Domestication

Thanks, as always, to my awesome team. My editors are PapaKilo14, Hale1, Olddave1951, Pixel the Cat and GeorgeAnderson. Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical review. SBrooks103x also gives me a pre-post read. Thank you, gentlemen. Love you all.

This is an older story, not posted on Literotica. If you have read it, thank you, and you need not read, comment or vote. If not, I hope you enjoy.

*****

I knew I was going to have fun when I saw him. He was big, had quite a serious case of muscle trying to burst out of the polo shirt he was wearing and he had this explosion of curly brown hair going on. I don't think he was expecting me. Most people don't. I don't look like a security contractor, I suppose. I probably look more like someone that works at your local gym or school or office. Most people don't expect a security contractor to be female, for one thing, or attractive, for another.

I'm tall and very strong for a woman. If you're a guy, and you don't work out very seriously, you're going to be surprised. That's the way I was raised. I've spent two hours a day with weights and cardio at least four days a week since I was fourteen. My father was a contractor when he adopted me. He gave that up to give us some stability and a home life but he kept in touch with his buddies from the bad old days. There were always strange men from exotic places with stories to tell, if you could get them to talk, dropping by our house for a week or a few days.

They were cold, stern men with strange eyes but when a little brown girl climbed up on their laps and wanted to hear a story, they melted like ice on the Fourth of July. I had a string of "Uncles" as long as my arm when I was little and they became "big brothers" as I grew up. They all kept in touch with Dad and, by extension, me, too.

When I was fifteen, Dad took me to my first survival camp as a participant. I was the only girl there. It was tough and my two "Uncles" that were running the camp didn't give me a single break because I was their little "niece." I did get to sleep by myself instead of in a dorm and they ate supper with me every night. I went from "slow and weak" to "princess" with my shower in the evening. I've attended at least three intensive training exercises a year since that first one. There are no weapons I don't know like the back of my hand and I'm very good at hand to hand, too.

I went to high school at the same place Dad taught. I was just starting my senior year when he passed from a sudden massive heart attack. There were probably 200 men at his funeral who I had known since I was three or four. There was someone with me every minute I was awake for a month, and then I was in foster care. I'll tell you more about that later. When I graduated from college, John Davis nearly kidnapped me to go to work for him.

"Sully," he said, (My name is Sullivan Adams, and yes, I've heard all the comments about my name) you're the best operative I know. I know you don't need to work, but you don't want to be idle. You're smart and cute and no one will ever see you coming. I know you don't need to work, but Aaron (my father) wouldn't want you to just vegetate."

"I have no intention of vegetating," I told him. "I plan to become professionally decadent. I'm going to jet around, dance, gamble, and seduce handsome men."

"Well, why don't you start with me?" he grinned. "Seriously though, Sully, I need you. I know you'd be good at seducing handsome men, but you'd get bored with the other in a week."

We had a few ground rules to go over. I wouldn't work for the government, the military or the police agencies. If he had private businesses that needed our services, I would do that. There are too many complications working for "official" agencies and they tend to target people that are guilty of doing nothing other than pissing them off. I went to work for him, and in three years, I was running my own operations all over the world. Like I said, this one was going to be fun. I walked up to Julian Blake and extended my hand. "I'm Sullivan Adams," I said.

He looked shocked, but he made a quick recovery. "I expected you to be... taller and ... more masculine." He grinned and his hand swallowed mine.

I laughed. "Well, yeah, most clients do. Fortunately, most of the bad guys do, too. Do you have a problem with me not being 'more masculine'?"

"Maybe," he said. "It has nothing to do with you being a woman, it has to do with whether you can do the job your company is being paid for."

"Well, I guess you'll find out, won't you," I said. "But then, if the shit hits the fan and I can't handle it, one or both of us is likely to be dead, aren't we?"

"I plan to live forever," he said.

"Yeah, that's my plan, too," I said. "So far, it's been working out. I'll tell you what, Blake: you look like a big, strong guy. You want to go out to the parking lot and take a shot at me?"

He looked me over. It was a little embarrassing. "I think you could take me on the dance floor or in a foot race, or maybe climbing," he said. "But yeah, I'll take that shot in the parking lot."

