A Good Head For Business
Part I
F/f, f-self, slavery, nc, bondage, blackmail, lingerie, teen
Please don't hurt me, Master.
Look at me. I'm tied up and helpless. I'm at your mercy. You can do anything to
me. You can rape me, abuse me, make me do anything.
Please don't hurt me.
Please don't rape me.
I'll do anything you want...
---------
Kim stopped the tape, struggling for inspiration. As much as she tried to think
of something appropriate to say, she just couldn't. She'd had trouble before,
but this seemed harder than normal. She was already past her normal seven day
deadline for replying to a letter.
It was just so... crude. Unimaginative. Normally her clients tried to dress
everything up, make it more romantic, or interesting. They put in fantasy or
historical themes. They took on a persona she could respond to. There was...
something.
But not this.
Sighing, she picked up the letter again. The handwriting was appalling, the
spelling dreadful and...
lissen bitch you are mine now I took you off the street with a nife and tied you
up in my sellar I am goin to fuck you hard until you scream for mercy
tell me y I shuld not rape you slut hor lke you disserve I no you will skreem
like a bitch wen I stick my cok in your tight rse
rite back soon or I will rilly fuck you hard
Normally she wouldn't have even bothered. It wasn't as it she was choosy with
the clients, but she did have limits. But this one had sent in the fee with the
first letter, and so she felt she had to reply.
It had seemed such a good idea to start with. A cash-strapped student with
neither the time nor the inclination to find a part-time job to fund herself.
She had been staring between the two options of failing her course or living on
beans on toast, until an ex-boyfriend unwittingly helped her out.
He had left behind some of his porno magazines after they had split up.
Actually, that was largely why they had split up. It wasn't that Kim disliked
sex, but she drew the line at some of the disgusting things he kept wanting her
to do. When she protested, he kept showing her the magazines and claiming that
anal sex and bondage and play-rape was normal and she was a frigid bitch for
refusing him.
He must have left some of them behind after she had thrown him out. She had been
on the verge of binning them when she noticed some of the adverts at the back.
Mostly phonelines or escort services (no doubt fake) but there was one thing.
Writers wanted for fantasies. This is not a vanity publisher.
Kim was sceptical, but what the Hell? Worth a try, even if it was fake, and by
that time she was running very low on income. She was doing English Language and
fancied herself quite the writer. She'd heard about all these great writers
getting their first stories published in porno mags.
It turned out not to be what she expected. It wasn't from magazine publishers
wanting stories, rather it was from a mail order service. Some bright spark had
taken a idea from phonelines and adaped it to letters.
The theory went that men would write to her with detals of their fantasies, and
Kim would write back pretending to be whatever they wanted her to be. Innocent
schoolgirl abducted and about to be raped. Dominatrix and sadist. Slutty
teacher. Anything.
At first, Kim wanted to refuse, but then she got a very depressing bank
statement through and decided to give it a try. She wrote a sample letter to the
company, pretending to be a kidnapped schoolgirl.
They liked it so much they offered her a job. Kim saw the paycheque and her eyes
boggled. She accepted instantly. That had been almost a year ago, and her
financial problems were long gone. Indeed, she had earned so much, she had been
able to branch out a little upon finishing her course (a 2.2 in the end.)
She had always had a keen mind, and thought about other ideas. Why not photos to
go with the letters? Why not tape recordings? Props?
Why not go into business for herself?
She, in order, paid off her overdraft, bought a computer with digital camera and
very sophisticated photoshop programme, bought several fancy dress costumes, and
started her own company. She even had to fill in her own tax forms and
everything.
She was making money, had several regular clients who wrote to her with
progressive, ongoing fantasies she could help them fulfil. And just as
important, she was writing.
Admittedly, this wasn't the sort of thing she had wanted to write. Her plans had
been for the great feminist novel, but she realised early on that there was no
point writing anything if no one read it. Her novel had gone through so many
stops and starts that all it remained was an idea. At least this way people were
reading her ideas, and, by the responses she got, liking them.
Since she had started doing this, she hadn't written a word of her novel. She
planned to, she set aside time to, but all her ideas had just gone...
Eventually, she had come to a decision. She would continue this until she had
enough money in the bank. Then she would stop, and do nothing but write her
novel for a whole year. She would be able to look back on this later with a
smile. If nothing else, it had given her experience in writing for different
female roles.
Sometimes, though, ideas just didn't come for her.
Sighing, she decided to try something else. She promised her customers photos,
which is what marked her out as different from her (admittedly, few)
competitors. She might be worried about pictures of her in sexually revealing
positions getting around, but she managed to photoshop them all so that her face
was different.
This writer hadn't specified what he wanted her to be, so she decided on a
schoolgirl. At twenty, Kim was (just) young enough to pass for a genuine
schoolgirl with the right clothing and editing. She liked dressing up in the
schoolgirl outfit.
Stripping naked, she looked at herself in the mirror. She had definitely changed
in the year she had been doing this, she knew. There was something about her,
some air of confidence and sexuality. She had not been in a relationship at all
in that time, not since she had dumped her boyfriend, but she had certainly
developed her sexual boundaries. All the things her boyfriend had insisted she
do, that she had once found revolting, she was now incredibly excited by.
It was funny the way things worked out.
No underwear, she knew that. Instead, she pulled on the high white socks that
went up to her knee. A short, pleated grey skirt that came down to her
mid-thigh. Not as obscenely short as some she had, but just short enough to
reveal hints when she was lying down. A girlish white blouse she left
deliberately half-open, revealing pale and delightful cleavage. She bound her
long brown hair into two pigtails, tying them off with a pink ribbon. No
make-up, but she practiced her most innocent, terrified expressions in the
mirror. They were second nature to her by now.
