Gotcha Ch 02 1

Parp.... Parp.... Parp.... The siren, or hooter, or whatever it was that was making that appalling racket was set to deafening and with each bleat of the siren the room lights flashed on. Jen rolled over, squinting at the bright light as she woke up. Blearily she looked around until, with a sickening thud, it all came back. This wasn't a dream, this was real, very real, and, if she was going to survive, she would need to keep her wits about her. Wendy was smart, there was no doubt about that and, last night, she had shown a breathtaking ruthlessness along with a sick sense of humour. However, Jen wasn't the sort to give up easily. She'd play along, she had very little choice at the moment, but she'd be looking for the outs, looking for the way to regain her freedom and get her revenge.

As soon as Jen sat up in bed and swung her feet to the ground the siren stopped and the lights ceased flashing. She glanced up at the CCTV camera; inevitably the red light was lit indicating that she was being watched. Apparently the siren was someone's idea of an alarm clock. Vaguely she wondered whether it was Wendy, Fran or Juanita at the other end but speculation was pointless and she needed to get on; she couldn't see the current regime being sympathetic to a lie-in. As she went over and sat on the toilet the whine of an electric motor coming from the CCTV camera as it turned to follow her made it obvious that privacy, along with freedom, was going to be in short supply for the foreseeable future. Even though she sat down gently the sharp twinges from her buttocks attested to the severity of the bruising from last night and she probed gently with a finger to confirm the damage to her sphincter. With only the small mirror above the basin she wasn't going to be able to do a thorough investigation but, after all, there wasn't much she could do about it anyway.

She washed her hands and was looking around for a towel when the door opened and Juanita appeared.

"Breakfast, this way," she said curtly and was gone. Jen followed as quickly as she could, her stomach reminding her that she hadn't eaten last night and she was ravenous. For a moment she thought about overpowering Juanita but she was astute enough to realise that Wendy would be expecting that and was bound to have some sort of contingency in place. It would be better to play along for the moment and wait for a better opportunity, a clearer chance of freedom.

A short distance down the hall they reached a kitchen area and Juanita motioned Jen over to a breakfast bar where Fran was already perched, sipping at a cup of coffee. Fran looked up and smiled but Jen took no comfort from the smile; it was the smile of a predator, a shark maybe, or a crocodile measuring its prey. Jen chose the stool farthest from Fran but even so she was uneasy; Fran radiated a quiet menace and Jen had no idea how far her licence ran. Was her attack last night a one off, a softening up before being presented to Wendy, or was it going to be the norm; was she going to be brutally abused again? Reinforcing Jen's feeling of vulnerability was not just the difference in size and power, but the fact that Fran was clothed whereas Jen was naked, and that made Jen shiver and not just with cold. Shaking off these thoughts Jen looked around the breakfast bar to see what was available before helping herself to a cup of coffee from the percolator.

"Morning, 'Nita, morning Fran." The door burst open and a fourth woman entered the room. She was athletic looking, in her thirties, quite pretty, with a short cropped hairstyle. She wore a navy blue trouser suit which, whist having no insignia, had the look of a uniform.

"Hello, you must be Madam's latest pet. Stand up." The woman went over to Jen who, sensing that the 'stand up' was a command rather than a suggestion, slipped off her stool. The woman walked round Jen, inspecting her, running her fingers along the welts on Jen's buttocks and cupping her breasts as if checking out a piece of meat before purchasing.

"I'm Sally," the woman continued. "It looks like you've already met 'Nita and Fran. Welcome to our happy crew. What's your name?"

"Jen."

"Oh, I don't think so. I'm sure Madam would have chosen something more appropriate. Let's have a look." Sally reached up and inspected the padlock holding Jen's collar. "piglet, it says here. Now, let's try again. What's your name?"

"piglet," Jen replied.

"That's better. Keep remembering things like that and you'll get on so much better, won't she girls?"

Fran just stared and Juanita was too busy preparing breakfast to reply but that didn't stop Sally.

"So where did Madam find a pretty little thing like you?" she continued. "Has she been trawling the bars again? Enticing you back here with tales of lezzie lust? Did she lure you into her web?"

