When One Day We are Gone Ch. 03

[Author's note: Cassidy Hayes, psychologist by day and mother of two, is struggling with the fragmentation of her marriage as her husband Damian cheats on her with Lily, a sexy blonde younger woman. Far from calling her husband out on his infidelity, Cassie has found herself being blackmailed by Lily into doing what the younger woman tells her. Meanwhile, Cassie is exploring a different world, having made a new friend in Madame Syn, the owner of the Lost and Found, and a highly accomplished Dominatrix.

Syn has invited her to take part in a scene at the Lost and Found, but Cassie finds herself thrown in at the deep end, confronted by a woman trapped inside a stool and used as furniture. Now she has to go downstairs, dressed in latex for the first time, to collect a man from the bar. How will she handle stepping out as Mistress Grace in front of the entire club...?]

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BALANCING THE BOOKS

The boots were a problem, forcing Cassie to hold the stair rail tightly as she descended, so she took her time. Toppling here, on the stairs in the private area of the Lost and Found, would be bad. She had sudden visions of herself, sprawled unconscious in her tight, white latex dress and thigh-high leather boots at the foot of the stairs until Syn or one of the staff went looking for her. Nervously, she descended another step, ensuring that the spiked heel was firmly positioned before proceeding.

At the bottom, she stopped and checked herself. Cassie smoothed her hands over the slick white surface of the dress, feeling the way the latex enveloped her arms all the way down to her wrists, the way it lifted and shaped her cleavage and gathered in her stomach. She tugged again at the hemline, trying to extract one more inch of coverage over her bottom and crotch, but it was no use. She would need to walk slowly and carefully to avoid the dress riding up and exposing herself to everyone in the club. She pushed her blonde hair back over her shoulders and straightened her spine. Own the place, Syn had told her. Cassie took a deep breath and pulled the door open.

She stepped out into the music and the buzz, leaving behind the safety and the silence of the stairway up to the private rooms. The door closed behind her.

The man she was supposed to be meeting would be at the bar, just to her left, no more than a couple of dozen steps, but to get there she would have to pass by the booths set against the wall and then the cocktail tables arranged in the middle of the floor. It was later in the night now and a crowd had gathered in the club; she would need to pass them to find her client.

Cassie faltered: what the hell was she doing? She was in her mid-thirties, a mother of two and a wife, with a respectable job and a good circle of friends who would never understand what Cassie was doing at nearly midnight in a kink club wearing a tight white latex fantasy dress.

She was living two lives. The thought stopped her cold, her mind replaying memories of being dressed in a smart-casual skirt and blouse earlier in the week, walking to the reception area of her nice, neat office space to collect the couple she was counselling. Cassie would smile at them as she approached, greet them professionally and take them to the comfortable meeting space for an hour to talk about their problems. She had been doing it for years, putting her clients at ease, explaining her role, using her training as a qualified psychologist to help people. In some recess in her mind, she could see how this was exactly the same.

But it wasn't. She could feel eyes on her body, the cling of the latex, the prickling of sweat under the slick material as she reacted to the heat and the... what? Then, she felt it, just as Syn had described: the buzz. There was an ache, deep down inside her. She could finally admit it to herself, embracing the reason she found herself here: a latent need for the strange, wild energy it drew up from deep inside her.

Cassie could feel eyes on her, the shiny white dress singling her out. She remembered standing at the barbeque in her own back yard, the eyes on her there, everyone knowing her husband was cheating on her, the humiliation of being judged by their stares. But here, it was elation, the fierce thrill of stepping out in front of a sea of faces, stopping conversations with the mere roll of her hips as she walked.

Cassie stepped out, arranging one foot carefully in front of the other, feeling the power that came with becoming this role that Syn had given her. The latex dress showed off every contour of her body, but instead of feeling degraded at being on display, she felt powerful. Cassie walked with as much poise and grace as she could muster, teetering in the savagely-high heels, surprising herself, letting them watch her. She rounded the corner of the bar and to her dismay there were nearly a dozen people waiting for drinks. She halted.

Estelle looked up from her notepad, eyes momentarily widening as she saw Cassie approaching in her tiny white latex dress. Then her lips curved into a small lopsided smile. Estelle nodded, indicating a man sitting on a stool at the middle of the bar. Cassie watched as Estelle placed a hand on his shoulder and bent to his ear. The man turned to see Cassie walking towards him. His mouth dropped open.

