The Doorway

This is just the first chapter of what I intend to be a long story, with at least 10 chapters, maybe more. Of course, this depends on any feedback and / or encouragement I receive. I do realise I have dedicated an entire chapter to the background story about what leads to the erotic enslavement of a young lady, and that the chapter contains no sex whatsoever. I have every intention of making up for that in chapters yet to come...

*****

How could I have known? It was just a push button, something I had seen in Mr. Kane's desk - in the top drawer to be precise, hidden away from view and yet convenient enough for him to reach whenever he needed to. I had discovered it quite a while back, perhaps a few months, but never given it much thought before that fateful day. And now here I am, trapped, unable to move, my curiosity having gotten the better of me, pondering my fate... Will I die in here, alone? Will I be caught? Both options seem to make me despair, and yet there are only those two options insofar as the outcome of this situation is concerned, not that I have any choice in the matter. As I ponder, I feel lost as to which of the options I would rather choose if I had any say.

*****

I took the cleaning job for Mr. Kane shortly after my eighteenth birthday, about eight months before I found myself in the situation above. I was desperate for some cash. My father had passed away a couple of years earlier, and my mother had to take up a cleaning job to support my younger brother and sister, and myself. She worked hard, making sure I did not have to give up my dream of going to college. A couple of years later, I moved to the city, sad that I had to leave my beloved family behind, but also happy that I was realising my dream, despite the odds and the harsh realities life made me face at my young age.

Having settled down in the city, I worked hard through my first year in college. I lived alone in a very small apartment, a studio apartment in fact, on the outskirts of the city where the rent was lower. My mother helped with most of the expenses, but I realised early on that I would have to get a job or it would break my mother and the rest of my family financially, and I tried getting all sorts of decent jobs. After sending out countless applications, I realised it would not be so easy, and I lowered my expectations, sending out applications for all sorts of jobs, decent or not. Finally I landed this cleaning job with "Mr. Kane", as he insisted that I call him. He was a snob, part of the city's social elite, and his house was enormous, a mansion really. Initially, I started off part time, cleaning after my lectures were over and during weekends when necessary. After my first college year was finally over, however, I seized the opportunity to put in more hours to earn some extra money, and started working full time, grabbing every opportunity to work overtime whenever such opportunity arose.

I had cleaned Mr. Kane's study many times. He was very particular about who he let clean the study. He wanted to find everything impeccably clean, but he also wanted to be sure every single thing, every paper, every business card, every file in exactly the same place he left it. He was extremely organised, to the point of an obsession, and I felt proud that of all the cleaners in the house I was one of the trusted ones to clean his study. This is what, in turn, led to my discovery of that red push-button hidden neatly under the surface of his desk. It looked just like the alarm buttons banks have installed under their tellers' desks, except that I knew there was no need for that in there. Mr. Kane's house was well secured with CCTV and burglar alarms all over the place, and the likelihood of him needing an alarm button under his desk seemed strange, to say the least.

Despite that, I tried not to give it a second thought. Every time I saw the button, it peaked my curiosity, temporarily, and every time I brushed the thought away from my mind and focused on getting the job done.

*****

It was the second weekend since I finished my first year of college. I was getting close to my nineteenth birthday, yet I had no real friends in the city. I missed my old friends in the little town where I was raised. Life was so much easier there. The residents were simple folks really, with low expectations, but always generous and warm. The city was cold and barren for me. Life was such a rush here, and you had to butt your way into existing friendship circles, and I was no good at that. Despite my good looks, and despite the compliments I always received that made me aware of such looks, my self-confidence was never so high as to impose myself on others.

Consequently, despite having been here for months, I did not have any real friends. Sure, there were my fellow college students, some of them closer than others in the sense that we shared a few notes and helps each other out. But I never even got to go out and have some fun with any of them. I guess they saw me as weird, or shy, or reserved; whatever the reason, I never got invited to someone's house, at all. To make matters worse, the few opportunities I had to go out or to go to parties with any of them I managed to squander, telling whoever invited me that I had a lot of work to do. They finally seemed to give up on me, even if I saw the boys ogling me several times. They must think I'm some sort of bookworm, or just a plain nerd. I didn't look like one, but my reactions, my lack of self-confidence, and my excuses to not join in the fun painted that picture mentally if the visual one wasn't there.

