Mr. Agares sat with his feet up, sipping a Starbucks. He immediately took his feet off of the desk, stood and stepped around his desk to greet Brad when he entered. “You must be Eric’s friend, Brad.”
Brad nodded and took the tall, lanky man’s outstretched hand and shook it. “I am, and you are Mr. Agares.”
“Call me Ted, please. Here, sit.” Ted went back around to his side of the desk and sat down with his palms on the desk, waiting for Brad to settle in.
Setting the folder on the desk, Brad leaned back into the chair. The office was nothing like what he expected it to be. Of course he did imagine it more stereotypical. Heavy oak desk, man in a hat, old timey phone on the desk, that sort of thing. But really it was just two folding chairs sitting in front of a plain wood desk with a cell phone and a laptop sitting on one end. Agares didn’t wear a hat either. Realizing the PI wasn’t going to start, he decided he would. “I need you to do a thorough background check on my girlfriend.”
The PI’s eyebrow lifted. “That should be simple enough.”
“I don’t know. It may not be. I’m pretty sure she had a completely different life back in Los Angeles and I’m pretty sure Kali Michaels is not her real name.” Brad pushed the folder across the desk toward Ted.
Ted’s hair was thinning and he looked like he was in desperate need of food he was so thin. He leaned forward and took the folder, immediately examining the contents. “If she changed her name I could easily find that out. It would be a matter of public record. So my question is, what, exactly are you looking for?”
“Her real name, where she went to school, criminal records, that sort of thing.” Another pang of guilt gripped his stomach, but he ignored it. Too bad. Kali had her chance to tell him what he wanted to know.
“That’s easy enough,” Ted said again. “I do stuff like this all the time, Mr. Hudak.”
Brad smiled at Ted’s formal use of his surname. “Call me Brad, Ted.” He took the envelope with the retainer check in it and slid it across the desk to Ted. “My card’s in there so you can call or email me if and when you find anything.”
“You got it.” Ted took the envelope and slipped it inside the folder then stood and shook Brad’s hand again. “I should have something by the end of the week.”
With that, Brad left, got into his car and headed to By the Book just to check in with Eric and Amy before heading back home. The entire time his stomach twisted with the agony of moral dilemma. Maybe Kali was right. Maybe it was better to live for now and leave well enough alone. Yet Brad’s driving need to know and his desire for the truth were too strong and by the time he reached the bookstore he had once again convinced himself he did the right thing in retaining Ted Agares.
***
He’d likely tortured her long enough. Since nothing was happening at the bookstore Brad headed back home, wondering if he’d catch Kali out of her restraints, trying desperately to get back into them. He smiled at the thought. Of course there was the matter of her mockery of his restraint system, but then he wondered if that was at all fair. He’d been trying to find a reason to introduce her to his new stockade for about a month now, but every time he suggested it as punishment, Kali straightened up immediately and submitted.
But you don’t need a reason to take her down there and put her in it, he reminded himself. After all, he was the Dom and she was the sub. It was his pleasure to do to her as he pleased provided she was consenting. Kali’s limit list was very specific in what she would allow and what she wouldn’t. Nothing on that list said no stockades. Of course he wondered if having her restrained at the neck might trigger a claustrophobic response. It did in some people.
Much to his own chagrin, when he arrived home he found Kali in the same place he’d left her. The restraints hadn’t been messed with. He began undoing the rope. “You really have no desire to meet my stockade, do you?”
Kali lifted an eyebrow. “No, Sir. Not really, no.”
“Any reason why?” He removed the rope completely and tossed it on the dresser.
She paused as if thinking how to phrase it. “I’m not fond of being naked in a basement. Maybe if you put it in the dungeon…”
He laughed, undoing the wrist cuffs. “So it’s a location thing?”
“Yes, Sir.” She fought back a smile.
“I see.” He chuckled again. “You don’t like basements?”
“No, or the things that live in them,” she admitted.
He shrugged. “Nothing lives in my basement. I keep it rather clean. I don’t care for dirt or spiders either. If you haven’t noticed, I’m somewhat OCD like that.”
She seemed to consider this for a moment then relented. “True.”
Taking her by the hand he helped her off the bed. “You need to use the facilities?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Alright go. Then right back here when you’re done,” he said, watching her slip into the bathroom. He waited patiently while she finished and when she was done, he led her to the basement door.
She bulked.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can I at least wear shoes?”
“Do you have a sexy pair of black heels?” He knew she didn’t.
“Not with me,” she stopped mid-sentence and groaned. Her tone had not been that of an obedient sub, but rather an annoyed girlfriend.
“Now see, you have earned a trip to the stockade, at least for an open handed spanking.” A slow grin spread across his lips.
She took a deep breath as if resolving to do something horrifying. “Yes, Sir.”
Shaking his head, he opened the door and turned on the light. He thought about sending her first, forcing her to face her fear, but thought better of it. If she was genuinely afraid it would likely be more comforting to lead her into the fear, shedding light onto it, so that she realized there was nothing to be scared of. Starting down the stairs he said, “Follow me.”
