Jesse rubbed the sleep from her eyes and ran her fingers through her short dark hair. It tended to stick up in all directions when she slept. Kristin was asleep next to her; her pale skin glowed under Jesse’s darker colored arm. The woman was boyishly thin, with small breasts and thin hips, but what Jesse enjoyed the most was plump and firm. Her hand squirmed its way under the sheets, and she laid a hand on one of the rounded mounds. Mmmm…booty. Incessant ringing from the phone had awakened her. She was glad, remembering that she had forgotten to set the alarm. She’d been otherwise occupied before falling asleep. The sheets were scented with the sweet scent of women after sex. Keeping her hand on Kristin’s ass, she turned on her back and reached for the phone, knocking over an empty beer bottle in the process.

"New York City Morgue, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em." she answered in her sing song way.

"Jesse? God, Jesse, that joke is getting old. I almost hung up, thinking it was the wrong number."

"Casey? What the hell? Don’t you fuckin’ sleep?"

"Jesse, it’s five in the afternoon."

"Yeah, but we do the night shift. This is early. Besides, I didn’t get to sleep right away," she added, patting the comfortable slope of flesh under her hand and smiling.

"Kristin’s there I take it." Casey responded rather smugly.

"Mmm..hmmm, and how. So what’s up?"

"I need a favor, a big favor."

"Who do I have to kill?" Jesse immediately winced, reminding herself that sometimes she spoke without thinking, and with Casey her particular joke wasn’t really funny. Casey was acutely sensitive to who-- and what-- her lover was, especially after what had transpired between them, and Jesse knew it. The spunky blonde who had managed to fall in love with her murderous cousin had become a dear friend. "Sorry, that came out all wrong. What do ya need?"

"You know Alejandra?"

"Who?"

"Alejandra, Eddie’s daughter?"

"I’ve heard her mentioned, never met her though. Why, is the kid all right?"

"She’s just fine. Feel like babysitting?"

"What’s in it for me?"

"My undying devotion?"

"Oh baby, I love it when you talk nasty. Mmmph—" her breath was stopped by a hard slap to her midsection by an annoyed Kristin, and Jesse smiled sheepishly. Casey wasn’t the only one who thought her jokes were getting tired.

"Thanks, Jesse, and tell Kristin I’d have slapped you too."

Jesse replaced the cordless phone on its cradle once Casey had hung up. The last thing she wanted to do was to get out of bed. Her back ached from pulling a heavy, patient-laden gurney up the hospital emergency room ramp, and she had acquired a few new bruises from bumping into corners and railings. However her real distraction was the warm bare skin of her new lover rubbing against her torso. The woman was insatiable. She wasn’t complaining, but it did make getting up extremely difficult. Still, Casey rarely asked her for a favor, and when she did the reasons were far from trivial. How much trouble can the kid be?

After pulling on a pair of loosely fitting black sweats and a tight T-shirt, Jesse headed for the door throwing on her padded uniform jacket. Winter was taking its last shots at the city; some days brought a bit of warmth, while others blustered with cold, biting winds. The sun was setting behind the tall brick buildings of the neighborhood, bringing on the orange glow of street lamps and the yellow of car headlights. Sounds became more pronounced, the gurgling and clanking of Jesse’s car muting them all out. A short ride up congested Broadway, avoiding running pedestrians and the aggressive passings of taxicabs, and Jesse was on the stretch of street leading up to the exclusive neighborhood in which Magali made her home. The sidewalks, lined with trees, were as clean as downtown Manhattan. Pre-war architecture alternated with the modern look of glass and concrete created in the sixties. Magali’s condo apartment was located in one of the more modern buildings, burnished in gold and glass, with an old-fashioned lobby boasting wood, marble, and imitation kerosene lamps. The edifice faced the main avenue into the neighborhood, its rear overlooking a sheer cliff above the roiling waters of the Hudson River. Jesse knew that, besides her own place, Magali owned a second condo in the building. There dwelt her guards, who took shifts overseeing the comings and goings of residents and visitors. Luckily, the building encompassed a basement garage spacious enough to accommodate the cars of invited guests. Parking anywhere in New York was a hassle.

Casey was waiting at the door fully dressed, looking as if she were off for a business meeting. Jesse thought she looked incredible. The charcoal grey blazer of her suit was cinched at the waist, flowing down to pants which fit perfectly-- snug over her bottom and tapered at the ankle. Her blonde hair swept out at her shoulders; her eyes mirrored the dark pine green of her boat collar blouse, stretched taut against her breasts and tight around her waist. Jesse could see the small protrusion of the navel piercing hidden under the fine woven fabric. She could tell the woman had applied some makeup, carefully put together to portray a natural look; it was convincing. Jesse had never seen Casey looking as radiant as she did then, but on closer inspection there was a solemn sadness behind the façade.

"Hey, woman, where the hell are you going?" Jesse asked, giving Casey a quick hug and then entering the apartment.

Casey took a furtive look down the carpeted hallway before closing the door behind them. "I’m off to meet with an old school friend of mine. What do you think? Too chichi?" Casey replied, gesturing to herself with both hands and inviting appraisal.

"You look umm…well…fuckable would be an understatement. You sure she’s just a friend?" Jesse had the family’s wicked trademark smirk; it ran in the blood, and she used it to make her point.

"Oh, yeah, just a friend…nothing more, really." The lump in her throat was hard to swallow.

"Why the get-up then?"

"Rich friend, fancy restaurant sort of thing."

"Oh. Well then you’d better get going. Hey, where’s the kid?"

"I laid her on the bed; she’s knocked out. I won’t be gone too long, but just in case, Eddie’s beeper number is on the fridge. Call him if anything goes wrong, all right?"

Jesse nodded and padded into the bedroom, waving a goodbye at Casey as she did. "Have a good one."

She heard the door close as she stepped into the dimly lit room. Devi was curled at the foot of the bed; her stubby tail thumped the mattress when she spotted Jesse. "Hey, girl. You keeping a look out?" Jesse whispered, patting the dog on the head. The small girl was curled on her side, a little hand resting under her face, black hair running in every direction. Jesse grabbed the quilt for covering the toddler, she had apparently kicked it off, and pulled it up to the girl’s shoulders. She tucked the sides in around her, and pushed back a few dark strands from the child’s face. A pair of blue eyes peered sleepily up at her. Jesse gasped. Lying peacefully in the soft glow of the room, was a face that littered almost every picture album she owned. The piercing depth of the eyes, innocent and trusting, brought tears to her own. A ghost from more than two decades past was staring at her.

*******************************************************************

La Nouvelle Justine, on the Lower East Side of Manhattan was interesting to say the least. Casey had cautiously approached the steel door with its one, shuttered square of a window. It reminded her of the speakeasys of the Prohibition era. Only gold lettering on a purple flag above the door announced its location; all of the windows were blacked out. The carefully kept anonymity foreshadowed what Casey could expect of the evening. Although the air of the place made it seem as though she would need a password, she entered without even knocking. Immediately she was greeted by a long bar counter topped with a clear glass and displaying a variety of leather toys and apparel. Behind it, wearing rubber pants and a spiked collar, a female bartender served drinks. Her breasts bulged from a black latex bra.

Off to the left behind a wooden podium, another woman in a leather corset, flail in hand, eyed her with authority. Casey recognized the poise and stare for what it was-- this woman was a dominatrix, and would brook no lack of subservience. With a quick crook of her finger and an arrogant turn of her head, the hostess summoned Casey. She didn’t look at her as she spoke.

