Mock Rape, Inc.
by Harold
Claire returned to her table to find the check laying in its usual spot. She
picked it up to look at it. There was a white business card concealed beneath
the check. She turned it over.
Mock Rape, inc.
Dark Fantasies Fulfilled
There was a phone number and logo which pictured a pair of feminine hands bound
at the wrists. Claire stared at the card for a few moments in shock and
puzzlement, then laid it face down as she had found it. She flagged down the
waitress.
"Janet, did you leave this here?"
"No, what is it?"
Claire turned the card over.
"Oh, my god! Where did that come from?"
"I don't know. It was under the check when I picked it up. I thought you
might have put it there."
"No, I've never seen it before. It's sort of scary. You want me to call the
manager?"
"No, don't. I'm not sure I want anyone else to see it. You didn't see who put
it there?"
"I wasn't watching. This is lunch hour and it's pretty busy. I can't imagine
who would have left it."
"Have you ever seen one before?"
"Never. You want me to throw it away for you?"
"I think I'd better keep it. I want to see if I can find out where it came
from. Would you watch to see if any more turn up?"
"Sure, I'll keep an eye out. I'll let you know if I see anything."
"Thanks." Claire paid her tab and left. As she went out the door, she
couldn't help the feeling that she was being watched. She scanned the room but
no one was paying any attention to her and she didn't see any unfamiliar faces.
She decided she was being paranoid and returned to work.
At work, she found it difficult to concentrate. On two occasions she took the
card out of her purse and looked at it, then hurriedly put it back for fear
someone else might notice. As the afternoon wore on, Claire's agitation
increased. Finally, it was time to leave. Claire looked around as she left the
building, but didn't see anything unusual.
Claire warmed up some leftovers when she got home and tried to sort out her
feelings as she ate. She was annoyed at the impact the card had on her
equanimity. She was in an emotional uproar although nothing had actually
happened. If she looked at it logically, nothing was likely to happen. The
import of the card was that the next move was hers.
Nonetheless, she was disturbed. How had the card come to her? Was it random,
or had she been selected to receive it? Was someone watching her? If she was a
specific rather than a random target, why had she been selected? She felt
insulted, frightened, and intrigued all at the same time. What made 'them'
(whoever 'they' were) think she was interested? .
Was she interested? That was perhaps the most disturbing question. She
supposed that most women had some sort of rape fantasy. Of course, no one
wanted to be raped, but the idea of a man taking control of her, having his way
with her, did have it's erotic aspects. There was a reason for the popularity
of the bodice ripper genre. She had even read a few herself. Nevertheless,
Claire found these sorts of feelings embarrassing, although she had to admit to
herself that suppressing them only increased her turmoil. Maybe she should call
the number on the card. She could at least try to get some of her questions
answered. But it was scary. Receiving such a card was not normal. It could be
dangerous. And even scarier was the possibility that she might surrender
herself to the sorts of feelings that the card inspired. She decided to ignore
it. After a day or two she would forget the card and things would be normal
again.
Claire's next day at work was even more miserable than the previous one. She
had brought her lunch and ate at her desk. She was afraid to go out-well, not
really afraid, she told herself, just appropriately cautious. The day dragged
on. She tried to bury herself in her work, but all she could think about was
the little white card. She felt her coworkers were becoming aware of her
agitation. She got almost nothing done. Finally, she made an excuse and left a
couple of hours early.
At home, Claire made some tea. This was driving her crazy. She was angry that
her life had been taken over like this. It made her even angrier that she
allowed it to happen. It was just a stupid white business card. It wasn't
doing anything to her. She was doing it to herself.
"Stop it!", Claire shouted. Getting angry seemed to help. She knew she had to
call the number. The shot of adrenalin provided the necessary resolve. It was
the only way to take back control of her life. She didn't have to subscribe to
or purchase whatever it was. What she needed was a confrontation with these
people. She would tell these people what she thought of them. She dialed the
phone.
"Hello, Ms. Dunbar. I'm glad to hear from you. My name is Malcolm."
"You know my name! Who are you? What do you want from me?" Malcolm had
shattered Claire's aplomb before she had even spoken a word. She wanted to hang
up, but that would only make things worse. She would have to talk to Malcolm.
"Relax, it's only caller ID. My phone tells me that I'm being called by
'Dunbar, C.'. You must be Claire."
"You do know who I am. Oh, god, I'm being stalked."
"Hardly. After all, you called me. So, what can I do for you?"
"I got your card. Where did it come from? Why did I get it? Was it random,
or was I supposed to get it?"
"The card was intended for you. Targeted marketing is essential in our
business. Soliciting the wrong person can be embarrassing for all concerned."
"But how...who...why me?"
"As I said before, you called. Someone who was uninterested would simply have
thrown the card away. She would never have called. You called."
"But I just called to find out what this is all about. I didn't call to hire
you to do whatever it is you do."
"So wouldn't you like to know about what it is we do? As long as you're on the
phone, you might as well find out what it is you're so frightened of."
"I'm not frightened. I just want to know what's going on."
"As much as I hate to contradict a customer..."
"I'm not a customer."
"Well, potential customer. Regardless, right now you don't sound like a woman
who's cool, calm, and collected."
"Who can be cool and calm when they're being harassed? You don't..."
"Claire...Claire, relax. Take a deep breath. Again. Once more. Good. I
hate to keep repeating myself, but you called me."
"But you started it. You gave me that card."
"You could have thrown it away. You didn't have to call. Now, wouldn't you
like to hear what we have to offer?"
"Alright. Tell me. Get it over with."
"As you wish. We provide a service. We will fulfill your darkest fantasies.
All you have to do is fill out a form, outlining your fantasies in as much or as
little detail as you like. We will make them come true with no real danger to
yourself. You will survive the experience unharmed and free of any diseases you
do not already have. Once you receive the form, just fill it out and send it in
with your payment and we'll do the rest."
"I'm still not sure exactly what you do."
"You tell us. You're the customer. Shall I send you a form?"
"I don't think so. This doesn't sound like my sort of thing."
"If you say so, but it won't hurt to look over the form. There's no obligation
and nothing will happen unless you send it in with payment."
"So what do you charge for this 'service'."
"The cost is $1500 with a $500 rebate if you complete the fantasy. You can
cancel at any time, even during your experience"
"I don't understand. Why a rebate?"
"The rebate functions as coercion. You will be given a code word. If you say
the word at any time, the fantasy is over in that instant. Many of our
customers are turned on by the element of coercion. Since that's lost if they
can stop any time they want, we have provided an incentive not to use the word.
If you use the word, you lose your rebate. Use of the word will cost you $500."
"Either way, that's a lot of money."
"And what price would you put on fantasy? Think of it as a vacation. Surely
you'd spend $1000 on a vacation."
"Yeah, but a vacation would be a week or more, not an hour or two."
"Typically, our fantasies take 24 to 48 hours. Consider it a weekend vacation.
You couldn't get an individually tailored vacation for that amount of money
anywhere."
"What if I didn't like it?"
"Just say the word and it stops. Shall I send you the forms?"
"OK. Send me the forms. You don't do anything unless I send them in-that's
for sure isn't it?"
"That's for sure. This is a commercial enterprise. If you don't pay, you
don't get a fantasy."
"I'll look at the forms, but there's no way I'm doing this."
"That's quite alright. It's your decision. Thank you for calling, Claire.
Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
Claire felt better. She still had mixed emotions about the whole thing, but at
least she had some idea what it was all about and felt reasonably sure nothing
would happen unless she sent the forms back. She slept more soundly that night
than she had since the card had first appeared.
The next day she came home to find an envelope in the mail with no return
address. She opened it to find a cover letter and several pages of forms. She
read the letter.
Dear Claire:
Thank you for considering our services. MRI hopes to provide you with a
fantasy that you will find fulfilling. In order to design an experience that is
suited to your desires, please fill out the attached forms. Put an 'X' next to
the items you wish to exclude and an 'O' next to the items you would like
included. All other items will be optional at our discretion. We suggest you
mark as few items as possible, since the essence of this experience is the
surrender of yourself to your guide. Most of our customers find they enjoy the
experience more when they don't know what is going to happen.
