Under His Thumb

The only thing louder than the sound of slurping was the heavy breathing. Bent in an awkward position over Leslie's crotch was the elegant form of a woman with a heart shaped bottom. Her hair cascaded over her face.

Two suits were vigorously pumping themselves into a lather. The young woman on the screen rode Leslie's boot like an equestrienne. The sight was just too much for the Viagra challenged executives. Accompanied by strangled grunts, anemic jets of fluid streamed across the theater seats. Once recovered, they lit the customary Cohibas and imbibed a glass of port as they contemplated the video clip of Lindsay Wilson, Protege of the Month.

The private media center was used to screen collections of clips that featured denigrated, nubile innocents, privately 'recruited' for the few, the powerful, and the well-heeled. The organization was called Sanspeur. Dick Hertz, Loren Leslie, and the other members of the Sanspeur shuffled morsels of young female pulchritude among themselves until they were no longer useful.

"She really wasn't that much of a challenge," panned Leslie, "If only she'd try to bolt from the room. At least the minx would have been a treat to tackle and gag. And I was so ready."

"I have to raise the bar on Miss Goody Two Shoes, who happened to ENJOY the crop!" complained Dick, staring dejectedly at the screen. "What a waste."

"It wasn't a TOTAL waste," Leslie chimed, as a smile curled on his lips.

"You bastard." said Dick with envy.

"Send her to Armstrong." prompted Leslie in his arched New England accent.

The silence was deafening as both men contemplated the suggestion.

"I don't know," hedged Dick. "He totally destroyed Jenna, not to mention cute, little Amy, who had to be put down."

Leslie nodded in agreement, "Yes, that was unfortunate."

"However," Dick's eyes sparkled with inspiration, "One of us could be there to oversee the breaking."

"Yes, yes...and I suppose it should be you. At least I got a crack at her first," baited Leslie as he sounded even more annoying.

Armstrong

Armstrong was his only name. People in certain circles trembled when they heard it. Well connected and owned by no one, he had the Sanspeur by the short hairs. Armstrong was the Janus of their world, where perversion was a prerequisite. Tall and raw boned, he resembled Nick Nolte on dress up day. His shock of white blond hair, worn a little too wild for a man of his stature, was gathered in a ponytail at the back of his neck. His face was a combination of a hopeless romantic cloaked with the coldness of Hannibal Lecter. This anomaly gave him an edge in seduction and collaring, a challenge he enjoyed.

He had gotten his feet wet in London where he became deeply involved in underbelly of BDSM. Over the years, he developed new techniques and fine tuned old ones. This was how he made a name for himself as an international slave trainer.

Worn down by a life, he was ready to retire at the ripe young age of sixty. As word got out about his impending retirement, the members of the Sanspeur made him an offer he couldn't refuse, which, to this day, remains classified.

He had autonomy to run the new training facility and hand picked staff. Special people did this kind of work, people who had been trained and were loyal to Armstrong. Truth be told, Armstrong was not without failure. In the past, several employees misused their authority and caused damage to inventory. Once discovered, appropriate measures were taken so that they fulfilled the damaged inventory's service themselves or die.

The Lindsay clip was sent to Armstrong who agreed to make the ingenue suitable for their purposes. Lindsay would be snatched without prior notice to the Sanspeur, for obvious reasons. No interference with Armstrong was allowed once the wheels were set in motion.

Monday, Monday

Lindsay writhed with cries and twisted sobs as she reached her long denied crisis. She was lost in space riding Dick for all she was worth while a naked Loren Leslie painted her backside with thin red lines. Her breasts were firm handles for Dick to hold on to while she rode him to oblivion. Leslie's shrunken balls were in sharp contrast to the flagpole he sported. He flicked a horsewhip at the bitch's back with expertise while he impatiently waited his turn. The permutations, highly charged, infused the sadistic lust of the participants. She was left pulsing and sated. As sweat dripped off her back and a light mist settled in between her breasts, she drifted off on a cloud.

