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A House of Slaves by LongDarkRoad Chapter 27 One Never Knows

A House of Slaves 

Chapter 27 Anyway, One Never Knows (So that was that)

“Holy shit,” Smithfield exclaimed, looking down at the bloodied body of Jake Tucker. The assistant M.E. was almost finished, and two men stood waiting behind Smithfield with a gurney. “How many times was he hit?”

“I count six, but we’ll see when we get him on the table.”

Smithfield had heard the report of gunfire and recognized the address; he had it on his computers and various places around his office; he knew it very well. When he arrived, patrol cars and the M.E. were already on scene.

“They said he was shot by two…women?” Smithfield asked.

“That’s what I hear. They took two women and a man into custody. Kevin Riggs, an officer, was found badly injured in the other room and he has been taken to emergency. (Smithfield had seen the ambulance leaving as he arrived.}

“Holy shit,” Smithfield repeated, to no one in particular. The surprises were not over for the detective, however.

On his way back to the station he received a call informing him that they had found the body of Dale Dzyuba, murdered in an apparent mugging.

“Holy shit,” Smithfield repeated, and not for the last time that day.


Aquina lay on the bed with Bobbi pressed against her. They were in ‘the apartment’, but Mindi was not there; she was at the hospital waiting as Kevin, finally out of three hours of surgery, was sleeping. He would have more surgery the next day.

Aquina did not want to see Claire, for whatever reason. She had actually called Macgregor to briefly talk, without analyzing why the woman was a support. She was, end of story.

Tomorrow she would see Brandon, who had been arrested late tonight. The house, as a crime scene, was sealed off. Aquina would go back when she could, to get her clothes and meagre collection of personal items. She would likely not return there to live.

What an unbelievable day; one, it appeared, where her little deuce, deuce played a big role. Crazy.

****               ****          ****

(2 weeks later)

“Okay then,” Aquina said, and ended the call with Brandon’s lawyer, one provided by Sanders McHugh. There would be no bail; it was just a matter of working out plea details and the rest. She sighed.

With Claire now gone to Miami for three days with Sanders, she would be alone in Kate’s old place, with the girls dispersed (Bobbi now actually at Claire’s) and Mindi back at the house. Aquina had her clothes, etcetera, but didn’t want to be there, even though the police were all gone and the damages had been repaired.

But tonight she was restless.

While it was true that the day of abuse with ‘the ladies’ had changed things, some things don’t change. She was enjoying her time with Claire and, working around the lovely woman’s commitment to Sanders, they were together a fair amount. But certainly, as time had moved along sometimes tediously, but often in a rush following the death of Tucker and the arrest of Brandon, and definitely this last week, old cravings that had begun drifting back before this madness now were there in earnest.

She thought often, too often, of Claire’s invitation to spank her, and Aquina struggled with the choice. She didn’t want Claire…that way, but the woman had mentioned it again, and Aquina was getting antsy. And as much as she enjoyed her relationship with the lovely woman, she again admitted to herself that there was still something missing from her life; there was no point in being stubborn.

And Claire was pushing for something too, their relationship changing, if not already changed.

And last week, when a text had arrived from Shareen Macgregor, Aquina had felt the desire once again. She’d admitted to the woman that she, indeed, looked at the shot of her pussy every day.

“You want to serve it, admit that.”

Like an alcoholic facing the bottle, Aquina had been able to end the conversation without agreeing to anything, but what about next week, and the week after?

Even without the desire, which actually never went away, she’d texted her…mistress, just to communicate with someone who understood. And to maintain contact.

And tonight she lay restless and uneasy. She got up and lit one of her slim cigars and sat, considering, the cell phone beckoning.


Charlotte Delmare parked in front and then entered her, ‘home’ (it could never really be home again) to the silence. The place was generally silent these days, with Meredith having moved out. “Michael,” she called, but to no response. She went downstairs, where, for some reason, her husband seemed to spend most of his time these days; but he was not there.

Fighting a growing sense of unease, she searched, ending up in the garage, where she needed to open the large door, as her husband’s car was running. After the air was cleared a little, she opened his door and, fighting hysteria, leaned past her husband’s body to turn off the motor.                                 ****

Meredith Delmare stood looking up at Jessie’s place, making up her mind.

