The Cases of Lenora X, Domme Detective: 50 Shades of Black and Blue (5)

Kinks and Limits, I


     Frankie used to say "you can't let a dead man down."  Those words never seemed less true to Me than they did today.

    My mind wandered as the guy behind the counter at BC Self Storage went through the process of renting Me a small locker.  I was vaguely aware of the guy spending a little too much time checking Me out, but I couldn't bother getting peeved about it.  I was silently apologizing to Frankie for what I was doing.  I had already apologized to his sister Rose, and tried to give her the retainer money back, but she wouldn't hear of it.  I assured her I'd return to the case if there was anything at all new to go on, or if I got some sudden flash of inspiration.  She was more understanding than most people would've been in her situation.  But that didn't surprise Me -- Frankie was good people, the best in fact.  So no surprise his sister would be as well.

     I had to stop working on Frankie's Last Case.  I was not only at a dead end, but just having the boxes around was like a constant reminder, a taunt exposing My inability to find out who killed the only person who really meant much to Me.  I had to work on cases I could solve, and put time into people I could help.  I wanted to nail Frankie's killer more than I wanted to breathe, but I had to push it away, at least for a while. 

     I signed a form and the guy behind the counter gave Me the keys to unit 206.  He indicated the bank of elevators with a perfunctory gesture and a couple minutes later I was closing the door and locking the lock.

     My Jimmy Choos clicking on the acidized concrete floor made a nagging sound in My ears as I walked back to the elevator.  I looked skyward.

     "I'm sorry, Frankie.  But I'm not done.  I promise"

Kinks and Limits, II

[early 1990s]

     You know it was a bad night when you wake up relieved not to have been kidnapped by white slavers.

     I was in My apartment, with no memory of having gotten there.  Last I knew I was watching the show, enjoying those wonderful drinks, and then losing My balance, and someone catching Me.

     I tried to get out of bed and winced.  I was sore -- arms, shoulders, the inside of My thighs, lower back, and . . . oh God, inside.   I bolted out of bed, despite the pain, and jumped in the shower, cleaning Myself maniacally, wondering why I wasn't crying . . . I should be crying!   But there was nothing in Me but the desire to get clean, and to remember.

     I dried off and tied the bathrobe tight around Me, as if I could recover some lost thing retroactively.  I flung Myself back into bed, wondering why I wasn't hung over -- I must've been very drunk.  Rolling over, I reached for the phone -- Suzanne would know what had happened and how I'd gotten home.

    I started to call her and then stopped, and put the phone down.  I needed to try to remember as much as I could for Myself before I heard anyone else's version.

    Laying there, eyes closed, bits and pieces came back to Me.  

    The strongest and most disturbing memory was that I was really enjoying what was going on.  I expected to start to remember and be horrified, repulsed -- but it was just the opposite.  

    I remembered ropes, chains . . . people of both sexes, and one man, clearly in charge.  I was tied down somewhere -- it wasn't comfortable but somehow I remembered liking that.  There were big pieces missing, clearly, but I could remember feeling buzzed, then lightheaded, then absolutely wonderful,  Then I did things, and things were done to Me.  I couldn't say it was consensual, but nothing happened to Me that I didn't want to happen, even if I hadn't expressed it.  Somehow I knew that, but I couldn't say how.

   It went on for a while, that I somehow knew for a fact.  But how it ended and how I got home or who might've brought Me home was a total blank.

   The phone rang.  Suzanne.  Wondering if I was OK -- she'd seen Me go off with some guy and shortly after that the place got raided -- she narrowly avoided getting pinched, via the friend who got us in, spiriting her away.  Her next stop was going to be the police, first to see if I'd been caught up in the raid, and if not, to report Me missing.

   I faked being badly hung over so I could get off the phone and crawl deep under the covers, images of a strange world I never knew existed flooding My mind.

Kinks and Limits, III

[present day]
     I was looking through a file, doing background work on the case of an unhappy customer suing a laundromat, one of several that the now-legit King owned.

    The file seemed thinner than it should've been.  I looked over at mandy.   

     "Do you have part of the file on Hayes vs. Magi-Klean?"  I wiggled the folder in the air.  "This seems awfully thin."  I was asking only because I couldn't think of anything else to do -- mandy was very organzied, and wouldn't take things out of a file without putting them back, or retaining the entire file until she was done with it.

     she shook her head and went over to the file cabinet, a look of concern crossing her brow.  mandy prided herself on keeping everything in perfect order.  After a minute she pulled out a folder and came over to Me.

    Hayes vs. Magi-Clean.  Mystery solved.  Somehow two files for the same case had been created, one with a C and one with a K.  mandy breathed a sigh of relief and took everything out of the C folder and put it in the K folder, triumphantly discarding the C folder.

   Then it hit Me.  One case, two files.  Easy enough to do by accident.  Or on purpose.

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