The Mistress and Her Justice

Copyright 2008 All rights reserved.

This material may not be reprinted or posted on any other internet site without the expressed written consent of the author.

*

It had been an entire week since the "conversation," and he had heard nothing since. As he drove home that next Wednesday evening, he again replayed the conversation in his mind. Was it all just a hoax, a cruel joke, a dream or some kind of self-hypnotic delusion. With each passing day, his heart sunk lower and lower as each day, he logged onto his e-mail and found only the usual junk. Nothing from her. No instructions, . . . no commands, . . . nothing. He almost didn't want to even check this time. The despair built with each disappointment.

He followed his usual routine - dinner, change, silk robe, glass of wine, and finally, settled into the thick, comfortable, black leather chair in his office. He turned on his computer, logged onto his "blue" account, clicked on the mail icon, entered his password and, after a slight pause, three items came up. The first two were the usual triple x spam come-ons, the last was from "KatsKradle.."

Ohmygoddd, its her, its really her. The instructions, the instructions, this must be it.

He double-clicked on the item and immediately his screen was filled with white text on a light blue background. It was three pages of incredibly detailed instructions. He read through it slowly, occasionally gasping as the full impact of her instructions hit him. It included not only instructions for him to follow but a detailed description of what he could expect at each point in the process of meeting her, and it was an involved process. The instructions are silent however on what will happen after they meet.

He has three days to get ready. Sunday morning at ten o'clock, the fantasy starts to become a reality. The first step begins.

He read through the three page missive a second time, and then a third, occasionally drifting off into his favorite fantasy with Katrina. He printed it out, returned to the kitchen to refill his glass, came back, pulled the sheets from the printer and settled back down in his chair, sipping as he read the remarkable document a fourth time. He read it twice more before retiring for the night, exhausted but exhilarated. It was really going to happen.

Sunday finally arrived. He rose earlier than usual that morning, cleaned himself thoroughly according to the Instructions, dressed as instructed in a loose fitting running suit with no undergarments, and tennis shoes with no socks.

He carefully shaved, trimmed and filed his nails, removed his ever present wrist watch, made one final trip to the commode to relieve himself of a few drops of nervous urine, took a last look at himself in the mirror, grabbed his car keys and wallet and walked out into a bright, sunny day. He slipped into his silver Mercedes, started the engine, put it in gear, backed slowly out of his driveway, shifted gear and then smoothly accelerated.

He had the strange sense that he was actually in a dream. Every once in a while, he touched his hand to his pant leg and rubbed it as if to convince himself that this was real. He was incredibly nervous. Perspiration collected under his armpits despite the heavy dose of deodorant.

He drove very deliberately, carefully staying five miles under the speed limit, stopping completely at stop signs and signaling for every turn. He had a half hour to get to the rendezvous which was no more than ten minutes away. He had plenty of time. John took a few deep breaths to try to calm himself and popped a small mint in his mouth, hoping this didn't violate the "no solid foods in the last twenty four hours" instruction.

The judge turned into the shopping mall parking lot and headed for the designated section. More than an hour before the mall was due to open, the lot was nearly deserted with only the few cars of early arriving employees present. He slid the large Mercedes into the spot nearest the "Section G-3" sign on the light pole, turned off the engine, removed the key from the ignition and waited.

He watched the second hand on his old style car clock sweep through its cycle, the thin, needle-like hand moving at what seemed an excruciatingly slow pace. He thought through his instructions again. He knew them by heart now after so many readings. If nothing else, Judge Reynolds was always prepared. At first, he didn't hear the sound of the white van pulling into the spot three parking spots over. Instead, he saw a brief flash of white in his peripheral vision moving to his left. He turned to look at it and then heard its engine. It was five minutes to ten.

He waited two minutes and then, at exactly three minutes to the hour, got out of his car, locked it with his remote control, and walked on shaky legs the few steps necessary to stand at the light pole, facing the van.

The judge was breathing heavily now, heart pounding in his chest as he tried to steady himself on the pole and look nonchalant. He saw movement on the van's driver's side as the driver's door opened. He jumped slightly as the door slammed shut.

In a moment, he saw the girl. The instructions said she would be short and sleight of build but he had not expected her to be so small. She looked like a child, perhaps four foot eight or nine, maybe eighty pounds soaking wet. The simple short, bowl shaped cut of her black hair gave her the look of a junior high school student but for the shapely figure and confident walk. She was obviously Asian, not Chinese, more Southeast Asian in look, but he could not narrow down the nationality any further than that.

He knew she had to be Mistress Katrina's assistant, Marisa, but he suppressed the nervous urge to make eye contact and greet her, instead following his instructions and remaining silent.

"Hey mister, do you have the time," she said quietly as she approached him.

"I always have the time for Mistress Katrina," the judge replied in accordance with his instructions.

