Chapter 6: "Paper Chains"
When the alarm went off the next morning I felt
compelled to get "medieval with it's ass". Yesterday
had been too long, my physical and mental exertions
with Caroline too intense (and the wine too potent) for
me to get up just yet. So I drifted in that strange
twilight between sleep and reality and started to
dream...
I woke with a start, cold but sweating. Scared,
confused, I had the weird feeling that I'd just had a
bad dream,. Since childhood I'd been unable to remember
my dreams, even the nightmares. I racked my brain but
it was gone, leaving a creepy feeling behind. My
shaking hand found the remote and turned on the TV. I
punched up Caroline's cell my half conscious mind
afraid of what I might find there. Much to my relief
she was as I had left her. She was still dressed in the
leather lingerie, still masked with her hands strapped
behind her. I watch uneasily, looking for an indication
that something might be wrong but she slept deeply even
snoring a little and after a few minutes I accepted
that she was OK.
I did a quick personal audit. I was thirsty, the taste
in my mouth and the suggestion of a headache convinced
me that I'd had far too much wine. I stumbled to the
bathroom and stuck my head under the cold tap for a
full minute. After the first thirty seconds I even
remembered to turn it on.
I've never been an excessive drinker, I am what is best
described as a "depressed drunk" beyond a certain point
I'm no longer having fun. Still I'd never had the
shakes before, and though I could rationalize the
incident as a combination of bad booze and bad
conscience it had left me with an uneasy feeling that I
was missing something important.
I popped an aspirin and a couple of vitamin pills.
Before taking a particularly long shower. I dressed and
though still a little woolly remembered to get
Caroline's pills from the bathroom before heading
downstairs. I wrapped the pills in tissue paper and
placed them in my pocket. Then I padded into the
kitchen and started making breakfast. While I was
waiting for the coffee I punched up Caroline's cell
again. She lay on her side, her mouth slightly open and
she was drooling a little as she slept. It looked as if
I wasn't the only one who would wake up with a
headache.
I watched her as she slept. Just last week she had been
struggling to make enough money to save her apartment.
Now she was dressed like a whore, tied up in some guy's
basement. I wondered what her dreams were like? One
thing was clear, the "honeymoon" was over, the breaking
of Caroline was about to begin.
So far it had been a promising start. After three days
of captivity Caroline seemed to be adjusting well. I
was especially pleased with her obedience. Not only was
she less trouble than I expected but it seemed to take
a lot to make her disobey me. She was learning very
fast, her use of the words MASTER and SLAVE was far
beyond what I expected at this stage and the adjusting
of her sentences to avoid the personal pronoun was well
underway.
As a cock slut she was exceptional, and though I could
take no credit for her technique I was more than happy
with her obedience and enthusiasm. Now I needed to push
things further, towards my goal of a completely
submissive and obedient slave. Although I wanted to
accelerate matters, I wouldn't take things too fast. I
still needed to watch her despair as I robbed her of
her identity and destroyed her independence. The first
part of the great game was now ready.
The first step was to destroy that one tiny flicker of
hope, the possibility of rescue and to make things even
better she would help me!
Sipping my first coffee of the day and with breakfast
well underway I headed downstairs. Slipping into the
darkroom I recovered the photos. I'd had rather more
wine than I'd intended and though I hadn't been drunk I
was a little concerned that I'd processed the films
before I had a clear head. I'd half expected to find
everything ruined but in fact I'd done a pretty good
job. Photos of Caroline hung from all of my drying
lines. Caroline as young professional on her night out,
Caroline as slut, Caroline as sexy mistress, Caroline
as leather slave...
I selected the best ones then went back upstairs. A
quick look at the cell showed her still asleep so after
checking the progress of the toast I went to my office.
Probably the best part of computer journalism is the
access to new and interesting equipment. Manufacturers
are well aware that the endorsement of a well known
columnist can boost sales significantly. One of my
editors has eight computers at home only one of which
he actually paid for (and that was at a substantial
discount). Over the years my stated interest in
graphics had resulted in a variety of equipment, most
of it state of the art at the time. My current scanner
is on long term loan from a major Japanese company.
A 48bit color drum scanner with a clever sheetfeed
mechanism and a ten thousand dollar price tag. It was
intended for publishing and photo process houses but it
was also perfect for my needs. I loaded the pictures
into the sheetfeed and setup the computer to dump each
successive scan into a working directory on my network.
I hit start and the machine sprang to life weaving the
invisible chains that would tie Caroline to me forever.
I took breakfast in my office surrounded by the
material from Caroline's box. For now I set the diaries
aside and concentrated on her recent mail and the
letters she'd stuck to her refrigerator door. Almost
immediately I got a real find, an unposted begging
letter home to mommy. No real news just brief and to
the point "wire money or I'll be evicted."
