First half of a two-part story about kidnapping and forced feminization. This chapter is mostly about describing the context and building up the necessary tension. The hardcore part will come in the second chapter. Be patient.
The black waters of the Saint Lawrence Gulf glowed darkly under the grey clouded sky. It was only mid-September, but the weather was horrible, and the icy wind kept hitting the boat. François wasn't prepared for it and his light windbreaker couldn't do anything to keep him warm. He rubbed his hands and looked back over his shoulders. The Canadian mainland was now little more than a thin brown line close to the horizon, but their destination was still nowhere to be seen. Feeling like he was about to freeze to death, he realized he could have been sitting in his studio apartment back in Paris, instead of suffering at the opposite side of the ocean. Still, nobody would refuse such an offer. It had happened only a few days earlier. One morning he'd checked his email and found a message from Hassan Kassé. Attached to it there was an official invitation to his private mansion in Québec and a first-class plane ticket to Montréal.
Strange indeed, but to understand the context, you had to know who Monsieur Kassé was. Born in a Parisian banlieue to West African parents, he grew up in a difficult neighborhood and with very little money. He started working when he was barely a teenager, but thanks to his strong will and sharp intelligence he managed to finance his college studies and build up a career in real estate investment. By the age of thirty, he'd already turned his home neighborhood into a fancy upper-class residential area. And as he reached success, his fortune kept growing. Some will tell his contacts with organized crime were pivotal in his activities, but truth is nobody was ever able to prove anything. As much as justice knows, Kassé was clean. When he turned forty, finance newspapers evaluated his net worth at over half a billion euros.
Then, almost as suddenly as he'd reached the spotlight, he disappeared. He didn't just stop making public appearances. He vanished. As you can imagine, every single blogger and journalist in France went crazy about it. For several months it looked like the whole country couldn't stop talking about him, even though after a while his lawyers assured that Mr. Kassé was fine and just wanted to leave the public scene. Still, almost a year passed before a clever French-Canadian blogger managed to solve the mystery. Thanks to some local contacts in Québec, she managed to find out how a North American subsidiary of one of Kassé's companies had bought an entire island off the coast around the Saint Lawrence. It was a very peculiar place to acquire a private island, not exactly the Caribbean paradise you would think of. Anyway, a simple satellite image search confirmed that someone was indeed building a mansion in the heart of the island.
As soon as the mystery had been unveiled, newspapers, blogs, TV networks and independent writers started pressuring Kassé's partners and coworkers to grant them an interview. Of course, they all failed. Apparently, Hassan Kassé didn't want to be found. Some even tried to reach the island, but they failed again. Not only the weather conditions were so difficult that such an endeavor was almost unthinkable, but the few who managed to reach the place were stopped, apprehended, and sent back on a police boat. Very soon these efforts stopped, and after three years even the most determined reporters had accepted the fact that interviewing Kassé wasn't an option. At least until Tuesday, when François had received that strange email. For a while he thought it was a joke, but a phone call with one of Kassé's lawyer confirmed it. So, he hadn't lost any time, he'd packed his stuff, and he'd left for the first real adventure in his professional life.
Finally, after a few hours of navigation, his destination appeared to sight. He turned to his only companion, the tall dark-skinned sailor who'd been waiting for him at the small port town where they'd met. He'd just told him his name, introducing himself as Amadou, but he hadn't said anything since then. François didn't meet his eyes and he understood there was no way to get him to talk. It wasn't surprising. He already knew how much Mr. Kassé liked privacy. So, he didn't even try to start a conversation with the laconic man, and he concentrated on the island.
By now their destination was well visible in front of them. On a satellite image it looked like a very small place, but it didn't seem so small now that they were reaching it from the sea. It was a round-shaped flat rocky island, almost completely covered by a thin pine forest. There wasn't any sign of human building or activity, so he supposed everything was hidden in the inner part of the island. After a while, as they were getting close to the place, he saw a single wooden dock stretching out from a grey cobble beach. He supposed that was going to be their landing spot.
He wasn't wrong. Eventually, after one of the longest and coldest trips in his life, they reached the dock and Amadou stopped the boat to let him go ashore. To his astonishment, however, he didn't follow him, but instead he only passed him his luggage and got the boat ready to go back as soon as possible. He also ignored François' puzzled expression.
"Wait on the beach," he said plainly. "Someone will come for you."
And then, just like that, he turned the boat and left for the mainland. François took his luggage and walked slowly through the dock until he reached the beach. He noticed there was a small gravel path which led into the pine forest, so he supposed that was the way to reach the mansion. However, before he could resolve to do anything, a person appeared from the opposite direction, emerging from the trees. It was the last kind of human being you'd expect to meet in the middle of a Canadian wood. It was a good-looking woman in her early thirties, all dressed-up in a fancy office outfit. She had long black hair, a pretty face, and a thin, slender body. Very strangely, considered the place, she was wearing a navy-blue skirt suit, a matching coat that she kept open, sheer nylons, and a pair of shiny stiletto high heels.
