tagNonConsent/ReluctanceHela Ch. 01: Retribution

Hela Ch. 01: Retribution

byEmirus©

Retribution: punishment inflicted on someone as vengeance for a wrongful or criminal act

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I set off early and within an hour was on the I-20 south of Birmingham, Alabama. Only two hours and I would be in Meridian for my first stop. The weather was terrible and as bad as I have ever driven in. Torrential rain had reduced visibility to 15 yards and I was in the first lane, doing 30, trying to hang on to the tail lights of the car in front. Despite the weather there were still truckers, in their juggernauts, thundering past, flexing their egos.

Thirty miles south and the rain stopped. What a relief! But the surface was still wet and you needed to drive easy so I stayed in the first lane. A car flashed past in the outside lane. The driver must have had it in cruise control because 100 yards on the car became airborne. The car soared through the air, straight into the rear of the car in front. It hit the other car on the driver's side and bounced off to the left, on to the median. Hit the grass, rolled over on to its roof, and ended up stationary in the dip. I drove on. Someone else could stop and help and call the highway police. I had more important business.

I pulled off the freeway into the outskirts of Meridian to fill up with gas. I still had half a tank never let it go below halfway. I always liked to have between half empty and full, because you never knew when you would need it. Particularly in my business.

There was a Denny's 200 yards from the gas station, and my growling stomach told me it was brunch time. I never ate breakfast. It always seemed to sit heavy on me and slowed me down, so it was always just two cups of coffee. But now I was ready for buttermilk pancakes, bacon strips and sunny side up eggs. Delicious and washed down with cool clear water. Flushes out the badness from within you. But in my case not all the badness.

Less than an hour later I was approaching the outskirts of a nondescript town, on the edge of the Bienville National Forest. Far too pleasant a location for the reason I was headed there. I was a long way from home, although I have travelled farther for work, and flying was often the best option on many occasions. But not this time. I found driving relaxing, listening to the music on the radio. Heavy metal from the 80's was my favourite. Certainly not that moronic and plastic rap crap.

In my line of work, and as a freelance, sometimes putting distance between home and work was an advantage.

Using a credit card in one of my various aliases, I'd booked a room online at the local Holiday Inn Express. Although money was no object, with the clients paying all expenses, you knew what you were getting when you stayed at an Express. Even when you're only staying a couple of nights you want to be comfortable. Checking in was easy, of course, and after the drive I wanted a long soak in a bath. I needed to relax and clear my head.

I decided to eat early to give me plenty of time to go over again the information that the clients had supplied. I'd already read it several times, committing it to memory, since the client had emailed it to me. But it never hurts to be 100% certain. I decided that, as it was summer, a plain blue skirt worn with a blue and white striped shirt was the way to go. Black shoes with 2" heels and, to top it off, a shoulder length brunette wig to hide my red hair. No jewellery, except for earrings and a Macy's watch. From experience I knew that nobody would remember me.

The hotel concierge recommended a restaurant just a couple of blocks away, within easy walking distance. I was more than a little disappointed when I saw the outside. It looked as if it hadn't seen paint since Elvis was a teenager, and inside it wasn't any better. Plank top tables, without tablecloths, and what looked like uncomfortable chairs. A cushion would have been a good addition. But surprisingly, from its appearance and the early hour, the place looked full and I thought I wasn't going to get a table. A guy wearing Levi's and a button down white shirt, that hung over his pants, scuttled over. He must have been told that wearing his shirt that way hid his belly. But I was sure that although it probably hid his belt buckle, his stomach was well on its way towards his knees.

He showed me to the worst table in any restaurant. It was only just big enough for two, which was fine, and squashed into a corner. But it was right next to the swing doors into the kitchen. One of those tables where, when you were eating, you had to keep your elbows in. Beggars can't be choosers and, as I wanted to eat, that's the way it had to be.

I'd just ordered when a guy on his own walked in, looking around for a table. The waiter went to him and you didn't have to be a lip reader to know what he was saying. I don't know what came over me but I got his attention and gestured to the seat opposite me. He said something to the waiter who looked at me, I nodded, and he escorted the guy across.

