Chapter 23 #2
Then came breakfast and chores before I was stripped of everything marking me as a high-protocol slave.
We went back to looking at the social media of the first family’s friends and close associates, and I thought I’d found someone she might be fucking, but it turned out I found someone she was blackmailing — a freshman Senator, and she was forcing him to vote as she wanted him to.
The rest of the week flew by, and then Dementor was with me from Saturday morning until Sunday afternoon. Magnum didn’t explain shit, but thankfully, Dementor did.
Turns out, weekends at the bikers’ clubhouse are a really big deal.
Magnum had missed the first weekend I was with him, but for the rest of my visit, someone would come out one day every weekend, so he could spend part of the weekends with his brothers.
Also, there’s some big meeting they call church on Sunday mornings, and this would have, as Dementor put it, “his ass in the seat for church.”
Dementor took me to the garage and sparred with me, demanding I fight him for real, assuring me I couldn’t hurt him.
It was a little insulting, but it turns out he was right — I punched and kicked as hard as I could, and I’m pretty sure I hurt my own hand and foot more than him.
Still, it was good practice, and I thanked him, after.
He also talked to me a great deal about security in general, reminding me of things I’d learned and forgotten, like using red glasses to keep my night vision as high as possible.
He even made something of a scavenger hunt, making me wander around Magnum’s yard under a new moon without a flashlight to find things he’d placed.
Despite Dementor keeping me busy, I missed the high-protocol hours, and I was tempted to masturbate in my own bed that night, but I didn’t. No doubt, my new Master would find out, and I didn’t even want to know what the consequences might be.
I’d promised to follow his rules, and they didn’t go away just because he wasn’t here to enforce them.
Most of the Doms I visit have tons of rules. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t be interested. The thing is, I’m usually with them a matter of days. Rarely even a whole week, though it happens occasionally.
But I hadn’t been 24/7 for this long in years. It was hard, but also satisfying. Waking each day and knowing the schedule was a gift — and yes, even with the morning fuck that hurt like hell and never ended in release.
At some point, I realized I hadn’t just missed the schedule and the protocol. I’d missed him. Missed his arms, his heat, his gaze that sometimes felt like a physical caress. I wasn’t sure what to do with that, so I put it aside.
I wondered if he’d give me six orgasms Sunday night, to make up for the ones I’d lost while he was gone, but he did not.
I should’ve been relieved, probably, but it was a huge disappointment.
I mean, the three he gave me were as fantabulous as always, but the fact I only got three…
fuck. I hate it when I’m a whiny bitch about this shit.
The point is, he went right back to the schedule, like he hadn’t been gone at all.
Five weeks later, Mad Dog came out with Ember, Sloan, Squatch, and Skippy. It took hours to go through everything Skippy, Ember, and Sloan had gathered — and their tech abilities were genuinely impressive.
The bird drone had been super-close, in a branch maybe ten feet away from the husband outside the mansion with someone I didn’t recognize, reaming the other man out. “She’s just a damned nosy reporter cunt. Shouldn’t be hard to find! What’s the problem?”
“She’s gone. Completely disappeared. She checked in on her house, and we eventually tracked it back to where she’d been, but it took the better part of two days, she’d shielded so damned well.
And when we tried to follow her from there on the Flock and other cams…
” he shrugged. “She’s good, boss. She hasn’t logged into her house, her email, her social media.
Nothing. Also, her phone has been completely off-grid since before she logged into her house with a burner.
We found the burner, eventually. She dumped it in the back of a random pickup truck. ”
“I hate when they’re smart. When you find her, kill her, and don’t worry about the mess. Dispose of the body and let her be a damned internet mystery.”
The way they said it, talking about me as if I’m a thing and not a person. I mean, I know they’re responsible for over a hundred deaths, at least, so it wasn’t surprising logically, but viscerally? Fuck.
Magnum must’ve known, because he leaned to the side, picked me up, and settled me in his lap without a word.
He’s six foot four inches tall, so my five feet eight inches feel small next to him.
I’m still nearly one hundred and forty pounds though — and yeah, eleven pounds of that is boob. I weighed one of them, once.
