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The Abduction Company Part Twelve: Progress, Succession, and a Proposal

Here is Part Twelve of bondage serial The Abduction Company, written exclusively for Oxy-Shop by Taped2. In this part we build a church, test erotic furniture, help prisoners escape, make financial deals, witness transitions of power, and receive a marriage proposal. Melody and Martin have a momentous phone call. Inspiration provided by the classic bondage artist, Robert Bishop.





It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man

in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

                                    Pride and Prejudice [1813]  Jane Austen



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Mistress Destiny had completed three concurrent courses at Northern University. With these credits and the hopeful attitude she expressed in her covering letter, she applied to obtain certification as a marriage counsellor from the provincial licencing body. In addition to her recent course work, Evelyn Talbot – for she was using her real name with the authorities – presented her transcripts from three years of university-level Divinity and Psychology studies. She had worried about finishing a university program she had begun many years ago at a different school. But her studies at Northern had gone very well. In due course, the medical college issued her a licence to offer psychological and marital counselling. They did not inquire where and how she would set up a practice.

 

Parallel to her academic achievements, as the new pastor at the Abduction Company she was authorized to officiate at weddings within the premises, as directed by the Head Mistress. But according to the province, in the case of private ceremonies, a couple’s legally binding vows would have to be repeated before the Senior Clerk of the Town of Breviston, acting on the authority of the Mayor. Couples seeking a dominant-submissive ceremony with corresponding vows could be married by Mistress Destiny and later registered and recognized by the town and the province of Ontario.

 

While waiting for her psychology and counselling certificates, Destiny made appointments for clients. She had also begun to consult with contractors finishing the new church. The building would be very modern: a lot of brushed steel and black wooden beams. The inside arches were high. The steeple included two outdoor horizontal suspension beams. The pews were to be stained a light brown and arranged in rows through the central nave. Vertical beams lined the sides of the nave, ostensibly as supports. They would, when complete, be equipped with attachment points. Not everyone in the nave would be seated comfortably. The plans had been developed by a German architect who had done similar designs in larger homes and warehouses; he was an expert at converting vacant and former houses of worship into venues for the fetish crowd. Stephanie had toured Destiny around AbductCo’s work-in-progress one afternoon and reviewed the design documents with her.

 

The sun would fall primarily on the south and west sides of the building. Windows of stained glass would be plentiful along those walls and would provide a moving sensation of colour within. Destiny very much wanted to see it finished. Every day she imagined various services and ceremonies she could present to parishioners.

 

For now, she would have to satisfy herself with her pending certification as a counseling psychologist and therapist. The pastor for Abduction Company’s place of worship could wait a little longer.


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Antonio had texted Mole:  Meet in the corridor. Floor One, Service Aisle 4B behind Telecom-Closet unit, West wing. Back of wall of central kitchen.

 

Months ago, Mole had set up an intermittent malfunction in a router in the  Ball and Chain . He could set these up in any router in the company: a malfunction so minor and so specific that Mole could literally turn it on and off from his phone. Its purpose was to give Mole a task that could be logged in the IT task database – one that helped him to leave his desk for an hour or more at a time, without anyone questioning him.

 

The next day – Monday at suppertime – Mole started a random data block-and-release pattern in this router. At seven, he drifted through the  Ball and Chain in his coveralls; his IT and Maintenance Department tags swung from the clip on his breast pocket. He set his ladder against the wall and began to examine a router six inches from the ceiling. As he worked, he was partly concealed by a pillar near the main entrance. He glanced at the room: mostly empty. No guests in restraint. Hardly any guests at all. Tables were being wiped. Two slaves with vacuum cleaners worked opposite ends of the room. He popped off the plastic cover of the router and glanced at the wiring. There was nothing wrong with this router or any of the other routers on the first floor, inside or outside the  Ball and Chain.  After five minutes he descended, collapsed the ladder to a length he could carry, and wandered out into the hall. He put down the ladder and used his cell phone to speed up outbound data transmissions from router he’d just worked on.

 

Antonio had chosen a good spot. Very few service personnel could open the room that hosted the telecom-closet. Antonio was at the end of the hall already, staring through the glass in an exit door. They entered the closet and shut the door.

 

“What do you need from me now?”

 

“We need to spring a girl from whatever program Head Mistress has her enrolled in,” said Antonio. One night, pretty late, I witnessed this girl placed in a vertical frame by a room window. The room was on the twelfth floor. Here’s a photo. Not a great shot, I admit.”

 

(Readers! Remember the beginning of Part Nine?

Amber restrained Melody in the vertical frame.)

 

“Some of them like to be exposed.”

 

Antonio nodded. “Yeah, well this one was abducted to exert some leverage over her boyfriend. She’s not a paying client.”

 

“I don’t know. Who are you talking about? Are we talking about real extortion?”

 

“I don’t know if it’s an extortion, the boyfriend is here and he’s worried sick about her. Melody is her name.”

 

Mole remembered the software he’d written that would disrupt Melody’s bracelet, if necessary. He remembered Destiny’s plan for Martin. He’d never seen a picture of Melody. But he knew Mistress Destiny had orchestrated her abduction. “How long was she restrained? Do you know if she was alone?”

 

“I was outside. She was on the twelfth floor. It was room 1203. I took a few pictures with my super-long lens. She was in that room at the moment. And I know who was with her.”

 

“OK. I do know who you’re talking about.” He furrowed his brow. “I can’t actually spring her from any restraints or open the lock on the door to her room. All I can do is track her. Melody, right?”

 

“Yes. You know her?”

 

Mole worked his phone. He could see Melody was not in her room. She was on the third floor of the building, moving in a southbound direction.  “I suppose if I had been monitoring her at the same time you were outside, I might have known who was with her. I can monitor sounds her wristband picks up. I might even be able to speak to her by manipulating the voice command interface in her bracelet. But to do so would expose me – not my actual voice, but the things I was saying – to be overheard by others. I cannot scan all bracelets and phones in the vicinity of a target. And I cannot predict how Melody will react to her wristband being taken over by a stranger.”

 

Antonio marvelled at Mole’s capability with his phone.

 

“Why are you interested in freeing Melody?”

 

“She was brought here without her consent. And, I can bring her to her boy-friend.”

 

“Does her boyfriend want to see her?”

 

“Jesus!! You know very goddam well, that her boyfriend wants to leave the Abduction Company and go back to his vanilla life.”

