by Ronnie Allen
“As what?”
“A dom. You got the look. I’ll test you out tonight. One of my guys went on to greener pastures.”
“No thanks.”
“What do you want?”
We’re investigating two murders, Mr. Trevino. And--”
“I’m not talking to you, Detective. You look like a school marm. Don’t belong here.”
She gasped.
“Hush. I’m talkin’ to him. Who got whacked?”
“Steven Larcon and Meghan Mason.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Read it in the paper. Why did ya come here?”
Frank returned the hard glare. “A lead, from someone we interviewed.”
Dominic sat stone cold. “Don’t know them.”
“Know a Dudley and Fido?” Sam chimed in.
Dominic perked up in his seat. He swallowed. “Who’d you speak to?”
“Talking to me?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. Answer me.”
“Actually, I’m not sure. Doubt if she gave me her real name.”
Dominic licked his lips. “So what do you want here?”
“Not sure about that, either. Want to look around, listen, and observe scenes. We are allowed to watch, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, sure. Can’t interrupt, but you can watch through the observation window. But not the way you two are dressed. For some reason, the smell of cop inhibits the...the experience.”
“I’m dressed for it underneath.” Sam’s voice softened.
Frank looked away and studied the stained, worn faux wood paneled walls. Cruddy wouldn’t describe how this place appeared to him. He could just imagine how this baby-boomer club owner spent his time in here.
“Oh yeah? Show me.” Dominic doubled checked the forms they had signed. “Uh, Barbie. Hey, I got a better name for you. Princess. You look like a sub all the way. Yeah, princess. Show me.”
Frank smirked and sat back in his seat, arms filling the arm rests. “Yeah, princess. Go ahead.”
Sam stood up, facing Dominic and let her coat slither down her arms. She pulled the coat around her and placed it on the back of her chair. She unbuttoned her slacks, then unzipped. She slowly unbuttoned her blouse, still facing Dominic, her back toward Frank. All Frank could see were Dominic’s reactions. His eyes widened more at every button Sam undid. So did his. After the fifth button, Dominic sat up in the chair and as Sam slid the blouse down her arms, Frank could have sworn Dominic drooled. He removed the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it to the carpet. She removed the blouse to reveal a strapless black lace bustier that came to a V down her spine outlining a perfect muscular, but feminine back. Dominic gazed at her breasts with his mouth gaping. Frank could only imagine how much cleavage she displayed.
“Just so you know, they’re all mine.”
“Oh, yeah. I could tell, princess. I could tell.” Dominic’s mouth catapulted to involuntary sucking motions.
So did Frank’s. All he knew was that he wanted to see them, too, and more.
“The bottoms.”
Frank squirmed in the chair, not happy that Sam was so quick to oblige to Dominic’s demand. He became hard, and that wouldn’t help him investigating tonight.
She slipped off her heels and put them upright on the desk. Every seductive move was deliberate. Frank’s body temperature rose beyond warm. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs and watched Dominic do the same thing.
Then she slipped her thumbs into each side of her slacks and, with her index fingers and thumbs, inched them down. Frank saw the high cut on each leg with black mesh covering her firm upper thighs. Then she bent over with her butt extending into Frank’s lap and edged her slacks down, exposing her perfectly rounded--naked--bottom with a thong separating her butt cheeks.
Dominic looked like he died and went to heaven. His face flushed. Frank thought the man would pass out.
A second after she was fully exposed and her slacks lay at her ankles, Frank bolted up from his seat. “Oh, no, you’re not!”
***
AriellaRose finally had some relief. Three days of IV steroids and antibiotics eased her breathing and began to heal her infection. The clock on the wall read one a.m. The cop outside had left at midnight. Thank God. He had been a real pain in the ass. He popped in at least every thirty minutes to check on her. All he’d say is “I’m still here, sweetie.” Ugh, sweetie. She was far from being a sweetie. The only ones she was sweet toward were Leonard’s parents. Otherwise, she considered herself death warmed over.
