A/N: For it was not meant to be a plummeting fall into the darkness, but rather a gentle spiral, slow, so very slow, that by the time they realized how far off the were gone it was too late to turn back…
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The next couple of days had been a whirlwind of activity for all the agents involved in the case, but that didn't mean Flack got to see much of Angell. Rumor had it, if you paid attention to such things, that Vice had asked a retired Madame, dominatrix extraordinaire, to teach her the ropes of the business so her performance would be credible enough for the johns to buy it. If they had asked him, which they hadn't, that had been money unwisely spent… she had it pat down the moment she cracked that whip for the first time.
Maybe he and Messer were no experts on the subject (although he could only vouch for himself, you never knew with that wacko friend of his), but she seemed imposing enough, tempting enough, dangerous enough… hell, just about everything "enough" for him to feel like falling to his knees and worshipping forever. Messer hadn't gone as far as saying the worship part, or the forever for that matter, but he had accepted that the whole experience had been "scaringly arousing" or "arousingly scaring", whichever you preferred. Pino had been aroused and Adam… Adam had just been scared. Doc Hawkes could not be reached for comment.
Vice had done other hiring as well, and the 7 guys in the op had spent the last 48 hours being trained by Gaston, Lady Santa's most trusted right hand aid, a retired gay escort. Eyebrows had been raised and the proverbial waste would have hit the fan had the brass not made clear that they were to pay attention, learn to play the part and keep their whining confined to the locker room where neither Gaston, nor the higher ups, could hear it. Preferably to be done under the shower, so no one could hear it, period. They had been an interesting 2 days, to say the least.
Gaston might had been an old queer, but he was tough as nails, Brooklyn born and bred, and took shit from no one. Having been trained in the sadomasochist world, he was worse than a drill sergeant and expected the men to work their asses off pulling this gig. Although it would only be one, two tops, who'd be chosen as some sort of "free tasting" to the pervs, it was yet unknown who the chosen one would be, therefore, they all had to know how to play the part, and play it convincingly.
The first lessons had been relatively easy… the walking, the sitting down, the gestures while talking. Gibbons, Adam and Hawkes pulled it off almost instantly; Gibbons and Pino were almost hopeless, both looking far too "manly" to be believable. Gaston decided they'd get to play the dominant part, which required a less gentle side, but that didn't mean he wouldn't work them to the ground, as they needed more training than a submissive type.
Next came some tips on how to dress and present themselves. Loud curses were heard on the whole floor as seven manly men got acquainted with the modern form of torture known as waxing; Gaston managed to quiet them down a bit when he explained that the "winner" of the mission would have to get his nether regions waxed as well. Then came manicures, pedicures and facials, and Flack had to admit those were some things he wouldn't mind getting used to… although he'd draw a line at the clear polish on his nails or the citrusy smell of the aftershave they used on him.
Things started to get uncomfortable from then on. They had seen all the "toys" Vice had to offer them, but it was one thing to see them and another one, quite different to sit through a Tupperware presentation of them, with Gaston and two other escorts, one dominant and one submissive, explaining their virtues and how to enhance the whole experience for both partners. And once they had gotten the theory, they had to do the practice, and that's when most of them actually begged to call it quits.
After a two hour practice session Flack headed for the showers before heading home. He felt sweaty and grimy and he was sure he was also bloodied from the way his back stung under his shirt. Worse of all, he felt dirty, and not the kind of dirt that soap could wash away, no matter how hard he scrubbed. He hadn't minded being strapped to the wall and gagged, at least, he hadn't minded much. The gently whipping had smarted but he had taken in all in stride, and Gaston had commented he was a rare find, for tall subs were hard to come by. But then their "coach" had decided to switch roles and that's when all hell had broken loose inside of him.
