Lost and Found (15 page)

He slipped on some sweats and loafers, then walked back out into the master bedroom.

Maggie still stood shivering in the corner. Silently, Alan turned on the gas fireplace and then sat down on the bed to watch her as she shifted nervously, with good reason. She knew that she would be a very unhappy woman in a few minutes and had no one to blame but herself.

“I’ll be right back. Stay where you are.”

“Yes, Sir,” Maggie whispered, feeling his eyes on her. Alan gathered his daughters and brought them downstairs to the family room. He ordered them pizza for dinner, with instructions to save him a few slices, and informed them that he was having some alone time with their mom.

He was very specific that they were not to be disturbed under any circumstance. Both girls nodded, knowing better than to question him. They were no strangers to the way he ran their home.

Alan closed the solid wood door behind him and locked it. He had built the room for maximum privacy and very little could be heard outside, unless there was an ear pressed right under the doorway. He tapped the stereo and Ravel’s Bolero started to play. Maggie winced.

Normal people made love to that piece. Not Alan. His punishments increased as the piece crescendoed. Boy, was she in for it tonight!

“Maggie? Why are we here?”

“Because I have a big mouth and have been incredibly rude to you and your family. I’m sorry,” came the quiet answer.

“I love you, but I don’t like this part of you. It must change. I’ve put up with it for too long. No more of it will be tolerated. You will find a way to be nice to my sister and Noelle.

That will start tomorrow, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You will also provide a better example of grace and open-mindedness for our daughters.

We take them to church and you seem to delight in undoing everything they are taught there.

That will also stop.”

“Yes, Sir,” Maggie whimpered, the music playing quietly in the background.

Alan stood. “Come to me, Margaret.”

Maggie obeyed, trembling as she stood in front of her tall, well-muscled husband. He lifted her chin to face him.

“I love you. I want you to be all you were meant to be, and a mean-spirited, rude brat is not who you are. Bring me the strap.”

Maggie felt tears coming as she walked into the large closet and pulled the antique leather razor strap off the hook on the far wall. She picked up the bottle of oil and the soft cloth and handed it all to him.

“Oil it, Margaret,” he ordered, arms crossed. Maggie silently poured the oil on the cloth and slowly rubbed it into the entire length of the wide strap, trying to hide her shaking hands as she did so. Well-oiled leather hurt a hundred times worse and Alan was planning on her feeling this for days.

He took the strap from her to inspect it and then laid it on the bed. He pointed to the root.

“Peel it,” he commanded.

Maggie looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him to reconsider. No, he was determined to teach her a final lesson this time. Maggie held her breath, using the potato peeler he kept in their bathroom to shape the edges of the thick-fingered root. She handed it to him and he shaped it more, narrowing the base to fit her securely.

“Go wash your hands. I don’t want this getting in your eyes. Then get on your knees and spread your bottom for me.” His low, commanding voice echoed through the room, the music still playing in the background. Maggie groaned, realizing that he had put on his ‘special’

rendition of the Bolero. It played for over an hour with the quiet introduction extended, giving him plenty of time to concentrate on preparation.

Alan watched her fearfully obey and then washed his owns hands, putting the ginger on a towel. He also grabbed a bar of soap, chuckling. Maggie had changed from Ivory to French milled, probably after the last time he soaped her mouth. Brat.

She was on their large bed, hands holding her cheeks wide apart and exposing her little brown pucker. Her neatly trimmed pussy with shocking red fur made him wish he could forego the punishment and just drive his cock deep inside of her and listen to her beg for more. She was a passionate lover, and exhausted him thoroughly, but not tonight. He had serious business to take care of.

Walking behind her, he brushed his hand across her thighs and then down between the cheeks of her backside, lingering for a minute on the anxiously waiting hole. She shivered. Alan picked up the plug, seeing the juice already seeping from the plant and pressed the tip against her anus. Maggie gasped. This was a particularly thick one. He had bought it for the most serious of punishments and was planning on using it tonight to make sure his position was understood.

