Trading Stocks for Bonds

Her teacup chinked against its saucer. Not once, but five or six times in quick rattling succession. She was trembling and couldn’t hide it.

“I can pay you back,” Linsey Altmell pleaded passionately. “You know I can net that amount in just one year. I did it in 2002!”

Apart from a security man blocking the door there was only one other person in the plush office at 6:30pm on a Friday evening. Ranulph Markham, her boss and chairman of Markham Brandham Stockbrokers sat on the other side of the large teak desk.

He frowned to indicate he did not share her optimism. “Miss Altmell, we’re talking about eight million pounds! Perhaps there is more we haven’t uncovered yet. You are not in Nick Leeson’s league, and this company certainly won’t be going the way of Baring Brothers, but you have nevertheless wiped out almost one percent of my personal net worth. Miss Altmell, a schoolchild could have handled these accounts better than you did, although perhaps not as deviously.”

Linsey gave up trying to drink her tea. The clattering of her cup and saucer only served to incriminate her further. She placed them carefully on the table and moved her trembling hands onto her lap.

Their eyes met. His, a sixty-five year old glazy blue, slightly baggy and wrinkled beneath; hers a vivid penetrating hazel, glistening with the beauty of youth. She was hardly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but he thought her more attractive than most - a pleasant face, long brown hair, a slim body; and she knew how to dress well, an increasingly rare thing in the modern age. For her part, Linsey had always thought Markham rather good-looking in spite of his advancing years.

It had been hectic week on the markets and Markham was tired of talking prices and profits. He valued his weekends, putting aside financial matters to concentrate on his true passions. Closing up the file containing Linsey Altmell’s catalogue of disastrous deals he declared to himself that the weekend had just started.

“Am I fired?” Linsey asked, perplexed at why Markham couldn’t just come out and say it.

“No. I’m not firing you. That would be too easy,” he replied.

She squirmed awkwardly in her seat and ventured another question: “So are you going to call the police?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Why bother? You might go to jail for a couple of years. Then you are released, you write a book and sell the film rights. Meanwhile I’m still eight million down. I might have to close one of my charitable foundations.”

“So, you’re going to keep me on?” She asked, smiling, but a little surprised.

“Yes I am... after a fashion. You are an attractive young woman, with a pretty face and a nice body. Miss Altmell, I intend to have you.”

She became wide-eyed with shock and gave a nervous laugh, unintentionally mocking him. Her boss might be a rich and powerful man but she always regarded him as a gentleman not a sexual predator. This didn’t suit the mild-mannered chairman at all.

“This is a joke, right? It’s ridiculous! You’re trying to blackmail me, and I have a witness to that effect,” she glanced at the impassive security guard by the door then looked Markham squarely in the eyes. “You... can’t... have... me,” she snarled, “I resign!”

Her witness was Cormack, Head of Security at Markham Brandham. After two years with the firm Linsey still didn’t know if it was his first or last name. Like ‘Cher’ he used to joke, as only a man 6’5” tall and built like a prop forward can. He was good looking, helpful and sociable, liked by everybody including Linsey, but everyone knew him to be fiercely loyal to his employer. He did not return Linsey’s glance. Instead he looked at his boss, ready to carry out any instruction.

“You misunderstand me Miss Altmell.” Markham said, appearing not to take offence from her comment, or the implicit ageism. “I didn’t mean to suggest anything as crude as bedding you. I’m well catered for in that respect already. What I meant was to have you, in the sense of owning you. Owning your body permanently.”

Linsey was stunned into silence for several seconds. “This is sick.” She said, rising from her chair. Cormack immediately moved towards her.

“Sit!” Ranulph Markham barked. Linsey recoiled at the surprising ferocity of Markham’s command. She sat down again whilst Cormack backed up to his position by the door. “I haven’t explained what I intend to do to you yet.”

Linsey prided herself on her cool composure but it was being severely tested. Feeling her mouth drying up she reached again for her teacup. This time she left the saucer on the table, but it still rattled as she lifted the cup. It needed both her shaky hands to raise the cup to her lips. Markham bided his time. He enjoyed watching her discomfort as she sipped repeatedly, hoping perhaps that the cup contained something a good deal stronger than tea.

