It's hard to explain what the agency does exactly... technically, we're a branch of a larger company that does contracting for a small branch of the CIA. Exciting, eh? We don't get to do any of the fun stuff. We handle the paperwork-- the massive amounts of paperwork-- generated by every tiny thing that anyone at the CIA does. Someone goes out to lunch on the company, we file the receipt. Someone checks out a pencil from the supply room at the Pentagon, it goes on file. Someone's tire blows on the way to work, we file the insurance papers. What we are are glorified accountants.
The mystique of working "for the CIA" wears off quickly.
My "secretary", Rachel, is a sweet girl with good intentions. Sometimes I hated to have her working there, because I genuinely liked her, and I wouldn't wish that job on anyone I liked. It seemed wrong to see someone young and full of energy working in a mind-crushingly dull environment like that. She definitely brightened up the office though, so in a more selfish way, I loved having her around.
The blind date was her idea. She came bounding up to my desk one day, red curls bouncing, and stood there grinning at me.
I raised an eyebrow. She grinned wider.
"I know what you need," she said.
"Uh oh." She got that way sometimes, more than a little manic, when the office got too dull for too long. She would come running in and state matter-of-a-factly that we were going to a baseball game instead of working on a Friday afternoon. Or a bar, or the zoo. One time she decided that every Thursday between 2 and 4 would be margarita hour.
I pretended to be annoyed, but her random outbursts of creativity were always the highlight of my day.
"You need to go on a date." Her eyes shined. She was more than a little attractive when she wanted to be.
"Hmm, let me think... no."
"Yes, and I know just the person for you. She's great, you'll love her." She nodded affirmatively.
"Rachel, I'm not going on a blind date. They're awkward. You go out with someone you don't even know and you're expected to have a good time? It's like some kind of sociology experiment."
"Oh come on. You act like I'm going to lock you in a cage with a hyena for three hours."
"Well it's close enough!" I was being coy, but the idea of spending an evening with a stranger was not my idea of a good time. Is that so strange?
Rachel acted like she was talking to someone about their fear of flying, or some other unreasonable phobia.
"Mark," (my name is Mark by the way, nice to meet you), "when was the last time you went on a date?"
"I don't know... a couple years ago with that girl from payroll, I think. Janice. It was a disaster." It had been a disaster. So much of a disaster that of all the things I'm going to tell you in this story, I don't even want to go into it.
"Why? What happened?"
"We just didn't click. It was uncomfortable."
Rachel sighed and stared at my desk for a few moments before re gathering herself.
"Mark."
"What??" Now I really was getting annoyed.
"She's hot."
I laughed. I couldn't help it.
"Really hot, and she loves accountants!"
"Oh gimme a break."
"Well, she'll love you. And you'll like her. I know you guys will hit it off." She acted like the whole thing was already set up. The grin came back, and I realized that it probably was, with reservations for us at a nice restaurant and everything.
"Argh!" I said. "You just won't quit, will you?" She was incredibly persistent once she got an idea in her head; I knew she wouldn't give it up until I at least agreed to think about it.
"Nope. You need this. It will be good for you. Look at yourself! Your idea of a good time is reformatting your hard drive! You need to leave your comfort zone once in a while. It's not good for someone your age to be in this rut, never doing anything new."
She had a point. I was only 30 and I hadn't even gone out to a movie in years.
I sighed.
"Look,", I said, "Let's say hypothetically that I agreed to meet this friend of yours. What would we do? What would we talk about? Expense reports?"
"Let me worry about what you guys will do. I have it all worked out. All you have to do is show up and chew with your mouth closed."
"I knew it."
Rachel beamed. I was her project of the day.
"You'll go to this great place downtown, the Red Lighter. It's--"
"I didn't say I'd go yet."
"--it's very hip right now."
I groaned. She ignored it.
"After that you'll go to a movie, there's a nice little theater only a block away. I got you tickets for Serendipity. You won't even have to talk for the last 2 hours of the date! How hard could that be?"
"What about dinner?" I said. I was almost whining. "Will we have anything to talk about? What does she do for a living?"