The upside was that the food was marvellous. Looked as if it had been thrown on to the plate from some distance away but it was delicious. I wanted something simple, so I didn't order an appetizers, and went straight to ordering a medium sirloin steak with a tomato and mozzarella salad. I'm a red wine girl so it had to be a large glass of Pinot Noir. It's supposed to be good for your health but I just like the taste. After the steak I couldn't resist the key lime pie. Fortunately I have the metabolism that allows me to eat anything without putting on the pounds. What the guy ordered I can't remember. Turns out he was on his way to New Orleans, had become tired behind the wheel, and decided to stop overnight. He was staying in the hotel next to the restaurant.

I wasn't surprised when he propositioned me. Who wouldn't want to try their luck with me? I'm no supermodel but I'm a pretty good looker. He was okay as well. Nothing spectacular. But okay, what the hell. Let's go for it. He paid the check just like a gentleman should, and within minutes we were in his room ripping the clothes off each other. Neither of wanted to make love. Or have sex. We fucked. I discovered he was in his mid-twenties, a little younger than me. He turned out to be fairly inexperienced. I was all over him. The full porn star treatment. I had his face between my thighs, and to be honest, he was crap at eating pussy. Not a bad kisser but that wasn't what I wanted anyway. I wanted to fuck and then get the hell out of there. I'd had a long day, and it wasn't finished yet, and I had a long day tomorrow.

I began with giving him a blowjob but stopped before finishing him off. Turns out he had come prepared, which was good because I wasn't in the mood to trail back to my hotel room. I ripped the packet open with my teeth and slid the rubber on his cock. Climbed on top, tip of his cock at my pussy entrance, and slipped on down in one smooth movement. Down to his balls quick because his length was only average, and rode him steady for a few minutes. Kept it easy because I didn't want him to come too soon. That was my prerogative. I thought I was never going to come so I stuck a couple of fingers in my cunt. Worked them in and out while my thumb flicked my clit. At last I felt my orgasm on its way, so I rode him hard and fast, working his cock with my pussy muscles. We came at the same time and I kept pumping him until he had nothing left. I was off the bed in a flash, told him thanks, had my clothes back on and out the door before he'd even got the rubber off.

I wanted a nap before going to work so I returned to my room, set the alarm for 7pm, and was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I had only counted a few sheep when the alarm went off. I was awake instantly. One of those things I'd always been able to do. Switch from sleep to instant action in seconds. It has come in handy on many occasions.

So why was I in "nobody's favourite vacation hangout?" I'd received a new contract three days ago and the clients wanted it done ASAP! Some guy who had got so far into debt with my clients, and who was now apparently without sufficient funds, that he was unable to discharge his obligations. Therefore there was only one possible course of action for my clients. Me!

Contact between a client and myself was always by email, with payment into an offshore bank account, to preserve my anonymity. I always received photos and relevant background information of "the subject" via encrypted memory stick. I inserted the stick, entered the password, and the screen lit up with the information.

He was a businessman who ran several businesses, some of which were legitimate, but most as fronts for more dubious enterprises. Not that I was interested in how he made his money. As was always the case, he was merely the subject of my next job.

I don't consider I'm sadistic by nature. But there have been occasions when it's been necessary to persuade subjects, against their will, to divulge information. So before leaving home I searched the web and found a suitable, sound proofed, dungeon a few miles out of town. It was available for hire on an hourly basis and I booked it for 48 hours, paying for it with the same credit card I'd used for the hotel and the rental I'd driven down in. All designed to minimise the chance of me being traced.

Although the premises were not close to town I hadn't wanted to run the possibility of being seen inspecting them. That's why I'd waited until after dark. The GPS coordinates were accurate, and within 10 minutes I had stopped on a quiet country road. I'd been told to look for a large rock with the initials "RTH" carved in it as though it was the work of some fricking kid carving his initials. To turn off onto a narrow dirt road that looked as if it led to nowhere. After 300 yards I came across an old barn that was badly in need of repair. There was a well hidden door lock, just as I had been told, and after entering the numeric code I entered the building.

