What I do have problems with is when some of the 'subs' available for the clients to enjoy were not there of their own volition. Considering what some of the clients did to them, I doubt few people in the world would ever volunteer. I knew of at least a dozen people who had been maimed permanently inside the walls of Mistress Blood's, and believed the rumors that at least two real snuff films had been made within the walls. I'd worked with one man who said he'd disposed of the bodies from Blood's, and that some of them were disfigured in ways that looked like something from a horror movie. I said my mission that night was intimidation, but that didn't mean Mistress Blood's didn't need to be shut down.
I waited until the door opened from inside (there's no way I was taking down an inch thick steel core door, not without a lot of plastic explosives) to make my move. A client stepped out, a man whose face would make the evening news if I had a camera. Before the security could close the door, my Glock was in his face, backing both of them inside.
"You, Mr. Bank Vice President, bounce," I hissed to the frightened man. It wasn't just for effect, either. As Marcus Smiley, I'd done a lot of news interviews, and needed to disguise my voice, although I never did get as ridiculous as Christian Bale did in the Nolan Batman films. "And if you value your career, never come back here again. Not unless you want Bill Franklin to know what you do late nights."
The scared executive nodded, his jowly cheeks fluttering as a piss stain started spreading over his crotch before fleeing into the night. The guard, a beefy guy wearing leather pants and a good amount of baby oil, was more composed, and started backing towards a spot on the wall. "Uh-uh, Gimp Boy," I said, pointing the Glock in my left hand at him. "You got two options. I can knock you the fuck out, or I can shoot you. Personally I don't care which."
The guard looked me in the eyes, and knew who I was. We were in a small alcove, with almost no chance of anyone hearing us. The rooms were very well soundproofed, after all. It helped with preventing complaints from the neighbors. "You promise I can live?"
"If you play it cool," I said. “I’ll tie you up if I knock you out though."
The guard nodded and thought it over for half a second before lowering his head and turning around. I brought the butt of my Glock down at the base of his skull, and he dropped like a two hundred pound sack of rice. Pulling a roll of electrical tape from my vest, I quickly taped his wrists behind his back, along with his ankles before connecting the two. He'd be uncomfortable when he woke up, but he wasn't going anywhere. Fifty meters of electrical tape can bind up just about anyone.
Heading down the hallway, I pulled my other Glock and kept it by my ear, all my senses open. There was a lot that those senses gave me that I didn't want, but would deal with later. The cries and whimpers coming from the closed doors, the crack of whips, the hum of power tools, and other things that I didn't even want to consider.
I couldn't even start busting heads as much as I wanted, because I knew that despite the illegality of some of the shit that went down at Mistress Blood's, over half of the subs were there by their own volition. Not that I could understand the appeal of paying someone to cut your back to shreds with a cat o' nine tails, but that didn't mean you needed to die because of it. I made my way down the hall towards the office, knowing what I'd find.
Mistress Blood, long before she had gotten into doing just hardcore BDSM, had been an amateur bodybuilder. In fact, it was in an attempt to make money for her bodybuilding career that she'd gotten first into BDSM, doing so-called 'sexy wrestling' videos and smothering men with her muscular thighs. She'd even done submission porn videos before turning her attention to running her own place. With the assistance of Illuysas Petrokias, she'd set up Mistress Blood's.
I found her in her office, wearing the leather and latex that I was sure she used for work. Incongruously, she also wore steel rimmed glasses while she looked over an account ledger when I opened the door. It was a strange look, dominatrix combined with school teacher, kind of.
"Did the Councilwoman come in early? If she did, tell her she needs to pay for last time," she said before she looked up, seeing that I wasn't her security guard. "You."
"Me," I replied. "I assume you know why I'm here."
"I suppose it's not to just ask if I've got a part time job open," Blood said, sitting back and tenting her fingers under her chin. I had to give her credit, she had more guts than the client I'd chased out of here.
"Not in the least," I said. "Although be thankful that I actually respect you enough to look you in the eye."
For the first time, I saw fear in Blood's eyes. "You're not giving me a chance?"
"After the dozen men and women I've seen carried out of here permanently disfigured? Tell me Blood, how much did they pay you for the chance to blind a teenage girl, or to literally castrate a man?"
"Quarter million each," Blood automatically replied. "Let's face it Snowman, you killed people for less. At least those people didn't die."
I nodded, my eyes still not flinching. "And I've lost sleep over each and every one of them. We could argue the morality of killing versus permanent maiming, but it doesn't really matter, Blood. You're going to become just another number."