Untitled (7 page)

    "But not enough yet."

    He circled her body again, testosterone flying, laying into her hard, the whip no longer glancing off her flesh, but striking with stinging force, leaving welts across her thighs, her belly, her heaving tits, and then, from behind, her shoulders and her rounded rump.

    He could feel the subspace descend upon her, while finding for himself that sadomasochistic harmony of energies he knew only in his most intimate relationships. He came at her with more, with harder blows and a crueler consciousness, seeing just how much pain she would suffer before her desire would flee. He'd been sure he had a true painslut when he abducted her. But this was the first real test of the hard combat he wanted from his new prize.

    She was passing with flying colors.

    "My gawwwwwwwwwwwwwd!! Yes, yes yes, yes yes…. Gawwwwwwwwwwwwdd yess!"

    Shrieking, squealing, writhing, shackles clanging, the noisy thunder battered the walls with sound, making windows rattle and the floor shake.

    His cock pulsed recklessly in his pants until the perfect timing presented itself, when he finally shucked his pants and shirt and drew her body into his. Her slick wet cunt grabbed for this cock with the fierceness of a clenched fist. He held her close, and this was how he banged her pussy to the other side of the planet and back.

    "You fucking bastard!" she screamed as she came. Then she succumbed to the delirious nonsense of sex. "FUUUCCCCCK MEEEEEEEEEEEE! YES, YES, YES, YOU BASTARD, FUCK ME!

"Yeah and I'm a fucking bastard just like you're a fucking pain slut."

    They were finished, panting, their bodies still fused together by sweat and the tumescent organ lodged inside her spasming cunt. It took some seconds to recuperate enough to peel his body off of hers, although by then his cock was beginning to wilt.

    Once they disengaged, she hung alone, still tethered to the ceiling. On impulse, he pulled the blindfold from her face and her eyes peered out on a gloomy scene, on a fuzzy darkened room, one lit candle, and the face of the man who'd been her captor for a dozen days. Everything seemed to blur before her but that face, the beard, the sky blue eyes, and smirking lips.

    That beard had been scratchy against her cheek and she could still feel the burn. Two, three, maybe four days growth on his face, and beyond that she noticed – once he backed away enough so she could see the crude Adonis better – a gym-built body, slim hips and tight ass. The beard and mustache were probably groomed to look scruffy; the disheveled, unkempt hair the same, although there was nothing scruffy about his sculpted physique.

    His mouth formed a natural smirk with such ease that it took no effort to evoke. This she expected. However, there was an empty cruelty in his eyes she feared. He was a smartlooking bad boy; the scoundrel women love to hate, and yet desperately crave. She could swear that she'd never laid eyes on him before. Where had he been hiding at the X-Club? Had he been there at all?

    "Thank you, sir," she weakly managed, "for taking off the blindfold.

    "What? That's all I get?" he snickered and moved further away, so now she could see the splendid body, everything from cock to ass to muscled chest. She remembered him pressed against her, the cock hard and speared deeply between her legs. She could still feel him there, ramming her cunt to make her come.

    "You have a name?" she asked.

    "Just call me master," he said.

    "But you don't look much like a master to me."

    "No? Really?" he shrugged. "I'm so disappointed. So what do I look like?"

    "Like the kind of goddam ass who makes a point of breaking women's hearts…" she paused, hastily adding, "while using women's bodies for sport."

    "You mean, like I just used you?"

    "Yeah, like you just used me."

    "I didn't hear you complaining, unless you call the screams of a fucking woman complaining. Don't tell me you weren't into it, doll."

    "So what if I was into it? Doesn't mean I want to be hanging here, that I want to be your captured slave, that I'm ever going to
love
you, or
care about
you or
need
you! It means I got an easy body."

    "Damn right you're easy. You're so damn easy, you'll be begging to stay before I'm done with you." He laughed in his typical sardonic way, "The more I get to know you, the more I know I made the right choice."

    He sat on a crate some distance off and viewed her dangling body, letting his thoughts play out on his face, while he swilled a beer, cooling down.

    "Please will you take me down? I have to pee."

    "That so? Huh?" he snickered. "I got an answer for that."

    He briefly left her then returned a minute later with a bucket in hand.

    "Use this."

    "What do you mean, 'use this'?" she stared down to where he'd placed the bucket between her feet.

    "I mean pee in the bucket, doll."

    He swiped his jeans from the floor and pulled them up around his hips, while she was left to contemplate his latest demand.

    "I can't," she said. "Please just take me down. I'll crawl all you like."

"Yeah, sure, I'll take you down, after you pee in the bucket."

She tried again. "I said I can't pee that way."

"Then learn."

    He sat back on the crate gulping beer as he watched the petulant worry lines appear on her pretty face. It got all screwed up in a fretful pout, but he had no plans to give in. Fact was, he was enjoying her predicament.

    She fussed and fumed for several minutes. "Please,
master
, please let me down." She looked as though she was about to cry.

    "Hey, I said I would. You just gotta pee in the bucket and I'll be happy to let you rest."

    She closed her eyes, bowed her head and sighed miserably. Humiliation and shame had never been a big part of her kinky play – oh, a good dom could try and might even succeed, but there were always boundaries, hard limits. This would have been one of those hard limits if she'd been anywhere but here in this man's domain. So far, she'd found no chink in his daunting armor, although finding chinks was certainly hard given the conditions. Her choices were few, at least until she had more freedom – if more freedom awaited her.

    She was a logical woman – even now under such duress –
and
she desperately had to pee.