"Do you have a reservation, my sweet, or are you here for me alone?"

"I…um…I’m meeting with someone here."

The hostess smiled; she had noticed the quick, almost unconscious change in her patron. The eyes had turned down, and the voice was near to a hushed whisper. "It’s Mistress Debra, my pet. So…you’re here with someone already. What a pity. I would have enjoyed hearing you whimper at my feet. Perhaps your Master would grace me with the small gift of warming your skin up for him?"

"She, Mistress Debra…she just might ask you to." Casey hid her smirk, falling in with the game.

"Ah…so it’s Mistress Julia you’ve been summoned by…lucky you. She draws out the most exquisite of screams," she sighed, her voice filled with longing. "Come, follow me. I will lead you to her, and do behave, otherwise…" Debra pointed to a small, raised stage, fixed with eyebolts on four poles in each of its corners, "I may be requested to perform." She added a wicked smile to her warning, inviting Casey to contradict her command.

"Thank you, Mistress Debra, for the reminder."

Casey followed her into the dark interior, around small round tables and leather-upholstered booths. The walls were papered in deep scarlet; dim lamps cast a dreamy glow on the diners. They passed scantily-dressed and collared waiters carrying trays loaded with plates of roasted duck a l’orange, and filet mignon. The smell of wine and baked bread wafted and mixed with the scent of oil and leather. Two small T.V sets ran a looped tape of various sexual encounters, ranging from scenes from "Caligula" to "Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill, Kill." The droning of gothic type music mixed with Gregorian chant underscored the sounds of conversation.

Casey spotted Julia sitting alone in a semicircular booth, one empty wooden chair at the opposite end of the table. Above her, hanging from the wall, a man-sized, gothic crucifix towered. Her short blonde hair contrasted with the dark silk blouse; she wore its top buttons open, exposing the swell of her breasts; a diamond lay brilliantly against her skin. At her sides stood two well-oiled and muscled men. Each wore a thick collar around his neck, a long chain leash dangling from one metal loop at their throats. She took a swallow of a dark wine from a crystalline goblet. One of the men re-filled the glass, while the other buttered a piece of bread, knelt, and offered it up to her from his kneeling position. She took a bite of the bread and casually ran her fingers through his hair, silently thanking her pet.

As she expected, Debra led her to the vacant wooden chair which, despite its looks, was reasonably comfortable. Julia smiled at her and snapped her fingers. The men bowed and backed away from the table, disappearing into a corner of the restaurant.

"Did you have any trouble finding the place?" Julia asked glancing away from her momentarily to pick up a hunk of Camembert cheese. She held it in the palm of her hand and picked up a large, curved bladed knife from the table. Its ivory handle reminded Casey of the antler-handled knife Magali carried in her boot. Julia cut a thin slice of the cheese and offered it to her.

Delicately, Casey took the offered slice. "No, no trouble at all."

"I’ve ordered for us. I seem to remember you enjoy Cassoulet."

"Yes, I do. Thank you for meeting with me," she said between bites of the slice.

"It’ll be my pleasure, Casey. Some wine?" Julia did very little for herself and, at the snap of her fingers, one of the men re-appeared with a second goblet and filled it, placing it in front of Casey. She dismissed him with a small wave of her hand when he was done. Casey sipped at it. "So, about your friend…I can get her into a rehab program. That should shorten her time a bit."

"She’s not an addict, just a…cheap goon." Casey took another sip of the wine and followed it with a longer swallow. This was the part she had been dreading. She would have to explain to Julia why Magali was in prison without revealing too much. It had to be genuine, Daly had told her in their last phone conversation. Julia would have to believe that Magali was nothing more than an acquaintance, and that Casey’s real interests lay with Julia. It was the only way to get close enough. "She’s the cousin of a good friend of mine, someone I work with."

"For shame, Casey. Getting yourself involved with people like that."

Casey faked a small laugh. "Well, I’m really friends with her cousin. She and I are a team in the paramedics corps. I just took pity on the woman, you know how I am, Julia. For God’s sake, she never even finished high school. She’s a…pet project of mine, that’s all," she said with exasperation. I’m going to be sick.

Julia grinned bemusedly and took another drink of her wine. "I see. Well then, perhaps a G.E.D program would help."

Casey nibbled what was left of the cheese before responding; she needed to wash out the taste of her words. "I don’t know, she’s stubborn in that way. Proud. You know how they are." She said, laying soft fingers on Julia’s hand. Come on, Julia, give me something that will give her the chance to get into your good graces. Once you see her…you’ll know exactly how to use her, right up until she rips your throat out.

Julia squeezed Casey’s hand in reassurance, then cut another slice of cheese and gave it to her. "Now don’t you worry, dear one. I’ll take care of that. I have a way with those women. I’ll just have a talk with her, and I’m sure she’ll see it my way."

Casey nearly choked on the bite she was attempting to chew; her appetite was diminishing by the minute. Julia had used the term ‘dear one’; it cued the upcoming change in protocol. She hoped Magali wouldn’t kill the woman for being obstinate when they ‘spoke’.

"Ah, here comes our food," she smiled as she spoke, looking over Casey’s shoulder. "Now finish all your dinner, Casey. You’ll need the energy if you’re to please me."

Casey’s eyes lowered to the table. She could no longer look at Julia; it was forbidden from the moment she had named her as a submissive. "Yes, Mis…" It begins. I can’t, I can’t do this.

"Finish what you were saying, Casey." Julia’s voice was patronizing.

"Casey?" The tone was becoming aggressive.

"Finish," Julia demanded.

"Yes…Mistress."

The food was set on the table, and Julia signaled Casey to begin eating. The glare in the woman’s eyes told Casey she would later pay for her hesitation.

Casey glanced back at a hand on her shoulder; Mistress Debra was walking past, giving Julia a smile of approval and a nod. With her authoritative stride she approached a table near them; at it, surrounded by three young women, sat a peppered-haired man in a dark suit. He gestured to them with an open hand and cocked his head to the side. Casey couldn’t hear his words over the rhythmic music, but from his expression she could tell he was giving instructions. Out of the corner of her eye Casey observed as Debra commanded the women to stand. They filed in behind her and followed as she strolled to the stage.

"Look, dear one, at our entertainment. It would please me not to have to send you off with her, but…you would make a splendid spectacle."

The short speech was intended to give her permission to watch, whether she wanted to or not. Casey turned in her chair, glad to have something other than her plate to look at.

Mistress Debra was talented; she wasted no time, every action devoted to a specific purpose. The women were experienced, and not from among the many tourists who visited the restaurant for a thrill or change of pace. These were dedicated slaves, who possibly shared a roof and a loving Master. For some reason they had displeased him and, although their faces were somber, they were most likely in heaven with the attention they were receiving. After all, their Master was paying for their discipline and they for his displeasure.

Quickly, Debra bound each of the dark-haired women’s wrists with plain leather cuffs. Each wore a long straight skirt that showed off her voluptuous figure, and a spaghetti strap, silk blouse in a dark shade of red. They hung their heads and kept quiet, saving their voices to please the crowd of onlookers. Debra turned them one by one to face towards the wall, and bound their cuffs together to one loop in a whipping post at center stage. The binding forced them to stand shoulder to shoulder and, when Debra commanded them to bend at the waist, there was a perfect row of plump asses begging for her to go to work.