Cassie fixed her expression, trying to appear firm and composed, even though she was churning inside. Estelle picked up her drinks tray, passing Cassie by and touching her fingers to Cassie's forearm. Cassie felt the waitress give her a little squeeze; it felt surprisingly reassuring. She turned her attention to the seated man.

He was older than Cassie, in his forties, with a rounded, undistinguished face. The couple next to him at the bar were clad in matching leather jumpsuits, but he was dressed in a shirt and trousers like he was supposed to have been at a nice dinner but had taken a wrong turn somewhere, ending up in the Lost and Found instead. Cassie came to a halt.

"I got the message," he said, "But... I, uh, I was expecting...."

Cassie just nodded. The man was nervous, his eyes dancing between the beautiful, unexpected blonde woman in front of him and the door into the private area.

"I was expecting someone else," he finished.

"I'm here to collect you."

"Kyle. I'm Kyle."

Cassie watched the way he said it, introducing himself like anyone would if meeting someone for the first time and expecting her to do the same, but an intuition told Cassie she should change tack.

"Irrelevant," she said, keeping her expression neutral before turning her back to him and calling over her shoulder, "Are you coming?"

She walked away without waiting for a response, heading back to the door. She desperately wanted to glance over her shoulder and check that he was following, but she held her nerve. Just like her day job, it was all about giving the client the confidence that he was in good hands, establishing the proper relationship. Sure enough, when she opened the door, he was right behind her. She led him through to the stairs.

Facing the steps again, she suddenly understood the depth of Syn's meticulous planning. Cassie began to ascend, placing one foot carefully in front of the other in her boots, feeling the way her hips shifted in the clinging white latex. The hemline didn't ride up, but Cassie was acutely aware of how her bottom would look, moulded and pert in the shiny white material, wiggling at Kyle's eye level as they climbed the stairs.

Cassie could feel his eyes staring at her body, amplifying her buzz. She no longer felt self-conscious or strange, instead, she relished a newly-discovered assuredness, flexing her hips more, taunting the man behind her. She wanted him to look, she wanted to take his breath away, to be the one in control. Cassie didn't dare turn around or speak.

At the top of the stairs, Cassie led them to the door in silence. She paused with her hand resting on the handle. Kyle's eyes were on her, his body burning with a nervous energy, and she was struck by inspiration.

"What do you think you'll find in here, Kyle?"

He moistened his lips and his eyes flicked to the door.

"I don't know."

Cassie remained impassive.

"You don't? What were you told?"

Kyle didn't look at her, and she realised that he couldn't.

"I was just told to be here," he stammered, becoming more agitated.

"Please," he continued, "I just want to know what happened to my wife."

The way he said it was wrong, more nervous than excited, making Cassie pause.

"Can we just go in? I need to see her."

Cassie opened the door and let him precede her into the room. She followed behind, a nagging doubt forming in the back of her mind, an intuition that everything wasn't as it seemed.

What did she know about Syn, really? They had met up for coffee, Syn had taken her shopping, they had talked almost from the first meeting like they were old friends because Cassie felt a connection to the beautiful, sexy, older woman. She had seen the way that Syn had been affected by Quinn's loss, had glimpsed through the impervious façade at the woman behind. But, how much did she know about Syn really, about her history, or her connections? What was she really capable of? Cassie began to wonder what she'd gotten herself mixed up in.

Syn was sitting on the stool, legs crossed, waiting for them. Cassie could see that her skintight black latex catsuit was zipped up at the crotch as she wiggled her bottom on the leather padding of her seat. Beneath her, the moulded form of the stool, shaped as a woman on her knees, arched backwards with hands around ankles was the same glossy black. It was difficult to see where the furniture ended and the perfectly sculpted body of the fearsome dominatrix began.

Syn didn't get up. "Kyle, lovely to see you," she said with a trace of a knowing smile on her lips. "Good of you to make time."

"I got your message," he replied.

"Ah, that. Yes. Well, let's get to business then, shall we?"

Syn stood and Cassie checked the seat of the stool: there was no sign of the eager, probing tongue. The woman Syn had imprisoned inside the stool gave no outward sign of her existence.

