Lost in Transit

There's absolutely no way I'm going through with this.

Again and again, I reaffirm just how fucked this idea is: the idea of 'saving' my step-daughter's friends. The idea of 'saving'

her

.

They don't need saving. They don't

want

saving.

And yet: the image of the girl bound up inside the display bubbles up into my thoughts. Her look of bliss and surrender; the pure joy she expressed. And I have to wonder:

Did she know she wanted it, at first? Did she know she'd be this happy?

Would it be cruel to deny someone what they need just because they didn't yet know that they needed it?

It's a corrosive thought, I know; an anodyne to soothe my conscience. But the more I think about it, the more that paternalistic thought takes hold.

And doesn't your revulsion show why it

should

be you? What if someone else gives it to them? Someone who doesn't care -- someone who just wants to

use

them?

I clamp down on that idea -- but not before it gives rise to the image of all three girls with pierced septums and silver-pink eyes, staring up at me with naked gratitude and desire.

"Did Inas do anything else weird, dad?"

The question snaps me out of my head. I look up at Isabella as she snacks on a vegetable empanada.

You mean

besides

sucking me off inside a bondage shop's changing room before encouraging me to take all three of you as my slaves?

"Not really, no."

We're sitting out back on the rental home's concrete deck with the ocean no more than thirty feet behind us. The three girls are seated around the table with me, clad in their two-piece bathing suits -- bodies glistening beneath the evening sun. The air is heavy with the fragrance of salt, lotion, and oil.

I try my best not to focus on Isabella's soft white throat, or the way Angie keeps playing with her hair -- or the sharp, thick tips of Kim's nipples as they push out against the front of her pink swim-top. I try not to think about seeing Angela earlier today, on her belly with her top pinned under the weight of those breasts, leaving the dark contour of her back wholly exposed. Or of Kim -- stammering at the bathroom door after I caught her possibly spying on me in the shower.

Instead, I lean back in my chair, take another bite of my own chicken empanada, and try to think about football.

I don't even

like

football.

"Oh," Angie speaks up suddenly. "Kim meant to ask -- could we go into town and return her swimsuit for something in a different size?"

I look to Kim. She immediately blushes and looks down at her plate. I didn't notice it at first, but the bikini is a little small for her -- she's probably the bustiest of the three, with the fabric of her top pinching a bit into her chest.

"Don't stare at her boobs, Dad." Isabella playfully kicks me under the table.

I blink and look up with a sheepishly grin: "Uh -- sorry."

"I was kidding. Were you

actually

staring at them?" Isabella needles me. She's just joking -- the girl's always been something of a gremlin. She likes poking at people to see how they respond.

Kim's face is as red as a firetruck. Angie rolls her eyes and touches Kim's shoulder. "It's no big deal, right? She just needs something a little bigger."

"You shouldn't go into town alone," I tell them. I'm not sure how much of that is genuine concern versus not wanting them to find the bondage shop I stumbled across. "I can take Kim."

"Well, we could all go," Isabella suggests.

"I'm not so sure about my ability to keep a lookout for three very pretty college girls in a place like this."

Angie tilts her head like a parrot examining some strange, completely novel type of tree-nut. Isabella lifts an eyebrow. Even Kim looks at me with a hint of surprise.

I lean back and lift my hands. "I'm not saying you aren't adults capable of handling yourself. Just... this place feels a little weird, yeah? And I'm worried if we're all out there at once and something happens..."

"What -- we're gonna get kidnapped by sex traffickers? And you might have to go all Liam Neeson on their asses?" Isabella waggles her eyebrows at me. Like I said: a bit of a gremlin.

Angela laughs. "Yeah, but I kinda get it. Like... we really don't know this place or how things work. So being a little careful makes sense. You okay with that, Kim?"

Kim's blush renews once the conversation returns to her. She looks off to the left: "Oh. Um, yeah -- sure."

"If some weird guy tries to grab you, just kick 'em in the balls," Isabella suggests. "It's like their weak point if they were an Elden Ring boss."

I give Inas a call once I'm out of earshot. We'll need a ride to the commercial district, after all.

She sounds surprised to hear back from me so soon.

"Kim just needs to stop by the place where you picked up the swimsuit. She wants to trade it for a different size."

"Of course." Her inflection is soft and yielding. I can hear the end of the sentence without her even saying it:

As you desire, Maja.

