Chapter 4

I sat down on the cool marble floor, exhausted.

My head was swimming from the pot, and the exertion of that wonderful brand of S-and-M left me really tired.

On top of that, I had just blasted an incredible amount of jizz from my dick.

I looked at Diane's naked and semen-splattered body.

She was out of it.

I tried hard to think—to wonder what the hell to do next.

Sure, I was having the time of my life—but being in this strange S-and-M club with this woman I had just met a week or so before—and being stoned out of my head—well, I had to try and collect myself.

Diane sat up.

I didn't even know she was still conscious.

"Mmmm," she said, reaching over and placing her hand on the back of my neck, "You are fantastic."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Let's take a shower and have dinner."

"They have a shower here?"

Diane snickered knowingly to herself. "Oh, yeah. Wait here one sec."

I wasn't going anywhere.

Diane, still naked, stood up and undid the slave collar from around her neck.

She dusted herself off, so to speak—scooping up the occasional droplets of undried cum on her body with her fingers and popping them into her mouth.

"Mmmmm! You really are fantastic," she said, as if to compliment me on the flavor of my jizz.

She stepped over to the huge door that had closed us in this dungeon room and poked her head out.

She stepped out into the hallway.

I heard her call down the hall.

"Hume! Hume darling! Hello! Listen, my friend and I are going to freshen up for dinner—see that someone takes care of our clothes, all right? You're a darling. Catch you downstairs!"

"Hey! My wallet is in my pants," I lamely alerted her.

"Don't worry. Hume can be trusted."

"Hume the owner?"

"Owner, manager, and dungeon master," Diane said, and with that, took me by the hand and led me, naked, into another room.

The showers were hot and steamy and were just the thing I needed to re-energize my aching body.

The bathroom attendant, by the way, who handed out the towels was a small black fag—small but nicely muscled.

With a big cock hanging down underneath his loincloth.

Diane and I took a nice long shower, taking turns washing each other's genitals.

Funny thing. My cock was limp as a noodle after that incredible fuck-session—and my balls ached.

But her gentle touch with the sudsy lather made my cock and balls feel brand new.

I didn't get hard, of course—hell, I'm a great fuck, but superhuman I'm not.

But it just felt good.

I soaped her tits.

When I brought my slippery hands down around her nipples, she winced—for her tits were still oh, so tender.

I took more care when I smoothed my warm hands over her sore buttocks.

"You really did a number on me with that paddle."

"I enjoyed it myself."

Then Diane took the bar of soap from my hand quickly and placed it in the soap dish.

She turned around and looked at me.

I'll never forget the way she looked with the cascading water matting her hair around her beautiful face.

She grabbed me so fast I didn't know what hit me—and kissed me passionately.

"You're really special, Mark. I'm crazy about you. I think I'm falling in love with you." She turned off the shower, and we dried off.

With our towels wrapped around our waists, we made our way over to yet another room—this one a dressing room, where we found suitable bathrobes to wear while they did God-knew-what with our clothes.

"I think I'm beginning to like this place," I said to Diane.

I really was genuinely impressed.

The establishment had the kind of service that I had only read about—the kind you'd expect in, say, a fancy gentleman's club or some posh country club.

As Diane led me to the dining room, I wondered about that guy I saw before.

The blonde guy with the silver streak of hair down the middle.

I knew I had seen him before, and seeing him earlier this evening gave me the sense of trepidation that a private eye gets regularly in his line of work, but rarely while relaxing off hours.

We sat down at a table, and were handed two menus.

One look at the prices and I could see how Hume could afford to offer such wonderful services.

Forty bucks an entree.

"Must be great food," I muttered under my breath.

"Something wrong?" Diane asked, her hair still wet but starting to dry.

"Oh, I think I saw someone I know earlier."

"Really? Who?"

"Oh, nobody important."

Nobody important indeed.

At that moment, as I ordered the steak tartar, I remembered all too clearly where I had seen that dude before.

"In other words, Mr. Lester, you're evidence proves conclusively that the defendant is tied to the gangland' style killings of January fifteenth. Thank you for your testimony. You may step down."

The district attorney clapped me on the shoulder.

It was one of my first big cases as a private eye.

A police case.

Boy did I fed proud.

I had successfully infiltrated the operation of one of the biggest crime bosses in the city. Me. Mark Lester.

Now the judge was handing down the verdict. The whole operation was being sent up the river—and I was instrumental in cracking the case wide open.

My reputation as a private investigator was established.

No longer would I have to do those shitty domestic cases where you have to track some cheap bitch's husband to some seedy motel and drag along a photographer.

As I left the courtroom, the press boys were there, en masse.

They led the defendant and his boys out of there in handcuffs.

The main crime boss hid his face from the cameras.

So did the rest of his boys, except for one.

One kinda tall guy.

A blonde guy with a white streak of hair running through his pompadour.

He looked up at me and spit at me.

I laughed.

