By Paloma Manchada  ©1999

Chapter One

Mistress Susan Takes Control

      The IAD cop wearily turned the key in his lock, pushing the door open onto a brilliantly lit apartment.  Jenkins locked the door behind him, dropping his keys in a dish on the new lamp table beside the door.  He trudged wearily into his bedroom, smiling wanly at the small table lamp burning on the night stand. He was going to have to get over this soon; his light bill was getting to be outrageous. 

   He changed to jeans and a polo shirt before wandering into the kitchen to see if there was anything that looked good in the fridge. He supposed he would have to go grocery shopping tomorrow. It was a long weekend, and he didn't have much in the house to eat. Twisting the cap off a beer, he headed in to see what was on the tube. Before he could settle on the couch, the phone rang.   "Jenkins."

   "Hello, Carl." 

    The woman's voice was unfamiliar.  "Yes?" His mind was on the beer and the case he'd just closed.

    "You've been waiting for my call."

    "What?  Who are you?"

    The voice took on a commanding tone. "It's only been two weeks. You can't have forgotten already."

    Oh, shit!  It didn't sound like Bertelli.  Jenkins clutched the handset, struggling to draw a breath. "No. I haven't forgotten."  He was pleased to hear his voice sounded pretty normal.

    "Do you still want to play the game?"

    Oh, god, oh god, godgodgod.  Did he?  "Yes." 

    "Was that an answer, Carl?" She seemed to expect something else. He panicked for a moment, thinking frantically before it came to him. "Yes, Mistress.  Please let me play the game."

    Her voice was a little warmer; he thought she sounded pleased at his response.  "Very good. There is a package outside your door. Get it."

    He remembered to say "Yes, Mistress" before laying the handset on the table.  He brought the package back to the phone.  "I have it, Mistress."

    "Good.  Kneel on the floor and open it."

    Part of his mind watched in total disbelief as Jenkins slowly knelt on his living room floor and opened the brown paper sack he had found leaning against his door.  He held the long black silk scarf  carefully as he retrieved the handset. "I have it, Mistress."

    "Go to the rear entrance of your building. Step out into the alley, blindfold yourself with the scarf and wait.  Your ride will be along." The silence stretched for an eternity. "Well?"  The voice was very hard, her displeasure evident.

    He drew a ragged breath.  "I can't!"  His whisper was just this side of a sob.  "Please, Mistress.  I can't."

    "You can and you will.  Five minutes."  The dial tone buzzing in his ear jolted Jenkins into action. He grabbed a jacket against the evening chill and headed for the back stairs, hoping that the alley would be deserted at this time on a Friday night. He stopped for a moment, his hand on the door knob. I can't believe you are going to do this. What the fuck are you thinking? With a rueful shake of his head he stepped out into the alley, giving a quick look around before tying the scarf over his eyes. He leaned against the brick wall to steady himself, trying to slow his breathing as he waited.

    After only a year or two he heard the soft purr of a powerful automobile engine as a car pulled in and stopped at the end of the alley. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets to keep himself from reaching up to pull the scarf from his eyes. The car eased to a stop in front of him.  The whine of the electric window seemed horribly loud in the quiet alley.

    "Reach out with your right hand. The door latch is just in front of you." He groped forward, rapping his knuckles on the handle. "Open the door and get in; be careful of your head."

    The little voice in his head admonished him. This is your last chance to back out, Carl. He opened the door and slid into the back seat, a sigh escaping him as he pulled the door shut and heard the door locks engage. 

    "Put your seat belt on, Carl.  We're going for a little ride."

    He fumbled the seat belt around himself, hands shaking so much that he could barely manage it. He had no idea how long the ride lasted. His excited mind could not fasten to any one thought, but seemed to be chasing itself in manic circles, whispering incessantly, 'slave, slave, slaveslaveslave.'

    The loud click of the door lock disengaging startled him from his mantra. The driver's door opened and he felt the car shift as the driver got out.  It seemed a long time before his door was opened. He sat still, shivering in the dark, waiting for directions. A hand reached in to release his seat belt. "Get out of the car."

    He groped for the door edge to steady himself and twisted around to put both feet outside the car. He stood quickly, his breathing speeding up again.  The change in position, coupled with the adrenalin rush he experienced, was too much and he was swept by a tide of vertigo.  He'd been unable to see for so long that his spatial orientation was upset. A warm, strong hand was suddenly at the back of his neck, steadying him on his feet.  His relief at the human contact was so deep it shocked him.

   He'd never liked being dependent on anyone, having learned early on that there was no one he could trust to take care of him but himself. Not mother, certainly not father. Not pastor, nor teacher.  No one cared about Carl but Carl. 

    He'd become distant from the human beings he shared the planet with, growing more solitary and aloof with each year until he was unable to acknowledge that he needed or wanted someone in his life. Carl Jenkins had grown to be the most self-contained of men and gradually had even lost the ability to recognize that the very self-sufficiency he had needed to survive his childhood was what made his adulthood so lonely and unhappy.

    Yet, here he was, so out of control that this woman's hand on his neck was enough to nearly bring him to his knees in gratitude. Sharp nails suddenly dug into the nape of his neck, surprising a little yelp from him.

    "You have a real problem with focus, Carl. Pay attention!" 

    Her silence had a waiting quality to it. What could she want from him now? Understanding blossomed and he mumbled, "Yes, Mistress."

    Her fingers passed through his hair once in a soothing gesture, then settled on his neck again.  "Walk straight ahead, Carl. I'll guide you.  Don't be afraid."  She pushed against his spine to encourage him and he took a tentative step, registering the sound of their feet on a concrete slab. 