It already started to burn the rim of her bottom hole and she tried to squeeze tightly to prevent its entrance. Alan did not relent, instead pressed it slowly and firmly. The harder she clenched, the more juice was released. She started to whine, the burning was growing. He did not stop. Deeper and deeper, he pressed the thick root into her rectum until the base was seated well, the narrow neck holding it in place. Maggie felt tears, wiggling to try to relieve the burn.

“Please, Alan, take it out. I can’t stand it!”

“No, you deserve this. Just remember, the more you fight it, the more it will burn. Let go of your bottom and raise it high in the air for me.”

The music was starting to grow. Maggie lifted her bottom high, hugging a pillow to her chest as she tried to push the ginger root out away from her tight hole. It was pure agony, the burn and the horrendous sense of being filled at the same time. She listened as Alan picked up his strap, knowing he was going to double it.

Without warning, he flung the leather across her upturned buttocks. Maggie yelled into the mattress as a strip of fire leapt across her delicate skin. Alan waited patiently for her to return her bottom to its position, pulled his arm back, and cracked the wide strap loudly across her sit spots. He watched as the leather flattened her plump flesh, leaving behind an angry, red stripe. A small sob escaped Maggie’s lips as she repositioned herself for another stroke, the ginger root burning painfully.

Grimly and with avid determination, Alan administered a third, fourth and fifth stroke, searing his wife’s bottom on each downbeat of the music. Maggie started to cry as Alan’s strokes increased with the tempo, the weight of the strap growing heavier as the music shifted in intensity. She collapsed on the bed, unable to hold herself upright. Alan continued the strapping, knowing that in her prone position, the figging would cause her even more discomfort.

Sure enough, after three more stripes, she was trying desperately to raise herself back up into position. Alan waited, her cries loud in the mattress. “Open your mouth,” he ordered. “This is to stay in until I am done. Maybe you’ll think twice before you say anything mean to, or about, anyone else again.”

Maggie gagged. Despite the lovely scent, the French milled soap tasted far worse than she thought it would! Alan aggravated things by changing the strap for his paddle. It was not the small, oval paddle he used on his daughters, rather the one he made specifically for his wayward wife. It was long, wide and thick, with holes drilled spelling the word ‘Maggie’ against the surface. He had only used it on her once before, when she had told him where he could put his cock. And it had not been said seductively.

Maggie started begging, her mouth filled with soap. The music was peaking and she knew that he would not stop until the symphony was complete. She screamed into the pillow as the paddle impacted solidly across her already bruised flesh. She could feel welts pop up instantly. Guilt overwhelmed her when she realized how much her juvenile behavior had hurt him.

Crack! The paddle left its impression on the backs of her thighs, making her fall to the mattress. He did not wait for her to rise up on her knees before landing another resilient whack to the crown of her cheeks. Yes, she would certainly have some nasty little bruises this time.

Serves her right
, he thought, aiming again. The final, and hardest, stroke angled to catch the very bottom of both curves, sending her launching forward on the bed and losing the soap.

Still silent, Alan removed the plug and tossed it into the trash. He then picked up the soap and took it into the bathroom, bringing back with him a glass of water, a bowl, and a towel. He sat on the bed next to his sobbing wife. “Here. Rinse out your mouth,” he directed softly.

Maggie scrambled to obey, rinsing and spitting with all her might to rid herself of the offensive taste. Her bottom burned unbearably inside and out, and she was unable to sit up as he reached for her. Seeing her predicament, Alan laid on the bed besides her naked body.

“I love you. Have you learned your lesson?” His voice was soft and gentle.

Maggie sniffed, nodding. The music was slowly quieting down and fading into the background. Her husband kissed her eyelids tenderly, pulling her against him. He stroked her sympathetically, calming her tears and reinforcing his love.

“I’m sorry,” she finally sniffed.

“I know. You plan on making things right with the family now, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir. Please, hold me.”

