This is a 25,000 word book broken down into seven chapters. In this second chapter, W travels to Finn's Fetish Factory Funhouse in London. As he is waiting to see Finn, he watches a unique form of horse racing. If you read chapter one and were disappointed that there was nothing truly sexual, you will find this chapter much more to your liking.
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WARNING
! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18
ONLY
. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional
ONLY
and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2022 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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CHAPTER TWO
On the Trail of Evil
I had just gotten to my car when a text came into my phone. It was from Sis and said simply, "Burner Fibonacci 20 Single."
It wouldn't take the Agency more than a few minutes to figure out that code, but first the message had to be sent to the proper people. That meant I had about five minutes to make the call. The code, which I had taught Sis many years ago, was simple. A Fibonacci sequence is a mathematical structure where the next number is the sum of the previous two numbers. Single meant to only use the final part of each number. Usually I use it to create a semi-random long number that I can easily remember, like for a password. In this case, Sis was using it to tell me a special phone number. She had to have planned for something like this a long time ago.
With a starting number of 20, the full sequence was 2-0-2-2-4-6-(1)0-6-6-(1)2, so the number Sis wanted me to call was 202-246-0662. I drove about ten blocks to make sure I was on a real tower and not an Agency sniffer and then pulled over and called the number. I used a burner phone that I had in a special compartment beneath the glove box.
Sis immediately answered the phone. "Oh God, W," she said. She wasn't quite crying, but I could hear the quiver in her voice. "How bad is it?"
"They left a naked picture of her," I said flatly, "and a message that there were things worse than death."
"They have her!" Sis wailed. "They have her! Find her for me, W! Please, you don't know what these people are like!"
"What people?" I said curtly, and Sis replied, suddenly becoming calm, "It's a cartel of world-wide sex traffickers. Normally Teddy Bear and I work scientific intelligence. Usually it's in a nice little office complex in Alexandria, or sometimes in embassies around the world. But because of our special traits, we were asked to infiltrate a BDSM sex scene here in Germany."
"Let me guess," I said, "you are a Mistress and Theodore... Teddy Bear... is a sub."
There was a long pause before she said, "Yes." Then she quickly added, "I didn't want you to know."
"Sis," I said almost angrily, "you know the kind of work I do. Did you think I would judge you or be angry?"
"No," she said wearily, "I just didn't want to crush your image of your sweet little sister."
I could hear her take a deep breath and then she said, very firmly, "Do you have anything we could use to find her?"
"Pricker told me my help wasn't needed," I said curtly.
"Agent Bricker is the one who convinced Ted and me to do this op," Sis said flatly. "He said we would just be providing surface intelligence and there would be no real danger to us or our family."
"There's a reason his fellow agents call him Pricker," I said, a little more harshly than I intended.
"Can you do an independent investigation?" she asked. Her voice was once again cracking slightly.
"I have my own means," I replied. "And my own sources. I will see what I can do."
"Thank you, W," Sis said softly. "I knew my big brother could save the day."
I wasn't as sure of that as she was, but I said, "I'll try," and ended the call.
I got out of the car and put the burner phone under the car right up against the front tire. Then I drove off. Sis had a lot more faith in my ability to do anything than I did, but I did have one very important piece of information that the spooks probably didn't have-- or didn't recognize the significance of. I saw the shark fin etched into the stainless steel pipe that the cutter nozzle rode on. I knew that logo. That custom device was built by James Finnegan, known in the trade as Finn.
I contacted a friend of mine in London. He is a true friend, and I won't mention his name, but he picked me up at the airport and took me to his house. In his garage-- they call it a garage in the UK, but pronounce it GAR'-raj or something like that. Anyway, in his garage was a Triumph Street Triple RS motorcycle. It was registered to a fake name, but it had all the legal tags, title, and insurance in that name. I know a car might be faster and safer, but when the shit hits the fan, too many Americans, possibly even me, forget that you are supposed to drive on the left side of the road. A motorcycle means I don't have to contend with being a right-side driver, so I can react a lot faster and better if needed.
Finn's Fetish Factory Funhouse was located down in the East End of London. It's not one of the best-- or safest-- areas in London, but they are desperate for anything that might help the area, so Finn was able to purchase an old factory for the right price with an adjacent, enclosed, car park. Security men and women were everywhere around it.