 

“Forever?”

 

“For now, at least.”

 

“I think I know who you are talking about.”

 

“He needs his wallet, cell phone, and all his keys that were taken from him when he was abducted.”

 

“Does he owe any money?”

 

“No. I found the record of his payment,” said Antonio. “Besides, he’s rich. If the bean counters have any additional charges, I think they know how to find him.”

 

“Martin Porter. We’re talking about Martin Porter, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“OK. I’m presently using his cell phone as a listening device in Head Mistress’s desk. I suppose I can get it for you and put a different gadget in place, to monitor her. Anything else? You proposing to have both of them leave the property? You started out talking about Melody being held against her will – which still needs to be proved – and now you’re asking me to get Martin’s personal phone and wallet and keys, so he can slip out of here.”

 

“Yes. Just get his stuff. Clean the Abduction Company software off his phone and I will get it to him. I don’t think Melody is in any danger.”

 

“No. There are enough people in management interested in her well-being. There’ll be no mistakes where she’s concerned.”

 

Two days later, AbductCo’s internal mail delivered a sealed box to the Gardening Department East Work shed. Inside were Martin’s cell phone and his personal keys, wallet, and identification badges from his workplace. No obstacle remained to Martin’s departure.


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Two days after the malfunctions during her first test, Amber returned to Product Development and Design. She’d heard Melody was no longer assigned to videos or product testing. Amber watched the techs prepare to retest the Confession Box. She noted the three massive padlocks outside the wooden confessional. The techs said they needed another half hour before they’d be ready for her.

 

Amber wandered into a side room. She found a naked man, ball-gagged and splayed back over an oddly shaped piece of furniture – a massive narrow couch – with dips and crests in it like waves. His eyes were closed, but when he heard Amber’s footsteps, he woke and moaned and strained at his bonds. Amber said nothing. She watched him.

 

A finger tapped her shoulder. Amber turned. A tall, fit black woman hovered. She appeared to be from central Africa, Ghana or Gambia, perhaps. Her skin glowed. Her reddish-brown hair looked completely natural and formed a perfect ball – a halo of hair about her face. Amber noticed her lightly glossed, purple lips. The lips spoke. “He’s mine, sweetie.” She spoke in heavily accented English

 

“Absolutely, carry on.” Amber moved aside. The domme closed in on her prey. Amber noted the stirrups on the furniture, strategically placed so a woman could mount up and ride him. The taller woman looked over her shoulder and picked up a long leather crop from the metal countertop. She smiled at her victim. She slid the crop’s black slapper under his flaccid pale penis and lifted it.

 

“Poor boy! Not impressing anyone with this.” She grinned. She held his cock in her left hand and began to slap it back and forth with the crop. Her latex gloves fit her fingers snugly. She looked over at Amber. “Would you suck a limp dick like this?”

 

Amber smirked. “No. It’s really quite pathetic.” The domme stroked it and slapped it with her hand. He was beginning to harden. She began to bring her crop down on his thighs, harder and harder. Amber watched. “My boyfriend is way bigger than that,” the domme said.

 

“You like what I’m doing?” It wasn’t clear if the question was for her sub or for Amber.

 

“That furniture, that couch thing he’s strapped to. It’s really cool,” Amber ventured.

 

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be testing it, but my recorder hasn’t shown up. I’ve no one to track the experience in writing, make notes on the utility of the design.”

 

“Perfect for tormenting bound male-ponies,” said Amber. The man was held at a 45-degree angle back from vertical. She saw an array of controls on a side panel armature.

 

“These dials control the height or depth of the back arch,” the domme said to Amber. “Take some notes, will you?” She handed her a clip board and pen. “I’m Mistress Black.” She laughed. “For obvious reasons.” She extended her arm to Amber, for a handshake. “Um, not sanitary,” said Amber. “Oh right, yeah,” said the domme.

 

The man’s arms were folded in box-tie behind him. Each leg was held to the frame by five leather straps. There was twelve inches between his ankles. He wore two leather straps across his chest to restrict his breathing and hold him down. There were neck attachments on the device and his collar had been linked down on both his left and right side. Amber noticed a dildo on a curved extension bar on the countertop. She assumed it could be attached between his legs. This was a new design for the famed “fucking machine.” If he had been facing down, and bent at the waist, the probe could be introduced to his ass. Amber moved closer and looked between his legs. There was a mechanical unit – she could see a flywheel, gears, and a piston to move a rod forward and back. The “couch” also had handlebars extending left and right at the level of the man’s neck for his domme to support herself.

 

“Watch this,” the domme said. “Fun times,” she grinned wickedly. She slipped off her panties. She handed Amber a condom to roll down over his erection. She pulled on each of his nipples quite hard and behind each bud, in the flesh of his aureole, she placed a pair of Japanese clover clamps joined by a chain. He groaned, expressively. She mounted one of the stirrups and swung her leg over, her muscular black legs astride him. She fitted her foot into the matching stirrup on the far side; she lowered her torso onto his and grasped one of the handlebars by his neck. She slid herself down, down, onto his cock. She put one of gloved hands momentarily between her legs to guide him inside. Still close, she gathered up the chain between his nipples and held it between her teeth. She drew back. The chain went taut. “Oh!” he cried. She pulled back harder and harder. She arched her back.

 

Now she began to hump her pale white slave. Her ebony black skin shone. “Did you put on oil before you dressed?” asked Amber. Mistress Black’s breath was coming in short gasps. She kept the chain in her mouth, then suddenly she dropped it onto his chest. “I kind of like it up here. Ah, ah, ah . . .  yes, I did oil myself. Legs and arms mostly. You like it?”

 

Amber nodded. “A nice look.” Can you tilt him at all? While you’re up there, I mean, can you reach these controls?”

 

The domme grinned. “You can push the armature towards me. Then I can reach the panel.” Her paused, slowing her pace on his cock.  “Very adjustable. The manual . . .”   She gasped, then groaned. “It’s over on the counter.” Amber picked it up but could not keep her eyes off Mistress Black.

 

“Any particular way you’d like it adjusted?”

 

Black’s eyes were closed. “Nice little work-out sweetie?” The man was cried out, behind his gag, in rhythm with her strokes.

 

“Angle him back a little.”  She pointed to the panel. “You figure out how to do it. I’m busy.” The furniture made Amber think of her last dental appointment. It was longer and somewhat wider than a dentist’s chair, with many more attachments and mysterious openings beneath where the man lay. “You want him prone?”

