by J. D. Faver
“Show me the merchandise, slave.” Her eyes were half-closed as though she shuttered herself from his scrutiny.
He dropped the pants and kicked them aside. Dancing closer to her, he was embarrassed by his arousal, covering himself with his hands.
“Are you feeling shy, my slave?” Her voice was soft, caressing, almost tender.
“A little. I’m the only one here without my clothes.”
A glimmer of a smile lifted the corners of her lips as she visually cruised him from head to briefs. “And yet you still wear those tidy whities. They offend me greatly.”
He stopped moving and stood grinning at her, hands on hips. “You’re kidding. Right?”
“No. I find them offensive. Discard them immediately and come here.”
He made a hissing noise, sucking air between his clenched teeth. “I can do that.” He dropped the briefs and started toward her.
“On your knees, slave,” she said. “I want you to crawl over here to me.”
He grinned and shook his head, but dropped to all fours. The cold hardwood floor hurt his knees as he crawled toward her. He was at eye level with her legs.
She smiled encouragement and opened her knees slightly, allowing him to gaze at the long expanse of smooth thighs and the tiny strip of silky fabric separating them.
“Do you like what you see?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” he whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Mistress.” He closed the distance between them, stopping with his face close to her knees. He inhaled the clean woman smell and felt the warmth radiating from her skin. Curbing his desire to press himself between her thighs and crush her against him, he turned to gently brush the inside of her knee with his lips. She better be wet.
“You didn’t ask permission to kiss me.” She shoved him back with her foot, the heel of her stiletto grazing his shoulder. “You’re such a bad boy. You’re just begging to be punished.”
She rummaged in her bag, then fastened a thin leather collar around his neck and snapped a leash to it. Standing in one graceful movement, she pulled the leash. “Heel!” she commanded.
He was compelled to follow close to her left ankle. She circled the room twice, making tight turns when they reached the door and hallway. He had to scramble to stay in stride. The floor scraped his knees.
“Now, stay!” She removed the leash and rummaged in her large handbag.
He remained frozen on all fours, hearing rather than seeing her return to stand beside him.
“This hasn’t been a good session.” She spoke close to his ear in a husky voice that enthralled him, raising goose flesh along his neck. “You must learn to obey immediately without question and to ask permission. I’m in control of you. Do you understand?”
Her accent wasn’t from New York, but he couldn’t identify her origins.
“Yes, Mistress.” He felt the first stinging swat on his flank as she spanked him with a small paddle. The spanking continued with four more equally sharp swats.
He’d never been hit by a woman before this one. He wasn’t the kind of man to allow himself to be hit. He wasn’t the kind of man not to rise up and hit another man back. He wasn’t the kind of man not to keep hitting until he was the last man left standing upright...and yet, he allowed this sexy little tease to hit him, not once but five times.
“Now, what do you say?” She leaned close again, her expression betraying no hint of emotion.
He swallowed hard. “Thank you, Mistress.” He stared into the ice blue eyes, hoping he would be given the opportunity to warm them up.
“Good boy.” She crossed to the coffee table and picked up the envelope. She didn’t count the cash. She did make sure it was inside before tucking the envelope and the paddle inside the large handbag. “Do you want me to return next week?”
She’s leaving already. “Yes, please. I want to see you again.”
“Keep the collar. I selected it especially for you. Have it on when I arrive.”
His throat closed up like he was choking but he managed a half whispered response. “Yes, Mistress.” Please stay. Please.
“And Nick,” she said, her hand on the doorknob, “Get some silk boxers. That would please me.”
“Anything to please you, Mistress.” He realized she had gone and left the door ajar. He struggled stiffly to his feet and crossed the room to secure it. He felt vulnerable and exposed.
Nick touched the collar around his neck.
He picked up his clothes and switched off the music. Next Tuesday he would be sure to please her.
#
Tuesday, March 14th, 8:05 PM
Her stilettos click-clacked on the pavement.
Two blocks. It seems like two miles. Kris Devlin walked the entire distance to where she’d parked her car without once hurrying or looking over her shoulder. She had an aerosol container of pepper spray on her keychain, just in case. She kept her shoulders square and her chin up, forcing herself to maintain a steady stride in spite of the wobble in her ankles.
Control the client. Control yourself. She was nothing if she was not in control.
From the safety of her locked vehicle, she drew a deep breath, closed her eyes and expelled the air slowly. Her stomach caught as she thought of Nick. Not a good thing.
She was always wary of new clients, but Nick elicited a different kind of emotion, something between fear and arousal. He was too young, too good-looking, way too buff. If he got out of hand he could easily overpower her.
The tattoo on his bicep was an Army Airborne insignia. Tough enough!
He was outgoing and full of confidence, not her usual kind of client. But there was something else just below the surface. Something dangerous. She recalled his lips on her thigh and a warm flush suffused her. Not a good thing.
Next week she’d bring Felix. Nick needed to learn his place.
And I need to remember mine.
Kris started the car and made the short trip home. She drove into the underground parking and took the elevator to her high-rise apartment.
Tinker was waiting to greet her. The Pembroke Welsh Corgi yipped happily and then licked her toes. The same toes that Nick had kissed.
She pushed the thought aside as she knelt and scruffled behind Tinker’s ear. “Hey Tinker. How’s my baby?” she crooned. She gave him another quick stroke as she rose and he eagerly fell into step.
Kris removed the envelope and hung her bag on a hook in the entry closet. She contemplated the wrinkled white packet for a moment. She suspected that Nick couldn’t afford her. That would solve her problem easily. No pay, no play. She shrugged and counted the hundreds before locking them in the wall safe at the back of the closet.
She skinned off the red spandex dress and draped it over her shoulder. Tinker followed close behind as she walked to the wide expanse of windows. Kris leaned her forehead against the cool glass and looked down on New York City.
