by Grace Morgan
As I looked on, she added ice to a new glass and poured the first measure of bourbon. This time, the caramel-colored liquid came to just below the rim, and she lifted it slowly and dumped it over the ice. I heard her sigh with relief. The rest of the bourbon, added carefully and without spilling, rose along the sides of the glass like the tide. But when Lola went to measure the vermouth, she overfilled it again and the sweet wine spilled onto the tabletop.
“Damn it!” she shouted, throwing the jigger down on the floor.
“Lola,” I said sharply. “You can do this. Be patient with yourself and focus.”
She looked at me, her mouth set into an angry line, but she knelt and reached for the small metal cylinder. The sight of her on her knees did things to me.
“Wait,” I ordered. She froze. “Since you threw it, I don’t think it’s fair that you use your hands to pick it up.”
“Are you serious?” she asked.
I looked at her, on her hands and knees, her forearms wrapped in black silk. Her jaw set, she looked back at me defiantly. But somewhere behind her indignation, I saw a glimmer of something else. She wanted to submit, but she wasn’t going to do it until I pushed her. She needed me to challenge her to do the things she would never ask for herself.
I took two slow, deliberate steps toward her. “Lola, you will finish this—gracefully. I have other things to do tonight. Now get on with it.” I ran my palm over her upturned ass, and I spanked her once, quick and sharp. She clenched her jaw harder, her eyes boring into me, conveying all of her anger and humiliation. Wordlessly, she bent and picked up the jigger in her teeth without breaking eye contact. Then she stood and bent over the sideboard, dropping it next to the fresh glass I’d set out for her.
“That’s my girl.” I beamed. Not normally one to dole out compliments with my submissives, I knew Lola was more to me already, crazy as it seemed.
Renewed, in went the bourbon, the vermouth, and two shakes of bitters. The surface around the glass was dry and pristine. Slowly, determinedly, Lola plucked a cherry from the jar, pinching its thin, delicate stem between her fingers and transferring it to the glass. She pulled the bar spoon from its canister, and awkwardly stirred the drink, which came dangerously close to the rim but didn’t spill. Finally, her eyes triumphant, she clutched the glass between her fingers and handed it to me.
“Thank you,” I said. And my thanks were sincere. She’d done well. Very well. I accepted the drink and walked over to the window, sipping it as I looked out at the sky, which was just turning pink with the sunset. I purposely did not look at her, waiting for her to speak.
I knew she couldn’t stay silent.
“And how is it?” she asked, her voice dangerously sweet.
“Very good,” I replied, giving her a quick smile. And then I was silent as I drank the cocktail, watching her shifting her weight from foot to foot, frustrated and trying not to show it.
“Would you like a sip?” I asked.
She looked good enough to eat, and I’d give her pretty much anything at this moment.
“Yes, sir,” she said sweetly, her eyes sincere.
I crossed the room, stopping in front of her, and place the drink to her lips. She took a long swallow, her throat working. We stood there in silence, soaking each other in and finished the drink she’d so craftily made, together.
At last, I set the empty glass down and turned to her.
“Now we can continue on with our evening.” I spun her around by her waist and gave her a light push toward the bedroom.
The moment we crossed the threshold, I led her to the bed.
“Lie down. On your belly.”
She complied, and I allowed myself to take in the sight of her bare shoulders and the flare of her hips beneath the shimmering satin that clung tightly around her waist. Her ass was presented before me, full and alluring, and her legs looked longer than ever with a thin, dark seam running up the back of her stockings. She squeezed her legs together.
I unbuckled my pants, stroking my hard cock in my fist. Then I spread her legs, pushed her black lace panties aside, and slid into her without ceremony. I needed to feel her warmth around me—and I needed her to learn that there would be times she would exist for my pleasure alone.
Lola cried out in shock, but her pussy was already slick and ready for me. I pumped my hips, my cock getting harder with every thrust. She moaned, arching her back, pushing her soft ass back against me, which only intensified my pleasure.
“Work that ass, baby,” I encouraged, gripping her fleshy cheeks in my hands.
Her sexy little booty jiggled with each thrust, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. I might be the one calling the shots, but Lola knew she held all the power.
Her pussy gripped me, hot and tight, and each time I drove into her, I could feel her muscles squeezing my cock. I thrust faster, my hands on her waist as I buried myself even deeper inside her. Then, with a low moan, Lola reached back, her hands gripping her ass cheeks, parting them. “Fuck me deeper,” she cried.
I complied, pounding into her harder than I had before, my hips pinning her against the bed with each brutal thrust.
“I need you to come for me, pretty girl.” My voice was rough and raw. I reached between us to pinch her clit, and I felt her pussy muscles clamp down on me, milking my cock, and I began to come, unable to hold back. “Fuuuck, Lola.” I ground my hips into her ass, losing all control. Thankfully, Lola came too, her hips rocking erratically, and her lips murmuring my name.
A moment later, I pulled my pants up from around my ankles and bent to kiss her hair. “Thanks for the drink,” I said, as I walked toward the bathroom. Glancing back, I was sure that I saw a satisfied smile play across her lips.
