Our Only Hope

This is Chapter Nine,

the final chapter

, of a book. The characters and situations will be more understandable if the previous chapters have been read. This chapter is much less erotic than previous chapters, but its primary purpose is to wrap up the plot threads of the book.

If you desire background to some items mentioned in this story, you might want to also read my short stories "The Society - Witness Protection," "The Redhead in the Killer Kollar," and "The Master of the Kollar." Another story involving The Society is "The Society - Party Crashers."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Nine

Walter, Weston, and Woodruff

Sam Two Feathers and I decided to move our meeting to my hotel room. I had a suite of rooms, so we met in the living room area. Boris and Natasha were part of our meeting through an encrypted video link.

"So, Boris," Sam said in his almost monotone bass voice, "do you think you can take over control of the elevator at

The Blue Deuce

?

"I already have," Boris answered smugly. "I can even tap into the video feed from the elevator security camera to guarantee it's empty." He giggled in his nerdy way and said, "I couldn't risk sending anyone down to the lower level, but I did take someone up to the Third Floor who had pushed the button for the Second."

"But can you stop the car between floors?" Sam said harshly.

"Does the Pope shit in the woods?" Boris replied smartly.

"What?" Sam snapped back.

"Trust him," I said motioning with my hands for Sam to calm down. "He will stop the car when and where it is supposed to stop."

Sam nodded and continued to text someone.

"Now all I need to do," I said flatly, "is get close to Walter when the manure hits the ventilator."

"That won't be you," Sam said.

"But I'll be the only one on the inside," I protested. "Someone has to steer him toward the right exit."

"That will be my responsibility," a sultry female voice said from behind me. I turned to see that one of Sam's bodyguards had let someone into the room literally behind my back, and that someone was standing behind me... ... naked.

"Meet Pussy Galore," Sam said with a smile. Then he held up his hands and said, "She chose that code name, not me."

He waited for her to walk up alongside me before continuing. "She's a damn good agent who has gone undercover for us in places a lot more sleazy than

The Fourth Floor

. She will take care of making sure that Walter goes out the right exit. You just make sure his bodyguards are otherwise occupied."

I figured I should ask the obvious question. "Why is she naked?"

"So you will get used to seeing me as your slave," she answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "That's how I am getting in tonight. You are taking me in on a leash." She paused and then looked me directly in the eyes before adding, "But don't get any ideas."

"It's all strictly business to me," I answered. Actually, it was one aspect of our business that I was enjoying. She was a truly beautiful woman.

"Do you have a preference for a slave name?" I asked.

"Call me pussy," she answered. "I find that appealing to a man's- or a woman's- basest nature causes them to underestimate me." She shrugged and then said, "It comes in very handy."

"Pussy is my martial arts instructor," Sam said firmly. "She's not pure, native-born Nippon, but she still knows more different ways of killing you than the average Ninja assassin."

"Now you're being racist," pussy said, sounding somewhat angry... or perhaps just faking petulant anger.

"I could have said," Sam replied with a smile, "that I expected you to be shorter."

One of the men with Sam gave a snorting laugh which he cut short when pussy glared at him. She did have a very oriental look to her body. She had long, straight, black hair, almond eyes with just a hint of slant to them, a slightly olive skin, and the small breasts common to many Asians. She was, however, just short of six feet tall. That would be tall for the typical Occidental woman. It was in giantess range for an Asian female.

She looked over at Sam and stuck out her tongue. They clearly had a close relationship that allowed for mutual putdowns and digs. It was a bond that was obviously forged in combat or combat-like situations. I wisely refrained from any such comments and instead concentrated on our review of the plan. Sam, pussy, Boris and I went over the plan verbally four or five times repeating aloud what each of us was expected to do and when. Then Sam called two of his guards over and had them listen as we recited each step of the plan.

"What do you think?" Sam asked the guards. "Do you see any major weaknesses?"

"It won't work like that," one man said flatly. "It never does, but as a plan it sounds good."

I was slightly offended, but I could see that pussy and Sam were both smiling. "I should give him the code name Cassandra," Sam said, still smiling. "He always speaks the truth, but no one will ever believe him."

That was not the most comforting way to end our meeting, but everything from my end was in place. Pussy and I would be arriving shortly after one am. The Deuce would technically be closed at that point so the chance of collateral damage was lessened. The earthquake was scheduled for one thirty, but that was a variable. All timing was in so many minutes following the explosion.

After Sam and his guards left, I told pussy, "Why don't you slip something on and we will go downstairs to eat. Then we can catch some sleep and go into tonight rested."

"Or," she said, clipping her leash to the front of the shiny black collar that was around her neck and handing me the other end, "you could lead me into the bedroom and we can get rid of some nervous energy so we can go into tonight relaxed. Then we can call room service and give them something to talk about tomorrow."

We compromised. After we got rid of our nervous energy, we went downstairs to the restaurant and gave them something to talk about tomorrow. No, she didn't go down naked, though I think she would have been more than willing... and it probably would have caused less talk. Instead she pulled a loose fitting, short black skirt over her naked body and left the leash in place, trailing down inside the front of the dress and wrapping around her waist under the dress. The dress covered all, but the soft, black, shiny material revealed everything. I'm sure that everyone in the restaurant had something for tomorrow's conversation.

