iwillserveu
Posts: 1633
Joined: 1/1/2004
Status: offline
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I abandoned this because it had too many BDSM things. This seems like it's best venue. It is not "Hott". If I get enough feedback I may or may not continue it. (I decide what is "enough".:))
Story:
I held a chastity belt key in my hand. I was cleaning up an adopted stretch of highway (for the Libertarian Party if you are curious.) I knew it was a chastity belt key because it said Tool Boy on it and I have an Internet connection. I went to a few BDSM sites I know of (Hey, I’m as perverted as the next guy in private.) I posted the following:
Found: 1 chastity belt key beside Interstate 195 near exit 17. If you are wearing said belt I will give key back to you after a date (no, I won’t force myself on you.) What you do with the key afterwards is none of my business.
I put a hotmail e-mail address that I had just created for them to contact me. I posted it before I remembered they make chastity devices for men too and I am decidedly heterosexual. I was surprised to get two responses. The First was signed margarite (yes, with a lower case “m”.) The second was signed janice. I agreed with both to meet me on successive days for dinner at a local Chinese restaurant.
I’ll recount my “date” with “marge” because it is informative to the rest of the story. “Marge” was wearing a long skirt when I met her. The Maitre D’ showed us to our table and we ordered. I noticed a man in a blue tie sitting alone and failing to pretend he wasn’t watching us.
“marge” (do I capitalize that at the beginning of a sentence? You BDSMers should get steady rules about that.) Any way, “marge” complained about how she had been locked up ever since she lost the key.
I never asked her how the heck she lost it on the side of a highway.
The tablecloth was long. I asked “marge” to see the belt. She lifted up her skirt and showed me a leather belt fastened by a little “Yale” lock. If she needed release a pair of surgical shears could’ve freed her. Besides, the key wouldn’t fit.
“That’s not it,” I said. “I don’t know what game you are playing, but tell the guy in the blue tie at the next table that if I see him when I leave I will hurt him. I have a black belt in karate and,” I flashed her my constable badge (It looks like a state trooper badge if you don’t read it.), “regulations require state troopers to carry their side arms even when off duty. I’m leaving you with the bill.” I left. Blue tie didn’t follow. Fortunately the lot was packed and I had to park on the street two blocks away.
Janice had to put up with more paranoia. I met her at the same restaurant. The first thing I said was, “I do not have the key on me. If you are who you say you are you’ll get the key. Follow me.”
Women normally don’t follow strange men. Of course she objected. I told her, “Look, you want the key or not?” She hesitated, and then agreed. If I thought about it then this was proof that there was nothing un-kosher about it.
We zigg-zagged for ten blocks to supermarket. No one followed us that I could tell. I picked the supermarket because I wanted a crowd (paranoia likes crowded, safe places.) I told Janice I would explain when we got where we were going and said no more because I was preoccupied. That didn’t apply to Janice. A married couple owns her, she said. She told me her masters and her were in a heated alcohol aided discussion that was entirely her fault for making them angry. Her Mistress warned her that they would throw away they key if she continued. She continued and her Master threw away the key.
When we got to The supermarket (the Produce section had a clear view of the door) I asked her, ”Were you at all concerned about being in a car driven by drunks while wearing metal underwear the emergency room would have trouble with. You may not recognize it, but your master and mistress are guilty of abusing you in ways you could not have agreed to. Their drunkenness only adds to their obvious unfitness. My car is in the lot. Want to go to another restaurant I know?”
“After you tell me why we are at a supermarket,” she said.
I laughed and said, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.” I then told her of margarite.
She smiled. As we drove to another restaurant she showed me the belt. It was Tool Boy. I opened the glove compartment, got the key, and it fit. I didn’t unlock her. I gave her the key an asked told her that I still wanted that dinner. She told me that the descriptions fit her Master and Mistress. Their desire to get the key back proved they still care about her. I tried to dissuade her but she insisted on going back to them. I told her my real e-mail address and that I had a copy made of the key (a locksmith whose morals were a darker shade of gray owed me a favor). When she came to her senses I would be glad to help.
