The Twighlight Zone Ch. 04

I recognized her immediately. Well, not like I knew her, but it was obvious that she was somebody special and I had quickly learned that the women I had been dealing with all these weeks would stand out in a crowd, even one as diverse and eclectic as this one. She sat at the end of the runway, just off to the side. Her evening dress was made of glittering scales that at first looked dark silver, but on closer examination actually formed a stripped pattern, much like a zebra. She wore matching heels, gloves, a choker, and a mask. Very little of her actual flesh showed, and yet the effect was very sexual. I walked over to her.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Why Alan, must you ask?" I sat. Her voice sounded a bit odd, almost electronic. Somewhere between a husky woman's voice and one of those computer generated voices. I assumed it had something to do with the choker.

I tried my best at manners. My previous occasions had not required much pretense on my part. Well, at least not much that I was permitted to remember. "I'm afraid you have the better of me."

"Tonight you may call me Jackie. Mistress Jackie."

"Well, Mistress Jackie, would you mind telling me what is on tonights venue?"

"It's a fashion show for the new catalog. Tara asked me to do something special for her tonight, so I had to change my plans for you. Tonight you'll be my guest for the upcoming fall line of the Twighlight Zone. I hope you play the part of guest correctly; if you embarrass me, I will get very angry, and you don't want that. Consider this a night off, and we'll do something different."

"Every week it's been something different. What kind of fashion show?"

"The Zone is doing some new pieces this year, and this is the pre-release party."

I looked around in an attempt to recognize somebody, anybody, that I might know from the 'real world'. Maybe an art dealer or such, but I couldn't be sure. Everybody wore masks. "Are all these people buyers?"

"Some buy, some sell, some make contracts. It's all business."

A waitress took our orders for drinks. "Mistress Jackie? You seem a little more open then the others. Can I ask you a few questions?"

She faced me. "Sorry. Any questions you have will be answered at a later time. For now, sit back and enjoy the show." There was something in the way she said those words that I didn't like one bit. All the muscles in my shoulders immediately tensed.

Music started, and the first of the models came down the runway. She was dressed in a red satin waist cincher trimmed in white fur. I leaned over to Mistress Jackie. "Doesn't seem too special."

She whispered back, "Realize that most of these outfits are made of fabric which is made to heighten the sense of touch; that cincher is probably groping the model. Here, look in this." She handed me a catalog, open to a picture of a different model in the same cincher. The description told of a heat control device, self contained batteries, and some other accessories. These were clothes to torture and tease, not just exhibit.

The next model was a male in a chastity harness, crawling on his hands and knees. The description told of a butt plug and a device called Khali's teeth which kept down the erections. I remembered the device acutely. When he reached the end of the runway, I noticed he was wearing earrings like those put on me during one of my nights out. On closer inspection, I noticed his eyes had a glazed over look.

"Hey!" I turned to Mistress Jackie, "they drugged him!"

"Some of the models are drugged, yes. Some are real models, and they make a good dollar. But most of the people that you see up there tonight are being trained, and some of that training requires the use of drugs. Usually, those that have entered the program unwillingly are under the influence; it makes the training easier." I thought of my experience last week when I had been drugged, and nodded my understanding. I still didn't like it.

"There are others that have no idea what is going on, though." I could hear the smile in her voice, even with the alteration. It was as if she had a secret she was excited about. "Occasionally, we pick out people we've met and have them model. They don't remember anything the next day except that they had fun the night before. I think you may remember the effect.. We implant memories after the fact, and they are none the wiser." I could hear the smile turn to giddiness.

"You can tell them because they wear hoods or masks to protect their identity. We may rework some people's lives, but we're not out to wreck innocent's futures. Here comes one now."

The figure on the path was dressed in a business suit. Black leather gloves, ballet boots, and a full hood drew my eyes away from it, though. When she reached the midpoint of the runway, she stripped off the skirt, jacket, and blouse to reveal a black leather bustier and matching shorts. A black latex phallus protruded from her front, springing up when she dropped the skirt.. Fishnet stockings covered her legs down to where they met the top of her ballet boots. She faltered for a moment as she walked down the runway, stopping every few steps. Something in my mind clicked; a feeling of deja-vu swept over me but I didn't know why. I flipped through the book until I found the item. According to it's description, the model by now would be hyper-stimulated from the butt plug, dildo, and clit massager. Hidden clamps were squeezing and drawing on her nipples. No wonder she was having a hard time walking.

