Mistress Bunny and the Cancelled Client

By Michael Penkas

Life's hard enough for a working class dominatrix without the occasional murder.

After getting dumped by her boyfriend, Mistress Bunny cancels her six o'clock session so that she can cry and drink herself to sleep. When she learns the next day that her client was found dead in his office, shot in the head at the same time she should have been tying him up, she can't help but feel a little responsible.

But when she attends his funeral, Bunny begins to suspect that the gunshot wound wasn't nearly as self-inflicted as the police believe. Her investigation uncovers a string of "suicides" that don't begin (or end) with her client ... a string where the next mysterious death might be her own. Hounded by a drunk ex-boyfriend, a pissed-off widow, and an office assistant with a hidden agenda, Mistress Bunny finds herself at the center of a mystery and discovers that there are some secrets a man won't even share with his dominatrix.

"Too weird to dismiss as quirky, too warm and funny to keep you at a distance, but so kinky and clear-sighted and compassionate."
- C.S.E. Cooney, author of The Witch in the Almond Tree

"Finally, a quality cozy mystery for the fetish set."
- Patty Templeton, author of There is No Lovely End

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Penkas
• Release date: Nov 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310794216

Michael Penkas

Michael Penkas moved to Chicago in 2004 and soon after became a member of Twilight Tales, a small press and weekly reading series. His first published story, "Parable of the Lazy Rooster," appeared in the expanded edition of Tales from the Red Lion in 2007. He currently has over a dozen published stories.Following the dissolution of Twilight Tales in 2010, he became part of Cult Fiction, a writers workshop and seasonal reading event. His stories were performed at five events before the group was put on hiatus in late 2011.Currently, Michael Penkas is a regular participant at the Top Shelf Books (Palatine) open mic event, Tamale Hut (North Riverside) reading series, the Bad Grammar (Chicago) reading series, and the Gumbo Fiction Salon (Chicago). He is the website editor for Black Gate.

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Mistress Bunny and the Cancelled Client

Published by Michael Penkas and Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did

not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your

favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard

work of this author.

Cover Art by Viola Estrella

http://estrellacoverart.com/

Of course, this book is dedicated to Julie. Who else?

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

With Gratitude

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

Bunny felt like she was going to throw up.

She'd never been this happy.

Outside Caro Mio, the rain came down in sheets, like a curtain between the restaurant and the street, so that she could barely see the cars passing, save for their lights. Inside, she was drying beside a miniature fireplace with her boyfriend. She'd walked the four blocks from the Damen brown line station, gasping more than once as she took in mouthfuls of rain. Her five-dollar umbrella had died after only half a block, pulled inside out, then yanked from her hand by the wind.

Bunny brushed her shoes against the metal grate of the fireplace and could feel her toes steaming inside them. She wanted to slip her shoes off and let her toes dry, but decided it wouldn't be fair to force everyone else in the restaurant to smell her feet. They weren't clients, after all.

Despite the lost umbrella, steamy toes and hair matted against her head, she was happy. It was their two-year anniversary. And Jason had a terrible poker face.

Not that it wasn't a nice face. Slim, a bit bony with too high a forehead and hair that always looked two weeks past needing a cut. When they'd both still been in college, she'd offered to cut it for him, but he'd never seemed comfortable with the idea. His bottle-lens glasses were sliding down the long slope of his wet nose as he fidgeted in his chair. He looked like a nervous schoolboy, the way he wrung his knobby fingers together.

Bunny had always liked the way he looked; but then she had a thing for nervous schoolboys.

You're not hungry?

Bunny had been nibbling on the same breadstick for five minutes while Jason went on about his sister's car troubles. He always did that when he was nervous. The babbling. She'd found it annoying at first, but eventually learned to lose herself in the sound of his voice, usually not absorbing more than every tenth word. He always got around to whatever was on his mind, sooner or later.

Not that she couldn't guess.

She laid the breadstick back on her plate and rested both hands on top of it. I don't want to stuff myself before the pasta gets here. She began rubbing her right hand, caressing her bare ring finger without even realizing it.

Oh. Jason sighed, stared out the window and didn't look at Bunny when he said, So … things are going well at work. Jason was a junior data analyst for Qwerty Systems Support, a job that he'd explained several times, but which still made little sense to Bunny. With the raise and a promotion next year … I think I've got a real future there.

Bunny smiled. That's great.

Still looking out the window, he said, I've been thinking about the future a lot. These last couple weeks.

Bunny just nodded.

He began drumming his fingers against the table.

Jason?