The writing was very neat especially considering the
difficulty of the subject. As a hunch I sifted through
the box looking for the pad and envelopes that matched
the letter. Opening the pad I found I'd hit pay dirt.
Caroline seemed to work by writing a rough draft first
then copying the final version out neatly. She left the
originals in the pad, giving me names addresses and a
basic understanding of her writing style.
Just then I saw a slight movement on the monitor. I
realized she would be awake soon. I'd been deliberately
keeping her hungry since the kicking incident, still
she'd been a good girl in the photo session last night
so I figured I owed her breakfast.
Returning to the kitchen I started into making a
smaller version of what I'd just eaten all the time
watching the monitor. The food was almost finished when
I started to see the first real signs of life from my
slave. I went to the closet and pulled out a couple of
those Styrofoam coolers you get at gas stations. I've
often wondered why it is that no matter how much you
spend on a cooler you always forget it when you really
need one. I must have five or six of the disposable
kind which I keep sitting around "just in case" and yet
I always forget them too. However for once they were
proving useful as I loaded foil covered plates into
them. I made a flask of strong, sweet coffee then
headed into the dungeon.
The room was still decked out as a photographic studio.
Drapes covered the furniture and the rings and other
restraining points on the walls were covered by blue
shower curtains. Soon I'd have to rip it all down but
first...
I poured some sweet coffee from the thermos into a
plastic cup and headed for the cell. Caroline was awake
and trying to swing her legs over the end of the bed.
Her groans told me that the hangover was just starting.
I put the cup down and helped her upright.
"Feeling a little fragile?" I asked.
"Urggg," She said, which seemed quite apt at the time.
I put the coffee cup to her lips and she drank
greedily. I stopped short of letting her finish it all
and set the cup aside.
With some effort, as her legs were a little unsteady, I
helped her over to the toilet. On the way we passed the
mirror (not glass obviously) that I'd screwed to the
wall. She caught sight of her masked reflection and
paused for a moment as if mesmerized. I looked but
could not see what fascinated her, in the end a slap on
her bare buttocks persuaded her to hurry along.
There is a certain humiliation value associated with
watching someone use the toilet. She squatted over the
pan really wanting me to go away. I just smiled sweetly
and watched what she was doing with great intensity.
Worse was to come as she couldn't clean herself with
her hands still bound. Though ungagged she had some
difficulty asking for my help. While she figured it out
I retrieved the coffee and took the pills out of my
pocket. I didn't let her see them until they were under
her nose.
"Take these."
"W...what are they?"
"What are they MASTER!" I corrected, "In answer to your
question, they are aspirin for the headache."
She seemed unconvinced.
"Look slave if I wanted to poison or drug you I could
do it anytime. Now, do you want them or not?"
She opened her mouth and I popped them inside using the
remainder of the coffee to wash them down. It was only
a little lie, one was an aspirin, the other was a
contraceptive pill, one of which would form part of her
daily diet from now on. Then while she was still
thinking how to ask, I stripped off a glove, bent her
over and cleaned her up.
She blushed as we reentered the "studio", memories of
last night still obviously fresh in her mind. I had her
sit on one of the covered tables as I replaced her
shoes with her usual high heeled boots. A butterfly
vibrator held in place by a pair of snap on panties (to
wake her up a little quicker) and she was almost ready
to start the day.
I pulled her head forward so that I could get at the
buckle of the leather mask and found her strangely
resistive.
"Please master..."
"You like the mask slave?"
She nodded and looked down avoiding my eyes.
"Why slave?" I asked genuinely puzzled.
She remained silent kicking her heels against the leg
of the table like a shy schoolgirl.
"Answer slave!" I said pressing on her crotch and
increasing the butterfly's stimulation of her bare
clit. She gasped and shuddered a little.
"Please master... It makes me...feel sexy." She seem
embarrassed I was sure that there was a blush hiding
behind that mask.
"Not good enough slave, but I'll do you a deal. You can
keep it IF you can give me a good psychological
analysis of why you need it."
Her shocked eyes peered out from behind the soft
leather.
"Well slave? You were a psych major, you should be able
to give me a good technical answer." Her eyes filled
with conflicting emotions, her mouth worked silently.
She wasn't an accomplished liar, I'm sure I would have
come up with some bullshit in her position and it was
obvious that the anonymity the mask offered some
attraction to her, perhaps a way that Caroline the
reverend's daughter could distance herself from the
slut I was turning her into. Yet I also felt, as I
watched the struggle behind those pretty blue eyes,
that this was an ancient demon she was fighting, not
one that had surfaced in the past few days, traumatic
as they were. In the end she didn't speak so I removed
the mask and pulled her over to a chair.