"This is one of my creations. Do you like?"

"She's very attractive, and it looks like she's enjoying it. I don't think it's for me, though." Whatever clicked in my head was now poking my brain, trying to draw my attention to something I couldn't put together.

"You could get one for your wife."

"First, I don't think I could afford it. Second, my wife isn't into that kind of thing."

"Consider it a gift. And I'm sure she's into that kind of thing." Jackie giggled. "She looks pretty 'in to it' right now!"

My eyes went wide - the body shape was right, and the business suit was the one my wife had on earlier! I thought I could see my wife's glazed over eyes inside the hood. They'd drugged her!

I snapped, there and then, and was out of my seat in a flash. "You BITCH! What did you do to her?" Heads turned around us. I felt myself being picked up and carried out of the room. Mistress Jackie followed behind, and on the stage my wife completed her runway walk.

The two guards set me down outside the room, but neither let go. I was doing my best to get my hands around Jackie's throat, but they showed no inclination to let me accomplish the deed.

"That was uncalled for, Alan." She was angry. "And you have now embarrassed me in front of everyone."

"This wasn't part of the deal. She's not part of this. Let her go!"

"On the contrary, Alan, she is part of this. Tara told me you didn't follow one of her commands, and this was to be your punishment. Remember?" My mind flipped back to when I had cum without Tara's permission. It seemed so minor then. "If you are lucky, your wife won't remember any of it. If you continue to be obstinate, we can let her keep some of her more orgasmic memories as a dream. One that you could never compete with."

"No. This is too much. I want it stopped, now!"

"It's too late, Alan. She's already being fitted for her second outfit. I hear it's a real hum-zinger. Or should I say, a cum-drinker?"

She pulled out a remote and tapped a button. Pain wrapped by balls and seared through me like a hot poker, and I dropped to the floor in my best impression of a baby curled up in the womb. She motioned to the guards, who cuffed me and pulled a hood over my head. I knew better than to resist as they forced the gag into my mouth and buckled the hood tight. A chain hobble kept me from running or kicking. As a final gesture, Jackie unzipped my pants and pulled out my semi-erect cock. She attached a leash around the base, and then proceeded to use the leash to drag me back into the ballroom.

The figure of my wife sat in a desk chair at the end of the runway, dressed again in her business suit, with the hood the only element out of place. Six female figures, nude except for strap-on dildo harnesses, filed down either side of the aisle and stood behind her. The first walked around and pointed to the floor. My wife got up, turned, and knelt before her as she sat in the chair. I pulled my eyes away from the scene on the stage and frantically flipped open the catalog with my cuffed hands.

'Cocksucker trainer, for the slave that needs a little encouragement. Bulbs in the dildo's ball sack contain up to four ounces of any liquid that simulate ejaculation; just squeeze them to release some or all of the contents. Larger sizes available on request.. Double-sided dildo trainer, filled with sensi-gel, designed to stimulate nerve endings on both ends.'

I looked up to see the figure sucking away at the phallus. Another of the women had mounted her from behind. I could feel tears well up in my eyes, and I started to hyperventilate.

Jackie leaned over and spoke into my ear. I thought I heard a change in the tone of her voice, as if she was sorry for what was happening. "Tara's trading your wife's orgasms for your's. It was supposed to be you up there, but you were to be punished." I could feel the anger rise even higher in me. "Besides, if she wasn't here, she couldn't do this." Jackie made a motion with her hand, and the figures separated on the stage. The one I thought was my wife came down the stairs, followed by the six other models, and started rubbing men's crotches. She would rub each for a minute or so, and then shake her head and move on. A few she pulled to their feet, then pulled down their pants, exposing huge erections. Each one of these received a blow job from one of the other women from the stage. Finally, the woman in the business suit got to me. She pulled me to my feet, then knelt in front of me. At a motion from Jackie, her mouth encased my entire cock while her hands fondled my balls. She kept sucking and licking, licking and sucking, and I felt my orgasm rise.

