The Gold Digger Ch. 03

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Foolish businesswoman gets trapped.
5.9k words
4.46
26.9k
4

Part 3 of the 10 part series

Updated 11/02/2022
Created 05/27/2010
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carvohi
carvohi
2,542 Followers

Carol awakened to the sound of the telephone. Looking around she remembered where she was. Bob was gone. Sitting up she reached for the phone on the end table. The thin metal chain that attached to her neck to the headboard of the bed jingled as she picked up the receiver. It was Bob.

"Good morning." Said Bob.

Carol yawned and replied. "When did you leave, and why did you leave me here chained to the bed? I know I'll need the bathroom before long."

Bob answered. "Questions, questions. It's nearly 9:00 o'clock. I thought you'd be awake by now.

Carol asked again. "You left me chained to the bed. I have to go to the bathroom. Besides, after last night, I thought you'd start to trust me."

Bob spoke again. "What are you talking about? What happened last night? How could that possibly cause me to start to trust you? Two women will be in to see you in a few minutes. They'll be with you most of the morning, or they'll leave almost right away, depending on you. I have to go now. Bye."

Carol sat there holding a dead receiver. Two women he said. All morning or right away, what was that all about? And last night, I thought last night sort of meant something. Carol reflected on her situation. She'd been trying to bilk the company, but her fellow workers had caught her. One of them, Bob, had kept the others from turning her over to the police by arranging a deal. She was out of the company for good, and all the guys got a night of sex. After that she belonged to Bob. Belonged was a tricky term. She could turn herself in and go to prison, or she could continue to play along with Bob's silly sex games. So far they had been pretty inane. He'd been keeping her chained in one of the company's luxury suites, and together they'd been having sex. So far the sex had been damn good, straight sex, nothing kinky. She figured Bob had some mild fetishes, but nothing she thought were dangerous. He'd spanked her. Hard too. It had hurt. She looked at her ass and saw it was still red. Mostly though, it was handcuffs, a collar, being chained to the bed, and silly stuff like being fed like a child and wearing childish clothes. The tough part was she liked Bob. She liked him a lot. With a little incentive she could fall for him. She wondered what he was up to this morning. She hoped she'd find out soon. Otherwise she'd have a mess on the bed.

Before Carol could react two women appeared at her bedroom door. They looked distinctly Nordic, which was disquieting for some reason. One spoke. "We're here to get you ready, or not, as you choose."

Carol wondered what 'get you ready meant'. She asked. "What are you talking about?"

The same woman answered. "We've been hired to clean you up, prep you, dress you, and take you out. That is, if you agree."

Carol asked. "What am I supposed to agree to?"

The woman who had been doing the talking handed her an envelope. Carol opened it and found a letter addressed to her from Bob. It was terse. It explained what these women were there to do. It also contained a copy of a document listing the things she'd be accused of if she didn't go along. She looked at the list of charges. They were pretty damning, but she already knew that. The second list contained the things these women were there to do. That list wasn't nearly as long, but it was no less daunting. She spoke to the woman. "What am I supposed to do?"

The woman answered. "You can decline our services. If you do we unlock the collar, and you're free to leave. Of course, you'll bear the consequence of that decision. Or you can accept our services. You do that by signing the agreement provided there in the envelope."

Carol had a choice, but neither choice looked very good. Go to jail or give Bob full power of attorney. She reread the document. If she signed this it would literally be signing herself over to Bob. With her signature on this he would have absolute control over nearly every aspect of her life. She asked the woman. "I see what I'm supposed to sign, but I don't see anything anywhere about what you're here to do."

The woman responded. "You sign the paper then you find out."

Carol asked. "You aren't going to hurt me?"

The woman spoke again. "We're here to clean you up, prep you, get you dressed, and take you out."

Carol asked again. "Clean me? Prep me? Dress me? Take me out? What does all that mean?"

The woman appeared to be bored. She asked. "Are you going to sign the paper?"

Carol asked one more question. "Do you have a pen?"

The woman gave Carol a pen and she signed the document turning her life over to Bob. She considered the meaning of the document. Just a few moments ago she'd asked Bob if he trusted her. By her signing this paper she was showing him, beyond all doubt, where she stood. She handed the paper over to the woman.

