Six years earlier...
I had been in Omega—or Greek Court, as we liked to call our unit on the inside—for the past seven years doing short-term, two-to-three day black ops missions. The six years prior had been spent on various longer missions for White Rabbit, the unit for undercover operations. While I had enjoyed being undercover, the change of pace was nice to be able to enjoy civilian life more often between assignments...and as myself.
Agents in Omega were assigned to a Beta, Gamma, or Delta team. The heavy-lifters; the cleaners and on-site technology gurus; and the eyes-and-ears offsite, respectively. The lucky ones became Alphas—the leaders—which were rare. No one knew the true qualifications for promotion to this highest level except that for one to be consider required special recommendation from Director Davenport.
My exceptional observational skills helped promote me to a Delta team. Sometimes, I missed getting directly involved in the action. But being in Omega provided a bigger variety of experiences, which only honed my skills more.
When I returned from a mission down south and found out I was being temporarily transferred back to White Rabbit, I was eager to step up and help. Another agent had been injured. It wasn't life threatening, but it would put him out of commission long enough that he couldn't join the team going undercover in three weeks.
They had arranged his alias already, and I was the closest agent that fit the fake details. Plus, I had the experience of going dark for long periods. The new mission could take a while, and they needed someone who could be cool and collected in a potentially stressful situation while also being constantly attentive to my surroundings.
To prepare for my new position, I stayed with a guy in the Chicago area over the course of two weeks. He taught me the ropes—well, not literally, although he said he'd show me that if I was ever interested—of how to be what he called a Dom. A dominant partner who practiced the kinky arts, including sex. He had the cutest little assistant. Denise...Dana...something that began with D. She was very patient. They both said I was a quick study. A natural to BDSM, although I'd only ever heard of the term before.
I hadn't known what to expect when Director Davenport had asked me to help them take down an erotic sex-trade ring that was hiding behind a legitimate gentlemen's club. I was grateful for the training once I'd learned I was going to be a new client. And I admit that eventually, I enjoyed the sessions, despite knowing that the ladies who would submit to me were probably doing so against their will. That their refusal to cooperate resulted in brutal punishment.
The Council had only gotten wind of the underground ring after two girls were found in Indiana during a snowstorm. Abby had died from hypothermia. The other, Kendall, was barely hanging on. After a week in the ICU, she was finally able to give some clues about who she was. Where she had come from.
She kept screaming whenever a man entered the room. It took a female officer to gather that Kendall and Abby were runaways. They had escaped the previous week from a warehouse in Chicago where men who got off on torturing girls forced them to have sex. While a couple of the strippers from the main club consented to work in the secret club, the rest of the girls had not. But since they had nowhere else to go and they were paid well, they didn't try to run away.
Except Kendall and Abby were used to living on the street. They'd saved up a few hundred between them and had made a break for it, hitchhiking across the border. Their luck turned, though, when their ride stopped at a truck stop and couldn't leave right away due to a flat tire. They decided to keep going on foot, but they hadn't counted on near-blizzard conditions making rides scarce. A snowplow driver had found them huddled in the shelter of a carpark.
After several weeks of intel, the Council had narrowed down the warehouse to The Velvet Rope, owned by a guy named Gregory Dade. He was the epitome of a slimeball. Lanky with dark, slicked back hair and beady little eyes. And he always wore a pinstripe suit with a purple tie.
The state police were satisfied to just shut down the gentlemen's club and file charges against Dade for running a club that promoted prostitution. However, there was the issue that the sex wasn't exactly voluntary. Not to mention, a man had propositioned Kendall in Kentucky for a modeling job and then brought her to Illinois. There was a high chance other girls may have been transported over state lines, too, against their will.
As a result, two other White Rabbit agents and I would be new, regular customers for the erotic side. We were to be observant. Gain the girls' trust. Find out as much information as possible to determine if this was a state or federal case. And get evidence for a conviction against Dade and his minions. All while having sex.
