by Maggie Ryan
Black Light: Suspended
Maggie Ryan
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
Also by Maggie Ryan
Black Collar Press
Let Us Know What You Think
©2017 by Black Collar Press
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Black Collar Press
Black Light: Suspended
Maggie Ryan
EBook 978-0-9982191-4-1
Cover Art by Eris Adderly, http://erisadderly.com/
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This story takes place in the Black Light world created by Livia Grant and Jennifer Bene. Maggie Ryan graciously accepted the invitation to play in our naughty world and we thank her from the bottom of our hearts for lending us her talent by joining the Black Collar family.
First Electronic Publish Date, March 2017
ISBN: 978-0-9982191-4-1
Created with Vellum
Chapter 1
“You a cop?” he asked, holding the tip of the knife against her throat.
“Do I look like a cop?” Charlize answered with a smile, lifting her hand to lay her palm against his chest, acting as if the knife didn’t exist.
“No, you look like one fine piece of ass, but that doesn’t mean shit. I’ve watched a lot of cop shows. You could be wearing a wire.”
“Really? And where exactly would I hide it?”
“Let’s see, shall we?”
Charlize forced herself not to move or even blink. She stood perfectly immobile as he nicked the fabric of her dress, drawing the knife down, the razor sharp blade making short work of the garment. She remained still as he cut the narrow straps, sending the plum colored sheath to the floor.
“Satisfied?” she asked. His response was to sneer and give three quick strokes of the knife to destroy her bra, her breasts falling free.
“For such a skinny woman, you’ve got great tits,” he said, palming one and giving it a squeeze. “Nice and fat.” When she didn’t say anything, his feral grin disappeared.
“You should thank your master when he gives you a compliment.” His fingers closed around her nipple and gave it a brutal twist.
Every cell in her body demanded she end this before it went any further. But, she had a job to do. Shrugging, she said, “I wasn’t sure if you like your submissives silent or vocal.”
Her response seemed to placate him, as he released her nipple after giving it another squeeze. The knife traveled slowly through the valley of her breasts and over her abdomen, the feel of the steel against her flesh raising goose bumps. He slid the blade beneath the waistband of her black lace panties and she held her breath.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
Charlize had no intention of disobeying with the blade now pressed against her sex. She didn’t release her breath until he grinned.
“Impressive.” He didn’t seem to expect a response as he slowly pulled the knife free. “You didn’t even flinch.” Another few swipes of the knife and her last barrier fell away. “Unless you’ve got a wire shoved up your cunt or ass, I guess you came to play.” Charlize just gave him a smile. “I’m gonna have a lot of fun discovering what it takes to have you lose your cool.”
He shoved his hand between her legs, fingers probing, nails scratching as he roughly fondled her. She’d bitten her tongue when he pushed two fingers into her but managed not to make a sound. Charlize felt a moment of fear she’d blown her mission before it had really begun at the look of puzzlement on his face.
Pulling his hand free, he looked at it and then at her. “Not even a drop.”
Running her fingernail in a tight circle where his chest hair tufted above his unbuttoned shirt, she purred, “I’m sure a man such as yourself can take care of that little problem. Or do I need to find someone—”
“Hell, I love a challenge! Time to play.” He grabbed her by the hair, pulling her after him as he strode towards a piece of equipment across the room that Charlize thought most likely hadn’t been sanitized since it had been set in place.
When he told her to lay down as he reached for the cuffs attached to the apparatus, she said, “You won’t need those.” Sitting down, she allowed her eyes to widen and her lips to curl into a smile as she looked up at him. “Unless, of course, you doubt your ability to keep me interested.”
He didn’t respond, but did drop the cuffs, giving her a smirk. “Baby, I’ve never failed to have every bitch I’ve played with begging for more. Lie down on your belly.”
While he walked to a beautiful antique cabinet standing against one wall, Charlize again scanned the room. If she ignored the fact that several of the ‘guests’ were engaged in sexual acts instead of conversation; that half the caterers were carrying trays holding bowls filled with pills of every color instead of canapés; that women wearing ridiculously high heels were holding mirrors where perfectly formed lines of white powder could be snorted through rolled up C-notes that were then tucked between breasts that pushed out of the tight red corsets they wore, well, she could imagine that she was at some high society party. She filed away details and descriptions, tucking the information into various folders in her head, forcing herself not to jump up when she saw Sorenson returning, a thick wooden paddle in his hand.
“Time for you to meet the ass buster.” He leered down at her as he ran his free hand over her bare ass. “Let’s see how tough you are, shall we?” The first stroke told her that she was in for a grueling test of wills.
Charlize didn’t know how much more she could stand before she blew. Digging her fingernails into her palms had stopped helping. It wasn’t the strokes against her ass the man was continuing to give her that had her on edge, it was the constant spewing of inane words.
