Prisoner Ch. 06

"You'll do," she concluded, emptying her glass and turning away. He let out a sigh. Then she said:

"Walk over to the window, boy. Let's not be selfish and keep you all to ourselves."

He knew he should have died of embarrassment as he walked around the desk and into the spotlights. They shone from the ceiling right over the panoramic window. He was on the tenth floor, but all around him rose equally high buildings, many of them with brightly lit windows that showed rooms full of late workers and cleaning crews. Numerous sets of eyes would be able to see him, but curiously enough he cared less than he'd feared. He felt protected by a shield of indifference. Had these last months of exposure and debasement numbed him down? Or was it just his general state of depression? Whatever it might be, it kept him standing on his wide open stage, feeling the limelight flush over his body -- outlining his nakedness, exposing each and every square inch of skin to whomever took the trouble to watch.

"Lovely. Stay there," the girl said from the darkened room behind him. "Just like that." He heard her heels cross the wooden floor, getting away from him. A door opened and closed. He waited, scanning the décor of windows all around him.

The waiting, the exposure and the almost casual humiliation started spreading a familiar feeling of defeat. The girl surely was a graduate of Miss A's academy and a good one -- her devices were as simple as they were effective. She made him wait, so he had time to think. She got him naked and exposed, so he'd feel vulnerable. And she took his suffering for granted in the most arrogant way, making him know he was less than nothing to her.

He saw two Hispanic-looking cleaning ladies stop and look twice when they spotted him from an office window across the street. They pointed at him and from their movements he knew the sight excited them. A third woman and an old black man were alerted and now all four of them pressed their faces against the glass. He certainly was a welcome divertimento from the boring chores of their jobs.

He let his eyes wander, meeting two women in business suits, obviously delaying their intention to go home because of him. Two windows down a fat woman started making lewd gestures, pouting her lips and gyrating her well-padded hips. Then she opened her blouse, showing him a huge white bra. He closed his eyes, praying she would leave it at that. And to be certain he didn't have to see more, he looked away to the right only to find two guys in shirtsleeves. They started doing gay impersonations -- limp wrists, swaying hips and all. It seemed to amuse them no end.

Things were getting old quickly. He wondered when the girl would be back. What if one of them started calling the police? Looking away from the impersonators he saw two huge sagging breasts where the white bra had been. Damn. His eyes fled to a point beyond the building.

"You may turn around now, honey. You've been stroking your vanity quite enough."

She looked intimidatingly elegant. The coat she wore had a black-and white jungle print. It was short and wide, cut like the ones women wore in the late fifties -- three quarter sleeves over black kidskin gloves. Her tight pencil skirt was black too, reaching down to her knees. He saw she had changed into white stiletto pumps with pointy toes. Supposing she was ready to leave, he walked over to the pile of clothes and picked up his boxer shorts. A clucking sound stopped him.

"You are sweet, but really kind of stupid, aren't you, André?" she said, shaking her head, smiling. He looked up and understood. His fingers let go of the shorts.

"But you are right," she went on. "You can't just leave that mess on the floor of my office. Pick it all up and fold it as neatly as you can."

He reached down again, picking up one item after another, folding them and placing them on the corner of the desk. When he was done the girl came forward, looked at the immaculately folded pile and scattered it all over the floor again with a casual swipe of her gloved hand.

"You call that folding neatly," she observed. "And yet you beg to serve me?" She stepped back, looking at him expectantly.

He stared at her. He knew that she was playing him, just like she'd done these past weeks, turning down perfectly good articles. Her unreasonableness was exactly her point. In the end anyone could learn to obey a mature, reasonable woman. But who could swallow the arbitrary petulance of a spoilt child? He checked himself and started picking up and folding his clothes again. He heard her chuckle. He laid them on the desk.

She didn't even look.

"Before you waste more of my time, boy, grab your things and follow me." She turned and walked to the door, heels clicking. He carefully took the neat pile of clothes and, carrying them on the open palms of his hands, followed her. Outside the room he stopped, waiting for her to lock up her office. When she turned back to him he saw she carried something familiar. It was the leather collar he'd worn at the Villa, or a collar just like it. From it dangled a chain.