He didn’t look back to see if she was following, he knew she was. He also knew she was moving slowly, probably measuring every step to make sure she didn’t step on any spiders. While he was pretty sure the basement wasn’t full of the eight-legged insects, it was quite possible there’d be one or two, but no more than any other room in the house. With that in mind he scanned the floors and walls just in case. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he waited for her and continued scanning the room. It was just as clean as it had been the day before when he came down to get something out of the storage room. That room was clean, too. Directly in front of him stood the stockade. He also had ropes and pulleys for suspension down here as well, but he’d never used them.
She finally stood alongside him and looked at the stockade. He couldn’t read her face. She was intentionally hiding her feelings on this one. Her gaze dropped to the square of carpet directly beneath the device.
Kali took a step forward, inspecting the stockade and its smooth finish. It was just the right height, he noticed.
"So what do you think?" he asked.
She shrugged. "The basement is cleaner than I expected."
"What did you expect?"
Throwing her hands up she said, "Honestly, I was imagining a real cellar with at least a partial dirt floor, cobwebs everywhere, and spiders and insects. Like my grandma's basement."
He perked up. A clue to her mysterious past? He decided to press further. "Your grandmother wasn't much of a housekeeper?"
"Back in those days the cellar was used to store tools and vegetables," she said matter-of-fact. "But my grandparents sold the house when I was seven and they were both dead within two years after that."
"I take it you had a bad experience in that basement?" Brad looked her over. He decided not to push about her grandparents, not yet.
"I had a nasty cousin who locked me down there once," she confessed.
He narrowed his eyes knowing his next questions, if phrased carefully, would be answered. "Well, I guess cousin rivalry is almost like sibling rivalry."
; She walked over to the square of carpet. Reaching out, she ran her hand over the side of the stockade. "My cousin was an ass. I only saw him a few times after that. Mostly funerals. Haven't seen him since, but yeah, he was an ass."
"Sorry to hear about your grandparents," he said carefully.
She shrugged again. "People die. I wasn't that close to them. We just went for a visit every few years in the summer."
The topic was certainly a downer and he realized it had really killed the mood for any plans he might have had for his new toy.
Kali whirled around then and looked him square in the eye. "So why is this down here instead of up in your dungeon room?"
"Oh, umm, thought it would be more isolated down here. Seemed a logical choice. Plus there's more room and I have some pulleys and suspension equipment down here. It works better down here because of the beams." He pointed to the unfinished ceiling, which he dusted regularly.
A sigh escaped her lips. "That's a clean unfinished ceiling," she said. A small smile danced on her lips.
"Are you mocking me?" he asked, the mood returning.
"No, Sir. I'm mocking your OCD." She bit her lip. That comment was purposeful and he was pretty sure it meant she wanted to play.
He narrowed his eyes, pleased with the game and also in the mood for it. “How about we try this on for size? I’ve been fantasizing about putting you in it for weeks now.”
Pulling out the pins, he lifted the top up so she could put her wrists and neck in the cutouts. She willingly did this, but with some trepidation. The fact remained that Kali was beginning to slowly trust him. It was small steps like this that told him he was making some headway. It just wasn’t as fast as he wanted. He gently put the top plank back on and re-secured the pins, locking the stockade in place. She was adequately bent over and subdued for his liking.
With a smirk he remembered seeing something inside the storage room earlier that week that would take care of Kali quite nicely. He strode across the room to the storage room and grabbed a small riding crop from just inside the door. He smacked it across his hand. It would have to do since he forgot to grab a cane when he came down and for some reason, using his hand just didn’t sound nearly as enticing.
Kali had adjusted herself to the most comfortable position possible. Well, as comfortable as one could get in such a device.
Brad gripped the crop and brought the flat end squarely on her left butt cheek. She yelped and jumped. He did it again and again, enjoying how the red marks rose on her ass.
He ran his hand over her ass again, then gave her a good smack, noting how he loved how the curve of her ass met the silky skin of her upper thighs. He could feel his arousal for her grow in his pants. “Spread your legs wider,” he ordered.
She carefully stepped apart her legs, again trying to find some good position that wasn’t completely uncomfortable.
Brad smiled and unsheathed his penis. He slipped his hand between her legs to make sure she was as wet as he thought she was. She was. He pressed the head of his swollen member against the precipice of her vagina. He pressed in, feeling her flesh fold around him, taking him in. Closing his eyes he firmly held her hips and submerged himself in her depths, enjoying the moans of pleasure escaping her.
He quickened his thrusts until he developed a steady rhythm. When he felt his release quicken, he didn’t hold back. Instead, he plunged himself into her as deep as he could and allowed the orgasm to overtake him. Groaning, he held her hips to him. He pulled out and smacked her ass and said, “You can stay here. I’ll be back in a while.”
With that he retreated up the stairs and took his time getting cleaned up. He ordered from the Italian restaurant that delivered, set the table and opened a bottle of wine. Only then did he go back into the basement to get her. He wasn’t prepared for what he found. Kali was crying and in a panic. His first reaction was to look around for spiders, but upon seeing nothing, he lifted the top bar from the stockade and watched in horror as Kali crumbled to the floor in a ball, shaking. Falling down beside her he scooped her into his arms. “Oh baby, come here.” He kissed her forehead and then checked over her body to make sure she wasn’t hurt.