I retrieved some rope and a collection of other bondage
bits from the cabinet and returned. quickly retying her
wrists and body to the chair frame. I increased the
number of ropes until I had what I needed. Caroline the
Republic heroine was back, though in far kinkier
underwear than was usual in the thirties. Bound to a
chair in the villains hideout she struggles against her
tight bonds. Of course some things had to go. Her
collar and the remaining bondage jewelry was replaced
by a simple costume necklace and earring set that were
more in period. Reloading the camera and quickly
positioning the lights I started to snap away.
The first couple of shots I had her smile at the camera
as I took her from several different angles. She looked
great. Her blond hair fell on her naked shoulders and
framed her face. Her arms were visible, bound to her
sides by rope wrapped tightly around her body and the
back of the chair. Her wrists were bound with cord to
the chair's underframe leaving her gloved hands in
plain view. One set of ropes pushed her tits up firmly
against the cups of the leather corset. Her long legs
had to be pulled back quite a way so that I could tie
her booted ankles to the legs of the chair. This
exposed the creamy white surface of her uncovered
thighs framed as they were by the stocking tops and
leather garters. This also seemed to push the butterfly
harder into her clit for after a few minutes her eyes
rolled back and she groaned loudly.
I gagged her, brain and heart in bitter conflict. I had
originally intended to just tie a cloth loosely over
her mouth in the unconvincing way seen in many films.
Yet my master's pride couldn't bear the idea of a photo
of a slave of mine with such an obvious fake. So in the
end I compromised. I stuffed a sponge ball into her
mouth and duct taped it firmly in place. I used the
white tape (I have every color) and after tying the
cloth tightly over the tape it was impossible to see. I
took my shots. Caroline still looked like a Republic
heroine, gagged in a stupid movie way but when I looked
at the photos I would know that she had been firmly
silenced up to my usual standards.
Next I untied her from the chair and removed the boots.
I tied her arms and legs as I had the day before,
clinched rope around ankles and knees with a matching
set for wrist and elbows. I wrapped some more rope
above and bellow her leather covered tits to bind her
arms behind her before removing the gag. I'd found
before that kneeling she was at a perfect height to
service my engorged cock which was by now pressing
painfully against my leather pants. Without saying a
word I unzipped my fly and shoved my dick into her
face.
In three days Caroline had already accepted her role as
my cockslut, no other commands were necessary. She
licked and sucked, teased and tormented as I started
knotting the length of cloth. When I seized her head
she finished me off, deepthroating and sucking with the
same wonderful mind numbing intensity she had shown the
first time. One thing seemed clear, one day I had to
find the guy who taught her this trick and thank him
personally. I came and came, noticing in a strange
detached way that she swallowed every drop. Sam, though
she gave great head, would always spit it out
afterwards which had left me feeling dirty and awkward.
Caroline swallowed it greedily and I realized that my
cum was the closest thing Caroline had to a meal in the
past few days.
Pushing her head back I forced the knotted part of the
cloth into her open mouth using the tail ends to tie it
tightly in place. Then I ordered her to smile, hard
with her mouth gagged so tightly but not impossible. I
took smiling shots of her kneeling and sitting down
then I had her struggle in as many differing positions
as I could think of. I finished off the film with her
screaming into the gag, her face contorted and mouth
straining against the cloth muzzle. She was left
panting on the floor, I waited until she had recovered
her breath and then picked her up and took her to the
table.
I sat her down and she waited quietly, bound legs
tucked gracefully under the seat of the chair while I
unpacked the food. I sat her on my knee as I had the
day before but this time I pulled the gag from her
mouth and started to feed her by hand as you would a
favorite pet. This was probably not lost on her, but by
now she was so hungry that she would accept even this
indignity.
We finished with pancakes and syrup which she seemed to
really enjoy After the pancakes I had her lick the
syrup from my gloved fingers Then I picked up the gag
and forced the knots back behind her teeth, before
tightening the knot behind her head. She gave me her
"Bambi in the headlights" look and chewed on the gag as
she tried to say something. I smiled then pulled her
tits free of the restraining leather.
As before I spread a little syrup in her nipples and
began to lick and suck it off. She moaned and more
muffled sound emerged from her gagged mouth though it
was unclear if she wanted me to stop or wanted more.
Her nips however had no doubts, standing out hard and
firm as my tongue danced over them. It was time to up
the stimulation a little so I started to press the
butterfly against her clit feeling her body stiffen and
tremble.
More unintelligible sounds erupted and she started to
rub her gagged mouth against me as she had done the day
before. Without breaking my rhythm I reached up and
pulled the knot free. For a few seconds she just gasped
and then she panted out, "Please!"
