The Vixen Agency: Julie

His sister was beaten up and physically violated and now he wants retribution on her behalf. The man got away with it because he was rich. Will the agency help him? They have the facilities. They have the means. They can do what he wants. Will they do it? Or will they turn him down?

This story is about justice. There is no scene in this story of the sister being forced to have sex against her will. It is only referred to as the reason for him wanting the perpetrator taught a lesson he will never forget, to show him what it's like to be violated against your will, and to stop him ever attacking a woman again. To violate a woman in this way is an act I personally think is unforgivable and the punishment I would mete out would be much more severe than the courts do.

Retribution: punishment inflicted on someone as vengeance for a wrong or criminal act.

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I've had a thing for Julie Strain ever since I saw her in the Dallas Connection many moons ago so when I wanted inspiration for an Amazonian to teach the villain a lesson he wouldn't forget she instantly sprang to mind. Look her up if you want to imagine what the Julie in this story looks like.

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He stood in front of the door, studying the nameplate. It gave no indication of the company's business and the only other writing was a request to press the bell for admittance. Should he go in? The appointment had been made but he didn't have to go through with it. Did he? It had only been a telephone call. He didn't know who he'd spoken to, only that it was a man. A man who sounded a little effeminate, but what had that to do with the type of work he understood the company undertook? He didn't even know who he was meeting. He pressed the bell not knowing all the time he had stood there he was being watched via a minute camera hidden in the nameplate. The door swung inward on silent hinges.

"Good morning, Mr Simpson. My name is Archie."

This has to be the person he'd spoken to when he made the appointment.

"Welcome to the Vixen Agency. Please take a seat. Thank you for being on time. Unfortunately, we are running a few minutes behind, for which please accept our apologies. While you wait would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? Something more substantial perhaps?"

He sat down on the seat indicated, thinking how comfortable it felt, and looked around. "Coffee with milk, no sugar, thank you."

It was a strange reception area. There was hardly anything in it. Nothing on the walls. One seat for clients. But it did feel comfortable and friendly, in a strange sort of way. A very large desk, with nothing on it but a phone console and a monitor, this guy Archie was now bending under. He was going to make me a coffee, he thought? Why's he under the desk?

Suddenly Archie stood up, coffee on a small silver tray, and walked round the desk towards him.

"I hope it's satisfactory, Mr Simpson. If not I'll gladly make you another one." Archie was a pleasant, very friendly guy, who was definitely gay but didn't make a big deal of it. One of those people it was impossible to dislike.

"May I ask if you were recommended or just saw our website? I don't wish to pry but it helps to know how good our advertising is, whether we've got it right, or do we need to make changes."

Archie wasn't really interested in Mr Simpson's opinion, as they were very happy with the way the business was going, but conversation helped the time go quicker when someone is having to wait. He took a good luck at Archie. This was definitely a dress down workplace if the way he dressed was typical. Polo shirt, casual trousers and shoes. All obviously expensive.

He had only begun drinking his coffee when the inner door opened.

"Would you like to come in, please, Mr Simpson."

The man speaking was a little smaller than him. Maybe five feet ten. Good head of hair. Blonde. Expensive suit and shirt. No tie. Businesslike but casual. Friendly manner, just like Archie, but definitely not gay. He extended his hand, which Dave automatically took. The man released his hand and lead him over to a chair which was a duplicate of the one in the reception area.

"My name's George," said the man, sitting down behind the desk, in a chair which must have cost a fair bit more than Archie's. "Tell me, Mr Simpson, what can we do for you?"

Dave looked around, suddenly having become very nervous, wondering if his request was going to get him thrown out. He shuffled his feet, gazing round this office, slightly larger than the other one, putting off the moment when he had to make his request.

"Well...ermm...Mr...err...George...I have a problem...the family has a problem...not really a problem —,"

"Can I stop you there, Mr Simpson. May I call you Dave? I've found, with the type of services we offer, it usually helps if we use first names. Most of our clients feel a little...uncomfortable, when they first arrive, due to not having made a request of us before. So we try to be as informal as possible. I assume you wish to know what services we actually do supply?"

