Jack Stone - Deadly Revenge (7 page)

Lunch arrived on trays and they ate absently, their minds pre-occupied with the challenges ahead. Then they went back over everything again throughout the afternoon, until finally Stone was confident Celia would respond and react to any basic commands.

Sandwiches were delivered at sunset, and then Celia went back to her room to shower and change. Stone switched on the television
in his room for background noise and fetched the sports coat from the second bag of purchases Celia had made. He tried it on. It was black – a good fit across the shoulders and sleeves, but maybe a little snug in the back. It would do. He left it unbuttoned over the top of his white t-shirt and spent twenty minutes cleaning his boots.

Celia knocked on his door at 8pm.
Stone leaned against the doorframe, his muscled arms folded across his chest. His gaze swept approvingly down her body, studying her from head to toe. Her hair was brushed out, loose over her shoulders, and her makeup had been applied with such skill that she seemed to be wearing none at all. The collar was around her throat. She was wearing a black lace bra, the cups cut low and the fabric sheer so that her nipples showed as intriguing dark shadows and the soft silky flesh of her breasts bulged in two smooth mounds of cleavage. She wore no top.

A short black skirt hugged her narrow waist, cut at mid-thigh, so that the fasteners of her suspenders showed below the hem where they clipped to sheer black stockings.

Her shoes were black, the heel high. She turned around for his inspection and he nodded approvingly.

Stone rolled the leash up and stuffed it into one of his coat pockets. Downstairs, Celia handed him the keys to the Lexu
s and he slid behind the wheel. The interior smelled of perfume. There were less than a thousand miles on the clock. It was practically brand new. The dash was a mass of consoles and buttons and lights. He started the motor and let the big luxury car idle for a moment.

“We only get one chance at this,” Stone said. “If we get inside, stay in character, no matter what happens.”

Celia nodded. She was nervous. Stone could see it in the way she clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

He drove past The Cage slowly. There was a man standing on the sidewalk outside the d
oor. He was a big man. Stone drove all the way to the end of the road and made a U-turn. He parked up about a hundred feet away from the club, on the same side of the road. There were closer parking spaces. Stone had chosen this one deliberately. Celia glanced at him.

“The show starts now,” he said. “There is a guy on the door. He’s going to be watching us as we approach. Hopefully, by the time we reach the club, he’ll be convinced we’re the real thing and we’ll have no troubles getting inside.”

He killed the engine. Got out of the car and walked around the hood. Pulled open the passenger side door and leaned in to clip the leash onto Celia’s collar. She slid out of the car and stood perfectly still while Stone took a moment to look around like he had all the time in the world. Then, without even glancing at Celia, he stepped onto the sidewalk and headed towards the club. Celia followed obedient and silent, walking one pace behind Stone and on his left hand side, keeping in step, with her eyes down on the ground at her feet.

They reached the door. Stone smiled at the security guard. He was
built like a footballer carrying plenty of weight and muscle. The guy looked like he was in his mid-twenties. He had a small black earpiece taped to his left ear.

The door was a massive solid structure, made of timber and braced with huge iron-band hinges. At waist height was an iron handle in the shape of a lion’s head with a
ring between its teeth. Stone reached for the handle. The big guy stepped across his path and put a hand flat against his chest.

“Not so fast,” the security guy said. There was a long desperate silence. Celia felt herself trembling. She held her breath and fought with every fiber of her being against the urge to look up into the guard’s face. Then she heard the guy make a noise like a friendly chuckle. “Opening the door is the only job I got,” the man said.

She heard Stone laugh. Heard the guard laughing too. Then the door was opening and Stone was leading her into a dark room lit by flashing strobes of light and filled with the thumping beat of loud music.

They were inside The Cage
.

Fifteen.

The
main room was smaller than Stone had expected – maybe thirty feet square. Against the far wall was a bar area, and next to the countertop, Stone could see the entrance to a dark passage leading to other rooms, and probably offices and toilets.

The walls around him were all red dressed timber to waist height, and then became rough brickwork up to the ceiling.
The walls were decorated with pieces of BDSM equipment hung against the exposed brick like ancient weapons of war.

Stone stood inside the doorway
with Celia standing close behind him, and glanced around the room.

There was a long low bench seat built into the walls on either side of the room and people were sitting comfortably drinking from red
plastic cups. Stone guessed there were maybe thirty people in the room.

They were clustered in couples,
doms with their subs close beside them, and a few scattered women with men on leashes. There was more women standing at the bar area.

The music in the room was loud, pumping through hidden speakers like it was heralding some kind of event
that was about to happen. Stone led Celia towards the left wall and sat down next to a young woman wearing a black corset and not much else. She had a thick red collar around her neck. She was slim, with long black hair and brown skin. Stone gave the leash a gentle tug and Celia sat down obediently close beside him.

As he watched
, the women gathered around the bar area drifted back to their respective masters carrying drinks. Gradually the music began to fade out and the hum of excited chatter rose to fill the silence.