I stopped and looked up, her face was flushed, her
breath came in sort pants. She was attempting to avoid
my gaze but I brought my fingers to her chin and eased
her head back until her eyes met mine.
"Please what," I asked, "Please stop, please continue,
what?" She didn't say anything. Every other time I'd
fucked her she'd been gagged and all I'd ever heard was
her muffled cries. This time I meant to know if they
were of agony or ecstasy.
Her eyes were full of doubt and some strange kind of
fear but above all need. That need shone out from
behind those embarrassed blue eyes and finally her
mouth echoed them "P-Please fuck me master! ... The...
this whore needs to be fucked!"
I smiled, now I had my answer but I intended to play a
while longer. I bent down and licked again, enough to
ensure she was kept on the brink but no more.
"Please master..."
"Want to cum slave?"
She nodded silently, I pressed the butterfly a little
harder smiling at her startled gasp.
"Well slave if you want it you're going to have to do
something for me."
She glanced down at my crotch, it was obvious from her
expression that she felt she'd done enough already,
that the blow job was payment for bringing her off. I
just smiled.
The idea had formed in an instant. If she wanted this
orgasm, and I could tell that she did, I wanted
something personal in exchange. I wanted her first
sexual encounter to be described in graphic and lurid
detail. I would link that first time, good bad or
indifferent, with her begging her kidnapper to fuck
her. This was an act of violation as real as anything
physical I could do to her. My mouth watered with
anticipation.
"I'm going to ask you a few questions slave. Answer
them for me and I'll see you right." She looked into my
eyes. By now she was panting she was so close, she just
nodded and looked away. "How old were you when you had
your first fuck." She hesitated, I had no way to verify
her answers but I was betting that she would have
difficulty lying effectively while she was this turned
on. I began to stroke her, upping the general tactile
stimulus while keeping her erogenous zones as they
were. My hand moved quickly over the leather of her
panties and came to rest on the inside of her thigh
which I gently caressed.
"S-sixteen," she panted. I let my hand stray a little
closer to the buzzing butterfly.
"Did you have an orgasm?" She shook her head and
moaned. Right now all she wanted to do was cum. Still
this was interesting information. She was almost
nineteen now, so the next question was obvious.
"How many orgasms have you had slave, approximately?"
To be honest I really didn't want to know the answer. I
suppose I saw this as just another embarrassing
question, a stepping stone before I forced from her the
story of her first clumsy fling with some farm boy. So
when she answered it came as quite a shock.
"F-four or five," She gasped.
That was low, I'd expected at least a dozen in nearly
three years and there was always masturbation.
"How many did you have before you came here?" The
question popped out without me thinking about it. I had
also started to unconsciously fondle her again and she
was now very close. "Twice..." She shuddered as she
said it, drawing her breath in explosive bursts.
"Who was your first," I demanded realizing that I
didn't have a lot of time.
She stammered, gasped and trembled.
"You will tell me slave!"
She didn't answer so I reduced the stimulus. She felt
the wave of the orgasm dying. "Please..."
"I need an answer cunt," I said viciously. "No answer
and I know a horny little slut who's going to be very
disappointed."
Her hips moved up suddenly as she tried to brush her
crotch against my departing fingers. She whimpered and
pleaded but the orgasm died. I made it clear that all I
needed was a name. In her position I would have lied
but she just sat there and cried. In the end I got fed
up of the noise and gagged her, refastened her collar
and went to the wardrobe.
As much I liked Caroline in strict bondage, I had
always known that I couldn't keep her like that
forever. She would need at least some freedom of
movement if she was to stay healthy. This left me with
a problem not so much of security (locked in a
soundproof cell she was equally helpless bound or not)
but of ownership. She was mine, mind and body. Bound as
she had been the past few days Caroline hadn't really
had much chance to fuck herself. Now I intended to
enforce my ownership of her sex with leather and steel.
Chastity belts are usually large clumsy things with
huge menacing locks and countless straps. Part of this
is for effect, like having a large heavy door, and part
of it is the "one size fits all" mentality of the ready
to wear suit.
By contrast Caroline's device was made to measure. It
essence it was really a pair of heavy gauge leather
panties that was fastened to the waist with a narrow
leather belt. The sections of leather near the base of
the hips had been modified so that a drawstring would
pull them tight around the wearer's thighs in a similar
way to plastic diapers. A formed plastic section rested
on the hips and made a dome over the wearer's pubic
area so that the victim could not bring herself off by
rubbing the panties against herself.
As an extra touch the designer had covered the plastic
former with the same leather as the rest of the pants
and had added an indentation that suggested pussy lips.
