Bound and Freed Boxed Set (20 page)

Homicide Detective Lorenzo
Martin sat in the Portland Police Department and studied the file of available
information.

The prominent psychologist,
fifty-seven year old Professor Maria Christina
Lopez
had been murdered, bludgeoned to death in her residence Sunday
morning, April 7th, between the hours of midnight and five a.m. Afterwards her
documents were all emptied from her filing cabinets, and with petrol poured on the
papers, her home was set alight. The fire department had prevented the entire
house from going up in smoke, but there had not been much left as evidence. The
good professor had been semi-retired, mainly writing, and had just one ongoing,
active case.

His main suspect? John
William Taylor, Professor Lopez' only client.

John Taylor was unemployed,
the only child of a local district judge. A secretive, paranoid man, with
documented mental health problems, his suspect had been estranged from his
parents for years. Apparently he resided in Aloha only twenty minutes from the
murder site. According to phone records, Mr. Taylor had called Professor Lopez
the day before her death, and she had called him about an hour before she was
killed.

Detective Martin stood up
and checked his watch. It was late Saturday night, and he should have gone home
hours ago. He needed to get some sleep.

Sunday morning will be soon
enough,
Detective Martin decided.
Tomorrow I'll have a word with Mr. John Taylor,
he
thought with a grim little smile.
I'd like to find out if he can assist us
with our inquiries.

End
of Punished

“Do not be confused,
mon ami,
especially with your
history. You of all Dom's must have this perfectly clear in your mind. BDSM
first and foremost is about pleasure and fulfillment, for both Dom and sub.
Physical pain is only one tool, and not even the most essential tool, necessary
to achieve these goals."

