Don't Call Me Kitten! (12 page)

The walls of
the hotel throbbed to the beat of the music. Kit and Helena merged
with the crowd, slowly navigating to a door at the back or the main
room. The bouncer in front of it crossed his arms and stared.
“Where do you think you two ladies are going?”

Kit held up an
ID card. “To the underground. Your mistress is expecting us.
Kitsune Abe and Helena Ivanova.”

The bouncer
relaxed his guard. “Ah, the shibari master and the Russian dungeon
monitor. We’ve been expecting you. Welcome” He opened the door to
them.

Helena was
curious about their closed door policy. “Fairly careful about who
they let in here then?”

“They have to
be. The authorities are very sensitive to any bad press. Officially
this isn’t even a business, just a club for like minded people.
Since it’s only a group of people meeting together they leave the
club alone as long as nothing criminal goes down. The hotel above
provides the venue and plenty of noise to cover any we make below.
There’s plenty of goth types clad in black and leather upstairs so
a few more extremely clad clientele passing through doesn’t attract
too much attention. Nothing’s advertised, its all done through
social networking, SMS and word of mouth, personal introductions
and the like. You don’t get in here unless someone vouches for you.
They can’t risk slime ball sex offenders coming in here, doing
something that might attract the attention of the police.”

“Amazing, in
Russia the mob just pays off the authorities and we run it openly
as a business.”

“Yeah, well
that doesn’t go over too well Down Under. That’s not to say there
wasn’t corruption once. Historically corruption started with the
‘rum corps’, the illicit alcohol trade during the convict era when
the English first settled here in 1790. The colony wasn’t a popular
posting. The army stationed here was mostly made up of underpaid
troublemakers. The officers used their position to buy up all the
imported rum and trade it for favors, goods and work. It fostered a
culture of corruption. But that was a long time ago, in the main
its been rigorously cleaned up. The club members here really do
have to be good law abiding citizens.”

A buxom
brunette in red leather greeted them at the bottom of the stars.
“Kit, glad you could make it.” She gave a little Japanese style bow
to Kit and then offered her hand to Helena. “I hope we can make
your stay with us a memorable one. I’ve arranged for the hotel
upstairs to give you a room for the night. Consider it on the
house, I owe you Kit.”

“I am honored
but...”

“No buts, I
insist.”

“Thanks
Sheila, you’re too kind. Is there a dungeon available for us?”

“I’ve booked
one for you but...” Sheila looked awkward for a moment, almost
guilty. “I was wondering if you might do a Shibari demonstration in
the main arena before you go off to enjoy yourselves.”

Kit bowed
graciously. The Japanese aesthetic art of tying people in silken
ropes was an art few mastered outside her homeland. It was natural
they would want a demonstration of the artform. “How could I
refuse? Lead the way.”

Since one of
Helena’s incentives in coming here was to learn some of Kit’s
shibari techniques she didn’t mind the delay. It would also give
her a chance to take in more of the sights down here. The people
here were exotically different to those who frequented the
lifestyle back home. These obviously weren’t an elite of bored
merchants, wealthy enough to pay the Mafia’s entrance fee. The
people here were of all shapes and sizes. They didn’t seem to have
any hangups about strutting their stuff in their skimpy black
leather outfits, collars and chains. The atmosphere was friendly.
It really was a club. Helena turned to Sheila. “Kit might need a
model to practise on.”

“Ah, yes,
you’re not a sub are you. Well I think I have someone who would be
keen to help. I’ll go get her.”

Once they were
in the main demonstration area one of the bouncers brought Kit a
box of some of the clubs finest silk ropes. Kit handled them and
seemed pleased. “These will do fine, thank you.”

Sheila
returned with an elegant, completely naked tall dark skinned woman
with long black braided hair and coal black ebony eyes in tow. When
they reached Kit the woman knelt before her, back straight, head
slightly lowered, eyes averted.

Kit walked
around the woman appraising her. “You’ll do very nicely. What’s
your name.”

“Sathi
Rupasinghe Mistress.”

