by Max Hardy
‘For me, visiting a club was a night out, a once a week treat. I would spend my working hours thinking about it and spend hours after work getting myself ready. It became a routine, a ritual. I would have a lovely long bath with scented candles, usually apple wood; I love the smell of apple wood. I would then do my hair. I would try out different styles and different colours. I loved being a redhead, it always made me feel more confident, a lot more risqué.’ She laughed, ‘If what I was doing could ever be more risqué. I would then wax my legs and my bikini line, the feeling of being bare down there so sensual, as was the waxing. After that I would do my nails, both my fingers and toes. Finally I would decide what to wear. I would try on dozens of outfits, imagining myself as a different person…’
She had been gently stroking her arm as she talked about getting ready, her gaze distant, lost in the recollection. She stopped talking abruptly, a look of concern crossing her face as she focused on Dr Hanlon.
‘I don’t want you to think that was part of a Multiple Personality psychosis.’ she anxiously said to him. ‘It was just role playing. I enjoyed pretending, it added an extra dimension of excitement.’
‘It sounds to me you consciously recognise that behaviour in yourself. It’s your choice. It’s not a psychosis. It’s definitely not DID. We all imagine ourselves being someone else. Usually to compensate for, or to escape from, what we perceive to be the failings in our own life. That’s normal. It’s the point at which it happens subconsciously where you have to worry.’ he said reassuringly.
The slight rise in tension abated, and Rebecca continued. ‘That night I was a redhead. I wore a tight fitting strapless black leather dress which laced up at the back like a corset, pulling my waist in and pushing my boobs together and up. It was a bugger to get on by yourself. I spent ten minutes jumping up and down just to get into it, then another half an hour at the mirror to try and get it fastened! I wore no bra or panties underneath, there wasn’t the room. Only black lace topped hold ups and black leather high heel ankle boots, with little silver chains dangling from a stud on the front of them. I liked the way I looked that night. I felt confident, excited, aroused and utterly terrified. I didn’t know what to expect at this new club but even the terror was intoxicating.’
‘It was a chilly early autumn evening so I wore a long coat over my outfit and took a taxi to the club. I arrived at about ten thirty at an inconspicuous door down a side alley off the main street. There was no sign, just a bell, which I rang. The door was answered by what you would consider to be a normal bouncer at a night club, big and broad and wearing a black suit, white shirt and shades. I handed him the card and let him know that Destiny had sent me. God that sounds so corny.’ She giggled, ‘But trust me, although I was trying to sound confident, I was nervous as hell and probably came across sounding like Larry the Lamb. He looked me up and down as I smiled encouragingly at him. He then opened the door wider and allowed me into a narrow dark hallway down which there was another door about five metres further on. He took my coat and hung it on a rack with many more. There was a small window in the door in front of me, through which red lights and the occasional bright white strobe flashed. As I got closer to it, the unmistakable deep bass of dance music started to pervade the corridor. I reached to door and, being the voyeur that I am, stood and looked into the room beyond for a few minutes, taking in this wholly new experience.’
‘To be brutally honest, my initial reaction was one of utter disappointment. There was a fair amount of dry ice going around and to my eyes, it just looked like a normal, slightly Goth themed night club. There was a central area, where I could see lots of people dancing: or at least I thought they were dancing. There was a long bar down one wall where people were chatting, laughing, cuddling and kissing. Around the dance floor there were deeply recessed booths and from my vantage point, it was hard to see into them as they were very dimly lit. I could make out the odd movement, but that was about it. The décor was all black, with subdued red lights, the occasional strobe coming from the front of a set of decks at the far end of the central area. And the music, my god, it was 70’s disco. Now I don’t mind 70’s disco, but it’s not the kind of thing that goes with a Goth themed club and leather clad clientele. I was slightly deflated to say the least at that point: until my eyes started to get accustomed to the light and I started to see through the mist.’