 

“Yes. And take his gag out.” Amber removed the sub’s ball-gag and a stream of drool followed.

 

“Messy boy! Is that how I am to be served?” Black grabbed the chain between his nipples and pulled.

 

“Augh. Ack, ack. No mistress, no more mistress. I’m sorry.”

 

“What do you think of the angle?”  He wanted to be tilted back farther.

 

“Say please mistress”? Say please to this lovely little white girl who’s helping me!” Mistress Black slapped her slave’s face with her palm and again, with the back of her rubber-gloved hand. Now she gripped the bar harder with both hands. She humped him faster and faster. Slapping him seemed to have energized her, if that was possible. She was already quite young and fit.

 

Amber tilted the device. The heavy motor responded. Now he was almost prone. His domme’s knees rested on cushions on either side of the man’s waist. “The stand with the control pad, could use to be a little closer to the handlebars,” Amber observed.

 

“Yeah, write that down,” said the domme. Amber found a clipboard and began to make notes. The domme stopped humping him. She began to dictate things she had noticed about the furniture, both good and bad. All the while she kept the man’s cock inside her. Every ten seconds or so, she would rise and descend on it, to keep him hard, but for the most part she gave her attention to Amber. The two women were now critiquing the device, as the man the domme was riding was not there at all.

 

“Make a note,” said Mistress Black. “These stirrups are too flexible. Rather than leather attachments, they should be steel, like bicycle pedals.”

 

Amber noted this and said. “Does the bench include an e-stim function? Personally, I really like electrical things.”

 

“It does,” said the domme. The red piping in her black latex corset delineated every panel in the garment. Like the skin of her back and long legs, it gleamed in the light. The domme refastened the man’s gag, tightening the strap harder than before behind his head.

 

Amber imagined lubricating a steel sounding rod and slowly sliding it into his urethra. Once fully inserted, with only wires protruding, she would have sealed it in place with a condom overtop and the wires descending down the base of his cock. She imagined raising the power of the shocks until he was crying, ecstatically. She had always wanted to ride on a cock that would give off little shocks. And extra pleasure as she humped a man. She had experience with submissive boys, controlling them, making them beg, with various clamps, electric wands, and a cattle prod. She’d also used a shock collar on herself. But an electric sound in a man’s cock – that would be fun to try! She imagined a line of women – young and old – ready to take a ride on this one’s rigid, tormented dick. He was so cute in his helplessness! She imagined noosing the base of his cock and balls, using a rope to suspend them to the ceiling, pushing back on it with her ass, to keep him harder longer. The man on the bench squirmed under Mistress Black. Amber loved to hear a man crying, gripped with arousal.

 

“ . . . but unfortunately, this model doesn’t have an e-stim installed.”

 

His domme had dismounted. She gave a happy, wide grin; her teeth shone. She unrolled the condom from his cock. “Go ahead. Just try to come.” The slave wailed. His hands were still bound under his back in a box-shaped armbinder. He twisted his torso, dying to touch himself. Mistress Black no longer cared about him. She stood at the counter, scanning pages of the manual. The gagged man spluttered. He desperately wanted Amber to take his cock in her hand and finish him off.

 

Amber shook her head. “Sorry baby. You’ve been a very bad boy. You’re a dirty whore, you know that? Besides, I have to keep my hands clean.”

 

Mistress Black stripped off her latex gloves and picked up the clipboard and pen Amber had put down. Suddenly, Amber heard her name over the intercom. On the other side of the large testing bay, the confessional box had been set up again. Amber crossed the room. She could see Melody and Head Mistress Stephanie, part of a sizable group listening to a talk about new technology installed in the box. Amber noticed Melody was wearing a very cool dark purple rubber blouse with flounces across the shoulder and her breasts. She also wore a tight pink skirt from waist to knee. Amber envied Melody’s waist: she must be corseted, she thought. Amber drew closer and could see Melody’s face from one side. He hair had been newly cut and styled. Her was darker now, almost black. Melody’s make-up was severe too, with purples and deep red tones that complimented her new hairstyle.

 

Melody felt someone’s eyes on her and turned. She might have figured it was Amber. Nonetheless, their eyes locked. Melody gave a shy smile, then turned back to the tech who was speaking. Amber suddenly remembered Mistress Stephanie had reserved certain shades of purple and red for her own exclusive use. No other domme, or guest was allowed those tones. They were royal colours, reserved for the one Head Mistress and punishment would be meted out to any woman caught wearing them. But Melody had done her face with those colours! Not only that, Melody had been given a garment – a very distinctive rubber blouse – that Amber knew had been made exclusively for the Head Mistress. What did it mean?

 

One of the techs – Giselle – glanced over at Amber, who stood outside the circle of listeners. She slowly moved around the group and came up behind her. Amber noted Giselle’s lightly fruit-scented perfume. Giselle whispered: “One of the other techs will be back to look after Billy on the BendyBed, don’t worry.”

 

The BendyBed? What a terrible name for furniture with such erotic potential, Amber thought.


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Late Saturday evening Martin Porter escaped Abduction Company by being driven through the gates at the north service entrance, as a passenger in a twelve-year-old car. There had been no subterfuge or bondage involved. The driver, Gordie was an easy-going gardener and was not in the slightest bit kinky. A married man, thirty-two years old with a wife and three young daughters. He was purely into horticulture and forestry. Like the rest of the crew who lived off-site, Gordie was discreet and trustworthy. Antonio wouldn’t have hired him, or asked him to help with Martin’s removal, if he thought otherwise.

 

Martin had worn a chastity cage the whole time he’d worked for Antonio and Portia. Portia had been counselling him on issues of fitting and what underwear and trousers would be comfortable. Despite her expertise, Martin had developed a rash on one side of his scrotum. He'd removed the cage this morning. He’d spent the entire day waiting to leave. Often, he would miss the familiar tug at his imprisoned cock and balls. Freedom could be a very strange sensation.

 

The car drew up to the guard gate. “Only one on duty tonight,” said Antonio whispered from the back seat. He got out of the car and ambled to the guard shack. He joked around with the guard for several minutes. Martin watched Antonio pull a couple of joints from a tin. They were going to smoke up. The waiting was intolerable to Martin. The guard said something and closed the door of the guard shack. Gordie whispered to Martin:  “Smoking is forbidden in all Abduction Company buildings. It’s o.k., just watch.”