She would be lying on the bed for now, editing out any of the background of her
room. Setting up the digital camera didn't take long. She was old hat at using
it by now.
Next came the instruments of her bondage. She laid out on the bed and pair of
handcuffs, a belt and some plain white panties.
First, the gag. She stuffed the panties into her mouth, making absolutely sure
she could breathe through her nose. She had almost accidentally asphyxiated
herself one time. Then, the belt wrapped around her face, holding the panties
into her mouth.
She had other, more sophisticated gags, but sometimes simplicity worked best.
This customer certainly sounded simple.
Then, her hands. Placing the keys to the handcuffs beside the camera, she
arranged her hands behind her back, and clicked them shut. The clicking sound
was at once both definitely final and indescribably sexy.
You are a schoolgirl, she told herself. Someone has kidnapped you. It is dark.
He is out there somewhere, and he could come and get you at any time.
He is going to rape you.
She lay down on the bed, waiting for the ten minute countdown to run out and the
camera to begin.
You are going to be raped.
Her heart was pounding. He was out there somewhere. He would come for her and
rape her. She was sixteen. A virgin. Untouched.
She was going to be raped.
Even though the room was well-lit, there were plenty of her possessions around,
everything was familiar and safe, a terrible feeling of dread came over her. She
was convinced that there was a man here, that he would rape her, that she was
helpless and a prisoner and...
The first photo was taken, a light from the camera alerting her to it.
She began to writhe about, staring at the camera with wide and terrified eyes.
She stretched out her smooth legs, parting them subtly. She arched her back. She
leaned forward, almost falling out of her blouse. She forced herself against the
wall.
You are going to be raped.
Fear began to run through her, her heart pounding. He was going to come for her
and he would rape her and there was nothing she could do to stop him. He would
hurt her and make her scream and...
The skirt rose up her legs as she parted them wider. Her arse would be clearly
visible.
He would hurt her...
Please don't hurt me!
He would force her legs apart, rising above her...
She shook in terror that was only part-pretend. One pale, round breast fell free
of the blouse.
He would rape her...
The camera took the final picture, and the light died. Kim sank back wearily to
the bed, trying to calm the pounding of her heart.
The fear was not unusual. She often felt like this. This one was a little
cruder, more visceral, more frightening, but the general feeling was the same.
Between her legs, a dampness was beginning to form.
She knew she should lie there, calming herself, letting her heartbeat return to
normal, draw herself away from the fantasy she had crafted, but she still had
the tape to complete. Rising from the bed, she walked awkwardly to the table,
picking up the key to her handcuffs with practiced skill. She only bothered
undoing one manacle, liking the feel of the other around her wrist. She pulled
out her gag, leaving the belt draped around her neck.
Then she picked up the tape recorder. She did not need to rehearse. She never
did when she was feeling like this. She had heard of writers who sometimes were
taken over by the story. They simply wrote, page after page, without a thought,
without a moment to stop and think about the plot. Everything just poured forth
naturally. She had never felt that before, and had thought it impossible.
It came every time she did this now.
She put on her best little girl voice, and began recording.
"Please don't hurt me, Master. Please..."
A few sobs.
"I'll do anything you want. My parents will pay anything. Just don't hurt me.
"I'm only sixteen. I've never even been kissed.
"Please don't hurt me, Master..."
More sobs.
Between her legs, the dampness was spreading.
"I won't tell anyone who you are. I won't tell anyone anything. You can believe
me, Master. I won't tell.
"Please don't hurt me...
"Please..."
That continued on and on, for almost half an hour. As she spoke, the fear was
growing again, and she genuinely began to believe she was trapped in a cellar at
the mercy of a kidnapper and a rapist, precisely as she had when the photos were
being taken.
She even came up with a history for herself. Her name was Genevieve Crichton,
sixteen, daughter to a rich media mogul. She had been spoiled and brattish, but
sensitive beneath it all, and very lonely. Now she was scared out of her mind,
afraid that this was revenge for her behaviour.
Finally, she ended with an anguished scream that was not remotely fake. She lay
on the bed, panting and sobbing, and allowed herself slowly to rise out of the
fantasy. She was falling deeper and deeper into them these days. Early on it had
just been a joke, an easy way to make money, and then it had just been a chance
to write and explore different types of characters.
Now, it was as if she was becoming those characters, reliving their ordeals with
a vividness and empathy she had never experienced with her serious creations.
It was probably best she was stopping soon. She almost had enough money to give
this a rest. Just a little bit more, and she would be able to stop and be
herself once more.
To be herself...
There was still more work to do on this one, but she put it off. She showered
herself clean, changed back into mundane clothing, read yesterday's newspaper,
spent an hour and a half flicking between various music channels, and went to
the cinema to watch a fluffy and unfunny romantic comedy.
Only then, did she turn to editing the pictures she had taken.
Most of them were fine. She looked the part, especially the terrified look in
her eyes. Imposing the pictures of her onto a dark cellar background was easy
enough. Changing her features to make her look younger and less like herself was
also straightforward. Out of the thirty pictures she had taken, twenty-one were
suitable for sending.
She would post ten, along with the tape, and the sodden panties she had used as
a gag. That would meet the forty-five pounds her client had already sent. She
would wait to see how he replied before deciding where to go next. She hoped he
wouldn't - many of them didn't. This one was just too creepy, too crude or her.
She preferred those with a little more imagination.
Putting the tape, photos and panties into a plain brown envelope, she carefully
wrote the address of the customer and the PO Box she used as a return address,
and arranged for it to be posted.
Another satisfied customer.
Only then did she use her vibrator to bring herself to the orgasm she had been
holding in since she had begun taking the photos. Doing it now was just normal
masturbation.
Doing it then would have been creepy.
