To see the actresses I
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all sides, like glassy cliffs. Amanda squirmed and twisted her
body, continuing to fight both her leather costume and the nylon belts
strapping her to her seat. Mercy Dench continued browsing files
on her iPhone, ignoring Amanda and the passing city. Midday
was heavy, both on the streets and on the wide sidewalks; but vehicles
and pedestrians alike were
journey of several blocks and as many minutes, the La Roque limousine
side street, then stopped at the entrance of a private garage.
barrier arm lifted, and the limo rolled past the usual glass booth with
bored, uniformed attendant.
Continuing to struggle, Amanda watched as they sped past rows
of parked automobiles, then climbed a spiral ramp to pass two more
levels. They pulled onto the fourth level and approached a
heavy gate of horizontal steel slats. Attached to the gate was a
sign bearing a single word:
"PRIVATE". The gate lifted, they drove forward
into a cramped, concrete-walled space, and the gate
rolled down behind. A second gate rolled up in front and they
forward again, this time into a large cage of closely-spaced,
heavy steel bars. The second gate closed, sealing them
There was a security station built into the bars, on the driver's side;
if there was an attendant, Amanda couldn't
tell. The station's glass was as heavily silvered as the
windows of her mobile prison.
The front wall of the cage opened, a signal light
changed from red to green, and they drove forward into yet another
garage. The limo eased past several parked vehicles,
a half-dozen town cars, two more limos, an ambulance, a hearse, and
several vans; then into
an empty space near a bank of elevators.
opened, and she was confronted with a squad of female
figures in helmets and catsuits. The suits were spandex
and leather, with stiff panels and padding that suggested
body armor. The helmets had reflective face shields that
faces. Add to that gloves and knee-length
boots, and Amanda couldn't even tell the race of these "designer
amazons". Each outfit was a different color
rose, sage, oxblood, cyan, etc.); and while the outfits
be completely functional, the overall effect was undeniably elegant,
sexy. The women were equal parts soldier, riot policewoman,
and costumed extra from some futuristic sci-fi movie.
The amazons released Amanda's ankle, lap, and shoulder belts, and
her twisting, squirming, leather-encased body from the
backseat. A gurney was waiting, and Amanda was plunked on the
padded, wheeled table, and strapped down. Mercy Dench strolled
away, without giving Amanda a backwards glance. Another group of
amazons with a second gurney was clustered around the limo's opening
trunk. Amanda assumed they would be releasing Gloria from her
compartment; but before she caught so much as a glimpse of her equally
one of the amazons pinned her head back against the
gurney, and another fitted a scuba-style breathing mask over her
face. The pair secured a series of straps to the rails of the
gurney, and now the mask itself was pinning Amanda's head. Her
upper face had been the last portion of her
exposed to the air, so she was now totally
encased in spandex, rubber, leather, and glass.
She gazed up at her handlers through the thick, clear faceplate, but as
their face plates
all she could see was a distorted reflection of her own desperate eyes.
Amanda became aware of a quiet, hissing sound; then a faint, slightly sweet odor. It's some kind of gas! she
bonds; but it was hopeless... and she was helpless, ten kinds of helpless!
Curiously, her fear was subsiding, until she wasn't frightened at
all... in fact... she was becoming somewhat... giddy. Or maybe I'm only three kinds of helpless,
"reasoned". No, five...
Yes, Amanda decided, five
kinds of helpless. Five is enough. No need to get carried
away. She giggled through her gag. 'Carried away'... I am getting carried away! That
was a good one. She made a mental note to tell the joke to
Gloria... later... after
Amanda tried to clear her thoughts... but the effort was as futile as
her physical struggles. She stared up at the dazzling,
halos surrounding the overhead lights. Pretty! The glamazons were
rolling her gurney
towards the elevators. Glamazons...
yes, they're glamazons! That particular
designation not only fit her catsuited captors perfectly, but was incredibly funny, something else to tell Gloria. Amanda
laugh, but her gag made that inconvenient... so, instead... she closed
eyes and went to sleep.
was very relaxed. She
was lying on her back on some sort of soft,
pillowy surface; and she was naked,
and not restrained in any way. She stretched
her arms and legs, yawned, and squirmed against the mattress, or
padding, or whatever it was that was cradling her body. She
opened her eyes
and beheld a
uniform, blue-green glow. It was a little bright... so she let
eyes fall closed. Her bed was covered by a taut sheet of
some sort of silky cloth... like luxury hotel-grade cotton.
