Francis thought his blue suit and burgundy tie, patterned with subtle silver and gold feathering was more appropriate for bank tower meeting in Toronto than his mission at the Breviston police detachment. As he pulled open the heavy oak door, he recalled he’d spent over $800 on this little bit of sartorial over-kill. But the suit could hardly harm his chances of springing Mistress Destiny from the clutches of cottage country cops. Mistress Stephanie had called a lawyer to help him out. Francis scanned the room for Jorge. Except for the clerk at the counter, he was the only one here.

The police detachment occupied half of an old government building. A few offices lined the walls of the lobby. He imagined the real policing must happen in the back. Breviston was one of several small towns clustered along the eastern shore of Lake Huron and Georgian Bay. Farming and logging used to sustain the town’s economy. But for over forty years, the region had become dependent on vacationers, cottage construction, and renovations. Summer activities provided employment now: fishing, camping, hunting, and back-packing.

Breviston’s cops were mostly concerned with drunken boaters and the occasional domestic dispute. Back in the day, they would take a hard line on users of pot and hashish. One of the nearby farms had had hosted a Hell’s Angels club twenty-five years ago. Breaking that up had been the detachment’s finest hour, supported by OPP forces from Lake Erie. It was Saturday. Francis doubted Chief Willoughsby was on duty.

A young constable sat behind the main desk. He was reading a red, leather-bound book. His cell phone sat to his left, within reach on the desktop. His gun and holster were partly visible to his right. Too young to be an officer, Francis thought. Possibly he was minding the phones while more the senior cops were out. No, that’s a full constable’s uniform. The name plate on the desk: Harold Greening. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the window to his left; the open blinds illuminated the side of his face with a pattern of slats.

Francis cleared his throat.

The constable looked up. “Can I help you?”

“I understand you have Mrs. Talbot here, Evelyn Talbot. I believe she was detained for a couple of traffic violations?” Francis smirked. Probably not true, but he’d retract that, if he had to, once he knew what had really happened.

“And you are . . .?”

Francis presented his card: he was Vice-President in charge of International Investing and Portfolio Development for one of Canada’s big six banks. “Evelyn Talbot has asked me to act as her lawyer in this matter.”

The constable studied the business card, then said: “She called you? I just came back from the holding cell. She called a Toronto lawyer. I see your card; you have a Toronto office. You couldn’t have got here in the ten minutes since she called.”

“That’s true. She didn’t phone me in Toronto.” Francis heard footsteps behind him and turned. It was AbductCo.’s lawyer in Breviston, Jorge Brudenmiller. He nodded and shook Francis’s hand. “Sorry, I came as soon as I could,” he whispered.

Francis looked back at Greening. The young constable had closed his book and was tapping away on his computer. Greening’s book for the afternoon had beentheGood News Bible with red leather covers. “Has she been charged?”

“No.”

“Then why is she being detained?”

“My partner and I determined, from our database, there were reasons to detain her.”

“And what are the reasons?”

“Driving with a broken headlight. Driving in excess of the speed limit.”

“And by how much was she in excess of the speed limit?”

“Eight kilometers per hour. Additionally, her car stank of marijuana. We impounded it. After that, we discovered she was carrying certain items of restraint, whips for punishment, you know, that contravene the . . . ah, you know, common standards we have here in town.”

“What the fuck?”

From behind, Jorge touched the crook of Francis’s arm, but the banker’s anger would not be contained. “You searched her car because she was speeding?”

“Francis, may I?” Jorge said.

Greening smirked behind his desk. He stood up.  A female officer had entered the room from a side door. “Your Mrs. Talbot, also known in the sex trade as Mistress Destiny, was arrested in a high-profile case in Toronto. Keeping a common bawdy house. Big case. All over the papers.”

“Yeah. Twenty-six years ago!” Francis snorted. “You are way out of order here. Did you speak to your supervisor before you pulled her in?”

Greening looked over at his fellow officer for support. She was trying to determine what to make of the raised voices. Francis scrolled through contacts on his phone. He found a name and a number. He dialed. “George Willoughsby please.”

He looked at Greening. “You found Mrs. Talbot’s ancient police record and decided to re-arrest her on the basis of trivial charges. Not convictions, I might add.”

Jorge spoke: “No one is arrested for a burned-out headlight in the day and no one is arrested for going eight kilometers over the limit. You can issue tickets for such things, and most people get off with a warning.”

“Mrs. Willoughsby. How nice to hear your voice again! This is Francis Purley. You remember. Yes, that’s me. Is George there. No? Out on the lake? Well I don’t blame him for wanting to enjoy the last warm days of fall. If he could call me, I’d appreciate it. Yes, it is a police matter. One of my clients has been arrested and I’d just like to review the process with George. Make sure everything was done properly. When he’s got a moment. Very good. I’ll wait for his call.”

Jorge smiled at Greening, who had also heard Francis’s side of the call and was now less certain of himself. He turned to the other constable and began whispering to her. Greening gestured at his computer screen.

“I’ll be asking the chief to review the steps you’ve taken regarding Mrs. Talbot. Also, the fact that Mrs. Talbot is not white, but a woman of mixed race. I suspect that had something to do with her arrest. In the meantime, can Jorge, our attorney here, see the prisoner?” The female officer looked at Greening, then nodded. She took Jorge down the hallway to the holding cells.

Greening straightened himself and faced Francis over the counter. He was at least five inches taller. “I was hired by Chief Willoughsby.”

“No doubt you were.” Francis said. “Tell me son. I see you’re reading the Bible. Was Jesus the one who said the state has no place in the bedrooms of the nation?”

Greening smiled. “No, he did not. I know what Jesus said.”

“But you don’t know who did say that. In fact, it was the father of our current Prime Minister who said  The state has no place in the bedrooms of the nation.  Our former prime minister! Pierre Elliot Trudeau said that, in connection with police persecution of gays in the late 1960s. Tell me, does your police computer system record the outcome of court cases and in particular, Supreme Court cases? Did you – and I’m guessing you did -- know that Mrs. Talbot was involved in the case of Bedford versus the Attorney General for Canada in 2013? The Supreme Court struck downlaws that deprive sex workers of their right to security by forcing them to work secretly. In 2012, the Court of Appeal for Ontario ruled that some, but not all, of these prohibitions against sex work violated the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms and were unconstitutional. The Supreme Court of Canada ruled in a 9–0 decision on December 20, 2013, that all of those laws are unconstitutional.”