Once on they looked like a large pair of leather briefs
pulled tight over a woman's hole. The victim however
could not gain access to her clit for stimulation and
as an added bonus a thin brush attached to the indent
on the inside would prove maddening as it teased the
clit just enough to keep the victim frustrated. There
was a stiff matching corset which of course denighed
access to the breasts. Once on it looked like a soft
corset with the woman's nips pressed hard against the
leather but as with the pants the "nipples" were parts
of a plastic former used to isolate the breasts.
I fastened her collar to one of the vertical chains and
had her strip to her gloves and heels. I had to slap
her with the crop a few times as her hands drifted
downwards. She removed the butterfly like she was
loosing an old friend. I was tightening the second
drawstring when she realized what was going on but by
then it was too late. The belt snapped firmly in place
around her waist and it was over.
I left her for a few moments watching her deft leather
covered fingers as they probed poked and shoved but it
was to no avail. She soon found that she could not move
the former and the drawstrings at her thighs prevented
her from working her fingers between the plastic and
her body. I decided that the design was quite
successful though it was still obvious that the former
was not her real mound. Still now that I had her I
could make the necessary measurements to get even
tighter ones made. The designer had even provided
instructions for making casts of the necessary areas.
By now Caroline had realized that it was futile. She
gave a strangled, frustrated moan behind her gag,
stamped her booted foot and then turned to look at me
accusingly.
"When you are prepared to tell me what I want to know
I'll see that you'll be all right."
Surprisingly she gave me no trouble with the corset and
once it was locked in place and it's garters attached
to her stockings I stepped back and looked at her. In
truth she looked not much different that she had
before, she was still the leather angel of my
fantasies. Yet I had now taken ownership of her tits
and cunt. She was a sexless neuter without me and any
sexual pleasure she would feel from now on would be by
my command.
While she was mourning I threw her the cuffs.
"Put them on slave," I said, "It's time to put you
away."
She complied, what else could she do? I also had her
change the cloth for a leather pad gag to match the
outfit. Then I attached her right wrist to the belt of
the chastity pants but kept her left hand free.
I took her to the cell and refastened her collar,
hobbled her legs and locked the gag in place. Her left
hand still rubbed mournfully at the smooth carapace
covering her crotch so I decided to give it something
to do.
I went to the cupboard and removed some books before
returning to the cell. I threw one to her. It was a
spiral bound group of papers I had culled from the
internet and extensively edited. I called it the
"Slaves Handbook" and it detailed general concepts and
the duties of a slave. On the cover were the words,
"This material will be tested and wrong answers
punished." She saw this and looked doe eyed at me.
"I expect you to know all of it, understand?"
She nodded.
"If you have time read this." I threw her a copy of
"The Joy of Sex".
She tried to say something.
"Read it! You are a sex slave now. All I want you for,
all you need to be good at is in these two books. Your
life is in these pages so read them real carefully.
Otherwise I may have to replace you." I stuck enough
menace in those words to convince her just what
replacement would mean.
I closed the door and heard the faint sound of
something impacting against it. I made a mental note
for later then went upstairs.
When I returned to my office the scanner had almost
finished. A series of messages in the window of my
graphics workstation indicated that the first few
pictures had been analyzed. I pulled up the first, a
picture of Caroline standing demurely in her evening
gown, and started to work.
Graphic manipulation is hard and time consuming even
with the best conventional software. Fortunately over
the past year and with Andy's suggestions I'd been
helping to develop a revolutionary program.
Raytracing in the technique used in computer graphics
to make computer generated images appear real by adding
highlights, shading and shadows to an object as if it
was really 3D. Inside a computer program you position
your computer generated objects and a set of virtual
lights. The computer then works out how the object will
look to a virtual camera, where the shading and shadows
and reflections will be. Once all of this is worked out
the image is generated sometimes with unbelievable
realism.
What my program did was the same in reverse, given an
image it works out the positions characteristics and
relative magnitudes of the light sources that lit the
original object. This lighting map can then be applied
to another image, overriding the lighting conditions
that were present when it was recorded. This allows
multiple images to be assembled and appear to be lit by
the same sources.
In this case I removed the background of the dustsheets
from behind Caroline and transplanted her to another
background that I'd already scanned and analyzed. Then
the computer went to work, matching the lighting of
Caroline's picture with that of the new background. It
added shadows, highlights and reflections to both parts
until it appeared that she belonged in the other
picture.
The technique isn't perfect, the composite image still
needs a lot of manual adjustment to appear totally
realistic and I didn't have the time for that now.
Fortunately even the simple run through looks
wonderfully effective and that was all I needed.
Caroline stood on a damp, well lit street after
nightfall. She smiled at the camera, the streetlights
glinting from her jewelry and her heels reflecting in
the puddles on the sidewalk.
