Bound and Freed Boxed Set

  Kelly, barely able to hold her temper, pointed out that she was working for a dating agency, and if she couldn't meet anyone there, where would she meet them?

  "I was married by your age, Kelly. Were you aware of that?" Mom informed her for the hundredth time just that month. "And you don't even have a suitable boyfriend."

  "Why don't you pick on Richard? He isn't married," Kelly asked irritably, finding her patience was coming to an end. Richard, the favorite son who was never the subject of such an examination, just grinned.

  Her mother raised her chin, and gave her a regal look. "Your brother has a fiancé. He also has a good job, excellent career prospects, and will be able to support a wife and family."

  "Oh, that's right, I forgot," Kelly said, as if she could. Mother sang Richard's praises whenever possible.

  Kelly considered telling her mom that Maria had a boyfriend, and perhaps she should grill her about him. But that would just be mean, particularly as poor Maria still lived at home and was stuck with her Mother bothering her all the time. Regrettably all 'quality time' spent together with Kelly's mom was not unlike revisiting the inquisition. Thus Kelly sat back and just took the heat for all of them.

  Why not? It was the perfect end to a perfect day after all.

  2. Childhood Memories

  Kelly's Dad eventually interrupted, suggesting they all watch one of the latest sit-coms. This was also a normal occurrence, Dad subtly attempting to re-direct her mother's attentions. He had been doing so much of the night to no avail.

  And thus the family party broke up. As everyone else settled into the home theater, Richard and Kelly went outside to the back yard where Kelly sat on the oak tree swing. The moon was completely full now, so there was plenty of light. There was little breeze, but the air was a bit cool and damp. Kelly's brother, a patient fellow, waited for her to begin.

  After some time, Kelly finally said, "So, I met this guy."

  "Reaaally?" Richard drew out the query.

  Kelly spun her swing in a circle, and stopped suddenly. "Richard, for the last month I've had such a crush on this guy, a mad, crazy, freakish, died and gone to heaven crush. And last night I had sex with him, mind-blowing over the top best ever, ultra compatible sex."

  "Seriously?" Richard said and shrugged. "A little TMI beloved sister mine, but hey, I can deal. So what is the problem? It sounds good so far. He likes you too, right?" In the bright moonlight Richard's handsome countenance could be seen to suddenly tense and he said, "Or do I need to kick his ass? I swear to God, Kelly, if so, point him out and just say the word."

  Kelly laughed and hopped off the swing. The affection she felt for him tightened her throat. "God, Richard," she said, giving him a hug. "I love you. I honestly wouldn't have survived childhood without a big brother like you to look up to. Not to mention how you are forever protecting me from all bad things – not excluding our well-loved, but extremely annoying mother."

  Richard laughed and Kelly thrilled to hear the 'no holds barred' sound of her big brother's honest happiness. "I'll always have your back, Kelly," Richard said. "You know that. Mom was a little rough on you tonight."

  Kelly snorted. "You think? Well, she's probably going through menopause or something because she's like a broken record." With tacit agreement they both started back to the house as the night air was quite damp. "I can't see how Dad stands it," she added.

  "He lays low. It's the only effective strategy," Richard said. They both giggled. "So what happened anyway?"

  As they walked together toward the back door, Kelly told him how they had been trapped in an elevator, and how John had saved her life, because she had been in such a complete state of panic.

  Richard stopped and abruptly grasped her by the shoulders. "Christ, Kelly. You, trapped in a small, dark elevator?" Richard's tone communicated his shock and concern as he studied her face. He knew all about Kelly's claustrophobia. "You look like you survived it okay. Jesus, you must have gone absolutely ballistic. I'm just glad that guy was there." Richard released her and shook his head.

  "Oh yeah," she agreed. "It was pretty tense. I seriously think I would have gone mad if I had been alone." Then she explained how she went to his home and how interesting and considerate he was, right down to the details of buying her daisies, and putting marshmallows in her hot chocolate.

