by John Savage
“This is how it’s going to work. If he won’t talk to me, then I’ll have to do something to you to show him that I’m serious. And it will be something worse than what you just saw. It has to be so he’ll know I’m serious. Then he’ll do something worse to Susie. And I’ll have to do something worse than that to you. See what this could lead to?”
She was trembling. I don’t know what visions were flashing through her mind but they must have been pretty graphic to scare her so.
“Please don’t,” she managed to get out. “I’ll help you. I don’t hate Susie. I don’t want her to be hurt or killed.”
The tears began to trickle down her cheeks and the trembling increased.
“I know what Dad is capable of doing to a girl,” she whispered, her eyes glued to the phone screen.
“But you hate me,” I stated.
She tore her eyes away from the phone and glared at me. “Yes, I hate you,” she said through trembling lips. “I thank you for rescuing me, but I hate you for ruining my father. He would be in prison if he hadn’t known about the raids.”
“So he was tipped off. By who?”
“I don’t know.”
I slapped her – hard.
It wasn’t because of her reply. Actually, I had no reason to believe she did know. It was because I wanted to put her in the right frame of mind. I dropped that subject and touched the screen. The video began again. I held it for her to see. “Look at this. You see anything that would help me find where it was taken?”
For ten minutes she stared at the screen. When it was finished, she turned to me. “I don’t recognize the place,” she whispered. “But I think I know who that woman is.”
My antennae perked up.
“Yes…?”
“That could be Madam Stella. She runs a house of discipline in LA. I met her twice.”
“What’s the name of the place?”
“I don’t remember,” she said, and then hurried out with, “But I’m sure you can find it. There can’t be too many of those places.”
I knew from past cases that there were enough of them. Los Angeles is a big city, filled with kinky people. There was enough kink in Hollywood alone to float a battleship. For the first time since Susie disappeared, I felt some hope.
“You had better be right,” I growled, deliberately this time. “’Cause if you’re not, I’ll find a way to get pictures to Raszini and begin working on you.”
Chapter XXI
Torture -- Day Two
Susie had been allowed to rest after the inverted suspension and whipping. They gave her food, allowed her bathroom visits and kept her naked and chained up at all times. The two guards in charge of keeping her prisoner were hard put to keep their hands off her lovely body. The breasts and ass might have been marked up, but it was still a lush, firm and extremely sexy body. They had orders not to fuck her now, but were promised that they could eventually.
She spent another night of little sleep because she had been shoved up against a post, forced to kneel with her back to it, and then had her hands handcuffed behind it, her ankles also locked in steel, and the two connected with a third pair of handcuffs. It was not a comfortable position to try to sleep.
When Raszini and his thugs flipped on the light the next morning, Susie was already awake. To say that she was ready for another day of torture would not be proper, but she expected it and had resolved not to give in to them and plead for mercy. There would be none; these were not the type of men to have mercy in their black souls.
After a small bowl of gruel and a quick cold water shower (taken while handcuffed), she was ready for the day’s activities. As she stood in that makeshift torture chamber, naked, damp and handcuffed, she would have loved to curse them all to hell and spit in their eyes, but held back. Logic told her that to provoke them would only make them want to hurt her more. Her bottom was still marked with fading signs of the whipping, as were her breasts. In another day or so, those marks would be gone and her body become a fresh canvass ready for another work of art to be applied. But for today, her torment was not to take the form of whipping. Yet, in some ways, it was far worse than beating her ass and breasts would have been.
After being forced down to the floor, and as one man held her firmly down, the other spread her legs apart. Had he not been fully dressed, she would have expected him to take advantage of a wide-open entrance to her sex. But he did not. Instead, he spread the labia guarding her sex wide with his fingers and then used the other hand to push gobs of a reddish cream taken from a jar into that orifice. A goodly amount of the cream was also spread over all the very sensitive flesh in that area. An additional glob was pushed into her anus and poked in with a finger. Had Susie not been held down and was able to see what was going on down there, she would have been worried because the man was wearing disposable latex gloves. Apparently he did not desire to get that stuff on his hands.
At first, the other sensation was a certain degree of coldness from the cream. But, as they prepared her for the day’s ordeal, she found that it was becoming warmer in that place and, worse yet, beginning to itch.
The preparations consisted of removing the handcuff and attaching ropes to her wrists and ankles. Those ropes were threaded through ring set in the walls at floor level and pulled, forcing her into a spread-eagle position with all her limbs under considerable strain. A rope was then looped around her waist, passed between her legs and up in front where it went back through itself and then upward. This crotch rope, a single strand passing through her ass crack and her vagina, directly over her clit, was pulled by two men until it was cutting deeply into the flesh of the aforementioned places and lifting her hips from the concrete floor. So much force was used on the rope that, when it was tied off, her body was completely off the floor, suspended by that single rope. It was a painful position to be tied in, but she gritted her teeth and said nothing.
Susie was fully aware that there was more to this than just that horribly tight rope cutting into her. There was also the increasing itching and hot feeling in her vagina, accompanied by the same feeling in her rectum.