"Welcome to the island, Monsieur Dupont, I'm Isabelle, Mr. Kassé's personal assistant. I'm very pleased to meet you!"
"Nice to meet you too," answered François politely, still surprised by her look.
"I hope your trip wasn't too uncomfortable," she said, leading him through the forest. "We have a helicopter landing place, but we only use it for emergencies. Please, follow me, the mansion isn't far away."
He obeyed, happy to have a nice rear view of that pretty lady. It was amazing how gracefully she managed to walk on high heel even on that irregular path. Her pencil skirt was so tight she had to talk small, quick steps, but she didn't look tired. Instead, when she turned back to look at him, there was a warm smile on her perfectly made-up face.
"Mr. Kassé insisted to keep the forest intact. We only cleared the place we needed to build the mansion and the garden."
"It looks wonderful," he said, admiring the tall trees. "You're from Paris too, right?" he asked her, noticing the accent.
"Yes, I'm from Neuilly," she said, without adding anything else.
"And how long have you been working for Mr. Kassé?" he insisted, hoping to find more about the place before he met the owner.
"It's been eight years. I was hired as soon as I graduated from college."
"You must like your job very much," said François, trying to keep it casual. "I don't know a lot of young graduated who'd be willing to leave the city to move to a place like this."
For the first time since he'd met her, Isabelle lost her smile. She gave him a very strange look, but then she regained her control and smiled again. Still, François was sure there was something she wasn't ready to share.
"Yes, I love my job," she said instead.
Before he could press her more, they reached the garden. Actually, it was more a lawn than a garden, since the cold weather didn't allow for much to grow. The mansion, instead, was huge and very different from how he'd been expecting it. He thought it'd be a modern comfortable villa, but instead it looked more like a traditional Canadian castle from the colonial era. It was a two-story palace with dark-grey stone walls and wooden doors and windows. It looked solid, thick, and old-fashioned. Next to it, on the right side, there was a second smaller house. He supposed it was some kind of a service building.
He followed Isabelle to the main entrance, which was opened from the inside as soon as they reached the steps. Apparently, they'd been watching them. François really thought to be ready for everything by now, but instead his jaw dropped as he saw the person who was greeting them. It was a gorgeous young girl in a frilly French maid dress.
"This is Annette, one of our two housekeepers," said Isabelle simply.
"Very nice to meet you, Monsieur," said Annette with a graceful curtsy. "Welcome to Mr. Kassé's mansion."
François barely managed to answer, his mind confused by her breathtaking look. She was younger than Isabelle, maybe in her mid-twenties, and had long curly blonde hair. She was as pretty as the secretary, but more sensual and shapelier. Her full breast and round hips were enhanced by her tight-fitting uniform, and her legs looked fantastic in a pair of sheer pantyhose. She was wearing patent stiletto heels too. It couldn't be easy to do the housework on them.
"Please, come in," said the maid with another curtsy.
They entered a large, elegant hallway, decorated with paintings, tapestries, and refined pieces of furniture. It looked more like a Scottish castle than the residence of a Parisian millionaire. Annette took his luggage and invited him to follow her to his room.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dupont, but I have to go now," said Isabelle politely. "I'll be meeting you for dinner in a few hours. Unfortunately, Mr. Kassé is busy now, but he will be there too, of course, and he can't wait to meet you."
François greeted the secretary and followed to maid towards the right wing of the mansion. They entered a wonderful fireplace room, furnished as a refined living room. It was full of expensive piece of arts, burgundy red sofas, and furniture made of elegant walnut wood.
"It must have been complicated to bring all this wonderful stuff to the island," he said to the maid, who was walking gracefully in front of him.
"Yes, indeed," she confirmed, "but if Mr. Kassé wants something, he gets it."
She looked like there wasn't need for further explanations, so he didn't say anything else and followed her to the upper floor. In order to do that, they took a monumental wooden stair that led to the sleeping area. They arrived in a long hallway. Two series of wooden doors opened on both sides. However, François realized it wasn't long enough, so he had to be only half of the building. They made sure whoever slept in this wing didn't have direct access to the other half, which probably was where the owner's own bedroom was.
"Please, this is your room," said Annette opening the first door on the right.
François entered the bedroom and smiled. It was simple, but it looked fantastic. A nice window opened on the garden, letting the light come in from outside. There was a large bed, a few wooden pieces of furniture, and even a private bathroom with all necessary comforts.
"I'll let you rest, Mr. Dupont," said Annette. "If you need anything, you'll only need to press the button next to your nightstand. Dinner is at eight sharp. We'll be waiting for you downstairs."
He thanked her and started unpacking his clothes, but then he remembered he hadn't asked for an internet connection. He opened the door, but of course the maid had already disappeared. He decided it wasn't so urgent. He'd ask for it later. So, he finished folding his clothes, he took a long warm shower, and he took a nap to forget his unpleasant journey to the island.
