He became conscious again with a thumping headache. At first he hardly saw anything. A haze of images reached the recognition center in his brains, but they had a hard time to put a name on it. It didn’t take long before this mist drew up, and Jean-Pierre saw that he was in a semi-darkened room. He lay on a bed, gagged and tied up on arms and legs to the bedposts. He was naked.
The room was soberly decorated. Alongside the bed, there stood a table with some objects he could identify from where he lay. A closet nearby the door on his left side was the rest of the furniture there was.
What had happened? He suddenly remembered everything. The eavesdropping on Jacques and Katarina, the stumbling behind him… and then Helga and Irene with a man, after that nothing anymore. Jean-Pierre shook his head, was he dreaming? His headache, unfortunately, told him he was wide awake.
A sound from behind the door alerted him. He tightened his body in an uncontrolled movement as a consequence of the fear he was feeling. The lock was turned, and Helga and Irene entered the room, dressed in full SM-regalia. The leather outfit frightened him already. What would they do to him?
Helga, obviously in charge, looking if he still was tied up properly inspected his arms and legs. ‘Dear, you better start singing and I hope it will be the song we like to hear.’ With the whip in her right hand, she rubbed his chest that was panting for breath. She teased him, drawing circles around his nipples.
‘You know, a nipple ring is a sexy thing to a man. What would you say if we decorated you beautifully, with everything that it implies? I suppose you’re a real man and can stand a little pain. I’m sorry to say we don’t have any sedative, and we usually take the ring of the largest size.’ She walked to the table, and Jean-Pierre, who raised his head now saw that there were all kinds of SM-object on this furniture.
‘Why are you doing this? I’ve done nothing wrong, neither to you or Jacques or the General. If you think I’m the mole, you’re totally wrong.’ His voice broke, speaking to them. He also felt ashamed and humiliated being naked and helpless on the bed.
Helga came back with the ring in her hand and touched him with the cold thing on his skin. His eyes followed her hand while he felt his heartbeat rising.
‘Please, untie me. I know nothing!’
His plea was useless. With her whip, she followed the outlines of his body. Along his chest, his hips and further on to his feet. Then she took the inside of his legs and stopped teasing him when she arrived at his crotch.
Jean-Pierre swallowed. He realized by the smile of Helga and the cruel laugh upon the face of Irene that these girls didn’t bluff. How could he save himself from this? These women would torture him to say something he just didn’t know. Did he have to make up some lies? If he admitted, against the truth, that he was the mole, they might be doing even worse things. Maybe even make him disappear forever.
Without warning, Helga beat him right in the crotch. ‘Tell us, who are you working for? How did you get on the trail of Katarina because you don’t have to jive, that meeting was no coincidence?’
Jean-Pierre painfully tried to curl his body, but the ropes on his arms and feet prevented this. A short and loud cry had escaped his throat when Helga had hit him. The pain wandered through his belly, and he clenched his buttocks to endure it.
What happened next, went so fast, Jean-Pierre hardly noticed it. The door fell open, and a wild rage battered around with a club. He heard the breaking of bones and before he knew it, Helga and Irene, were lying unconscious on the ground.
Katarina threw away her wooden weapon in a corner and untied him.
‘We have to be quick. I’ve given Jacques some of his own medicine and have poured a drug in his glass of champagne. He’ll be out for a couple of hours. The only thing we can do is to run away; it’s not safe here anymore for you… and for me.’
© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere