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© Freddie Clegg 2007
All characters & events fictitious
We
don’t like people interfering in our business. We much prefer to be left to
ourselves. I mean every organisation has some aspects that wouldn’t look to
good if paraded before the public. The odd sweetener paid here, the bit of
nepotism there, maybe a little tax avoidance, even evasion, the occasional
corners cut on corporate ethics. Politicians have the same problem. You can’t
get things done if you have to explain all the time what you are up to. And our
business is no different. Well, of course the fact that it’s illegal does sort
of make it even more of a problem, I guess, but the way I look at it is, we’re
traders. We source a commodity for a market and we seek out customers and sell
them the things that they want. I mean how bad can that be? Except,
of course, the commodity is women. So when we heard about Judy Close we
weren’t too happy.
Now
Judy was a bright lady. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing against intelligent
women, but sometimes the smarts get pointed in the wrong direction. She was
about twenty six. She’d graduated from
Then
she got her big break. She was working on a story about how one of the banks
had managed to dip into its employee pension fund in order to cover up some
unsuccessful dealings in the futures markets. It caused quite a stir. The
Financial Services Authority had to step in and there was a major fall in the
bank’s shares. Their chairman resigned, of course. And Judy got a reputation as
someone that could ferret things out. She wrote a book, “Why Your Pension Isn’t
Safe”, and used the proceeds to set herself up as a freelance, specialising in
dodgy dealings in the personal finance market.
She
should have stuck to banking.
I’m
not sure how she got involved with us. Maybe through one of our clients, I
guess. I mean owning a woman isn’t a cheap hobby and a lot of our clients make
their money in the banking business. So maybe she came across something in her
other enquiries. I guess we first knew she was taking an interest when we
picked up someone trying to hack our email systems. We get as many intrusion
attempts as the next business but all of a sudden we were getting a lot of
attempts from one IP address, using a valid user id but with the wrong
password. We knew whose user id it was and we checked if they’d been having
problems but they said no.
Then
one of our sales guys said he’d been approached by a woman. Said that she’d
heard we could help with a problem that she had, said she’d heard we could find
her someone to own.
Now
that’s not how it works. New clients are introduced and we have really strict
rules about who we’ll talk to. So, our sales guy is suspicious and says, “Nah,
not our line of business. You must have got that wrong.” But we didn’t think
she was just going to go away so we did a little research. Our sales guy had
got a few snapshots of her with his mobile phone. We showed them around. Turned
out one of the receptionists at our office building had seen her too. She’d
showed up, claiming she had an appointment with our finance director. When the
receptionist left her for a minute or two to check, she came back and found Judy
looking in the waste bin – Judy claimed she’d dropped something in there by
mistake but couldn’t find whatever it was that was supposed to have been there.
She’d been asking questions, too. What sort of people they had coming in, that
kind of thing.
We
felt if she was showing that much interest in us we should return the
compliment.
Research
is something we are really good at. Well, if you are going to snatch some lady for
sale you want to have a bit of background before you walk up to her and ask
politely if she’ll just put these ropes around her wrists. So, we spend a bit
of effort and we get the goods on Miss Judy Close. It doesn’t take too long to
track her back via her PC and now we know we are dealing with a nosey reporter.
Before too long we’d got her history, where she worked (from her home on the eastern
edge of London), plenty on her personal life (no boyfriend, too busy; not much
contact with her family; no real hobbies apart from work and maybe the odd
cinema or theatre trip) and a selection of snatched photographs that suggest
she was better looking than she gave herself credit for, especially without the
blonde wig she wore when she came calling on us.
Then
we found out she had got in to our IT systems after all. That one of the password
attempts had worked. That made us very unhappy. We really needed to do
something. I mean the boss would be really displeased if anything went adrift
because of something like this and one thing I’ve found in my career here is
that I do not want to make the boss unhappy.
I’m
in favour of taking direct action on these things so we reckoned the best bet
was to go and have a chat with the lady, find out exactly how far she had got
and make sure she doesn’t go any further. The assumption was that there would
need to be an interruption of her current lifestyle (well life actually) but
it’s a dog eat dog world this, as she should have realised.
