The Dark Star - Aftermath Pt. 08

Walking up behind her I take the opportunity to cast my eye over him slim bound physique. The black suspender belt and black fishnet stockings her only clothing, spare for her heels

In the dim red light of the room, I step close behind her. Sensing her tense just a little more as I lower my zip fly.

"Be gentle" she looks back over her shoulder at me as best she can. The simple demure act and request cause a stir in my dick as I position myself against her. She inhales deeply as she feels me. My left hand holds her hip tightly as my right guides my dick into her. Her initial gasps become little, short panting breathes as I slowly enter her bound body unopposed. Pushing forward with my hips as I fully impale her.

Rose Callaghan like so many others before her submits, gives herself to me, to be used.

"You feel so good Rose" I whisper in her ear as I press myself up against her "Oh god you feel so good."

*********

She couldn't breathe freely.

Nothing restricted her breath, but she couldn't breathe.

She held her body tense, not with the fear or trepidation she'd early felt but with the exhilaration and the sensations she felt at his total control over body. Her body strapped to the simple yet effective device; held in place by the restraints applied to her wrists, waist, thighs, and ankles.

Reticence when they'd entered the private room, reticence that had turned increasingly to intrigue as she sat there sipping from the champagne the hostess had brought to the room. Intrigue that become confidence. Confidence enhanced by the two lines of cocaine coursing through her blood steam, but she wanted this, she needed this. However immoral it felt, however asexual the experience could have been, it wasn't.

The restraint, the control, the trust she held in him triggered feelings in her that she didn't know she held. Deep hidden desires fulfilled with his firm control, his increasing intensity, his total control of her body fading to insignificance compared to the total control he was beginning to take of her mind.

The trust that while he served his own needs, he also took care to ensure that she was genuinely assured of his best intentions.

Without the trust he'd built she knew she'd never have given herself to him like this. She would never have surrendered her physical body and he would not be causing the feelings, the emotions, the sensations that gripped her very being.

Physically she could feel him.

Emotionally she could feel him.

Her body aching from the exertion.

Her mind aching for so much more.

Relaxing, appreciating him she raised her head. Not turning back, she cast her eye to the window she faced. A hundred different bodies moving and gyrating the other side of the thick glass, their bodies cast in various intermittent flashing lights shone on them from the ceiling. Girls pressed up against guys, girls pressed up against girls. None of them feeling how she felt in this moment.

Her breathe held in her chest still on excited short sharp inhales, physically she clenched herself around him, feeling him but more acutely than ever feeling what he was doing to her.

Rose Callaghan completely surrendered to him not just physically but mentally.

The word indigo never once even entered her mind.

**********

I watch as she slips the short, fitted leather jacket back over her frame.

Fully dressed again she subconsciously rubs the pressure marks over her wrists as she fixes me with a gaze.

Looking at me as she's never looked at me before.

I grin, flashing her a knowing subtle grin that's returned with a smile from her petite lips. The simple physical gestures say more than a thousand words could ever say. Her heavy climax while strapped to the cross barely fifteen minutes ago wrote chapters in a book. I move to her and wrap my arms around her, physically taller than her I look down into her wide eyes. The passion and the intensity all too apparent. Gently I lower my head and kiss her forehead.

"I... I never felt so ...so..."

She struggles to find the words I hold her patiently waiting for the verb to pass her lips.

"Alive" she finally utters, the look of guilt on her face stirs me more than the words themselves.

"I wasn't sure if..."

"No" she cuts across me "No it's like .... it's like you've awakened something .... it's like I should .... like I should've... thank you... is thank you the right thing to..."

"I think I sensed your gratitude." I can't help but state as I darkly smirk, my mind reminiscing how her body had reacted how I'd goaded the climax from her shortly prior to my own moment buried deep in her bound body.

"I wish I could have seen your face." I honestly state.

"That's..." she gently shakes her head beneath the dark bobbed wig "...that's what made it even more intense."

I look to my watch, despite the room being block booked for the evening.

"What now?" I suggest as I release my grip from around her waist. Rose Callaghan simply clings to me.

"You're going to hate me" she says looking up at me.

"I couldn't" I state sincerely.

"I... I think I should go home."

