Keihl put the car into park and killed the ignition. He glanced at Kirsten then unlatched his seatbelt. “’Bout time, pal.”
Keihl’s hand squeezed hers. “It’s okay. Just follow me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hope you know what the hell you’re doing, Kirsten.
Tom beamed at them, extending a hand. “Let’s get some more of those questions answered, shall we?”
Chapter Thirty
T
he place even
smelled
like money.
Keihl hadn’t ever seen the interior of a building with more dark, gleaming finished wood. Broad timbers spanned the high ceiling, carvings, moldings — all of rich, polished cherry, teak and mahogany — projecting both comfort and a relaxed, understated privilege.
“What do you guys think?” Tom folded his hands across his lap.
The three of them sat at a large table, the red fabric of the chairs resembling velvet to the touch, but obviously a material of something much finer.
“What
is
this place?” Keihl felt like he’d time-warped into a 19th century smoking parlor in London.
“Oh this is just one of our properties. Used to be a police station and a jail, a long time ago, if you can believe that. Makes a comfortable retreat now, right? Did a helluva job fixing this one up.”
“No shit,” Keihl murmured.
All around them were other tables, most of them empty, a few of them with small groups of people. One or two of the men, both of them graying men in suits, smoked cigars, the rich, distinctive scent reaching Keihl’s nose, the recall of his father’s Elks Lodge instant and vivid.
The Elks Lodge wasn’t even in the same
galaxy
as this place.
Circulating among the tables, a few of them holding drinks in slender fingers, were several women, their willowy height striking. Keihl caught glimpses of strappy heels amongst the swirling fabric of the hems of their deep maroon skirts. Lifted on the unforgiving stays of corsets in the same maroon hue were the alluring curves of buxom breasts and deep cleavage. Each woman’s hair had been piled atop her head to display the slender neck, the firm muscles of the upper back. The room held a subtle energy that already had Keihl filled with anticipation and dread all at once.
“Who are they?” Keihl pointed at the women, locking gazes with Kirsten. Her pretty eyes seemed to take in everything, darting back and forth, as if she were afraid she’d miss something if she so much as blinked.
“The girls?” Tom’s dark eyebrow lifted. “Usually Wards of the Trust, or sometimes women serving a Term of Service.”
“Might be a good time to tell us what those are, don’t you think?” Keihl asked. “I’ve heard you mention them a few times now, and I haven’t a clue idea what you’re talking about.”
“We’ll get to that in a bit.” Tom signaled to one of the women, and she immediately turned on her heel, making a beeline for their table, the upper slopes of pale breasts wobbling in the clutch of the corset’s stays.
“Julia?”
Keihl noted the proprietary way Tom’s hand settled on the woman’s shapely hip.
“Yes, Sir. What can I do for you?”
“There’s another Prime here tonight — I think you’ll know who I’m talking about.” Tom gave Keihl a quick glance. “Younger man, probably here with two other women?”
Julia’s cheeks colored and she nodded. “In the Vaults, Sir. They’ve only been here an hour or so. Would you like me to take you to them?”
Tom’s hand stroked up and down the girl’s hip. “I think I’ll take them down myself. That’s all, girl.”
He patted her bottom and she gave Tom a quick bow of her head, before moving off. Keihl tried not to notice the way the woman’s buttocks moved in the snug skirt.
“Follow me,” Tom said, standing. “I meant to show this to you later, but I suppose there’s no time like the present.”
Kirsten’s eyes were bright pools as she stood. “I — where are we going, Tom?”
“It’s okay, Kirsten.” His gaze flicked to Keihl before he reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Just going to go meet someone. Might help answer some of the questions you two have.”
She looked to Keihl and he nodded, smiling. “This is all okay, girl. Don’t worry.”
Of course, Keihl felt anything
but
inside, but his nervous wife needed a little reassurance even if he didn’t feel it himself. He’d been in situations like this before, and what this place exuded more than anything, was
power
. He knew they were both, far, far out of their depth here, and this was increasingly taking on qualities of the surreal.
None of that mattered though — all that mattered was making sure she felt safe, making sure that she
was
safe.
Tom lead them down a long, wood floored hallway, a rich carpet leading down the center of the passage, the low hum of the table area fading behind them. Then Tom stopped before a door painted black as night, and turned to them.
“The Vaults are where, uh, relaxation happens,” Tom said. “I want to make sure you guys are ready. You’re going to see things, and I don’t want you to be scared or uncomfortable. Everything happening down there is normal. Okay, ready?”
“Pretty damn far from ready,” Kirsten mumbled.
Both men smiled.
* * *
T
he creaking of the stairs as they descended just cranked her tension up even higher, the air seeming to thicken and warm as they reached the bottom, muted, recessed lighting emphasizing the hush, the anticipation — and the dread — she felt down to her very bones. She felt as if this might be a turning point, where it all —or at least part of it — might be revealed.
“I’m guessing they’re at the end — it’s where he usually camps out.” Tom extended an arm, directing them down the long corridor.
At intervals along either wall, burgundy curtains extending floor to ceiling could be seen shielding entryways. On their right, further down the hall, the curtains had been pulled open at one of the entryways, Kirsten’s heart thudding louder in her chest as they drew near.
Tom stopped at the open curtains, as if anticipating her interest in what lay beyond. Keihl took her hand in his as she peered inside.
A small, intimate chamber lay within, maroon and gray upholstered couches and chairs dominating one side, while on the other a beautiful gas-fired fireplace heated the space. The beautiful form of a naked woman, perched on tall black heels, stretched toward the ceiling. The woman faced mostly away from them, her back to the curtained opening. Her head drooped, her torso hitching as she wept softly. Her long dark hair had been draped over one shoulder, revealing the bare, vulnerable expanse of her narrow back. Padded leather cuffs wrapped around the woman’s wrists, her hands drawn together overhead by a chain extended to a steel eyebolt in the ceiling. Dark leather straps extended from the cuffs, snaking around her forearms, gripping them firmly.
