She was interested, for her own sake, in exploring the internal conflict that he’d exhibited. He wasn’t submissive, but there was no arguing that he’d enjoyed what they’d done. She’d left him too quickly, really. By her own code of ethics, she should have stayed to make sure that conflict didn’t become a dangerous post-scene crash. But she hadn’t envisioned them sitting down to any sort of psychological discussion, and it had felt like he’d fucked his issues straight. She clenched her crossed legs and squirmed on the bench at that memory. This morning, she’d woken up to a collection of purple bruises on each hip, and more breath-stealing memories.
And that was another concern. He made her stupid. He’d been naked inside her, and she hadn’t registered it as wrong. It had been intense and amazing. She hadn’t felt it in a long time, and she hadn’t realized that she’d missed it. She didn’t need to worry about pregnancy, and she wasn’t worried about passing anything to him, she was clean, she had regular tests as part of her insurance package, but he could be walking around with fuck only knew what. She’d already called her Ob/Gyn to make an appointment.
She sighed and hopped down. She needed to rinse her cup out, and get ready for her next client. She was booked to spend an hour verbally abusing a prominent city official in the school room. She was dressed in a cheap skirt suit with a polyester blouse, complete with pussy-cat bow at the neck. It was hideous, and she hated it, but the verbal chastisement culminated in corporal punishment with a ruler, and the guy never failed to orgasm while he was being beaten. She was not going to spend money on an outfit when it needed to be washed regularly at high temperatures.
Just to make sure that her day was going to go from shit to abysmal, she had a meeting scheduled that afternoon with the same official, and a representative from the police department, about the First Church of Christ. She’d had to practically beg and plead to get the meeting during the holiday season, and on a Saturday at that, but as far as she was concerned the matter was now urgent. She’d tried to sit down for a civilized discussion with the Pastor of the Church once, but had walked out when he’d started sermonizing, and the name-calling had progressed from Jezebel to Whore of Babylon. The fucker had a mullet. No one with a mullet should ever be trusted to hold so much as a bank account, let alone the regard of fifty people with borderline personality disorders.
It wasn’t often that her business crossed streams in this manner, but when it did, it made her uncomfortable. She knew how to conduct herself, and would never give any sort of hint about the private dealings between her and a client, but not all clients were able to maintain the same level of professionalism. Some were unable to meet her eyes, and made their discomfort evident by looking anywhere but at her. The politician was one of the ones that got too familiar, as though they shared something far more personal than a business transaction. The meeting was going to be very difficult, and Andy suspected it would also be fruitless. If she was running a beauty salon it would be one thing, but a strip club and dungeon was entirely another. Despite the fact she was a taxpaying, profitable employer, it was unlikely that anyone was going to go out of their way to help her.
At least she had a visit from Chiz to look forward to, if he turned up. Andy felt like she was setting herself up for a fall by allowing anticipation to have any consideration in her thoughts at all, but she had a scene to set up on the expectation that he would accept her invitation. She wanted to show her understanding of his surrender the previous night, and a straight-up fuck would not do. If he didn’t turn up, well, then that would be the end of her visits to the motel.
Andy double checked that there was nothing out of place in the room before she left it. Satisfied that everything was in order, she went to make her final preparations. She met Emma in the corridor. Emma was one of the dominatrices who worked at the club, and was evidently on her way to the medical room. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform in a style that was a couple of decades old. It consisted of a white dress, white tights and a little white cap pinned into her bronze hair, which looked to have been scraped back painfully tightly. Some clients liked the porn star plastic outfits, others preferred more realism to their fantasies, but they all usually wanted something more authoritarian than scrubs.
“Hey, Emma.”
“Hey, Andy.”
Andy nodded at the enema kit that Emma was carrying. “You’ve got Howard this morning?”
“Yep. Just getting everything clean and set up. He’s due in five. You’ve got Rafe?”
“Yeah, he’s due soon, too.”
Emma paused before she asked, “Joe said you’ve got that meeting later today, the one about the Church?”
“Yep, for all the good it’ll do.” Andy tried and failed to keep the resignation from her tone, but she was concerned by the way Emma seemed to be suddenly nervous. Emma was a Top inside and out, ‘nervous’ was not a typical state for her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just... I think one of them followed me to my car last night. They weren’t hanging around outside the door like they usually do, which was odd enough. It was dark, and I couldn’t see anything really, it was more a sense that someone was there, if you know what I mean?”
“Yeah I do. You okay?”
Emma’s nerves seemed to be ebbing now that she’d shared her worries. “I’m not thrilled, but I’m not hurt. It’s beginning to feel like they’re making this very personal. I don’t like it.”
Andy couldn’t disagree. “Me either. I’ll do my best with the suits later. It was getting out of hand before, but this is too much. I’ll speak to Shane and Joe about walking people to their cars when it’s late, and we can try and arrange something with the girls downstairs so people can walk in groups if they’d prefer.” Andy put her hand on Emma’s elbow. “Look, I don’t want to lose you here, but I’ll understand if you want to find someplace else. I don’t want you feeling intimidated about coming to work.”