So
that’s how me and two of our goons (sorry, field operatives) were sitting in a
non-descript van in the lane that led to the back of her property at one of
clock in the morning, watching to see the lights go out in her house.
When
that happens, we leave it for half an hour or so and we’re off. It’s quite an
easy crib. Scrubby woodland around the end of her garden; a
back gate from there into the lane which lets us in. Around the back of
the property there were a few outhouses but it didn’t look like she used them.
She’s basically a city girl; just happened to live out of town. There was a
back door into her kitchen. We stopped outside it. Ski masks
on, latex gloves. Check the goody bag – cable ties, tape, foam wadding.
Normally for a pick up we’d have an auto-injector with some appropriate
anaesthetic but we wanted this lady awake. We were going to have a nice little
chat about her current project.
Gerry
got the door unlocked. It was hardly a challenge for his skills. Zak slipped in first. It was all nice and quiet. There was
a cat sitting on the floor of the kitchen. It gave us a cursory glance but didn’t
take any further interest in us, preferring to go back to cleaning its
whiskers. We check the downstairs first, the last thing we want to do is find
out we’ve got our little friend secure but there’s someone else around. But, as
we thought, she was alone in the house. Or at least there was no one in the
living room, the kitchen or her study. I borrowed a ten inch cooking knife from
the block beside the cooker.
Gerry
led the way upstairs. Three bedrooms and a bathroom.
We guessed she’d be in room at the front. The other rooms were clear.
The
next bit we did real slowly. Zak to the left, Gerry to the right, me on the door. It opened
quietly. I love it when things go right. I’d got a clear view. She was in bed. Asleep. Alone. I was into the room
moving slowly towards the bed. I knew Zak and Gerry
were in behind me and I knew what we’d do. We’d practiced it often enough. I
couch down beside the bed. The first thing she knew about us is the feel of my
gloved hand on her mouth. She woke up quick, saw me, saw the knife and got the
idea pretty quickly. Zak was around the other side of
the bed, he pulled off her sheet. She was wearing a pink fleece tee shirt and
pants. He grabbed her wrists and slipped a cable tie tight around them. Gerry
did the same thing with her ankles.
I
put down the knife, grabbed a sponge ball from my pocket and pushed it in her
mouth. She wasn’t keen. Once I’d got it in a few strips of tape served to keep
it there. Gerry pulled her legs up to her wrists and tugged another cable tie
into place. We wanted a bit of time to take a look around and she’d be OK hogtied
on the bed. By now she was wide awake and squealing. I showed her the knife
again and she quietened down.
The
guys and me went downstairs to see what we could find.
Well,
it was embarrassing how much she’d found out. One file headed up with the name of
our client had copies of bank statements showing his payments for some of our
products and a trail of other accounts leading back to us. There was a
handwritten note where he’d scribbled out a list of qualities he wanted met in
one of his purchases and the words “the lads think $350k should do it” and a
name – the name of a girl whose mysterious disappearance had attracted a lot of
media attention six months or so before. There were even a couple of
photographs of the girl; the ones we take just after a pick up so the client
gets a chance to OK what we’ve got before we start prepping them to their spec.
Then there was the lap top. Even a cursory glance told us we’d need a lot more
time with that. Encrypted files, hidden directories, plus it was
obvious she had stuff stored in servers elsewhere. It looked like we needed to
have a long chat with Judy before anything else.
There
was a thump from upstairs. We all guessed what was going on. Zak got to her bedroom first. Judy had been struggling to
get free and rolled herself off the bed. She was a bit winded but otherwise OK.
I looked across the room and saw her mobile phone on a chair. She’d obviously
been trying to get to it. I guess I couldn’t blame her.
Zak put her back on the bed. I peeled off her tape gag and
Gerry cut her ankles free. “We’re going down stairs,” I told her, pushing the
point of the knife up under her chin, “and you’re going to give me all the
files I need.” She gulped. I could tell she was scared.
