Association

I continued my search in the other rooms. However this time, I wasn't so lucky. The kitchen clock said 4:25, much later than I thought. I allowed myself a short break to have a glass of water and two chocolate cookies. "Need to keep my energy levels up," I mimicked him in the lowest voice I could manage.

Speak of the devil...just as I felt ready to start Plan B, which was using the phone, I heard a car driving slowly into the front yard. Oh no, please, not now. Suddenly feeling nauseous, I imposed myself a long breath to calm down. There was always Plan C.

With the ball bouncing in my wake, I sat on the sofa in the living room, ready for a conversation. The knife in my right hand would make sure he'd listen.

When Geoffrey appeared in the doorway, anger was so brightly painted on his face that I almost regretted my attempted escape. I held the knife so tightly, my knuckles turned white.

"No, don't say a word," I said as firmly as I could. "You listen to me. It's over. I want you to unlock the manacle first. Then give me my belongings and my car keys. I can find the police station on my own."

My heart was thumping so loudly, I could hear it through my chest. If he ignored my demands and made a move towards me, I wasn't even sure I would know what to do with the knife.

--GEOFFREY--

We stared at each other in silence for what seemed like hours while I parsed my options, but it only took me a few seconds to make my decision.

"You're bleeding."

Sabrina gulped and looked down at her hand holding the knife. That was all the opening I needed. I whipped off my belt, stepped forward and brought it down hard against her fingers, sending the blade flying across the room as if it had been shot out of a catapult.

She yelped, then lunged at me, but I stopped her attack by grabbing her wrist and twisting it hard, forcing her face down on the couch. I pushed the end of the belt around her body just above her elbows and buckled it tight behind her back.

While she thrashed helplessly, her arms flapping like penguin wings, I retrieved one of the bags I had dropped when I entered the room and pulled out one of the many rolls of electrical tape I had just purchased. Industrial strength. Two inches wide.

I ignored her screams and pointless threats as I knelt on the couch behind her and started wrapping her waist, pinning her wrists to her sides.

"How thoughtful of you to provide me with a knife," I said as I sliced off the strip.

I turned around, grabbed one of her ankles, and crossed it over the other before taping them together.

"You'll never get away with this," Sabrina sputtered tearfully. "I...I...I'll scream."

"Not for long," I replied as I picked up a pen next to the telephone and started wrapping layers of tape around it. When the resulting wad was an inch thick, I held it in front of her face.

"Open," I barked. When she refused, I sighed and pinched her nose. A minute later, I was plastering tape over her lips and cheeks to make sure the makeshift gag stayed put. For a few moments, anyway.

I unbuckled my belt pinning her elbows to her sides, and used up the rest of the roll to replace it.

Rising to my feet, I doubled over my belt and began slapping it rhythmically against my open palm.

"My dear Sabrina...we seem to be...in the midst of a drama...that isn't going to have...a happy ending...for one of us...given the lack...of suitable alternatives...I'm afraid I must insist on...my way."

I leaned over, grabbed her on the shoulder, and flipped her onto her stomach, then pulled the leather skirt up over her hips.

"Don't expect anyone to ride up over the ridge on a rescue mission, especially your friends at the association," I continued as I caressed her quivering ass. "Remember, they're the ones who sent you here. They know everything."

I pinched the softest part of her cheek where it curved into the top of her thigh, debating what else she needed to know. It was always dangerous to tell them the whole truth all at once. Some went catatonic at the thought of being sold. Others reacted hysterically, and sobbed uselessly for days.

The longer I could keep Sabrina guessing, the better for both of us. I'd rather she hated me for reasons that made no sense than trying to kill me to save her very life.

Alas, we were well beyond the business of producing an annual report, although I would have to find another model to finish the project for real once Sabrina was shipped off. The price of perfection is always high, especially when it comes to airtight alibis. So I needed a new approach. Something to justify a thorough whipping, among other indignities. Something to keep Sabrina off balance, in more ways than one.

Maybe even something to keep her, say, tipsy.

"And lest we forget, there's still the Merlot. Very expensive Merlot. But we'll get to that later. Let's see, how many were we up to? Oh yes..."

The belt whistled loudly as it descended and snapped against her ass.

