The lights were on in the house. I ducked behind the Mercedes, careful to keep from touching it or else risk setting off its alarm. I could see them both through one of the picture windows. They were facing one another. They were also arguing. It was impossible to hear what they were saying to one another, but I had no doubt that they were shouting. Fighting.
They were also drinking, pouring one shot after the other of what looked like vodka. But then, I was positioned outside the house so it might have been gin for all I knew. Allison was doing most of the shouting. He was holding his drink and just taking it. She was getting up into his face like a bulldog.
Then, she threw her drink, and hauled off and slapped him. He grabbed her arm, but she hit him again using the other hand. He went to grab her again, but this time, she said something to him that stopped him dead in his tracks. Even from my perch in the driveway, I could see his face turn pale, his eyes go wide. She said something else to him, and that’s when he did something very strange.
He slowly got down on his knees.
But he didn’t stop there. He went down on all fours. She disappeared out of view, having moved beyond the frame of the picture window. It was my chance to slip away from the relative safety of the car to a closer position. That way I might not only get a better view of what was happening, but I’d possibly hear them.
Maintaining a crouched position, I sprinted across the driveway and made my way into the bushes. From there, I could look directly through the window. It was more dangerous than spying on them from a distance, but I could make out the entire wide-open floor plan. I locked my eyes on Andrew. He was still down on all fours even though at least a minute had passed. His body was trembling. At first, I took this to mean he was afraid of what was about to happen to him, but then it dawned on me that he might be excited for what was about to transpire instead.
For certain, I knew that he was shaking with excitement, when Allison showed back up on the scene, not wearing the casual clothing she’d been dressed in just moments ago. Instead, she was dressed in an outfit a million miles from casual suburban housewife.
She was dressed like a dominatrix.
Andrew glanced at her but just as quickly corrected himself, shifting his eyes back to staring at the plain wood floor.
“You’re a bad man!” Allison shouted.
She held a black riding crop in her hand. She reared back with it, whipped him hard on the ass. He jarred forward in pain, but he didn’t complain. Not a word. Instead, he began to tremble even more violently.
“Who told you you could look at me?!” she barked.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She hit him again. “Who said you could speak?!”
She stood foursquare in the middle of the living area. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. She was wearing a leather bra that fit her so tightly that it hurt to look at it. Her bikini panties were leather, and she wore black fishnet stockings and a garter belt. For shoes, she wore tall black leather boots with stiletto heels. Both her hands were covered in long black gloves. Her lipstick was also black. In a word, she looked dangerous, but sexy too. So much so that I found myself trembling.
“It’s time to teach you a lesson, bad man,” she said.
Again, she disappeared from view. But when she returned, she had a stepladder which she pulled open and positioned directly beneath an exposed horizontal beam. Climbing the ladder, she reached up and grabbed hold of something out of sight resting on top of the beam. It was a chain with a collar attached to it. Along with the collar were two sets of hand-cuff like shackle devices.
She dropped the length of chain from the beam. It hit the floor. She then grabbed something else that had been stored on top of the beam—a black device, like the remote control to a television or a stereo system. Climbing back down the ladder, she set it aside and once more gripped her riding crop with her free hand.
She whacked his ass with it again.
“Get up,” she demanded.
He stood as ordered. At rapt attention.
“Hit me,” she insisted, her arms and hands pressed against her sides.
He inhaled like he required extra oxygen for what he was about to do. He slapped her. Hard enough that I could hear the impact.
“Again,” she pressed. “Harder this time.”
He inhaled and exhaled again. Then he hauled off and struck her face with such force her knees buckled. I thought for sure she might collapse.
“That all you got, pussy man?” she goaded him. “You’re pathetic. You’re nothing. Did you know I fucked another man this morning after you left for work? His cock was big and hard, and it filled my mouth and my ass.”
I watched his face turn a bright shade of red. He knew her words were true. His eyes went wide, his teeth ground together, lips pursed. He made a fist, walloped her in the jaw. This time, I was convinced she would go down. She wobbled unsteadily on her feet but then regained her balance. That’s when she slowly brought her gloved hand to her face, not like she was feeling the welt that was surely already growing there, but so she could caress it, savor the pain. So much for Andrew abusing her.
She was fucking asking for the abuse.
She cleared her throat, composed herself, slapped the riding crop against the palm of her free hand.
“Undress,” she commanded.
“Yes, Madame,” he replied.
She hit him again. “Did I tell you to talk?”
“No, Madame,” he said.
She struck him with the crop once more.
It dawned on me that he must have been asking for it just like she was. He couldn’t be that stupid to openly defy her the way he was. Which told me they must have enjoyed the pain. It turned them on. It was their common denominator. By the looks of things, the two of them were professionals when it came to the pain department.
Minutes later, he was not only naked, but he was shackled and cuffed to the overhead chain. The chain must have been attached to an electronic pulley or come-along system that was also hidden by the thick overhead beam. When she pressed a specific button on the remote she’d retrieved, the chain began to retract, and Andrew was raised off the floor. His arms, ankles, and neck were pulled violently backward in ways God never intended. But he never so much as said a word. Never uttered a sound other than a grunt. He wasn’t choking. No bones were about to break, and no skin was about to tear, but I couldn’t help but think he had to be in some serious agony.
