1999
Will Rike Chapter 6 "The psychopath today no longer slinks like a dirty rat through the dark alleys of black and white 1930’s crime films, but parades through the boulevards in a bullet proof limo on state visits, runs entire nations, and sends delegates to the UN."---James Hillman
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It's Monday night, August 30, 1999. In Tralee, The Rose of Tralee Festival is just climaxing. Tomorrow the townfolk will begin to come out from hiding. Just where they've been is mystery. A fellow who sat naked on the Pikeman memorial statue in the center of town was jailed for a year. Some thought the punishment too stiff, others not.
Tralee has a difficult personality. Perhaps it's because Tralee town is a bit like a city. In Ireland, unlike in the US, Tralee's 25,000 pop. makes it only a town. Perhaps it's the forty shades of Kerry Grey. But whatever the feeling actually is, that feeling is definitely in the buildings, the shops, and in the narrow streets, and all the traffic, and in the Tralileans themselves. And it's definitely in the pubs, each with its own variant of that feeling. It's also in the fast-changing weather. Unlike Twain's New England, in clear-and-showery Tralee, "wait five minutes" can be taken literally. An old-timer told a tourist: Here’s how you predict the weather here. See that church steeple up there in the hills? Well, if you can see it on a cloudy day, it’s gonna’ rain. If you can’t see it, it’s already raining.
Ian and the Two are in
ΔCorp's temporary headquarters in Blonde's room at the Mount Strand Hotel, Tralee's finest. The Mount Strand has long been Tralee's finest for one reason alone: it is adjacent to Dunloe's EU corporate headquarters. Ian could just as easily be in another more exotic location such as Dunloe's real hq in Los Angeles.They're about to play cards. This will not be your average card game, however. It's called Stripjack, Parts I and II.
Ian declares he's dealer. The way to have power is to sieze it. As dealer he has the odds advantage. In Stripjack, you want your cards to add up to as close to 21 as possible without going over. Ian deals the first round of two cards each.
Brunette's add up to 16. She asks for another. It's a jack. Picture cards are worth 10, so she loses. Blonde has 12. She asks for a card. It's a 10. She loses too.
"Right now lads, off with your tops." Both slowly unbutton.
Ian looks out the window at the Slieve Mish mountains named after a Druid queen with psychic powers. He notices that the tallest peak is shaped just like a breast. Lust and power stir his Manhattan.
Ian deals. Brunette must stand pat with 19. Blonde, with 14, takes a card and gets a 3. She decides not to take another. Dealer has 18. Blonde loses, Brunette does not.
"You decide what she should take off," to Brunette. She tells Blonde to take off her bra.
The game proceeds along. After a while, Ian's lost only his shirt while the Two are down to their panties. He never cheats at cards. Or any other minor things in life. The odds have always been in his favor. For minor things. He needs only cheat at the top-pyramid level. That's called 'success'. Ian deals what will likely be the last hand of Part I.
Ian and Blonde lose. He removes his pants to Brunette's "Mmmm." Blonde is the naked loser except for her heels which don't count. Part I is over. Blonde will have to be Slave in Part II.
"Go make us drinks," says Brunette.
Blonde heads for the bureau bar while the executives watch from the headboard. She enjoys her naked high-heeled walks now. She moves like a model as she returns with the drinks.
"Grand. And now for the best part." He hands the cards to Blonde. "Cut the deck, Slave."
Blonde turns over the Nine of Spades.
"That's nine minutes," pronounces Ian as he sets the timer on his watch. He confers privately with Brunette at his right. "What should we have her do?"
"You could make her decide," suggests Brunette. Ian agrees. Conference over.
"You decide," says he.
Blonde cannot offer a suggestion. After a long pause she tentatively starts her sentences.
"No, no," scorns Ian, "more than that."
"I don't know," says Blonde meekly. "Can I have another drink?"
Ian stops his watch timer. "Go, ahead."
Blonde goes to the bureau bar. Her bosses watch her from behind, their libido powering up.
Another conference. "Get your belt," whispers Ian in Brunette's ear.
"You sure? She's probably not into that," Brunette warns quietly.
"Then she'll learn to like it," snarls Ian.
Brunette finds her Stripjacked belt in the pile of clothes on the floor as Blonde returns.