‘Some people were erotic dancing. Yes, they were. In amongst others who were touching, feeling, kissing, licking, fingering and not to put too fine a point on it, fucking, right there in the centre of the room! I think my jaw quite literally did drop at that point. I had expected something a little more extreme than the lap dancing club, but not as blatant as this. I did see the odd whip being used, a few slaves being led around and pulled down by reins. I’ll be honest, I had a slight panic attack at the sight of it all coalescing in front of me and was about to turn and walk away. Until I saw a few single people, dotted in amongst the couples, threesomes and foursomes, just sitting casually watching and drinking. There was one woman in particular, sat at the bar on her own. I watched her for a few moments as she just took in the room, occasionally stroking herself sexually. A man in a leather G-string, and nothing else, approached and whispered something in her ear. She smiled politely at him and shook her head. He just gave her a gentle peck on the cheek and walked away. As much as it was overwhelming and totally outside of my experience, that one interaction gave me confidence that I could watch and be safe. Does that make sense?’ she asked.
‘It’s normal when we start pushing the boundaries of our own experiences to get nervous, to get terrified even. It’s what we all do. It’s survival instinct. If you can see something familiar in that alien environment, it becomes a crutch to support you through learning all about the new experience. In that moment, she was your familiar. Was that Madame Evangeline?’ he questioned.
‘No, that wasn’t her. I get where you are coming from. The lady was the crutch that made me walk through the door. The overpowering smell of sweat and leather assailed my nostrils immediately, with the pungent musky odour of sex swimming in the eddies of the dry ice circling around me, as I walked through the copulating carnal circus and found an empty seat at the bar. I ordered a drink and sat for a few minutes just taking in the rest of the room. I could now see into the circular booths a little more. They weren’t booths, they were beds, sunk into the floor with cushioned partitions separating them. I looked from one to the next, sipping on my drink with a look of sheer disbelief on my face as I observed one sexual scenario after another. In one there was a man handcuffed to metal rings on the wall, a leather cowl over his head, otherwise naked. There were two women in the booth with him, one lashing his genitals with a whip while the other one was rolling a Wartenberg Wheel all over his skin. In another, a man was bound hand and foot with manacles, lying on his back with one woman sitting cowboy and riding him while the other was literally sat on his face, forcing her anus and vagina over his nose and mouth. She was facing the other lady. They were raking each other with Vampire gloves, which were leather with small spikes in them, drawing blood while kissing each other passionately. In nearly every case, right across the club, it was the men who were submissive.’
‘It was the first time I saw Dr Ennis. He and a woman were in a booth with another man who was on his knees, naked. The other man had a metal collar around his neck with two thick chains attached. Both chains went down his back. The first had manacles at the end which were tight on his wrists, pinning his hands and arms into the space between his shoulder blades. The other went down to his ankles, which were pulled half way up his back. The woman was on her knees, head down into his crotch performing fellatio on him. Dr Ennis was sanding astride her and the bound gentleman was doing the same thing to him.’
‘To be honest, so much gratuitous sex being carried out so flagrantly was overwhelming. I didn’t find it stimulating, I didn’t feel as though I was a voyeur in that environment. The clandestine
thrill just wasn’t there. I think the barman, a muscle bound slim young man, wearing nothing but a leather apron around his waist, must have sensed this. ‘First Time at a Munch?’ he asked. ‘Can you tell?’ I replied. ‘It’s the shell shocked, jaw dropped expression that gives it away.’ he continued, smiling at me. ‘Down the side there,’ he said, pointing to an entrance at the far end of the bar, ‘are some quiet, private rooms with places you can watch discreetly, if that’s what you like. It’s not as in your face as this.’ I thanked him and headed for the private rooms, out of ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’ and into a quieter, more subdued corridor, the throbbing disco receding. The setup was like Labia’s, little viewing areas in front of windowed rooms, curtains concealing them. I popped my head into a few, which were taken, before coming to one which was empty. I looked through the window and breathed a sigh of relief as I saw what seemed to be a normal couple. No three or foursomes, and on initial observation, no overtly masochistic things happening. These establishments really do love their chaise lounges, and I made myself comfortable on the one in front of the window and started to watch them.’