Crack!
“You’ve got a great ass.”
Crack!
“It jiggles like a big bowl of Jell-O.”
Crack!
“You getting hot, slut? Your ass is practically glowing.”
Christ! The stroke drove her down onto the poorly padded surface of what served as a spanking bench, but in reality, was nothing more than a board with a far too thin layer of cheap foam, covered by a piece of faux leather.
Crack!
“Why so quiet, is this not doing it for you?”
Crack!
“Perhaps a cane would get a response out of you. Is that what you need, baby?”
Not unless you want me to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. Of course, she couldn’t actually voice her true feelings. Instead, Charlize gave the requisite moan of bliss the man wielding the wooden paddle expected.
“That’s better, baby. I knew you were enjoying this.”
Crack!
You don’t know shit about me! Another drawn out moan, another tantalizing swish of her hips given as she planned her speech for when she accepted her Oscar for best actress in a fucked-up role.
Giving another moan, without
the benefit of any writhing of supposed arousal this time, she lifted her head to scan what she could see of her surroundings.
Shit, where the fuck is he? He should have been here by now. I’m going to beat someone to a bloody pulp…
Charlize was jerked from her thoughts of retribution when she realized two things. The blows had stopped and the cheeks of her burning ass were being ripped apart.
What the fuck! She considered herself someone who went above and beyond the requirements of her job, but enough was enough.
“No!”
One cheek was released as a searing strike to its surface was given. “You don’t give the orders. Your job is to take whatever you’re given.” The hand reclaimed her buttock, rough fingers digging into hot flesh. “As much pleasure as I got paddling your ass, it’s my turn for some fun.”
“Get off!”
His response to her order was to chuckle. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m going to be getting off.”
Forget it. She’d never agreed to this! Releasing the leather straps she’d been pulling against, she attempted to twist around as she shouted, “Red!”
The breath whooshed out of her as he pressed his knee into the small of her back to keep her pinned to the bench. “Is that supposed to be a safeword?” He fisted her hair, pulling her head back so far her neck felt as if it would snap. She tried not to retch as his sour breath wafted over her when he leaned down. “Where do you think you are? Some fancy club with chicken-shit rules? Well, darling, consider this as my club and there are no fucking rules.”
Charlize discovered where his other hand had gone when she felt it pawing between her legs. This time, it was his turn to curse as his fingers dug painfully into her sex. “Fuck! What the hell? You’re dry as the fucking desert.” The first genuine cry of pain she’d given came as he gripped the lips of her pussy and twisted hard.
“I bought your ass so shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride.”
Her sex continued to throb even with his hand’s disappearance. She heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered as her hair was yanked again, forcing her to turn her head. She didn’t bother glancing at the cock he had dug from the confines of his jeans to run his free hand lewdly up and down its length. Instead, her attention was focused on the appearance of her contact as he shook the hand of the man who served as Sorenson’s accountant. Finally, after working for months, it was time to take this asshole and his organization down.
“Alamo!” she screamed.
“That’s right. I don’t need you wet. Just like Santa Anna, I’m gonna be fucking a Texan up the ass, and you’re gonna beg for…”
His words were cut off when hoards of people poured inside, all shouting orders as chaos erupted. “What the fuck!” he shouted, jumping off of her.
Pushing up, Charlize said, “You’re under arrest…” Her next sound was one of pain as she was yanked off the bench by her hair and a fist connected with her midsection.
“You’re a fucking cop!” As he roared, he bent forward and Charlize knew his goal the moment she saw the knife he’d tucked back into his boot after cutting her clothes off, coming free. Ignoring both the agonizing pull on her hair and the throbbing in her stomach, she didn’t think—just reacted.
With a high kick, she knocked the knife from his hand and grabbed his arm. In another blur of movement, she flipped him over her shoulder. She had to hand it to the bastard—despite the thudding impact as he slammed into the floor, his erection still jutted from his pants.
The sound of several guns cocking didn’t draw his eyes to the agents aiming them at him. Instead, his eyes were locked on Charlize’s foot that she’d placed on his groin, the five-inch black stiletto heel a bare inch from his quickly deflating cock as she continued to list his crimes as if nothing had happened. “For the possession of illegal drugs with the intent to sell, solicitation, resisting arrest—”
“Get the fuck off me, bitch!”
Charlize rocked her foot back just a bit as she ‘adjusted’ her stance.
His eyes widened, but only for an instant, quickly filling with a look of pure hatred. “Do you know who the hell I am? You can’t come in here and—”
“Assault of a federal officer, attempted murder of that same officer and, well, for just being the sleaziest asshole on the face of the planet.” Fighting the impulse to really grind the heel into his flesh, Charlize recited the Miranda warning, lifted her foot and said, “Get him out of here.”