Much had happened since her decision to follow Jake Tucker into that house. Obviously, first off, she had been detained and held in connection with his death. But after a psychological evaluation, she had been released with conditions.

In time, the DA decided not to lay any charges, being as eager as the rest to shut this whole thing down as soon as possible.

All Meredith ended up with were some misdemeanors for gun possession that would be covered by community service, the argument being that she had acted in defence of others, being in grave danger.

And so that had passed. But now, things were coming apart again with her and Jessie; it really was a case of personalities.

As she stood, hesitating, her cell phone buzzed; it was a message from her mother.


(One month after ‘the day’)

In Denver, on the Scheffley acreage, Melissa Levy, naked, was riding a horse in the spacious arena. She had never ridden horses before in her young life, until coming here, and now she rode pretty much every day, and always naked. In fact, she was naked most of the time, no longer even thinking about it, wearing only her custom-made breast harness.

Occasionally she would recall her former life; briefly.

As she rode her blonde hair (her mistress continued to dye it) streamed out behind her and her lovely breasts, held up by the harness, still rose and fell hypnotically.

Cynthia Scheffley watched from the side, a smile on her face; she loved those breasts, and everything else as well. She felt a great deal for this delightful and beautiful woman, and there was a real jab when she thought of when the young slave’s time with her would come to a close.

She hoped Melissa would decide to stay on, they could work out specifics later; but, a deal was a deal, and Scheffley was a woman of her word.

She had recently allowed the ‘slave’ to send a letter, an actual letter, to Aquina Morez; there was a chance that woman might, some day, come for a visit.

Who knows?


Bobbi looked out the window of the bus, as the towers of the metropolis loomed now in the distance. She didn’t know what she’d find in New York, but she knew she needed to try her wings.

She’d always remember Aquina and Claire, but in the end, it was them, as a couple, however they were sorting that out, but her as the third.

She needed to stand on her own; maybe someday she’d go back, look them up, whatever. She still cared for them, both.

Who knows?


“You’re sure about this?” Claire asked, again, with both excitement and nervousness.

Aquina sighed; was anyone ever sure of anything? She knew she needed to test herself, and Claire; to probe.

“Yes, and you can let things go where they will, or not. Your call.”

“This is, kinda weird…” Claire smiled.

“But you’re excited.”

Claire sighed and chuckled, “I am, okay, I really am, but you know, you could still…”

“We’ve been over that,” Aquina said, stroking the woman’s face. “C’mon. Let’s do it.”

Claire gave the woman a look and then she opened the door and climbed out. Setting her shoulders, she marched toward the building that housed ‘Dusty’s’, a lounge known as a place ‘for women to meet women’. Aquina watched from her car, her hand already between her thighs.

It wasn’t long before a woman, mid-thirties, average height, build, short brown hair, came to stand beside Claire, who had taken a stool at the bar. With a stab of jealous arousal, Aquina watched as Claire and the woman moved to a booth, both with glasses of wine.

Aquina now got out and went for a walk, giving the situation time. Fifteen minutes later, and as Claire had been coached, Aquina, standing now outside, saw the two women rise and make their way out, going to the rear of the building, where they found a spot with come seclusion.

Aquina herself was likely in the only spot with a view of the action. She watched the two kiss deeply for several minutes, then saw Claire’s coat removed as the other woman spun her around and pushed her against the bricks, tugging down her slacks roughly and slapping the lovely, naked ass several times, with Claire arching her back to accept the punishment, clearly wanting it.

Aquina watched with incredible arousal and amazement as Claire was then stripped completely naked and made to pose, kneeling on her coat, as the woman took a number of shots with her cell. Next the woman’s pants were off and she was bent forward, Claire’s face in her ass, pleasuring the woman eagerly.

Finally, the woman grabbed a handful of Claire’s hair, slapped her face and spit on her, then pulled that face between her thighs, where she humped it aggressively. The encounter ended with Claire on her knees, thanking the woman as this gratitude was recorded on her cell.


An hour later, Aquina and Claire lay together, both having experienced wonderful orgasms after wild sex.