Greening took a step back.

“You’re too young and arrogant to know, but I assure you Chief Willoughsby knows this case. Mrs. Talbot was one of the sex workers rounded up in the raid in 1993 that led to the terrible subsequent harassment of Terri-Jean Bedford, Canada’s premiere dominatrix. The goal of the police at that time, and I dare say you do it even today, was to attempt to humiliate and persecute her and drive her and everyone like her out of business. That raid on Bedford’s premises eventually led to the Supreme Court decision of 2013. I’m guessing Chief Willoughsby will want to ask you about it. In the meantime, because I think you’ve overstepped your bounds, I’m going to ask you to release Mrs. Talbot immediately, into my care. And you will drop whatever silly harassment of her you were planning.”

“I’m not going to release her to you! She can wait until Monday and have a bail hearing. You and your partner lawyer can request bail from a judge then.”

“Son, do you think so little of the justice system that our current Prime Minister would not care that a famous utterance of his father’s – I mean: The state has no place in the bedrooms of the nation – is being trampled in back water towns like Breviston?”

Francis held out his phone towards Greening. “My contacts list has some very interesting numbers.” He pulled the phone back and began to scroll through names. “Justin. Justin, wherefore art thou, Justin? Ah, here we are. Officer Greening, I’m about to leave a message with the Prime Minister’s Office. I’ll be asking them to . . . ”

“OK!! Take her!” Greening shouted. “Follow me.”

Francis Purley, investment banker at large, and Breviston Constable Greening went down the hall to the holding cells. They found Mistress Destiny, dressed in dark green and pale green athletic wear, including a sweat band around her forehead. Destiny gathered up two bags from the steel bench.

 “Mrs. Talbot. I’m Francis Purley, an associate of Stephanie Mailloux. I’m sorry for this terrible inconvenience you’ve been put through. The good constable here,” he gestured at Greening – “has just told me that you are free to go.”

He glared at Greening. “I don’t expect you to apologize to her, but I would appreciate you returning to Mrs. Talbot everything of her property that was removed from her car.”

“I’ll get the box,” the policewoman said. “Her suitcases are still in the trunk.”

“Where are my keys?” Destiny asked.

“I have them,” said the policewoman. “Back in a moment.”

“Mrs. Talbot, I’ll drive you to the hotel,” Francis said. “Jorge will follow in your car. I’ll have one of our staff bring him back to the station later to pick up his car. While you are with us, we’ll have your car thoroughly inspected and have all repairs done to avoid a recurrence of this kind of petty trouble-making by law enforcement.”

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

Francis kept the speed limit through every turn on the way back to the Abduction Company. He called Mistress Stephanie to give her the good news about Mistress Destiny. He pushed a button on his steering wheel to end the call. The engine of his black German sedan purred a little louder as they reached the crest of a hill.

Destiny put her phone back in her purse. “Thank-you, Francis for what you’ve just done for me. I called my Toronto lawyer, told him to stay home. How did you or Stephanie know I had been arrested?”

“We have our sources.” Francis winked.

Destiny nodded. “I’m still represented by the law company I was with prior to the Supreme Court.” Her hands shook. “I could use a drink.”

“We’ll be there soon enough.”

“Sorry, I’m having flashbacks to the day we were busted. Fifteen cops invaded Terri-Jean’s house. This big motherfucker of a cop, grabbing Terri-Jean, punching her hard on the side of her head over and over and then throwing her on the couch. The mistresses in the house: we were all strip-searched. We had a body-guard but what would one guy have been able to do? We were mostly dressed for various scenarios and they weren’t going to let us change before they took us to jail and then a court appearance in Richmond Hill.”

“Were you in the end, allowed to change clothes?”

“Yeah, some cop relented and said Terri-Jean could dress for court and then I was allowed to change too. The clients either got ticketed or served with an order to appear in court. They got to go home. Our bodyguard got sent home. He called my lawyer and Terri-Jean’s lawyer right away.  The bust was in the afternoon and Terri-Jean and I were taken to jail. We all ended up in court the next day. We had spoken to our lawyers by then. We both got bail.”

“But what an ordeal! The cops took out half the furniture and all sorts of things that had no relation to the business of the house. Some of the cops were getting their jollies playing with whips and wigs and whatnot. Sitting on Teri-Jean’s throne and pretending to dominate each other. I saw two of the male cops humping each other, in full uniform, on the orders of a third one. And all the shouting and ordering people around:  sit down, shut up, don’t call a lawyer. It seemed to go on forever. Twice I saw cops arguing with each other about whether whipping was legal or not. Whether we were doing sexual things there or not. I can tell you. There was no prostitution, no sexual contact going on there, but in the end the charge was “keeping a common bawdy house.”

“They used one pair of handcuffs on me and Terri-Jean. They took us out and the street was lined with police cars, forensic vans, and moving vans. They took our body-guard’s toolbox and his fucking golf clubs. They took my television set. They took the patio furniture out of the back yard.”

“I read Me. Bedford’s book.”

“Sorry. Yeah. I guess you did. That was a close call back there. Thank God you came. Bless you Francis.”

“Happy to help you Evelyn. Jorge and me, we’re on your side. Stephanie too. We’re all in this together. So what brings you to Abduction Company this weekend? Special seminar perhaps? Just to see old friends?”

Destiny paused, remembering Martin and Melody. She wasn’t sure if Francis knew them. “Stephanie invited me. I just wanted to talk about maybe doing some work for the company. Some consulting, maybe a little teaching. Tell me Francis, when you’re not springing kinksters out of jail, what do you do? You don’t just sit at home and trade stocks, do you?”

“No. I’m with one of the big banks. My academic background is the law: financial, regulatory and constitutional law. Long time ago.” Francis passed her his business card.

