POW Pt. 02

Between the thoughts of Major Tiegen and the sex dreams at night, things kept getting worse at home. Frustrations spilled over outside the bedroom, and Matt and Melanie fought more and more. Melanie felt her relationship with Matt, a man she had once hoped to marry, slipping away. Something was wrong with her, and she had no idea what. Only one man seemed to maybe have a clue, and that was Major Tiegen. She urgently felt the need to do something. Although he scared her, she finally decided that she HAD to find out what, if anything, it was that he seemed to know. And she knew how to find him.

The next day Melanie took her lunch at 11:30, like she knew Major Tiegen always did. She went straight to the table where he always sat by himself—one row in from the windows, one row removed from the back wall. She pulled out the chair right across from him and plopped herself down with her lunch. The Major glanced up, nonplussed. "Private Riordan," he said evenly, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Melanie was on the offensive from the start. "Every time I see you, you act like you know something. You seem so sure of yourself, you've got me starting to wonder if maybe you do. So I decided to talk to you, just to prove that really you're just full of yourself."

"If you've already drawn your conclusion, there's no need to have this conversation," he observed, refusing to be baited.

"I just want to know where you get off, making assumptions about my home life. It's none of your business."

"True," he admitted matter-of-factly, "I was just making small talk. My C.O. says it's something I need to work on. Based on your reaction, it appears I hit a... sensitive topic..."

Melanie stared him down, but he didn't blink. "I just want to know what made you seem so SURE."

"I was merely guessing," he demurred.

"But you guessed right," she pressed. "How?"

The Major stared at her silently for a long time. His eyes narrowed, like he was sizing her up—again. She returned his gaze, unwilling to let on that she felt butterflies inside, waiting. Finally his eyes returned to normal, like he'd made his decision. "I've been in the field, Ms. Riordan. Seen things. Been places I wasn't supposed to be. Observed causes and their effects. I have... a different perspective on things than my commanders. They've not been on the front line, like I have. I may be the only person you've talked to who has any idea what it was really like for you in Akbar."

"Oh give me a break, Major," Melanie spat angrily. "You have no IDEA what it was like over there." Even as she spoke, her mind fixated on the fact that he called her Ms. Riordan, not Private Riordan. She was sure he wouldn't do so by mistake; he had a reason. And she had no clue what that reason could be. Damn him!

"Don't I?" he challenged calmly. "Now it is you that presume to know my service record. I've seen many things that aren't in my file, because officially they never happened. "

"Oh, excuse me," she replied defensively. "So maybe you're witnessed war crimes. That entitled you to comment on MY experiences? Unless you used to be a woman, pardon me if I don't think so."

"You're the one that wanted to find out if I knew something. If you no longer think I do, then perhaps our conversation is finished."

Melanie tried to keep her anger in check. He infuriated her because he was just so... in control! He remained measured and steady, and nothing she said to him phased him. "And just WHAT do you think you know?" she demanded.

The Major sat back and actually half-smiled, which infuriated her even more. "I can't tell you that here," he began magnanimously.

"Oh how convenient," she spat warily.

"There's a club in Maryland, called The Hopper. Know it?" She shook her head. "I'll be there Thursday, around 9:00. If you want to know more, you can look for me there. Otherwise," he stood up, picking up his empty tray, "I bid you good-day."

She turned briefly to watch him leave, peeved. He didn't turn back—she knew somehow he wouldn't, and it was better that he didn't. She threw down what was left of her sandwich, furious and no longer hungry. She didn't know much about The Hopper other than it was a middle-class pickup bar in Maryland. She wasn't sure what she expected to get from this confrontation, but invited to a rendezvous outside of work wasn't it. Was he trying to leverage her curiosity to get her to sleep with him? Never, she seethed. And yet... that kind of move just didn't feel like it would be his style. Plus, if he was trying to put the moves on her, there were a thousand quieter and more intimate places he could have chosen than a noisy, crowded bar like The Hopper.

She sighed, picked up her trash and left.Screw him—he didn't know anything, she told herself. She was being a fool, and he was pushing her to see how much he could get out of her before she figured that out. Smarten up.She went back to her office and tried to put him out of her mind—but couldn't. No matter how much she berated herself, she just couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he really DID know something that might help her understand just what was wrong with her. And to find out, she'd have to go to the Hopper.