He turned back to look at her. His mouth was slightly open and his fingers were still drumming.

She placed her hand on top of his. It's OK.

He offered a weak smile. You've been thinking about it too, haven't you?

She nodded. I do. I, uh, mean I have.

Jason took a deep breath, then exhaled, I think we should see other people.

Bunny shook her head, smirking. Of course.

Jason's shoulders sagged. Really?

Of course, really. I was just waiting for you to ask.

Her boyfriend's smile grew wide and he started to laugh. Oh, thank God. I thought you'd be pissed.

Bunny couldn't help but laugh as well. Why would I be pissed? I've wanted to … wait. Did you say 'get married' or 'see other people'?

The smile faded. The fingers began to drum again. Eventually, he stammered out, Um, the … second one? A hopeful grin spread on his face.

It didn't last.

And Bunny could see smoke filling the room, obscuring everything. Jason was already nothing but a blur. The soot was filling her eyes, causing her to … bring a hand to them.

Oh, she said, staring at her wet hand. The building wasn't on fire. Like she'd hoped.

She was just crying.

Oh.

I'm sorry, Jason offered.

She just shook her head. The breadstick fell out of her hand, onto the floor. Oh. She leaned over to pick it up and saw that several of the diners were staring at her. It was a Wednesday night, just after six. She didn't imagine that Wednesdays were a particularly busy night for Italian restaurants, but all of the tables were full.

One of the customers, a heavy-set man in his mid-fifties, looked like the building contractor who visited her once a month so he could dress in a French maid's outfit and get paddled. Or maybe he just had that kind of face. In any event, he didn't seem to recognize her.

Bunny sat up and turned away from him, not wanting a client to recognize her just now. She also didn't want to look at Jason at that particular moment, so she chose instead to stare into the mirror over the miniature fireplace.

She was a mess. She hadn't had time to check her make-up after the last session, so she looked like a melting vampire, black eyeliner sliding down her apple cheeks and blood-red lipstick drooling down her chin. She was growing her hair out and it was at that awkward stage (too short to reach past her shoulders, too long to stay up), so it just matted down the sides of her face. Her powder-blue dress had not fared well in the storm either, turning to an embarrassing translucence that revealed her white sports bra and my-boyfriend's-getting-laid-tonight lace panties. Staring at her underwear, she asked, Why?

I don't … it's a lot of things.

She nodded, still not looking up. A lot of things. Is there someone else?

No … no! It's not like that at all.

OK. It's not like that at all. It's just me then. Aren't we happy?

We are. We're just … like I said, I've been thinking about the future and I'm just … this just won't work. In the long run. We want different things.

What do you want? she asked, still not looking up.

What?

She shook her head. You said we want different things. I want to grow old with you.

I … Bunny, it's not going to work.

You don't want to grow old with me?

Not with … you want me to just say it? Fine. It bothers me that you screw around with other guys.

We don't screw around, she whispered. I told you … when we started dating, I told you all about it. I'm never even naked during a session.

But they are.

Bunny shrugged. If I was doctor, it would be the same thing.

I don't know any doctors who have to wipe cum off their shoes after seeing a patient.

Bunny winced as her head spun up to face him. What the fuck is this, Jason? she hissed. You never cared before. You're the only man who's seen me naked in two years. You're the only man who I want to … you can't think that I'm sleeping with my clients.

Jason shook his head, then sipped his wine. I know you don't … it just bothers me. I didn't think it would. I tried not to let it. I just want something … else.

You want me to quit?

The question sat there for several long seconds. Was that it? An ultimatum disguised as a break-up?

Bunny actually squeaked when their server appeared. A slightly heavy-set blond man in his early thirties. He held a notepad and wore a lazy smile as he said, Are you ready to … He gasped when she turned to look at him, then quickly re-composed himself.

Bunny nodded, smiling back. I look terrible. It's the rain.

Well, you're inside now. Are you ready to order?

Bunny shook her head.

Jason offered, We're going to need a couple more minutes here.

Bunny started to laugh. Yeah. We were just talking about why he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life with someone like me.

The server glanced from Bunny to Jason, then back to Bunny, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Well, that's … I'll give you a few more minutes.

I honestly don't know if we're going to be ordering anything other than the drinks, she offered. I mean, what's the point of having a big dinner when we're just saying good bye?

Jason shook his head. Bunny. It's not … we can –

She held up a finger. Jason. No. Don't you dare say that.

What?

That we can still be friends. After two years, we'll never … this is it. If we're breaking up, then this is the last time we're going to see each other. And it's because you have a problem with what I do and you don't even want to try working it out.