The two men who had bound her down were now setting up the camera, spaced apart to catch a side view and on almost directly up between her legs. During all this, Raszini stood back and simply watched.
Her worse fears were confirmed when that mild irritation down there grew to a strong itching, then a maddening itch that demanded to be scratched. After five minutes, had her hands not been bound so, she would have been clawing at herself in an effort to ease that torment. It was a kindness that she was bound, for otherwise she could have tore the tender flesh in that most private place with her fingernails.
The itching grew and whining noises began to fill the room. Susie would not beg them to stop this torment, but she could not help but to react to it. The muscles of her thighs were clenching, as were her buttocks. Other signs of the inner torment showed in the clenching of her fingers into fists and the twisting of her feet. As the strength of that cream approached its maximum effectiveness, her hands alternated between fluttering wildly and trying to claw at the ropes cutting into her wrists. Her eyes were closed and her teeth clenched tightly to keep in urge to scream. By the end of twenty minutes, a lesser woman would have been screaming. Susie held them in but could not keep from moaning loudly. She felt as if her mind was being flooded by the stimulation of every nerve between her legs, each one demanding that she do something to halt this torment.
Every muscle in her body tense, she tilted back her head and growled, “Arrrrgghhhh!” at the ceiling. Her hips strained to twist from side to side, her arms and legs strained against the ropes, and her head tossed from side to side; all expressions of the horrible burning and itching.
All the while the cameras recorded her suffering. Later in the day, an edited version of this torture would be sent to Sled’s cell phone. Raszini hoped that the sight would make him feel as tormented as this naked woman did. That lovely body with its wid
espread legs and beautiful, hairless Venus Mons was giving a hard-on to all the men in the room.
After half an hour, and with Susie still withering in agony, one of the men turned to Raszini and asked, “How long will this go on?”
“Hours,” Raszini replied with a smile. “Two or three at least.”
Just then, unable to hold it in any longer, Susie screamed. The first one was a sound of anguish but after that she began cursing them colorfully. “Assholes! Bastards! I’m going to kill you all!”
As she yelled at them, her body continued feeble attempts to break free of the ropes, twisting and jerking in a most delightful show.
“When she calms down a little, you can turn the cameras off. But leave her like this all morning,” Raszini told them. “This afternoon I have something planned that she will definitely not like.” He was grinning as he said it.
Chapter XXII
House of Discipline
Believe me, I did not want to look at the video appearing on that tiny screen of my phone. Yet, I could not force myself to press the button that would turn it off. There was Susie, my little sister, the girl I used to tease yet protected from school bullies, naked and bound spread out and being tortured. She was not screaming, but I knew her face and could see the pain and suffering there. It was not clear what they had done to her, but those pathetic struggles were driven by some strong feeling. Something was hurting her far beyond the tight ropes.
Her moans slowly increased as whatever it was that tormented her increased. You could see it on her face, in the taut, straining, trembling muscles. The view switched between two cameras, both showing the same thing: agony.
The video ceased abruptly. I almost threw the cell phone against a wall. Then I took it into the bedroom where Angelica lay chained to a bed. Without saying a word, I showed her the video, from the start and all the way through. At first her face reflected sympathy for the suffering girl, but then it turned to fear as she realized Susie’s suffering might well lead to her own.
I left her without saying a word. Had I begun to tell her of the anger inside me, I might have exploded and done her harm. I didn’t really want that; I just wanted Susie back and in one piece.
* * * * *
It was not hard to find Madam Stella’s House of Discipline. The Internet is a useful thing if you know how to use it. I was learning.
Hollywood is not the glamorous town most people think it is. Hollywood Boulevard is an old street down the center of which the Red Cars used to run on tracks. The trolleys are long gone, replaced by a constant stream of autos, most of which are tourists looking for movie stars who never, never are found on that street. The sidewalk has gold stars inserted into it, an honor to the movie and TV stars of Hollywood. Tourists walk along the street, heads turned downward, smiling when they recognized a name, and then taking a photo of it. All the great stars are there, immortalized on what the Chamber of Commerce calls the “Walk of Fame”. During the days, the street is filled with gawping tourists snapping photos all over the place. Also Hara Krisma, bums, a few streetwalkers, and bikers. On Saturday night you can see the motorcycles lined up against the curb in front of the bars nestled between the t-shirt and souvenir shops. At night, the Boulevard is all lit up with neon signs. Kinda of reminds me of the Ginza in Tokyo.
But there is another side of Hollywood Boulevard. Just off the glittering tourist traps there are drug pushers, whores and other lowlifes. One section is called the “Pill Box” because of all the drugs floating around.
Just off the Boulevard there are small office buildings and other businesses, one of which was Madam Stella’s House of Discipline. There was no sign proclaiming it as such, but the address was right. I pulled into a small parking lot and turned off the motor. For a while, I debated leaving Wilma in the car. Wilma is a big gun and makes a bulge even in the custom made shoulder holster. Going in there armed would make them think I was a cop. Or something worse. Reluctantly, I locked Wilma in the glove box. I felt naked without her.