I worked all afternoon assembling images and pasting
them into a document I'd prepared earlier. I rolled
between computers on my office chair checking first
one, then the other, then Caroline with mechanical
precision. When I'd left she had initially thrown the
books at the door in a sudden act of renewed spirit.
Finally though after trying desperately to get at her
covered crotch, boredom overtook her and she started to
read. Every couple of hours I looked in on her, partly
so that she could drink but mainly because the chastity
pants stopped her from going to the toilet without my
help.
Around five the last document finished printing and I
was ready. I put my work into a folder along with other
papers, collected a snack from the kitchen and headed
downstairs.
After setting up the table I freed her and lead her
into the dungeon. I fastened collar to table, and
strapped ankles and butt to the chair. Then I removed
her gloves, this was one time I wanted fingerprints.
Finally I removed the gag, but as always I left it
dangling around her neck.
"I thought we should talk," I said sitting across the
table from her. I pushed over a diet coke, "I know you
have questions about your new life here and I really
haven't given you any answers." She gulped down a huge
swallow of coke, which seemed to restore her
confidence.
"Who are you? Why have you brought me here?" She asked
her voice high and anxious.
I rolled my eyes, back over the same old ground. "I am
your MASTER, I have selected you to be my sex slave.
Your principle job is to obey me completely and to give
sexual pleasure to me and to any others I indicate.
I've told you this before." I knew what the next
question was so I cut her off. "As to why I chose you,
that is my concern."
"Now that we have covered all your old questions AGAIN,
is there anything else you want to ask?"
"How long do you intend to keep me here?"
"Until you bore me. Then I'll replace you with a new
girl." A frightened look spread over her face.
"You aren't the first," I lied, "And you are certainly
not the last. The longer you please me, the longer you
stay alive and the longer your replacement keeps her
liberty."
"How long?" She asked her eyes large and frightened.
"The current record is five years," I said smoothly,
"But she was exceptionally obedient. Those who refuse
training usually don't last a month." I could see her
absorbing the information. "In the end I grew quite
attached to her, when the time came I sold her to a
friend rather than do anything unpleasant." I smiled at
her, "There is always a place for a good obedient
slave, the difficult ones bring the inevitable on
themselves."
I looked into her eyes, "I wonder what type you'll be?"
"Please master..." her questions were now ended. All
the horrors that had been forming in her mind as she
lay, bound and alone in her cell had now be confirmed.
What more was there to say? "Now I have a question for
you slave," I said noting the renewed tension in her
shoulder muscles. "A couple of days ago when my friend
Bob came over and I hid you behind the couch, why
didn't you try to scream to him?"
"I was gagged..."
"But you must have realized that he could still hear
you that close by."
She swallowed. "He was in on it with you," she cried,
"You had plenty of time to move me away I figured you
wouldn't risk him finding me if he didn't already know.
You wanted me to disobey you so you could punish me!"
It was a good reasoned argument. With all the ease I'd
had until now I'd forgotten that I was dealing with a
college undergraduate and not a simple farm girl. She
was bright all right but I was better. An evil thought
came to me.
"You were half right slave," I said, "Bob wouldn't have
freed you but he isn't part of all this. You see I told
old Bob that my latest girlfriend is kinky, into
bondage and the like, just in case he discovered your
presence. If you had screamed I'd have just introduced
you to him and let him go on his way. He'd think it odd
but he wouldn't think that you were being held against
your will."
I smiled as a sudden look of realization spread across
her face. I could even guess what she was thinking. If
"Bob" had seen her then maybe he would have recognized
her from a missing persons report. "Phantom Bob" had
just sporned a "Phantom Opportunity" for rescue that
she had failed to take.
I waited until the look of despair had started to
subside.
"Don't knock yourself," I smiled, "You didn't know and
besides no one knows you're missing so he wouldn't have
recognized you anyway."
"Someone will know," She said looking me defiantly in
the face, that look of hope in her eye. "Sooner or
later I will be reported missing and..."
"And nothing," I cut in. "Thousands of people go
missing every year, far more than can be put down to
foul play. There are people running from the law, from
creditors, bad marriages. That's the beauty of a
country this size, it's easy to get lost in. Most
missing people turn up in the first few weeks, the
police probably won't look at your case for a month.
Then I'm sure that there are a lot of college and bank
loans outstanding, a lot of moneys owed?" I could see
from her face that there were. "The police don't look
for people who want to go missing and the evidence is
that you ran away."
The light in her eyes still shone a little. Now it was
time to extinguish it for good. "All we have to do to
make sure is give them a good reason for you to leave
town. I have one right here."
I opened the folder, took out her pen, paper and
envelopes and a piece of laser-printed paper.
