By eight p.m. Moustache had maneuvered the old van with the “Flowers to Go” logo on each side up to the front entrance of the Abduction Company. Their long drive was over, at last.

The building entrance was opulent, glittering with lights like a major urban theatre. Two limos and two brand new vans were closer to the doors. As she peered out the side window, Melody was bewildered. The access road had been rough and meandering through rows of trees, over hills, and along walls both natural and man-made.

Moustache shut off the engine. Burly had put Melody's street clothes in a bag. Her running shoes were back on her feet. They had given her a baggy orange bodysuit to wear. She sat on a small folding jump-seat bolted to the wall that separated the driver's section from the storage part of the van. Burly came around to the side door, opened it, and hopped in, shutting the door quickly to keep out the cool night air. Moustache went into the building with a manila folder of papers in his hand.

"You want a jacket? To keep warm?" Burly smiled. He wanted to apologize for her abduction. "Came as a surprise, eh?"

Melody grimaced. "What's he doing? is this our destination?"

"Yes. It's just that we – he and I – aren't employees or guests. We brought you here under a side contract and we aren't really allowed to wander around in there without permission."

Finally Moustache came back out through the opulent crystal glass doors. "We can go in."

Melody stepped down onto the sidewalk and was stunned to see the doorman – in a burgundy coloured cap and a pair of new running shoes – was otherwise stark naked. His pierced cock was held down and disappeared between his legs. She walked past him, then glanced back. His cock head piercing was connected by a lock to a ring under his body, behind his ball sack. One of his hands was tethered by a rich brown leather strap to the back of his leather collar. He used his free hand to pull the door open and closed for guests. To one side, he had a cart for luggage. Melody's bag of clothing weighed almost nothing, so she kept it slung over her shoulder.  She mostly felt resentment at having to enter such a luxurious setting wearing these ugly orange coveralls.

The lobby was enormous. Several maids were arranging flowers in many vases spread the length of fifty-foot long marble table. Porters were busy with dollies piled high with suitcases. Mirrors lined almost every wall, adding to the sensation of enormity. A grand staircase with bright brass handrails curved up to the next floor, a glittering promenade. The carpet on which they stood was of the very highest quality: firm yet soft. Melody thought she could lie down and sleep on it, she was that tired. The lighting and high ceilings evoked a kind of heaven. Melody tried to reconcile how odd it was to find a major city hotel at the end of their trip through the Ontario backwoods. Guests were abundant. Couples came and went from the four elevators spread across one side of the lobby. Everyone seemed to be chatting or laughing. Many were in formal wear. Everyone was well-dressed except for Moustache, Burly and her, which Melody found humiliating.

There were long couches and lounge in chairs in burgundy, teal, and blue on the far side of the reception. At the far end of the room was a bar, surrounded by tables and chairs. A man in summer casual attire – as if he’d just finished a round on the golf course – dozed like a worn out sightseer on a loveseat beside the reception. Or perhaps he had simply not slept well the night before. Farther off, Melody thought she saw a man fiddling with his female partner's handcuffs behind her back. They were not ostentatious about it, more like they were trying to keep anyone from seeing.

Melody walked with Moustache up to the reception desk. They waited behind a couple who were checking out. After a few minutes, Burly joined them. Melody felt his gentle hand on her right arm, above the elbow.

When their turn came, Moustache took back Melody's drivers licence, credit card, and cell phone back from the concierge. Moustache passed them directly to her. Evidently he’d had to turn these things over to the front desk when he entered the building.

Unlike the humiliated door man, the staff behind the counter were fully and appropriately dressed. Moustache reached into his pocket. "You better have this too." He handed over Melody’s wallet. "Your phone won't be able to dial out or connect to the internet. But as you are a bit of a special case here, you might be given access at a later time."

"What is this place?" she asked Moustache.

The concierge overheard the question. "Canadian headquarters of Abduction Company, ma'am. What did you think it was?"

"It looks like a hotel. Aren't you checking people in and out of their rooms?"

"Yes, we do that,” he said, as if it should be perfectly obvious – and that perhaps she was a little naïve to ask. “We also take payments from guests and we attend to all sorts of needs they might have while they stay with us." Melody tried to read the name on his employee badge but all she could make out was  Mr. Jack and then something that began with the letter R.

The concierge gestured to a younger man, his assistant, who stood behind and to his left. "I'm going to hand you over to Michael, he's our check-in advisor. He'll look after you." The concierge looked hard at Moustache and waved his finger at Burly. "You two aren't possibly staying, are you?"

Moustache shook his head. Burly looked away and released his hold on Melody's arm. "She's the only guest," said Moustache. He turned and whispered to her. "We two have been banned. This is as far as we can take you."

"And how long are you staying ma'am?" asked Michael.

"I've no idea. I only came here to find my boyfriend."

The concierge,  Mr. Jack R.  interrupted. "We have you booked for five days. The reservation was made by Client Ten." He paused. "That's going back some years. Such a low client number. You're too young to be client ten. Your name please?"

"Melody Throckmortense."

"Of course she isn't Client Ten!" spluttered Moustache. "Listen Jack Rabbit, or dick head, or whatever you call yourself. Take the folder I gave you. It explains everything, the reservation and the requested treatment. All costs are to be paid by Client Ten."

Melody flinched at the words "requested treatment." She'd gone from an abductee in a BDSM scene entirely out of her control, to a somewhat valued hotel guest. She was confused.

The concierge stepped back as if he’d been slapped. He was a few inches shorter than Michael, his subordinate. Moustache leaned aggressively over the counter. He would have grabbed the concierge by the necktie if he could.

He turned to the younger man. "Now, Michael. Get this girl a nice room, give her the access key, order her some food, and get some fucking maid service up to that room – with a nice view of the valley behind this dump – and be quick about it!" He continued to glare at the senior concierge. "You! Be a good little jackass and hop off to your office and read the contents of that  file I gave you. Later you can come up to Miss Throckmortense's room an apologize for your stupidity and rudeness."