----------
Two weeks later, she received a phone call to her private mobile, the one only
her few friends knew the answer to, the one she had bought to communicate with
her former employers but hardly used.
The incoming call had no number.
"Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Kimberley Bradley?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
Click.
----------
A week after that, she had a visitor.
"Miss Bradley?" asked the woman. Kim looked at her. She was tall, perhaps
thirty-ish, with long dark hair and plumply pretty features in a false smile.
"May I come in?"
"And you are?" Kim had never seen her before.
"How rude of me," the woman said, in a tone so falsely polite it went out the
other side of etiquette and into rudeness. "I'm sorry. My name is Alice Evans.
I'm from the Inland Revenue. I did write to tell you I would be coming."
Kim hadn't seen anything, but it was possible. The postmen seemed to miss her
out quite often. She hadn't had a bank statement in months. If it wasn't for the
fact that her business mail went through a PO Box, she might be very unhappy
with them.
"Of course," she said. "Come in."
She admitted Alice ("Ms. Evans.") into her living room and offered her a coffee.
By the time she returned with the drinks, the tax officer had removed her long
coat to reveal a very low-cut black top and a very fine pair of C-cup breasts.
"I'll get right to the point, Kimberley." Kim hated being called her full name.
"You must have thought your little scam would go unnoticed, but you're wrong."
"I'm sorry?"
"This little mail order business of yours. Your tax declaration was grossly low.
You've been evading your full payments."
"What?" That couldn't be right! Could it? Kim tried to think over the
self-assessment form she had sent in. It had been the first time she had had to
do one. It had been fairly complicated. She'd got some help, but still...
"Have you been readng the papers lately, Kimberley? The Chancellor has recently
announced a crackdown on sole traders who try and avoid paying all their taxes."
"There must be a mistake," Kim said, but there was something nagging at the back
of her mind. "I've got a copy of my records here..." Her heart was pounding, in
a scary way, not unlike the fear she induced in herself when she was
play-acting.
She'd done one recently where she was in jail, being made the bitch of a lesbian
murdereress. She had been able to hear the bars clanging shut.
They didn't send people to jail for getting their tax forms wrong, did they? Not
by accident? Then again, she had heard something in the paper. Clamping down on
tax fraud.
This wasn't fraud, though. It was just a mistake...
"There's no mistake, Kimberley," Ms. Evans said. "We do not make mistakes. You
are looking at a very large fine, all the taxes owed, plus punitive interest."
She took a sip of her coffee. "Plus at least three years in jail."
Kim's mouth went dry. "What?" she breathed. "But that's..."
"There might..." another sip... "be an alternative."
Kim didn't say a word.
"You are a very attractive girl, Kimberley. Has anyone ever told you that?"
Well, one or two people... "I am sure you will be... appreciated in prison. What
with over-crowding and all that, it's quite hard to separate white collar
fraudsters from more violent female offenders." Another sip. "Of course, a
criminal is a criminal, right? They don't deserve preferential treatment."
Kim was still silent.
"Take off your clothes."
Silence.
"Did you not hear me, Kimberley? You are looking at years in jail, not to
mention a very large bill for unpaid taxes. If you want to avoid that, you will
do what I say. Now, take off your clothes."
Kim broke her silence.
By laughing.
Not a disbelieving, manic laugh, like that of a desperate person finally allowed
a lifeline. Not a relieved laugh.
No, it was the laugh of someone who has finally gotten the joke.
"You think this is funny, Kimberley?"
Kim didn't tend to laugh much. "Yes," she said. "Yes, actually."
"You find tax evasion amusing?"
"No..." With a great effort of will, she brought herself under control. "I
didn't evade any tax. I even took the form to an accountant. I paid every penny.
You're not from the Inland Revenue. You didn't write to me. What is this, some
sort of cheap blackmail stunt?"
"You..." She looked like she had trouble maintaining her own composure. The look
on her face was almost enough to get Kim laughing again. "You pretend to be a...
to be a slave..."
"What does that matter? Sure, I'm not ashamed of what I do. I've role-played a
few blackmail / slavery matters, and believe me, they're more realistic than
that was."
"You..." She was almost apoplectic. The expression on her face... "But you're
a... a whore..."
"No," Kim said, deathly serious. "I'm not. I create fantasies, that's all. I'm
no different than being an actor or a writer. In fact, that's exactly what I am.
I don't sleep around for money, and if that's what you wanted, you're mistaken.
Now, finish your drink, and get out of here."
"Listen to me, Kimberley." Alice was breathing hard, in and out. "I came here to
talk to you. I've been trying to find you for months. I've been writing to you
for ages. I was the teacher who enslaved you, the male kidnapper, that was me.
The... the vampire mistress... I did work at the Inland Revenue, in admin. I've
been trying to track you down. I found your phone number and...
"I've got a business proposal for you, Kimberley..."
"I'm not interested, and stop fucking calling me Kimberley! Now, get out, or do
I have to call the police?"
Her eyes dark, Alice finished her drink, and set the cup aside. "I don't
appreciate being interrupted," she said, coldly.
"I don't like being blackmailed, especially when it's done that ineptly."
She left. Kim made very sure the door was bolted and chained before she went
upstairs.
She had done a blackmail fantasy recently. A woman enslaved by a tax officer who
threatened to send her to jail otherwise. She really should have remembered that
earlier, but for a moment there, she had actually believed...
Well, she had heard writers acquired strange fans. She supposed she should be
flattered. Besides, from what Alice had said, Kim had gotten enough money from
her.
At her computer, she brought up the images of the blackmail fantasy. She had
been a young businesswoman, threatened between going to jail for tax evasion.
Her blackmailer had told her to strip naked.
She had been dressed very conservatively at first, in a plain business suit.
Beneath it, though, had been racy lingerie. She had slowly and awkwardly removed
the top layer of her clothing, dropping it, and standing there in her lingerie,
before she started to take it off...