Her reaction surprises me a little "Are you expected?"

"I'm worried ...worried that if it gets out, I left the course early ...if he finds out."

I nod accepting her reasoning.

"It's not that I want to," she starts to overcompensate.

"I understand," I state calmly.

"After what just happened ...the way you make me feel ...fuck if you only knew half of what was going around my mind right now."

"If you love someone you let them go" I state looking into her eyes.

"Did you?" She shakes her head her eyes not leaving my gaze "Did you just say that?"

"I did"

Leaning forward I accept her embrace and the deep passionate kiss that ensues.

Let her go, let her be free, in my mind I know that I have her where I want her. I hold her in the palm of my hand, she slips deeper blissfully unaware into my manipulation.

Pulling in the beautiful young Detective. Feeding her passions, unlocking her desires. The emotional leash and restraint on which I hold her soon to be replaced by their physical equivalent.

**********

Callaghan stepped out of taxi a little after 1am

She looked up at their flat, her home which suddenly started to feel a little alien a little too much like someone else's home, someone else's lifestyle.

She took the lift from the communal entrance to the 3rd floor still dressed in the cheap black skirt and top under her black leather jacket. The same clothes he'd slowly stripped from her body in the privacy of that dimly lit room. Her mind still alive with the intensity that Andrew Baxter had brought to her body.

Her key slid slowly silently into the lock as she turned it and slowly swung open the door. Slipping her feet from the high heels she wore so as to be able to pad gently across laminate flooring. Placing the shoes in the hallway she walked silently past the living area and the master bedroom to the kitchen at the rear of the flat in darkness. Cursing as she accidentally scraped the aluminium chair back from the kitchen table.

She needed a drink, briefly her mind passed to the kettle. Moments later on bent knees she reached her hand to the back of a cupboard and retrieved a squat round bottle. A Christmas gift overlooked at the time sat at the back of the cupboard since December.

Setting the bottle on the table she took a glass from the draining board, cracking open the top of the bottle for the first time she poured a large measure, even the familiar smell triggered memories. Raising the glass, she inhaled smelling the sweetness of the dark liquid. She took a swig and it instantly reminded her of him, the taste of his kisses.

Rose Callaghan sat back in the chair with the glass of brandy before her. In the bedroom she heard her fiancé, Simon, as he stirred in his sleep.

Looking down to the diamond set ring on the back of her left hand.

It wasn't fair what she was doing to him.

It wasn't fair what she was doing to herself.

The conflict that had always been there, her moral duty to the man she had been with and lived with for years. It wasn't his fault, he done nothing wrong, in all the years they'd been together he'd never wronged her. Their lives together had been mapped out for years, without question, until she'd met Andrew Baxter.

She took a large swig of brandy, near draining the glass. It wasn't his fault he couldn't make her feel like Andrew Baxter did. She couldn't live this lie for much longer, the truth would only hurt Simon and he deserved so much better than that. Pulling the black wig from her head she placed it before her on the table.

Who had she become?

Shaking her head, not with remorse, but in disbelief at how this man had walked into her world and turned it so spectacularly on its head.

She'd not walk away from this with any pride or with any sympathy from their friends and their respective families who'd all be impacted. At times it seemed the only subject of conversation for everyone had been the planning and anticipation of next June's wedding date.

Andrew Baxter was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode and destroy everything around her.

Andrew Baxter would be seen as the bad man as she'd been seen as the callous bitch.

Callaghan knew differently though.

Andrew Baxter was such a good man.

**********

I strain.

My left hand clamped over her mouth and jaw in the darkness of her bedroom.

Wide eyed she looks up at me shocked unable to believe what's playing out.

Pinning her naked body to the bed I fuck her. A slow hard deep fuck that lets her feel me as I stretch her around me.

Muffled by my hand she attempts to speak, her unfathomable words lost and replaced by a muffled groan as I draw back before thrusting myself deeply back into her as she lays there beneath me. I use her and after a prolonged slow-paced fuck I finally cum deep in her young body as trembling she clings to me. Breathless and still in disbelief she shakes her head as she gazes past me focussed seemingly on the ceiling.

"Do I wanna know how you got in here?" She whispers as I gently swirl my hips, my dick still buried in her tight little entrance.

