Occupational Hazards Ch. 05

Six years earlier...

I had been in Omega—or Greek Court, as we liked to call our unit on the inside—for the past seven years doing short-term, two-to-three day black ops missions. The six years prior had been spent on various longer missions for White Rabbit, the unit for undercover operations. While I had enjoyed being undercover, the change of pace was nice to be able to enjoy civilian life more often between assignments...and as myself.

Agents in Omega were assigned to a Beta, Gamma, or Delta team. The heavy-lifters; the cleaners and on-site technology gurus; and the eyes-and-ears offsite, respectively. The lucky ones became Alphas—the leaders—which were rare. No one knew the true qualifications for promotion to this highest level except that for one to be consider required special recommendation from Director Davenport.

My exceptional observational skills helped promote me to a Delta team. Sometimes, I missed getting directly involved in the action. But being in Omega provided a bigger variety of experiences, which only honed my skills more.

When I returned from a mission down south and found out I was being temporarily transferred back to White Rabbit, I was eager to step up and help. Another agent had been injured. It wasn't life threatening, but it would put him out of commission long enough that he couldn't join the team going undercover in three weeks.

They had arranged his alias already, and I was the closest agent that fit the fake details. Plus, I had the experience of going dark for long periods. The new mission could take a while, and they needed someone who could be cool and collected in a potentially stressful situation while also being constantly attentive to my surroundings.

To prepare for my new position, I stayed with a guy in the Chicago area over the course of two weeks. He taught me the ropes—well, not literally, although he said he'd show me that if I was ever interested—of how to be what he called a Dom. A dominant partner who practiced the kinky arts, including sex. He had the cutest little assistant. Denise...Dana...something that began with D. She was very patient. They both said I was a quick study. A natural to BDSM, although I'd only ever heard of the term before.

I hadn't known what to expect when Director Davenport had asked me to help them take down an erotic sex-trade ring that was hiding behind a legitimate gentlemen's club. I was grateful for the training once I'd learned I was going to be a new client. And I admit that eventually, I enjoyed the sessions, despite knowing that the ladies who would submit to me were probably doing so against their will. That their refusal to cooperate resulted in brutal punishment.

The Council had only gotten wind of the underground ring after two girls were found in Indiana during a snowstorm. Abby had died from hypothermia. The other, Kendall, was barely hanging on. After a week in the ICU, she was finally able to give some clues about who she was. Where she had come from.

She kept screaming whenever a man entered the room. It took a female officer to gather that Kendall and Abby were runaways. They had escaped the previous week from a warehouse in Chicago where men who got off on torturing girls forced them to have sex. While a couple of the strippers from the main club consented to work in the secret club, the rest of the girls had not. But since they had nowhere else to go and they were paid well, they didn't try to run away.

Except Kendall and Abby were used to living on the street. They'd saved up a few hundred between them and had made a break for it, hitchhiking across the border. Their luck turned, though, when their ride stopped at a truck stop and couldn't leave right away due to a flat tire. They decided to keep going on foot, but they hadn't counted on near-blizzard conditions making rides scarce. A snowplow driver had found them huddled in the shelter of a carpark.

After several weeks of intel, the Council had narrowed down the warehouse to The Velvet Rope, owned by a guy named Gregory Dade. He was the epitome of a slimeball. Lanky with dark, slicked back hair and beady little eyes. And he always wore a pinstripe suit with a purple tie.

The state police were satisfied to just shut down the gentlemen's club and file charges against Dade for running a club that promoted prostitution. However, there was the issue that the sex wasn't exactly voluntary. Not to mention, a man had propositioned Kendall in Kentucky for a modeling job and then brought her to Illinois. There was a high chance other girls may have been transported over state lines, too, against their will.

As a result, two other White Rabbit agents and I would be new, regular customers for the erotic side. We were to be observant. Gain the girls' trust. Find out as much information as possible to determine if this was a state or federal case. And get evidence for a conviction against Dade and his minions. All while having sex.