I hadn't expected that and I was pleasantly surprised. Most men, the decent ones anyway, wouldn't dream of hitting a woman. That's a mistake. If a woman is attacking you, she's given up any consideration for gentleness. My advice is to put her down if you can.

We grabbed his three bags and made our way out to my car. I don't suppose he expected that either. I didn't tell him which one was mine; I just took him over to a corner that wasn't covered by the security cameras.

I dropped his bag. "Give it your best shot," I said.

He grinned and dropped the bags. "Don't whine now," he said, "this was your idea."

"Bring it," I gestured.

He started forward and I pointed at the ground at his feet. He glanced down and never saw me draw the .40 ACP from the thigh holster under my blue dress. When he looked up, he was dead. He stopped in his tracks. "Well, that's certainly a game changer," he said.

"Yeah, I thought you'd see it that way." I holstered the weapon. "Julian, trust me; you don't want to do this. I'm very good at my job."

He was too busy looking at my thigh as I put the gun up to answer for a minute. I liked him looking. When I dropped the hem line down he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I doubted you," he said. "Plainly there's more to you than meets the eye. I kind of liked what met the eye, though," there was a stupid looking grin on his face. "I think you're right about being good at your job. I apologize. I won't do it again." He stuck out his hand.

I took it and damned if he didn't try to reel me in! My hand was on his throat before he could move and I squeezed enough to make him gag before releasing him. He laughed and wiped his eyes. We picked up the bags and I unlocked the doors. When he heard the trunk pop open, he got a huge smile on his face. "Somehow, it fits," he said.

"It," is my 2007 Dodge Charger Super Bee. It's the Detonator Yellow and Flat Black. I've modified it extensively. I'm a hot rod girl. Dad loved the muscle cars and I kind of inherited that love. I swapped the engine out for a 6.4-liter hemi the year after I got it. It was making over 500 horsepower out of the crate. It's over 700 now. I put a supercharger on it last year. The supercharger is a 145 cubic inch twin-screw IHI unit with integrated charge coolers, and makes 11.6 psi of boost. I love pulling up next to the Mustang owners and just erasing them at the stoplights.

By way of comparison, the Shelby GT500 is a supercharged 5.4-liter engine making 500 horsepower. Don't let people fool you, that legendary Shelby GT1000 is a fake. It never made more than 800 horsepower; it isn't street legal and never was. It also cost over $150,000 to build. I'm into my Super Bee for just a little over $60,000. The Camaros are in the same class as the Mustangs and neither is on the same planet as the Super Bee.

It has a nice big trunk and Julian's bags fit in just fine. We started for his hotel and he outlined the plan he had in mind. A competing firm had a design his company wanted. They knew it was derivative from some things they had patents on and wanted the design so they could prove patent infringements. They had hired Adams Security to get that design. John had paid one of the key employees to smuggle it out and he'd fallen off the map. He wasn't answering phone calls and they wanted the design or the money back. They preferred the design and our contract with Julian's company demanded that. I got him checked in and figured out the details. It took me three days. I put it together and it was time to move.

****

The hallway was very dimly lit and there were children's toys scattered around along with various kinds of trash. In my three-inch heels, it was very difficult to navigate. My target didn't seem to be as nervous as he should have been. He was a little naive for a guy in his position. Of course, he didn't realize his position. It was perilous in the extreme, but I was trying not to give off any vibes.

I had picked him up at the nightclub he frequented without much trouble. Unless a guy is really a racist or gay, I usually don't have any trouble with that. My boobs are just big enough to show some nice cleavage when I want them to without getting in my way, and if I wiggle my ass at a guy, he usually starts drooling. Even the racists don't seem to mind getting a shot at a black girl like me. Maybe they just want to humiliate me, but that's okay, too, for my purposes. My biggest asset is my face. The body and the hair make the total package. People tell me I'm beautiful. I don't see myself like that; I'm just me. I've always looked the same. I was a little more buff than when I was in school, but I hadn't changed much. I have this huge mop of unruly curls that I can just towel dry and fluff up, and people want to touch it.