"None for us?" asks Ian.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Baby." It is as if Ian has psychic power. He just seems to know exactly what to demand when. Blonde returns to the bar.
"Just bring the bottles," says Ian.
When she returns she sees the belt in Ian's hand. "I, I don't know. I never..."
"Drink your drink," he orders.
Δ Corp sip in expectant silence. Ian is in the power seat, Brunette second in command at his right. Blonde is sitting on her kneeling at the foot of the bed facing them.
It is not sex that powers their corporation but the reverse.
Δ Corp powers their sex. And the alcohol is its high-power sales rep. Blonde wants to kiss Ian."Now. What will you be doing for us?" he asks.
"Kiss you?" meekly.
"For nine minutes?" Ian and Brunette laugh.
Blonde is embarassed. More time passes but she is unable to think of some way to please. She remember when her piano teacher wanted her to play some notes. Any notes she wanted. "But which ones should I play?" she'd ask. Finally she'd just play do re mi.
"Enough," says Ian. "You've been a bad girl. You haven't decided yet and we are waiting. And you didn't bring us a drink before."
"I'm sorry Baby," into her drink. She feels a deep surrender coming on.
"I want her blindfolded with her bra."
Brunette gets the bra from the Stripjack pile and begins to tie it around Blonde's head.
Suddenly, Director is inspired. "No. Use yours."
Brunette finds hers.
"Nice and tight."
Now blindfolded, Blonde's other senses are granted greater power. She hears her own breathing. Her desire spirals. Her submissiveness is intensified. And fear about her pending punishment.
"Please, don't hurt me, alright?" On the one hand she truly is afraid. On the other, she is aroused. The combination is a drug cocktail.
"He won't harm you," assures Brunette knowing the difference between hurt and harm.
"Stand up and turn around," he orders.
Blonde starts to get off the bed.
"No. On the bed. I want you to stand on the bed facing away from us." Blonde assumes a shaky stance in her heels.
"Please, you won't hurt me, okay?"
"Touch yourself," he orders. Blonde obeys. She caresses her body, moving her hands down her chest and around to her bottom.
"Now slowly move your hips left and right. Slowly."
Ian's lust is peaking. Brunette puts her hand on his wrist and says "go slow" with her fingertips. He waits until Blonde is more aroused and then flicks the belt at her swaying bottom.
It stings. "Oh..h..h," moans Blonde.
"You were bad, weren't you?"
"Yes, Baby. I'm sorry, Baby. I'm sorry."
Crack! Ian whips her hard.
"Oh!," she screams. It truly hurts. But the pain is quickly consumed by her sexual arousal. It's lik cocaine and alcohol. She lets out a long moan. Her submissiveness reaches new depths. She continues touching herself.
"I want you to tell us your favorite sex fantasy. And you'd better tell the truth, Slave."
"I...I...I..." she stammers.
"Tell us, sweetness," says Brunette, truly interested.
"They...they...they all fuck me."
"Who fucks you?" demands Ian.
"The motorcycle gang."
"Motorcycle gang?" Ian and Brunette laugh out loud in scorn. "Is that the best you can do?" he asks.
"I'll do anything you want, Baby. ANYTHING."
"That's grand," says Ian.
Brunette moves to Blonde and gently rubs the two pink lines across her bottom. "Don't worry, sweetness. It's alright."
"I want you to tell us you love us," orders Ian. "Keep saying it until I tell you to stop."
"I love you. I love you. I love you." As she continues Ian flicks the belt at her bottom in varying degrees of severity. A rhythm of words and whacks emerges.
"Whom do you love, Slave?" snarls Ian.
"I...I...I love you both."
"That's grand," says Ian.
Brunette resumes comforting Blonde, gently rubbing the random pink lines.
"I love you. I love you. I love you."
"Whom do you love?" snarls Ian again.
"You Baby. You Baby."
"Don't you love ME?" asks Brunette.
"Oh, yes Baby. I love you," confused.
"Who is Baby? Me or her?" as he cracks the belt again.
"I don't know. I don't know," she pleads.
"I want you to decide, Slave. Who are you loyal to in this company, her or me." Crack again.
Brunette is once again pivotal. "It's okay, sweetness. It's okay."
