AtHerCommand

by Marcia James

  “We like to keep up on trends,” Tori explained in answer to Dom’s lifted eyebrows.

  Next on the tour was the supply room. This large, windowless walk-in closet held an assortment of new sex toys and leather goods rather than the copier paper and paper clips one might expect.

  “We only use a sex toy once and then give it to the customer as a souvenir,” Tori said. “It’s a lot simpler than having to clean them. But it means we have to restock our room each night.”

  Domino nodded. No wonder no one questioned why so many boxes of sex toys were delivered to the club. Hiding the drugs in the toys’ battery compartments was a stroke of genius.

  Dom followed her mentor down the staff hallway to a set of wide double doors. Tori made no effort to open them.

  “These lead to the loading dock,” the girl said in a low voice.

  Dom nodded. This was where the shipments of drugs arrived and were stored until they could be distributed. Once Tori was safely away from the Xecutive Branch for good, Domino would check out the loading dock. If she located a drug shipment, she’d plant a tracking device in the crate and hope it would lead her to the next link in the drug chain.

  With Tori in the lead, they continued the journey around to the main corridor and past doors opening onto several massage rooms. There were also a number of private hot tub areas and a theme room or two—for those customers who desired a detailed setting and special props.

  Tori pointed out that all the club’s client rooms had two entrances—the door off the main corridor through which the customers passed and the one at the back of the room that led into a staff corridor. The employee doors were designed with two-way mirrors, so staff members could monitor the rooms from the outside.

  “Sometimes, if we’re nervous about a new customer,” Tori said, “we ask one of the bouncers to watch through the mirror to make sure the guy’s not violent or unstable.”

  Domino hid her dismay. Violent and unstable customers? As if dealing with murderous drug smugglers wasn’t enough.

  “There are microphones in the room as well, so you’ll be able to sit outside my room and listen to as well as watch my sessions this evening,” Tori continued. “Then, starting tomorrow night, you should be ready to take on a couple customers by yourself.”

  Domino wanted to protest but clamped down on the words. She’d never be truly ready for what this job required so she might as well jump in with both feet. It wasn’t as if she were expected to sleep with her customers after all, just to put them through their paces, so to speak. Besides, this petite coed was handling the job, even after being grilled by the D.C. cops most of the morning. She admired Tori for sticking to the DEA plan of keeping mum about the drugs with the local police.

  The girl stopped in front of a door marked with a large brass number five.

  “This is S&M Room Five.”

  As Tori spoke, she opened the door to a submissive’s chamber of wet dreams. Domino trailed her into the spacious room with its leather-covered props and ominous black cabinets. Several chains dangled from the ceiling and a wooden X-frame dominated the left wall. It looked more like the Spanish Inquisition than a sexy fun-and-games place to her.

  The room’s lights were bright but Dom spotted dimmers on the back wall by the staff entrance. The lights would probably be lowered for most sessions. There were also white taper candles set about the room.

  Tori strode over to one of the six-feet-high cabinets and threw open the doors. Dom gasped at the wicked assortment of whips and paddles hanging on hooks within. She’d read about these instruments of punishment, but the photos hadn’t prepared her for the stark reality. Walking closer, she examined the leather implements. There were rods, crops, canes and stingers. There were paddles with brass studs and straps with metal-trimmed cutouts.

  Damn. What had she gotten herself into? She could just imagine a conversation with her fellow agents over a couple of brews after she wrapped up this case. So, Domino, how’d you hide your Glock under the catsuit? Couldn’t without creating a telltale bulge so I had to make do with the weapons at hand—a fraternity paddle and a cat o’ nine tails.

  Shaking her head, Domino leaned closer and examined a particularly ornate bullwhip. People actually enjoyed being on the receiving end of these vicious implements? Reaching into the cabinet, Domino lifted a crop off its hook and flicked it experimentally against the cabinet door. The sharp crack made her flinch.