"Come here," she said. He stepped up to her.

"Say woof," she said.

"Woof."

"Louder."

"Woof!"

"Good doggie. Now stretch your neck." He did and she closed the heavy, smooth leather around his throat, buckling it tightly. It made him cough. She smiled, turned and left for the elevators.

The chain jerked at his neck. He started walking, naked, carrying the neat pile of his clothes before him, like an offering.

To his relief the elevator took them straight down to the parking deck. She didn't say a word to him, but she did talk into her white cell phone. He forced himself not to listen. There were words like "he" and "him" and "piece of cake," followed by laughter.

Her car was a white vintage convertible Mercedes sports car. He automatically walked to the passenger side, but the chain yanked him back, hurting his throat.

The tiny trunk opened.

"Don't want my dog to stink up my leather upholstery," she said. "Get in."

He climbed into the trunk and had to fold his body tightly to fit. The lid slammed down, making his ears ring. Darkness surrounded him. The car jumped into movement, tires screeching on the concrete.

She wasn't a sensible driver.

***

He knew the gate. After he'd scrambled out of the car's trunk and his eyes had adjusted to the glaring lights that bathed the stone-and-iron construction, he saw they were at the mansion -- the one he'd taken care of while his friends were abroad. The owners had returned even before Miss A imprisoned him, so why did the girl bring him here? A jumble of thoughts entered his mind while he stood there naked, his bare soles arching to avoid the bite of the driveway's grit. Were the owners in and would they see him like this? And if they weren't, why would the girl be here, phoning to have the gate opened? Did she know them too -- or did her friends, maybe the gray haired woman, or even Miss A? Had they always known them? Had they maybe...?

A new sense of paranoia entered his thoughts, making his mind spin. He'd learned what had really happened to him and why -- the orchestrated loss of his job, his enslavement, everything. It felt like a whirlwind raging through his skull, upsetting his last feeble securities -- and blowing them away.

He should be screaming, but he felt a crazy kind of calm fatalism. Nothing he'd ever done these last months had really mattered. Women had played him like a puppet. Invisible strings had been connected to his limbs, to his thoughts, and his soul. Capricious goddesses had pulled them nimbly to make him dance and hope and puke and despair. Knowing that now flooded his mind with crazy reassurance; it set him free in the most unexpected way. He realized that his resistance had always been pointless. He saw how he'd still clung to abstract male notions society had drilled into him; notions of independence, pride and strength. They had only robbed him of true happiness ever since he was a little boy. Free or imprisoned, independent or enslaved, it had never truly mattered. He'd always been the prisoner of this gentle, superior race of women with their elegant, superior cruelty and their casual, superior indifference.

There, standing naked and exposed in the circle of light at the gate of the mansion, in the complete power of a capricious, silly girl, he knew he'd come to the end of a tortuous, twisted and totally unnecessary journey. He'd arrived at a point where he'd always been. There was no way back -- because there was no need for one.

He sank to his knees and wept.

The kick in his side sent a wakening flash of pain into his body. He raised his head, directing his tear-stained face at the girl standing over him.

"Thank you," he mumbled. Her expression was inscrutable. She dropped her phone in her clutch and rearranged a sleeve of her coat with unthinking elegance.

"Don't be daft," she said. The gate opened behind her, grating over the pebbles. "Dump your rags and follow me."

He left his clothes beside the gate and went after her, carrying the chain that dangled from his collar. In semi-darkness they passed the ice-cellar. Memories flooded him, like the exact grayness the crack at the bottom of the hatch would have at this hour of the day. He looked for the place where the thunderstorm had washed the girls' piss off his exposed body -- and the spot where the sun had scorched his skin. So many memories, and they all filled him with a dizzy, sweet-tasting rush of contentment.

"Wait in there."

The gesture of her gloved hand was indifferent as well as imperative. He knew what 'in there' was -- a mudroom that had its own door right next to the main entrance. "Wait," she'd said. He knew waiting would shape his future. He tasted the word on the tip of his tongue before stepping into a small and musty room. It smelled of generations of muddy boots, wet clothes and garden tools. He knelt on the floor, sitting back on his heels. He held the coil of his chain on his open palms. He'd wait. He'd wait better than anyone had waited before. This time, though, it wouldn't be for long.

