Continues from part ten
Part 11
Keeping it all in the family, the pack went for a run every morning. Five weeks after getting them, all of the pups were stronger, growing like weeds and rambunctious to say the least. Getting out of bed in the pink of the morning Janey and I would throw on sweats and running shoes while the puppies tried hard not to show us where the door was and tell us how anxious they were to get out of the house. Janey’s phone would ring, telling her that Deirdre and Merlin were already outside waiting for us. Deirdre would be in the courtyard between the houses, stretching out and trying to look all athletic, while Merlin was already doing laps around her telling her he was ready to run. As soon as we got outside, the kids did their business and then started roughhousing with their brother, who they whooped on a regular basis because they worked as a team and he was all on his own. He never seemed to mind, and they did this each and every morning without fail. Janey did a few quick stretches and then the six of us took off.
More times than not the country singers would join the pack run and bound along with us through the grassy fields. That was until some rabbit or maybe a low flying bird distracted them and then they took off on a tangent. The singers were nowhere near as disciplined as my pack.
In the beginning, our pups had broken off to chase rabbits and birds too, but I would stop the run, call them back and have a talk with them. I would get down on the ground with them, grab their little faces, gently pull back the loose skin with both hands until it was tight on their little skulls, stare into their eyes and calmly inform them in an even voice how I expected them to act and what I didn’t want them doing. It took a few times with each one, but this one-on-one discipline worked. I would talk to them like I’m talking to you, but I wouldn’t let them pull away or express their own will. I focused my will on them with just unrelenting eye contact and a firm voice, instructing them.
When Merlin didn’t follow the pack rules, I made Deirdre do the same thing to him. It took a few extra times with him, because it took Deirdre a few extra times to become his pack-leader, but it eventually worked. Basically, I was teaching her not to be submissive to her dog. It worked. She became Merlin’s pack-leader, just as I was the pack-leader for all of them.
I wish we’d had a video of the kids the day I sat down cross-legged, with Janey on her knees in front of me and did the same thing to her. She had ‘informed’ me that she was going to do something that she knew I would not approve of, so I sat down, had her kneel in front of me and had a similar talk with her. She got all butt-hurt that I treated her like she was one of the pups, but admitted later how submissive it made her feel and how she would not try anything like that again. The pups were hilarious when I did it though. Both of them got right up in her face and stared as I pulled her face back and talked to her. Their little tails were straight out and the hair on their backs stood up. I took this as a positive sign and had a hard time not laughing at them. When the discipline was done, we would always get up and continue our run. The run was the unifying activity for the pack. If, during the run the kids couldn’t go any further, I would just pick them up and carry them until they squirmed out of my arms and started to run with us again.
After our run, we would go in and shower as a family. Our shower had a rain option with the water sprinkling down in adjustable strengths from trickles to downpours coming from the roof of our walk-in shower stall. Both of the pups would come in with us, get wet, shake it off and then push their way out to roll around on the towels we would lay down for them on the floor.
Then, as Janey made us breakfast, I would feed the kids. I was the only one allowed to feed and water our kids. I was also the only one that could discipline them or reward them.
Janey got a punishment caning during the first week we had them for trying to slip them a treat after I’d told her the rules. She was getting a bit jealous of the attention I was giving them and wanted to try and take some of my rights and powers away from me, making herself more important in their lives. I sat her down and explained my reasonings to her and then caned her ass for defying me and trying to usurp my position. I loved her but would not tolerate any misbehavior and/or defiance on any level. This was not a democracy, or a vanilla marriage. By mutual agreement, I was the master in this BDSM lifestyle and Janey had to understand and be disciplined for her misdeeds. I set the rules and she had to obey. After this, I had a long talk with each of the kids, telling them to never accept anything from anyone but me.
While they ate their puppy food, I tied and fed my slave/wife as she knelt by my chair, which always cheered her up. She liked this part of our dynamic.
By this time of the morning, Beth was usually up and ready for their ride, so Janey, Minxy and Deirdre would go to the stables and then out for their ride, which was their excuse for ‘girl-time’. This usually lasted for about an hour. Merlin would stay with me and the kids. The pups were not ready to try and keep up with the horses, yet. After that, Janey usually dressed up as Cecelia so that she and Beth could do their writing. I’d snug her into her corset and then either go with her over to their office in the main house, or into the office they wrote in here. It was a toss up where they wrote, depending solely on their mood.
Once the writers were tied and pounding the keys, Deirdre and I, along with the three pups would drive into Louisville, usually in Janey’s old SUV, to take the kids to school. They were learning how to tell us what explosives and drugs smelled like. All three of the pups could already alert us as to who was carrying concealed and who wasn’t. Even if they were only thirteen weeks old, our three were surprisingly well behaved and focused. The instructors all wanted to know how we did it.
Everyone suspected that our pups were wolf-hybrids, but we admitted to nothing, and they were so well behaved that only a few pushed the issue. Cathy, one of the instructors kept making guesses, but I’d just smile and agree with any and all of her guesses. Unfortunately, Deirdre had no poker face and when Cathy finally hit on the right combination, our instructor just smiled and continued guessing to throw everyone else off.