That had made her hot. She had really been able to feel her blackmailer standing
over her, watching. In her eyes, the woman had not looked anything like Alice,
but she supposed that was what fantasies were for. Now that she thought about
it, she could easily see Alice Evans in that role. Even if her actual attempt at
doing it had been laughably inept.
Kim supposed Alice might continue to write to her, keep on using her services.
She thought about it, and then shrugged. What of it? It was almost nice to have
such a fan.
Besides she would be done soon. Not too much longer and she could quit this
business and get to work on her novel.
She looked at the picture on screen. It was the unedited version. She was just
unclipping her red bra, revealing almost all of her breasts. She was looking
down, biting her lower lip, an expression of remorse and shame and fear on her
face, mingling with a very slight delight that someone was finding her
attractive. She couldn't have faked that expression. She had hardly needed to
edit those pictures.
She would be finished soon.
She wouldn't miss this at all.
She could be done with it soon.
Soon.
----------
For the next few weeks, she was very careful about her security, making sure all
her doors and windows were locked, leaving her lights on if she was out late at
night.
Nothing suspicious happened. She continued working.
She pretended to be a lap dancer turned prostitute; a sunbathing college student
taught some manners by an older woman; a helplessly brainwashed rich girl; a
powerful dominatrix; a long-term maid / slave; and a young Goth girl abducted
from a nightclub and threatened with lesbian rape.
She wasn't sure if any of them were from Alice, but it was the last one that
turned her on the most.
----------
That was the one she was doing that night. There had been a reply to her first
letter, which was always nice. A lot of them only wanted the first report, and
Kim enjoyed a recurring story.
She was sixteen, and had snuck into a local Goth nightclub using a fake ID. A
few drinks and a few dances later, and she had been spotted. She had been
detained by one of the bouncers there and taken upstairs, where she had been
'arrested' by a fake policewoman and taken away to her house.
Kim supposed there was a conspiracy between the bouncers and the police officer,
perhaps operating a slave ring, abducting a few young girls from the club. Maybe
the club had a reputation for admitting underage girls, and so no one would know
they had gone. She hadn't gone into detail on this - the details of the capture
were for the customers to create, not her - but the idea had excited her.
It was nice to act so young and naive. The dawning of her realisation that she
was in for more than a simple telling off from her parents had been a thrilling
moment for her to role play.
The second letter had arrived, depicting how the young Kim would be bound and
secured, locked in an attic, gagged and drugged. Her captor would be returning
soon, threatening her with all sorts of hideous fates.
Kim had a large number of stored images for attics and cellars - they were quite
common fantasies. She tried to personalise them as much as possible. In her own
mind, she had already visualised this one.
Dark, but not too untidy. Used regularly, to hold other abducted girls. There
would be remnants of them scattered around. Not too many, but some. A pair of
panties in a corner, ripped from her in an act of rape. A small blood stain on
the carpet. Tear stains on the mattress.
And Kim was a prisoner there. Sixteen years old. A young girl who had foolishly
tried to sneak into a nightclub, and was about to be punished.
She was dressed. She had Goth clothing. It was not an especially popular
fantasy, but there were some who liked it. A short black skirt. Knee-high boots
with high sharp stiletto heels. A tight black corset pushing up her breasts,
revealing deep cleavage. An Ankh necklace. A spiked collar.
Her hands were cuffed behind her, and her mouth was secured by thick, duct tape.
She did not like using that, but her customer had specified it, and she did not
like faking anything she could do properly.
The tape recorder was nearby, ready for her inspired plea for mercy after she
had finished the pictures.
The camera was ready, ticking down the timer to the first picture.
There it was, of her lying on her side, facing her abductor, her legs spread
wide.
As it always did, her persona took over from that point, as she writhed and
shook and trembled her way through an ordeal. She imagined a whip striking her
bare legs, jerking her around in pain. She imagined long-nailed fingers
caressing her face and she flinched in revulsion. She imagined her legs being
forced apart, and a hoarse scream filled her throat, swallowed by her gag.
She imagined a woman standing above her prone body, and she wept with fear.
She thought she was imagining the hand in her hair at first, until it gripped
and pulled tightly, wrenching her head back. Another hand pulled up the hem of
her skirt, revealing her pale buttocks.
She was still the sixteen-year old Goth girl, about to be raped. The thought
processes of the twenty-year old businesswoman and writer were still submerged,
but eventually they realised that she was about to be raped as well.
Something was dropped down onto the bed beside her face. It was her tape
recorder, and it was switched on.
The tape across her mouth was roughly ripped away, and she cried out with the
sudden pain tearing across her mouth.
Then, something long and hard and cold was thrust into her pussy, and her cry
became a scream. It was big, and it tore at her, forcing her lips apart. She was
damp, lost in the eroticism of the fantasy, but this was no fantasy.
Unless she was imagining this as well. Unless she had become so involved in the
scenario that she had begun to lose her mind and this sensation was nothing more
than an elaborate daydream.
There was another thrust, and another scream, and she knew, on whatever
conscious level that was capable of thought, that this was real. It had to be.
It hurt too much to be her imagination.
She was moaning, and crying, and screaming, and calling out for mercy.
"No... Mistress! Please! I'm sorry! I didn't... I... mean to... Oh no! Please!
I'm a... I'm a virgin... Please... Who are you...? No! Stop it!"
Kimberley Bradley the twenty year old businesswoman and erotic writer...
Kimberley Bradley the sixteen year old Goth girl and prisoner...
The two existed simultaneously in her mind, and in her words. She said some
things that were entirely hers, and others that was the other hers...
"Stop!" she cried. "Who are...?"
And:
"Mistress, please!"