She was neither too hot, nor too cold, but was... just... right; so,
Amanda lay still, and savored the pleasant feeling. One minute
turned into two. There was something she knew she should be
whatever it was, it could wait. She rested a few
more minutes—then her eyes popped open and she sat up.
She'd remembered. She had to escape!
Amanda was in a dimly lit, rectangular cell. Her back was to one
of the shorter walls and her feet projecting into the room. The
was high, about
The shorter walls were each about
fifteen feet in length, and the longer walls between twenty and
ceiling, and all but one
of the walls were milky glass, and shone with a soft, blue-green,
uniform glow, as if every surface of the entire chamber was a
night-light. The non-glowing wall, the long wall on Amanda's
left, was a
featureless mirror. The overall effect was not just severely
spartan, but vaguely futuristic; like the brig of an alien starship,
than a prison cell or dungeon.
She examined her bed. The mattress was a standard
"full-size", and it was on a
Amanda rolled off the bed and knelt on the floor, to look
underneath. The platform had no legs or any other means of
support. It was like a half-built bridge or a cantilevered
deck extending from the wall, and even though that extension was along
the mattress' long dimension, the platform was as solid as a steel
beam. The mattress
was firmly attached, in some manner, as was the
top sheet. The sheet did appear
to be high thread-count cotton, but Amanda could
find no way to remove it, not even a place to grab an
edge and try to rip it free. The sheet
would not be serving as a
toga. For the immediate future, Amanda would remain
in her "birthday suit".
Amanda continued her examination of the cell.
The floor was set with one-inch glass tiles. She could see
narrow metal spacers between the small
alternating in polished silver and copper; and at every point where
four corners of the tiles met,
there was a
tiny glass bead.
She looked up. The ceiling was a grid of two-foot squares,
relieved only by a
pair of ventilation grills, one at each end of the room. The
seams between the tiles were razor-thin. Amanda stood on the bed
jumped, pushing against one of the tiles at the peak of her
trajectory. It didn't
move. In fact, it was rock solid. She surmised this was not a drop ceiling; not a
system of loose tiles lying in metal tracks.
Amanda hopped down from the bed, padded to the center of the chamber
and close to the
mirror-wall, then began examining her
reflection. The dim,
monochromatic lighting was downright eerie.
Nothing in the cell cast a shadow—not the bed, and not
It was almost as if she had been dipped in phosphorescent paint and
She did a slow pirouette. Despite the ghostly light, she could
see that her skin was unmarked. Also, her makeup was
gone, and her hair was clean and tangle-free. Obviously, while
unconscious, she had
been bathed and groomed. She sniffed the
inside of her right wrist, and recognized Lancôme's Téstor.
Her hair was silky, and carried the familiar floral and fruit scent of Tui, her favorite shampoo. It
would seem her captors had gone
her handbag and/or luggage and discovered her preferences in toiletries.
How very thoughtful, Amanda
mused. So, they cleaned me
up. What else did they do?
Her self-examination became more thorough. She noticed her gums
were tingling, like they felt after a teeth-cleaning.
Her fingertips and toes were tingling, as well.
had received a complete manicure and pedicure. Both sets of
had been trimmed, filed, and
frowned. This was the loss of a
professional tool, at least with respect to her fingernails. She
normally kept them slightly long,
filed to a keen edge,
and painted with several coats of clear epoxy, reinforcing their
This make them perfect for picking apart troublesome knots and levering
open the parts of awkwardly positioned buckles and clasps. Now
were uselessly short.
And speaking of short... her pubic hair had been trimmed
to a narrow, slightly elongated patch of dainty curls; and her legs,
thighs, and bikini-region had been waxed. A
quick inspection of her armpits added them to the list.
Well, full points for thoroughness,
Amanda mused—then set about the
obvious, immediate task of finding a way out of her cell.
non-mirrored walls weren't quite as
featureless as she'd initially thought.