She put the cup down decisively, as if strengthened by the tea. It had to be a sick joke, she thought. You can’t turn an employee into a sex slave. Not even if she’s lost your company eight million pounds. Not in London in the twenty-first century! She realized she was taking this game far too seriously. It was time to humour him.

“Okay Sir.” She sat up straight and ground her buttocks into the seat with a little wiggle as she tried to regain her poise. “Then please explain what are you planning to do to me.”

Markham was happy to oblige. In fact he had been waiting for this moment. He spoke slowly and deliberately in his gravelly tones so that Linsey could absorb every word.

“First of all, you will remove all your clothes. You can do it by yourself or with Cormack’s assistance, I really don’t mind. Your jewelry too, you won’t need it anymore. I’ll donate the proceeds to one of my charities.”

Linsey instinctively reached up to touch the expensive gold chain that lay gleaming against her tanned skin; tantalisingly visible between the two-button opening of her blouse.

“When you are completely naked Cormack will bind you. The rope we use is soft, but there will be lots of it and it will be very tight. We need to fit you into the suitcase behind you.”

Linsey swiveled around to see the suitcase she’d barely registered before. It would be difficult to fit somebody into it, but not impossible. She turned back to face him.

“You’ll be gagged of course. We will pack your mouth with a silk scarf then tape it over several times.” He looked up at Cormack for confirmation of this. Cormack nodded.

“And hooded too. A black cloth bag with a drawstring pulled tightly around your neck.”

She swallowed her saliva nervously. Markham noted and enjoyed that first nervous gulp.

“When you are locked in the suitcase we’ll leave. You’ll be traveling in style, in the boot of my Rolls-Royce. Ever been in a Rolls-Royce before Miss Altmell?”

She shook her head and gulped again.

“They’re beautiful machines, automotive works of art. It’s like floating on air. They have such a smooth ride, as you’ll discover for yourself very soon. Where was I? Oh yes, I remember...

“Immediately upon arrival at my country estate your training will commence. Neither Cormack or I will be involved. I have excellent people to do that sort of thing. Did I ever mention that to you before? No?” He made it sound like an oversight, the forgetfulness of an old man. “It’s not only stock-exchange traders I employ. I also have people who specialise in turning a sophisticated woman - as you pretend to be - into a shameless whore, which is what you will become. Sometimes, Miss Altmell, to build something worthwhile one must to destroy what was there before.”

Single tears tumbled down each of Linsey’s cheeks in perfect sync. She didn’t believe him but it was scaring her nonetheless. She pleaded with him. “Mr. Markham Sir, you can’t do this. John, my boyfriend, is calling to collect me in twenty minutes. He’ll know something’s wrong if I’m not waiting outside for him. Please stop this awful game right now.” Buoyed up by the certainty of John’s arrival she rose to her feet and walked hastily towards the door. She stood facing the barrel chest of an immovable object.

“Let me pass Cormack!” She demanded, looking up to him more in hope than expectation. Cormack gripped her by the upper arm, spun her around and pushed her down into her chair. He yanked her arms back through the vertical wooden slats of the chair’s backrest and pulled the handcuffs from their holster on his belt. He ratcheted the cuffs onto her wrists, effectively locking her to the chair.

“I assume you finished your tea?” Markham joked meanly, noticing Linsey looking forlornly into the teacup. “Ever worn handcuffs before Ms Altmell?”

Linsey shook her head sullenly.

“These ones are very comfortable don’t you think, they don’t dig into you flesh like other types, much more suitable for long term use on a woman’s soft skin and slender wrists. I like them so much I bought shares in the company.”

Even though he was facing her from across the table Markham could tell that Linsey’s wrists were tugging and twisting within their unaccustomed confinement. “Does that feel nice, Ms Altmell? Some women like it. Their powerlessness turns them on. They like being controlled, submitting themselves to another, and being done to. It frees them from guilt. Just imagine the exquisite torment when you want to masturbate, but you can’t because your hands are secured behind you. Many women have their most intense orgasms when they are tied or secured. Perhaps you will be like that too?”