    The noise echoed back from the surrounding walls. He could smell the exhaust from the car they'd just arrived in and there were other scents of oil and cleaning  compound in the air.  Yes, he decided, they were in a garage somewhere.

    The pressure of her thumb on the side of his neck directed him to bear to his right for a few steps, then they straightened their path for a bit, then her fingers pressing on his skin required him to make a sharp left turn.  A little backward pull caused him to stop, hoping that was what she wanted. Another little caress of his hair was his reward. "Very well done, Carl.  There are some steps in front of you.  Put your hands in your jacket pockets and keep them there." She waited while he complied. "Start with your right foot, take one step, then your left, and the next step will be the first step down." She nudged him slightly, but he was unable to move. The hand petted his hair again, then settled on the back of his neck. "Trust me Carl.  You can do this."

    He took a deep breath and stepped out on his right foot as directed. Just as she said, the second time he reached forward with his right foot there was a step.  He was a little jarred by it, but her hand stayed warm and supporting on his neck and he found himself able to descend the short flight of stairs without mishap.  At the foot of the stairs she stepped around him to open the door. He almost panicked when she walked away from him. Her footsteps were immediately muffled. Carpet, he thought, extending his senses to try to get an idea of what lay before him. A faint movement of warm, scented air passed him on its way up the stairs.

    From off to his left her voice reclaimed his attention. "Take three steps forward." She waited for a slow count of six. "Don't keep me waiting!" The demanding tone moderated somewhat. "Come on, Carl. I didn't bring you this far to let you fall and hurt yourself now. As long as you obey, you'll be perfectly safe."

    He took a deep breath; this was more frightening than rushing an armed felon.  Somehow he forced himself  to walk into the dark.  He stopped after the three steps she had demanded, swaying on his feet, suddenly exhausted. Her hand was immediately back on his neck, her other hand gripping his upper arm.

    "Take off the blindfold, Carl."

    He raised his hands slowly to work at the silk knotted at the back of his head.  He eventually succeeded in removing the material and slowly opened his eyes, grateful for the low light level in the room which was kind to his eyes after so long in the dark.  The fingers at his neck worked themselves into his hair, slowly pulling his head back to raise his eyes from the floor.  Directly before him hung a wooden rectangle, divided horizontally in thirds by additional pieces of lumber.

   Fastened at various places on the frame were a variety of edged weapons, positioned precisely to do the most damage to anyone unwary enough to make contact with them. Another half step and he would have impaled himself on a sharply shining bayonet which was pointed directly at his heart.  Other knives and pointed objects were at eye and throat and groin level. He recoiled in surprise, but was held in position precisely where she wanted him.  Her hand moved gently in his hair as she looked over his shoulder at the killing instrument not six inches before them. "Shh, Carl.  You're safe.  It's my job to keep you safe. All you have to do is trust me."

    Jenkins closed his eyes on the sight. He abhorred knives or other cutting implements. Always had, since he was a very young child and saw what they could do to a person's body.  His heart rate was up and he was barely aware when he was slowly led to a sitting area at the side of the room. 

    "Wait here for me."  Jenkins sank into the comfortable wingback chair, leaning his head against the high, sheltering back as he tried to get his breathing under control. He was vaguely aware of some sort of winch sound behind him, but couldn't work up enough interest and energy to look around. Silence seemed to envelope him as he wondered again what kind of craziness he'd let himself into. 

    Fingers snapping sharply just in front of his face startled his eyes open. He pushed himself to a more upright posture as he tried not to stare at the woman now seated across the small table from him.  She was beautiful.  No, more than beautiful. Imperious.  Commanding. Strong. 

    Her thick brown hair lay in waves on her shoulders and down her back. Her ivory skin was set off by the russet cowl-necked sweater she wore, the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, showing smooth, strong looking forearms.  His eyes were drawn inexorably to her hands resting languidly on the arms of her chair, the fingers long, tipped with shapely, well‑cared for nails painted a rich earth tone which matched her lipstick and perfectly set off her complexion and the sweater.

    She slowly crossed her long legs, turning a little in the chair to face him more obliquely, giving him a glimpse of a black leather boot disappearing into pressed black denim jeans. He already knew she was tall, almost as tall as he. When she was walking behind him, she had not had to reach up much to put her hand on his neck.  Somehow he knew that it had been she handling the garrote when Bertelli assaulted him in his apartment.  The strong, competent person standing behind him had been perfectly able and willing to cut his throat with the wire garrote if  he had resisted.

    They sat in perfect silence for several minutes until Carl forced himself to raise his eyes to her face. He almost spoke, but some shred of better judgment made him close his mouth and lower his eyes to the table top, never realizing that he was shivering in the warm air.

    "Look at me."  The voice was smooth, not the least threatening, but never the less compelling. There was limitless competence in her face and not the slightest tinge of doubt or weakness in her eyes. She laid a thin leather document folder on the table before him, along with a fountain pen. "Just so there are no misunderstandings. Read that.  If you agree, fill in the blanks and sign it at the bottom." He reached for the folder, but stopped at a little gesture. "Make no mistake.  I mean every word precisely.  If you decide not to sign, you'll be returned to your home safely, just as you came here.  And that will be the end of this.  Do you understand?"

    He nodded slowly, consumed with curiosity to see the paper.  "I understand, Mistress. May I?"

    She inclined her head toward him graciously, a queen granting a boon. He didn't want to think about the cool little smile that tugged at her lips.  He opened the folder to find a single piece of cream colored stationary.