"I do know a little already Mr...George. I believe a friend of my mother already uses your services." He ended in a rush, wanting to be rid of the words quickly. He leaned forward a little, lowering his voice as if to impart some secret information, "Mrs Blake?"

"Mrs Blake? I can't say I recall the name," said George, leaning back in his chair, wondering how this young guy had discovered the information she was a client. "But, of course, even if she is a client I couldn't confirm it because of confidentiality. I'm sure you understand."

"It's just I overheard my mother and Mrs Blake discussing it when she came round one afternoon. I wasn't deliberately eavesdropping but they were talking quite loudly and I think my mother had forgotten I was home. Anyway, Mrs Blake was saying she had obtained a lady, from your company, as a present for her husband." He hesitated. "I didn't really understand, but she said she was a...dominatrix. I don't know exactly what she does with Mr Blake but I've watched porn videos involving dominatrixes so I have some idea what they do."

He broke off, trying to think of how he could get to making his request.

"So you would like us to provide the same services for yourself?" said George, thinking this was an unusual request. The man, or the boy, might be submissive but even so he was very young. "Or are they for someone else, and you are here on their behalf?"

"Oh my God, definitely not. It's nothing like that, it's something else...different." He threw himself back in the chair, causing it to move slightly on the thick carpet.

"I see. Okay, Dave, just relax,"said George, calmly, "and tell me what it is you think we do at Vixen and what you want."

"You supply women, like to Mrs Blake, who will dominate men and...and...do what I've seen in the videos. What I couldn't understand, when I was listening, was when Mrs Blake said her husband enjoyed it and he was pleased she'd been here."

"Well, let's assume, hypothetically, Mrs Blake is a client and what you heard is true, how does that help you if you don't want that service and you're not here on behalf of anyone else."

"My sister was forced to have sex against her will." The words came from his mouth like a bullet as he bent down, clasping his head in his hands, and began sobbing.

George was on his feet instantly, moved quickly across to the bar set behind Dave, taking the top of a bottle and splashed some whisky in a glass, and within seconds returning and handing

it to the distraught Dave.

"Dave." He said it softly and then when he didn't get a reaction, more strongly. "Dave!"

This time, when he looked up, George indicated a three seater couch at the end of the room.

"Let's go sit here and you can explain everything to me." The state Dave was in the last thing he needed was to be talking to someone separated by a desk.

George slipped his jacket off, threw it over his chair, and sat down on the couch. Dave walked slowly over towards him and sat at the end of the couch, hands clasped in his lap. George sat quietly, patiently waiting, leaving it up to Dave when he felt able to carry on. He sipped at the whisky, unlike the gulp he'd taken when George had first handed him the glass, and it didn't burn as much. The contents disappeared quite quickly, George took the glass, placing it on the bar before speaking.

"I'm sorry for what's happened to your sister, and the effect it's had on yourself. Do you feel up to telling me about it? How you think we can help?"

Dave raised his head, staring at him with reddened eyes, struggling unsuccessfully to make a coherent sentence.

"Perhaps if I explained exactly what services we can provide, and then you can tell me how you think we can help you?"

Dave responded with a nod, and George continued.

"We don't have very much information on our website, as I'm sure you are aware, and the only contact is via a telephone call, to Archie, who arranges an appointment. There is only one client in our offices at any one time, which is why we only have the one chair, to maintain complete privacy. All records are kept on a computer not connected to the internet. Everything is confidential, as is our conversation here today, and if you decide we cannot be of service the only people who will know you've been here will be Archie and myself." He smiled at Dave. "How am I doing up to now?"

"Okay," replied Dave, now beginning to look more like the young man who had entered the room a few minutes ago.

"We have a staff of ladies whom we refer to as Providers. They provide a service to the client. We don't have to know the client's reasons for asking and, although can choose with whom to share the information, here it's only known to myself and anyone in the company they think they need, or want, to share it with. Just like Archie and myself, our Providers are only known by their first name. Still okay?"

