Natural Law

by Joey W. Hill

  However, he had other issues to deal with at the moment. Kiera and Tamara worked as a team. Nothing about the crime scene suggested more than one player in the room with the vic at the time of death. He had written off Lisbeth right away. The woman was as frank and honest about herself as she was with her subs. She didn't have any demons in her closet and seemed to have little interest in a man young enough to be her son. There were the five female Doms with permanent memberships, but he was particularly interested in Marguerite Perruquet.

  He'd watched her pick up a twenty-something at The Zone the last night he was there. She kept the young man lapping sparkling tonic water out of a bowl at her foot like a pet dog while she talked to other Doms, occasionally slapping him on the ass with a sharp quirt she carried, tucked into a metal band on her forearm. But when she took him down to play in one of the rooms, that cruelty turned to dangerous gentility. She put him on a turnstile, raised it vertical, spun him upside down so he could eat her clit, then strapped a cock to his head and made him coordinate fucking her with it while he licked at the base of her pussy, nibbled her thighs. All the while she teased his cock, positioned at her eye level, with her mouth, her teeth, working him and threatening him, telling him he could not come until she did. By the end of two hours, she had made him come for her several times, in a variety of ways where she was alternately playful and vicious, loving and cruel, until Mac understood why she was a Mistress of great popularity at The Zone. A sub's only regret with her would be that she rarely chose the same man for more than one night.

  Or maybe she did, but her pickups for longer term relationships didn't occur at The Zone, and those she hooked up with weren't ever going to be able to talk about it.

  The early evening crowd thinned, and he went to the locker room before his lingering became suspicious. Police investigative work was ninety percent tedium, two percent clues and eight percent hunches. Of course, this case had been a little less tedious because of Violet. He'd cook her up a quiche tonight. He'd seen what was in her fridge and knew she lived on frozen food. Not anymore.

  Once in street clothes and headed for his bike, he was annoyed to see he was parked diagonally from Powell's Lexus, and the arrogant dickhead was in the process of putting a gym bag in his trunk.

  Mac passed him with a cold nod and the blonde shot him a baleful look as Mac picked up his helmet to straddle the Honda.

  "You know what I don't get about you, Mac? You play the game all wrong."

  "Not interested, Powell," he said briefly, fitted his key into the ignition.

  "You don't get it, Mac. And I thought you would. It's obvious you don't like to give up power, but you resist it out front. I play the game in reverse. They think I'm all theirs, I give them everything they want until the end, indulge every whim, and then when they lose their hearts, I cut them loose. It's a power rush like you wouldn't believe. These Mistresses, they salivate all over you. You could choose any of them, but you get yourself tied up emotionally over a little inexperienced cunt like Violet. All you're really looking for is a ring in your nose. You're not fooling anyone."

  "Powell, I'm not going to brawl with you like two kids in a school yard. Skip the goading insults and tell me what you want."

  Powell stepped forward and, sensing trouble coming, Mac got off the bike to face him.

  "You got me kicked out of The Zone. You're welcome to your opinion but not the right to interfere in my personal dealings."

  "Wrong. Protecting a woman, even if she's not his own, is every man's business."

  Jonathan sneered. "If she'd chosen me, she'd be so twisted around my dick by now she might as well be on her knees sucking on it."

  "You're an asshole, and what burns you is that Violet didn't choose you. She's beautiful, she has taste, and she knows trouble when she sees it. You don't need a Mistress. You need to be neutered."

  He knew how to handle an idiot like Powell, so he was ready for the lunge, the swipe of Powell's fist, his keys clutched in them. But Mac was angry as well. Not enough to let it control him, but enough for him to take a split second to consider and then take great satisfaction in following up his block with a clip to Jonathan's jaw. Powell sagged forward and Mac caught him. The sharp jab in his neck spun him around, and he was vaguely aware of Jonathan regaining his balance at his back as Kiera pulled the syringe out.

  There was no time for anything. The helmet dropped from his fingers and his body fell into their hands. They effectively used his momentum to roll him into the open door of the van next to his bike. All over in five seconds, and likely not a person around to see it. Jesus Christ, he was in trouble.

