Maybe he had been looking at things the wrong way. There were many people in the lifestyle who were bonded to more than one person. It was one of the things that made the lifestyle so unique; the ties that bound were different for each and every unit.
Suddenly, he felt himself doing something that he hadn’t done since the day he met Diamond. He was softening up to the idea of owning another slave. It would be much easier to see his slave interacting with the boy if he was the one issuing the mandates. Now, the only problem was if he had driven the boy too far away from him.
It might take some manipulation on his part but he was up for the challenge. After all, he was not just a Master; he was a master of the mind-fuck. Yes, perhaps it was time to put his skills to use for the greater good of them all.
Chapter Eighteen
The Killer
Stupid bitch followed a complete stranger home. Well, that’s not a hundred percent true. She knew where he worked so it wasn’t like he was a complete stranger but now there was the issue of her being able to identify him. He couldn’t very well let her live now, could he? Before she died, he wanted to have some fun though.
“Why are you doing this? What do you want from me? I’ll fuck you, I’ll suck your cock, I’ll do anything… just, please, don’t hurt me.”
“You’re asking a sadistic serial killer with a blood fetish to not hurt you? How fucking ironic!” He sneered at the tacky woman subdued to his medical table.
He watched her eyes fly open when he reached for a very long, very large meat skewer. He relished in the confusion etched on her face. He understood all too well that to an unsuspecting person, who hadn’t been subjected to the BDSM lifestyle, the imagination went wild at the sight of something so ominous.
He wondered what was going through her head right now. Was she wondering if he was going to stab her or fuck her with it? He guessed she thought he was going to stab her and she was right, in a sense.
The first thing he wanted to do was shut her the fuck up and that meant gagging her with it. He had seen it done at the club and he knew he could do it, though he wouldn’t have to worry about sanitizing the skewer or the area he was going to pierce. Sanitizing was done for the purpose of avoiding infection and dead people didn’t have to be concerned with trivial things like that.
He was glad for the soundproofing he’d gotten done down in the basement of his middle class home, in his middle class neighborhood. He had two different locations that he worked out of and he decided not to take her to his warehouse because he didn’t want to raise suspicion. He’d told her he was paying her to spend the night with him so going to his home would’ve seemed perfectly normal but going to a warehouse probably would’ve gotten her guard up. There was no sense in stressing the poor girl out before he revealed his true motives.
Her screams were so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. He swung back, crashed his fist down on her face, and, much to his pleasure, the blow knocked her unconscious. Now, finally, he could work.
This was the only time he wasn’t menial, that he didn’t feel like some mediocre being. When a victim was under his control, he was almighty. He held the power of life and death in his hands and they acknowledged it. They begged, bargained, and pleaded for mercy but as a sexual sadist bent on drawing blood, he could offer them none, only redemption through death.
It was time to get to work, now, before she woke from the blow to her jaw. He placed his fingers in her mouth and pulled her cheek away from her teeth to pierce the sharp skewer through the meaty flesh. Screams informed him she’d regained consciousness. The Laerdal Stifneck cervical collar he’d rigged up on the steel surgical table, along with a wide Velcro strap that went over her forehead, completely immobilized her.
He could raise and lower each end of the table and the fact that it was steel made for easy clean up. There was also a drain built into the flooring so he could just douse everything in bleach and hose it down, washing away all blood evidence. Years of experience enabled him to tweak his methods, reducing the mayhem to his madness. Mistakes with previous victims made him hone his craft. He knew all killers didn’t learn from their mistakes but he was smart; he did.
He continued to push the skewer until it pressed through her opposite cheek. It was bent in the middle so it would press down on her tongue and shut her the fuck up. Finally, her screams morphed into muffled umphs, groans, and whimpers. Now, he could work in relative peace.
He pinched one of her eyebrows with two of his gloved fingers, pushed another skewer through, and then pierced her skin again through a fatty part of her cheek. The action made her eye close, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the skewer or from the dripping blood that blinded her. Either way was fine with him. Without her sight, her senses would be heightened. She would feel the pain, the pleasure, and the fear so much more.
He pushed her bound legs back with the sliding straps he had rigged up on the sides of the table so that they were up by her shoulders. Her legs were spread open and splayed beautifully. She couldn’t see what he was doing when he grabbed a vibrator, put it on the lowest setting, and placed it against her clit. Her pain filled grunts quickly turned to pleasure filled mews. He stroked his cock as he watched her body betray her at the hand of a full-blown, sadistic, serial killer.
“You are as fucked up in the head as I am. You’re going to come for a depraved maniac and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it.” He stroked his cock as he watched her pussy twitch and her body buck as much as her restraints allowed when she came over and over again. It wasn’t until he tossed the vibrator to the side and grabbed the scalpel to slice through her femoral artery, located on her upper inner thigh, that come shot from his body in a violent release. Now, there was just the issue of disposing of the body and cleaning up. His craving for blood was sated… for now.
