Story Two Ch. 03

Wednesday came, and so did Mark Welch, to the club. He paced around looking at the objects hanging on the wall. He scoffed and muttered things under his breath. Finally he said he could do a deal, but he was a bit short of the necessary funds. I knew handing over the money would make me the buyer, and it wasn't a good idea, but I made him think I hadn't thought of that. Eventually I agreed to get him the cash. The one thing he wouldn't agree on was me accompanying him to Spain. I didn't want to let the money out of my sight.

"Well, while you're here, would you like a tour?"

He didn't seem too interested, but I coaxed him into going down stairs, and started showing him the rooms. At first he seemed to want to rush through them, but gradually he started asking about bits of the equipment. I watched him swish a few whips through the air.

"Has Sharon seen all of this?"

"Some of it, she brought her boyfriend here once. She seemed a little unnerved by it all. You know I asked her to try the table."

"What table?"

"It is in the next room."

We went into the room and I watched as Mark's fingers ran over the leather restraints. He seemed deep in thought, finally he said, "That table looks a bit uncomfortable."

"It is supposed to be, it's for punishment. Maybe I should have put Sharon on it, she still hasn't gone yet, and I think, she has been stealing money from me."

I watched Welch's hand run over the table, and I knew what he was thinking.

"Okay, I've got half an hour, tell me what you do to women down here."

I smiled to myself and refilled his glass from the bottle I was carrying.

"Well, most of it is just play acting with a little pain, but if I had a reason to dish it out to someone, well, I think I could make their misery last for a few hours. Maybe someone like..."

"...someone like, Sharon perhaps?" he said finishing my sentence.

We grinned, and then started laughing, together.

"Just suppose I did let you come with me to pick up the, stuff. Could you get her down here?"

I placed the bottle on the table, and picked up one of the leather cuffs with the length of chain attached to the table. I toyed with it, hoping to stir his imagination further.

"I think so, and who knows, maybe I could have her boyfriend hanging over there, watching."

Welch squinted into the dark corner. I flicked a switch and a spotlight illuminated a huge wooden cross along the wall, side on to the table. Welch grinned again, and stepped over to the cross. He reached up and yanked on the leather cuffs. He spun round quickly, with a delighted grin on his face.

"How would we keep them from going to the police?" he asked, holding out his empty glass.

He was involving himself in it now, after just a few short minutes, I had convinced him it was a real possibility. I poured more whisky into the glass.

I grinned like his question was a little ridiculous, "Surely that is obvious. Why would they be here in the first place? I could convince the police the masked Dom had got a little carried away with his whipping."

"What masked Dom?"

I grinned again, "Either me....or you," I said handing him a whip.

He swished it in the air a few times, and then brought it down hard on the table. The cracking sound echoed round the room.

"Maybe we could both administer her punishment," he said looking at me.

"Well, I suppose we shouldn't forget her boyfriend. I'm guessing he shouldn't be left out."

Welch walked round the room, looking at various paddles, ropes, and the swing hanging from the ceiling.

"You could lay her across the two planks, and swing her onto your cock right in front of him, isn't that what she wanted, an audience?"

"Sharon told you about that?" he asked sounding a little surprised.

"Why wouldn't she? I brought her here and that might have stirred her confession, seeing all these things, and the people in their various costumes. Part of the fun is the taunting, seeing the fear in your submissive, watching their eyes and hearing their pleading as I'm sure you can imagine, it is a big part of the whole thing."

"But our voices, they, well Sharon would recognise us."

"Not with a voice box, and as long as we kept details she would know out of it. You know it takes practice giving someone what they want, the pain I mean. You have to know when to stop. I could maybe convince her and her boyfriend down here, and her to just sample the table. Before they knew what was happening I'd have them both cuffed. I'd tell her I was going to leave her there for a couple of minutes."

Welch smiled as he tipped the booze down his throat, and swirled round what was left in the glass.

"So you leave her there, come out of the room, and a few moments later go back in?"

I nodded, "I'd change first," and from then on she wouldn't know who it was."

"When you said about knowing when to stop, with the pain, what if you or we can't stop?"

