The only certainty in life is death.
*****
This is a story in 4 parts about a woman who's a dominatrix for recreation and a hitwoman for a living. Each chapter can be read as an independent story but they are linked and I think it's better if they are read in chronological order. But as the reader it's up to you. .
In case anyone thinks they are reading something familiar and accuses me of plagiarism the basis of this series comes from a story I submitted some years ago, now deleted, and which forms the basis for the first three chapters. Its been edited, partially rewritten, and new content added.
*****
I set off early and within an hour was on the interstate heading west. The weather was terrible and as bad as I have ever driven in. Torrential rain had reduced visibility to fifteen yards and I was in the first lane, doing thirty, trying to hang on to the tail lights of the car in front. Despite the weather there were still truckers, in their juggernauts, thundering past flexing their egos. Or their stupidity.
Thirty miles south and the rain stopped. But the surface was still wet and you needed to drive easy so I stayed in the first lane. A car flashed by in the outside lane. The driver must have had it in cruise control because a hundred yards on the car became airborne. It soared through the air, straight into the car in front, collided with the driver's side of the other car and bounced off to the left, onto the median, rolling on to its roof. I took a quick look as I drove past and it looked bad. Whoever was in it must have been seriously injured, if not dead.
I drove on. Someone else could stop to help and call the highway police. I had something more important to deal with than a car crash involving someone I didn't know. Leave it to the emergency services. Sounds callous but sometimes that's the way it is and the weather was going to make me late anyway.
I pulled off the freeway to fill up with gas even though I still had half a tank. I never, ever, let it go below halfway. I always like to have between half empty and full, because I never know when I may need it. Particularly in my business.
There was a Denny's, two hundred yards from the gas station, and my growling stomach told me it was time to eat. I was ready for buttermilk pancakes, bacon strips and sunny side up eggs. Delicious and washed down with cool, clear, water to flush out the badness from within me. Doesn't always work in my case.
Less than an hour later I was almost at the town which was my destination. I was a long way from home, although I have travelled farther for a contract. Flying is often the best option on many occasions. But not this time. I find driving, listening to the music on the radio, relaxing. Heavy metal from the 80's is my favourite. Certainly not the moronic and plastic rap crap that's so prevalent nowadays.
In my line of work, and as a freelance, sometimes putting distance between home and work is an advantage, desirous, and recommended.
I needed to go somewhere before I got to town. The directions were already in the GPS and hopefully it would lead me to the location without a problem. Which is not always the case. Sometimes technology doesn't work and on those occasions it's a pain in the ass.
I don't consider I'm sadistic by nature. But there have been occasions when it's been necessary to persuade subjects, against their will, to divulge information. This was one of them. So before leaving home I searched the web and found suitable, and sound proofed, premises several miles out of town. It was available for hire on an hourly basis and I had booked it for forty-eight hours.
The premises weren't close to town, which fitted my requirements, because I hadn't wanted to run the possibility of being seen entering or leaving them. The GPS coordinates were accurate, and within ten minutes I was close to the location.
I'd been told to look for a large rock with a lightning flash carved in it and then turn off onto a narrow dirt road that looked as if it led nowhere. After three hundred yards I came across an old barn badly in need of repair. A well hidden door with a lock that looked as if it should have been on a bank vault and after putting in the numeric code I entered.
Then came the surprise. There was a building, within a building, and clad in sound proofing sheets. Another door with another numeric lock. Behind the door a short corridor with three doors. I received a further surprise when I opened the door at the end of the corridor. A polished hardwood floor, a matching ceiling, above which was doubtless more sound insulation. The walls were quilted leather panels, or maybe faux leather, in red and black. This was just what I was looking for. A paradise for both a sadist and a masochist and everyone in between.
To say the dungeon was well equipped would be an understatement. A St. Andrews cross; Fetters wheel and suspension frame; leather body bags and strait jackets; shiny black leather swing and harnesses; spanking bench; metal cage; saw horse with pony saddle, bridles and cuffs; fully functioning stocks and pillory; floggers, whips, paddles, crops and even slippers hung on one wall; another wall had ropes; cuffs; gags; bridles and restraints; throne and torture seat; and a mirrored wall cupboard with, no doubt, other goodies inside.
The throne itself was elaborate. Constructed, obviously by a craftsman, from polished ebony and with the padded seat and back covered in red leather. The horseshoe shaped back was decorated with bright steel handcuffs linked together by gold rings, and topped with a black tiara decorated with reflective stones. At the end of each of the red leather armrests was a set of balls with a drooping penis. One black and one white.
Full height mirrors were fitted at intervals along the walls in between the leather panels, together with mirrors on the ceiling. In the corner was a shower easily big enough to accommodate several people and with additional fittings not intended for showering. It wasn't too difficult to guess what it was used for in addition to being used as a shower.
Now I understood why I had been told it wasn't necessary to bring my own 'goody bag' but I'd brought it anyway. Satisfied the premises would suit my purpose I headed for town.
Using a credit card in one of my various aliases, I'd booked a room at the local Holiday Inn Express. Money was no object, with the clients paying all expenses, but they didn't tend to remember you at budget hotels as they do at the more expensive ones. Plus you knew what you were getting when you stayed at an Express. Even when you're only staying a couple of nights you want to be comfortable, and after the drive I wanted a long soak in a bath. I needed to relax and clear my head.
I decided to eat early to give me plenty of time to once again go over the information the clients had supplied. As it was summer, a plain blue skirt worn with a blue and white striped shirt was the way I decided to go. Black shoes with sensible heels and a brunette wig to hide my red hair. No jewellery, except for earrings and a Macy's watch. Important nobody would remember me.
The hotel concierge recommended a restaurant within easy walking distance but I was a disappointed when I saw the outside. It looked as if it hadn't seen paint since Elvis was a teenager, and inside it wasn't any better. Plank top tables, without tablecloths, and what looked like uncomfortable chairs. But surprisingly, from its appearance and the early hour, the place looked full and I thought I wasn't going to get a table. A guy wearing Levi's and a button down white shirt, that hung over his pants, scuttled over. He must have been told that wearing his shirt that way hid his belly and made him look younger. The advice was wrong. Although it hid his belt buckle, his stomach was well on its way towards his knees.
He showed me to the worst table in any restaurant. It was only just big enough for two, which was fine, and squashed into a corner. But it was right next to the swing doors into the kitchen. One of those tables where, when you were eating, you had to keep your elbows in. Beggars can't be choosers and, as I wanted to eat, that's the way it had to be.