The server muttered, I can, um, come back if –

No. Bunny knew she was still crying, but she was smiling as well. It was their two-year anniversary and he'd invited her to a cozy little Italian restaurant, reserving a table next to a roaring fireplace … so he could dump her. She couldn't control any of that, but she could control how she handled it. I'm leaving.

The server asked, Should I have a taxi –

No, thank you. I'll walk.

The storm still raged outside and her apartment was six blocks away. Her dress was already translucent and clinging. Everyone in the restaurant was staring at her, but so what? She worked out three times a week, so she had a great figure and she was wearing nice underwear. Let them look. She could still walk out with her dignity.

She turned from her ex-boyfriend, took two steps toward the door, then bent forward. Oh, damn it, she hissed before she began to vomit.

CHAPTER TWO

Never work angry.

It was one of the earliest lessons she'd learned. And, no, it hadn't made sense to her at first.

It ran counter to every assumption people made about what she did. Didn't men pay her to be mean? Wouldn't tapping into genuine anger make the whole experience more … authentic?

But anger dulled the senses. It made you blind to a pink hand turning white that told you a restraint was cutting off circulation. It made you deaf to the subtle difference between a client starting to sob and starting to hyperventilate. It made you forget which words made a client playfully embarrassed and which words made him feel emotionally destroyed. It made you forget that, no matter if the client began to cry, began to piss himself, began to bleed, it was still a game. Anger made you forget that the power you had over the client had been given freely and with a level of trust that some of these men had never extended toward anyone else in their lives. Anger made you stop caring about the client.

Anger was the difference between a dominatrix and an asshole with a whip.

So, eighteen hours after getting dumped, she called her six o'clock appointment, the only one of the day, to cancel. The phone rang four times and Bunny sighed in relief. She'd just have to leave a message. She wasn't in the mood to speak with anyone today.

She just wanted to sit in her studio apartment and try to remember as many bad things about Jason as she could manage. The babbling. The finger-drumming. That ridiculous goose-honk snoring.

But like a compressed file, if she wanted to open her memories of all the bad things, too many good things were bundled with them. The black and blue roses he'd sometimes leave outside her dungeon. The way he'd rub her shoulders after a rough session, because there were already plenty of guys rubbing her feet. The way he'd never once laughed about what she did for a living.

She was clearing out her schedule so she could just cry today. She wanted to hate Jason and miss Jason and just go through the whole process of dealing with Jason being gone without speaking to anyone.

The client picked up halfway through the fifth ring. Hello?

Bunny held back a curse. Hello, Richard. It's Bunny.

There was a long pause that told Bunny quite a lot, followed by, Oh, um, Bu … yes?

Are there other people in the room? she asked.

Could you hold on for just a moment? he answered.

Of course.

She heard Richard moving around, the sound of a door shutting, more moving, then, There. Sorry about that … mistress.

Bunny shook her head. We're not in a session now. When I'm off the clock, it's just Bunny.

Oh. OK. Bunny. What, um, is there a problem?

I'm not going to be able to make our session today. There's some … personal business I need to deal with.

Oh, I'm sorry. Is everything … are you all right?

She offered a weak smile, which was meaningless since he couldn't see her over the phone. I'm fine. It's just that … I'm really not in any condition to work.

All right.

I'll call you in a day or two and we can re-schedule. OK?

Sure, that's fine. But … He finished the sentence with a sigh.

Bunny knew she should just hang up the phone. She'd cancelled the appointment and promised to re-schedule in a couple days. Her professional obligations were fulfilled. She was being a good dominatrix.

Instead, she asked (maybe snapped), But what?

Oh, it's just … um, have you been crying?

She sighed. Richard had been a steady client for fourteen months. He was trying to be nice. A little. It's not a big deal.

Do you want to talk about it?

She knew he meant well. She understood that he was worried about her. I've just … I just haven't been feeling well today. Upset stomach.

You said it was personal business.

She closed her eyes and spoke through clenched teeth. It's the personal business that's upsetting my stomach, Richard.

Stress?

She whispered back, Assholes.

Um … what?

Assholes, Richard, is the problem. Fucking assholes who say they love you, say they don't mind about the whole dominatrix thing, string you along for … two … fucking … years! And just when you think it's real, that it's the whole forever thing, when you're starting to imagine yourself maybe having a couple kids, getting a little starter house in the suburbs … surprise! Turns out he thought you were a whore, after all!

Um?

"Yeah, that's how it is. And you get so surprised, so totally fucking blindsided by two year anniversary at an Italian restaurant that you don't