That was five months before my process serving business collapsed. I had forgotten about it.
One Saturday, there was a knock on my door. A barefoot woman was there. I didn’t recognize her at first (not that she had changed much but I only met her once.) After she told me who she was I invited her into my messy apartment. (Hey, if I were expecting company it would only have been “untidy.”)
After a little searching, I found the copy. She went into the bathroom and came out holding the belt. I stood by the door expecting her to leave.
“Um, I don’t have anyplace to stay and I was kind of hoping…” she said.
“I have an extra mattress I can put on the floor. I have a bad back, so I’ll use the bed. My chivalry has limits,” I said.
“I also have no clothes,” she said. “And can you do anything about this,” she said as she took off a scarf to reveal her locked slave's collar.
“I’ve got tools,” I said. We eventually had to cut the collar off. Don’t ask why I had surgical shears.
“I am a divorced father,” I said. “A divorced father with honor is poor. I have honor. When you get on your feet you can pay off my credit card balance. Let’s spend money I don’t have.”
“First, mind if I have a hot bath?” she asked.
I figured it was more than just a bath she wanted, but remained a gentleman. While she was in the tub and I was making her “guest mattress” I thought of the obvious question. How did she get my address? I checked my door lock and kept my baseball bat in easy reach. (I’d rather be paranoid than dead.)
“It wasn’t that hard to track down the address you used when you gave me your ‘real' e-mail address,” she said as she dried her hair. “Don’t worry, my Masters relied on me for 90% of their computer things and they won’t even know where to start looking and I covered your tracks.” I admit I only paid partial notice to her words. She was wearing one of my dress shirts. I don’t think women know how that makes us guys melt. Never mind the lingerie put on a guys shirt, ladies. She was also wearing a pair of my jeans cinched around her petit waist, my sox, and my work boots. She looked ridiculous, but she was wearing one of my dress shirts. I was constantly aware of how long it had been.
She bought regular looking clothes at K-Mart and changed into them except for the shirt (maybe women do know about that.) I told her, "I get up at 4 am to help my father deliver his paper routes. At noon I’ll pick up my kids and go to Chuck E. Cheese before I bring them back to their mother. I’ll leave her with the paper at the apartment. The only thing worth stealing would be the computer and getting down the stairs into a waiting cab would be a bitch and leave a trail of evidence so don’t try, OK?"
I guess she found the combination of kindness, naiveté, and paranoia amusing.
I wasn’t surprised to find her there when I got back. Where could she go on a Sunday (even if she had cash? I had my charge cards). The apartment was spotless.
She must’ve seen my jaw drop. “I have plenty of experience,” she said.
“Great job,” I said. “I mean I was going to get around to it, but, well, great job.” I prepared for bed (getting up at 4am means bedtime is 8 pm). She got ready to take another "hot bath". I couldn’t resist. “Hey,” I said, “If you ever need a living vibrator feel free to wake me up.”
She laughed as if it were a joke even though we both knew it wasn’t really.
When my alarm went off at 4 am I awoke from an uninterrupted sleep (damn!). She woke up too and while I was in the bathroom she started frying something. I didn’t ask what it was until she put something on a plate in front of me.
“It might not be as good as eggs, but you had no eggs,” she said.
I offered her the plate, “I appreciate it more than the usual cold cereal, but you are entitled to the fruits of your labor now.” I didn’t tell her I’d rather have a Pop-Tart (sorry Kellogg's, I mean toaster pastry). She ate it and went to the bathroom. This having company in the morning was weird.
I logged on to check the day’s weather. She came in and told me I should clear my history more often. I asked her why.
She said, “You are a Libertarian, Star Trek fan, frustrated writer, and pervert. Not exactly in that order.” She smiled and picked out her clothes for the day. I noticed it included one of my dress shirts and figured that she must know.
I was getting to like her. I was sad when she moved out. I was really sad when she turned up dead.