Chapter 10
Lola
I stood in Burke’s kitchen, waiting for my coffee to brew. He’d already left for the day, but I was grateful for the solitude and the chance to process the previous night’s events.
When I’d found his note and the lingerie in the morning, my stomach had dropped a little. Any attempts I’d made in the past to wear more risqué undergarments had always left me feeling like a little girl playing dress-up. But I’d decided that after everything I’d been through so far, I wasn’t going to be bested by some underwear. So I’d wiggled and tucked myself into the corset, grateful that Burke hadn’t been there to see the decidedly un-sexy process. The stockings had been another struggle; they hadn’t been stretchy at all, and so it had been a trick to make sure you’d gotten them positioned correctly before fastening them with the garters.
When I’d gotten it all on and fastened and cinched, I’d looked at myself in the mirror, trying to see myself the way Burke would. But at first, all I could see was my own discomfort. The corset had felt awkward and the stockings and garters had tugged with every step, making me aware of my own movements at all times.
But slowly, over the course of the day, I’d begun to appreciate the way it highlighted the smooth curve from my waist to my hips. I’d admired the fullness of my breasts, supported and enhanced by the tight boning, and the way my dark hair had contrasted with the creamy satin.
I’d wondered what Burke had planned for later, and it had made me tingle to imagine the possibilities. Hours later, when he’d come home, I’d been ready for him to ravish me, to use those slow, strong hands to make me beg him for release.
That wasn’t quite what had happened.
When he’d first told me to make his drink with my hands bound, I had thought he was kidding. My blood had started boiling when I’d realized that he hadn’t been. And with every mistake, every humiliation, that anger had grown. But so had my resolve. I hadn’t just wanted to prove to Burke I could do it. I’d wanted to show myself that I could handle it. That I could push through it.
Was this what Burke meant when he’d said that he found the most pleasure in the process? At the time I had felt frustration, but now, looking back on it, it’d been thrilling.
I poure
d myself a cup of coffee and brought it back into the bedroom. I had to get dressed for my interview with Richard today; I’d finally gotten a hold of him, though he was obviously reluctant to talk about Hope. It was only when I’d assured him that my piece would have nothing to do with the salacious details of her sex life that he’d agreed.
“Shit!” I muttered, noticing the clock. I was going to have to hurry up if I wanted to be on time.
* * *
Richard was much quieter than I’d expected, with his short black hair and dark, upturned eyes. He sat at the table in the cafe where we’d agreed to meet, hands wrapped around a cappuccino, and told me what he knew about Hope.
“I met her at Second Circle. I’m a sadist, and someone thought Hope would be perfect for me.”
“So your relationship never extended beyond the club?” I asked.
“No.” He paused for a moment, and then continued, “She was totally uninterested in getting to know each other beyond the kink.”
“She was distant?”
Richard gave a short laugh. “That’s a good way to put it. She was a nice girl, always sweet to me. But she didn’t talk about herself. Ever. And she never asked me any personal questions either. It was clear she just wanted to do her thing and disappear.” He winced. “Sorry, wrong word to use.”
I mulled that over for a moment. Why had Hope been so determined to draw a line between what she did at the club and the rest of her life? It seemed like more than simply wanting to maintain her privacy.
“Can you tell me about what led to you breaking off the relationship?”
He shifted in his chair, looking embarrassed, and glanced around to make sure no one was sitting close enough to hear our conversation. “Hope was kind of an...addict, I guess.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Not like that.” He shook his head. “But every time we were together, she wanted to push things further. The first couple of scenes we did, I thought I’d gone pretty hard on her. But the next time, she asked me to use the heaviest flogger. She always wanted more.” Richard stopped and sipped off his drink, visibly disturbed by the memory. “So I went harder—pushed all my own limits, and she never used the safeword. I gave her what she wanted—what she said she needed, but when I got home that night, I just couldn’t get the scene out of my head. Not in a good way.”
“What happened the last time?” I asked.
“The last time...she wanted me to use the bullwhip on her. I tried, but…” His voice trailed off.
“It’s ok,” I reassured him.
“It was just too much. I could see how much it was hurting her, but she wouldn’t safeword out. I couldn’t keep going. But when I stopped, she freaked out. She kept saying that it was her body and it wasn’t up to me to say when she’d had enough. But it was too much for me. That’s what she didn’t understand. She got so mad that one of the security guys had to come and take her somewhere.”
“Was that the last time you saw her?” I asked him.
“I only went to the club a couple times after that. It kind of left a bad taste in my mouth. But she was still spending a lot of time there. I saw her a couple of times with one of the owners.”
My heart stopped. I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. But I knew I had to ask.
“Do you remember which one?” I asked, my voice steady even as my mind reeled.
“His name is Burke, I think? Tall, serious. I think she figured that the guy who owned the club might have more extreme tastes than I did.”
My stomach dropped to my toes.
“I, ah, I have to go. I’m running late. Thank you for your time,” I said, shoving my things into my bag. I practically ran out the door, leaving a confused Richard at the table behind me. I didn’t care. I couldn’t breathe. Slamming the car door behind me, I sat in the driver’s seat, my breath coming in short, fast gulps.