  "So what's the problem?" Richard asked. "This guy sounds like he has your back, too. I don’t think I need to kick his ass. It sounds like I should shake his hand."

  Kelly couldn't tell Richard about the intimate details of John's file on her, but she hedged and told him that he had a newspaper on his desk, from when she played Annie as a child. It had made her worry that he was a stalker, crazy guy. "So honestly, the second I found that newspaper I didn’t even let him try to explain. I just took off like a scalded cat."

  "So, do I know him?" Richard asked.

  "I don’t think so."

  "What's his name?"

  After that comment about cats, their cat turned up. The affable creature came out of nowhere to rub against her legs. Kelly gave a low chuckle and bent down to pick up their orange colored, de-sexed tom cat.

  "Hey, Plasma," she said. No one could remember the cat's original name. Dad had backed over it when it was a kitten. Thousands of dollars in vet bills later it was still going strong and at least twelve years old. That was how it got the name Plasma, because the poor injured creature had cost as much as their brand new plasma TV and surround sound system that they had bought around that time.

  "What's this paragon-come-stalker's name?" Richard asked again.

  "I'm sure you don’t know him," Kelly said, with Plasma purring loudly in her ear as she made her way into the house, heading toward the games room where they could sit down. "He lives in Aloha of all places and his name is John Taylor."

  "What, not that weird guy who went to Riverdale with us?"

  "No way," Kelly said turning on the light in the games room. The pool table was uncovered and most of its balls were out in a half played game. "I think I would remember if I knew him from school."

  Richard frowned, picked up the cue ball, and reached for a cue stick. "The John Taylor I knew was in my year in grade school. Black hair? Dark eyes? Top student, with nothing to say? Weird? No friends? Any of this sounding familiar? He left and was never seen again at the end of year eight."

  Bending over, Richard placed the cue ball down, and took aim. "Seven ball in the side pocket," he said, and took the shot. Three balls clicked loudly. Richard cheered as if he had won the Open Championships when the ball went in, just as he had called it. He bent over for another shot, but looked over his shoulder at Kelly and then stood up. "John Taylor's parents live up past Military Road," he said. "You know that house that looks like some sort of embassy in a Middle Eastern country because it has so much security? His dad is some sort of district judge I think."

  Suddenly Kelly did remember a guy named John. A number of indistinct pictures came into her mind, and her knees went weak. Kelly sat down on the brown leather couch nearby. Was her John someone she had known in grade school as a child? That might explain the Annie newspaper, but not the whole file.

  Richard laid the cue stick on the table. Then he sat down with her, and began petting the cat that had instantly settled comfortably in Kelly's lap. "John was the guy that those shit head bullies McCarther, Jones and you know – what's his name? The other asshole that used to hang with that crowd - tried to beat up," Richard said. "They jumped John after school one day, remember? You and Linda Barker were walking home and saw the whole thing. John broke one of their arms, and they all lied and said that he had attacked them."

  The memories were returning, and Kelly felt a cold chill. Could the John of the past be the John of now? Kelly put her hand to her chest as she felt herself getting back on the emotional roller coaster, and riding upward toward an exhilarating high of uncertainty, mystery and excitement.

  WTF? Could it be? She had been in 5th grade an
d had been probably only eleven years old. The tension in her body must have disturbed Plasma, because the cat jumped off Kelly's lap and trotted off toward the kitchen.

  Her friend Linda had refused to get involved, but Kelly, burning with a sense of injustice went to the principal's office and reported the whole thing. The three well known bullies had picked on the wrong guy. John Taylor, who was younger and smaller than any of them, had given one a bloody nose, and broken another's arm. The last attacker, deceitful coward that he was, had run off to tell on John.

  "Well," Richard said with a raised eyebrow. "Is it the same guy?"

  "You know what?" Kelly said after a moment of heart-stopping reflection. "I think it is."