"Tara specifically said you weren't to cum tonight, and this time you won't be sneaking in your orgasm." I heard the BEEP from Jackie's remote, and my prick went numb. Try as she might, the woman in front of me couldn't bring me to orgasm. After a few minutes trying, Jackie motioned her back onto the stage. She stumbled away in drugged submission, followed by the six other models. Applause followed them, the loudest clappers being those that had been on the receiving end of the blowjobs. Jackie made another motion, this time to somebody by the entrance. Two guards manhandled me to the exit, and Jackie removed the gag.

My statement was short and sweet. "If it's the last thing I do, I will get you for this. You and Tara."

"You are in no position to make threats, Alan. In fact, your little outburst tonight, plus the added fact that I was deprived of my actual plans so that you could be punished, has made me rethink my part in your little weekly escapade. You will be seeing me again, Alan, and soon. And don't expect me to be anywhere as kind as I was tonight. You embarassed me, and for that you will pay."

She made a gesture to the guards, and they dragged me outside, to the limo.

"Take him home."

My driver came over and unceremoniously pushed me through the open door of the car. A moment after she got me seated, Jackie stuck her head in the doorway. "Drive him around until midnight, then strip and dump him in front of his house." I mentally vowed revenge, and I think that I would have done my best to hurt Jackie right then and there if I wasn't still shackled.

It was as if she could read my mind. "Try any funny business, and I'll have her shock that dick right off your body. And I won't say what we'll do to your wife." The compassion I had heard earlier in the night was now gone, and the nastiness had returned to her voice. "She still has a few more outfits to try on tonight. She is doing a pretty good job on the runway tonight. Maybe I'll take her on as one of my slaves, and give her what she evidently isn't getting from you." I did my best to lunge for her, but accomplished nothing but to crack my head against the window as she slammed the door shut on the car, and on my world.

* * * * * * * * * *

At midnight the driver stripped me of the tux and released me from the suit, using the remote to remind me of the device around the base of my genitals which would cause me pain. In fact, she reminded me a few more times than I thought necessary, because after the first or second I was in no condition to resist anything. While I was on the ground wondering if self mutilation would stop the agony , the chauffer pressed another series of buttons on the remote, and I felt a sudden itch flash through my pain. She reached down, pushed my legs apart, and removed a flesh covered ring from around my genitals.

I was free.

When I recovered from her earlier 'reminders' and was able to get to my feet, I got up and stumbled naked across my own front yard. Nearly two hours of constant stimulation and denial in the limo, combined with the night ending pain, had left me very weak. I had other things on my mind, though. I fumbled with the front door lock using a spare we leave hidden outside. Once inside I ran upstairs to find my wife curled up in bed, sound asleep.

Safe.

It was if nothing had happened.

* * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, June 27th

I had to be out of the house early, before my wife got up, to attend to an early morning meeting. As soon as I could, I called my wife at work to see how things had gone the night before and to settle my nerves a little. I am no longer sure it was her on the runway, and the doubt is eating at me like a rat on a dead body. The surety was undermined not by anything I saw the woman say or do, but by my own inability to accept what happened. If I could convince myself that it didn't happen, and my wife didn't allude to anything, I could pass it all off as a bad dream.

She said she spent the evening with a woman named Tara Worthington, yes, but they had been at her Tara's company's club most of the evening discussing business.

I think my heart skipped a beat right there.

My wife was a little fuzzy on the details of the meeting, probably due to one too many glasses of wine, but she remembered that Ms. Worthington wanted someplace private where they wouldn't be disturbed. It had been odd, because while they were there my wife could have sworn she had seen another women in a suit almost exactly like hers! The talk had gone well; Tara got a phone call late in the evening that made her happy; one of her partners had concluded some unfinished business of hers. She was so happy that she signed a big contract with my wife right there.

When I pressed for details, she couldn't remember anything specific, and again chalked it up to too much wine. I surreptitiously asked her some more questions about the evening, and her answers were the same. Exactly the same. As if she were had memorized them from a script. My hands broke out in a sweat.