After you finish, return it in the enclosed envelope along with $1,500.
Personal checks are accepted, but your fantasy will not take place until the
check has cleared.
Your code word is 'consanguinity'. This is not a word you are likely to use in
normal conversation, so there will be no doubt as to your intent should you use
it. Remember that there is a $500 charge for use of your word. If you complete
your fantasy without using the word, you will receive a rebate of $500.
After receipt of your payment and paperwork, we will begin work on designing
your fantasy. Your fantasy will take place anywhere from 2 days to 2 months
after payment clears. You will not be informed when it will take place. It
will simply happen to you. The timing may or may not be convenient, so you may
want to make preparations to be gone for a day or two without notice to anyone.
We trust you will not disclose the true nature of your absence.
Thank you for considering MRI. We look forward to serving you.
Malcolm
Claire looked over the forms They listed a wide variety of sexual activities.
She started filling them out. She had no intention of mailing the forms, but
there was a certain vicarious thrill attached to the process of filling them in.
She listed her name and put her code word in the appropriate blank.
She browsed the lists. Oral, anal, and vaginal penetration. She put an 'X'
next to anal. She almost marked out oral. She'd never done a blow job. She
was mildly repulsed by the idea, but left it in anyway. She also marked out
'gang bang' and 'lesbian experience'. Her fantasies were usually more private,
one-on-one. She went on down the list. Vibrators, dildos, autoeroticism.
Leave it up to them. Bondage, spanking. Spanking? Well, maybe. She could
always stop if it was too much. Water sports, piss drinking. Both out. She
didn't put any O's on the sheet. It would be more fun if left up to them.
Piercing, branding, tattoos. No, no, and no. This part was getting scary.
Servitude, obedience training. Another maybe. She could always stop it. She
finished the form, then put it in the return envelope, then secreted the
envelope in her jewelry box. She didn't want it laying around where someone
might see it.
Claire was nearly back to normal the next day at work. She still felt some
anxiety, but she was no longer troubled by the white card. It's place had been
taken by the envelope. She kept thinking about it. It didn't upset her the way
the card had, but neither could she get it out of her mind.
At home that evening, she took the forms out again and looked at them. The
thought occurred to her that she had not given Malcolm her address. She was not
in the phone book. Nevertheless, the envelope had arrived, correctly addressed.
These people had known where she lived. Malcolm had also avoided the question
of how and why she had been chosen to receive the card, but had made it clear
that there was nothing random about her possession of it. And how had the card
been delivered? Claire began to feel that her original fears had been
justified. What had drawn their attention to her?
Claire threw the forms in the trash, then pulled them out again. In spite of
the apprehension she felt, she was drawn by what the forms represented. She
thought about calling Malcolm again, but decided not to. The result of her last
attempt to give Malcolm and his people a piece of her mind was the envelope in
her hand. What would Malcolm talk her into if she called him again?
Tension built up in Claire over the next several days. She continued taking
her lunch to work so she wouldn't have to go out. She was suspicious of any
strangers who looked at her. She could find no real sign of anyone watching
her, but she felt as if she was being stalked. The envelope was always in her
thoughts. It frightened her, but it excited her, too.
Increasingly, the envelope preyed on her mind. One evening several days later,
she couldn't stand it anymore. She wrote a check and dropped the envelope in
the mail. She still had a couple of days to stop the check, she told herself.
What was odd was the sense of relief she felt. The problem was now out of her
hands. At the same time, she was appalled. She had just paid someone $1000 to
rape her. Claire was pretty sure this was not normal behavior. Why did she
feel relief after mailing the envelope?
Claire went to bed and slept fitfully. The next day she was as troubled as
ever. Finally, late in the day, she called the bank to stop the check, but it
had already cleared. Claire couldn't believe it. They shouldn't even have
received it yet. How could she have been such an idiot? Her money was gone and
they were going to do god only knew what to her. She could always use the code
word, but that would cost her $500 and she was not altogether convinced they
would honor it.
When she got home, she located the white card and called Malcolm's number. It
was disconnected. Now she was really frightened. She considered going to the
police, but no crime had actually been committed. Besides, Malcolm had her
check and the forms she'd filled out. She could imagine how embarrassing it
would be if they should be produced.
A nervous month went by and Claire had nearly convinced herself that it had all
been a con and nothing was going to happen. As she left work one evening, there
was a van she'd never seen before parked next to her car. She was suspicious
and walked up behind the van, peering through the windows. It was dark in the
van, but it appeared to be empty. She walked to her car and fumbled with the
key. It didn't seem to want to go in the door lock. Claire looked closely and
realized something was jammed in the lock, preventing her key from going in.
About this realization dawned, the van door was flung open. A canvas bag was
pulled over her head and tied about her neck. Claire was pulled into the van
and her wrists were tied behind her and her ankles bound. Then she was laid in
one of the seats and fastened down with seatbelts. The van pulled out of the
parking garage into traffic.
Claire considered her predicament. She was bound and uncomfortable, but not
unbearably so. For a moment she panicked, unable to remember her code word.
Consanguinity, that was it, consanguinity. Claire clung to the word. It was
her life buoy.
The van continued it's journey. Claire was trying to decide if there were one
or two abductors. She had never actually felt more than one pair of hands on
her at any one time, but her ankles had been bound so rapidly after her wrists,
she suspected there were either two men or one very fast one. There were no
sounds in the van. No conversation, no radio, nothing to give her a sense of
time.
After what she guessed was more than thirty minutes and less than two hours,
the van stopped. She heard only one front door open, then the side door opened.
Claire's ankles were untied and she was pulled from the van and set on her feet.
The bag was removed from her head and a blindfold quickly tied into place.
Claire had gotten only a brief look at her surroundings before the blindfold
had cut off her sight again. She was in a garage. It was large enough for two
or three vehicles in addition to the van. She had been unable to see her
abductor.
A choke chain collar was looped around her neck. She resisted the first tug,
but a sharp snap of the leash closed the chain tightly about her neck. Claire
gurgled and stumbled forward. She was led through a door which was closed with
a heavy thud, then locked. The echo of her heels clicking on the hard floor
told her she was in a corridor. She was led down the corridor and through
another equally heavy door. The floor here was thinly carpeted. After a few
paces, the leash went slack and Claire stopped. She stood waiting for whatever
was next. Bound and blindfolded, there was nothing else to do. Claire's
emotions were conflicted. She didn't feel particularly aroused. Apprehension
and curiosity predominated. After what she guessed was several minutes nothing
had happened.
"Hello," she called. "Is anyone ..."
"Silence. You have not been given permission to speak."
Claire jumped. The voice was almost in her ear. She hadn't realized anyone
was standing so near. The voice was a clear baritone with just the hint of an
accent she couldn't identify.
The chain choker was removed and something buckled in its place around her
neck. From its feel, Claire guessed it was leather. She felt it being gently
tugged and heard the snick of a small lock. Her hands were untied. She stood
rubbing her wrists for a moment, still blindfolded. Then she reached up to feel
the collar she was wearing, but a pair of hands seized her wrists and pulled
then back down to her sides.
"I was only trying...Ow!" She had been slapped sharply across the cheek.
"You were told not to speak. Any further disobedience will be met with more
severe punishment."
Claire was frightened now. This was not quite what she had expected. So far
her adventure had proven to be anything but a turn-on. She thought about using
the word, but didn't. It would cost her $500 to use it, but there was a greater
fear. As long as she held the word in reserve, she could use it as a security
blanket. If she used it and it was ignored, she was left without anything to
which to cling. As long as she didn't use it, she could pretend there was an
escape.
"Undress."
The command shocked her back to consciousness of her surroundings. She
hesitated and felt the sting of a switch across the back of her calves.
"Oww, that hurt."
"This one will hurt even more."
"Ahh! Stop."
"Do as you were ordered."
Claire began unbuttoning her blouse. She slipped it off and held it out
tentatively.
"Drop it, then continue."
Claire let the blouse slip from her fingers, then began on her bra. She
dropped it on the floor on top of the blouse. She stepped out of her shoes and
unfastened her skirt. When she had removed everything except her panties, she
hesitated.