2
The Police don't like me. That is not paranoia. Unfortunately they had reason to hate me. I had gotten in their way in the past.
I find it is best if one is not a first name basis with homicide detectives professionally.
"Sam R. O'Brien," said a way too chummy detective Medeiros, "long time, no see. Why don't you tell me and detective Kruznak why you were a reference on dead woman's resume?"
I knew that the reference part was easily explainable, but it was just a pretext to bring me in for "questioning". "Sure," I said as fake chummy as he was, "After you introduce me to your new partner we can meet my lawyer there."
He chuckled, "Why a lawyer you got something to hide, you old dog you? You are not under arrest?"
"No," I said, "but I'm talking to homicide cops. Lawyers can be real good ironing out misunderstandings. Oh, I'm still waiting to be introduced to your partner."
He obliged. "Daniel Kruznak, meet Sam R. O'Brien, chess player, process server and sometime private sleuth like Jessica Fletcher."
I shook Kruznak's hand and said, "I consider myself more of a reluctant Philip Marlowe, but if I must be compared to a busy body, I'll take it as a left handed compliment. I assume you are the good cop and Mr. Medeiros will get the truncheons now."
Medeiros laughed and said, "I prefer thumbscrews now."
I looked at him and said, "This friendly chat is wearing thin. Where is your car? I'll call my lawyer from the station."
He turned to Kruznak and said, "See? I told you he'd lawyer up right from the get go."
As we drove downtown I told Kruznak he should let a guy get a word in edgewise once in a while. I don't think he appreciated it.
3
At the station I called David Winslow and hoped he would not charge me an arm and a leg. He assumes the debt is paid off, but he got me out of stuff I got into on his behalf: he must owe me something. I got lucky. His partner and son William Winslow would be there. While we waited I said to Medeiros, "You know how it works. Tell me something in the public domain and save me research time and I'll tell you whatever my lawyer says to tell you."
Kruznak grimaced. Medeiros didn't flinch, "Normally I'd wait for the lawyer, but maybe I can save you a few hundred bucks on his retainer and get home in time for the Sox versus Blue Jays."
"One Janice Messner is dead. I won't tell you how so you can trip yourself up..."
You think you are prepared for that stuff, but I wasn't. I liked Janice. I lusted after Janice, but I liked her as, well, a sister. Truth be known long term would never have worked since we'd both want to wear the handcuffs during sex, but still I'm a guy. I didn't love her except maybe in a platonic way. I must've froze up, because Kruznak waved a hand in front of my face while Medeiros said "Helloooo?"
"Who, why, what?"
They left to get coffee. I took a minute before I snapped out of it and wondered why the police wanted to talk to me.
They came back. I asked, "You want me to fill in the many blanks in her past, right?"
Kruznak smiled.
Medeiros said, "I told you he's helpful before he becomes a pain in the ..."
The door opened. A man in a suit entered and put a briefcase on the table. He hand everyone a card and said, "I'm Mr. O'Malley's attorney and everything he has said so far is inadmissible."
The card said, "William Winslow, Atty. at Law" and his phone numbers. I stuffed it in my shirt pocket, shook his hand, and said, "It's O'Brien. Has your father ever told you of the Pereira case? I was the process server."
He said, "I'll look it up."
"So your going to tell us a story that I hope jibes with that one," said Medeiros.
"If you thought to ask questions, there were questions to ask. They had no bearing then, but now you might want to hear them at least as background to explain how I know what I know."
"I'd like a few words with my client," said Winslow.
Medeiros held up his hands in a hands-off gesture and he and Kruznak left.
"Have you been charged with murder?" asked Winslow.
"No," I said. "But I called you in case they decide I'm an easier target than actually doing work. What do you know of the Perreira case?"
"Dad was doing a messy divorce of a woman married to a reputed mob boss and many people died. What should I know?" he asked.