The black dress I had on was sleeveless and had big armholes so that you could see flashes of my breasts when I moved. Timothy Jenkins had been seeing that all night. It inspired him enough to ask me if we could go back to my place after he bought me enough drinks to float a battleship. I'm a big girl and I'm nearly immune to alcohol. Still, the plant behind the booth got a lethal dose if it was real. In my heels, I was at least four inches taller than he was. He was losing a little hair and had a bit of a paunch, not the best condition for what was going to happen to him. I don't judge people on their physical appearance, unless they're trying to pick me up. Of course, he had something altogether different in mind than I did. Not the best condition for that, either.

I unlocked the door and pulled him inside. No one saw us, and no one would say anything even if they did. I pushed him up against the wall and lit him up with my hottest kiss. He groaned as I rubbed against him, then every bit of breath he had blew out in an explosive grunt as my right knee crushed his balls. I let him crumple to the floor and went to get my equipment. He was making a high-pitched keening sound for a couple of minutes. At least he didn't puke. I dragged him over to the chair I had selected and fastened him in with plastic zip ties and duct tape. He was beginning to recover and he knew what was happening now. The mouth on the man was very amusing. Every third word was "nigger bitch," and it made me laugh. I put a couple of pieces of duct tape over that hole and shut him up. If he only knew how many times I'd heard that down through the years, he'd realize how little it bothered me.

I knelt in front of him and slapped him a couple of times to get his attention. "You owe some people," I said. "I'm the collector." I got out my piercing needles. When I opened his shirt, his eyes were bugging out like they were on stalks. After I pierced his nipple, he screamed into the tape but he was still a little defiant, even after I put in the ring. This might be a little hard to explain to his wife. Yeah, he was married and I hate a cheater. The defiance went away after I did his belly button and put the chain in, joining the two rings. When I opened his pants, he squirmed like a worm on a hot sidewalk and screamed into his tape. It seemed like he wanted to say something.

I took off the tape and he forgot my skin color and relationship to female dogs. "Please," he begged. "I'll give them their money back."

I took hold of his new chain and he gave a little shriek when I tugged on it. "The people I work for don't want the money, they want the design you promised them," I said.

"I couldn't get it," he whined. "I haven't been able to get it out."

"So you're telling me you won't be able to deliver what you promised?" I asked.

"No, I just need more time," he pleaded.

"You haven't been returning my associates' phone calls," I mentioned.

"I'm sorry, I was afraid because I didn't have anything," he sobbed.

"Okay, I'll give you two days," I told him. "If you don't deliver by eight o'clock PM on Friday, I'll be back. I won't be back to play nice like this time, Mr. Jenkins. I'll make you wish you were dead and you'll never see me coming; do you understand? Do you think you're going to deliver what you promised?"

"Yes, yes, I'll find a way," he said. "I'll call as soon as I have it."

"Are you sure you don't want a chain connecting your dick to your belly button?" I asked. "I have a really nice one and a good dick ring."

"No! Please don't hurt me anymore," he begged.

"Okay, I'm going to let you go now," I told him. "You aren't going to get stupid on me, are you?"

"No, please. I'll get the design," he said.

I cut one hand loose and handed him the cutters. I drew my .40 ACP out of my thigh holster and backed away ten feet while he cut himself loose. He looked at me and I motioned to the door with the .40. He practically ran out the door. It was a shame; I really did have a nice chain.

It was just after midnight so I went back to the club. I talked to a couple of bartenders so that they would remember me being there all night. I had talked to them earlier and I gave them nice tips. I went to the door and handed the valet my card. I could hear him coming before I saw my car. I called Julian and he asked me how it went.

"Did you get the design or the money?" he asked.

"No, I wanted him to give it to you," I said.

"Do you think he will?" he asked.

"He seemed to consider it carefully," I said. "He acquired some new jewelry." I had told him my plan.

He laughed. "I like the way you work, Sullivan. Why don't you just go to work for us?"

I laughed. "You can't afford me, dude. If you have another contract, give John a call. Now it's just a matter of sitting on you for a few days."

"Sitting on me?" he asked. "Really? That sounds like fun."

"Making sure nothing happens to you that you might not survive," I said.

I got him set up in the house of a friend that was away on vacation, and we spent the next 18 hours waiting. I didn't really think he was in any danger, but he seemed on edge. Twice he asked me if I wanted to get something to eat, but we just got delivery.

"This is a professional situation, not a date," I told him.