"So," Syn continued, "Are you going to give me the password?"

Kyle looked from Syn to Cassie, then back to Syn. He shook his head.

"You know I need the password," Syn said, lowering her voice. "I need access to the files."

She stroked a hand down the front of his shirt, spreading her fingers across his chest. Kyle didn't react.

"I'm not here to play games, Kyle. You have the files and I need access. I have your wife. Shall we make a deal?"

"Why do you need the files? What are you going to do with them?"

Syn didn't respond. Instead, she began to unbutton his shirt, a ruthless gleam in her eye.

"So many questions. You're not wired, are you?"

It was Syn's tone that made the hairs on Cassie's neck stand up. Something wasn't right. She remained standing behind Kyle, silently watching as Syn undressed him, pulling his shirt off to expose his bare chest.

"The last one they sent had a wire. That was messy," Syn said, then she paused, her eyes dropping to his trousers. "I wonder," she said.

Cassie watched as Syn unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers, letting them fall to the floor.

"No, all clean. Smart of you. A wire would have definitely been a deal breaker. Step out of all that, and we can continue more comfortably. It's always good to establish trust."

Kyle stepped out of the pile of clothes, standing in just his socks and a pair of patterned boxer shorts.

"Where is she? I need to see her," Kyle said, with quiet insistence.

"She's around. Let's conclude our business first. When I get what I want, you get what you want. The password. I need to unlock the files."

"I can't do that," Kyle replied, looking nervously around the room, "You have to understand."

When he saw the St. Andrews cross against the wall, his eyes widened.

Syn's gaze shifted momentarily to Cassie, then back to the nearly naked man. When she moved, it was fast. She pushed Kyle backwards, forcing him to backpedal until he slammed up against the wooden cross. Syn spread her hand across his face, pushing his head back forcefully. Her other hand went to a metal hoop attached to the cross, hanging open. She swung it around his neck and pushed. There was a click and Syn stepped back out of reach. Kyle's hands came up to his neck, feeling the steel band locked around his neck. He tugged hard, but it was locked firmly in place.

"I'm not playing games, Kyle. One more time, and then I'm going to get serious."

Kyle's fists were wrapped around the steel collar, his face reddening. Syn waited for a moment and then shrugged, casually.

"Okay, let's do this the hard way," she said.

Syn moved in again, delivering a quick jab to his ribs with her straightened fingers. Kyle's hands came loose, fending her off. Syn grabbed a wrist and pulled his arm up and away from his body, using her bodyweight to pin it against the wooden cross.

"A little help?" Syn grunted.

Cassie watched the scene unfold, the man struggling against the trim, toned woman in sleek, black latex. She had his wrist against the top of one of the arms of the cross where there was a leather strap, but she needed both hands to stop him from breaking free. His other arm was windmilling, trying to grab Syn's body. Syn turned her head to Cassie, breathing hard with the exertion.

"Now?"

Cassie should have run, but the look in Syn's eyes held her. Instead, she found herself stepping forward, taking the flapping strap and fixing it in place over the man's wrist. Syn relaxed and leaned back, giving the man a wide berth to come at him from the other side. He struggled mightily this time, but Syn braced herself against the cross and used her leverage to force his arm into position. Cassie stepped in again and fastened the strap.

"Better," Syn gasped, breathing hard now. "Such a... pain when they... struggle."

Syn reached down, slipping her hand into Kyle's boxer shorts. Her fingers wrapped around his balls and she squeezed.

Kyle gave a yelp, body arching, but unable to move without increasing his pain. Instead, he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as Syn continued to squeeze. Finally, she let go, and Kyle slumped, his breath coming in bursts. Before he could recover, Syn reached out and took a nipple between her thumb and finger and pinched hard. Kyle yelped again.

"There," Syn said, her tone mild and even, "Now that we're in a proper negotiating position, let's get back to the question at hand."

"Please," Kyle gasped, "I just want to see my wife. I want to know what you've done with her."

Syn stepped back, appraising her victim.

"Fine," she said, "Fair enough."

Syn stalked across the room, hips wiggling in her high heels, until she was standing by the stool. She traced her finger across the folds in the upholstered leather surface, down the side of the padded seat and over the shiny black chest of the figure. Syn's hand caressed one of its breasts, circling over the sleek surface and then suddenly pinching hard. A moist, pink tongue thrust its way up through the surface of the stool, twisting and searching.