They pulled up to the grand entrance of the Abduction Company. Francis escorted her to the front desk. They gave her one of the best rooms; her reservation had been upgraded by Stephanie. Destiny would stay on the third floor, at the opposite end of the hall from a room occupied by Stephanie, during the months she lived there. The porter showed her all the amenities and offered her a complimentary bottle of champagne. As Francis let himself out, Stephanie called.

“It’s been years since you visited us. So many changes around here. Let’s get a drink together. Meet you in an hour at the bar? The Ball and Chainis on the first floor, towards the south side. You remember?” Indeed, Destiny did remember. She remembered all the names of all the properties in the Ill-Repute chain they used to jointly own.

++++++++++++++++++++

Destiny couldn’t shake the dread she had felt when she was yanked from her car and handcuffed. She tried to focus. This is a lovely room.Abduction Company isa luxury hotel now, she thought. Ill-Repute has become a freakin’ hospitality centre.

She flipped through pages on the company website; there was an endless selection of services, both kinky and practical. There were doctors and a dentist’s office on site!  The range of shopping was impressive. She wondered about the annual operating expenses for this branch.  How to begin? How to find Mole, my ace-in-the-hole, my key to staying ahead of these computer systems? How to find Martin? What will I say, when I see him?

Magda would be the easiest to contact. But how?  Mistress Magda was listed on the staff index page and by clicking a link she could send her a note. Alternatively, Destiny had Magda’s cell number. But she couldn’t just call her. Not from this room, inside the company’s cellular zone. Mole had warned her the likelihood of calls, texts, or emails being intercepted was high. Magda had always called Destiny from her cottage, fifteen miles west of here, on the waters of Georgian Bay.

Destiny wasn’t certain communications within AbductCo. were monitored – they wouldn’t have enough staff for that. Mole had said devices within AbductCo. did not connect directly to cell towers. Rather, incoming and outgoing traffic was first passed through AbductCo’s equipment. Many client phones were blocked; some clients knew this. Many did not.

The bracelet she’d been given at the front desk lay like a shiny black shadow on her dresser. She hadn’t put it on or paired it to her phone; phones and bracelets could be tracked. Mole had visited Destiny in Mississauga a month ago, when the plan for Martin was put together. Later, Destiny had visited Magda and Mole at Magda’s cottage. Mole was a technical engineer at Abduction Company. Like several others in the organization he thought the bracelets to be bad technology and bad ethically. Surveilling clients and employees seemed to violate their rules about consent. When Magda introduced him to Destiny, he listened to Destiny’s desire to return to the company and suggested a plan to subvert a few of the bracelets. Martin’s bracelet could be disrupted with custom software Mole had written. If necessary, Melody’s bracelet could be disrupted too. The software would be deeply embedded in the operating code and self-erasing. Mole said for its brief lifespan, the software could be made quite viral, a few little edits in the code could make it leap from bracelet to bracelet, given close enough proximity.

Destiny wondered if that had that happened? Had Melody and Martin been in close enough to each other, at any time?

The plan was for Magda to contact Destiny when she arrived. Magda had carried out the Martin abduction, with Mistress Blaise. At least that had gone like clockwork. Destiny rubbed her wrists, remembering the grip of the police handcuffs in Breviston.

Destiny had told Mistress Stephanie she only wanted Martin to pay the few thousand dollars he owed her. But lately she realized she also had to tell Martin what she’d never had the nerve to say during his eight paid visits to her. That she (Martin’s kinky mistress) had had a long-term relationship with Martin’s father that went far beyond kink.

Conrad had never told his son about her, she was sure. Martin was barely a teenager when Destiny met his father. Martin had spent months away from home: Conrad had enrolled him in the country’s most exclusive private school. Thereafter, he went to the finest American universities. Martin had enjoyed several long summer excursions to Europe and South America. Backpacking with friends, visiting distant relations.

Destiny wanted Martin to help her get some kind of ownership stake in AbductCo., at least to the level of authority Mistress Stephanie had. Destiny had heard there were financial problems at AbductCo. and Stephanie was trying to split the Ontario branch off from the global organization. For Martin to remain useful, he had to not submit entirely to Stephanie, Francis (Number Two) and whatever their financial plan was. Destiny had a claim on the company through her original partnership with Stephanie. She’d been bought out for peanuts and was entitled to more.

Was Martin still on the premises? He was a bright kid. Mole was even brighter. Martin would learn what AbductCo. was, whether enslaved or if he had free run of the place. Destiny hoped her relationship with Martin – such as it was – was still stronger than Stephanie’s after seven days. Stephanie was a busy woman; Destiny figured she wouldn’t have had more than one session with the young man.

In case she was wrong – and Stephanie had kept Martin with her every day since he’d arrived – Destiny arranged for Melody to be abducted and set loose in AbductCo. Simply knowing Melody was nearby, and that she might be trying to find him, would scramble any financial relationship (or plans for such) that Stephanie might have for Martin. Mistress Magda had promised to let Martin know Melody was there, if she got the opportunity.

Abducting Melody had also removed from circulation the one person most likely to report Martin as missing. Someone had to tell Martin that Melody was there. Perhaps Mole could do it: Mole, who seemed capable of everything, and staying undercover.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + +

Last year, it hadn’t taken Mistress Destiny long to realize there was trouble when Martin stopped calling for sessions. As it was, she would watch him depart and she would wonder every time, whether this would be the last time she would see him. Had she had misjudged his interest in kink? Or had he simply exchanged her for a younger woman? She’d told her bodyguard on more than one occasion: “Somewhere there’s a younger woman who gives him his kicks for free.” A month after he stopped calling, she hired a private detective to follow Martin Porter. What he discovered was eye-opening.

Melody Throckmortense had entered his life. The more she learned about the young, vigorous girl, the more her heart ached. Each picture of her the detective produced, hurt like a needle, pushed below the skin.