That also meant that for almost a year now, I also had no boyfriends, no social life whatsoever. In my former life, in the town I still call home, I had had a few boyfriends - a handful - before I came here. I was raised a Catholic, and although I always thought the religious views were a bit behind the times, I was hesitant to experiment sexually. The most that had ever happened was with my last boyfriend, whom I finally allowed to fondle my breasts and suckle on them. The relationship ended the same day, as he wanted more and struggled with me to slide his hand under the waistband of my panties. There was a big row, and that was it. The religious indoctrination I was raised up with had ruined the last of my relationships, even though I knew deep down that I did want to experiment, to see what it was like, to see what I liked and what I did not. I had never even seen a boy naked before, nor had anyone seen me fully naked.

So here I was, almost nineteen, and still a virgin. Not just a virgin, but I had a serious lack of experience, or should I say I had no experience at all? It was more likely the latter. Still, I tried to look good. I put on makeup, and I was good at it. I bought the best clothes I could with the little money I had. And I was not afraid to show off some skin either, although comfort always came first. But I was at least not afraid to wear a really short mini-skirt if the climate was right for it. Or a halter-neck dress. And even though my social life was non-existent, I had a decent collection of underwear, not just the plain white types you'd find in my mother's drawers, but decent ones with lace, flower designs, and so on, and my range of panties included classic panties, hipsters, boy-shorts, and g-string panties. Not that I get to show them off, I often thought to myself, but at least they make me feel good and sexy, even if there was no one to show appreciation for it.

I had quite a decent figure, despite my short height. My Latina looks were an eye-turner, and I knew it despite my lack of self-confidence. I had (and still have) a 35C-25-36 figure, so I was not skinny, but not chubby either, though I did sport a nice round behind. My breasts were firm, with small areolas and large nipples, and although not huge I always thought they were just right for my figure. I had long brown hair, wavy, reaching down to just about the middle of my back, perhaps slightly more. My eyes were a deep dark brown, large round eyes with naturally dark eye-lashes. And my complexion was a natural olive-tan. My Latina ancestry was quite evident from my looks, if it was not already evident from my given name, Natalia. My height was my downside. At just five feet three inches, I was no model, and I was rather self-conscious about it. Still, I liked to think that my other features made up for the lack of height.

*****

Prior to the fateful day that would change my life forever, I had spent the entire week slaving away, proving my worth. It was only my second week on a full-time basis, and I wanted to impress. Mr. Kane was obviously quite pleased with me. On the Wednesday of that week, he called for me in his office, and he asked me to work overtime on Saturday. He said he would be away for the weekend, leaving on Friday to attend a full-day conference on Saturday away from the city. He would be returning Sunday evening. He said this would be a good opportunity to have his office cleaned, and not just the regular run-of-the-mill cleaning, but a thorough cleaning, meaning I would have to move furniture items to clean under and behind them, and I would have to move books from bookshelves and clean under them, and so on and so forth.

Most importantly, he said, he wanted to find everything exactly where it had been. I accepted to work, as always, and I nodded and smiled at him reassuringly at his obsessive requests. He smiled back at me warmly, knowing he could trust me. He warned me I would be alone in the house, but I had a personal PIN to access the house. He knew he could trust me. We agreed I would spend there as long as necessary to get the job done, and I envisaged it would take me the whole day. Not that I was going to hesitate; the opportunity meant a full day's pay at the generous weekend rate, and I took it up immediately.