The woman’s shapely buttocks were a bright red, with darker splotches at the crown of each cheek. Droplets of sweat beaded her pale skin, sparkling under the bright overhead lights illuminating her bound form. Her feet were also bound together, the thick dark leather around her ankles tied off with a stout chain extending down to a ring bolt set into the carpeted floor.
“She’s not going anywhere soon,” Keihl whispered in Kirsten’s ear, his arm wrapping around her, the gesture both a comfort and a warning.
A well-built man in dark slacks stalked back and forth behind the woman, his gaze fixed upon her vulnerable, reddened bottom. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up, revealing the brawny forearms, the dark, coarse hair over the tanned skin. Clutched in his big hand was the gleaming black leather of a broad, stiff paddle. His suit coat lay over one of the chairs. The woman’s clothing, a bright, black and white patterned dress and cream slip, lay neatly folded on the floor at her feet.
“What’s… what’s happening?” Kirsten murmured it almost without thinking, looking at Tom.
“Anyone who wants to can come utilize the Vaults.” Tom nodded toward the pair. “Jack Fletcher and his wife are regulars here. He likes it when people watch.”
But does his wife?
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Keihl said softly, kissing the crown of her head, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “This is all okay, just like Tom said.”
The man glanced back at them, his avid, intense gaze peering out from under strong, dark eyebrows. He looked at both Kirsten and Keihl for a moment, a smile of recognition curling his lips as he spotted Tom. The man turned his attention back to his weeping wife, and laid the paddle against the lower curve of one cheek. He drew it back, and snapped it against her bottom, the buttocks bounding upward with the force of the blow, a strained cry drawn from the woman as the redness bloomed ever deeper.
“Come on,” Tom said. “We’ll be here all night at this rate.”
Keihl drew her by the hand further down the hall, Kirsten craning her head to get one last look, the man’s hand caressing the inflamed marks on one martyred buttock, leaning close to the bound woman, saying something to her in stern, but hushed, tones.
Then they reached the end, Tom stopping and glancing at both of them.
“You ready?”
“What are you about to show us, dude?” Keihl shook his head. “You act like you’re sending us to the gallows or something.”
Tom gave him a wry smile. “Point of no return might be a better description.”
The doctor drew the curtains aside, tipping his head toward the room beyond. “After you.”
“Men,” Kirsten muttered, shouldering past the both of them.
Then she froze.
A tall, curved couch formed a semi-circle before a huge roaring fire, the wood popping loudly in the intimate stillness of the wood. A well-muscled man of about thirty, with dark, close-cropped hair, wearing only a light blue button down straining at the shoulders, and faded blue jeans lounged at one end of the great couch, affording him a clear view of what occurred at the other end of the semi-circle.
A stunning blonde, perhaps in her late twenties, perched on the couch, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, the form-fitting gray skirt showing off the length of her tanned, trim thighs, the firm muscles of the calves bunched above the strappy, yet classy heels. Her icy blue gaze regarded the woman kneeling on the carpet before her. The black flapper of the crop held in the blonde’s hand lazily flicked at the golden rings pierced through the kneeling woman’s nipples.
The kneeling woman, nearly profile to Kirsten, Keihl and Tom, was entirely naked save for the coffee brown leather at wrists, ankles and the thick collar clasping her long, graceful neck. Her hands were clasped neatly in her lap, her gaze downcast, her face flushed. The kneeling woman’s sable hair was up, numerous sticks keeping the thick tresses piled atop her head in charming disarray. The orange firelight danced across the contours of her slim form, the twin dimples at her lower back like deep dark wells against the sheen of the fire. The pale soles of her feet could be seen tucked neatly under the rounded bottom, red and purplish whip marks inflamed livid across the pale skin of the girl’s buttocks.
Kirsten winced in sympathy, grateful that Keihl’s s tastes didn’t run quite so… brutal.
At least not yet.
The thought had Kirsten’s nipples tightening against the lace constriction of her bra.
The man in the jeans looked up from the tableau taking place before him, a grin brightening his face, the shine of his eyes glittering with the roaring fire.
“Tom! I didn’t think you were serious about coming down tonight.”
His glance switched to Keihl, with a nod, then settled upon Kirsten, the weight of his regard making her throat tighten. The man’s gaze dropped for a moment to the roundness of her belly, his grin brightening further as he captured her gaze once more.
“This must be Keihl and Kirsten, then?”
The man stood, the movement as smooth and purposeful as a tiger, and strode over to them, his fingertips brushing against the cheek of the kneeling woman as he passed.
He extended a hand to Keihl. “Blaine Forster. Nice to finally meet you.”
A bemused look creased her husband’s lips as he shook the man’s hand. “Tom’s… little brother? Hardly recognize you.”
“That’s me. Been a while since you’ve seen me,” Blaine said, lifting his chin toward Tom. “Don’t let the ‘little’ part fool you though. I can still take big brother — and he knows it.”
Tom’s eyes rolled. “Spare me, meathead.”
Blaine laughed, the sound as easy and confident as the young man looked. He turned to Kirsten then, taking her hand before she could object, both of his strong hands clasping it firmly. “My brother didn’t do you justice, I’m afraid. How far along are you two?”
“Almost thirty weeks now.” Kirsten hated how small her voice sounded.
She didn’t like the alluring electricity the man’s touch played across her skin, either.
Watch it, horndog.
Someone cleared their throat behind Blaine, the sound feminine — and pointed.