almost threw the cell phone against a wall. Then I took it into the bedroom where Angelica lay chained to a bed. Without saying a word, I showed her the video, from the start and all the way through. At first her face reflected sympathy for the suffering girl, but then it turned to fear as she realized Susie’s suffering might well lead to her own.
I left her without saying a word. Had I begun to tell her of the anger inside me, I might have exploded and done her harm. I didn’t really want that; I just wanted Susie back and in one piece.
* * * * *
It was not hard to find Madam Stella’s House of Discipline. The Internet is a useful thing if you know how to use it. I was learning.
Hollywood is not the glamorous town most people think it is. Hollywood Boulevard is an old street down the center of which the Red Cars used to run on tracks. The trolleys are long gone, replaced by a constant stream of autos, most of which are tourists looking for movie stars who never, never are found on that street. The sidewalk has gold stars inserted into it, an honor to the movie and TV stars of Hollywood. Tourists walk along the street, heads turned downward, smiling when they recognized a name, and then taking a photo of it. All the great stars are there, immortalized on what the Chamber of Commerce calls the “Walk of Fame”. During the days, the street is filled with gawping tourists snapping photos all over the place. Also Hara Krisma, bums, a few streetwalkers, and bikers. On Saturday night you can see the motorcycles lined up against the curb in front of the bars nestled between the t-shirt and souvenir shops. At night, the Boulevard is all lit up with neon signs. Kinda of reminds me of the Ginza in Tokyo.
But there is another side of Hollywood Boulevard. Just off the glittering tourist traps there are drug pushers, whores and other lowlifes. One section is called the “Pill Box” because of all the drugs floating around.
Just off the Boulevard there are small office buildings and other businesses, one of which was Madam Stella’s House of Discipline. There was no sign proclaiming it as such, but the address was right. I pulled into a small parking lot and turned off the motor. For a while, I debated leaving Wilma in the car. Wilma is a big gun and makes a bulge even in the custom made shoulder holster. Going in there armed would make them think I was a cop. Or something worse. Reluctantly, I locked Wilma in the glove box. I felt naked without her.
The side door from the parking lot opened into a lobby, currently empty. A moment later, a door opened and a woman came through. She was mid-thirties, dressed in a conservative business suit and didn’t have too bad a figure under that pile of blonde hair.
“What may I do for you?” she asked with just the right mixture of sex appeal and business in her voice.
I pushed down the first thing that came to my mind because it was kinda dirty. Besides, it was not the reason I came there.
“I would like a session with Madam Stella,” I told her, trying to act a little on the nervous side. According to the advertisement on the Internet, this Stella was dominatrix, and not at all like my old friend Stella Walters, the Escape Artist. It wouldn’t do for me to be my usual dominant, take-charge, mucho macho self. So I tried to think meek and submissive.
You have any idea how hard that is for a guy like me?
Well, she smiled sweetly and began a sales interview concerning what I wanted. Basically I was offered a selection of treatments from mild “naughty boy” punishments up to Spanish Inquisition torture. I told her I was just a naughty boy and kinda a beginner at that. She named a price that made me think the punishment had already begun. It would hurt my wallet quite a bit. She smiled sweetly and asked me to follow her through the door. The second room was a lounge with comfortable sofas, padded chairs and even a small bar.
There was a man sitting in a chair, holding
I left her without saying a word. Had I begun to tell her of the anger inside me, I might have exploded and done her harm. I didn’t really want that; I just wanted Susie back and in one piece.
* * * * *
It was not hard to find Madam Stella’s House of Discipline. The Internet is a useful thing if you know how to use it. I was learning.
Hollywood is not the glamorous town most people think it is. Hollywood Boulevard is an old street down the center of which the Red Cars used to run on tracks. The trolleys are long gone, replaced by a constant stream of autos, most of which are tourists looking for movie stars who never, never are found on that street. The sidewalk has gold stars inserted into it, an honor to the movie and TV stars of Hollywood. Tourists walk along the street, heads turned downward, smiling when they recognized a name, and then taking a photo of it. All the great stars are there, immortalized on what the Chamber of Commerce calls the “Walk of Fame”. During the days, the street is filled with gawping tourists snapping photos all over the place. Also Hara Krisma, bums, a few streetwalkers, and bikers. On Saturday night you can see the motorcycles lined up against the curb in front of the bars nestled between the t-shirt and souvenir shops. At night, the Boulevard is all lit up with neon signs. Kinda of reminds me of the Ginza in Tokyo.
But there is another side of Hollywood Boulevard. Just off the glittering tourist traps there are drug pushers, whores and other lowlifes. One section is called the “Pill Box” because of all the drugs floating around.
Just off the Boulevard there are small office buildings and other businesses, one of which was Madam Stella’s House of Discipline. There was no sign proclaiming it as such, but the address was right. I pulled into a small parking lot and turned off the motor. For a while, I debated leaving Wilma in the car. Wilma is a big gun and makes a bulge even in the custom made shoulder holster. Going in there armed would make them think I was a cop. Or something worse. Reluctantly, I locked Wilma in the glove box. I felt naked without her.
The side door from the parking lot opened into a lobby, currently empty. A moment later, a door opened and a woman came through. She was mid-thirties, dressed in a conservative business suit and didn’t have too bad a figure under that pile of blonde hair.
“What may I do for you?” she asked with just the right mixture of sex appeal and business in her voice.
I pushed down the first thing that came to my mind because it was kinda dirty. Besides, it was not the reason I came there.
“I would like a session with Madam Stella,” I told her, trying to act a little on the nervous side. According to the advertisement on the Internet, this Stella was dominatrix, and not at all like my old friend Stella Walters, the Escape Artist. It wouldn’t do for me to be my usual dominant, take-charge, mucho macho self. So I tried to think meek and submissive.
You have any idea how hard that is for a guy like me?
Well, she smiled sweetly and began a sales interview concerning what I wanted. Basically I was offered a selection of treatments from mild “naughty boy” punishments up to Spanish Inquisition torture. I told her I was just a naughty boy and kinda a beginner at that. She named a price that made me think the punishment had already begun. It would hurt my wallet quite a bit. She smiled sweetly and asked me to follow her through the door. The second room was a lounge with comfortable sofas, padded chairs and even a small bar.
There was a man sitting in a chair, holding
Similar Books