"Oww!" The switch struck the back of her thighs.
"You were told to undress. Are you undressed?"
"No, sir." Why had she called him 'sir'? It made her angry, but she felt the
need to appease. She didn't want to be switched again.
"Then get that way."
Claire pulled down her panties and stepped out of them. She stood naked except
for her blindfold and collar. Nothing happened for several minutes. She was
pretty sure her captor was inspecting her. Then her arm was seized. Something
was buckled snugly around her wrist, then she heard the snick of another small
lock. The process was repeated with her other wrist, then her wrists were
pulled behind her and fastened. Cuffs were then locked on her ankles.
Her ankle cuffs were fastened together. Then her wrists freed, fastened in
front, pulled overhead and fastened. Claire was now standing with her arms over
her head so that her body was drawn taut.
Hands cupped her breasts, then she felt the fingers on her nipples. Claire
moaned softly, then screeched as something clamped down on first one nipple then
the other.
"Don't," she pleaded. "Take them off."
"Open your mouth."
Against her better judgement, Claire complied. Something was jammed in her
mouth and held in place by a strap buckled behind her neck.
"You probably thought your silly code word would save you, didn't you."
Before Claire could react to this remark, she felt a sting across the small of
her back. It was quickly followed by another and another. Claire was lashed
from neck to ankles. Each blow hurt but was bearable; however, the cumulative
effect soon had her sobbing softly. She was being whipped. She couldn't
believe it. And what was worse, she had paid them to do it. It wasn't just the
pain that made her cry; she felt like such a fool.
After she had been thoroughly worked over, her arms were taken down and
fastened behind her. Claire yelped as the clamps were removed from her nipples.
She was bent over a table or bench and her collar fastened to the surface of it.
Her ankles were spread and locked in place. Then she was fucked. Claire
reflected that this was an accurate description of her situation on a number of
levels. She was being fucked. Nonetheless, Claire experienced a surprisingly
healthy orgasm. She was embarrassed and ashamed that she could have an orgasm
under such conditions. It was all so mechanical. Do this...stand
there...silence!...obey. She started to cry again. She felt so humiliated.
Claire felt her gag being unbuckled. It was pulled out and she closed her
mouth, the ache in her jaw intensified by the unaccustomed motion. She tried to
speak.
"Consequent...ow!" She had been lashed across the small of her back.
"You still don't have permission to speak," said the voice.
Consequently? She had tried to use her word, but had gotten it wrong.
Consignment? Containment? Consecutively? Conserv... "Gachh!" Something had
been shoved in her mouth. It took Claire a moment to realize what it was. She
raised her head, trying to clear her mouth of the thing that was relentlessly
thrusting itself into her.
"You've never done a blow job, have you."
Fingers laced themselves into her hair and pulled her head back down, then up
again. Claire let her neck go limp as her head was bobbed up and down on the
shaft.
"Lick...suck."
Claire made a half hearted effort to comply, then yelped as she was lashed
again.
"Try harder," said the voice. "You're going to keep doing this until you get
it right."
Claire increased her efforts. After a bit, her captor grunted and the back of
her throat was spayed with a warm liquid.
"Swallow."
Claire gulped and swallowed, then the rapidly shrinking member was pulled out.
Claire's attempt to speak was interrupted as her stomach heaved and she threw up
on the floor..
"Damn," was all the voice said.
Claire was unfastened and pulled to an upright position. She groaned as her
muscles uncramped themselves. Something was held to her lips.
"Drink."
Claire drank. As near as she could tell, it was water. Her gag was replaced,
then her wrists fastened overhead again.
This time she was whipped on her frontside. Thighs, stomach, breasts. Claire
jerked and struggled. Her captor would simply wait until she stopped moving,
then land another blow. After a while it stopped. It had been more intense
than her first whipping, but had not lasted as long.
Claire's hands were tied behind her again. Then she was picked up and carried
to another room and deposited on a soft surface. Covers were pulled over her.
She realized she was in a bed. Someone climbed in beside her. His body covered
hers and pressed it into the mattress. She was fucked again. Claire fell
asleep.
Sometime later she awoke. Her head was pulled beneath the covers and she was
given another blow job lesson. This time she managed not to throw up. She fell
asleep again. The pattern repeated. Fuck, nap, blow job, nap.
When next she awoke, she was picked up, placed on the floor and hogtied. Her
collar was attached to the floor. Claire remained uncomfortably bound for an
indeterminate period of time, after which she was untied and helped to her feet.
She did not try to remove her blindfold. Her hands were pulled behind her and
locked in handcuffs. She was gagged and led from the room.
Claire was placed in the van and secured in the same way she had been when she
arrived, except this time she was naked. After a trip which seemed similar in
length to the previous one, the van stopped. Claire was unstrapped and her
ankles freed. She was helped from the van and stood quietly on what felt like
pavement while her wrists were freed and then locked in front of her. A light
chain was threaded through the center link of the handcuffs and locked around
her waist, pinning her wrists to her stomach. A small object was placed in her
hand. After a moment, the van door slammed and she heard it drive off.
Claire had no idea where she was. She was standing naked, handcuffed, gagged,
and blindfolded. She thought she was outdoors. She could hear traffic and feel
a breeze. She felt more vulnerable now than at any previous time in her
captivity. She couldn't hear anyone around and hoped she was alone. She feared
she was on a street corner. Claire took a tentative step and stubbed her toe.
She had to get the blindfold off, but couldn't reach it with her hands chained
to her waist.
Examining the object in her hand, she realized it was a ring of keys. There
were three of them. She fumbled for a considerable period of time, trying to
unlock the handcuffs. She dropped the keys. Claire extended one leg and swept
the ground with her foot until she located them. She squatted, but was unable
to reach the ground. Finally, she was forced to kneel, then lie down and roll
around until she got her hands on the keys. She found the keyhole on her left
wrist, and after more fumbling, she was able to unlock it with the second key
she tried. She reached up and tried to remove her blindfold, but it was buckled
tightly in place and locked. She unlocked her right wrist. With both hands
free, she was able to unlock and remove her blindfold.
Claire blinked and looked around. She knew where she was. She was just inside
the entrance to the parking garage where she parked every day. She could see
traffic passing on the street. It was dark out, and the garage was apparently
deserted. Running across the lot to the elevator, she pushed the button and
waited forever for it to arrive, afraid someone would come in and see her.
Finally, it came and she got in and pushed the button for level four. The
elevator rose, then stopped on level three. She huddled in the corner,
terrified. The door opened, but no one was there. The elevator continued to
level four.
Exiting the elevator, she saw her car across the empty lot where she had left
it. She ran to it. Her keys! She didn't have her car keys. She tried the
doors. Locked. In a panic, she tried the trunk. It opened; her keys were
laying inside. Claire opened the car and got in. It started easily. As she
started to back out, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She was still
gagged. In her panic, she had forgotten the gag. She fumbled with the keys
again and unlocked it. She also removed her collar. Only one more problem.
She was still naked. She got out and opened the trunk again. She kept a
blanket there for emergencies. She wrapped it around herself like a bath towel
and drove home.
Her clothes lay neatly on her sofa. She saw them as soon as she opened the
front door. They had been in her house. For a moment she was frightened again.
What if they were still in the house? Claire got hold of herself. It wasn't
likely. Why would they bother? If they wanted her, they wouldn't have released
her. Just the same, it troubled her that they had been in her house. She took
a shower and went to bed, but slept fitfully.
Claire was not pleased with her purchase. It was Sunday morning. She had been
abducted on Friday afternoon and released Saturday, sometime after midnight.
She was trying to sort out her feelings about the whole thing. It had not
turned out to be the thrill that she had secretly hoped for. She felt so used.
She had been grabbed, bound, whipped, fucked, fucked some more, then dumped
naked in a parking lot. Nothing about it conformed to her idea of a romantic
interlude. Snatched, forced to perform, then cast aside. The orgasms she had
experienced caused her only anger and embarrassment. It had not been as
traumatic as a real rape, but neither had there been anything erotic about the
episode. She only hoped she would get her five hundred dollars back. As it
was, she was going to have to take some money out of savings to make it to her
next paycheck.
