Call Me Killer

by Linda Barlow

  “He was in rehab last year and he claimed to be off the stuff. But I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him lately and I think I would have if he were still clean. When he’s on something, he gets ashamed and avoids me.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I try not to judge. Or even sound judgy when I talk to him, but I guess he knows how I feel about drugs.”

  “You’re not judgy,” I said, because, God knows, there were lots of ways she could have been judgmental with me. But she wasn’t. “Don’t take out it on yourself, babe.” I was delighted to be able to give her advice for a change. “You know how it is with addicts. They have to commit to getting and staying clean. No one can force them.” I’d known addicts, too, plenty of them. “Habits are hard to break, especially bad habits. I don’t do drugs because I probably wouldn’t have the mental strength to ever get off them once I got hooked.”

  “True. I guess everyone’s addicted to something—sometimes even good things, like exercise or meditation or chocolate.”

  I found a warmer spot for my hand. “Or sex.”

  She giggled and the mood lightened. “I could get addicted to sex with you, Mr. O’Malley.”

  “Yeah? That’s great because I’m already addicted to you, Rory.”

  “Show me.” She tickled me until I grabbed her wrists. “I mean, please show me how addicted you are to me, Sir.”

  Okay, she was asking for it. Earlier we'd done it vanilla style, but I decided a little kink was in the cards for her now.

  I'd been deliberately taking things slowly in that department, since it was so new to her. I didn't want to freak her out or scare her. And I was happy she wasn’t into Hadley’s level of intensity. You practically had to have an EMT certification to do some of the shit Hadley had wanted. Not having to worry that I might make a huge fucking mistake made it much more relaxing for me to be a Dom.

  I knew by now that Rory dug bondage.

  So I spread her legs and bound each ankle to the footboard of the bed, using my leather ankle cuffs. I knelt between her thighs and started licking down where the anklets encircled her, slowly working my way up her calf with long slow strokes of my tongue. When I got half way up her thigh, I switched to the other ankle, which caused a protest.

  I grinned. Her arms were bound over her head, so there was nothing she could do to stop me teasing her just as much as I wanted.

  I rubbed my cock with one hand while I licked her. My entire body was reveling in her submission. “I could keep you hanging—hungry—for hours,” I told her after nuzzling the inside of her thighs just an inch or two away from her pussy.

  She moaned and thrust her pelvis at me. I wanted to postpone it some more, to make her squirm and beg, but my own fire was burning so hot inside me that I didn’t think I could wait.

  Yeah. I was probably smoldering.

  Her legs were tied loosely enough to stretch and strain, and as I gently pressed my teeth to her inner thigh and bit down, she writhed and keened. Her sweet pussy, lush and ripe with juices, was irresistible. As I slid one finger deep inside her, my balls tightened and my cock jerked. We both groaned together.

  I bent my head, kissed her tenderly on her mound, and then twirled my tongue around her clit while rhythmically fucking her with my fingers. I kept it up, loving the way she rocked against my face. I made my tongue as pointy as I could, the better to stimulate that delicate, sensitive bud.

  Giving her pleasure gave me pleasure, too. And holding her there at the edge of fulfillment turned my dick into an iron rod.

  “May I come?” she gasped, the words not even sounding coherent.

  “Soon.”

  “Please…I have to….Griff…” she was wailing … “I can’t hold back.”

  God, but I loved hearing that.

  “Don't hold back, babe. Let yourself go,” I ordered, and, gasping, she did.

  I was on the verge of coming myself. I gave a quick look down to make sure her bindings weren't too tight, then I slid up until my aching cock was at her opening. As I thrust inside, I could feel her pussy walls pulsating.

  Her orgasm went on and on, pumping me exquisitely as I drove in and out. I grabbed some of her hair and blindly sought her mouth; our kiss was another passionate joining. The climax arced through me. It didn’t stop. More moans from us both as my body reveled in its pleasure and my mind was saturated with bliss.

  Why did it feel so good with Rory? I’d fucked my share of women, but, damn, she was special.

  Chapter 23

  Griff

  “So, I got us an invite,” Rory said.

  I had just finished my half of the homemade pizza that Rory had made while I was at work. It was yummy and my belly felt pleasantly full. “An invite to what?”

  “To the secret weird-ass club. Reef Hill. I pulled some strings.” She handed me a slip of paper with an address on it. “You know where that is?”

  I blinked at it. I didn’t recognize the street name, but the address was in our zip code.

  “I checked Google Maps. It’s on a hill. Makes sense, huh?”

  I leaned back in my chair. “You got us an invitation to a private BDSM club? How? And why?”

  “Because I figure they might have something to do with Hadley’s disappearance. But mostly because I’m curious what goes on at a private BDSM club. Aren’t you?”

  The twitch in my cock at the thought answered that question. “By pulling some strings do you mean you hacked into their system? After Connor got pissed at you for poking around in his clients’ sex lives?”

  “Actually, this time it wasn’t a hack. I know some people who know some people.”

  “You know people who know the local rich guys?”

  “It’s a chain of knowing. Like that six degrees of separation thing. I even got something to wear. Shall I try it on for you?”

  “Sure.”