"We'll count backwards...99."

--SABRINA--

"Ninety-three."

It wasn't so much the belt that hurt, although the collateral damage on my bottom increased with every stroke. It was more the realization that I had been set up. Not only by him, but the IFC, too. I had no reason not to believe Geoffrey when he mentioned their mutual arrangement. A new rage took over, redirected at my colleagues and superiors, which helped me get through the first 20 belt strokes.

"Seventy-seven."

My rage began to melt under the burning bites from the leather. I tried to avoid the blows, but a hand on my back pinned me firmly to the coach while the iron ball kept my feet down. Definitely no possibility of escape. Trying to focus on something besides the pain, I counted how many days I'd already spent in this house. The contract specified a two-week session. I should be out in a week, 10 days maximum. How many whip strokes can you get in 10 days?

"Sixty-three."

Beads of sweat were running down my face until they were absorbed by the tape layers across my cheeks. Soon my eyes became watery. too. I held back the tears, unwilling to give in.

"Forty-six."

A sense of total despair replaced my dreams of revenge. What if he hadn't told me everything? What if he planned to keep me here forever? Would I ever see the normal world again?

"Thirty-two."

A drenched layer of tape peeled off, and I spit out the gag. My screams began to echo each whack of the belt.

"Twenty."

I sank into a dark pit of pain and hopelessness. I didn't want to fight anymore. I tried, and failed. Now I wanted to let go. And in such a terrible moment, it brought the relief I had long awaited.

I didn't hear the final countdown. I must have fainted just before he reached the top ten.

--GEOFFREY--

Sabrina probably won't appreciate the horizontal piece of wood that joined the top halves of the giant wooden cross, I thought to myself as I continued to wrap and padlock her limbs into the leather cuffs bolted into the arms of the structure. But soon, she would become a connoisseur of such apparatuses.

Ankles, thighs, waist, wrists, elbows, plus some additional straps for her head, thanks to the new design--not too tight while she's still unconscious--one holding a ball gag in her mouth, and the last around her forehead.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork. The new ballet boots were probably a bit stiff, but they'd break in soon enough, given she wasn't going to wear anything else on her feet for quite some time. Nothing like nine-inch heels to keep a woman dainty in her stride and poise. Not that she was going to walk anywhere with iron balls chained to both ankles now. Nor would she have much luck picking them up with her hands encased in leather mittens.

I was definitely in good spirits now that the awkward transition stage was behind us, and more than a week remained before I had to start worrying about packaging and transport. I wasn't about to share the facts about her fate; experience dictated that it was preferable to ease them into their new reality rather than hurl them into the abyss.

So there was little left to do but start the conditioning process, not to mention fuck her six ways to Sunday and watch the virtual bidding paddles wave. Just one more small detail to attend to...

Something banged at the top of the stairs. A woman's voice followed.

"Geoff-reee? Where arrrrrrre you?"

"Down here, Brenda," I laughed as I clicked off the light near the cross, throwing it into deep shadows. My neighbor certainly knows about my work, but I didn't want her asking too many questions.

She bounced down the stairs and mock-fainted into my arms.

"Oh, Geoffrey, does this mean you're finally ready to settle down with me?"

"Not tonight, Miss Moneypenny," I replied in my best Sean Connery burr. "I have an important job for you. But let's make ourselves comfortable upstairs."

Fifteen minutes later, we returned to the studio with Brenda in a wig dressed in the clothes Sabrina had been wearing when she delivered herself to my doorstep.

"Wait here. I know I've got something suitable in the back."

I left Brenda standing by the stairs while I rummaged through a storage closet until I found a large hat and sunglasses to obscure her face.

"So let me get this straight, Mr. Sorenson," Brenda said after adjusting the accessories on her head. "You want me to take this car to the train station, park it in the long-term lot, buy a ticket for somewhere far away on an express that's leaving very soon, get on the train, go to the loo, change back into my own clothes, get off the train, chuck these rags and the wig into the trash, and take a taxi home?"

"That's the gist of it, dear," I replied. "Oh, you'll need some cash for the ticket."

I pulled a wad of notes from my pack pocket and started peeling off hundreds.