"Oh my God," Kyle gasped, "What have you done to her?"

Syn raised her hand, poking the tongue playfully with her finger. It reacted, trying to chase Syn's fingertip as she circled the moist, pink flesh.

"I made her useful," Syn replied. "Doesn't she look nice? Quite an improvement, I'd say."

"You have to let her go. Now."

"Ah, Kyle, that's the funny thing. First, I don't have to do anything. Second, she may not want me to, anymore."

"What?"

"That's the thing," Syn continued, "She struggled at first, but I think she's become quite contented to be part of the furniture."

Syn's finger withdrew from tormenting the squirming tongue. Instead, she began to unzip her crotch.

"Tell me, Kyle, how well do you know your wife?" Syn asked, positioning herself over the stool, her pussy lips pink and obvious between her glossy, black thighs.

"Is she faithful to you? Has she ever had other men? Other women?"

Kyle's face was red with exertion as he struggled against his bindings.

"No," he hissed, "She loves me. I love her. We would never cheat on each other."

"Then how would you explain this?" Syn replied, lowering herself to the stool, legs spread.

Her pussy lips made contact with the questing tongue and it immediately buried itself into Syn's waiting slit. Syn murmured in appreciation, rolling her shoulders back and stretching the tension out of her arms.

"Remember last week, when she took you to the airport, Kyle? Remember those little messages she's been sending you all the time you've been away? Let me tell you a little secret."

Syn rolled her hips, enjoying the sensations.

"She never made it home from the airport. I picked her up in the carpark. Instead of being at home all week, she's been under my supervision instead. I've been teaching her how to appreciate me."

"How?" Kyle moaned, distraught.

"Careful planning and consistent training," Syn answered, "She came in here an independent, heterosexual woman, but, well, as you can see, I managed to turn her into my obedient little pussy slut. She only managed to hold out a couple of days and then I broke her. Now she does what she's told."

Syn began to squirm on the stool, enjoying the sensation of being serviced by the helpless woman trapped within.

"Given enough time with her, I could make her into whatever I want. She's already halfway there, the poor thing has very little resistance left. She's become very obedient."

Syn pulled herself off the stool and zipped herself up, leaving the pink tongue searching for contact.

"The longer you delay, the less chance there is of whatever I give you back still resembling your wife."

Kyle stared, eyes transfixed by the little pink tongue.

"I can't tell you the password. My job...."

"I'm not sure that matters," Syn interjected callously, "Not as much as your wife."

"I just can't. Please, let her go."

Cassie remained rooted to the spot, ignored by the two of them. She needed to do something before the situation went off the rails, she could sense it, because Kyle was holding out. Cassie stepped forward, approaching the helpless man.

Syn moved as if to block, but Cassie ignored her.

"Kyle," she said gently, "Just think for a minute. It doesn't have to go any further."

His eyes switched to her, pleading silently.

"You love her, don't you? You can help her. Just give Madame Syn what she asked for."

Kyle was looking at the stool now, at the glossy black sculpture of a kneeling woman, knowing that it now contained his wife. His face was drawn and haggard.

"She's helpless," Cassie continued, encouragingly, "But you can set her free. You can do it, only you can help her now."

Cassie could see the hurt in his eyes. She wanted to help but the only way for this to be over was for Syn to get what she wanted. How much of this was playing and how much was deadly serious? It seemed to be real for Kyle, and Cassie realised that there was very little practical difference between a sex dungeon and a torture room. A person could be screaming in here all day and no-one would think it unusual.

"Why don't I set her free?" Syn announced, unexpectedly.

Syn reached under the seat of the stool and tugged at something. She pulled the seat up, exposing a shock of red hair and an upturned face. Syn struggled for a moment with a fastening on the neck and then peeled the entire back section of the stool away. The woman's body slumped backwards. Syn looked up at Cassie.

"Help?" she said.

Cassie hurried over, supporting the naked woman as she began to emerge from the fibreglass cocoon that she had been mummified in, enclosing her completely in her private world of darkness and endless sexual frustration from the toy embedded inside her. Cassie looked down at blue eyes in a pretty face, framed by copper-coloured hair plastered to her head. The woman blinked, as if emerging from a deep sleep.