"I'm surprisingly resourceful," I grin as I brush her hair off her face.

"How the fuck did you even know which room was mine?" she states her voice still not raising above a whisper.

"Lucky guess," I smirk.

"You can't stay," she brings her gaze back to mine as my fingers gently trace the outline of a flower head tattoo on her left shoulder.

"Aww..." I quietly mock "...I thought you could introduce me to Mummy and Daddy over breakfast."

"No fucking chance," she answers with a level of mild disbelief that makes me wonder if she realised that I'd been joking.

Slipping from her I sit on the edge of the bed, practically fully clothed.

"By the way Hetti...." I look back as she props herself up on an elbow and pulls the duvet cover over her pale, slim, colourfully decorated body "...How was your family meal?"

Chapter Two; Debt

I watch her.

Her eyes locked on mine.

Her pupils dilated.

The cocaine has her in its grip, as do I.

She lowers her head back to the table and I glance around, she is less than subtle. I can offer her protection of sorts, but I know it doesn't pay to draw attention.

She inhales the second line of fresh neat cocaine.

If PC Lee Baines information is correct, then the undercover operation and investigation of drugs pushing in the club is not to be taken lightly. There's an invisible hand around the neck of The Dark Star that I'm not used to operating in conjunction with. Slowly but surely, I'm weeding out the unsavoury types, the cancer of the amateur little cartels that operated within the Dark Star, the amateur gangs of thugs that had manifest like a spreading tumour under the Clubs former ownership, hopefully it's not too little too late. I've no idea how I managed to operate without suspicion when I previously ran the venue, I was certain my tactful almost clandestine approach to supplying narcotics greatly assisted.

My attention is back to Hetti as she raises her head from the table gently rubbing the underside of her nose the second thick line that the young Red Head has inhaled in the last minute. She extends a slender arm and takes her vodka, lime and soda and with a swift swig she removes the no doubt acrid aftertaste that's in the back of her mouth.

"There are other ways to get rid of the taste" I grin.

"Yeah but... Vodka tastes better than jizz" she raises an eyebrow immediately in tune with my dark thought. "Besides I wanna dance .... come dance with me."

"I never danced when I could dance," I state bluntly.

"Arthritis?" she smirks and yet again I let her brattish little response pass "...or a dodgy hip?"

My hand slips across her shoulder and around the back of her neck through her red hair. I turn a little towards her and meet those green eyes and her deliciously wicked grin. I drop my head to her left and whisper into ear.

"You may well want to dance .... but there was something I was after."

Immediately I start to apply gentle pressure to the back of her neck.

Her little black leather shorts slip back across the seat of the booth, black patterned tights and black ankle boots cover her lower body. A dark red long sleeve tight fitting top hugs her upper body.

She doesn't protest, she doesn't object, simply obediently fixing those green eyes on me as she lowers herself down into my crotch. Under the level of the table while the club carries on around us, every single patron completely unaware of what's playing out between the two of us, I unzip my fly and pull myself out.

Hetti sweeps back her hair a little as I briefly glance down, her head over me before I feel the warmth of her mouth as she runs her lips along the shaft of my dick.

She drops her head low into my crotch, and I feel her tongue begin to work, her cheeks hollow as she starts to bob her head up and down. I'm fully erect in no time at all my grip on the back of her neck tightens as I feel the tip of my dick graze the back of her young mouth, she doesn't protest she simply relaxes her jaw and accommodates me as her tongue keeps wrapping around my shaft and obediently, she sucks away on my dick under the level of the table.

I clear my throat with a groan and take a sip from a tumbler of brandy, relaxing back into the seat paying no attention to anything around me as Hetti Harding keeps taking me deep into her young mouth.

"Fuck" I groan, stimulate by her impressive action. My comment barely audible even to her over the sound of the loud dance music. "Fuck that's feels good."

