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Chapter 6: "Paper Chains"
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When the alarm went off the next morning I felt compelled to get
"medieval with it's ass". Yesterday had been too long, my physical and

mental exertions with Caroline too intense (and the wine too potent)
for me to get up just yet. So I drifted in that strange twilight
between sleep and reality and started to dream.........

I woke with a start, cold but sweating. Scared, confused, I had the
weird feeling that I'd just had a bad dream,. Since childhood I'd
been unable to remember my dreams, even the nightmares. I racked my
brain but it was gone, leaving a creepy feeling behind.
My shaking hand found the remote and turned on the TV. I punched up
Caroline's cell my half conscious mind afraid of what I might find
there. Much to my relief she was as I had left her. She was still
dressed in the leather lingerie, still masked with her hands strapped
behind her. I watch uneasily, looking for an indication that
something might be wrong but she slept deeply even snoring a little
and after a few minutes I accepted that she was OK.

I did a quick personal audit. I was thirsty, the taste in my mouth and
the suggestion of a headache convinced me that I'd had far too much
wine. I stumbled to the bathroom and stuck my head under the cold tap
for a full minute. After the first thirty seconds I even remembered
to turn it on.

I've never been an excessive drinker, I am what is best described as
a "depressed drunk" beyond a certain point I'm no longer having fun.
Still I'd never had the shakes before, and though I could rationalize
the incident as a combination of bad booze and bad conscience it had
left me with an uneasy feeling that I was missing something important.

I popped an aspirin and a couple of vitamin pills. Before taking a
particularly long shower. I dressed and though still a little woolly
remembered to get Caroline's pills from the bathroom before heading
downstairs. I wrapped the pills in tissue paper and placed them in my
pocket. Then I padded into the kitchen and started making breakfast.
While I was waiting for the coffee I punched up Caroline's cell again.
She lay on her side, her mouth slightly open and she was drooling a
little as she slept. It looked as if I wasn't the only one who would
wake up with a headache.

I watched her as she slept. Just last week she had been struggling to
make enough money to save her apartment. Now she was dressed like a
whore, tied up in some guy's basement. I wondered what her dreams were
like? One thing was clear, the "honeymoon" was over, the breaking of
Caroline was about to begin.

So far it had been a promising start. After three days of captivity
Caroline seemed to be adjusting well. I was especially pleased with
her obedience. Not only was she less trouble than I expected but it
seemed to take a lot to make her disobey me. She was learning very
fast, her use of the words MASTER and SLAVE was far beyond what I
expected at this stage and the adjusting of her sentences to avoid the
personal pronoun was well underway.

As a cock slut she was exceptional, and though I could take no credit
for her technique I was more than happy with her obedience and
enthusiasm. Now I needed to push things further, towards my
goal of a completely submissive and obedient slave. Although I wanted
to accelerate matters, I wouldn't take things too fast. I still needed
to watch her despair as I robbed her of her identity and destroyed her
independence. The first part of the great game was now ready.

The first step was to destroy that one tiny flicker of hope, the
possibility of rescue and to make things even better she would help
me!

Sipping my first coffee of the day and with breakfast well underway I
headed downstairs. Slipping into the darkroom I recovered
the photos. I'd had rather more wine than I'd intended and though I
hadn't been drunk I was a little concerned that I'd processed the
films before I had a clear head. I'd half expected to find everything
ruined but in fact I'd done a pretty good job. Photos of Caroline
hung from all of my drying lines. Caroline as young professional on
her night out, Caroline as slut, Caroline as sexy mistress, Caroline
as leather slave....

I selected the best ones then went back upstairs. A quick look at the
cell showed her still asleep so after checking the progress of the
toast I went to my office. Probably the best part of computer
journalism is the access to new and interesting equipment.
Manufacturers are well aware that the endorsement of a well known
columnist can boost sales significantly. One of my editors has eight
computers at home only one of which he actually paid for (and that was
at a substantial discount). Over the years my stated interest in
graphics had resulted in a variety of equipment, most of it state of
the art at the time. My current scanner is on long term loan from a
major Japanese company. A 48bit color drum scanner with a clever
sheetfeed mechanism and a ten thousand dollar price tag. It was
intended for publishing and photo process houses but it was also
perfect for my needs. I loaded the pictures into the sheetfeed and
setup the computer to dump each successive scan into a working
directory on my network. I hit start and the machine sprang to life
weaving the invisible chains that would tie Caroline to me forever.