“Sure,”
she said. “Just don’t hurt me. I’ll let you have the files if you’ll let me
go.”
I
didn’t say anything, just pulled her to her feet and dragged her to the door.
We went down to her study. She was being really cooperative. Told us where we
could find stuff. Even gave us the keys to her desk and her brief case. It was
a great help. She was too co-operative really. That’s when I realised she had
it all backed up on-line and we’d need more time with her. But at least that
way we managed to clean out everything that was in the house. Once we were sure
we’d got the lot we taped her mouth up again. I think she thought we’d just tie
her ankles, take the stuff and leave her somewhere. She was disappointed.
Gerry
appeared from upstairs carrying a suit case he’d filled with enough clothes and
other stuff to make it look like she’d left for a few days away. Zak pulled an over coat on to our helpless journalist, we
slipped her feet into a pair of shoes and took her out the way we’d come, down
through her garden and into the van.
Zak got to ride in back with her as we took her to one of our
little hideaways. From the squealing that came back to us, I guess he was
having a little fun on the journey but, hey, there have to be a few perks in
this job, don’t there?
We
went to an old farm we use up in
Zak hustled Judy inside. Well I guess it’s a cliché but we sat
her on a big, heavy chair and Gerry roped her to it. Her pink sleep shirt had
got rucked up a bit where she and Zak
had been playing in the van. I pulled it down to save her modesty. She tried
struggling against the ropes but Gerry is pretty good at that sort of thing.
She wasn’t going anywhere and she knew it.
I
took her gag off and all I got for my trouble was a mouthful of abuse.
“Why
the fuck have you brought me her? You’d better let me go. Plenty of people will
be wondering where I am.”
I
always reckon that being blunt is the best strategy in these cases. “I don’t
think so. There isn’t anyone who will be the slightest bit concerned about your
disappearance for several days and even then they’ll just think your off on one
of your little investigative trips that you are always so secretive about. So
before you mouth off again, just think how much unpleasantness we might be able
to cause you in that time.”
“All
right,” she said, “all right. But you didn’t need to bring me here. You’ve got
all the stuff. You’ve got all the files. You’ve got my lap top. What else do
you want? Why don’t you let me go?”
“What
else do we want? I’ll tell you what we want, Miss, nosy fucking reporter, lady.” I was snarling now, my face inches from hers. She’d
got back into scared mode, which was fine with me. “This laptop isn’t the whole
story. You’ve got the whole lot backed up, on-line.” The furtive flicker in her
eyes told me I was right, but she shook her head. “OK,” I said and nodded to
Gerry. He took a length of rope, knotted it in the middle, jammed the knot in
her mouth and tied it off behind her head. It doesn’t make a very effective gag
but it didn’t need to keep her too quiet. It sure is uncomfortable for whoever
is wearing it, though. We left her for a while, had a couple of beers, watched some TV.
When
I went back she was more cooperative. I took the rope gag off.
“Please,”
she begged, “I need to
- you know.”
“You
think you’re going to mess this floor?” I said, pointing down at the bare
concrete. “Peeing your pants isn’t the biggest problem
you’ve got right now.”
She
looked haunted. I could tell she was defeated. “OK,” she said, “OK. Bring me
the laptop, I’ll show you how to get into the backups.”
We
let her use the toilet. She was as good as her word. Eventually.
We logged on to her back up server and cleaned off the files she had there. I
looked through them before we hit “delete”, it looked like scanned copies of
all the stuff we’d seen in the paper files as well as the data stuff from her
laptop. She needed a bit of a slap before she owned up to the second back up
set. But, after all, she had promised to show us the back ups. Plural.
I
put the gag back on her while we rooted around for a while longer. I was pretty
convinced that she’d told us about all of it. Of course it was still a problem.
We couldn’t let her go. Somewhere, in the vault of whatever data centre these
servers were in, there would be a series of tapes with security copies of her
encrypted stuff. If we had let her go she’d have been able to get the tapes
re-loaded. Without her around they’d be wiped eventually.