I grinned back at him and said, "Well, that will be up to you, and let's face it, we aren't playing with them like the people who usually come down here. This isn't an act, it is real, but we have to gradually build to that, it is an art. When they both realise we aren't playing games, the fear on their faces will get you harder than you have ever been before."

He backed away a little, and turned to stare at the cross. He was embarrassed by the way his face was giving up secrets to me, about how turned on he was. He came back to the table, and slowly ran his finger tips down the length of it.

"Have you ever seen a woman fisted, and I don't mean punched, I mean having a hand inserted in her cunt? There was a woman who wanted that done to her. I had here strapped to this very table, man did she squeal like a pig. Eventually when my wrist disappeared she started begging and squealing for me to stop," I took a sip of my drink, letting him take in the picture.

"And did you, stop?"

I pointed up to the camera, "That had been switched off," I said and started grinning.

"So you didn't stop?"

"Well, the dumb bitch couldn't remember the safe word."

He started laughing, and then stopped himself, "Sharon would remember the safe word."

"You're missing the point, she won't get one."

He started laughing again, and clapped his hands together.

"Okay, I'll get the tickets. You, me, and that doorman of yours are going to Spain."

He handed me the empty glass, slapped my back, grinned, and then left the room.

10 minutes later Amanda Barkley entered the room. I took of my jacket and shirt, and one of her operatives started peeling the tape from my body, which held the small microphone and wire in place.

"Well, I guess we have got what we wanted, me escorting Welch to Spain?"

She said nothing, which I found a little a little unusual. She leant her ass on the table with her arms folded. For some reason she was just staring at me, with her grey eyes under her brown fringe.

"I'll get a cab back to the station," she muttered.

The guy holding the microphone glanced at the detective, questioning her with a puzzled look on his face, although he didn't speak.

She pushed herself off the table, still with her arms folded, "Have you anything you want to say to me?" she almost snapped at him.

"No Ma'am."

He left closing the door.

"I get the impression I've made you angry, or I've said something to Welch that I shouldn't have?"

"You really don't know, do you?" she said in a biting tone

She uncrossed her arms and stepped forward. I tried not to look at her jutting breasts half hidden under her black jacket and white blouse. She noticed and shook her head slightly, and then stood there waiting for me to make eye contact.

"You know, two of my officers in that small van outside, kept looking at each through your little description. Then they started taking glances at me."

"I can't believe you found that embarrassing."

She took a half step forward and then stopped herself. She was going to say something, but what came out of her mouth, wasn't her first choice of words.

"Do you enjoy doing, this?" she said spreading her arms like she was offering the contents of the room.

"It has its moments...perhaps you should try it, it might relax you, and relieve the tension."

Her eyes narrowed, "You bastard. How could you talk about that woman you, fisted like that?"

"Detective, do you really think that happened? I was setting him up, making sure he got lured in. I'll admit I did have woman here who wanted that, and she got it, but as soon as she said the safe word I pulled out."

"I ought to lock you up along with Welch," she hissed.

"Look so a couple of officers got embarrassed, or you got embarrassed."

"Don't be bloody stupid. I worked on vice for 6 years, I've seen stuff that would make you puke."

"Well, perhaps embarrassed was the wrong word."

"Don't say another word, I'm warning you," she snarled.

I guess I had myself to blame, I just couldn't resist winding the early 40's slim 5'7" detective in the black knee length skirt suit, up.

"So they got a little turned on, or, did you?"

I watched a little shocked I must admit, as she took off her jacket and placed it on the door hook. She kicked off her shoes all the time watching my eyes. She then did something most peculiar, she yanked off her wedding ring, and then pushed it in her jacket pocket.

She picked up a whip and stood facing me again. I grinned and offered to take the whip. Quick as a flash, she grabbed my hand and spun me round, bending me over the table. She climbed on the table and held my left arm up my back with her knee. I felt a snap on my wrist.

"Other arm, now!" She panted and ground her knee into my back.

I cried out in pain, but quickly moved my arm for her. She pulled my cuffed arm straight and bent it up at the shoulder. She did the same with my other arm, and then snapped the cuff on my right wrist, after feeding it quickly through the huge ring at the head of the table.

There was a still silence for a moment, apart from two panting people.

"Well, do it then, use the whip on me?"