I took breakfast in my office surrounded by the material from
Caroline's box. For now I set the diaries aside and concentrated on
her recent mail and the letters she'd stuck to her refrigerator door.
Almost immediately I got a real find, an unposted begging letter home
to mommy. No real news just brief and to the point "wire money or
I'll be evicted." The writing was very neat especially considering the
difficulty of the subject. As a hunch I sifted through the box looking
for the pad and envelopes that matched the letter. Opening the pad I
found I'd hit paydirt. Caroline seemed to work by writing a rough
draft first then copying the final version out neatly. She left the
originals in the pad, giving me names addresses and a basic
understanding of her writing style.

Just then I saw a slight movement on the monitor. I realized she would
be awake soon. I'd been deliberately keeping her hungry since the
kicking incident, still she'd been a good girl in the photo session
last night so I figured I owed her breakfast.

Returning to the kitchen I started into making a smaller version of
what I'd just eaten all the time watching the monitor. The food was
almost finished when I started to see the first real signs of life
from my slave. I went to the closet and pulled out a couple of those
Styrofoam coolers you get at gas stations. I've often wondered why it
is that no matter how much you spend on a cooler you always forget it
when you really need one. I must have five or six of the disposable
kind which I keep siting around "just in case" and yet I always forget
them too. However for once they were proving useful as I loaded foil
covered plates into them. I made a flask of strong, sweet coffee then

headed into the dungeon.

The room was still decked out as a photographic studio. Drapes covered
the furniture and the rings and other restraining points on the walls
were covered by blue shower curtains. Soon I'd have to rip it all
down but first........

I poured some sweet coffee from the thermos into a plastic cup and
headed for the cell. Caroline was awake and trying to swing her legs
over the end of the bed. Her groans told me that the hangover was just
starting. I put the cup down and helped her upright.

"Feeling a little fragile?" I asked.
"Urggg," She said, which seemed quite apt at the time.
I put the coffee cup to her lips and she drank greedily. I stopped
short of letting her finish it all and set the cup aside.

With some effort, as her legs were a little unsteady, I helped her
over to the toilet. On the way we passed the mirror (not glass
obviously) that I'd screwed to the wall. She caught sight of her
masked reflection and paused for a moment as if mesmerized. I looked
but could not see what fascinated her, in the end a slap on her bare
buttocks persuaded her to hurry along.

There is a certain humiliation value associated with watching someone
use the toilet. She squatted over the pan really wanting me to go
away. I just smiled sweetly and watched what she was doing
with great intensity. Worse was to come as she couldn't clean herself
with her hands still bound. Though ungagged she had some difficulty
asking for my help. While she figured it out I retrieved the coffee
and took the pills out of my pocket. I didn't let her see them until
they were under her nose.

"Take these."
"W...what are they?"
"What are they MASTER!" I corrected, "In answer to your question, they
are aspirin for the headache."
She seemed unconvinced.
"Look slave if I wanted to poison or drug you I could do it anytime.
Now, do you want them or not?"
She opened her mouth and I popped them inside using the remainder of
the coffee to wash them down. It was only a little lie, one was an
aspirin, the other was a contraceptive pill, one of which would form
part of her daily diet from now on. Then while she was still thinking
how to ask, I stripped off a glove, bent her over and cleaned her up.

She blushed as we reentered the "studio", memories of last night still
obviously fresh in her mind. I had her sit on one of the covered
tables as I replaced her shoes with her usual high heeled boots. A
butterfly vibrator held in place by a pair of snap on panties (to wake
her up a little quicker) and she was almost ready to start the day.

I pulled her head forward so that I could get at the buckle of the
leather mask and found her strangely resistive.
"Please master..."
"You like the mask slave?"
She nodded and looked down avoiding my eyes.
"Why slave?" I asked genuinely puzzled.
She remained silent kicking her heels against the leg of the table
like a shy schoolgirl.
"Answer slave!" I said pressing on her crotch and increasing the
butterfly's stimulation of her bare clit. She gasped and shuddered a
little.
"Please master..... It makes me...feel sexy." She seem embarrassed I
was sure that there was a blush hiding behind that mask.
" Not good enough slave, but I'll do you a deal. You can keep it IF
you can give me a good psychological analysis of why you need it."
Her shocked eyes peered out from behind the soft leather.
"Well slave? You were a psyche major, you should be able to give me a
good technical answer." Her eyes filled with conflicting emotions,
her mouth worked silently. She wasn't an accomplished liar, I'm sure
I would have come up with some bullshit in her position and it was
obvious that the anonymity the mask offered some attraction to her,
perhaps a way that Caroline the reverend's daughter could distance
herself from the slut I was turning her into. Yet I also felt, as I
watched the struggle behind those pretty blue eyes, that this was an
ancient demon she was fighting, not one that had surfaced in the past
few days, traumatic as they were. In the end she didn't speak so I
removed the mask and pulled her over to a chair.

