Reckless (10 page)

***

There were three more weeks of visiting sex shops and talking to the management and customers. She was surprised how open some people were to the questions, not surprised that some remained tight-lipped at any attempt to get a real answer about their sexual motives. She recorded those responses too, while at the same time trying to understand the phenomenon she saw. The experimentation, the ritual practices, the alterations people willingly made to their bodies, the lengths some went to experience pain and pleasure. She decided that the human psyche was filled with smut, and if that was so, smut must be natural. If it was so natural however, why did everyone judge it and fear it and try to control it? Of course if everyone believed that it was natural, then it couldn't be smutty anymore. And if it wasn't smutty, would people care about it? Being naughty and bad and outside the boundaries of what was proper seemed to be the greatest aphrodisiac—the foundation for all the kinks and quirks. She was working on these theories for the book, but not formulating any conclusions, not yet. She had more research to do in the subcultures, and more to do on herself.

By far the most incredible thing she witnessed was the day she walked into a tattoo parlor in the middle of a piercing. Not an ordinary event at all, she became witness to an astounding ten minutes of sado-masochism she would chronicle in detail for the book—and allow to haunt her for weeks after.

There was a girl, so she seemed, even though she signed the release form indicating she was over twenty-one. Other than that self willed act, the girl was a slave to the man that brought her to the place.

"I want her marked permanently," the dominant told the proprietor who was a scruffy, gray-haired aging hippie who sported a half dozen tattoos down each arm.

"The best way to do that is branding, but I don't do that," he answered the request.

"That will come later," the dominant said. He seemed as old as the gentleman waiting on them, but was much more refined. His gray hair was cut short, his mustache was neatly trimmed and he smelled of some familiar brand of cologne. The girl at his side was plainly attired in a black leather mini-skirt and a sleeveless T-shirt that was neatly tucked inside the waistband of her skirt. "I want her clit pierced today," he said. "Not the hood, but the clitoris itself."

"That will make a lasting impression," the man replied.

Kelly was about to exit the tattoo parlor, already having had the conversation she needed with the tattoo artist, but the gray-haired master turned to her, motioning her to stay. "You will watch won't you?" he implored her. "Bess could use a female witness, I think."

It wasn't her intention to intrude, but with the open invitation, she wasn't about to leave.

"You wouldn't mind my including this in the book I'm writing?"

"A book on what?"

"Unusual sex practices."

The man smiled.

"Do you have anything on slavery?" he asked.

"Not exactly. On S&M yes, but . . . ."

"This goes far beyond that. I do own her quite literally. And she's mine to do with as I please. It pleases me to have her body pierced. This will be the tenth time, if I'm counting right."

The girl at his side offered just a half smile, otherwise she remained meek and utterly passive.

"If I could talk to her?" Kelly asked.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," her dom replied. "But you may ask me whatever you like."

"That might make a one-sided story," Kelly replied. She was still interested in the girl.

"Then perhaps a question or two, once she's been pierced."

Kelly watched the ceremony, the way the artist turned the music on, some operatic aria Kelly remembered hearing before, the way he lit the candles in the back of the shop, and had the girl lie down and raise her skirt. From where she stood, Kelly could see the other rings at her cunt, though it was too shadowy to see exactly how she'd been pierced.

"Remember, through the clit itself this time," the dominant instructed the artist.

Kelly saw the needles, the rod that would be inserted there and a look of pain in the girl's eyes before the act began. Her master stood at her head and held her wrists above her.

"You have some question you'd like to ask now?" the girl's master said turning to Kelly.

"Why is she allowing this?" Kelly blurted out.

"Answer her, Bess," the girl was instructed.

"Because I do whatever my master requires," she replied. "It is my duty."

Duty? The word sounded strange from the lips of one so young and apparently naive.

That was all that Kelly was allowed to ask. The needle pierced the girl's flesh, and she gripped her dom's hands until her knuckles were white and Kelly figured that she would have to have her hands pried away. The girl screamed. She panted and moved her hips so much Kelly thought it might be dangerous for the piercing. But the act had been accomplished. The rod installed, there was nothing more to see.

"No more tears, Bess," her master ordered her. "You take care of him like a good-girl and I might go easy when I whip you tonight."

Not another word was spoken, but the trio had it all rehearsed. Helped from the table by the man who'd pierced her, Bess disappeared with him into the back of the store, while her master waited. Kelly could hear the sounds of fucking: the groans, the noise of a squeaky bed and the gentle sobs of the girl as she gave herself.