`Chapter Nineteen
Agent Turner
Agent Turner stood over the body that had been dumped in the Portland warehouse district like she was nothing more than trash. In an odd paradox, though she’d been dumped in an alley, the killer had gone to the trouble to stage the body. It was evident he wanted every skewer in place and undisturbed. Agent Turner and his partner were both troubled by the state of the body because of how much it resembled needle play. This was one more link. It’s one more reason to suspect that the killer has ties to, or is sending a message to, the BDSM community.
What bothered him the most, however, was how much pain the woman obviously endured. For a woman who wasn’t a masochist, that kind of torture would’ve provoked a level of fear like none other that, no doubt, quickly escalated to terror. To put it simply, the woman was terrorized by a sadistic serial killer incapable of feeling remorse, much less mercy. The agent instinctively knew that her suffering had been just as much psychological as it had been physical. By the time the killer finished with this woman, she was most likely begging for the end—death had most likely been a welcome entity.
The coroner, Herb Foster, turned towards Agent Turner and gave him a knowing look. He obviously felt free to address the issue at hand in the manner he wished because there were no other agents or cops around… yet.
“I’m aware you’re familiar with this type fetish. Do you know anyone in the, well, community you two are involved in who would do this?”
Agent Turner wasn’t concerned about Herb knowing he and Rene were involved in BDSM; right now, he didn’t give a fuck. He knew Herb was a man of discretion and was confident whatever he told him wouldn’t become watercooler fodder. There was only one issue at hand and that was finding this sick son of a bitch before he killed again.
“Herb, the community, as kinky as it is, has protocol and rules. This kind of thing would never be tolerated. To subject someone to non-consensual play, which this obviously was, would result in the offender being ostracized from the community and barred entry to any events hosted by its members. They would quite literally be blackballed. It’s a tight knit circle and this kind o
f abuse is not tolerated within its confines. You have to understand, members already suffer stigmas and prejudices. They wouldn’t stand for a serial killer, or even an abuser, putting a black mark on their name. Though the BDSM sites may have a plethora of potential victims for a serial killer to choose from, they prey on what we call newbies. With the recent popularity in literature, BDSM has become the cool thing to do. The websites are full of people who have no idea what BDSM is truly about. They’ve unknowingly set themselves up for their own demise. What many don’t realize is that in the hands of someone uneducated, BDSM play can be a very dangerous thing. It takes years of training to effectively learn the ropes, no pun intended. The man we’re dealing with is either using the sites for a hunting ground, or he has an axe to grind. Though he is dangerous, regardless of what his reasoning is, I’m inclined to believe he is even more dangerous if he has a vendetta.”
Agent Murphy spoke and what she said made a tremendous amount of sense to her partner. “If this guy was ostracized from the community, or even put in his place by one of the Doms or Masters in the community, he could be pissed. You know how egotistical and arrogant Doms and Masters can be. If this guy saw himself as such and someone called him out in a public setting, he would have been mad and embarrassed. Humiliation can cause people to do some pretty awful things to get revenge.”
Agent Turner eyed her with a look of disgust, “No self-respecting Master or Dom would ever do something this disgusting!”
“You and I both know how many self-proclaimed Doms there are in the community.”
“So, you don’t think this guy was kicked out of the BDSM community?”
“Nope, but I do think we need to look at anyone whose membership was rejected. I also think we need to be looking inside the community. The guy we’re looking for is probably a wallflower, he’ll be hanging out with the ropers, and he definitely does needle art. There’s always activity, or exhibits, at these gatherings we attend. Our killer is no different than any other serial killer. He is going to want to insert himself in the investigation. He’ll get off on standing around and trying to covertly listen to people discuss these killings. For the first time in his life, he’s somebody important and he matters because he’s feared. Our boy is finally getting the attention he believes he deserves and I’d just about bet my badge that he’ll be at tonight’s event.”
Agent Turner directed his attention back to the coroner as the other detectives and uniforms began to pull up to the scene. “I know I don’t need to tell you that what we’ve discussed is confidential. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but Rene and I being outed could cause problems for us professionally. It could also mean that people wouldn’t take us as seriously and we both know how I am about keeping it professional on the job.”
“Oh yes, we do,” Rene piped in.
The coroner’s look was one of sincerity as he spoke. “I don’t consider the two of you just agents. I have an immense amount of respect for both of you and I consider you friends as well. I would never do anything to jeopardize that friendship. Your secret is safe with me.”
Agent Turner knew Herb’s words weren’t just insincere words of assurance; they were the promise of a man who could be trusted.
“Hey, Miss Rene,” a uniformed officer said.
“It’s Agent Murphy to you,” Agent Turner hissed.
“I came hoping you’d be here,” he spoke again, ignoring the agent’s reprimand.
“Hello, Officer Rudolph, she answered.
“Aww heck, you ain’t got to call me Officer, just Bruno will do.”
“Shouldn’t you being doing your job and standing up there to direct the other officers to the scene?”
“They don’t need me directing them. It ain’t like they can’t see all these going ons back here.” He crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest and met Agent Turner’s gaze.