But the point is, he didn’t stand to pick me up. Just reached across, lifted me into his arms, and easily settled me into his fucking lap. Like I didn’t weigh anything. He’s strong, but damn.
No one else in the room seemed to think it a big deal, though Sloan said, “Not happening.”
“She’s careful,” Magnum said. “Has a good head on her shoulders. No one’s laying a hand on her without my say-so.”
Squatch gave us an appraising look, but Skippy was already onto the next video, and this time we were looking at the governor and her husband in their bedroom, through the French doors.
It seemed really brazen, putting a bird-shaped drone on their balcony, but it paid off, because the two were talking about their next trip to Fiji and debating how much money to stash in each place — the Cook Islands and Vanuatu.
They also discussed which disguises to wear when they visit each island.
The three investigators also got tons of data on guard movements at both places, but nothing to tell us where the fighters were housed outside of fight weekends.
They also filmed a lot of footage of the hunt weekend, which was more helpful than I’d hoped for. The security team was friendlier and more at ease. They still weren’t talking about anything important, but we saw them interacting with guests, and got a little more of a handle on them individually.
Two weeks before my next maintenance ass-fucking, which he had on the calendar every month, I decided we had to talk about it, so I brought it up over lunch, when we weren’t in high-protocol.
“We need to talk, and I keep putting it off, but I don’t think…” I shrugged. “I love your rules and your schedule, but the truth is, they’re only working because we know there’ll be an end date, and we’re making an assumption that’s about a month out.”
“What might not work if you were here permanently?”
I shook my head. “That’s a discussion for another day, and I’ll be honest and say I’m not prepared to have that talk until we get me out of this alive and free.
Right now, my future isn’t assured. There’s a damned decent chance this group manages to kill me.
Also, a really good chance we cut them off at the knees and they can’t arrange it, but neither outcome is a sure thing. ”
“They aren’t going to kill you.”
“I’m happy you’re confident. What I want to talk about today, is…
” I held back a sigh and plunged in. “Some people need daily maintenance, but that isn’t me.
I like rules. I like following rules. I also like being reminded, every-so-often, of why it’s important I do so immediately, but for the maintenance you’ve chosen, I really feel like it should be quarterly and not monthly. ”
When he didn’t say anything, I added, “I mean, it isn’t likely I’ll be around by then, but if I happen to be, that feels like the right schedule. Monthly seems like overkill to me. Sir.”
He put his burger down and leaned back in his chair. “Maintenance isn’t a subscription service you adjust based on convenience. It’s calibrated to keep your attitude properly adjusted. You don’t decide what’s overkill. I monitor your baseline, and I determine when you need a reset.”
Before I could respond, he said, “The possibility of you staying around once the danger is gone — is that completely off the table? We click, and that doesn’t happen often. I like you as a person. I mean, I really like you… and our kinks are a perfect fit, too.”
I let that sink in, the fact he really likes me, but I needed to address the kinks, first. “Not a perfect fit. You’re giving me more pain than I would accept moving forward for the rest of my life.
But… I mean, it isn’t like I can demand you only fuck me twice a week, so I really can’t see an answer to that one.
If I were to stay, it would be a problem, but short term, it’s…
” I blew out a breath and rolled my eyes.
“I mean, it’s hot, making me cry, and fuck, that’s hard to admit. ”
He gave me a sadistic grin, but said, “There’s an answer, so perhaps I’ll work on modulating how things work now, to show you.
No promises, but I’ll consider it. Meanwhile, as to maintenance, my plan had been to do the first two or three sessions a month apart, and then probably move to every other month. ”
I stared at him. “Have I given you reason to feel like I need it again so soon?”
“Not at all.”
“Then why?”
When he didn’t answer, I told him, “You have to know that zero negotiations isn’t completely possible if this were to somehow work long term.
It’s hot, but it might mean we don’t work out because of one single thing.
Long term, it’ll be, in part, about finding something that works for both of us.
I like you, too, but I live in Pennsylvania, and I’m used to being able to get to DC or Manhattan in two to four hours, maximum, if I need to be there fast for a story. ”