Her mind went to Calinda. Who the fuck was she? They never did meet, but she’d had to tell that detective something. The only one she knew matching that description was Emma. Emma Sanders. No way in hell could Emma pull that off. Screwing Adam and my dad? No. Impossible. Not with the tight rein I have on my beholden. AriellaRose wasn’t sure Sanders was Emma’s real name either. When they met in rehab, they only met with their first names. In the years that they had played together, they had only used their Wiccan names, except at times like today, when Merry was here. She couldn’t possibly introduce her to Tattooman as BlackMoon. Now, could she?
There has to be a million women who fit Calinda’s description. Okay, Arie, no time for that reminiscing bullshit.
She grabbed her phone lying next to her on the sheets and sent a text. B @ my place @ 3. She had to get out of here. Maybe a walk would help her think. Her pulmonary doc said she could get out of bed.
She tore the sheets off her, brought her legs over the side of the bed. Damn, her ankles were swollen. Probably from all the fluids and just lying in bed. Her feet touched the floor and she used her palms to push herself up. She grabbed onto the windowsill for balance and slipped her feet, one at a time, into the slippers Adam had brought her.
She disconnected the IV pole from the wall socket, wrapped the long cord around the hooks underneath the monitor, and slid the pole around the bed. She was okay. Her breathing held up. She could do this. She tied the green hospital gown, making a sloppy bow around her waist. Twisting around to make sure her rear was covered, she crept to the door. Then she remembered her cell phone and plucked it from her tote. Her wallet, too. Luckily, for her, there were pockets in the gown.
She peeked outside. No staff lingered in the hallway. The lights shone as if it were daytime. Looking both ways, she inched out of her room. She knew that the exit signs were the opposite way to the nurse’s station. She’d walk to the exit first, unsure of what she’d do when she got there. Wheeling the IV pole, she strolled down the hall to the end where the window overlooked the rear of the hospital. It was pitch black outside. Around the corner she spotted a sign on a door. Supply closet.
Maybe I can find a weapon in there I can use to escape.
AriellaRose tugged on the door handle. Not only did it not open, a piercing alarm went off.
Oh crap.
She froze.
Two security guards in blue uniforms came out of nowhere. They saw her standing there.
“What are you trying to do, miss?” the mid-sixties one asked.
“Uh, my gown is sweaty, and there were no nurses around. I went for a walk, which my doctor said I could, and I passed this closet. Sorry. Didn’t know the alarm would go off.”
The younger burly guard extended his hand to support her arm. “Obviously. Let’s go, back to your room, hon.”
AriellaRose pulled away, scowling at him. Before she could think about it, as if something took over and controlled her mind, she grabbed the IV pole with her free hand and, as if in slow motion, the pole came down, and the monitor smacked onto the guard’s head. He fell back with blood gushing from his skull. She started yelling as loud as she could but her screams pierced the hollow halls as raspy chokes. “Get--away from--me--you fucks!”
Staff came running. She was overtaken by fear. She remained motionless like the guard on the floor. Doctors surrounded him. The older security guard struggled to hold AriellaRose. A psychiatric nurse grabbed her in a hold from behind. He wrapped his arms ar
ound her and held hers close to her body. She couldn’t move if she had wanted to. She turned her head around. Fuck. He was bigger than Tattooman. He lifted her off the ground, carrying her away. She kicked a few times, her slippers tossed to the wind, but lost strength. Her body went limp.
“Call Doctor Khaos,” the nurse yelled to anyone who’d listen.
AriellaRose groaned. Fuck. I’ve certainly caused enough of my own chaos here tonight.
CHAPTER 20
With Dominic eyeing her approvingly, and Frank, the opposite, Sam removed the butt cover for her outfit from her small clutch evening bag. She held it up teasingly between two fingers as she stood up tall. She knew her boobs excited Frank, and now the rest of her would. She twisted around taunting him with a full view. Frank snatched it from her and moved her toward the desk.
Sam placed her palms on the desk, bent over, and extended her rear up high. She looked up at Frank with her little girl pout.