A door opened and the room flooded with light from inside the house. It also brought in a distant cacophony of female voices.

"Up, boy."

The girl looked amazingly young. There was no hair on her head, or anywhere else on her naked body -- she even lacked eyebrows. The halo of light diffused her body, turning her into an immaterial creature -- a seraph, maybe, an angel sent down from unreachable places. But her voice was quite prosaic.

"We haven't got all day."

He followed her plodding footsteps to what he knew was one of the mansion's bathrooms. There was another bald girl, shrouded by clouds of fragrant steam.

"This way," the first girl said, leading him to a toilet.

"Sit down and piss," she said. From her mouth the rude word sounded perfectly functional. He sat down and emptied his bladder. It wasn't much. When he looked up, the other girl held a rubber sack with a dangling tube. He understood and lifted his ass. The nozzle was warm and slippery. He held the content of the sack for a few minutes before letting go. The girl repeated the procedure.

When he thought they were done, the first girl walked up to him, carrying a well-known object.

"Bend over the stool. Spread," she said with the efficiency of an experienced nurse. He obeyed, feeling hands spread his cheeks and a big, sleek object enter his sphincter. There was pain, but not for long. He heard a distinct, wet sigh when the stretched muscle slipped over the plug's widest point and closed over its slender waist.

"Up and into the tub," the first girl then said. He rose and felt the new weight pulling him down. Walking was awkward, scaling the tub's side even more so. "Keep standing," the girl said, reaching out to help him. He did. The second girl appeared from his other side, carrying a jug filled with a pungent cream. She poured some of it on his chest and both girls started to spread it over his body. It stank. They wore latex gloves.

"Yegggh," the first girl said, pulling a face. "I hate this part." The other one laughed. Their hairless faces and wraithlike bodies, floated in and out of the clouds. It gave the experience an unreal quality, like having been beamed up to an alien spaceship. They worked silently and with calm efficiency.

"Now wait," the second girl said, rinsing the jug in the water of the bath that sloshed around his feet. 'Wait,' she repeated, lifting a finger in caution. He smiled. He'd wait.

He was left alone for maybe ten minutes. Both girls returned and started rinsing him down, one wielding a showerhead, the other rubbing his skin with a rough wet cloth. The water around his feet turned dark, his skin gained a pink hue. Clumps of hair stuck to his toes. He understood. Did he care? He wondered why he even asked.

"Legs wide," the girl he still called 'first' said. She pushed to spread his thighs. The warm stream of water hit his privates and the crack of his ass. It felt comforting. The girl's nimble fingers touched the plug in his anus, aiming the water around it.

At last the girls seemed satisfied.

"Wait," they said. He smiled. He waited.

He must have dreamed away, even closing his eyes until he felt a subtle scratching around his scrotum. He looked down on the bald skull of one of the girls. Then he saw her hand maneuvering a razor blade. He winced. The girl laughed.

"No worry," she said.

Finally he was allowed to leave the tub. Both girls dried his body with big fluffy towels, talking to each other as if he weren't there. What they said was utterly banal. He heard things about nails, and cosmetics, clothes and ways to remove nasty stains from spoilt blouses. But being at least close to their conversations gave him a sense of comfort -- even if the subject was as mundane as this.

When one of the girls rubbed his hair, she had to reach up, so she leaned her lithe body into his front. The intimacy felt good. Her tiny breasts rubbed up and down his shaven chest, making him aware how slick and sensitive his skin had become. There was no sexual tension, just another lovely promise that one day he might belong.

Fingers busied themselves with his genitals. He looked down and saw the 'first' girl pull a black, shining sleeve over his cock and balls. Then she stretched two narrow, elastic straps up and over his hips to hook tightly into eyelets on the upper edge of the butt plug. At the same time the 'second' girl pulled a strap that went from his balls up through the crack of his ass to a third eyelet at the bottom of the flange. She pulled it tighter, asking the other girl to press his bulge until she was 'there.' The other girl cupped his package. She pushed while softly encouraging her friend to pull harder... more... yes, just a bit more... okay.