  “You’ve got the wrist action right but your wincing ruins the effect,” Tori joked. “You’ve got to maintain that cocky attitude the customers expect. Tonight when you get home, practice smirking in the mirror.” She took the crop from Domino’s hand and hung it in the cabinet. “And don’t worry about these. There’ll be time this afternoon and tomorrow for you to practice with the whips. But first I want to go over the rest of the room and the toys.”

  Tori opened the second black cabinet, revealing shelves of gel, rubber and leather sex toys. Thanks to an evening spent perusing S&M videos, Domino recognized cock rings and cages, nipple clamps and ball gags. There were bondage toys galore, from handcuffs to leather hoods. But her eyes were drawn to the colorful assortment of vibrators and plugs—many in improbable shapes and implausible sizes.

  Domino picked up a vibrator in the shape of a tree trunk with a squirrel attached to its side. Flipping the switch, she watched the tree vibrate while the squirrel’s long tongue circled in slow motion.

  “Is this for nature lovers?” Dom asked.

  Tori laughed. “You think that’s bad, what ’til you see their new endangered-species line.”

  Shaking her head, Dom turned off the toy and returned it to its spot on the cabinet shelf. She scanned the rest of the toys, amazed at the variety.

  “Why so many types?” Domino wasn’t looking forward to learning the different uses for this arsenal of sexual pleasure. Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned, toyless lovemaking?

  “Some of the customers want the same things every time but most want to be surprised. So we need an assortment of S&M props,” Tori said. “We keep detailed files so we know what we’ve used in the past and what the customer wants. I’ll go over the files of my regulars with you.”

  “Uh, how do you know…?” Domino hesitated, uncertain how to phrase it. “When do you know the guy’s had enough?”

  Tori smiled at Dom’s discomfort. “That’s easy. We assign them a safe word, something the customers only use if they’re reaching their limit.”

  “Can’t the customer just say ‘stop’?”

  “Actually most of them beg us to stop, but that’s part of the game,” Tori explained. “I have my customers say ‘yellow’ if they want me to slow down and ‘red’ if they want me to stop.”

  Domino walked over to a large throne-like chair and sank onto the soft cushion. “I feel as if I’ve fallen through a wormhole into a parallel universe.” Domino rubbed her hands over her face. “Beam me up, Scottie.”

  Tori laughed. “It’s pretty bizarre at first but you’ll get the hang of it. The best thing to do is try to think of it as providing a medical service with a twist.”

  “Yeah, right. Just call me Doctor Domino, the sex therapist,” Dom said. “Okay, I guess you better finish showing me this room before your first appointment arrives.”

  Tori walked to the chair. “Well, I use the chair you’re sitting in for my foot fetish customers.”

  Domino jumped up as if the chair were scalding hot.

  Tori giggled. “They don’t sit there—I do. I like being comfortable while they worship my toes.”

  Domino groaned. What had she done to deserve this assignment? Did she really want the assistant director job this much? Sure, her career was everything, but toe worshipping?

  “The ladder-back chair over there is for my spanking customers,” Tori continued. “My four o’clock is one of them.”

  Tori walked to the staff door at the back of the room, opened it and took a file out of the bin attached to th
e outside wall. She carried the file back and showed Domino the contents.

  “I nickname my clients so I can keep them straight. My first appointment is Baby Bob,” Tori said. “He brings his mother’s silver hairbrush and wants to be spanked and diapered.”

  Domino had an overwhelming urge to put her hands over her ears and hum really loud until Tori was finished with her recitation. Instead she simply groaned again.

  The girl stopped talking and looked at her. “Hey, he’s one of my easier customers.”

  “I have to diaper a grown man?”

  “Yep, complete with baby powder,” Tori said, grinning at Dom’s disgust. “But if he asks to suck your breasts, just tell him he’s been a bad boy and give him his bottle instead.”