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She hadn't intended to go meet the Major, but fate intervened. Wednesday night she and Matt had had a big fight. She knew she was being distant—partly because she kept ruminating about the Major. Matt had finally said that maybe they needed to rethink being together anymore. He said he needed to go away for a while, get some space, some time to think. She didn't have any reason to argue otherwise. He packed up a night bag and went to sleep at a friend's house. When she got back from work on Thursday, there was a message on the answering machine telling her not to wait for him, he wasn't coming home that night. Now there was absolutely nothing stopping her from going to The Hopper. So she did.

After work Melanie changed out of uniform and put on a pair of straight-leg indigo jeans, a nice top and heels. She put her hair in a simple ponytail—she'd been growing it out since coming back from overseas so it hung past her shoulders now, and she had fresh blonde highlights from yet another recent attempt to rekindle the spark with Matt. Looking in the mirror, she wasn't impressed but knew that as long as she was breathing she'd get plenty of attention at a place like The Hopper. She wanted to discourage it as much as possible without looking out of place.

She took the train from northern VA. She walked up a red brick building in the middle of the block. There was a sign on the sidewalk that read "Bondage Fashion Show Tonight." She wrinkled her nose, but to her surprise the first thought that went through her head was that should be pretty tame. It was still pretty sparse inside, being not even 9:00 yet. A few hangers-on from happy hour hadn't stumbled home yet, a few groups of divorcees in short skirts stood around, being hit on by businessmen in suits. A few posers that wanted to look bondage without actually being hardcore sat in booths, feeling superior to the others. She looked around and didn't see the Major.

There was an empty seat at the far end of the bar, where it curved towards the wall. She moved toward it and ordered a drink. The guy sitting next to her talked to her right away, but begged off politely when she said she was meeting someone. The people on the other side of her didn't notice her, they were too busy sucking face, holding onto the bar to keep from falling down, surely about to go home together. She crossed her legs and watched; she had an eagle-eye view of the entrance, but the Major didn't come in.

When 9:00 came and she didn't see him, she was convinced he'd stood her up. One thing she would bet money on, he was NOT the kind of guy to be late—for anything. She sighed at the wasted trip...well, maybe he had been called to work late, or gotten stuck in traffic. She may as well finish her drink before leaving. After all, she paid for it.

Behind her, a cheap PA system that had been humming nondescript dance music flared up more loudly, announcing the beginning of the show. Most of the audience turned bored-like towards the sound. There was a stage in the back of the long, narrow club, separated from the bar by small dance floor and a few free-standing tables while booths lined one side. Lights came on, and the show began. It was more fashion than bondage in Melanie's view; it was all about outfits in leather and PVC, none of them really revealing much of anything—certainly not like her uniform in Akbar. The divorcees seemed the most interested, which of course excited the guys hitting on them. Then, at the very end, a man in black leather pants, boots, and vest led out a woman in a black leather bustier and hot pants on a chain attached to a dog collar on her neck. The man wore no shirt, and his arms showed decent muscle definition—a man that worked out, but wasn't a body builder per se. Both wore masks. She bent over, slowly and sensually, grabbing the ankles of her biker boots. He held a riding crop, previously invisible next to the black of his pants, and smacked her leather-clad buttocks. It made a convincing noise but Melanie figured that the girl barely felt a thing through the leather of her hot pants. She was sure of it when the man struck her a little lower one time and part of the crop landed on her bare thigh, making the girl nearly jump.That was nothing, she found herself thinking disdainfully—and then wondering at why on earth she would think THAT.

Finally, the man led the girl off the stage and into the crowd. He paraded her around, offering the crop to every patron in the bar. None of the people in the back tables wanted it. He moved towards the wannabees, where finally someone took it. She repeated her sensual bend, and both the men and the women at the table took a half-hearted swipe. Melanie shook her head. She turned back toward the bar—the man was leading the girl over towards here. Figures—the man to her left wanted to give it a try. She just wanted the collective stare of the bar to be somewhere other than where she was seated.

