Chapter 15

Highway seventeen is notorious for delays. The winding road is narrow and often lacks a shoulder. Traffic going both north and south is heavy. Whether it was a stalled vehicle, road work or a crash, any event brings everyone to a halt. There are no bypasses and no turning around.

Being stuck in traffic is a great time to think. You are captive and can't simply move on to some other activity. The boredom forces the mind to reach out for stimulation. Being in the mountains between San Jose and Santa Cruz meant there was no radio reception. All Carl could do was sit behind the wheel and replay the events of the previous night in his mind.

The night before played through Carl's mind in a rush. It was like a recording playing way too fast. He struggled to focus on a single event, sight or sensation. As moment after moment played through his memory he kept muttering "Wow." "Shit." "Wow."

He was headed to a diner in San Jose that was a frequent hangout for San Jose police and Santa Clara sheriff officers. He wanted to see what information he could glean about the attack. It had to be the main topic of gossip among the night shift guys. He might not need to ask a single question. He planned to hang back and just listen to the chatter.

He was not sure what he would do with Willow's revelation that her brother was involved. He was not sure it was a reliable ID but it might provide a possible avenue to investigate. But was the lead worth revealing his presence, and Willow's presence at the Expo? What would the repercussions be for coming forward? He needed more information and that was why he was creeping through the congested mountain pass during rush-hour.

He was sure what he had witnessed had been a slave rescue. His feelings about that were conflicted. At one level he could sympathize with the actions. He could understand the motive. But it also was against the law. What he had witnessed was stealing and assault. His moral outrage was further eroded by the fact that he had fucked a slave and it had been the most exciting sexual experience of his life!

His mind wandered from the path of legal considerations to the feel of his cock pushing into Willow's rear passage and reveling in that sensation. His mind vibrated with the memory of Page screaming from the crop stoke while holding him in her mouth and His memory of Willow riding him and cuming deep inside her. His mind wandered to the slaves for sale and the displays and demonstrations he had seen. It had been more sex in more ways than he had ever imagined.

But his journey over the mountain was to learn more about the crime. He forced himself time and again to focus on the events of the attack. He wanted to be able to recognize important information when he overheard it.

The house routine meant that both Page and Willow had heard Carl leave. Neither had an opportunity to speak to him and both were concerned about his early departure. However there were things that needed to be done and Carl would be sorted out in due time.

While Willow cleaned up the breakfast things Page drew another card for the box game. It was the jack of diamonds. The instructions in the envelope were only one sentence long. Out of Willow's sight Page quietly wept.

They were out on the gazebo. The cool of the Northern California morning had been forgotten. Willow was screaming and Page was weeping. It had been ninety minutes since they had begun. The cool weather meant the ice timer would melt slowly.

Lord Blackmon had simply called it the Hot Ride. Carol and Page had once angered Lord Blackmon by bickering and then had not stopped when he told them to quit. The issues that led to that little fight were forgotten in the punishment Lord Blackmon imposed.

Now it was Willow and Page sharing the experience. Page had made it clear to Willow that this was her punishment for losing focus at the Expo. Page was there because it was her task from the Box game.

Their bare feet straddled the frame for a wooden pony torture. Typically when a slave rode a wooden pony, their feet would be off the ground and they would have most if not all of their weight resting on their pussy or asshole. The thin edge of the v-shaped frame would bring agony to the slave as it pressed relentlessly on the tender tissues.

However Page and Willow were not riding the wooden pony. Their feet were on the ground but were standing astride the peaked frame with the top about six inches below their groins. However the gazebo tiles where they were standing were covered in olive oil so that their feet were constantly struggling for purchase. This tired out the leg muscles quickly. Their breasts were pressed together because their hands were chained together and were being held just over their heads. The cuffs were connected by an ice timing device connected to the top of the gazebo but too low to allow them to effectively pull themselves up.

