Chapter 25: Connection

As we were moving through the exhibits after Li humiliated Jaz Zmin (Li’s last words were “maybe I’ll be back ... a bathroom visit with my friends”) I noticed the woman in apparent pain being whipped on the center stage.

Whipping has always had a big appeal with the serious BDSM crowd, it is the diamond ticket, the ultimate experience. The trouble is that real whips do too fucking much damage plus they are dangerous to the user and audience. On the other hand, fake whips yielding fake moans are really unsatisfying for all concerned.

On party nights when drugs were used on site, some folks signed agreements to accept real flogging in exchange for the highest quality of medicinal pain drugs (Morphine and others) plus their mind trip of preference (LSD and others). These people were serious head cases, but then those from the rest of the USA gravitate to the sick-fest of LA where they are exploited by the sickest users. Maybe it balances out.

For the non-drug nights like this there was a less bloody option. It seemed that a guy named Whipe (legal name change) invented the “Hell-Wood Valley Electro-Stim Whipe.” It “whips” like a real whip to the wielder. For the recipient it is harmless to the flesh but far from painless. The key is that most of the whip is the real thing, woven leather, except for the last 8 inches or so, which is the only part that strikes the body. (They measure closely beforehand.) That last 8 inches is stiff fabric woven with strands of metal-coated-mylar. The whip and the victim are wired together using an custom electro-stim circuit that is set for a painful voltage/amperage/frequency of electricity. When the whip strikes it does not feel like the real thing, and no physical damage is done to the skin, but the electrical shock is tailored to hurt terribly. At some settings it can be extremely painful, and folks standing close by can actually feel the discharge in the air. That was the case here. A sound circuit is wired in, it actually adds a semi-realistic “crack” noise to each strike. (I know the real sound from experience at a young age, whipping was used in the Colony.) The sound, volume and frequency is based on how effective each strike is in terms of the electrical connection and the pain transmitted. There is also a large “pain” meter so the audience can all share bets or forfeits.

Some people are sick enough that they will create suspense betting on ice melting.

As I approached from the back I saw the woman had custom black thigh-high boots that were locked in place at the heels, a “Zorro” mask, unpadded manacles holding her arms outstretched upward, and the two thin conducting strips of tape on her back that made the electrics work while also keeping the current away from the heart. She was otherwise quite naked.

I recognized the boots first and the rear view of the pussy between her legs second. I had been there and enjoyed the visit greatly.

A fat, older woman with a piggish look was standing in front of the victim with her fingers all the way in the victim’s pussy, she was giggling at feeling the victim jump with each painful blow. This type of extra humiliation was an extra-cost option, as were the fixed cameras recording the back (from above) and the front (from down low). The person with the whip was a Chronis staff guy, although audience members who filled out the paperwork and paid a steep fee could take a turn.

The boots drew my attention, I had seen them before so I rushed toward the exhibit. As we got closer the confirmation I needed was three beauty marks on the victim’s left shoulder blade which formed an isosceles triangle. That confirmed identity, I had seen those birth marks up close and licked them lovingly while fucking this beautiful woman from behind. They confirmed who wore the boots. The victim getting this whipping was Joe Pope’s Amy.

My reaction was automatic, it had to stop.

I knew the place pushed the limits of “non-consent” so I thought I better intervene directly. I could always go to the Glock, but that created all kinds of paperwork. So I went with diplomacy first.

I had a business card from the owner who knew me as a critical supplier. The card included a handwritten note “to extend the bearer every courtesy and consideration.” (Homage to DePalma’s “Untouchables.”) The cards themselves were not uncommon, and a fair number had the handwritten “courtesy” message. But very few (3, actually) were gold-rimmed, double weight and added those last two words “and consideration.”

I showed the card to the exhibit attendant and ordered the exhibit be draped. Then he was to call the man named on the card for instructions - which I would give to both of them. I admit I was steamed and not really courteous, but with the muscle-brain I was addressing I knew any courtesy on my part would be wasted time. I did it so what happened next would get a manager’s attention.

The guy looked at the card without recognition lighting his dim-witted ‘gotta hit the lady’ eyes. (He was going to have a bad night sometime soon.) Those extra words that meant so much were ignored. Instead of instant courtesy, he said they would change whippers in about 10 minutes and he didn’t want to miss his shots. (That bad night in his future would now include a compound fracture.) He drew his arm back, getting ready to hit again. Well, I tried “nice.”

I gave the signal for Brisk and Corum to grab the guy, they wrenched and twisted his arms behind his back in a way that was not what the designer intended. He twisted like a pretzel in pain from a dislocated shoulder. Sam kicked the electronic box connected to the whip, so it was useless.

I casually asked Irene if she had castrated anybody lately. Things got real quiet, even from the dislocated man. She produced her ceramic boot knife, then placing the sharp blade where it threatened a quick sex change. The dummy - who was erect - deflated fast and got real still when a line of blood appeared where the blade - crafted in a lab with a tiny sun to be sharper than a diamond razor - touched flesh. (Impressive, given his shoulder.) She calmly replied that it had been a while since her last dark alley surgery, but she was sure it would come back. “I can even do it with my eyes closed. Do you know that they make such a delightful sound as I use the blade, I can cut guided by sound alone. This blade is so sharp he will not feel pain, only the unique sensation of tender flesh and future pleasure parting forever.”

Uncle Qwit is quite strong, I always describe him as having the muscles of a pro boxer 6 inches taller layered on his body. Sam loves him, but she says he looks more than a little Neanderthal or Cro-Magnon. He snatched the whip, broke the handle, and asked if the whipper would prefer having the pieces shoved down his throat or up his ass. Or perhaps one of each. The guy started screaming about his shoulder so Qwit inserted the handle. “I hear you, the mouth then,” Qwit said.

We got somebody’s attention. In moments the manager appeared, I counted 10 security guys within a few feet of the exhibit, but none closer. Well, I did carry a big gun with 30 bullets in the mag, even if it was still in the holster.

I showed the manager his boss’s business card, drawing his attention to the last word, and repeated my request for an immediate phone call. As soon as the manager saw the card he stood down the security guys, dropped the ceiling drape all around the entire exhibit area (maybe a 25 by 25 foot area), had the fat lady carried off screaming, and made a phone call.

“Eric, is that you?” Amy asked. The words were hard to make out, she had a leather bit - like a horse - in her mouth. She had heard my voice and was at the edge of sobbing from the ordeal.

“No names. Who did this to you?”

“(sob) ... it ... it is his way of moving on from me. Today the three choir cunts moved in. I was picked up at work and brought here. The old lady is playing along, or maybe she likes them, 3 cunt lickers are better then little old me. But you can’t interfere, it will cost you the partnership if he finds out.”

“Not an issue. As I see it we have two choices, either make sure he doesn’t find out, or change his ... mind.” Well, there was actually a third choice, but we had lost so many partners already this year, and I did not need Amy to know I was ‘that type of guy’ just now. “I can work with either. We will talk specifics later. For now, let me take care of a dear friend in need. Call it my ‘White Knight’ act for this month. Don’t tell my union. What is your buyout?”

“It is steep, $20,000 cash, no checks or credit. I can’t raise that and nobody but a drug dealer has that kind of ‘walking around’ money to spend on my sorry ass, not even the short actor who starred in that ‘Mission’ movie I worked on.” I knew the short bright-eyed star she meant. She was shaking with trauma and pretty close to breaking down sobbing. The electric whip is very traumatic and the after-effect it leaves in the muscle/nerve-memory is vivid, causing spasms even well after the whipping stops.