Pinch Me

  Thomas closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d awoken with a migraine threatening, with no signs of it going away anytime soon. “Look, as long as everyone cooperates with me, I don’t have any desire to drag anyone through the mud.”

  “Believe me, we want the asshole who did this to her caught as badly as you do. Unfortunately, none of us know anything that will be of help. You don’t think one of the first thoughts we had was maybe someone from the lifestyle had it out for her?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “You let me be the judge of the value of the information, Mr. Daniels.”

  “We will. The only person who might not be there right on time is my wife, Shayla, and that’s because she’s at the hospital with Laura while Rob’s at work.”

  Maybe he’d have to pay Laura another visit that morning or afternoon. “I take it she’s close to Laura?” He already knew that much from the text messages.

  “They’re best friends. But if you do go talk to her at the hospital, keep in mind Rob isn’t telling Laura anything about their BDSM dynamic, or about any of us being into it, either. So please do everyone a favor and not mention that in front of Laura.”

  He didn’t want to lose his patience with the guy, but between stress and the migraine, he was heading in that direction. “I’ll respect your intelligence, Mr. Daniels, if you’ll respect mine. If you’ll drop the adversarial attitude we’ll all get along just fine. I’ll be there at nine.” He hung up before the other man could respond, his head throbbing.

  Despite putting a rush on it, they still hadn’t received the DNA results back from the FDLE labs yet. He glanced at the email he’d been reading, the PDF copy of a file about a case in Georgia. Seven months earlier, a college coed home for the weekend had been viciously beaten, raped, and strangled.

  And the knot on the rope looked like the knot on the rope put around Laura’s neck by her attacker. Not that it was a concrete clue, just one of many. That victim, twenty-year-old Alicia Smith, hadn’t merely been beaten, but kicked, bitten, and brutalized so badly that her parents had been unable to identify her by her face.

  It had been a small butterfly tattoo on the inside of her right ankle, a memorial to a friend killed in a car accident the year before, that had provided their positive ID.

  No suspects. No sign of forced entry. Her parents discovered her body when they returned home from an overnight trip to Savannah the next morning.

  Nothing stolen from the home, but a bracelet she normally wore was missing. Unfortunately, neither parent could positively remember if she’d been wearing it when she arrived home from her dorm, and it hadn’t been found among her possessions there, either. Her roommate remembered seeing her wearing it earlier in the week, but had left for her home Friday afternoon before Alicia and didn’t know if she’d been wearing it.

  The case was at a standstill. No history of drug use on the part of the victim, she wasn’t in a relationship, and the roommate and the roommate’s boyfriend had concrete alibis and no motive.

  DNA results hadn’t matched up with any samples currently on file from inmates in any criminal database. It was, however, linked to three other unsolved crimes scattered across the US with similar patterns.

  As Thomas rubbed at the bridge of his nose and stared at the crime scene photos included with the report, he suspected he was about to become far better acquainted with Alicia Smith’s case, and the others.

  * * * *

  Rob hated that he couldn’t spend the day with Laura, but knew Shayla would call him immediately if any issues cropped up.

  The morning started out busy, with an accident and then a call about a heart attack.

  Unfortunately for him, the rest of the morning slowed down, leaving plenty of time for thinking while doing busy work like inventory and cleaning the rig.

  He’d looked through some old pictures last night, one standing out in his mind. For Tony and Shayla’s private “Kinkmas” party that past December, Rob had turned Laura into his own Christmas tree. Complete with decorations hung from nipple clamps, wrist cuffs, collar, and hip harness, and a strand of battery-operated lights wrapped around her while she struggled not to climax from the vibrating egg held inside her by the harness. The picture showed her decked out with a playful, sexy grin on her face.

  Fun times.

  He closed his eyes and relived the night. They’d arrived early so they could help Tony and Shayla get things ready. Once it was time for the others to arrive, he’d ordered Laura to strip.

  And the fun began.

  She’d spent the evening in a perpetual state of horniness, the vibrating egg tormenting her but not strong enough to get her off. He’d taken great sadistic pleasure in periodically removing the nipple clamps, to let the blood flow back into them. Then he’d play with them, rolling them between his fingers and driving up her need even more before reapplying the clamps.

  Two hours later, she’d been begging him for a scene, knowing full well pleasure would come at a cost.

  He’d started out by undecorating her, except for her cuffs and play collar, and removing the egg before strapping her down to a bench. Next came the bare-handed spanking, warming her ass and making his cock ache with desire. He’d spent the evening hard, and this made him throb even more.

  Others were already playing but Rob’s full attention totally focused on Laura. As if the entire world faded away, he watched every breath she took, listened to every sound she made. He caressed her flesh, tracing her sweet curves and enjoying the way she arched against his hand.

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head up. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

  “I want Sir to play with me and make me come.”

  He leaned in closer. “That means you take the pain to get the pleasure.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Do you want to take it?”

  “Yes, Sir.” It came out a happy sigh.

  He tenderly kissed her forehead. “Such a good girl,” he murmured in her ear.