Without saying a further word, she gestured in the direction of her van with her right hand and gave a short nod of the head. John understood the gesture completely and walked towards the rear doors of the van.

As he got closer to the vehicle he saw it was an ordinary looking, white panel van with no windows in the cargo compartment. He stopped in front of the rear doors and waited for Marisa who was right behind him. He moved aside to allow her to open the rear doors which she did without delay. Per the instructions, he stepped up into the cargo area without further prompting, taking two steps in and then lowering himself to his knees facing away from the rear doors. Marisa stepped in right behind and closed the rear doors.

It was completely black when she closed the doors. A heavy black curtain separated the driver's cab from the cargo bay, allowing no light to penetrate. Marisa turned on a small cabin light in the overhead. The judge continued to stare straight ahead, obeying his instructions to look neither left nor right. He felt Marisa standing behind him reach down and around his front and unzip his running suit jacket. The sound of the zipper echoed off the metal walls of the van.

She removed the jacket, pulling it straight off his back, turning the sleeves inside out. He then felt her buckle a leather belt around his mid-section, above his prominent belly. She cinched it tightly but not tight enough to interfere with his breathing.

She firmly pulled his right arm behind his back and cuffed it with a standard stainless steel handcuff, ratcheting the ring tightly around his wrist. In what seemed a single, swift movement, she pulled his other arm behind him and cuffed it. She then clipped the short chain connecting the metal cuffs to a d-ring in the back of the leather belt cinched around his middle.

She stopped, stood up and took several deep breaths. John continued to cooperate completely in this procedure, knowing and anticipating every step from his instructions.

Okay, I've crossed the point of no return. She has me and will deliver me to Mistress Katrina. Even if I wanted to back out, it's too late now. Not that I want to back out. It feels so good to surrender myself completely and the best is yet to come.

Marisa slipped a small rubber ball gag in his mouth and buckled its strap tightly behind his head. It had a small hole through it to allow him to breath if his nose became clogged. With light pressure under his armpit, she motioned for him to stand up. John rose on shaky legs, nearly losing his balance with his arms pinioned behind him.

Marisa helped to support him until he was steady and then she reached down beside her and opened the lid of a long container running along the left side of the cargo area. Heavily padded on the inside, it was about seven feet long and shaped like a coffin.

Without hesitating, John stepped into the box, sank to his knees, maneuvered his legs in the tight space to seat himself on his butt, lay down completely in the box and then rolled over on his side. Marisa quickly attached leg irons to his ankles, two metal ankle cuffs separated by a short steel bar. She stuffed foam rubber pads around his legs and torso, isolating his body from the sides of the box and closed the lid, sliding the locking bolt shut.

It was completely black inside the box. Between the bonds and the padding, he was completely unable to move. Although he could breath alright, he did not know how long that would continue to be true. Despite his foreknowledge that he would be placed in this position, the reality of it was different from the words on paper. The judge was scared and starting to have second thoughts about the whole thing.

Good God, what have I done. Am I crazy or something. What the hell do I really know about these people. Maybe they're murderers who lure their victims with the internet. They could bury me alive in this thing and I couldn't lift a finger to save myself. I can't believe I did this for a sexual thrill. I sure hope this is on the level, because if it's not, I'm dead.

He could faintly hear the rear doors slam shut as Marisa exited the cargo area, walked forward to the truck's cab, opened the driver's door, stepped up and dropped herself in the seat. She started the engine, put the transmission in gear and smoothly pulled away across the nearly empty parking lot. She made a series of turns, left, left again, right, left, right, right again, around the parking lot to make it impossible for her passenger to determine the direction she took when she finally left the mall lot.

She drove carefully through the light Sunday street traffic for fifteen minutes, again making seemingly random turns to confuse her passenger's sense of direction. When she was satisfied that nobody locked in a box could keep track of the many direction changes, she turned onto the highway and smoothly accelerated up to speed. She pulled her cell phone out from the console storage compartment, opened the lid and punched in the phone number.

"I have him Kat. Everything went smoothly. He didn't make a peep or any fuss, even when I lowered the lid. Oh, by the way, you were right, it is him. I didn't recognize him at first in that goofy running suit, but it was him. A little grayer and heavier but there is no mistaking that face. I should be there in about thirty minutes. I'm creaming my pants just thinking about what you have planned for him. See you soon love. Ciao."

The sweat pored off Judge Reynolds, burning his eyes. With his arms pinioned behind him, he could not even wipe the sweat away with his shoulder. He had to just endure it. His left arm was numb from lying on it as he wiggled and fidgeted to get his weight off of his arm and onto some other part of his body.

He turned over a little to bear some of the weight on his shoulder but this forced his face down into the padding making breathing through the ball gag more difficult. He decided a numb, dead arm was better than a numb, dead body so he turned back to his original position on his left side.