The first woman took the paper and put it away in a satchel. Already the second woman had unlocked the collar around her neck and was removing the chain from the bed. The first woman asked. "Would you like to use the bathroom?"

Carol smiled and went to the toilet. Carol reflected on how quickly that their demeanors changed, once that she'd signed the paper. It had gone from bored indifference to polite consideration.

She was still on the toilet when the second woman came in. She spoke. "I'd like to bathe you, and give you a complete depilatory." She reached up to Carol's head and fumbled with some of her tresses. "I don't mean this." She took her hand and touched Carol under her arms and between her legs. "The creams I'll use will be gentle, but they will guarantee you'll be hair free for several weeks."

Carol looked at her and just said. "OK."

For the next half-hour the woman bathed and re-bathed her. She shampooed her hair twice, the first time with a regular soapy shampoo, and the second time with a cleanser she'd never seen or heard of. When she used the second cleaner her hair felt ropy and pasty while it was in, but once it was washed out her hair never felt so light, thick and rich. It smelled wonderfully fresh too.

She was guided out of the bathroom where the other woman was awaiting at a portable table. "Sit here please. I'm going to give you some facial art. It won't hurt. It won't be obscene or degrading. It may, however, seem permanent."

Carol got scared. "What are you talking about?"

The woman responded. "I'm going to tattoo your face. The ink is very rare and very expensive. Owing to its rarity the markings I give you could fade out, then again they might not."

Carol said. "I don't have a choice do I?"

The woman answered. "We could tear up the paper you signed."

Carol answered. "No go ahead."

The woman went to work. She'd set out close to ten tiny needles. There was an assortment of bottles each with a different color, all the colors were pale pastels, soft pinks, or the faintest blues.

Carol asked. "Before you start. You're not writing anything are you? No words I mean."

The woman answered. "Not on your face."

Carol sort of knew what that probably meant, but thought she could handle it. "OK."

The woman went to work. She was slow, painfully so. She mixed colors on a sheet of plastic. The originally soft shades were made even softer and less apparent. When she started to work on her face Carol couldn't feel anything. Carol asked. "Aren't tattoos supposed to hurt?"

The woman, without looking directly at Carol, whispered. "Don't move. Don't talk. These aren't like what you see on peoples' arms." She continued to decorate Carol's face. All her work seemed to be centered around her left eye, left cheek, and up just above and around her eyebrow. Slowly she seemed to be working downward toward the center of Carol's left cheek. After what seemed like hours the woman stopped and sat back. She spoke to her colleague in a foreign dialect. It sounded German. Judging by the affirmative looks that the one woman gave the other Carol thought, it couldn't be all that bad.

The tattooist said. "OK. I think we're done." She spoke to Carol. "Want to see?"

Carol answered. "Yes." What else was she going to say.

The tattooist got up and helped Carol to the bathroom. The mirror in there would give her the best view.

Carol looked into the mirror. At first she couldn't see anything, but a closer look revealed a rather interesting and complex design. Starting below her eye a vine had been painted on her face. It was small and faint, but it was certainly there. She took her finger, careful not to touch it, she traced it up around her eye over her eyebrow to just the edge of her forehead. It was actually quite beautiful. The vine was a soft brown. Leaves could be traced spreading from it, and there were flowers, beautiful flowers. She didn't know what kind they were, not daisies, but like daisies. There looked to be three, no four, no five of these flowers. They were small and delicate.

The tattooist asked. "Do you like it?'

Carol answered. "It's beautiful."

The tattooist started talking. "If you spend any time in the sun the painting will be completely obscured by any tanning you do. If you tire of it's appearance and want it covered I have some base make up. It's very expensive so don't use much. If you want to go out, cover your entire face with base just as you would before putting on your regular make up, but work it in good, and don't over use it. I mean don't apply too much at one time. You'll just be wasting it. The tattoo may last a week, a month, or a year. It's a kind of semi-permanent material, and completely nontoxic. It will do no harm to your skin or your general health. I must tell you though. People will notice it. They will ask questions. They'll want to know all about it. Not everyone will understand or appreciate its beauty. Last. Never try to have it removed. Any removal process would be far more hazardous and far more destructive than just allowing it to disappear on its own.