On the drives up and back, I would educate Deirdre on rural country customs, American history, the history of bondage as I knew it, American idioms and slang, or anything she was curious about that I could pontificate on for her. Naturally, the kids rode up front with me, either pushing each other aside to stick their faces out the window, sitting up in the seat just looking out the windshield, or laying around napping, which was their go-to hobby and preferred travelling option it seemed. When I wanted them to, they worked with me, but naptime was no stranger to either of them. Deirdre and Merlin rode in the back like I was their personal chauffeur.
The kids also reminded me of something I called ‘sudden-puppy-death’. They would play and roughhouse like demons and then just drop over and take a nap. It was as if someone just flipped a switch and cut their motor functions. Ninety miles an hour one minute and out cold the next. I found it hilarious.
When we got back, I would usually change into my Edwardian top hat and tails and go in to help, annoy and/or distract the authors. More times than not I would find Sam in there already in his English finery. He would always pass me his flask.
Lately, we’d been hitting both the Angel’s Envy and the Elijah Craig twelve-year-old small batch a bit heavier than normal, just to mix things up a bit, but today I had to take several sips before I even tried to make a guess.
“I’m stumped,” I said. “What is this,” as I held the flask down so the kids could get a good sniff of what I was drinking? They wrinkled their noses and chuffed out the sides of their mouths to show this was not something they enjoyed or approved of.
“Knob Creek single barrel reserve, from the Beam distilleries. It’s nine years old and I just got a couple of cases in. You like?”
“If I said ‘no’ then I misunderstood the question,” and we both laughed at my catch-all phrase and had another sip.
Considering that Deirdre was in the office drawing on her scratchpad, the kids decided to pounce on their brother. Merlin tried to give as good as he got, but both of mine were slightly bigger than he was, and it was two against one. It was never one, against one, against the other one. Mine always fought as a team. Merlin never quit though and they never made it easy on him. They never broke him though. They could have, but it was as if they were training him to be as tough as they were. I watched and approved. At least with them in here, wrestling, we knew they weren’t chewing something up.
“So, have you got your new costume all together,” I asked?
When he’d tried his Spandex superhero costume on, Sam thought he looked dumpy. It didn’t help that I teased him, trying to get him to join us on our morning runs. Now, he was going as a gladiator, with a plastic chest plate that had been painted by Deirdre to look like worn bronze armor. He had a cod-piece loincloth, lace-up sandals and one of those oddly shaped plastic gladiator helmets straight out of the Russell Crowe movie.
“I didn’t want to paint my face red anyway. This costume’s much cooler. I look like a real badass in it, plus I got my Gladius sword from Cold Steel a couple of days ago and that’ll really sell it. They make good blades.”
“Remember who turned you on to them?”
“Alright, here, have another sip. You’re behind.”
“Husband?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“What am I going as?”
“My slave.”
“Of course, I’m your slave, but what is my costume going to be for this party? What am I going to be wearing?”
“Slave clothes.”
“Bat,” said Beth, “you’re being a dick. Tell her for Chrissake.”
“Thanks for noticing,” I said, doing my best Eeyore imitation. “You always say the sweetest things Bethy-poo. Janey, you’re going to be dressed in Grecian slave rags, which is basically a mid-thigh, one shoulder shift dress, with ropes holding it together. You know, under your tits, crossed across your abdomen and then around your waist. It will be suggestively torn, and revealing, dirty ‘looking’, and Jimmy 3D printed some plastic cuffs and hobble chains for you that look like heavy shackles, but pop right off.”
“I finished painting them yesterday and they’re drying now,” said Deirdre in that cute little British accent.
“Minxy got you a dark wig and you’re going as my barefoot slave.”
“I’ll be barefoot? Really?”
“It fits the costume. Slaves in ancient Athens didn’t have high heels, and only the richest households could afford sandals for their slaves. Besides, I’m testing a theory with this costume.”
I looked down and all three puppies were lying down, out cold, with their little tongues lolling out, just like they were dead. If you couldn’t see their little chests pumping air in and out, you could have believed they were. When they played, they played hard.
“And just what is this theory,” Janey asked?
“Both the Governor and the Senator have riz-vipped for the party, and all of us know that the Governor has a huge crush on you. Right?”
“Yeah,” she drawled out. “And just what are you doing? Pimping me out for executive favors?” and she laughed.
“Something like that,” I said.
“You know I’ll blow him for you if you really want me to. We all know how much I love sucking dick, and after brushing up against his, I know he’s got one,” she said, “and it likes me,” and she giggled even more.
“Actually, I want to see how far he’ll go to lure you into his bed. In this costume, you’ll be more tantalizing than if you were naked. No bra. No panties. And chains, even if they are plastic. They’ll look real. Then when his tongue is lolling out like these puppy’s, I’m going to sic Minxy on him. Few men can wrap their heads around a choice between short and curvy, hence the ‘no heels’ thing and tall and statuesque, like a five-foot ten Elvira, with her G-cup tits on display in that deep ‘V’-neck black dress and in hose and six-inch pumps. I want to see what he’ll do. The foot difference should really throw him.”
And Sam said, “I want to see his eye’s bug out and his head explode from the choice. You’re five foot four and in those heels, Minxy will be six foot four.”
Laughing she said, “Oh, you’re an evil man, husband,” and the more she mulled it around in her mind, the harder she laughed. “That’s just cruel,” and she laughed some more. “You know I could wrap him around my finger like that,” and she snapped her fingers. “Minxy will eat him alive,” and she laughed even harder.
“Yep, that’s the idea,” and I took another sip off the flask.
