Chapter 19
"Ooooh, lover, that was good. I didn't think you'd have anything left after servicing your little bitch."
They were lying in Damon's bed, still panting from the exertions of their latest combative coupling.
"You just bring it out in me, I guess."
"So, where do you keep her? I can't see you letting something that needy out in the world. She'd fuck every pair of pants between here and there and still want more."
"Yeah, she is a demanding little cunt. Kind of like someone else I know," he joked.
The Dom gave a low laugh. "Flattery will get you anything you want. So, where is she?"
Damon nodded with his head at a door she had assumed was a closet.
"Really? Is she in there?"
"Yes. At least, she should be. I told my manager to put her down for the night."
"Oooh, goody. Can I see?"
Damon looked at her. "Why? You want some cunt? Don't you get enough with all those girls you have?"
"No, silly. I just want to see how you keep her so hot and pliable. I just want to steal your trade secrets. You are the best, you know."
He didn't catch the sarcasm. She knew he wouldn't. After a good fuck, a man's ego didn't let him think. He had fulfilled his God-ordained task of procreating. And just like God on the seventh day, the fuckers shut down and rested. Just like a man...
"In that case, OK. But no touching and keep quiet. I'm still working on her."
The beautiful, if bedraggled lady stepped gracefully out of the bed, using her nudity as a weapon. She knew she excited him. All was fair in this war and love had no part of it. She opened the door to Alex cage and the girl's plaintive wailing filled the bedroom. Her cries vacillated, quiet to loud, quiet to loud, in coordination with a large swinging pendulum. The lady saw the girl was nearly insane with frustration. A cruel smile of satisfaction crossed her lips. It was amazingly simple yet diabolical in its effectiveness. A true slut-making machine.
She recognized the latex clothing. Her girls each had their own, too. But the swinging arm, now, that was genius. Sheer genius.
Silently she shut the door. If it all worked out like she planned, she would get this little bitch for her own. Oh, God, what she could do with her. Such devotion. Such loyalty. Such a fucking waste on this prick. He didn't even know how to break her.
And the idea was planted and grew. It was brilliant.
"I can't believe there would be anything more you could possibly get from her after observing her performance today," she started, making the opening gambit.
"The bitch is stubborn."
"Oh, come on. She's dying to serve you. It couldn't be that hard."
"You have no idea."
Damon was opening up to this lady. His guard was down. She was easy to talk to. He had never had someone he could talk about his work with, someone who understood.
"Anything I could do to help?" she asked carefully. This was the make or break point.
"I don't know. I can't get her to commit, sort of."
Yes! She was in! Two moves and Checkmate!
"I'll bet you I can get her to commit to it, whatever it is, in three days. If I win, I get you for a week, in my parlor."
"Ha! Sure, after I softened her up for you!"
"Are you making any progress?"
"Well, no."
"So? How about it?"
"And if I win? I get you for a week?"
She didn't even hesitate. "Deal. Shake?"
"Done. So. What's your brilliant plan? What do I do?"
The beautiful woman leaned back in his soft bed and grinned. Game, Set and Fucking Match. God, he was going to look cute on his knees sucking her cunt.
"Nothing."
"Huh? Nothing?"
She sighed, like a trainer realizing they had a really stupid dog to work with. "Yes. Nothing. I'd suggest you turn off that ingenious machine, too. And then, you ignore her."
"Ignore her?"
"Yes. Give her the 'silent treatment.' Be there, but don't be there. Let her see you, but as far as she can tell, to you she doesn't exist."
"It'll never work."
"Then you'll have me in your sexy clutches for a week. And you'll only have lost three days. Sounds like a good deal to me."
"You're pretty sure of yourself."
"Let's just say I know women. I know that woman." She grinned, "At least, I sure the Hell hope I do." She paused. "As long as we're in this together, you mind telling me what it is she won't give up?"
He looked chagrinned. "A divorce," he said finally.
"You're shitting me. You married that little cunt?"
"No, not me. You met him earlier. Harold."
"Oh. I see. You're right. It could be hard to get a divorce from a dead man. Hmmm. That may take a bit longer than I estimated."
Damon looked at her, his interest piqued. He had swallowed the hook and she had just set it. Hard.
"You want out? Too rich for you?"
"No way, lover. Come over here."
Giggling as her newest victim attacked her with renewed vigor, the Dom salivated over her plans. This Mr. Smith liked to use drugs to his advantage. She had seen that at the photo session and again earlier tonight. He had one drug, apparently, that he liked to use with a very lethal effect. She didn't recognize it by its effects, but it was very good. He was very good at using it, too, and covering up the bodies. She would have never suspected anything like this from him and the police had obviously never connected him to anything. She had never had much use for actually killing people, but it never hurt to have it in her arsenal.
What Damon had forgotten about was her arsenal, her medical bag of tricks. Her newest little pharmaceutical helper was a Central Nervous System (CNS) drug that had failed spectacularly in the clinical trials. It had been intended to help severely depressed individuals by making them more open to suggestions, allowing therapists to alter their thinking patterns. If anything, it was too successful. The patients were so open to suggestion that their entire moral code could be influenced. A normally harmless person could be made to do the most reprehensible things imaginable without the slightest remorse or guilt. And all with only one dose.