This had to be a woman. The item penetrating her was obviously a dildo. The hand
that stroked back Kim's hair was clearly female. The voice that whispered
seductive empty words in her ear was a woman's.
Kim - neither Kim - knew nothing more.
"No!"
That was both of them.
"No! No! Nonononononono!"
"Yes," whispered her rapist, the first words that Kim actually heard.
"Stop!"
"Mistress!"
Her screams became moans, and her moans became pants. Kim the woman knew what
was happening and she tried to fight it, tried to struggle even more, tried to
protest and fight off the woman. Kim the girl did not know, and it was as
exciting and as thrilling as it was painful and terrifying.
"No!" Kim the woman said, but it was weak, and only barely audible. She wondered
absurdly if the tape would have caught that.
Then she came, and both woman and girl cried out. They said different things,
but the meaning was the same.
Both of them had been raped.
Her body was still slackening, the tension in her muscles fading, the desire in
her heart disappearing and the fear returning, when her rapist pushed her head,
not ungently, down to the bed.
"Did you enjoy that, my sweet?" purred the silken voice of her violator.
"Yes, Mistress," replied one of them, but Kim did not know which.
Kim did not resist - did not have the energy to resist - as her ankles were
pulled together and bound with the duct tape she had left out on the table. Her
mouth was taped over again. A hood, one of her hoods, one she had discarded on
the chair after using it yesterday, was then pulled over her head, and she was
left there, alone in darkness, her body shaking with the aftereffects of her
rape and orgasm.
She simply lay there, trying to re-order the focus of her mind. She was trying
to re-assert control now. She understood what had happened, that this was not
just some fantasy, that she really had been attacked and raped, and was now
helpless, that her attacker could do so again, or worse. She had to hold down
her fear and come up with some plan. This was her house, she knew this place.
She could try to escape.
But on the other hand, the Goth girl was still there. Kim's personae had often
remained strong in her mind. There was a ritual to re-orient herself, to remove
whichever identity she had assumed for the time, and bring back herself. Shower,
food, a walk. She could do none of those things, and so the teenage abductee was
still inside her, holding back her attempt to plan.
The war in her own mind was still continuing when her hood was removed, and then
her gag.
"Sorry about the delay," said a voice, one she now recognised, and was not
surprised by.
Alice Evans rolled Kim over, and sat down just before the table. She was still
wearing the strap-on dildo she had fucked Kim with, and she was stroking it
appreciatively.
"I have a business proposition to put to you."
To Be Continued...
A Good Head For Business Part II F/f, f-self, slavery, nc, bondage, blackmail, lingerie, teen "I wanted to be a writer," Alice was saying, in a casual, conversational tone. Kim struggled to listen, to find the centre in her mind, to break herself away from the fantasy in her mind. It wasn't easy, but she did listen, concentrating hard. "I wanted to be a businesswoman as well. I wanted to be... oh... so many things. I wanted to be rich. They said I wasn't good enough. I wrote and they said my books made no sense, the characters didn't work... They said I didn't have enough experience for the jobs, I was qualified, I wasn't good enough... "I was depressed when I was your age. I was in a hospital. I used to cut myself and... I wasn't someone to tell me I was good. She wouldn't listen. All I wanted was to talk to her and... "You're nice, Kimberley. You listen. It's nice talking to you." Alice got up at that point, humming to herself. "I'm thirsty," she said. "Be back in a minute." Kim waited, her heart pounding, until Alice's footsteps had receded down the stairs, the kitchen door opening. Now was her chance. If she could get up. The key to her handcuffs wasn't where it had been - Alice had clearly taken them - but she kept a spare. In her desk drawer, near the computer. If she could just get there, get her hands free... She tried to roll off the bed, but her body would not obey her. A voice in her mind was screaming and crying. She... she... The little Goth girl. She raped me... Shut up, thought Kim. She'll be back... She'll do it again... You enjoyed it, Kim thought bitterly, fighting back the realisation that the little Goth girl was part of her, a persona she had created for the client's fantasy. On some level, she had enjoyed the rape, as sickening as that sounded. No! Enough of that. Get to the key. Uncuff her hands, cut the tape from her ankles. Get out of here. She couldn't move. No! She'll be back. She'll be angry! That stupid... Had this persona really been that bad? She was sixteen, after all, naive and trusting. The fear had clearly been an aspect of the girl that the client had liked. Kim swore mentally. Why couldn't she have been in another persona when this happened? The lap dancer would be having none of this. Nor would the dominatrix, or the cat burglar. Move! She couldn't. And then the footsteps came back, and Alice was sitting there again, a cup of coffee in her hands. It was the mug Kim's mother had given her once, an Easter egg inside it. Yellow and bright and marked with a fluffy bunny. Kim had never used that mug. She had no idea why she had kept it. What an absurd thought for her... She's back... Shut up! Go away! You're not real. She raped me. Maybe... .... Maybe she'll do it again. "That's better," Alice said. "You have very nice coffee. Where was I? Oh, yes. I like that you listen to me. "I got some jobs when I got out of hospital. They said if I kept taking the pills, I'd be fine. I was just lonely. That's not a crime, is it? I wanted to write, but I wasn't good enough for that, and I wanted to run a business, but I wasn't good enough for that, either. "I saw your first advert last year, when you were still with... whoever they were. The other people. I looked at it for days before I finally wrote to you. It wasn't much to begin with, but I had ideas. Lots of them. I was the doctor who hypnotised you, do you remember that one? And the vampire? I tried lots of them, and you responded to all of them. "I knew you were special. "And that first photo I had, the one of you in the bra and panties... I knew it, then. The way you looked at me. You wanted to help me. You wanted to help me write. You would listen to me. You'd understand me. I was working a little. I had to get a job, to keep writing to you. I was temping. Office stuff. Photocopying and filing and that sort of thing. I was working for the Tax Office one time, and that's when I saw your return. That had to be