  She vanished into the bedroom and emerged a few minutes later wearing a crimson corset with a matching thong, black stockings, five inch heels and little else. Holy shit. I had a flash of how wet and bedraggled she had looked on the night we’d met and couldn’t believe how well the girl cleaned up.

  She looked sizzling hot and so fuckable that I wanted to drag her back into the bedroom and get down to business.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yeah. Forget the club.”

  She batted my hands away as I tried to grab her. But her eyes were shining.

  “You need to find something to wear, too. Stop that. The invitation’s only good for tonight.”

  * * *

  The place turned out to be on a hill at the edge of town. We had to follow a private road through the woods to an area I’d never visited. We were stopped at an iron gate at the bottom of the hill, where we had to show the invitation Rory had so mysteriously procured.

  At the gate, we were each handed a harlequin eye mask. The guard shrugged and said, “optional.”

  Rory put hers on. So did I. Not much in the way of concealment, but I didn’t expect to know anybody at the club anyhow.

  The building was old but grand. It looked like a Victorian mansion, although I decided when we mounted the stone staircase to the entrance that it was of a later construction, probably the 1920s pre-stock-market crash era.

  My builder’s eye told me that the place had been well-maintained over the years. The roof looked new.

  There was another gatekeeper at the entry, but this one was female and dressed in black leather, Domme-style. In a clear, clipped voice she asked for our invitations, which she scrutinized. But Rory must have had the genuine goods, because she informed us with a brisk nod of her head that we were welcome.

  We were admitted to an anteroom with an oriental rug, comfortable leather sofas, and a gleaming mahogany coffee table. Water was available in a carafe.

  “Take a seat and read our rules,” she said, handing us a slim leather bound book. “The safe, sane and consensual code is required for any scenes you perform on the premises. Safe
words must be respected. All salons have a dungeon monitor whom you may consult for assistance should you need any.

  “There are no cameras or microphones and no photography, video or audio recording is allowed. Please respect the privacy of others. No firearms or other lethal weapons are permitted. No alcohol is served and drugs are not permitted. Anyone who appears to be exhibiting drunken or drug-induced behavior will be escorted out.

  “Do not intrude on anyone else’s scene unless you are invited to do so. If you wish to have penetrative sex, please request a private room. Violators will not be permitted to return. Read the rules for other refinements, but the things I’ve listed are the important ones.”

  I glanced at Rory. As far as I knew, she’d never been to a place like this, but the rules were fairly standard in other BDSM clubs.

  She nodded with considerable aplomb, took the rulebook, and began reading.

  “When you’re ready,” our hostess went on, “simply enter the club through the door on the far side of the room. You’ll find a general meet-and-greet area and a large dungeon with various equipment.” She nodded to the leather bag I was carrying. “I see you’ve brought your own toys. I’ll have to inspect your bag. If you have any private items you wish to lock up, we have safes available.”

  I handed her the bag, which she went through rapidly and without comment. Clearly nothing inside it surprised her. We didn’t have anything for the safe, so after a few more minutes in the anteroom, we were ready to roll.

  “There are also specialty salons that cater to different kinks. Feel free to indulge as you see fit,” our hostess said, winding up her welcome spiel. “Play hard, play safe, and enjoy yourselves.”

  “Are all BDSM clubs like this?” Rory whispered as we passed through into the public area. We had entered a much larger room that reminded me of the lobby of a Victorian-era theater. There were ornate full-length mirrors on the walls that made the area seem even bigger.

  There was also a bar, but it was clear they were serving only coffees, teas, juice, sodas, and water. There were a few couples and one triad consisting of a dominant with his two submissives.

  The costuming was similar to what I’d seen elsewhere—Doms in black and subs in collars, cuffs and skimpy clothing. There was no absolute nudity, I noted. The genital area in both males and females was covered if only with the teeniest of thongs. Breasts and chests were bare, though, and often adorned with nipple clamps and the markings of a lash.

  The half-naked chicks and the highly-sexed energy of the place turned me hard as soon as we entered. Damn. I had to keep my wits about me. I hoped we weren’t plunging into some sort of dangerous situation here. I’m not sure what I expected, but I was hyped up and on my guard.

  “Pretty much like this, yeah. This place is a lot more classy, though.”

  “Yeah,” she said, looking around. “Even the sexy attire is top of the line.”

  I wondered how she knew that, coming from her neighborhood. I guess she’d spent the last few years hanging with a different crowd, although I didn’t imagine MIT geeks to be experts on fashion, either. But what did I know?

  Most of the other couples were wearing the half-masks, too. I didn’t see anyone whose mouth and chin looked familiar, but why would I? If she’d frequented this club, Hadley had never brought me with her.

  I attached a leather leash to the collar I’d made Rory wear, “Come, pet. Let’s explore the dungeon.”

  She obediently followed me, which made me even hotter.

  Chapter 24

  Rory

  My eyes must have been bugging out, so I had to remind myself to stay cool. I’d had a couple days to prepare for this excursion. Griff didn’t know it, but I’d started planning it right after that encounter with Silas Marks at the restaurant.

  Getting the invitation had been a bit of a challenge, but I had better contacts than Griff realized. When my technology connections hadn’t produced any useful results, I’d turned to my brother Jesse. He’d played a lot of gigs in the Boston area, since he’d started his band here. Three of its members were native Bostonians. They were into some weird shit, and they knew people.

  After putting my cell phone back together, I’d called my brother. Jesse had teased me with all the condescension of a know-it-all older sibling, especially when he heard what kind of club Reef Hill was. But I didn’t mind. His geniality meant he wasn’t using any hard stuff. I still worried about that. It’s not easy to stay sober with all the pressures of the road.

  I’d originally hoped to learn something here. Find something that might implicate the billionaire in Hadley’s disappearance. But I had to admit that was probably just an excuse. I’d wanted to see what people did in a place like this. I’d never even been to a sex club, much less a kinky sex society, or whatever Reef Hill really was.

  I knew Griff was into BDSM, and I’d started believing I could get into it, too.

  To be honest, I’d always been interested in it. In my fantasies, I mean. I’d just never imagined that any of those fantasies might one day come true.

  I considered myself a strong woman, and I’d never been able to picture myself willingly submitting to some whip-cracking dude. Even though I found the idea secretly exciting, I wasn’t going to allow a man to demand my obedience or to punish me if I didn’t follow his stupid commands.

  Crawl around on the floor with a ball gag in my mouth? Not this woman. No way.

  I didn’t think I wanted to reverse roles, though, and order my partner to crawl around, either. That scenario didn’t excite any dark, secret thrills.

  But Griff and I had been talking about it some. We hadn’t done much, although I had allowed him to tie me to his bed. That had been a little scary at first, but once I’d relaxed and stopped resisting, it was amazing.

  “If you think about it,” he’d said, “All sex is pretty crazy. The way it takes over your mind. The way it makes you act. Even doing it—the motions, the positions, the sights and sounds, are kinda comical.”

  Just the way he’d said this had made me giggle. I’d thought of some of the porn I’d watched on the internet. Yeah, it was comical.

  “BDSM is no different. It’s all just acting a part. I mean, for some people I think it’s more than that, but for me, it’s acting. You play a role to turn yourself and your lover on, and you go with it. Then you both come and laugh and go back to being your normal selves until the next time.”

  “Don’t some people try to do it 24/7?”

  “Yeah, some do. It’s not for me, though.”

  “So…you don’t want a girlfriend who’s submissive and obedient all the time?”

  Well of course, he started teasing me then. Dragging me down and ordering me to suck his cock—not that I needed the order—and swearing he’d wallop my ass if I didn’t do a good job. But he confessed later when we both stopped laughing that he loved strong women, sassy women, women with a mind of their own.

  I think I would have been happy with that, if it hadn’t made me think of Hadley.

  I wasn't thinking about her now though because I was being assaulted by so many remarkable sights and sounds. Most of the people present were couples, although there were small groups consisting of more than two people—two men and a woman or two women and a man.

  The distribution of male dominants to female dominants seemed to be roughly equal, which I thought was cool. It was easy to tell them apart. The submissives were usually wearing some kind of token, like a collar or cuffs. Some of the male subs were quite elaborately restrained—trussed up with rope and gagged or even blindfolded, led around by a leash attached to their collars.

  Griff had wrapped a pair of leather cuffs around my wrists before we’d gotten out of the car. He’d added a collar inside. I didn’t like being paraded around, especially in front of other people. I wanted to stay close to Griff because he made me feel safe, and I understood that we would stand out if we acted too different from the other patrons, but even so, it was a bit muc
h for a newbie submissive like me.

  As we entered one of the rooms, I was startled to hear a woman scream. It didn’t sound like a sexy moan at all. She cried out in real anguish. I quickly saw why.

  The woman was standing in the center of a large circle of observers. She was naked except for a black thong. Her back was to us as we entered the room. She was wearing a collar and cuffs and her arms were parted and stretched over her head with her wrists attached to ropes suspended from the ceiling. The ropes were tight enough that she was forced to stand on the balls of her feet.

  A man was standing a few feet behind her. He had a long implement in his hand that looked like a rod or a cane and he was whipping it slowly against her buttocks. Each time he struck her, she cried out in what sounded to me like unendurable pain. Between blows, she panted and gasped, trying to get her breath and ready herself for the next strike.

  There were marks where he had struck her. Long red lines. Plus, her skin looked bruised, on her buttocks in particular. As if she was subjected to this kind of beating regularly.

  The man said something to her that I couldn't hear. When she didn't respond, he grabbed a hunk of her hair, which had been tied in a ponytail, and yanked her head backwards. He spoke again. She tossed her head and murmured in return. He let her go with a jerk, stepped back, and delivered another savage blow.

  This time when she screamed, I shot forward. I could never stand the sound of a person in pain. A person or an animal—anyone. This did not look like lighthearted BDSM to me—the creep was torturing her and nobody was doing anything to stop it.

  But before I had the chance to interfere, Griff grabbed me around the waist and hauled me back against him. When I resisted, he pulled me around and marched me out of the room. A couple of people looked at us quizzically, but we didn’t attract too much attention—the whipping had the other observers transfixed.