Running across the top of the v-shaped frame was a rough hemp rope about an inch thick. This rope was kept soaking in the most hellishly hot liquid irritant Lord Blackmon could find. Builders sand, very course and sharp, had been mixed with it to make a thick slurry. Page had prepared this ordeal by removing the thick rope from its storage bucket and attaching it to the peak of the v-shaped frame. She had used very thick rubber gloves.

As her feet slipped, Willow's pussy slammed down on the chemical soaked rope. The texture of the rope combined with the sand irritated the delicate tissues of her pussy and asshole and adding to the effect of the chemical irritants. Willow's pain blossomed like an expanding fireball.

Time and again their feet slipped and they landed hard on the gritty rope. Each impact reactivated the chemicals and spread them further. The fact that their legs were not tied and the rope holding their hands was not tight meant that they both had a good bit of movement. But every movement made the pain worse. Fighting to try and stay off the tormenting rope meant they moved back and forth along the length of the rope. With each slip they touched a fresh segment and unleashed a renewed agony.

Everything between their knees and their waist felt like it was burning and peeling away. To Willow it felt like red hot knifes were finding new flesh to slice away. Page and Willow and screamed, moaned, wept and begged for the pain to stop. But the ice in the timing device did not care for their pleas and tears. It took more than two hours to release.

When the timing rope finally did release, they had to move off the end of the wooden pony frame and use the keys Page had left on the table to release their hands. As soon as their hands were free, Page grabbed the jug of olive oil and poured almost a gallon on her and Willow. The oil helped carry away the capsaicin and begin the process of relieving the agony. They both writhed in the oily puddle, gently massaging away the burning from their pussy, ass, and thighs. The burning would take hours to completely dissipate. The memory never would.

The mission to learn more about the attack had been very fruitful. The law enforcement officers and firemen that had responded to the attack had been eager to talk about what they had seen and done the night before. Many of the stories began with some variation of, "Did you see that one..." and continued on describing what the slave had been wearing or doing to the astonishment and thrill of the civil servant. Quite a few talked about taking advantage of slaves, bound or otherwise. Most agreed it had been the best middle of the night call they had ever experienced.

But as they talked they also revealed other information, information that Carl was looking for. He continued to pretend to read the paper and do the crossword. In truth he was making notes and listening to every word.

He confirmed the presence of tear gas and CS gas. He also confirmed that some of the slaves had gone missing. They suspected that there had been between three and ten perpetrators and that they had been dressed as staff. None of this was news to Carl.

But other elements of the attack were new to him. One vender display had been left completely abandoned and the police had theorized that was how the attackers had gotten in. They had gotten away in a plain panel truck that had been waiting in the loading area.

But most shocking to Carl was the fact that some of the slaves had died, choking on their vomit induced by the CS. Carl realized how lucky they had been to be near an exit and leaving at the very moment the attack had taken place. He, Page, and Willow had slipped away without being noticed or hurt. As Carl listened, he considered the deaths of the slaves as an important reason to share what he knew about Willow's brother. But then he heard something ominous.

One sheriff deputy asked, "Did any of you talk to the guys running the show?"

One of the senior firefighters spoke up, "Yea, they wanted to know what we had found."

The deputy continued, "Did you talk to that little fat fucker? He was the one screaming about the slaves that had been stolen."

"No," the fire captain answered, "No, there was another guy. He had just gotten there. He talked very quietly but asked some very direct questions about what I had seen and what I thought. A wiry and lean sort. He looked ... ex-military?"

"What did he want?"

"He said something about the Expo people doing their own investigation. I thought he was looking into the crooked vender that let those people in.

"But there were some things there at the site that were not right, like they had been moved or something. One whole section of pipe and drape had been disassembled and was gone. They also would not release the names of all the attendees. You know when you feel like people are running around hiding things from you? It felt like that." He then took another pull of his coffee and fell silent.

"I bet those guys keep a lot of secret," one San Jose Police officer said. Everyone nodded and the conversation moved on.

"Fuck'em" one firefighter said.

"No," the captain replied, "But one did suck my dick!"