fate, didn't it? Me, seeing that. Recognising the name. That it was me who found it. "It had to be fate. "I'm sorry I tried it that way when I tried to blackmail you. That was wrong of me. I should have just told you these things. So. Here I am. "Oh, yes! My business proposal! I had an idea. This plan of yours is good. Photos and tapes and... and the props. I still have those damp panties you send me. That was wonderful. "So, why not take it further? Actual fantasies. Real life, not just photos. Our customers can come here and see you. Live out their fantasy. You dress up so well. We can decorate your rooms. The cellar, perhaps. Or maybe we can hire some rooms somewhere. I can run the business side of things, you can handle the creative side. "What do you think?" Kim had managed to re-establish some semblance of her own identity by now, although it still took a great effort of concentration. She had only just followed Alice's rambling half-confession, half-serenade, and it took her a moment to realise what it was that she was expected to answer. Alice was beside her by now, and gently removed the gag. "Well?" Kim breathed out, and then in. "I..." she began, her voice raspy. She swallowed. "I'm not a whore." "Of course you are," Alice replied breezily. "Look at you. You dress up, pretend to be all these things. People pay for your photos, your underwear. They fuck you in their minds. What does it matter if they really do it? We'll make a fortune, the two of us." "I'm not a whore," Kim said again. The Goth girl was pleading with her to stop now, to accept Alice's offer, but she kept the irritating nagging back. "I was going to stop this. In a few months. For good." "What? But why? This is going so well... so.. You... I thought you were... You're just like the rest... you don't want to..." Alice stopped, shaking. "You... you..." Alice closed her eyes. "You..." Alice clenched her fists. "You fucking bitch!" she roared. "You cunt! You worthless, cocksucking cunt!" She punched at Kim. It was a weak blow, off-balance, but it still grazed the bound girl's head, causing dots to flash before her eyes, and nausea to rise. There was another blow to Kim's side, and one to her back. Then Alice was on top of her, still screaming and swearing. "Fucking cunt! Whore! Slut! Worthless shitty little cocksucker!" She didn't even seem able to stop for breath. Then she thrust the dildo into Kim's body again, but this time, it was not the helpless girl's pussy that was the recipient of the violation. It was her anus, the hole ripped open by the force of Alice's invasion. "Whore! Slut! Bitch slut whore!" Kim cried out with the first thrust. By the second she was screaming. "No, Mistress!" she howled in the brief pause between thrusts. "No, Mistress! Don't!" This was not the little Goth girl. This was Kimberley Bradley herself, writer, businesswoman, screaming and pleading for mercy. But her cruel captor did not listen to her. She kept thrusting, on and on, not stopping, without rest or remorse, unil Kim finally screamed herself hoarse, her body shaking and shuddering, and she fell into blackness. ---------- A little later, Kim had no way of knowing how long, she was restored to herself by the pleasant chatter coming from just beside her. She groaned, the lower half of her body throbbing with pain. A gentle hand stroked her hair away from her face. "There, there," said Alice soothingly, completely oblivious to the pain she had caused Kim earlier. "I've been looking around. You have some very nice things here." Kim didn't say anything. "I had a look on your computer while you were sleeping. I saw your pictures. They were very nice. There were a few folders I couldn't open, though. A list of your customers. Some of your private diaries. Letters. That sort of thing." She ran a finger along Kim's bare shoulders. "What's your password?" Kim was still silent. "If I'm to be your business partner, I'll need to know these things. Hmm? Kimberley?" Nothing. It wasn't that Kim was being deliberately obstructive. It was more that she couldn't bring herself around properly. She needed calm and strength of will to restore her personality, and now she didn't have either. She was just drifting along on a sea of mental instability, trying to survive from one moment to the next. "Kimberley?" There was the distant sound of crying, sobs bouncing off cold and damp stone walls. This was not a cellar dungeon! This was her bedroom, the place she had created dozens of these fantasies! Why couldn't she shake this one? Because this one was real. No, it's not! This isn't some mysterious kidnapper. This is a... a... seriously disturbed woman. But I'm still her prisoner. I'm still tied up. She still hurt me. She can do it again. I'm helpless. This is different! How? It... "Kimberley?" It just is... Alice sighed. "I'm trying to help you, you know? You only have yourself to blame." She rolled Kim over to her back and knelt over her, straddling Kim's prone body. The bound girl was breathing in and out harshly, her breasts pushing against the tight lacing of her corset. Muttering incoherently to herself, Alice untied the corset, almost ripping it away, revealing all of Kim's pleasantly rounded breasts. "All you had to do was tell me!" she snapped. "A simple question. I'm trying to help you, you filthy little whore. Bitch." She slapped Kim's right breast, a hard blow, stinging. "Fucking cocksucking..." She grabbed Kim's nipple and squeezed it, pinching it tightly between her fingers, pulling it upwards. Kim cried out, but Alice only squeezed tighter. "Worthless cunt..." Her nails began to dig into the sensitive skin of Kim's tit. "No!" "Fucking useless cunt bitch slut..." "Please!" "Tried to help you..." "Parker!" Kim cried. "Parker. The password's Parker." Alice released her. "There," she said, with a smile. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" She got up and walked over to the computer. Kim lay there for a long time, unable to resist the anguished voice in her head. Her nipple was throbbing, her arse burning... She was too tired to argue with herself. Alice returned later, evidently having found what she had been looking for. She was no longer wearing the strap-on, and a fierce smell of arousal was coming from her. "Oh, this is going to be such fun. I've got so many good ideas." She straddled Kim's face, running her hands through the helpless girl's dark hair. "We're going to make so much money..." Kim did not know what to do, but the little Goth girl did. She opened her mouth and began to lick. "We're going to work so well together." ---------- Kim spent the next few weeks in something of a blur, her mind in a haze, unable to tell between reality and fiction. The little Goth girl persona had faded, eventually melding with the rest of her mind. Other identities rose and fell, all becoming part of her. Photographs were taken of her. She remembered that. She was fed, and changed and allowed to wash. She performed these acts in a daze. She had tried to escape once, she remembered that, punching Alice out of the way and running, dripping and naked for the door. Alice had caught her, and beaten her unconscious, screaming obscenities all the while. Kim spent the next two days tied up tightly, her pussy and anus throbbing mercilessly. More photographs were taken. The running of her business had been taken from her, as had every other conscious decision she had been able to make. She was aware that Alice was refusing to answer any more letters, or send out any more packages. "Why bother with any of that, Kimberley? We'll make so much more money this way. Don't you agree?" She had mumbled something incoherent, which Alice took for assent. Alice came and went, leaving Kim tightly bound and gagged whenever she was gone. She placed mail orders for dungeon equipment, props Kim had never needed before, but had been able to fake with photoshopping. Kim's bank account depleted very rapidly. She had told Alice her PIN number and credit card details, under similar torture to that which had elicited her computer password. Alice rambled a lot. Sometimes she talked about friendship and business partnership. Other times she spat obscenities, insulting Kim, calling her all sorts of foul things, usually as she raped her. Alice had found all Kim's toys. She wasn't averse to using them on Kim. She wanted new funds. She had exhausted Kim's bank account and credit card limits, and convinced herself that the business would be a success. Unable to arrange a bank loan (that would require Kim actually leaving the house) Alice turned to more unconventional methods. ---------- "She's pretty enough," said the woman, immaculately dressed in a trouser suit, speaking with a sexy French accent. Kim was barely aware she was there. Alice had not fed her for days, just drinks of water and occasional spoonfulls of sugary cereal whenever she remember. Kim was hallucinating by now. "I know people who would buy her. For themselves, for a brothel." "No, she's my partner." "Really?" "My business partner. Not like that." "You plan to rent her out as a prostitute?" "No! She isn't some fifty pence whore. She's special. We've got a business plan." "And you want to borrow money from me and my... associates." "Yes, for the business. To get it up and going." "We're not a bank. You know that. Our interest rates are... not set by any external body. If you don't pay, then..." "We'll be able to pay you back. Once the business gets going." "What do you have to offer for collateral?" "You won't need any." "Yes, we will." "This house?" "How about her?" "Her?" "If you don't pay the loan, we'll take her in lieu of interest. What do you say?" "But..." "Those terms or no terms." "I don't know..." "Come now, Miss Evans. Where is your faith in your business acumen? If you will succeed, then where is the risk?" "You're right. We accept." "Splendid. Now, as to the practicalities." ---------- A few weeks later, Alice arranged her first client. Kim was vaguely aware of who it was. She had not pried into the privae identities of her clients, but some of them had volunteered information. Elizabeth had been one of her earliest clients. She had written numerous times, with various different fantasies, but all of them had similar features. Her fantasies were not excessively cruel, were usually well realised, and all ended with Kim as helpless slave girl falling in love with her new Mistress. Elizabeth had sent her a picture once, to better focus Kim's mind. She looked perhaps thirty, pretty, with blond hair piled up atop her head, and a slender figure. She worked as an estate agent, and was married, although she didn't speak about her husband much. She had been one of those writing, that Alice had not replied to. She had also been the first to respond to Alice's new wave of advertising. She had created a new fantasy. Alice had drilled the fantasy into Kim's head repeatedly. This was the first new client, and she wanted to be sure Kim did well. Kim's mind was still dazed, but she had absorbed and accepted the new persona. A secretary, lured into a trap by the wife of a man she was sleeping with. Drugged, and stripped of her outer clothing to reveal sexy lingerie beneath. Tied up and waiting for her new captor. Kim was still trying to think of a way out of her predicament, recognising that this was perhaps the best opportunity she had. If she could somehow tell Elizabeth what was happening to her... she might be able to tell the police or... It was hard to concentrate. Who was she now anyway? There were so many names and identities in her mind it was had to keep them straight. Alice had not allowed her the time to re-orient herself after each one. The real Kim was in there somewhere, screaming along with all the false ones. She was dressed in the sexy lingerie, bought at great expense from one of the finest department stores in town. There were faint remnants of torn and shredded business clothing above it. Her arms were tied behind her back, her ankles bound beneath er, a strip of duct tape across her mouth. Somewhere nearby, there came the faintest trace of a conversation. "I wasn't too sure about this. A fantasy in writing is one thing..." "But to extend that fantasy. To truly live it! That is just a natural extension." "You are sure Kim is willing to go along with this." "Of course." "Only she never mentioned you before." "She had recently retained my services as a business manager. There was a small period of re-organisation. This was entirely her idea." "Well, this is interesting, certainly. I won't deny I'm excited. She had a very fertile imagination." "Indeed she does. You have paid for two hours. Enjoy yourself." Not long after that, the door opened, and in walked Mistress Elizabeth. It was strange seeing her in the flesh, especially dressed as she was, in a skimpy and slight PVC dominatrix uniform - a black halter, a short skirt, thigh boots. She had cut her hair. Kim had aways imagined her in a certain way - the way she walked, carried herself, her presence - and a part of her at the back of her mind was pleased to know that she was almost entirely correct. That was a very small part of her. The rest was screaming. Let me out of here! Except she was gagged of course. She could not talk. "So," purred Mistress Elizabeth. "Not who you were expecting, Miss Bradley." She paused for a moment, and then continued. "My husband has confessed everything. After I threatened him with divorce proceedings - and ancillary relief, of course - he has decided to stop your little affair." Another pause. "Of course, while I can forgive him for his