Then again, I guess what’s pain to me was pleasure to others.
How’d the famous song lyric go?
Hurts so good. Come on, baby, make it hurt so good…
Time went by, and Allison went from teasing him, making him hard, stroking and rubbing him, to striking him with the crop. I wasn’t entirely clear on the game they were playing until it struck me. She didn’t want him to climax. Simple as that. If he came too early, she would have no choice but to leave him hanging. No choice but to keep on punishing him.
For two formerly married people who were supposed to hate one another, they most definitely had themselves one hell of an understanding, if not a special relationship. I’d seen enough. I really didn’t feel the need to hang around to find out how the climax turned out, and I got the point of the floor show, which was anything but subtle or ironic. Maybe to them, it was just plain playful or a way to pass the time. Whatever the case, Allison Craig was not the damsel in distress she portrayed herself to be this morning.
Tomorrow, we’d have to have a little chat.
I slipped back through the bushes and quickly but quietly made my way back down the driveway. I got back in my car and drove away, one eye on the road, the other planted on the rearview. It wouldn’t surprise me one ounce if Andrew Craig had surveillance cameras positioned in all sorts of places inside and outside the house. He was a little tied up at the moment, so it would be impossible for him to view the CCTV footage, but who knew how long their sadistic game of BDSM or S&M, or whatever the
hell you call it, would last. Better that I disappear now, under the cover of darkness.
When I returned home, the house was blacker than Allison’s leather outfit. But somehow, not nearly as interesting or inviting, dare I say it. I washed my face off in the kitchen sink, put the gloves and hat away in the front hall closet, poured myself a drink, and sat down with the darkness, my old friend.
I thought about the events of the day. The Sex Club in the late morning, Allison’s offer to murder her husband in exchange for a hefty payday, and of course, the much appreciated hands-on research, the Facebook instant message from Mackey, the discovery of the condoms in Stella’s makeup drawer, and her leaving for the evening with no mention of where she was going or who she’d be with and when she was coming back. And finally, my witnessing the S&M game Allison and Andrew were playing. For two supposedly legally separated individuals stubbornly living under the same roof, they seemed to be getting along just fine. In their own particular way, of course.
It was pretty clear to me now that she lied about the bruises on her face and the scar behind her ear. Looked to me like they were both delivering frequent beatings to one another. How fucked up is that? But then, who was I to judge? Let’s face it, these were not your normal, everyday, run of the mill suburbanites. These were people who had not just one skeleton hidden in the closet, but a whole bunch of them. It’s what attracted me to them. It’s what made them interesting. I would write about them, one way or another.
But the question was, would I kill for them?
Kill for Allison?
I sipped on my drink, felt the whiskey seep into my bloodstream. If I had a cell phone, I might text Stella. Demand she tell me where she was. But I didn’t have a cell phone, and I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know where she was. Maybe I should go back into her office, turn her laptop back on, see if Mackey would once again chime in. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he was busy fucking my significant other.
I pictured the two of them together. I pictured her naked body lying beside his. I imagined her hand on his cock, her running the tip of her tongue up and down his shaft, visualized her taking it all the way into her mouth…
Christ, if I wasn’t already getting hard. I was drowning in a sea of vivid memories that weren’t mine, or necessarily real. My imagination knew how to stab me in the back when it wanted. It was as untrustworthy as thin ice and just as transparent.
I drank down the shot of whiskey, got up, poured another.
“You’re gonna make yourself crazy you keep thinking those thoughts, Vic,” I said aloud. “Crazier than you already are.”
I went to the picture window in the living room, looked out onto the dark, summertime street. Looked at the houses with their lights off, all those innocent people snuggled into their beds. I pictured Tara sleeping next door. She was alone. A small spark of optimism filled my veins. I glanced at my watch. It was going on ten in the evening. Stella might not be back for hours. But then again, her car might pull up in the driveway in a matter of seconds.
“Fuck it,” I said to myself, pulling back the shot. “Two can play this little game. Fuck you, Stella, and fuck you too, Mackey.”
I set the empty shot glass on the bar then headed out the back door onto the back deck. Making my way through the gate on the old wood privacy fence that surrounded the small half-acre back property, I walked over the trimmed grass into Tara’s backyard and onto her small wooden back deck. I could see that her sliding glass door was open, only the screen closed to keep out the bugs.
Candles were burning inside and out, the flames flickering in the gentle summer breeze, their orange light casting shadows on both the interior and exterior walls. I heard music playing on the stereo. Bob Dylan if I had to guess. I pictured Tara sitting on the couch, a bottle of white wine opened, a glass poured. Maybe she’d be smoking a joint, just enjoying her solitude and her life now that her husband was finally gone. The kids would be asleep by this point of the evening, and she would have the house to herself. Life was good for Tara these days, thanks to the handyman.
