This story is based to a large extent on stories I have read and has few original ideas. There are two specifically that influenced this one. I will note them at the end, so that there is at least a little suspense. I would guess most anyone interested in this fetish could name them before getting to that point. Hopefully it maintains some entertainment value.
Much thanks goes to my editor, StriderJohn, whom significantly improved the story and kept it from being grammatically challenged.
Disclaimer: This story contains scenes of non-consensual sex between males and females, and depictions of sexual slavery. If you are under 18 or offended by this type of material please do not continue. Otherwise, read on and enjoy! Also, any resemblance of the characters in this work to people either living, dead or fictitious is unintentional and purely coincidental.
Saving Abby ©2015 softi. All rights reserved. Send comments to the contact tab on my profile.
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Sam walked towards the club nervously. There was no sign, only a rusted back alley door, set in an old brick structure, that stayed closed to anyone without an invitation. She was pretty sure that the regulars called it "Night Dreams", a play on the activities that usually went on in the bowels of the building.
"I hope this works," she whispered under her breath as she reached out and knocked two times, then three times, then two again. The information about this place and how to get in came from a site she found on the deep web after the better part of a summer looking. She was thankful school hadn't started up yet. Her heavy class load would interfere with her search for Abby. Ever since her sister went missing right after finals last semester, Sam had been pestering the missing person's unit and searching online. She didn't have the money for a detective, or else she would've had one of those looking as well.
A slot opened in the door. "Who are you?" asked a man from inside. She couldn't quite make out his eyes.
She said the Friday passphrase the site had listed. "A slut looking for a head rush." It came out a little more confidently than she felt. This might be her only chance; she had to get it right.
The man was silent for a second. She held her breath while he stared her down. Finally, the lock clicked, and she sighed in relief. It swung towards her, making her step around to get inside.
"Fresh meat," said the man, checking her out. Without an exhibitionist bone in her body, she had little club wear, so she'd squeezed into the closest thing she had: a tight, white dress that came to mid-thigh. Her long, honey blonde hair was carefully done-up, and she'd bought tall, white heels to help the look. She knew her target liked stilettos and fancied himself some sort of hypnotist, but not much else. Little came out from the confines of the club, and his secretive lifestyle included staying off the grid. She hoped she'd be able to attract his attention.
Inside, the three burly bouncers sat in a red lit alcove, with a dark corridor leading further in. She started down towards the dim light at the end. Loud, thumping bass echoed in the hall from what should be a dance floor at the end. As she made it to the room, she sighed quietly.
At least that stuff they said on the sites was somewhat legit.
The basic description held true, strobes and colored lights playing across dancers packed in the middle of a large, central area. Around the edges were booths and tables, where observers leered at the hot bodies writhing in time to the electronica. Everyone was dressed up, most to go clubbing like she was, but plenty in classy outfits more appropriate to a night at the opera. Occasionally, someone from the fringes, always in one of the less revealing outfits, walked over to a dancer in club wear, touched their shoulder and leaned in. The pair would head off to a door in the back.
Sam scanned the far corner, looking for what should be the V.I.P. area. Behind a velvet rope sat several groups, with a few obviously powerful people surrounded by hot bodies. The glimpses through the crowd didn't let her find her intended target. She sighed.
Great. Get a drink, look around. He'll be here.
It wasn't a confident sentiment, just a hopeful one.
At the bar, it took a minute for a ripped man, in tight hot pants and nothing else, to come over. She couldn't help but check him out. "Like what you see?" He smiled at her.
"Oh, uh, yeah," she said, a bit flustered at being caught. "Mojito, please." He kept smiling as he grabbed the Bacardi. She watched his rippling muscles while he worked on her drink.
Damn, he's gorgeous.
She was still staring as he placed the glass in front of her. It took a second for her to realize she had her drink and fumble at her purse for her wallet. She paid and tipped more than she had intended.
Taking a sip, she slid between people towards the back. Near the wall, she had a better view of the cordoned off corner. Bouncers in suits stood at each end of the rope crossing the raised dais. Sam looked around for Abby at the three tables, but her sister wasn't there.
Fuck.
She'd hoped for immediate confirmation that Abby had been taken by one of the predators here and was held against her will.
Or changed to like it. That's supposed to happen here.
Sam shivered. It was impossible, but some part of the rumor still had her worried.
Glancing at each of the tables, she sought out her mark. Sitting in the middle of a red, velour, half moon couch behind the low table in the center, sat a handsome man in a dark grey shirt and slacks, with piercing eyes and a confident smile. He had an air of command, with all of the beauties perched around him or standing nearby paying him deference. Only women attended him, all stunning, and each dressed to turn heads.