"Will this suffice?"

"More than enough, sir. Besides, it's my pleasure to get on your good side."

"Always a wise idea. Well, off you go then. Call me when you get home. And try not to talk to anyone other than the ticket agent, okay?"

"Yes, sir!" she yelped before giggling. "Or should I say, 'yes, puh- leeeeeeze'?"

"Don't tempt me, Brenda."

"But Geoffrey, love, I live to tempt you."

I thought I heard something stirring in the shadows. Time to move along the proceedings.

"Goodbye, Brenda, and thanks a million. I definitely owe you one."

"To be collected in full, you can be sure."

She kissed my cheek and headed up the stairs. I waited until I heard Sabrina's car pull out of the driveway before walking quickly across the room to the cross.

"Welcome back," I said as I turned on the light.

Sabrina's eyes squinted to avert the glare.

"Wait, allow me to rephrase that...welcome home."

--SABRINA--

The waves came crashing down on the white sand at a regular pace, as if regulated by an invisible machine. The foam stopped a few inches from my feet, but I couldn't feel its refreshing coolness. I was paralyzed, unable to move. Not even my head. All I could do was stare at the water in front of me. In the distance, I noticed a long shining object carried by the swells. It disappeared for a few seconds before it turned up again, closer and bigger. It was a huge old-fashioned silver key: the size of a man, coming right at me, bobbing up and down, but the backwash kept pulling it back. I knew I had to have that key at all costs. And I felt desperate because it was so close, yet out of reach. I screamed to get help; my mouth was wide open, but no sound came out.

All of a sudden, I heard a female voice on my left. "Yes, sir," it barked. When I heard the male voice reply, I snapped back to consciousness. The voice was Geoffrey's. And there was a woman in the room.

Instinctively, I tried to turn my head to the left. When I couldn't, I tried to move my hands, or my feet, or anything, but no limb would respond. I was immobilized in a position that made me cruelly aware of my nakedness. My temperature rose sharply, but I managed not to panic.

By the time I was fully awake, the room was quiet again. Then the light returned. So did Geoffrey.

Home? Did he just say "welcome home" to me? He must have seen the puzzlement in my eyes since he bothered to provide clarification. Circumstances had changed at the association. Something about a change in management. Until the situation was resolved, I was to stay here as his "guest."

My body climate escalated from temperate to equatorial. Stay here? What about my life, my family, my friends? They would look for me. Well, not in the near future, as my jailer explained. Precautions had been taken. My presence in the real world had been deemed temporarily superfluous by my former superiors.

Despite the many reasonable reasons why his harebrained scheme was impossible, I believed him. The belt punishment must have broken an important piece in my cerebral network because I couldn't function normally anymore. When he turned away, the only thought that occurred to me was, "so now what happens?"

Geoffrey returned with a red plastic bucket.

"Too early for bedtime, but too late for an elaborate session. Let's see, how can I keep you alert while I get something to eat?"

By the time he had emptied half the bucket of clothespins, pain had become a subtle melody on my body, played both pianissimo and fortissimo. When he estimated my arms, breasts, hips and inner thighs had their fair share of pins, I felt the shadow of a touch near my clit. That was enough to remind me of how stimulated I had been during the last 24 hours. The slightest breeze would probably trigger the explosion. But he was very careful to avoid pushing the big red button, and concentrated on the sensitive periphery instead.

"There," he said as he laid down the empty bucket. "Enjoy. I'll take them off after dinner. Oh, and I'm sorry you're not invited to join me. I believe you already had a light snack while I was gone. That should last you until tomorrow."

He switched the light off and was gone, leaving me with such unbearable tension between my legs that I would have given anything for one more clothespin. Properly applied.

--GEOFFREY--

As I ate my supper, I wondered if Sabrina had believed my rap about the association abandoning her. In fact, my conversation with the director just moments ago had been quite pleasant.

I had explained to him that Sabrina had received a phone call, and although I didn't wish to eavesdrop, I couldn't help overhearing something about a friend and an auto accident. No, I hadn't quite caught the person's name, or even the city where this friend lived. But Sabrina had been quite upset, and had asked for an early dismissal from the project so she could comfort her. Or maybe it was a him. Not my style to pry.