I retrieved some rope and a collection of other bondage bits from the
cabinet and returned. quickly retying her wrists and body to the chair
frame. I increased the number of ropes until I had what I needed.
Caroline the Republic heroine was back, though in far kinkier
underwear than was usual in the thirties. Bound to a chair in the
villains hideout she struggles against her tight bonds. Of course some
things had to go. Her collar and the remaining bondage jewelry was
replaced by a simple costume necklace and earring set that were more
in period. Reloading the camera and quickly positioning the lights I
started to snap away.

The first couple of shots I had her smile at the camera as I took her
from several different angles. She looked great. Her blond hair fell
on her naked shoulders and framed her face. Her arms were visible,
bound to her sides by rope wrapped tightly around her body and the
back of the chair. Her wrists were bound with cord to the chair's
underframe leaving her gloved hands in plain view. One set of ropes
pushed her tits up firmly against the cups of the leather corset. Her
long legs had to be pulled back quite a way so that I could tie her
booted ankles to the legs of the chair. This exposed the creamy white
surface of her uncovered thighs framed as they were by the stocking
tops and leather garters. This also seemed to push the butterfly
harder into her clit for after a few minutes her eyes rolled back and
she groaned loudly.

I gagged her, brain and heart in bitter conflict. I had originally
intended to just tie a cloth loosely over her mouth in the
unconvincing way seen in many films. Yet my master's pride couldn't
bear the idea of a photo of a slave of mine with such an obvious
fake. So in the end I compromised. I stuffed a sponge ball into her
mouth and duct taped it firmly in place. I used the white tape (I
have every color) and after tying the cloth tightly over the tape
it was impossible to see. I took my shots. Caroline still looked
like a Republic heroine, gagged in a stupid movie way but when I
looked at the photos I would know that she had been firmly silenced up
to my usual standards.

Next I untied her from the chair and removed the boots. I tied her
arms and legs as I had the day before, clinched rope around ankles and
knees with a matching set for wrist and elbows. I wrapped some more
rope above and bellow her leather covered tits to bind her arms behind
her before removing the gag. I'd found before that kneeling she was at
a perfect height to service my engorged cock which was by now pressing
painfully against my leather pants. Without saying a word I unzipped
my fly and shoved my dick into her face. In three days Caroline had
already accepted her role as my cockslut, no other commands
were necessary. She licked and sucked, teased and tormented as I
started knotting the length of cloth. When I seized her head she
finished me off, deepthroating and sucking with the same wonderful
mind numbing intensity she had shown the first time. One thing seemed
clear, one day I had to find the guy who taught her this trick and
thank him personally. I came and came, noticing in a strange detached
way that she swallowed every drop. Sam, though she gave great head,
would always spit it out afterwards which had left me feeling
dirty and awkward. Caroline swallowed it greedily and I realized
that my cum was the closest thing Caroline had to a meal in the past
few days.

Pushing her head back I forced the knotted part of the cloth into her
open mouth using the tail ends to tie it tightly in place. Then I
ordered her to smile, hard with her mouth gagged so tightly but not
impossible. I took smiling shots of her kneeling and sitting down
then I had her struggle in as many differing positions as I could
think of. I finished off the film with her screaming into the gag,
her face contorted and mouth straining against the cloth muzzle. She
was left panting on the floor, I waited until she had recovered her
breath and then picked her up and took her to the table.

I sat her down and she waited quietly, bound legs tucked
gracefully under the seat of the chair while I unpacked the food.
I sat her on my knee as I had the day before but this time I pulled
the gag from her mouth and started to feed her by hand as you would a
favorite pet. This was probably not lost on her, but by now she was
so hungry that she would accept even this indignity.

We finished with pancakes and syrup which she seemed to really enjoy
After the pancakes I had her lick the syrup from my gloved fingers
Then I picked up the gag and forced the knots back behind her teeth,
before tightening the knot behind her head. She gave me her
"Bambi in the headlights" look and chewed on the gag as she tried to
say something. I smiled then pulled her tits free of the restraining
leather. As before I spread a little syrup in her nipples and began
to lick and suck it off. She moaned and more muffled sound emerged
from her gagged mouth though it was unclear if she wanted me to stop
or wanted more. Her nips however had no doubts, standing out hard and
firm as my tongue danced over them. It was time to up the stimulation
a little so I started to press the butterfly against her clit feeling
her body stiffen and tremble.

More unintelligible sounds erupted and she started to rub her gagged
mouth against me as she had done the day before. Without breaking my
rhythm I reached up and pulled the knot free. For a few seconds she
just gasped and then she panted out, "Please..".