“Well, step back. I don’t want the crime scene compromised.”
Finally, the officer stepped back to let the agents continue doing their job, but he didn’t retreat so far that he couldn’t still eye the object of his affection, Rene.
“It appears our assailant was attempting to use this skewer, driven through the victim’s cheek, as a type of gag.”
“That’s exactly what he was doing,” Agent Turner replied.
“I’ll attempt to get prints from the skewers but I highly doubt I’m going to be able to retrieve anything as thin as they are. Plus, I’m almost certain he wore gloves. We’ve already determined he likely works in the medical field.”
“It’s hard to imagine the guy working on you in the doctor’s office could be a serial killer. I don’t think I’ll be able to look at an annual exam as routine ever again.” Though Rene chuckled as she made the statement, Agent Turner knew she meant what she was said. This case had changed her, just as it had changed him. Little by little, each case chipped away at their souls and, ironically enough, it was their lifestyle and their relationship with each other that kept them grounded.
Chapter Twenty
Master William
Master William made his way through the large playroom that would house the guests coming to The Mansion. People had already started showing up to set up their stations where they would perform their sessions. There was a popular roper from the area known for his works of art using different colors for each rope bunny. His popularity was so vast that roping had become his full time career and it had been necessary for him to hire an assistant. He went by the stage name Jute and his assistant was known as Hempster. The two of them had done quite well and their relationship went beyond the professional realm and into the personal.
Master William had been pleased when he observed the dynamic, which worked out quite well because the emotional aspect alleviated any jealousy in the professional arena. He might not have trusted Hempster at first sight, but he had to admit from the little he’d seen since then, the two ropers worked together like a well-oiled machine, each knowing the other’s thoughts with just a mere look. It was necessary to have that level of communication because rope could be dangerous when in the hands of a novice. It took years for a roper to master the trade and Master William, along with the other Masters of The Mansion, insisted anyone doing sessions be professionally trained.
“Jute, Hempster, how’s it going boys? You guys got everything you need? We’re expecting a big crowd tonight with it being an open night.”
“Yep, I think we do,” Jute replied. Hempster looked in his direction but kept his eyes downcast, “Yes, Sir.”
Master William chuckled. It was easy to see who the sub was in their relationship.
Open night was a gathering held at The Mansion in which outside people could come if a member accompanied them. They didn’t do it often and Master William always felt on high alert when they did. Even though it was considered an open night, members were still encouraged to be very selective about who they brought. They also made it a closed night as far as any playing in the open area. Playing would only be allowed behind closed doors tonight and Master William had something up his sleeve planned for his slave. Security was tight and the main members were already in place. They would open the doors in less than an hour and true to Master form, everything would be handled in a very efficient manner.
Agent Turner
Agent Turner nervously eyed his Mistress as she made her way into the room. She was dressed in a black and red corset that was designed differently in that it had a white collar and straps made to look like a button-up business shirt. She wore black latex shorts and black thigh-highs accented with a seam up the back. She opted for ankle high, black, stiletto boots to complete the ensemble. Her red hair had been straightened and was pulled back in a tight, high ponytail that fell down her to lower back. Normally it was a mass of untamed, red curls but Agent Turner liked it any way she wore it.
Her make-up was done in true Mistress form with black Cleopatra eyeliner that made her light green eyes pop. Her lips were bright red
and her expression was that of a woman on a mission. She looked beautiful. David knew there were men who would die to be on her arm or, in this case, at her feet. That fucking hillbilly cop would shit on himself if he saw how hot she looked tonight.
“You look beautiful, Mistress. I can’t help but be jealous. I try not to be but that guy just pushes the issue.”
“That guy you’re referring to would be Officer Bruno Rudolph?”
“Yes.”
He watched as she made long strides over towards him, glaring as she spoke, “That’s yes Ma’am to you, boy.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Her finger slid beneath his collar and she pulled him towards her to nip at his bottom lip. “I think you’re in need of some discipline. I also believe…” Her opposite hand appeared from behind her back, producing a leash that matched his black leather collar. She continued, “…you need to be collared and leashed tonight. I’m not going to have my fucking property running loose in a group of wannabe lifestylers. All these fucking books have the vanillas coming out of the woodwork, wanting to play in a world they know nothing about.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he spoke softly and lowered his gaze as she clipped his leash on the silver D-ring attached to his collar. “I don’t want you out of my sight tonight. You would do well to remember that, regardless of the fact that we’ll technically be working on the case. You may be in charge at work but when it comes to us being at The Mansion, I’m in charge. It would be in your best interest to remember that and obey me in all things.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
His heart swelled with pride as she tugged at the leash and led him out to their vehicle. It felt good to be owned, damn good.
Chapter Twenty One
Master William
Master William stood and quietly talked with Master Richard and his sub, Ophelia. Theirs was an odd relationship but, really, who was he to judge with all he had going on?
The Training of Toby (Masters of the Mansion Book 2) Page 9