"Don't let this scare you... she works in a tanning salon."
I groaned again, louder this time.
"Don't get that way! She's not a flake, I promise. She's very smart. She reads!"
"What does she read, People Magazine?"
"Don't be an asshole." She stopped smiling for the first time since her sales pitch began. "What if you had never met me and someone told you you were going out with a secretary? Would you think I was a moron before you even met me?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "You're right. But you're not a secretary, you're a personal assistant."
"And look, I'm assisting you with your personal life!" She wasn't offended at all, I realized, she just used the semi-insult to gain leverage. "So you'll go?"
"I don't know. When is this spectacular date supposed to happen?"
"Tonight! It's Friday, it's perfect."
"No way, can't do it. I have a late meeting tonight."
"No you don't. I book your appointments, smart ass. You don't have anything to do tonight except go home and drink beer."
I was stuck. I could flat out refuse to go, but she had obviously put a lot of thought and effort into it. It was a gift from a friend and my favorite co-worker.
Maybe it wouldn't be that bad.
"Rachel," I said, "you're going to drive me fucking insane one of these days."
"Yay!" She squealed. She ran around the desk and hugged me in my chair. "You won't regret it. You guys will hit it off, and then some day I can save money on wedding gifts cause I'll only have to buy one thing for two of my friends!"
"Ha ha."
She bounced out of the office and I started resigning myself to the idea.
Without commenting on the... rest of the night, I can say that the date itself was great. The girl's name was Sandra. She was about 5'6", had long, straight black hair that fell down just past her shoulders, and was the hottest thing I'd seen since sliced bread. She was 24. She wasn't at all how I pictured her; I was imagining some gaudy skank wearing too much makeup and cheap jewelry (well she did work in a tanning salon). She was the exact opposite: she was wearing no makeup that I could see (or maybe she just applied it that well), and no jewelry at all. Instead she dressed simply, with a red top and black capris.
I picked her up around seven outside of her apartment. She knocked on the car window with a beaming smile-- I could tell right away that she had the same enthusiasm as Rachel. It was obvious why they were friends.
I had worried all day about what we would talk about or have in common. There turned out to be no need. She didn't go on and on about her job or Melrose Place like I'd expected, and she only asked once or twice about what I did. Instead, she seemed to be interested in the same things I was: she loved baseball, and could talk about the Red Sox for hours. She got genuinely pissed off when talking about their bullpen. She was not shy at all about any of her opinions, and laughed easily.
Dinner was over way too fast.
The movie, which I had originally been looking forward to only as a break from a date that I dreaded, went great too. Not that the movie was great-- it wasn't. But it was a good time. Sandra watched the movie half with interest, half with amusement, making jokes about the actors and the plot, all the time with her hand resting lightly on my arm. I couldn't remember having a better time out since high school. And not to sound like a kid, but... she smelled great too.
I drove her home and she invited me in for coffee. I didn't need to be asked twice. After being out of circulation for so long, and worrying about meeting people for so long, it was amazingly easy to slip back into the flow of life, and the old hunger for it re awoke in me. She leaned against me as we entered the lobby of her building.
Then, disaster. Of course.
My beeper went off.
"What's that?" she said.
"My beeper... hang on a second." I checked the number... my office. Shit. "I have to make a quick call."
I called the office, trying not to sound annoyed in front of Sandra, but come on, really. Eleven PM on a friday night? Give me a fucking break.
"This is Mark Rogers. What's the problem?"
It was the night secretary, Donna.
"I'm really sorry to have to call you this late, Mark. Really. But headquarters called. They need us to send out some papers from the March project, and they want them now."
"So? Can't you do it?"
"No. We need your signature. It's one of the classified files. No one can sign it but you or Molly, and she's not answering her phone." Molly Park was the only other person in the office with my level of authority.
I sighed. This was the real glamour of working for the CIA, however remotely. The CIA doesn't close at 5. They don't close, ever. They're open 24 hours a day. There was always the chance that they would need some document from us at any time of day, and when they needed it, they didn't wait until Monday morning to demand it. It was my job to get them what they needed.