The group erupted in laughter.

Carl continued to act like the whole conversation had gone over his head. His mind however was running through the possibilities.

He had spent much of his career looking into organized crime. Every crime group had a team of enforcers. Some were used to settle issues such as someone stealing from group, or a personal slight. He knew the foot solders often used kidnappings, tortures, killings and beatings to get information or settle accounts. They were people you, as an undercover agent, identified early and stayed clear of any way you could.

Could these slave owners have their own investigators and muscle? There was no question that they were capable of violence! They were feeling angry and personally hurt by what happened. They had plenty of money to hire violent and resourceful men. They also had parts of their lives that they might not want made public. Hiring mercenaries could be seen as solving all of these problems. It made sense.

Carl decided he needed to lay low and keep the information to himself for a while until he knew what was going on. If he came forward, he might be putting Willow and Page at risk. He needed to consider how to keep himself and the girls off the radar of both the police and the owners.

He had made a career of going unnoticed. He was good at it too.

Carl did not get back to Rose House until it was dark. Page met him at the door and greeted him warmly. He did note however that she was not in her normal uniform, naked with collar and heels. She was wearing cotton pajamas in a dark purple color, almost black.

Willow was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you eaten? Can I fix you something to eat or maybe a drink?"

Carl quietly declined and sat down in the leather chair he had occupied the night before. Page knelt down at his feet and gently put her arms around his right leg. It was both comforting and reminiscent of the previous night's activities. Carl pushed that thought away in hopes of getting some vital information from Page that might help his understanding of the situation.

"Page, what do you know about the other owners in the area?"

"I am not sure what you are asking."

Carl thought for a moment, "I need to understand who these people are a little better. I heard some things today that might impact us and I need to find a few more pieces of the puzzle."

"I will of course tell you anything I know," Page said.

He was going to ask if she though they might be violent or if they had ever hurt anyone. Well, that is a given! What else made a criminal conspiracy?

"Do they ever work together on things?"

Page thought for a moment. "I have heard Lord Blackmon talk about groups within the group of slave owners. He has spoken of 'group politics' and things like that but I know very little of the details. I just know some do not respect Lord Blackmon because he became a slave owner later in life and was not pursuing it when he was given Carol and me. They think he is weak."

"Is he?" Carl was used to allowing a suspect to implicate himself by prompting them to talk. One way was to follow a line of discussion even if it was not directly related to what he wanted to know. Most people, if they talk enough, will get to something important.

Page pulled back from Carl's leg. She took on a much more formal air and bowed her head. "Sir, Lord Blackmon is not weak. He is not afraid of delivering punishment and torment that is almost impossible to bear. He is not afraid of discipline or of using his slaves any way he chooses for pleasure. I ... he..." Page's seemed to shudder for a moment. "He just chooses not to damage his slaves. He does not consider them disposable." Page lifted her head high and straightened her back but kept her eyes down.

"Page, I meant no insult to Lord Blackmon. I am asking about the others in the area that might react to what happened at the Expo. Do you think they might react? Do you think they could ... go around the police and take action on their own"?

"Sir, there is no question that they are capable of acting on their own. Masters take disrespect very personally. Many would consider what happened last night very disrespectful. Yes, I think they may act on their own."

"Will they use violence to get information?"

"I think they would, sir. Pain and violence is what they know and trust."

Carl thought for a moment before asking the question that was pressing on him but was afraid to ask Page. He was afraid of panicking her.

"Page, we were there using Lord Blackmon's name. Will they come here looking for us? Will they think we were involved?"

Page did not hesitate. "Yes, they will consider the possibility of our involvement. We were new and unknown to them. The only link they know is Lord Blackmon. I am sure they will consider following that line of inquiry.

"But they do not know where Rose House is located. Lord Blackmon is a very private person. He has gone to great lengths to conceal not just the location but the very existence of Rose House. The only master to ever be here was brought here in a way to conceal the location and he never saw the front or inside of the house."