Dave nodded, his face a little brighter now.

"Providers come, to borrow a phrase, in all shapes and sizes. The client, in conjunction with myself, selects the one we feel is most suitable for the consultation and we go from there. Our ladies may not all be the same physically but, and I admit I am very biased here, they are all very attractive."

He rose, went to his desk and returned with a brochure.

"I need to speak to Archie about something. Just glance through our brochure. I'll only be a couple of minutes."

He didn't have a reason to speak to Archie, his reason was twofold. To give Dave time to recover from his emotional distress and for him to see the photos and details of the Providers. When he returned Dave didn't hear him, so engrossed was he in looking through the brochure.

"As you can see, I was being truthful when I said how attractive all our Providers are, and they are all very experienced in the areas our clients require." He paused, allowing the silence to hang for a few seconds, and then quietly asked, "Can you tell me what happened? I need to know why you are asking before deciding if we can help."

Dave sat up straight, took a deep breath, smoothed out imaginary creases in his trousers, and ran a hand through his curly hair.

"Chloe is twenty three, just a year younger than me, and we both still live with our parents. She always goes out, every friday, with three girlfriends. Always the same routine. They go for a meal, presumably to absorb all the alcohol later."

Despite the seriousness a smile appeared. For a moment.

"They would usually go to the same club, leaving every week at the same time, so my mother, who still thinks we're five year olds, always expects her home at the same time. They've had the same routine for I don't know how long."

He stopped, his breathing increasing, and George sat quietly, waiting for him to get to the inevitable.

"We still don't know exactly how she became separated from them, probably the effect of the alcohol, but she does remember feeling a little unwell and this guy she was talking to suggested he take her outside for some fresh air. There were two guys stood outside, smoking, just by the exit door. That's when things changed."

His anger arose at the memory of what his sister had told him, of what had happened to her, and his fingers gripped the couch.

"That's when they took her, she can't remember where, some motel, and attacked her. All three of them. But he was the ring leader."

His voice raised, releasing the torment within him.

"I want him punished! He thinks he's got away with it because his parents are rich. But it's wrong if he gets away." He threw himself forward, elbows on his knees, wringing his hands and sobbing.

George moved up the couch next to Dave, putting a hand on his shoulder, leaned down and asked, "Did she go to the police?"

"They wouldn't do anything. The three guys didn't try to deny it. They all admitted having sex with her but said she consented. She didn't have any bruising or signs of a struggle. But they did it to her on a bed. Two held her down while the other..."

He stopped, unable to continue, the scene playing in his mind as it had done so many times in the previous weeks.

"They said it was her word against their's and all the evidence pointed to it being consensual. But since then we've heard Chloe isn't the first. But it's always been the same circumstances. His parents are rich and probably know people who make things like this go away. He needs to be stopped because he's going to keep doing it but that's not why I'm here. I'm here because I want retribution for what happened to Chloe and I want him to suffer."

"So the retribution, the suffering, is where you think we come in?"

George was already thinking of how to tell him Vixen couldn't be involved in anything like that, but didn't want to send him away in his present state of mind, not knowing how he would react to a refusal.

"Yes," exclaimed Dave. "I thought one of your...Providers...could do the same as they do to Mr Blake but make sure this guy wouldn't enjoy it. I want him to be punished. I want him to suffer. I want —,"

George interrupted his tirade. "I understand how you feel but —."

This time it was Dave who interrupted George. "But you don't understand! How can you? Have you got a sister or daughter who's been attacked in this way?"

"No, I haven't, but—," he held up his hand as Dave went to speak again. "What I was going to say was have you considered the possible implications on yourself, and your family, of you doing something like this? Not just any legal repercussions but what about retaliation? From what you're telling me both he and his family are quite capable of retaliation."

Dave slumped into the couch, completely deflated. He'd come here wanting to hear they would help but, now it seemed, that wasn't going to happen.