A little shiver goes up my spine. "The place you got it at isn't... weird, right?" Weird is the wrong word, but I'm not sure what the right word even is. How do you politely ask whether or not I'm able to escort my step-daughter's friend to a sex-dungeon?

There is a considerable pause on the line. Inas finally replies: "I do not think it will give her cause for alarm."

Okay. I think I can trust that.

In about fifteen minutes, I'm sitting in the front seat of the electric SUV. Inas is driving, still wearing that sarong and white top. Kim is in the back with a cute gray skirt and a black lace camisole. The camisole is a latticework of thread; a layer of fabric stretched so thin that you can make out the opaque outline of her bra beneath it.

There's a slight awkwardness in air. I can't tell if I'm the only one feeling it. Maybe it's just knowing that I'm in a car with the girl I'm cheating with who thinks of me as her 'temporary Master' -- but I have to pretend otherwise on account of Kim.

Or maybe I'm just trying to resist the urge to use the rear-view mirror to sneak glances at at Kim's tantalizing cleavage.

I try focusing on the sights of the commercial district. It's all been a blur up till now. Unlike our rental, the buildings don't look that modern -- they're one to two story wooden frames plastered with white stucco and topped off with slanted orange terracotta roofs. The island's height rapidly climbs as you move inland, which creates a layering effect -- buildings loom behind buildings, with roofs often doubling as balconies for the homes in the back.

It's all very lovely, but I still feel a reflexive clench when we approach the street that leads down to the bondage shop. Fortunately, we don't turn there -- the store we're headed to is closer to the coastline.

The shop doesn't have a front door. It's just an open archway that leads into a roofed interior with brightly-colored clothes on display. It's surprisingly deep, plunging back into the hillside -- effectively becoming the foundation for the building behind it.

We head inside. The girl behind the counter is a cute heavy-set brunette with a septum piercing and that distinct silver-pink glow in her eyes. I wonder if Kim notices.

She talks to the clerk for a bit, figuring out something they have in her size. The clerk takes her in back to the changing room to try it on. Inas and I wait alongside a display of colorful swimsuits mounted atop headless mannequins.

"You are attracted to her," Inas murmurs.

"How can you tell?"

"You keep looking at her breasts."

Christ. Now I think

I'm

blushing. The image of Kim's heavy breasts springs up into my mind again. I try to focus on a nearby display of swim-suits: "Is it that obvious?"

"Mm. She's noticed, too. I think she has quite the crush on you."

My face burns brighter than Kim's did at the dinner table. "She's my step-daughter's friend. I can't..."

Inas touches my wrist. I turn to look down to her -- at those dark ruddy brown eyes. Her pupils are like swelling plums that swallow all the light in a room. She drops her voice to a whisper:

"Do you desire her, Maja?"

My throat constricts. Back in the car, earlier, Inas asked me which of the girls I wanted to 'save' first. I told her then -- I couldn't, wouldn't. Now she's pressing again, but with a touch so subtle that it's barely there.

I want to tell her 'no'. I want to do the right thing; to be a good chaperon, a good guide, a good man. But I keep thinking of Kim -- her insecurities, her vulnerabilities. How

exposed

she is to the world. And I keep thinking of that woman in the display Inas took me past earlier, staring out with that joyful, blissful stare...

The dark urge stirs once again. And before I've even realized what I'm doing -- I've nodded.

That's all Inas needs. She smiles, eyes sparkling: "Then leave the rest to me."

Kim returns alongside the clerk. It's a different swimsuit, this time. Simpler, but better fitted for her. Jet-black, with two thin straps that hook behind her neck and scoop down to cradle the swell of her ample chest, providing the additional support she needs. She's covered up the bottom half with her gray skirt, swishing around those distractingly wide hips.

She looks absolutely adorable -- a cute short-stacked Vietnamese girl. Her short hair bobs as she nearly hops forward, the silver stud sparkling from her left nostril. She looks up at me with those big, beautiful walnut-brown eyes -- as if searching for validation.

She's so pretty that it makes my heart hurt just a little. I lick my lips, give her my best smile, and tell her: "You look fantastic, babe. Does it fit?"

Kim gives a little curtsy followed by a twirl, sending her skirt spinning. She resembles a bird ruffling its plumage after receiving a compliment. That bundle of anxiety inside of her seems to vanish under the warmth of my approval. "Yeah -- this is much better. Thanks, Henry."