"Spread your legs, little darlings. Don’t make me ask twice."

Dutifully the three did as they were instructed, straining to be the one to provide better access. Tenderly Debra ran her hand over the tantalizing row of firm globes, giving each a playful slap. Beginning with the center slave she hiked up each woman’s skirt to wreathe around her waist, revealing to the crowd that all three wore plain, black silk thongs under their clothing. Debra laughed in glee as she placed a thigh against the crotch of the middle slave and began a steady spanking on the two at the sides to match the rhythm of her leg’s pushing. When their skin was nearing pink and they were all panting and whimpering, Debra stopped and turned toward their master, who gave her a wave and a nod. From a hook on her belt she removed her flail and struck it once against her own bare thigh. The loud snap made all three slaves jump and writhe; Debra was pleased with the effect. It was then that the Mistress showed off her very special talent. With finely directed forehand overhead strokes, and alternating backhand overhead strokes, she worked her way towards swift, beautifully arced figure-eights. The whimpers turned to groans and then all-out cries before the cheering crowd.

"That’s enough, dear one. Finish your food now."

"Yes, Mistress." What would Gali do if she saw me in here? Oh God, she’d carry me out over her shoulder, then…she’d find out how wet I am, and…freak…or, God I can only hope, fuck me silly. Heheh, Jesse definitely would enjoy the show, her and her butt fetish.

Julia drank from her goblet as she watched the rest of Debra’s performance, occasionally taking a morsel from her plate.

When they had finished, Julia paid the bill and escorted Casey from the restaurant with a proprietary arm around her waist. Outside a black Lincoln Town car’s headlights turned on, and a chauffeur, in cap and suit, stepped around the car to open the passenger door. With a gentle push Julia guided Casey into the car and followed. The car was as dark inside as it was outside. Halfway through the ride Casey felt Julia’s hand fall on her knee and make its way up her thigh. Genuine, Daly had said. Casey let her knees part; it was hard to breathe. She placed her hands to her sides, palms up, and let her head drop back onto the cushion of the seat.

"Another ten minutes and we will arrive at the town house. It hasn’t changed any since you were last there."

To anyone but Casey, the statement would have been nothing more than an old friend’s invitation. But she knew what Julia was insinuating-- all of her toys would be exactly where she knew them to be, and Casey was to serve. When the car stopped, Casey waited for the chauffeur’s hand before standing.

Julia walked ahead of her without so much as a fleeting look back. She opened the door and strolled in, expecting Casey to lock it behind them. As Casey took in the furnishings and decorations around the sunken living room, she agreed--the house had not changed. She could pretend she hadn’t changed, that she had never met Magali or Jesse, that she had never struck out on her own and tasted unfettered freedom. It could possibly make things easier.

"Go on, Casey. You know where it is. Prepare yourself for me, dear one."

Casey had known better than to sit anywhere, and had waited, standing, for instructions from Julia. She had uttered them, subtle but strict. Julia poured herself a scotch as Casey walked off towards the back room.

Casey lit a match from a box on a tall stand next to the door; right where she knew it would be. With it, she set a taper candle aflame; it was the first on the iron candelabrum. When they were all lit, she could better see the room; it too had not changed. The chamber was large and sponge painted a dark blue, giving the walls the faded texture of old parchment. Flickering light from the candles shone off the highly polished cherry wood floor, lending the place an air of stunning elegance. Bolted to one wall was a large wooden x-frame padded in leather; the studs of its wrist and ankle cuffs glinted in the candlelight. Casey walked around the room lighting other candles that sat cold and alone along one shelf that ran the length of the room. With all the wicks burning, she could easily see the rest of the furnishings.

A four posted, wooden bed lay at the far end, leaving a wide space in the middle of the room. Another wall held a Katherine wheel; it was constructed from the wood frame of a wagon wheel and padded. On it, bound and gagged, Julia could spin her submissives to her heart’s content. There was a rack and a spanking horse any gymnast would have loved to train on, minus the handholds. A sling hung suspended from the ceiling, retracted to be out of the way when not in use. Erected in the center of the room’s floor was Julia’s favorite site-- a pair of whipping posts elegantly decorated with gold leaf. Four eyebolts, two on each post, held chains from which dangled jeweled leather cuffs. In a corner, from various hooks hung an assortment of collars, leashes, cuffs of all kinds, spreader bars, harnesses, gags, and blindfolds. A fringe whip, a braided cat whip, and everything from a rubber whip to a bullwhip hung miscellaneously alongside canes, paddles, and crops of different lengths and styles. A group of shelves under the hanging collection sported vibrators, dildos, strap-ons, plugs and beads of many colors, sizes, and shapes. In short, if Julia didn’t own it, it didn’t exist. Casey inhaled deeply, the residual odors of incense easing her reluctance. Beneath the displayed tools of Julia’s secret trade, she was surprised to find the brass and leather chest Julia had purchased for her. Once emptied of its contents-- the trinkets that Julia demanded Casey wear-- the chest would hold her mundane clothing, keeping it, and the evidence that she had an identity other than that of a servant, out of Julia’s sight. She knelt beside it and, gently lifting its hood, peered inside. There, wrapped in silk and stored in small velvet boxes, were the only items in the room she was allowed to touch.

*************************************************************

"One hundred and forty-eight, one hundred and forty-nine, one hundred and fifty." Magali’s arms weakened and she fell painfully to the floor panting. She’d been allowed to have her jeans and an A-shirt back, and was grateful to have gotten out of the hospital scrubs she had had to wear while in solitary. One night left, just one more. Is it mornin’ yet? Fuck, I hate not knowin’ the time. Her rib had healed, although it was still sore, and the bruise on her forehead had disappeared into a yellow splotch. She pushed herself from the cold floor and let herself fall onto the mattress. She barely registered the pain in her elbow as it hit the block of concrete that served as a platform for her bed. She hadn’t been able to get Casey out of her mind. When she slept, she would see the terror in the green eyes as she held her gun on Russell. Awake, she would hear the woman’s laughter, or would catch a whiff of her perfume. While doing push-ups she would envision the blonde under her, her legs wrapped around her waist as she ground into her. It had all been Eddie’s fault: he had found a way to get in touch with Smoke, and the message that the blonde had come on a visit reached her within a few days of the phone call. She came to see me. Maybe she was here to say goodbye, yeah, she would do something like that. Could it be that she came to give me another chance? Yeah right, maybe another chance to fuck up again. I don’t want her to see me in here! Ave fuckin’ Maria, but I’m going nuts without her. All right, Zee. Think of something else, think.

Magali stared up at the white ceiling and shook her head. She knew where her thoughts would lead her--back into the past, back into the stinking swamp of deeds and misdeeds that had led her to where she was. Not right now, later, Zee. You can kick the shit out of yourself later. She folded her hands on her belly, rubbing the crease between her abdominal muscles with her thumbs. She could almost feel Casey’s hand stroking her there, inviting her, tantalizing her. One thumb brushed against a nipple, it swelled at the attention. The other was jealous and, as she obliged it with her other thumb, her pulse began to quicken.

*****************************************************************

A thin black leather collar bordered with diamonds adorned her neck; from it, thin strands of silver chain hung in loose arcs from four silver loops. On her wrists she wore thin diamond bracelets; smaller strands ran from them to attach themselves to diamond rings on all four of her fingers and thumb. Her ankles and feet were jeweled identically. Around her waist a delicate silver chain, heavy with small silver bells, was connected to the silver loop piercing her navel. The piercing allowed for one single diamond, hanging from the loop, to sit snugly in her belly button. Perfumed oil shone on her skin, glistened on firm young breasts-- her nipples erect and dark pink-- and the curls of her triangle. With her head slightly lowered, her hair cascading down her back, she waited, hands obediently at her sides.