The concierge glared back at Moustache, as if to say he’d been insulted by experts during his career and that Moustache’s fit of pique was not worth replying to. He picked up the folder and left, sauntering across the lobby.

"Head Mistress will hear about this!" The concierge kept his measured pace until he had fully retreated into his office across the vast room.

Michael smiled broadly at Melody. “Sorry about that.”

Melody thought him cute in his burgundy-and-white, tight-fitting uniform. His shoes shone. He had a tight, well-rounded ass, that she fantasized about getting her hands on. He wore a small diamond ring on his third finger. From an information card he began describing various amenities and services they offered: the gym, the entertainment centre with live theatre and the latest Hollywood movies, multiple restaurants, bars, and relaxation parlours, the seminar rooms, the computer rooms and services, venues to hear and meet visiting authors, local naturalists, sex and health experts, actors and celebrities. Michael continued chattering about signature menus and dinner servings at the restaurants, and he would have likely kept on talking and selling the services of the Abduction Company forever, but Melody held her index finger to her lips.

"Do you have any dungeons?"

Michael smirked. "Oh yes, ma'am. Many dungeons, school rooms, doctor's offices, prison cells, isolation chambers, outdoor frames and play-yards, scaffolds, . . . " The sales pitch was on again.

"That's nice. How about clothing stores? Hair stylists? Make-up counters? Any retail therapy in this pseudo-hotel of yours? I'd really like to get out of this prisoner's jumpsuit, orange not really being my colour. I have one change of clothes in this bag, and they've been worn already today. And roughly handled, I might add. Can anyone help me with that? Sewing buttons? Repairing a zipper? Can anyone give me a manicure?"

Michael nodded. "The maid who reports to you will give you a more detailed orientation and a tour of the facility." He paused, looking at the computer screen under the counter. "They've assigned you Amber. She’s very good. She knows Abduction Company so well. She’ll show you the best of what we do, what we are."

"Perhaps she also knows I didn't have time to pack anything, before I was kidnapped!" Melody shouted the last word at him.

"Yes ma'am. Amber will get you clothes. I hope you had a good journey here today? Was it a good kidnapping?" He was afraid Melody had been traumatised.

Burly touched her on the arm. He handed her the bag with the few fetish items that Moustache had taken from her bedroom closet this afternoon: a red latex catsuit, two corsets, two pairs of police handcuffs, two of Martin's chastity cages, and some of her own feminine chastity gear, along with other odds and ends. She slung the second bag over her shoulder; it joined the bag that held her day clothes.

Michael had come around the counter. He gave her the Welcome folder and another small packet with an electronic room key and a few other electronic trinkets. She was downcast, staring at her shoes.

"Let me show you to your room. Amber will be there already. You will be staying on the twelfth floor, at the top. It’s 1202, one of our finest personal suites. I very, very much hope you have a pleasant stay."

"I don't want to stay at all! I'm looking for my boyfriend. Martin Porter. Do you have him as a guest?" Now it was Michael’s turn to put his index finger to his lips. "Please don't blurt out names. I really don't know this Mr. Porter you are looking for. He might be here. There are between 200 and 500 guests here on any given night. We have more guests than that sometimes. For example, during our special theme weekends and kinky festival holiday times."

Melody gave Moustache and Burly a hasty goodbye. She was glad to be done with Moustache. Burly touched her gently on the shoulder, still wanting to be reassured that she didn't hate him too. She didn't respond. She wasn't sure if she should be angry at them. But she was. Nothing that had happened made sense. This afternoon, she was afraid for her life after being grabbed at gun-point in her apartment. With rope, leather and steel attachments she had been stuffed in a wooden box that had been secured with power tools and screws. Frightening. Under different conditions, with a sensitive lover, she loved the smell of leather and the idea of a casket could make her horny. She knew this because Martin had showed her a photoset of a man in bondage in a casket a months ago – it was very kinky, and they'd had a terribly hot session that night. But to be confronted by two intruders in her apartment in the middle of the afternoon, to be bound, to be stuffed into and strapped down in a plywood box by strangers, to be taken as captive in the back of a van, through rush-hour traffic for hours, had been way past her limit.

Melody and Michael went to the elevator. "After we get you up to your room, all will become a little more clear."

The hallways were wide and well-lit. At one point they were blocked by a metal frame on wheels. A pair of handcuffs dangled from a horizontal connecting bar. "I'll take that back to the Properties department," muttered Michael, as if someone else was supposed to have done that, and left the job for him. In single file, they squeezed past the frame. At the end of a long hall was Melody's room. Michael rapped gently on the door. Melody wondered if there was anyone behind the door, staring out the peep hole at them. She had her key card out, ready to be shown how to put it in the reader. Suddenly, the door opened.

Melody found herself looking at the perfect face of a blonde girl her own age. Her long luxurious curls spread over each shoulder. She was slightly shorter than Melody and immaculately made up. She wore a traditional French maid’s outfit in black and white. A prominent silver nose ring glistened from her septum.

"You must be Melody. I'm Amber. Welcome to Abduction Company. I'll be your personal maid during your stay. I understand you are romantically unattached, and neither a submissive or taking any kind dominant role during your time here?"

"Uh. Yes. That's right." Romantically unattached? No point in mentioning Martin to her.

"Please come in." Amber's classic maid’s outfit creaked ever so softly as she stepped back to allow Melody to pass through the hall of the suite into the much wider room beyond. Amber’s skirt was so short her stocking tops and pale thighs above were visible under the frilly hem of her dress.

Another woman stood at the far side of the room by the large picture window. She seemed imperious in posture and manner, in a black knee-length leather skirt and matching bolero jacket. The curtains were mostly drawn. She turned at the sound of Amber’s voice.

