Kidnapped! by John Savage Page B

a glass of whiskey, but almost at the same time as our entrance, another door opened opposite us and a young lady came into the room. She couldn’t have been much more than eighteen, very pretty and with a young, firm body you could easily appraise through the transparent night she wore. Went nice with the high heel shoes. She went up to the seated man, knelt down before him, bowed her head and said, in a voice so submissive and sweet it made my ears tingle, “I’m ready to be punished, Master.”
    As the two of them left the room, I heard her say, “I’ve been very bad, Master.” Made me wonder how he was going to punish her.
    “We have subs also,” the blonde told me. I guess she caught my reaction to that pretty submissive.
    “Maybe another time,” I told her. “I’ve been told Madam Stella is the best. I’d like to see for myself.”
    “Oh, she is very good,” I was assured. “You’ll be back for more.”
    “Oh, yeah?” I thought, but kept my mouth shut.
    “Have a seat,” she said, “I’ll arrange things for you,” and then she disappeared through the other door.
    I checked out the bar. Their scotch was not of the same quality as those in my desk drawer, but still not cheap booze. I poured a glass for myself and downed half it in a gulp. Felt good burning its way down my throat.
    “I hear you’ve been a bad boy,” came a voice from behind me.
    It turned to find Madam Stella standing there, wearing that same black leather catsuit and heels as in the video where she was whipping Susie. I took a deep breath and told myself to play it calm when my first reaction was to take her by the throat, slam her against the wall and make her talk.
    I agreed that I was bad and ask if she could do something about it.
    I could tell she was undressing me with her eyes; women tend to do that. She must have liked what she saw because she smiled.
    “You do realize, don’t you, that this is a house of discipline? You’re here to be corrected. You will not get to have sex with me.”
    “I’m sure that I’m not worthy of that honor,” I told her. Now that, people, was the biggest lie I had told in a long time.
    She smiled. “Come on, bad boy, I know what you need.”
    Like hell she did. But I let her lead me into one of their “special” rooms. The walls were lined with whips and ropes and handcuffs; the usual equipment for such places, along with a horse and padded table with rings screwed into the sides.
    From someplace Madam Stella had picked up a riding crop and was tapping it against the palm of her hand.
    Before she could issue her first order, I pulled my backup gun from the ankle holster and pointed it at her nose. It was only a 380 auto, not nearly as impressive as Wilma, but she froze.
    “Time to knock off this bullshit,” I told her. “I’m going to ask you a couple questions and you’re going to answer them. Do that, and I won’t have to begin shooting parts of your body. You know how much a bullet through the kneecap hurts?”
    Gone was the haughty Mistress attitude. She was afraid. Good.
    “A day ago you were part of a video showing a girl being whipped. I want to know where that girl is.”
    The fear increased. Maybe because she was suddenly aware of who I was; I hoped so. That would mean she knew I was serious.
    “Where the hell is Raszini keeping her?” The tone of my voice told her I was not in the mood for games.
    “He…” she began and choked up. “He’ll kill me if I told you.”
    “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
    She swallowed hard. “These rooms are bugged,” she forced out. “We keep track of what the clients are doing. Especially first timers.”
    I could see she was getting braver and put a stop to that.
    “That’s nice,” I told her. “But if anyone comes rushing through that door, you’ll be the first to be shot.” I could see the bravery fading rapidly.
    “Look, tell me what I want and I’ll leave. I promise I won’t tell Raszini where I got the