  3. Whip Practice

  After Kelly left so abruptly, John ate the French toast he had made for breakfast, and then had a long shower. Dressing in distressed jeans and a grey, heavyweight long sleeved cotton shirt, he picked up his phone, surprised to see that an unlisted number had left a message for him sometime last night. That was odd. No one ever left him messages. In fact, no one ever even called him. John didn't like talking, much less talking on the phone. Only three people had his number.

  Hitting playback he heard an angry, older female voice say: "Mr. Taylor. It's Professor Lopez. I am calling to re-iterate that, as discussed over a month ago, I am no longer your counselor. I'm sorry but you simply must find someone else."

  John frowned, puzzled. Maria Lopez had been his counselor for four years. The older woman, who faintly reminded him of his aunt Brenda, was one of only two people he had trusted with his family secrets. Just yesterday he had phoned her and confirmed his appointment with her for Tuesday. Why would she call him and leave such a peculiar message? He located the professor's number in his cell, and rang it. There was no answer, so he left a recorded message: "Maria, its John. I have my phone with me today and would appreciate hearing from you. Thank you."

  John then sent a text to his friend and mentor, André Chevalier: "When r u available 4 me 2 call u?"

  After that he went on line, searching for a reputable jeweler. John made some phone calls while drawing a sketch using a pencil. When he found what he was looking for he hung up the phone and faxed the sketch. John hadn't heard back from André, so he put on his swat boots and a jean jacket, and left the house to visit the Basement – taking Kelly's personal file with him. After a hugely physical evening and early morning with no sleep, he was still completely buzzed and wide awake.

  John parked where he had parked his car the night before, and his heart gave a tug at the poignant memory of being right here with Kelly, just last night. John had been parking here every time he came now, as this spot was directly under the security cameras. Twice in the last two months his car had been vandalized. Once he could understand, twice made it personal. But who would want some sort of payback on him? And for what?

  John had reported both incidents to the police, going through the effort to detail and make photos of each event. Not just for insurance reasons. John's garbage bin when left out had been strewn over the lawn last week, another detail he had carefully recorded. Not that he had that much garbage. Yet these unprovoked attacks made him paranoid with good reason.

  Putting in the security code to the door, he took the stairs down to the Basement. He unlocked and entered the male changing area, turning on all the lights with the master switch. He unlocked his personal locker, opened it and took out his bullwhip and two thick plastic rolls – these were his human targets. Leaving the male target behind, he took the female outline with him.

  John's manager, Colin, wouldn’t be in until after twelve, but John went into his office and left Kelly Flynn's file on the manager's desk. Sunday was a pretty busy night, and they had a Masquerade party planned. John generally left those details to Colin.

  The area he intended to practice in was well lit. John set up his plastic target against the clay covered seven foot plywood backdrop he had specially made for this purpose. After each session he would smooth the clay out, and then when he next practiced he could see how accurate his hits were.

  To successfully use the bullwhip took time and the extensive ongoing disciple of practice, practice, practice. This was neither a challenge nor a hardship to John, as he enjoyed the sound of the whip, and using it. It allowed him to fully center himself and be in the moment. Nothing focused attention like cracking a bullwhip precisely on target.

  With his phone placed on a table nearby, he heard when the text came in. John walked over and saw that it was from André. "Available noon today."

  Good, John thought. I need to tell him about Kelly.

  Without warning John got an image of Kelly having an orgasm with his tongue deep in her most feminine hole, and it was so visceral that he could almost feel the soft texture of her skin and smell her unique essence. By his command, his poor eager sub had been trying desperately not to make a sound or move as she climaxed. Afterwards John had said to her, "Thank you, Kelly. You did that to please me, didn’t you?" and she had replied, "Yes, John. I want to please you more than anything."

  John shut his eyes, absorbing the sensations that this memory provided. It was such a heady sense of belonging, fulfillment, and love.