The music alarm clock awakened her to the sounds of Edwyn Collins' "I Never Met a Girl Like You Before." Prompted to hum along, Lindsay stretched like a just-roused cat and rolled out of bed. She checked her pussy's dampness and jumped into the shower to wash away remnants of her dream.

Freshly showered and smelling like a newborn, Lindsay was faced the usual female dilemma, what to wear. Her closet was outfitted with a limited but stylish wardrobe, mostly geared for work. She settled on a Jackie O style Chanel suit. It was her favorite. The persimmon and chocolate colors of the boucle complemented her coloring. She contemplated the outfit she wore to Loren Leslie's office. It triggered the memory of her prone figure being kissed by the crop and she felt fluttery back flips in her stomach. She reached instinctively for her backside and smiled. Slut. She had enjoyed every damn degrading bit of it.

Running late as usual, she missed the train today. As she scampered to the lobby of her apartment building, a doorman hailed her last cab.

Snatched

Inside a van, two men who had been tracking Lindsay shook their heads. She appeared to be a creature of habit and relatively easy to snatch.

"It's almost like kidnapping a baby for crissakes," said Neal. "She's easy prey for a mugger."

Neal was an apprentice trainer under one of Armstrong's long time trackers.

"Don't get all soft on me. It's just cargo." warned Kiffer as he scanned the crowd for the perfect moment to nab her.

The cab dropped her off near the office. She was going to grab her usual cup of joe and muffin that she lived on for most of the day. As the sylph spilled out of the cab, she balanced perfectly on pencil thin stilettos.

"How does she walk in those things," questioned Neal with awe.

"Now," commanded Kiffer, jumping out of the van.

Suddenly, Lindsay was flanked by the men and dissolved into the crowd like melted ice cream on a hot day.

Cell phone in hand, Neal whispered the words, "Cargo is in receipt. Repeat. Cargo is in receipt, over."

The last thing she would remember was the pin prick.

She's Missing?

"Vera? Can you send Lindsay in, please?" asked Dick.

"She's not in yet Mr. Hertz."

He looked at his watch. She was an hour late. Dick blanched. She'd been snatched and the plan's been set in motion. There was no turning back now. He grabbed the phone.

"It's on."

At First Blush

Her Chanel suit was removed and underwear cut off. It was a shame, too, for it was Cosabella finery. For shits and grins, they left her pencil thin stilettos on. The long ride back would be a little prettier. Blissfully unconscious, Lindsay didn't suffer the pain and humiliation of being stripped and tied. Drool puddled under her chin. Her body was bound into a pretzel. It was unnecessary because she was not expected to stir for hours. As the van sped along the deserted highway, the trees looked like discarded matchsticks backlit by the evening sun.

The training compound looked like a Federal style house from the outside. Lindsay slept as the van approached the wisteria laden porte-cochere.

She was lifted out and carried to the keeping area where Armstrong was waiting.

"Put her in the cage," said he without looking up. He was reviewing a file folder, making notes, and marking up the margins.

Kiffer lifted the parcel of curves and bones that was Lindsay. She hadn't budged since the snatching. He placed her in the suspended birdcage.

"Wake her up." said Armstrong, shaking his leg impatiently.

He watched Kiffer inject her with a shot of adrenaline. The world came spinning down with a hammer slam. As she jerked, her lungs sucked air and words couldn't form in her mouth. Her eyes appeared dilated and unfocused. Kiffer looked at Armstrong anxiously and waited for the order to call the infirmary. Armstrong waved him down, as if allay his concern.

"The is a new method for bringing cargo back to earth. Relax," he said.

After a few minutes of sputtered choking, Lindsay whimpered.