Stone could feel Celia’s thigh brushing against his. Her leg was trembling. She was sitting quietly, but her eyes were darting to every corner of the room, trying to take it all in at once. He unclipped her collar.

“Go and get drinks,” he said. Nothing more. No expression, no softness in his tone. Just a stern command issued in a voice that expected her obedience.

Celia got to her feet, suddenly shy and self-conscious. She could feel the
gaze of everyone suddenly drawn to her, and she imagined the men in the room assessing her as a submissive and a sex toy – and the women assessing her as competition. She took a deep breath, clenched her tiny hands into fists, and walked stiffly around the edge of the room until she was standing on polished timber floorboards in front of the bar. She knew Stone was watching her too. Even across the room she could feel him looking at her with those dark dangerous eyes. A young woman had a row of plastic cups lined up on the counter. She pointed to each one in turn and told Celia what was in them.

The woman behind the bar was topless. She had small, perfectly shaped breasts. Her face was pale, but her lipstick and eye shadow was dark purple,
so that she looked almost tragic. Celia chose two cups with mixes of bourbon and coke and scurried back to where Stone waited.

There was a sudden commotion of activit
y and Stone turned to see a statuesque blonde woman appear from the darkened passageway. Everyone’s head turned in her direction.

She was naked above the waist. Her breasts were large and milky white against the light tan of her shoulders and
stomach. She cupped her breasts in her hands and pinched her nipples until they jutted hard and aroused.

The woman stood, framed in the doorway for a moment, with her hip thrust at a voluptuous angle. She was wearing a red skirt, split all the way up the front so that the mound of her naked sex below the garment was exposed. Her feet were thrust into flat red sandals. She parted her legs and slid her hands down within the skirt while the crowd applauded. Her fingers found the soft golden whorls of hair between her thighs and as she touched herself, she threw back her head and gasped aloud.

It was all a performance, Stone understood. But she was a skilled actress, and the gathered crowd responded to her overt display. Finally she stepped into the middle of the room and undulated her hips in a lewd dance like an uncoiling python.

Then anoth
er woman stepped into the room and stood silent and patient behind the tall golden-haired beauty.

The second woman
was naked. Her body was slim, with a flowing line of waist and thigh. She was young and tender-looking, and she moved with the awkward grace of a child, but also with the fully developed thrust of a woman’s breast and hip. She wore only a black leather collar around her neck. She had short brown hair. Her skin was smooth and golden-brown, her legs long and finely muscled. She stood with her hands cuffed in front of her and waited.

The tall blonde woman stopped gyrating her hips and turned. She thrust two of her moist
ened fingers into the other woman’s mouth. Then with slow voluptuous movements she slid her fingers between the girl’s soft moist lips in a gesture that was sexually fraught as an unmistakable parody of penetration.

“This is our model for the night,” the blonde woman announced to the crowd, her eyes taking in the faces of those gathered. “Her name is Melody, and she is a slut.”

The crowd applauded politely. The woman named Melody lowered her head. Her cheeks were flushed.

“We hope you enjoy seeing the way Master Damien deals with such as sexy slut,” the blonde declared. Then she attached a long chain to Melody’s cuffs.

There was an iron ring bolted into the ceiling above. The chain ran down through the ring. The blonde tugged on the chain until Melody’s arms were raised above her head. Then the blonde turned back to the darkened entrance – and waited.

Everyone waited. One minute. Two. Then finally a man appeared.

He was a big man, well muscled. He had broad shoulders and a coarse mat of dark curling hair across his chest. His head was concealed within a black leather hood. There were round eye-holes cut into the leather, and a crude ragged slash for the mouth. He wore black leather pants and shiny boots.

Celia felt her breath catch in her throat. The man looked positively sinister.

Stone felt Celia press a little closer against him. He took her hand in his, and put it on his thigh. Held it there, not as a sign of intimacy, but as a silent instruction for her to remain still and quiet.

Master
Damien strode into the room. He went to where the woman was hanging and ran his hand in a gentle teasing caress, all the way from her throat down to the shaved smooth mound of her sex. The woman spread her legs. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open in a silent gasp. Master Damien slid two of his fingers inside the woman and she flinched, bucked her hips, and then groaned softly. She shifted her weight, adjusting to the strain on her chained arms, and began to rock her hips in time with the touch of Master Damien’s fingers.

The tall blonde woman disappeared back through the darkened passageway. Stone watched her go, but she came back only seconds later carrying a black bag. She set it down on the floor at Master Damien’s feet and retreated to the bar.

Stone turned back and watched the entertainment.

Master Damien was applying
clothespins to the woman’s body – five to the soft smooth skin of each breast and nipple, and then several more to the taut flesh around her waist. The woman flinched and bit down on her lip as each peg was applied.