Casey heard her enter the room; she didn’t dare move and risk offending her. Tenderly, Julia’s hand lifted her chin and brushed her hair back away from her face. Her warm, scotch-flavored lips touched Casey’s. Teeth nipped, and Casey winced as they broke the skin, but she made no move to get away. Slowly Julia’s tongue ran across her blood flushed lips, and licked the small, crimson drop that appeared on them. Casey closed her eyes, neither inviting nor rejecting. The kiss was not to be savored by the slave; it was to be Julia’s alone.

"My poor dear one, you’ve needed this…haven’t you?"

"Yes, Mistress," Casey whispered as Julia circled her, then stopped before her. She could feel the woman’s eyes taking in every inch of her exposed skin.

"Who’s touched you?" she asked tauntingly.

"No one, Mistress."

"No, no one can, not…the way I do."

She felt Julia’s fingers lightly brush her belly as she stepped behind her. There was the soft rattle of chains and the tender touch of a fingertip running the length of her back. Soft velvet covered her eyes; the blindfold tightened and she was in total darkness. Secretly she thanked whatever demon guarded her--she wouldn’t have to watch what was being done. It’s Gali, not Julia, Gali.

"Feel, and remember, dear one. What it feels like to be with me."

Her hands were held and, gently, she was led by them for a few steps. The next touch she felt was that of cuffs being fastened to her wrists and ankles; they were pulled taut, spreading her as if she was an eagle readying for flight. There was music in the background. She couldn’t tell what it was; the sound of her own breathing and heartbeat disrupted it. A tingling began at her ankles, slowly winding its way up her thighs and belly. Feathers, she’s using feathers. When the feeling stopped, she stood in dark silence, for what seemed like an eternity. The smell of incense became thick, followed by the smoky sweet scent of a snuffed candle. She felt fingers glide across her skin, trace the lines of muscles on her back, caress her ass with soft touches. She imagined Magali’s hands and bit her lower lip tasting the blood of her Mistress’ bite.

*************************************************************

With her left arm under her head, she kneaded the nape of her neck. Her Saint’s hands caressed her. Above the stiff material of her jeans, she stroked her crotch. The rubbing became harder with each touch, more urgent, oscillating. Her hips began to move slowly. Reaching with both hands, she pulled the A-shirt out of her jeans’ waistband. She breathed deep, satisfying breaths. The hem of her shirt rested on her wrists; her strong hands, under the fabric, pinched and twisted at engorged nipples. It was Casey’s mouth torturing her, making her desire build. She arched her back into it, increasing the pressure, the pain. Her breathing quickened as she squeezed her thighs together, the seam of her jeans pressing against her core. Magali let one hand roam down her belly, its warmth a pleasant sensation, the muscles there rippling with her snake-like movements. With two fingers she undid her jeans and then slipped her hand in; the metal of the zipper scraped the skin of her forearm-- it was her Saint’s nails. With her index and ring finger she parted her moist lips; her middle finger flicked at her nub. A wicked smile formed with the jolt of sensations coming from her clit. She imagined she touched Casey, pictured the soft pink skin of her Saint’s labia, the scent of her-- intoxicating. A soft moan escaped her lips.

**************************************************************

An icy trickle bit down on her nipple; it ached with the chill. She could feel the cold drip marking a path down her belly towards her mound. She focused on it, the feel of its touch, and gasped in surprise as the cold clamped down first on her other nipple, then her clit. She shivered and moaned; the contradictions had begun. The scent of melting wax and burnt wick assaulted her sense of smell and, as her hair was pulled bringing her head suddenly back, she felt the first searing burn fall on her breast. She gritted her teeth against the pain and groaned in relief from the warmth. Her skin was on fire; the heated wax streamed slowly down her breasts in scalding veins of pain. It touched her belly, fell onto her thighs, and when she thought it finished, it began to ripple down her back. The sensations appeared and vanished too quickly for her to react. While she was groaning at one soul-piercing trickle of heat, another one had started and disappeared. She pulled at her chains, the cuffs bit into her palms; she struggled against her bonds praying they would stay. Gali, Gali…

"Mmm, look at you struggling for me. You want me to stop, don’t you?

Casey nodded, words failing her.

"But you know I won’t. You let me do this because you want me to. You dream it, hunger for it. I complete you. You love this, don’t you? Don’t you, my dear one?"

Casey threw her head back; her throat aching, she forced out the words she needed. "If it pleases you, Mistress."

"That’s it, darling. Please me."

In the darkness, bound and blinded she lived in her body. Every nerve reached out to touch the world; she could feel the blood pumping in her veins, the thumping of her heart growing louder. Breathing and feeling only what she was given, she became arms and legs, flesh and bone, her mind retreated inward. When the first smack of the paddle hit her ass, it shot through her, traveling up towards her heart and out to her limbs. Strike after strike sparked within her, beads of sweat forming on her skin, dripping down her back and chest. Screams ripped from her throat, leaving her chest pulsing with the effort.

************************************************************

It was hard under her fingers as she circled and teased it. Strands of black hair stuck to her face and neck. A v-shaped stain of sweat on her A-shirt clung to her chest, a tear of perspiration rolled down her cheek. She tasted herself; her left arm draped across her bare stomach, stroking her skin with a slicked palm. It was sweet nectar off her Saint’s lips. Her legs trembled with effort. Casey was with her-- she could hear her voice moaning in her ear, feel her lips nipping her neck. She longed to wrap her hand in the golden tresses. Magali shoved her hand back under her jeans and allowed her finger to circle her clit once again-- her Saint’s tongue. Slick and warm, her folds seduced her, and roughly she plunged two fingers deep inside herself. Her moans grew louder. Her hand ceased its caresses of her midsection to fall on the sheets, gripping them with white-knuckled ferocity.

************************************************************

Smooth against her wet entrance, the dildo inched its way inside her. It glided in and out, entering deeper with each easy push, opening her deliberately and igniting her hunger for it, the need to have more of it. Casey gasped as its full length was introduced and held in place. She was being filled to capacity; straps buckled around her waist and thighs kept the rod deep within her. It moved with the sway of her hips as thin strips stroked her back, stinging her skin.

"Yes, that’s it. You are sooo…beautiful this way. Show me…show me how much you need me." Julia’s voice was tinged with vindication.

The flail was leaving marks; she could feel its sweltering touch conquering her flesh. Silky fingers probed the entrance to her ass, lubricating it with a warm jelly.

"Please, Mistress, please."

"Tell me, dear one. What is it you want?"

"I…I need to…"

"Not yet…not until I’m satisfied." She enjoyed making Casey wait, beg, cry for release, having the woman hang on her every sadistic pleasure.

A soft round surface pressed against her, and Magali’s distant voice ordered her to push. She felt it slide in and, with one forceful intrusion, her inpalement was complete. Casey writhed, her legs were weak, her arms useless.

"I know what makes you scream, darling. Only I can fuck you this way…and you love it, don’t you?"

"Yes, God yes," she whimpered.

"That’s my good girl."