Destiny also needed money. She didn’t have to be in company management. She could be an instructor, a consultant here, if Stephanie would have her.  Get out of Toronto for once and for all.  Conrad had promised to take care of her, to include her in his will. The detective found a copy of Conrad’s death certificate, power-of-attorney, and will. Conrad had omitted his relationship with Destiny entirely. She hesitated to launch a lawsuit to challenge the will because the Supreme Court judgement had – at that time – just become public. She had been exonerated on charges dating back to 1994, but she, as well as Terri Jean had been momentarily thrust back into the spot-light. To challenge the will, to legally dispute Martin’s inheritance of Conrad’s business assets and personal wealth would draw media attention and make her look like a gold-digger. She tried to not feel bitter. So many intimate years with Martin’s father, especially after Martin’s mother had died.

Her dream was to visit Abduction Company with Martin at her side, outside of any role play. She wanted to retire from the pro-domme business, but she needed some kind of financial stability, beyond appearing at weekend conferences and signing photographs. The internet was making kink more public. New players were appearing, crowding the market for Destiny’s expertise. Martin was one of the last  new clients she had acquired.

And how he resembled his father! She had been more affectionate with him than she should have. She had been in love with his father. One of her cardinal rules. Broken twice. Seeing Martin leave her house after a session, in the suit he wore to work made her proud. One smiling look of appreciation and a kiss from him at the end of a session did wonders for her soul, her confidence. He could take the sting out of her loss of Conrad.

She was on the “Education” page on the AbductCo. website. Perhaps one of the professors would know if one could be genetically disposed to kink. She closed her laptop and got up from the bed. She would freshen up. She wanted that drink Stephanie was offering.

Martin had not meant to lead Destiny on by talking about a kidnapping to augment a session. Destiny could see that submission was something he did not really understand. He had suggested several times that he wanted to tie her up. She would have no part of that. Her biggest mistake had been to attribute to the son, some of the wisdom of his father.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“You sleep well?” asked Antonio. “That was fabulous what you did for Portia last night. Did her the world of good. Thank-you.”

“You’re welcome. I think.” Martin laughed, “She trussed me up and kept me on a narrow cot at the foot of her bed. It wasn’t my best night of sleep, but she let me loose just after 2 a.m. and sent me down to the spare room. I slept after that.”

Antonio and Portia had prepared a sumptuous breakfast. Antonio seemed particularly affectionate, hugging and kissing her. Portia pushed him away.  “Not in front of our guest!”  She went to the toaster oven and fetched some warm bread. “Martin told me last night he really was abducted. And so was his girl-friend. They both came here through arranged abductions. I’m not sure if they’ve broken up or not. Isn’t that wild?”

Antonio nodded. He returned to his place at the table. “I have to look something up.” He began tapping on his laptop.

“I never said we’d broken up,” said Martin. “Mistress Stephanie is keeping us apart. That’s how it looks to me. You see there’s this professional domme named Destiny. She has a place near where I live, and I’d been seeing her all through last year. And then I met this girl, Melody. Anyway, I think the professional domme is the one who got me abducted. I have to find out why, of course. It’s been fun, sort of, but it was not at a time of my choosing. And on top of that, my girl-friend is a prisoner here. Which is really freaky. I mean was Destiny jealous of Melody? Kind of looks that way.”

Antonio interjected. “How old is Melody?”

“Twenty-five.”

“How old is Mistress Destiny?”

“I don’t know. Older than middle-aged. Terrifically threatening and a great dominatrix. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t figured it out.“ Martin began to eat the bacon and scrambled eggs on his plate.

Antonio looked back to his laptop. “All hands will be working on the young trees we had delivered yesterday. Portia darling, Martin has to have a new name. I have given him one. From now on he is Laurence Bassiano. On the printer in my study, I have produced an employee identification number, badge, lanyard, and employee photograph for the new guy. Remember, he’s now Laurence. You, Martin. I’ve added you (as Laurence), as a new hire in the employee database.” Antonio rose from his chair and went down the hall to retrieve the identification documents.

“How does he do that?” Martin asked. “He’s not in HR.”

“No but he’s the former head of Information Technology. And their systems are old. He was in charge when they were installed.”

Martin watched Portia clear the pans from the stove top. “Let me wash those.”

“No, you finish your breakfast. You’ll need a good meal to get you through the day. We can do these other things when we get home. By the way, you look good in those clothes.” She had provided him with a fresh T-shirt, new cotton briefs, and men’s shorts. Overtop, he wore a new gardener’s jumpsuit. “Do they fit o.k.?”

Antonio returned and inserted a new employee i.d. badge into the flap on the Martin’s chest. Portia rolled her wheelchair to him and beckoned him to bend over. “Just got to check the spelling!” She giggled. “I dub thee Laurence! Our new friar!”  She laughed out loud. “Friar Laurence!”

Antonio asked, “Yesterday as you left the main building, did you see a girl on display in one of the windows? Did you look behind you as you left?” Martin had not.

“I’m sure you were in a hurry. However, on my way home from work, about five p.m. –– before you barged into my snare at our storage yard – I saw a naked girl splayed inside a twelfth-floor window. Very high up. I had my binoculars and I was far enough away to see her. Was she in danger? It seemed very odd. I rummaged through my cart to get my camera and laptop and set them up. Then I had to look up her room number based on the position of the window on that side of the building. I have some floor plans for the building. Of course, when I looked back, she was gone. I couldn’t tell if someone had released her or if they had simply pulled the blind.”

“Don’t forget the time, my pet,” said Portia. “The crew will expect us at the east gate to let them in. Plus, we have to inspect the saplings that were delivered.“

Antonio nodded. “I’ll be brief. Last night, I couldn’t sleep. It was one in the morning. I went out to the main building again. By now I had learned the name of the occupant. It was a cloudless sky, full of stars. Very few lights shining, anywhere. Except for that room. The curtain was open, the light was on, and the girl was back, in the same position. To me, she seemed like a sign, a glowing angel in the sky, a human star among all the celestial sources of light.”

“You have her room number?” asked Martin.

“I have her name too. It’s Melody Throckmortense.” Martin leaned back in his chair and put his hands over his eyes. He groaned.

Portia reached across and gripped his elbow. “It’s o.k. I’m sure she’s alright.”

Antonio added, “Martin. We are your refuge. But we live at distance from the intrigues of the castle. We are gardeners. A cunning, rebellious lot. We work for the enterprise, but we owe no loyalty to Queen Stephanie, its ruler.”