Dominic grinned, standing with his hands on his hips. “She wants you to spank her.”
“I know what she wants, but she’s not getting it.”
“Are you two a couple?”
“No.” Frank was curt.
“Did you ever play a scene?”
“No.”
“Did you ever fuck?”
“No.”
“We just met a few days ago,” Sam said.
Dominic didn’t get it. “What difference does that make?”
Frank dismissed him. “Working a case.”
Dominic lost patience. “You two aren’t exactly teenagers. What the fuck are you waiting for? For your prostate to act up and start givin’ ya problems?”
Sam giggled and Frank ignored the questions. He placed the patch over her bare bottom, pressing the Velcro together that held it on. He scowled at her as he took his time.
She wanted him to go slowly. His hands felt so good caressing, cupping her bottom. His fingers lingered at the base of her spine sending a thrill through her. Is he truly pissed at my unexpected display or jealous that my act wasn’t only for him?
“What about you, Drake?” Dominic barked.
Without a second request, Frank yanked off his T-shirt and pulled off his jeans. He stood there, hands on hips, in tight, black, skimpy swim trunks and mid-calf cowboy boots.
Dominic’s mouth went slack. He grabbed a cowboy hat from a hook on the wall and tossed it to Frank. “Like I said, you’d make a cool dom.”
“Maybe, in my next life, man.”
Dominic gave Sam the once over and then turned to Frank. “You got a weapon in those fancy boots?”
Frank slipped his hand into his right boot and retrieved a Ruger. “Loaded, safety’s on.”
Dominic opened a wall safe. “Put it in here. What about you, princess?”
Yup. They couldn’t evade that direct question. Sam retrieved her revolver from her coat pocket and put it into the safe. Dominic closed the safe and swirled the combination lock.
“Good. Okay, what kind of scene do you want to start with? Doctor-patient?”
Sam eyed Frank. “No. Too close to him.”
“Teacher-student?”
Frank tilted his head at Sam. “Too close to her.”
“What did Dudley and Fido play?” Sam asked.
“Parent-child. I know your next question. No. Not with each other. We knew they were father and son. It wouldn’t be allowed.”
Um, so Dominic slipped. He did know them. I’ve got to get him to talk. “That sounds good.”
“Okay, follow me.” Dominic left the room, they followed, and then he locked his office.
As they proceeded down a narrow hallway where different rooms lined both sides, Sam noticed how quiet it was. Very creepy. “Where is everyone?”
“Divided into the different rooms. We have very good soundproofing. Can’t have yells and screams interrupting our patrons. All right, in here. This is the observation room. Make yourselves comfortable on the bench. A father and son scene is starting. It’ll take about half hour and then you two will be next. I’m assuming Drake, you’re the Dom and she’s the sub. Correct?”
“I don’t necessarily want to play.”
“Come on, Drake. I want to.” She shot him her little girl pout again.
Dominic left them at the door, shaking his head.
Frank glared at her. “Knock it off, princess. I said, no.”
She lowered her eyes for a moment, then looked around the room. The same popcorn finish covered the walls surrounding the one-way mirror. The room was long and narrow with just the six-foot-long, worn wooden backless bench, in the middle. One air vent in the ceiling couldn’t eliminate the musty odor. They were definitely in a dungeon. Sam ran her hand over the bench before she sat. Last thing she’d want was a splinter. They made themselves as comfortable as they could be.
“You know, going through the experience ourselves may give us a better understanding of the dynamics of all of this, and aren’t you all about profiling?”
“Don’t have to commit murder to understand the mind of a killer. I said, no. End of story. Deal with it.”
Crap. He’d sure make a great Dom. Before she could retort, the black screen on the window lifted. The parent-child room housed a twin bed in the middle, a spanking bench next to it, some children’s toys on a desk against the wall with the entrance. There was an exit door on the far right. The same popcorn finish adorned the wall. The floors were gray concrete, just like throughout the dungeon. Nothing child-like about that. However, they were easy to clean up. The thought gave her uncomfortable chills. No turn on there.