Fingers teased her nub as she bucked, rocking the dildoes inside her. The sounds of her voice, groaning and pleading for mercy, were far away. Tears wet the blindfold, streaming down her face in anguish and supplication. Her clit throbbed for release.

***********************************************************

She had held on long enough. Enflamed and aroused beyond retreat Magali turned onto her stomach. With one arm she held onto her pillow, and bit down on the coarse fabric. Her hips bucked, forcing her fingers in and out of her as her palm rubbed against her swollen nub. Casey was beneath her, moving along with her, clawing at her back, biting her shoulder. She pushed faster and harder, wanting to scream, to cry out her Saint’s name in abandon. It was agony, alluring and seductive, more necessary than air. Her fingers clawed at the sheets; the muscles in her back and legs tensed. She cried her Saint’s name.

******************************************************************

At first it was a tender pull-- lips surrounded and took in her clit. A tongue, warm and soft, stroked at her swollen core. The pressure came faster, more attentive, clamps on her nipples made every breath a gesture of exquisite pleasure.

"Come," Julia demanded, removing her mouth from Casey’s slippery folds. She watched her body quiver with effort, glisten with oil and sweat as she rubbed Casey’s clit with the butt of her flail.

Her hands became fists; her body trembled; an inferno was boiling; flames licked at her. She flung her head back, her arms and legs shook, her chest heaved. Rapture broke loose, stealing breath and thought, a thrall to the suffering. She fought to bring her legs and arms close around her, wailing in gratification.

************************************************************************

The sheets were cool against her fevered body. Uncontrolled, she trembled in aftershocks, muscles sore from the intensity. Casey was gone, vanished with the last tendrils of release. She turned on her back; the ceiling felt too close. Her Saint had been whisked away by the stark white of cinderblock and stagnant air. She zipped-up her jeans and pulled down the A-shirt. Anger rose in her chest, billowing and strangling. She reached for the hidden pack of cigarettes and matches and laid her head back on her arm. With deft fingers, she popped the lid of the pack and pulled out one of the cigarettes with her teeth before flinging the pack away. Folding a match and snapping it onto the striker between two fingers, she produced a flame. She held the filter with her teeth while she brought the flame up to the end of the cigarette, inhaling the heat of the lit match and the flavor of the newly lit tobacco. Taking in a long pull of smoke, her nostrils flared as she squeezed her eyes shut and let the smoke out. It floated around her face, disappearing as it traveled up and away from her. A fierce roar left her throat and she hollered to the blocked heavens, cursing everything under it. Over and over, enraged, she slammed her fist into the wall until red smudges colored one white square.

************************************************************************

The stink of too much incense mixed with the scents of oil, sex, and sweat made her head spin. Her legs came together slightly when her ankles were unbound. The blindfold fell away revealing the sudden light of candles and the shadowed form of Julia inches away from her. Arms encircled her waist as Julia’s sweat-dampened skin came in contact with her exhausted body. She let her head fall forward in fatigue and land on the tall woman’s chest. Julia squeezed Casey’s leg between her own, her hot, wet center against Casey’s thigh. Julia ground cruelly into her, fast and furiously. Unmindful of the welts lining her back and arms, she clawed at her, eliciting weakened yelps of pain and discomfort. Casey’s screams had brought her to her own pinnacle, and she bit down on the smaller woman’s shoulder causing the small, weak whimper that finally drove her over the edge.

With one last shudder, she pulled away from her indifferently, and unfastened the cuffs holding Casey up. Julia watched with hooded eyes as Casey fell forward to the floor, and she snatched the bullwhip she had left hanging off the whipping post. She would relish the last part of their reunion with every tearful cry. Casey had fallen conveniently, with her knees and forearms touching the cold wooden floor. No need to move her, she was already cowering.

"The minute you had everything you wanted…you left me, Casey. You were wrong…no matter what else you may have, you still need me."

Through her exhaustion, Casey was aware that now was the time she would pay for her faltering, her abandonment of Julia, and anything else the older woman could think of.

"You’re nothing without me."

The first lash was always the worst.

***************************************************************

The door banged opened. Its hinges were surprisingly silent for a door that only opened once a week to let her out for a short shower. Two guards waited outside for her, shackles in hand. One peered in, taking in the condition of her hand and the blood splattered wall, and shook his head. Prisoner 0329, although not serving time for any violent crimes this time around, was known to be prone to violent and destructive behavior. Hence, the shackles. She was curled on her side, as if asleep, and the curious guard was reluctant to enter. Instead, he called out to her.

"Hey, you. Get the fuck up, unless you plan on staying here. Time’s up."

In the dim light he watched her slowly turn, one hand reaching for the lumpy pillow under her head. He could see her desire to throw the thing at him. If he were lucky, it would be all she wanted to do to him.

"I’m coming," she said with a mischievous grin, her voice hoarse from either lack of use, or screaming.

"Hands clasped behind your head, toes on the line," he barked, pointing to the painted line on the floor just outside the door.

Magali stepped out for the first time since her last shower, and inhaled the seemingly fresher air of the corridor. She kept her mind blank, the last feeling she wanted to register was the cold touch of iron bonds. When her movements were restricted to their satisfaction, they led her down the hall towards the only barred door in the passage. She hadn’t been awake when they had transferred her to the confinement block. The walk would have been interesting if it were marked by any distinction at all but-- the walls all looked the same, bars all looked the same, and the floor was one long grey surface of nothing. She had started counting her steps when they reached the entrance to her block; it was too quiet. A quick glance at the clock above the guards’ station told her it was ten o’clock. The lack of light confirmed that it was night.

Shadows fell where there shouldn’t have been any, creating linear, inky stains across the concrete floor, and re-creating the rows of tiered cells with sinister accuracy. A shy spark in a cell, blue and dim in the darkness was a dying star in a sky cut short by boundaries. She could hear the distant echo of breathing, the friction of sheets as inmates tossed and turned on their steel bunks. Tightness in her gut gave rise to the taste of bile in her throat, adding to the pounding in her chest and ears. The obscured concrete walls weighed down on her oppressively. She shed years with every passing second; standing in her shackles, she was no more than a thin fifteen-year-old again, frightened and alone.

Back in her cell, she found the folded sheets at the end of her bunk and began the task of stretching them across the mattress. The sounds of snoring reached her. It was Smoke; she had heard the raspy breathing for enough nights to recognize it. Somewhere in another cell, a prisoner moaned; she knew what the timber implied. She took in the smell of ammonia and the sounds of people-- coughing, and complaints, the guards moving in their room, the clock-- how the hand counted the seconds. . Her time alone had thrown her internal clock into chaos and, fully awake, she paced the larger cell. Space was a luxury.

It shouldn’t have, but the pressing immensity of the place made her hands shake with edgy anxiety. There was nothing new, nothing she hadn’t expected from the depressing mausoleum; still, she couldn’t and wouldn’t sleep. Finally away from the small white cell after weeks of confinement and living in her mind, she was having difficulty with real time. It had become habit to look inside for sights and events that the cinderblock kept from her. Time held no meaning and, like flashing slides of a family vacation, it alternated between the present and the past, leaving little to distinguish the differences by. Murky and clouded, her mind created a dimension of its own: where every dark corner hid an attacker, and she could swear the guards were watching her alone, keeping track of her movements. Her nervous energy compounded her paranoia, giving way to the controlled chaos of her rage. What I wouldn’t give for a neck to wring.