Carol kept staring at it. It looked so pretty, but she wasn't completely sold on it.

The tattooist started talking again. "I have more body art I have to paint on another part of you."

Carol looked at her. "Where?"

The tattooist reached into her satchel and pulled out a sheet of paper. "I will be painting this on your left butt cheek."

Carol looked at what the woman had in her hand. It was another picture, but this time it had writing. It showed a woman, a woman chained hand and foot, a collar around her neck with a chain drooping from the collar. She was kneeling in the palms of two hands. Beneath the hands was a name, Bob Metcalf. It was a beautiful and delicate picture, but the message was undeniable. She was the chained woman, and she would be in Bob's hands. She asked. "Is this tattoo like the one on my face, something that will fade.

The tattooist answered. "No this one will be permanent. It will be beautiful. It will not be large, but it will never come off.

Carol sighed. "OK. Go ahead."

The tattooist said. Lie down on the couch please.

Carol lay down on the couch. The woman brought her portable table over, but this time with a different set of needles. The needles looked longer. The woman said. "You will feel something this time, but after the first few seconds you'll become accustomed to the feel." She wiped Carol's ass with an alcohol swab, and went to work.

"Ouch!" said Carol at the first needle, but after that it didn't hurt so much. She began to settle in. The woman was a true professional. She took her time. This second tattoo took even longer than the first, but eventually even this one was done.

The woman sat back. She looked at Carol. "Would you like to see it?"

Carol and the woman walked to the bathroom where she could best see what had been placed on her rear. It was larger than she thought it would be. It looked to be about the size of a silver dollar, not exactly round but not square. There was no bordering or edging it just seemed to fade as her eyes drifted from the main object.The hands were life like, and the girl in their palms was equally real looking. You could almost trace an expression on her face. Carol couldn't decide if the expression was plaintive, compliant, or just downright submissive. The girl was attractive. In fact it wasn't a bad impression of Carol. The girl was made of soft colors, and the hands were light brown, but the chains were different. The chains were black and harsh. They stood out in stark contrast to the softer, humane nature of the hands and the girl. The meaning of the tattoo couldn't have been clearer if it had simply said slave. Carol felt drained, humiliated, degraded. Prison would have been preferable.

Carol asked again. "This is permanent?"

The woman answered. "This will never come off."

Carol asked the woman. "May I have a few moments alone please?'

The woman answered. "Of course."

The two women quietly sat outside the bathroom waiting for Carol. She was crying.

After about ten minutes Carol came out of the bathroom. "OK. What's next?"

The second woman answered. "Not much. We get you dressed, do your hair, give you some jewelry, apply some make up, and then we take you to your new home."

Carol was pretty thoroughly deflated. "OK."

One woman said. "Bend over please. I'm going to put some ointment on your tattoo. Then I'm going to cover it with a bandage. We don't have to do this, but it's better to play it safe When we're outside, when you sit down try to keep from putting any weight on your left cheek, and don't squirm."

While the one applied the ointment and bandage the other woman produced some jewelry. "I have a necklace and two bracelets. Once I put them on, you won't be able to take them off."

It was a small gold chain necklace, perhaps sixteen inches long. She placed it around her neck and connected the two ends with a heart shaped padlock. Carol heard a faint click and understood the necklace's purpose.

Then the woman produced two identical gold linked bracelets, each perhaps six inches long. They were affixed; one on each wrist by padlocks identical to the one used around her neck.

Carol said. "OK. What have you clothes have you got for me to wear?"

One of the women opened a bag. "Well let's see here." Smiling she pulled out a pair of underpants. "Try these on."

Carol took the panties. They were a pale lavender set of tap panties. She pulled them on. They were a loose comfortable fit.

One woman said. "They'll work nicely. They're soft and loose to minimize any chaffing of your tattoo."

"Here try this brassiere." Said the second woman.

Carol took the bra. It was a near perfect fit. The color matched the panties, and it was a sporty low cut cup, a soft relaxed fit, her favorite style.

The first woman extracted a blouse. Carol fell in love with almost immediately. It was white, made of either soft cotton or some kind of soft acrylic fabric. It buttoned up the front, and had relaxed looking moderately low cut front collar. It had short sleeves, slightly puffed capped shoulders, and a tiny hint of lace trim around the collar and the edges of the sleeves.