"No," Linsey mouthed softly, and without conviction. She ceased her struggling, sat up straight, composed herself and looked across to Markham. Just because she was handcuffed it didn’t mean she need lose her dignity.

“That’s a nice outfit you’re wearing, Miss Altmell.” Markham commented casually. “Medium grey pin-striped jacket and matching skirt. Very nice tailoring. Bespoke I presume?”

Linsey nodded warily, wondering where that line of questioning was heading.

“You have good taste. I do so prefer a suit with a tailored fit. Quality is always worth the price. Cars, clothes… slaves.” He looked at her chest, noticing the anxious rise and fall of her breasts. “That blouse goes perfectly with your jacket. Burgundy, I would call that.”

"Yes, Sir," Linsey reluctantly confirmed. It was indeed burgundy, and this particular blouse was one of her favourites, a Donna Karan.

“You’ve worn the suit and the blouse before, haven’t you?” He looked down at his typed-up notes. “March 21st, it says here.”

She was taken aback by the mention of such a seemingly irrelevant detail. “What’s that got to do with anything?” She asked with genuine curiosity.

“You’ll find out later. First allow me to continue explaining what will happen to you. I assume you are interested in what your future holds?”

Linsey glared back at him, trying to maintain her dignity by sitting bolt upright in her chair, aided ironically by her cuffed wrists trapped the chair back.

Markham continued. “When you reach my estate you will be unpacked from the suitcase, untied, and your naked body will be paraded in front of some specially invited guests. You will be chained to one of the oak pillars in my library and will be whipped. It will hurt, perhaps more painful than anything you’ve ever known. Yet it will only be a taste of what will follow. Then you’ll be left hanging in your restraints while I provide dinner for my guests...

“I’m sure Miss Altmell you will look exquisitely beautiful, your whip-marked naked body standing chained against a pillar whilst my guests enjoy a sumptuous meal just a few yards away from you...

“You, Miss Altmell, will be the dessert course. My guests will give you a thorough and extremely intimate examination...

“You will be fitted with a thick leather collar in keeping with your new status as an untrained whore. Then you will be chained in your cell for the night. You’ll have to get used to that Miss Altmell, you’ll sleep in chains every night from now on...

“The following morning you will start your bitch-dog training. Have you ever had sex with a dog, Miss Altmell?”

She shook her head, unable to muster a response to such a ridiculous question.

“Every morning you’ll be taken to the back lawn of my mansion to be attached to our breeding frame. It’s the stump of a tree equipped with leather restraints. It will hold you completely immobile and render your whore’s cunt easily accessible to my dogs. When they are let out of their kennels in the morning they always run to see if anyone has been secured to the breeding frame. They’ll probably fight over you, but don’t worry - they are muzzled. They can’t bite you but their claws will scratch your back. After the dogs have had you, you will be left secured to the breeding frame for at least an hour so that you can fully appreciate your new status. Then your rump will be soundly beaten with a paddle before you are released and taken back into the house...

“Every afternoon you will be taught how to serve men and women, and how to behave in the presence of your superiors. Superiors means everybody, including the garden labourers. You will learn how to take a man’s cock fully within your throat and how to accommodate him in your rectum as if it’s no different to the missionary position…

“You will be whipped if you are bad, You will be whipped if you are good. You will learn to respond to the whip. In due course, the very sight of a whip in a man’s hand will arouse you...

“A tattoo artist will begin etching an elaborate design on your skin, which will weave its way up and down the length of your body from ankles to neck. It will be beautiful, and will mark you out as a lifelong slave. You will be pierced and branded in any manner we see fit.”

Linsey had closed her eyes, but could not close her ears to Markham’s monologue. Her mind was reeling, overwhelmed with the images he described. The cool steel encircling her wrists seemed to reinforce everything he was saying.