"Bess chose this life?" Kelly asked.

"In a manner of speaking she started this when she gave up her will," he replied.

"Gave it up, as if she has no choice anymore?"

"She has none, it's not necessary for a sex slave."

"And you think she's happy?"

"Frankly I wouldn't know. Her happiness is not required, her compliance is."

"And you'll use her this way until when?" Kelly asked.

"Until I tire of her."

"And then what will happen?"

"If she's marketable, I'll sell her. If not, I suppose she's on her own to fend for herself."

Kelly shook her head. "It's hard to believe such things would happen in this century." The reporter was anxious to leave the shop, as if there were bugs or bees or spiders jumping about her skin, crawling up her legs and arms.

"You're thin skinned if you squirm at this little ritual. If you're exploring sex practices, there are ones that would make you scream in your nightmares."

"And you'd call that erotic?"

"It's in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps you should see Bess when she orgasms. It's quite a sight. I suppose if you counted that as happiness, you could say Bess lives in paradise."

Kelly would have asked to have seen that, but she was too distraught to continue with this nightmare of a man. He made Tad look like a prince, Juno an upright citizen, and the men that raped her look like pussy cats. She hated his eyes, because there was nothing there, not a spark of life. For that matter, she hadn't seen much in the girl. If she could have concluded anything, she would guess that neither one had a soul anymore. Kelly left the shop without any further discussion with the demented dominant.

A day later, Kelly returned to the tattoo parlor to speak with the piercing artist. She was still intensely curious about the unusual couple from the day before.

"The slave girl you had in here yesterday? Bess? Has she been in here before?" she asked him.

"Maybe one other time. He takes her lots of places, I guess. I think he's even flown her to Europe just for a special ring or two from an artist he likes there."

"And she takes care of you, I see?"

"It's part of the arrangement. I don't complain."

"You don't find that the least bit over the edge, around the bend, crazy?"

"I don't judge, lady. But if it means anything to you, those two are the most chilling people I've ever met in this business. But she gives great head, and her pussy is about warm as they come, and she always orgasms. I figure with all that, what they've got can't be all the weird."

Kelly considered his comments. "Maybe not," she agreed.

She wouldn't forget their faces, the seeming blankness in their lives. Yet who was she to judge when she'd behaved as licentiously as any woman she'd known, at least there was some sense of structure in their lives.

***

The more Kelly moved inside the erotic sub-culture, the more there was to see, the more there was to write about, the mores stories she happened on, like the tattoo parlor that she serendipitously discovered. There were places however, that she still avoided, ones she knew were dangerous for herself. There were clubs and theatres that treaded into the sexual territory that attracted her the most. After what had happened with Juno, she vowed not to stupidly think she could be a non-participating observer of anything. Her own desire required that she play on their turf. Maybe the story she was writing required that too.

Her dilemma – not knowing how to get the material for the rest of the book – led her back the newspaper office one Friday morning, just about the time that the City Desk should be have adjourned their morning meeting That is if they still had them.

While she socialized with half a dozen former colleagues that still couldn't understand why she quit, and made a point of skirting Sam's attentions, she was pleased to see Tad was still there. He was the purpose of the visit.

"How would you like to do some research with me?" she asked him, after closing the door behind him, in what had been her old office. It was Tad's now. Not that he used it. It was more a mess than when she had it. Obviously he still hadn't earned a secretary from his cushy deal with The Mirror.

"You want to work with me again?" Tad asked after hearing her initial request.

"I need a body guard," she said.

"Well then, why not hire one," he asked pointedly. "I have other things to do."

Thank god, the man was still turning her on. If he didn't, she'd have really have lost her nerve considering what she was asking him to do. Oh, but he was still pushing all the right buttons with her, including the ones that wanted her to pick a fight with him. She was pushing his just as well.

"I don't need that kind of bodyguard. I need you," she said.

"Me? You need me?"

"Because of where I want to go."

"You're not doing something stupid, are you?" he asked.

"I need someone I trust."

"You are talking about me, Tad Stone, the man you love to hate?" He looked at her incredulously.

"Yes, I am," she answered him directly.

"So what's the story?" he asked.

"The job in the topless bar gave me some inspiration. I'm expanding the idea, researching contemporary sexual practices. The ones that are over the edge, a little off kilter, like sex shops and leather boutiques, piercing. I even have an amazing piece on sexual slavery."

"And you want me to join your research team?" There was probably no story that would have enticed the maverick reporter away from his newspaper work, except this one.