"Donna, this is a really bad time... can't you forge my signature or something?" She couldn't, obviously: they checked for that.
She laughed curtly. "I'm so sorry, I wish I could."
I looked at my watch. It was just past eleven.
"Ok, look," I said, "I'm on my way down. But meet me at the front desk, would you? In about ten minutes."
"No problem at all."
I hung up and looked at Sandra. She'd been listening.
"No, you don't have to go, do you?" she said. My attention was drawn to her long brown eyelashes.
"Would you mind terribly if I ran to the office for a second? I hate to, it's such a pain in the ass, but I have to. It'll only take 15 minutes. I'll be back before the coffee's done. That is, if you don't mind," I said. It occurred to me what it would be like to go on a blind date with a guy who has to run out to work in the middle of it. Damn those demanding cocksuckers.
Sandra pouted. "Can't it wait?"
"It can't. This doesn't happen often, but when it does, I've gotta go. I'm.."
She interrupted by leaning in and kissing me. Then again, deeper, and pressing her fantastic body against me. Oh man. The assholes at headquarters were going to get a mouthful from me on Monday.
She drew back from the kiss slowly and just looked at me. "Come upstairs," she said.
"Fifteen minutes," I said, regretting every word.
She kissed me again, snaking one hand around my waist while she slipped the other into my front pocket.
"Don't go," she said. "Come upstairs. Forget the office."
What luck I had. The office giveth and the office taketh away.
"Fifteen minutes and not a second longer," I said, imagining how just how fast I would have to drive to do that. I turned for the door. A taxi was pulling up outside.
"Wait," she said. She jumped onto my back, playfully, wrapping her arms around my neck like a kid hugging a teddy bear- tightly. She was so light. I laughed. Enthusiasm for everything, she was a fountain of energy.
She kissed my neck, then whispered, "Don't make me beg. It looks bad when a girl begs."
"You're not making this easy," I smiled, trying to crane my neck to see her.
"Good. I want you to know what you're missing." she burrowed her face into my neck.
I stood there for a moment, wondering if the job was really worth it. I could say I had a flat tire or something. No, I had a cell phone, I'd just called the office on it. Damn it.
About then, as Sandra clung to my back light as a feather and I wondered what to do, white spots began to dance before my eyes. I blinked. The spots grew rapidly. I began to feel dizzy.
Instinctively I reached up to my neck, where Sandra's arms were pressed tightly against it. Was I having some kind of attack? Then I realized... no blood was getting to my brain. She had me in a form of a sleeper-hold, whether she knew it or not. If you don't know, that means squeezing the arteries on the sides of the neck to cut off blood flow to the brain. It didn't take that much pressure, you just have to know the right spot.
"Sandra..." I said faintly, "your arm." Disorientation came in a great wave. Forgetting all about sex or anything else, I grabbed her arm tightly. She didn't budge. "Sandra... move your arms..." I said. Or I think I think I said. Another wave came, and a thousand lights streamed at me, and I forgot what an arm was, or what anything was.
I felt her mouth against my ear. She was smiling.
"Shhh," she said, and kissed my neck again.
Then I guess I fell over. I don't remember.
When I woke up I'd lost all concept of time. The first thing I remember is that I was moving. In a car. The car braked at a corner, and the jolt brought me to. My vision wouldn't clear. Something was on my face. I tried to reach up to take it off, but my arms wouldn't move. I tried harder and something hard dug into my wrists. My hands were cuffed behind my back, I surmised. The sound of the engine and the street was loud: I must have been on the floor, in the back seat. A stinging pain radiated through my left shoulder.
In my confusion I tried to call out and discovered that something was in my mouth. I made a little weak noise through my nose.
"How much longer will that stuff take to work? He's waking up." It was a woman's voice. I didn't recognize it at first through my disorientation, but after a few moments of piecing the night together in my memory, I recognized it as Sandra.
"Not long. A few more minutes, maybe." Another woman, this one with a younger sounding voice.