  Kelly is mine, he thought, twisting his bullwhip between his hands with sudden savage intensity. I would marry her tomorrow if she would let me. No matter what the barriers, and there are so many. Too many. Kelly Flynn. She was kind to me even as a child. My first friend. My first girlfriend… almost anyway. My first real sex. My first love. And the last. For me, there will never be another.

  For now and for always, John knew he would love Kelly Flynn.

  Swallowing his violent emotions, John effortlessly blocked them off as he had done all his life. Then he put on some safety goggles and gently swung his bullwhip over his head, making sure that he had adequate space and wouldn't hit anything while practicing. He placed his thumb in line with the handle, and then brought the whip forward in a relaxed, fluid motion and flicked his wrist back, aiming for the floor.

  Crack!

  Yes, John thought, instantly feeling less off balance. I love that sound.

  Once the whip was fully extended, he retrieved it by cocking his arm back and to the side, away from his body and head. He repeated this action a few times.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  John then began forward hits to the target. Practicing with both his dominant and non-dominant hands, John worked for about an hour until Colin came in about a half an hour before noon. By then, partially because of his heavy protective clothing, and largely because of his vigorous physical efforts, John had worked up quite a sweat. John took off his goggles.

  "Hey, John," Colin Wilkins said, "Always glad to see you here honing your skills."

  About forty-five years old, Colin was a stocky man, just under six feet tall, with brown hair and a thick dark, well trimmed beard. The man had done most everything at one time or another, including working as a lumberjack in Canada, security; including armored car bank transport, and numerous laboring jobs.

  Colin could strip a motorbike bike down and put it back together in half a day. He sported some tasteful tattoos on his muscular biceps, and was a consistent, experienced Dom. It was his Dom skills that had initially attracted John to him. The man didn’t have a higher education but what he lacked there he made up in enthusiasm and his natural people skills and security expertise.

  Rolling up his whip, John decided he had had enough. He and Colin both wandered over to have a look at the target area. Colin snorted, after seeing the clay indentations underneath the outline of female breasts and vulva area.

  "Ouch," Colin said.

  John checked the indentations, pleased by how shallow they were. Not one of his hits would have been more than a brief kiss of the whip, which is what he had been aiming for.

  "True," John said. "But at this level it would only leave a welt. It's the psychological effect from the sound of the whip as much as ever increas
ing amount of pain that sends my subs off into sub space." He gave Colin a hard look. "Trust me," John said and held up his bullwhip. "A cane hurts way more than this does."

  Colin raised his dark bushy eyebrows. "You sound like you know from personal experience."

  John lifted one shoulder in an ambiguous shrug. As was customary from a lifetime of habit, he gave nothing away. "Let's go to your office," John said. "I want to talk to you about something."

  As they both walked toward the office area, John reflected. The truth was he had years of personal experience of being caned by his sadistic, sociopathic father. John still had the scars. All his life he had never attended sports at school or swimming, or anything that would expose his father's shame, or his own. John had never even worn a pair of shorts. The doctor's note explaining John's "unusual and possibly contagious rash" sent to the principle of every school he had attended ensured that all skeletons were safely kept locked away in the family closet.

  John's jaw tensed. A bullwhip had nothing on a cane for pain. Not the way John used his bullwhip, in any case. And as for sub space? Well, John had plenty of personal experience with that too. At one point as a child he had felt the powerful craving for the dread, nervous excitement, and euphoric high that could be created from constant physical torment.

  Pain was the ultimate high. That was why he didn't often use the same sub twice, or if he did there were months between scenes. Severe pain addiction John understood intimately, and he never intended to find himself as the cause of it in someone else.

  The words of his mentor, André Chevalier echoed in his head. "Pain must only be used as a means to ultimately add to your sub's sensation of pleasure, mon ami. To do otherwise is un péché noir - a black sin. It will tarnish your soul."