Markham continued relentlessly, like a boxer finishing off his opponent. “You will experience extreme forms of bondage, sometimes you’ll be suspended or stretched, contorted or compressed. You will attend elegant parties, where your body will be exhibited in ways more obscene than you can possibly imagine...

“Occasionally you will be permitted the release of an orgasm, but always under the strict control of one of your handlers, or perhaps as part of a public performance...

“When, after three months your training is complete I will decide whether to keep you or sell you. I am a member of an exclusive club that owns a small island in the pacific. Perhaps I will send you there to be trained as a ponygirl. You might enjoy that Miss Altmell, being harnessed in an array of leather straps, a bit wedged between your teeth, every day spent trotting around the island with a whip being applied to your buttocks.

“There is a market for young attractive women like you. A market bigger than you can possibly imagine. You are a valuable commodity, or at least you will be when you are a fully-trained bonded whore.”

Linsey was still immaculately dressed in her burgundy and grey, but her clothes no longer seemed to fit. The jacket that always felt so comfortable now seemed too tight and too warm, and she even wondered if it really suited her as well as she always supposed.

She was biting down on her bottom lip, her eyes darting nervously about the room. Loose strands of hair, which she habitually tucked behind her ears with her fingers, now hung untidily at the side of her face. She flicked her head back in a wild gesture that only messed her hair up even more. Inside she was a mess too. Markham’s speech had scared her. It was like the strange churned up feeling she had in her belly when she fell in love, but this was far more intense, almost painful.

Markham paused to observe his latest acquisition and saw that Linsey’s subtly made-up eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, her breathing rapid, as if fighting a mental battle.

“Oh Lord, look at the time!” Markham exclaimed, breaking the silence and causing Linsey to open her eyes. “Your boyfriend will be here in fifteen minutes. We’d better get you undressed and ready. You won’t need clothes any more. What’s it to be? With or without Cormack’s assistance?”

“Without,” Linsey replied automatically, though being undressed by the handsome hunk Cormack would not have seemed such a terrible prospect until this evening.

Cormack unlocked her cuffs. She rubbed her wrists, more in imitation of scenes in television and movies than from any actual pain. She glanced warily at both men, and began hesitantly undressing under Cormack’s intimidating gaze.

She folded and laid her jacket, skirt and blouse carefully on the table and stood self-conscious and vulnerable in her underwear, unable to shield her body from view, and unwilling to flaunt it.

Her undergarments, - bra, panties, matching garter-belt and stockings - were burgundy, just like her blouse. Attention to detail! Markham liked that. The men nodded to each other in approval. They often talked of how so few women make the effort these days. Cormack was equally taken with Linsey’s gym-toned body, neither skinny nor muscular nor too fleshy. Her three-inch heels, strappy and open-topped, gave her posture that all-important lift. Stockings absolutely had to be accompanied by heels in Markham’s opinion.

Linsey pleaded to Cormack with her eyes, hoping that being stripped down to her underwear would suffice. It was futile, Cormack gestured that she should continue undressing. He doubted Linsey’s nakedness could improve on her lingerie-caressed body, but somehow it did.

Markham, meanwhile, stared impassively out of his tenth floor window. Was his indifference designed to insult her further, Linsey wondered? “Earrings, bracelets, necklace, watch and rings,” he reminded her without bothering to turn around.

She fought back her sobs as she removed her jewelry placing each item carefully on top of her folded clothes, as if she expected to be dressing again. She’d almost forgotten her earrings until Cormack reminded her. She removed them, replacing the fastenings on each before adding them to the rest of her garments.

Linsey stood head bowed and naked in front of two fully clothed men, stripped not just of her clothing, but her identity, her status, and her will to resist. Neatly folded and piled on the table was the sum of everthing she enjoyed, held precious, and strived for.

On top of the pile were the high-heeled sandals placed side by side, receiving the attention of all three of the room’s occupants. Markham’s philosophy was that the delicated straps which caressed the arch of the feet and wrapped around the ankle were subtle yet powerful symbols of bondage. High heels, to him, represented a woman’s willingness to conform to a man’s ideal. He consulted his clipboard and the photo of Linsey leaving the building on March 21st. The shoes in the picture were very different. He showed the picture to Cormack.