On Monday, Claire went back to work. She did feel a certain relief in having
it all over with. She resumed having lunch at her usual place and her work
habits returned to normal. By the end of the week, she still had not received
her refund. She tried Malcolm's number again, but it was still disconnected.
Although she was still angry about the money, she was otherwise pretty much over
it.
Friday evening, as she unlocked her car to go home, an arm encircled her and a
hand clamped itself over her mouth.
"Not a sound. Do as you're told and you won't get hurt."
Claire recognized the voice. It was Malcolm. But if this was Malcolm, then
who...what...? Claire was so confused, she hardly noticed she had been
blindfolded, bound, and placed on the floor in the back of a car. If this was
Malcolm, then who was...? Oh my god, she'd been raped! She became frightened,
but not of her current predicament. She was frightened by the previous one. It
had been real. Claire was so agitated, she completely ignored the fact that she
was currently being abducted. She lay in the back of the car, bound and
quivering.
Wait a minute. Her previous abductor had made reference to the code word. If
he knew about that, then he was part of it. Was she getting twice her money's
worth? For the first time in her life, Claire wasn't exactly sure she wanted a
bargain.
The car stopped. Malcolm picked her up and carried her through a door, then
set her on her feet. He untied her hands, then pulled them above her head and
tied them to some sort of bar or rail. He unbound her ankles, removed her
shoes, then tied her ankles to another bar about three feet apart. Claire was
now tied in a vertical spread eagle. She was about to say something when
Malcolm place a hand on either side of her head, tilted it back, and kissed her.
This was something her previous captor had never done.
Malcolm began a slow exploration of Claire's body. He unbuttoned her blouse
and unhooked her bra. He kissed her again and ran his thumbs lightly over her
nipples. He worked his way up and down her body, looking for the things that
would make her gasp or moan.
It was Sunday night and Claire was back home. She had been Malcolm's prisoner
for two whole days. She had not seen Malcolm, having been kept bound and
blindfolded the whole time. This incident had been much more erotic. Malcolm
seemed to delight in wringing major orgasms from her. They seemed to be
amplified by her helplessness. For meals, she had been tied to a chair and
Malcolm had fed her spoonful by spoonful. Even the spankings she had received,
although painful, had somehow excited her. When it was over, she had been
transported bound and blindfolded like before, but this time, when she got her
blindfold off, she was in her living room. Her car was in the driveway.
Several days later, Claire's phone rang.
"Claire, this is Malcolm."
"I wasn't sure I'd ever hear from you again."
"Well, you did. I called for a couple of reasons. First of all, you have a
rebate coming. You'll get it in the mail shortly. Secondly, I called to see if
you enjoyed your experience."
"I guess I did. The second one anyway. I wasn't that thrilled about the first
one. There was a certain intensity about it, but ..."
"First one? What first one?"
"You know, the one the week before. The second time I knew it was you because
I recognized the voice, and for a few minutes I thought the first on had been
real, then I remembered the first guy mentioned the code word and I realized it
was part of the deal. You didn't tell me there were going to be two of them."
"He mentioned the code word?"
"Yeah, he told me not to use it. Then he gagged me. I'll bet he wasn't
supposed to do that, was he."
"Uh, no, he wasn't. So tell me about this first one. What was it like? Did
you see him?"
"No, I was blindfolded the whole time. The setup was a lot like the one you
did, but it was more brutal, more mechanical. He didn't seem interested in
whether I enjoyed it or not. He made it clear I was there to please him. I
think you need a new assistant. When you did it, even though I was tied up and
got punished and everything, I didn't feel threatened the way I did with him.
You made me obey, but I wasn't frightened."
"Well, I'll certainly look into that. I'm sending you some stuff with your
rebate. The first thing is a customer satisfaction survey. I hope you'll fill
it out and send it back. It helps us fine tune our service. The other thing is
a new set of forms and an envelope in case you would like to make use of our
service in the future. Just send them in with a check and we'll arrange a new
adventure for you."
"What happened to your phone. I tried to call you, but the number was
disconnected."
"We change phone numbers once a month. We find it a prudent thing to do.
Should you need us again, just send in the form with a check. You'll be
contacted. I can't guarantee you'll get two adventures next time, however."
"You're really sending me the rebate?"
"Of course. I said we would."
"OK. Thanks."
"You're welcome, Claire. Goodbye."
"Bye."
Claire was perplexed. She had gotten the distinct impression that Malcolm had
been unaware of the first abduction. But if that was true, that meant... But
the guy had known about the code word setup...Maybe Malcolm was bluffing, but
she didn't think so. He sounded more like he was trying to cover up his
ignorance of the first incident. Maybe the company hadn't told Malcolm about
the first one, but that didn't make any sense. Besides, she had a feeling the
company consisted of only Malcolm, but if that were true, then the first guy
hadn't been part of it, but he'd known about the code word. Claire was confused
and worried.
Malcolm was confused and worried. This wasn't the first time one of his
customers had reported a previous experience. He wasn't sure what was going on,
but he didn't like it. He had found the perfect niche business. He could
indulge his fantasies and make a living at the same time. He didn't want it
ruined. Nevertheless, it appeared someone was raping his customers under the
guise of fulfilling his contracts. Claire had told him the guy had mentioned
the code word. Whoever it was knew too much about his operation. It was clear
that it was his customers that were being targeted, rather than random people.
Malcolm was a one man operation. How was it possible for someone to know who
his customers were?
At first, Malcolm tried to decide which of his customers was leaking
information to someone. It just didn't make sense. None of Malcolm's customers
had any contact with each other. Malcolm worked as an office temp. This was
how he found potential clients. He would look for likely prospects in each new
place he worked, but he never solicited any of them until six months to a year
after he had left. There was just no way any of them could know each other. He
couldn't imagine one of them telling someone about her experience, especially
before it happened, which would be what was required for whoever it was to get
to his customers before he did. Malcolm was forced to conclude that the most
likely source of the leak was himself. He was the only point where all the
information came together.
But how? Malcolm never discussed his little enterprise with anyone. Only he
and his selected customers knew of it's existence. Nonetheless, somebody knew.
That was certain. Whoever it was knew who his customers were. How? Someone
had gotten access to his customer information on an ongoing basis. Malcolm
corresponded with customers by mail and phone. Mail did not come directly to
his apartment, however. The return envelopes he sent to customers were sent to
a mail drop across town. Malcolm did not pick them up there. He had them
forwarded to another mail drop in another city, then back to yet a third in his
own town again. He picked them up there. In the case of Claire, he hadn't even
used the mail drops. He'd cruised her house and, seeing the outgoing mail in
her mailbox, had simply picked up the envelope and cashed the check. It seemed
unlikely anyone was intercepting his mail.
Malcolm didn't keep his mail around for anyone to find. He typed the
information from his mail into his computer, then burned the source documents.
His computer was a possible vulnerability, but it was password protected and the
files were encrypted. The decryption key existed only in Malcolm's head.
Neither his apartment or his computer showed any signs of unauthorized entry.
Perhaps it was possible, but whoever it was would have to be quite skilled to
get into both his apartment and his computer without leaving footprints. The
computer in question was never connected to the internet, so that wasn't a
possibility either. The computer seemed such an obvious choice, but there just
wasn't any way.
The other conduit was the phone. Malcolm's phone was unlisted and he changed
numbers on a monthly basis. He didn't subscribe to call waiting, call
forwarding, and other such services because they could be potential security
problems. He didn't use a cordless phone, so there was no danger of anyone
picking him up on a scanner. Could someone have tapped his phone? It didn't
seem likely. He hadn't heard any mysterious clicks or beeps on the line and he
did make a point of being alert to such things. So it didn't seem like the
phone was all that likely either.
That left nothing. If he ruled out the mail, the phone, and his computer,
there wasn't anything left unless someone was reading his mind. It had to be
one or more of those possibilities. Malcolm flipped on his computer. He looked
at the most recent access date for his encrypted files. Nothing looked
suspicious. The files he could remember accessing had dates that matched his
recollection. He poked around elsewhere in his system, but nothing seemed
amiss. This didn't completely exonerate the computer, but the likelihood of it
being the problem was diminished.