--- André Chevalier, conversation with
John Taylor

~~~

Saturday night the Basement BDSM club
stayed open until 3:00 a.m. Just after that time, Colin Wilkins, the club
manager was double checking that no one was still there. Using his security
code, he keyed himself into the control room and shut the door behind him.

"What have you got, Jay?
Anything?"

Stocky, muscular and fiftyish, Jay had
grey crew cut hair and the bearing of a military man. John Taylor liked Colin
hiring ex-cops and soldiers, and he paid them really well. Colin sometimes
wondered if John actually made any money from the Basement, because he seemed
to put it all back into the club via excessive salaries, and constant equipment
upgrades.

"Nope," Jay said. "Nada.
Everyone is long gone, Colin. So long as you have checked room twelve?"

"Yeah," Colin said, feeling
strangely comfortable with lying. "The monitor on that one is broken so no
one was allowed to use it tonight – it's been locked up tight. I'll get it
fixed this week."

"Right," Jay said standing up.
"That's it then. See you tomorrow." Jay logged out by keying a code,
which kept a record of the name of employee, and time of departure. With a
heavy, booted stride, he left.

John Taylor, the man who owned the Basement,
was a safety conscious businessman. When the club was open, a member of
security monitored the close-circuit TV's in the control room. Twenty different
screens needed constant review, thirteen separate scene rooms, the main area,
four public play areas, the bar, and entrance.

Security Staff had an earpiece that kept
them constantly updated from Control. Staff rotated into Control, and never
spent more than one hour within its hallowed core. Everything was digitally
recorded, and all of this was authorized within the membership contract.

John Taylor didn’t want to take chances
with "he said, she saids."

A person might suggest that John Taylor
was paranoid, but Colin thought he was smart. The three contentious issues that
they had encountered in the four years since they had opened had been easily
dealt with by playing back the security footage with the disagreeing parties
present.

Curious, and also feeling a compulsion to check, Colin
moved to the back of his monitor set up and plugged the viewing screen in. Then
he switched on the monitor for scene room twelve.

"That's right, Kelly," Colin heard a husky
voice say, "Take me deeper."

"Oh God," came a strangled female cry.

Then a male voice once more, a reassuring murmur,
"Yes, yes. Perfect. Good girl."

Kelly Flynn had her hands bound to the bed board, cuffed
together over her head, but those were the only BDSM trappings in evidence.
Colin's boss, John Taylor, the uncrowned king of sadistic S & M games, was
banging Ms. Flynn. This was no surprise. What was surprising was that John
appeared to be having rather ordinary, and more or less missionary style sex.

Kelly's long, shapely legs were draped
over her Dom. They rested just under his shoulders, her ass spread and lifted
up high, to allow for really deep penetration. The woman was bent so far it
looked like her bellybutton was pressed up against her backbone. She was going
to have a serious vaginal orgasm in that position.

Hot damn,
Colin thought.

The man was banging into her as hard and
fast as a jack hammer. John's chest was heaving, his slim, powerful hips and
thighs pumping.
What Colin's boss lacked in the creative
use of BDSM toys, he was making up in enthusiasm.

John Taylor was on his knees between
Kelly's thighs with her ass tilted up in the air and man oh man was that boy
giving her a pounding. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, and the sight
of John's balls swinging rhythmically, slapping into the woman's puckered anal
ring caused Colin's own body to heat.

Kelly was curled upward, resting almost
only upon her shoulders. John was mounted, and pressed in close. Firmly
squeezing one breast and nipple, the long fingers and thumb of his other hand
were tight around her throat, in something like a collar, or perhaps he planned
to use erotic asphyxiation? Cutting off oxygen and blood to the brain just
prior to orgasm? The returning rush of blood and oxygen right at the point of
climax could really spin a sub out, creating a unique high.

John didn’t know her well enough to do
something like that though - or did he?

"I own you, Kelly Flynn,"
Colin heard him say. "You're mine."

"Yes, John, oh yes!"

Kelly was sweating,
whimpering, panting and keening, desperately holding back her orgasm no doubt
by her Dom's command. Colin didn't know how long John had been edging his sub
into this highly excited state, but Colin could tell by her eyes that she had
been sexually tormented for an extended period of time. She looked mindless and
euphoric – in a far off sub space of wanton sensual bliss.

Wow,
Colin thought.
The man
is good. How the hell had he learned Kelly's body so fast?

Colin, a masterful Dom
himself, knew that by carefully varying the intensity and speed of sexual stimulation,
and by continually practicing with the same partner in order to intimately
learn their responses, a sub could be held in a highly aroused state on the
brink of orgasm. The entire process took keen observation and time, however,
because no matter how attentive and watchful a Dom was, every woman or man was
different, each unique to themselves.

"Who do you belong
to?" came a gruff demand.

"You, John. I belong
to you," Kelly sobbed, clearly desperate for release. Tears were running
down her cheeks and Colin smirked. She was an emotional girl, and he had seen
her crying before.

Colin gave a happy sigh. This erotic
sexual denial could only improve the outcome. Kelly was going to have a massive
orgasm – most likely multiple ones, Colin could tell. Ten to one she was a
screamer, too.

Chuckling, Colin sat down, and put his
feet up on a desk with a broad grin. He may as well stick around and watch the
show.

All I need is popcorn,
Colin thought.
Or better yet, Donna.
If my wife was here, I'd fuck
her silly while we both watch, sitting right here in this chair.

Colin expelled a sharp breath. Man, John
was still working his sub
hard and fast.
Colin tried to recall, had he
been that inexhaustible at age twenty-six? Kelly had gone off into the zone and
at this point only the occasional, "Oh God, oh God," or "Please,
oh please," was all she was managing to gasp.

Abruptly the woman convulsed and looked
as if she was going to go over.

John eased for a moment, stopping all movement
and bringing her back from the brink. "Good girl. You won't come until I
tell you to, will you?"

"No, John," she panted.