Gregory's establishment was in the old meatpacking district of Chicago. Our intel showed the underground brothel catered to men with a taste for the more taboo side of sex, which Kendall had called torture. Men who wanted to be in absolute control and exacted punishment on those who ignored their authority. There were very few limits when it came down to what the club allowed. Most of the men favored bondage of some sort. Many were sadists. A select few just liked to get their rocks off spanking a girl and didn't even engage in the sex.

It was an exclusive club with a vetting process for membership. The names on the list remained hush-hush, but word was, there were several judges and politicians. Though most were your high-earning businessmen who traveled. They came from other cities. States. Countries, even. Several of them were married. Regardless of stature and profession—or lack thereof in some cases—all of them paid a hefty fee to spend a few hours alone in a room with a girl. Or multiple girls, if that was their thing.

My cover was as a trust-fund baby who had too much free time on his hands. I liked to spank little girl's asses while they begged for a ride on my Harley (apparently the name for my cock). My roleplay also included making sure my "machine" had a proper lube job and tune up beforehand. That to ensure a safe "ride," my passengers were properly bound and gagged.

I'd gotten a hard-on just from reading my profile, as well as a good laugh. Had they needed to be so...graphic? Surely, they could have just said I liked to spank girls, receive blowjobs, and was into bondage. But maybe that's not how this club rolled.

Going in, I was mostly angry that this Gregory fellow forced these girls to do this. Why not find willing girls who were already working the streets? But maybe that's because his girls were younger...more innocent. And that's what his clients paid for. It was sick.

But I couldn't deny there was a small part of me that got a rush out of dominating the girls three times a week. While I tried to be gentle with them, I still had an image to portray. And this left me feeling guilty at night while I wrote up reports of anything I saw or heard. While I lived the life of a rich kid on someone else's dime.

The upside of my position was that my role liked going to another, legal underground club that my trainers had recommended. It was a safe place that I could find girls who were more than willing to submit and help me let off a little steam. It helped me see the good side of dominance.

I'd been with the same girls at Gregory's club for over a month. Cara was Mondays. Tiffany was Wednesdays. And Deidra was my girl Friday. If I came on the weekends, I'd get Jessica or Sheri.

They all seemed to be familiar with the protocol: make the client happy at all costs. This told me they'd been here for a while. Deidra and Sheri were the only ones, though, that didn't tremble the first time we met. I was certain they were two of the consenting strippers. The others avoided my gaze. I could only imagine what was going through their heads. Wondering what new horrors the new guy would bring.

I'd considered incorporating blindfolds in my scenes, but it belied my character's penchant for seeing the fear in his partner's eyes. Damn the Council. They'd provided so many details on my application form, it had narrowed my options of what I could and shouldn't do.

But after the first couple of visits, the girls relaxed and got into the roleplay. I must have seemed tame to them. At least compared to what I heard other guys were into here. It was also the first time I'd really been grateful the Council had required me to snip my lines, although I always wore a condom for everyone's sakes.

While my instructor had not been privy to all of the details, he knew I would be working undercover for the police in a sex dungeon of sorts. He had impressed it upon me that I needed to establish a routine from day one. It would not only help in training my submissive partners what I wanted from them, but it also would show the men running the club that I knew what I was doing as a Dom. That I wasn't just acting out the part. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself as a novice.

I set a few rules to avoid messing up and forgetting during a scene lest I failed to enact punishment for disobedience. I imagined Gregory was taping us. At least audibly, though possibly on video, as well. It was a good thing I wasn't camera shy.

Somehow, I kept my voice even as I explained what I expected of each new girl. First, she would address me as 'Sir.' Secondly, once she entered the room and saw me, she was to strip from everything she was wearing—usually a skimpy robe with minimal lingerie underneath and a pair of stilettos or platform pumps on her feet. She would then face the door, bend over, and grab her ankles.