"I work for Amalgamated. We met there," Jen replied. She certainly wasn't going to explain the whole blackmail story. She had no idea how the whole power structure worked round here. Sally had assumed some authority over her, the way she told her to stand, the way she touched her without asking and now the way she was interrogating her all spoke of being in charge, but Jen didn't know whether this was by right or by nature. She knew she should be scared of Fran, her buttocks attested to that, but should she be scared of Sally too, and what about Juanita? The whole set-up was so bizarre that she couldn't make any assumptions.

"Oh, you're the one from the office; well, you've caused me quite a bit of work over the past couple of days. I was up late last night moving furniture because of you; I broke a nail on that damn desk so I reckon you owe me one. How about it, girl? How about you pleasuring me to pay me back? Madam isn't the only one round here who likes to play with the girls, you know; we're all lezzies here, isn't that right Fran?" Sally's voice had developed and air of menace and Jen really didn't know whether the suggestion that she 'pleasure' Sally was an order, a proposal or a joke.

"Leave her alone," Fran growled, "and shut up, you talk too much."

"Ok, ok. I was just having a little fun." Sally pulled out a stool and sat down at the breakfast bar. Jen, grateful that Sally had finished, returned to her stool and resumed quietly sipping her coffee.

Juanita came over with three cooked breakfasts and the three women ate together in relative peace. Jen mulled over all the new information she had gleaned. As she had thought she wasn't the first to be held here, Wendy was accustomed to 'trawling the bars', as Sally had put it, and Jen wondered what had happened to her predecessors. Had they been freed? Had Fran disposed of them in some dreadful way? Had they been coerced, enticed back with tales of 'lezzie lust', had they been willing or captured? More importantly Jen was beginning to get a feel for the structure. Sally had described it as 'all lezzies here' and it looked like Wendy's revenge on her was not just business but personal as well. She wondered vaguely who, if anyone, was sleeping with whom but none of the combinations seemed to make sense. The slow taciturn Fran with her taste for violent anal rape didn't seem to fit with the ebullient Sally and neither of them would fit with the quiet and withdrawn Juanita.

As for Jen, she'd never had a lesbian affair; for that matter she'd hadn't had many affairs of any sort. She'd been far too busy at college and afterwards at Amalgamated to get seriously involved with anyone. Most men, no make that all men, bored her; they all seemed to have only one objective, to get inside her panties and they never gave her the respect she felt she deserved. As for women, well, she had no basic objections but it had never really come up before. All in all, to date, her greatest lover had been her rabbit vibrator.

"Time to get moving." Sally looked at her watch. "You have forty five minutes to get ready; you'll find everything you need in your room. Wait there, I'll come and get you."

Wiping her mouth on her napkin Sally got up and left. Jen, uncertain if she were about to break some unknown rule by leaving the table unaccompanied, looked for support from Fran and Juanita but they both ignored her and she was too uneasy to ask for advice so she got up and headed back to the room where she had slept. Someone, Jen guessed it had to be Sally, had delivered some things whilst she had been away. There, on the bed, was a neatly folded pile of clothes and, over by the sink, there was now a towel, some assorted makeup and a hairbrush. Jen unfolded the clothes; there was a short skirt in charcoal grey, a matching jacket, a white cotton blouse, a pair of hold-up stockings and a pair of high heeled court shoes. She ruffled through the pile again and again but there wasn't much there and she certainly hadn't missed anything. That confirmed it; there was neither bra nor panties anywhere in the pile.

Time was getting on and she hadn't a watch so she couldn't check but quite a bit of the forty five minutes must have gone already. She turned on the shower and went over to the basin and looked at the make-up whilst it warmed up. She was bemused by the fact that the range provided was identical to what would be found on her dressing table at home. When she checked the shower it was still cold, and, however she adjusted the knobs, it stayed that way; it looked like it was a cold shower or none at all and she definitely wasn't going to go out unwashed. Shivering under the cold water she soaped her hair, hoping that this would help sort out the tangled mess that last night had left her with. The shower gel was also her own brand and, as quickly as she could, she washed herself down, desperate to get out of the shower as soon as possible.