Obviously the military was interested in guilt-free killing machines and had tried to hijack the project, but the company and the FDA had thought better of it and shut it down. She, of course, had a very good contact in the company's lab. All the samples that were supposed to have been destroyed had ended up in her vault. Her first three subjects, normal heterosexual college freshmen two weeks ago, had just put on an outstanding performance tonight at this very club as lesbian nymphomaniac cock suckers. They still attended college, but they served totally at her whim and without question.
As would this prick and his 'pet.'
Damon got out of bed and opened Alex' cage after their latest mating. He stopped the pendulum and she opened her eyes, glazed and unseeing. Staring down at the delirious girl, he wondered if she knew what was going to happen to her. In three days, he would have his 5 million dollars or he would have that bitch in his bed under his control. Either way, he couldn't lose.
He didn't even notice he was using the same words he had used earlier with Harold.
The next two days were pure torture for Alex. Alvin would get her up, feed her and walk her through her day. She was now a considered just a regular worker at the club. She cleaned the bars and waited tables.
She didn't dance. She had to tolerate the none-to-subtle pinches and advances of the club patrons. She did so stoically. While on the outside she was calm, inside she was a tightening coil.
She hadn't quite figured it out the first day. She told herself that Mr. Smith was just busy. He had a lot of important things to do.
Then she got her first paycheck. Alvin had handed it to her along with passing out all the other employees their checks. At first she had been excited, even jumping up and down. Then she saw the amount and asked Alvin why it was so much. He said Mr. Smith had told him to tell her that he had given her the earnings for her dance. Suddenly, Alex got sick to her stomach and had to rush to the bathroom. She threw up and was sick all over again when she thought about it.
Pale and wan, she came back and gave the check back to Alvin.
"Please, Alvin. Could you hold this for me? I-- I don't..."
"I know, Miss Alex. You're not a whore. You did that for him, not the money. It was a bad thing for him to do."
"But, why, Alvin?"
"I don't know, Miss Alex. I don't know anymore."
Mr. Smith made frequent forays into the club, more than usual, stopping and chatting with Alvin and the other employees. But never Alex. It was as if Alex didn't exist. He would see her and walk right by her. By the end of the first day she was in tears.
The second day was worse. She spoke to him, and he walked away. Alex was an emotional wreck.
Each morning and evening Alvin would hand her the clipboard with the forms. Each morning and evening she would shake her head and the tears would fall.
On the third morning Alvin handed her the clipboard. Tears falling down her cheeks, she took it from him. Alvin moaned, as if in pain. She didn't hear him.
Alex took the clipboard into the dining area of the apartment. She laid it carefully by his hand and then, on top of the forms, she laid her wedding band.
"I'll sign them, Sir. I'll go out today and file for a divorce from Harold. I need your advice, Sir. I- I don't know any lawyers. Could you help me? I could use the money from the- the check to pay for it, Sir."
Damon stared down at the clipboard in disbelief. The fucking Dom bitch had been right! He'd won! Five Million Dollars! Yes! Eat that, Elizabeth fucking Farnsworth!
"Pet," he said, "Don't worry about anything. A good master takes care of all of those little details, like lawyers and money. Tell you what. Let's have a signing party tonight to celebrate. That will give me time to get all the other papers drawn up and you can sign them all at once. How does that sound?"
"Wonderful, Sir. But, Sir?"
"Yes, my Pet?"
"May I call you 'Master' now?"
He thought for a minute, toying with her. It had been a delicious fight, especially since he had won.
"Yes, Pet. I think that would be a good idea."
"Oh, Thank you, Master!" she sobbed, kneeling to his feet and kissing them. "Thank you!"
As Alvin was no longer necessary to his plan, he waved him away after giving him instructions for a small, quiet celebration in the bar tonight. Employees only, then they could have the night off. He and his new pet would be having their own celebration. Alvin had a bad feeling about the whole thing.
For a celebration, it went well, even if the guest of honor was a bit subdued. Alex was not bound or naked, but she was collared and leashed. She stayed by her Master's side all night long. Her Master was in a wonderful mood. She had signed the papers, all of them, without glancing at a single one. They were sitting in an envelope in his out basket, addressed, notarized and with the proper postage. It was all over.
Then they had gone to the party. He was the center of attention and the life of the party. He was witty, smiling and everybody's best friend. It was a wonderful celebration.
Through it all, Damon was seething. How could he have been so fucking blind? Right under his fucking nose. Right there, all the time. Shit!
He had left Pet kneeling in the office for just a brief moment. He had to make a call. He probably could have done it from the office with her there, but better safe than sorry. He stepped to the next room and dialed the four digit number for Vinnie.
"Hello, Vinnie? Yeah, it's me. All the papers are signed... Yeah, it's great news. Listen, I want you to get those two out of here tonight, OK... Right. Get them ready. I'll get everybody out of here early... Yeah, him, too... You got the boats, right... Right, the 'Big Break.'... Yeah, Vinnie, I got the joke. Cute. Was that your idea?... Funny. A good one. OK, you get them ready and I'll let you know when it's clear up here. Better safe than sorry. It'll take what, about four days to get there?... Yeah. Well, Bon Voyage."