The side door from the parking lot opened into a lobby, currently empty. A moment later, a door opened and a woman came through. She was mid-thirties, dressed in a conservative business suit and didn’t have too bad a figure under that pile of blonde hair.
“What may I do for you?” she asked with just the right mixture of sex appeal and business in her voice.
I pushed down the first thing that came to my mind because it was kinda dirty. Besides, it was not the reason I came there.
“I would like a session with Madam Stella,” I told her, trying to act a little on the nervous side. According to the advertisement on the Internet, this Stella was dominatrix, and not at all like my old friend Stella Walters, the Escape Artist. It wouldn’t do for me to be my usual dominant, take-charge, mucho macho self. So I tried to think meek and submissive.
You have any idea how hard that is for a guy like me?
Well, she smiled sweetly and began a sales interview concerning what I wanted. Basically I was offered a selection of treatments from mild “naughty boy” punishments up to Spanish Inquisition torture. I told her I was just a naughty boy and kinda a beginner at that. She named a price that made me think the punishment had already begun. It would hurt my wallet quite a bit. She smiled sweetly and asked me to follow her through the door. The second room was a lounge with comfortable sofas, padded chairs and even a small bar.
There was a man sitting in a chair, holding a glass of whiskey, but almost at the same time as our entrance, another door opened opposite us and a young lady came into the room. She couldn’t have been much more than eighteen, very pretty and with a young, firm body you could easily appraise through the transparent night she wore. Went nice with the high heel shoes. She went up to the seated man, knelt down before him, bowed her head and said, in a voice so submissive and sweet it made my ears tingle, “I’m ready to be punished, Master.”
As the two of them left the room, I heard her say, “I’ve been very bad, Master.” Made me wonder how he was going to punish her.
“We have subs also,” the blonde told me. I guess she caught my reaction to that pretty submissive.
“Maybe another time,” I told her. “I’ve been told Madam Stella is the best. I’d like to see for myself.”
“Oh, she is very good,” I was assured. “You’ll be back for more.”
“Oh, yeah?” I thought, but kept my mouth shut.
“Have a seat,” she said, “I’ll arrange things for you,” and then she disappeared through the other door.
I checked out the bar. Their scotch was not of the same quality as those in my desk drawer, but still not cheap booze. I poured a glass for myself and downed half it in a gulp. Felt good burning its way down my throat.
“I hear you’ve been a bad boy,” came a voice from behind me.
It turned to find Madam Stella standing there, wearing that same black leather catsuit and heels as in the video where she was whipping Susie. I took a deep breath and told myself to play it calm when my first reaction was to take her by the throat, slam her against the wall and make her talk.
I agreed that I was bad and ask if she could do something about it.
I could tell she was undressing me with her eyes; women tend to do that. She must have liked what she saw because she smiled.
“You do realize, don’t you, that this is a house of discipline? You’re here to be corrected. You will not get to have sex with me.”
“I’m sure that I’m not worthy of that honor,” I told her. Now that, people, was the biggest lie I had told in a long time.
She smiled. “Come on, bad boy, I know what you need.”
Like hell she did. But I let her lead me into one of their “special” rooms. The walls were lined with whips and ropes and handcuffs; the usual equipment for such places, along with a horse and padded table with rings screwed into the sides.
From someplace Madam Stella had picked up a riding crop and was tapping it against the palm of her hand.
Before she could issue her first order, I pulled my backup gun from the ankle holster and pointed it at her nose. It was only a 380 auto, not nearly as impressive as Wilma, but she froze.
“Time to knock off this bullshit,” I told her. “I’m going to ask you a couple questions and you’re going to answer them. Do that, and I won’t have to begin shooting parts of your body. You know how much a bullet through the kneecap hurts?”
Gone was the haughty Mistress attitude. She was afraid. Good.
“A day ago you were part of a video showing a girl being whipped. I want to know where that girl is.”
The fear increased. Maybe because she was suddenly aware of who I was; I hoped so. That would mean she knew I was serious.
“Where the hell is Raszini keeping her?” The tone of my voice told her I was not in the mood for games.
“He…” she began and choked up. “He’ll kill me if I told you.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
She swallowed hard. “These rooms are bugged,” she forced out. “We keep track of what the clients are doing. Especially first timers.”
I could see she was getting braver and put a stop to that.
“That’s nice,” I told her. “But if anyone comes rushing through that door, you’ll be the first to be shot.” I could see the bravery fading rapidly.
“Look, tell me what I want and I’ll leave. I promise I won’t tell Raszini where I got the information. You won’t have to be afraid him.” I sneered and added, “Hell, he’ll probably be dead so you’ll never have to fear him.”
I caught her nervous glance towards the door and knew she was not kidding about the rooms being bugged. Quickly I moved over by the door, but kept the little 380 pointed at her. A moment later I heard a noise and the door opened. A man came rushing in, a .45 in his hand, eager to save his Madam. Problem was that he was an amateur. A pro would never rush into a room without checking out what he would find there first. My left fist crashed into his jaw and he collapsed to the floor without a word. I pushed the door closed, picked up the guy’s Colt .45 and went back to Stella.