A man wearing a mask over his eyes entered the room with another man wearing a knit, full face stocking. The older man looked like he was going to a Halloween party and the younger one looked as if he was going to rob a bank. They were both dressed in black.
The older man, obviously the dom, began the scene. “How many times do I have to tell you the same thing?” He pushed the sub toward the spanking bench. The younger man almost fell over but saved his fall, grabbing onto the padded bracket, where his stomach would soon lean.
Sam had never seen a spanking bench this close up. She had never been over one. She preferred an OTK--over the knee--spanking when both she and her partner were nude and she could feel his length swelling, hardening against her body. But tonight her chance of getting Frank to pull her over his knee seemed to be nil. She exhaled a breath of exasperation.
Frank sat hunched forward, looking bored with his knees apart and his hands clasped between them.
Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
“I’m sorry,” wept the younger man. “I can’t help it, sir.”
“Why can’t you help it?”
“I need it. I need my Blue.” the younger man whined.
Sam and Frank both perked up. Blue? Oxycodone?
“So what are we going to do about it now?” the dom bellowed.
“I need you to teach me how to behave, sir. I’m such a bad boy, sir.”
Sam gasped. “Oh my God, Frank. That sounds like Adam!”
Frank sat up and paid attention. “I believe you’re right.”
“I am sick and tired of paying for your rehab. For your drug dealers that threaten your mother and me. Maybe once and for all, a good whipping will snap you out of it. Fido, pull down your pants and assume the position.”
“Oh my God, sir, another one?”
“Yes, you bad boy, another one. And this one will be harder than the last one. You will be screaming and begging me to stop. But I won’t. Not even yelling Red will make me stop. Not until you tell me everything that I need to know. Assume the position, you bad boy.”
Who is that man and what does he need to know? Sam squirmed in the seat. She wrapped her right arm under Frank’s left and swallowed. This might become too intense for her.
The dom walked to the wall where flogging implements hung on a rack. Whips of varying lengths, paddles of varying thickness, about ten in all. He chose
a thin wooden paddle about three inches wide with a handle that extended straight out, one that looked like a spatula used to pick up one slice of pizza. Sam had one in her kitchen drawer. The dom walked back to Fido, now bent over the cushioned bench with his pants pulled down to his knees and his black briefs still covering his butt that faced the observation window. His hands touched the floor, his feet positioned opposite his hands.
“We’re starting with this one.” The dom stood in front of Fido’s face, smacking the paddle against his hand. “Now, how many do you deserve, you bad boy?”
“One.”
“One. Seriously? How many of those damn pills do you pop each day?”
“Six or seven.”
“Then we start with that.” He walked over to the side, raised the paddle about nine inches from Fido’s butt and swung. “You will count after each one.” The paddle made a crisp smacking sound as it connected.
“One.” Fido said as his crying commenced.
Another smack.
“Two. That hurt, sir.”
“It’s supposed to.”
Smack.
“Three. I’m sorry, sir. I have to stop now, sir.”
“Why?” A harder smack with a twelve inch swing.
“Ow. Oh, fuck! That hurts.” Fido barely got the words out. “My--supplier--got--arrested.”
“You forgot to count. We start over. But this time...” He pulled Fido’s briefs down past his butt. “And now it will be harder and faster.” The dom walked to the wall, replaced the paddle, and grabbed a short flogger. The handle was made of leather, about eight inches, from what Sam estimated, with a wrist strap so it wouldn’t slip out of the dom’s hand. There were about five tails that would make contact. Sam closed her eyes and squirmed in the seat from just imagining the damage this one could do to the recipient’s flesh. Heat swelled in her. Not from excitement, but from envisioning the pain. Fido’s red butt assaulted Sam’s gaze. She put her head into Frank’s arm. “I think I had enough.”
“You think?”
“We’ll get him to come in.”
Sam started to slip off the bench. Frank grabbed her arm. “Hey!”