Maybe he was wrong, I told myself. He thought it was Burke, but maybe it was Carter. In my heart, though, I knew I was grasping at straws.
I drove back to the club in a daze, my mind running through thousands of possibilities, each more sinister than the last. It was just before noon, and I knew that Burke would probably be out for his run. Good. It would give me time to get the truth from everyone else; I needed to know before I confronted him.
I practically flew through the front door. It was easier to feel fury than hurt right then, so I let the heat of anger seep into every fiber of my being. Burke had not only lied to me, he’d knowingly sabotaged my investigation, and, in effect, my career. Seth was sitting on one of the couches in the lounge, doing something on his laptop. I marched over to him.
“You lied to me about Hope.”
“I didn’t,” Seth protested, his eyes getting wide. “I really don’t know what happened to her.”
“But you knew she’d been involved with Burke, and you didn’t say anything,” I said angrily.
Seth shook his head, his shaggy hair falling in his eyes. “I didn’t know about Hope and Burke, I swear. I never saw her outside of our sessions.” It was the first time he’d admitted to having Hope as a client, but I was too worked up at the moment to care.
“So you don’t know anything about why they stopped seeing each other?” I asked him, my voice calmer.
“All I know about Hope is what we worked on together, and that’s not something I can discuss with you. But I promise,” he said, looking me square in the eye, “Burke had nothing to do with it.”
I massaged my temples, trying to formulate some sort of plan. I still needed more information if I was going to take this to Burke; if I didn’t have solid proof, he’d just keep denying everything. Then I remembered the other person I’d been sure had more information than he was letting on: Marcus.
He was sitting in the security office when I burst in without knocking. I could tell from his expression that he knew exactly why I was there.
“I need to see that tape, and I need to see it now.”
Marcus sighed. “It’s not what it looks like. There’s no way Burke was involved with that girl’s disappearance. Trust me, you don’t need to see this.”
“That’s not for you to decide!” I snapped. “I also want the video from his last few sessions with Hope, not just the one where they fought.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Marcus pleaded. “Why don’t you just talk to Burke about it?”
“Let me see the damn tape,” I said flatly. “I obviously can’t believe a word that Burke says.
Slowly, Marcus turned back to his computer. He spent several minutes scanning through files, and then I waited as he copied them to a thumb drive, the little bar inching across the screen and bringing me closer to finding out just how deep Burke’s betrayal ran. Before Marcus handed me the drive, he tried one more time to convince me to let it go.
“I don’t think you should see this, Lola. You can probably guess what’s on it. You’re a good girl, maybe you should just forget this whole thing. Find yourself a nice guy and move on from all this.”
I took the drive without another word and left, nearly sprinting down the hall to the elevator. Marcus was right: I did already know what I was going to see. But that didn’t make it any less necessary for me to see it for myself.
Burke was still out when I got upstairs to the apartment. My insides felt as though they were weighted down with lead as I opened my computer. For a moment I considered just throwing the drive away, pretending I didn’t know. But I knew I would never be able to forget. It would eat away at me, poisoning me.
And how could I do that to Hope? Didn’t I owe it to her to find out the truth, whatever that meant for my own relationships? Abandoning a missing girl because of a man I barely knew would be lower than low. Especially because I couldn’t trust Burke anymore. What we shared, no matter how incredible, was over
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.
There were three files
on the drive, each labeled with a date. They were all from just a few months before Hope disappeared. I clicked on the earliest date.
Even though I’d been trying to prepare myself for it, what appeared on the screen before me still hit me hard. My chest tightened and my heart dropped.
There was Hope. Up until now she’d been an idea summed up by a few facts and a two dimensional picture in a newspaper. But now she was on my computer screen, her slender body exposed. Her wrists and ankles were restrained, spread out like the points of a star. She stood in the center of the impact play room with her dark hair falling down across her bare breasts and a fierce expression on her face.
And she wasn’t alone. Even with his back to the camera, I recognized Burke. My stomach churned again at the sight. I’d known what I was going to see, but holy fuck, that was Burke! The broad, taut muscles of his shoulders. The way he moved. My heart cracked when he turned and exposed his face. The same face that I’d grown accustomed to falling asleep next to. He had a crop in his hand, and suddenly, without warning, he snapped it against her hip. Her body jumped at the impact. He hit her again and again. She writhed beneath his blows, but even without sound, I could see that she was moaning with pleasure.
I watched the whole video, unable to turn it off. And when it ended, I clicked on the next one. I couldn’t stop, couldn’t skip to the last one, the one I knew held the real information I needed. I felt compelled to watch every second.
The second video was of a woman with her back to the camera, but it was Hope. She knelt on the floor, her wrists tied to her ankles in an elaborate set of the Japanese knots like those Burke had showed me when I’d first arrived. He moved around her, draping the rope expertly, adding knots and coils. It killed me to watch him work so deliberately, knowing that he was enjoying every minute of it. By the time he was finished, a complex spider web of rope bound her delicate body, making it impossible for her to move. When Burke bent down to caress her naked breasts, I closed the window. I’d seen enough of that one, despite my intent to see every moment. I knew exactly what would happen next, and I could live without it burned into my memory.