‘I thought she was giving him a gentle massage. He was lying on his stomach, stretched out full length, just wearing a pair of leather braces which were clipped to a thin belt around his waist. She was sitting astride him, wearing what looked like half-length chaps on her thighs, nothing on her buxom top and black Vampire Gloves. She was gently stroking her hands from his neck, right the way down his back to the base of his spine, red weal’s rising on his skin. As she moved down his back with her hands, her backside also moved down over his behind and onto his legs. I could see similar striations appear there, and saw little pins all over the inside of her chaps too. Each time she stroked or moved, he let out a low, guttural growl of pleasure from the pain, his face contorting with the agony, then softening with the ecstasy.’
‘I became engrossed in the genteel intensity of the infliction being carried out in front of me. I started to touch myself in long lingering strokes, from my knees, down the inside of my thighs, over my stocking tops to the bare white flesh of my mound, occasionally digging my long, painted finger nails into the yielding flesh on the way. It was all about the skin, and I tried to stroke myself in the same places that she was massaging him, my body tingling with the anticipation of the next touch.’
‘Then, I noticed a reflection appear in the window in front of me as someone popped their head through the curtain behind me. That isn’t unusual, but once they see someone else is in the viewing area, they generally leave. This time, she didn’t. The pale, immaculate complexion of a female head, with gorgeously well-defined cheek bones and full, pouting lips, hovered disjointedly in front of me in the window, luscious long auburn hair setting off her intensely emerald eyes. Eyes which were devouring what she could see of my reflection, of my dress raised around my waist, nails impressed upon naked flesh, a hand caressing my exposed breast. My heart started to palpitate uncontrollably, the thrill of watching being overwhelmed by the thrill of being watched. I didn’t stop touching myself. I didn’t take my eyes off her reflection watching me. The couple in the room in front were out of my mind now. The only thing I could see, could think of, could feel was her voracious gaze ablaze upon me.’
‘She slinked in and slowly walked around the chaise longue. She was wearing a skin tight leather cat suit and thigh length leather boots. Our eyes didn’t leave the reflection in the window until she knelt on the floor down by my open thighs, at which point we turned and looked at each other. She was smiling, a picture of controlled desire with a sparkle of lust twinkling in her eyes. Whereas I was not. My body was shaking, my breathing timorous: the smile I returned twitching with anticipation. Her eyes then strayed down my body, stopping for a second to devour my breasts. She bit her lip, supressing the urge to lean over and kiss my erect nipples. Her gaze moved further down, drinking in the rucked up leather around my waist, darting back and forth over the bare flesh of my hips before settling on the delicate, wet, hot and pulsing area between my open thighs.’
‘’Beautiful’, she said, simply, looking back up at me briefly, a wicked smile on her lips, before her gaze returned down below. She leaned over slightly and lowered her head down between my thighs and I gave out a small shriek of anticipation at the thought of what she was going to do. She looked up at me again, her smile broadening before she puckered her lips and blew a breath of ecstasy ever so gently over my yearning clitoris. The sudden sensation was statically erotic, my whole being tensing with the intensity of the feeling. She continued, blowing gently around my slightly parted lips, down to my perineum and all the way back to my clitoris, my groin pulsing with the waves of pleasure that were rising from the depths of me, starting to surf on the wave of orgasm. ‘She is so, so beautiful.’ she said, raising her head for a second and looking at me again. I could see her sucking the moisture out of her tongue, could hear the dry barbs of her taste buds rising as she stuck it out in the cool air, going down once more and licking upward from my perineum. The second her tongue touched me, I started to come, my body wracking, panting heavily, moans getting louder and louder. Slowly, the dry, coarse buds of her open tongue smothered my hot, moist lips, sending searing pleasure coursing through me, rapturing an already flowing orgasm. Upwards she continued, rolling her tongue, reaching the top of my lips, where it engulfed my exposed, throbbing clitoris and sucked it. I exploded, my body bucking and tensing, screaming as the orgasm overwhelmed me. I grabbed her shoulders and held her tight against my vulva until the last wracking wave abated and I flopped back into the sofa, hands dropping away from her, utterly sated.’