The man stood off to the girl's side as she bent over. She focused on her drink, but she felt him watching her through the mask. She glanced back over her shoulder, and found two intense eyes staring directly at her. Wait...those eyes... She heard the smacking sound next to her, then the girl stood and the man reclaimed the crop. He made a point to offer it to Melanie. "Would you like to try?" he said. With a shiver, she shook her head no. She recognized that voice. The man in the mask was Major Tiegen.

Melanie was frozen in shock. The Major read her expression and mercifully moved on to the next person in the line. She had ignored this show before, but now she was transfixed. She watched him parade his slave down the length of the bar. None of the divorcees wanted to swat her, and while they wanted to none of the businessmen hitting on them dared to accept for fear of scaring them off. Only one person in a side booth took a turn, then when everyone had been offered the chance the Major led his slave backstage. The public address system came on announcing that there would be another show at 11:30, and everyone returned to what they had been doing before. Everyone except Melanie, and the suck-face couple to her right that had left sometime during the show. Melanie was thinking a hundred things at once. All of a sudden the looks the Major had given her made some sense, maybe. Maybe it wasn't that he understood being a POW—maybe it was that he understood B & D. She didn't know if that scared her, disgusted her—or excited her. For the first time, she realized that maybe all of those sexual experiences in Akbar were something she needed to think about. She'd scrutinized every other aspect of her life trying to understand her changes of heart, but she had refused to think about that. Kind of silly, in retrospect, since her primary problem was a sexual one. If that was really what was going on, it was no wonder she hadn't figured it out before.

She sat at the bar, not really expecting the Major to come out to talk to her, but too wrapped up in her own mixed emotions to leave. She almost jumped when the voice said "may I join you?" She almost didn't recognize him because his voice was softer and gentler than she'd ever heard at the Pentagon. She turned and saw Major Tiegen, still in leather pants but now wearing a leather jacket over his vest.

"Sure, go ahead," she gestured with her neck. As he sat, she added "that wasn't what I expected when you said you'd be here tonight."

"Now you see why I couldn't blurt it out in the lunchroom?" he agreed. He signaled to the bartender "hey Fred, Gin and Tonic, and get the lady here another..." He left it open for to specify what she was drinking.

"Oh, I don't need another one," she demurred.

"If you ever NEED a drink," he commented slyly, "that's when you shouldn't have one. If you WANTED one, why not another? Besides, I don't get paid for this—free drinks are the only perk I get..." Melanie placed an order with the barman.

"So is this why you always seemed to know something, Major?" Melanie pondered.

"Maybe," he agreed pleasantly, "but please don't call me Major here. People don't know what I do for a living, and I'd like to keep it that way. Here I'm Carl."

"JUST Carl?" Melanie asked knowingly, eyeing his attire.

"Depends on whose addressing me," he agreed with a smile. They both understood that to some he was MASTER Carl.

"So did you get off on my stories about Akbar?" Melanie accused sourly.

"Absolutely not," he responded stoutly. "I was as outraged as anyone that an American citizen would be treated that way. But I also could see in your eyes that there was more to the story than just being victimized. I understand how Submission works. Pain magnifies pleasure in ways that defy understanding. I shouldn't have asked about whether you came, but my curiosity got the better of me. I know well that your mind can respond one way while your body responds completely differently. Just because you didn't want to be doing it, doesn't mean you didn't enjoy it."

"And you learned that from..." she asked suspiciously, nodding in the direction of his clothing.

"Actually, I learned most of it when I was a POW. Only difference is, they had the whole 5th Army looking for you. Where I was, the government couldn't even acknowledge that I was there."

She glanced at him with new respect. "How did you escape?"

He put his finger to his mouth. "Classified. But obviously I did, eventually."

"So then what? You came back, and fell into the B&D scene?"

"No, nothing like that. My experience was very different from yours. I didn't learn to be a dom in captivity. But when I stumbled into the scene, I already understood the connection between pain and other emotions. The only difference was that now, the other emotion involved was pleasure." A chill ran up Melanie's spine. She realized he might have endured horrors she didn't even want to try to imagine. "It was my first slave that taught me how addicting it can be. It seems unfathomable that you'd get beaten and then crave more. But if enduring punishment was rewarded with pleasure, rather than just being used like a toy... I'm told that nothing else can provide that intensity of orgasm. That's why I asked you how things were going at home. It wouldn't be the first time--sometimes married women fall into the scene, wanting to experiment a little because they're bored. You'd be surprised how many end up hooked once they dip their feet in."