 

The guard accompanied Antonio as he backed away from the lights around the gate. Once they were out of sight, presumably behind the shack or further into the trees, Gordie slipped out from behind the wheel of his car. in a moment he was in the guard shack and had pressed a lever to raise the gate. Martin held his breath and drummed his fingers on the knapsack in his lap. Portia had given him as cover for his story: it was well-worn and held a few gardening tools. Martin was dressed in full gardener’s gear; his company name patch clearly showing  Laurence Bassiano  above his breast pocket. Their cover story was simple. They were very late leaving work because the trees they were planting were late to be delivered. Gordie’s i.d. would show enough personal data – for instance – where he lived, what model of car he drove – to convince any guard he was legitimate. Martin’s name plate was the fake one printed by Antonio. Anyone scanning it would discover there was no Bassiano employed by Abduction Company.

 

But their cover story wasn’t needed. When Antonio diverted the one guard on duty, Gordie and Martin left without showing identification.

 

Gordie drove along a hilly concession road into Breviston. They’d left the gate open and Antonio with his friend, the guard. It was almost midnight when they arrived at Gordie’s apartment. Martin slept well on the couch. In the morning, Gordie woke him with hot coffee. Martin shaved and dressed and Gordie drove him to the bus depot and where Martin caught a coach to Barrie. There he transferred to a bus to Toronto.

 

He was relieved to have his phone again. He checked a few messages; he tried Melody’s number. Neither calls or texts were going through. He felt guilty she was left behind. He had no way to reach her in any case. The Toronto subway train took him as far west as possible, to Kipling Station. A taxi took him to his condo. Martin went straight up to his unit, sorted the mail and checked the messages on his landline phone. He plugged in his mobile to charge. He looked in his refrigerator. He closed the door against the smell of decayed food. He stripped off his dirty gardening uniform, took a shower, put ointment on the sore on his scrotum, pulled his bedroom blinds closed against the sunshine, and fell into bed. Although it was noon, he slept, intermittently, until ten that night. He ordered some food to be delivered. He watched television for an hour, then worked on his phone messages. His phone was working again.

 

Tomorrow he’d go to the office, where he’d be inundated with work. He phoned his financial advisor at 4 in the morning. He left a message with Bob Cramble. He wanted a meeting, as soon as possible. He phoned Melody but could still not reach her.

 

He was very worried now about Melody. Number Two (Francis) would be looking out for her, if not directly, then through his authority as senior management. She was safe, physically. But would he ever see her again? Would she ever want to speak to him? He was afraid their relationship was over.

 

He reasoned that her captivity was Destiny’s fault. She had started all this. Had organized both of the abductions. He shouldn’t have shared his fantasy with her, the older, totally experienced dominatrix. Who knew there was a BDSM retreat for that sort of thing? He hadn’t been serious, but she had taken him at his word, had drawn up a contract, and itemized the details. How many men must fantasize about being kidnapped in broad daylight?

 

He fell asleep on the couch, the TV flickering, the sound muted. He dreamt of his father, who was absent, as usual. Martin seemed to know in his dream, for the first time ever, that his father Conrad was having an affair. The family home was full of Conrad’s mementos: trophies, his clothes, his paintings. Martin was a little boy, perhaps seven years old. He was in a long hallway. His mother was striding towards him: urgently. She wore a gorgeous glistening parka that extended to the floor, hiding her feet from him. The coat’s fabric was a metallic blue with a surface of latex or plastic. She shone under the ceiling lights. She came closer, smiling. “I have something to show. Something true you should know.” Martin was about to fall into her arms. A voice said: “Yummy mummy.” She reminded little Marty of a moving image made out of an old magazine photograph. His mother had modelled in Paris, Milan, London. When she married Conrad, just as he was becoming a successful steelmaker, she had retired from the runways. At the ripe old age of 26.

 

Now they were all guests on some Mediterranean millionaire’s yacht. His mother wore matching blue wool gloves. Closer she came. Her gait slowed. Now, she was walking through snow. She and Martin were outside, in a freezing snowstorm. They were within arms-length of each other. She threw open her magnificent overcoat. Martin woke, startled to be in his condo. Alone.

 

That day, at work he was engulfed with decisions. And all the details of all the minor problems and catastrophes that had baffled his subordinates. For once he allowed himself to be immersed in their busy-ness.  He did not think of Melody for almost the entire day. It was as if The Abduction Company had been a dream as well. Only at day’s end, when the main office was almost deserted, he caught sight of one of the women from Accounting. Her name was Beverly. Months ago, he had had a fantasy about tying her to a chair, while Beverly was trying to explain to him how she thought she deserved a raise, given the amount of unscheduled and after-hours work she had done recently. In his fantasy, he gave her the raise and then gagged her with his handkerchief and taped her mouth by circling her head several times with grey duct tape.

 

His fantasy was crude. It was disrespectful towards her and all the work she was doing to help him stay rich. He had learned from his mother all the ways in which women expect to be respected. Beverly was probably ten years older than Martin. She had been with the company long before Martin inherited it. In reality, Martin had given Beverly the raise and inquired after her husband. Beverly’s husband was doing fine. He was a technology guy at one of the big six banks. Commuted in and out of the city five days a week. Coached their son’s hockey team on weekends.

 

Martin’s financial adviser, Bob Cramble advised him on his investments at the brokerage house. That evening, in the restaurant, Cramble looked as vanilla as Beverly. Martin remembered he too was dressed for business and looked as vanilla as anyone. His kink was his secret, certainly not outwardly apparent. Martin began to describe what he wanted. Cramble raised his hand. “I’ve never heard of Abduct Co.”

 

“Privately held resort property north of the Muskokas. Presently owned by a hedge fund with an interest in sports and entertainment sector. Qualificent? A holding company? You must have heard of them. Based in New England. Though really, they’re everywhere.”

 

“You want to invest in this, this . . .  Abduct Company? Is that really the name of it?”

 

“Close. Close enough. I’m going to take an ownership stake there, about 10% of the total. I’ll be taking some of their bonds, 8% of the shares, and a large helping of convertible debentures. It will be like a second business for me. A partnership. I’ll be winding up my investments with you and your brokerage. Sorry, Bob. I don’t think I want to keep going with my balanced portfolio of publicly traded stocks. If I wanted that, I’d just buy some exchange traded funds. No need to hold stocks directly and pay you to rebalance them, and write reports about them, and forward me your disappointing financial newsletters that cost thousands of dollars. And watch you reinvest the dividends. And take your two percent.”