Then came the surprise! There was a building within a building! There was a second door, again a numeric lock, that looked as though it had previously been on a bank vault. Behind the door a ten foot long corridor leading to a second door with doors on each side of the corridor.

Opening the door on the right I entered a luxuriously appointed bathroom. The usual fixtures including a shower big enough to hold 4 people, and probably had on occasion, six feet square, with three giant mushroom shower heads. All the toiletries you might want, on a shelf, and ten large fluffy bath towels.

The door on the left led, to my further amazement, into a kitchen. All necessary equipment including an oven, cooker, microwave, fridge, central heating unit, sink unit, and cutlery. In the centre of the kitchen was a solid oak table and chairs, and what looked like a very comfortable couch. All it needed was a bed and you could live here.

When couples rented no doubt it wouldn't only be the dungeon that was used.

I received a further surprise when I opened the door at the end of the corridor leading into the dungeon itself. A polished hardwood floor and a matching ceiling, above which was doubtless more sound insulation. The walls were quilted leather panels in either red or black leather.

To say the dungeon was well equipped would be an understatement. A St. Andrews cross; fetters wheel and suspension frame; leather body bags and strait jackets; shiny black leather swing and harnesses; spanking bench; metal cage; saw horse with pony saddle, bridles and cuffs; fully functioning stocks and pillory; floggers, whips, tawses, paddles, crops and even slippers hung on one wall; another wall had ropes; cuffs; gags; bridles and restraints; throne and torture seat; and a mirrored wall cupboard with, no doubt, other goodies inside.

The throne itself was very elaborate. Constructed from polished ebony and with the padded seat and back covered in red leather. The horseshoe shaped back was decorated with bright steel handcuffs linked together by gold rings, and topped with a black tiara decorated with reflective stones. At the end of each of the red leather armrests was a set of balls with drooping penis. One painted black and the other white.

Full height mirrors were fitted to the walls at intervals together with mirrors on the ceiling. In the corner was a shower the size of a double bath. I guessed what it was used for in addition to being used as a shower.

Now I understood why I had been told it wasn't necessary to bring my own "goody bag", but I'd brought it along anyway.

Removing the clothes I'd worn earlier I changed into tonight's work clothes of sneakers, jeans, roll top sweater, and peaked cord cap, all in black, together with a couple of other necessary items. Checked I was ready to go, and then set off to catch my prey. I already knew his favoured choice of relaxation, and which club he would be in. Unable to keep a partner his leisure time ranged from picking up a street hooker for a quickie, to renting the services of a high priced escort for the night.

From inside his car I watched him come out of the club, walk across to his car on unsteady feet, his companion supporting him, looking almost as drunk as Cooter Brown. He had obviously decided on a hooker and tonight's model was peroxide blonde, tall, slim, almost wearing a gold lame dress plus skyscraper heels. How she managed to stay on her feet whilst supporting him was amazing. He had one arm over her shoulder, his hand inside her dress fondling her tit.

He probably intended to take her somewhere quiet to fuck her, or maybe just get a blow job in his condition, and then throw her out of the car to find her own way back. She might be lucky and, in exchange for a lift home, donate a fuck to a good samaritan.

I heard the click as the doors unlocked. The hooker walked around to the passenger side as he fell into the driver's seat. She opened the door, not for a moment expecting him to open it for her, and slid into the passenger seat. Ass on the seat, swung her legs in, closed her door, and bent over his lap reaching for his zipper. Locking the doors , he went to press the electronic ignition. Rising up from the rear seat, I grasped his hair with one hand wrenching back his head. With the other hand I pressed the chloroform pad over his mouth and nose. As usual, it only took a few moments before he was unconscious.

In the few seconds that had elapsed the hooker was still bobbing her head up and down on his cock. I tapped her on the head, she looked up in surprise, and before she could make a sound I had the chloroform pad over her mouth and within seconds she was unconscious as well. I reclined her seat and adjusted her so she looked as if she was asleep.

I dragged him from his car and hoisted him over my shoulder. I had, over time, perfected the technique. Regular trips to the gym and bodybuilding exercises helped. I returned to his car, reclined the passenger seat, and adjusted her body as if she was sleeping.