  He went to his implement bag and pulled out a leather slapper that he knew she liked. It delivered just enough sting to give the desired effect.

  With his left hand on her ass and the implement in his right, he gave her a light slap as a warning. Then he started in earnest, working up and down her ass and thighs, across her shoulders and the back of her arms, even between her legs, lightly slapping her pussy.

  When he reached between her legs he found her juices practically dripping from her. After slowly fucking her with his fingers, he walked around and pulled her head up again by her hair.

  “Open.”

  She did, sucking his fingers without hesitation. He judged from her glazed expression that she’d already gone deep into subspace.

  “Such a good girl.”

  He blindfolded her and buckled her favorite rubber ball gag around her head before delving into the implement bag again. This time, he pulled out several items. The first, an etched acrylic paddle that he used with a little more force than he had the slapper. By the time he finished with it a couple of minutes later, Laura’s ass and thighs were pink and she’d started squirming against her bonds.

  Next, the riding crop. This drew muffled yelps from her as welts began appearing across her flesh. Followed by a wooden paddle that had her sobbing after just a few strokes.

  He gave her a little bit of a respite and switched to a braided leather flogger. More harsh than one of his suede mop floggers, it was still a breather for her, as well as a build up to the finale.

  He readied the Hitachi vibrator. Holding it in his left hand, he pressed it to her clit as he laid a cane across her ass with the right. “Time for fun, baby girl.” He switched on the vibrator as he took a stroke with the cane.

  She screamed from pain as much as she did pleasure, the climax drawing her body into an arcing flex of muscles. He spaced out the cane strokes, never pulling the vibrator away as he did. Her moans drilled through him, amplifying the way his cock th
robbed inside his jeans, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside her.

  After the tenth stroke, he put down the cane and switched off the vibrator. Laura collapsed, limp and panting, onto the bench.

  “Oh, you think you’re done, do you?”

  Even through the ball gag he heard her laugh as she shook her head.

  “You know what it means, right?” This was something he’d learned from Tony, something that cracked him up every time he watched his friend do it to Shayla.

  Laura nodded, her body now heaving with laughter.

  “What’s it mean, baby girl?”

  Although muffled by the gag, he heard her say, “Just one more.”

  “Very good.” He unzipped, pulled out his cock, and then grabbed the Hitachi. He sank his cock deep inside her cunt, pausing and letting out a sigh of pleasure.

  Then he switched on the Hitachi again and reached around her, pressing it to her clit once more.

  The effect, as always, felt electrifying. Laura had once joked he’d succeeded in rewiring her brain to respond to the sound of the vibrator. She came almost immediately, her body once again arching against her restraints, the walls of her pussy squeezing his cock.

  Only through sheer force of will did he hold back and not start fucking her, waiting while she undulated against the vibrator, thrusting herself deep onto his cock. He took his time, enjoyed watching her lost in the depths of her orgasm. Once he sensed her growing close to the end of her endurance he began thrusting, hard, knowing he’d come fast.

  She matched him thrust for thrust. As he felt his balls draw up, his climax close, Laura came one more time. He fucked her harder, faster, feeling her pussy quivering around his cock just as he exploded and filled her with his cum.

  He shut the vibrator off and braced himself on the bench to catch his breath. Laura lay there, a happy smile on her face even with the ball gag in her mouth.

  “One more?” he teased.

  She laughed and shook her head. “No thank you, Sir. I’m good.”

  He startled at the sound of the station’s alarm going off, signaling an incoming call and yanking him out of his memory.

  Springing into action, he tried to push the thoughts from his mind and get into work mode. Still, he took a moment to reach into his pocket and finger Laura’s play collar.

  Chapter Nine

  Shayla had also brought the promised shortbread cookies, as well as white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies, and banana nut bread.

  The poor woman must have been up all night baking, in addition to making the fresh omelet for her.

  “You didn’t need to go through all this trouble.”

  “It’s okay. I wanted to.” She shrugged. “If it helps, it’s worth it.”

  The shortbread cookies were actually little squares, less than an inch big each. “You told us your mom used to make lots of shapes, but your favorites were rolling out large swaths of dough and then cutting them with a pizza cutter.”

  Shayla reached in and took a handful of the cookies despite her full stomach from breakfast.

  With a silent prayer, she popped one into her mouth and closed her eyes as she slowly chewed.

  Sweet, buttery, and just the right hint of salt. The cookie practically dissolved in her mouth…

  And she stood in a bright, sunny kitchen as a girl. Warm, sweet aromas filled the air. She perched on top of a chair next to a counter, a pizza roller in her hand as she carefully made straight cuts in the dough.

  “Doing good, Laur,” a woman said.

  She looked up at the older woman’s face, a woman in the photo albums.

  Her mother.

  She smiled down at Laura. “You’re getting so good at making these, honey.”

  And then Laura felt ripped out of her body as the scene changed. She stood under a hot sun, sobbing as Rob kept a firm, steadying arm around her shoulders. Next to her, a man she knew was her brother, Bill, had an arm around her waist and his fingers laced through hers.

  In front of them, two caskets were being lowered into the ground as the gathered crowd somberly watched.