What the fuck was going on? I jerked my head up, grunting. A hand pushed it back down. I screamed in fury against whatever was in my mouth. Not much sound came out. Panicking, I kicked my legs. They weren't tied.
"That shit better kick in soon," Sandra's voice came from the front seat.
"It should, it should! Give it a couple more minutes!"
What should kick in? Suddenly the stinging in my shoulder came back to me. They had injected me with something but it hadn't kicked in yet. I hadn't been out for long, probably only a minute or two. I thought hard about what I could do. The second woman's hand was still holding my head to the floor.
Drawing my knees underneath me quickly, I wrenched my head from under the woman's hand and drew myself to a kneeling position, twisting myself to face whoever was in the back seat with me.
"Mark," Sandra's voice came from the front, calm and smooth as honey, "just relax, hon. It's gonna be a long drive."
"WHAT THE FUCK?", I yelled into the gag, which of course came out as "MMM M MHHHH!"
Then, suddenly, I didn't feel like yelling anymore, or fighting with the invisible woman who was trying to pin me down again. I felt very tired and warm. I sank back down to the floor. The carpet felt good against my cheek this time. The last thing I thought was how did this small, thin woman who couldn't weigh more than 125 pounds get the better of me?
I was having some nightmare full of gray walls, clanking metal and shrill laughter. Waking up was difficult. I would force my eyes open for a few moments and then give up. After a while it got easier, and my eyes were able to focus on a gray surface that turned out to be the ceiling. I was on my back, on a thin mat of some sort, with my arms above my head, held to the floor with something. Twisting my head, I saw thick leather cuffs, held to a bolt in the floor with a padlock. An IV tube was taped onto my arm, and connected to a small machine nearby. My ankles were shackled in a similar way. Oh yeah, and I was naked.
"Hi there," a woman's voice said. "Coming around, are we?"
Craning my head, I took in the room. It was large, with plain concrete walls, and completely empty except for me and a woman sitting on a chair with her legs crossed off to my right. She was wearing a gray business suit and was holding a clipboard. Her features were sharp; thin nose, black hair held back tightly with two barrettes on each side of her head, just above her ears, in an old fashioned style. She was smiling-- not maliciously, just smiling.
I laughed. "I don't know who you are or what you want, but you don't know who you're fucking with. The people I work for will find out, and when they do, you and everyone else involved in this is fucked."
She chuckled. "Let's not get off on the wrong foot, Mr. Rogers." She put extra emphasis on my name. "I know who you work for. A small contracting company that handles financial and other documentation for the CIA. I know all about you, which was not easy reading because your life is so boring it could put a coke addict to sleep in the middle of a bender."
"So you know you're fucking with the CIA? You must be completely fucking insane. You don't have any idea what they are capable of-"
"I know exactly what they're capable of."
My mind was working. Ok, so they knew all about me. That wouldn't be hard. They must have known about my date. They must have set it up in the first place--
"Is Rachel involved in this?" I asked.
"Rachel? Yes and no. Of course she's involved, but she doesn't know she is... consciously."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I think you know what I mean, Mr. Rogers. But I can spell it out if you'd like."
I didn't say anything. This was getting absurd.
"Rachel works for us. She's worked for us for years. She only thinks she works for you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, you're insane and you think you're controlling my secretary with some kind of mind control."
"Well to be fair, she's a personal assistant."
"I know all about so called mind control and hypnosis. You can't make somebody do something they don't want to. It's a fact."
"So quick to judge things you know nothing about! You're right, though, to a certain extent. You can, however, change the things a person wants. After that you can change the things a person loves. And after that, well... the sky's the limit.
"There's no need to worry about Rachel. She's quite happy, I assure you. Quite happy." She snickered to herself. "Your secretary is quite the little nympho, did you know that? She surprised even me. It wasn't our doing, but it did make my job a lot easier.
"But I'm not here to give you lessons on how the human mind works. I'm just here to make sure your initiation goes smoothly-"
I laughed again. It was all too fucking ridiculous. As soon as my boss found out that I was missing... it was then I realized that I didn't know what time it was, or even what day it was.