"Just for a few nights. I know you're busy. But there are some sex clubs I'd like to go to, and I'd be more comfortable with someone I know."

"And trust?" He was still amazed by her use of the word.

"And trust," she agreed.

He thought he'd never hear that from Kelly London.

"Sounds interesting," he mused. "You want me because of the places themselves, because you're too chicken to go alone, or because you don't want it to get too personal?"

"I might want it personal," she said, almost in a whisper, as if the there were a dozen people at the walls listening to their conversation. (There probably were a dozen people in the outer office who were visually keeping tabs on the pair, but there was no way they'd hear what was said.)

"And you want me to make sure you don't go over the edge?" Tad guessed.

Kelly nodded. "That's what I'm thinking."

"You want to play in a pretty mean world," he observed.

"I want to feel what it's like. I want to be honest with what I report. I want to know why it fascinates so many people and why it fascinates me."

"The book will work, I can see that," Tad agreed.

"So you'll help?"

"I suppose. As long as I get my 'something physical' on the side."

"Have I disappointed you before?" she asked.

"Only that you left the paper. I have all this shit to deal with." He stared at the mess on the desk.

"Well, isn't that too bad."

"They'd probably hire you back," he said. "Of course they have this cute little chick they're trying to hire from the Times. Now she's the kind that could really take over what you do best."

"You you'll always be an insufferable bastard," Kelly declared.

"I practice daily," he joked.

"I'm sure you do," she laughed. "How about meeting me at my apartment tonight about nine."

"What's tonight?" he asked.

"Private sex party at a leather boutique."

"Private?" he asked.

"I was trying on some leathers one afternoon, and one thing led to another. The owner ended up screwing my ass."

"Humph," Tad retorted. "Makes me wonder who's really the reckless one," he said.

"That's why I need you there."

***

Jerry from the leather shop had loaned her what she needed for the night. The private party was in the store, but he wanted her to come fully prepared. It was intended as a fashion show, a half dozen adventurous women and a handful of men modeling leather and chains: everything from skirts, pants, bustiers and leather harnesses, to collars, wrist and ankle cuffs, dildoes and gags.

He promised nothing more than supreme titillation, but Kelly could see it going much further, since she'd already been easily seduced by the dominant Jerry. His friends in the audience would likely be just as aggressive. She might have wanted to handle it by herself, but the idea of Tad seeing her in this venue raised her sexual expectations to a degree that went right off the charts.

"Damn," he exclaimed, seeing Kelly appear fully attired for the party. "I thought you were hot going into the topless bar."

"You like it?" She was wearing a black bustier complete with zippers over her nipples – that at the moment were zipped tight – and a tiny skirt, this one was not backless. She wore the same collar Jerry had given her from their afternoon together, a pair of wrist cuffs and a spiked heel leather ankle boots with "O" rings at the sides for buckling a submissive into position.

"You want to have sex right now?" he asked.

She smirked. "If we do I'll be late, and Jerry promised me he'd spank my ass if I was."

"I'd like to see that too," he said. "In fact, I can think of nothing I'd like better than to spank you myself, you sassy brat."

"You think I'd play the submissive?" she asked, almost laughing at the very thought.

"Then why are you?" he asked pointedly. "All I'd need is a leash to make you my slave."

The point was well taken, but she wasn't about to give him that kind of liberty. "But would you really like a sex slave, or a woman that has the "balls" to fight back?"

Tad smirked gleefully. "Actually with you, Kelly London, I could really get off on that fantasy. I know it would never happen. But you have no idea how many times I've thought about tying you, leading you around by a chain, and making you serve my every whim. You did have a taste of that, you do remember?"

"So you have fantasies about me? I'm impressed."

"I'm not so sure you would be, if you were in the middle of them."

"My how we really hate each other," she declared. "No, I think we'd better get going." She threw her coat over her shoulders and led Tad to the door. Just before she opened it, she looked down to see an envelope that had been slipped underneath.

"What's that?" Tad asked, as she picked it up.

"Oh, just a note from my neighbor. She's going away for the week, and I'm taking care of her apartment." Kelly slid the envelope between her phone and a stack of bills on the kitchen counter. Where she'd been so calm and sure of herself preparing for this night, she was suddenly feeling a little agitation. She hoped Tad wouldn't pick up on it; but she couldn't tell. He looked at her strangely for an instant, but then proceeded with her out the door.