*****

It was seven o'clock when my alarm went off. I fumbled with it to switch it off, and stretched my arms before lazily pulling myself out of bed. Then I went through the motions, more like a zombie than anything else. Getting up was not easy for me, so the first thing I always do is step into the shower to refresh myself and to feel really awake. Then I brushed my teeth and walked into my bedroom, or well, my one and only room really, and opened the small wardrobe to see what I was going to wear. The air felt hot and sticky with the humidity in the air, so \it was going to be something light. I started going through my clothes, and stopped looking at a light short summer dress... I hesitated. It was very short, and it left my back fully exposed. It was the sort of dress I would normally wear to go swimming, with a bikini underneath it.

Mr. Kane insisted on a decent dress code just in case he had visitors, but I thought to heck with it, it is going to be a very hot day and I have to walk thirty minutes to his house, and thirty minutes back when I am finished, in the sun. Besides, luckily for me, today I am going to be completely on my own, for the first time, and no one is going to know anyway what I wore. With that thought in mind, I pulled out the dress, and put it on, tying the straps behind my neck. Almost as an afterthought, I picked up a white skimpy tie-side g-string, hiked up my dress, and tied the sides around my hips, then let the dress down again. I knew it was a casual dress, very light, obviously not intended for work, especially given that the lower hem was basically just a couple of inches below my g-string, but I felt comfortable in it and did not care. No one is going to know, I thought to myself. I had not even put on a bra. In any case my breasts were firm and held up nicely on their own. Besides, the less clothes the cooler, and the cooler the better, I thought to myself with a smile, feeling just a little bit naughty that I would be wearing just that despite Mr. Kane's strict dress code.

With the day's attire decided, I went back into the small bathroom, brushed my teeth, put on some makeup (as I always do irrespective of where I am going and what I will be doing), then fixed myself a small breakfast, prepared a few sandwiches for lunch, tucking them away into my bag, and headed off. It was a thirty minute walk, and I would make it there by eight. I listened to music on my phone as I walked, humming cheerfully along with the music as I walked, leaving behind my modest area and venturing into a more up-market area where most of the city's social elite lived, including Mr. Kane. I was there a few minutes after eight o-clock, and after settling down, putting my sandwiches in a refrigerator meant for employees, got off to work immediately. As I slaved away around Mr. Kane's office, I listened to music on my phone through the little earphones lodged tightly in my ears. I had a special phone holder just for the purpose of attaching your phone to your belt when your hands were not available and you had no pockets available, but I realised I wasn't wearing a belt. I quickly solved that by attaching it to the waistband of my g-string under my dress.

*****

I had been working for almost six hours straight, stopping only to eat my sandwiches and for a few glasses of cold water every now and then. The dress had helped keep me cool on an otherwise stifling hot day, but I also put on the air-conditioning in his study. Feeling cool helped me retain my energy and getting the massive clean-up done in a relatively short time, given the size of the study and the hundreds of books and other items in the room. I had been through every single thing, and I had dusted, washed and polished every item of furniture. I had scrubbed the floor spotless. I looked around me and smiled a little, happy with what I had done.

Now to the desk, the last thing I had to clean. Mr. Kane's desk was his temple. It was untouchable, except for the trusted few who were allowed to clean it, like me. But today I had to literally clean it inside out. I started from the desktop. Mr. Kane adhered to a strict clean desk policy, and there were very few papers on the desktop. I made a clear mental image of where each item was before removing everything, dusting, cleaning and polishing everything, then returning everything to its exact position. I smiled. Mr. Kane will be pleased. Then I turned my attention to the drawers, pulling them out completely, cleaning the inside of the desk thoroughly, and seeing once again that darned red push-button, once again curious about its function. I tried to brush it away from my mind as I started taking everything out of the drawers, cleaning each drawer thoroughly, replacing its contents in exactly the same position they were before I started, and then pushing each drawer respectively back into its original position in the desk. The top drawer was last, and as I crouched to insert it, I saw the red push-button once again, exactly level with my eyes.

