Ray Ch. 02: Damsel

"You love a good challenge," she replied, smiling when Morgan's hand immediately released the key and fell onto the desk. "Get him back in his right mind."

"I'm not a surgeon, I'm a behaviorist," Morgan replied, pulling on her jacket. "The only thing that would help his mind is a lobotomy, but even that wouldn't fix him. It would just be an improvement."

"That's fine." She opened her email and began scanning through her inbox. "We'll do what we always do. If he doesn't get through the program I'm not sure I would consider that truly a failure for us."

Morgan stood up and pulled her long auburn hair out from under her coat. She twisted it off to one side then grabbed her laptop off the desk. "Did you read his file?"

"Not yet," she replied, keeping her eyes intently on the screen.

"Why?" Morgan questioned, the domme starting to come out in her tone.

She looked up, her eyes going back to the silver key hanging from her friend's neck. "How's Finn?"

Morgan's mouth half smiled, then she disappeared into the walk-in closet. She reappeared seconds later holding a huge white binder. "Did you really think your conversation manipulation tactics would work on me?" She approached the desk and slammed the white binder down on it. "Read. His. File."

She stared down at the binder, glancing up briefly to see Morgan disappear out the door. Once she was alone she traced her finger over the name written down the spine. Ben "Alias" Whitmore. Apparently, Morgan had decided there wasn't an issue with indulging his name change. She opened the binder to the first page, the page she had already started scanning over at the prison.

Ben Whitmore. Causasian male. Age- twenty-nine. Brown hair, blue eyes. Height- seventy-three inches. Weight- two forty-seven. She scanned over the details of his living arrangements prior to incarceration, not surprised to discover he had spent the majority of his twenties staying with random friends. She imagined he wore out his welcome quickly.

The next page detailed his physical health status, though there was nothing worth noting. She picked up the stack of papers, running them through her thumb one by one until she got to the one she needed. She began scanning down the report, reminding herself that regardless of what she found she had to remain neutral. Some people referred to the neutrality as unconditional positive regard. They were delusional of course. Nothing in the world was unconditional, and a sexual predator didn't deserve positive regard. What they got from her and her staff was conditional tolerance.

The police report read dryly as they often did. An officer had to be just as detached and unbiased as she did, at least in their writing. Then they went home, like she did, and pretended there was no such pain as vicarious trauma. Though his name wasn't mentioned in the first few paragraphs her eyes devoured, his smile was screaming at her from the pages. She could picture it on his face as he followed the woman. Picture him smiling at the woman as she walked faster, knowing he was gaining control. It was probably still plastered on his face when the woman shoved him away, telling him to leave her alone. She wondered if it diminished when the woman turned to run, the narcissist within him injured by the rejection. But then she imagined it came back when his fist flew into the woman's face, knocking her to the ground. The woman who thought she had made it safely home and then found herself being dragged behind the alley of that home...

"Reading something interesting?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice, and looked up to find him staring at her from the doorway. "Did I give you permission to come into the office?"

"The door was open," he replied innocently.

"Just because the door's open doesn't mean you have permission to enter."

"People usually close their doors when they want to keep people out. Of course, this flimsy door wouldn't keep someone out who really wanted to get in." The palm of his hand hit against the door twice, the hollow sound making her nerves jump.

"Is there something you need, Ben?" she asked, watching his eyes narrow at the sound of his name.

"Do you want to meet Ben?" he asked.

"I've already met you," she replied.

"I'm Alias. You haven't met Ben yet," he said, shaking his head. "But if you keep saying his name, you will."

"Is there something you need, Ben?" she repeated.

He took a step forward, bringing his entire body into the office. Then he smiled, the sight making her stomach tighten. "I like that my room overlooks the street. I get to see everyone walking by," he said, then turned and walked back out.

When she didn't hear his footsteps thudding down the stairs she assumed he had gone across the hallway to his room. Her eyes went back to the page in front of her as her mind told her racing heart to calm down, the threat was over. But the pounding wouldn't cease, the words on the page inciting more turning within her gut.