Celia was entranced. The scene unfolding before her was a world away from anything she had ever imagined or fantasized about. She felt her shock mingle with the perverse voyeuristic thrill of watching the two strangers. A brew of conflicted emotions bubbled up within her. She felt her sex melting, catching fire with excitement, but at the same time she felt almost guilty for being so aroused by the sexual play of power.

Stone heard Celia give a breathless little gasp, and he glanced at her. She was leaning forward, and her eyes were enormous as she watched the scene being played out. Her lips were parted, and her breathing was a series of short rapid gasps. Stone glanced down and noticed the hardened press of her nipples through the sheer fabric of the bra she wore.

When he looked back to the middle of the room, Master Damien was cuffing a spreader bar between the
submissive woman’s legs. The bar was a couple of feet long, made of aluminum rod, and the cuffs were thick leather. He fastened them and attached small padlocks. Then he started slapping the back of the woman’s exposed thighs and bottom with his hand. The woman gasped and squirmed against her restraints. One by one Master Damien unfastened the clothespins, and the sudden rush of blood was such an exquisite blend of pleasure and pain that the woman cried out.

When there were no more pegs, the woman was unhooked from the ceiling chain. Her arms fell limp in front of her and she
physically sagged with relief. Master Damien put the flat of his palm into the middle of her back and forced her down to her hands and knees.

Her legs were wide apart. Master Damien crouched
beside her and whispered softly to the woman. She nodded, and then lowered her head and straightened her back.

The tall blonde woman carried a red plastic cup
across to the submissive girl and balanced it in the middle of her back. The cup was full.

“Do not spill a drop,” Master Damien warned.
“You must stay perfectly still while our guests use you for their pleasure. If you spill the drink, I will not let you orgasm.”

Then, gradually, people came from their seats and gathered round the submissive. Men ran their hands over her body, massaging and cupp
ing her breasts. One of the doms brought his slave girl to the middle of the room. She crouched down on her haunches and ran her tongue between the submissive woman’s spread legs. There was a moan of approval, like a gentle sigh of a breeze, as men gathered round and watched the girl lapped and nuzzled the wet folds of the submissive’s aroused sex. Then one of the doms reached for the zipper of his trousers and offered the swollen hard length of himself to the kneeling woman’s mouth.

It be
came a gentle kind of erotic sensual orgy, with couples coming and going from the group around the woman and then pairing off in dark corners.

Stone clipped the leash to Celia’s collar and got to his feet. She stood silently beside him.

There were two submissive women standing at one end of the bar, talking to each other in hushed tones. Stone recognized the women and saw that both of their master’s were still part of the group gathered in the middle of the room. Stone gave Celia’s leash a gentle tug and led her towards the bar.

Both the women were collared, and both were about average height. One woman had flowing red hair that spilled in a cascade of fiery curls all the
way to the middle of her back. She glanced up at Stone with a flash of emerald green eyes. She was wearing a purple and black corset and a tight leather skirt. The other woman had short dirty blonde hair. She was slim, with over-sized breasts – probably the result of surgery, Stone guessed. She was wearing a white dress, cut very high up on her thigh and made of such thin gauzy fabric that the dark shadow of her panties showed clearly, even under the subdued lighting of the club.

Stone stopped in front of the
two women and drew Celia alongside him.

“We need your help,” Stone said.

The woman with the sparkling green eyes flicked a glance past Stone to where her master was standing. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said. “Our master’s won’t allow us to play.”

Stone shook his head. “I don’t want a scene,” Stone said, keeping his voice low, but inflecting his tone with sudden urgency. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

The women glanced at each other. Stone sensed them wavering. Backing away. The women’s expressions became suddenly guarded with suspicion.

“What kind of questions?”

Stone handed the leash to Celia and reached for his wallet. He passed the magazine photo of Katrina Walker to the woman with the blonde hair.

“Do you know this girl?” Stone asked. “She came to the club. She was someone’s sub. Maybe you girls have seen her or spoken to her.”

The blonde woman went suddenly stiff with recognition and alarm. Stone saw it all in her eyes. She handed the image back to him and rubbed her fingers, as though the paper had burned. She shook her head. “No,” she said, too quickly, her tone too definite. “I’ve never seen her.”

“Please,” Celia suddenly whispered, unable to contain her desperation. “Please, help us. She was my sister.”

Stone held the photo up to show the woman with red hair. “Do you recognize her?” he asked.

The woman balked, and looked suddenly furtive. Stone pressed her. “You recognize her, don’t you,” he said, and then leaned in closer. “I just want to know the name of the man she served,” he said. “That’s all. Just tell me who her master was.”

“Was?”

Stone nodded. “She’s dead.”

The two submissive women exchanged scared, panicked glances. There was real fear in their eyes. The blonde haired woman began to step away. Stone caught her elbow, his grip so tight that the woman gasped in pain.

“Please,” he said.

The woman trapped her lip between her teeth and flashed an anxious look over her shoulder.

“The Dom,” she whispered. “She served the Dom.”