"Your disappearance has already been taken care of. Your co-worker, Molly-" she ruffled through a stack of papers, "Park, signed the document, and all is well at the office. Rachel is taking care of the rest. No one is looking for you, Mr. Rogers."
"Rachel would never help you."
"As far as she knows, we don't even exist. She thinks she got the orders from you. It turns out that she has a little crush on you! She's willing to bend the rules quite a bit for you... more than she would, consciously, for someone else. It's all worked out quite well. You're lucky to have such a dedicated person working for you.
"You still don't understand, but that's natural. You don't have to.
"And now, I think our little Q&A session has gone on long enough. Now that I've checked your initial conditioning, we can move on."
"What conditioning?"
"Well, for example, I think if you look down, you'll find yourself hard as a rock," she giggled.
I checked-- she was right.
"That's nothing special," I said, "Viagra can do that."
"You're right. And it was something very similar to Viagra that you were given... among other things." She walked to the door and pressed a small button on the wall. "You may not remember it-- you were pretty hopped up-- but we've already had a short session. We've discovered, for instance, that you're partial to redheads."
The door slid open and a girl walked in. She had, surprise surprise, dazzling red hair. She was petite, wearing a thin white nightgown that showed off freckled but otherwise cream-white shoulders. There was a crazed and somewhat blank look in her wide blue eyes; she was breathing heavily and grinning widely at a spot on the wall over my head. She couldn't have been a day over 21.
I laughed. I couldn't help it. It was all too surreal.
"So," I said, "I've been kidnapped by some cult so that you can force me to... have sex with redheads. Too fucking hilarious. If you think you can get me to do what you want by tempting me with sex, you're crazier than I thought you were.
"What have you got that poor girl on anyway? Extasy? Or does she work for you too?"
"She hasn't been given any drugs at all, actually. I can assure you, she's quite happy to be here. Aren't you, Karen?" she said to the girl.
"Mmm," the girl said.
I found that my whole body was tingling. I was struck with the urge to move suddenly. It was useless of course. The leather cuffs were tight and the padlock only allowed an inch of movement in any direction.
The door slid shut, and the woman in the suit took her seat again, producing a clipboard. At her signal, Karen walked towards me. She was trembling; one hand clenched the nightgown at the hip, pulling the sheer cloth tight against her body. And what a fantastic body it was.
She looked me up and down, over and over, biting her lip.
"Can I, Miss Craig?" she said in a shaky, excited voice. "Please?"
"Yes Karen, you may," the woman in the suit said.
The girl pulled her nightgown up past her hips, gathering it in a ball just under her breasts as she straddled me. She was a real redhead, all right. She dropped to her knees in one fluid motion. Her soft skin felt fantastic against my thighs, even though she was only barely touching me with the sides of her knees.
"Take the gown all the way off, Karen."
"Yes, Miss Craig." The girl happily pulled the nightgown all the way off and flung it into the corner.
"Mr. Rogers," the woman in the suit addressed me, "you're about to have the best sex of your life, and you're not going to remember a minute of it."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. The tingling in my skin was becoming unbearable. The girl sat on my legs, running one hand idly up my chest while the other grasped my penis lightly. I could feel her wetness on my thighs. The look in her eyes was feverish and hungry. She had glanced into my eyes a few times, but she didn't seem to recognize me as being another person. I was just a body.
"Well, maybe just a minute," the woman said. From her tone I could tell she was smiling as she watched us.
I thought, Dumb bitch, how can you expect me to forget something like this?
She was right, though.
The girl leaned forward, dragging her petite breasts up my chest slowly as she positioned herself over me. It was exquisite agony. With her left hand she guided herself onto my erect member and began to lower herself slowly.
"Oh my god," I heard myself say.
She stopped with just the tip inside her and let out a shuddering whimper. Her whole body was shaking. She lowered herself the rest of the way-- slowly, so slowly.
Then the woman in the suit said something. I still don't know what she said. Some trigger phrase I guess. I wasn't supposed to remember any more of it-- consciously.
And she was right. I didn't.