The leather shop at night was more eerie than it was in the afternoon. Jerry had candles and incense burning. He'd moved the racks of clothes around to make a space for the floor show. A ten inch high runner had been placed in the center where the models would display his merchandise and there were a dozen chairs on either side of the raised platform.

"Kelly, you look terrific," Jerry said rushing towards her and giving her a peck on the cheek as though he was meeting an old friend. "You can go on with that first. And who's your friend?" He turned to Tad.

"Tad Stone. He's a reporter. I thought he might lend a little journalistic objectivity, in case I lose mine."

"Maybe I won't be objective either," Tad joked with the shop owner.

They both laughed.

"I'm glad you could come," Jerry said. "You do realize that my clientele and my models do expect anonymity. I'm sure you'll honor that?"

"By all means," Tad assured.

"Well then, you can sit here," Jerry said pointing to one end of the row of chairs. "The rest of my guests should be coming in about a half hour. Kelly, you need to disappear into the dressing rooms. Meet the other models, I'm sure they'll give you some interesting thoughts for the book."

Someone was serving an exotic cocktail behind the curtain at the back of the shop. The party had already begun. A glass of the odd concoction appeared in Kelly's hand, and tasting so good, there was a second to replace the first as soon as she finished. It made the mood for her, took away some of the nervousness; but left her still thinking clearly enough to remember what she was experiencing. At least she thought so.

In the catacombs of the old store there were the dressings rooms where it was nearly dark, except for black lights that made the tiny rooms glow with odd hues. Make-up changed with the atmosphere, becoming more outlandish. One woman in a leather harness of intertwined straps, pulled Kelly to a mirror, and began making up her eyes with florescent cream that would illuminate in the dark. The zippers on her bustier were unzipped and her nipples pulled out. A man, sporting an anal plug attached to his broad waist belt, played with Kelly's nipples until they were sticking out straight. To keep them erect, he placed gold rings around them that tightened a half inch back, leaving her with the two purple buds looking larger than they ever had before.

"Not too tight, I hope," he said.

"I think I'll make it," she replied.

Kelly watched while the models dressed, theirs a performance in itself, as rumps were paddled until they were a vile shade of red, and jewelry began to decorate every body part imaginable. There was little show of modesty. The cocktail must have made them as bold as Kelly was feeling. In addition to the leather and chains, there were feather masks over faces and one dress of see-through lace modeled by a well-endowed women with curves that made the lace appear to dance as the woman walked. The assortment of hair styles made one think they'd walked into a different century.

Kelly talked discreetly to her companions in this hard-edged world, finding softness and lush voices, and tenderness from men and women both, that she rarely found in the more sane world. There were tears on one woman's cheeks as she allowed a dominant man to tie her to a post and lash her, just to make her submissive attire authentic. When she showed clear signs of welts, the dom returned to the woman affectionately playing with her punished body, until Kelly saw her jerk and sway with orgasm.

Others in the maze of back rooms let their freed inhibitions run loose, raising their sexual expectations high, so high Kelly thought the whole place might simply descend into an orgasmic feast even before they had their turn exhibiting Jerry's wares. But just at the brink of climax, most in this carnival of players backed off in anticipation of their stint on the runway. They wouldn't want to lose the erotic edge.

When the show began, one model after another trooped out from behind the curtain, to the nods of interest from an audience of men and women who looked almost as outrageous as the show itself. Though for the moment they were not as drunk as the leather clad reporter and her friends. Kelly's observation of the audience of twenty-five suggested that it was a mixed crowd: gays, lesbians, straights, dominants, submissives and those that could go either way, both in the audience and on the platform. The mood was festive with provocative smiles, laughter and the undercurrent of sexuality running throughout the room. The purpose was to arouse, naked fannys, bare breasts adorned with jewelry, tattoos and exposed penis's became normal in the room. Exposure on the stage produced exposure in the audience as if there was a game afoot to see who could be the most shocking.

After Kelly modeled her first outfit, she returned to the dressing room, where a matronly woman with a corseted bodice and enormous breasts, began to strip her of everything.

"I wasn't planning to model anything else," she murmured to the woman with the fast moving fingers.

"Oh, but you will," she assured her. "I have just the thing."

"Just the thing" was a skin tight see-through catsuit. High collar, long sleeves, and ankle length, the black silk conformed to her body like second skin. From its surface her body parts appeared so there was little that the eye could not see. Taking Kelly's hair from the combs that had kept it swept up off her face, the woman brushed it out, teased it, and fashioned it into a mane of gold about her reddening cheeks. She added whiskers as though Kelly was about to star in a performance of Cats.

