by Christy Poff
Getting some time to himself, he signed on and surfed into a new chat room. He lurked for a bit before getting involved in the conversation.
Bqcannonnyc: Who is Mistress Anya?
Cuffedanya: I am.
Bqcannonnyc: Can we talk out of the forum?
Cuffedanya: Why?
Bqcannonnyc: I would like some information.
Cuffedanya: Where are you right now?
Bqcannonnyc: Southern California.
Brett waited for her reply. The length of time it took made him wonder if he'd scared her off. He breathed a sigh of relief when she returned and asked for his e-mail address. He quickly replied and waited. Her next step stirred him.
Before you ask your questions, I need to know something about you. You may instant message me at Cuffedanya.
He quickly IMed Mistress Anya hoping she would be the key to what he searched for. Please, whoever you are...
They chatted for several hours in what Brett considered to be a get-to-know-you session. He learned she was extremely protective of her life, the lifestyle and her need for privacy. From what she told him, he gathered she'd had some very bad experiences and he would get nowhere with her until he had been ruled out as a threat. For some strange unknown reason, Brett Quincannon—the person and not the reporter—felt the need to protect this woman.
He didn't understand it considering they'd been conversing for only two hours, give or take. He wanted—no, needed—to know her. His desire to meet her became evident when his cock swelled, begging to be enveloped inside his mystery woman.
Suddenly, the research at hand lost some of its importance. Cuffedanya tore at his heart while bringing to light feelings he didn't comprehend. Yes, he'd had girlfriends—mostly one-night stands—and one or two relationships but no woman ever had this kind of effect on him, especially not one he had yet to meet.
Her last e-mail of the evening stated she wanted to get to know him a little better. She'd contact him the next evening so they could continue what had been started. He agreed, though he desperately wanted to know why she insisted on the extreme caution. Hell, I told her from the get-go I wanted to ask her some questions. What the hell happened to her to put her in this state of panic?
"I will find out and if I can, I will take care of whoever did it to you,” he said, looking at the screen.
Where the hell did that come from? Your heart...
* * * *
Ainsley felt up to sitting with her laptop. The open wounds on her body—especially on her back—had healed though she remained in a great deal of pain. She checked her e-mail, answered several notes and sent one to Cecily assuring her friend she was getting better. Friends for years, Ainsley couldn't face her. As yet, she hadn't brought herself to admit what happened to her, shame taking over though Diego kept reassuring her. She knew Cecily accepted her lifestyle years before but somehow, she couldn't bring herself to talk about it. Why? She's my best friend...
Once finished, she checked some of her usual cyber-haunts finding little or no action. She logged into Dark Passions and discovered a newbie in the forum. They chatted for a while after his initial greeting, Ainsley overly careful.
Even as Mistress Anya, someone wanted her dead. Whoever she chatted with had to make her positive they would be no threat to her. She hated the precautions but, at this point, Holmes had made it vital. No way did she want this person finding out anything more about her though deep down, she figured her stalker already knew everything about her. Why me?
Cautiously, she drew bqcannonnyc out, needing to find out what she could. They got to know each other over the course of a week's time until she felt more at ease with him. The fact he was located in Southern California eased her mind somewhat. She wanted to meet this man, need and desire rising in her body.
"What are you doing to me?” she asked no one, her body aching for a complete stranger. Heat surged through her at the thought of meeting him. Never had a man had this kind of effect on her—not even her former master.
Its reaction to her thoughts about this man began driving her insane. Her breasts ached for his touch while her nipples pressed against the soft fabric of her gown. She felt hot in her nether lips and she moaned. I don't know who you are yet but you have my undivided attention.
Doctor Goodman entering the room brought her back to reality.
"Ah, Ainsley, how do you feel?"
"I want to go home."
"I know. Your progress is ahead of schedule."
"I haven't looked in the mirror yet."
"It's not pretty. I've been in touch with a plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills. I sent him the pictures and he's ready to take care of it for you."
"Good, when can I see him?"
"You have an appointment on Monday next week. Diego got you a rental house also."
"Perfect."
* * * *
Later in the day, Ainsley went online. She hoped to instant message with a man from Southern California, one who intrigued her while making her experience feelings she thought long dead. They'd been chatting for about a week. Cautiously, she wanted to get to know him before she answered any of his questions. She heard about an exposé on the life and needed to be careful. That plus Holmes’ attack had driven her to be overly cautious but the man had been extremely patient with her. One point for him...
So far, she knew he had dark hair and brown eyes, and something else she couldn't quite figure out. Taking a huge step for her considering her recent attack, she asked him exactly where he was located.
Yorba Linda.
Interesting. I'll be in Beverly Hills on Sunday. I have a meeting on Monday.
Tell me where and when.
Spago's for dinner?
I'll be there.
She sat back, anticipation of meeting her mystery man building. She needed relief from the emotions coursing through her. She willed herself to hold back, telling herself this man would satisfy her desires.