Beth stated, it wasn’t a question, she stated, “So you two have been working this out for a while now, huh?”
We just looked at one another, shrugged and passed the flask back and forth. We smiled and snickered too, when she turned back around.
“So, the senator riz-vipped too, eh? Wonder what’s on his mind?”
“Excuse me Sir. What is this riz-vipped,” asked Deirdre?
“It’s a country slur for someone that RSVP’d to an event. You know, Repondez, s’il vous plait, as our French brethren say,” Sam said in a haughty and robust French accent. “Being poor dumb country cousins, we say ‘riz-vipped’, turning the term into something of our own.”
“Oh, thank you Sir,” and she went back to sketching the girls at work.
“He called me the other night and said that even though he wouldn’t talk about it over the phone, that he had something serious to talk to me about. I knew you’d sent him an invite, so I suggested that unless it was time sensitive, he could just tell me when he got here. He said he’d just gotten an authentic colonial minute-man costume and some special accessories that he’ll show me when he gets here.”
“Any idea what he wants?”
“Nope, I told you everything I know. The party’s just two days away, so we’ll just have to wait. Janey, when is Marcia due in?”
“Jimmy leaves to pick her up at Standiford in a few hours. She’s anxious to see us. Beth and me that is,” and she giggled.
That night we all had dinner together in the main house, because Sam and Beth’s table was bigger. There were eight of us enjoying one of Pete’s special smorgasbords of more food than twenty people could eat, just for the variety. Marcia was all excited about being back here, until we got into an argument over her trying to feed table scraps to the puppies.
“They are my pups and I said ‘no’. Do not feed them.”
“But they’re so cute, and it’s just a little of this delicious roast. Beef won’t hurt them. Please Bartholomew, let me just give them a little treat?”
“First off, I’m training them ‘not’ to take anything from a stranger’s hand. That might save them from being poisoned one day. And secondly, you can’t feed them because I said ‘no’. They are my dogs, not just some dogs, and I consider any defiance on your part to my edict to be rude. If you insist on trying, I’ll just ask Jimmy here to help you repack your things after dinner and take you back to the airport.”
“You can’t do that. I’m Sam’s guest, not yours, and you’re not my boss.”
“Yes, he can Marcia,” said Sam. “Bat’s been my very close friend for a very long time. Since high school. You are merely an acquaintance, and this is only the second time we’ve met. He does have the right and the privilege to ask you to leave. After all, he does live on this property too.”
“Well,” she exclaimed indignantly. “Jane, Beth, say something to them,” Marcia said plaintively.
“He is my husband, those are his puppies, and I got ‘caned’ for trying the same thing you just tried to do. I side with my master. We entered into our union knowing full well that he was the boss, and that I would submit to him, so, don’t try to feed his puppies.”
“The same goes for me, Marcia,” said Beth.
“But I publish your books. You should be on my side.”
“Marcia, push the issue,” said Sam, “and I’ll buy your publishing house out from under you, fire you, offer terms and deals to all of your authors, that you can’t match, just to keep them so they don’t go with you and I’ll publish their books. I do have the wherewithal to do that, and because I love both of them, I’d do that for them. You are not the top ‘dog’ here. Any questions?”
“But you’re not a publisher. What do you know about the business?”
“I own and manage a lot of businesses. I hire the best experts in that field, tell ‘them’ to run my businesses, give them the resources to do a good job for me, basically buying their loyalty and productivity and then I leave them to do something I know very little about. They’re the experts, I’m not. Telling an expert how to do something is just plain stupid. I’m a country gentleman that really doesn’t worry about making any more money than I already have. I enjoy my luxuries. If I want something, I buy it. If I want to keep it, I do whatever is necessary to keep it. Finding someone to run a publishing company like yours would be no problem whatsoever.”
Jimmy leaned into Deirdre and whispered, “The Sam Harrison tsunami strikes right after Bat’s typhoon rips through the calm of an evening dinner party. Enjoying your squab?”
She giggled and stared at the power play with wide eyes.
“Okay then, I won’t feed them. Geesh!”
“So, Marcia, I saw you have a rather large garment bag with you. Who did you decide to come as for my party,” asked Beth?”
“Marie Antoinette,” she said a bit sheepishly.
“Then let’s hope I don’t have to take your head, for sneaking around and trying to feed my pups,” I said and continued to add more butter and bacon bits to my baked potato without looking up.
Marcia shuddered, and wouldn’t even look at me for a long time.
After dinner, Marcia read through the rough draft that the girls were working on and congratulated them on writing what she predicted would be another Bestseller. Sam and I had retired to the saloon for some serious drinking. We had plans to flesh out and begin to implement, and Blanton’s always helped up think these things through.
We were down to the swell of a new bottle when all five women came in, giggling and ran upstairs. Both of my pups notified me that drugs had entered the building. I’d been teaching them to stomp on my foot with one of their paws when they smelled some drugs. They would assume a standing pointer’s pose for explosives and bump me with their heads for firearms. Geri stomped one foot and Freki stomped the other one as soon as the girls came in. I praised both of them for the call. Apparently, by the trailing smell they left going up, they had all sat out on the porch and shared a joint. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Marcia had brought, ‘some of the good stuff’ with her from San Francisco. Sam and I went back to our bourbon and machinations.