  "Wake up, sweet thing. Wake up."

  The soft crooning of the gentle voice was as melodious as a Motown lullaby, but it brought Mac back to consciousness like a cold spike shoved into his vitals. It took his mind a moment to catch up with the reaction, but the abrupt attempt to lunge to his feet got him nowhere.

  He was in Tyler's dungeon, secured over the large spanking bench, stripped naked. Bolted securely to the floor, the bench didn't even quiver when he yanked against his bonds. His waist was on the edge of the bench, his knees pressed into the cold floor. An iron bar attached to a strap around his legs just above each knee held his thighs apart, wide enough that the position caused painful tension in his lower back, buttocks and thighs. He was hyperaware that the position made his cock and balls hang out free and accessible to anything anyone wanted to do to them.

  Close to the juncture between testicle and leg, another strap had been buckled around each thigh. His wrists were cuffed and the rings on those cuffs clipped to the straps, so his arms were held immobile at his sides. He had no way to protect his skull from the single bullet he was sure the woman somewhere beyond his field of vision intended to put into it. His head was unsupported over the edge of the bench, his neck muscles groaning in protest.

  "Would you like to hear my secrets, Mac? The ones you've been trying so hard to figure out?"

  Her voice stayed whisper soft. He knew that type of voice, knew the ice that climbed up his spine from hearing it was not an overreaction.

  "I'd rather have you turn me loose," he said mildly, "but since I suspect that's out of the question, go for it."

  Blab all you want. Give me some time to think, figure out what chance I've got not to be vic number four.

  "You try to play it down," she observed, "But I know how miserable you are. How miserable all of us are. But a Dom cannot escape the pain. She must face it, help her slaves find a release to it, ironically through the experience of physical pain. Do you know what the source of all of it is?"

  Mac shook his head. "No."

  Abruptly his back was on fire, as a lash came down on his back from somewhere behind him. Hooked with barbed tips, it took his flesh with it when it was yanked away.

  "No, Mistress," she snapped.

  Swearing through a haze of pain, Mac bared his teeth. "You're not my Mistress, bitch, so beat me to death, you won't hear it from my lips."

  He heard the movement of air as an arm was drawn back for another strike, but the blow did not come. Ten tense seconds passed before she spoke again, and this time her voice was laced with amusement.

  "As we told Violet, you're a treasure. Jonathan, please put down the cat and go get the other item I wanted to use."

  As Jonathan's footsteps retreated, Kiera's came closer, and then she was in his field of vision, standing before him. She wore a black unitard, no jewelry, her hair slicked back from her face, her boots laced securely to her thighs. Latex black gloves covered her hands up to her elbows. She took a seat on the couch, crossed her legs and laid an arm along the back, as if she had nothing but time, but her eyes had a singular intensity that felt like she was drilling holes in his head already.

  "So where is your sister? Is she part of this unholy trinity?"

  "Mac," she said, "you don't need to worry about being a cop. You're going to be dead shortly, and all that matters is you'll be free of
pain, of having to hide who you are."

  "I admit, Jonathan surprises me. You're not a tremendous surprise, all in all, but he is."

  "Oh, there are even more startling things than that." Powell's footsteps returned. Mac jerked away at the rough touch on his jaw, but it was a futile gesture. Jonathan merely wrenched back his head with enough force to sprain muscles and shoved the ball gag into Mac's mouth, strapping it tightly around his head.

  Kiera watched them impassively, then waved Jonathan back. "Give him ten lashes, love, to focus him on what I'm about to tell him, and then I want you to go cuff your left hand and left foot on the St. Andrew's cross. I'll come finish binding you in a moment. We want to be all ready to play when Mistress Violet gets here."

  That cold hand around his intestines tightened exponentially and Mac's lips lifted in a snarl he could not voice around the gag.

  "Ten, Mistress? With the barb?"

  "Yes. Don't worry, love. I told you, he likes pain. Violet will be fine with it."

