Page 97 of Retribution

He moved to a phone behind the counter and picked up the receiver. After punching a button, he waited for a moment before saying, “Hey, Erika? It’s Roman. Listen, uh… I’ve got two guests here and… and they’d like to speak with Master Derek.”

There was a short pause.

“No, no, there’s not really a problem, it’s… more of an opportunity, actually. Yeah, I know, but I really think he should talk to these folks. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna want to hear what they have to say.”

Dana glanced at Kurt, but his gaze was fixed on the shopkeeper.

“Sure. Yeah, sure, no problem. Okay, thanks. Bye.” Roman hung up the phone and turned back to them.

“That was Erika, Master Derek’s executive assistant. She made arrangements for you to meet him this afternoon at three-thirty. His office is at the main building, where you first came in. Just go to the front desk and ask for her. She’ll be expecting you.”

“Thank you,” Dana said, smiling.

“No problem. I mean”—he pointed to both Dana and Kurt—“you guys are legit, right?”

“Yeah, we’re legit, I swear,” Dana answered with a grin.

“Man, it’d be crazy to see the mine opened up again,” he murmured.

“Well, you never know…” Dana replied with a chuckle.

“Stranger things have happened.”

CHAPTER 6

Kurt

Hello Kitty.

Kurt tried not to gawk, but once they’d passed the two young women—one in pigtails and a frilly skirt that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a thirteen-year-old, the other with a pink backpack with the ubiquitous white kitten sewn on it—he glanced back to confirm what he’d seen. Which he had; there was no mistaking it.

“Man, this place…” he murmured.

“Is disconcerting?” Dana murmured.

“Yeah, honestly, a little.”

She nodded. “Well, however they’re making it work”—she glanced back over her shoulder to the same two women Kurt had noted as the pair crossed a threshold where the rich wide wooden planks she and Kurt stood on became stark-white marble—“they’re clearly making it work.”

They spent the time remaining until three-thirty having lunch, exploring more of the Ranch, and trying to figure out how a place like this could exist so under the radar the way it did. There was much to see, but the thing was, despite what they knew about the Rawhide clientele—excluding the couple they’d seen in the lobby—during the course of their exploration, the people they ran across gave little outward indication of the true nature behind the Ranch. Depending on where they walked, it was either a college campus, a luxury resort, or a working ranch. That was until they came to a junction in the path they were taking, stopping to scan the very tall, dense wall of hedges on either side of a footpath that split off from the one they were on.

“Do you think it’s some sort of maze? Like those corn ones you see advertised in the fall?” Dana asked.

“Maybe?” Kurt replied with a shrug, “But according to this sign”—he pointed—“it’s partly restricted.”

“Restricted? Why?”

“Well, it says here Littles aren’t allowed entrance without a Big escorting them,” Kurt answered, paraphrasing the words on the sign posted by the path.

Dana studied the hedges for a moment. “Well, since we both know I’m very much not a Little”—she glanced back to him—“want to take a peek?”

“Lead on,” Kurt said, gesturing with a sweep of his hand. They walked down the path and the further in they got, they began to hear sounds. Noises that sounded nothing like those you’d expect to be coming from people attempting to find their way out of a labyrinth. As they passed through a narrow break in the shrubbery, Kurt almost bumped into Dana when she came to an abrupt stop.

“Surprise, surprise,” Kurt murmured. “I think we found the kink in the maze, as it were.”

They both stood in silence for a moment.

“I thought the Dungeon was in the basement of the resort,” Dana said sotto voce as they watched a woman writhing on a spanking bench. When the man at her side swung his arm, the crop he held connected with her ass, and she gave a sharp though unmistakably carnal cry. The redness of her ass let made it clear the last stroke hadn’t been her first, nor likely her tenth. The scarlet lines crossing her buttocks were in stark contrast to the black leather padding she lay spread eagled on.