He had no trouble tying up Messer, or rough-handling Garcia, or even hooding and gagging Hawkes. But when Gaston had handed him a paddle and directed him to spank Adam, he had to draw the line. He simply couldn't do it, it felt too damn much like abuse and he had dropped the paddle. Flack didn't know what had been worse; the disproving look on Gaston's face, the knowing look on Messer's… or the thankful look on Adam's. He had sworn to help and defend those who could not speak for themselves, and Adam had been such a person in a not so distant past. And although the physical scars had long since faded, Flack knew that the emotional ones were still there, some as raw as the day they had been inflicted. For the hundredth time that year, he cursed Vice for having come into his territory and messing with the people he loved most.
He stayed under the water spray until it had gone form scalding to lukewarm and then to freezing cold and all three temperatures had felt good for different reasons. He knew the worst part of the training was yet to come, that all bondage and the primping were just the icing on the cake. Tomorrow, they all would face the hardest test of all, and Gaston had made it quite clear that if they couldn't pass it, they were out of the op for good. And getting kicked out was not an option for Flack, not when there was Messer and the Doc and Adam and Angell to protect. He knew they were all in danger, and he'd see that no harm would come his way, not on his watch, not if he had some breath inside of him to stop it from happening.
That meant that he had 8 hours to mentally and emotionally prepare himself for what was coming. And if he was going to go through with it, he'd do it on his terms. And that could only mean one thing for him. He sat in the locker room, still wrapped in a towel, water dripping on his shoulders and chest, and he took out his phone. He quickly scrolled down his contacts number until he reached the one he was looking for. Three times his thumb went to press the "call" button, and three times he stopped himself from doing it, uncertain as to what the repercussions of that call would be. In the end, duty overrode everything else and he pushed the button before he had yet another chance to change his mind. His call was answered after two rings.
"Bry? Don here. Can I drop by your place after your shift ends?"
While the boys had been busy with Gaston, Angell had been taking a crash course in domineering. Lady Alexa knew everything there was to know about the business, and upon meeting Angell she hadn't been sure the detective had what it took. Now, two days later, Lady Alexa had to admit that the girl had determination, even if her heart wasn't really set into the business.
So Angell had learned how to tie people up, how to make the knots firm enough but not too loose so people could get away easily. She learned about different forms of bondage, and the different materials and techniques that could be used; she learned the difference between leather and chains and ropes, and which suited best each purpose. She learned about hooding and blindfolding and gagging and how each item took away the other person's will, until he or she became submissive. She learned a lot about control issues, and how to assert her position of power with her mere presence. And then she learned about pain.
Flogging. Whipping. Canning. Clamping nipples and labia and scrotums. Cock rings that kept erections going on forever, with cocks so engorged one might think gangrene would set in any minute. Spanking with smooth objects just to get a tingling glow going, and spanking with texturized paddles so sensitive skin would tear and bleed. The riding crop became an extension of her hand and the cat-o-nine tails began moving in any which direction she chose. Lady Alexa had her practice using both at the same time, then switching hands and doing it all over again until she could control them both enough to hit intended targets with the amount of force she wished to apply.
She also learned about complete dominion and how to make a man break and become submissive and subservient to her every wish. Angell knew she'd never use that kind of knowledge, as she felt it too degrading to have someone reduced to a no-name entity that could take all sorts of abuse. Lady Alexa told her she was too much of a weakling if she couldn't stand the idea of peeing into someone's mouth, or walking on top of a naked person using high stiletto heels and actually causing puncture wounds. Angell told her she only needed to know enough as to play the part convincingly during a couple of "interviews", just long enough to nail the bastards.
Lady Alexa had laughed at her, telling her that once she'd tasted power she'd never let go of it, and that she'd see what Lady Alexa meant when she took her final training. Angell had vehemently denied it, saying it wasn't in her personality, but as she showered at the end of the day, she couldn't help but wonder if Lady Alexa had some inkling of truth in her words. Angell had been a victim once, early in her days in the force, and she had chosen to become a survivor. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end, she could never actually enjoy being the one actively inflicting pain. Even if she'd found, much to her surprise, that she was preferring leather to lace…
Flack had dressed up as casually as possible, jeans and a warm tee, and had gone down to the bullpen to sign for some paperwork before heading out. He was surprised to find Angell at her desk at that time of night, assuming she'd have gone home after finishing her training. Everybody else had done so. He approached her and saw that she was also dressed down, tee and jeans… and the damned leather boots.