We got back to the room around seven. Pussy felt that she had more nervous energy to get rid of. I wasn't that nervous, but am always happy to help out a woman in need... of any sort. She was beautiful and an excellent lover, but I was unable to get the thought out of my head that she could very easily snap me in half if she wanted to. I wondered if that was how the male spider feels just before his mate injects him with poison and wraps him up for her larder. I didn't think those thoughts were a good topic for post-coital conversation, so I set the alarm on my cellphone and we both quickly fell asleep.

My alarm woke me around eleven-thirty. Pussy was already up and had showered. She was drying her hair with the hotel blow dryer. She didn't seem to need a brush, but was pulling her fingers through her hair like a comb as she dried it. I quickly showered and dried my hair with a towel. Combing it in place was all that was needed- one of the advantages of being a man.

We spent the next hour verbally going over the steps of the plan and then left for the club. It was a different valet on duty, but when I gave him my short spiel about the car being electric, he recognized who I was. "Don't worry, Mister Guthrie," he said cheerily, "I'll take special care of your vintage Tesla."

There was a certain sadness in handing over my keys. I wasn't sure I would ever see it again... or that it would see me, depending on how the night progressed.

Pussy was wearing the same soft black dress as we walked into

The Blue Deuce.

The shiny, chrome, metal leash now hung in the air between her collar and my hand. But she wasn't walking three steps behind me like a dutiful slave. She was leading me. It was rather obvious that she was, in fact, a powerful woman, but that is often the hidden truth in many D/s relationships. The real power is very often on the collar end of the leash.

Once the elevator doors closed, she slid the leash from my hand and then pulled the black dress up over her head. "Here," she said, "keep this in your pocket. I may need it later." When we came out of the elevator into

The Fourth Floor's

reception area, my naked slave was dutifully walking behind me with just a little slack in her leash. I swiped my card at the hostess desk and said, "Harold Guthrie... and friend."

The hostess replied, "Your slave isn't in our registry. She has to be registered before she can enter."

I almost panicked for a moment, but then the hostess continued, "She needs to face the camera, give her slave name and verify that she is here of her own free will."

I wasn't the only one caught offguard by the hostess' initial comment. I could see pussy relax slightly as she faced the camera and said, "My name is pussy. I am Master Guthrie's willing slave and have willingly accompanied him here tonight."

"Thank you," chirped the hostess as she pressed a couple of buttons on her desk. "Please follow me."

We were shown a table slightly closer to the front than I had occupied the previous night. Since I hadn't done anything to make me a greater VIP than I had been last night, I assumed that the move closer to the stage had to do with pussy's eye appeal.

We hadn't even taken our seats when our waitress slave came running up to the table and presented herself with the required, "What may this worthless slave bring to an esteemed Master for his pleasure?"

I tried to look like I was thinking and then replied, "I think I will have another of those Weihenstephaner dark beers like I had last night." I then sat down. I was surprised that pussy knelt on the floor next to me. We hadn't talked about that detail. I pointed at her and she surprised me again by saying in her most sultry voice, "May I have a Gentleman Jack, Master?"

I looked at the naked slave waitress and said, "And also bring a Gentleman Jack, double, neat."

"Yes, Master," the waitress said and scurried off into the darkness.

Pussy leaned forward toward me and said softly, "Twenty-three minutes to show time."

The naked waitress slave had run back with our drinks, so I just nodded my head.

I relaxed slightly when I saw that Mistress Tenesha's steel globe had already been put in place. Master Tyrone, Mistress Kelly, and Mastress Barbette were also in place. There were now three additional people strapped in place with them. Master Walter walked out into the center of the stage in front of the curtain and said in a loud voice, "We have a very special treat for you tonight. I present the Anaconda Sisters."

With that the thin, reedy, music of the Indian snake-charmer's flute filled the club and four men strode down the aisle carrying a slightly larger version of the now familiar basket hanging from the poles they were carrying on their shoulders. The curtains had opened as they walked in, so they walked up the steps and set the basket in the center of the stage. The music continued as the lid popped open slightly and slid to the stage floor. Then a green hand began slithering just above the rim of the basket. Soon it was joined by another hand... and then another and another.

I cupped my hand over my mouth and spoke into my watch. "Whisky Tango Foxtrot," I said softly. "Then I added, Snafu, Fubar, Tarfu." I heard a deep bass voice respond "Shit!" in my earpiece. Then I said softly, "Little Sister Anaconda is here. She might recognize me from my night at

Colonel Boogie's

. Showtime is NOW!"

Sam responded with "It is now T minus 5. The running back is going out for the pass." Shit was about to get very real. I reached down and slapped pussy loudly on the ass. She yelped and threw her drink in my face. I jumped to my feet yelling, "You bitch!"

Two security men immediately appeared at my table. I pointed down to her and said angrily, "I want her lying across that spanking bench by the time I get back. If she won't go willingly, strap her in place."