Centered on the wall opposite the bed, she found two wire-thin,
embedded in the glass. They were five
feet from the floor and about three feet apart. She placed
her right hand on the right outline, spacing her fingers and thumb to
match its shape. Nothing happened. She pushed. Still
nothing. She placed her left hand in the left outline and
pushed. Nothing. She pushed with both hands. Whatever
purpose the "hands" served, it was a
puzzle with no immediate solution.
The long wall opposite the mirror was guarding its own secret.
Amanda found a double door sized rectangle in the glass. The
if it was a seam, was as
close and razor-thin as the spacing between the ceiling tiles. To
the right of the "door", about four feet off the floor, was another
hand outline. Amanda placed her right hand on the outline, and
this time three things happened in quick succession: (1) the inside of
the hand flashed from blue-green to a bright, kelly-green; (2) there
was a quiet, hydraulic hiss; (3) and the "door" revealed that it was a door by lowering itself into
The space beyond was more a shallow, semicircular alcove than a
room. It was lined with mirrored glass, and centered on the back
wall was a stainless steel commode incorporating a
only other amenity in the "powder room" was a stainless steel drinking
fountain recessed into a niche to one side. All of the controls
were "hands-free", either infrared or motion-sensing technology.
Amanda gave both facilities a quick test. The fountain water was
cool and refreshing; and the lack of toilet paper was offset by the
blood-warm water of the bidet and the warm, gently
blowing air of a built-in dryer.
The ceiling was lower than in the main cell, and had its own
ventilation grill. It was the
same size as the pair in the main cell, but unlike the others, it was a
grid of closely spaced bars set in a solid steel frame. Amanda
could see a latch and a pair of hinges. She stood on the commode
for a closer look, and her hopes were dashed. The pins of the
hinges were protected by steel covers, and it was a good bet the
were recessed inside the
rather substantial frame. The latch
incorporated a cylinder lock, and Amanda could tell at a glance she
wouldn't be opening it without a set of picks. She hopped down
and returned to the main cell. The powder room door rose behind
her and sealed off the alcove.
Suddenly, the glow of the walls, ceiling and floor changed from its
blue-green glow to the dazzling white of full day. At the same
time, the bed
retracted into the wall. A brightly glowing panel snapped into
place, and its rectangular, hairline outline was the only evidence
that the bed even existed.
What now? Amanda
wondered. As if in answer, the entire mirrored wall began sliding
was a second glass wall immediately beyond, separated from the sliding
mirror wall by a fraction of an inch, and this one was
Beyond that was a dark room, roughly the size of Amanda's cell.
Its carpeting was black, as were the drapes covering the three
non-glass walls. Centered in the room and facing Amanda's cell
easy chair, in black leather; and seated in the chair was a
She was blonde, and very attractive,
with strong cheekbones, even features, piercing blue eyes, and
smooth, well-tanned skin. Her hair was cut in a
feathered bob almost
short enough to qualify as a pixie. Silver
sandals graced her feet, and a white, strapless, formal
gown accentuated her narrow waist and the long, well-sculpted muscles
Amanda suppressed a flash of embarrassment. She considered and
discarded the idea of using her arms and
hands to try and protect her modesty. There seemed to be little
point. She strode to the glass wall, faced the blonde newcomer,
and stood, hands on hips, defiant, unashamed, and angry. "And you
would be Petra La Roque?" she demanded.
The blonde's smug, self-satisfied smile never wavered. She
licked her lips before answering. "A strong will.
Excellent. I prefer a challenge. Whining nincompoops
become tiresome very quickly..." She paused to let her gaze
wander over Amanda's body, doing nothing to disguise what Amanda could
only interpret as a prurient interest. "...no matter how
beautiful. And yes, I am Petra
La Roque, your new employer."
"You mean my kidnapper,"
Amanda responded. "I take it the mirror was one-way, and you've
been leering at me, this whole time?"
"Of course," Petra confirmed. "All new employees should expect an
period of evaluation, shouldn't they? Your evaluation has
only just begun."
"Yeah, well, I quit!" Amanda growled. "If you let me go right
now—and Gloria too, of course—I
won't press charges."