  And she remembered.

  She remembered thinking about making cookies with her mom while standing at their graveside.

  How she’d never get another chance to do that with her. Or to go fishing again with her dad.

  Her eyes flew open and she was staring into Shayla’s alarmed face.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Their funeral,” she sobbed. “Mom and Dad, I remember their funeral.”

  Shayla wrapped her arms around Laura as she sobbed against her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, thank you.” She couldn’t stop crying. She didn’t care that it was the first firm memory that fitted itself back into its proper place in her mind.

  It was solid.

  It was real.

  That it hurt as badly as it did told her it was the truth. It wasn’t just an idle thought or a false memory planted by something someone said.

  And it was hers. Something she could hold on to and hopefully build upon to bring back more. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving them back to me.”

  * * * *

  It was a bittersweet victory. Laura immediately began pouring through the older photo albums again, focusing on any pictures of her parents, or of her at the approximate age of the cookie-making memory. She discovered as she looked through them, now some memories of the events had returned, as if they’d never left.

  It seemed that regaining the traumatic loss of her parents, which Laura discovered also included remembering receiving the news of their death and most of that time period, of dealing with the loss and grief and funeral preparations, triggered something in her brain.

  It didn’t, however, include everything. She still couldn’t remember how she met Rob, or where. And more current memories were still a blank.

  By lunchtime her small victory had turned into frustration. Shayla ran out to bring them back subs for lunch, and they sat watching the local noon news.

  “Can you call those other people for me and ask if they can visit?”

  “Which ones?” Shayla asked.

  Laura struggled to recall names she’d heard Rob and Shayla mention. “Leah? And her husband.”

  “Seth. Leah and Seth Erikkson.”

  “Right. Them. There were more though, weren’t there? Tilly?”

  Shayla once again had that deer-in-the-headlights look. “Yes, but I think Rob’s right that we shouldn’t overwhelm you right now,” she quickly said. “I’ll call Leah and see when they can come visit. Besides, they live the closest to the hospital. Everyone else is either up in Sarasota, or clear up in Tarpon Springs.”

  Laura bumped up against a blank wall, frustrating her. “Where are those?”

  Shayla looked up from her phone. “Where’s what?”

  The tears fought a valiant battle to break through, but Laura beat them back into submission. “Sarasota. And Tarpon Springs. I heard about Sarasota on the TV. But where are they?”

  The look of sympathy on Shayla’s face almost finished Laura off again, but somehow, she held on and didn’t cry.

  “Here.” Shayla tapped into her phone and then held it so Laura could see. A map was displayed on it. “We’re right here,” she said as she pinched the screen and zoomed in. “There’s where the hospital is, in Pt. Charlotte.” She flicked the screen with her finger, panning it to the north. “Here’s Sarasota.” She pinched again, zooming in farther. “Here’s my house.”

  Once again, she zoomed out and pointed. “Tarpon Springs is way up here. North of St. Petersburg.” More zooming in, south of where Shayla lived, but north of the hospital. “Here’s where Leah and Seth live.”

  Laura found the geography lesson helpful, but it didn’t trigger any more memories. “Where do I live?” she quietly asked.

  Without replying, Laura zoomed in more and showed her. “Englewood. There’s where your condo complex is.” She
panned a little to the west and south. “There’s the house.” A little more panning, onto a peninsula on the other side of Charlotte Harbor from Pt. Charlotte. “And there’s where your shop is.”

  Nothing.

  From elation to frustration, the ebbs and flows of emotion wore at her energy levels. After lunch, she lay back to watch TV with Shayla and found herself dozing off.

  She awoke to Shayla gently touching her shoulder. “Laura? The psychiatrist is here to see you.”

  She rubbed her eyes and sat up. An older, matronly woman with a warm smile stood just inside the closed door. “Hi. I’m Dr. Katherine Simpson. Pastor Ben Pelletier suggested I come see you.”

  “Do you want me to wait outside?” Shayla asked.

  “No, please stay.” She waved Dr. Simpson in as Shayla pulled another chair over to Laura’s bedside.

  The psychiatrist began by going over Laura’s recent ordeal, taking notes as they talked and putting her at ease. Dr. Simpson agreed recovering the memory of her parents’ funeral was a good step.

  “It’s also encouraging that you had a chain of memories recovered as a result, especially interconnected like that.”

  “But you can’t tell me if or when they’ll all come back.”

  “I’m afraid not.” They talked for over an hour before Dr. Simpson gently confronted Laura. “You realize there is a lot more at stake here than just recovering your memories, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean? What could be more important than getting my life back? Well, other than catching the guy who did this to me.”

  “You might never regain your memories of the attack. However, as Ben told you, there is every real possibility of developing post-traumatic stress disorder. It can manifest itself in very odd and unexpected ways.”

  “If it does, it does. Frankly, I don’t care if I get it or not if I can get my memories back.”

  “You might find yourself very jumpy, startling easy. You might have panic attacks. You might have bad dreams.”

  “I haven’t had any bad ones yet. Just what I told you. And I don’t know if they’re dreams or memories.”