"This is the text of a letter I will send to your
mother. You will copy it onto the writing paper EXACTLY
as it is written. I have enough samples of your hand
writing to recognize if you try anything stupid."
I watched as she read the text. It was simple and
workmanlike in Caroline's usual style and said that she
had been offered a summer job in a private psychiatric
clinic near Seattle. The job as a nursing assistant was
really nothing more than a glorified Candy-striper, but
her professors had agreed that the experience could
count towards her final end of year grades. With this
in mind she would be leaving immediately now that exams
were over. She would forward her address once her new
employer had assigned her accommodation.
"Well what are you waiting for?"
She shook her head and read the text again. It was a
plausible explanation for her leaving town. Styles, pet
names and general writing mannerisms were all hers,
once it was copied by her own hand onto her own
stationary it would appear perfectly normal. She knew
as well as I did that once her parents received this
the hunt would be over. Eventually the alarm would be
raised, but they would start looking in the wrong place
and by then the trail would be long cold.
I watched while she pondered it.
"All I need is a plausible explanation for why you
disappeared," I said. "This one is the best because it
seems most natural, but a girl in your position, owing
money and with unsympathetic parents can have lots of
reasons to disappear."
I tossed her a large white business envelope. She
caught it and looked at it blankly. I watched as her
eyes scanned it, they darted quickly over the return
address, someone in an unfamiliar sounding street in
Seattle. Her reaction was more pronounced however when
she saw where the package was going. It was addressed
to her but the address was her parent's house in Iowa.
With trembling fingers she opened it.
The package contained four pages pinned together. The
top sheet was a piece of good quality company headed
note paper bearing a stylized almost art deco logo of a
beautiful woman bringing a wine glass to her lips,
underneath in a tasteful script font were the words
"Cachet Escorts." The company's office was the same
unfamiliar address as on the envelope which I knew to
be in a half empty office block in a rundown suburb of
Seattle.
I was proud of the letter and I watched as her eye's
widened in horror. It was dated a few days before the
kidnapping and read.
_____________________________
My Dear Caroline,
I wish to thank you for your dedication over the last
few weeks, it could not have been easy to fit our
interviews and photo sessions into your busy schedule.
I trust your preparations for the move to Seattle are
well advanced. I can only say again that you will not
regret your decision. Washington is a very beautiful
state and Seattle can offer a host of entertainment for
a young lady such as yourself.
However, I must admit to feeling a little uncomfortable
about your proposed Seattle address. Although your
friend is right in saying that the neighborhood has low
cost accommodation, it is the kind of area a girl
cannot walk alone in safety. If you contact our offices
we can provide a list of clean low cost hotels that you
would find much more suitable. If money is a problem I
am sure we could arrange a small advance until you have
found your feet.
I have enclosed a copy of the information we keep on
file. Please check it, correct if necessary, sign and
date the bottom, and return it as soon as you can.
I have also included draft copies of your pages from
our various directories. These are the results of your
photo sessions and the information you provided.
Although we foresee no problems it is our policy to
allow our girls to check and if necessary modify their
entry before we have the final copy printed. Rest
assured that the directories do not leave our offices,
although we sometimes provide a copy of a new girl's
entry to our regular clients upon request.
We have also included your entry from our special
services directory. Again I must complement you on your
decision to try this area. As we discussed the work is
varied and well rewarded. The gentlemen who have these
special needs are amongst our most generous patrons and
a few of our girls have removed themselves from our
general roster to concentrate on these clients
exclusively. The photographs used in these pages are by
necessity more explicit. Some of our girls in the past
have expressed doubts over their entry's but now agree
that we where right in our decision. The special
directory never leaves the offices and is only shown to
special trusted clients.
I will say again that these are only draft copies for
your approval. The quality of the final printed
versions will be much better.
Finally when we last spoke you were still unsure if you
wanted to use the name Elizabeth. As you can see our
draft pages are currently using this name. If you wish
to change it, please do let us know as soon as
possible. We reserve the right to approve the
professional name of all of our young ladies. It is our
policy that each of our girls chooses a unique name on
a first come first served basis. This is to avoid
confusion and reassure our clients that they will get
the right girl if they ask for her by name.
In addition we discourage the use of names too close to
the girl's real name as it can cause embarrassment. For
example in your case we would discourage the use of
"Carol" or "Carolyn" but names such as "Catherine" or
"Carrie" would be fine.
Please contact me the moment you arrive in town and we
can arrange to have lunch and discuss your plans.
I remain as ever yours.
Brenda Evans.