Petra laughed. "How very reasonable, but no. I'm afraid you
and your assistant will remain in my employ until such time as I decide
"Bull!" Amanda sneered. "Open this cell, give me back my clothes,
me to Gloria, and—"
"La Roque Internationale has a
strict employee dress code," Petra interrupted, ignoring Amanda's
demands, "and your current
'costume' is the one prescribed for 'Special Apparel
Consultants'. Now, here's what I expect. You shall—"
"I'm not interested in what you 'expect'!" Amanda barked.
"Let us go, right now!"
"You shall follow all my orders and instructions," Petra
continued. "When ordered to move, or to stand
still, or to assume a certain position, you shall do so, without
resistance, and to the best of your ability."
"In your dreams," Amanda scoffed.
Petra's smile became disturbingly sinister. "I have means of compelling your obedience.
For example, I've found pain to be a powerful
persuader; although I confess I don't
particularly enjoy its application. Don't get me wrong. The
occasional half-dozen smacks with a crop or flogger
can be a pleasant diversion; but the restructuring of an employee's
attitude... that's something I leave to others. Mercy has minions
who actually enjoy that sort of thing. They have an extensive bag
of tricks, none of which
permanently mark the skin or damage the anatomy."
Amanda's heart was racing. She suppressed a nervous
swallow and tightened her hands into fists. "You don't scare me,"
Petra laughed. "Liar. Of
course I scare you. Only
a dimwit wouldn't be scared in your position, and 'The Amazing Amanda'
is no dimwit...
unless my research department needs a serious lesson in due diligence."
"I'm not your employee,"
Amanda continued, "I'm not going
to obey you, and I'm not scared."
"Yes, pain is a powerful persuader," Petra mused. She reached
down to the space between her right thigh and the chair's overstuffed
arm, and produced an iPhone. "Your first
lesson," she announced, and tapped the screen.
The tiny beads set between the floor tiles all flashed bright red and Amanda received a painful shock! She yelped and
danced on her bare feet. "Ow!"
"The entire floor can be electrified," Petra explained. "I can
the strength and duration of the current, and we've developed several
very entertaining programs that deliver modulated 'persuasion'.
timing and intensity; and some follow set patterns.
Both approaches have their place." She tapped the screen.
Amanda flinched, but no shock was delivered.
Petra continued tapping and sliding her finger, apparently browsing
through files. "Tell me, Amanda, which
variety of suspense do you think would be the most dreadful? That
generated by random punishment... or the kind that comes with slow,
"I'm not scared," Amanda reiterated, but her voice sounded less
assured, even to
Petra gazed at her 'employee' with chilling amusement. "There is
another form of persuasion that I've found to be even more persuasive," she said, "the indirect kind." She tapped
the iPhone and a very large,
flat screen TV
lowered from the ceiling on her side of the glass wall. It was
set at an angle so both could view
the display. The glowing screen morphed from a static depiction
of the Donjon logo... to
"No!" Amanda gasped, in a strangled moan. She lunged forward and
her hands against the glass.
The image of Gloria Santoval filled the screen.
was getting seriously tired
of being manhandled. Not tired enough to stop fighting,
of course, but tired. The designer color, Aeon Flux wannabes had lifted
her leather-encased form out of the limo's secret
compartment, strapped her to a gurney, and wheeled her
down an endless series of corridors to an elevator. This led to more corridors, and
finally, to what looked like some sort of medical facility.
A blonde, young woman was waiting. She was in her
early twenties, but had the sort of overly cute looks that would let
her pass for a college coed or even a high school student, in the
proper setting. Dimples; button nose; baby oil tan; brown, Bambi
eyes—cold, calculating, evil, brown,
Bambi eyes... Gloria hated her
already. She was short, maybe five-two or five-three; not
that Gloria was what you would call statuesque. In any case,
standing among the small crowd of helmeted and catsuited
designer she-goons, the little blonde was
downright elfin; however, if she was
elf, she was a kinky elf.
The blonde was wearing a skintight catsuit, like the she-goons, but
with more spandex and less leather; and she was showing some
skin, in the way of no gloves, bare arms and most of her shoulders, and
costume was black, but the knee pads were thin, and
her corset-belt was even more of a fashion statement than the
she-goons' full-torso body-armor.