From the noise they were making, we got curious, so I picked up the tablet and opened the password protected ports Jimmy and I had installed into the women’s center playroom. Small pinhole video cameras camouflaged into their decor offered us several different angles on the antics going on.
A very naked, blindfolded Marcia was tied spread-eagled to the king-sized bed they’d had installed and Minxy, Beth and Janey were working her over with horsehair floggers, fur mittens and a variety of vibrators. Deirdre was recording everything with a small video camera and Marcia seemed to be enjoying her introduction into the lifestyle her authors led. She had asked for a private introduction, and now knew some of the fun we all had. Our girls were all naked and carnal, guiltless, kinky debauchery were words to describe their play. Easily bored with such play, Sam and I went back to our own type of fun.
The senator flew in early the next morning, and Jimmy choppered him to the ranch from Standiford Field in Louisville. Someone had renamed it the Muhammad Ali Louisville International Airport, but I grew up flying in and out of Standiford Field and that’s what I still called it. I always liked Frazier better anyway because I’d won money betting against Ali. Yeah, I was disloyal to a fellow Louisvillian, but I judged a man on different standards and Ali did lose. Frank’s driver and bodyguard, Mike would drive down bringing the limo and his luggage later. Senator Franklin French wanted to start partying early with a very rich contributor from his home State and someone he respected as a fellow war veteran. He had his own agenda and wanted to get to it.
Getting off the helicopter, he had two long, soft-sided, fringed suede rifle cases with him and Jimmy had another one that he took into the main house. Frank threw one at me and threw the other one to Sam. Opening them right there on the patio, we found a beautiful reproduction Kentucky long rifle in each case. As we examined them, Frank leaned over Sam and popped the hidden thumb catch, breaking the rifle down and showing him that it was actually a single-shot shotgun that was just disguised as a musket.
“Thirty-two-inch full-choke barrel past the end of the chamber, fifty-four inches overall, 12 gauge with a three and a half-inch chamber able to take the hottest loads to really reach out there. A constituent of mine makes these and these are among the first ten he made. Sam, yours is number eight, and you got number nine Bat. Mine’s number three. He kept the first two for himself. I’m looking for backers to set him up right. Interested Sam?”
“Hell yes. I want one for Jimmy and I know Beth will want her own too. We can talk money later, but yeah, I want in.”
“Beth hunts?”
“With a goose-gun like this she won’t be able to wait for next season. Won’t be a high-flying goose in the valley when she gets done. Let’s go try these. C’mon in Frank and see if any of my new additions will tempt you into wasting some ammunition with us. Bat and I just got Tommy guns. He’s coming to the party as a Capone era gangster, and you know he had to have a Tommy gun for that. Naturally, I got one too. Let’s go play. Jimmy?”
In a caravan of ATVs, all of us went to Sam’s range, loaded for bear. The high earthen berms on all four sides kept the noise and stray bullets in. Five-hundred yards long, we could sight in any rifle or just have fun. It had pigeon throwers and we started with these. I’d been teaching Janey how to shoot, when Cecelia could tear herself away from the streets of old London. Beth was helping Minxy, and introducing Deirdre, who was losing her English aversion to firearms with this decidedly American pastime.
With just a portion of Sam’s private arsenal with us, we still had more than enough guns and ammo for a major battle. Cordite was thick in the air as Sam and I played St. Valentine’s day massacre with the Tommy guns on some pop-up silhouettes. That was after we busted fifty or so clay-pigeons up with our new shotguns. Frank was shredding a pop-up with a full-auto Tavor from IWI-US. Sam did a lot of business with them and we had all sorts of Israeli-made weapons to play with. They made good guns. Beth took the full recoil of a 3½” shell firing Sam’s number-8 and then several more, busting all of her clay pigeons. After that, she smeared a lot of now eager woman on the senator so he would get her one. He laughed, gave her a kiss on the cheek and promised her he would get her the next lowest serial number he could.
While the rest of us were basically just wasting ammunition, Jimmy was seriously practicing his marksmanship, tearing the ten rings out of targets with all of his personal carry pistols. He would rapid fire at point blank ranges, and took measured shots out to fifty yards, still tearing out the ten ring. Watching him shred a pop-up plastic silhouette target at 25 yards, rapid firing every gun he carried, and then just dropping them and pulling another when he had emptied each one was truly impressive. He was a much better shot than I had given him credit for, just adding to his Jack of All Trades mystique.
The senator was smiling and nodding, and Sam said, “I entrust my wife to him. He’d better be the best. Bat and I each carry and can handle ourselves, but he watches my family.”
“We should match him and Mike up sometime. That would be a very interesting contest. They’re about evenly matched I’d say, and Mike was a firearms instructor for both 1st SFOD-D, and at FLETC.”
“A sawbuck on speed and another on accuracy,” asked Sam?
“Sure you can afford losing that much,” and both of them laughed?
“It’s not the money, it’s the principle, and Jimmy will win.”
“Your driver was Delta,” I asked?
“That’s where we met,” said Frank.
“Were you?”
“No, but we worked with them on a regular basis.”
“There’s not enough bourbon out here for this conversation, so shall we adjourn to ‘His Lady’s Typhoon’? That’s the little saloon I own, Frank.”
“I’m supposed to be keeping a low profile during this trip, so public saloons are not something I want to be found in.”
“Trust me senator, it doesn’t get much more private than this saloon. You didn’t see it the last time you were here because it was my honeymoon, but His Lady’s Typhoon is my living room. C’mon. I think you’ll like it.”