He fought the almost overwhelming urge to panic and tested the bondage slowly, moving arms and legs slightly but quickly was convinced that he could not escape. He knew that in his present position he could not break out or even make much noise, particularly with the thick padding isolating him from the sides of the box. He concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths, one after the other, and tried to focus on the image of Mistress Katrina that was burned into his mind.

The van made good time on the open highway, exiting after a steady twenty minute ride. Two right turns later it was headed up a mountain pass that, after several more turns, took them to the entrance to Katrina's private road. There was no sign or other indication that a road existed there as the single lane entrance was hidden by thick vines and brush that entirely covered the electric gate guarding it. An innocent passerby would have no idea that the road existed.

The compound itself was not visible from the public road, its low slung building lying more than a half mile away, up a short rise and down around the other side of the small hill. Marisa punched the numerical code into her remote control and the thick wall of vines and bushes parted to reveal a well maintained dirt road. She turned the van sharply up and to the right fifty yards down from the entrance and then disappeared, no longer visible from the public road. The gates closed automatically.

Marisa put the van in low gear and gunned the engine. The video camera and motion sensor noted the van's passage and alerted the Mistress of the horse farm with several short, sharp beeps.

Mistress Katrina checked the closed circuit monitor when she heard the announcing beeps and saw the van climb through the dust up the dry, dirt road. She checked her appearance in the full length, three sided mirror, turning to see every angle. She liked what she saw.

The soft black leather stood out in stark contrast to her creamy white skin. The shiny halter top accentuated her firm, all natural, 38D breasts. The mini skirt barely covered the elastic straps of her garter belt as it hugged every curve of her shapely thighs and hips. The custom made extra sheer, black nylon stockings clung to every little turn and hollow of her incredibly muscular legs. She had the legs of a dancer; sleek, powerful, yet gracefully curved, her taut muscles were accentuated further by the four inch heels of her open toed sandels.

The mounds of her tightly curled, flaming orange-red hair and glowing green eyes stood out in marked contrast to the black and white tableau of outfit and skin. The entire look was finished by blood red lipstick with matching nail polish on fingers and toes. She looked like a man's worst nightmare, or most fantastically sexy wet dream, depending upon his sexual predilections.

The van roared up the hill and back down, Marisa could barely contain her own excitement. She swung past the main house and continued down a small service road about fifty yards to the small guest cottage. She turned off the service road and swung around behind the cottage, stopping about ten yards short of a paved driveway that led to an attached single car garage.

She picked up her remote and punched in the access code. Instead of the garage door rolling up as one would normally expect, the paved driveway slowly lowered like a ramp to a large underground storage area adjacent to the converted bomb shelter. Originally designed to be used by forklifts loading large amounts of palletized survival supplies, it was now used as a hidden garage reception area for Mistress Katrina's very special guests.

The van slowly rolled down the ramp and came to a stop in front of a painted white line. Marisa turned the engine off and took a couple of deep breaths before exiting the cab. Everything had gone perfectly according to plan. Katrina sure had this down to a science, Marisa thought as she stepped down from the driver's seat to the concrete floor.

The Judge felt every turn and bump in the road, recognized the change from the smooth asphalt of the public road to the uneven contours of the private dirt road. He was completely drenched in sweat. His running suit trousers clung to him like Saran Wrap. His hair was wet and matted. He keep his eyes closed to protect them as best he could from his own salty sweat.

His left arm and leg were numb from lack of blood circulation caused by his own weight on vascular pressure points. The numbness was something of a blessing since he could not feel the pain from the raw, deep red welt on his left wrist caused by the metal cuff. He had finally managed to get his panic and breathing under control, simply surrendering himself to the situation. He felt a door closing on his prior life and just hoped that another door would be opening; that this was not the end of everything.

He heard the engine click off and was gripped by the sudden stillness. It was absolutely quiet, except for the sound of his heart pounding against his chest and the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. Whatever was going to happen to him, was going to happen shortly. He would soon know his fate.

He rolled over a bit to reduce the weight on his left arm and tried to move it some to get some blood circulating through it. With the truck still, he was able to strike a balance between nearly suffocating in the padding and getting some circulation back in his arm. He knew that if this went bad and it was a set up for murder, he would need the use of both arms and legs if he was going to have any chance at all of escaping. He just started to feel a slight warmth in his left arm when he heard the driver's door slam shut followed a few moments later by the sound of the rear doors opening.

His mind raced: "Okay, okay, stay calm, stay calm . . . stay alert, watch for your chance if it looks like anything really dangerous . Arm is killing me . . . feels like a thousand needles being stuck in me. Can't breath much like this . . . Open the box . . . Please Open the Motherfucking Box! Get me outta here! Please! . . . Oh God, Please! Get me Outta Here!"

End of Pt. 3