 

Bob stared at the young man, stunned by Martin’s decision. He’d helped Conrad Porter in the era when buying and selling investments was more difficult.  The kids now, they just do all their trades online. Artificial intelligence, investing apps.  Bob was afraid he would be unable to retire fast enough: before technology took over the entire investing sector.

 

“I want you to sell all my stocks and my fixed income mutual funds and transfer the cash to the investment arm of Standard West. My contact there is Francis Purley.” Martin slid a business card across the table. “You might know him.  I’m also thinking of selling part of my metals and fabricating company. Perhaps a public offering. But if I do, I’ll have the guys at Standard West handle the public offering for me.”

 

Bob glared at him. “Your father never would have diluted his stake.”

 

Martin looked at the silver buttons on cuff of Bob Cramble’s immaculate navy jacket. He glanced at his clean-shaven jaw, his moist eyes. Cramble’s mouth moved soundlessly. He was doing all he could to appear calm, smiling even. But his right hand fidgeted frantically – almost independently of the man – spinning his gold-leaf pen back and forth across the back of his fingers.

 

“You didn’t know my father the way I did. Good-day Bob. No hard feelings. I’m just going in a different direction here.”

 

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When Number Two (Francis Purley) returned to Abduction Company, he contacted the supervisor of Forestry. He had been exploring the property, searching for Marin with several security guards he’d plucked from the main building. Francis had gone to Information Technology for help too, but he quickly realized IT would not be able to help him without a functioning location system. They seemed, more than any other part of the company, incapable of working without their precious systems. Systems that were now failing them. The final straw was when many AbductCo apps on Francis’s phone began malfunctioning. He had them all removed.

 

Antonio stood in the door of his cottage. Francis faced him on the stone pathway. Antonio did not invite him in. Instead he challenged Francis’s right to look for Martin. “He has the right to be forgotten by the likes of you.”

 

“What about his girl-friend Melody?”

 

“No idea who she is.”

 

“Oh, come on. The location data last reported Martin in this vicinity. Of all the employees of the company you’re the most likely to have seen him after he vanished.“

 

“Never saw him. Did you say Melody come here to rescue Martin? To this cottage?” Antonio wondered if Martin had been spotted without his “Laurence Bassiano” identification.

 

“Perhaps.” replied Francis. “As an employee you should be sharing what you know about the disappearance of one of the clients.”

 

“Purley, you’re not an employee. You are an associate, nothing more than a friend of Head Mistress or perhaps you’re mere contractor, or a friend of the company. I don’t care. I have no obligation to you.”

 

“I’ll have your supervisor’s head on a plate for this. And yours!”

 

“I am an employee of the Facilities Division, the Forestry section.”

 

“I’ll notify Head Mistress to have you called in.”

 

“You can try.”

 

Francis angrily turned on his heel and strode away. Antonio called after him. “Would you like a ride back to head office in my golf cart? I can tie you to the passenger seat. Very comfy. Everyone who has tried it, says so.”

 

“I have a golf cart of my own!” shouted Francis without turning around.

 

Martin received a call from Francis on his second day at work. Francis hadn’t tried his phone before because he’d assumed Martin was still on the AbductCo premises, and that his phone was still locked down. Francis and Martin arranged to meet in Purley’s downtown office next week. The night before he reached Martin, Portia had phoned Francis and told him of Martin’s return to Toronto.

 

Portia had said, “My husband didn’t want me to tell you, but I thought you should know. Martin told us he met you at AbductCo. He told us about your financial problems. Sorry, I mean the problems of the company. But while I’ve got you on the line, I’d like to tell you something about Martin’s experience at AbductCo.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“It has changed him. He is discovering his submissiveness. He will begin to see much more of life’s issues and those that affect him, from his domme’s point of view. He was submissive with me.”

 

Francis exhaled. “So that’s where he went! Into your care! I knew it.”

 

“You didn’t know it. Don’t bullshit me.” Portia continued, “You had him for his first few days. Then he was in service to Mistress Blaise. The last five days before he left, he was in service to me. Every night. During the days he worked with our arborists and landscapers. He was in plain sight, you know, but you couldn’t find him. I believe Martin’s sojourn with us, with our group, has set the stage for his emergence as an assertive submissive, capable of forming a loving relationship with female dominance.”

 

“Do you! How wonderfully nice that must have been!” Francis’s anger at Antonio kept bubbling up. “Martin’s spiritual journey is not why I need him. Your husband is legendary for his technology skills at AbductCo, but he doesn’t know everything that is going on at this company. He has to learn to trust others.”

 

“He’d say he’s too old and too wise to trust the new technologies and the people who promote them. People like you, Francis! Besides, we are talking about Martin. I didn’t call you up to hear you rant about my husband.” Portia fought her own urge to hang up. Like Antonio, she mistrusted many at the company.

 

“Sorry,” Francis said. “Thank-you for calling me, Portia. I’ll call Martin tomorrow.”


+ + + + + + + + + (six) + + + + + + + + +


Melody wore the frilly, dark purple latex blouse, a sensible burgundy cloth skirt with red and white accents, and the pair of classic black-leather booties with five-inch heels she had received from Mistress Stephanie last night. It was ten in the morning. She was due in Head Mistress’s throne-room. Ten a.m. seemed like an ungodly trick of the universe – far too early to be learning and practicing domination. She slipped her small purse containing her phone and wallet over her shoulder. And elevator ride later, she held her wristband up to door lock of the throne-room.

 

Head Mistress was walking down the hall behind her. “Wait for me, please.”

 

Melody greeted her and held up her phone. “Before we begin Mistress, I would like you to remove any and all of the impediments you’ve placed on my calls.”

 

“Impediments?”

 

“The Abduction Company apps that clog up the main screen and that stupid logo in the background. Take them all off. And as well, I want full mobile access for all phone calls and texts. I want to call Martin.”

 

Stephanie took Melody’s phone from her.  “Do you know where Martin is?”

 

“No. But I’d like to try to reach him.”