_____________________________
It didn't take a genius to realize that Cachet was a
high class call girl agency. I had first come across
them a couple of years before when some of their girls
worked a party organized by a well known software
company. Their girls were hand picked to be courteous,
sophisticated and well read but it was no secret that
for the right amount they could be persuaded to stay
the night. I knew a lot of men who used their services
when in Seattle and while not being a client myself I
had heard enough by word of mouth to know how they
operated. One indiscreet client had once given me a
girl's file entry with the recommendation that I try
her. I had used this as a model for Caroline's entry.
Cachet was now out of business, it's offices raided
amongst great scandal a few months before. I had no
doubt that there would be at least another two or three
'Cachets' by now hoping to pull in the defunct agencies
clientele, so my fake would probably be written off as
a short lived imitator.
By now Caroline was scanning the second sheet. It was a
supposedly the agencies private file entry giving age,
height, weight, interests, address and next of kin. Not
too different from the personnel file any company would
keep.
"Look at the addresses," I said with some pride.
Under her name was her parents address, under her
parents names as next of kin was her college address.
"It's what laymen call a computer error," I said, "In
the industry we call it garbage in, garbage out. You
see when the thing was transferred from paper an
unfortunate substitution took place which means that
the agency 'accidentally' sent this to your parents
house. When they can't find you they will of course
open it and..."
She had found the 'and'. The first page seemed innocent
enough. It was Caroline's entry in the agencies
directory. Most of the sheet contained pictures of
Caroline in her evening gown. The first was a picture
of Caroline on the street a departing limo in the
background. Second picture, a smiling Caroline offers a
gloved hand to the camera, hotel bedroom background.
The rest of the pictures were in much the same vein.
Caroline handling and drinking Champagne and looking
suggestive. The text hinted that after a night at the
opera 'Elizabeth' may be persuaded stay a little
longer.
Sheet two was very different. Supposedly from the
'special directory' it showed 'Elizabeth' in her full
leather finery. The first shot was just of her standing
with her high heeled foot on a stool showing off her
leather panties pulled tight over her crotch, hands on
hips, smiling. There was a corresponding "Elizabeth
drinks Champagne" shot then a three frame sequence of a
smiling 'Elizabeth' gagging and handcuffing herself.
The final shot was of the dominant 'Elizabeth' flexing
a riding crop and looking stern. The text was also more
explicit talking of 'Elizabeth's' wish to make her
client happy no matter what his 'special needs' may be.
Caroline looked up in horror, "NO please..."
"I'm posting one of these off tomorrow," I said
pointing to the large envelope and the letter pad. "It
really doesn't matter to me which they receive. Either
would explain why you would disappear and either will
draw attention away from the idea of a kidnapping. It's
really up to you. Your parents are never going to see
you again. Question is, how do you want them to
remember you, as their little girl or as an evil little
slut selling her body for money?"
Caroline started to weep. I could see the despair in
her eyes. I slapped the crop on the table, "Choose!"
With a trembling hand she picked up the pen and started
to write.
I rejected her first attempt because the writing was
too unsteady, the next two because of spelling errors.
Number four was perfect but I rejected it anyway and
warned her not to give me any more trouble. I yelled
and threatened punishment and in the end got her into
the frame of mind I needed. She wrote the letter,
addressed the envelope and even licked the stamp to
provide comprehensive forensic evidence. I then placed
the letter in a ziplock and handed her the second item.
When she started to read it I slammed the crop down in
front of her.
"Slaves obey, they don't need to understand," I said
viscously.
So she started, writing postcards, signing documents,
filling in forms in her own name and a variety of
aliases. As each was finished it went into a separate
ziplock. She seemed bewildered and I never gave her
time to think things through. Were a document wasn't
unique I would often venomously reject the first one
she did just to keep her off balance. When she signed
and dated a complex legal document near the end she
wasn't even aware that she had just signed her freedom
way.
I finished up with her signing a couple of checks. Then
I produced a tape recorder and a few sheets of paper.
"This is a script," I said pushing the paper over to
her,
"You will say the words exactly as written,
understand."
She nodded and did fairly well on the first couple of
messages, but then when she started on one obviously
meant for her parents she started to sob uncontrollably
In the end it took a lot of threats before I had the
performance I needed.
"You did well," I said as I reached over and shoved the
gag back into her sobbing mouth. "I'll forgive you for
the temper tantrum this morning. Tell me slave, are you
still horny?"
Still sobbing she nodded her head.
"Good. I have to put you away for a while because I
have to finish upstairs," I gently stroked her thigh.
"Afterwards though I'll reward you."
I had her replace the gloves with a clean latex pair
and replace the cuffs. I strapped her arms behind her
and freed her from the chair. I pulled her close to me
felling the hardness of the chastity corset as it
pressed into my chest. The light of hope was gone from
the tear filled eyes that stared at me over the gag.
"I am your master slave, and now your training begins."