I'm about to say something else when I notice Inas speaking to the clerk. I don't recognize the language, but it has a crispy, crunchy texture that crackles at the back of the throat before snapping off the tip of the tongue. The clerk's own eyes brighten -- and she smiles, nodding.

Inas turns to Kim: "There's something else I'd love to see you try on -- with your permission?"

Kim blinks, turning from Inas to the clerk -- back to Inas -- and finally, back up to me. I see it in her eyes: she's looking for confirmation that this is okay. That this is safe.

And in that moment, I realize... this is the perfect opportunity to put a stop to this.

I've been slipping deeper and deeper into this madness. That isn't to reject my culpability in everything that's happened so far -- quite the opposite. But every choice I've made to go farther has been made at a moment of weakness. And right now? I don't feel weak. I feel in control.

All I have to do is say 'thanks, but we need to get going'. Take Kim home. Keep the girls under house arrest until tomorrow night -- then leave this place behind. Let this entire situation exist as a sort of dark, twisted fantasy that I can think about alone in the shower when I'm touching myself.

All I have to say is...

"Sure," I respond, smiling down at her. "Let's take a look."

Kim's eyes flicker with interest. She nods, looking to Inas -- who takes her arm into hers, smiles, and turns to guide her toward the back of the shop. As she does, Inas glances back at me. Those kohl-dipped lashes flutter over her dark eyes, conveying everything that needs to be said.

I follow.

We leave the clerk and front-end of the store behind.

The content of the store changes. It's subtle, at first; displays with bright and flashy clothes give way to things that feel more esoteric. Corsets. Lingerie. Night-gowns. The place is starting to feel a little bit like a Hot-Topic, maybe.

But then we reach a doorway that leads into the

actual

back -- it almost looks like a service entrance. Inas guides Kim through it without missing a beat, even as I watch Kim's shoulders tighten. She steps through the passage, turning right -- entering the back-room of the store. And then --

Kim makes a tiny, almost inaudible gasp.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. A dingy poorly lit sex-dungeon, maybe? But this is more like a highly polished display room -- ornate outfits worn by mannequins artfully posed behind panels of glass.

I'm no fashion bug, but even I can pick up on aesthetic quality of these designs. One display holds a feminine mannequin arched back, a series of interlocking pearl-jade straps linked by rings binding her throat, back, and waist; her wrists are held at her hips by two additional straps that extend from the central ring at the base of her spine. Another shows off a complete set -- a white hood, collar, arm-binders, heels -- that forces the mannequin into a posture reminiscent of a trotting mare.

Inas approaches one of the displays: a black lace bolero shrug. It's little more than a length of tailored fabric; a pair of elbow-length sleeves connected to a shrug, covering nothing save the arms, shoulders, and neck. The material is gauzy, like nylon stockings -- but with intricate opaque patterns of ivy that wind across the back and down to the elbows. A beautiful emerald serves as a clasp at the nape.

But there's more: two sturdy straps extend from the bolero's collar and down behind it, linking to a leather arm-sleeve that lays across the lower spine. The sleeve is secured by a second buckle around the waist, keeping it firmly locked into position.

It forces the wearer into an alluring arch, their arms pulled behind them in a tight, inescapable grip. It looks graceful, almost swan-like. Even breath-taking.

Inas unlocks the glass panel and opens the display, stepping toward the mannequin. Kim, meanwhile, stands directly in front of me. She's breathing hard, her eyes like two massive moons. She's just trying to process what she's seeing.

"Mr. Henrik--" she whispers, not looking back at me.

I put my hand on her bare shoulder and squeeze. "I'm here. It's okay."

I feel a tiny wave of relief sweep through her. Inas, meanwhile, unlaces the binder and removes the shrug from the mannequin. She turns and smiles at Kim, holding it out to her.

"This is an

ahmaji

," she explains, taking the time to sound the word out for both of us. "It is often worn by young Iskan women on the mainland." She pauses, as if to give both Kim and I the space we need to breathe -- then she adds: "I think you would look... incredible in it."

I can feel Kim's anxiety spike. But there's something else there, too. Kim was the one who admitted to being curious about Iska. She's always been put off by making decisions, by being in control -- she's afraid of it. And as overwhelming as this is... it's a chance for her to lose that control. To hand it over to someone else. Someone she trusts.