"Maybe you'll crawl to the stage?" the woman suggested, as she viewed her work.

It was an appropriate thought, but one that Kelly wasn't about to try right off. However, when she reached the stage in front of the audience, she finally dropped to her hands and knees. Her admirers were asking for it. Turning herself into a sultry cat, she spit and hissed and seductively batted her eyes at the adoring fans.

For an instant, she caught Tad's unwavering but expressionless glance. When she thought he might have snickered or laughed, or simply chuckled to himself, he looked more turned on than anything. Glancing elsewhere, Kelly played her audience as though she was an exotic dancer. She'd certainly seen enough moves to know the ones that were her. Like she was sometimes in bed with the right partner, she took on the role and let the role play through her body. Inside the suit of her second skin, there was a second person rising. When a whip cracked her ass however, she raced off the platform like a scared mouse.

To the sound of applause she slipped behind the curtain.

It was not much later that the audience and the models interchanged. Connections were made, and the sex began. The place swam with bodies fornicating in the midst of kinky scenes. At the edge of sanity and madness, Kelly, still wearing the catsuit, slipped her coat on over her shoulders and then into the night with Tad.

Driving her to the docks which were close to the shop, they had sex wedged in a corner where two old buildings sagged against each other making the perfect alcove where they could get close enough to fuck. Tad ripped at the catsuit to find her pussy, and pressed her belly to the wall. He fingered her clit and listened to her and hiss like she was back on stage.

“What a pretty little pussy this is,” he murmured.

She scowled at him and licked his lips, while her cunt ground on his hand.

Feeling her wet, he turned her around, and lifted her ass to press his erection inside. In a steamy sensuous union they moved together until Tad came. His fingers reaching around from behind toyed with her clit until she suddenly tightened with one long lush spasm.

After he released her, Kelly dropped to the cold ground and licked the last of his dripping sperm. It had begun to rain. The humid night releasing the moisture into the air, they were drenched, water running off Kelly's nearly naked body. In the dark, in the rain, with no worry about what tramp or thief that might see her, she helped Tad put the roof up on the convertible. Then climbing inside next to him, she huddled close, half chilled, half scorching hot from sex and lust and loneliness.

They still weren't speaking. For a man and woman of words to be so silent meant something hidden was coming to the surface, though neither one would acknowledge what that something was.

They spent the night together in Kelly's bed, making love twice more, each time a little more passively, and with a little more affection. Kelly never did discard the catsuit completely. Remnants of it clung to her perspiring body all night long. With bands of silk at her ankles, wrists and neck quite intact, she slept when they took time to sleep, with the thought of submissiveness running in her dreams. It provided a crazy dichotomy, being conquered and subdued, yet feeling free. She wondered if Tad was feeling that. Or was he just about being in control while she remained moldable?

"Would it be too anticlimactic to say you look like something the cat drug in?" were Tad's first words to her that morning while they were still in bed

"That bad?" she asked.

"It could be beautiful," he said.

He kissed her nose, something only real lovers do.

"It wasn't exactly beautiful last night," she said.

"It wasn't suppose to be," he replied.

"You never said what you thought," she said.

"Haven't I been telling you all night," he said. "I hope you listened."

He turned away from her and the gentleness they were sharing, and got out of bed. Kelly watched how his ass moved until he finally disappeared into the bathroom.

When she joined him there, they still couldn't speak. But they showered together, washed each other's body parts and then kissed in the rain that poured from the shower nozzle. They remembered that they hadn't kissed even once the night before when the skies had opened on their sex. But this time, their lips wouldn't stop, and their hands couldn't find enough ways to feel their heated skin. Aroused again, they left the shower and tumbled to the bed sopping wet to finish with another nearly silent fuck–silent but for the sound of their spontaneous orgasmic replies to letting go.

When they were finished, Tad left the bed first, saying he needed to get to work. Though when Kelly joined him in the kitchen a few minutes later, she found him poking through the personal papers that she'd tucked between her phone book and wall.

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed. Every tender thought about Tad slipped away at the invasion.

"How many threatening notes have you gotten?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Threatening notes?"

"Ones like this," he said, holding up the one that had been slipped under the door the night before.

She snatched it away from him.

"It's a note from my neighbor," she said.

He shook his head. "I know better than that. I've had three myself. Same paper, same handwriting."

"What?"

"You heard me. That's not a letter from your neighbor, it's a 'stay out of my business' warning."