Gregory's establishment was in the old meatpacking district of Chicago. Our intel showed the underground brothel catered to men with a taste for the more taboo side of sex, which Kendall had called torture. Men who wanted to be in absolute control and exacted punishment on those who ignored their authority. There were very few limits when it came down to what the club allowed. Most of the men favored bondage of some sort. Many were sadists. A select few just liked to get their rocks off spanking a girl and didn't even engage in the sex.
It was an exclusive club with a vetting process for membership. The names on the list remained hush-hush, but word was, there were several judges and politicians. Though most were your high-earning businessmen who traveled. They came from other cities. States. Countries, even. Several of them were married. Regardless of stature and profession—or lack thereof in some cases—all of them paid a hefty fee to spend a few hours alone in a room with a girl. Or multiple girls, if that was their thing.
My cover was as a trust-fund baby who had too much free time on his hands. I liked to spank little girl's asses while they begged for a ride on my Harley (apparently the name for my cock). My roleplay also included making sure my "machine" had a proper lube job and tune up beforehand. That to ensure a safe "ride," my passengers were properly bound and gagged.
I'd gotten a hard-on just from reading my profile, as well as a good laugh. Had they needed to be so...graphic? Surely, they could have just said I liked to spank girls, receive blowjobs, and was into bondage. But maybe that's not how this club rolled.
Going in, I was mostly angry that this Gregory fellow forced these girls to do this. Why not find willing girls who were already working the streets? But maybe that's because his girls were younger...more innocent. And that's what his clients paid for. It was sick.
But I couldn't deny there was a small part of me that got a rush out of dominating the girls three times a week. While I tried to be gentle with them, I still had an image to portray. And this left me feeling guilty at night while I wrote up reports of anything I saw or heard. While I lived the life of a rich kid on someone else's dime.
The upside of my position was that my role liked going to another, legal underground club that my trainers had recommended. It was a safe place that I could find girls who were more than willing to submit and help me let off a little steam. It helped me see the good side of dominance.
I'd been with the same girls at Gregory's club for over a month. Cara was Mondays. Tiffany was Wednesdays. And Deidra was my girl Friday. If I came on the weekends, I'd get Jessica or Sheri.
They all seemed to be familiar with the protocol: make the client happy at all costs. This told me they'd been here for a while. Deidra and Sheri were the only ones, though, that didn't tremble the first time we met. I was certain they were two of the consenting strippers. The others avoided my gaze. I could only imagine what was going through their heads. Wondering what new horrors the new guy would bring.
I'd considered incorporating blindfolds in my scenes, but it belied my character's penchant for seeing the fear in his partner's eyes. Damn the Council. They'd provided so many details on my application form, it had narrowed my options of what I could and shouldn't do.
But after the first couple of visits, the girls relaxed and got into the roleplay. I must have seemed tame to them. At least compared to what I heard other guys were into here. It was also the first time I'd really been grateful the Council had required me to snip my lines, although I always wore a condom for everyone's sakes.
While my instructor had not been privy to all of the details, he knew I would be working undercover for the police in a sex dungeon of sorts. He had impressed it upon me that I needed to establish a routine from day one. It would not only help in training my submissive partners what I wanted from them, but it also would show the men running the club that I knew what I was doing as a Dom. That I wasn't just acting out the part. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself as a novice.
I set a few rules to avoid messing up and forgetting during a scene lest I failed to enact punishment for disobedience. I imagined Gregory was taping us. At least audibly, though possibly on video, as well. It was a good thing I wasn't camera shy.
Somehow, I kept my voice even as I explained what I expected of each new girl. First, she would address me as 'Sir.' Secondly, once she entered the room and saw me, she was to strip from everything she was wearing—usually a skimpy robe with minimal lingerie underneath and a pair of stilettos or platform pumps on her feet. She would then face the door, bend over, and grab her ankles.
Once in position, I had them select a double-digit number, making them think they had some say in how the night would go. Rarely did they pick ten, and it was never higher than twenty, though they did vary. Except for Deidra, who really did seem to like to have her ass spanked. She chose thirty every time, and she was prone to have her knees buckle halfway through. Which I then punished her with another ten because I hadn't given her permission to break her stance. She would give me crocodile tears at first, but I could hear her gasps of pleasure the longer I swatted her.