I squeeze her shoulder a little tighter. I feel her shiver. She's waiting for someone to say something.

She's waiting for

me

to say something.

Inas looks up at me, as if in expectation.

"You don't have to put it on if you don't want to," I murmur, the words feeling strange as they slide off my tongue. That's where I should stop. Instead, I keep going -- that dark familiar urge rising through me: "But... it

would

look incredible on you."

"...hh... o-oh..." Kim whispers. My fingers curl a little tighter. I'm leaning over her, now; she can't the way my eyes are staring down into her cleavage, plunging into their depths -- or how they trace over the prodding caps that push against the front of her bikini, growing harder with each passing moment. No, she has no idea of how I'm staring. But Inas does.

She smiles. "It's your choice." When she says the words, she's not looking at Kim. She's looking at me.

A dhajamir cannot choose to be a dhajamir -- they cannot choose at all. A Maja must choose for them.

I exhale.

"Try it on, Kim." I keep my voice low enough to hide how it's shaking.

There is a long stretch of silence. And then, with a soft, breathless whimper...

"...h... o-ooh. Okay..."

Inas guides Kim to the changing room on the left. When I step closer, she looks to me and shakes her head. I impatiently wait as the two vanish behind the door.

My thoughts spin out of control. No matter what happens next, how will this go? How will I explain this to Isabella and Angie? Won't Kim tell them what happened? What's going to happen then?

I tell myself to trust Inas, to trust she knows what she's doing. Even so. I still find myself nervously pacing back and fort like a nervous parent outside a maternity ward.

Sounds emerge from the other side of the door. Shuffling cloth. Shifting feet. Occasionally, a soft breathy gasp.

Finally, the door opens. Inas steps out and smiles up to me, touching my wrist.

"She is ready for you, Maja. But... may I make a suggestion?"

Ready for me? Ready for what? I have a thousand questions. For now, I hold them in: "What is it?"

"It is your right to do as you please. But it may be to your benefit to give her the time she needs to... fully bloom."

I'm not sure what that even means. But then she explains what comes next. I listen patiently, taking it all in.

Then, when she's finished, I take a breath and step inside the changing room.

It's a small cubicle with a wall-length mirror and a bench to sit on. Kim herself is standing in front of the mirror. Her face is as red as a beet. She's breathing hard -- like she's on the verge of hyperventilating.

The bolero shrug looks... incredible. Sheer black fabric that engulfs her shoulders and arms, matching so exquisitely with the black top of her swim-suit, the emerald shimmering from the back of her neck. It all looks like part of a set -- particularly the way the bolero stops just above her sternum, permitting a perfect window to view her chest from. The banquet of her pale, abundant cleavage is on full display; a plateau of pale quivering flesh lifted in offering.

The binder is buckled in place at the lower half of her back. It's currently empty, dangling across the back of her gray skirt. Her hands are in front of her -- she's nervously picking at her skirt's hemline. When my reflection appears behind her, she breathes faster and adjusts her skirt.

She's worried she looks silly,

I realize.

She

needs

my approval -- even if she doesn't know it.

The thought makes my chest tighten. A low, deep growl builds somewhere inside the pit of my belly.

Now I understand what Inas was saying:

...it may be to your benefit to give her the time she needs to bloom.

Because, right now? There's nothing I'd like more than to pluck this precious, sweet flower -- pin her down -- and

fuck

her.

"Did Inas tell you about this next part?" I ask, stepping behind her. I touch her shoulder through the lace and squeeze.

Kim looks up at my reflection and swallows, nodding with a frantic energy: "...she said, um... you have to... that it's -- part of the... ritual of putting on the, um--"

"The ahmaji," I finish for her. "That it's my responsibility to complete it."

All the breath leaves her at once. She stares up at the image of me in the mirror, lips parted, eyes shimmering. Then, just once, she mutely nods.

"Are you ready?" Even as I ask, I'm already taking both her arms into my immense palms, gliding my grip down to her elbows and bare forearms. Nevertheless, she tries to answer -- but the words won't quite come out. She just blushes again and nods.

"Good." I haven't even said the word before I'm gliding her arms up, her elbows bending up into the air. This is the tricky part -- the part Inas explained to me. It would be simple to put the girl's arms into the binder

before

donning the rest of the ahmaji, but that would defeat the purpose. The order is important -- because it's

supposed

to be hard.