Our Only Hope - S01 E10

Story 10 months ago

Our Only Hope - S01 E10

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 10

The eunuchs walked over to the woman who was bound facing the wall and turned the wheel until she was upside down hanging from her ankles. Both smiled as the young woman screamed in fright. They released her wrists and then, with one of them holding on to her, turned the wheel so that her feet were once again close to the floor. It was a rather effective technique to keep someone under control while you released them.

The woman was young, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. She was olive-skinned and extremely petite. Her breasts were well-formed, but small. She had short, dark brown, almost black hair that surrounded an oval-shaped face, and surprisingly, she had a thick patch of hair in her crotch and also in her armpits. I immediately thought, “That’s a slave that would really appeal to a European Mistress.” That’s when the alarm bells started going off in my head. I was sitting next to a European Mistress. That was poopsie!

“Boris,” I said softly, “if you can hear me, the shit is about to hit the fan.”

I looked over at Natasha. Her arms were rigid and her hands had a death grip on the edge of the table. The muscles of her shoulder and neck were standing out as if she were lifting a great weight. I looked at the bodyguard next to her and he was slowly sliding his hand under his coat.

“Now, Boris, now,” I said a little louder than I intended.

“We will once again combine pleasure and pain,” Master Rod said loudly as the slave was brought forward. “Only it will be my pleasure and this worthless slave’s pain.”

Suddenly Natasha was standing and all of the drinks on our table had crashed to the floor. “NO!” she screamed in English as she flipped the table the rest of the way over. “You will not hurt her. She is mine.”

I didn’t see Natasha pull the knife from her clothing. I didn’t see her throw it. I wasn’t even sure what I was seeing fly through the air until it hit Master Rodriguez squarely in the center of his chest... handle end first.

My loud, “Shit!” was drowned out by his laughter as the knife bounced off the front of his shirt and clattered to the floor. “You must be Natasha,” he said jubilantly. Then pointing to me he added, “And you must be Boris.”

I wasn’t about to contradict him at this point. He continued in English. His voice was tinged with sarcastic laughter as he said, “Even if your inept attempt at throwing a knife had succeeded, I’m wearing a multi-layer bulletproof vest. No bullet... or blade... could ever penetrate this vest.” He slapped his fist against his chest.

Natasha smiled at him and said calmly, “No, but a special microneedle driven by a charge in the handle of a knife could. And it could inject a poison into your chest.”

Master Rod didn’t answer her. Instead the hand against his chest began to quiver and he seemed to stagger slightly. “Or in this case, a paralytic,” she said with a smile as he dropped to the floor.

Suddenly it sounded like every cellphone in the place– including mine– sounded an alarm. A voice much stronger than the normal translation almost yelled in my ear, “Master Rodriguez has poked a very angry Jaguar with a very short stick. Leave now and you will not be hurt. Your families will be safe. Check your cellphone. We know who is precious to you. If you stay you will die and your families will never be seen again.”

I looked quickly at my phone to see an image of Paula, a young woman with whom I had an intense relationship a half-dozen years ago. I thought I had put that behind me, but evidently Boris’ AI algorithms had scanned my phone and ***********ed her as someone very close to me. Maybe she was. She was gone, but my love for her had not faded. There was no doubt in my mind that everyone in the room was now staring at the picture of someone they loved dearly.

The room was extremely quiet. Then Natasha pulled at her dress, tearing it off as she jumped up onto the stage next to the collapsed body of Master Rodriguez. With the bottom of the dress gone, she was wearing what looked like a one piece leather swimsuit and knee high, shiny black leather boots. A knife was strapped prominently to the outside of each of the boots at the top. An empty sheath was strapped near the ankle of the left boot. From the look on her face and the pistol she held in each hand there was no doubt that she was a very powerful– and very pissed off– Mistress.

She already had everyone’s attention before she held both pistols out wide, slightly above her head and fired them into the ceiling, shouting, “Eu sou o jaguar!” very loudly and very angrily.

The earpiece translated that for me as “I am the jaguar.”

The loud voice then repeated the warning, “Leave now and you will not be hurt. Your families will be safe. If you stay you will die and your families will never be seen again.”

Everyone in the club– including Master Rodriguez’s security staff– began moving toward the doors except for one group of eight men in dark clothing at a back table who moved toward us and fanned out as if to surround us. I had my Glock firmly in my hand, but still under my coat. I was almost ready to start shooting when, to my surprise, seven of them stopped a couple yards in front of the stage and formed a half circle around us. They turned to face outward as the eighth one continued up to me. “I don’t know who you are,” he said brusquely, “and you don’t want to know who I am, but someone called in a favor and told us to protect his daughter, so we are here to make sure that you get out of here safely.”

“With him and everyone we came to rescue?” I replied pointing at Master Rodriguez and the captives against the back wall.

“If that’s what the lady wants,” he answered, “that’s what the lady gets.” He then helped release everyone– except for the unconscious waitress– from the wheels and escorted us all outside. I got elected to carry the unconscious Master Rod. We were joined at the door by another eight men who were more heavily armed.

“All quiet,” one of them said. “She must have scared the shit out of them.”

“She had my attention,” the one in charge replied.

“It’s going to be a little crowded in the van,” Natasha said urgently, “but we need to leave NOW!”

With the help of the unknown protection detail, we were able to load everyone into the van. I, and the four bodyguards, ended up standing against the outside walls. The others sat in the seats or on the floor. Master Rod was laid out against the back of the electronics console. Natasha had used some long zip ties to secure his arms and legs. I think one of the bodyguards had also injected him with something, so I was pretty sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

Two large SUVs roared up to join us. One pulled in front of the van, the other behind and the men scrambled in. The leader of our unexpected escorts, as he jumped into the lead SUV, yelled out, “Let’s roll!”

One of the bodyguards slid the door closed and those of us who were standing strained to remain upright as we quickly accelerated out of the parking area. Natasha was now sitting cross-legged on the floor and cradling poopsie in her arms. Poopsie kept whimpering and trying to burrow deeper into her Mistress’ lap. Natasha, in response, kept saying, “I have you, poopsie. You are safe now. You are safe now, my pet.”

Once poopsie had calmed down, Natasha looked up at me and said, “They are taking us to a safehouse.” She paused to stroke poopsie’s head. “It is one that has been compromised for a long time,” she continued, “so it makes no difference if the Americans follow us.”

“How did you arrange that?!” I almost sputtered.

She smiled at me and said, “My father does many favors for people and people do favors for him.” She cuddled poopsie closer and then said, “And what father would not protect his daughter?”

One of the bodyguards gave me an almost smile and said in heavily Russian-accented English, “She’s always been that way. I’m glad I only have sons.”

Boris stuck his head around the electronics counsel and said, “We should be there in about fifteen minutes. I’ve arranged for food and clothing for anyone who needs it.”

He then squeezed himself around the end of the console and stood next to me.

“Have I ever sent you any of my ‘I am the Jaguar’ memes?” he asked with a smile. “They are very popular here in Brazil. Something to do with local legends.”

“I take it the Jaguar is a legendary really badass female,” I answered.

“It is now,” he said looking down at Natasha and poopsie. “It definitely is now.”

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To Be Continued...