Melody continued to glance at Amber. Her costume looked to be made of silk but her skirts were held out with multiple white under-slips. She was tightly corseted. Her stockings rubbed together as she moved, a sound that Melody found comical. But Melody would have died to own a pair of the classic black patent pumps Amber wore. Melody was about to ask where she'd got them, but the other woman approached from across the room.

"You may go Michael," she ordered. The door closed behind him. "Let's get introduced shall we? I am the chief executive of this little establishment. I don't usually greet prisoners on their arrival. You are a somewhat special case, for us.”

Melody became a little sarcastic. "Yeah, the orange jumpsuit, yeah, I get it, but it was an abduction thing that someone pulled on me. Some kind of elaborate prank. I'm not anyone's prisoner."

"Yes. True. But you don't know where you are and your freedom of movement and communication are, to some extent, entirely at my discretion. But where are my manners? You are my personal guest. My name is Stephanie. I hope in time, we might become friends. Few people around here know me by that name. Few people, I mean, know me as Stephanie. If you hear them refer to the Head Mistress . . . well, I am that too. Amber will be your primary maid for the duration of your stay. She has agreed to provide you with anything – and I do mean anything – you may command during your stay. One of our clients made your reservation for the next five days."

"Who? The mysterious Client Ten I heard about at the front desk?"

Stephanie stared at Melody, assessing her. “Champagne, my dear?" She strode to a counter by the large television and poured a glass. She returned and offered it to Melody, who tentatively took it in her shaking hand. Stephanie turned to take up another empty glass, then she caught herself. "Oh what am I doing this for? Amber, attend me. Come. Fill my glass." As Stephanie held out another glass, Amber filled it halfway. “Pour yourself some too. I feel mad. Like I should emancipate all the slaves tonight!"

Amber, instead of pouring any more champagne, asked Melody if she would like to have a bath and change out of the prison garb. Melody shrieked “Yes!” at the idea. Melody tried to judge Amber's age; she couldn’t be older than twenty-five.

"Let me show you the closets," Amber offered. "We were able to determine some of your physical characteristics from afar and we put together a wardrobe for you. Some nice things to wear while you are here." She ran her hands across various clothes hanging in the long walk-in closet. "In these drawers we have underwear, stockings, intimates, and shoes for you too. Of course if any of the sizes are off, we can exchange them for the correct ones. Also, we have a full-service shop on the first floor for clothing adjustments, raising or lowering hems, taking in or letting out waists or backs or shoulders. Whatever."

Melody put down the two cloth bags from her shoulder. Martin's two chastity cages clanked inside one bag. Melody opened the other one, with the clothes she was wearing when Burly and Moustache had made their move on her. "Can these be laundered and repaired?"

"Oh absolutely. Give them to me." Amber picked up the bag of fetish items from the floor. "These personal items of yours . . . Would you like them laundered too? We can expertly clean your metal, leather, and latex and have it ready for you by tomorrow night."

"Yeah, great. Please do. It wasn't my idea to bring those things. I mean, I didn't have any time to pack. These guys were in my apartment, and they tied me up and it was pretty freaky. I had no idea if I'd be alive by the end of the day."

Stephanie smiled ever so slightly as Melody recounted how she came to be here. Amber was all attentive sympathy. "And one of them went in my bedroom and grabbed these things from my closet. He probably left a hell of a mess. I was stuffed into a box. I couldn't see anything, couldn't hear very much either." She moved her jaw as if it still ached from the gag she’d worn for hours.

Stephanie watched Amber put Melody at her ease, draw her bath, and set up the room as Melody preferred. "Well, neither of you seem to need me. Melody, you are in excellent hands here. I trust you and Amber will get to know each other very well and form a wonderful bond." She moved gracefully to the door on her black leather pumps. Melody noticed a row of short spikes ran up the back of her heels.

"I have a question, Stephanie, if you don’t mind. Do you wear fetish style every day of the year?"

"Sometimes it seems that way. You are an astute girl. And you sense I am tired of the role, don't you?"

"I have no idea. I just know I couldn't do it all the time." Melody didn’t know where this opinion came from. Perhaps she was trying to sound more experienced than she really was.

"Thank-you Melody. What a kind thing to say. It is not easy to be everyone's Head Mistress. I have to take my days off and my vacations. It’s hard to run an organization this size."

"I don't suppose you can tell me why I am here? Who ordered me to be bound and kidnapped?"

"I thought you knew why you are here. To find your boyfriend, Martin Porter."

"You must know where he is."

"Ah, but for very good reasons I cannot tell you. You must accept this, if you are to trust me. He has not been harmed. He will not be harmed. For that matter, you have not really been harmed, have you? Scared a little, perhaps? The men who brought you, they are not my employees. They are barely tolerated here, at Abduction Company. The one they work for, Client Ten, well, that one and me, we are rivals and have been so for a very long time."

"I wish I could say more, I wish it was otherwise, but I cannot change things, after so much time. Good-night, Melody. Sleep well." The door closed behind Head Mistress.

Amber exhaled slowly with relief. She smiled at Melody. "Before you bathe, let's pick out some clothes, a nightgown for you. Do you wear pajamas? Here are some.”

Melody took the offered nightclothes and marvelled at how soft they were. She examined the stitching and thought them very well-made. Amber took down a soft cream-coloured silk robe from a hangar. "Nice choice, these pjs,” said Melody.

Amber gave her the silk robe. “Take them all. Go have your bath. I'll sort things out for you here." Melody went into the bathroom, added some more hot water and stripped off the horrid orange jumpsuit and her panties. She had been braless for many hours. Her nipples were irritated from rubbing against the heavy material of the prison suit. Amber seemed as friendly and familiar as a sister, or perhaps she was just the first kind face she’d encountered in this puzzling place, a trustworthy soul looking out for her. Melody slipped slowly into the tub and added some mango-peach bath oil that produced a healthy mound of bubbles every time she ran more water.