While she was towelling herself dry she looked again at the make-up, the shower gel, the shampoo, even the toothpaste was the brand she used at home. Someone, she guessed Fran, had done their research very thoroughly and it was creepy to think just how well she'd been investigated. How much more did Fran, and, by implication, Wendy know? Were any of her secrets safe?

She checked her appearance in the mirror; the shampoo and conditioner had done wonders for her hair but it was still wet. There was no hair dryer but Jen's shoulder length style was just about short enough that she could get away with it and let it dry naturally. At least, towelled and brushed, it was neater, more presentable than it had been over breakfast.

Her ablutions finished, she went over to the bed and started to get dressed. She hated hold-up stockings; come to think of it she hated all types of stockings but, if that was what was provided, that was what she had to wear. Futile rebellion over trivia like stockings would get her nowhere; best to save up the anger for when she could use it. Then she unfolded the blouse and realised that the material was much, much thinner than it had looked; it was almost transparent. She put it on and went to the mirror over the sink and her heart fell. The blouse could just, at a pinch, be called decent. With a white bra underneath it would have been fine, if a trifle risqué for office wear, but, in her braless state, you didn't have to look too hard to see the darker outline of her nipples through the thin cotton. However, as with the stockings, it would have to do; she really had no choice. The skirt turned out to be an improvement. She had wondered just how short it was going to be, whether it would be another assault on her modesty, but it ended up maybe four inches above the knee. The matching jacket was, like the rest of the clothes, very smart and a perfect fit but, when Jen looked, she realised that there were no pockets anywhere. She certainly wasn't going to be concealing any weapons in it.

She went back to the mirror and, as far as possible, checked out the result. She had to admire what she had to assume to be Wendy's style. At first sight she looked just like any other smart, presentable businesswoman in a charcoal grey suit and white blouse. It was only on the second look that the fact she was not wearing a bra became evident. As she twisted back and forth trying to get a better view, the collar around her neck glinted in the bright lights. Again there was this subtle blend of the obvious and the hidden. Had she been wearing a leather collar, for example, there would have been no way she could have worn it to work without attracting the wrong sort of attention, not just for her but for Wendy as well. The silver collar, on the other hand, was sufficiently like a choker to pass muster, at first sight, as 'normal' jewellery and it was only on the second glance that you saw what it was, and what it represented.

The door opened and Sally poked her head in. "Come on, slowcoach. You don't want to keep Madam waiting. Trust me on this."

Jen slipped on the shoes and followed. The shoes were, of course, a perfect fit, but the height of the heels was just enough to slow Jen down. She could wear these all day, she was going to have to, but she wouldn't be running any marathons, that was for certain.

She followed Sally down the hallway and, as they approached a heavy looking door at the end, the light above it turned from red to green and there was a click as the hidden bolts withdrew. Wendy obviously took her security seriously. This was a door which would keep intruders out and, more relevantly, keep her in. She wondered what had triggered the locks. Although there were the usual CCTV cameras dotted around Jen couldn't envisage Wendy paying anyone just to open and close the doors and it would be far too menial a job for a security expert like Fran. She surmised that there was probably some sort of sensor, something in Sally's pocket perhaps, that opened the locks.

The door opened out into the garage and Sally led Jen across to Wendy's Mercedes and motioned her to get in the back. Sally then slid gracefully into the front and, putting on a peaked cap she picked up off the passenger seat, started the car and drove it out into the morning sunshine. They had hardly arrived at the front of the house when Wendy appeared. Sally jumped out and opened the door for her letting Wendy into the car beside Jen.

"Good morning, piglet. Did you sleep well? I hope Juanita fixed you up a proper breakfast, it's going to be quite a day today."

"Good morning, Wend... Mistress," Jen replied, correcting herself just in time.

"Tut, tut. Not a good start, we've hardly begun the day and you're nearly forgetting how to address me already. We've got a big meeting today and your behaviour has to be perfect. I can't afford any silly mistakes. Let me down on this and I'll have to consider my options. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress." As ever with Wendy, Jen was finding that the steel fist was not far beneath the velvet glove.

"That's better." Wendy reached inside her briefcase and brought out a file. "Now read this, I want you word perfect by the time the meeting starts."