  She looked down at Mac, the corner of her mouth curving. Those large dark eyes were trapped somewhere between lust and pain. Both characteristics obviously dwelled within her in such phenomenal quantities that it was like looking at a person with a demon inside her. The monster was far larger than the body housing it, so that it made every word she said seem distorted, every facial expression an obscene aberration. It was something Mac was sure Powell could not see. He could, because in his line of work, he had seen it up close and personal. A person so far gone in death, blood and their own pain that there was nothing that could save them.

  "I told Jonathan how you and I used to play together, and that you enjoyed kidnap scenarios," she said evenly. "I asked Tyler to leave Violet a message this morning, before he went out of town on his book tour, asking her to meet me here this evening for a very special surprise for her. Tyler's very generous with his dungeon for those he trusts, and Tamara and I have used it often. Jonathan rather hates you, so he wasn't keen on helping fulfill one of your fantasies at first. Then I told him you didn't really have any set boundaries, though I'd discovered there are certain things you truly dislike. So my gift to Jonathan for helping was going to be letting him fuck you in the ass. Jonathan's not really into men, but he does have an appreciation for the things that can cut someone's ego down to size, and I personally will enjoy seeing you suffer a bit. He really is like a Dom in sub clothing, a sort of twisted one, but an interesting specimen altogether." A fond look came into her eyes at something Mac was glad he could not see. "Look at him. He's getting hard, just thinking about it. Jonathan, do my bidding."

  "With pleasure, Mistress."

  Mac sunk his teeth into the heavy rubber of the gag as the metal barb tips struck his back, jerked off more flesh.

  Kiera watched him, her face detached. She was in a place where she was seeing things that weren't visible to the rest of them, Mac knew, and it did not seem to bring her any joy, just a grim purpose that boded ill for all of them.

  "I can lash you so you'll feel the pain, but it won't draw blood. Jonathan has less experience at that. You'll just have to live with the scarring, at least for a short time." She blinked once.

  A second and third strike fell, and Mac felt the pain jolt through his body like electrical current. His shoulder began to itch, as blood made its way down his back over his bicep, getting slowed in the hair on his arms.

  "Very few can take it without screaming, but I know you can. Violet is going to be so impressed with your stamina."

  The last stroke fell a few moments later, when all of them had merged into one vibrating field of pain on his back. Just as he released his breath, an eleventh came, striking across his ass, a barb catching his scrotum. His incisors sank down, slicing through the hard rubber, the reaction singing up through his gums and jaw.

  "Jonathan, that was very naughty. Go cuff yourself."

  "Yes, Mistress. My apologies, Mistress." Jonathan snickered.

  The pain was unbelievable, worse than being shot, and for this there was no adrenaline kick in, nothing but throbbing, tearing agony.

  "Now that you're paying attention, I'm going to tell you my secrets," she said, rising. She squatted down next to Mac and stroked her hand over his hair with her long fingers, following his cheekbone with her nail, pressing down a little hard, watching him as she traced the soft skin just below the vulnerable right eye. Mac kept his gaze steady on hers.

  There was no fear now, only fury. He wouldn't give her fear, which meant he couldn't think about Violet getting here. He had to resolve this before then, one way or another.

  "You know I like to mix potions. That cat was tipped in a very special mixture I make to punish my baddest boys. It's an alcohol base, mixed with a derivative of crushed nettle juice. Highly irritating, isn't it? It will keep hurting this badly all the way up to the last moment."

  She brought her head down closer, so she could speak softly, where Jonathan could not hear. "I don't like to make my subs suffer just for the sake of pain. I draw their pain from them and then I release them with that one shot to the head. You're going to know it's coming, but I didn't want it that way. I don't want to hurt you except in ways that will give you release, focus you on what's important." She glanced toward Jonathan, now cuffed and waiting for her to finish restraining him, make him as helpless as Mac. "But him I intend to shoot between the eyes. Give him a full minute to see it coming, because he's a heartless bastard. Justice can be almost as invigorating as mercy killings, hmm?"