    So, at last, she let her body relax and peed in the bucket beneath her, listening to the splash of urine hit the metal pail.

S
CENE
S
EVEN

"Captain Danvers, please," the man spoke in his most intimidating manner, although his tone barely fazed Sergeant Jane Deal, who was sitting at the front reception desk. She was a veteran of the force, used to taking flak from angry people, and pretty much the worst in human behavior. One glance, she knew the type well: filthy rich, condescending, hardly able to tolerate the chaos of the busy police station. You'd think bugs were crawling up his Brooks Bros suit, the way he grimaced at the tiny world around him.

    "I'll see if he has time to see you. Your name, sir?"

    "Proctor. Loren Proctor."

    Jane knew the man; no one who read the newspaper or watched TV news could avoid his distinctive, scowling face. It had been plastered everywhere since his daughter turned up missing – odd saying, 'turned up missing.' If she was missing, how could she turn up?

will
see me."

    Before Jane could buzz the captain on the intercom, he emerged from his office and motioned the man his way.

Loren Proctor leaned on the front of Alain Danvers' desk and leveled the stern-faced police captain with a vicious stare. "Two weeks! It's been two weeks! What the hell have you been doing?"

    Alain was rarely moved by such histrionics. To give himself some distance from the man looming threateningly before him, he leaned back in his chair, adopting the professorial air so common to him and adjusted his glasses.

    "Sit down, Mr. Proctor and we'll talk."

    Proctor's florid face grew redder for a moment, as if he was ready to lash out again, but then he seemed to back down, if ever so slightly, and sink into the chair behind him, put in his place but not defeated.

    "Mr. Proctor. I know the slow progress is frustrating. But I can assure you, we are investigating every lead we have. We've conducted at least a hundred interviews and have a few more to go." He sighed, leaning forward on his desk. "Unfortunately, whoever took your daughter left few clues. The fact is, sir, women sometimes disappear and don't come back. I don't think it's the case with Kat. I think someone has her, but that someone doesn't seem to want a ransom paid – or anything else, at least not yet. But I assure you, we are aggressively investigating every lead."

    Proctor pulled back upright, fuming.

    "And I thought by now that X-club would be shut down! You haven't done a damn thing about that."

    "Sir, the X-Club has violated no laws."

    "Prostitution? That's not against the law?"

    "There is no prostitution going on there," Alain returned calmly. "Trust me, they have been investigated every time we get a Bible-thumping, born-again elected, or on the force, who thinks they can shut down anything that smacks of porn. Unfortunately, such campaigns rarely pass Constitutional muster. As repugnant as you may think the activities at the X-Club are, they are still legal."

    "Yes, I'd heard that you're soft on sleaze like that."

    "Soft, no. Realistic, yes. I'll fight child porn with every tool I have, and a great deal of fervor, but what happens between consenting adults should be protected."

    Loren Proctor smugly smiled, then zeroed in on the captain again with a cruel stare. "It's people like you who make society a haven for perverts, perverts who snatch beautiful girls like Sally."

    "Like Sally?" Impervious to the insult, Danvers raised his brows, "or Kat Bloom?"

    "The name change was just a phase. My daughter and I haven't been especially close, but I did love her and she knows that. She would have come back to us soon. I'm sure of it. But with this…now her mother has walled herself away from the world…"

    "I'm very sorry, Mr. Proctor. We are doing all we can to see that Kat, that Sally, is found. It would be helpful if the rhetoric could be toned down. If we could see less about this in the papers. The uproar out there makes it harder for us to do our job."

    "You think I'm going to let up?"

    "No," he conceded, "I really don't. But that's not going to stop me from asking."

    "My efforts to keep Sally's disappearance before the public eye will save her. And I assure you that I will not let up. I'm hoping the reward money I've offered will help."

    "Let's hope so." Alain sighed, "Was there anything else you came to say? I do get your messages through the Governor and Mayor Abrams."

    "Anything in particular? I think my being here speaks for itself. I make it a practice to touch bases with those who work for me on a regular basis. You can expect that I will contact you daily, Captain Danvers. I want my daughter found!" He would have gone on, but Alain interrupted:

    "I'll contact you as soon as I have anything new to report. Now, if you don't mind, I should get to my job."

    Loren Proctor was on his feet, and pretty much stormed out of the police station. He stormed everywhere he went these days, wielding his weight in whatever way he could, even though he knew that there was very little that he could do to get his daughter back. In his own inflated mind, he was victim to a pack of fools.

Alain Danvers sat back reviewing what had been uncovered about Kat Bloom/Sally Proctor and her disappearance. Oddly enough, Meredith Shaw had been his biggest source of information. She knew the eccentric young woman better than anyone else. If he had to wager a guess, he'd say that Meredith was intrigued by, maybe even a little in love with her roommate, although she'd denied any lesbian activity between them – adamantly rejecting any suggestion that she had that kind of inclination.

    Pretty curious, since the climate in which the girls played at the X-Club tended to be fairly bisexual – especially between women. He was well aware that the bdsm lifestyle gave rise to an openness that allowed females to enjoy each other sexually. Apparently, Miss Shaw had not been ready for that much liberation.

    In the past week, since the young woman's surprise appearance on his doorstep, Alain often found himself dwelling on matters regarding the girl, or sometimes simply watching her through the filtering screen of his office blinds while she typed at her keyboard or sat distractedly daydreaming – something that happened far too often. They'd been in each other's company on numerous occasions since the investigation began and she proved particularly useful – far more so than she did in her normal job, where she was just barely getting by.