The blonde's disgustingly pretty face loomed over Gloria's glaring
eyes. "Hello, Gloria," she cooed. Her voice was
a girlish soprano, a perfect match for her 'evil cheerleader from hell'
persona. "Welcome to the Tower. My name is Lizette La
Roque. You can call me Liz,
or Mistress." Her dimpled smile took a wry twist.
"Hmm... I suppose you better make it just Mistress. Mumsy likes
it when I assert myself." She lifted her gaze to the nearest
she-goon, and nodded.
A breathing mask appeared and was pressed over Gloria's face.
She squirmed and forced a well-muffled series of angry (and frightened)
curses past her gag. Lizette's smiling face loomed before her,
clearly visible through the thick glass.
"Deep breaths, Gloria," the smug blonde ordered. "Nice, even,
Gloria continued to struggle and mewl through her gag. She was
damned if she was going to do anything
the little blonde told her. She could hold her
breath for nearly three minutes, and—
her eyes. She was in a white, featureless room, and she was no
in leather and strapped down. In fact, she was naked, but for the
black plastic tape mummifying her fingers and hands, the white
cotton rope binding her wrists and elbows (behind her back, of course),
more of the same rope binding her ankles and knees, and the tape
her lower face. Something was stuffed in her mouth, behind the
layers of stretched plastic, possibly even the same foam ball the
Cynthia had forced past her lips back in the Donjon dressing room.
Gloria rolled on the floor and fought her bonds with all her strength
and skill. One minute turned into two... then five... and she
finally surrendered to the inevitable. They—Lizette, the
she-goons, whoever—had her. Nothing in her bag of escapologist's
tricks was going to get her out of this particular combination of rope
and tape. Dammit!
Her former leather costume was nowhere to be seen; and now
she was "free" to think about it (and not preoccupied with trying to
wiggle out of said costume, and was no longer scared out of her frakkin' mind in
the limo's claustrophobic secret compartment), Gloria reflected on the
discrepancies in what Mercy Dench had told Amanda, back in the showroom.
Gloria had fought with
Cynthia, back in the dressing room, over the issue of surrendering her
underwear; Cynthia had summoned
a squad of four more salesgirls, and with their help had managed to lace and buckle
Gloria into the costume, despite her enthusiastic resistance; but
Mercy's description of the interior of Gloria's version of the costume
been a lie. The leather had been smooth and lined with some sort
of silky fabric. There had been
a crotch strap, but no
dildo or butt-plug. The ensemble had been about as comfortable as
a skintight sheath and harness of leather could be, and certainly not
Gloria shuddered in her bonds, looked down at her breasts, then over
her shoulder at what she could see of her butt-cheeks, surprised to
find her skin unmarked. The
needle-lined foam pads Mercy described had been real enough, but had
only caused discomfort
when Cynthia whacked her on the butt and boobs—the little slut! Amanda
had been lied to, to intimidate her. Mercy Dench, you bitch-on-ice!
Their captors were playing head games; and Gloria very much hoped that
Amanda knew what was going on... whatever was going on.
Suddenly, a door opened and Lizette and another pair of the anonymous
entered. The petite blonde was wearing the same black
catsuit. The right goon's outfit was a rusty pumpkin orange, and
the left goon was a dark
"You're awake," Lizette observed. "Good. Mumsy has ordered
me to do something mean to
afraid." She knelt, placed her right hand on Gloria's hip, and
gave it a friendly pat.
Gloria growled through her gag and tried to roll away, but her captors
would have none of her "resistance". The pumpkin goon grabbed
Gloria's ankles in a vice-like grip, and held her feet rock-steady as
Lizette used a length of thin, white cord to bind her big toes together.
Meanwhile, the jade goon had opened a hidden panel beside the door,
revealing a set of pushbutton controls. She pressed a button, and
a steel cable with an attached ring lowered from the ceiling with a
quiet hum. She tapped the button again when the ring was about
two feet off the floor, and it stopped. She then passed a rope
through the ring and tossed
the ends to Lizette.
The grinning blonde shifted her attention to Gloria's wrists.
This time both she-goons held her still while Lizette threaded the rope
through the ring, between her wrist bonds, and back through the ring,
several times. She tied a running hitch and a final knot, then
stepped to the control panel.