That's him. It has to be.
Her glance lasted too long, and he caught her. He smirked as his gaze devoured her. Sam blushed and dropped her head, a calculated response she'd planned on if he noticed her. It hopefully would spark his interest. She raised just her eyes, but he had looked away.
Dammit.
She wondered how many other women had tried to make it into the V.I.P., had tried to get his attention. Some might have used the same trick. He might not care.
She sipped again at her mojito and moved towards one of the guards. With a little luck, the burly guy would at least ask the man if he wanted to let her in. The stark, uncompromising gaze on the guard's face was probably meant to intimidate anyone from attempting just the type of thing she was about to do. She steeled herself and slipped up to him.
"No," he said immediately, before she could say anything.
She stopped short at the abrupt dismissal. She glanced again at the man, who was leaning over to speak to one of his entourage in a slinky red number. Sam was determined, and smiled at the burly guy. "Please ask," she husked, reaching a finger to twirl his tie.
He slapped it away. "No. Leave, or I'll toss you out."
The woman in red had come over and leaned up to the guard, teetering on her toes, and murmured in his ear. Sam glanced over at the man, and he was staring right at her.
Oh, thankyou thankyou thankyou.
Her stomach flipped in excitement. Finally, after months of tracking down her sister, she was about to meet Abby's abductor. Sam was certain of it.
The guard grunted, "Come in." He stood aside just enough for her to pass. The woman smiled at Sam and motioned for her to follow. As they passed the first table, Sam felt the appreciative looks and appraisals from several elegantly dressed women sitting there. The attendants, all also female, each drop-dead gorgeous and in backless minidresses of varying colors, stood rigidly next to the couches. They stared ahead blankly, ignoring the pair walking by. One of the sitting women said something to another as she pointed at Sam, and they laughed, before turning back to their drinks. Sam swallowed to calm herself. As they reached the middle table and passed between his groupies, she felt each turn to stare at her. Conversation amongst the entourage died down as her escort guided Sam to the front of the couch.
He looked at her, but not to check her out. It was powerful and heady, enough to almost make her giggle in defense. She struggled to find words, but nothing came out.
He just smiled. "I'm Cade," he said, "but you already knew that." He stood up and moved close to her.
She did know, or at least suspected. It was another bit of information she'd dug up on the deep web. She opened her mouth, a planned speech ready to attempt to convince him to let her hang out with him for a bit.
"Shh." He gently placed a finger on her lips. "You also knew the price of admission."
She'd really hoped that part wasn't true. Her stomach dropped as he leaned in, his eyes swallowing hers in their dark depths.
"I will hypnotize you."
Her breath caught. When she'd been preparing, training her mind to resist, learning all of the possible tricks to subvert her will so that she could fight them, the danger was distant and easily put aside. The irrational claims of mind controlled slaves felt unreal then, just a conspiracy theory. Now, in front of Cade, feeling his confidence and magnetism, little worms of doubt ate at her thoughts. She giggled, more nerves than humor, and turned her head to look away.
Cade took her hand and said, "Follow me." He gently but insistently pulled Sam behind the couch and through a door hidden by long, red, velvet curtains.
Here we go.
She knew that coming here, inside the club and up on the dais, had signaled her willingness. This was her best hope of finding Abby. She knew she had no choice. She didn't resist.
I really hope I'm ready for this.
Darkness engulfed them, and shocking silence, as he closed the door. Sam heard the click of a lock, and she stumbled on the chair that Cade lead her to. Cade let go of her hand, and she heard him take a step before pulling out another seat. She settled down on the comfortable office chair, which had a cloth back and rubber armrests. Cade lit a candle, momentarily blinding Sam. She blinked her eyes and looked around. Grey walls seemed to close in on the small space, and a little, circular, dark wooden table was between the two of them. Cade sat the broad, flat candle holder down in the center of the round surface. It lit up the man's face from below, casting eerie shadows across his visage.
Cade smiled. "What's your name?"
"Cindy," Sam replied. She had practiced responding to the name for nearly a month.
"Cindy," he repeated. "Hmm. Well, Cindy, I am going to hypnotize you. Your mind will be mine to remould into a shape I desire. This is your last chance to leave and keep your mind intact."
Sam breathed in anxiously, and held down the queasiness.
Here it is,
she thought.
He's telling me flat out he's going to take my mind.