“So,” Claire whispered, “now what?”

Aquina raised herself on an elbow, and regarded the wonderful face. “We’ll see, but that was bitchin’ hot. And that woman does now have your number.”

Claire paused, hesitant to admit how completely aroused she had been with not only what had been done to her but with the idea of meeting up with the woman again. “Why, um, don’t you just, like, do stuff to me yourself? You liked watching that woman spank me, why don’t you just do it?”

Aquina shook her head. “We’ve been over this, and she didn’t just spank you, lover, she made you her bitch, and yes, I loved…watching that.” She paused to ponder and then kiss the side of Claire’s face, murmuring. “And yeah, I’m still working things out, it’s complicated. For me, anyway.”

Claire sat in thought, then asked quietly, “Why haven’t you wanted to make me, like, your bitch?”

Aquina studied the woman; that was the question, wasn’t it? It had never sat right, in her mind, and yet she admitted to herself to being aroused incredibly by watching Claire serving someone sexually, but not wanting to be the one holding the leash so to speak; it was weird, definitely.

But how to explain any of it, like the fact she still needed to be in contact with Miss Shareen??

“That’s part of what I’m working out,” she said with a grimace.

Claire sat for a moment, then asked, “Would you like me to contact that woman? Her name’s Helen.” She had already decided to contact her anyway, but this was her being…honest.

Aquina smiled and nodded her head, both women feeling a rush for different reasons.

Charlotte Delmare signed the purchase offer and sighed; the house had sold quickly. She had been thinking of selling even before Michael’s death, which was just the final straw. Meredith was into her own life, whatever that was (they hadn’t spoken) and it was time to move on with hers. A new city would maybe allow her to bury all those memories, if that was possible.

Who knows?


It had been four days since their encounter, but Claire was walking briskly across a motel parking lot, and then up the stairs. Room two-twenty-nine was the fourth unit in. Her heart pounding wildly, she knocked on the door and then entered when Helen answered. The woman was sitting, wearing only her panties, on a chair facing the door.

She looked at Claire and smiled. “Come in sweet bitch, get naked and on your knees where you belong.”

Claire could not believe how her hands were shaking as she undressed and crawled to the woman, then knelt, looking up at her. Helen bent forward and they kissed passionately, as if wanting to swallow each other’s tongues. Helen then turned Claire around and tied her hands behind her back with a scarf, whispering, “I’m going to have some fun with you, aren’t I?”

Claire moaned and murmured, “Yes, Miss Helen,” as the woman brought her to her feet and kissed her deeply, Claire needing to please her.

“Do you want to be my bitch?”

Claire swallowed and stifled a moan, “I do, M-miss Helen.”

“Open your fucking mouth.” The woman spat into the orifice and then kissed it ferociously, before pushing Claire face down on the bed and slapping the lovely ass until it was red.


Three hours later, sitting in a chair at home with a glass of red wine, Claire was gentling caressing her labia and considering. She had really (really) enjoyed her session with the aggressive Helen, and was consciously admitting how extremely submissive she was; how complying to the commands of a dominating woman had aroused her so incredibly. And she had also enjoyed being spanked, which didn’t really surprise her (and Helen was not a mild person); Claire’s ass cheeks still felt heated.

She thought of when she had asked Aquina to spank her, both times. She had not been sure exactly why; but now she knew. It was simply because she really did want that, from Aquina certainly, then, but definitely from someone.

This afternoon had all been amazing, and Claire admitted she was keen on doing more, and clearly it wouldn’t be with Aquina; unfortunately, or not.

But her lover seemed to want this, punishment submission scenario, so, what was there to do except find someone who did?

She would call Miss Helen again.


Kate looked across at Brandon and picked up her phone. He hesitated, then picked up his.

“I guess you’re surprised,” Kate murmured, heart beating. She and Eric had discussed this. ‘You sure, Katie?’ he’d asked. He had no plans to see Brandon. “I am,” she had said quietly. She needed to do this.

“I’m glad you’re in here,” she said, still quietly.

Brandon sighed; who could blame this woman for her resentment, especially with him? He nodded, “I get that.” He regarded her steadily through the glass. “It’s, um, weird, I know, but I hope you and Eric make it. I do.”