 

Stephanie was now in an impossible position with these two. She had to yield. She stared at the small screen and suddenly saw things from Melody’s perspective. “All right. You’ve earned that. If you accept my offer from last night, and you are here this morning, then we – I mean – I must trust you in all things. I’ll have IT wipe all the AbductCo software from it. When you try to call out, systems will ask if you want to re-install certain selected apps, but only to facilitate whatever you are trying to do.”

 

Stephanie gave the phone back to Melody. They entered the throne room. A middle-aged man waited, sitting on a cheap orange plastic chair. He was naked, but for a blanket he kept wrapped around himself.

 

“Caged?” demanded Mistress Stephanie.

 

The man opened the blanket and stood up. His cock was caged in a popular steel birdcage design for cock chastity. His penis did not fill the cage.  Melody thought his shrivelled penis was a regrettable look. Very unappetizing. The man was not concerned or perhaps he was unaware. He watched Melody, obviously intrigued. Melody had never met him.  The man smiled and bent down on one knee before her, in a deep curtsey.

 

“This is Pig Slave. He is a training assistant here. A bondage dummy and an all-around nice guy. We use him for his communication skills, his pain tolerance, and because he just loves to be an audio-visual aid and model. We could have lined up a woman –  and you will meet some female submissives in the Women’s Prison section later – but you can start with Pig Slave.”

 

“Does he have a real name?” Melody asked.

 

“You don’t need to know his real name. Respect his privacy,” Stephanie said. She summarized Melody’s training session. All About Male Chastity. “At least ninety minutes worth.”

 

Suddenly, an IT employee knocked at the Throne Room door and poked her head in. She asked for Melody by her full name. She ignored the naked man. After a terse introduction, she took Melody’s phone, plugged it into a wall socket and began setting it up for full access to AbductCo’s Wi-Fi and outside service providers.

 

Stephanie spoke to Melody under her breath. “I’m giving you a formal status here at the company too. HR is putting you on the payroll, and establishing you for benefits, vacation time / pay, sick time off. You will receive security access to facility rooms, dungeons, etc. at the same level as my own. You won’t have financial systems access. This afternoon you will continue training without me: you’ll work with two of our finest senior instructors: Mistress Blaise (who as you know, teaches rope skills) and Mistress Baton (who teaches corporal punishment). Tomorrow you’ll be met by Mr. Yarbury, who is our top expert in equestrian, pet play, and role creation.”

 

As the IT servicewoman left, a man arrived. He went behind a curtain and exposed a television screen mounted on a wall. He produced a small laptop from behind the curtain and set it up on a table. Within a minute, he said. “The seminar video you wanted is ready to view.”

 

Stephanie asked, “The one on male chastity?”  He nodded.  “Melody, this is our theatre director, Pinky Louis. You’ll see more of him later, I wager. He’s also our video archivist and works with our Training group.”

 

“Do I get a cool title too?” asked Melody

 

“How about Domina-in-Training?”

 

On one side of the room were a few luxurious chairs, a kind of audience space in the Throne Room. Stephanie, Melody, and Pinky sat and waited for the video. Pig Slave knelt close to Melody’s feet. He seemed to fidget, so Stephanie brought him a pillow for his knees and then she hand-cuffed his hands behind his back. He began to lose his balance almost immediately. Stephanie pulled him forward and down, so he rested on the side of his face on the floor. His lips were less than an inch from Melody’s boots. “He looks comfortable,” Stephanie said.

 

Suddenly, in a scolding voice, Stephanie ordered Pig Slave not to slobber on Mistress Melody’s boots or on any other part of her. Melody failed to recognize herself for a moment as “Mistress” Anything.

 

Pinky lowered the lights. They watched an interview with five women who discussed the benefits of male chastity. The interviewer was Pinky Louis himself. “This was recorded during the last Montreal Fetish weekend. It’s not publicly available, but I’m using it here, because of the naturalness of what they are saying.” Melody observed how comfortable these women were. They wore no fetish outfits or kinky paraphernalia. They wore pantsuits, jeans, or office attire. No one seemed to be a professional and all said they were in monogamous relationships. There were many questions and much laughter among them. One question stood out for Melody and reminded her that she had been mystified the night before he disappeared, when Martin showed her the two chastity cages he had bought.

 

“What do you like most about locking your man up?”

 

AA:   “What I like most, is the fact that my man seems to be more attentive to me. He is more interested in helping me and doing things around our house that would normally be like pulling teeth. Plus, the fact he goes crazy when it's time to unlock, and he basically ravages me.”

 

BB:   “I feel the same way. I can tell a HUGE difference in his attitude when he’s locked and when he’s not. He’s much more submissive and will ask things like “what can I do to make your day easier?” We’ve also been trying these new panties that push his little clit flat. It’s sort of an out of sight, out of mind deal. Not as effective as a cage but it definitely helps him concentrate on more appropriate things. Like what I want out of him.”

 

CC:   “Yes, the attentiveness, attitude, calm open communication and cooperation is simply wonderful. I enjoy controlling (when, where and how) he releases and watching him cum. However, my naughty indulgence is showing him off, while he’s wearing his device, so he’s exposed on the beach and in certain other rare situations.”

 

DD:   “The difference in his attitude is like night and day when he is locked. The first couple of days can sometimes be challenging as he adjusts and let's go of the testosterone fueled bull-shit. But I cracked it this time though. I locked him and then went on holiday without him for the week! But truly, once he accepts it and relaxes into the submissive mindset, he is so much more attentive and generally lovely to have around. He goes out of his way to help around the house and meet my needs. That little device makes him a much better partner, and I've told him repeatedly that he’s 100% made for chastity. It just makes him more balanced and happier in himself. His breaks from chastity are now few and far between. We are working towards going full time with it.”

 

EE:   “My guy has been locked a little over six weeks now. He’s more attentive to my needs, helps out around the house and with the baby without me even asking or having to . . . tell him. He’s very in tune with my body and my needs, more submissive and less aggressive. The list is endless! Personally I didn’t experience any calming effect or more attentiveness, but I definitely enjoy his orgasms more after locking him up.”

 

 

The interview over, Pinky raised the lights. Pig Slave had fallen over on his side during the twenty-five-minute video. “Straighten him up, will you?” Stephanie said to Melody.

 

As he faced the three of them on his knees – looking quite serene – Stephanie snapped out an order: “Melody is going to ask you some questions about your cage! I expect you to answer everything fully!” Stephanie could effortlessly switch voices between the half-angry tone she used for Pig Slave and another, much softer tone she used for Melody or Pinky.