“Of course,” Alan agreed, caressing her hair and kissing her soothingly.

“Alan? Tell me about Noelle. What really happened to her?” Alan launched into the story, sharing the things Maggie had not known because she had not been interested in them before. Her guilt intensified as he explained the circumstances, including the theory about the girls’ abusive past.

“She was shot and left to die alone? That poor baby.” Maggie sniffed, suddenly feeling protective of the strange girl. “No wonder you boys are so concerned. Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, but I think I’m going to be finding out tomorrow. There’s a man who’s been asking about her. There’s one more thing, too. Get cleaned up and come downstairs. You need to see this.”

Maggie walked into the bathroom, and splashed her face with cold water. She quickly got dressed and headed down the steps to the living room where her daughters were obediently watching TV.

Maggie stood motionless as she stared at her daughter’s face. Not only was Kelly’s horrid birthmark gone, but also she looked brighter, prettier, and happier than she ever did before.

Sobbing, Maggie threw herself into her daughter’s arms, kissing her face and exclaiming amazement. “How did this happen?” she asked, not wanting to stop touching the smooth, flawless skin.

“Noelle fixed me, Mama. I like her. I want to go back and play with her. Please?”

“Noelle? How? That’s impossible!” Maggie said, still touching. “Oh, I don’t care! Of course, honey. Anytime you want to.”

Kelly smiled broadly, looking at her parents. “Really? You’ll let me? Oh, thank you! Can I go tomorrow after school?”

“We need to make sure it’s ok with Uncle Lance, sweetheart. She might be in trouble for the fight your sister started,” Alan cautioned her.

“Maybe we can all go over tomorrow night. I can bring a lasagna and salad,” Maggie said, looking at her husband hopefully.

“Mom, Noelle can’t eat real food,” Kelly cautioned.

“Yeah, she drinks out of a bottle like a little baby,” Keren commented distastefully. Alan started to unbuckle his belt, but was stopped by his wife.

“Then I will bring her one of my special smoothies. It’s the least I can do. She’s family now.”

“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Callahan,” Dr. Hoffner said, reaching to shake Alan’s hand. His eyes widened at the firm, somewhat painful grip, the attorney offered him. It was a warning not to be taken lightly. He had researched Alan Callahan and Theodore Makin as well.

They were both forces to be reckoned with in the professional world. Dr. Hoffner knew that he had to approach this issue carefully to ensure their cooperation.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Hoffner?” Alan asked suspiciously.

“I need to talk with you about Noelle. How is she?”

“She is fine. Who are you and what do you want with her?”

“I’m her… well… her creator.”

“Excuse me?”

Dr. Hoffner inhaled deeply. “This has got to remain between us. You need to promise me. It’s an issue of national security, but I can’t go to the government for assistance. Please, has she shown any signs of evolving? Doing things that might be a little unusual?”

“She fixes things. Heals them. What do you mean you’re her creator? Are you responsible for trying to kill her?”

“Oh, God, no. She was taken from the facility. Before I explain further, please tell me she’s alright.”

“She’s very happy and adjusting well to life with my brother. She calls him Daddy, though. Is this your doing?”

“Yes. It was, well, intended that she imprint with the first male she could actively identify with. It was supposed to be me, but she did not awaken soon enough to proceed.” He saw Alan’s confusion and continued. “Twenty-five years ago, I was recruited by the government to develop a cloning program in order to develop self-healing soldiers with the ability to absorb and assimilate information instantly. They wanted me to introduce foreign DNA into human cells to try to duplicate…” He paused, frustrated, “I don’t know how to explain this.”

“Is she an alien?” Alan asked seriously.

“No, not at all,” Dr. Hoffner quickly shook his head, “but she does have remnants of Roswell DNA in her. I took frozen cells from the corpse of the creature they had found and injected them into human mitochondria. That was then grafted into human tissue. The other specimens failed to thrive and ceased forming at 13 years. This particular one survived. It never underwent an infancy stage and grew to full adulthood before it awoke for the first time.”