  She smiled, feathering his hair off his forehead, as if she were stroking a puppy. "Lord, you are magnificent, you know that? I don't know what it is about you. I suppose you're thinking, Tyler will know who did this. Yes. Yes, he will. So I suppose I'll have to wait for him to come home and take care of that, just as I'll take care of Violet. I'm thinking I'll make it look like one of those 'sad, perverted life' stories. Erotica writer, living on the fringe of society, of reality, plays sick sex games with friends, offs them before he offs himself. And oh." She put her fingers to her lips, her eyes widening. "One of them is Tampa's finest, a homicide detective who was working undercover to find the S&M killer, and got too close because, he too, sadly, was part of that sick S/M scene. I'm sure that will result in a full departmental investigation, because how could we allow our fine police force to be infiltrated by such a sexual deviant?"

  She stroked her finger down the line of his throat, her voice softening. "For you see, that's the problem. We all know what we are, but the world will never accept us. Would you like to hear a sad story?"

  I'd like to put you out of your misery before Violet gets here, he thought grimly. How long did he have? Ten minutes? Five? An hour? If Violet had gone downstate to visit her mother, she might not get back until late afternoon, early evening, and then it was ninety minutes to Tyler's from Tampa. He tried not to think what Kiera could do to him in that amount of time, since she'd managed to inflict some serious damage in less than thirty seconds, but it would give him more time to plot a way to stop her before Violet got here. Or maybe Violet wouldn't come. Maybe she'd left a message on his machine that she'd decided to stay overnight at her mom's, or was running late.

  Christ, Nighthorse. Focus. Powell's out of the picture, so figure out a way to overpower her. While hogtied to a bench bolted to the floor. Good trick.

  "Tamara tried to tell me from the beginning. You see, she knew when we were twelve what she was. I was her first submissive. I delighted in pleasing her, whether it was eating her pussy under the sheets at night, or doing her homework, or giving her my share of Halloween candy. I could sit at her feet for hours just for the pleasure of her touch on my hair. But she trained me to be a Mistress with her, to understand what it was to release people's emotions through pain, enjoy the sensuality of that, the give and take. When to hold the reins tight, when to let a sub have his head and when to put it to good use." Her lips curved. "One of them came to be quite dear to me. Long after Tamara was bored with him. Sh
e didn't really approve of us playing separately, so I had to hide my times with him. It made it even more exciting." Her eyes grew darker and Mac watched the changes in inflection, learning everything he could about her changes in mood and what they meant.

  "But I wanted more. For the first time in my life. I wanted to wake up with a man around me in the morning. Silly, wasn't it? Totally impossible for people like us. T told me, over and over, but sometimes the heart just doesn't listen, does it?

  "I told him what I wanted, and he said he couldn't. That he loved me, but eventually he was going to have to give up the scene and settle down with someone vanilla, that there was no way he could live his life like this forever and get where he wanted in his career. I lost my pride. I told him I could do that, would do that for him. He cried, told me that 'together we'd always want to play the game.' I could see how much it hurt him, what we could never have but wanted so much. It tore me to pieces.

  "It was inevitable that she found out about him, of course. I'm a Mistress, but I'm her sub, and your Mistress always knows everything you're thinking. You and Violet aren't there yet, but you would have been, you already sensed it coming. I broke down and told Tamara everything, the pain was so awful, his rejection.

  "She loves me, has always looked after me, so she pretended she was me, went to his parents, told them what he was. Of course, it was his worst nightmare. Or so he always said it would be."

  Her expression shifted, became dreamy, the closest to tranquility Mac had yet seen reflected in her face. "Tamara called me, told me to come over to his apartment, that she needed to show me something." She turned those soft brown eyes to him again. "You remember Bambi, the original book by Felix Salten, not the Disney whitewashed version? When the stag comes to get Bambi, to show him Man, with a capital 'M', lying dead on the forest floor, shot in a hunting accident? And Bambi is so afraid to get close, because the idea of Man was larger than life to him, something beyond his understanding. I was afraid like that when I walked into the room, smelled the blood. I was so afraid, because he was an extension of who I am, and if it had become too much for him, it would become too much for me. I was doomed. But Tamara made me come look at him, look at his face.