Martin seemed not to have heard. “Laurence!” Martin did not react.

“Martin!”

Martin straightened in his chair and lowered his hands. Antonio swiveled the laptop so Martin could see the screen. “Look here. I took a picture. Not a sharp one, perhaps.” Martin wiped tears from his cheek. It was Melody. He could tell from her posture, despite the picture’s graininess.

“Is that your girl?” Portia asked. Martin nodded.

“And is this too, her picture? I found it in my latest download of selected parts of the company database.”  The second image was also inconclusive. Martin thought it might have been taken from the live-stream of Mistress Blaise’s rope tutorial.

Martin sat in the back seat of the golf cart, Portia and Antonio up front. Portia’s wheelchair had been collapsed and placed on a rack at the back. They let the other gardeners in at the gate and these additional three took bicycles from the stands and set off for the yard where new trees had been delivered yesterday. Antonio drove to a warehouse door. A forklift was waiting for them. Portia used her crutches to bridge herself over from the golf cart to the forklift. She fired up the machine. Antonio and Martin loaded a large bin of shovels and other tools onto its forks. Once the bin was tethered to the forklift, and the forks raised, Portia headed to the planting area. The trees were to go southwest of a new structure near the crest of a hill.

“What’s this new building?”

“A kind of church.” Antonio said drily.

“In this hotbed of sex and depravity?”

Antonio laughed. “Yes, Laurence. I would like to call you by your false name, Laurence Bassanio. Just for the practice of it. As for the church, some clients who grew up in religious families enjoy a session tinged with the iconography of their youth. The stained glass, the ceremonial aspects of a church service, the mindlessness of repetitions as punishment. Organized play for groups. Confessions and corrupt priests. It was Mistress Stephanie’s idea to build church. She wants to hold weddings! New staff will be hired for these roles. It’s not a bad idea. It honours the ceremonial aspects of BDSM.”

“The building looks close to finished.”

“Yes, the walls are up, the wiring and the windows are in, and the roof is on. Probably another few weeks before it’s ship-shape and ready to sail. I think Head Mistress will perform a consecration ceremony. The Cathedral of Sin.”

Martin joined the workmen digging holes and unloading the trees. The tree roots had been bagged in burlap and the trees were placed in the ground with the bags still attached. At this point a gardener, would reach into the hole and cut away as much of the bag as possible. Then top-soil was used to refill the hole, and cedar chips were piled around the trunk of each sapling. Lastly, Antonio would bring the water truck and give each tree a good dousing. The sun shone, everyone worked up a sweat.

“What are those?”  Three large wooden appliances lay on the grass, wrapped in bubble wrap and tight plastic.

Antonio stopped the hose and the noise of the truck engine was cut in half. “You see the high point of land, just there? We are making a line of saplings. Then a large gap, and then the line of saplings on the other side.” Martin nodded. “These three crosses will go there.”

“Crosses?”

“Yes. Look closely.”

“People will be crucified on these?”

“For a short period of time. Consensually of course.”

Martin broke into a wide grin. “Who gets to play Jesus?”

“Not me. Does that kind of thing appeal to you?”

“What a bunch of perverts!”

“Now, now. Don’t be judging other people’s kinks. Though I will say, it is my opinion you have to have a lot of nerve to pretend to be The Saviour of Mankind. But yeah, it’s fun. People have such crazy ideas. Wonderful ideas I mean.”

Martin pointed at the crosses and then at himself.

“No, we won’t install them. Maintenance will do it. They have the vertical digger on one of their backhoes, to sink the holes to sufficient depth. Crosses will be set twelve feet below the ground. And they’ll use concrete to keep them into place.”

Martin walked up the sloping hill. Three white X marks had been spray painted on the hill. Martin came back. Antonio had turned off the engine of the water truck and got out of the cab. “Surveyors put the marks on the grass?”

Antonio nodded. He leaned to Martin’s ear. “You’ll be paid for every day you work with us. You’re on the payroll with a new employee number and an old social insurance number.”

Martin laughed at how easily the strange, the mundane, and the ironic came together at The Abduction Company.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Housekeeping sent a butler to serve Melody breakfast in her room. He said very little but as Melody pointed to each dish, he uncovered it. Melody had showered and dressed in her usual casual choices: a vest, T-shirt, jeans, socks and sneakers. She was hungry too. Fifteen minutes later, Amber knocked and entered. She too, was dressed in T-shirt and jeans.

Melody wiped her hands on a linen cloth and stared . “Stealing my look, I see.”

“What? What are you looking at? I wore these because I don’t imagine I’ll get to keep them on much of the day.” Amber was in trouble as a result of the surprising assault by the cross-dresser. Melody had recognized Martin under all the feminine subterfuge, but she didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry for Amber.

The butler ordered them both to stand facing the long cabinet against the wall. From behind, he fastened, then locked steel collars to each girl’s neck and connected a vertical steel pole to a coupling built into each collar. Each pole descended to their wrists. Melody and Amber were handcuffed, and the connecting links were attached to the end of each pole with a steel hasp. Chain leashes were attached to the girls’ collars in front. The butler from Housekeeping took data control of each girl’s black electronic bracelet with a wave of his cell phone. Finally, he said, “I am Sir Stephen. Younger than the character in  The Story of O, but named for him.”

Melody looked quizzically at Amber. “It’s a novel. I’ll lend you my copy.”

He handed each girl the end of her chain leash to hold behind them. “I’ll escort you to and from Product Design for as long as you are working there. I’ll also be attending you in your room. Amber, from now on, you’ll be sleeping here, in a separate bed from Melody’s. For the duration of your demotion.” He escorted them from Melody’s suite, locked the door behind them, and took back their leashes. Each girl focused on his sinewy fingers, that held the chains to their collars. Melody and Amber walked side-by-side and at a pace to match his, towards the elevator.

“Oooh. Someone’s been demoted from my superior to my equal. Once a maid, now a worthless slave.”

“Oh, shut up. It was all your fault. You and your sissy boyfriend,” Amber said. “Just for that, I won’t lend you my copy of  The Story of O.”