"Have I dipped my feet in?" Melanie asked thoughtfully.

"You were thrown into the water headfirst, my dear," he answered.

She looked at him. He seemed so...human, for a change. Approachable, almost, if one looked past the clothing. He seemed to be comfortable here in a way she'd never seen at the Pentagon. "So what do you want to do with me?" she pondered.

"I don't want anything with you," he answered easily, "you asked me what I thought I understood about you. Now you know. If YOU want something else," he continued, with double meaning clearly intended, "that would require some... negotiation."

"Negotiation," she repeated.

"This isn't Akbar," he explained. "Nothing happens without both parties agreeing on the parameters ahead of time. That's the way it should be."

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass," she said, reaching for her purse. Her drink was barely touched, but she felt she needed to get out of there, fast, before she did something she might regret.

He nodded easily. "That's fine. It's obviously not for everyone. Like most of the people in here." She shot him a glance; clearly he, too, knew this crowd was all posers. "But, please... don't go blabbing about the twisted Major over at the Pentagon..."

She was already standing, but paused. Suddenly, the tables were turned. Before he had a secret from her. Now she had a secret on him. She realized that he knew that this would happen ahead of time, but had gone ahead and revealed himself anyway. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me... Major." Then she stepped down the bar and out the door without looking back.

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She slept fitfully that night. She dreamed she was on stage at the club, naked, being spanked solidly by Master Carl. She imagined his strong arms sternly punishing her buttocks. Then she imagined him taking her backstage, pleasing her while he pleasured himself. It so shook her that she awoke at three o'clock in the morning and couldn't fall back asleep.

When she came home from work on Friday, Matt was waiting for her. She was so exhausted, physically and emotionally, and now she had to try to deal with Matt. But as it turned out, she really didn't. Matt was simply there to tell her he had put a deposit down on another apartment—he was moving out. They both cried, of course—you don't end a three-year relationship without some sadness and loss. But she knew that things could never be what they had been with Matt. Akbar had screwed with her head; he deserved a chance to be happy with someone who would respond to him like normal people do. She was no longer that person. She wasn't happy that Matt left, she didn't feel like she was much worse off, either. At least she wouldn't have to fake excitement in bed anymore.

But Melanie had never lived alone, and being trapped in her apartment was killing her. Everything made her think of Matt's absense... which made her feel regretful and inadequate... and then somehow her train of thought kept coming back to Major Carl Tiegen. Everything else seemed dull and monotonous; he alone represented the possibility of excitement. And that thought scared her deeply. Saturday she picked up and drove three hours to her parents' house for a weekend of comforting and forgetting. She even extended by a day, calling in sick on Monday. But she knew eventually she'd have to go back and face reality. She drove home, waited for her friendly neighbor to come home, and with his help rearranged as much of the furniture in her apartment as she possibly could. That at least made it feel a little different from when Matt had been her partner. Lying in the queen bed at night felt funny, though, and she ended up having to move to the couch to sleep.

For the rest of the week she stayed inside her office as much as possible, trying to avoid running into Major Tiegen. She knew she felt attraction to him—or at least what he represented—that was twisted and sick. Yet in her neediness, she didn't feel strong enough to stand firm if he pressed her. She felt she had to keep her distance to stay... safe. And yet her own brain undermined her determination. She found herself starving at 11:30, unable to wait until she was sure he'd be out of the cafeteria before needing to eat herself. She went to the opposite end of the room to eat, but looked over to make sure he was sitting in his usual spot. He must have been watching, for in the moment she glanced his way, he briefly nodded acknowledgement. She almost panicked, but forced herself to sit at a table to eat. She sat with her back to him, not wanting to be tempted to look his way, but not thinking about the fact that she wouldn't be able to see him coming. She nearly jumped through the ceiling when she heard his voice right behind her ask innocently "so what did you think of the club on Thursday?" He pulled up to her table, standing over the chair to her left.