Afterlife (7 page)

before she

exposed herself to more of his

irresistible persuasion. He

didn’t understand that she couldn’t do

this. Unfortunately,

the rest of her didn’t understand

either, and she had to fix

that. Prove it was a mistake or see if

she was strong

enough to go down the path he’d re-

opened in front of her.

And she wanted to take that test

alone, away from the eyes

of anyone who knew her.

She had no idea what to wear. When

she got home, she

settled for a pair of dark slacks she

thought hugged her

curves in the right places and a thin

white blouse. Under it,

she wore a sexy black demi-cup bra.

Severe blacks and

whites, like her severe state of mind.

Until she’d pawed

through her mostly mundane

underwear drawer, she hadn’t

realized she stil had the bra. It was

something she’d worn

for Cole a few times. It seemed

patently appropriate to

wear something of that life, so that

she could remember

why she couldn’t do this. Which of

course didn’t quel her

wary anticipation, her determination

to go forward with it,

test it under extreme circumstances.

She didn’t know if she

wanted to pass or fail this test, or if it

would be the same

thing either way. God, she was a

pathetic fool.

It was in a seedy area of town, but

that didn’t concern her.

She knew as wel as anyone that adult

clubs weren’t

accepted by the mainstream, fetish

clubs least of al , and

so they were relegated to industrial

districts and trashy

areas frequented by the criminal

element. She had a Taser

and pepper spray in her purse, and

she knew to stay alert.

There were about fifty cars in the

parking lot, and at least

there was a doorman. She saw him

when she pul ed up, a

bouncer type al in black, with the

club logo on his shirt. It

was reassuring, but it was the only

thing that was. She sat

in her car, staring at that door. A

black, one-story

rectangular building with metal sides,

like a squat

warehouse. No windows of course.

The chat rooms had

said the appearance of such places

could be deceptive,

right?

That doorman was approaching her

car. She had a flash

of panic, then she rol ed down the

window. His day’s growth

of beard made him look even more

intimidating. Before

she could speak, he assessed her in

one glance. “You here

to find a Master?”

She moistened her lips. “I…yes. I

think so. I’ve never—”

“Shut up, slut. You’l speak when

spoken to. Give me

twenty dol ars for the cover charge.”

She pul ed it out with shaking fingers.

There were safe

words, boundaries. They would

observe them. This was

part of the role playing, getting into

the atmosphere. She

got out, prudent enough to lock the

car, but then she

gasped as he shoved her back against

the closed car

door. “Put your hands on your head.

I’m going to frisk you

for weapons.”

Okay, now she wasn’t sure. Her mind

wasn’t keeping up

though. He took hold of the front of

her blouse and ripped it

open with one jerk, his gaze crawling

over her breasts,

quivering in the demi-cups. “Nice

tits. They’l like that. Want

to clamp those babies, make them

black and blue.” He put

his hands on them, squeezing them as

if they were market

produce, in an efficient, functional

manner, then worked his

hands down her body, over her hips,

bringing one large

hand up between her legs. “Spread

them,” he barked. “This

cunt is up for grabs tonight. You keep

these legs open for

any Master who wants to feel.”

He spun her then, ran his hands over

her ass. Her heart

was rabbiting in her throat, but she

couldn’t stop him. She

didn’t know how to say no. Which

was exactly what she’d

feared, right? She’d wanted to bring

this into her life so

badly, she would take even this in

silence, for the hope that

something better, something more

“right”, was behind that

door. She yelped as he snagged the

upswept twist she’d

done with her hair and dragged her

by it toward the door.

“When we walk in, you get on your

knees, in line with the

others. You’re late. You must not

have gotten the latest from

Mistress Natasha about the time

change. They’re about to

assign the meat for the night. You

almost missed your

chance.”

There was no time to stammer out a

reply or question.

She was thrust into gloom. Sweat and

alcohol permeated

the atmosphere, as wel as a dank

underside, perhaps from

a past flooding that had gotten into

the carpet, seeping

under the cheap metal wal s. She had

a brief impression of

a narrow stage, where a naked girl

was suspended by her

wrists. She cried out as she was

tapped by what appeared

to be a cattle prod. Sparks flew from

it, and there was a

fresh brand on her flank, the skin red

around it and the

brazier stil set up with ominous intent

in the corner. A

Master fucked her with a large

vibrator. The girl was crying,

yet shuddering with what appeared to

be an impending

climax.

“Knees,” her keeper barked, shoving

Rachel down so

she not only landed on her knees but

fel forward. Before

she could rise, a foot was on her

neck. At close range, the

vile-smel ing carpet added a

combination of cigarette

smoke and other unthinkable bodily

functions.

“You’l obey instantly, slave, or you’l

be up on that stage

next.” A new voice, deep and gravel

y, issued that terrifying

prediction. It was underscored by the

icy tril of a woman’s

cruel laughter.

“This one’s new. Turn her over and

let’s see what we’ve

got.”