He considered the mail. It seemed to him that it would be hard to compromise.
Since he had burned all the relevant mail, he couldn't examine the envelopes for
signs of tampering. He couldn't do much more with the mail until he received
some more.
That brought him back to the phone again. He disassembled the wall jack where
the line entered his apartment. Everything looked normal and there was nothing
extra there that shouldn't be. He took his phone apart with the same result.
It looked perfectly normal inside-no extra parts. There was one other
possibility. Malcolm grabbed a few tools and headed for the basement.
In the basement, Malcolm removed the cover from the phone patch panel that
served the whole building. All the connections were neatly labeled by
apartment, a red and a green wire connected to each. Malcolm quickly found his
own connection. There was an extra pair of grey wires attached to Malcolm's
line. They ran out the top of the box and disappeared in a mass of wiring.
Malcolm painstakingly traced them to the opposite end of the building. Here
they departed the main mass of wire and led to a ledge up next to the ceiling.
Malcolm got a ladder and searched the ledge. A small tape recorder lay there.
Malcolm examined it. It was battery powered and input activated. Malcolm
realized that the machine sat inert unless a call was in progress. The
batteries could easily outlast the tape. Malcolm looked at the tape. It was
set at the beginning. The tape had been rewound or changed recently. The
machine ran at half speed and the tape would hold 90 minutes of material. It
would take him quite a while to fill a tape of that length. That meant the tape
could be changed quite infrequently, although it might be changed more often to
provide current information. That left a wide window for tape changing
schedules.
Malcolm started to remove the recorder, then stopped. He wasn't sure he wanted
to announce his discovery to whoever had placed it there. Best to leave it. He
returned to his apartment.
At least he knew how. There was still who and why. Most disturbing was the
fact that they knew where he lived. How had they found him? He always struck
randomly after receiving a contract and never took his clients to his apartment.
It would take some doing for one of them to track him down. Even if one of them
succeeded, the result was decidedly odd. Why would a customer track him down
and then make arrangements for someone to rape his other customers, all of whom
had so far assumed it was part of the deal. It made no sense.
Malcolm was absolutely certain no one knew what he did except for his
customers. One of his customers had to be the source of the problem. There
just weren't any other possibilities. But it still didn't make sense.
Malcolm's customers were women. His adversary was male. Even if one of his
customers had told a boyfriend or husband about her experience and he had
decided to get in on the action, it would require collusion on her part to
locate him. It just didn't feel right. But what else was there?
Returning to his computer, Malcolm perused his customer list. Nothing jumped
out at him. There was one other approach. He had to find out when the tapes
were changed.
Claire was filling out the survey she had received from Malcolm. It had
arrived promptly, enclosed with a cashier's check for $500 and a new application
form for a future adventure. She finally was getting around to it. Normally
she hated surveys, but this one provided the opportunity to relive her
experience. It asked a number of questions about the specifics of her
experience. Claire concluded that either Malcolm did exactly the same thing
with each customer or he had tailored this questionnaire specifically to her.
She decided it must be the latter. The questions were essay type rather than
multiple choice. Claire liked that. It was nice to be able to say what she
thought for once, rather than circling a bunch of numbers. When she finished,
she put it in the return envelope, applied a stamp, and set it next to her purse
to be mailed in the morning.
The survey caused Claire to examine her feelings once again. She had enjoyed
what Malcolm had done to her, but that was also what troubled her. It had been
done to her. She had been tied up and not an active participant. Maybe, she
thought, it was the same attraction as going to a restaurant, where you sat down
and everything was done for you. No, it was more than that. She longed to call
up her best friend and discuss the experience, but she was way too embarrassed
to do that. There was no way she would tell anyone she had paid to be abducted,
tied up, fucked, spanked, and everything else. She couldn't even think of a
good way to bring it up as a hypothetical situation without Melissa asking where
she was going with this. It wasn't anything she would want to do everyday, but
it did have it's attractions. She wondered if she could afford to do it again.
It was Saturday morning. Malcolm was just returning from the store. As he
entered the building, he passed a phone company guy who was just leaving. Phone
company? Saturday? He glanced over his shoulder, but didn't see a phone
company truck in the lot. He dashed up to his apartment and grabbed his
binoculars. The guy in the phone company uniform was just getting into a green
Toyota.
Malcolm went to the basement. He had checked the tape machine every evening.
The tape in the machine was a different brand than the one that had been in it
last night. He returned to his apartment. Perhaps next Saturday he could
accumulate some more information.
On Thursday, Malcolm got Claire's survey form in the mail. She had mailed it
the previous Thursday, but it had taken a while for it to wend its way through
the byzantine mail system he had set up. He examined the envelope under a
strong light and a magnifying glass, but could detect no sign of tampering.
After opening the envelope, he read Claire's survey form. She had been pleased
with her experience and had even made a couple of constructive suggestions. He
felt fairly certain he would be hearing from her again. Experience told him
that her desire for a repeat performance would grow rather than diminish with
time. She should be good for another $1000 and a couple evenings of
entertainment. It was just a matter of how soon she could scrape up the money
to do it again.
On Friday afternoon, Malcolm went to a theatrical supply and obtained a beard
and a wig. On Friday evening, he rented a car. Saturday morning found Malcolm
sitting in the rental car about half a block from his building. He had a good
view of the parking lot through his binoculars. Malcolm glanced at himself in
the rear view mirror. The combination of wig and beard was a bit much and he
considered removing the wig, which was nearly as uncomfortable as the beard, but
decided to keep it. The change in hair color it afforded was worth it. No one
was going to look that closely and he was certainly unrecognizable to the casual
observer.
About ten a green Toyota pulled into the lot. The telephone guy got out and
went into the building. A few minutes later, he came back out and drove off.
Malcolm followed.
Malcolm's plan was to simply follow the guy home. He didn't intend any contact
at this point, but finding out where the guy lived would be an important step.
Malcolm memorized the license number on the Toyota, but didn't really have any
way to follow up on it. He didn't have any friends at the DMV or on the police
force.
After about three miles, the Toyota pulled into the lot of another apartment
building. The guy went in and returned a few minutes later. Malcolm wondered
if the guy had stopped off to buy drugs or something. A mile further and it
happened again. Malcolm was now truly puzzled.
When the Toyota stopped a fourth time, Malcolm pulled up next to it, got out
and looked through the window, then drove off again before the guy returned. He
stopped again at a safe distance.
Malcolm was amazed. What he had seen on the seat of the Toyota were two boxes
of tapes labeled 'in' and 'out'. This maniac was spying on a bunch of people.
This cast things in a whole different light. Could it be that he had somehow
been chosen randomly and that none of his customers was involved? There was no
way to know, at least not yet, but Malcolm would never have guessed that he was
a random target. Now it seemed a distinct possibility. He continued following
the Toyota.
After a stop at a fast food drive through, the Toyota stopped at a small ranch
style house in a slightly shabby neighborhood. A van was parked in the driveway
and there was a large cinder block garage out back. The guy carried the fast
food sack and both boxes of tapes inside. Malcolm hung around and watched for
another hour, but nothing happened. He was pretty sure he'd found where the guy
lived and was afraid he himself would arouse the neighbors' suspicions if he sat
there too long.
Malcolm returned home and put on some coveralls and a toolbelt; he kept the
beard and wig on. He returned to each of the buildings the guy had visited and
examined the phone lines. In each building there was a pair of grey wires
attached to one of the lines. In two of them, the lines were labeled with
apartment numbers and one of them was even labeled with phone numbers. Malcolm
took down the information in his notebook, then returned home.
Malcolm changed to regular clothes again and drove to the library. In the
reference room he looked up the address in the cross reference. Manfred Mann?
Diddy dum diddy doo? Well, at least he had a temporary name. He might be able
to find out the guy's real name later. He also now had a phone number. He
called the number from the pay phone on the first floor, but there was no
answer. Just as well. Malcolm didn't want to arouse any suspicions at this
point with a strange phone call. Besides, Manfred might recognize his voice
from the tapes.