I stopped and looked up, her face was flushed, her breath came in sort

pants. She was attempting to avoid my gaze but I brought my fingers to
her chin and eased her head back until her eyes met mine.

"Please what," I asked, "Please stop, please continue, what?" She
didn't say anything. Every other time I'd fucked her she'd been gagged
and all I'd ever heard was her muffled cries. This time I meant to
know if they were of agony or ecstasy.

Her eyes were full of doubt and some strange kind of fear but above
all need. That need shone out from behind those embarrassed blue eyes
and finally her mouth echoed them "P..Please fuck me master! ...
The.... this whore needs to be fucked!"

I smiled, now I had my answer but I intended to play a while longer.
I bent down and licked again, enough to ensure she was kept on the
brink but no more.

"Please master......."
"Want to cum slave?"
She nodded silently, I pressed the butterfly a little harder smiling
at her startled gasp.
"Well slave if you want it you're going to have to do something for
me."
She glanced down at my crotch, it was obvious from her expression that
she felt she'd done enough already, that the blow job was payment for
bringing her off. I just smiled.

The idea had formed in an instant. If she wanted this orgasm, and I
could tell that she did, I wanted something personal in exchange. I
wanted her first sexual encounter to be described in graphic and lurid
detail. I would link that first time, good bad or indifferent, with
her begging her kidnapper to fuck her. This was an act of violation
as real as anything physical I could do to her. My mouth watered with
anticipation.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions slave. Answer them for me and
I'll see you right." She looked into my eyes. By now she was panting
she was so close, she just nodded and looked away.

"How old were you when you had your first fuck." She hesitated, I had
no way to verify her answers but I was betting that she would have
difficulty lying effectively while she was this turned on. I began to
stroke her, upping the general tactile stimulus while keeping her
erogenous zones as they were. My hand moved quickly over the leather
of her panties and came to rest on the inside of her thigh which I
gently caressed.

"Six....sixteen." She panted. I let my hand stray a little closer to
the buzzing butterfly.

"Did you have an orgasm?" She shook her head and moaned. Right now all
she wanted to do was cum. Still this was interesting information. She
was almost nineteen now, so the next question was obvious.

"How many orgasms have you had slave, approximately?"

To be honest I really didn't want to know the answer. I suppose I saw
this as just another embarrassing question, a stepping stone before I
forced from her the story of her first clumsy fling with some farm
boy. So when she answered it came as quite a shock.

"F..ff four or five," She gasped.

That was low, I'd expected at least a dozen in nearly three years and
there was always masturbation.

"How many did you have before you came here?" The question popped out
without me thinking about it. I had also started to unconsciously
fondle her again and she was now very close.

"Twice...." She shuddered as she said it, drawing her breath in
explosive bursts.

"Who was your first," I demanded realizing that I didn't have a lot of
time.

She stammered, gasped and trembled.

"You will tell me slave!"

She didn't answer so I reduced the stimulus. She
felt the wave of the orgasm dying. "Please..."

"I need an answer cunt," I said viciously. "No answer and I know a
horny little slut who's going to be very disappointed."

Her hips moved up suddenly as she tried to brush her crotch against my
departing fingers. She whimpered and pleaded but the orgasm died. I
made it clear that all I needed was a name. In her position I would
have lied but she just sat there and cried. In the end I got fed up of
the noise and gagged her, refastened her collar and went to the
wardrobe.

As much I liked Caroline in strict bondage, I had always known
that I couldn't keep her like that forever. She would need at least
some freedom of movement if she was to stay healthy. This left me with

a problem not so much of security (locked in a soundproof cell she was
equally helpless bound or not) but of ownership. She was mine, mind
and body. Bound as she had been the past few days Caroline hadn't
really had much chance to fuck herself. Now I intended to enforce my
ownership of her sex with leather and steel.

Chastity belts are usually large clumsy things with huge menacing
locks and countless straps. Part of this is for effect, like having a
large heavy door, and part of it is the "one size fits all" mentality
of the ready to wear suit.

By contrast Caroline's device was made to measure. It essence it
was really a pair of heavy gauge leather panties that was fastened to
the waist with a narrow leather belt. The sections of leather near
the base of the hips had been modified so that a drawstring would pull
them tight around the wearer's thighs in a similar way to plastic
diapers. A formed plastic section rested on the hips and made a
dome over the wearer's pubic area so that the victim could not bring
herself off by rubbing the panties against herself.

As an extra touch the designer had covered the plastic former with the
same leather as the rest of the pants and had added an indentation
that suggested pussy lips.

