to the plush carpet and started flopping around. Pain was etched across her face.
"Sshhh, Sir. Please," she whispered to him as he kneeled over her, alarm showing on his face.
Not liking to be commanded by a Sub to be quiet, he at least had the sense to be silent. Alex rolled over on her stomach and slithered in visible agony away from the table. When she was about fifteen feet away, she quit shaking and relaxed, relief written in her eyes.
"Twenty-five, Sir. I counted them. Was that all of them, Sir? Are you going to punish me?" She sounded hopeful. He wasn't sure if she was hoping for a punishment or not, but right now that wasn't his main concern.
Right now he was wondering where the Hell the extra transmitter had come from.
Turning away from Alex he moved to the table. He counted them himself. Twenty-five. Shit! He looked at them again. They were so damn small. Wait! That one. There was a tiny red band on it, so thin he almost missed it. He picked it off the tape and went back over to the girl.
"This one, Alex, where did you find this one?"
As he neared the girl, her eyes widened, then slammed shut. Still holding the transmitter, he knelt down beside her. Alex screamed and fainted, but the shaking of her body continued, the electrodes buried in the latex panties and bra still firing and stimulating her insensate tissues.
Kicking himself, Damon tossed the transistor back on the table. Lifting up the unconscious girl he took to the room she had been using for the last few weeks. The one with a bed. He had no doubt she had found her new room. Two of the transmitters had been in there so he knew she had had a chance to look at it well. He was a little surprised she hadn't been trapped inside. Maybe the door wasn't swinging shut fast enough. He'd have to check.
He got a damp cloth from the bathroom and stroked it over her forehead. She had been watching him for several moments before he saw her eyes were open.
She smiled up at him. "That feels nice, Sir. Thank you."
He gazed down at the calm girl. He had a feeling he may have misjudged her. But that was for later. Right now he had to find out where the extra transmitter had come from.
"Alex, I am very proud of you. You found all the sensors I had hidden."
She was beaming up at him. "Thank you, Sir. That last one, that was a mean trick you played on me, Sir."
"Which one was that, Alex?"
"You know, the one that only transmits when you talk, Sir."
"Oh," he said easily. His blood, however, ran cold. A voice-activated burst transmitter. Almost impossible to detect in an electronic sweep. He was starting to sweat.
"Uh, remind me where I hid that one. Was it hard to find?"
"You bet, Sir. Would you like me to show you, Sir? I found it in the storage closet where you keep all the old furniture and stuff. Come on, Sir."
She grabbed his hand and started down the hall to the storage room. It was huge, and there were a few things in here he hoped she hadn't seen or looked through too closely. But if there had been a bug in here, then where else might they have been planted?
Damon grinned as he noticed she gave a very wide berth to the table with the transistors. He grinned wider as he realized the reason for it; she was still wearing the latex suit. Maybe there was still hope.
Alex pulled open the door to the storage room and stood aside for him to enter after flicking on the light switch. She was proud of her afternoon's work, even if she hadn't completely finished. A couple of more days and the room would be completely organized. But already it was spotless.
Damon stopped, stunned. He turned slowly to the girl, his face a mask of anger.
"What have you done, you silly twit?"
"What were you doing in here?"
"Sir? You... you said to clean and dust all the rooms on this floor, Sir. It was filthy in here. I cleaned it up. I can move the furniture back like it was if you like, Sir. I was just trying to make it neat and organized, Sir. For you, Sir...." The girl's hopes of pleasing him dashed, she was nearly in tears.
He stood, speechless. How could she be so stupid? Nobody cleaned up a storage room. But, on the other hand, she had found the bug. And the boxes with the documents, those were untouched. He was safe. She didn't know anything, and if she did, it wouldn't matter in a couple of weeks. Keep in control. Control, control.
"So Alex," he continued, getting a grip on his panic, "Where did you find the sensor? You've moved everything around and I've forgotten where it was."
Beaming once again, Alex moved over to a tall floor lamp. It had been in his office in the club for several years. Until just recently, in fact, when he went with the more modern halogen lamps. Alex was skillfully disassembling the lamp and pointing, showing him where the transmitter had been. He felt sick.
He took the girl and led her back into the dining area. She held back as she neared the table.
He looked at her dumbly, then realized she didn't want to get within range. "That one is stronger, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes, Sir, and it hurts when it's real close."
"Yes, Sir. Like big shocks, only tiny. But lots of them. It's a lot stronger than the others and it only makes the shocks, not the vibrations. I'm sorry if that's not clear, Sir."
"No, no. I'll take it back and talk to the manufacturer." He pulled her closer. She came reluctantly.
He started to say something and she blanched. He withdrew to a safe distance with her.
"Why didn't you just take those clothes off?" he asked her, exasperated.
"May I, Sir?" she answered, the bra already up over her head, the nipples extracting from the iris clamps with a slight sucking sound. The latex panties followed immediately. She picked them up and folded them neatly.
"Thank you, Sir. I enjoyed it, mostly. Sir." She beamed up at him, like a small puppy awaiting her pat on the head.
He gave her a warm smile he didn't feel like parting with and, with a pat on the ass, told her to fix a light supper for them. He watched as she fucking skipped into the kitchen, her domestic instincts taking over and keeping her fully occupied. Simple cunt. He had other problems to worry about now.
After a light dinner he took her into the small room next to his bedroom. The room where he kept his pets. He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed down slightly. Alex dropped to her knees readily and looked up hopefully. She was moving her hands towards his belt and zipper when he realized what she was expecting to happen. What she was willing and eager to give him. Her last virginity.
It wasn't time. Not yet. And he didn't want her to give it. He wanted to take it. On his terms. Soon.
"Soon, Alex. Soon," he echoed his thoughts. He leaned down and urged her to her back on the sleeping mat. He fastened one wrist, then the other in the shackles by her head. Her ankles followed.
Large tears welled up in her eyes. "Have I displeased you, Sir?"
He looked down at the confused girl. He walked away without answering her question.
He didn't know the answer.
End of part 2.