"Mr. Whitmore stated the victim was wearing a short dress. Mr. Whitmore stated he knew for a fact the victim had worn the dress to agitate him. I asked Mr. Whitmore if he knew the victim, he stated he did not but had seen her walking by his house on several different occasions. Mr. Whitmore stated he knew she lived in the apartment complex around the block at the corner of J Street and Ninth Avenue. I asked Mr. Whitmore how he knew this information and Mr. Whitmore stated he didn't recall. I asked Mr. Whitmore why her dress agitated him. Mr. Whitmore declined to respond. I asked Mr. Whitmore if he followed the victim. Mr. Whitmore declined to respond..."

Shuffling in the hallway pulled her attention away from the page. She quietly got up from her desk and crept towards the door. When she peered into the hallway she found him staring at himself in the rectangular mirror hanging on the wall opposite of where she stood. His focus deviated from his own face to her reflection in the mirror, then he smiled.

******************

His knuckles tapped lightly against the teal wood, his cage digging into his skin when her footsteps grew closer. The past three nights he had woken in depression when he found himself free, the chains he wore in his dreams quickly disappearing as soon as he opened his eyes.

She opened the door, her lips half smiling as she shook her head. She glanced at the bag in his hand, the offering he had brought her besides himself, then turned and walked back inside.

He allowed himself one step through her door before getting to his knees and crawling the rest of the way into her living room. "I stopped by the bakery and picked up your favorite dessert, Mistress," he said, holding the bag up to her.

She took it from him and peered inside, then pulled out one of the peanut butter cookies and took a bite. "Would you like to have your favorite dessert, Officer Ray?"

A pulse shot from his stomach to his sac, the ache it caused almost painful. "Yes, Mistress."

She flopped down stomach first across the couch, the action the only directive he needed. His hands moved to her hips, pulling the black stretch pants she wore down far enough to reveal what he needed. Then his fingers gripped her skin, pulling her cheeks apart so his tongue could run between them. He circled her back entrance then licked the rest of the way up her crevice before running his tongue back down. He shoved his mouth between her cheeks as far as he could and pressed his lips against her, circling and kissing, until he could hear the sound of her breath becoming heavier.

Putting his mouth on this part of her was wrong, there were plenty of people who would tell him so. But the way it made her body tremble and her mouth whimper was the only encouragement he needed to happily follow her down to whatever hell she desired to lead him to. He opened his mouth wider, letting her feel as much of his tongue as he could manage, running it over her until she squirmed and writhed underneath it. Her hips pushed up, her body's way of demanding he continue his worship. He pulled her apart again, shoving his face into her.

A loud vibration broke through his thoughts, and it continued for several seconds before he realized it was her phone and not a toy. Her head remained turned the opposite way as if she was deaf to the noise. He followed her silent orders and ignored the sound as well, continuing his service at her back altar. The silence was brief, the vibration beginning again shortly after it had ended. His tongue never missed a stroke as her hand reached towards the coffee table to silence the phone.

She groaned when the phone lit up again, the vibration echoing against the wood. She grabbed it and looked at the screen, then sat up and held it to her ear. "What's wrong?"

He watched the space between her eyebrows grow narrower as she listened to whoever was on the other end. The pink hue his worship had brought to her skin quickly faded, and he had a feeling he wouldn't be getting an opportunity to renew it.

She hung up and jumped up from the couch, pulling her pants up. "I have an emergency at work so you have to go."

"Can I help?" he asked, getting up from the floor.

"No, it's fine. Hurry up. I have to leave," she said, grabbing her keys off the kitchen counter then heading for the door.

"Mistress, I—"

"I said I have to go!" she cut him off, pulling open the door. "Out!"

***************

The streets were empty thanks to the cold and darkness. She ignored the speed limit signs, taking the corner at the road she needed too fast. Once she swerved back into her lane she stepped on the gas, tearing through the residential area until she skidded to a stop in front of the two story house. The sound of breaking glass hit her ears the minute she walked through the front door. She raced up the stairs, almost colliding with one of her staff at the top.

"He's trashing the room," Tina said, gesturing towards the door.