‘She looked at me, smiling, her lips glistening with my pleasure. She moved up and placed a tender kiss on my still quivering mouth as she stood up. She unzipped her suit slightly, down to the curve of her cleavage, reached inside and took out a small, white mobile phone. She leant down and pulling my leather corset forward, placed the phone against the swell of my left breast. ‘That was delicious.’ she said. ‘I’ll call you.’ she finished as she zipped her suit back up and started to back out of the room, slowly. ‘Absolutely delicious.’
‘Wait!’ I said, a little too eagerly, ‘Don’t go just yet. I don’t even know your name?’ I implored. She continued to back out of the viewing area, her body through the curtains now, only her head remaining. She smiled at me and said, ‘Call me Evangeline: Madame Evangeline.’
8:33 am
Shadows slowly elongated and evaporated over the brooding Cheviot Hills as the sun started its ascent beyond dawn, dancing through the morning mists which clung to the upper slopes of the range. Dew glistened on the fading purple heather that coloured the otherwise dour brown and green landscape which was interspersed with exposed rocks and shale landslides.
The bottom of the slopes gave way to open fields, most of them sewn with winter crops which were just starting to rise through the carpet brown landscape. The odd green field, sheep or cows languidly grazing, were dotted throughout the vista. Half a mile in front of the hills sat Featherstone Hall in its dishevelled grounds, an ugly blot on the natural beauty of the surrounding countryside.
Saul stood at the window inside the MIU, looking out over view, deep in thought. The open space in front of the Hall was bustling with activity, vehicles coming and going constantly. Strange finished filling his coffee cup from the bubbling percolator on the bench beside the various officers and tech staff beavering away at the computers. He walked to the window and stood beside Saul, the two of them standing in silence for a moment, before Strange wrinkled his nose.
‘You stink of piss John. If that’s your aftershave, I would take it back.’ Strange wryly said.
‘It was that bigoted bastard’s dog. Used me as a lamppost. Ripped my trousers too. It took all my self-restraint to stop myself kicking it.’ Saul answered with evident anger, lifting his leg to show Strange the damage. ‘Mind you, I wanted to kick Bentley even more. What a waste of space. I have no confidenc
e at all in any evidence that he may have gathered. He’s all for an easy life, and Rebecca confessing to this murder meant he didn’t have to probe deeply into this case. I’m beginning to understand what our ‘Unknown Caller’ was getting at now. There are dozens of inconsistencies. Everyone seemed to put them down to Rebecca’s condition.’
‘That’s as maybe John, but it still doesn’t get us any closer to identifying anyone else involved in Michael’s murder. We’ve got to focus on facts now. We don’t have the luxury of time.’
Irritated, Saul replied, ‘I know that Sir, and I don’t have facts at the moment. But I can tell you I don’t trust Bentley, and I trust Ennis even less.’
‘Let’s see what you do trust then John.’ encouraged Strange, putting a hand up to the back of Saul’s neck and rubbing it gently, ‘And try and get rid of some of this tension along the way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so uptight. Come on, pictures first, tell me what you think.’
Strange gently ushered him around to the table where Saul picked up the photos and photo fit Dr Ennis had given him. Saul stuck the first one, of Rebecca before she had been committed, up below her name on the board. The second photo, of Rebecca’s scarred and bruised body, he put down next to the words ‘Person in the Crate’. He pursed his lips, gently shaking his head. ‘I don’t think its Rebecca in the crate Sir. Look at her skin, just about every visible surface has some kind of lesion on it. The skin of the person in the crate looks smooth and unblemished. It makes no sense that our ‘Unknown Caller’ would put her in there, not when he is trying to clear her name.’