From the front it looks like a gentrified factory building remodeled for flats. There is a double-wide front door with a long canopy supported on bright silver poles that reaches almost out to the street. On the front of the canopy it says simply, "Finn's."
When you enter that door, there is a host's desk and a maitre d'. Beyond them is a large, well-decorated dining area. Finn's has a Michelin Guide rating of three stars. Many of the people enjoying the haute cuisine have no idea that two floors above them is an erotic BDSM night club. The second floor, which isolates the restaurant from any of the noise of the club, is living quarters for Finn and several members of his security force.
"Do you have a reservation?" the receptionist asked politely.
"No," I answered, "I'm here to see Mister Finnegan. I understand he will be up on the third floor at this time of night."
"Third floor requires a special invitation," she replied. "Did you request an invitation from our website?"
"No," I said firmly, "but Finn will see me. It's important." Evidently I put a little more anger in my voice than I intended and her eyes widened slightly.
Her face returned to very calm while her hand slid slightly forward and pressed a small black button. Almost immediately a very handsome, very trim young man in a black suit stepped up and asked, "Is there a problem?"
"No," I answered calmly. "If I may, I am going to reach into the inside pocket of my coat and take out my card. Send it up to Mr. Finnegan. He will OK me coming up."
The man nodded slightly and I reached in and pulled out one of my cards. When I handed it to the host, her eyes again widened. "Thee W?" she asked calmly.
"The one and only," I replied. "And W needs to see Finn." I paused and then repeated, "It is very important."
I heard mumbling behind me. The security man was talking into his cufflink. I turned slightly toward him and he said curtly, "Elevator with the red doors. There is one button for up and another for down."
"Thank you," I said and walked over to the elevator.
Another young, trim, well-dressed young man met the elevator. "I will show you to your table," he said politely.
The tables were arranged in huge circular rows around a large empty area that was evidently intended to be the stage for the entertainment. My table was in the front row. There was a stunningly beautiful black girl already sitting at it. She was dressed in what is normally called "club attire," meaning a very short dress that revealed as much as it covered. My practiced eye, however, noted the slight triangular bulge that barely showed on the inside front of her right thigh and a slim, straight bulge down her spine. Neither would be noticeable if I had been distracted by her exquisite body.
"Don't get any ideas," she said curtly as I sat down. "I'm with security and Finn said to keep a close watch on you."
"I have no ideas that would cause you to draw either your gun or your knife," I said with a smile. Then I added, "I am here to talk to Finn. Hopefully, a very friendly talk."
"Then let's sit and watch the show," she said much more pleasantly. "I think you will find it interesting. Mister Finnegan will speak to you after the last act of this set."
At that point loud music began blaring from speakers hidden in the darkness above us. I had expected sexy music or perhaps even some bump and grind but instead it was the almost calliope-sounding music you hear at the carousel in the park.
There was a slight rumbling sound and a huge device descended from the darkness. It resembled the garishly-lighted canopies used at local fairs over their merry-go-round rides, but in place of the poorly-done paintings and drawings that normally adorned such carousel tops, each of the twenty segments was embellished with a naked figure hanging in the center of the triangle. There were sixteen young women in groups of four hanging face down. All were naked Xs-- or more accurately, Ys-- but some were tied in place with their feet spread wide at the outer rim and their hands tied together at the peak of the triangle. Others were tied with their hands spread at the outer rim and their feet together at the peak. A slight tinkling sound drew my attention to the bright silver bells that hung from each girl's nipples. Some of them had pierced nipples with hoops to hold the bells. Others had clover clamps tightly attached from which the bells hung. I'm not sure which would be more painful.
Every five segments, dividing the circle into quarters, were naked figures that were hanging facing up with their hands tied to the outer rim. There were no bells, but there was a rather large-looking anal hook embedded in each one of them. The upper portion of the hook was held firmly between their asscheeks by a rope that went up to the outer rim of the carousel top. As one of them rotated over us, my suspicions were confirmed. There was a slight hint of a prick and scrotum visible above the gleam of the anal hook. Finn was providing a little something for everyone.