"I'm sorry. I'll go. I should have realised you couldn't help. We hired a private investigator to get evidence, we've been to lawyers, but they've all said the same. Forget it. I even said to them what if it was your sister? But nothing would change their minds. I think it's time to give up."

"Whoa! Hang on, Dave. I didn't say nothing could be done. I wanted to make sure your are aware of the repercussions. I'm not sure we can do anything but I'm prepared to discuss it further if that's what you want."

Dave's face shone, a look of disbelieve appeared, and he exclaimed, "Thank you. Thank you. What now?"

"Now we discuss what, if anything, we can do and how much it will cost." George didn't have a daughter but he did have a niece the same age and knew what he would do in similar circumstances.

"Something like this would require two Providers and our basic rate for one is a thousand. For something like this, which will be several hours, we will discount the hourly charge but the fee would still about ten thousand. Customised premises will be required for which there will be a charge. The vehicle to be used for transport will have to be destroyed to minimise the possibility of any trace evidence. It's something we haven't done before so I can't give you a fixed amount but, in all probability, the final total is likely to be getting up towards twenty thousand. That's a lot of money and I would need fifteen thousand as a deposit. How does that seem? I assume you had no idea of likely cost?"

George sat back, allowing Dave to take in what he'd just said.

"I'd never thought of how much," confessed Dave. "I knew it wouldn't be cheap but that is a lot of money. All I can say is, thanks Grandad!"

"Thanks, Grandad?" said a puzzled George.

"When our Grandad died a few years ago he left Chloe and me, each, a substantial amount of money. It's just been gaining interest and there's more than enough, in my fund alone, to cover the cost you've estimated. So that's not a problem. What happens now?"

"The first thing I need to do is ask Archie to draw up a contract for our services. It obviously won't go into detail but it will specify for two Providers and the premises. We can't put down about a vehicle so it will show the Providers were there for longer than in actuality. Archie can do that now while you give me all the details for the IC."

"IC? What does that mean?" asked Dave, with an inquiring expression.

"IC is an abbreviation we use for the 'individual concerned.' It may be someone picks up on a remark in a casual conversation, such as when you overheard your mother and Mrs Blake, and we find referring to Providers and the IC if someone does overhear it means nothing and it's nothing worth remembering. If, for example, we used the terms operative and subject that would be another matter."

"I can't thank you enough for what you're going to do for my sister," said Dave, earnestly. "But I don't want Chloe or our mother to know or be involved in any way."

"That's not a problem." George could see the change in Dave's manner now he had agreed to help. "Let me ask Archie to draw up the contract," he said, reaching for the phone. "Then you can give me all the details I need.

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Two Providers were waiting for George when he arrived at the office the following morning. Both dressed in typical office secretary clothing of skirt, blouse, reasonable heels. Nothing to make them stand out in any office, apart from the fact they were gorgeous.

But the difference ended there. Kate, or Mistress Catherine when she was working, was five foot five without heels, hourglass figure, and blonde hair cut short but sometimes she wore a blonde wig depending on the IC. Her personality lay somewhere between dippy university student and the beautiful girl you were afraid to approach because you thought she'd tell you to fuck off. George knew, from the information coming back to him from various sources, she didn't need a whip to get any man to do whatever she wanted.

Julie was completely different. Six feet one, and with heels she was six feet seven. Men didn't look down on her in any way and when she looked down at them with her piercing hazel eyes their manhood shrank without anything being said. Long black hair hung down her back, over her shoulders, and spilling onto her generous breasts. It was naturally curly, she had unsuccessfully triedto straighten it, but had given up. All her efforts resulted in giving her a tangled wild woman look. She had long legs and the muscular body of an athlete, which she had been in a previous life. Definitely a woman you did not want to annoy.

Both Providers hailed him as they jumped up from the couch. "Morning, George."

"Morning, ladies. We've got a special consultation so please, sit down, and I'll go through the details." said George, pulling the armchair round to face them, sitting down with his arms resting on the arms.