Once in position, I had them select a double-digit number, making them think they had some say in how the night would go. Rarely did they pick ten, and it was never higher than twenty, though they did vary. Except for Deidra, who really did seem to like to have her ass spanked. She chose thirty every time, and she was prone to have her knees buckle halfway through. Which I then punished her with another ten because I hadn't given her permission to break her stance. She would give me crocodile tears at first, but I could hear her gasps of pleasure the longer I swatted her.

The spanking had a ritual all its own. With each swat, they were to count and tell me how badly they wanted to ride my cock...what they liked about it. By the end, they were usually begging me to fuck them because they knew it would be better than a paddle to their ass.

When the spanking had commenced, I made them kneel before me. Red ass on their heels, hands on their lap, and jaws open wide. I would slide two fingers into their mouths, lubing up my fingers, and then coat my cock with their saliva before having them suck me to the edge. The latter could take a while since I'd implemented the use of a cock ring to prolong my erection.

Usually at the point where I could tell they'd grown exhausted with sucking, their faces covered in spit and precum, I let them pick out the bondage equipment—cuffs, chains, nipple-clamps, spreader bars, etc.—for the night before I put a ball gag in their mouth. Then we got down to the sex, the style depending on how I bound them. I tried to give them an orgasm or two before I found release myself.

At my instructor's request, I'd also demanded as a paying client that I get aftercare time with my partners. One of Gregory's henchmen had sneered at that the first night, but I'd had no further problems. It had been a wise choice, as the girls really seemed to appreciate the compassion I showed them on the couch. And that's where I hoped they would open up when I'd won their trust. But that was taking longer than I expected. Mostly because I had to be sure not to spook them.

For the sake of our team, I did not see the other agents outside of the club, and rarely inside. If we did see each other, we acted like strangers. It wasn't very hard since I didn't know them personally. We'd been informed who the other inside agents were, but the only person I talked to was my handler, which I met once every two weeks on different days and at different times and places in the event that Gregory or his men became suspicious and had me followed for whatever reason.

I had been put up in a penthouse suite that more than rivaled my loft back home, and I lived the life of a yuppie kid with money to spend. All at the expense of the Council. I showed my face around the city and hit all of the tourist spots, but I mostly kept to myself to avoid blowing my cover by mistake. That job was also where I'd picked up the habit of spending nights—and sometimes days—at bars brooding over a glass of bourbon.

Six weeks in, I found out Tiffany had moved on from the club. I prayed that didn't mean she was dead. I had made a mental note to put in my report that we needed to search for her.

Gregory offered me a new Wednesday girl, Molly. She was petite at five foot-five with shoulder-length brown hair and perky breasts. She had the greenest eyes that pleaded with me to help her from the first moment I looked down into them. My heart had immediately broken in two.

She looked so scared when I told her my rules, though she obeyed every word. Her voice was shaky when she chose number fourteen, but I only spanked her ten times that first night. I was gentle when I brought my cock to her small mouth, my gut wrenching at the tears in her emerald eyes that stared up at me, helplessly. Hopelessly. I asked her if she'd prefer a blindfold, and she declined. Maybe it was a bit of a comfort for her to see her...abuser. I had wished she'd accepted if only to save me from more heartache.

I was gentle with her when we fucked, too. Paid attention to her sounds of pain and pleasure, leaning more toward the latter when possible. And afterward, I held her in my arms on the couch while she cried. My eyes closed as I drank in the scent of her jasmine-scented perfume. Dreaming we were somewhere else, even for a short while.

Why they had agreed to my next request, I was never sure. But after another two weeks and no success with the other girls on information, I had asked to have Molly be my permanent girl. I told Gregory's guys I liked them young and innocent looking, and she fit the bill. I also wanted her solely to myself. I didn't like sharing her with other men. Money wasn't an issue; I was a rich kid. They just had to name their price.

It was a longshot, and I feared they might kick me out of the club. But I rationalized that if I could spend more time with her, I could either get more intel on Gregory's setup or at least find a way to get her out. And in the meantime, she would no longer have to be at the hands of less merciful men.

I refused to admit I was doing this because I was falling for Molly. I just wanted to save her from this life. Was that such a horrible thing?