I look down at her. Henrietta Harding, Hetti as she much preferred to be known, the eighteen-year-old daughter of Mark Harding, local Member of Parliament. The youngest of his three Children Henrietta studies A levels at St Josephine's Girls School, a twenty grand a year private education establishment. It's amazing what you can discover about someone with the briefest of internet searches these days. Mark Harding was recently re-elected to Parliament but also no doubt receives healthy salary boosts in his capacity as a Director for 3 Multinationals; according to Wikipedia Harding has interests in nature conservation, Golf and is an avid supporter of the Aston Villa football team. Strangely enough Wikipedia doesn't list the MP's other pleasure, despite the increasing prominence of vile rumour. The self-portrayed family man takes pleasure from sadistic treatment of prostitutes whom he has mascaraed as young girls.

Poor Chloe had discovered this first-hand when she gained his trust a little over a year ago. That Chloe couldn't bring herself to discuss the level of depravity she'd at times been made to face spoke volumes. I'd not seen or heard much from Mark Harding in the last 12 months, his sixty-thousand-pound donation in order to gain our silence had been gratefully received at the time. There was never any suggestion that Harding engaged in anything more sinister than fantasy. "No smoke without fire" as Chloe had bluntly pointed out at the time. Personally, I don't think he was capable, but I couldn't disagree.

The irony of his youngest daughter's mouth impaled by my dick wasn't lost on me. I had standards though. This was different, she was different. From that first night as the Mask Ball something about her had captivated me. While not completely obscuring her face the attraction had been less physical more primal. There had been something, I'd sensed about the slender red head from the moment we'd engaged. A maturity far beyond her years. Her confident brash persona had hooked me by time as I'd escorted her from the Dark Star mere hours after meeting her. Taking her home, removing of her clothing had revealed so much more of her to me than physical attraction.

The unique colourful tattoo art she'd spent hours enduring the application of that secretly covered huge swathes of naturally pale skin. As if her body told a story. Her naturally pale skin tone enhancing the vivid colours off set by her natural red hair and unbelievably jade green eyes. As I'd told her; she was a work of art. I envied whoever had been responsible for working with the blank canvas her slender body must once have been. With no shame Hetti hides her tattoos, 'her secrets' as she calls them. I find it impossible to capture, with her very deliberately chosen wardrobe of clothes, even a glimpse of an edge of one of the bold designs, when she's fully clothed. Something she's not very often whenever she's in my company these days.

"One day" she'd told me on enquiring "One day I'll let the whole world see .... I won't care what anyone thinks .... until then they're my secrets ...to share sparingly"

I wonder if her friends even know of the ink work daubed across her body. Her family almost certainly don't. I feel privileged to be one of the select few. Her tattoos don't define her, but they hint at the double life the confident rebellious young Hetti leads when compared to the demure, attentive innocent young Henrietta. Seen as the dutiful daughter to her upper-class family living between the City Town House and the rural family homestead. As her head bobs gently in my lap it's not incomprehensible to assume that absolutely nobody knows the real Henrietta Harding.

She's impulsive, she's reckless and free spirited but her ability to slip figuratively from Hetti to Henrietta suggests to the hidden level of intelligence and cold calculating malice that she's very adept at. I've never met Henrietta, I intend to.

My hand runs firmly over her neck, I control her, but I don't hold her against her will. Her slender elegant neck not adorned by any tattoos. Her slender elegant neck which I long to wrap with a thick leather collar. At the moment I hook her with the allure and the lifestyle, provide her with the opportunity to enhance the lifestyle of her wilder persona. I have a plan for her, a plan to slowly bend her to my will. All the while though unlike Ari yet much like Chloe I'm uncertain if she's the one playing me.

Hetti builds her style and increases her pace as I press myself deeper into her talented little mouth.

I intend to test her further.

My plan will play out.

**********

"Change your face ... that scowls putting off the punters" Jamie teases as she squeezes past Jack Hughes behind the main bar.

"He's here again," Jack near snarled.

"Who?" Jamie feigned indifference not wishing to be drawn into their squabbles, she knew exactly who he'd meant but she had more important things to worry about, like keeping the Dark Star running efficiently for a start.

This bar which was four deep with customers along most of its length was as in desperate need of a restock as the one she'd just left, security had just been embroiled in a fight that had started in the confines of far end of the club, but which had spilled onto the dance floor, a urinal in in the Gents toilets was flooding the floor and those were just the problems Jamie knew of. Yet all young Jack could think of was the ongoing simmering silent feud he held with his Father.