So now what? Malcolm returned home and pondered the situation. He was making
progress. He had found out how and had a handle on who. He still didn't know
why or what to do about it. He decided more surveillance was in order.
About noon on Sunday, Malcolm packed himself a lunch and drove over to
Manfred's. The green Toyota was parked in front. He drove around until he
found an inconspicuous vantage point and watched. It was becoming apparent why
private detectives charged so much. This was really boring. By seven in the
evening, Malcolm couldn't take it anymore. He started his car and headed for
home. Just as he passed in front of the house, Manfred came out and got in his
car. Malcolm circled the block and followed at a discreet distance.
Manfred drove to the second apartment building he had visited yesterday and
went inside. Malcolm noted he was not wearing the phone company uniform. He
also carried a small valise.
Malcolm sat and waited. An hour later, he had not come out. Three hours
later, he had not come out. He considered going in and nosing around, but was
unwilling to risk contact at this point. He didn't know enough. Malcolm waited
some more. He got out of his car and stretched and walked around. More
waiting. Finally, at 3:00 AM, Malcolm gave up and drove home. It looked like
Manfred was pulling an all nighter. At home, Malcolm set his alarm for 5:30 and
went to bed.
When the alarm went off, Malcolm got dressed and drove to the building where he
had left Manfred. It was 6:00 and the green Toyota was still there. At 6:30
Manfred came out of the building and drove away. Malcolm didn't follow him. He
had another idea.
Malcolm knew the apartment number of the phone that was tapped in this
building. He pressed the buzzer next to the door.
"Wait," a female voice shrilled from inside. "I'm not ready. I didn't know
you were coming back. Please, give me just a minute. Please."
"Ma'am?"
"You're not...Who are you?"
"You don't know me, ma'am," Malcolm called. "I'd like to talk to you."
"No! Go away."
"Please, I think I could help."
"No, you can't. Just go away."
"You're being blackmailed, aren't you."
"What do you know about that?"
"I have a similar problem. We should talk."
The door opened a crack. A face peered through the crack. "Who are you?"
"As I said, you don't know me; nor do I know you, except that you and I both
have a problem named Manfred."
"Is that his name? I never knew."
"Whatever you do, don't let him know you know it. He'll want to know how you
found out. That's why I'm not going to tell you who I am. May I come in?"
"Might as well. You couldn't be any worse than him."
The door opened and Malcolm stepped inside. He was confronted with a middle
aged woman who would have been quite pretty under normal circumstances. At the
moment, she appeared rather disheveled. She looked haunted. She wore a clingy
long sleeved robe and stockings with no shoes or slippers. It didn't look like
she had much on under the robe.
"I won't ask you what he's got on you, since I wouldn't answer that question
myself," Malcolm said. "But I would be curious to know how much you're paying
him."
"I don't give him money. I pay in other ways."
"So I see. The straps of your gag are still imprinted in your cheeks."
"It was very tight. He doesn't like for me to make a lot of noise when I'm
being punished."
"How often do you see him?"
"I've never actually seen him. He calls me before he comes over. Then I have
to stand with my back to the door, put on a blindfold, and wait. The things he
does to me!"
"How frequent are his visits?"
"Once or twice a month. It varies. He doesn't keep a predictable schedule.
I'm forced to adapt my life to his visits. What about you? What's your problem
with him?"
"He represents a threat to my business. I'm looking for a way to put a stop to
it."
"How did you find me?"
"I followed him here."
"What are you going to do about him?"
"I'm still working on that. I thought I'd see what I can learn from you. How
did all this happen?"
"I got a phone call one day. This guy told me what he knew about me. I asked
him what he wanted. When he told me, I told him to go to hell and hung up. An
hour later my doorbell rang. When I answered it, a guy in a Halloween mask
burst in and put a canvas bag over my head. I screamed and threatened to call
the police. He said that would be fine, he'd like to talk to them about me.
Then I was tied up and given a very painful education. Since then, I've done
whatever he says. I'd do almost anything to make him stop, but I'm afraid,
too."
"When did it start?"
"About nine months ago."
"What do you know about him?"
"Nothing. I don't know what he looks like, where he came from, how he found
me, or anything. All I know is the voice. He does seem to have a slight
accent."
"That's not a lot of help. I need to discover his vulnerabilities. He knows
how to get to each of us. How can we get to him?"
"I don't really know anything you could use."
"Well, pay attention during future visits. See what you can learn."
"I don't want any future visits. Can't you stop him before he comes back?"
"I'll stop him, but I don't know how soon. You can stop him any time you want.
Just call 911."
"But you don't know... He could destroy me."
"It sounds like maybe he already has. Anyway, you'll probably have to put up
with him a few more times. See if you can get him to talk about himself, but be
subtle. Act like you're trying to ingratiate yourself rather than pumping him.
Try flattery."
"I'll try."
"OK. I'll be in touch."
"How can I reach you?"
"You can't. He can't make you tell him what you don't know. But that won't
stop him from trying."
"Oh my god."
"Exactly. That's why I'm not telling you anything. It shouldn't be a problem
unless you let slip something you aren't supposed to know. Goodbye, Grace."
"You know my name."
"It's on your mailbox."
Malcolm's encounter with Grace was not as productive as he had hoped it might
be and he wasn't sure it had been worth the risk. Grace wouldn't be able to
tell Manfred much, but she did have Malcolm's description. That would probably
be enough for him to figure out who it had been. It was probably only a matter
of time until Manfred realized he was being pursued. Malcolm hoped to put that
realization off as long as possible. Grace probably wasn't that great a risk.
If she screwed up, Manfred would undoubtedly try to extract more information
than she possessed. She was obviously frightened by that possibility. She
would be discreet.
Today was Monday. Malcolm didn't have a temp assignment today, so he had time
to make further inquiries. He called the phone company and asked for
installation.
"Manfred Mann, please."
"I'm sorry, sir. He's out of the office." The receptionist didn't seem to
regard the inquiry as a prank. "May I take a message?"
"No, I'll call back."
The call yielded two pieces of information. Manfred apparently really did work
for the phone company and they knew him by that name. Perhaps it really was his
name."
The mail arrived about ten. He scrutinized it for tampering but didn't find
any evidence. He returned the rental car, then went by his business mail drop.
There were two envelopes. They also revealed no evidence of tampering. Each
contained a new contract from a prior customer. Malcolm began planning two new
abductions. Since there had been no phone contact, he didn't expect any
interference from Manfred in either case.
Malcolm had temp work the rest of the week. He drove by Manfred's on his way
to and from work each day, but didn't learn anything new. He needed to be more
careful driving around Manfred's house in his own car, so he didn't linger.
Friday night, Malcolm rented another car, a different kind this time. He drove
over to Manfred's, but the Toyota was gone. He hung around until after
midnight, but nothing happened. Malcolm got bored and went home.
Saturday, Malcolm followed Manfred around again. The routine didn't vary.
Manfred swapped all the tapes, then picked up some food and went home. Malcolm
retraced Manfred's steps and checked all the phone taps and machines. The last
one had been moved. Malcolm double checked his notes, but there was no doubt.
Last time the tap had been on apartment 316. Now it was on 317.
That provided another large piece of the puzzle. It was now obvious to Malcolm
how it worked. Manfred would tap a phone, listen for a week or two, and if
nothing interesting turned up, he would move on to the next line. That was how
Manfred had found him. The process wasn't exactly random, but neither had
Malcolm been singled out. Manfred had simply stumbled on to him. The first
tape from Malcolm's had probably knocked his socks off.
Sunday, Malcolm kept vigil on Manfred's from about 3:00 to midnight. Nothing
happened. Malcolm went home. Malcolm was annoyed. This surveillance crap was
boring and slow. It would be more expeditious to set Manfred up. The only
question was how.
He thought about having someone call him using someone else's name. Bad idea.
It would not only result in Manfred abducting some woman who couldn't identify
him, but would make it clear to Manfred he had been set up. If Malcolm used one
of his real customers for the purpose, she would probably think it was part of
the package.
If possible, it would be better for one of Manfred's other victims to nail him.