Carol took the blouse and buttoned it up. It was a good fit, modestly tailored around the waist so that it would fit inside a dress or a pair of pants easily. "This is very nice." Said Carol.

The second woman pulled out a skirt. It was a tan color mini-skirt.

Carol accepted the skirt and slipped into it. The hem came to just not quite mid-thigh. It was short and sexy, but not cheap looking or very revealing. It was a pleated number made of a lightweight and very soft comfortable fabric. Once she slipped it on Carol spun around. As she spun about the skirt twirled out around her, but once she stopped it immediately slipped back into position.

Out came a pair of nylons. Their color exactly matched the skirt, and last to appear was a pair of low-heeled shoes. They had perhaps a two-inch heel with a thin strap she was able to fasten on the side. Carol paced around the room a little. The shoes, the nylons, the skirt, the blouse, everything. It all fit perfectly. She went to the mirror and looked at herself. She looked a lot younger than she really was, but the outfit didn't look childish. She thought she looked young and sporty. She looked at the two women. "How do I look?"

Both smiled and answered. "You look very nice."

The first woman, the tattooist, said. "We have a couple other things to address. One said. "I need to do your hair." The other said. I need to apply some make up. While one worked her hair, the other made her up. They were done in less than five minutes.

The first woman said. "Take a look."

Carol went to the mirror. She looked perfectly radiant. Her hair was combed and slightly teased. It flowed down around her shoulders. The woman had placed two small barrettes near the front on each side to pull it away from her face. Her make up was very discreet, a tiny bit of pink lipstick covered by a little gloss, on her cheeks a smidgen of pink highlighted her cheekbones, and a hint of blue around her eyelids and eyebrows gave a tease of pert sassiness. The make up, combined with her new tattoo gave her, what she thought, was a very appealing, fresh, clean, youthful look. Two weeks ago it would have been a look she would have rejected, but today it looked just right. It made her feel funny.

She gave the two women a glowing smile. "I feel so good!" she said.

The women smiled back and said. "Or work is almost over. We have to take you someplace and leave you."

Carol asked. "Where are you taking me?"

The tattoo woman answered. "Not to worry. It isn't far, and it isn't out of the way."

Carol wasn't ready to leave, not quite yet. "When I came here two days ago I had my own car, my pocketbook, and in it I had all my personal papers and credit cards."

The tattoo woman answered. "We don't know about any of that. We were told to clean you, prep you, dress you, and take out. Once we take you out, we're done."

Carol listened. She didn't have a choice. Bob probably had everything. "Oh. OK. I guess."

Together the three of them left the suite, took the elevator down to the lobby and went outside. One of the women hailed a waiting sedan and off they went.

The drive was a lot longer than Carol had been led to believe. They'd started in the center of the city, but their travels took them well beyond the city and the suburbs. Was she being taken somewhere so isolated that people would be able to do anything they wanted to her? Now that she was marked, had Bob decided to turned her over to people who might injure her, or worse, use her in ways she would have never accepted had she any inkling of what might be coming? What had she gotten herself into? She read about things like white slavery and attractive women being sold to foreigners. Is that what Bob intended for her? Had she, through her own belief in Bob's basic decency, been duped into a life of prostitution or worse? The more she thought about the decisions she'd made this morning the more she wished she'd thought things through more thoroughly. In her heart she didn't believe Bob wanted to hurt her, but she was becoming afraid, and the further they drove from all that was familiar the more afraid she became.

She looked over at the tattoo woman. "Where are you taking me?"

The tattoo woman answered. "Not much farther."

Carol asked. "Are you taking me someplace where they'll hurt me?"

The tattoo woman answered. "Somebody spent a lot of moneyon you today. The tattoo on your butt wasn't cheap, and the body art on your face most people would consider prohibitively expensive. I know you don't know me, but I'm not a cheap tattoo artist. My work comes with a high premium. I doubt if the person who paid for your work wants to hurt you. Then again, who can really say?"

Carol wanted to be mollified. The tattoo woman wasn't very reassuring.

carvohi
carvohi
2,542 Followers
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