“She’s my
business manager and bloody good at it if I might say.” Sheila
explained. “Do you mind if I explain a little of your background
Sathi?”

“No, not at
all boss. I’d rather not have to talk about it myself. Brings the
damn tears on if I try.”

Patting Sathi
affectionately on her shoulder she explained. “Sathi’s originally
from Sri Lanka. Couldn’t afford the dangerous boat trip out here so
when she was offered a way to work here she took it. Unfortunately
the creeps who conned her didn’t really explain what the work was.
One of our members met her at the brothel where she was indentured
to work for the next ten years. We paid them off, sponsored her and
got her citizenship. She’s been with me ever since. Sathi’s quiet
and gentle but curious about your techniques. She would prefer it
if you refrained from anything overtly sexual though. I explained
to her you weren’t inclined towards women in that way.”

Kit nodded her
assent and then stood before the woman, lifting her head so they
looked eye to eye. “I am pleased with your offer Sathi. Know that I
will protect and respect you in all ways. What is your safe
word?”

Sathi smiled
then, a cheekiness that wasn’t apparent before lighting up her dark
eyes. “Not a word but a phrase if you don’t mind Mistress...leaky
boats.”

Kit laughed.
“As long as you are sure you can remember it. Come! Let us make
some art together.”

It was six am
when the flight arrived in. George brought Simon’s newer Bentley
around to the pickup area to load their gear and settle them in the
back. “Good trip ladies.”

Helena rubbed
her sore bum as she seated herself. “Alright but they could make
those damned airline seats a bit more padded.” She sighed with
relief as she settled into the Bentley’s plush upholstery. “Ah,
that’s heaven.”

Kit’s lips
twitched with amusement. She wasn’t exactly in any better shape
herself but she didn’t regret it for a moment. After she’d finished
her little demonstration with Sathi all three had retired to a
private dungeon that had been set aside for them. She’d proceeded
to show Sathi some of her more devastatingly effective techniques
with the whip and the paddle, inflicting them on a more than
willing Helena. All the time avoiding Helena’s new tattoo. Helena
had got her own back of course. She still wasn’t sure what had
possessed her to submit to Helena: she’d never played that role
before. But she had connected telepathically with her lover back
home and shared the whole experience with him. Channelling the
experience to him had made it alright.

Helena had
innately understood Kit’s need to transcend pain and pleasure, to
find that spaciousness that existed on that very narrow edge
between both. Hands tied to ropes hanging from the ceiling, legs
shackled to the floor, clamps on her nipples and her nether
regions. Helena had proceeded to torment her excruciatingly,
alternating between the soft caress of feathers, silk cloth and
velvet with the erratic sting of the whip. She’d soared into that
endorphin filled bliss her kind called subspace. For Kit it was
more than a physically induced drug trip, it was profoundly
spiritual. Helena seemed to know instinctively when she’d reached
that place and had instantly stopped, releasing her from her
clamps. With the flood of returning circulation she had found
flight. When she finally came down from it there were cuddles all
round. Neither Helena, Sathi or herself were inclined towards being
intimate with women but it was still a turn on to share their
pleasure-pain with each other. Just three friends sharing fun and
ecstasy. Their play had bonded them quickly and deeply in
friendship like few other experiences could. When she’d finally
recovered enough they’d given Sathi a tandem purely non-sexual
massage, loosening her knots and helping her to deeply relax and
know she was safe with them. Helena had shown how to use a brutal
looking but surprisingly pleasurable spiky plastic ball, she’d
carted with her, to work the harder to get at muscles around the
shoulder blades.

Before they’d
dragged themselves to their respective beds Helena and Kit had both
extended an invite to Sathi to visit Boswell any time she wanted.
In a ritual as old as time Kit had offered them both a bond of
friendship. It was rare to find non-mates who would totally accept
you as you are and she wanted to acknowledge what that meant to
her. For some reason she couldn’t mentally contact Simon for a
thumbs up so she followed her intuition instead. When Kit explained
what the bond of friendship would do Sathi and Helena had accepted
wholeheartedly. When she ritually cut the palms of each hand with
the little sacred knife she kept in her boot they had both accepted
the blood bond. They had made a declaration to each other of
unconditional friendship and acceptance. They would always have
each other’s backs.