There was unbelievable pressure, but no pain. In the end the contraption hugged him impossibly tight. It squashed his genitals, maybe even pushing his balls back into the cavities of his body. At the same time it pulled the plug deeper into his bowels. Looking down he saw a flat, black triangle, made of a shining, vinyl-like substance. There was hardly a hint of a bulge left. He let his breath out with a sigh.

"Good boy," the 'second' girl said, slapping his ass cheek.

"Thank you, Miss," he whispered. It made them giggle.

"We aren't Misses," the 'first' girl laughed.

"Now bow," she instructed. "There's still a lot to do." He bowed and the smooth leather collar enclosed his throat again.

The girl led him out of the warm, steamy bathroom.

He stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror. What he saw was a total stranger in a pink, hairless body, naked feet on a large rubber mat. He felt a cold, soft substance hit his back. Hindered by the stiff collar, he could just about make out a cloud of white powder landing on his shoulder -- then another. He sneezed.

"Stand still," one of the girls warned him. He felt the powder slowly cover his entire body. Was it talcum, maybe? Or was it a disinfectant? And if so, why?

"Raise a leg." He obeyed. "Point your toes." He did. A thin, elastic stocking wormed its way up his foot, wrapping his ankle and reaching his knee. He looked over into the mirror. Both naked girls were on their knees, pulling up a thin, black and shining material -- a kind of latex, no doubt, hugging his smoothly shaved and powdered leg. Their pale little asses contrasted with the black rubber.

"Put the leg down and raise the other."

He did, feeling their hands repeat the action on the second leg. He tried to keep his balance.

"Now stand on both." He stood and saw how the girls pulled the latex suit up to his hips, jerking and yanking until it strangled his legs without a wrinkle. His neatly packed crotch soon disappeared, as did his belly and chest. The 'first' girl removed his collar, while the other bunched the sleeve of the suit and pushed it over his hand.

There were no fingers, just a square ending that forced his hands into fists.

It didn't take the girls long to wrap his entire body in latex -- including his skull and face. His mouth was covered tightly and completely, making it impossible to do more than just mumble or moan. There were only two slits for his nose and two more holes for his eyes. He already felt the temperature go up.

The mirror showed an alien, rubbery creature, smooth all over and shining at every angle and curve. The tightness of his chest forced him to breathe superficially; the closed mouth at first caused waves of claustrophobia, but soon he found a new rhythm that calmed him down. He touched his latex body with his covered fist. It felt like touching a wooden object.

His heart raced.

"Yes, yes, you look lovely," the 'first' girl said with some friendly irony. "Now come on, there's not much time left." In his limited field of vision he saw himself being pushed to a low plastic basin. He stepped inside it. Four gloved hands started to rub a fragrant, thick liquid onto the latex. His packed flesh hardly felt the stroking and kneading. His mind wondered what the sticky stuff might be for.

"Turn around." He turned -- and his breath caught.

Right in front of him stood a man. He was big and dressed in blue overalls. A flare of almost forgotten embarrassment hit André at being seen the way he was, and by a guy. But the man didn't even look at him. All his attention was focused on two objects that stood between them. Their material was probably plastic, as black and shining as his new suit. One object looked like a very low table, having four half-hollow legs that were open to the outside. But it was an impractical table -- its top wasn't really flat. It had a scooped surface that rose at one side, where a half-round, padded opening was cut out. The other side had a smooth, sliding downward edge. The legs formed more of an A at that side, while the other legs were straight down.

The second object was taller. It also had four hollow legs, but these were open to he inside. And, just like the first 'table' it lacked a flat top. The central part was scooped out and hemmed in by two rising sides left and right. It had an even higher, half round piece at the back. If one wouldn't know better, they looked like... arm rests and... and... the back of a... seat?

But why two pieces, and why the strangely placed, hollow legs? Why indeed.

"Out, boy. On the mat."

The first girl's voice was only a notch above a whisper, muted by the latex that plugged his ears. He stepped out of the basin onto the edge of a big rubber mat. The thick oil dripped off the latex. The man picked up the lower object, placing it before him. He saw the cut out half-opening was at the far side. At last he understood.

"On it, boy. Lay on it." His heart sped, his throat clenched.