It left me wondering about the whole thing. Had they really done things to my wife, or was the model on the stage just a double designed to torture me emotionally? Reality is all about perception, and either way, the reality they had created for me last night was very effective in tearing my emotions to shreds. I didn't know if I would ever know the truth. Tara's punishment seemed extreme, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it. I was a nervous wreck over the prospect of what might have happened to my wife, and didn't know if I should cry, or drive down to Baum and Dietrich and kill the lot of them. Both options were on the table.

My only condolence was that my seven weeks of hell were now over.

* * * * * * * * * *

Friday, June 28th

I called in sick today, and not just because of the pain that still coursed threw my genitals. I was developing a nice purple bruise in the shape of a ring, but that wasn't the main reason for my absence.

A quick drive-through breakfast in hand, I sat in the parking lot outside of the Twighlight Zone. I have no idea what I expected to see or to find. But some part of me, some noble and forthright part of me, said that I had to do something about the way my wife was treated, if indeed it had been her. After four hours, a nice policeman tapped on my window and informed me that I would have to leave. I vowed to myself to find another way.

I registered to buy a handgun. The paperwork should go through by next Tuesday, and by that afternoon I would be enacting my right as a proud American to own and possess a firearm.

* * * * * * * * * *

Saturday, June 29th

My wife had run off to the store, and I was outside doing yard work when I found the box. Inside was the black leather outfit; boots, shorts with the interior and exterior dildoes, bustier, gloves, stockings, even the hood. It was accompanied by a DVD entitled, 'Model Cum-Suckers', and a copy of the Twighlight Zone catalog. I ran inside, dropped the box on the floor, and put the DVD in the player. Scenes flashed by: me in the limo, at the store, and watching the runway. The figure on the runway that I thought was my wife in leather, and then the fellatio scene. More followed; the same woman wore different costumes and performed different sex acts as a man and a woman, with a man or men, or women. She was in about every third display. In all of them her face was covered, and I could see nothing that would allow me to confirm or deny her identity. The last scene was in a private dressing room. In it, they took off her hood, only to cover her face with a black dot and a giant white question mark. The DVD ended, and the screen went blank.

I had spent the last few days convincing myself that it wasn't her that night, and now all the doubt was again fresh in my mind.

I sat there for a few minutes, alone with my thoughts and doubts, when a noise startled me. "What's this?" I jumped at the voice. My wife stood behind me, gingerly holding at arms length the dildo pants. I must have dropped them on my way through the door.

I blushed bright red. "I found it outside while I was doing some work. It must have been one of the local kids disposing of their toys. I must have dropped it on my way to the garbage."

"Look Alan, I know our sex life hasn't been great lately and could use a little spicing up, but this is a little extreme. Do something with it. Like, burn it." She dropped it back onto the closed lid of the box and walked into the kitchen. I heard her mutter, " 'I found it outside'. Yeah, right."

From the kitchen, she called out, "a dinner and a movie would be more effective if you wanted to get me in the mood." Ah, the most subtle of hints.

I did do something with the pants, as well as the rest of the box. It all got locked in my now-crowded drawer with all the other items. Maybe one day she would wear it for me. Maybe.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sunday, June 30th

My personal Hell returned as when I found a pretty envelope, with my name on it it in gold script, inside the Sunday paper this morning. The invitation card inside was simple but elegant (and expensive) cream stock with more gold lettering.

'Your presence is required on Wednesday, July 3rd,

for a consolation performance due to a poor response

exhibited on your part on June 26th. If you decide

not to attend, another will be chosen to take your place.'

The implications were obvious. It was going to be me or my wife for one more night, and it was my decision. I wasn't being physically forced to do anything this time; the pain ring Tara had used was no longer in place. I reviewed my few options; I could ignore the card and pretend I never got it, and hope nothing ever happened in retribution. I could go down to the local police station and try to convince them I was in trouble by telling them my whole bizarre story. I could get a shotgun and take out as many of them as I could before I was shot. I could take my wife and run for the hills.