Emma laughed, her characteristic confidence shining through. “Oh no, the bastards aren’t going to chase me away that easily. I love doing this. And besides, I have kids to put through college.”
“Okay.” Andy nodded gratefully, “but I mean it, Em. I don’t want anyone who works here feeling like they can’t do what’s best for them.”
It was Emma’s turn to lay a reassuring hand on Andy’s arm. She had to juggle the enema equipment to do it. “Don’t worry, I don’t.” She had to take her hand back to catch the rubber pouch, and all the hoses and attachments, before they fell to the floor. “I better go. Howard’ll be here any minute.”
“Okay. Catch you later.” Andy opened the door to the medical room for Emma to save her from having to free up a hand again.
Emma nodded her thanks, and disappeared to set up her scene.
Andy wasn’t at all happy to hear that the church members might be escalating their program of harassment. That was not good, not good at all. The whole thing had needed nipping in the bud months ago. Now it all needed to fucking stop before someone got hurt, or before she went out of business, having lost all her clients, or all her employees, or both.
At least her frustrations had some use. By the time she’d finished with Rafe, her skirt needed washing again, and she had one very satisfied client.
When it came to the time to make her way to her meeting, Andy left by the front door so that she could speak with Shane, the bouncer that shared duties with Josiah. The man was intimidation personified, and Andy suspected that his presence this day was the reason that there were no church protestors at her door. He was seven foot and three hundred pounds of inked muscle. The Congregation from Hell seemed to have some respect for Shane, which was probably due to his size, but might also have been due to his skin color. The prayer nuts were racist as well as piously insane.
She’d already spoken to Jackie about encouraging everyone who worked at the club to escort each other to their vehicles, and to carpool wherever possible. She outlined the same concept to Shane, with the request
that he accompany anyone who was on their own if they asked.
“Sure, boss lady. No problem. You want me to walk you to your car now?”
The street was quiet. It looked like they were out of customers as well as crazies. “Thank you, but no. It’s daylight. I think I’ll be okay.”
Shane rubbed smoothed his massive paw of a hand over the folded bandana that he always wore wrapped around his forehead, and combed his fingers through his long red-brown ponytail. It was a gesture that Andy recognized as the closest thing to uncomfortable that Shane ever got. “Alright, but keep your phone handy. I don’t like these twitchy sons of bitches, not one bit.”
“Will do, Shane. Let me know if we have any problems.”
“Sure thing, boss lady.”
Andy turned and headed down the street to her car. It wasn’t an ideal solution. The ideal solution would be the eviction of the church or the imprisonment of every last one of the members, but it was as much as she could do for now.
The meeting went about as badly as she had expected it to. Even with the new information about Emma possibly being followed away from the club, Detective John Hill made it very clear that the police’s hands were tied until the Church actually did something that could be prosecuted. At the present time, they were only exercising their right to free speech, and there was no evidence against them. She hadn’t been able to press charges against anyone when her car had been vandalized because there was no evidence to hold a member of the Church responsible.
The city official, who had fucking winked at her when he’d sat down, had made lots of placating comments about not wanting to lose such a well-established business that employed many people, but had circled around to the point that the Church paid its taxes on their building, too, and that on paper, they were ideal tenants. Andy got the distinct impression that she was being humored in being granted the meeting in the first place. She could almost imagine the telephone conversation ‘just half an hour of your time, she’ll feel like she’s being listened to, and then the whining bitch will fuck off.’
By the time she left, she was seething with anger, and under a black cloud of impotence. The two men, secure in their own power bases, had told her in their bureaucratic code that until she, or one of her customers or employees, got hurt, they wouldn’t lift a finger. As well as being a situation that she wanted to avoid at all costs, because she was, well, human, such a thing would be catastrophic for her business. One of her employees being hurt would be devastating for Andy personally, but one of her customers getting hurt would be something that her business would not recover from. There would be no point in anyone taking any action in the event of that happening.
The weight of her duty to the people depending on her sat heavy on Andy’s shoulders. She needed respite from her responsibilities. The scene that she had planned for Chiz would be the perfect form of stress-relief, if he turned up. It had the potential to join the rest of the week in her list of fucks to remember.
She had kept her diary clear for the slim portion of the afternoon that remained after the pointless meeting. She had some shopping that she needed to do. As she slid into her car, Andy smiled to herself, imagining the likely expression on Chiz’s face when she revealed her plan. She hoped he turned up.
Chapter Eight
Chiz hated the area where Elmo lived, almost before he’d gotten to her house. First he’d ridden through areas which still bore great scars left by what could only have been a tornado followed by a bulldozer. Whole blocks would be comfortably unaffected, and then suddenly a gap would open up, an absence of structures where the ground was unnaturally flat and even, noticeable even in the dark by the complete absence of light from houses or street lamps.