Sorenson was dragged to his feet and his hands quickly secured behind him with a plastic zip-tie.
“You’re making a huge mistake. The governor is a personal friend of mine. By the time my lawyers get through with you, you’ll be nothing but a meter maid,” Sorenson snarled.
“I don’t give a shit if the governor is your bosom buddy,” Charlize said, stepping closer. “Perhaps your fancy lawyers can explain since you obviously weren’t listening. I said federal officer. I’m not a cop, I am a DEA agent, dickhead.” For the first time since the task force had stormed into the mansion, Robert Sorenson’s eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed without words or threats making their way past his shock. Charlize shook her head, turned away and then turned back. “And for God’s sake, will someone please tuck that pathetic excuse for a dick away?”
“Shit, are you all right?”
Charlize turned to see Dillon MacAllister, the FBI liaison on the joint-task force. “I’m fine.”
“Why the fuck did you take so long to code? You could have been killed!”
“Well, I wasn’t and I had to make sure we had enough to put his ass away for good.”
“Still—”
“My call,” Charlize said, turning to see Dillon’s eyes flashing. When his mouth opened, she shook her head. “We’ll discuss it later, when this is over. For now…” A shout caused her to whip around in time to see Alejandro Cortez haul off and slug the agent who was attempting to cuff him. The scuffle ended in an exchange of blows and by the time it was over, Alejandro was not only cuffed, his suit was torn and his nose broken. Sorenson, his accountant, and the other men already cuffed and lined up against the wall witnessed him being hauled off by the INS, assuring that the others would think he’d been taken to a different facility for processing. Yes, the undercover cop definitely deserved an Oscar for best actor in what they all were expecting to be the biggest drug bust in Texas history.
Charlize then took note of the women standing with eyes wide in various states of undress. Though she was pretty positive the women weren’t guilty of anything worse than wanting a chance to have a better life, this wasn’t the way to go about it.
“Carson, take everyone in… Carson!”
“What?” A rookie agent’s head snapped up, a flush staining his cheeks as she just stared at him. “Sorry, sir… I mean ma’am… I mean—”
“Take the women too.”
“The women?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Charlize said, sweeping her hand to point out the women in the room. “Yes, the women. The ICE is going to want to talk to every one of them. I’m sure they’ll find some aren’t here legally. They can sort it out at the station.”
The agent looked grateful to have been given a task and turned away.
Addressing Dillon, she asked, “Do you have the warrants?”
“Yes—”
“Then let’s tear the place apart, shall we?” She didn’t wait for a response, beginning to walk towards the door the agents had stormed through.
“Hey, wait up.”
Charlize didn’t stop walking, and made it almost to the door before a hand on her shoulder held her in place. Whirling, her leg had already come up, knee bent, heel ready to snap forward when Dillon stepped back, lifting his hands, palms out.
“Whoa! Shit, take it easy. I just figured you might want to put some clothes on first.”
Shit! No wonder the rookie hadn’t been listening. She’d totally forgotten she was naked.
“Charlie?”
Dillon’s soft call of her nickname snapped her out of her memory. Shrugging, she confessed, “I’m afraid my clothes didn’t survive.”
The concern morphed into fury and she saw his eyes flick to the wall where Sorenson had been placed. “Fuck!”
“Don’t worry, he didn’t get that far,” Charlize said, attempting to lighten the mood.
“Not funny,” Dillon said, his expression darkening as his eyes raked down her torso. “Fuck,” he said again as he shrugged out of his vest with FBI emblazoned in large yellow letters across the back. After dropping it to the floor, he pulled his t-shirt over his head.
“Here.”
She reached for it only to find that he’d already bunched the material up and was holding it, ready for her to stick her head into the neck opening. Was he so disgusted by the bruises that were already blooming on her body that he couldn’t wait to cover them up? Instead of allowing him to help, she yanked the shirt out of his hands. “Thanks, I’ve got it.” What had been molded to a muscular body hung loosely on her, but she didn’t care. The hem came to mid-thigh. Hell, the shirt offered more coverage than the dress she’d worn into the club. Charlie looked up to see his eyes had softened.
“You did good, you know.”
Meeting his eyes, she finally took a breath that didn’t feel as if it took supreme effort, but she had more work to do. “It’s my job and it’s not finished, are you ready?”
“You’ve done enough. We’ll take it from here. Why don’t you go on home—”
“No! I’m not leaving until it’s over. I’ve worked too hard…” Afraid her voice would crack, she paused. If she wanted to be able to look the only people in the room who mattered in the eyes again—those men and women with whom she’d formed even a temporary bond—she couldn’t leave. “Come on, we’ve got a job to do.”
“You’re right,” Dillon interrupted. “This is your bust. Let me get Lucy and we’ll start.”