Sir Stephen looked over his shoulder. “Quiet, girls! I expect good manners and proper deportment at all times.” He reduced the slack between his hand and their collars. Each had to break stride to compensate. They now walked closer behind him.

The elevator was crowded. Melody felt she and Amber were the centre of attention. Stephen had arranged them standing face to face in one corner; their breasts rubbed against each other as new passengers boarded at the lower floors and crowded in. After emerging on the second floor, Stephen urged them, from behind, towards the office of Product Development and Design.

Melody had been chosen to model a new line of leather restraints and accessories for the next catalogue. She was led into the photographer’s studio, a bare, warm room with white walls and an excess of light. Her handcuffs and collar were removed. She was told to remove all her clothes, which after some hesitation and gazing around for confirmation, she did.

The assistant to the photographer decided Melody’s vulva needed to be shaved again as her stubble was starting to grow in. And her eyebrows were too thick. She was shuffled into an adjoining room where a make-up artist was just finishing work on a guy Melody judged to be her own age. After the male model was discharged, Melody was told to sit in a reclining chair. Her legs were strapped into long leg rests. The stylist apologized as she put her hand on a lever, out of sight. “I have to part your legs and hold them there. Won’t take long. The shaving has to be pretty exact.”

There was a knock at the door. Without waiting for a reply, a woman in a white lab coat swept in. “Good morning, Sonia. She’s ready? Good.” Grooming tools, shaving soap and a razor were produced. Hot water ran in the sink. The cosmetician laid hot wet towels over Melody’s vulva and upper thighs. After a few seconds she peeled back the towels, lathered her skin, and began to work on Melody’s most intimate parts with a small straight razor. There was a minimum of small talk. Melody looked away and blushed continuously.

“Never been pierced down here?” Her latex-gloved fingertip touched her outer labia.

“Never wanted to,” Melody said, glumly.

Rather quickly, her pussy shaving and the primping of her labia was done. The stylist raised Melody upright and urged her to look straight forward as she worked on her face. The first task was to be pluck, thin, and shape Melody’s eyebrows. The cosmetician packed up her toolkit and left with a breezy, “Bye sweetie. You look much better now.”

As the door closed behind her, Melody asked, “Can you PLEASE release my legs?”

“Sorry. We find the leg restraints just speed things up.” The stylist wound the leg extensions to the chair back together and unstrapped Melody’s legs. “Don’t jump up, o.k.? I’m just at a delicate part here with your eyes.”

Someone else barged in, this time without knocking. Melody covered her groin with her hands. It was the photographer’s assistant, a bosomy woman, who seemed overdressed in silks of clashing colours. “How long?” she demanded.

“Give me twenty minutes,” the stylist said. “What does Carl want for make-up? Is she going to be modeling head-coverings, blindfolds, gags? Does he want a wig for her, or are we going to colour her hair?” The stylist made small talk with the assistant. Then the assistant left.

“How long have your worked at AbductCo. . . . er, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.“

“Sorry. Sonia is my name,” the stylist said with a faint Polish or Russian accent. “Almost two years. Good work, good wages here. Didn’t have to move to Toronto to get into the Canadian beauty business.”

The stylist called one of the photographers. “Annabelle!”

Annabelle fetched the other photographer, Carl. They (along with Sonia) discussed Melody’s hair and nails. They pointed out various features, such as her slightly upturned nose, the breadth of her cheekbones, her very slightly cleft chin.  As if I wasn’t here.  Finally, Carl and Annabelle left, and the stylist began working on her eyebrows.

“Melody. My name is Melody.”

“That’s a pretty name. Are you a musician?”

Melody shook her head. “I was kidnapped four days ago. Half the time they keep me prisoner in my room spread open on a beastly steel frame. One is around my bed; another is set up by the window.”

The stylist kept working on her as if this was the most normal thing she had heard all week. “That’s why they call this The Abduction Company. Lots of people get kidnapped.”

“No, you don’t understand. I really was kidnapped. It wasn’t some kind of game, something I arranged in advance.”

“Sure. Sure,” said the stylist. “All sorts of unspeakable things have been done to you since you arrived. Carl said he wants you to have blonde highlights in your hair and this shade of purple lipstick. I think it’s too much, too dark for you. The lipstick I mean. What do you think?”

“You’re going to dye my hair?”

“Not all of it, I’ll just add some highlights.”

Melody was used to beauty salons where stylists listened to clients. This clearly wasn’t one of them. “I don’t really care. Do what you want. After being a rope dummy in front of two hundred people yesterday, and after being paraded around the halls and elevators of AbductCo. like a dog on a leash by a stranger from Housekeeping, I no longer have an opinion on anything. It’s just my fucking hair!”

“OK, sweetie. Try to stay calm.”

Melody’s hair was washed, then dyed for twenty minutes, and then washed and styled again. Her fingernails and toes received a fresh layer of purple nail polish. Her eyebrows continued to be a source of concern. Sonia seemed to return to them again and again. Her face was gradually made up. The lipstick WAS excessive. Melody hated how the foundation and blush on her cheeks. Like a clown.

But when she was finally led out into the main studio and presented to Carl, he seemed pleased. “Good work, Sonia. We have a line of white leather gags, blindfolds, bits, and pony bridles for you, Melody. That purple lipstick will work really well with them. By the way, I love your tan. You travel much?”

Melody nodded. She was a travel agent, she wanted to say, then she remembered she wished to remain uncooperative.

“We’ll do a series of close ups here with the white background,” Carl continued. “I’d like to try some shots outdoors too. The light outdoors is close to perfect right now. We have a table set up for you to model on. And the white cuffs for your ankles, wrists, and neck. Perfect.” He walked off and began talking to a couple of people about lighting and cameras.

The stylist helped her dress in the ankle and wrist cuffs. She gave her a pair of slippers. “Later they’re going to do a video, less than a minute in total. We’ll be running the ad on various cable channels (adult and travel-themed) and streaming websites. The plot is very simple, your boyfriend comes in with a large luxury bag, you pull out the various parts of the purple ensemble, he puts them on you and then he approaches you in a tender, masculine manner. He carries a whip and a gag. You open for him like a flower. Don’t worry. It will be totally painless. No penetration. We’ll make it look like you are in for some exciting, romantic love-making.”