After checking out the hand-painted sign I’d done for over the door, Frank said, “Day-um Bat, this is what I call a living room,” as he pushed his way through the double swinging doors once we were back.
Minxy went behind the bar and started pouring shots of Pappy. Jimmy and Deirdre disappeared into the main house to start cleaning the guns we’d carbonized, and the girls went into the basement to change. As soon as she served us, Minxy went upstairs to change. Soon, Beth, Janey and Minxy were back and all wearing saloon-wench garb. Minxy went back behind the bar, and the other two made sure the senator felt at home. After some small talk Janey took his arm and gave him a guided tour of the rest of the house, which looked more like a normal house. Pete brought over tacos and we talked shop.
“Bat, are we the only ones here,” asked the senator?
“Janey, where’s Marcia?”
“She’s in the main house editing what we had waiting for her. She skimmed the novel we’re working on now, last night, but we had another one waiting for her, so she’s over there doing her publisher thing.”
“You’re sure,” I asked?
“I’ll go check Bat,” said Minxy and she took off.
When she was gone, Frank looked at us and asked, “Can she be trusted? More importantly, do you trust her?”
“I wouldn’t give her your pin number to the executive bathroom in DC, but other than that, yea. She’s a good girl.”
“Kinky? To your standards?”
“Her picture is the one beside ‘pervert’ in the dictionary. She’s an experienced bisexual switch, who just happens to be a trans-gender woman.”
“Good enough for me,” Frank smiled, taking another sip of Pappy.
When she got back, I got her to lock the doors and I set up my big screen to show the multi-image views of my surveillance system. Before we really got started, Marcia came across the courtyard and tried the door. I got up and answered the door, but held it closed behind me and did not let her in.
“Sorry Marcia, but we’re having a private meeting. Please, enjoy the hospitality of the main house,” I said.
“But I just want to get something from my room,” she said and tried to push past me. I just stood there, and she bounced off of me, not getting anywhere. With her hands on her hips she stared at me.
“I said no, and in my house, that means no. You just want to know what’s going on in here and what we’re doing. You’re being nosy.”
“You know, I don’t like you very much,” she said squinting and trying to look all mean and intimidating.
In a flat and measured tone, I said, “I don’t care. Janey, Sam and Beth like me and that’s all I need in my little world. Your happiness isn’t even on the long-range radar,” and I went back in, closing the door in her face and loudly throwing the latch and the push-locks.
When I turned around, I almost tripped over the kids. I went down on one knee and praised them for their diligence. Both had gone out to the range with us. I was getting them used to gunfire.
We watched Marcia stand outside for a few moments and then stomp off, back to the main house.
“Okay, What’s up Frank?”
“I want to put you back in government service.”
I laughed. “You know as well as many that I’ve paid my dues, so I know you don’t want to put me back in uniform. Besides, these young fire-pissers do a much better job than I could. I’m an old man. So, what’s really on your mind?”
“Does your knowledge extend to Cold War history?”
“I remember reading a little about that.”
“Ever hear of State School 4, on the banks of the Volga. The Swallows?”
“Yea,” I said slowly and cautiously.
“We’re initiating and organizing something similar. I’ve been tasked with recruiting the best of the best from those that can pass an SCI or Sensitive Compartmentalized Information clearance as instructors, and I thought of you. This designation and job assignment also comes with a Top-Secret clearance. You can easily pass one of those too. I looked into you after we met, very thoroughly, and you are my top choice for this. Yeah, I know all about your extracurricular activities. All of you. All of you do a good job of keeping all of this under wraps, but not to a government investigations service with drones the size of dragon flies and cockroaches that can hear and record everything said in a room this size. We’re sneaky bastards, and we have full files on all of you, except for you Minxy, and we’re close to completing yours. Looks good so far. That’s why you’re in on this meeting. We could use someone with your skills and experience too.
“We can easily find sexperts to teach our recruits all about the Kama Sutra and up to the tantric levels of normal sex, but you can teach these kids about aspects of perversions they can’t find in the Human Sexuality classes in colleges. They know the words, but not how to do those words. I want them to know more than how to spell BDSM. You, Bat, are a real-world instructor, with decades of experience, and you’re living the lifestyle now. Your reputation precedes you, and don’t forget about those videos that you and Beth made. We were already planning on using them as part of our training files. They’re hot. So, Bat? Care to get a GS rating and come back to work for me?”
“I’m not leaving Janey and the kids would have to come with me.”
“Naturally. You’re a package deal. You’d be quartered in government housing, but it would be free, with a clothing, food and transportation allowance over and above what you two would make. Just like a high-ranking officer on a base somewhere. You could even induct the recruits, on a rotating basis of course, as domestic servants if you wanted to. Just like a batman or a valet. That would be in keeping with the nature of this assignment.”
“The thing is, I have roots ‘here’ now. My own slave/wife, my own house, dogs, neighbors that I really like and all the bourbon I can drink. This is an idyllic lifestyle for a retired pervert like me. Sedentary is looking pretty good now, and with her new goose-gun, Beth will make sure that the ‘wild geese’ will be falling out of the air so I can’t follow them. Why should I give this up?”
Ever been nut-punched by a friend? Well, listen up, this was mine.
“Your country needs you. I need you. You, Bat, you.”