Given the quality and quantity of the photos already taken, I had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to let her go to her friend's aid. No, she left the house about an hour ago. Yes, she drove her own car. No, not an inconvenience at all. These things happen. Otherwise, I looked forward to meeting with them at the end of the month to review the contact sheets.

As I rose to put his plate in the sink, I permitted himself a broad smile. No time like the distant future to cope with complications like finding another model for the council's annual report because (insert embarrassed sigh) something had gone wrong with my camera while shooting Sabrina.

I only hoped that the machine recording our telephone conversation on their end didn't suffer from a similar malfunction.

Leaving the mess for later, I returned to the studio and snapped several shots of Sabrina clothespinned on the cross. Judging from recent email, certain webmasters were getting anxious to review my latest masterpieces. Too bad. I still hadn't found a suitable case of Merlot, so I couldn't give them a final price.

I knew that the rush of blood when I removed the clothespins was probably going to feel worse than their bite, so I thought she might appreciate a little distraction.

"The Pocket Rocket--sending more women into orbit daily than NASA does in a decade," I remembered reading on the side of the box. I rotated its base, and the tiny vibrator practically jumped out of my hand. Nice. Buying half a dozen didn't seem like such an extravagant purchase.

I pressed it against her soft flesh in the space below her navel and above her sex. Pleased by her reaction, I tore off a long piece of black electrical tape and plastered it securely in place.

The first clothespins echoed dully when they hit the bottom of the plastic bucket.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled the last ones off her nipples, then stripped off the vibrator.

I wondered if Sabrina had finally managed to come; she had certainly wriggled and groaned convincingly while I plucked the clamps from her various body parts. I considered helping her along with a thorough fucking once she came off the cross, but Brenda said she would be stopping by to tell me about the train station. And my patience was limitless now that I held all the cards.

I unstrapped Sabrina's legs first, then went to work on her arms and body. When she finally slumped free, I helped her down to the floor.

"Don't move," I admonished unnecessarily. Between the iron balls still chained to her ankles, the ballet boots, the mittens and the gag, she wasn't going anywhere soon. And I was going to make sure she stayed that way.

I gathered what I needed, then knelt beside her prone body.

"Obviously, I can't trust you anymore," I said. "So I'm going to have to take extra precautions tonight to stop you from pulling something like the mirror stunt again."

I pulled a piece of electrical tape from the roll and pressed it against her toes, then began wrapping it around the ballet boots and the metal cuffs still around her ankles, with a separate piece joining the heels beneath them.

When the first roll ran out in the middle of her thighs, I rolled her onto her stomach and pushed a fat plug into her ass before starting with a new roll. I left her hands in the mittens, but unlocked the clips so they weren't balled into fists anymore. This allowed me to press them flat against her hips with her arms at her sides.

Up and up the tape continued, covering and compressing every inch of her body except her nipples, which stuck out like pink stars in a universe of inky blackness.

I stopped when I got to her neck, but only long enough to insert airport-grade hearing protectors into her ears and add a few pieces of tape across her already-gagged mouth. After pulling a rubber hood over her head to protect her eyes and hair (from the prying eye of the camera lens as much as the adhesive), I continued wrapping until she was completely encased, save the bottom of her nose.

The Japanese clover clamps had a nasty way of tightening whenever something tugged on them. Once I had them fixed to her exposed nipples, I tied their handles to thin ropes dangling down from the metal bars of the "lighting structure," as she once called it. If she tried to roll around, well, once should be enough to teach her to lie still until I returned tomorrow morning. The economy of movement, as it were.

--SABRINA--

Earlier that day, I had surrendered my will to fight, but it felt like a New Year's resolution. I could have learned to cope with a few restraints and the silly sexual games Geoffrey enjoyed while I was defenseless, but this was way too much. No sight, no sound. And definitely no struggling; I tried to roll over when I was sure he was out of the room, but the flash of white pain through my breasts convinced me to stay still.

So I did. And it was awful. I felt like I was buried alive. I knew it would be worse if I yielded to panic, so I concentrated on breathing. In and out. In and out. Quiet, girl, keep it quiet. You're exhausted; this is the right time to relax.