“Can I meet my new boyfriend?“

Sonia laughed. “That’s the spirit. You’re a natural. You saw him as you came in. I had just finished his make-up.” She pointed. “There he is.” The male model was wearing a terry-towel robe and joking with two other men across the room. He was tall and fit. His hair was sleek and black, his shoulders well-muscled. Melody figured it would be a miracle if he turned out to be smart and capable of acting, as well as handsome.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Amber was assigned to help the designers of the Confession Box. It was full of electronics and accessories of torment that could reach the prisoner inside from the either the ceiling, walls, or the floor. Three heavy steel bolts served to seal the door closed. At present, it was wide open.

“Interrogation, anyone?” Amber knew the director, Gabriella Jonnell. “There you are sweetheart! Thank-you so much for volunteering.” She introduced the four technicians who would be testing the device.

“We have two chairs – a wooden one and one of black brushed steel. They are both compatible with the Confession Box. Stimulus devices can enter from below, from above, and from the left and right. Not from the front or back.”

“The chairs. OK. Either chair can be mounted on a track, so the victim faces the front, and is rolled backwards into the box. Then the interrogation, or confession can begin. The majority of the stimulus will come from below, moving plugs or dildos, vibrators, electrical stims and so on. Most of the electronics and wiring are worked into the walls and ceiling as are the sensors. Climate controls are here . . . “she pointed to a series of boxes along the outside of the box, on the right. “This is for air temperature, humidity, fans, etc. This one is for various shock treatments or continuous electrical stimulations. This one is for fluids.” She paused, as if trying to remember something. “This one turns the lights on and off. I’m kidding. It’s a little more sophisticated than that. It’s a dimmer switch!  Oh, I should say the front door can be a sliding panel that rises up or down on a winch, if the buyer has a facility with a high ceiling, or the customer can order a traditional confession booth door that opens on hinges positioned on the right side. Cute little white knob for a door handle, eh?”

“Very cute,” said Amber, sarcastically.

“The wooden chair we have for you today is a licenced copy of a restraint chair from Serious Bondage. The leather straps are exquisite and the user (or victim, if you prefer) can mostly strap themselves in place and activate the snap-pulley straps for the wrists as the last step in a self-bondage scene.”

“Today, we’re going to put you in the chair and roll you into the booth backwards. Get some first impressions from you and give the whole rig a little shake-down. There’s a communications system, a tablet screen and speakers inside through which your dom or priest can speak to you and you to him, if you are ungagged or permitted to speak of course. There is also an air supply monitoring and quality system. Amber, we’re not going to ask you to take off any clothes today. We aren’t doing anything intrusive.”

There was a cushion to protect her bum from the relentless pressure of the flat hardwood seat. “We have a variety of other seat designs. Elevated metal strips so the flesh hangs through. A wooden seat that allows full access to your ass and vagina. We also have a seat that slides in with nasty wooden spikes pointing up into your legs and gluteus maximus,” continued Gabriella.

Amber sat on the cushion. They collared her with a two-and-a-half-inch band of leather. They put a leather harness around her head. Her legs were strapped across the thighs where they crossed the seat. Her forelegs were strapped in two places, the legs were comfortably apart, though pinned snugly to the lower part flat surface of the chair front. Her arms were strapped above the elbows to the back of the chair. Amber toyed with the loops for her wrists.

One of the female techs assisted her. “Put your hands through the loops. You see they are very loose, very easy to get into.” She slid Amber’s black identification bracelet up her forearm, as far as it would go. She held the bracelet so it would not slide back. “Now jerk your wrists upwards at the same time and watch what happens.”

Amber did so and her wrists were snapped down, as if suddenly gripped by a machine. The feeling of her wrists pinned to the armrests was not unpleasant. It was frightening, however. She was truly helpless. She struggled against the downward force. She tried to straighten one of her wrists so it would lie flat on the armrest.

“Loosen the wrist tension a little, Charlie,” called Gabriella, observing the results. Hands reached in to hold Amber’s hand. The leather band was pulled up and back a little. Amber now had both hands flat on their armrests. “We should take your bracelet off.”

“It’s o.k. It’s just a little tight. Still comfortable up there. Behind these wrist things.”

Straps went about her torso as well. For these, there were no buckles at the front. The tension was manually controlled behind her. She felt the restriction on her chest and lower belly. “Yes, this can be a form of breath control,” said Gabriella. “Charlie, give her a half inch more room, especially on the upper chest,” she said to the tech behind the chair.

The chair back was narrow but long, extending up to the top of Amber’s head. The final step was to clip the top of her head harness to the top of the chair-back with a short chain. As soon as Charlie emerged from the behind the chair, they slid Amber – on the rails – back into the box. A small light above her head came on.

Amber could no longer look down. Her face was pointed slightly upwards, due to the chain from her head harness. “Notice the rubber lining around the edges of the door and the front frame of the box where the door closes? This provides an air seal. Your dom can introduce any substance into the air they want. Diethyl ether, laughing gas, whatever. They can also restrict circulation, as a kind of breath play. The box has a sophisticated sensor system that monitors all the conditions inside, including your heart rate, any sounds you make. It’s better than a second pair of eyes watching over you and if there are any emergency situations the computer will use its artificial intelligence to notify the dom and immediately modify the situation, so you aren’t in danger.”

“Here is your communication tablet. Here you will see whatever your dom wants you to see. In confession mode you will see your dom’s face and he will see yours. He can, of course, conceal his face from you with the flick of a switch. Or show any kind of image he wants or play any kind of sound. The tablet is positioned here, inside, and just above the door because we knew your head would be pulled back. Can you speak? Amber, say something.”

“Peter pumpkins, here I am? Testing one, two . . . ”

“Good. Obviously, occupants can be gagged or blindfolded or both, but for this test we want you to talk to us. I’m going to shut the door now and we will go through a few tests. Michael? Did you hear Amber’s voice?”