little... straying, you are an entirely different matter. Do you think I have not seen any of your sort before? Young girls, with perfect breasts and a false smile? You are not the first to try to ensnare him, and you probably won't be the last." She had a lash in her hand. She swished it melodramatically. "It is time you were taught a lesson. A lesson you so sorely need." She ripped away Kim's gag and stood over her. "Well, do you have nothing to say?" Let me out! Help me! Oh, god, please help me! Who was she? What was she supposed to say? What was this again? Too many voices. "Well?" I... no... who... help me... "I... I am... sorry..." she replied dully. "Please..." help me! "Forgive me..." "Is that all you have to say? You will find my forgiveness has to be earned." "I... Help... me..." She looked puzzled momentarily. Then she resumed her icily vengeful stance. "You deserve no help, but since I am feeling generous, I will help you divest yourself of your sluttish ways." She swished the whip again, and rolled Kim over to her front, her arse sticking high into the air, covered only by the skimpiest of red silken panties. A swish of the lash, and then it struck Kim's arse. "Well?" asked Mistress Elizabeth. "That is only the first. That..." She stopped. Kim was screaming. "No! I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry. Let me go! I won't tell! I..." Alice had whipped her last night - or maybe the night before - raining blow after blow upon her arse, before thrusting into her with a vast dildo. Kim had screamed herself hoarse, but she had still been able to hear the vile names that poured from Alice's mouth. "You..." Mistress Elizabeth began, but then she stopped. "Are you...?" "Please! I'm sorry! I..." Carefully, the blond woman stepped back, and then turned and made for the door. Once the door was closed, Kim managed to restore herself slightly. She sank forward into the hard surface of the cot where she was held. Her body was still in agony, every part of her aching with some pain inflicted on her. From outside, the faint words of the conversation reached her. "Something is wrong with her. She is not... normal..." "Over-acting, perhaps. Anxious to please you?" "No. She was... There was... Before, there was a look in her eyes, in the photos... like she was afraid, but also, secretly enjoying it as well. I'm not interested in beating girls into submission. She's lost that look. She's just... afraid. I'd like to think her acting skills are better than that. She knows what I want." "She's just over-enthusiastic. Wait a moment and let me talk to her." "Who are you? She never mentioned a business manager before." "I'm her... partner." "What have you done to her?" "Nothing! I've just... advised her." "I'm going to the police." "You wouldn't dare, you bitch!" "Something is wrong." "You do and... and... I'll make sure everyone knows of your little fantasies. Everyone." "Are you trying to blackmail me?" "Just get out of here, and don't tell anyone anything, or you'll regret it." "You... you..." "I don't think your husband would like knowing what you really enjoy in bed." There were no more words after that. There was a long pause, and then the sound of the door slamming open. And then there was shouting, and swearing. And then there was screaming. Lots and lots of screaming. ---------- Two more clients came in the next few weeks. One of them walked out, as Elizabeth had. The other whipped Kim almost into unconsciousness, leaving her raw and bloody. There were no more after that. The money was running out, and Alice found her creditor returning. ---------- "No! You can't..." "The terms of our agreement were very clear." "We'll... we'll turn it around. We'll get you back the money. Twice as much money. We'll sign the house over to you." "We tend to prefer a more... movable collateral. Our deal was clear. You have defaulted on your payment." "It's all her fault. It's... I would have been... It's..." "Miss Evans. We are not banks. We are not lending agents. They can only declare your bankrupt. We can do a great many other things." "I wanted to be in business... That's all... I can... turn things... around..." "Don't delude yourself." Kim looked up as the door opened, and a woman entered. Which fantasy was this? Who was she now? She didn't remember having been given a persona this time... She hurt all over... "Miss Bradley," said a sexy French voice. "So nice to meet you again." ---------- Epilogue A woman was arrested yesterday in connection to the disappearance of Oxford woman Kimberley Bradley. Miss Bradley, aged 20, was not seen for several months before she was reported missing. The name of the arrested woman has not been disclosed, but it is believed she is the woman police issued a photofit image of last month, who was seen staying at Miss Bradley's house. A police spokesman said there was every likelihood Miss Bradley was dead. No body has been recovered. Daphine Dupont put down the newspaper with a wry smile. She always believed it was worth keeping up to date with events all across the world. Her newspaper bill was very expensive, but worth it. With the amount of travelling she did on behalf of her associates, it paid to be aware. Mind you, she liked coming home as well. Her job as a public face of Europe's largest slave trade ring gave rise to numerous perks. Brothels, work gangs, sweatshops, illegal immigration, her group dealt with them all, and she managed to take the pick of each time. Like now. She clapped her hands together and, obediently, one of her maids appeared. "I heard something very interesting about you today, Kimberley," she said. "Yes, Mistress," replied the kneeling girl. Training Kim had taken some time, but the effort had been eminently worth it. Daphine had a more than passing familiarity with psychotherapy and she had understood, in ways Alice Evans never had, the workings of Kim's mind. She had carefully overseen the bringing together of Kim's fragile personalities, and the creation of a new one. She looked at her maid. Kimberley was all but naked, her formerly pale skin tanned a pleasant brown by the Bordeaux sun. All she wore was a leather collar, and the briefest of bikini bottoms. When company was around, Daphine dressed her in a little more. But not much. Kimberley had had to do her share of entertaining again, but of a much higher class of clientele than Alice had subjected her to. The girl's lovely back and derriere would bear no more whip marks - a least, none that showed. "Never mind," Daphine said. "I will tell you later." She stretched languidly, and slid down her sarong skirt. Kim moved towards her, ever obedient. Yes, Daphine thought, her business was very rewarding indeed. It was a good job she was so good at it. The End
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