"He avoided several subpoena tries. I served him successfully. He was tied up, wearing woman's underwear and the Dominatrix I worked with had picture of him kissing her strap-on dildo. She threatened to black mail him and he killed several people. I was on his list. The Mob didn't like him doing hits without authorization from them and he disappeared. I'm tangentially involved in that bondage scene stuff. So was the deceased. I did not kill her." Those words, using the past tense and such, hurt. However, one thing I know as a chess player is you can't dwell on what should be while the clock is running. You must deal with what is. Janice was dead and I was the police's only lead. "I don't know who killed her. I can provide the link to more suspects. Unfortunately it answers why I knew a dominatrix." (Pam, or Mistress Raven, called herself a Domina, but the term would need explaining in this setting.)
I told the story twice, well, almost twice. On advice of the attorney I left out my impersonating a state trooper.
3
I told the police most of what you read here and they gave me cards if I remember anything else. "I mean 'when' you 'remember' anything else," said Medeiros.
When I got home I got the old e-mail address for Janice's old owners. Needless to say my virus warning e-mail bounced.
I then got paranoid. I ran my anti-virus and opened Windows explorer. I had a new folder on the root directory called Nslfnc. I'm not expert in computer security, but I've never heard of a Nslfnc folder. I did a Google search and found 0 entries for Nslfnc, NSLFNC, or nslfnc or even "Nslfnc", "NSLFNC", and "nslfnc".
Then I noticed the date it was created. The day Janice moved out.
I opened the folder. It had a file called "It's me janice and you might want this information someday.doc".
I opened it. It said.
i trust you to not scroll down unless you need to. i trust you to know if you need to.
I scrolled down and I realized you didn't have to use capital letters at the beginning of a sentence.
You are my friend. i know you will find this. i know if I need help you will give it freely. I know that you will honor my request of privacy and only scroll down further if you need too.
Then there was another blank I scrolled over. After I noticed she was starting to capitalize "I", that is.
my previous owners were Carl and Margarite Simpson of 451 Highland Avenue in Fall River. Phone number (508) 676-5555. E-mail address [email protected]
i went college at Dartmouth with Mistress Margarite. We played a little with BDSM roles but were mostly vanilla lesbians. Or at least i was a lesbian.
("That explains why she was immune to my studdly charms," I thought.)
Mistress Margarite was a LUG (lesbian until graduation). i loved her and i thought she loved me. In her senior year she met Master Carl.
Carl came from older money and had a career lined up in urinal cake manufacture. He had good money, wasn't that bad for a guy, and i could not leave Mistress Margarite, so i submitted to them both. He was not into it at first, but sex with two women got him warmed up to it fast. He was not a good Dom but Mistress Margarite taught him well.
It was him that came up with the idea of a chastity belt. Not that i had no experience with one. We had used leather chastity belts before during play, but being chaste 24/7 is different. To my jealousy of the man who stole my lover was added a hatred for him not even allowing simple release.
When he threw away the key i resolved to leave and get that monstrosity off. Then you found it and i thought fate was giving me another chance. i was wrong and you were right.
When I came to you the second time I thought about having sex with you. If you were insistent I probably would have and hated you for it. As it is you are better than a scumbag who took advantage of me. You are a friend. If you are reading this I need a friend's help right now. I could pretend. Then I read your computer history. You could not really enjoy it unless you knew I enjoyed it.
I'd have enjoyed her faking she liked it. Hey, what I don't know can't hurt me! I looked at the cards. Kruznak had an e-mail address. I sent him the note as an attached file.
I also told him I cared and asked what he could tell me of Janice's death.
His reply was that she had been tied up, gagged with a ball gag like you perverts use, and beaten to death with what you perverts refer to as a cane.
I pulled out my old note pad and wrote her masters names with "Motive, Opportunity, Alibi" after them.
I decided after the Police to talk to Margarite and Carl I have to go to Fall River. I had no idea what pretext to use, but I could think of something.
_____________________________
When the Lady smiles i can't resist her call. As a matter of fact, i don't resist at all. Well that depends if it is a smile or a grimmace. 
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Murder Mystery with BDSM elements - 
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