Chapter 39

Mistress Angel came back into the room with her gym bag, and a small little cat-o-nine was swishing in her hand. I handed her back the ‘leash’ and walked back to the back door. I didn’t think she’d need any protection from Linc or me, or anybody, for at least a while.

“Now then Tammi,” I heard her say, “let’s discuss what MY rules are.”

The door to the parking lot opened and there was Linc, leaning on the car. I closed the door behind me. I’d heard enough during life #1 – I wasn’t playing that way anymore. “I’m thinking of opening up the whole bag with her. Do you think she’s honest?”

“Who? Crystal? She’s a working girl. She’s as honest as she can be, which means: No, I wouldn’t trust her.”

“Red seems to think she may be. I’m going to try and get her out of the life.”

“You’ve chosen an interesting way to do it. Hire her to ‘do’ a boy doesn’t seem to me to be on the road to salvation.”

“You’re probably right. She just reminds me of ... well ... I had a vision.” Almost said too much about my history! “Got some paper and a pen?” He did, and I reentered the bar, walked back to the office and shut the door.

I heard the swish of the cat, and ‘Tammi’ saying, “Thank you, Mistress. Can I have...” SWISH. “Ouch! ... Thank you...”

I closed the office door. I thought for a moment then I started to write. For once, I was not copying something from a download.

[Lexi, you’re thinking of making her an offer of employment? Is that wise? You’ve got some background information on her, but surely not enough to trust her. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.]

Red, she reminds me of me in life #1. She managed to find a life a little different than mine, but I can see she’s headed for the same, or similar, unhappy end. It may not work. She may be unreliable. Maybe she likes her life too much to get out. Hell, I don’t know. I may be trying to just do something good.

[Consider carefully, Lexi. You know you’re going to do something with that boy that most people would consider truly evil. We both know why you’re doing it, but nobody else can know – it would re-change the history that you’ll be creating ... I’ll defer to your intuition. I don’t have that, as you know. If you feel she’ll be an asset, do it.]

Thanks, Red. I ... it’s something I think the Great Spirit would want me to do.

Red, play me the theta recording, please.

I put my head down on my crossed arms, and did my mental exercises. I reached alpha level and quickly slipped to a lower, slower level of brain activity. Leaving myself, I mentally wandered about. Linc was, surprisingly, mostly asleep. I guess what I’d heard about soldiers was true: they could go to sleep almost anywhere, at the drop of a ... at the leap of counted-sheep. I tried to focus on Shioban Matthews, but couldn’t find her.

I did find a squirrel. He was chewing on a chestnut from the tree he was sitting in. The nut was not very good, but it was filling. From his perch high up in the chestnut tree, he was looking down at a man, crumpled on the ground. Two boys were kicking him.

I slid down the tree and went to a very angry boy, kicking the man. I surfed his hormones and lessened his adrenaline, increased his dopamine. His anger at the crumpled man burned through the dopamine. I went down his body and found the blood vessel that fed his thigh. I shut that down and his leg immediately cramped. It was pretty painful. He fell to the ground. His buddy immediately stopped the kicking.

The buddy’s attention was caught by a police car, stopping at the curb. ‘DAMN!’ he thought. He tried to get his friend up but the leg wouldn’t work. Two cops approached the scene. And I released the blood vessel and slipped out of the boy’s body.

I found I could trace the scent of adrenaline. It was strongest in a boy that was being whipped on his ass. Of course, it was Tommy. The whipping hurt. A lot. But strangely, he was getting some pleasure out of it. Not pleasure exactly. More like ... hard to define it. Satisfaction, perhaps? A feeling that he deserved the pain? Could I read his emotions now? How could I be doing that? A Vulcan mind-meld? Too strange.

He wasn’t truly conscious, but wasn’t unconscious, either. It was like a trance. I’d seen it before in ‘clients’ I’d been with in life #1. It was fascinating to ‘see’ it from the inside.

From the boy, it was easy to find the arm that was administering the whipping. The arm was not moving with a lot of energy. Shioban’s arm. I followed it up to her brain. She wasn’t even thinking about the recipient of her whipping. She was in a trance of her own.

I saw flashes of light in her brain. I watched as they repeated themselves in her brain, over and over. Suddenly, I could ‘feel’ what they were. They were memories of ... an older man. She was a child, on the receiving end of a whipping from ... her father. Her father wielded a doubled belt. Her here-and-now arm swung in the same rhythm as the father’s strokes. The remembered whipping went on, over and over ... many times. I saw images of a young Shioban, then she aged as her synapses fired in a slightly different pattern. Then it merged with some sexual things.

He raped her. Repeatedly, over the years. It stopped when she was a young teenager. He never took the chance of impregnating her. In the synapses that fired, her teenage years were dominated by oral sex, anal sex, and whippings.

Then she came out of the memory-induced ‘trance.’ Was PTSD like this?

Then her attention came back to the boy. She energized her arm and she whipped him harder. Then she stopped. She was calm, in control of herself. She was filled with hate for her father, transferred to the boy, but she also felt sorrow for him.

I didn’t think anyone SHOULD be able to read someone’s memories like this. And yet I had done it. I left her, and came out of my meditative state. I looked at the papers I had started to work on. They were blank. My own adrenaline was engaged. As it went back to normal, I was very tired. This was the first time I’d gone to ‘level’ and come out of it tired, not refreshed.

I stood, adjusted my boobies in the bustier, and walked out to the bar. Mistress Angel was detaching the noose from Tommy’s – no Tammi’s – balls. She crossed to the gym bag and brought out a few sheets of paper and went through some underwear ‘til she found what she wanted. Women’s panties in different sized – she found what she what she was looking for.

Tammi was still on hands and knees, not moving. His ass was a livid red.

I watched the tableau as if I hadn’t done it myself in life #1. I never felt good when I was done. I hadn’t done it more than a couple of times. It was too scary for me to approach the PTSD or trance state of being raped by so many truckers in MY teens of live #1.

Mistress Angel walked to stand in front of him. She said, “Well, Tammi? You may speak freely. Do you want more? More of me?”

“Yes, Mistress. May I get up and look at you?”

“You may.”

He got to his feet, his hands going to his enraged backside. I knew it felt hot to his touch. His eyes were on her boobs, almost fully exposed, on the shelf of her bra.

“Yes, Mistress. I want more. If I have to take this, I still want more.”

“Good. Keep the ass plug in, until you have to shit it out. Then wash it and put it back in. You will wear these.” She tossed him a pair of nylon panties. Pink. “Wash them daily and put them back on wet. You may have these.” They were photos of her. I couldn’t see them, but probably – no surely – they were showing her in sexy poses.

“Tammi, this is important. SO LISTEN TO ME. After you exercise, you may cum for me. Wipe yourself with your own underpants. Only then, two or three times a day. And for God’s sake, buy some enemas. Get your ass cleaned inside and out. There will be a weight check-in next time, and every time. Get rid of the fat! Do it for your Mistress.

“Now, beat off for me, and for Miss Melody. Clean up like last time, with your sock.”