I was quiet for a few and then said, “The kids and I are going for a run to think about this. I’ll be back,” and I threw on my backpack that had a few supplies in it, along with a camelback and we took off.
I ran when I wanted to think so I had this prepared and behind the bar. It was part of my coping mechanisms for my PTSD. Normally, to cope with a flare up I went out by myself, but the kids would not affect my alone time. We ran until they pooped out, sat down with their tongues lolling out and then just fell over. I picked them up off the ground and just carried them. I jogged a couple of more miles before they got their second wind and went back to running at my feet. We ran until I outdistanced the demons in my soul.
Only briefly, in my mean little kid fantasies had I ever considered, much less conceptualized weaponizing BDSM. The idea of teaching others how to wield this power for anything more than fun and games kind of drove me a bit crazy. My rational mind told me that we, as humans, had weaponized sex for eons, and I knew what a honeypot could accomplish when used properly. But to add in the power of BDSM was like bringing an AH-64 Apache attack helicopter to a playground fight behind the school.
However, with expanding worldwide terrorism we needed an ace in the hole, and this could really give all four aces to our side. I gathered some wood, built a fire and the kids and I settled in for a long night of thought.
That night, all three of us howled at the moon and it felt good and right.
A straight-line back in the wee hours of the morning was much faster than the circuitous route we took just to be running. All three of us had fueled up on protein bars, finished emptying my camelback and jogged back. Enjoying the romp, the kids played tag with my pantlegs and were very proud of themselves when they found a small private patch of pot plants waiting for harvest. Personally, I suspected Joe, but that was his business and I really didn’t care.
When I got back, I immediately went into the main kitchen, got some puppy food, fed the kids and ordered an energy shake. Pete took time out from his preparations for the party that night to make me one. Loved that man. Then, I went in and woke Frank up.
“C’mon, we gotta talk. This was your idea after all. Get ready and meet me in the saloon. I’ll get Sam up. Janey will make us all some breakfast, including Mike. Then we’ll go down in the basement to talk. It’s soundproof. I’d like Mike to stand guard and shoo away any nosy biddies that try to interfere. She couldn’t hear us anyway, but I just want her to feel unwelcome. She’ll feel more intimidated if Mike tells her ‘no’ than if she just can’t open the locked basement door. C’mon, we’re burning daylight.”
It wasn’t long before Janey was assembly-lining the breakfast burritos, with shredded hash-browns, eggs, crumbled sausage, chorizo, bacon, cheese, sour cream and green sauce. A stranger to chorizo until our recent California adventure, Janey kept a supply on hand now. Sloppy and greasy was the menu of the morning. We’d all need a good stomach coating for the drinking we would be doing. Everyone had espresso and energy shakes. I made those.
Frank, Janey, Sam and I congregated in the basement and I laid out my plans. Everyone was shocked, upset, and/or thrilled at one point or another.
“Okay, if we can agree on my terms, which I don’t think are too unreasonable, we can pull this off. Frank, does this really have to be done on a military base?”
“For security purposes it really should be.”
“C’mon Frank. Both of us know that military bases are notoriously easy to break into and out of. Where there’s a will there’s a way. How many times did you sneak off base in the early days to go into town and party?”
He shrugged and nodded.
“And does it have to be in the Virginia countryside, where every other clandestine training facility is located, just so it’s easily accessible by Pentagon watchdogs? Couldn’t it be in any countryside, like here in rural Kentucky?”
“I suppose so.”
“Sam, do you have any property that the government could lease from you for a special training camp?”
Actually, I have a few square miles of land just East of Berea.”
“Is it empty,” asked Frank?
“Mostly pristine countryside, with a couple of pastures but it’s mostly wooded areas between Owsley Fork Reservoir and butting up against the Daniel Boone National Forest. I’m holding it in reserve for the time when the city of Lexington grows up enough to start encroaching on this ranch.”
“Could I talk you into a renewable lease to the government so we can put our training camp there?”
“Will it keep you here? I’d really miss you if you went back off to work for our favorite Uncle. We went through that once, and you remember the disaster that that brought around. I mean it all worked out, but it was a clusterfuck for a while. You’re a good balance for me. I don’t want to lose my best and only real friend to some government project. Besides, I really don’t want to divorce Beth just so I could marry Janey to piss you off,” and Janey and I laughed.
“Keeping me here is the whole idea Sam. I think I can turn this basically into a day job, an hour or so away. I go there and train the troops and come back here so we can harass the girls and sip bourbon. It could be a win/win. Surely to God the military can secure a fenced off, forested area, with a few buildings in the center. Grunts on guard duty could guarantee our privacy.
“And what would we need,” I continued? “A barracks facility for the recruits, quarters for the other instructors that couldn’t go home every night, guards’ quarters, classrooms, practice bedrooms, a gym, a rec center, a library, video booths for study, a small infirmary and a mess hall. Maybe a few other things but we could do this.
“Hell, my friend, think of you being the dreaded sadist, brought in to discipline the most recalcitrant cases. C’mon. Tell me you wouldn’t have fun giving classes on the creativity of sadism. You could wear a half mask and disguise your lower face, abusing a different lovely every day, all in the name of education. That would be part of the curriculum. This is a BDSM school, and if they don’t know how it feels, then how are they going to deliver these special favors to their marks for the honeypot trap? No one learns about SM from a book. That’s the whole point of this school. We could make this work.”