Leaving Sathi
to go help Sheila to lock up for the night Helena and Kit had gone
to crash in the twin beds in their hotel room upstairs. The four
thirty alarm had been a brutal wake up call. She let her lids
close. Time for a bit of well earned shut eye.

George
chuckled quietly to himself. He could barely read Helena’s thought
but he picked up on the drift of Kit’s. So the ladies had had a
night on the town. A pinch of sadness grabbed him as he idolly
wished his own even had been ... more.
Them’s the
breaks
.

Pulling out
onto the highway he frowned when he noticed a cliche black SUV pull
in to follow behind them. As he made the turn onto the direct route
to Boswell it stayed with them. “Damn!”

Kit and Helena
were instantly alert. “What’s up George?”

“Unless it’s
purely coincidence I’d say we’re being tailed. You girls better arm
yourselves. There’s a stash of weapons in a compartment under the
back seat, including some 7.62 round sub machine guns.” He pressed
a button on his dash mounted mobile. Having made the call he put it
on speaker mode so the girls could listen in. “Andrew, we’ve got
company.”

“Shit, give me
a number plate.”

George did and
Andrew took a moment to feed it through the computer systems his
end. When he found it he swore. “Hit the pedal George. You don’t
really want to take on those guys.”

“Russian?”

“Yuh
think?”

George
couldn’t help but laugh, Scots and their sarcasm. “Hitting the
pedal. Hope you ladies are strapped in.”

Kit
blushed.

George noticed
and smirked. Oh well, time to rephrase things later. Kind of cute
really. He hadn’t know the hard ass ninja Jap could blush.

Helena loaded
the German made Heckler and Koch MG3s she’d retrieved from under
the seat. She passed one to kit. “Pity we don’t have one of these
on the roof.”

George gave an
evil smile. “Oh but we do. A Browning M2. I just didn’t want it in
view until we got off the main roads. Andrew doesn’t like us
attracting too much attention to ourselves.” He pressed a button on
the dash. Noises briefly whirred as part of the ceiling retracted,
replaced in short order by a rather large gun and its mounting that
unfolded into position. “Fire up the screen on the back of your
seat. Mendal and I adapted it to give you touch screen control of
the firing mechanism. Now what you girls need to know is that this
car is more than bullet proof so don’t go firing out the windows.
There are swivel ports in the side panels of the door that can be
opened up, just big enough for the barrels of those other machine
guns. Kit, the screen on your side gives you access to a range of
weaponry. There’s a Gatling gun mounted in the boot and tire
shredders you can launch if they try to come along side. We don’t
really want to kill the bad guys if we don’t have to. Our police
are on their way. Just try to keep them busy and if you can disable
their car do it. I’m going to be mean and take the windiest route
into town I know. So I hope your butts will forgive me but I know
the bends in this road better than our enemy do. Hang on to your
seats.” He pushed his foot even further to the floor, engaged
sports mode and gave the car all it ever yearned for, a reason for
its being.

Helena wasn’t
sure what the driver meant by ‘our police’. Instead she focused on
firing up the console. Some smart ass nerd had obviously rigged it
to a rear mounted camera.
Neat
. She allowed herself to enter
the flow of George’s driving. When she felt herself sync with it
she aimed for the radiator of the SUV behind and let rip.

Return fire
pinged the back windscreen but whatever glass it was made from did
an amazing job of deflecting the bullets. Not a mark. She studied
her screen again. Water was pouring out of the SUV’s radiator now
but it was still coming after them. They were trying to gain on
them. She was having none of that. She aimed for the tire on the
driver’s side and shredded it.

Kit gave
Helena a high-five. She hadn’t had to do a thing. Helena had it all
well in hand.

The SUV behind
them skidded into the drain on the side of the road, coming to a
stop. Two cliche tall men in trench coats and dark glasses unloaded
themselves from the now steaming wreck and began dusting themselves
off. Hearing police sirens they split up and ran for the cover of
the bush.