"You have fantastic control, Kelly.
You're the perfect submissive. I love watching when you come for me." The
man began pumping again, but his thrusts were more directed, circling and
twisting into different parts of his sub's cunt. "I love the way you come,"
he said. "The sounds you make, and the way your body explodes."

Kelly could only moan in response.

Colin noticed that no matter how close
she came to climax, she kept her eyes open, staring at John. Her Dom had no
doubt ordered that. The poor frantic woman was constantly keening now, in soft
feminine sounds of exquisite pleasure. Kelly's cuffed hands were gripped into
little taut fists, and her toes were tightly curled.

Whew! That woman is right at
the end of her tether.

It was a simple basic scene, but Colin was blown away by
the sexual heat of it, and unable to take his gaze off either of them. John was
pounding fast again.

Smooth skin, young and firm, shining with sweat pushing
against each other with a fierce almost combative need. Colin couldn't see
John's eyes, but Kelly's were large, dilated and looking right into his with an
amazing sense of connection. Open-mouthed with ragged gusting breaths, from
time to time their swollen lips came together as John gave Kelly a devouring, soul-wrenching
kiss, a kiss of ownership, desire, compelling, powerful need, and love.

There was no doubt about it – even only able to observe
him from behind – that boy was in love. And so was she.

"Do you want me to come inside you, Kelly? Do you
want me to fill you with my cum?"

"Yes, please, yes, yes!" she wailed the pitch
of her voice high in her frantic urgency.

After a particularly brutal thrust Kelly squealed,
whether from pain or pleasure, Colin wasn't sure. Holy shit, the man was a God
damned fucking machine.

"I'm so deep," John panted. "And your
sweet cunt is going to get every drop."

"OhGodohGodohGod!"

"I'm going to come, Kelly," John said in a low,
lust-filled growl. "And you're going to fly with me." One of his
hands reached down between her legs and flicked her clitoris. "Now, Kelly,
now. Come for me!"

Clearly on a hair trigger, Kelly exploded instantly. Head
thrashing back and forth, her narrow little hips were furiously bucking and
thrusting as she cried out, "Ah! Ah! Ah! Yes, oh yes, Johnnnn!"

"Take it," he grunted, "take it all."
John's strong slim buttocks and thighs clenched and
unclenched through his first and second thrusts of ejaculation, his loins
convulsing no doubt with intense pleasure as he pounded himself into his sub.

Their two bodies remained locked together savagely
pushing and pulling themselves into each other. For long moments they teetered,
enjoying a peak of powerful and concentrated pleasure. Then their simultaneous
orgasm lessened and they slowly came down from their sexual crest together.
John's subsequent thrusts diminished, as his violent climax eased.

Fucking wow,
Colin thought.
That
was some seriously hot sex right there.

John released Kelly's legs, and she
uncurled and lay flat. Both lovers entwined, pressing themselves close, with him
covering every inch of her smaller body. John's larger hands reached up to lace
into hers that were bound to the bed board, and his head nuzzled affectionately
into her neck. The man's cock was still inside her. Even post orgasm they both
wanted to remain as physically close as humanly possible.

Colin's eyes narrowed and he stood up,
looking closely at the screen
. WTF?

He hadn’t really looked before because
the scene had so absorbed his attention, but John Taylors back, buttocks and
legs were covered in fine white scars.
Jesus.
The man looked like a
soldier just back from a Vietnam POW camp. How the hell had he gotten scars
like that? John was no masochist, and he didn’t believe in marking his subs.
Surely the man wouldn’t have willingly accepted such pain?

In a sort of mental re-wind, Colin
recalled what his boss had said to him about a week ago, when he had been
target practicing with his whip. "Trust me," John had said, holding
up his bullwhip. "A cane hurts way more than this does." Colin had
replied with, "You sound like you know from personal experience." His
boss had lifted one shoulder in an ambiguous shrug, giving nothing away.

John Taylor made sure that he was as
separate from the BDSM Club as humanly possible. No one knew he owned it, and
there were no paper trails. Colin had always thought that was because his boss
wanted to protect himself. But maybe it was the other way around. Maybe John had
actually been protecting the club from something in his own past?

Well fuck me silly,
Colin thought.

All this time and Colin hadn't any idea.
John was a private person, and now that he recalled, in the four years that he
had known him never seen him without a shirt or vest. What was the secret of
those scars? Did anyone know? And would he tell Kelly?

Colin, a practical, sensible man wasn't
given to strong emotion, but God damn it! He felt a wash of conflicting
feelings just now. John Taylor, self-contained as he was, really needed love,
security and trust from the right girl. Colin sure hoped Kelly was the one for
him.

Colin took one last look at the two
lovers. Their chests were rising and falling in the aftermath of such an
expenditure of energy. Their breaths would be mingled, a soft sound in each
other's ears. Kelly was still jerking and trembling with aftershocks and John
was soothing her. Their strong young bodies were nuzzled close, with him
stroking her and murmuring soft, incomprehensible words. Colin did hear him say
one thing however. It was a grateful, and earnest, "Thank you, Kelly."

Wow
.
Colin thought.
I'm sure glad I didn’t miss this.

Colin decided that after he told Donna
every single detail of these lovers' passionate joining, they were going to
have some serious sex themselves. Weird as Colin's boss had been when he had
come to dinner at their house, Donna had liked John Taylor. Donna would be
overjoyed, and she would no doubt agree that Kelly, a cheerful girl, was exactly
the right person for the somber young man. Yet how was John going to manage the
sadistic side of his personality? Had fucking his new sub taken John's craving
to cause pain away somehow?

Colin left the Basement in a pensive
mood, certain of two things. One: John Taylor had personal experience of being
caned, probably over an extended period of time as a child. Whoever raised him
and gave him those scars was a lousy evil bastard who deserved a slow, painful
death.

That thought made him frown.

And, two: John Taylor, Colin's boss -
the lonely young man that Colin had such a high opinion of - was very much in
love.

And that thought made him smile.