Frank was furiously making notes on a tablet he brought with him. The kids were sleeping. They’d had a hard night for puppies. Sam was lost in fantasies of bruising nubile flesh and my mind was grinding through the gears, close to hitting maximum velocity. Janey, bless her heart, came over and right in front of the senator pulled my pants off and gave me a blowjob. He looked a bit surprised at first until Sam told him how much that calmed me down when I was cycling out of control like this. Sam told him that it kept the turbines from becoming unbalanced and unmanageable. Then to the senator’s surprise, Janey gave him a blowjob too, telling him before she did it that he looked like he needed one too. Sam got his too, and it all settled into place after that.
“Okay, I’ll extend my stay for a few days past the party tonight and we’ll hash out the details. This is sounding very plausible and I’m thinking I can make this work. It’ll be black budget for secrecy, but it’ll work.”
“Okay, we’ve got a party to get ready for. Let’s go have fun.”
We found Beth in the main house trying to decide between the Egyptian princess, Amelia Earhart or wearing her nun habit. Minxy was doing last minute fittings and because she was so excited about her role, Deirdre was already in her Raggedy Ann costume and ready to go to work.
With a long white apron smock over an even longer blue dress, her red and white striped stockings peeped out underneath and she was wearing flat-soled Mary Janes. On her head was a bright red mop-wig in pigtails and a little blue bow. Her job for most of the day and the early evening was to stand out on the property entrance with the guards checking the invites and guest lists and give out one of those gallon-sized plastic pumpkins full of candy to each and every kid in costume that came by. For hours, parents would drive by, with their costumed ‘monsters’ in the car and get candy from the Harrison Ranch, comfortable because they knew the candy was safe and prescreened. Deirdre would hand out candy and the guards would check who was trying to get into the party. She was delighted to be doing this. When Deirdre finally decided to go in and enjoy the party with the rest of the adults, an LPD cruiser would hand out the remaining pumpkins to the late comers.
Being a big kid himself, Sam wanted to make sure that all of his neighbor’s kids got treats for this holiday. He also made sure that every sick kid under eighteen, in the local hospitals got candy and visits from local costumed actors to cheer them up. No kid got ignored on Halloween.
Pete organized and managed a smorgasbord of domestic and exotic foods and drinks along with a large cadre of liveried wait-staff. Sam went through early and chatted with all the wait-staff he remembered from his last party, meeting the first timers and committing their names to memory. From a stack in his pocket, he would surreptitiously slip a $50 into the pockets of his wait-staff, calling each by name and whispering ‘Trick or Treat’ to them. Jimmy managed security again, along with Mike as his backup and helper. Being an evening party Ben offered no rides, but the well-lit stables were still open for the horse lovers to stroll through and gawk at Sam and Beth’s thoroughbreds. My saloon was open for party overflow and vanilla debauchery, but a guard kept watch, so the rest of my house didn’t get trashed. The basement and our bedroom were locked off for obvious reasons.
Staying with me for most of the day, the kids would man our bedroom during the festivities. We knew they’d throw a fit for not being allowed to attend the party, but they were still just too young.
Keeping the bolt closed, ensuring the chamber was empty, I fit a fully loaded drum magazine on my Tommy gun and walked out of the armory with it on my hip. In the main house, Sam’s armory was also his saferoom. Made sense to me. Mike made sure the door was secured behind me. I also had a nickel-plated 1911, with simulated pearl-handles in a shoulder rig under my pin-striped authentically cut 1920’s suit jacket. Minxy had gone out of her way to get just the right look for my costume, from the Fedora to the spit-shined two-tone wingtips. I looked good.
Beth, as Amelia Earhart had her long black hair stuffed under an authentic looking short blonde wig covered by one of those leather flight-helmets and goggles. She wore a bomber jacket over jodhpurs and boots and looked every bit the old heroine of the air. Amelia came out and took my arm and we represented an era in American history as we greeted the guests.
Marie Antoinette came out in her powdered wig, low-cut, square necked, lace and embroidered gown, complete with her bustle and hoop skirts having to be very careful not to knock everything over as she sashayed through the party. I snickered, knowing that she would draw the wrong type of attention throughout the night with this gaudy costume. I just didn’t like this woman.
Early in the evening, we loosely wrapped chains around Elvira’s torso, who’d positioned herself at the stake we had set up for the party on the patio. We had several of those wind fan fake firepots on each side of the pole to sell the burning witch theme, however, Minxy turned this into a kissing booth for the more adventurous and amorous guests. Her clearly customized costume showed a lot of cleavage and she had slits on both sides to show off her black pantyhose covered legs. Minxy really sold the look.
Sam and Janey sold another era in time. As previously described, Sam was a roman gladiator, wearing his plastic chest plate and helmet. A loin cloth covered his codpiece and his sandals were laced up his legs. With his gladius scabbarded on his hip he escorted Janey around until the Governor completely monopolized her time.
Janey’s costume was little more than a long strip of cheesecloth that loosely covered the front and back of her body. It was cut down so that it went over one shoulder but left the other one bare. A crisscrossed rope tied it closed around her, but Minxy made sure that a thin but enticing strip of skin showed on both sides. It was short, and a strategically placed wine stain smudged the area over her crotch. On each of her wrists and ankles, and around her neck was a snap-on authentically painted plastic shackle that looked like heavy riveted iron. Painted plastic chains dangled not only from her collar but went between her wrists and between her ankles, hobbling her. Her black wig really changed her appearance and she was by far the sexiest and most lewdly attired attendee of this party. Barefoot, her face and the soles of her feet had been smudged to look dirty and unwashed. Janey reached up on her toes and gave the Governor a kiss. From then on, he was lost to her charm and allure. Beth and I grinned.