“Loud and clear!” Michael’s voice came through the speakers inside the box, though she could also hear him through the open door. “Can you hear me fine Amber?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.

“You can call me Michael.” Voices laughed in the larger workshop test zone. Gabriella backed out of the box and straightened up. “Shutting the door now, sweetie. Good luck.”

The door closed and Amber felt her confinement immediately. The light above her head started to dim. It seemed warmer. Just as she started to enjoy it, it went off. The darkness was total. Amber’s fear rose like something physical. She remembered her mother sending her to the basement for some potatoes when she was seven years old. The night before she had been watching an old horror movie on TV: The Invisible Man. Her older brother turned off the light switch at the top of the stairs and slammed the door she’d just passed through. She was unable to get back into the kitchen. Amber pounded on the door. Her brother held it shut against her and laughed. When her mother came back down from the second floor and heard her daughter’s screaming from the basement, her brother got the royal punishment, pulled ears, a strapping with her father’s belt, and he was grounded for three days. It wasn’t his first offence.

Amber’s breath came in short gasps. She felt the straps tighten around her torso. She felt electric shocks on her right forearm. They weren’t gentle, like someone warming her up before moving on to the higher voltages.

“Hey! Cut that out! Too much!”

Someone was rattling on the confession box door handle in front of her. The tablet Gabriella had said was her communication interface to her dom, had never come on. She was in total darkness. She screamed. The tablet began to flicker, then it lit up but showed nothing but a pattern of colour bars. Despite the soundproofing of the box, she heard a couple of heavy thumps. The AbductCo. bracelet was burning. She screamed again. The sound of heavy static poured out of the sound system. The volume of unorganized data sounded like a hailstorm.

The chaos seemed to go on forever. Why wouldn’t they release her? It was the longest minute of Amber’s life. Suddenly, it all stopped. Only her bracelet continued to burn her arm. She was afraid she was scarred. The light above her head came on. One of the door bolts was shifted with a blow from a hammer. The other two bolts were loosened. The door flew open.

“Ugh, get my company bracelet off me now! Burning me. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“We’ve notified all the names that are registered authorities over that device.”

Gabriella put her hand on the bracelet. Amber’s flesh was cool to the touch. The bracelet itself was slightly warm – and it should have been cool to the touch – but Amber’s skin was not marked either.

A tech named Yang reached in with his cell phone and tried to pair his device to her bracelet. “My phone can communicate with it.” He squinted at the screen of his phone and tapped it rapidly, eight times. He reached in again and laid his phone right on the bracelet. There was a heavy hum. Amber couldn’t tell if it came from the phone or the bracelet. Suddenly, the bracelet popped off. Yang took it and held it up to the light in the lab. “It’s the newest model. It still shouldn’t have done that.”

Gabriella took command. “Guys. Roll her out of the box. Finish releasing her from the chair, once you get her out here, in the lab.” Amber’s head harness was removed. Another tech was undoing all the straps that held her legs in the chair.

After a minute Yang and Gabriella addressed the other techs and Amber. “It appears the bracelet was interfering with the sensor and AI systems in the box. Procedurally, it’s possible that no user of the box, no one inside the box, should ever wear these kinds of bracelets.”

“What about outside the box? Can the sensors be disrupted by a dom’s wrist band?”

“Doubtful. The controls are outside. The box has a good deal of shielding built into it separating controls from any inside microwave activity. It’s the sensor array inside that is malfunctioning. The sensors, obviously, cannot be shielded. Amber, I’m sorry but we lost control of the system there, for a moment, just as it was powering up for the first test. We’ve called IT to look at your bracelet. Something is wrong with it. But your skin was not burned. You just had the sensation of burning.” Yang held up a box and shook it. Amber’s bracelet rattled around inside. “Quarantined,” he announced.

“We’re cancelling the rest of the test for today. We have to investigate. If everything checks out, we’ll have you come back tomorrow to test again. Actually, one of us will do half the testing tomorrow while you watch. If you’re comfortable after that and if all goes well, we can do what we were hoping to do today.”

“Am I free to go?” Amber looked at her right wrist. No bracelet. No mark on her arm. Just her memory of intense pain. She felt free already.

“Sure,” said Gabriella. “Check in on your cell phone with the dom who brought you.”

Amber began to look for Melody. The photo shoot was in a restricted room.  Melody and Horatio, naked.  She waited in the department lobby. Finally, Melody was released for lunch. Sir Stephen was nowhere to be found, so the girls went to the food court and ordered a Greek salad and a pasta salad. As they ate, Melody said, “Hey no bracelet! What happened to yours?”

“It crapped out when it was exposed to one of the devices in this Confession Box thing they’re building.”

“Sounds serious.”

“I’m sure IT will send me a new bracelet. How’s yours working?” Amber asked.

“Perfect. I don’t even notice it’s there. It’s like it has a little analgesic in it that desensitizes my skin.”

“You going to take off that crazy make-up?”

“No, I have to go back to redo some shots with my new  boyfriend.”

Amber giggled. “I know Horatio. He’s as gay as they come. He’s not even a little bit into women.”

Melody laughed. “Yeah. He was great at keeping distant.” Melody thought of Martin. If there was ever a time she wanted him close, it was now.

Amber let her hand touch Melody’s on the table between them. “Sorry I got all bitchy with you this morning.” She held up both her wrists. “Look, ma! I started the day a slave and by lunch I’m a free woman.”

“You lucky dog,” said Melody. “I understand we’re roommates until your penance is served and you go back to Housekeeping.”

“I’m a lucky little pup,” Amber agreed. She watched Melody wrap her lips around the straw in her drink and return her gaze.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

End of Part Ten

Author Note

In the second scene of this part are elements and phrases – for example, in the conversation between Francis and Destiny about Terri-Jean Bedford and the Bondage Bungalow – adapted from the book Dominatrix on Trialby Terri-JeanBedford. (iUniverse Publishing, 2011). All rights reserved to Terri-Jean Bedford.

Selected passages on the topic of the Supreme Court ruling in 2013 are adapted from the Wikipedia page for the topicCanada (AG) v Bedford (July 2019).