Once on they looked like a large pair of leather briefs pulled tight
over a woman's hole. The victim however could not gain access to her
clit for stimulation and as an added bonus a thin brush attached to
the indent on the inside would prove maddening as it teased the clit
just enough to keep the victim frustrated. There was a stiff matching
corset which of course denied access to the breasts. Once on it
looked like a soft corset with the woman's nips pressed hard against
the leather but as with the pants the "nipples" were parts of a
plastic former used to isolate the breasts.

I fastened her collar to one of the vertical chains and had her strip
to her gloves and heels. I had to slap her with the crop a few times
as her hands drifted downwards. She removed the butterfly like she was
loosing an old friend. I was tightening the second drawstring when
she realized what was going on but by then it was too late. The
belt snapped firmly in place around her waist and it was over.

I left her for a few moments watching her deft leather covered fingers
as they probed poked and shoved but it was to no avail. She soon found
that she could not move the former and the drawstrings at her thighs
prevented her from working her fingers between the plastic and her
body. I decided that the design was quite successful though it was
still obvious that the former was not her real mound. Still now that I
had her I could make the necessary measurements to get even tighter
ones made. The designer had even provided instructions for making
casts of the necessary areas.
By now Caroline had realized that it was futile. She gave a
strangled, frustrated moan behind her gag, stamped her booted
foot and then turned to look at me accusingly.

"When you are prepared to tell me what I want to know I'll see that
you'll be all right."

Surprisingly she gave me no trouble with the corset and once it was
locked in place and it's garters attached to her stockings I stepped
back and looked at her. In truth she looked not much different that
she had before, she was still the leather angel of my fantasies. Yet
I had now taken ownership of her tits and cunt. She was a sexless
neuter without me and any sexual pleasure she would feel from now on
would be by my command.

While she was mourning I threw her the cuffs.
"Put them on slave," I said, "It's time to put you away."
She complied, what else could she do? I also had her change the
cloth for a leather pad gag to match the outfit. Then I attached her
right wrist to the belt of the chastity pants but kept her left hand
free.

I took her to the cell and refastened her collar, hobbled her legs and
locked the gag in place. Her left hand still rubbed mournfully at the
smooth carapace covering her crotch so I decided to give it something
to do.

I went to the cupboard and removed some books before returning to the
cell. I threw one to her. It was a spiral bound group of papers I
had culled from the internet and extensively edited. I called it the
"Slaves Handbook" and it detailed general concepts and the duties of a
slave. On the cover were the words, "This material will be tested and
wrong answers punished." She saw this and looked doe eyed at me.

"I expect you to know all of it, understand?"
She nodded.
"If you have time read this." I threw her a copy of "The Joy of Sex".
She tried to say something.
"Read it! You are a sex slave now. All I want you for, all you need to
be good at is in these two books. Your life is in these pages so read
them real carefully. Otherwise I may have to replace you." I stuck
enough menace in those words to convince her just what replacement
would mean.

I closed the door and heard the faint sound of something impacting
against it. I made a mental note for later then went upstairs.

When I returned to my office the scanner had almost finished. A
series of messages in the window of my graphics workstation indicated
that the first few pictures had been analyzed. I pulled up the first,
a picture of Caroline standing demurely in her evening gown, and
started to work.

Graphic manipulation is hard and time consuming even with the best
conventional software. Fortunately over the past year and with Andy's
suggestions I'd been helping to develop a revolutionary program.

Raytracing in the technique used in computer graphics to make computer
generated images appear real by adding highlights, shading and shadows
to an object as if it was really 3D. Inside a computer program you
position your computer generated objects and a set of virtual lights.
The computer then works out how the object will look to a virtual
camera, where the shading and shadows and reflections will be. Once
all of this is worked out the image is generated sometimes with
unbelievable realism.

What my program did was the same in reverse, given an image it
works out the positions characteristics and relative magnitudes of
the light sources that lit the original object. This lighting map can
then be applied to another image, overriding the lighting conditions
that were present when it was recorded. This allows multiple images
to be assembled and appear to be lit by the same sources.

In this case I removed the background of the dustsheets from behind
Caroline and transplanted her to another background that I'd already
scanned and analyzed. Then the computer went to work, matching the
lighting of Caroline's picture with that of the new background. It
added shadows, highlights and reflections to both parts until it
appeared that she belonged in the other picture. The technique isn't
perfect, the composite image still needs a lot of manual adjustment to
appear totally realistic and I didn't have the time for that now.
Fortunately even the simple run through looks wonderfully effective
and that was all I needed. Caroline stood on a damp, well lit street
after nightfall. She smiled at the camera, the streetlights glinting
from her jewelry and her heels reflecting in the puddles on the
sidewalk....