"When the professional situation is over will you go on a date with me?" he asked.

I laughed. "I don't know, Julian. We'll see what happens. When we're clear, make me an offer I can't refuse."

Mr. Jenkins called at four PM, hours short of his deadline. I set up a meet at a cheap hotel and took Julian over to check the situation out. I had him in the room waiting when Jenkins showed up. He knocked on the door and I opened it. He had a briefcase with him and I checked it out. It had designs and a couple of DVDs in it. I patted him down and took him through the connecting door into the next room where Julian was waiting.

He checked out the documents and went through the DVDs while Jenkins sat in a chair.

"This is it," Julian closed his laptop. "We're done."

"Not quite," I said. I turned to Jenkins. "Open your shirt," I told him.

"What? Why?" he gobbled.

"You made me chase you," I said. "Now open your shirt!"

He reluctantly opened the buttons and, wouldn't you know it, his chain was missing. His rings were still there and it looked like he hadn't found a way to open them. I got him a new chain out of my purse. This was a nice stainless steel one that he was going to have trouble getting rid of. I attached it and gave it a little tug. He winced. I guess he was a little sore.

"I'll be checking back," I told him. "If the chain is gone, we're going to do that little dick to belly button thing."

He seemed to be in a hurry, so I let him go. I had no intention of ever seeing him again, but he shouldn't have played hard to get. Julian seemed to enjoy our little interaction and he closed the briefcase.

"What now?" he asked.

"Now we shake hands and you go back to wherever you came from," I said.

"I'm going on a vacation," he said. "When was the last time you had one?"

"It's been a while," I laughed. "Are you inviting me to go on vacation with you?"

"Sure," he said. "I have to warn you that my son will be with us."

That did surprise me. I hadn't known he had a son. "Okay, if you let me pick the place, we'll have some fun."

I made some phone calls and gave him the arrangements. I drove him to the airport and watched until he boarded.

I went home and got a good night's sleep. That little bit of work gave me a fat bank balance. Well, fatter anyway; I was doing okay before. I decided I deserved a little vacation. A little fun on the beach sounded nice so I hopped on the flight I had booked for St Vincent and the Grenadines. I had a little villa booked on Palm Island and it was everything I hoped it would be.

It was about two in the afternoon when I got settled in, and I decided to go down and relax in the sun. I took my book, sunscreen, and a couple of towels in my bag, some beer and water in a small cooler and walked about 200 yards down to the water. I was one of three people in sight. There were a man and a little boy playing down the beach a ways. It was Julian, and what must have been his son. I left them alone but I noticed that the boy was really little and really cute.

I relaxed for a minute with my eyes closed and then I got my book out and started to read. I heard the sand crunching and a shadow moved over me. It was the little boy. I looked up at him through my Ray-Bans and he was even cuter than I thought. He had honey-blonde hair, golden skin and huge blue eyes. There were a few freckles sprinkled across his little nose and he was absolutely adorable. He looked like he was about four or five.

"Whacha readen'," he asked. Even his little husky voice was adorable.

"Money, Bank Credit, and Economic Cycles, by Jesús Huerta de Soto," I told him.

"Is it good?" he asked. "What's it about?"

"It's about money, sweetheart," I said. "What's your name?"

"Merlin," he said. "What's yours?"

"It's Sullivan," I told him.

"Are you going swimming? Wanna go with me and Daddy?" he asked.

"Merle," I heard his father call. He walked down to where we were. "I see you've met Merlin," he told me. "Merlin, did you introduce yourself?"

"She's going swimming with us!" Merlin told him.

He raised one eyebrow at me in question. I laughed. "We just decided that," I told him.

"Merlin, did she really say that?" he asked.

"Well, no, but I could tell she wanted to," he said. "Her name is Sullivan. Isn't she beautiful, Daddy?"

He blushed. The man was a giant as I looked up at him. I had forgotten how big he was. He was at least six four and he had huge arms and a huge chest. His mop of curly brown hair nearly matched mine. He had a dark olive complexion and I remembered I had thought he was very good looking. "Yes, she is, but maybe she doesn't want us to bother her," he said. "I'm sorry, you don't have to go swimming. Let's let Sullivan read her book and not bother her."