“Pardon the delay,” said Pinto Joe.
“No big deal,” I said.
“We have certain traditions,” he said, almost to himself.
His use of the word obviously meant rules.
I have to admit my curiosity was beginning to pique as his frustration continued to simmer, while moving back and forth near the hall entrance.
A few minutes times a few minutes passed before Joe abruptly stopped pacing, stood with hands on his hips, and glared down the hallway. A short while later I got my first glimpse at the tardy individual.
Raven hair down to her butt, held tight to her head with a beaded headband that matched designs on her traditional deerskin dress. Petite, almost doll-like, but she carried herself well. And she’s young, late teens, twenty at most, but with sad eyes beyond her years.
Joe took hold of her arm, and exerted enough pressure to make her wince, while he firmly whispered something close to her ear that equally got her attention. And he guided her to her seat across the table from me, and took his seat at the head of the table, between the two of us.
Within seconds Maria began to bring out the food, but Joe didn’t wait for it to be served.
Tossing etiquette out the proverbial window, Joe launched into a story about taking in a woman with a child. He claimed he gave them the best years of his life, worked himself practically to death to provide for them, and seeing to it they got everything they could ever want.
“But it wasn’t good enough,” said Joe, his skin reddening with anger more than his heritage. “The woman couldn’t stop running into the arms of younger men.”
He glared at the young woman, who tried to maintain eye contact, unsuccessfully, and fidgeted nonstop. But my inner voice warned me not to assume anything, so I continued to listen.
“It was this one’s mother,” said Joe. “She finally ran off for good four years ago—and good fucking riddance.”
“Damn you,” said the young woman softly, barely above a whisper.
“Oh, my dear, I already have been,” said Joe. “What the war didn’t take from me, your mother… and now you… have destroyed.”
“Must we do this now?”
Joe turned to me.
“Allow me to introduce you to Waleli,” said Joe. “My wife.” He turned to face her. “And this, my dear, is Black Wolf.” And he smiled when she reacted exactly as he had hoped, wide-eyed with instant recognition.
Obviously, she knew who I was.
Not wanting to be rude, I said, “Pleased to meet you.” But left it at that until I saw how this was going to play out.
Waleli (pronounced Wah-Lay-Le) looked toward Joe.
“You said you were giving me another chance, and that you would forgive me.”
“I have not gone back on my word,” said Joe. “But I learned my lesson well from your mother, the bitch. There will be a consequence for every disobedient and disrespectful action, bar none. And, while I will forgive you as stated, you must earn my trust. And until you do I will see to it that you will never receive anything when I’m gone.”
“You know I don’t want anything but you,” said Waleli.
While I quietly observed, the two continued to reenact a conversation they have obviously had before, on more than one occasion. And I came to the conclusion that the unusual situation surrounding their relationship was the catalyst for their problems.
Pinto Joe was old enough to be Waleli’s grandfather. He had married Waleli’s mother, and divorced her because of her constant adultery, and finally running away with another man. He then finished raising Waleli after her mom abandoned her. And when she came of age, he believed her when she professed her love for him, and they wed soon after her eighteenth birthday. Unfortunately, though both appear to be sincere, they didn’t really consider what the drastic age difference would mean when reality invaded the dream.
Waleli means Hummingbird. This spirit animal represents the enjoyment of life and lightness of being, along with adaptability. Other traits include being present (being focused in the present moment, in the now), being independent, being playful and joyful, pushing away negatives (for themselves and others), responding swiftly (sometimes without giving it enough thought), and being resilient and tireless when needed.
Except for the need to be independent, Waleli appears to have most of the fore mentioned traits. And her youthful body has needs that Pinto Joe cannot fulfill; even if he was so inclined, every day is a hit’n’miss proposition because of his age and injuries. And his responsibilities keep him mentally and emotionally drained, so the most he wants to do when he finishes his day is be fatherly and cuddle.
By the time their conversation ceased it was obvious what Joe wanted from me, but he was definitely going to have to state it clearly.
The meal concluded with hardly any of it touched.
Joe whispered into Waleli’s ear, she excused herself, and headed back down the hall. And he asked me to accompany him to the den, which was at the other end of the house.
More at ease, he replenished our drinks, and got straight to business.
“I know you signed a non-disclosure agreement with the council,” said Joe. “But I’ll need you to sign one for our private business.”
“No problem,” I said as he placed the agreement and a fancy fountain pen before me on the desk.
I read it, saw it was a standard contract, and signed a copy for each of us. And he placed a larger contract before me.
“I’ll give you time to thoroughly review it,” said Joe. “And I’m sure you’ve probably figured out what I want; but just in case you haven’t, let me spell it out so there’s no misunderstanding.” And he looked me straight in the eye and said, “I want you to keep her maintained at a strict level of submissiveness, I want you to punish every act of disobedience and disrespect, and I want you to make sure she’s sexually satisfied. In other words, fuck her brains out!”
“You realize I’m just the Tribal Disciplinarian,” I said. “Having sexual relations with an individual during a disciplinary session will cost me my job.”
“This has nothing to do with your tribal duties,” said Joe. “I know a man in your position is familiar with BDSM; you obviously use some of the same equipment and techniques.”
“Think of the possibilities,” he said. “A second career that could be very rewarding, especially with fringe benefits the other career doesn’t allow.”
“I will build a sex studio or dungeon, or whatever you call it, to your specifications, in one of the large basement rooms,” said Joe. “And I’ll match the funds so you can build one at your place; and I’ll pay you five-hundred per session with Waleli…but the sessions with her have to be here.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” said Joe. “It’s all spelled out in the contract in front of you.” And he stood quickly, with a sense of eagerness and anticipation. “And I’ll double the session fee if you start right now.”
“You realize I cannot touch your wife on your word alone.”
“She’s included in the contract, and has already signed.”
I picked up the contract.
“Give me time to read it,” I said. “And if there are no red flags I’ll do it.”
“I assure you there aren’t any, but take the time you need,” said Joe. “I’ll make sure she’s ready, and there are enough props for you to use.” And he headed for the door.
Fifteen minutes passed before Joe returned. He now wore a thick bathrobe over pajamas, and moccasin style slippers.
He pointed to the contract and said, “Any questions?”
I shook my head.
“Already signed them,” I said. “This is my copy.”
“Great!” he said, while turning around. “Then follow me, please.”
“Pardon me for pointing out the obvious,” I said. “But you seem abnormally eager to have another man take control of, and fuck your wife.”
“That’s because I caught her sneaking around fucking three other guys,” said Joe. “At least with you it’s on my terms, and she’ll be punished; and I know you’ll be discreet, unlike the others that may start controversy that I don’t need.” He again looked me in the eye. “I want her to be completely satisfied so she’ll have no need to spread her legs anywhere else… but you make sure it hurts.”
“I can do that.”
“Good,” he said with a nod, then started out the door. “It’s taken days to work out this compromise with her, and as you can tell I’m out of patience. And, while I love the little bitch, I want to see her suffer for betraying my trust.”
“I can understand that,” I said.
What I didn’t understand was why he didn’t punish her himself after each time he caught her. But since he was setting me up in a second career, and becoming a long-term client, it wasn’t high on my need to know list.
[Continued in First Client (Part Two)]
[Excerpt from book in progress.]
[First excerpt from book in progress here.]