Jen opened the file. It concerned Shanghai Allied Logistics, S.A.L. for short, and more particularly Mr Hong, the CEO. The first few pages were the normal sort of briefing, what the company was, what it did, where it did it, and so on but, as the report progressed it became more about Mr Hong, his rumoured connections with the Triads, the various power struggles within S.A.L. and how he'd risen to the top. The final section was very personal, describing his various tastes in detail, how he saw himself as a connoisseur, not just of fine food and wine, but also of the arts and of women. Jen was so engrossed she hardly noticed the journey and was still reading when the car pulled up at the front entrance to Amalgamated.

Quick as a flash Sally was out of the car and opening the door. Wendy got out of the car and Jen followed behind. As they progressed through the lobby every door was opened for them and there was a constant background of 'good morning, Miss McCuskell' from the various people they passed. Then it was straight into the executive lift to be whisked up to the fifteenth floor and the executive suite.

As they entered Wendy's office Jen was amazed to see a desk, her desk, had been moved out of the general office area and into a corner, out of the way but in full view of Wendy. Noticing her surprise Wendy chuckled.

"Did you think I was going to leave you out there, out where you could get up to all sorts of mischief? That's not how it works anymore; I want you right here, right where I can keep an eye on you. There'll be no more plotting behind my back and, anyway, this will fit your new role so much better."

"My new role, Mistress?" Jen enquired.

"Oh, yes. You'll still be my assistant but your duties will be so much more personal from now on, you'll be working with me very closely indeed. You'll see soon enough. Now, you had better get on."

Jen sat down at her desk and fired up her computer. Once she had logged on she opened her email; there at the top of the list was a message from Wendy called 'Read This Now'. She opened it and read

Just to show that I don't make empty threats I suggest that you check the 'My Pictures' folder on your PC. Note that any attempt to delete the contents will be monitored and result in severe punishment.

Jen opened the folder to find it was full of files, files that she was sure had not been there the day before. She opened one at random and was appalled. She was broad minded and took a live and let live attitude but anything that involved children, especially the perverted, degrading, disgusting....

"Oh my God..." she groaned as nausea welled inside her.

"Sick, aren't they?" Wendy replied from across the room. "I'm sure you'd agree that anyone with filth like that on their computer deserves to be locked up for a very long time. I know that's how the courts would see it. Now, maybe you need some time to reconsider your attitude towards me."

"Please, please Mistress," Jen was shaken to the core, "please, let me get rid of them."

"Maybe if you came and asked me nicely." Wendy's voice had regained its edge of steel.

Jen got up from her desk and went over to Wendy. She wasn't exactly sure what was wanted but she was beginning to understand the general idea. She fell to her knees and bowed her head.

"Please, Mistress, please may I delete those files. Please, Mistress, they're so sick they make me feel ill just knowing that they're there."

"And why should I?"

"Please, Mistress, I'll do anything, anything at all, anything you ask, just please let me delete those files."

"Let me think... Umm.... No! And I'll tell you why. I don't trust you, I can't trust you, why should I? You would stab me in the back at the first opportunity; you've already shown that with your pathetic attempt at blackmail. If you want those files gone then you'll have to earn it; you'll have to regain my trust, prove to me that you deserve it, prove to me that you're worthy. As to 'I'll do anything at all', yes, you will, willingly or not, and it's only when you'll do it willingly, when you do my bidding without any coercion, without the need for threats, that, maybe, we'll reconsider. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress." Jen felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach, unbidden tears welled from her eyes. Up until now the whole thing had been some sort of dream but now, now that she could really see what she was up against, now that she could appreciate the strength of the cage around her, she knew she was beaten; anyone with the skills to put that filth on her computer would have the skills to frame her completely and she could see only too well that any jury would convict her in seconds. Part of her, a huge part of her, wanted just to run away but, even if she found a moment when she wasn't being watched or confined, there was always what Wendy had said about Fran being a trained bounty hunter. If she ran and was found, and it looked likely that she would be, god knows what Wendy, with Fran's assistance, would do to her. For a minute or two she just knelt there, rocked to the core, the unchecked tears running down her face.