“We already have the shoes we need,” Cormack confirmed, “we don’t need those.”

Markham laughed at how Cormack and his team always had things covered. “Put the shoes on,” he commanded Linsey.

She sat down, her naked buttocks sticking to the leather cushioned seat. She placed the sandals on the floor and fastened them onto her bare feet buckling the straps around her slim ankles. It was an awful feeling - these Jimmy Choo’s always made her feel so sexy, yet now, parading naked in front of these two men it was the last thing she wanted to feel.

“Tie her wrists, Cormack, then take out the clothes,” Markham instructed before returning to his view out of the window. Cormack opened the suitcase containing the rope and the gagging tape they mentioned earlier.

“No. Please don’t.” Linsey’s quivering voice pleaded as Cormack approached her, a length of thick white rope gripped in his hand.

“Do as Cormack says or he’ll hit you. Then he’ll tie you up anyway.” Markham advised.

The combined advice and threat made Linsey shiver. She remembered an awful incident in the ground floor lobby one day when one of Cormack’s punches split open a man’s nose. She had no choice but to turn her back to him, cross her wrists behind her and let him tie them.

After making six neat loops and giving a couple of decisive tugs Cormack was done. Such was the efficacy of his binding technique Linsey felt like her wrists had been at once tied, glued and riveted together. She looked forlornly over her shoulder at her joined wrists, bending back her fingers in the vain hope she could reach the knots. It was hopeless.

Markham approved. Linsey was looking better already. He always felt a naked woman looked so much tidier when her hands are neatly held behind her back.

“Clamps?” Cormack suggested to his boss, already reaching into the suitcase. Markham looked quickly at Linsey’s neat shapely breasts, her nipples small yet prominent, and slightly upturned. He nodded his agreement.

With Cormack standing behind her, Linsey didn’t seen the clamps approaching. She screamed at the sudden shock, like a dog having its tail stepped on. Embraced in Cormack’s bear hug she was powerless to resist as her other nipple was clamped. An arc of chain was left dangling between them. His job done, Cormack picked up Linsey’s orderly pile of clothing and jewelry and walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.

This girl had never worn nipple clamps before, Markham suspected, as Linsey hopped around the room, squealing, squirming and swearing. The pain of the clamps made her forget her nakedness and bondage. Never before bound or nipple-clamped, he surmised. He reckoned he had enough experience to be a good judge of such things.

Linsey was desperate to stop the pain in her tortured nipples. She knelt down on the carpet and tried to dislodge the nipple clamps with the edge of Markham's antique desk. At first Markham laughed as the steel clamps rattled against the polished teak, then he saw the damage she was doing.

“Stop that, Miss Altmell!” He commanded. Linsey obeyed, feeling guilty about vandalizing an expensive piece of furniture. She stood up and prowled the room, tugging on her tied wrists and shaking her breasts in the vain hope of dislodging the nipple clamps. It looked like she was wrestling with an invisible opponent, Markham mused. He never doubted that Cormack’s rope-work was secure, so he left her to pace around the boardroom like a caged tigress, while he kept an eye on the street below.

Even though Linsey heard the door locking when Cormack left, she went to the door and yanked on the handle in the vain hope that it might open. Naked or not, she was prepared to run at the first opportunity. Markham didn’t turn around to look at her, not even as she cursed and rattled the handle several more times.

Then she noticed a phone on a low bookshelf and backed herself up to it, while Markham looked out of the window. She lifted the receiver off the hook with her bound hands and dialled what she hoped was 9112 for emergency services.

“What do you want from me, Mr. Markham?” she yelled out across the room. “Please don’t rape me, I’m begging you!”

Markham turned around, somewhat surprised at Linsey’s outburst. “I’m not going to rape you, Miss Altmell, at least not tonight. I already told you, you’re going to be a bonded whore. We’ll be leaving Hitcham Tower within half an hour and driving to my estate in Hampshire! He tutted at how little attention she had paid to his previous speech. Such lapses of memory would be severely dealt with once her training commenced.