Placidly, Armstrong conferred with Kiffer as if she wasn't there. As her lucidity returned, her eyes scanned the room, windows, and the door of the cage. She pushed the cage door and it squeaked like a rusty hinge. Lindsay lunged out of the cage only to be trapped by the stilettos caught on the metal grates. Mewling like a wounded animal, she fell half in and half out of the cage. After they struggled to untangle her, Armstrong helped Kiffer tether the rebellious captive to the intake chair.

"This little bitch needs a little more convincing that she's not in charge anymore. She's made intake harder than it should be." complained Armstrong as he handed the gag to Kiffer.

"Why didn't you follow procedure and drive home that point on the ride back?" he chided.

"Um..we had to sedate her immediately. Taken in broad daylight, any resistance would have brought too much attention." offered Kiffer lamely.

"See to it." Armstrong huffed as he walked out.

Kiffer surveyed the situation and pulled out the compliance kit.

"Neal," he called into his walkie talkie.

Lindsay's Shocking Experience

The Intake Chair was a custom piece Armstrong had commissioned. Outfitted with hooks, rings, restraint bars that were adjustable, the chair was an invaluable tool. The restraint set up for Lindsay resembled the letter T. Her head was pressed into the back of the chair and her neck fastened to the crossbar, leaving her immobile from the neck up. Her waist, wrists and ankles were secured to the frame with velcro straps. She looked like a pinned butterfly. Tears sprung from fear and frustration as the nubile executive, reduced to a naked, bound captive, tried shake herself loose. She used whatever energy she had left to push against the bindings, but to no avail. Lindsay prayed for this to be a bad dream.

Kiffer approached as Neal looked on, "Look at their eyes when they are told they are nothing but holes."

Sure enough, her eyes opened up to the size of saucers, for it was not just the statement Kiffer made, but the work table with metal instruments that he rolled over to her. The shiny, stainless steel tray, spotless and antiseptic, contained an assortment of clamps, pincers, and other items that were foreign to her. Below the tray was a metal box with dials, knobs, and wires. This left no doubt that the outcome of this situation would be grim.

As he reached for the wires coming out of the electrical box, Kiffer explained how to use the equipment.

"See the tiny teeth in these clamps? They don't cause permanent damage but they grip the skin effectively. The wires at the end lead to the box that controls the amperage. What's that, you may ask. Amperage is the strength of the electrical current discharged through the clamps. Yep, we are going to attach these babies to her nips. Won't that be fun." he said as he tested the 'hot' clamps on his finger.

Neal grabbed Lindsay's right breast to hold still for the clamp. Throwing Neal daggers with her eyes, she jerked and complained behind the gag. Kiffer pinched the areole between his thumb and forefinger and applied the implement. Neal energetically stepped to the other side of the chair to tweaked the left nipple for the other clamp. Her torso moved like a cobra as the pincers had firm hold of her nipples. While Lindsay struggled to adjust to the pinching of the clamps, Kiffer turned the power dial to its lowest setting. She stopped squirming as a slight tingling teased her nipples. He turned it up a notch and the result was amazing. As her fingernails dug into the armrest, her toes curled up and stayed that way until the zap was over. She struggled to catch her breath like a woman between pushes in labor. This went on for about five minutes until her head fell forward, exhausted into oblivion. They quickly removed the clamps and Kiffer checked her heart with a stereoscope. He grabbed a bucket of cold water and splashed her. Jolted awake, she was dazed and confused.

As Kiffer made notes, Neal circled Lindsay like a tiger, his hardon tented his pants. Kiffer laughed. He sported one too.

"Call the boys, it's baptism time."

Neal pulled out his cell phone and called all available staff to the intake room. In no time, the men took their usual positions in front of the chair. They pulled down their pants, aimed their dicks in Lindsay's direction and christened her into a life of submission. She shut her eyes to protect them from the biting spray of urine as they laughed and called her a piss-mop.

*

Author's note: Patience. Please don't be annoyed with me. I'm polishing up the next chapter. Don't want to spill the beans all at once. (Smile!)