"No, I, I shouldn't have done this, to, to you," she stammered.

"Go on do it...fucking whip me, and get whatever it is out of your system."

"I can't. I'll lose my badge."

"I'm not going to tell anyone, we are alone and..."

"And what?" she mumbled faintly.

"I can feel your wet pussy leaking through your knickers and tights, and onto my bare back."

"You bastard," she spat, angrily this time.

"You know, I bet you'd have the piss taken out of you down at the station. You're the one who got turned on in the van; could they smell your pussy Amanda? Is that why in that small cramped van, they were looking at each other?"

"Oh no, you can't wind me up like that you fucking prick."

"Well then untie me, and put your wedding ring back on, before you forget and go home. I wonder, what would your husband say, Amanda?"

She jumped off my back, and the next thing I knew the whip was crashing down where her wet pussy had been. The first few strokes weren't the usual testing flicks I have administered so many times in the past; they were full on filled with venom and hate. My teeth were locked together, and the only sounds were my strangled cries, Amanda's heaving grunts, and the whip swishing through the air, and then landing on my flesh.

After about 8 whacks in quick succession, I heard the whip hit the floor. I was spun on my back, and frantic fingers, minus the wedding ring, tore at my trousers and pants, pulling them down to my knees. I winced part in pain from the whipping, and part in pleasure as she jerked my cock rapidly.

"Your mouth would be a treat," I hissed, due to the pain of being on my back.

"I'm not a fucking slut," she spat, and then slapped my face.

Neither her words nor her stinging slap did I understand. No, not a slut, who took of her wedding ring then, and did that make what she was doing, outside of her marriage?!

She was still in frantic mode, as I heard Amanda tearing at material, and when I lifted my head up, I saw her tan tights ripped open, her white panties pulled to one side, and her pussy dripping right over my hard throbbing cock. She hesitated for a moment, as doubt flicked through her eyes.

"Tell me Amanda, how does a woman like you get promotion?"

Her eyes narrowed considerably, almost like I had hit a raw nerve, "What the fuck have you heard?"

"Nothing, I'm just teasing you."

She lowered herself on me. This was the only time she slowed from the panicking slut she said she wasn't. As soon as she ground down, testing I guess she wasn't going to hurt herself, the bouncing started hard and fast, and never stopped through my orgasm, until she had hers, which she wailed, and whimpered through, until she collapse forward, sobbing into my chest!

She pushed herself up, straightened her skirt and undid the cuffs. Her hands were frantic, and she couldn't get the key in the tiny hole.

"Take a breath and relax."

She looked at me, and then did what I had suggested. As I sat up she screwed her eyes up and turned her head after seeing the welts on my back.

"Are you going to, to report me?"

Before I could say anything she turned away and rushed for the door. As it opened I slammed it shut again.

"No, I'm not going to report you, for fuck's sake calm down. Now, tell me where that came from."

She shook her head, "No, I can't."

She went to open the door again, but I slammed it shut. She tugged once more but I held it firm. It was now she passed from a strong police detective, to a woman.

Finally her body slumped, and looking some what defeated, she nodded, "Can we get out of here, and go back to the bar?"

"No, we'll go to my office, it's more private there."

I poured a glass of wine for Amanda, and helped myself to a strong rum and coke.

"I can't drink, I'm on duty."

I forced the glass back at her. She took a tentative sip, and then a large gulp. I handed her the first aid box and sat on my desk with my back to her.

"Would you mind?" I asked.

"Oh fuck, I really hurt you, didn't I?"

"I've had worse, and recently. Now tell me why you got so carried away."

"It's nothing to do with you," she spat.

"I know, but whatever it is I'm not going to judge you, I'm not Judge Jeffreys."

She stopped dabbing at the blood on my back, and then started again.

"I think I'd be hung for doing that if he was around. Okay, I'll tell you. I was in vice and sex crimes before drugs. I had to go undercover in my first year. There was a guy who, well, we were trying to catch. He liked the, well the beatings, receiving them I mean, and then giving them out. He had attacked several women, prostitutes who he had paid to whip him, and then when they had finished, he reversed things. He beat them to near death."

"Well wasn't it easier to get the pros to identify him, from a line up or something?"