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door. "Everything o.k. in there? You've been twenty minutes."

Involuntarily Melody covered her breasts. "I'm fine! Out in a minute!"

"Can I come in? Some towels were just delivered by housekeeping." Melody looked up at the rack. There were no towels. "Sure. Come in." She had decided to not be offended or embarrassed if Amber saw her naked, or mostly naked.

Amber entered and closed the door behind her. She avoided looking at Melody in the bath. She put three thick folded white towels on a table beside the toilet and fussed over a few other things at the bathroom sink. Her restrictive and revealing maid's outfit with the black high heels fascinated Melody. Amber stood next to the bathtub, fiddling with the shower curtain rings above her head. She stood up on her tip toes to reattach a clip. Melody couldn't help but look up her legs, all the way up to her ass cheeks and pussy. Amber wore no panties.

"Is that a rule for maids?"

"Is what a rule?" Amber looked down.

"You have to work without wearing any panties?"

Amber blushed. "No. We can wear them if we have no contrary order. If you told me I had to wear panties, I have some I can put on. And if you told me to have a naked pussy, shaved and without panties, well that's what I'd have. Head Mistress did say . . ."

" . . .  to provide anything I want. Yeah, I heard that. But I'm not your mistress. I'm not going to command you to do anything. I have lots of questions of course. But you can answer them later, as they come up."

"First thing tomorrow, I will tour you through the facility," Amber said. "You'll see some pretty amazing things. Meet some awesome people. I love it here. I mean, I love working here." She paused to dab her forehead with a hand towel. She shook out her long blonde curls. The maid's costume looked hot and uncomfortable in the humid bathroom. Melody sat up in the bath and let the arm that was covering her breasts slip to one side.

"Oh, you're pierced," said Amber. "That's cool. So am I."

"Are you?" said Melody. "Wearing any jewelry now. In your nipples?"

Amber blushed. "No. Just my barbells and my nose ring. I was given a little bit of information about you before I took this assignment. I suppose you had to leave your rings and stuff behind, being kidnapped without warning. Those studs in your nipples, is that all you brought?"

"Yes, just the studs." Melody’s nipples ached less now. The bath had relaxed her. "I've an idea. You leave the bathroom and get out of that uniform they've made you wear. Keep on your stockings and shoes and pour a couple of glasses of champagne for us. I'll dry myself. When I come out, you can give me a tour of the closets and I'll pick out a few outfits to wear for the next few . . . .” She paused. She didn’t know when or how she would be leaving. “Er, while I'm here. Panties, bras, you have those too?"

Amber nodded enthusiastically and slipped out of the bathroom. Eventually Amy emerged wearing the pajama set. "Got the dregs of my makeup off, at last."

Amber had shed her maid's uniform and black corset and was almost naked. She sat demurely at the edge of one of the two beds in the spacious suite. She still wore her high heels; her stockings rose the length of her legs, supported by the six stays of a new, black-leather garter belt. She wore black satin panties now. Evidently she felt Melody had criticized her for going "commando."

Melody noticed Amber's fingernails: a gorgeous shade of carmine red. She reached out and took one of Amber's hands. "My boyfriend would just eat you up, to see you like this. Or to see me dressed in your suspender belt and stockings."

Amber stood up from the bed. "Would you like to see the clothes in the closet, or dance together, or  . . . "

Melody pulled Amber towards her, took her face in her hands and planted a soft kiss on each cheek and then kissed her firmly on the lips. She felt Amber's lipstick and the slight slippery feeling on her own lips. She felt the ring of Amber’s piercing against her lip. She had imagined the metal would be cold, but of course it was as warm as the rest of Amber’s face.

She released her. Amber giggled "Oh, that was nice. You mustn't feel I'm not interested in pleasuring you."

"But it's up to me. Yeah, I know." There was a moment of silence between them. Amber looked Melody in the eye. "I understand you were brought here in a box. How long were you bound that way?"

"I don't know. I lost all sense of time. It seemed to go on forever. And don't tell me it sounds hot and how you'd love to do that kind of thing." Amber looked chastened. She had been thinking that exactly.

"Hey, Amber! Show me these closets and drawers. Maid!  Get to work laying out some nice, frilly things for me for tomorrow." Melody laughed. She hugged and held Amber for a few seconds, then let her go.

"Frilly? I wouldn't have thought . . . "

"I know. Based on what you know – and I don't know how people here know so much about me –  you wouldn't have thought I’d like frilly. Hey. I'm playing against type. I have a very modern, tomboy kind of style. But since we seem to be trapped in a fantasy place here . . .  I mean, what the fuck, is this even a hotel? Really?"

Amber nodded. "It really is. They pay me real money to do this kind of work." She went to the closet. At the near end, were several outfits she had already selected for her guest. "What can I call you?"

"Not mistress," Melody replied. "Why not just call me Melody?"

"Yes, ma'am. Madame Melody."

Melody rolled her eyes. "And not madame either. I should slap you for that. On second thought you'd probably like me to slap you." Amber nodded. She was thrilled Melody had divined her desire without her having to say anything.

"Here is a classic businesswoman's power suit. A nice rich brown, wonderful needlework. On you, the skirt will come to the knee or pretty close. We can make adjustments of course. We have a fabulous selection of shoes in our shop on the first floor. I took the liberty of picking out a few of their designs for you to try later."

Melody admired the faint pattern of light grey feathering in the fabric. It reminded her of birds, of flight, of freedom.

"Here’s a cream blouse with some adorable cuff and collar detailing. I would pair this with a dark skirt. Navy blue will work well here, as will black, brown, grey, mauve, well anything actually. Shoes can be high heeled or sensible. Here are the skirts. I chose one pair of shoes from downstairs to go with the grey skirt. Of course you can shop the store tomorrow and exchange my suggestion for your own choices."