I worked all afternoon assembling images and pasting them into a
document I'd prepared earlier. I rolled between computers on my
office chair checking first one, then the other, then Caroline with
mechanical precision. When I'd left she had initially thrown the
books at the door in a sudden act of renewed spirit. Finally though
after trying desperately to get at her covered crotch, boredom
overtook her and she started to read. Every couple of hours I looked
in on her, partly so that she could drink but mainly because the
chastity pants stopped her from going to the toilet without my help.

Around five the last document finished printing and I was ready. I put

my work into a folder along with other papers, collected a snack from
the kitchen and headed downstairs.

After setting up the table I freed her and lead her into the dungeon.
I fastened collar to table, and strapped ankles and butt to the chair.
Then I removed her gloves, this was one time I wanted fingerprints.
Finally I removed the gag, but as always I left it dangling around
her neck.

"I thought we should talk," I said sitting across the table from her.
I pushed over a diet coke, "I know you have questions about your new
life here and I really haven't given you any answers."
She gulped down a huge swallow of coke, which seemed to restore her
confidence.

"Who are you? Why have you brought me here?" She asked her voice high
and anxious.

I rolled my eyes, back over the same old ground. "I am your MASTER, I
have selected you to be my sex slave. Your principle job is to obey me
completely and to give sexual pleasure to me and to any others I
indicate. I've told you this before." I knew what the next question
was so I cut her off. "As to why I chose you, that is my concern."

"Now that we have covered all your old questions AGAIN, is there
anything else you want to ask?"

"How long do you intend to keep me here?"

"Until you bore me. Then I'll replace you with a new girl." A
frightened look spread over her face.

"You aren't the first," I lied, "And you are certainly not the last.
The longer you please me, the longer you stay alive and the longer
your replacement keeps her liberty."

"How long?" She asked her eyes large and frightened.

"The current record is five years," I said smoothly, "But she was
exceptionally obedient. Those who refuse training usually don't last a
month." I could see her absorbing the information. "In the end I grew
quite attached to her, when the time came I sold her to a friend
rather than do anything unpleasant." I smiled at her, "There is always
a place for a good obedient slave, the difficult ones bring the
inevitable on themselves."

I looked into her eyes, "I wonder what type you'll be?"

"Please master......." her questions were now ended. All the horrors
that had been forming in her mind as she lay, bound and alone in her
cell had now be confirmed. What more was there to say?

"Now I have a question for you slave," I said noting the renewed
tension in her shoulder muscles. "A couple of days ago when my friend
Bob came over and I hid you behind the couch, why didn't you try to
scream to him?"

"I was gagged..."

"But you must have realized that he could still hear you that close
by."

She swallowed. "He was in on it with you," she cried, "You had plenty
of time to move me away I figured you wouldn't risk him finding me if
he didn't already know. You wanted me to disobey you so you could
punish me!"

It was a good reasoned argument. With all the ease I'd had until now
I'd forgotten that I was dealing with a college undergraduate and not
a simple farm girl. She was bright all right but I was better. An evil

thought came to me.

"You were half right slave," I said, "Bob wouldn't have freed you but
he isn't part of all this. You see I told old Bob that my latest
girlfriend is kinky, into bondage and the like, just in case he
discovered your presence. If you had screamed I'd have just
introduced you to him and let him go on his way. He'd think it odd
but he wouldn't think that you were being held against your will."

I smiled as a sudden look of realization spread across her face. I
could even guess what she was thinking. If "Bob" had seen her then
maybe he would have recognized her from a missing persons report.
"Phantom Bob" had just sporned a "Phantom Opportunity" for rescue
that she had failed to take..

I waited until the look of despair had started to subside.
"Don't knock yourself," I smiled, "You didn't know and besides no
one knows you're missing so he wouldn't have recognized you anyway."

"Someone will know," She said looking me defiantly in the face, that
look of hope in her eye. "Sooner or later I will be reported missing
and....."

"And nothing," I cut in. "Thousands of people go missing every year,
far more than can be put down to foul play. There are people running
from the law, from creditors, bad marriages. That's the beauty of a
country this size, it's easy to get lost in. Most missing people turn
up in the first few weeks, the police probably won't look at your case
for a month. Then I'm sure that there are a lot of college and bank
loans outstanding, a lot of moneys owed?" I could see from her face
that there were. "The police don't look for people who want to go
missing and the evidence is that you ran away."

The light in her eyes still shone a little. Now it was time to
extinguish it for good. "All we have to do to make sure is give them a

good reason for you to leave town. I have one right here."

I opened the folder, took out her pen, paper and envelopes and a piece

of laserprinted paper.