Kate looked on for a few more seconds, suddenly feeling empty, which in some ways wasn’t so bad. It was better than the burning rage, although that had slowly passed.

She hung up the phone and left; she would move on.

As Aquina had said; she’d survived, and now Tucker and Dzyuba were dead, Brandon was in here and Kevin was facing a long road to recovery. She and Eric were good and she and Anna were like (very loving) sisters.

She’d come out okay in the end.


Bella Traynor looked over at Arlana. She had only been

back two days and things were still…awkward; but she needed to confront her half-sister. “I know my rights, Arlana,” Bella was saying.

“Rights, schmites. What has that got to do with anything? You should not be involved with the company; why do you even care?” Arlana replied in her usual haughty tone.

“Dad’s (they had different mothers) will made it very clear (unlike Arlana, Bella had read through the will, carefully and more than once). I have a seat on the board, and I intend to occupy it.”

Arlana folded and unfolded her hands. “You’re doing this to spite me. To annoy me. You’re still angry because I…sent you away…”

“I went away, dear…sister.” There was silence, then Bella continued. “This is not about you; it isn’t always about you, you know. This is about me, and my future, since I’m no longer your…assistant.”

“Your choice…”

“Whatever…doesn’t matter. And…Sanders McHugh is coming on the board, so there is no point in you being…obstinate.”

Arlana sighed, collected herself and sipped her excellent chardonnay. She then turned and went into her living room, going to a corner where a naked, middle-aged woman was hanging from the ceiling hook, her hands stretched out above her, tied at the wrists.

The body was coated with perspiration and marked with red welts and melted wax. Arlana removed the two clips and grasped the now-engorged nipples, tugging them. The woman moaned as well as she could, with a gag labelled ‘Pig’ stuck in her mouth. Her mascara and eye shadow had streaked her face and she looked bedraggled.

Arlana picked up a paddle and stood lightly tapping it against her hand. Bella looked closely at the woman. “Isn’t that…Judith Grosvenor?” She asked.

“Yeee-ss,” Arlana slurred languidly, before bringing

the paddle down with a “Ssss-lapp!” on the woman’s buttocks. “She made the mistake of betting me; lost of course, and now she will pay, won’t you, Sweetie?” She lifted the woman’s face by her greying hair and removed the ball gag.

“I–I’m sorry, Arlana.”

“Ssss-lappPP!” Arlana brought the paddle down hard. “Piggy forgets?” Arlana scolded in a high-girly voice.

“I-I’m, s-sorry, Mistress Arlana.”

“Better, little pig,” Arlana crooned, then slowly licked the woman’s mouth, before putting the gag back in. Next, she put the nipple clips back on, before attaching weights to both, increasing the discomfort, with Grosvenor moaning behind her gag.

Bella simply shook her head and left Arlana to her …activity. She would never completely understand her, but she would never be her partner again; that was for sure; although she did miss some of the ‘fun’.


Olivia Carruthers looked hard at the man sitting across from her. “You were sloppy, Amiel.”

“I’m sorry, boss. Alston was prepared…” Amiel looked down.

Carruthers continued, her voice hard. “Now the cops will be all over this. We need to shut things down; send your boys out of town. No contact with me for at least two months. Make your calls.”

The woman, hard and unsmiling, sat there smoking a joint as Amiel made all the arrangements. When he sat back down he announced. “Everything is taken care of, Mrs. B. I won’t mess up again.”

The woman stubbed out her joint, flicking it away with a brightly painted nail. She nodded to her tall, broad shouldered chauffer, who stepped forward and quickly slit Amiel’s throat, careful not to get any blood on his boss.

“I know you won’t, Amiel,” she said crisply, standing and making her way up the stairs, her business done.


Pamela Kwong considered the choices. Since she had, a while back, reluctantly agreed to allow Mary to date some younger women, things had gone as she feared and it was now two weeks since her lovely young protégé had moved out.

Kwong had ‘grieved’, but she was a resilient woman, and was now ready to move on; so why not try the same approach? Which was why she was studying the pictures. Okay, she thought, twenty-one year old Hannah Wilson looks promising.