The subject had been married twice. A known wife beater but, because of his contacts and paying off the relevant authorities, no action had ever been taken against him. No children. His first wife had run away whilst pregnant and, despite all his efforts, he had been unable to find her. He didn't know what had happened to her or even if she had gone through with the birth. His second wife had an unfortunate accident when she fell down the stairs and broke her neck. That had explained the severe bruising to her body? She had been cremated very quickly after her death.

I got him back to the dungeon and fastened, naked, into a chair within 30 minutes. That's when I changed into my "time to play" outfit. Black latex catsuit; knee high shiny black leather boots; 4" metal stiletto spiked heels; and wearing a black latex hood that showed only my lips and eyes. Finished off with soft black leather gloves that reached up to my elbows. I offset the austere look with four imitation diamond rings on my right hand.

When he awoke he found himself tied to the chair. His calves were roped to the legs; his forearms roped to the arms. I'd fastened a dog collar around his neck which had a fixed metal ring at the back, connecting the ring, with some cord, to the rear of the chair's seat. This pulled his head back into a very uncomfortable position. Excellent!

His initial reaction was to call me a bitch and spit in my face. He missed, but I didn't. I slapped him across the face, hard, followed by backhanding him. The rings on my right hand sliced across his cheeks, leaving him in pain, looking like he had been clawed by a tiger. Ripped the skin, but not enough to cause excessive blood loss.

"Who the fuck are you?" He slurred. "Why're ya doin' this t'me?"

I didn't answer. Instead I placed the sole of my foot on his dick and ground a stiletto heel into his balls. An agonising scream shot from his mouth. Tears ran down his face as he again asked "why're ya doin' this t'me?" His voice, now quieter, had that pleading tone, coupled with alcohol, that came from someone who knows they are at the other person's mercy. Not that there would be any mercy!

"You owe a lot of money to my clients. I don't know how much and I don't care. The men you deal with are no longer prepared to accept your promises to repay them. You know they aren't men to annoy, and they wanted something done. They requested my help and are paying me very well for my services. Because I'm the best at what I do. My instructions are to deal with you in any manner I think fit. After which they'll take over your businesses, and find the stash you have undoubtedly gotten hidden away."

His fear hung in the air like storm clouds over a polished glass lake.

I reached inside my goody bag and produce a black latex oblivion hood. I slipped it over his head and zipped it up the back, leaving only his eyes and mouth visible. I buckled on the detachable eye mask, but decided to leave off the mouth mask for the time being. He now couldn't see or hear anything which suited my intentions perfectly.

I removed my hood, took my headphones from my goody bag, plugged into my MP3 player and settled back into the throne to listen to the music. He struggled against his bonds but, after a few minutes, gave up. Eventually his head sank towards his chest. After twenty minutes, knowing he had lost all sense of time, I decided to continue his discomfort.

After putting my headphones and player away, and replacing my mask, I stood before him and unbuckled the eye mask. His eyes blinked rapidly, readjusting to the light. He appealed to what he thought was one of my vices. Greed.

"Whatever ya gettin' paid I'll pay double. I'll leave town. I'll leave the country. You're clever enough to make up a good reason why there's no body." He was sobering up fast and his desperate pleading was amusing to watch.

"How can you pay me double when you don't know how much I'm getting paid? Anyhow where's the money coming from? You've no money otherwise you'd have paid your debts." In circumstances like these I find it's best to speak softly and not lose your cool.

"I've got money stashed away," he babbled. "It's hidden in my house. Release me and I'll get it for you."

"You're appealing to my greed? But I'm not greedy, you dumb fuck." I told him in a matter of fact tone of voice. Because it was true. I get paid so much for my services that I don't have to be greedy. Although I am guilty of the sins of pride, lust, envy and wrath. Lust is my favourite. What I do does work up an appetite. That's when I often have to satisfy my hunger.

He screamed at me that he would triple my fee, not knowing what my fee was, and apparently didn't realise what an idiot he was, so I told him. "You are such a stupid guy. You've just told me where your hidden stash is, so I'll pass that information on to my clients. Your brain is about as useful as tits on a bull. But right now I need to be on my way because I want a good night's sleep, which I won't get staying here."

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