I looked at it, even more curiously. What on earth could it be there for? I had already ruled out its being an alarm. There was certainly no need in here. But still, my curiosity nagged at me despite my attempt to brush it off. I felt a bit torn between my sense of responsibility telling me to just put in the last drawer and walk away, and my curiosity, coaxing me forward and asking what could go wrong. And as I pondered, I started thinking - it's true. What could go wrong? Even if I switched something on or triggered something off, surely I could say it was an innocent brushing of my hand against the push-button as I cleaned Mr. Kane's desk. And in any case, I further reasoned, I am on my own in the house. Surely I could contain anything that might happen if I press the button. It is not, after all, going to set the house on a course of self-destruction, I thought to myself, almost giggling as I imagined a visual image of the enormous house imploding as soon as I switched the button.

And with that light hearted moment, I finally decided. I shrugged my shoulders, then I put my right middle finger on the button, affixed as it was underneath the surface of the desk, and as I braced myself, I finally pressed it, fully expecting a siren to go off, or a light or something or other in his study.

Nothing of the sort happened. In fact, for a full five seconds, nothing at all happened, and I almost giggled again as I realised nothing was happening. But then, from across the study on the wall opposite, I started hearing a strange whirring sound, like machinery, and it got louder and louder. And then it happened. My eyes popped out and I could not believe what I was seeing. Was the wall moving? Well, part of it certainly was, as I saw a portion of the wall (including the painting hanging on it), the size and shape of a large doorway, retract deeper and deeper, inching away, until its surface was at least an inch deeper than the other side of the wall, and I could see the darkness in that gap beyond the wall. The moving part of the wall came to a halt with a loud clang, then the whirring sound again, and within seconds the "wall" - or rather door - moved sideways, just like a sliding door would, to the right.

At this point my jaw had dropped, and I was looking on in awe as the whole thing unfolded before my eyes. I was frozen to the spot, crouching as I was, my eyes almost level with the surface of the desk, just a little higher and enough to see the whole thing. I was petrified, and I thought about pressing the button again, in the hope that the doorway would close again. But I was afraid of what else might happen if I did, and I decided against it. I could just put the last drawer in, then explain to Mr. Kane that my hand brushed against the push-button in the process, and, well, what just happened had happened. But then again, I thought to myself as I put in the last drawer, surely Mr. Kane would not have wanted me to find out about that doorway, wherever it led to. It was obvious, I surmised, that this was some secret passage, or in any case something Mr. Kane did not want anyone to know about. During my months here I had never known about it, nor had I heard the other members of staff speak about it. So it was pretty safe to assume that no one should have known about it, and now I did.

I felt despair. What could I do?

During the entire thought process I had stood up and walked across the study. I had not done so consciously. Rather, it was my subconscious pushing me forward, perhaps out of sheer curiosity, drawn to what I do not know. My petrification soon passed, and I could feel my heart racing as my conscious state took over, and I could feel all my limbs shaking. Still, consciously now, I walked, as silently as I could despite the fact that I knew there was no one around, towards the mysterious doorway, until I stood in it.

It took me a few moments to adjust to the darkness, and once I did I realised it was not total darkness after all. The doorway led to a staircase, lit on either side by very dim lights every few feet, leading down to... well, to where I did not know, but it must be to some basement that I was sure no other member of staff knew anything about. The study was on the ground floor, so it was most certainly a basement. Other staff members had often wondered why such a mansion did not have a decent basement. Sure it had an underground garage where Mr. Kane kept his Lamborghini, his Mercedes, his Ferrari, and his BMW SUV. But that occupied only a small part of the area underneath the footprint of the mansion and its grounds. Now I suspected there was more to it than meets the eye, and that curiosity pushed me forward.

And with that in mind, I started taking the first steps down the staircase. The lights were very dim, but they were enough to make out the steps without tripping. After about ten steps, the passage got narrower, and I descended another thirty steps or so before I finally reached the bottom, my heart now racing even faster. I realised I had descended more than the height of one floor, and I wondered why that would be considering there was nothing else under the house that I knew about. I wondered why he needed such height in the basement. Perhaps tall furniture? Soundproofing? The latter idea made me shiver though I did not exactly know why.