"Don't worry about it, Mark," the D.A. said to me. "We'll take care of having your suit cleaned. This kind of shit comes with the territory,"

And the blonde guy with the white streak went to jail and I never saw that face again.

Not until tonight.

"Mark?" Diane was pissed.

"Sorry?"

"Mark, you haven't been listening to a word I've said."

"Sorry. I guess I'm just a little hungry. Once the food comes, I'll be in better shape."

She reached over the table and mussed my hair.

"You're cute," she said.

"Please," I exchanged her witticism for one of mine, "I don't want to get a hard-on again so soon."

"Why not?"

"Let's just say I want to live to be forty."

"I love you," she said, in that charming and offhanded way of hers that I was beginning to regard as her trademark.

Well, the food came, and it was delicious.

We ate and drank ourselves silly, chatting about this and that, finally letting the barriers down that inevitably come up in a new relationship.

We nibbled bites of each other's plates, and when dessert came, Diane insisted that she not order any—but she asked our waitress for two forks anyway.

Soon we were downstairs and dressed.

It was time to check out and pay the bill.

The whole evening came to about four hundred dollars, and I was taken aback when Diane whipped out her credit card and plunked it down.

"The evening is on me."

"No," I said. "I won't let you do that."

"Yes you will," she said as she signed for the bill. "You can take care of it the next time."

"There will definitely be a next time," I said as we left the place to hail a taxi.

"Sure there will," Diane said, kissing me. "You are simply going to HAVE to meet Hume."

Diane got in the cab and slammed the door. The cab drove away, leaving me standing there on the street comer.

I couldn't believe this chick.

It was a little after three in the morning.

I called Diane at work that week. Wednesday I think it was.

I didn't get her on the phone. She was in a meeting, apparently. Instead, I got her secretary, Kate.

"Can you leave a message please? Can you let her know that Mark called?"

"Oh, yes!" Kate exclaimed. Suddenly, her tone shifted from the bored monotone of the typical office secretary to the whimsical chirp of an excited young girl. "I'll see that she receives your message immediately! Absolutely!"

I assumed that Diane had told all the girls at the office about me.

Probably in juicy detail.

"Ok, Kate thanks."

"And where can she reach you?"

"At the police station. Eighth precinct. I'll be here all afternoon," I said, and hung up.

I was there on business, of course, but I thought it would be fun to leave that line hanging. Kate could speculate all day about what terrible sordid trouble I must be in.

It was a long, dreary afternoon of paperwork and hanging around to wait for some bureaucrat or other to show up to sign some papers.

Private eye work is exciting, but it has its bitchy parts, just like any job, I guess.

While I was at the police station, though, I thought I'd take care of some business that was bothering me.

I went upstairs to the records office.

"Hi, Sam," I said to the guy who worked the desk.

"Hey, Mark. What can I do for you?"

"Sam, there was a case I handled years and years ago for the previous D.A. involving a crime boss named Morelli. Can I have a look at some of the mugshots of the people who were arrested? I'm fuzzy on the dates."

"Sure, sure. I remember that case."

"Yeah. I want to take an hour to re-live some past glories."

I looked through stacks and stacks of books of mug shots for about an hour.

But I was obsessed.

I HAD to know who this guy was.

When somebody shows up from your past at an S-and-M sex club—and it's somebody who had no love for your guts—you kind of want to find out everything you can about him.

After reaching my frustration level, I finally found a shot of him that looked familiar.

It was in black and white. So something as subtle as a white streak of hair going through a blonde head didn't show up too clearly.

But I had a reference number and a name.

Andrew Cole.

I went to the files.

Cole.

Coburn, Coe, Cofferty, Cohen, Cohen, Cohn, Coker, and then—bingo.

Andrew Cole.

Alias Whitey Smith. Alias Barry Teagarden. Alias a million other names.

Distinguishing characteristics—premature streak of gray hair.

He had an arrest record as long as my forearm.

Possession. Solicitation. Child molestation. Drug trafficking.

My eyes quickly scanned the list of sex offenses.

The list suggested just the kind of personality that might frequent an S-and-M club.

Convicted of rape, both male and female. Of assault with intent to rape.

I pulled the file and began to get excited. This kind of detective work always fascinated me.

Within fifteen minutes I had his entire record in front of me at my work table.

Yeah, he was the one who was arrested in connection with the big case that had made my reputation those many years ago.

He had served a commuted sentence with time off for good behavior and a spotless record while in prison.

He was a free man now. According to the records that the State of New York provided, this Andrew Cole had paid his debt to society and was now a free man.

At that moment, I felt a strange anger come over me.

I had always been something of a "liberal," I guess. You know—all my exposure with criminals over the years left me with the impression that our society sometimes drives people to do sick things.

I always believed in rehabilitation. That you try and help people—not just throw them in jail to let them rot.

But now I was beginning to feel different.

"Cause there was some nut—some former sex offender out on the streets with no love for my ass.

Shit.

I was afraid for my life. And for Diane's life, too.

What if this sick pervert got a hold of me in that sex club?