"He used the high end pros, by phone. He would use hotel rooms. The door would be open, and he'd be in the bathroom when they turned up. The money was laid out for them, and he'd appear from the bathroom in a mask, so they never saw his face. One girl ran, but others didn't. Seeing twice what the agreed price was, lying on a table, well I suppose it was easy money for just whipping someone, and made it too good to refuse. He had abused four prostitutes, which we know about, maybe more than that never came forward."

"And you went undercover, and couldn't do it?"

"No, I was young and ambitious, some of the other officers were jealous of me, because I was, well, I was seeing someone in the police department. I got accused of trying to fuck my way to promotion."

"I see, and that's why you got angry with me earlier."

"Anyway, I went undercover, and met him in a hotel room. He came in from the bathroom and secured himself to the bed. I was then supposed to go through his things."

"Why didn't you just call the squad in?"

"Because we had no proof, he wore different colour masks with each girl, and he spoke in different accents each time. I told him I needed five minutes, and managed to go through his pockets. There wasn't even so much as a scrap of paper, not even any coins."

"Well that would be suspicious for a start."

"I know. Deep down I knew it was him, but I couldn't prove it. We had no evidence, nothing to say he was the right man. I was supposed to leave at that point, if I had his name or something which might tie him to the others, but there was nothing. Even the hotel reservations were made by phone or by a typed letter all giving different names."

"What about when he phoned for the girls?"

"He never used the same agency, and he used different accents. Anyway I made a decision. I started whipping him, lightly. He told me to put some effort into it. So I did, I got harder and harder, until he started screaming in pain. He told me to stop, and then he begged me to stop. I started yelling at him to confess. I hit him harder and harder. Eventually the door burst open. He had all the answers, he sat crying, wanting to know why I had attacked him. He did the real scared rabbit routine, even worrying about his girl friend finding out."

"God, I'm surprised you are still in the police."

"I was disciplined, and the guy I was seeing was, well, high up in the police."

"So he helped you?"

"God no, it was suggested, it wouldn't look good for him, if I was dropped from the police force, so he had to drop me, which he did."

"Sorry, that must have been difficult for you."

"Not really. Anyway, what made it easier was the guy I whipped never made a claim for compensation."

"So was it him or not?"

"Oh it was him; he brushed past me a few months later. He said it'll be my turn one day."

"And he's locked up?"

"No, I told my commanding officer about bumping into him, and he told me to forget about it, as he had stopped his sick little game, and catching him was virtually impossible, despite what he said to me in the street. So I got given a sideways shift to drugs. Naturally a few officers found out, and they never let me forget, especially one, Adrian Griffin is his name. He was my rival for promotion at the time. He was bloody cruel to me. One day one of the officers was retiring, and Griffin came up to me and said we were having a whip round for old Bates. I got my purse out and then stopped, as he lowered a cane on my desk. The rest of them were laughing, he whispered in my ear that Bates might like it, if not he would, but he'd like to whip my ass."

"Well, couldn't you report him or something?"

"There was no need; I got promotion, when everyone assumed Griffin would get it, hence the accusations. I think I'd better go, and I'm sorry I hurt you."

"What about the wedding ring?"

"It belonged to my mother. I wear it so I can always be near her."

When I got back home I threw my shirt in the laundry. An hour later Sharon called me to the kitchen, she was stood by the washing machine holding my shirt.

"What happened? The back of your shirt is covered in blood."

"I had a friend who got a little carried a way at the club, it's nothing really."

"I thought you said there were controls, or was that just for my benefit?"

"Sharon, it was a private thing, it is nothing to do with you."

My shirt got thrown in my face, and she marched past me, leaving me to carry on with the washing.

Welch and I went to Spain. Welch handed over the money I had given him, and then he said it was time to go. We went back to our hotel.

"So how do we get this on the plane?"

"Relax, it'll be delivered to the plane," Welch said, "one of the baggage handlers will pick it up in the morning, then he slips it in the baggage compartment. Another handler at Heathrow grabs it as it is being unloaded, and we meet him at the perimeter fence, where he throws it over to us. You don't think I'm stupid enough to actually have the stuff until we get back home, do you? Now wipe the case, we don't want all our finger prints over it."