Blair decided to call the night watchman at the office. He had tried a couple of Valerie's friends, but none of them had seen her that evening. He even called her mother, but there was no answer. He dialed mother, but there security guards in his building. The night watchman went on duty at eight, so he had not seen Miss Jones. There was a daytime doorman though and Mr. Eldridge could have that number if he wanted it. He did.
Burt hurried along the street, getting hotter by the second. He slipped into the building and told the guard that he needed to work late. The guard recognized him and offered no protest. He got into the elevator and pressed the button for the cellar.
Getting off, he hurried down the hall and with a trembling hand, opened the door. In his haste, he neglected to lock it again.
There she was, naked and tormented as he had left her, only now, the blood had dried on her body and had turned a deep wine color. He ripped off his clothes in a flash and seized his fat belt with its brutal, metal buckle.
Blair got out of the taxi in front of the office and hurried in. The doorman had seen Miss Jones slip into the staircase earlier that evening. No one had seen her emerge. Blair was anxious and rode up to the office. Finding it empty, he returned to the lobby and started talking to the night watchman.
"No, there's nobody upstairs. She's not there," he said.
"Well, maybe that other fellow had seen her."
"What other fellow?"
"Oh, the one that came before. You know, tall, dark, with curly hair."
"He was here before?" said Blair, growing suspicious, for he recognized Burt by the description.
"Yeah. Said he was working late. Only he got in the elevator and went down to the basement. Seems kind of odd when the office is the twentieth floor." Blair wasn't listening any more. He had jumped in the elevator and was on his way down.
Burt had taken Valerie down completely after hours of binding confinement. Instead, he had tied her to the table, thick ropes cutting into each limb. He was dressed in his leather outfit again and was showering her exposed body with blows from his belt. His other hand rubbed his cock and he was about to shoot his steaming load all over her face, which he had exposed just for that purpose.
"OK, slave-bitch, here it is! Your master is gonna come all over your face! Get ready for it!!"
At the moment, the door burst open and Blair rushed in, followed by the night watchman.
"Oh my God, Valerie!" he screamed and lunged towards the very surprised Burt. "I'll kill you, you bastard, I'll kill you if it's the last thing I ever do!!" shouted Blair and put his hands around Burt's neck. He started shaking him, as if he were trying to kill the man, but suddenly, he realized that he had left Valerie tied to the table.
Letting go of Burt, he hissed, "Get out of here, you sick, perverted bastard, before I get a knife and cut it off! You'll never get a job in this city, not when I'm through with you!"
Burt grabbed his things and hastened out of the room. Blair turned to Valerie. He almost threw up from what he saw. The woman was lying spread-eagle on the table, her whole body a mass of oozing cuts and sticky, dry blood. Her face was bruised and her lip had broken and was still oozing fresh blood. Her eyes looked glazed and bleary. He imagined that she was still in shock from the awful rape and beating she had undergone.
He gathered her in his arms and untied her fetters. Seeing the ripped and tattered clothing, he asked the guard to find him a blanket.
"Baby, baby, baby," he kept crooning over and over again, into her matted, snarled hair.
Driving home in the taxi, she slept, with her head on Blair's shoulder. She was weak and dizzy, content to let him take complete control of her. She was adamant about one thing, however. She refused to press charges against him, saying that she simply couldn't bear to go over the whole thing in a court room. Besides, she reasoned, everything, but everything would come out then. The court would have to know why he had been looking for her and the nature of their relationship. She would be humiliated at work. She begged Blair to simply fire Burt and let the whole thing go. He saw her reasoning and finally agreed, but not without telling her that he intended to write some very damaging things on the man's record.
Back in the apartment, Blair was as tender and solicitous as a father. He bathed her in a hot tub and dressed her wounds. Wrapping her up in a soft white night gown, he carried her over to the bed and tucked her in.
Too worried to leave her alone, he telephoned his wife to say that he had been suddenly called out of town on business and would be back in a day or two. He crawled into bed next to her and stroked her while she cried.
"There, there, there, I love you, sweetie," he repeated endlessly. He let her cry, for he knew that she had had a harrowing day. What he didn't know was that she was crying because her master had been taken away from her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Two weeks later, Blair and Valerie were lying on a hot Jamaica beach. He was very worried about her mental state and by pulling a few strings, managed to get the necessary time off to take a little vacation.
As always, he had brought much of his work with him, but he and Valerie had managed to spend some good times together, basking in the shimmering heat and splashing around in the cool, azure water.
At night, they would take long walks and have dinner out in lovely restaurants that overlooked the water. Sometimes, they went dancing, his arms tight around her, feeling the supple curves of her back and ass.
At first, she had been reluctant to have sex.
But gradually, as the wounds healed and her body glowed and gleamed golden from the hot sun, she became less inhibited.
Their fucking was hot, languorous and slow. They made love, drunk with champagne on the huge, king size bed in their air conditioned room, or in a steamy, hot shower, or once, outside on the beach, late at night when no one was around.
Blair was an angel. He waited on her hand and foot. He bought her flowers and expensive candies, souvenirs and jewelry. He rubbed her body with oil on the beach and washed it for her when they were alone. He was the perfect lover: attentive, gentle, caring, concerned… then why was she so unhappy?
The sex between them was good, she wouldn't deny that, but somehow, it lacked some vital thrill, some hidden, unnamable something. She hated to put it into words, even to herself and so she tried not to do it. Sometimes, though, the thought slipped in, uninvited and she had to face it, she liked submission and without it, sex was lacking all of its energy.
She kept this knowledge from Blair though and tried to act the part of a happy and contented lover. He was fooled and doubly fond and affectionate in return.
Sometimes, during the day, Blair felt that he had to work. Valerie never complained, in fact, secretly she was glad at the chance to be alone for a little while. She bought a pair of jogging shoes and sweat pants and started running along the shore in the mornings.
One cool morning, she noticed a lovely woman of about forty or forty five running with a young girl who appeared, to be her daughter. Both were tall and slender and had the same graceful way of moving.
The older woman had coppery hair, about shoulder length, which she swept off her pretty face as she ran. Her eyes her wide and dark and even the few small wrinkles at their outer corners lent interest to her intelligent face. She was still slim and even through the thick stuff of her sweat pants and sweat shirt, Valerie could see that her legs and ass were firm and her big tits were too.
The daughter, who looked to be about fifteen, was quite pretty. Her hair was copper, like her mother's, but longer and very wavy and thick. Often, she put it into a thick braid, but one day, after their run, she undid it and let the thick, springy curls float free. She was tanned from the sun and a few freckles were sprinkled across her young face and nose. The eyes were the same shape as her mother's, but they were light, almost golden.