Can I do it?
Of course, I can. Ainsley had been a Dominant for years. She had been a loving and very willing submissive to a man who had been very good for her in every way. He trained her in the arts of Dominance and submission, her every desire and need seen to and taken care of. He lavished her with gifts, collaring her to show his possession of her, something she cherished.
They had been together for over ten years when disaster struck. They had attended a party north of San Francisco and were returning home to the house she presently owned when a drunk driver hit them head-on after driving toward them in their lane. She spent weeks in the hospital recovering from internal injuries and a broken leg while her master had died on the operating table. At his graveside, she swore to never get deeply involved in a relationship again. Now...
She imagined her contact under her dominance. She wanted to do things to his body while commanding him to satisfy her every whim. She tried to picture his face—gentle yet strong at the same time. Thoughts of him put her to sleep, the first time in several weeks she'd done so without drugs.
* * * *
In Montreal, a woman's body turned up in an alley behind a nightclub. When the coroner finished his report, the cause of death had been determined as severe internal hemorrhaging brought on by blunt force trauma to the torso. Additional notes explained open wounds from lashes coupled with swelling. The coroner also noted year to year and a half old scars from what appeared to be similar attacks.
The daughter of a well-to-do Canadian businessman, specifics of the case were kept extremely quiet. Considering how she'd been found, police figured the killer had fled south to the American border and, unfortunately, they knew he would not be captured. The hardest part of the investigation would be placating the girl's father. The officer in charge of the case cursed, hating the fact he had a potential cold case staring him in the face. He hated unsolved cases.
* * * *
Brett walked into the house near midnight. His current assignment looking at the governor's administration
and its prospects for the future had taken up a great deal of time—time he could have been spending with Mistress Anya. He hated not being able to get online with her but he had a job he'd worked hard for and loved. He prayed she'd understand.
He signed on, hoping he'd be able to talk to her. He smiled when her name popped up as being online.
Bqcannonnyc: How are you?
Cuffedanya: Good. Where have you been?
Bqcannonnyc: Working.
Cuffedanya: I see.
Bqcannonnyc: Here's my cell phone number. Call me so we can talk.
Cuffedanya: Maybe. I'm still wondering if this is smart.
Bqcannonnyc: I believe it is. You do something to me and we've never met in person. I don't know how to explain it.
Brett waited. She didn't respond and he worried he'd scared her off by being too forward. He knew something in her past ruled what she did in the present and something inside him wanted to ... What? Fix her? Make her life easier? What?
Whatever feeling he felt, something drove him to want to be an integral part of this woman's life—no matter what.
Bqcannonnyc: Are you there?
He sat back waiting—still no answer. Damn it, woman, talk to me! He continued staring at the screen as if willing her answer to appear, praying he hadn't screwed things up before they got started.
His cell phone rang, Brett jumping.
"Quincannon."
* * * *
Ainsley stared at his words on the impersonal monitor screen. Heat coursed through her. This man wanted her but not in a way that could be harmful—as least, she hoped not. She'd always had a knack of being able to make good calls on initial judgments, her instincts keen, though thanks to Holmes, her confidence had taken a severe beating. Part of her needed to know if this man would give her back what she'd had stolen from her or if he would make things worse.
She didn't answer him and, even though she'd written down his cell phone number, she had yet to call him. When he asked her, Are you there? more heat coursed through her, her body aching for the touch of a stranger.
Ainsley picked up her cell phone, dialed the number he'd given her then finally hit the call button. She trembled when she heard the ring, dreading how the call would go.
"Quincannon."
The sound of his voice caused her emotions to go crazy. Her nipples pressed against the soft silky gown she wore. Her pussy ached, crying out her need to be loved by a good man. She wanted his cock buried inside her, hoping her image of him would not end up as disappointment instead of pure satisfaction.
"It's Anya,” she said quietly.
"Hey,” he answered, his velvety voice caressing her emotions. She stood up and crossed over to the window. The moonlit night calmed her but not enough. She closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I've never been at a loss for words like this before."
"Neither have I but then again, no woman has ever had the effect on me that you do. I'm hard just hearing your voice."
Again Ainsley fell quiet. What the hell is happening to me?
"What questions do you have?” she asked hesitantly.
"I want to know about Dominance and submission, bondage..."
"Why?"
"I have a need to learn."
"What do you consider yourself?"
"I don't understand."
"Do you wish to be in total control or to be totally controlled?"
"I'm not sure."
"Why me?"
"You seemed to be the most knowledgeable. I've surfed the chat rooms for months and came away unimpressed until we started talking."
"About?"
"What I want to know about the life, plus there is one thing I've become very interested in since this began."
"And that is?"
"You."
"Are you always this straightforward?"
"Nature of my profession."
"Which is?"
"I'm a journalist on the network news."
"You don't intend to..."