A smile adorned my face. I felt those forty-three muscles at work. I put my hand on the screen door opener. That’s when I heard voices. Not loud voices. Soft voices barely audible above the music. More than one voice. Tara had company.
Shrouded by darkness broken only by the candles, I cupped my hand around my ear, pressed it against the screen, tried my hardest to hear what was being said. But all I could make out was mumbling, whispering. Two voices mixing with one another. Both of them female. Both of them conscious of the children who were asleep in the bedrooms. Two women curled up on the couch drinking wine. Maybe Tara and Allison. Suddenly, I began to feel not only optimistic but downright excited. What better way to end this night than to repeat the way the day began this morning?
The perfect pair of bookends.
I shifted my left foot, and that’s when it collided with the empty metal planter. It wasn’t a loud noise, but it was enough to cause the voices to stop mid-sentence. It also caused my pulse to elevate, the fine hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I stood there breathing, hard.
“Who’s there?” Tara asked.
Footsteps echoed over the interior wood floor. I shifted myself to the right and out of her line of sight. Quickly, but quietly I made my way over her deck and back to my fence gate. Opening the gate, I slipped inside and breathed freely. Why the hell hadn’t I just spoken up when Tara asked who’s there? She would have been happy to see me. But then, she had company, and I felt like an intruder.
I guess I panicked.
Her screen door slid open. I heard not one person heading out onto the deck but two. Locating a narrow opening between the vertical slats in the wood fence, I had a clear line of sight of her backyard. What I saw sent a shockwave up and down my spine.
Just as I suspected, I saw two women. But it wasn’t Tara and Allison. It was, instead, Tara and Stella.
Quickly making my way back into the house, I checked the garage. Stella’s car was gone. She didn’t need to take the car if she was only going next door. If she was hanging out only a few feet away, where the hell did she park the car? Another question loomed large inside my increasingly overheated brain. Was she good friends with Tara? Sure, they were friends. Or friendly anyway, like good neighbors tend to be. Friendly but not personal. We lived too close to one another to become too personal. Too close to become enemies, should the relationship suddenly crash and burn.
Something else to consider. Had Tara seen me standing outside her back screen door? Had she seen me running away? Because if she had, then she was the one who was going to have some serious questions for me.
The rattle and hum of the garage door suddenly opening took me by surprise. I felt my heart jump into my throat. My instinct was to grab a drink, make like nothing was wrong. But I already had a drink in my hand. I didn’t even remember pouring it.
The garage door stopped, and the back door opened. Stella walked in.
“Why the darkness?” she said.
“It’s what happens when there’s no light.”
“That supposed to be funny?”
I could see her smiling wryly. I wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or bad. I sipped some whiskey. “You want a nightcap?” I asked.
“I just had some wine,” she said, slowly taking the two steps up into the dining room, taking a seat at the end of the table where my typewriter rested along with a neat stack of typed pages beside it. Even in the semi-darkness, I could make out her big brown eyes focusing on my work. “You’re making progress,” she added. “You’re on fire these days, Vic. What’s changed?”
Inside my body, I felt this incredible heat. It was a fueled by frustration and inspired by lust. I wanted Stella. Every minute of every day I wanted Stella. Even when I was fucking Tara and Allison on the big bed this morning, I still wanted Stella. Looking at her face, her luscious lips, her perfect nose, the way her long thick hair draped across her forehead, I wanted to dive into
her and drown.
But take it from a man who makes up lies for a living, deep down inside, I knew she was keeping something from me, and I was determined to find out what it was.
“Where were you tonight, Stel?”
She exhaled.
“Around,” she said. “I met up with an old friend at Lanies. Then, I paid another friend a long overdue visit.”
Old friend. As in Mackey? Or another friend, as in Tara?
“These friends have names?”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You might not like the sound of one of them,” she said pursing her thick lips.
A start in my heart.
“Try me.” My mouth went dry. “Let’s start with the friend who was long overdue for a visit.”
“Tara,” she said.
She was being honest. Maybe she’d simply parked her car in Tara’s driveway. I guess I never thought of looking for it in the most obvious of places.
“And the old friend?”
I drank down the rest of my drink because in my gut of guts, I knew what was coming.
“Mackey,” she said.
Setting the now empty glass on the bar, I about-faced and approached her. How should I handle her seeing Mackey? Should I yell, and wave my arms around wildly in the air, make a gigantic booze-induced scene? Or should I simply be cool about it? The latter was the way I wanted it to go down. Make like her seeing her old lover without first asking if I was okay with it didn’t have the slightest effect on me. Because after all, her seeing Mackey might be nothing more than her attempt at baiting me. And I wasn’t about to take the bait.
“Mackey,” I said. “That’s funny my mentioning him earlier like that, and here you already had a date planned.”
Naturally, I recalled his Facebook private messages from earlier in the day.
She giggled.
“I wouldn’t call it a date,” she explained. “It was a drink. Nothing more.”
“Sure about that?” I said, taking a step forward, pushing myself between her legs so that they had no choice but to open up.
Naked Heat: The Handyman, Episode II Page 4
