Days Off with Lindsay - Megan Pt. 01

Lindsay stood slowly, looking legitimately uncomfortable for the first time all night.

"Uh-oh," I said softly.

Noah leaned forward over the bar, and I sensed him right behind me, just barely close enough to hear him.

"Yeah shit's about to hit the fan. Ready?"

My forehead creased and I was suddenly nervous. Was it the way Noah had said that, or the look on Julia's face?

Julia started jabbering about something, about Paul, and about Chinese food, and nail polish and ice cream and wine, and started crying, hurrying forward as she spoke a mile a minute. She stopped right in front of Lindsay, still yelling and talking.

Then she stopped, bit her lip, and threw both hands onto Lindsay's shoulders, shoving her back roughly.

Lindsay didn't even budge. The look of sadness melted away into mild concern as Julia stomped her foot and tried again, harder. Then Julia raised a hand to hit Lindsay in the arm. I gasped.

Lindsay saw it coming and caught her hand tightly, not letting her move. Their eyes never left each other.

Julia's head dropped forward, and she leaned forward on Lindsay, wrapping her arms around her and sobbing. Lindsay released Julia's hand and followed suit, gently stroking her hair. She pulled Julia's face up slightly, and then pulled away, putting a hand on her back and leading her back into one of the playrooms for some privacy.

Paul stood in the corner with Mr. Weston, looking concerned.

"What just happened?" I asked, turning back to face Noah.

"They used to be best friends. Really good friends. Lindsay vanished without a trace, apparently. I heard she was a terrorist."

"She's not a terrorist," I heard Mr. Weston's voice beside me. He sat at one of the spots next to me, his eyes following the two girls, and turning back to look at me as Lindsay shut the door behind them. "She works for the government... it's just that not everyone in the government knows she works for the government."

"Why is she called The Sadist?" I asked.

He studied me for a few moments, and then said, "Because she enjoys hurting people. And not in a safe, consensual, power-exchange kind of way." I felt slightly cold and remembered the conversation I'd overheard earlier, but I dropped the subject.

"How's the new chain," Noah asked Mr. Weston.

"It survived, and will start breaking even next year. I'm hoping to pull a profit in another five. It's nothing like this though. Just a bar in a college town."

"I have to ask," Noah smiled as he slid Mr. Weston's drink over to him. "I saw the collar..." his tone was suggestive. I felt that prickle and twist in my gut. Did I really want to hear about his new sub?

"It's lovely, isn't it?" He took a sip. "I saw it at a Con about a year ago, at Julia's booth. I couldn't stop thinking about it so I asked her to make me one with some slight changes. Now if only I could find whoever is supposed to be wearing it," he muttered slightly under his breath. "I know she's been here before. But I've yet to actually catch her."

Wait... he didn't have a new sub? My mind was twisting and I was confused.

"Well, I'm sure you'll find her one day. At least the thing is ready for her when she's ready for you."

"Hopefully by then, Julia will have finished the rest of the set," he said, and although his face didn't change, I could hear the subtle excitement in his voice.

"What's her name?" I whispered, without even thinking about it.

"I don't know," he sighed.

"You had a vision, didn't you?" I knew it came out sarcastic, and I regretted it instantly. He had always claimed to have visions and I'd never really believed him. But he looked at me, smiled slightly, and nodded.

"I have it every night." I felt my expression change to surprise. "I would have dismissed it years ago, but since the accident... I've had it every night. So far it's the only one to not come true."

"And you've never seen her? You don't know who she is?"

He shook his head. I realized what it was that I'd seen in his face in his office the other day. He was older and more tired, yes. More grey in his hair, more wrinkles in his face. But his eyes... he looked like he was exhausted.

Five years of holding himself back, of not having a submissive, no sex, no release, and looking for a girl in a dream. What happened to you in that accident, I thought. What's happened to you in the past few years? Who are you now?

"I hope you find her," I said softly, meaning it with all my heart. I could see the thank you in his eyes.

"Megan," Becca called me over to her, and I walked towards the collection of couches and chairs we normally mill around. Lindsay and Julia had exited the playroom, and Julia looked so much happier, relief over her face. It had only been a few minutes. What the hell had they done in there?

I sat beside Becca, and Jackson settled beside me on the couch, throwing me a smile and stretching both arms up over the top of the couch. One was almost around my shoulders, but he didn't touch me. The other sat hanging over the edge of the couch. I smiled at him and he grinned back. Jackson was one of those muscular construction workers who did a lot of manual labor, made more money than expected, but was always kind, friendly, and lived below his means.

We spent longer than normal at the lounge, sitting, laughing, and catching up until nearly one in the morning. At one point, two men had come upstairs, and had stood behind Lindsay, one of them gently putting one hand on her shoulder. She'd looked at them, gestured to the couch she sat on, and they'd come to sit with us. One was old enough to be her father; the other was about her age. I wondered at their relationship to her but I didn't ask. Julia had waved at them both, somewhat awkwardly.

They settled into the conversation with the rest of us quite easily, like they had always known us. Becca had picked Lindsay's brain on clever punishment ideas, and some of the shit she spouted off the top of her head made my eyes widen.