She glanced down the hallway to the closed second door on the left. "What did he have in there that was glass?" she asked.

Veronica shrugged at her from her position outside his door then jumped when another crash sounded from inside the room.

This time she recognized the sound and tried to convince herself he wasn't stupid enough to jump out the window. "Ben!" she screamed, pounding on his door.

"Alias!" he shouted back at her, his fist slamming against the wood from the other side of where her hand was hitting.

"Call the police," she said, pointing to Veronica. "Whatever happens until they get here, he doesn't leave this house." She didn't try to hide her voice. She didn't care if he heard. He wasn't in control here.

"We can't do a containment in there with broken glass on the floor," Tina said, chewing on the skin around her fingernail.

She stared at the door thinking about how successful she had ever been at holding a man down in her history as a domme. But with two other women and a surge of adrenaline they may have a chance. Even if they didn't, they had to try. "We'll have to get him into the hallway first if it comes to that."

Laughter sounded from the other side of the door. "Come get me, ladies. I love a good fight." He punched the door again, leaving a fist-sized dent protruding out into the hallway.

Tina began tying her hair into a knot on top of her head and Veronica started pulling off her earrings. Other than Ben's movement on the other side of the door the house was quiet. The other men knew to stay in their rooms if the police were on their way. She held her breath, listening for the sound of sirens.

The door flew open, the handle crashing through the wall. She grabbed his arm and he swung out, sending her flying backwards. She hit the floor with a thud and scrambled forward, grasping at his legs. "Don't let him get to the stairs!"

Veronica wrapped her arms around his neck. It was far from a legal move, but they couldn't let him get out of the house. Tina grabbed him around the waist then hit her knees, trying to drag him down with her. He kicked out, his foot connecting with Tina's stomach. Her arms reflexively released him, wrapping around her injury. He threw his entire body hard to the left, the force sending Veronica crashing to the floor.

She knew they were losing the battle, but all she had to do was hold out long enough for help to arrive. Her hands grasped at the legs of his jeans, pulling herself into a seated position so she could try and get hold of his waist. His foot flew out repeatedly, her adrenaline not enough to appease the pain the blows were sending firing through her legs.

His fingers dug into her scalp, his hand entwined in her hair. She released him, her nails clawing at his wrist as he dragged her down the hallway. Then her body was jerked up and thrown forward, down the carpeted stairs. She curled into a ball as she rolled, wondering which part of her was sending the searing pain shooting through her. He was already out the front door by the time she hit the bottom.

She always told her staff never to get into a power struggle, but she couldn't lose him. He was too dangerous. Fragments of the reports and evaluations she had read forced her to her feet. She could hear the screams of her staff behind her but she kept running, refusing to allow her body to weaken. He was far ahead of her and gaining ground so she sped up, her legs and lungs screaming at her.

"Get on the ground!" The voice was so rough she almost dropped to the ground herself. A shadow flew by her, covering the distance between her and her target within seconds.

"Get on the ground!" the voice growled again, the shadow now inches from Ben's back.

Ben's head turned slightly, his eye peering over his shoulder before he darted to the right, racing over an empty driveway and through a flower bed. By the time both his feet hit the lawn the shadow was dragging him to the ground.

The sound of sirens in the distance competed with the pounding of her overworked heart in her ears. She slowed as she approached where the two men were grappling, her pulse thudding lower and lower when she recognized the serpents on Ray's arms writhing over his muscles.

"I don't want to fight with you," Ray said, pulling Ben's arms behind his back, "but I will if you continue not complying with what I'm telling you to do."

Ben grunted, jerking his arms one final time before submitting to Ray's control.

A police cruiser pulled up to the curb, the officer smiling at Ray as he stepped out of the car. "This is supposed to be your day off," the officer said, handing down a pair of handcuffs. "but thanks for making my night easier."

Ray tightened the cuffs around Ben's wrists then pulled him to his feet and led him to the cruiser. "Wait here," he said, opening the back door.

Ben sat down on the backseat, and she watched as his eyes hunted around the outside of the car until they found her. He winked and smiled, then mouthed something to her she didn't understand.