"No, this is purely personal. I swear to you this is all between you and me."
"I cannot afford the notoriety if you are lying to me, Quincannon. For reasons of my own, I cannot do this."
"I swear to you it will be between us and us only."
"If I go on with this and you go back on your word, I will walk away and you will never see or hear from me again."
"I understand."
"Do you also understand your betrayal could be deadly for me?"
"I think so,” he answered, a hint of worry in his voice.
"I'm coming to Beverly Hills for an appointment on Monday."
"Tell me where and when to meet you."
"Monday night at nine at a club named Second Sight,” she replied, changing the location from the original one in a previous chat.
"I'll be there."
"Just remember what I've said."
"I will. How will I know you?"
"I'll be in extremely tight black leather.” He heard the amusement in her voice.
"But..."
"Sit at a table in the back of the room. It's very private and we will not be bothered."
"Okay, I'll see you then."
Ainsley ended the call and willed her body to relax. The longer they talked, the more aroused her body became. She went into the shower, needing to ease her tension. What have you done to me, Quincannon?
* * * *
Brett held the phone tightly after the call with Anya ended. He had several days before he would meet her. Can I survive this? He didn't want to but had to. He quickly saved her number in his cell's phone book then looked at the monitor, disappointed to see she had signed off. He did a quick search into the club they would meet at, finding it was a bondage club. What does she have up her sleeve? Why here instead of Spago's?
He spent the next few days wrapping up his research and investigation into the governor and his future as California's chief executive. Once the report aired, he had a few days off. Brett used the time to research Second Sight a little more intensely.
The club, in operation since 1984, catered to those into bondage, discipline and other dark sexual aspects. It had an extremely upscale reputation and in order to get into the club, one needed medical information with the cover charge—another place keeping track of their patrons.
Looking in the phone books for doctors in private practice and hospitals, Brett decided he'd go by a local clinic. Hopefully, he'd get the results back before he met with her. He found himself wanting to make a good impression, needing her acceptance and most important—he needed her.
After he got out of the shower, he laid down falling off to sleep immediately. In the morning, he'd take one of his IDs and go get blood drawn, determined to prove his sincerity.
God, woman, why do I need you like this? Why am I willing to...
* * * *
"Mister..."
"Quincannon, Brett Quincannon."
"I see you want blood drawn but no reason listed and no prescription."
"I have a hot date tonight and she wants proof I'm clean, so to speak."
"I see,” the lab technician said. “Why do you look familiar?"
"National news, maybe."
"That's it. I saw your piece on immigration—very interesting viewpoint."
"Thank you,” he said, letting out the breath he'd been holding slowly. He'd hoped she wouldn't mention the sex one that brought him to the City of Angels. “All right, if you will follow me..."
She led him back to a small room where she drew his blood for the appropriate tests. A few moments later, she marked the last vial.
"We'll have your results in several hours. Come back later this afternoon to pick them up."
"That's fast."
"We have our own certified lab on-site."
"Oh,” he said, “thank you.” He got to leave then stopped. “Could I ask you a question?"
"Sir?"
"Is this common?"
"Extremely. We do at lea
st half a dozen or more blood tests like yours per day."
"I see."
"We're a careful society these days. AIDs and hepatitis are still huge concerns. People want a comfort zone."
"And no one questions this?"
"Not anymore. It's very commonplace, like I said."
"I see,” Brett said, making a mental note of this. “Can I ask you something totally off the subject?"
"Depends. What do you want to know?"
"Have you ever heard of a club called Second Sight?"
"Yes, and it's not what you seem to be thinking. It's a very exclusive club with an extremely private clientele. If you're thinking of doing a report on it, don't."
"Why?"
"Go to the club and find out,” she said cryptically. “I might caution you on something."
"What's that?"
"You've just moved here but, if you are who I think you are, your report on BDSM in New York didn't set well out here or make you too many friends. You might get the cold shoulder anywhere you go. Tread lightly and don't use your date to get ratings."
"Thank you for the information and the warning. I appreciate it."
"I hope you do and I hope you know what you're getting into,” she said as he left.
* * * *
Ainsley asked Diego to go by her home and pick up what she'd listed. He returned an hour later with a garment bag and her suitcase.
"You are all packed."
"Thanks."
"I see from the leather you're on the prowl."
"In a way."
"Do you think it's wise?"
"I'm honestly not sure but this one feels different. It's strange."
"Are you sure you want to go down there alone?"
"Yes, and I love you for wanting to join me but I have to do this on my own and in my own way. It's kinda like falling off a horse. If I don't, I may never..."
"Then call me if you need me and I'll fly down immediately."
"I will."
* * * *
Police overwhelmed a dark corner of the world famous Boston Common. An early morning jogger had called 9-1-1 after finding the body of a dead woman lying in a flowerbed along one of the paths. While hidden by a huge azalea bush, the woman noticed the victim's hand grabbing one of the lower branches.