I
had a word with Zak about what we needed to set up
next. He was always reliable when it came to disposals.
We
let her think we were going to let her go, that we were just keeping her a
while until we knew all was OK. We took off the ropes and the gag; left her to
recover. She stayed locked in the cell of course but free apart from that. It
took a few days for the bruises around her wrists and ankles to heal up but
they would have been a bit of a give away for what we had planned.
We
were set up to organise her demise. A little late night
swimming. In a canal. Without
the option of getting out. Then Gerry made things complicated. He took
her some clothes from her suit case and told her to change. She said she didn’t
want her jeans, why didn’t he fetch her a dress? He
said, how did she think it would look - being pulled out of the water with her
skirt up round her waist?
I
didn’t take her long to work out the implications. Needless to say she was
upset.
“I
did what you wanted,” she screamed. “Now you’re going to kill me anyway?”
I
nodded. There didn’t seem any point in disagreeing.
“No,”
she begged. “Please no. You don’t have to kill me. I’ll do anything.” That’s
when she had a bright idea. “Look,” she said turning to me. “You’re slave
traders. Trade me!”
“What?”
I exclaimed. “Look, we’re the ones that decide who we take and who we sell. We
don’t have volunteers.”
”What’s the difference? Come on. I don’t look so bad, do I? You’d get a price,
wouldn’t you? I’d be out of circulation. Why wouldn’t that work?”
“She’s
got a point,” said Gerry, unhelpfully, I thought, given that he’d caused all
this.
“I’ll
tell you what the difference is, lady. We are not your run of the mill, pick
girls up off the street, auction them off for whatever you can get, slave
traders. What we do not do is snatch women just on the
off-chance of finding a buyer. That sort of irresponsible, speculative,
behaviour gets this business a bad name. If your research told you anything you
should know that we trade strictly in premium products; daughters of the
aristocracy, high gloss products generally. Now, no offence lady, but I’m not
sure you’re in that class. Plus you’ve got more of a brain than most of our
clients are looking for. First class honours at
She
nodded sheepishly.
“Yeah,
I thought so. Well, let me tell you that top of the list of desirable
attributes from our clients is not ‘must be able to
engage in a discussion on the evolution of the novel in late Victorian
literature’.
“But
I did learn some other stuff at
I
was puzzled. “Stuff that might help you now?” I said,
“Stuff that might make you a more saleable asset for me?”
“If
what I think makes for a more saleable asset is right,” she said. She looked at
the suitcase. “Let me get changed,” she said. “I’ll show you and the others
something.”
I
said OK. After all, we weren’t that worried when we arranged her late night
swim. Anyway, we watched while she changed out of her pink pj’s
and pulled on a black bra and panties. She pulled a brush through her hair. As
she stood up, I thought, “Actually she hasn’t got a bad body. She must keep
herself pretty fit, somehow.” She found a short skirt and a tight white top in
the case and put those on too. It was a different look from the one we’d seen s
far. I wasn’t complaining.
“Now
this is a bit difficult without music,” she said. “But you’ll have to imagine
it.”
She
launched into an athletic dance routine that would have brought cheers from the
most hardened (if you’ll pardon the expression) audience in a lap dancing club.
There was a narrow, cast-iron column in the centre of the room which we’d
normally use for securing guests. She gave it some very personal attention. If
it hadn’t been rigidly erect before she started, it would have been afterwards.
I looked across at Gerry and Zak. It looked like they
were, too.
She
finished the routine with a swing from the pillar, down into
a splits, and looked up at me. I guess she thought I enjoyed it. She
wasn’t wrong. I’ve seen this sort of thing done a few times (Hey, a guy need to
relax after work doesn’t he?) and she was pretty good at it.
“Is
that more the sort of thing you’re looking for?” she said.
“I
can think of some clients that might value that sort of skill,” I said, “but
even so….”
“That’s
not,” all she said, moving towards me on all fours with cat like smoothness “I
guess you boys must be a bit stiff after that. How would you feel about a
little blow?”