He hung up. Then he remembered he probably needed to remind them to put the bodies in plastic bags and pack them with dry ice. Those idiots would probably just let them thaw out in the back of the van. Eight hours in this heat to Miami and there would be a big stink, in more ways than one. After the five-day cruise to the islands, the entire plan would be fucked it they were rancid.
He picked up the handset and was puzzled. He heard Vinnie talking. But the light for the line wasn't lit. Something was very fishy.
"Hey, Maxie!" he heard him yell, "It looks like Mama's going to get her $5 Million bucks. Oh, happy shit! Wait until I tell her."
Damon heard the familiar sounds of a cell phone dialing. He hadn't known Vinnie carried one. He had never given the number to him.
"Hello? Mrs. Farnsworth, please. It's Vincent."
There was a delay. Damon was ice cold. Everything was falling into place.
"Hello, Mama?..."
That was all Damon had to hear. He sank down in the chair and held his head in his hands. He didn't see his new pet through the one-way mirror as she fixed him a drink at the bar. He wouldn't have thought anything of it, anyway. Then she straightened out the bottles, fumbling with a couple of them. She was just being domestic.
It had all been too simple, so easy, when you thought about it. He remembered the rumors now. No one put any credence to them because there wasn't any proof. The bastard kid was never with her at any functions. No one could find any evidence of the kid. Anywhere.
He had heard a rumor that Elizabeth Farnsworth had had a kid before she married her husband. Named Vincent something or other. Pirolli. Vincent Pirolli. But no one had heard of him since.
He didn't call himself that now, and the bitch had managed to slip him in right under his nose. Vinnie had obviously been bugging the club since the first day he showed up. What was that, three-four years ago? That was about right. The phone in this office was obviously one of his listening posts. Neat trick. Dial an extension while a room is empty, or even when someone is there. Let it ring or be answered, it didn't matter. The connection would stay active, the handset acting like a microphone. It would be totally untraceable, as there were no bugs to detect.
He made a decision. He still had that gift he had been planning on giving to Alvin. That was, of course, before he had found out that Alvin was in the clear. Damn, that would have been a terrible mistake. But it was perfect for this occasion. Perfect and appropriate. A risk, but justified.
Steeling himself, he had gone into the office, collected his pet and gone to the party. No one suspected he was acting a part. Which wasn't unusual, if he had thought about it. He was always acting a part.
Alvin had primed the staff to leave early. After a rousing cheer and several well wishers kissing the bride, so to speak, the small gathering dispersed. When the three of them were left, Alvin was shocked when Mr. D hugged him, in a manly way, of course. Of all the nefarious deeds he had witnessed or heard of, that short physical contact disturbed him the most. Something had happened to completely clear him in Mr. D's mind. Either that, or Alvin was a dead man and just didn't know it yet. He wasn't sure he liked either choice.
He also didn't like it when Mr. D sent him home, too. He was specifically not to use his room downstairs. Mr. D was clearing the building. If Vinnie and Max left, he would know that Alex was in trouble. He could only hope he could get into the building in time.
He had an uneasy feeling about tonight. Too much was coming together. People could get hurt in the stampede. He hurt for Alex, too. She looked beaten, defeated. Oh, she was radiant and glowing, but her eyes were empty of their fire. She had what she had wanted from her Mr. Smith. He could tell. Every time she said 'Master' he could hear the enjoyment in her voice. She relished it, savored it. But it was a hollow victory. She had had to give up too much. The God-damned bastard had taken everything from her.
From the office where he had taken her after the party, Mr. Smith sent Alex back into the club to get her black cord and she was to then meet him downstairs in the apartment. He had an errand to run but would be right back. She hadn't been bound with it tonight, but unquestioningly she had searched in the club for the cord. She knew it hadn't been there. Finally, she found it where they had left it. It was in her special drawer in his desk. It had been in his office all along.
Mr. Smith wasn't there when she had come back into the office to look in the drawer. She was just about to leave when, out of habit, she checked the alignment of the bottles. It had been moved again! As she was alone, she checked the contents of the cognac bottle. An icy hand gripped her heart. The syringe was gone and the vial was empty. Before the party, the syringe had been there and there was some fluid in the vial.
With growing dread, she made her way down to the apartment. She didn't have to look to know, but she checked anyway. She found the syringe in the drawer of the nightstand. It had been open a crack. He hadn't even bothered to close the drawer all the way or to cover the syringe with something to hide it from view.
Alex laid the black cord carefully on the bed. He had never taken
her sexually without her being bound. She had one chance tonight. If
Master could be convinced he had completely won, there was a chance, a
slight chance he would be magnanimous. He might make a mistake.
Probably not, at this stage, but she could only try. Otherwise, she was
dead. As dead as Petunia. As dead as the voices. She had no doubts that
he didn't need her anymore. You didn't keep pets you didn't need.