When he reached the subdivision that contained the address that Elmo had given him the night before, he seriously thought about turning back. The thunderous roar of his Harley physically violated the empty, silent streets where the only visible modes of transportation were bicycles and hybrids. It was yuppie hell, and he was riding into the middle of it. It didn’t fit with the impression of Elmo he’d formed so far.
He knew which house was Elmo’s, without checking the numbers, because of the car outside. He’d never seen her ride, but the blood-red Miata that flashed in the beam of his headlights was a statement in the sea of corporately bland individuality. He parked his bike behind Elmo’s car, and for the first time felt confident that perhaps he wouldn’t come out to find it covered in Greenpeace or Save the Whales stickers.
She answered his knock wearing a fluffy terrycloth robe that covered her from her shoulders to the ankles of her bare feet. Not an outfit he’d been expecting.
Chiz handed Elmo the bottle of Jameson he’d brought with a skeptically raised eyebrow. “Here’s to a quiet night in, doll.”
She opened the door wider and waved him in with the bottle. “Whether or not we’re quiet remains to be seen, baby.”
He followed her through the shoebox of a house. He was fairly certain that his room at the clubhouse was bigger than her living room. He’d never been claustrophobic before, but his chest felt a little tight, and he was beginning to miss his motel room. That, at least, was cozy. This was stark and unforgiving, all wooden floors and white paint, with a few colored cushions thrown around as if color was an afterthought. It looked to be straight out of a catalogue. It was devoid of individuality, and told him nothing about her personal taste. Her personality had been hidden under a coat of gloss paint. The whole thing, the fastidiously neat area, the tiny house and equally small car, the do-it-by-numbers decorating, was aggressively single.
Between the funhouse feel of the location and the dowdy gown that Elmo was wearing, all so opposite from the daring, unrestrained woman he’d come to know, Chiz felt uncomfortable and twitchy. Only the car, vibrant and built for speed, seemed to fit with the Elmo he knew.
It took about twenty steps to get from the front door to the kitchen. Chiz looked around, noting the complete absence of photographs or anything that hinted at the sort of life that Elmo led, or any family she might have. Chiz was a neat freak, but Elmo took it to a whole other level. There was no clutter anywhere, not even a crumb on the breadboard. Chiz wondered if she ever actually ate food in the room. She set the bottle down on the counter, so that she could pull two glasses from a matte grey wall cupboard, and poured them both a generous amount of golden liquid. Even the whiskey seemed out of place.
When she handed him his glass, he took a long swallow. He craved the familiar warmth of the alcohol in his gut in counterpoint to the unfamiliar surroundings.
Elmo took an equally large drink and returned her glass to the counter. “I’ll be back in a moment. I just need to finish up getting ready.”
God, he hoped the rest of her preparations didn’t involve bed socks and a hot-water bottle.
“Take your time, doll.”
Elmo left the room, headed into the rest of the house, and what Chiz supposed must have been her bedroom. He finished the whiskey in his glass and, not hearing any sounds of Elmo’s return, poured himself some more.
He was peering out through the night-darkened glass of the window, trying to make out if Elmo had a yard, when he heard her re-enter the room. It was the tap of shoes on the hard floor that had alerted him to her return. That was promising. He turned, and almost choked on the mouthful of whiskey he’d been about to swallow.
“Tonight’s your turn.”
He tried not to outright sputter, and covered it with a cough, but he knew he wasn’t hiding his shock, and absolute fucking delight.
A schoolgirl outfit. She was wearing a fucking schoolgirl outfit, and it was fucking perfect. The tight white shirt was half unbuttoned, partly through necessity, because it was too small to contain her breasts, which were covered in almost innocent, white lace. There was a little frill of a tartan, pleated skirt that ended miles above white knee socks, and the whole thing was topped off with a striped tie, loosely knotted, so that it didn’t obstru
ct the view, and shiny black shoes with a little strap across the foot. She’d even tied her hair into messy pigtails, and was biting the corner of her bottom lip, playing coy, as she twirled the end of a pigtail around her finger.
Elmo didn’t speak, but her grin turned downright devilish as she unwound her finger from her hair so that she could slide her hands over her ribs, from just under her breasts, down to the skirt that was so short it was almost a belt. She teased up the hem, but before Chiz could see anything she turned around. Looking back over her shoulder at him she ran her palms from her waist over her ass, back to the hem of the skirt. She pinched the edge of the material between her forefingers and thumbs and raised it, very slowly, until he could see the chaste, white cotton panties she was wearing underneath.
“You horny bitch.” His voice, breathy and rough with lust, made her laugh.
She dropped her skirt and turned around. She caught the end of a pigtail and resumed twirling it in her fingers. “If you say so, Sir.”
Breath on the Wind Page 8