"This is Natalie Morris," Ray told the uniformed officer as they approached her. "She runs the sex offender treatment program a few houses down which is where this guy ran from."

"Officer Carson," the man introduced himself before looking back towards Ben. "What's his name?"

"Alias!" Ben shouted from the car.

She looked towards the cruiser, thankful this would be her final encounter with him. "His name is Ben Whitmore."

"What happened?" Officer Carson asked.

"He was engaging in property destruction, my staff called the police for assistance, then he assaulted two of my staff and myself before AWOLing from the facility." Her legs were beginning to throb in pain but she refused to request to sit down. She wouldn't allow him the gratification of knowing he injured her.

She finished answering all the questions Officer Carson had then began limping her way back to the house. Morgan was right, Ben was a mistake, but now that mistake would be locked back up where it belonged. There were several reports she would need to complete but they could wait until the morning. She slowly made her way up the stairs, shut the door to his room then found Veronica and Tina in the office.

"I'll find coverage for the remainder of your shifts. Go home," she told them.

They left without a word and she knew she would find their resignation letters on her desk before the end of the week. Nobody lasted here. Nobody but her.

An hour later she pulled into her driveway and glanced at the black car parked at the curb behind her. She heard the car door slam as she made her way to her front door, the sound of his footsteps closing the distance between them.

"He's a fucking rapist," his voice hissed from behind her.

She shoved her key into the door. "I know."

"Then what were you thinking?" he questioned, his voice getting louder.

She turned to look at him, shocked he was expecting her to justify herself. "This is what I do."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because somebody has to!" she shouted. She didn't have to explain herself to anyone, and she wouldn't.

"You chased a fucking rapist down the road!" he screamed. "What the hell were you thinking? What the hell were you going to do if you caught up to him?"

She glanced down her street, waiting to see the lights in her neighbors' houses come on to investigate the commotion. When the road remained dark she went to slam the door in his face.

His hand shot up, pressing into the wood. "How about instead of getting pissed and trying to shut me out you thank me for being there to save your ass."

Her anger boiled through her. "I'm not some pathetic damsel in distress who needs to be saved."

"Oh really?" he shot back, his teeth biting into his lower lip making the short hair of his goatee stick out towards her. "Now this rapist knows he can overpower not just you but three of you at the same time!"

She pressed her body against the door, forcing it closed. "If I wanted to argue with an asshole, I'd go back to work!"

*********************

He stormed down her walkway to his car, climbed into the driver's seat then slammed his palms against the steering wheel. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so angry. It wasn't his place to be angry and it certainly wasn't his place to question her but he couldn't help it. The image of her chasing after the rapist wouldn't leave his head. It was amazing how often fearlessness and stupidity blurred together.

He turned on the ignition but didn't shift the car into gear. He stared at the front window to her house, the yellow light shining through the white blinds. He had set his lifeline on fire, burned it until it was charred to nothing. He wouldn't be allowed back in her house, and she would choose a better behaved slave to play with when she went to the château.

He pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, contemplating going back up to her door to apologize. She always told him he was stubborn, and there was no denying her allegation. He was stubborn, too stubborn to apologize when he wasn't wrong. A slave wasn't supposed to be prideful, but a slave was just a man on his knees after all.

When he heard a tap on the passenger window he looked over to see pale hair shining in the darkness. He unlocked the door and she climbed inside.

"What kind of car is this?" she asked, scanning the dashboard.

"A hooptie," he replied.

"I've never heard of that brand before."

He looked at her for a moment, trying to decide if she was being serious. "It's slang for 'piece of shit car'."

"Oh," she said, turning around to glance into the backseat. "I'm not exactly up to par on my slang."

"I'd imagine a woman who says things like 'up to par' wouldn't be up to par on her slang."

She laughed, the same soft laugh that always came from her lips when she mercilessly teased him. The dull ache in his sac responded eagerly to the familiar sound. "Thank you for saving my ass." The words were quiet, almost as if it took every muscle in her body to force them from her mouth.