The goons hauled Gloria to her bound feet, Lizette pressed and held a
button, and the cable retracted, slowly hauling Gloria's arms up until
she was bent forward at the waist, in the classic strappado position.
She groaned through her gag, lifted her head, and glared at Lizette.
The grinning blonde tapped the button, repeatedly. With each tap,
cable retracted an additional fraction of an inch. This process
continued until Gloria's heels left the floor, then Lizette closed the
strolled towards the helpless Latina.
"Thank you," Lizette said, and the two
she-goons left the room, closing the door behind them. "I usually
have to wait several days for my first chance to play with a new toy,"
Lizette said. She cupped Gloria's breasts and gave them a gentle
squeeze. "This time Mumsy is being very nice. She only made me
wait 'til you had received your medical and dental exams and the
groomers finished cleaning you up."
How long was I out? Gloria wondered. She moaned through
her gag and fidgeted on the balls of her feet, her only contact with
Lizette reached into a small pocket on the right thigh of her catsuit
and produced a small paper packet. She tore it open, exposing a
white square of sponge-like material, which she gently wiped over
Gloria's breasts and nipples, first the left, and then the right.
"Alcohol," she explained, then leaned close to blow on the hanging,
Gloria shivered in her bonds. Cold!
Her nipples were now fully erect, and a sprinkling of goosebumps
covered her breasts.
"I'm sorry, Gloria," Lizette said, her eyes locked with her victim,
"but this is going to hurt." She produced a pair of nipple clamps
from another pocket.
Gloria tried to control her reaction, but knew her eyes had betrayed
fear. The clamps were joined by a thin, silver chain and were of
the "clover" variety, the kind that tightened when you pulled on the
chain. Amanda had a similar pair, and they'd both played with
them, in giving and receiving
roles, but this pair looked to be particularly
nasty. The leaf-spring, ratcheting mechanisms were more
complicated, with tiny steel gears that looked more suited to an
antique pocket watch than instruments of torture; but the worst
features, by far, were the nipple pads. Amanda's pair had tips
dipped in latex, to grip the flesh. This pair had oval-shaped
pads lined with dozens of tiny needles! Granted, they were about
as short as they were wide; but they were definitely needles, and not
just what you would call a pointy texture.
"Aren't they evil?" Lizette
asked, holding the tips close so Gloria could inspect the tiny spikes
in detail. "They really hurt, at least, for the first few
minutes. Then they settle into a slow burn." She pressed
the sides of the leaf-springs and the tiny gears clicked and
turned. "You'd think they'd do damage. They certainly feel like they're doing damage;
but you can wear them for hours, with only a little irritation to your
Without further ado, Lizette attached the clamps to Gloria's nipples,
first on the left, and then the right. Gloria shivered and
squirmed in her bonds. She tried to suppress a piteously mournful
whine, but failed.
Lizette shivered, herself. "Oh, you're a lot of fun," she whispered.
"So brave... So pretty... So very vulnerable...
I can't wait to give Mumsy a
big thank-you hug."
Gloria struggled to suppress additional squirming and moaning, this
time with success... for now. The clamps were worse than Amanda's,
but, surprisingly, not by much. It may have been just her current
circumstances that were fueling her increased level of distress.
Lizette began running her hands over Gloria's stomach, thighs, and
buttocks. "We're going to have so much fun, playing dress-up with
Mumsy's costumes, exploring all the delicious predicaments I have
written down in my diaries and notebooks... so much fun."
This chica's several fries short of
a happy-meal, Gloria decided. She tried to ignore the
of her captor's gliding hands; then yelped when Lizette's
between her labia.
Lizette pouted in disappointment. "Oh, you're hardly wet at
all." Her smile returned. "It must be the fear. Is it
the fear, Gloria?"
Gloria locked eyes with the smug little blonde and glared in defiance.
"It must be the fear," Lizette decided, ignoring Gloria's angry
stare. "Well, after Mumsy's finished using you to bait her new toy, we'll go back to my
room and I'll show you my collection of pussy persuaders.
Vibrators, dildoes and plugs, electrified ticklers, floggers and
whips... you'll see things my way... eventually. Oh, excuse
me." She reached into yet another pocket, produced a
Bluetooth-type hands-free phone, and placed it in her right ear.