Melody didn’t know what to think of Amber: she wore her half-naked loveliness so easily. She seemed both delicate and confident on her heels. Melody watched her dawdle at the far end of the long closet. She slid a mirrored door back. "This is the fetish end. It moves from conservative over here, to outrageous at this end. Of course you can wear anything you want at Abduction Company. You're not enslaved. We've tried to select items to match your measurements. Of course we didn't have your dimensions exactly, because we didn't have you. We have a few catsuits here. One in leather, a few colours of latex. A pair of thigh-high boots. Most people bring their own fetish gear of course. And in fact, you’ve brought some of your own anyway."

"How did you get my measurements? How on earth do you even know my shoe size?"

"Uh." Amber turned from the closet. She wrung her hands in front of her. "I don't know. Honestly. It's our information department. They're pretty closed-mouthed about their methods. I have never asked them."

"Do you know who Client Ten is?"

Amber shook her head. "You are Client 2,895. New client numbers get assigned all the time. I've no idea about number ten. Do you want to see any more clothes?"

"Amber honey, I appreciate all the work you've put into making sure I have some nice things to wear, but I really need to know more than what you're telling me." Amber’s face fell further. She looked ready to cry. She abruptly turned away and hid her face. Melody came up behind her and gave her a reassuring hug around the waist. “It’s going to be o.k.” she whispered. Amber was wearing a subtle perfume, but Melody couldn’t place it. She turned to the open closet and began flipping through frocks, pants and blouses on hangers from the non-fetish section. "Hey look at these!"

"Blue jeans?"

"Yeah, I'll wear these tomorrow. With sneakers. And a T-shirt and a sweater."

Amber seemed to rediscover her perky persona. "I got you some slippers. You can wear them down to the store with your blue jeans and we’ll get you some sneakers. I didn't foresee you'd want to go utterly casual while you were here. There aren’t any T-shirts here."

"At least you could foresee me coming. I had no idea I was coming. Here. Wherever we are." Melody opened one drawer after another. "Bras and panties, tampons, my brand of birth control pills. You’ve really covered everything."

Suddenly Melody had an awkward thought. "Where do you sleep? Do you have a servant's quarters you retire to after I go to bed? Or is it assumed . . . " and here she pointed to the second bed in the room. “Do you stay in the room here, beside me 24/7 while I am a prisoner of Abduction Company? Is your job actually to keep an eye on me?"

"If you want me to stay, I will. If not I'll give you a bracelet that communicates exclusively with this one that I am wearing. It’s a totally private way you can summon me. This is on all the time."

The clock on the side table showed 11:30 p.m. "Amber, I’m very tired and it’s late. How about you take one of the robes from this room, gather up all your maid clothing, and take yourself off to bed? I'll see you tomorrow."

Amber hid her disappointment and did as she was told. Melody made sure her room door locked behind Amber's departing derriere. She tossed the bracelet she’d been given on the side table and hopped into bed. It would be a full day tomorrow, she imagined. But for now, she was exhausted.

That night, Melody had had an exceedingly pleasant dream. Martin was at some kind of workplace, perhaps a beer factory. She could smell the beer in her dream. He was working on a bottling line, grunting and sweating, placing cases of empty bottles on a conveyor belt. It was noisy, with clattering rollers, millions of empty bottles madly clinking, and machinery and tow-motor engines revving constantly. Melody stood behind him, fondling his buttocks as he worked. His jeans were gossamer thin and clung to his ass cheeks. Then they fell to the floor. She slid her hands between his legs and found his cock. She handled it with her right hand as she reached around his chest with her left hand and pulled him back towards her. His cock swelled in her hand. She wore some kind of slippery gloves. The factory was empty, just the two of them. She was afraid she would lose him, that his cock would slip out of her hand and sure enough, it did. She was rubbing herself now, her wet rubbery hand inserting and pulling at her pussy lips and rubbing hard over her mons, seeking her clit. Then, the dream ended. He was gone. She kept masturbating, trying to get back to that empty building, where Martin had been, for a moment. She came quickly. She was fully awake.

The bracelet softly buzzed on the night stand. The clock on the side table showed it was just after eight. Melody got up and began to explore the room. She put on some panties and found the jeans and a belt she had chosen the night before. Everything fitted perfectly. She was amazed. The slippers, socks, and jeans were just right, as if made to measure.

Melody wasn’t sure if she should make any concession to the kinkiness of the place or not. There were certainly enough choices if she wanted to. She took a sleeveless blue latex blouse from the closet and laid in on her bed. It was shaped exquisitely, with thicker rubber over the rib-cage and thinner latex that would cover her breasts. It would go with the jeans. The latex extended above the breasts up to the neck piece which was shaped like a collar. Melody could see it would all be about the look, not a real neck restraint. She used a little latex lube on the inside of the garment, then checked herself in the mirror, and slipped it on. After pulling and twisting the blouse a little, she had aligned. She brushed out her shoulder-length brown hair and surveyed herself in the long mirror.

She wore no bra. Her breasts protruded shamelessly. The shadow of her nipples and their piercings were achingly visible in the clinging blue rubber. She found a bottle of silicone for polishing latex, dampened a soft cloth and began to wipe down the front. She remembered she would be unable to do her back. She wiped down as much as she could. She could see she’d done a partial job. She found a pair of black, over-the-elbow latex gloves and gently pulled them on. She thought it fortunate she had trimmed all her nails in the bath the night before.

There was a gentle knock on the door. It was Amber, now wearing the standard hotel uniform, like the one she had seen on Michael at the front desk. She looked radiant, even so conservatively dressed. Melody gave her a cloth and bottle of latex polish. "Do my back and do these gloves. Make everything shine."