When she grew tired of pacing she sat on the edge of the bunk, her elbows on her knees, her hands clutching the sides of her head. Get a grip, Zee. This is now, that was then, she chanted to herself. But the ghosts of her yesterday refused to relinquish their hold and one, especially insistent, was poking at her consciousness from deep within, fueling her confusion.

She’d spent countless sleepless nights in the small holding cell on Riker’s Island waiting for court appearances. The endless back and forth, recriminations and honorifics, points and counterpoints, was enough to send anyone reeling. She’d wait her turn for a shower, and argue to get to a phone; there was business that needed taking care of. Guards pushed her along dirty hallways; she pushed back. They pressed their guns to her sides and threatened to crack her skull; she eyed their holsters. Sitting behind the worn oak table, facing the bench, she glared at the judge and the prosecutor; they glared back. She fidgeted in her seat, her lawyer whispered reprimands to her for her energy; she smirked at him. They brought in the next door neighbor to testify; she took one look at Magali and blanched. Questions flew, and although the woman denied Magali was into any illegal activity, she admitted to seeing her run up the stairs in a fury before her brother was killed. Her brother’s pediatrician testified to the damage she had caused her sibling before, when the boy had run away for days trying to escape her. She protested, screaming that she had tried to stop him from getting high; they ordered her silent. They displayed photographs of her sitting with the Dragons, kissing Mei; she threw a chair, they bound her to it. School records showed her lack of attendance. Efrain’s exceptional progress in school provided evidence that it wasn’t the family, but she who was dysfunctional and anti-social. The prosecutor called her a ruthless thug; she threatened to kill him-- the judge held her in contempt for two days. Her defense stated the fact that her brother was a junkie; the prosecution produced evidence of drugs in her own system. They offered her a plea bargain; she accepted.

Dark rings circled her eyes. The long haul of a trial with headlines, and the deprivation of human contact, caused her to have a loss of appetite. Inevitably, she lost weight overnight; her strength waned. Her mother’s suicide drowned her in antipathy, stealing any interest she would have otherwise had for her circumstances. She accepted her sentencing in silent rage and crushing defeat.

Her lawyer had advised her to do whatever was necessary to shorten her stay. It would serve her best interests to take classes and get a G.E.D. The first chance she had to meet with a caseworker, she requested the classes. She was eligible; her sentence ensured she would be eighteen at her release. It was better than doing nothing

The ‘classroom’ was little more than a converted supply closet furnished with old desks too small for an adult. Once a day, save weekends, a small group of women would pile in and suffocate in the miniscule room. Magali didn’t understand why she was the only one who could read anything other than "The Little Engine that Could", and often fell asleep. The unfortunate teacher, who had somehow been chosen to work in the state penitentiary system, administered simple tests, all of which she passed with ease. The teacher appreciated it. At the end of class they would file singly into the mess hall and, after inhaling whatever slop was available, the guards would set them loose in the common yard. A few days a week, she would be taken to the nurse instead, who poked and prodded while threatening to have her force-fed, then dismissed her after giving her a vitamin shot.

After weeks of sleeping on the tiny desk, the teacher brought her an ‘advanced’ book, "Manchild in the Promised Land". Its cover was worn past the point where the author’s name was legible, and if she wasn’t careful the tenth chapter fell out. Magali carried it out into the yard where she could sit alone in a corner and read under the sun. When her rec-time was up, she would follow the other inmates back inside, but while they returned to work, she and her ‘classmates’ would be ushered into the showers.

They were older, hardened and strong. One would never see the outside again; she had killed and then dismembered her abusive husband’s body. Magali knew they weren’t pleased with her relative ease in class. She thought that staying to herself would keep her out of trouble, but it only served to reinforce the attitude of aloofness the others perceived from her. When they decided to take their revenge on her for their difficulty, to teach her that she was no better than they were, the lesson was swift and brutal.

Only one guard supervised the small group, and he was partial to their type of nocturnal activity. She heard his laughter as her head hit the cold tile wall of the shower.

Magali looked at the clock-- twelve midnight; the hours were dragging. Quietly she laid back on the bunk, the cool sheets making her shiver. She clamped her jaw, biting down the taste of soap and water.

Warm water cascaded down her body, and she stuck her head under the stinging spout of the shower. The push from behind, the hand tangled in her hair, came without warning, slamming her face-first into the wall. When she turned to fight, a kick sent her reeling backwards, the faucet punching into her back. She fought with every last ounce of strength she had, kicking and biting, shattering a knuckle on a jaw. The room spun, and her back burned; try as she might to summon her strength, her body had none to give. Too many hands took hold of her. In the end they had her pinned, wrists and ankles tethered by knotted towels; the stiff fabric left burns on her skin. Painfully violated, she concentrating on shutting herself off and blocking out the intrusions; she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Barefooted kicks slammed into her sides; her body throbbed with the ache of the bludgeoning. Their words, screamed into her ears, seared themselves onto her soul-- raw, festering wounds.

"You think you better than everybody? You ain’t shit, Bajo Zero."

Her bindings were pulled taut; she gritted her teeth against the friction. A gash on her forehead poured red over her eyes, blurring her vision.

"Baby killer, we know what you did. Kill your brother over money, you stinkin’ piece of shit." She tried to protest.

A hand clamped down on her mouth; she bit at it. A square fist landed on her cheek, another one broke her lip; blood streamed from the cut.

"That’s why you got nobody. No body cares for you in here, little bitch. You nobody."

The joints of her hips stung with the unbearable stretch of her legs; it wasn’t enough. They kicked at her thighs, punched at her stomach; she nearly retched.

"No book gonna help you motherfucker, no education. You what you are now and forever."

Water from the showers, turned icy cold, ran past her shoulders and down her thighs; she shivered with the chill, digging her nails into the cracks between the tiles of the floor.

"Twenty-one, Zero, that’s your last birthday, If you lucky."

Blood ran down her throat; she choked on it. Coughing violently, she tried for air.

"Count on it."

She held in the cry at the forceful, malicious jab to her pussy. Dignity was fragile and fleeting.

"Nobody, Zero, nobody…just… a… thug, a… thug, Bajo… Zero… a thug…" Unmercifully, the fingers that tore through her opening pushed deeper and with increasing force with each uttered, bitter word.

She wanted to scream, to beg, to become what they wanted her to be: nobody. Her back arched involuntarily at the powerful thrusts of the clenched fist inside her, ripping her in two. She bit into the inside of her cheek; she would bear it…for now. Water splattered around her, it gurgled, spiraling down a rusty metal drain, sluicing pink with her blood. Over time moisture had seeped into the paint of the ceiling. Brown spots of mold dotted the surface and clung to the edges of peeling wrinkled flaps of white. She stared, unblinking, at the shapes they made. The pull on her arms and legs had ceased. The room was empty except for her and a huge brown roach that crawled along the wall. It slipped from the tiles and fell on its back into a pool of cold water; there it struggled for air, turning and fighting with rapid legs and spread wings. A stream flushed it upright and towards her hand. Desperately it snatched at her fingers in search of a safe haven to dry off on and survive. Snapping her hand shut she crushed it, teaching it her own final lesson: like her, it was alone, without protection, intent on surviving by all means necessary, defeated and in the end—a nothing.

 

Magali never closed her eyes in the shower again, never turned her back to anyone, and never set foot in a classroom again. Running her tongue along the edgy scar on her inner cheek, she finally closed her eyes. She wasn’t weak, young, or foolish, anymore, but they had been right. I’m still a thug.