"Yes? Oh, hello Mumsy."
Gloria couldn't hear the other side of the connection, not even a
modulated buzz. She hung in her bonds and tried to ignore the
growing ache in her shoulders, feet, and calves, and the burning ache of her clamped
"I'm so happy, Mumsy!"
continued, with girlish glee. "She's so pretty, with such pretty brown
nipples! Can I pierce them tomorrow? Please?"
Gloria's eyes popped wide. Pierce
Lizette frowned, and stamped one booted foot. "Oh, please, Mumsy? What? I
know you hate it when I whine; and I know you told me not to...
I'm sorry..." Lizette stood perfectly still, and the color
drained from her face. "Not Mercy,
Mumsy!" she exclaimed, in a horrified voice. "She's mean, and she hardly ever lets me cum when she punishes
Gloria blinked in surprise and dismay. Was she a prisoner in a
the inmates in charge?
Lizette's smile returned. "Oh—one hour. One
hour's okay. It'll be inspirational. It'll help me think up
ways to entertain Gloria and my other
toy if it's only one hour." Her hands resumed sliding
over Gloria's body. "Okay, Mumsy, I'll finish here in about a
minute, then report to Mercy. Thanks again for the new toy,
Mumsy. Love you!"
Lizette removed and re-pocketed the phone, then frowned. "This is
your fault," she huffed, and stopped her massage of Gloria's
torso. She reached into yet another pocket and produced a length
of the same white cord binding Gloria's big toes. It had a small
clip at one end, which she snapped through the chain dangling between
Gloria's nipple clamps. She then knelt, threaded the other end
between Gloria's toe bonds, and pulled in the slack. She didn't
stop until the chain stretched taut, the gears of the clamp's
ratcheting mechanisms just began
to engage, and Gloria winced in
added pain. She then tied an elegant knot.
The petulant blonde stood and stepped behind her victim. "You
seduced me," she accused, then gave Gloria's butt an openhanded slap.
Gloria's eyes crossed, her knees bent 'til her heels touched the floor,
the nipples-to-toes chain and cord arrangement sagged, and her
shoulders took her full weight. Eyes wet with tears, she
immediately went back on her toes, and the chain and cord returned to
the shape of a taut "Y".
"If I had time," Lizette growled, "I'd go get one of my floggers and
stripe your back, butt, thighs, and calves 'til you looked like a
sunburned zebra." She strolled to the door and paused in the
threshold. "The next time we play," she a said, "I won't be so nice." Then, she was
through the door and it closed with an angry slam.
So nice?? Gloria was
incredulous. So nice??
I've got to get out of this place!!
She heard a quiet hum, lifted her chin, and found that a panel in
the wall had opened to reveal a small niche. Centered in the
niche was a camera lens, and beneath the lens was a glowing red light.
Oh great, Gloria
mused. It's time for the
'Let's Torture Gloria Show'.
"No!" Amanda wailed, again. "Let her go!"
"I can have her released immediately," Petra purred. "All you
have to do is follow my instructions." She tapped the iPhone
screen, and a melodic chime sounded in Amanda's cell.
Simultaneously, the hand outlines Amanda had found in the wall opposite
the bed began to glow a bright green. Beneath the hand shapes,
about three feet from the wall and three feet apart, two small squares
outlined in green beads glowed on the floor. "Hands and
feet in the appropriate positions," Petra ordered.
"Let her go, you bitch!"
"Hands and feet, Ms. Pressfield."
"I'm not going to play your sick game!" Amanda shouted. "Let her
Petra sighed, and tapped the iPhone. "One hour," she
announced. "If you continue to disobey, your lovely assistant
will remain en strappado for
two hours." She smiled at Amanda. "Further resistance will
mean poor Gloria remains as you see her until morning, and you will
watch, and I'll trigger a program that will make sure you stay awake so you will watch."
"She hasn't done anything," Amanda said. "Please."
Petra's finger was poised over the iPhone screen. "Hands and
Amanda stared at her "employer", angry tears in her eyes. Petra's
finger began to move. "Wait!" Amanda cried, padded to the wall,
and placed her hands in the outlines and her feet on the squares.