Amber’s uniform was a dusted burgundy colour. Her skirt was tailored and came to her knee. She wore a fashionable porter's cap in white and burgundy, a white blouse and jacket, light purple stockings, and black shoes. The shoes were black Mary Jane's with five inch heels. The strap across each ankle carried a silver lock. "Real locks?" Melody asked. Amber nodded. She took the cloth and latex polish and gently attended to Melody's back and her sides. She gently smoothed out Melody’s gloves and made them shine. Amber admired the blue latex blouse. "Wow. What a choice. No one will ignore you today!"

They considered their plan for the day. “We'll begin with breakfast in the first floor dining room. The tour will take most of the morning."

At breakfast, Melody and Amber sat opposite one another but Melody was distracted by a man at the next table  – or rather, on his knees on the floor beside the next table – who was eating from a dog’s food dish. Melody didn't know what he was eating, but it didn't look like bacon and eggs. Two women, one dressed in full fetish latex at nine in the morning, conversed over his head.

At the table to Melody’s right, a pair of submissive women also were difficult to ignore. One looked to be in her mid-thirties and the other was likely close to sixty. They sat opposite each other. They were in full bondage. The younger woman’s arms were in a secure back prayer; her mouth was held open with a ring gag; she wore pony's ears as part of a harness that encircled her head. Her breasts jutted out, held away from her body by a devilish looking metal clamp that pressed from below and above. Between them at the side of the table, facing Melody, a man had been stuffing food in the younger one’s mouth, but not much would remain in place. Her breakfast, after every spoonful tended to spill in humiliating fashion over her breasts. The older woman looked to be on a diet. Her tape gag covered the lower part of her face entirely. Her jaws were held open by some kind of packing beneath the tape. A long rubber straw emerged from the tape and ended in a glass of coloured water on the table. She noisily sucked up whatever nutrition the drink provided.

“I have a list of today's programmed events,” said Amber. "Also, here is a list of the education seminars for today. You can drop into any of these that appeal to you. I'll send them to you." Amber focused on the device in her hands and in a second said: "Done. You have what you need on your phone."

Melody's phone beeped from the pocket in her purse. "So I have communications within the building?"

"Yeah, pretty much. You have my number now too. You also have the wrist band to reach me. You press the top button on the side to open a line to my band. It’s like a private line, just speak into it when the green light comes on." Amber pointed to the simple black band on her wrist. “You’re not wearing yours.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I forgot.” Melody flipped through pictures on her phone until she came to a few images of Martin on a ferry. They’d gone to Centre Island last month. "Have you seen this guy around here?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Can't or won't?”

“Can’t say. I’m forbidden to discuss the specifics of any customer with any other customer, without permission from both.”

Melody wanted to scream at her. Melody was a hostage, not a customer. But it was pointless. No one else was going to agree with her. Amber was too well-trained to argue with. The tour began in the retail section of the first floor. Everywhere were submissives and their partners. It was like any mall around the city, Melody realized, except for the plentiful numbers of guests clothed more in leather or latex than anything else. Or those going practically nude.

“We have everything here. Clothes, shoes, hair salon, get your nails done, things like that. Down this corridor, we have workshops and maintenance galleries.”

Melody poked her head in at the first door. Two carpenters worked on various pieces of furniture; a punishment bench was being covered with vinyl to hold its padding in place. in the back she could see two St. Andrews crosses, one being stained with a clear finish. A third cross leaned on the wall next to her, stained an ominous black. A man was about to drill holes and attach metal rings to the upper arms.

Through another open door was a sales booth for whips and canes. The walls were brightly lit and covered with an amazing number of implements of pain. Melody stepped in. Her eye went immediately to a dressage whip with a long stiff section measuring about four feet with a two foot snapping section at its end. She noted the price tag. It was out of her range.

At another store front the theme was male and female chastity. There were cock cages in steel and plastic. Ladies’ hip harnesses made of steel and neoprene lined one wall. Melody looked in a glass display case and asked Amber – who never strayed far from her, “Is that a wooden cock cage?”

“No. Plastic. It’s brown and green camouflage colours. I would think that wood would be too fragile, too difficult to keep smooth. Uncomfortable.”

An assistant came up to the girls. “We are fitting a male sub now. His mistress has ordered six different cock restraints for the animal. You want to watch?” As they made their way down a narrow hall, Melody had the funny notion the man they would encounter was going to be Martin. She had long suspected he had a submissive streak, despite the fact she had always been the one to get tied and ordered about during their sessions.

Amber and Melody were led into a back room. Another woman held a urethral tube between her gloved fingers. “Six inches. Not too long.” A middle aged man – definitely not Martin – was strapped to an examination chair, which resembled a very tall barstool. His legs were forced open by thick black leather bands to give staff easy access and to keep him from twisting. He didn’t seem afraid of the flexible tube with steel openings at either end that they were about sink down his cock. Melody watched one of them attach the tube to the inside of the cock cage. At the cage tip, was a heavier piece of steel, but eventually Melody realized this was a screw head with an opening to allow urine or semen to flow through. They lubricated the tube and gently worked the cage onto his cock, threading the tube down his pee hole. They stopped half-way down, to add more lube to the tube. He groaned a little as they eventually made the entire tube disappear. His glans was now pushed against the inside of the cage at its tip. “He’s also getting a spiked cage and couple of tiny punishment cages with adjustable inside screws. This is actually more gentle than those.” She gestured to the table where the spiked cage sat. There were also two different designs of full-covering cages. “Those will be for daily wear. The most comfortable ones, I should think.” Her helper handed her the key with the barrel lock on its tip, and after a little effort she got if fully inserted and removed the key. “Make sure Mistress Petty gets both keys!”

By eleven in the morning the first seminars were starting. Melody wanted to see the talks on rope bondage, whip technique, pressure toys, and piercings. There would be live demonstrations.