************************************************************

The chauffeur held the lobby door open, and gently handed her back her coat. She ignored the cold wind, keeping her mind focused on the chore of walking; she was exhausted. The soft cloth of her blouse chafed against the welts on her back. They stung with memory. For a brief moment she had feared Julia would continue, but she had stopped at five lashes when the last bled. Casey knew all of the countenances she wore: the one she publicly presented-- cool, reserved, and arrogant; the one that smiled at friends, and gave a shoulder when one was needed; the dark mask she wore as Mistress; and the fire and ice of her own personal demons. None had prepared her for the face of Julia as a lover spurned. Once she had vented her anger, she had gently cleaned and cooled her strikes with a clean towel and soothing ointment, pecking her cheek with a soft kiss as she sent her off-- the friend had returned.

"Thank you for the help, I can get along from here." She said, closing the door and staggering to the elevator. She hoped Jesse was asleep.

The elevator hummed softly in its ascent; she inspected her face in the mirror, despite knowing Julia wouldn’t mark her where it could easily be seen. A low bell announced the completion of her ride, and the doors slid open. She straightened, cautiously aware that one of Magali’s guards was probably watching. She didn’t hear any noise from the apartment as she turned the key, and her hopes that Eddie had retrieved his daughter and Jesse had left were renewed. Devi sat patiently waiting in the center of the hallway, her head tilted, a baby bottle hanging from her mouth.

"Aww, Devi, that’s just too cute, but boy are you ever in trouble. Give me that."

Devi spat out the nipple and, as the bottle bounced across the floor, she padded off into the bedroom. Casey peeked into the living room, to find Jesse asleep with a toddler spread out on her chest under a quilt. She tiptoed in, forcing herself to cross the room and shut off the light, then quietly left.

All the lights were on in the bedroom, pillows were strewn on the floor and the blankets lay in heaps, half-falling off the bed. Devi had made herself at home in the middle of the soft mattress. Casey had no desire to expend anymore of her energy and, stripping off her suit, carelessly threw the garment into a corner and crawled into bed. Casey reached over to the nightstand and turned off one of the lights; she was too tired to try for any others. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, hoping to catch a small whiff of Magali’s fragrance on her pillow. It had been too long since the dark woman had slept in her own bed, and the scent was gone. Frowning, she fell asleep.

Jesse loved to pretend to be asleep; she watched through thin slits as people tiptoed around her, trying not to wake her, being polite, occasionally stubbing a toe. Casey’s walk disturbed her; there was something foreign to her step. She looked as if she were in pain, but was holding it in check. She heard the light turn off in the bedroom and gently, so as not to disturb the hyperactive toddler soundly asleep, she turned over and sat up. Alejandra stuck her thumb in her mouth and continued sleeping; Jesse breathed in relief. It had taken her hours, and a few wrestling matches, to get the girl to sleep. No way this kid isn’t yours, Zee. No, fuckin’ way.

Casey had left one of the lamps on, and it cast a half-circle of soft light onto the bed. Devi was its star. In a corner, crumpled and discarded, were Casey’s grey suit and green blouse, as well as other more delicate garments. Jesse stifled a giggle as she went to the floor on all fours and crawled to the bed. She had no doubt the blonde had probably drunk too much with her friends and was sleeping the effects away. I just love fuckin’ with drunk people. Wonder if she’ll jump when I grab her…What the fuck?

Angry marks streaked the otherwise flawless skin. Some were long and pink, fanning out like the spines of a fin. A few were dark red where they met the rounded ends of burns. Still others were turning into bruises along the tops of her arms. The deepest were a set of five wide, angry welts; one, just under the tips of Casey’s hair, was black with dried blood. Jesse swallowed, her previous mirth stolen away by the grim sight of Casey’s battered, naked skin.

"Casey? Babe, are you awake? Casey…I’m calling the cops," she whispered with gentle urgency.

"For what?" Casey mumbled.

"Casey…somebody attacked you, don’t you remember any of it?" As she spoke, she tried to evaluate how much the woman had drunk; she suspected it had been too much.

"No…no police, Jesse." she answered groggily.

"But—"

"Not here, Jesse…not in Zee’s apartment." It hurt to move, a sort of pleasing discomfort, and she was in no mood to argue or explain. She wanted only to sleep, and to deal with herself in the morning. "I’ll take care of it, Jesse, please, I just want to sleep."

"Zee’s gonna be pissed but, alright, get some rest. Don’t worry about the kid, I’ll take care of her until Eddie comes."

Casey’s eyes were shut; they hadn’t opened once throughout the whole conversation. Satisfied that the blonde was asleep once more, Jesse padded quietly out of the bedroom and straight for the phone in the kitchen. She heard Casey moan in her slumber and mumble the word ‘whore’ as she left.

She marveled at how the tendons in Julia’s neck stood out when she was angry, and yet she managed to keep her voice calm and demanding all at once. From her favorite armchair in the den Casey watched her pace the room in her long elegant strides. They were all supposed to take a trip to Six Flags Great Adventure in New Jersey and Julia, after her morning ride was interrupted by a long distance phone call, was still in her riding breeches and boots. Carelessly Julia tapped her thigh with the long black riding crop she most cherished, as she stomped to the bay window looking out onto the long paved driveway of the estate. Casey’s brothers were wrestling in the backseat of her car. Along its manicured lawns and gardens, apple trees bloomed lush and green, scenting the air with their heady perfume. With Julia’s professional life slowly taking over, Casey saw less and less of the tall, domineering woman.

Casey knew, despite appearances, that Julia’s inheritance had dwindled to next to nothing, thanks to her eccentric aunt who had mismanaged the account until Julia’s coming of age. It had taken years of careful planning by Julia to replenish frivolously spent funds. She hosted various social gatherings where she closed private deals with the ferocity of a lioness hunting its prey. Casey knew little about her investments and projects, but she knew how Julia had accumulated the money to cover her half of the business ventures. In the elite, stuffy world of old money, traditional values, and long dynasties of staunch, conservative Republicans, Julia carved her niche in leather. Where their money flowed from oil, steel, publishing and the like, Julia founded her fortune on their masochistic pleasures. She was, secretly, to the wealthy and powerful of New England, what the Marquis De Sade had been to the French aristocracy- a purveyor of pain at its finest. Julia’s private townhouse in the city of New York, to many, was an unholy shrine where they went to worship. Men, and women, who held their heads high as they commandeered funds and commanded hordes of corporate workers, knelt at her feet in sublime submission. She assured Casey, various times, that it was only for the money and she was merely an actor performing for a fee. Casey had watched her ‘perform’ on occasion; when she wasn’t occupied with her studies, she played the role of dutiful slave to the reigning Mistress. Julia told her she added credulity to the scene she played out. For Julia, that translated into heavier premiums for her talents in the fine arts of dominating body and mind.

After a few moments of still silence, Julia whispered angry words into the phone and hung up. She stayed by the window, gazing out through its clear panes with her arms crossed at her chest. Casey was familiar with the posture; it was the usual stance she took before having to disappoint her. She had promised to spend the day with her and her siblings.

"I’m sorry, Casey—"

"Yeah I know, I know. Something’s come up, right?"

Julia nodded in confirmation without looking at her. She hated displeasing the one person she had any affection for, and to her dismay it seemed she did it much more often lately. Turning away from the window, Julia strolled over to the armchair and cupping her hands around Casey’s face, she gave her a small smile and a wink.