The resulting pose was identical to the position the police imposed on
detainees before searching them for weapons or contraband. It was
humiliating and pointless—but Amanda realized
humiliation was the point.
"Feet completely inside the outlines, Amanda," Petra chided.
"They're too small," Amanda huffed. It was true. The
glowing squares were only slightly bigger than the width of her feet.
"Silly girl," Petra laughed. "The solution is obvious."
Amanda glared at Petra's smugly smiling face, and went up on her toes.
"Good girl! Now, don't
move." Petra stabbed the iPhone
screen, and all of the beads in the entire floor began to glow red,
with the exception of the tiny squares under the balls of Amanda's
feet. "There, unless you're as slow on the uptake as you were
easy to recruit, you realize the floor is now electrified. It's
not strong enough to do any harm, of course, but more than enough to
discourage you from wandering about."
"I hate you," Amanda said, in a miserable whisper.
"Oh, I quite imagine you do," Petra laughed, "but that's also part of
the program. Now, it's getting late and we both have a busy day
tomorrow, so let's finish this initial interview with dispatch.
prisoner, but not my slave. I don't keep slaves. Prisoners have
a duty to escape, and I expect you to do your duty. You will
follow the orders of your handlers, myself and Mercy
included. You will come and go
as directed, eat on command, sleep on command, shower and exercise on
command; etc. And, you will allow yourself to be restrained in
rope, or leather, or cold steel, or in any other manner I deem fit;
after you have been
restrained, you will do your very best to escape.
Graceful as a swan and lithe and dangerous as a tigress, Petra rose
from her chair and strode to the HDTV still showing Gloria's
ordeal. She put her hand on the edge of the monitor and turned it
towards the cell, optimizing Amanda's viewing angle.
"As already discussed," Petra continued, "disobedience will be
punished, and that punishment will be shared, and sometimes exclusively borne, by Ms.
Santoval. Obedience, on the other hand will be rewarded with the
finer things of life, such as your current luxurious accommodations;
regular, nutritious meals; full use of our exercise facilities... and
the pleasure of my personal attention."
Petra walked to the glass wall and smiled at Amanda's sullen, frowning
face. "No one has ever escaped from my Tower. No one has
even come close, but I'm quite anxious to see how 'The Amazing Amanda'
performs." She tapped her iPhone and a drape parted on the far
wall, on her side of the glass wall, of
course. Behind the drape was a steel door. It slid to the
side, revealing a dimly lit corridor.
Petra walked towards the door. "Ms. Santoval's hour will commence
when this door closes. Afterwards, your bed will return, the
lights will dim, and you are ordered to get some sleep."
"Wait!" Amanda called.
Petra paused in the doorway. "You have a question, or just more
"That's what all this is about?" Amanda asked. "You want me to...
Petra smiled. "I have a highly
developed appreciation of the female form struggling to regain
"You're into bondage," Amanda muttered.
Petra laughed. "An interest we share... from different
perspectives. Anyway, to use an analogy, I am a
big game hunter, this is my private hunting preserve, and you are my
"Wonderful," Amanda huffed. "I'm your tame tiger."
"Oh, you had better not be
Petra answered, "or I'll be very disappointed.
And don't sell yourself short. You aren't my tiger... you're my T. rex." The door closed,
Petra La Roque was gone, and Amanda was alone.
The drape rolled back across the doorway, and the lights on both sides
of the glass dimmed. The interview room was now completely black,
except for the glow of the TV; and Amanda's cell had returned to its
former blue-green "night-light" mode, with the exception of the glowing
beads still carpeting the floor and the green hand outlines glowing on
Amanda stared at Gloria's image. Sorry, Glo, she thought. I'll
get us out of this... somehow. She ignored the growing
in her feet and calves, carefully suppressed her fear, her anger—her
newfound burning hatred of
Petra La Roque,
Mercy Dench, and everyone else at La
Roque Internationale, including all subsidiaries and
formulating a plan.
She had to:
to go along with her captors, but not make her feigned surrender too obvious;
her "employer", to the best of her professional ability;
intelligence and develop a real plan;
finally, do precisely what
Petra La Roque demanded of her—ESCAPE!