The problem at the moment was that he didn't know which of Manfred's taps were
active blackmail and which were merely exploratory. The only one he knew for
sure was active was Grace.
Grace was a weak reed. If Manfred suspected anything whatsoever, he could
easily extract from her everything she knew. Making her part of a plot would be
asking a lot of her. He suspected she might not be up to it.
It was now about 3:00 AM. Time for Malcolm to go to work. He had the next two
days off from temp work and there were women to abduct. He drove to the house
of one his customers who had recently sent in a contract. He had copied her
keys on their last encounter. He let himself into the house and crept silently
to her bedroom.
Melissa awoke suddenly, but not suddenly enough. By the time she gathered her
wits, she was bound, gagged, blindfolded, and being carried off on someone's
shoulder. Then she was stuffed in the trunk of a car. The car drove off.
Malcolm drove to the loft apartment he had rented for the purpose. It was the
only occupied space in a large old industrial building, so no one noticed or
cared that it was also unoccupied most of the time. This part of town was
mostly deserted at night. Malcolm pulled up to the loading dock, opened the
trunk, and carried Melissa inside.
Once inside, Malcolm dressed Melissa in her slave outfit and locked chains on
her wrists and ankles. He donned his mask, then removed Melissa's blindfold.
"Prepare my breakfast, slave," Malcolm instructed her. He smacked her sharply
on the butt with a crop. Melissa squealed and hurried off to her task.
Malcolm was familiar with Melissa's tastes. No matter how well she performed,
he would find fault and poor Melissa would have to be punished. Melissa would
become increasingly aroused through several repetitions of this cycle until she
was ready to burst. Malcolm would then assign her some particularly onerous
task which would take her several attempts to accomplish. She would become a
little more desperate with each failure. When she finally succeeded, Malcolm
would tie her down and fuck her. Tying her down was essential. Melissa would
go crazy and even bound, it was all Malcolm could do to keep her impaled.
In spite of her final exertions, Melissa was one of Malcolm's less taxing
customers. She would do most of the work herself. Malcolm would simply assign
tasks, punish her when she botched them (which was always the case), then step
in at the end and finish her off.
Malcolm always came back well fed from his sojourns with Melissa. She was an
excellent cook and he took full advantage of the fact. He always felt like a
jerk finding fault with what she had prepared, but that was the game. It was
not lost on Melissa that her punishment was delayed until Malcolm had eaten
everything in sight.
Tuesday night, Malcolm returned Melissa to her house. Both were well fed, well
satisfied, and generally enervated. Malcolm wondered if he could get arrested
for getting paid to have this much fun. Yes, he probably could. The government
wasn't all that thrilled with the whole idea of sex, and getting paid for it was
just more than they could stand. Actually it wasn't sex per se that bothered
them. What pissed them off was other people having sex.
What pissed Malcolm off was Manfred. The couple of days with Melissa had
reminded him what a wonderful deal he had going. Manfred was not going to be
allowed to screw this up. But short of knocking the guy off, he didn't have any
good ideas. He briefly toyed with the idea of doing Manfred in, but he just
didn't see himself as the sort of person who killed people. Besides, no matter
how careful he was, there was the chance it would be traced back to him. Even
if he felt so inclined, it wasn't worth the risk.
Malcolm worked the rest of the week at his temp job. Friday night he took
possession of Cindy, the other contract he had pending. Cindy's thing was being
tied up. She spent the weekend tightly bound in one position or another.
Malcolm would add some little irritant to each situation to make her squirm.
This emphasized her helplessness and drove her crazy. Malcolm liked to tickle
her. She hated that, which was why it was so effective. He would tie her down
and tickle her until she nearly lost her lunch. At that point merely running
his hand up between her legs would send her into screaming fits. A good fucking
would leave her gasping and nearly unconscious. It had taken a number of
attempts to find the right combination, and Cindy had to be brought along in
just the right way. It had finally all come together when he had realized that
what worked was what she objected to most strenuously. She not only had to be
stringently bound, but she had to be made to experience her helplessness by
being subjected to things she didn't like but was forced by her bondage to
endure. In Cindy's case, 'no' usually meant 'yes'.
Malcolm took Cindy home on Sunday night. Monday, he was at a new temp job. He
still didn't have any good ideas about Manfred. Tuesday evening he paid a visit
to Grace. She hadn't had any further contact from Manfred, but invited Malcolm
in for coffee. She seemed desperate for company and reassurance.
Grace's phone rang. "Hello. Yes, sir...yes...alright, I will...yes, sir."
Grace had turned white, her face completely drained of color.
"It's him," she said to Malcolm. "He's coming over. You've got to go."
"Maybe I should stay."
"Are you crazy! You can't imagine what he'll do to me if he finds someone
here. Now go." Grace pushed Malcolm out the door, then ran to the bedroom.
Malcolm walked down to the first floor, then thought better of it and returned.
He opened the door to find Grace in the middle of the room. She wore only
stockings and panties. Her back was to the door. She was blindfolded and stood
stiffly erect with her hands clasped tightly behind her. She stiffened even
more when she heard the door. Malcolm simply stared.
"Who's there?"
"It's me," said Malcolm.
"Oh, god, no. He'll be here any minute. Get out, get out, get out, get out,"
she screamed. Grace attacked Malcolm furiously, pushing and pummeling until he
was out the door. She slammed and locked it.
Malcolm left. He pulled his car to the far end of the lot and waited. A few
minutes later, the green Toyota pulled into the lot. Manfred got out and went
inside.
Malcolm realized that he knew where Manfred was going to be for the next few
hours. He cruised over to Manfred's house and walked up to the front door.
There was a keypad next to the door. Malcolm didn't know enough to defeat the
alarm, so he left. Setting it off would alert Manfred to the fact that someone
had been there. Malcolm went by his mail drop. One of his return envelopes had
arrived.
Once again, Malcolm could find no evidence of tampering. He opened the
envelope to find a contract and a check from Claire. He was surprised to have
heard from her this soon. She must have gotten a promotion and a raise in the
year since he'd worked at her place. He looked over her form. Except for her
name and code word, it was blank. No X's or O's. She was leaving it completely
up to him. He started planning her fantasy. It might help keep his mind off
whatever was happening to Grace.
It wasn't working. He was trying to design a delicious little interlude for
Claire, but he just couldn't get Grace out of his mind. If he continued under
these conditions, Claire might receive a considerably darker fantasy than was
appropriate. Malcolm was feeling guilty about having left Grace. It had been
her choice, and she had been adamant in that choice, but he still felt like he
should do something. He knew better. Even if he stopped Manfred this time,
there would be a next time. He couldn't watch Grace 24 hours a day. If Manfred
was thwarted this time, he would take it out on Grace next time. His
interference would only make Grace's situation worse. The best thing he could
do for Grace was put a permanent stop to Manfred's activities.
Malcolm was still clueless. To stop Manfred, he needed to know what Manfred's
vulnerabilities were. Manfred was a major slimeball. He actively sought out
people's weaknesses and exploited them when he found them. Malcolm wondered if
that was any different from what he himself did. Was catering to people's
desires any different from exploiting their weaknesses? Weren't all desires
weaknesses? And wasn't he himself exploiting them? Malcolm decided that there
may be a fine line between exploiting weaknesses and catering to desires, but he
and Manfred were definitely on opposite sides of it. Malcolm went to bed.
After work the next day, Malcolm went to visit Grace. She looked haggard and
had been crying. She was wearing the same robe she had had on when Malcolm had
first seen her. She appeared utterly defeated.
"Grace, what's wrong? What happened?"
Grace let her robe fall open. There was a heavy gold ring through each nipple.
"Those weren't there last night, were they?"
"Not when you were here."
"Well, they're very pretty," Malcolm lied, not knowing what else to say.
"Yeah, right. He didn't put them there to look nice. He put them there so he
can use them to hurt me."
"What brought this on?"
"I forgot to put away the coffee cups. He saw them and wanted to know who I'd
been seeing. I told him it was none of his business, that I was entitled to
have my friends over if I pleased. So I was punished."
"And he put rings in your nipples."
"Among other things."
"What other things?"