 

Pig Slave spoke about male chastity. Melody heard how it made him feel, some of the first experiences he had when he began to wear the cage for more than twenty-four hours. She was surprised by much of it and bored by some of it too. She was stunned when Pig Slave said a chastity cage it made him feel more feminine. He wanted his cock to be shrivelled and reduced to a sensitive little nub, which made him ever more submissive, as if he were being remoulded as a woman with a very tender and sensitive little clitoris (my little clitty, he called it). Melody was surprised too when he said he used to be obsessed with orgasms and masturbation, but that wearing a cage on his cock and balls had helped him overcome this. “Orgasms are over-rated,” he said at the end.

 

“What do you enjoy then?” Melody asked.

 

“I would love to serve you, Mistress Melody.”

 

“That’s enough, Pig!” interrupted Stephanie. Aside, she said, “He’s married. His wife is his mistress. She’s on the West Coast for about a week on business, so he’s staying with us. She gave me his keys.”

 

“You mean the key to that?” Melody pointed at Pig Slave’s silvery chastity cage. “But he can slip out of that cage any time he needs to, right?” asked Melody.

 

“Not that one. He’s pierced. He has a Prince Albert. We call them PA for short. His cage includes the piercing that goes right through the penis. He cannot remove it.”  Stephanie addressed Pig again, in her high-volume demand. “Shall I tell Dorothy that you are lusting after other women, and younger ones at that?” Pig lowered himself until his cheek was back on the floor; his face was an inch away from Head Mistress’s boot. Stephanie looked at him for a second, then she stood up.

 

Melody and Pinky stood too. “Melody will need you to give her Theatricality Training.” Pinky nodded. “She needs to learn how to make use of the most popular scenarios. And her voice needs work. Though, I must say, there is really no alternative to experience. Pinky please, for her, focus on dominating a stranger at a play party. Then, two, how to manage a professional domme relationship with a client, though I suppose I’m better suited to give her that module. And Three, please spend some time on how to dominate within a monogamous couple relationship. Bring Charlie, if you like for that one.” Stephanie turned to Melody, “Gay or straight, my dear, there isn’t much Pinky cannot teach you. He’s the best.”

 

They walked to the door of the Throne Room. Pig Slave continued to keel before the three vacant chairs. Stephanie and Melody were checking their phones. Melody was receiving notifications of new appointments: lessons in domination rapidly appeared in her personal calendar. She was to be trained in the Men’s prison section every morning for the next week and in the Women’s prison section every afternoon. They turned out the lights in the Throne room and Pinky went off to another meeting. Stephanie and Melody walked together down the hall.

 

“Slave Pig is a perfect training aide. Good for your ego. We’ll use him again tomorrow.”

 

Melody nodded. “OK. If you don’t mind, I’d like a little down time in my room. I’d like to call Martin, with my newly-empowered phone.”

 

Stephanie remembered Martin’s phone. It had been sent to IT when he arrived, but it had been returned to her. She thought it was still in her desk drawer. She said nothing about this to Melody. “Certainly dear. Our next appointment is at 1:15 p.m. with Mistress Baton.”

 

Stephanie tried to imagine what Melody saw in Martin. Well, he was rich. And he was under thirty years old. What she said was: “Number Two thinks a woman should rely on financial commitment, rather than passion for dominance, which in a young man or a young woman, can ebb, or flow, or fade entirely. Some days, I must say, I agree. But after a session with Pig Slave, I remember that a superior submissive can make all that unnecessary.” They continued down the hall. Neither of them heard Pig Slave call plaintively from the darkened Throne Room. “Wait! Don’t go. What about my handcuffs?”

 

+ + + + + + + + + (seven) + + + + + + + + +


Stephanie returned to her office and immediately checked her desk for Martin’s phone, keys and wallet. “Mary, do you know if anyone was in my desk recently?”  Her secretary had access but there were data records for every time the desk was opened that identified whose wristband had opened it. Martin’s personal possessions were gone. Mary was not a suspect.

 

“Have we had any word about Martin Porter? Has he gone? Checked out?” asked Stephanie.

 

“I have no knowledge of that,” the older woman replied, with a smile.

 

Stephanie recalled the location data crisis had begun with false locations from Martin’s wrist band. Since then, there had been thousands of such malfunctions. Staff at the IT Help Desk were drowning under the workload. “Get me Bill from IT on the phone,” she said.

 

The call was not pleasant for Bill “Has Martin Porter escaped, or is he still on the properties? No, my reception is not aware of him either. How is the search for Martin is going? Still getting false data? No? Problem solved you mean?”

 

Stephanie listened to Bill’s sometimes rambling answers to her questions. “I think there has been a break-in at my office. Important devices are missing from my desk. Yes, I’m not surprised you don’t have any knowledge of it.”

 

Stephanie finished her call with her IT chief politely. But inside, she was seething.


+ + + + + + + + + (eight) + + + + + + + + +


Melody took a deep breath and dialed Martin’s number. It was ten minutes to noon.  The phone rang and rang. If he was at work, then it was too early for him to be at lunch. Eventually, she heard his message: “Hi, it’s Martin Porter. Leave me your voice and number. I’ll get back to you.”

 

Within sixty seconds, he had called back. “Melody?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me.” Suddenly, she burst out crying. “It’s me, it’s me!” she shouted at him. Then she coughed and choked back her tears long enough to ask, “Where are you?”

 

“Toronto. I’m at work. I was in my condo last night. Where are you?”

 

“Still a prisoner on Fantasy Island. Ever watch that show?”

 

“No, I can imagine. It’s so incredible to hear your voice. I have so much I have to say to you.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Why didn’t you call?”

 

“I did! I’ve tried your number twenty times since I escaped. Sorry. I know I’ll never make it up to you and this whole thing that has happened to us. It’s 95% my fault.”

 

“Hey, what part of me being a prisoner in Northern Ontario, in a luxury hotel, without any means of getting home, is NOT your fault?”

 

“I know. I know. You can’t beat me up about it any worse than I am beating myself right now.”

 

“Sorry. I’m o.k. Doing a whole load of things I never thought I’d be doing. I’m o.k. I’m in a really nice suite on the twelfth floor. I get to eat and drink whenever I want, whatever I want. They’ve given me a huge closet full of clothes. Lovely shoes. And not all the clothes are made of latex or leather. The food is great . . . I assume you’re paying for it all.”