"I mean, there's ginger, toothpaste, hot sauce, and tiger balm on sensitive areas, those get intense fast but it depends on the pain tolerance. Impact is a good go-to, but if you want it to be a punishment you have to go hard and fast with no buildup, otherwise the endorphin rush is too much fun... But if you want some really mean stuff, some personal favorites of mine are using a Taser in sensitive areas, small cuts with rubbing alcohol poured on, extended sensory deprivation, sleep deprivation, splinters wedged under fingernails-"

Mr. Weston cut her off. "Lindsay, she said 'punishment' not 'mafia-style torture chamber.' We've talked about this."

"Take it easy there, kiddo," Lindsay's older friend said. She'd called him Michael earlier. He was probably in his fifties, tall, strong, with a hint of a hunch to his upper back. Probably too many years at a desk. His salt and pepper hair was thinning, but his features were strong and handsome and he had light blue eyes that crinkled up at the edges when he smiled.

"Yeah if you could avoid getting us kicked out of any more bars, that would be great," her other friend laughed. He was tall and thin, pale, and wore jeans and a t-shirt with a logo that I didn't recognize. Although he was thin, he had some definite muscle tone to his arms and shoulders. His dark blue eyes were magnetic, and his smile rivaled hers on wickedness. You could see it in his eyes.

"Brett I swear to God if you bring that shit up one more time..." she rolled her eyes dramatically and trailed off as she turned to face him. He grinned wider and quirked an eyebrow. Brett and Lindsay's dynamic was entertaining, but I really couldn't tell with those two. Maybe they're both switches, I thought. I giggled slightly at the idea of Brett and Lindsay chasing each other around the room with riding crops, battling for dominance.

Lindsay shot me a look, like she knew what I was thinking, but didn't say anything.

Eventually, it was just the eight of us; Lindsay and her two friends on one couch, Jackson and Becca and I on another, and Mr. Weston and Noah seated in the two chairs that closed in the rectangle. It was late, and the lounge was technically closed, but nobody felt the urge to leave.

"I like what you've done with your hair, Megan," I heard Jack's voice from the door to the lounge. The bar downstairs must have finally closed, and he'd come up to join us. He leaned against Noah's chair and wiped his hands on his bar towel tied into his apron.

"I literally just let the dye wash out, that's all," I shrugged. "But thank you."

"It would be cute short," Lindsay said. "Like a pixie cut." I could visualize what I'd look like with short hair. It did look kind of cute... I smiled at the idea.

"I might try that," I said.

Mr. Weston kept scanning the room, like he was measuring something. Finally, his eyes settled on Becca, and he nodded once.

Becca turned to me. "Are you ready?"

The others quieted, looking at me. I felt myself blush fiercely and forced my eyes to stay on hers. I'd thought I was finished with my punishment after the autograph situation, as she had congratulated me on my bravery and not mentioned anything else about it. What was she going to do? What was in store for me?

With a rush of adrenaline, I nodded, and whispered, "yes miss."

"Good," she said, and leaned forward. "Close your eyes, sweetheart."

I did as I was told, and I felt a thick blindfold cover my eyes. Becca stood up, and then so did everyone else in the room. Oh my god, I thought, they've all planned this. What is happening. The nerves and excitement mixed and I felt slightly dizzy. What kind of punishment was this? I didn't even know what I was getting myself into. Usually she at least warned me.

People around me moved, and I stayed as still as I could, the nerves making me sway slightly. With no vision and no light, it was hard to stay oriented. Usually when I was blindfolded I was restrained, or lying down. Sitting was awkward. I swayed again and almost fell, but I felt strong hands on my shoulders catch and steady me.

Of course, I had no idea who it was, because everyone had stood up and moved around the room.

I was silently coaxed to my feet, and then gently turned. Carefully, I was led away from the cluster of seats and down the hall to one of the playrooms. "Have fun, dear!" I heard Becca's voice as we walked slowly. Her voice sent shivers down my spine and I felt goosebumps cover my arms and neck. Who was with me? What would happen? I knew it wasn't Becca. It was strong enough to be Lindsay, but the hands were bigger than that. It was definitely one of the men.

A door opened. I could tell it was the one at the end of the hall, which had always been a personal favorite of mine. The anticipation and fear was killing me.

Rapid-fire, my mind went back through the faces of those who had been in the room. It had to be either Jackson, Lindsay's friends Brett or Michael, Jack, or Noah. I knew it wasn't Mr. Weston - I would have known his touch. Being so blind was disorienting. I couldn't sense this person's height, I couldn't smell anything but the faint cleaner used to disinfect the playrooms, and so far he hadn't made a sound.

I shivered slightly as the door shut and locked behind me. The sound of hard shoes clicked quietly on the cement floor and I tried again to calm my breathing, but then he was behind me, close enough to touch. I didn't move. Neither did he. I waited, anxiously, for instruction.

"Hey there pretty girl."

Oh my god, that voice. I felt my mouth pop open a little and a surge of warmth spread through me, settling in my belly. I wasn't sure, but I could swear it was the same voice I'd heard in the video Becca had sent me. Warm and rough, and he was already enjoying watching me squirm.

I waited for him to say something, or do something. Finally, he leaned forward and whispered, sending a new wave of shivers down my spine.

"Let's play a game."