Grace turned her back and winced as she let her robe slide off her shoulders.
Her back was a mass of welts, some scabbed over. She had been savagely beaten.
"You need to see a doctor. Those could leave scars."
"Yeah, right."
Malcolm made a few comforting noises, then left. Being around Grace was just
too painful. It also made Malcolm feel guilty. He should have done something,
should have stopped it. Still, it had been Grace's choice. Malcolm couldn't
imagine what Manfred might have on her that would make this preferable to having
her secret revealed.
It was obvious Manfred's behavior was becoming increasingly extreme. Malcolm
had stopped soliciting new business for fear of what Manfred would do to his
next new customer. What to do, what to do.
Manfred was a bully. Malcolm was familiar with the personality type. The way
to deal with a bully was a good hard punch in the nose. Most bullies were
cowards and would back down in the face of a credible threat.
Thursday, Malcolm dropped by one of the dinner theaters in town and found an
actor with a particularly nasty voice. Malcolm hired the man to make a cassette
recording. Then he dropped by an electronic supply house and purchased a
lineman's hand set.
Then Malcolm turned his attention to Claire. Claire's new fantasy would take
place tonight, and he needed to make plans for it. Claire was a new customer
and he hadn't yet found out exactly what she liked. Her application forms
hadn't been all that informative. She seemed to like nearly everything he'd
done the last time, but last time had been the first time. She hadn't known
what it would be like, so everything was new and exciting. As time went on, he
would need to discover and focus in on the things that turned her on the most.
He decided to take a page from Manfred's book.
It was nearly midnight on Thursday when Claire's phone rang.
"Hello."
"Hello, Claire. This is Malcolm. Your adventure has begun. Follow these
instructions precisely and immediately."
Claire was standing in the middle of her living room. She wore only panties
and stockings and her back was to the front door. She had tied a scarf over her
eyes and her hands were clasped tightly behind her. She waited.
Claire was startled when the front door opened. There had been no preliminary
sounds. No car or car door. The front door had simply opened. She felt her
wrists being lashed together, then nothing. She waited.
Malcolm was admiring Claire. She stood there silently, waiting for him to do
something. She was so beautiful, just standing there. Malcolm was torn between
wanting to pounce on her and wanting to spend the rest of his life just gazing
upon her like this. He circled her slowly. Then he stepped close and kissed
her.
Claire was mildly disappointed with her fantasy. She was kept bound most of
the time, but other than that, Malcolm had been very gentle. It had been very
nice, even sweet, but it didn't touch the things in her that had been touched
when she first received the card.
Malcolm had been more deeply affected by his last encounter with Grace than he
had realized. He couldn't bring himself to be anything other than gentle and
solicitous with Claire. He was fairly certain she had enjoyed it, but it was
hardly a dark fantasy.
"Claire," said Malcolm. "I know this wasn't quite what you were expecting, so
I'm going to give you a repeat encounter at no charge. But I do have a favor to
ask. I need you to make a phone call."
Malcolm hurried home. It was past midnight on Friday, and the call needed to
be on the tape that Manfred picked up on Saturday.
Malcolm had Monday off. He made the rounds of Manfred's wire taps with his
lineman's phone and a cassette machine. The lineman's phone had a wire that
terminated in a pair of alligator clips. He simply clipped them on to any pair
of terminals in the building's junction box and the phone was connected to that
line. There were five active taps including his own. Three of them had been
moved since he had first seen them. They were all obviously exploratory. The
only ones Manfred was acting on were his and Grace's.
Malcolm connected his phone to each tapped line and played the cassette into
it. He could have connected the cassette directly, but he wanted it to sound as
if the message had come in over the phone. The message was simple, but the
voice was deep, nasty, and threatening.
"Hello, Manfred. We know who you are, we know what you do, and we know where
you live. By the time you hear this message, it will be too late."
It was Friday night. Claire sat in her living room in the dark. Malcolm sat
in a chair by the door. Claire's phone call to Malcolm had requested another
fantasy, but specified a very narrow time window. She had said she would be out
of town all week, home for the weekend, then gone again the next week. She
would be in town Friday afternoon, but could he please make it Saturday or
Sunday? This would give Manfred only Friday night in which to act.
The front door eased open. It had been unlocked. Manfred stuck his head in,
but didn't see Malcolm behind the door. As Manfred stepped in, Malcolm punched
him in the face as hard as he could. Manfred was slightly larger than Malcolm,
but Malcolm had the element of surprise and just kept punching. Malcolm's sense
of fair play was not in the least offended by blind-siding Manfred. Not
knowing who or what he was facing, Manfred turned and fled.
"I'll get you, you bitch," he yelled as ran toward his car.
"Malcolm, you said there wouldn't be any repercussions," Claire complained.
"There won't. Wait till he hears those tapes tomorrow. Right now he thinks
the problem is here. After tomorrow, he won't be able to identify any single
source."
It was nearly midnight when Grace's phone rang. She had been expecting it.
Malcolm had warned her that after his encounter at Claire's, Manfred might want
to take out his anger on her. After she hung up, she made a phone call of her
own. She let it ring twice, then hung up.
During the week, Malcolm had contacted each of Manfred's victims, shown them
the taps on their phone lines, and explained some of what was going on. The
other three besides Grace and himself had been an elderly couple, a young
couple, and a rather large single man named Mike. They had all been incensed by
the invasion of their privacy.
Malcolm had taken Mike to meet Grace. After some coaxing, Grace had removed
her blouse and shown Mike her back. Mike had given Grace his home and pager
numbers. His building was only a mile from Grace's and he had instructed her to
call him any time of day or night if she heard from Manfred.
Grace was standing blindfolded in her panties and stockings as usual when
Manfred entered. As Manfred stepped toward her, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
After giving Manfred a thorough pounding, Mike had wanted to throw him out the
window. Grace had talked him out of it and Mike had had to content himself with
tossing him down the stairs. Manfred had painfully limped and crawled out to
his car and driven off. Mike returned to Grace's apartment. To his
disappointment, Grace had put on her robe. He was, however, pleased when she
offered him coffee. Grace was happy to be able to offer coffee to whomever she
pleased, and she did find Michael pleasing (although after Manfred, just about
anyone would be).
Malcolm followed Manfred the next day as he collected his tapes. Manfred was
running a little later than usual and limped rather painfully. Today he was
wary, and looked around as he entered and left each building. He failed to
recognize Malcolm in his rental car and disguise.
Malcolm thought Manfred would be surprised when each of the tapes he had
collected contained a threat from the same unknown person. Considering that he
had been attacked twice in the same evening, maybe he wouldn't be all that
surprised. At this point, the threat was universal. Manfred would be unable
to fix blame on any one individual.
Manfred received an additional surprise on Monday when he was fired from the
phone company. The elderly couple had called the phone company and raised hell.
They had also filed criminal charges. The following day, Malcolm saw a report
in the paper that a green Toyota had been riddled with bullets. No one knew who
had done this. Malcolm had checked with all the others and learned they were
all at work when it had happened. They all had solid alibis and had assumed
Malcolm had done it.
The following week, Malcolm drove by Manfred's house. There was a realtor's
sign out front and the place looked deserted. Malcolm called the realtor. She
didn't know the owner, but reported he was out of the country. Malcolm knew
that in certain circles 'out of the country' was a euphemism for 'in jail'.
Malcolm was unable to verify this. He was simply glad Manfred was gone and
hoped never to hear from him again.
Claire was on her way to lunch. She was wondering how soon Malcolm would
provide her new fantasy when a hand encircled her throat and pulled her into the
shadows of an alley. A canvas bag was pulled over her head and tied at the
neck. Then she was tied and locked in the trunk of a car.
Sitting in his living room, Malcolm decided to get busy. He still owed Claire
a fantasy and he hadn't even started figuring out what he was going to do. He
didn't want her new fantasy to be as saccharine as the last one. He decided to
wait a few days before her abduction. Let the suspense build a bit, he thought.
"This is more like it," Claire thought as she lay bound in the trunk of the
green Toyota. "This will be a dark fantasy."
Copyright 2000
by Harold
All Rights Reserved
Haroldx@email.com