 

“Absolutely honey. I am.”

 

“When can I see you?”

 

“We could set up a video conference.”

 

“No. In person. Can I come and see you? Can I leave here?”

 

“Sure, you can, any time.”

 

“Uh, well that wouldn’t work. They’ve got me in dominatrix training.”

 

Martin laughed. He tried to stifle it, but it came out anyway. “Do you want to be in dominatrix training?”

 

“Um.” There was a very long pause.  “Martin. We have to work out some more basic stuff than THAT. For the training? I could take it or leave it. I understand the business of teasing and tying and whipping fat, wealthy men.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“But what are you doing now? I hear from Head Mistress Stephanie that her Number Two (whoever he is) is cooking up some financial deal with you. Is that true? Are you going to buy this joint?”

 

“No, no!  I can’t afford to buy the Canadian branch of The Abduction Company. But I am going to make an investment in it. Provide money to enable Francis to put together deal with about ten or twelve other patrons to buy it out from the hedge fund that presently owns the whole global chain. We’ll take that one branch of Abduction Company private, independent.”

 

“A lot of money.”

 

“Yeah, it is. I think it’s a good thing. A growing enterprise.”

 

“And I’m a travel agent. What am I doing here?”

 

“If you want to leave, you can. Just tell Head Mistress.”

 

“I want to see you so bad.”

 

“I do too honey. You’ve no idea.”

 

“Remember that Chinese food place we went to near your condo?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I just loved that evening. The things you said. You’re so, oh I don’t know, insightful about life. I think so, anyway. I loved how you talked about your parents, especially your mom, your friends. The stories about the schools you went to. I love you, babe.”

 

Martin blushed. “Melody, I love you too. And I want to have children. Do you?”

 

“Yes. Yes, I think I do!” She laughed a deep long belly laugh. For the first time since she had arrived, she laughed. Until she began to cry again.

 

“Honey, why are you crying? We’re here talking. I’m putting things together for us. Getting my business on track. Making sure we can afford everything.”

 

“Marty, I don’t know what to say. I just realized I haven’t spoken to my boss, my office in over a week. I might have lost my job.”

 

“I don’t think you have, but in any case. Just call them. Explain you had a death in the family and you had to leave town quickly. Your grandmother fell and broke her hip. She needed you immediately. Your daughter contracted whooping cough. A tree fell on your house. Whatever.”

 

“I don’t have a daughter. I’m way too young. And you know I don’t live in a house.”

 

“I know, I know. But you just agreed you’d like to have children.” Martin laughed. It was a sing-song sound, like bells in a church tower. Melody swallowed. The conversation paused.

 

“Still there?” asked Martin.

 

“Yup. I am.”

 

“Melody. Will you marry me? No strings, no conditions. You can keep being a travel agent if you want. You can go back to school if you want. I just think . . . “

 

Melody cut him off. “Oh babe! Now I really have to see you!”

 

“You want an engagement ring? What am I saying? Of course, you want an engagement ring!”

 

“Actually, I hardly ever wear rings. Something else maybe. A necklace.”

 

Martin laughed again, sounding giddy, excited, like a teenager. He drew out the words slowly. “Will. You. Marry. Me?” There was a long silence. His heart ached. He tried to breathe.

 

“Sure, why not?” Melody hated to sound nonchalant. “I’m still mad that I got picked up by two goofs in my own apartment and stuffed in a box and driven like a parcel into the centre of god-knows-where. And it was ALL YOUR FAULT.”

 

“Will. You. Marry. Me?”

 

Melody could hear his breath on the phone. “Yes. Yes, I will! Oh Martin, I loved you since I met you. I’m not sure if this adventure is what I’m really cut out for. People here are so weird. Yes. I’ll marry you. You need me. Mistress Stephanie said so. And that Mistress Destiny! What a piece of work.”

 

“Yeah, we’ll have to talk about them.”

 

And so, they did. And their conversation went on for another hour. Melody told him how cute he had looked when he was dressed in that French maid outfit, when he had reached out and grabbed her ankle at Mistress Blaise’s Rope Instruction session in the theatre. They laughed and laughed with each other. She couldn’t stay angry at him. Finally, Melody’s ear ached and her mouth was dry, and her phone was almost out of power.

 

“I love you.”

 

“Oh, I love you more.”

 

“No, you don’t! I love you more!”

 

“OK. I yield to the mistress of my heart. I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m at work and we’ve just talked through my lunch hour and my secretary is looking daggers at me.”

 

Melody let him go. She went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. What an emotional mess, I am!  But I am engaged!  She saw her smeared make-up and her new, dishevelled hairstyle. She brushed her hair.  That cut will grow out.   She gently peeled off her purple latex top and unfastened the skirt from Stephanie.  What a gorgeous skirt! Clothes like that, I never get to wear.Looks like private label, made to measure, if I had to guess.

 

She showered, redid her hair and make-up, and put on a pair of her favourite jeans, a bra, and a white men’s vest. She walked out into her suite. She picked up the room phone and ordered Facilities to remove the steel bondage frames from her room. She wasn’t in the mood to see them.

 

Then she called her travel agency and fibbed a little, using one of the excuses Martin had suggested. She still had her job. She said she’d be gone another week. Her boss said they could cope. She ended the call and a huge sigh escaped her, as if she had been holding her breath for a week.

 

She finally felt free. That is, free to leave AbductCo any time. But she no longer needed to. She might as well learn what Mistress Stephanie had to teach her. She chose a pair of high-heeled strappy sandals to go with her jeans.

 

In one of the drawers, she found a pair of black driving gloves. In the toybox in the corner, she picked up and examined a few canes of various widths and thicknesses. She held one of the larger ones in her right hand and she smacked her outstretched left palm.  Agh, that was too hard!  Oh, that hurt.   In the full length mirror, she saw a powerful young woman. She locked eyes with her new image. No, do not flinch. Martin had proposed. Just like that!

 

Don’t look away. Love yourself, he certainly does!  High heeled sandals. A cane and leather driving gloves.  I look just like Cybill Troy in that video. Wow.

 

She was due in the Women’s Prison section at 1:30 p.m.  I could get to like this.  Not every day do I get a proposal from a wealthy man.

 

From a man she had loved pretty much from the day they met.

 

 

End of Part Twelve

 

 

 

 

Next: The Mystery of the Missing Domme . . .


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