  Dom swallowed the hysterical urge to giggle. While her coworkers were out infiltrating street gangs, she’d be playing surrogate mother to some wealthy deviant with an infantile obsession. That would make for an interesting tale the next time she was swapping war stories on a stakeout. Did I ever tell you how I broke up a multimillion-dollar drug ring with a bottle of baby powder and an adult diaper?

  Tori walked over to a piece of leather furniture that resembled a well-padded sawhorse. Dom noticed hand and ankle cuffs attached to its widespread legs.

  “This appropriately is called a horse.” Tori stroked the padded surface. “We use it a lot. It comes in real handy for whippings as well as other customer favorites.”

  Tori’s words conjured up vivid images from Dom’s S&M moviefest. How could people think these things were sexy?

  “Pony Paul,” Tori continued, “one of my regulars, likes to wear a bridle—”

  Dom held up her hand in a traffic cop gesture. “Please tell me you gave that client to one of the others,” she begged.

  Tori grinned. “I figured some of the padded horse work was probably a little more ‘up close and personal’ than you wanted to get. So Angi and Ellen are handling the regulars with those kinks.”

  “You have my eternal gratitude.” Dom’s relief was palpable. Then she pointed to the black futon in the corner. “What’s the futon for?”

  “Well, some customers try to earn the right to pleasure their counselor,” Tori began. “If they perform well, you can reward them by allowing them to…well, orally please you.”

  “What?” Dom didn’t want these crazies touching her with their hands, much less their tongues.

  “Don’t worry,” Tori hurried to reassure her. “Just make sure you find fault with their performance. That way, they never earn those rights. If you feel like rewarding any of them, let them masturbate at the end of the session.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Dom moaned, wishing she could sit down but unwilling to touch any surface in the room now. What type of nightmare karma had resulted in her being the agent on this case? Had she broken a hundred mirrors in a past life? Pissed off a guardian angel? Rankled some genie?

  “The stainless steel table is for customers who like the nurse examination fantasy,” the girl said. “Many of our customers are into role-playing of some kind. You’ll get to see some of them this evening. You can also check out any of Angi’s and Ellen’s sessions.”

  Domino’s mind swam. Could she call in sick her first week on this job?

  “These items are for hanging or tying the customers before a whipping.” Tori pointed out the X-frame and the dangling chains.

  Domino nodded, thinking these were the most straightforward furnishings in this Marquis de Sade-decorated chamber. She prayed that tomorrow when she stepped into Tori’s shoes, she’d be able to satisfy her customers with a little time on the X-frame or the chains. Maybe she could apply the KISS method—Keep It Simple, Submissive.

  Tori glanced at her watch. “I better get masked and gloved. It’s almost four o’clock.”

  Domino walked to the employee entrance and opened the door. The chair placed outside the entrance would afford her a clear view through the two-way mirror.

  With an “A-okay” sign to Tori, Dom closed the door and settled into the chair. Hell, she’d just told her first sign language lie. She was far from A-okay. She might never be A-okay again. But she had too many years invested in the agency to let some pain-loving perverts force her off this case. She straightened her spine and stared resolutely through the mirror. Let the games begin.

  Chapter Three

  So Many Deviants, So Little Time.

  The plaque hanging over the coffee machine in the Xecutive Branch’s employee lounge failed to make Domino smile. In ten minutes she was due in S&M Room Five for her first solo session with a submissive and her stomach was doing cartwheels. She told herself this was just another undercover job, but how often did a DEA agent dress like a Frederick’s of Hollywood model?

  Refusing to look down at the leather dominatrix getup hugging her body like a second skin, Dom leaned back on the lounge’s sofa and tried some deep-breathing exercises. Less than two days’ apprenticeship with Mistress Tori wasn’t nearly long enough to prepare her for the club’s warped clientele. With her luck, she’d probably get a real challenge for her first solo client.

  Would it be someone like Baby Bob? Domino shuddered. Or maybe Whiny Wayne, who wanted to worship his mistress’s feet? She glanced at her spike-heeled, patent-leather sandals and her red-polished toenails, visible through the sheer black stockings. Thank goodness she’d let Tori talk her into a pedicure. If she had to have strange men touching her feet, her toes might as well look good.