"I’ll make it up to you, sweet—"

Casey snapped her head away and closed her eyes; she was nearing the limits of her patience. "Is that all you ever think about, Julia? I swear, sometimes I feel like all you want is to use me."

Julia’s smile faded, her voice became the deadly calm she used for her deals. "Everyone uses someone."

Casey stood up from the chair; she kept her eyes lowered from force of habit. "But not everyone loves it as much as you do."

The air sang with the force of Julia’s flung hand. It came so fast Casey didn’t have the chance to move out of its range. Her face stung with the open slap and, sucking in her bottom lip, she took a deep breath. It was the second time within the past couple of weeks that Julia had struck her in anger. This wasn’t roleplaying conjured to send her to heights of sexual arousal, this was Julia’s self-righteous, unreasonable reaction to indignation.

"You think I use you? You don’t know what it is to be used!" she yelled as Casey turned and walked away from her

"Are you so sure?" she responded with sarcasm. "After all, I’m just your whore."

Casey stomped off to the servant’s bathroom just opposite the kitchen, with Julia’s retort ringing behind her. "And why not, I pay you don’t I!"

The room was small and immaculate. It showed no signs of the number of workers that used it on a daily basis while gardening, cleaning house, or doing any of Julia’s daily bidding. She opened the cold water tap-- it’s simple silver and porcelain handle richer than anything she had at home-- and filled the sink. One look in the mirror confirmed what she had suspected at the first tingling of the smack-- she would have a small bruise along her cheek and her lip was cut. Easy enough to explain as yet another riding accident-- Julia had been insistent on teaching her how-- but the presence of her younger brothers and sister waiting out in the car for her would complicate matters somewhat. She was splashing some of the water on her face when she heard Julia’s distinctive voice of authority and her brother’s yelp, just before a sudden crash and the sound of breaking glass came from the foyer.

"She’s not a whore, she’s not, you witch!"

"Witch? You little brat, how do you think you got those fine clothes you’re wearing, huh?

The entire entrance was a fantastical expanse of white and grey marble; doors were outlined in rich wood and polished brass, and not a speck of dust lay anywhere. At its center a finely crafted spiral staircase wound its way up to the second floor, separating the east and west wings of the residence. Casey’s mad dash through the corridor leading towards the foyer and the bellowing voices, came to a halt at the sight of Julia towering over her young, kneeling brother. With her snug breeches and shining boots she looked every inch the lord of the manor. The hand holding her crop was clenched into a tight fist. Along the white, mirror-like floor were scattered pieces of crystal-cut glass swimming in splattered pools of golden liquid. It had been Julia’s favorite scotch glass.

"If you ever hit my sister again..I’ll…I’ll kill you!"

"Why you little—"

It was then, as Julia raised her arm to strike at Russell with her crop, that it dawned on her. The little scamp had watched the whole argument; it wouldn’t have been the first time he played peeping Tom. Casey wasn’t quick enough to get to him before the first blow landed on his forearm as he cowered, tears already staining his ruddy prepubescent cheeks. She did manage to come between them and, a few of the rapid strikes fell on her back as she shielded the young boy from an infuriated Julia. Casey grabbed at him, bringing him to his feet and flinging him out of the way.

"Stop, Julia…stop!" Casey cried, near to panicking.

Her face red with anger Julia straightened, and pointing at Russell with her crop, hissed between clenched teeth, "Get him out of here, and teach him some God damned manners, Casey."

She pulled her brother to his feet, shielding him with her arms from Julia’s striking words. She knew how the woman could wound with a sentence.

"I am, Julia, and he won’t be back, I promise. But neither will I."

Julia fixed her smile on her, cold as ice, its own proper menace. "You’ll be back…your mother’s mortgage has to be paid by someone."

Casey swallowed back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her and melt her resolve. Mama had warned her not to displease Julia; she knew she would have to return.

The number displayed on the tiny gray screen of his beeper was a familiar one, but the tell-tale code of 9-1-1 attached to the end of the numerical series nearly gave him a heart attack. It was code for an emergency, and his first thought was one of Alejandra hanging out a non-childproof window, stories above the street. He dialed the number with shaking hands, and the unfamiliar voice that answered the call almost caused him to drop the phone. It was Jesse, calming him at first, and then reassuring him that nothing was wrong with his daughter. But, when he had thought to breathe in relief she whispered to him of an attack on Casey, and as before his heart crawled into his throat. His sudden leap for his Toyota Camry interrupted Callie’s deliberate torture of a junkie’s testicles;—she wasn’t pleased, and complained the entire ride over from Brooklyn. He ordered her to wait outside and leave the engine running just in case; he wouldn’t be long.

While they stood in the hallway outside the bedroom, Jesse explained, in a near whisper, what she had seen. When she finished, he asked her to go inside and check to see whether Casey was still lying on her stomach. He hesitated to enter the room when he pictured Zero’s scowl at his seeing Casey in the nude. She’d have my left ball for breakfast, and have a batting practice wit’ the right one. Jesse took a quick peek into the dimly lit room and nodded to Eddie that it was safe to go in. Although the light was low in the room, he didn’t need much to see the dark welts covering Casey’s toned back. Even with the marks, she was beautiful. He made a note to kick the shit out of himself later. She slept with both her hands tucked under the pillow, flat on her stomach. Her hair fell gently over her shoulders. He frowned at what he saw. Unlike Jesse, he knew what they were. He had seen them on Callie’s back after she spent a night with Zero. All right, there has to be an explanation for this. She wouldn’t two-time Zee, would she? For a brief second he hoped Zero would magically appear from the balcony and scream at him for being in her bedroom, but he knew there was no way she would be there. Fuck, fuck, what the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t ask Zee, and there’s no way I’m asking Callie. His hands clenched in his pockets as he paced around the bed, taking in all the angles of Casey’s body as she lay asleep, or rather, semi-conscious-- probably from the damage she had incurred. She would need a few hours sleep just to recoup enough to stir. Mariana would…I don’t know what she would do. Eddie ran his hand along the smooth slope of his scalp. It was times like these he wished he hadn’t shaved off all his hair. Hold up, I’m in charge for now, I can get someone to follow her. Right? Right. That’s what Zee would do..yeah, that’s what she would do. He snuck out of the room so as not to wake her.

"Jesse," he whispered, "she’ll be a’ight, just leave her alone. And don’t tell her I was here, okay?"

Jesse nodded and rubbed the back of her neck; with people like her cousin and Eddie, it was best not to ask "why". "Yeah, okay. Ummm, Eddie?"

"Yeah," he whispered, still jumpy from what he had seen.

"That’s Zee’s kid, isn’t?"

Aww, shit this just gets worse. "Why ya askin’ me that? Who’s Zee’s kid? She ain’t got no kid, Jesse."

"Alejandra, you dim-wit. Please tell me you’re not the daddy. I swear I’ll puke right here."

"Alejandra?" he stated incredulously. "She’s my kid, I tol’ ya. Zee ain’t got no kid."

"Yeah, sure, Eddie. You suck at lying, you know that."

"Just keep ya mouth shut about me being here. I’ll take care of the rest, understand?" He waited for some gesture from her and, when she finally nodded, he grabbed for the sleeping toddler and left.

She watched him leave and close the door-- a slumping in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, Alejandra cradled in his arms. "You really, really suck at it, Eddie," she voiced quietly behind him, and began to gather her own belongings to head for home.

Continued - Part 6

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