Pussy was now pleading anxiously, "I'm sorry, Master. I didn't mean it. I'll be good. I'll take my punishment. Don't be angry with me."

I looked down at her and said in my best snarl, "Then I'd better see you lying willingly across that spanking bench when I get back with my Elephant Crop." I then stormed to the back of the club and went into the elevator.

The upstairs hostess must have been alerted because she met me as I came out of the elevator. I tried to look very upset. "I need my toy case from the trunk of my car," I said firmly, as if I were trying to control my anger. "Tell the valet it's worth fifty if he gets it in here right away."

She pressed something on the lapel of her ruffled shirt and relayed my message to the valet. Again, Master Walter's setup impressed me. I wouldn't have suspected that the upstairs hostess was part of his security team.

The valet arrived moments later carrying a small, brown suitcase. I handed him a fifty, as promised, and then opened the case. The hostess appeared disinterested, but I could tell that she was inspecting what it contained. There were a variety of paddles and whips in the case and one very large, oddly-oversized crop. I took it out and still carrying the case started back toward the elevator.

"You can't take that case into the club," she called after me.

"I'll leave the case on the elevator, then," I called back. "You can keep it up here until I bring back my Elephant Crop."

There is no such thing as an Elephant Crop, but the name justified the tennis racket-sized handle on the flat leather paddle. It did look like the type of crop you might use if you were riding an elephant.

I didn't wait to hear what the hostess might say, but instead swiped my card and headed back downstairs. The downstairs hostess was standing in front of her desk watching me as I got out of the elevator. "I left it in there," I said firmly, pointing back at the case. "I'll take it back up after I'm done disciplining my petulant slave."

She smiled at me as I swung the crop through the air to emphasize my words. I looked into the club and said, "I'll wait back here so I don't disturb the girls. They are fabulous dancers." She just nodded slightly and stepped back behind her desk.

I don't know if Walter had brought little sister in to check me out or if he just brought her back to LA after his brother's club in Iowa closed, but in any case, she didn't have a chance to see me close up. And even if she did, she wouldn't be reporting back to Wyatt's big brother until it was too late.

I stayed in the back until both women slither-danced their way back on stage and dropped back into their basket. The four security men walked forward and picked up the poles to bring the basket back out. As soon as they left the stage, Master Walter hurried into the spotlight and said, "As you may have heard, we had a slave misbehave during that performance." He smiled and brought his hands together. "So..." he continued, "she is going to be our next performance as Master Harold Guthrie uses something called an Elephant Crop on her bare ass."

I said, "Showtime!" loudly and the hostess smiled at me. Then I started up the aisle toward the spanking bench on the left-hand platform. As hoped, Master Walter remained on stage to further introduce me, or perhaps just to get a closer look at my weird oversized crop. As I moved forward, I could see the elevator doors closing out of the corner of my eye. Hopefully Boris was in control of the elevator because I had already pressed the control in my pocket which activated the bomb. It was now T minus fifteen seconds.

I was almost up on the platform when a loud explosion rocked the club and smoke billowed in from the reception area. Alarms went off and as Sam had predicted, arrows of light began flashing in sequence pointing toward the three fire exits. As expected, Walter Monty's bodyguards came running forward to take up positions with their boss. I also ran toward him crying "What's happening? What's happening?"

The first bodyguard didn't feel the microneedle go into his muscles when I pressed the handle of the crop against his back. The second guard must have sensed something was wrong because he went for his weapon. If he had been wearing a belt holster, I might be dead, but he was wearing a shoulder holster and had to make a cross-body draw. I pushed the back end of the handle into the middle of his chest and pressed hard, triggering the second microneedle's launching charge. With the paralytic injected that close to his heart, he dropped before he could clear his weapon.

All hell was breaking loose. Firemen- actually Sam's operatives- were pouring into the club from the now open firedoors. The security team was overwhelmed preventing panic and keeping people moving calmly to the exits. They didn't notice pussy slip her collar from her neck and use her leash like a combination lariat and garrotte to subdue Walter and pull him toward one of the exits. I noticed that two of the fake firemen were wearing body mounted portable jaws of life units. The powerful cutters that can take the roof off a car in seconds had no problem removing the chains and restraints from all six captives held against the wall. The huge metal globe surrounding Mistress Tenesha lasted only seconds longer. Soon we were all moving out of the front of the mall and into waiting ambulances which roared into the night.

The ambulance I was riding in stopped right after leaving the mall parking lot and I transferred to a red SUV which took me back up to the front of

The Blue Deuce

. The SUV had proper LAFD decals on it and said "Fire Marshall" on the hood both forwards and backwards. It stopped just long enough to let me out at the valet station.

I held out a hundred and said firmly, "I need to get my car out of here NOW!" The valet grabbed the bill and brought the electric Mustang around just as the first real firetruck was arriving. I discovered that it truly could accelerate to 60 mph in twenty feet.

As I was silently accelerating into the night, Sam's voice said loudly and firmly in my earpiece, "High Rooftop Lounge, thirty minutes."