She was rol ed over by rough hands

and pul ed to her

feet. Her hair had fal en out of the

polished sticks she’d

used to make the style appealing,

exotic. But now it was

disheveled, a rat’s nest fal ing around

her shoulders and in

her eyes. Tears she couldn’t stop

were probably making

her mascara run. With her blouse torn

open, she probably

looked like an attempted rape. Even

as she recognized

that seemed like the preferred dress

code, her chaotic

needs ignored it, kept clawing at her,

making her helpless.

“Nice.” The gravel y voice belonged

to a man dressed in

only a body harness. His cock was

cinched tight in a leather

and silver sleeve. Even semi-erect,

the organ seemed thick

as her forearm, and just as long. “It’l

be my pleasure to

break this one in for you, Mistress

Natasha.”

The woman standing next to him was

clad in latex. She

had fire-red lips and kohl-rimmed

eyes, and fingered a

whip coiled around her waist. “Give

her a good ass fucking

for me, Milo. I want to hear her

scream when you’re deep in

her hole, then we’l put her on the

flogging post and I’l make

that lily white skin red as a split

strawberry.”

“No…” She was breathing fast.

Hands came out of the

darkness, holding her arms, pul ing at

her clothes. “No, I

don’t want…I need to go, I—”

An explosion of pain and her head

snapped back on her

neck. She stared at Milo, stunned, as

he fol owed through

with the backhand. She’d never been

hit in the face in her

entire life, and it hurt more than she

could say, that searing

pain across the cheekbone and lip.

She tasted blood. He

kept the hand lifted. “You want to

sass your Mistress or me

again, little slave cunt?”

Something burst in her then, a

volcano erupting. The

docile and helpless side vanished

and she was fighting,

snarling in terror. She’d known this

was a mistake, but this

was beyond a mistake. It was blatant,

staggering proof that

what she wanted was beyond her

reach, that she’d

devolved into the most unimaginable,

idiotic fol y.

So what the fuck’s your fantasy,

Rachel? Letting me and

my golf buddies gang rape you in an

alley? Leaving you

in some bum’s vomit and piss? Is

that what gets you hot?

“Stop, stop, stop.” She was

screaming at the top of her

lungs, and the hands unexpectedly

released her. When she

stumbled against heated bodies in

various states of

undress, by some miracle she found

her way through them

to the heavy metal door. She pushed

out of it with both

hands, the doorman staring at her as

she staggered onto

the broken and uneven pavement.

She’d left her purse in

her car, with her pepper spray and

Taser, but she didn’t

think she could have used them

anyhow. She was shaking

so badly, she stumbled and fel ,

scraping her hands and

ripping her slacks. It was her favorite

pair, because they’d

always made her feel sexy and

feminine when she wore

them. She was going to burn them as

soon as she got

home.

When hands closed on her arm, she

shrieked and rol ed

to her back, striking out.

“Easy there, it’s okay. Calm down.

I’m a police officer.”

The voice was a new one, and unlike

Milo or the

doorman, it projected firm, steady

authority. Not a roaring

bark that made her stomach jump as if

it had been goaded

by that cattle prod. When she

managed to stop thrashing,

she blinked up at this man. Built with

the broad, solid lines

of a footbal player, he was clean

shaven, with shrewd,

cynical gold-brown eyes. After

taking in the jeans and dress

shirt, she zeroed in on the shoulder

holster for his gun

beneath the open coat. Recognizing

he probably was what

he said he was brought knee-shaking

relief, as wel as

mortified horror, imagining herself

on some evening news

program.

“Are you al right, ma’am?” He asked

it in a tone that, to

her way of thinking, sounded like

“another twisted deviant

hanging out where no decent person

went”. She stared up

at him and didn’t know what to say.

No, I’m lost. So lost, I’m not sure

I’ll find my way back

this time.

He studied her, then crouched to a

squat. “This is my

badge,” he said, pul ing it out of the

inside pocket for her to

see. “I just went off shift and changed

into my street

clothes.”

She should have asked for that proof

herself, but she

wasn’t thinking clearly enough to

manage it. When the

doorman strode toward them, she

shrank toward the cop,

though she despised the weakness of

it. The hand he put

on her shoulder was surprisingly

reassuring, as were his

words. “It’s al right, miss. Cyrus,

what the hel ’s happening

here?”

Cyrus stopped, gave her a look that

was a mixture of

disgust and exasperation. “Natasha’s

having one of her

private parties. Ten girls. I was told

to give them the ful

treatment when they pul ed in. I

didn’t know she’d freak out.

Natasha usual y goes for the real y

hardcore ones.”

“I…I didn’t know it was a p-private

p-party… I just c-

came… Website…” Rachel shut her

mouth, closing her

eyes. She wished she was back on

her cushioned mat in

her studio, Jon behind her. His

simplest command had

made her feel quiet and stil .

Unsettled, in a good way. Not

frightened and humiliated, not like

this.

“Oh fuck.” Cyrus swore. “Kel er,

come on. I didn’t know

she wasn’t one of the guests.”

“Goddamn it, Cyrus, we’ve

discussed this before. You

guys take way too many fucking risks.

She has every right

to bring assault charges against you

and anyone else in

that club who manhandled her, and it

would serve you right.

I’d love to throw your asses in that

jail cel .”

“I don’t w-want…I j-just w-want t-t-