  Beginning to hyperventilate, Dom attempted the stress-reduction visualization she’d learned during her DEA torture training. She tried to picture herself relaxing on a beach with a pina colada and a muscle-bound male admirer. Instead, she flashed back to that horrible day in third grade when as a walk-on in the school play she’d forgotten her lines in a fit of stage fright and thrown-up on the lead actor. For years afterward, several of her classmates had called her “Vominique” instead of “Dominique”.

  “Dammit.” With a surge of self-disgust, Dom shot off the couch and paced the room. You can do this. You’re not an eight-year-old.

  Sure, this wasn’t her typical assignment, but she was a good agent. No matter what she had to do—or wear—she was going to bust this drug operation wide open. And since she couldn’t search for the drugs if she were fired from the club, she had to suck it up.

  Okay, poor choice of words but it was time to get serious. She wasn’t going to let the agency down, even if it meant she had to whip a few wimps or grind a few submissives under her heel. Teeth gritted in determination, she pulled on her elbow-length leather gloves and headed to S&M Room Five. Mistress Bella was going to kick some ass.

  * * * * *

  “I’m sorry, but Counselor Tori is no longer with us. Can someone else help you?”

  Dalton looked at the reserved young woman sitting behind the glass-and-chrome desk in the elegant reception area. At first glance, both the furnishings and the receptionist looked as if they belonged in an affluent law firm, not a D.C. sex club. But given the Xecutive Branch’s rich and often famous clientele—from politicians and diplomats to the upper management of local high-tech and defense firms—Dalton shouldn’t have been surprised by the opulence of the décor.

  In fact, he’d designed his own cover story—introducing himself as the owner of a thriving security firm—to fit the expectations of the club’s screeners. And they’d accepted his application and his check with few questions. As Jason’s beneficiary, Dalton had been able to pull together enough cash to pay the insane amount they wanted for annual dues. But if it led him to Jason’s killers, the twenty-five grand would be money well spent. He couldn’t let the murderers get away.

  The receptionist awaited his answer with a sweet, patient smile. It was hard to believe this petite blonde with her professional attitude was scheduling customers for sexual appointments with the club’s “counselors”.

  Dalton cleared his throat. “My friend told me to ask for Tori. She’s…he said she was th
e best.”

  The receptionist’s smile broadened. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased with any of our counselors, sir.” She checked her desk calendar. “Counselor Bella is taking Tori’s appointments.” Looking up, she reassured him, “Although she’s new, Counselor Bella has been schooled to meet your every need. And she’s the only counselor able to take you tonight without an appointment.”

  Unwilling to postpone this first hurdle in his mission to find Jason’s killers, Dalton nodded. “Counselor Bella will be fine. Thank you.”

  Despite his years working undercover for the Metro Police, Dalton had to fight down the dread threatening to twist his gut into knots. This wasn’t exactly his typical case, he mentally rationalized, as the receptionist buzzed for an attendant to take him to S&M Room Five.

  The baldheaded body-builder in the white uniform who arrived resembled a nightclub bouncer. Sparing him a cursory glance, the attendant accepted a clipboard containing Dalton’s club application then silently led him down the carpeted hallway past several numbered doors. Dalton couldn’t hear anything from these rooms, which were probably sound-proofed.

  Despite the air-conditioning, he was sweating by the time they stopped in front of Room Five. Using an electronic card, the attendant opened the door and gestured for him to follow. Once inside, the man closed the door and muttered, “Wait here.” Turning, the body-builder crossed the room and left through a rear entrance. Dalton was alone.

  The room was everything his partner had described in his journal and worse—a stainless steel table with stirrups, a wooden rack, a padded sawhorse and two open cabinets displaying whips and sex toys Dalton didn’t want to contemplate. He focused instead on a journal passage about the pleasure Jason had received in this room.