"You, Baby. YOU, Baby."
"Grand," says Ian. "You love me. You're mine, aren't you?"
"Yes Baby. Oh YES Baby."
"Slave, I want you to make love to me through Brunette. I want you to please her in every way. But you are really pleasing me. Do you understand?"
"I...I...I don't know."
"When you please her you please me. Do you understand now?"
"I guess so."
"What do you mean you 'guess so'? I'll say it just one more time. I want you to imagine me when you make love to her. Do you understand?"
"Yes Baby." It's a lie. She still has no clear understanding as to what he means.
But Ian buys the lie. It's the First Deception. In the process, Blonde has learned something.
Brunette pulls Blonde down to the bed on her back and gets on top of her. She whispers in her ear, "Wrap your legs around me."
Blonde obeys quite willfully.
"Now moan," whispers Brunette. While Blonde moans, Brunette whispers in her ear, "I want you to secretly be mine. Its our secret."
Ian does not hear it.
"Now whisper in my ear that you are secretly mine."
"I'm secretly yours. I'm secretly yours." Brunette moans so that Ian cannot hear Blonde's new sentences. It is the Second Deception.
Yet, as if psychic, Ian declares that the Two must be punished. "I want you cuffed together," he pronounces. He gets up and puts his clothes on. "Put on your robes and nothing else," he orders.
The Two untangle and get up and put on their silk robes, Brunette her black one, Blonde her ivory.
"No. Exchange them. And put on each others knickers." Ian takes a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and quickly cuffs Brunette's left wrist to Blonde's right.
"I'll be off now. And you'd better be here when I get back," he laughs scornfully.
Blonde's meek "Bye Baby" is lost in the slam of the door.
They stand in robed silence. Brunette removes Blonde's bra-blindfold.
"What do we do now?" as she squints in the light.
"We'll have to wait," her enlightening reply.
"Where is the key for these?"
"On his key ring."
The phone rings. Both amble over to it. Brunette picks it up with her right hand. It's Ian from the lobby.
"How're you keeping?" he asks.
"Okay," replies Brunette.
"Put Blondey on. Is she available?" He laughs loudly.
"Hi Baby."
"Say your sentences."
"I'm yours. I'll do anything you say." She continues four or five times. Brunette feels jealous.
"That's grand. You'd better be a good girl, understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes WHAT?" snarls Ian.
"Yes BABY" she replies in fear.
"I'm going to punish you when I get back," and hangs up.
Brunette embraces Blonde closely. She needs some comfort but Blonde is totally self-absorbed and only feels guilty about having made Ian angry.
"I don't want to have sex," says Blonde.
"Just TLC".
The cuffs force them to use the bed for seating. As they amble over to it Blonde says, "I have to go to the bathroom."
Suddenly it dawns on them just how much freedom has been denied them by the handcuffs.
As Blonde sits on the toilet Brunette must stand by her, embarrassed and annoyed.
Blonde is still only concerned with having made Ian angry.
"I'll cover for you."
"But I could get fired if I keep making mistakes. I just got fired. You don't know what it is like. I didn't tell anyone."
The Two return to the room.
Brunette continues to comfort her but she's jealous that Blonde gets most of Ian's attention.
"Want to sit down?" offers Blonde.
"Okay." They walk over to the right side of the bed. Blonde gets onto it first and moves over to the left side. They sit against the headboard, Blonde at Brunette's right.
The monarch is always on the left. And in the right. And right now, Brunette is acting monarch. She feels her power and considers demanding sex from her underling.
"You'll speak to him, right? asks Blonde.
"About what?"
"That I've been good. I need this job."
"Let's have a drink."
The Two get up and go to the bureau bar. As they make the drinks, they unconsciously derive a strategy using their free hands. By the end of the task they are in effect becoming one two-handed person.
They stand in their robes and the cuffs sipping their drinks, Brunette in ivory, Blonde in black. Brunette's 3-to-1 martini is soothing her anger. They finish the drinks and begin to make another. The process is quicker this time.
They finish their new drinks. They have taken a fast blast of alcohol and are lightening up considerably.
"Now I have to go," laughs Brunette.
"Where?"
"To the loo, silly." They laugh in accidental unison.
The second trip is less awkward. "Let's get pissed," laughs Brunette from the seat.