"This is the text of a letter I will send to your mother. You will
copy it onto the writing paper EXACTLY as it is written. I have
enough samples of your hand writing to recognize if you try anything
stupid."

I watched as she read the text. It was simple and workmanlike in
Caroline's usual style and said that she had been offered a
summer job in a private psychiatric clinic near Seattle. The job as a
nursing assistant was really nothing more than a glorified
Candystriper, but her professors had agreed that the experience could
count towards her final end of year grades. With this in mind she
would be leaving immediately now that exams were over. She would
forward her address once her new employer had assigned her
accommodation.

"Well what are you waiting for?"
She shook her head and read the text again. It was a plausible
explanation for her leaving town. Styles, pet names and general
writing mannerisms were all hers, once it was copied by her own hand
onto her own stationary it would appear perfectly normal. She knew as
well as I did that once her parents received this the hunt would be
over. Eventually the alarm would be raised, but they would start
looking in the wrong place and by then the trail would be long cold.

I watched while she pondered it.
"All I need is a plausible explanation for why you disappeared," I
said. "This one is the best because it seems most natural, but a girl
in your position, owing money and with unsympathetic parents can have
lots of reasons to disappear."

I tossed her a large white business envelope. She caught it and
looked at it blankly. I watched as her eyes scanned it, they darted
quickly over the return address, someone in an unfamiliar sounding
street in Seattle. Her reaction was more pronounced however when she
saw where the package was going. It was addressed to her but the
address was her parent's house in Iowa. With trembling fingers she
opened it. The package contained four pages pinned together. The
top sheet was a piece of good quality company headed note paper
bearing a stylized almost art deco logo of a beautiful woman bringing
a wine glass to her lips, underneath in a tasteful script font were
the words "Cachet Escorts." The company's office was the same
unfamiliar address as on the envelope which I knew to be in a half
empty office block in a rundown suburb of Seattle.

I was proud of the letter and I watched as her eye's widened in
horror. It was dated a few days before the kidnapping and read.

My Dear Caroline,
I wish to thank you for your dedication over
the last few weeks, it could not have been easy to fit our interviews
and photo sessions into your busy schedule. I trust your preparations
for the move to Seattle are well advanced. I can only say again that
you will not regret your decision. Washington is a very beautiful
state and Seattle can offer a host of entertainment for a young lady
such as yourself.

However, I must admit to feeling a little uncomfortable about your
proposed Seattle address. Although your friend is right in saying
that the neighborhood has low cost accommodation, it is the kind of
area a girl cannot walk alone in safety. If you contact our offices
we can provide a list of clean low cost hotels that you would find
much more suitable. If money is a problem I am sure we could arrange
a small advance until you have found your feet.

I have enclosed a copy of the information we keep on file. Please
check it, correct if necessary, sign and date the bottom, and return
it as soon as you can.

I have also included draft copies of your pages from our various
directories. These are the results of your photo sessions and the
information you provided. Although we foresee no problems it is our
policy to allow our girls to check and if necessary modify their
entry before we have the final copy printed. Rest assured that the
directories do not leave our offices, although we sometimes
provide a copy of a new girl's entry to our regular clients upon
request.

We have also included your entry from our special services
directory. Again I must complement you on your decision to try this
area. As we discussed the work is varied and well rewarded. The
gentlemen who have these special needs are amongst our most generous
patrons and a few of our girls have removed themselves from our
general roster to concentrate on these clients exclusively. The
photographs used in these pages are by necessity more explicit. Some
of our girls in the past have expressed doubts over their entry's but
now agree that we where right in our decision. The special directory
never leaves the offices and is only shown to special trusted clients.

I will say again that these are only draft copies for your approval.
The quality of the final printed versions will be much better.

Finally when we last spoke you were still unsure if you wanted to use
the name Elizabeth. As you can see our draft pages are currently
using this name. If you wish to change it, please do let us know as
soon as possible. We reserve the right to approve the professional
name of all of our young ladies. It is our policy that each of our
girls chooses a unique name on a first come first served basis. This
is to avoid confusion and reassure our clients that they will get the
right girl if they ask for her by name.

In addition we discourage the use of names too close to the girl's
real name as it can cause embarrassment. For example in your case we
would discourage the use of "Carol" or "Carolyn" but names such as
"Catherine" or "Carrie" would be fine.

Please contact me the moment you arrive in town and we can arrange to
have lunch and discuss your plans.

I remain as ever yours.

Brenda Evans.