"I'm starting to think you're even going to bed with those things on…" he greeted cheerfully, although he mentally cursed himself for the imagery his own words had conjured in his mind.
"Wouldn't you just love to find that out…" she greeted back, flashing a goofy smile. She had missed their daily banter these past two days.
Knowing he was busted, Flack decided to change topics.
"What are you still doing here?" he asked.
"I'm actually waiting for…" her pager going off interrupted her. "This. Come, I want to show you something."
Flack followed her downstairs to the garage. There, sitting by itself but quietly owning the place, was a motorcycle. It wasn't new, not by any means, but the miles it had gathered gave it an even more impressive look.
""Whoa! What's that babe doing here?" Flack exclaimed, his eyes shining like a kid's on Christmas morning.
"Babe is getting fitted with a GPS system and well as video and audio recording devices. Babe is my new ride" Angell announced, a teasing tone in her voice, knowing Flack would love to take the bike for a spin or two…
"Didn't know you could ride those…"
"Been riding since I was tall enough to climb on it…"
"Okay, so you've been riding bikes for a couple of months now…" he ducked to avoid the not-so-playful punch she threw at him.
"Don't start with me, Donald Duck, or I'll swear I'll kick your sorry ass into next week…"
"Easy on the name calling, JEZABEL…" he glared back. "Please tell me that beauty ain't yours…"
"So what if it were?" Angell loved challenging him, leading him on, seeing how far he'd go before crying uncle.
"Then I guess I'd have to marry you" he deadpanned, looking at her straight in the eye.
"Well, it's your lucky day, Detective Flack. It so happens to belong to my brother…"
"For a moment there, you had me worrying…" he grinned.
"And for a moment there, you had me worried! What do you know about bikes, anyway? " she asked, walking towards the machine.
"Enough to know you're about to get on a Harley Davidson Low Glide, probably a 96 or 97, with custom made handlebars and saddlebags…"
"I'm impressed…"
She smiled at him and climbed on top of the motorcycle, giving Flack ample opportunity to gawk and salivate. Hot bike being ridden by even hotter chick that definitively had to make his top five fantasies, even more so when the hot chick was Jenn Angell… that woman's ass was made to wear jeans, so help him God.
She started the engine and looked at him over her shoulder, smiling.
"Can I give you a ride anywhere, Detective?"
If Flack hadn't known better, he could have sworn she was coming on to him, laying on her game and thick as it came. And he was going to fall for it if he wasn't careful. It was bad enough that he was already fantasizing about her legs clad in leather or her ass clad in denim, he didn't need to add sexual come-ons to the list.
"Nah, I'm good. I'm meeting a friend after shift anyway. But I'm willing to accept a rain check…"
She smiled at him before putting on the helmet. Gunning the bike, she left the garage without looking back and suddenly Flack felt very alone. Sighing, he went outside and flagged down a cab, giving the driver and address he hadn't mentioned in a long time. Shortly after ten, he found himself knocking at the door of one of his former Academy classmates.
Bryan March opened promptly and showed him inside. It wasn't long before Flack was sitting down, a beer in his hand, all niceties and catching up done. Bryan sat there, quietly waiting for the blue-eyed man to tell him what had brought him to his home after nearly five years since his last visit. Flack knew Bryan was waiting, and he found it best to stop stalling and get over with it before he lost his nerve.
"Bry… do you still have a crush on me?"
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A/N: Remember... slow build-up. Torture is good for the soul. Next chapter will deal with homosexuality, abuse and rape, so be patient with me if I don't' update too soon… writing that kind of stuff is hard and it takes its toll.