To my utter amazement, they granted my request. I guess money did buy you everything. When I told Molly she was only going to be seeing me from now on, she was elated. She cried, but she insisted they were tears of joy.

We could listen to the music of our choice, if that was our thing. I hadn't used it with the other girls. I would quickly get into my zone and tune everything out except the girl before me. But Molly had let it slip in one of our aftercare sessions that music calmed her. I was willing to do whatever made her feel more comfortable.

Over the next ten weeks, she grew more comfortable around me. Her eyes lit up whenever we were together. Our sessions were still physical, but they became more emotional than the ones I'd had with the other girls. Almost as though we were at the other BDSM club and were two consenting adults who were just having a good time.

There were no longer tears in her eyes when she knelt before me while sucking my cock. Her cries were all ones of pleasure when I moved inside her. Although, she admitted she didn't care for my spankings because they reminded her too much of her past. As a result, I rearranged my routine and no longer had her bend over when she entered. I switched to a flogger if I did decide to swat her at some point, and sometimes I even skipped that step completely just to give her a break.

During the aftercare times, she opened up to me about her hopes and dreams. A lot about her childhood. How she had grown up with her aunt and uncle in St. Louis because her dad had beat her. But her uncle was an alcoholic and had molested her. To make matters worse, her aunt didn't believe Molly when she told her. So Molly had run away when she'd turned eighteen and met one of Gregory's guys at the bus station who offered her a job at the club. She figured it wouldn't be too hard to dance up on a stage with the other strippers. Little had she known where she'd actually be working.

I revealed things about my life, too. But they were a mixture of the real and the fake, less of the former. Nothing that could be traced back to my true identity. She had cried when I'd told her my dad had beaten me, too.

Molly had been the one to reveal early on that there was no one watching or listening to us. Though, two rooms did have video and sound recorded. They were reserved for a judge and an alderman, but not to their knowledge. Gregory was saving the tapes for blackmail. This information made it harder to pin anything nefarious on him or his goons, but it did settle my stomach to know I could relax a little while in a session.

As we talked more, I learned Molly liked being submissive to me. So I agreed to work more on the Dom/sub aspects. She spent a lot of time sitting at my feet. Responding to my instructions. Responding to my touches. All to the backdrop of some of our favorite songs.

Things were going great between us. Except that, she was still a hostage in a sex dungeon. And my team was no closer to nailing Gregory and shutting down his organization. At least to my knowledge.

Then one Saturday night...

I'd been sick with a flu bug since Tuesday and had missed two sessions. I was feeling much better and had been looking forward to seeing Molly. Especially after receiving word that the team was ready to takedown the club within the next week. I knew I had to keep my mouth shut—to her, I was just a rich kid with a penchant for kinky sex—but that didn't quell my excitement. The girls were going to get out of this hellhole. Molly was going to be okay.

I waited in our usual room, going through my iPod to pick out a song. When I heard the door, I smiled and turned to see her there in a white bra and panties, her robe hanging open. As per my modified routine with her, she stripped and laid the clothes aside as she knelt at my feet.

The music started, and I focused on her upturned face as George Michael crooned "Father Figure." I removed my shirt then stuck my thumb in her mouth, gently prying her chin down. Her lids drifted to half-mast, her tongue slowly flicking at my rough skin.

Then we both waited, watching each other. Her uneven breathing was out of sync with my steady inhales and exhales. When my mind started to wander—to wonder, what would it be like to do this at the other club with her...or at home—I counted to ten, just as my trainer had taught me. And I was right back in my zone.

I told her to stroke my cock through my pants. With her mouth. Her eyes lifted to mine as she leaned forward, lips parted. When they pressed against my hard bulge, I groaned long and deep.

One minute, we were mesmerized with each other. Lost in the music. My cock growing harder by the second. My mind focused on sliding into her mouth...her pussy.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Molly screamed, covering her breasts with her arms. Gregory and one of his goons, Jimbo, stormed in. The latter was holding a gun. Aimed at me.