What if he enticed me—using Diane—into some seemingly "innocent" three-way fuck, and wound up kicking the shit out of me?

I wouldn't be able to defend myself in court without having it blown that I frequented an S-and-M sex club.

And THAT kind of information, made public, could ruin my career.

Not to mention my relationship with Diane.

Not to mention my life.

On the other hand—maybe the guy WAS rehabilitated.

Maybe he HAD been helped. Shit, he was, after all, a model prisoner.

Suppose he had done his time and decided to get his aggressions out in the privacy of a sex club, rather than by brutalizing the innocent?

I didn't want to go off half-cocked.

I had to know more.

I looked for his psychiatric record.

Psychiatric testimony and records regarding his mental health, though, required special permission from the D.A.'s office.

I HAD to know.

But how could I go about getting special permission to look this guy up?

The old D.A. whom I had worked with on that famous case had long since retired. The new D.A. was some young guy—in fact I think he was younger than me, if you can believe that.

I didn't know him very well, and I didn't want to arouse any suspicion, I sat there for a second, in the musty swelter of the police office room, biting my nails.

"Hey, Mark! You got a phone call!" someone shouted from the other room.

I jumped.

"Calm down, I told myself," and went outside to take the call.

"Hi, lover."

"Diane! Hi."

"Kate told me I could find you here. She was really funny—she thought you'd been arrested or something."

"Haha hah. That is funny. I guess you didn't tell her I'm involved in police work."

"Hell, no. I haven't told the girls ANYTHING about you—except that you're the best lover I've ever had in my life."

"I'll bet you say that about all the fellas."

"You're the first one."

Her voice was so sultry—so sexy over the phone.

Just listening to her speak turned me on.

She knew it, too.

The little bitch knew when she had me going— even in the middle of a working day on the phone.

"So how's you're day going?"

"Oh, kind of boring. I'm glad you called. It really brightened up the day."

"Mmmm," I purred into the phone.

"Have I ever told you how much I think about you during the day?" she said, staring to pour it on thick.

I LOVED the way she poured it on thick.

"Why, no," I said, playing my part in this telephone flirtation to the hilt.

"Well I do. Sometimes when I'm alone in my big, empty, lonely office ... " she said, "I think about your big, hard cock."

"I think about you, too."

I took the phone into the record room and shut the door.

None of the lights on the phone were lit—so I knew nobody was listening on the extension.

"In fact, Mark, you know what I'm doing now?"

"No, what?"

"I'm thinking about your hard-on right now. I'm all alone in here.

"I'm unbuttoning my blouse, and I'm feeling my tit with my hand, pretending it's your hand. Oh, God, pretending it's your penis.

"Your thick, erect penis rubbing over and over my bare tit.

"Oh, Jesus, I absolutely have to masturbate, Mark. Talk to me. Talk to me while I torture myself, Mark.

"Talk to me while I finger my clit."

I heard her breathing in heavy, erratic breaths.

I spoke.

"You know, Diane, you make my cock hard as a rock right here and now. I just know that your pussy is starting to get hot and wet.

"Stick your finger up your cunt for me, Diane. Stick it in deep.

"Make sure your fingernail scrapes out the side of your cunt wall, baby. 'Cause I want you to feel the pain—the sheer agony of my cock inside you, raping you."

"Oh, yeah ... " she purred.

My cock was a thick red tube of hot meat.

I was hornier than the devil himself.

"Mark?"

"Say it, baby."

"Meet me there tonight. You know where. Usual place. Usual time. Bye now, lover."

Click!

The bitch hung up.

She loved to get me harder than a rock and leave me hanging.

I have to admit it, though.

Usually I hate a cock-teasing bitch.

But she made me love it.

She made my love the horny frustration.

The forbidden fruit.

I loved how she made me wait for it—suffer for sex.

Because this was one cruel little baby who always delivered.

I stormed out of the record room down the hall to the men's room.

I found the last stall, the one farthest from the door, to be empty.

Good.

Jesus.

I hadn't masturbated in a public men's room in years.

But I couldn't stand the tension.

I threw the door shut and turned the little lock.

I yanked off my pants and slid my underwear down until my boner came poking its round, red head right out.

My slit smiled at me.

I wrapped my hand around my thick penis.

Then, to my surprise, some joker came running into the men's room.

"Mister Lester? Mark Lester in here?"

Oh, shit.

I was probably late for my appointment with that shitty bureaucrat. In my quest for the identity of Andrew Cole, I had lost track of time.

"Yeah, Sam, I'll be right out."

"There's an important phone call for you."

I tucked my waning hard-on back inside my pants, flushed the toilet, and made my way back to the stuffy office.

"Hello?" I asked into the oh-so-goddamn important phone.

"Hi, lover. It's me. I had to call you back because I didn't want you running into the John to jerk off. You wait until tonight, you understand?"

"Sure, Diane. Thanks, Diane."

I hung up the phone.

"Sam? If there are any more important phone calls for me, tell them to go fuck themselves."