Linsey left the handset off the hook hoping that Markham would continue to incriminate himself to the emergency operators. She glanced at the four wall clocks: New York, two o’clock, Frankfurt eight o’clock, four in the morning in Tokyo, while here in London it was seven o’clock exactly. John, her boyfriend said earlier he’d collect her at seven on the dot. The thought of him pulling up outside at the same time as the police arrived made her tremble in delicious anticipation of victory.

The old man and his latest acquisition stood side-by-side, both staring out the window at the street below, both waiting and watching. Linsey’s optimism was as great as the old man’s smugness. Markham looked across at his latest acquisition and smiled. The combination of high heels and tied hands had given her an excellent posture. He tenderly pulled her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear just as she would have done if her hands were not tied. He wanted to see that slim neck again anticipating how exquisite it would be when locked in one of his collars. Linsey was a natural submissive and slave, he was increasingly sure of it, even if she wasn’t.

A hundred feet below them, with his usual impeccable timing John pulled up in his silver BMW M3. Linsey whimpered his name calling quietly towards him as she saw the driver’s door open. She knew from habit that John would go into reception to check with the desk supervisor. Then the supervisor would call her extension to say her boyfriend had arrived.

She could not have expected what happened a moment later when her nightmare went from bad to worse. John had barely stepped out of his car when a woman exited the building and approached him. He and the woman kissed briefly but affectionately, then they got in the car and drove off. Linsey watched in stunned disbelief as the BMW idled impatiently at a nearby red light. As the light changed to green the car turned right in a squealing, rubber-burning skid, attracting the disapproving glances of passers-by.

What really confused Linsey was that even with a distance of ten floors between them, the woman, especially with her long dark hair, looked remarkably similar to herself. She was an imposter, Linsey realized.

“You see, Miss Altmell. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t mind who gets in his car.” Markham joked.

Linsey collapsed to the Wilton carpet in despair, kneeling on her calves, bent forward and sobbing wildly. “He loves me,” she sobbed “I know he loves me!”

Markham grinned, sensing that Linsey’s transition was well under way. He stroked the top of her head, tidying her hair, and enjoying its silky softness. “Come come now Miss Altmell, it’s all over. What is it your generation is so fond of saying? Get over it! You should think of your new life now.”

Cormack returned to the office. He immediately went to the phone and replaced the handset. Then he bent down and plugged its cable into the wall socket.

“Everything okay?” Markham asked him.

“Perfect!” Cormack replied, “I told the team leader to call you.”

Seconds later the phone rang. Cormack touched the hands-free button.

“Sir?” a voice enquired from the phone’s speaker.

“Go ahead. What’s happening?” Markham called out from across the room.

In measured tones, the voice gave his report. “Everything has gone to plan Mr. Markham. The boyfriend has been drugged and won’t wake until at least five a.m. We’ve put traces of Ms Altmell’s blood in the boot of his car with fibres from her most recent clothing. An Internet ticket to Thailand has been purchase using his credit card. The security recordings of Ms Altmell leaving the building on March 21st will be edited into today’s security footage, ready for the morning archiving.”

“Excellent work, Harry. Have a great weekend!” Markham shouted cheerily as the call ended.

Linsey heard it all, just as Markham intended she should. She was open-mouthed with shock. “Oh my God... it wasn’t John in the car. You’re framing him for my murder!”

“That’s right Miss Altmell. There will be witnesses who remember the car arriving and your getting into it. The burning rubber was a nice touch don’t you think? It’ll help cement the witnesses’ memories. Your boyfriend will have no alibi, and will fighting against strong circumstantial evidence. He’ll be jailed for your murder, of that I am certain.”

“Why John? What’s he done? I was the one who lost the damn money!” Linsey said, choking back her tears.