“Sure,”
I said, trying to appear nonchalant. We’re not really supposed to play with our
guests so it had been a while since I’d had any fun. Besides, this was
obviously an important part of our decision making over the future of Miss
Close. The other two were lining up as well. I watched as her well manicured
fingers slipped down the zip of my trouser fly and prised my cock from within.
She didn’t spend long with her fingers bringing it erect, but then after her
dance she didn’t need to. She was smiling as she took it in her mouth.
Now,
I’m no connoisseur in these matters but I’ve had my dick in quite a few women’s
mouths down the years, mostly without their enthusiastic participation. I can
tell you, Judy was bteer than average. Much. And when she was done she slurped it down and licked
me clean. Did I think someone would pay for that privilege? Yeah,
probably.
So
did Zak and Gerry when she gave them the same
opportunity to experience her skills.
By
the time she’d finished on them, I’d had the chance to think about her
proposition. Actually it wasn’t such a dumb idea. Certainly it avoided the
whole problem of a body turning up somewhere with all the problems of forensics
and the rest. I mean, I know there isn’t a TV series called ‘CSI:
“Well,
what do you think?”
“I
think those aren’t the usual skills for an
“They
are if you’ve got a student loan to pay off and you don’t like the idea of waitressing. I had to do something in my spare time to make
ends meet.”
“Shame about the waitressing,” I
said, “quite a lot of our customers like a little help around the house.”
“Oh,
I can do it,” she said. “It was the smell of burgers that put me off. Besides
the tips were better doing this. Come on. Admit it.
That was the best blow you’ve had for a while, maybe ever. You know the song,
‘Hips Don’t Lie’? Well cocks don’t either. Now tell me you can’t get a price at
auction for these skills.”
I
thought about it. She was right. One thing I’ve learned in business. Sometimes
you have to throw the rule book out of the window and go for a little lateral
thinking. OK,” I said. “We’ll see how it goes. There’s an auction at the end of
the month. We’ll put you through the basic training routine. If you make your
reserve then we’ll call it quits. If you don’t, well…”
“You
won’t need to worry about that,” Judy said. “Still, if I’m going to be a slave,
I’d better start getting used to it, hadn’t I? I can’t imagine you’re just
going to let me ride up front in the van over to your training centre, wherever
that is, are you?”
“Err,
no,” I said, a little nonplussed by her directness. “No, the usual form is for
you to ride in the back; chained, gagged and blindfolded.”
“I
thought so,” she said. “Well if you’d like to let me have the things, I’ll get
myself ready. I assume you’ll want to get going and you’ll all have enough to
do.”
I
found her a hood, ball gag and handcuffs and left her to get on with it. Me and the lads went to clear up the rest of the house. We
like to leave things tidy for the next team, it’s only professional. When we
got back to the room that Judy was in and unlocked the door, she’d been as good
as her word. There she was sitting in the chair in the middle of the room, blinded
by the black leather hood over her head, ball gag strapped into her mouth,
hands cuffed behind her back. Obligingly, she’d stripped of her top so that all
she was wearing was her black bra and skirt. She obviously had the right idea.
“If
you thought this was a good thing to do, you were right,” I said, giving one of
her tits a pinch. She gave a grunt muffled by the gag and wriggled her
shoulders in appreciation. I checked the strap that held her ball gag in place.
She hadn’t held back; it was as tight as it would have been if either of the
guys had applied it. She’d squeezed her handcuffs tightly shut too; no risk of
her slipping her wrists out. I guess she was genuine after all. “Well,” I said,
“time to go.” She nodded and got to her feet.
Zak hoisted her up onto his shoulder. I guess the least we
could do was to carry her to her transport. I saw him stroking her arse as he
carried her out. She was wriggling a bit but she needed to get used to that
sort of thing. I couldn’t help but feel she’d find her new life a lot more
challenging than she expected but it was probably better than the alternative
we’d had planned. And besides, it was her decision.
<The
End>
© Freddie Clegg 2007
Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
Email: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
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