Alex Stevenson, owner of ‘The Contemporary Man’, a leading mens’ lifestyle magazine, arranges to unwind with a female dominant, recommended to him by a close friend.

Artist and semi-retired dominatrice, Katherine O’Brien—a.k.a Mistress Kitty– adds Alex to her exclusive clientele after their sexually charged meeting. A first for her, she allows sex on the menu. The man of her dreams is on offer and the challenge of training him is irresistible.

This bachelor is going to get more than he bargained for! Question is, will he like it?

Eight murders—no—nine, I corrected as I parked my Nash Airflyte behind the flashing black-and-white and flipped off the lights. I returned the nod of the uniformed officer who stood beside the squad car, then glanced at the rundown, brick tenement building. Scrawled across the bottom right side in thick, black letters was, Kilroy was here. It was 1948 and signs of the war still lingered. Like the other crime scenes, a lot of shell-shocked vets eked out a survival in these south side buildings.
I left the car, hurried across the sidewalk and up the uneven, concrete steps to the building’s entrance. This string of murders was the biggest case I’d ever worked. The newspapers had dubbed the killer the ‘Bicycle Chain Strangler.’ We were scouring the city for a Nazi who got his kicks from watching American vets die slowly, while blood oozed from cuts inflicted by the murder weapon—a German bicycle chain, a Fahrradfabrik Schauff, to be precise. How even a Nazi could choke the life from another man was beyond me, beyond any rational thinking man. The shrinks think they have it figured out, but those freaks aren’t any more human than the lab rats they study.
I grabbed the doorknob, a wobbly leftover from the twenties, and nearly yanked it free. No locks or buzzer, I noticed as the door swung open. Just like all the others. The killer always entered through the fire escape. I released the doorknob, grabbing the door and swinging it open.
 
A black blur shot toward me from within the dimly lit hallway.

“I think you better come and have a look.”  He ducked back into the room and stood facing the far wall.

She saved her work, and pushed her chair away from the table.  He seemed jumpy, nervous, and she wondered why.  When she stood at the entrance to the new room, she smiled.  It was perfect.  She’d need to get drapes for the winter, but for the time being, she loved having it all open.  Around the perimeter, the hardwood floor gleamed and the Persian rug in the center looked plush and soft.  She stepped inside and did a slow spin, checking all the light fixtures and inhaling the smell of fresh paint.  It was then that she spotted the plug in the far corner, and the lack of a cover.

She turned and faced him, confused.

From behind his back, he pulled out the cover and, while holding it out towards her, he said, “I didn’t quite get it finished.”

She blinked, and smiled again.  Taking the cover, she said, “You know I’ll have to add this to the punishment you’ve already earned.”

“Yes, I know.”  He lowered his eyes, and asked, “What time would you like me here?”

“Ten,” her voice had grown husky.

“Yes ma’am.  I’ll be here.”

He walked towards the door, but before he left, she said, “Don’t masturbate tonight.”

He spun around and faced her.  Flushed, he replied in a small, ragged voice, “Yes ma’am.”

Continue reading ‘An Acquired Taste by Jude Mason’