Amber toured Melody through the prison cells in the second sub-basement, followed by the prison dungeons in the first basement. A few rooms were in use. Screams and groans could be heard in the halls. A few cells indicated with a sign on the door they were open for other guests to witness the prisoner. Amber let Melody into Dungeon 12A. They found a woman impaled on a dildo-pole. No one was with her. She was gagged. Her elbows were held back behind her by a leather harness with a strap that rose up her back to her collar. Her wrists were securely strapped by several turns of a black leather utility strap. A ring of spikes halfway up the pole, threatened to cut into the skin of her upper thighs, should she try to bring her legs together. She wore a pair of leather boots with moderate heels.

“No touching?” Melody asked Amber.

“That’s right. She’s not our property.” The woman opened her eyes. She began to moan for release. Drool flowed rather freely from the corners of her mouth and from behind her red ball gag. It made a humiliating stream of saliva down her chest. Amber looked at a clipboard on the wall, which held a chart listing her punishment schedule. Several names were listed with appointment times. Mistress Blaise was listed for 11 a.m. and Mistress Courtney was to take over at 4 p.m. There was also an entry at 3 p.m. for someone simply identified as Number Three. She was going to be pierced that evening. The prisoner also wore a number on the back of one of her thighs, under her left buttock. Melody couldn’t tell if this was a tattoo or a number stencilled with ink or paint. The woman stood as high as she could on her tip-toes but could not dislodge the penetrating dildo. As she rose and fell on its relentless stiffness, her panting grew more and more laboured. “Best to leave her,” Amber said.

Melody was so tempted to reach out and caress her breasts, to help her get over her pending orgasm. She imagined herself in the position. She thought of Martin and his ideas of how to tie a woman. He’d mentioned the single pole in the floor as a cunning way to keep Melody in her place, but she’d scorned the idea. He’d not installed anything in the floor of his condo. Martin was a nice guy, very good looking, but he was all talk and often, no action.

“Bye,” Amber called to the woman. She ushered Melody from the room and shut the door behind them. They continued through the prison dungeons level, looking at an extraordinary array of equipment in an extraordinary range of rooms. “The personal rooms that people rent, like the one you slept in last night, are on the higher levels. A client can order any kind of furniture or devices to be added. A bondage bed, a fuck bench, a cage or two. Anything you’d like. Being down here, the equipment is more permanent, guests come in for set periods of time. Rarely overnight.”

On the third floor, where many of the restaurants and lounges were, they came upon a dominatrix walking three men in puppy gear. One of the men was playfully trying to mount another and received three sharp strokes from his mistress’s walking stick for his disobedience.

On the fourth floor, as they turned off the elevator they found a couple – who looked to be in their sixties – facing each other from opposite sides of the hall. The man and woman were each tied standing on a wooded platform on wheels. Each was restrained to a frame. Each wore a leather straps around their heads. Their mouths were forced open by ring gags, but within each ring was a tightly fastened smaller red ball gag. Their collars were each three inches high with double straps running around their necks and double locked behind. The collars kept their necks rigid. They were unable to look up or down, or from side to side. They were both drooling uncontrollably. “These are the Munroes,” said Amber, as if they could turn to look at Melody and greet her, which of course they could not.

“Been coming here for many years. They both go in for mirror bondage and for long time periods. We tie them facing each other, usually they are blindfolded, today they aren’t. They like to be able to hear the distress, the sounds of whipping and crying, what is happening to the other. Nice subs. All the staff know them. We have permission to use them as we wish, the only thing is . . . they have to be treated identically. We’re not allowed to get one of them off without doing the same for the other. If one gets ten strokes with a heavy single tail whip for example, the other has to get it too.” Melody noted that the man was in a full chastity belt with a cage underneath and a steel strap that went down between his legs. His wife was similarly attired in a Neosteel belt. Melody recognized the design, having bought one herself over a year ago, at the suggestion of a previous boy-friend.

“It’s all prearranged. The scenarios they want and for how long, for the whole five days they’re here.”

“Can anyone just drag them back to their room and fuck them, if they want?”

“As long as you fuck them both,” Amber grinned “Of course, it’s better if two tops do it simultaneously, rather than one person doing him first and then her later. That would be pretty tiring. Of course you could order them to fuck each other, but they’re married. So what’s the pont of that?” Both Munroes started to twitch. They could obviously hear what Amber was saying. Their moaning sounded like consent. “How are you doing Stan? Delores? Everything fine?” inquired Amber. Delores groaned heavily, and then Stan mimicked her.

“They’ve left instructions in their room, if any one decides to take them back there for a quickie, or for a few hours.” Amber pulled Melody aside and whispered. “I took a ride on Stan a few days ago. For an old duffer he can get a hell of a hard on. Maybe someone had just given him a Trimix injection or something. My timing was good. I see he’s in a chastity for now. He had a wonderful prick all standing at attention. It’s fun to take advantage. Of both of them, I mean. I had another maid with me at the time. We’d both come off shift and neither of us had had any nookie for days. Delores can be pretty hot too. Can’t you Delores?” Amber playfully slapped her naked breasts that had been bound with many turns of heavy jute rope. “Need me to release these?” Delores nodded slightly against the pressure of her collar.

Amber untied the breast ropes. The marks around Delores’ breasts looked deep and were an angry shade of red. “These marks will fade.” Amber worked her hands over Delores’s nipples, pulling and sucking on them. Melody silently pointed to Stan who was still moaning across the hall for some human contact. She looked at a small table next to the bound man, standing erect as if suspended. She attached a pair of clover clamps to his nipples. She toyed with the chain between the clamps. After a few long slow tugs on the chain, she looped a heavy lock to the chain and set it swinging. He groaned and Melody saw that he enjoyed her choice of torment, his moans more or less matching those of his wife.