Markham had waited patiently to deliver his coupe de grace. “Miss Altmell. We all know that when somebody loses money on the markets, somebody, somewhere gains. John gave you insider tips, didn’t he? But they kept going wrong, didn’t they? While you were buying, he and his associates were selling. When you were off-loading shares at the bottom of the market, he and his customers were buying. He’s been using you Linsey. Your relationship has been a fraud enabling him to put millions in his bank account. Now both of you shall be punished.”

Linsey hung her head and started to sob. “Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!”

Markham smiled, delighted that she now hated someone else even more than him. She slumped from the chair onto the carpet, wanting to hide her humiliation. With her wayward hair covering her face, she almost succeeded.

“Tie her up, Cormack.” Ranulph Markham commanded imperiously.

Linsey, in her despair, was already hunched over on the floor in exactly the right position for Cormack to commence his work. He took the first rope, wrapped it several times above and below her breasts and cinched her elbows behind her. Markham took up a position standing directly in front of Linsey’s kneeling body. She tried to look up to him but it seemed a long way up; it was easier to look at his immaculately creased trousers and highly polished shoes.

Cormack continued to apply his ropes, wrapping, tugging and knotting, with the unfaltering precision of a craftsman. Linsey’s only protest was the occasional ‘ouch’ as the ropes nipped at her flesh. Any thoughts of escape evaporated when Cormack started binding her ankles together, the ropes catching the instep of her high heels binding her shoes to her.

Cormack’s fingers burrowed into the folds of her sex, but didn’t linger. Moments later his hand returned with a small vibrator that he pushed deep inside her. A little wire with a switchbox trailed out of it, enabling him to turn the thing on or off when required. Then he continued fixing the ropes, winding one several times around her belly, then up between her legs to nestle deep within her crotch to hold the vibrator in place.

By the time Cormack had finished, Linsey had gone from tied to trussed; a tightly packaged ball, her breasts squeeezed against her thighs, and her bound ankles connected to her wrists. Rope bit into her flesh in all directions.

All Linsey could think about were Markham’s words - chained to a pillar and whipped, her body explored by strangers, the collar, the breeding frame, the bondage, training to be a whore!

Cormack offered a neatly folded black silk scarf to her lips. Too tired to protest she opened her mouth to allow him to insert it, which he did with the same firm and impersonal touch that he applied in his rope-work. Then he plastered broad strips of white medical tape across her mouth - several four-inch wide strips on top of each other, masking the lower half of her face, and muffling her cries.

“Good girl, Linsey.” Markham commented, still standing dominantly about her. He knew how important it was to compliment new slaves on their good behaviour. “Is she moist?” he asked Cormack.

Cormack slipped a hand between her buttocks and tied feet, and fingered her rope-clefted sex. “I’d say so,” he confirmed with a smile. “Shouldn’t we give her a little reward for being well behaved?”

There was a faintly audible click, then rapid yet gentle vibrations started up deep within Linsey’s vagina. She couldn’t prevent herself from shivering and squirming in response to the mechanical invader. The men chuckled.

It was time for the hood - a black satin bag barely large enough to fit over her head. Cormack struggled to make it fit, tugging down on it until the opening was around her neck. He pulled the drawstring, knotting it tight enough for Linsey to feel a almost choking constriction around her neck.

Cormack’s sturdy legs straddled Linsey’s ball-tied body like a human crane. He squatted, slipped his hands under her knees and lifted her clean off the carpet. In the same movement he lowered her sideways into the suitcase. He noticed that Linsey was trembling. Was it fear or merely the effect of the vibrator? A little of each, he thought.

He closed the suitcase’s lid, and zipped it up along three sides. The long zipping sound signalled to Linsey that her previous life, career-obsessed and materialistic, was ending. A new life of sexual slavery and liberation was about to begin.

Ranulph Markham was right. The Rolls-Royce did have a smooth ride. It was self-evident even if you happen to be tied up in the boot.

Several weeks later Linsey could confirm Ranulph Markham was right about everything else too. The breeding frame, the whippings, the training, the bondage, the torments and humiliations were exactly as he described on that fateful evening in his office. Now there was only one thing on the whore linsey’s mind - whether Markham would keep her or sell her. She desperately hoped she could stay.