The club was dark and crowded and down in the cellars it had a low and narrow hall, which was consistently illuminated by a clinical light.
Dia sat naked on a bar stool, close to the sparse wall on the right. She was a little excited. Or fascinated.
Krimhilde just selected a lady named Hala P, who had been awaiting this already. Then she called her in front of the audience. Although Hala was shivering and sweating, she seemed as well to require the promised show. Otherwise she looked like feeling queasy, as if she was fearful. But she agreed.
She put off her already meager clothing and was brought to the strap rack. The main light went out, focusing the public's attention directly on the event, now illuminated by spotlight. All the while Deep House added a slow, low score.
Krimhilde pressed the lady down on the rack and fixed her arms and legs. Then she brutely tightened the straps. She forced that twice, continuing until Hala was screaming with pain.
The lady's face got red, beyond the ties her arms and legs got whiter. She puled, hence the domina rawly tied her down even firmer. From above she smiled at her, while listening to her groaning. She looked into her eyes and laughed at her loud. So the lady took a deep breath and upwards she snotted a big, white drool-chunk, right into the domina's face. The slobber leaked down Krimhilde's left cheek.
She obviously didn't like that. Beastly lashing all the Lady's straps much closer again, one after another, she now checked out leasurely, what the lady would bear.
And Hala reared up with her hips, screaming her head off.
Back in the dark main club above and still undressed, Dia needed some water to rinse her mouth. Often she ate or drank nothing, especially when running out. Also the masochistic event down there caused a taste in her mouth. Once unwatched, she tried the water in one of those little basins, that were placed at certain points on both bars. It didn't taste very good.
She ordered a still mineral water.
A snooty, young barkeeper instantly brought it to her.
"455,-- OS," he smirked. 455 Optimal Safeties, this was really a lot! On that reliability one could live two standard weeks or more. Diamond checked her accounts and everything in mind, all she could transfer was at most 250 just now. She'd have to, or else the security wouldn't let her out.
"Haven't got enough bils," she admitted, when the barkeeper was near again. She noticed, the guy wouldn't discuss this at all, unless he got the whole 455.
Dia turned towards a stern girl on her right, who was up to leave the club. "This is a fake," she nervously addressed her. "Could you give me some help?"
The girl accepted.
"Perhaps you could give me your numbers," Dia suggested. "If you don't hear from me within seven hours, you could inform the night watch. Leave, where we met or, what just might happen."
Dia was uncomfortable with actually getting some code now for her petty portable brain, hence for this possible help from a stranger. "You won't take my data also?" she abstrusely tried, anyhow. No, the stiff girl didn't want her's and went away from her.
The Lost Profiler | Contents:
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