Amber checked her phone. “They have their two assigned maids coming for them in less than half an hour. We can move on.”

In the elevator, rising to the sixth floor, Amber floated another idea. “This floor is where the larger dungeons are. They generally get a lot of daylight. Would you like to try one?”

“What do you mean?”

“Want to let out your domina side for a little while?”

They stepped out into the hall. It was empty. The floor sounded quiet. Deserted, even.

Amber touched her passkey to the lock on a door marked with the letter  L. She pushed the door with her shoulder and stepped into the darkened interior. She beckoned to Melody to follow.

“Uh, if domina side means what I think you mean, then no. I’m not that kind of kinkster. And who did you have in mind for me to top?” Amber turned on the lights and pulled back the curtains. The room was fully-stocked with whips, furniture, ceiling attachments, hoists, chains, closets, toys for kinky activities in chests. To Melody it was all becoming quite familiar, and a little bit boring.

“Me.”

“Really? Oh, I’m not a lesbian. I couldn’t do that.”

“But last night you kissed me. You didn’t have any trouble admiring me in a maid’s outfit and you were quite explicit when you told me to take it off. You instructed me what to keep on, so you could enjoy the view when you came out of the bath. Why did you send me away last night? I was pretty insulted you didn’t need me to stay with you.”

Melody was baffled. Yes, she’d admired Amber. But it was a big leap, she thought, to dominating the petite blonde, even if that same blonde had led the two of them into an isolated, and presumably reserved, play-room like this. Melody felt cornered.

“Aren’t I serving you well?”  Without waiting for a reply, Amber strode over to a wall display of various sex toys. She came back with a six inch purple dildo mounted in a strap on harness. “Wouldn’t this be fun? Have you ever felt one of these around your hips? Have you ever used a strap-on?” There was a pause, neither of them spoke. “On anyone? On yourself?”

Melody gritted her teeth. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit worn out by all the orientation. We’ve been touring this hotel for over four hours. We’ve had lunch. Why don’t you use your equipment-ordering super-powers to get me a frame to be mounted on the second bed in my personal room? And have a fucking bench delivered too, while you’re at it?”

Amber failed to hear Melody’s sarcasm. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and began ordering what Melody had described.

Melody grabbed the phone out of her hands. She held it high over her head. “This is a public room and I’m not ready!”

“It’s not a public room. It is reserved for us and only my passcard and your passcard will open the door from now until 6 p.m.”

“OK. So it’s not public.” They stood uncomfortably apart, avoiding eye contact. Slowly Melody lowered the hand that held the cell phone and gave it back.

Amber glanced at the screen. “OK. No special furniture to your room.”

What Melody didn’t say was how disappointed she was with the whole day. They hadn’t seen Martin. Melody, of course, was the only one trying to find him. They had toured the barns, the racetrack, the labouring fields, and the metal and fibreglass shop. This last one had blown Melody’s mind. She saw a woman being fitted for a black fiberglass casket with electric prods for her ass and cunt. Wooden clamps, wrapped in fine copper wire, constructed of short parallel wooden dowels and tightened by bolts and wingnuts, would be fastened to each of her nipples. Wires ran out of the casket through an opening in the back and would be plugged into a Tens power unit. When the lid of the casket was fastened down and latched up both sides with ten hand latches, there would be absolutely no escape. There were breathing holes about the casket’s head to allow air in and out. The victim would be locked in total darkness however, being blindfolded with a tight latex band across the top of her head.

Amber put down the dildo in its harness and snapped off the lights in the dungeon. They closed the room door and they were in the hall again. “Is it o.k. if I go to one of the seminars on my own?” asked Melody.

Amber nodded. “Of course.” She no longer smiled when she spoke. “Don’t forget to buzz me on your bracelet if you need anything. Oh, you’re still not wearing it. Do you have your cell phone with you?”

“They told me at reception, I can’t call out and they were right. Since my cell is not working – or being jammed here because no one trusts me  –  I left it in my room. I left that bracelet thing in my room too.”

Amber sighed. Melody was angry, obviously. She didn’t realize why she had to wear the bracelet. Of course Amber couldn’t force her to.

Why were they fighting? They barely knew each other. Amber wondered if Melody was just a terrible tease. Then, there were Amber’s orders, her assignment as an employee. There was a corporate goal for Melody, and it had to be met or they’d all be in a great deal of trouble. Amber didn’t doubt Head Mistress on that score.

Amber and Melody rode the elevator down to the lobby in silence and when the doors opened, they went their separate ways. Melody went to the education section and found the seminar room where a piercing demonstration was about to begin. Close to fifty people had seats already. Melody snagged the last available chair, at the back. A naked, hooded man with his hands held back in police-cuffs, was led onto the stage. His domme put him on a slanting frame and fastened his ankles and knees –  and then his elbows – with leather straps to the edges of the frame. For good measure, he was also tethered at the neck to further restrict him.

The expert piercer began to speak. Melody soon found she was learning very little. She was still very tired from yesterday. She’d had pierced nipples for over a year. She admired Amber’s nose ring and had been thinking of getting a septum pierce herself. Questions from the audience were slowing the seminar to a crawl. Finally, the duo on stage – the piercer and her assistant – pierced the man’s nipples. He groaned in momentary pain as each needle went in. They spoke of sterilizing and anesthetizing. They were all competent and professional. Melody couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew the man, despite the hood. She was too far away to see much of him. His body lacked any tattoo, any identifying feature, except for a slightly larger-than-average cock, though the cocks of men were as variable as the number of men in the world. Even a single specimen might be more tumescent on a Tuesday than one might find him on a Wednesday. Though he was slim and well-proportioned, she couldn’t say who he reminded her of. It bothered her, that so much might be riding on whose face was under the leather hood.

++++++++++++++ END of part four ++++++++++++++++++++++++