As arranged, she chatted him up for a long time, making sure that he had and drank plenty of good Kentucky bourbon. Rubbing the side of her braless tit against his arm and smiling sweetly at his patter she became his focus for quite a while. Then, to his surprise, she introduced him to Elvira, who was still chained to the post.
“Governor, this is my friend Minxy. Elvira lives on the ranch here with us and is the costume designer that created this slave girl costume for me tonight. Didn’t she do a good job?”
“My my, you most certainly sold the ancient Grecian slave girl look. You’re a very talented designer by the look of Janey’s costume, and your own stunning costume, of course. I approve of the modifications you made on Cassandra Peterson’s original costume. You have quite the talent for bringing out the femininity in a woman’s appearance.”
“Why thank you Governor. Now, Sir, this ‘is’ a kissing booth. For a promised donation to the V.A., you may steal a kiss, and maybe a little more from a helplessly chained woman before they burn me at the stake.”
Minxy pulled him into her embrace and laid one on him that no man could walk away from unfazed. Janey moved his hands up to Minxy’s body for a familiar grope and Minxy’s happy moans kept them there. Smearing her nubile little body against his backside, Janey made sure that the Governor was sandwiched between two lewdly amorous women, demanding his attentions. Rubbing the tented pants of his ‘furry’ costume with knowing hands, Minxy took him right to the edge and then held him there.
“The V.A.’s going to love your donation,” she whispered into his ear.
Snapping open the side latch of her plastic chains and letting them fall at her feet, Minxy stepped away from the post and walked out, with Janey on one side and her on the other to escort the ‘furry racoon’ over to the saloon for some more bourbon. Mike, up in the observation room expertly switched cameras to follow their antics, recording this for prosperity.
Naturally, Marie Antoinette, once she found out who he was, tried to get some of the Governor’s attention, but she was summarily ignored in favor of Minxy and Janey. Few women could compete with that pair of promiscuous peregrines. As they said, The Governor was hooked and about to be skinned and fried. With Janey in the lead, and Minxy pushing the Governor up the stairs in the saloon, I called Mike to make sure we were in full recording mode, just in case. He’d gotten the special password from Jimmy, earlier.
Beth and I had been making the social rounds to all of her high-powered friends. Shipping magnates, legal eagles from several major firms, a Marine general and his aide, a relatively famous country singer, fellow business tycoons into all sorts of differing enterprises, and even a couple of foreign dignitaries visiting from Europe and the Middle East made an appearance. Beth knew them all and introduced me with a smile on her face.
A few remembered me from the wedding and wondered where my new wife was. I told them she was glad-handing the circuit and was somewhere. When I described what she was wearing, a couple of the men excused themselves hoping to find her and get a glimpse of this outrageous costume. Beth laughed, knowing that she and Minxy were being mean, in the most beautiful way possible, to the Governor.
When Beth and the girls had remodeled their special room above my bar, they’d reinforced the walls on both sides, adding soundproofing, so when Marcia got frustrated by being ignored and retired to her room, she didn’t hear the Governor getting worked over by the peregrines.
Most of the revelries didn’t break up until close to five A.M. and the guard detail went home about seven. Frank, Sam, a circuit court judge, the country singer and I were finishing off a bottle of Pappy and winding down in the saloon when the girls escorted the Governor down the stairs. He was walking a little funny and we all laughed. He looked embarrassed.
“Relax, Governor, we’re all adults here,” I said. “Did you have fun?”
He looked even more sheepish, blushing and trying not to look me in the eye. His ‘furry’ racoon costume was all rumpled.
“Governor, please, relax. Janey, Minxy, go help Beth finish breakfast for us. Geesh woman, we’re hungry,” and she laughed, dragging a barefooted Minxy into the kitchen to help her friend. She’d lost her pantyhose and heels when she started having wild sex with the Governor.
“Come over here and have a sit with us. We don’t bite, and we wouldn’t bite you even if you asked us to,” and I laughed.
Sam started lightly pounding on the table with both fists, one holding a fork and the other a butter knife, and started all of us chanting, “Waffles, waffles, waffles, …” and then we just laughed. I heard giggles as they disappeared around the corner.
Both of the kids were sleeping on my feet. It was a little uncomfortable holding them there for the kids to lie on, but when I released them from our room, I was secretly proud at the minimal damage their little temper tantrums had done. I had checked on them a couple of times during the night, but other than leaving two piles of shit on my pillow and destroying my running shoes, the damage was minimal. None of Janey’s stuff had been touched. I smiled. Her heels were much more expensive than my running shoes were.
After a breakfast of waffles, ham steaks, hash-browns and more bourbon, just to finish off the bottle, we all got up to go home. Carrying his musket, Frank was the first one out the door. Looking over his shoulder I saw something that flooded my system with adrenalin. I pushed him down and tried to draw my 1911, but got gut punched when I heard the staccato ratcheting of a sound I’d never forget. I remember hearing a shotgun go off near me and feeling blood soak my midsection. I passed out.
Continues in part twelve