Loneliness wrapped around her like a familiar shroud. She watched traffic snaking by in long strands like colored beads.
Tinker sat beside her, sprawling with his usual lack of grace. The soft tickle of his wet tongue arced around her ankle as he licked her affectionately. This sent Kris into a fit of laughter.
“I would change your name to Nick.” She squatted down to rub his ears. “Except that I love you.”
Straightening, she went to the desk to open her laptop and made a note of Nick’s name for the following Tuesday in her appointment book. She clicked on her contact file and typed in a few sentences about him, including a reminder to bring Felix. Kris smiled. Felix will cool Nick’s passion.
“If I can train him, he’ll probably be a regular because he really likes what I do to him.” She chuckled softly. “Judging by that big stack in his shorts.”
In her bedroom, Kris tossed the red dress on the bed and removed the ankle strap sandals. She unhooked her black lace bra and rinsed it with the thong in her bathroom sink.
“Everything
in its place,” she said under her breath.
Kris had a strong aversion to clutter. She’d become mildly obsessive after her life had been derailed, unconsciously doing things in the same order. From the time she woke up until the time she closed her eyes, she was checking items off a mental list. It kept her life simple. It kept her safe. It kept her from having to think about that terrible time two years ago, when her life had been violently shaken up and she’d been the one controlled.
Controlling everything made her feel secure.
While water spewed into the spa tub, she ran a brush through her long hair, relaxing the muscles in her neck. She twisted it up with a clip.
Kris lit a candle and the scent of lavender permeated the air. Sliding into the tub, she started the jets. The swirling water felt like hands caressing her.
She thought of Nick.
With the slightest encouragement he would have been all over her. What if she’d let him touch her? Would he be tender? Would he be rough?
Kris opened her eyes. “Not going to happen,” she said aloud. “I’m keeping everything strictly professional.”
#
Wednesday, March 15th, 2:25 AM
Why couldn’t she force her eyes to focus? Her head was splitting and she felt nauseous. Kris was lying on a bed, but it wasn’t her bed. It didn’t smell right, some noxious odor she couldn’t place. A humming noise droned overhead like a ceiling fan. She didn’t have a ceiling fan. She was being crushed under a heavy weight.
His breath smelled sour but she couldn’t see his face. He was on top of her and his fingers were digging into her shoulders. There was something else...if she could just focus.
Something hard and cold was pressed between her breasts and then the band of her bra was loose. It was a knife. The cold blade grazed her skin as he cut her clothes off.
A jolt of panic ripped through her lethargy.
His hands were rough, a working man’s hands. He squeezed her breasts painfully but she couldn’t move her arms to push him away.
He must have slipped her a drug at the club, but she only drank soda. Alcohol made her forget her orders, a bad quality for a waitress.
His hands were on her thighs, prying them apart. A sharp pain as his fingers stabbed inside her.
Kris yelled out and sat up in bed. Her heart throbbed against her ribs like a kettle drum. A film of cold sweat coated her flesh and her breathing came in ragged spurts.
Not the dream again.
#
Wednesday, March 15th, 7:45 AM
“Nick! Over here.”
Nick Price crossed the street to meet his partner in front of an upscale apartment building. A uniformed doorman held the door for them to enter.
“You’re not going to believe this one, Nicky.” Dan Bryson pulled him inside the lobby.
“You always say that. What’s so different about this one?”
“Just wait until you see this guy. He’s really messed up.”
“Dead is pretty much messed up, Dan.” Nick smiled with affection at the older man, admiring his unflagging sense of outrage with each crime they investigated. Dan had the enthusiasm of a rookie and years of experience to balance it out. He was the consummate Boy Scout.
They stepped into an elevator and Dan pushed the button for the top floor. “No, dead is dead. This guy is worse than dead.”
“Who found him?”
“Cleaning service. They have a key.”
“Crime lab here yet?” Nick asked.
“Nope. I got here right after the uniforms.”
The elevator doors yawned apart, silently inviting them to depart. Only two doors opened off the short hallway on the penthouse floor. They entered the one with the uniformed officer standing guard. Nick opened his jacket to reveal the gold shield clipped to his belt. The uniform stepped aside.
They stepped inside a glossy foyer that opened into a spacious ultra-modern room with soaring ceilings and a wall of glass at least two stories high. Everything was black or white with a smear of neon color splashed around. A baby grand piano dominated a dais with a group of black and white photographs arranged on the wall behind it.
Nick glanced around. He could almost see the parties this room was designed to host. “Nice digs. You could fit my whole apartment into this one room and have space left over. Where’s the body?”
“Back here.” Dan led him through a luxuriously appointed bedroom to a sauna off the bath and dressing room. He pulled on latex gloves and opened the sauna door.
A rush of steam escaped. Nick stepped back, staring at the nude man inside.
The victim’s hands and feet had been bound with chain woven through the teak bench he was slumped upon.
“There’s something in his mouth,” Dan said. “It looks like a rubber ball with straps.”
“It’s a ball gag,” Nick said.
“Trust the cool young Lieutenant to know about the kinky stuff.” Dan snorted at him. “Someone turned the temperature up all the way, smashed the timer and left this guy to cook.” He pointed to the damaged device.
Sweat beaded on Nick’s forehead. He noted the setting on the sauna. “This must be what hell feels like. Go ahead and turn it off. I doubt the techs can get clear prints with all this steam.” He stepped closer to the corpse as Dan carefully turned off the equipment with his gloved hand.
“Check out his neck. Is that what I think it is?” Dan asked. “It looks like a dog collar. This guy was into some strange stuff, man.”
Nick’s mouth suddenly went dry as his gaze settled on the leather strip around the victim’s neck. It was identical to the one on his nightstand.
#