She clutched at him, still sobbing.
Something had triggered the reaction and he intended to find out what. Picking her up, he carried her up the stairs to the bedroom and gently set her on the bed. “It’s okay,” he assured her.
It took about fifteen minutes before she was calm enough to speak.
He gave her a glass of water. “So tell me what happened.”
“I just felt claustrophobic,” she said, now sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I’ll be careful not to leave you alone down there again.” He brushed a strand of auburn hair off of her cheek. “How about you get cleaned up and dressed. Dinner should be here soon. Italian?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He got up and went into the kitchen. She had mentioned that she was claustrophobic when they first started and he had seen claustrophobic subs react similarly to rope bondage. But somewhere deep down he had a nagging feeling. It was the same kind of feeling he had when he was in Iraq in one of many situations under threat of ambush. On the battle field, when something didn’t feel right, you listened to those instincts and proceeded with caution. That’s what he had to do now — proceed with caution.
Chapter Three
She hadn't had the nightmare in over two years. Now it was back. She woke up with sweat drenching her nude body. Brad didn't even shift next to her. He must have been exhausted after her breakdown earlier. Slipping quietly out of bed she made her way into the kitchen for a glass of water. It was no wonder the dreams were coming back. It was the first time she'd had a Dom since Victor, though Brad was nothing like Victor - not even by a long shot.
Detail after horrifying detail of the night Victor branded and tattooed her and then gave her to his cronies to play with, played slowly through her mind as if it was happening all over again. It was a Saturday like any other and she was in the house putting together dinner. Back then Victor used to locked up all her shoes when he wasn't home and there were armed guards all over the property so there was no way she could run. Of course in the beginning she never even considered running, nor did she understand why he locked up her shoes. On that day, the house slaves had been boxed in the garage for the day because they were being punished for not ironing Victor's shirts to his liking. One of those house slaves was Kali’s best friend, Misha. She remembered being afraid for Misha’s safety because it was hot that week.
Victor had been cranky that entire week because the authorities had been nosing around one of his import operations. Being that it wasn't legal, Victor had every reason to be concerned. Of course nothing Victor did was legal.
He arrived home that night with four of his henchmen and another man she didn't know. Toward the end there he frequently called her Kúrva and Súka which she soon learned were the Russian equivalents to whore and bitch respectively. During dinner she sat nude on the floor next to Victor at the table, propped up on her knees, awaiting Victor's every instruction. She was use to him parading her nude in front of his friends, and forcibly bringing her to orgasm, his fingers skillfully working her clit until she couldn't hold back, in front of everyone in the room. Sometimes she even enjoyed the humiliation. Victor had been, in the beginning, a fantastic lover and an incredible Dom.
That night after she'd cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen, she was called into the living room.
He called her Laura, but it sounded more like Lara through his thick Russian accent. Now, just thinking of how he said her name made her cringe.
Holding a glass of Stoli elit vodka, his favorite, aloft in one hand he patted the coffee table in front of him. "Laura, come here pet, lay here, on the coffee table, on your belly," he told her.
There was a fire in the fireplace and the man she didn't know was stoking the fire, which she remembered thinking was odd since it was a gas fireplace. Not
to mention it was the middle of summer. She remembered how her mind screamed at her that something wasn't right, but she did as she was told anyway. At that point she still loved Victor and couldn't imagine not doing as he said.
As she laid down on the cold, wooden surface, she saw the man remove the brand from the flame and come toward her with it. She tried to lift herself up and move, but Victor and his men were quicker and held her down. Victor put his hand on the back of her neck and his four cronies each held a limb. Helpless to struggle against them, she felt the searing pain on her left hip as the brand met her skin and she screamed. It was a bloodcurdling scream so foreign, primal, and distant it surprised her that something that loud and terrifying had come from her. When the man pulled the brand away, Victor dumped the remaining glass of vodka on the wound, causing her to cry out again. The men laughed and let her go.
Victor slapped her ass. "Now you belong to me. You stay right there and we’ll put another mark on you so no other man will have you, no?"
"Where do you want it?" The guy asked.
"On the shoulder. Doesn't matter. She’s Kúrva, a whore." Victor sat back and lit a Camel. His hand smacked her right ass cheek this time. "She is my whore," he clarified to his henchmen with a laugh, "But she is a good whore. When we're done here I’ll show you."
On command she felt hands on her arms and legs holding her down. The tattoo artist got to work and she felt the needle go over her skin. She tried to fight, she did, but they held her down firmly. It was no use to struggle, so she stopped and Victor gently petted her head until the tattoo was finished.
She didn’t recall how long it was, just that when it was done, Victor pulled her up from the table and handed her to a dark-haired man with a goatee. He was the first to take her and have his way with her as Victor and the other men watched. The man who branded and tattooed her had disappeared somewhere in there. She didn't remember when.
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