"What do you mean?"
"Drunk. That's what they call it here."
"Great." The Two feel a lot better now. Alcohol is their trusty assistant that always produces the results they need. They can count on it. They return to the bed and get onto it as before, juggling their drinks and cuffs.
They sip in silence. Having lived the past few days completely together, there isn't much new to talk about. Brunette begins to caress Blonde's breasts. Blonde does not object.
Brunette knows that if she is far more tender than Ian she will have her own slave.
As if psychic, Ian returns. He's been in the pub downstairs. "Ah, lads. Having a good time?"
A pause. "Yes, Baby."
"Grand. Now make me a drink."
The two struggle off the bed, their drinks in their free hands. Ian reassumes the throne and watches the Two at the bureau bar. He's amused by their two-handed person.
"You're doing well indeed. Now lads, what shall we do tonight?"
"Let's go out," suggests Brunette.
"Oh yes, let's," says Blonde excitedly. The Two greatly desire freedom.
"Alright, but what will you do to convince me?"
The Two ponder the question in robed silence for a while. Suddenly Brunette gets an idea.
"Want us to wear each other's clothes?"
"Grand idea," exclaims Ian. "Very good indeed." He's quite delighted.
"We can't get dressed with the cuffs on," says Brunette.
"True, true." Anxious to watch their reactions to dressing in each other's clothes, he grants them freedom. Their release rushes through them on the wings of the alcohol. Their spirits soar as Ian reminds them that it is nearly half-eleven when the disco downstairs opens.
"And now lads, Blondey you go first."
Blonde willfully goes to the closet. Brunette assume her secondary throne at the headboard.
"Tell her what to wear."
"My panties are in the suitcase," says Brunette.
"No. I want her to wear the ones you've been wearing."
"Oh, I see" says Brunette. "They're on the floor."
Blonde picks them out of the Stripjack pile. They are black lace. She begins to slip her left foot and high heel through the small elastic opening.
"No. I want you to wear her heels."
Blonde finds Brunette's black heels in the pile and puts them on. "I don't know. They don't fit right."
"They look fine to me," says Ian skeptically.
Blonde walks around until some grace returns to her walk.
"My panties," says Brunette, anxious to go out. And a little jealous.
Blonde begins to put on Brunette's black-lace panties.
"Slowly," reminds Ian.
She carefully slips her right foot through without getting the spike heel caught, at the same time keeping her balance in the heels. She's done this enough times now for them that she's becoming quite adept at it. She slips her left foot and heel through, also without a hitch. She ever so slowly moves them up an inch at a time. Eventually they are in their proper place.
Blonde is beautiful in black lace. "You should wear black more often," says Ian.
"Yes," agrees Brunette from throne right. Brunette puts her left arm on his shoulder.
"You take over," says Ian.
"Now the bra," says Brunette. Blonde puts it on. She adjusts the straps. Her hands gracefully slip her breasts into the smaller cups.
"Do you have black silk stockings?" Ian asks Brunette.
"In the paper bag in the suitcase. They're new."
Blonde walks over and fishes out the new stockings. She ever so slowly puts them on. The alcohol causes her to very much enjoy being their star.
"And now the black dress," says Ian.
Blonde slips it over her head. It is loose enough to appear to fit but is tight in places, especially around her bottom.
"Now go comb your hair."
"With her brush," reminds Ian.
Blonde walks like a model to the bathroom and returns brushing her hair, moving her head from side to side in a lovely way.
"Your turn," says Ian to Second-in-Command.
Brunette goes through the same motions but is not as graceful as Blonde who just seems to have the knack. She adjusts Blonde's bra to fit tighter, and finishes dressing without interruption from Ian. She feels rejected that her performance is not as attentively received. And ivory is not a power color for Brunette.
As if psychic, Ian says, "Wait. Wear her business suit instead." Brunette goes to the closet and puts on Blonde's ivory-gray business suit.
"Grand. We're off now. You stay for uh, nine minutes, and then come down and meet us at the disco."
"I know," says Brunette. They should not appear as a threesome in the hotel.
Brunette sits among Blonde's gray clothes in the gray room. She doesn't like the fact that Blonde is alone with Ian right now. She takes another swig or two and closes the door.