It didn't take a genius to realize that Cachet was a high class call
girl agency. I had first come across them a couple of years before
when some of their girls worked a party organized by a well known
software company. Their girls were hand picked to be courteous,
sophisticated and well read but it was no secret that for the right
amount they could be persuaded to stay the night. I knew a lot of men
who used their services when in Seattle and while not being a client
myself I had heard enough by word of mouth to know how they operated.

One indiscreet client had once given me a girl's file entry with the
recommendation that I try her. I had used this as a model for
Caroline's entry.

Cachet was now out of business, it's offices raided amongst great
scandal a few months before. I had no doubt that there would be at
least another two or three 'Cachets' by now hoping to pull in the
defunct agencies clientele, so my fake would probably be written off
as a short lived imitator.
By now Caroline was scanning the second sheet. It was a supposedly
the agencies private file entry giving age, height, weight, interests,
address and next of kin. Not too different from the personnel file
any company would keep.

"Look at the addresses," I said with some pride.

Under her name was her parents address, under her parents names as
next of kin was her college address.

"It's what laymen call a computer error," I said, "In the industry we
call it garbage in, garbage out. You see when the thing was
transferred from paper an unfortunate substitution took place which
means that the agency 'accidentally' sent this to your parents house.
When they can't find you they will of course open it and...."


She had found the 'and'. The first page seemed innocent enough. It was
Caroline's entry in the agencies directory. Most of the sheet
contained pictures of Caroline in her evening gown. The first was a
picture of Caroline on the street a departing limo in the background.
Second picture, a smiling Caroline offers a gloved hand to the camera,
hotel bedroom background. The rest of the pictures were in much the
same vein. Caroline handling and drinking Champagne and looking
suggestive. The text hinted that after a night at the opera
'Elizabeth' may be persuaded stay a little longer.

Sheet two was very different. Supposedly from the 'special directory'
it showed 'Elizabeth' in her full leather finery. The first shot was
just of her standing with her high heeled foot on a stool showing
off her leather panties pulled tight over her crotch, hands on hips,
smiling. There was a corresponding "Elizabeth drinks Champagne" shot
then a three frame sequence of a smiling 'Elizabeth' gagging and
handcuffing herself. The final shot was of the dominant 'Elizabeth'
flexing a riding crop and looking stern. The text was also more
explicit talking of 'Elizabeth's' wish to make her client happy no
matter what his 'special needs' may be.

Caroline looked up in horror, "NO please..."

"I'm posting one of these off tomorrow," I said pointing to the large
envelope and the letter pad. "It really doesn't matter to me which
they receive. Either would explain why you would disappear and either

will draw attention away from the idea of a kidnapping. It's really
up to you. Your parents are never going to see you again. Question
is, how do you want them to remember you, as their little girl or as a
evil little slut selling her body for money?"

Caroline started to weep. I could see the despair in her eyes.
I slapped the crop on the table, "Choose!"
With a trembling hand she picked up the pen and started to write.

I rejected her first attempt because the writing was too unsteady, the
next two because of spelling errors. Number four was perfect but I
rejected it anyway and warned her not to give me any more trouble. I
yelled and threatened punishment and in the end got her into the frame
of mind I needed. She wrote the letter, addressed the envelope and
even licked the stamp to provide comprehensive forensic evidence. I
then placed the letter in a ziplock and handed her the second item.
When she started to read it I slammed the crop down in front of her.

"Slaves obey, they don't need to understand," I said viscously.

So she started, writing postcards, signing documents, filling in forms

in her own name and a variety of aliases. As each was finished it went
into a separate ziplock. She seemed bewildered and I never gave her
time to think things through. Were a document wasn't unique I would
often venomously reject the first one she did just to keep her off
balance. When she signed and dated a complex legal document near the
end she wasn't even aware that she had just signed her freedom way.

I finished up with her signing a couple of checks. Then I produced a
tape recorder and a few sheets of paper.
"This is a script," I said pushing the paper over to her,
"You will say the words exactly as written, understand."

She nodded and did fairly well on the first couple of messages, but
then when she started on one obviously meant for her parents she
started to sob uncontrollably In the end it took a lot of threats
before I had the performance I needed.

"You did well," I said as I reached over and shoved the gag back into
her sobbing mouth. "I'll forgive you for the temper tantrum this
morning. Tell me slave, are you still horny?"
Still sobbing she nodded her head.
"Good. I have to put you away for a while because I have to finish
upstairs," I gently stroked her thigh. "Afterwards though I'll reward
you."
I had her replace the gloves with a clean latex pair and replace the
cuffs. I strapped her arms behind her and freed her from the chair.
I pulled her close to me felling the hardness of the chastity corset
as it pressed into my chest. The light of hope was gone from the tear
filled eyes that stared at me over the gag.

"I am your master slave, and now your training begins."