She spent the next twenty minutes looking over her résumé and file; no physio in her background, too bad; but she had done yoga for several years and was a jogger, so she would not be freaked out by relieving stress. She called the woman into her office and felt the choice was good; young, petit, eager, evaluation coming up in two weeks, no husband; she’d check on relationships.

Kwong gave the girl an assignment that she knew would keep her occupied for some hours, and which would take her past noon. That was good. It was just too bad that her mistress no longer watched her activities. Kwong missed that; but she now recorded her sessions herself anyway; one never knows…

At noon when Hannah returned to update her supervisor, Kwong chatted with her, suggesting that if they worked through the lunchtime Hannah would be able to leave early. She then brought up the topic of Hannah’s evaluation and Kwong’s role and Hannah was drawn in.

“So you see the value of me getting to know you better, my dear?”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Kwong. That would be so awesome. I can’t believe you’d think to help me…”

“Of course I would help you. I help you, you help me. Everyone benefits.”

Hannah looked down at her shoes; this conversation was confusing her. Kwong started up again. “Okay, then I need to get back to this part of the report; you have the other. But I have this crick in my neck that is annoying. You do stretches and such, how are you with muscles?”

“Oh, I’m pretty good, Ms. Kwong. I do teach yoga, don’t know if you’re aware, and I have worked out muscle spasms and stuff, well, lots. I’m sure your neck is something like that, hey.”

“Well, that sounds promising, Ms. Wilson. Why don’t you just come around behind me here and massage my neck a little, that’s a good girl. I’m sure your skill will really help.”

“Are you sure, Ms. Kwong?” Hannah asked with a nervous little laugh.

“Oh yes, yes. Come on, don’t be shy. This is a very good way to make me happy with you. I’m sure your…boyfriend won’t be upset.”

With a shy smile, Hannah moved behind Pamela Kwong and placed her delicate hands upon the woman’s neck. “I, um, don’t have a boyfriend,” she murmured and Kwong smiled.

Hannah’s hands were soft, more gentle even than Mary’s, probably because she hadn’t actually been trained in physio. Never-the-less, they felt wonderful, and Kwong was aware of her rising arousal; take it easy, she told herself, do not scare her off.

Ignoring her own warnings, Kwong took Hannah’s hands and positioned them on the buttons of her blouse. “It would probably be easier if my…blouse was off, don’t you think?” she purred.

Hannah froze; not pulling back, not proceeding. Kwong was certain she could hear the girl’s heart beating, or maybe it was her own. Then, slowly, the young woman began to undo the buttons; one, two, three, four. Kwong removed her blouse, and Hannah went back to her work on the neck. She was pressing a little harder now, and leaning her slim, young body against Kwong’s back.

Kwong then took Hannah’s hands and brought them to the clasp of her bra. “I–um, I…“ Hannah began.

“Sssshhhh,” Kwong soothed, as her bra came off, and she moved Hannah’s soft hands to her breasts. Hannah began to pull and squeeze the nipples. Kwong could not see her, but Hannah now had her eyes closed. Exploring the feel of breasts, the first ones other than her own she had ever touched, and these were lovely.

And then, surprisingly, possibly to them both, Hannah began to tenderly kiss Kwong’s neck and shoulders, as she squeezed the breasts more confidently.

“Uuummhhmmmn”, Kwong sighed, “that is just wonderful.”

“I–um, I don’t want to, emm, hurt your, uh…you,” Hannah murmured.

Kwong took Hannah’s hands and forcefully pulled her own breasts and nipples with them. “Don’t worry about that, my dear. I like firm; don’t be too gentle. Although the soft kisses are lovely.”

She then brought Hannah around and placed a nipple in the girl’s mouth, watching with desire and amazement as Hannah closed her eyes and suckled like a baby.

Who knows?


As Brad Smithfield was getting up to leave, he glanced at a note that had been left on his desk. The name of the cop who had died at his place in a home invasion gunfight last week, was Ed Alston.

Smithfield knew Alston; he was a good if somewhat crusty veteran. From evidence at the scene, blood and bullets, at least four people were shot; Alston had clearly put up a fight.

Killing a cop in his home was serious; he would track this one for sure.

 (End of Chapter 27)

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