The Control Strap

by Rod Harden

  "Like this,” he said, as he slowly formed a knot “That's called the ‘Shelby'. I prefer it to the other knots. Now you do it."

  As she took over, his fingers grasped her nipples right through the shirt where they poked out from the rope binding her chest.

  "Mr. Sanders, I—I can't concentrate when you do that."

  "As my new assistant, you'll need to perform under pressure. Now do it."

  "Uh!” she panted.

  Her second attempt was worse than the first. Her third was somewhat better, but Sanders made her try again. The whole time, his fingers kneaded her swollen beads, pulling, twisting, and stretching them.

  "There!” she announced when she thought she had the knot right.

  Sanders’ fingers paused just long enough for him to glance at the finished tie. “Not bad,” he groused. He gave her nipples one last tweak, and then told her to put on the rest of the suit.

  The slacks felt big, but she assumed they were supposed to fit that way to hide her control strap. After slipping on the jacket and stepping into the men's style oxfords, she looked up at Sanders. “How do I look?"

  "Like a woman dressed as a man,” he laughed. “Correction. Like a gorgeous woman dressed as a very effeminate man with excited nipples."

  She giggled. “I feel pretty weird like this, but if it's what you want..."

  "It is."

  "Yes, sir. I—I'll do whatever you want me to, Mr. Sanders.” As she spoke the words, she thought about how true they were. It hit her like a blow to the gut how important it had become for her to please him. She still wasn't sure how she would have reacted if he had wanted to sell her, but she began to understand how Jackie probably felt obeying his final instruction for her to go off with the Sheik.

  Presently, she remembered how Lindsay, dressed as a man, had joined him in a smoke in the simulator on her first day. “Um, will I have to smoke a cigar, too?” she asked.

  "Oh, yes, the cigars ... Actually, I've given them up,” he said, with a laugh as if at a private joke. More serious again, he said, “You were a psychology major, right?"

  "Yes! How'd you know that?"

  "Your résumé, remember?” he said, chuckling again.

  "Oh, right."

  "We'll see how you do working with some of the accounts. Go up to the office now. I've instructed Number Twelve to show you how we handle customer service."

  "Yes, sir!” said Brenda, excited. She started to leave, and then stopped. “Um, sir? Will I still be working the flight tomorrow?"

  "Yes, Number Ten. You'll be the hors d'oeuvres girl again."

  "Thank you, sir. I mean ... Well, just thank you. I won't let you down."

  "I know you won't, princess. And if you do ... Well, I think you know by now that there are consequences."

  "Y—Yes, sir."

  * * * *

  Sanders watched his new assistant walk down the hall to the elevators. He didn't really believe Lindsay had worked through all her jealousy after just one night, but he'd seen how she had eventually softened toward Brenda. They'd be okay together in no time.

  The rest of the day, he sat in his office, reviewing files for potential new hires. He would need to replace Number Fifteen soon, and had already contacted a few prospects.

  In the outer office, he could hear Lindsay showing Brenda the ropes, so to speak. Though the phrase “you stupid bitch” figured prominently in her instructions, Number Twelve was behaving admirably. Sanders congratulated himself on how he'd handled the situation and let his thoughts wander to his first night with both of the girls together. He would have to make it soon.

  Unfortunately, it would not be that night. The next day's job involved flying first to Denver to pick up their six clients, and then on to Anchorage. It would be just the first leg of the men's week long Alaskan fishing trip, and he was sure it would the most memorable part as well. But for him and his crew it would be an especially long day by the time they returned to Dallas, and everyone would need to get plenty of rest that night.

  After showers, he told Brenda to put herself to bed, and went to tuck in Lindsay personally. He sat on the bed and watched as she put on the pink nightie she knew he liked.

  "I noticed you took a call from Senator Morrison's office this afternoon,” he remarked.

  "Yes, sir. He's interested in another trip. With some lobbyists this time."

  "You know I prefer to deal with the Senator myself, Lindsay."

  "I know, sir, but you weren't around just then. And, um, it was just one of his aides anyway.” As she spoke, she sat herself on his lap and snuggled into his embrace.

  "Hm, I see...” He would follow up on it the next day. At the moment, he had something more important to discuss. “So,” he said, “how's she doing?"

  "Who?"

  "You know who."

  "Number Ten? Not bad. She's a bit of a dim bulb, frankly, but if I hold her hand enough she catches on eventually."

  Sanders smiled at her transparent lies. He'd have to remember to punish her for it later. “I think you like her,” he said.

  "I—Of course, sir. You're always right, sir."

  "Yes, I am."

  "Well ... I suppose I do appreciate having the help. The client base has gotten so big lately, it was getting hard to keep up with all the accounts."

  "Good."

  He gave her a kiss and headed for his own room, which was also in the lower level. Some men were married to their careers; he chose to cohabitate with his.

  First thing the next morning, he was back in his office making last minute preparations for the Anchorage trip. Suddenly, Lindsay ran in. Her face was ashen and she looked like she was going to cry.

  He jumped to his feet. “What is it, Lindsay? What's wrong?"

  "Sir! It's Brenda, she—she—"

  "She what?!"

  "Sir, she's ... gone!"

  CHAPTER 18: WHERE'S BRENDA?

  Brenda's head pounded. It felt like it was pressed in a vise. She opened her eyes slowly and saw only more blackness.

  I must be awake before lights-on again, she thought. With no windows, no clocks, and no control of her own lights, she had to rely on the timed lamps to tell her when to get up.

  She lay back and moaned from the ache in her head. Her thoughts took her back to the dream she'd had. It was the most vivid dream yet. In it she was attacked in her bed as she slept. A man was on top of her, straddling her chest, his knees pinning her arms down. His strong hands easily took control of her head, with one hand gripping her by the hair and the other clamped over her mouth.

  She even recalled the smell and taste of the damp cloth he held over her mouth and nose. All she could do was breathe in and succumb to the effect of the fumes as they robbed her of consciousness. She shuddered as she recalled the horror of the nightmare.

  Feeling a sudden itch on her nose, she brought her hand to her face to scratch it, but try as she might, she couldn't get her hand to open. Something was holding her fingers together in a fist, and she couldn't spread them out.

  She lowered her hand to her mouth and tasted leather. Something's wrong here, she thought. Very, very wrong. With mounting alarm, she realized her nightmare had been no dream!

  She brought her other hand up and found it was similarly covered in leather. It was as if she were wearing mittens that were too small for her and had no thumbs. Thinking the strange mittens were simply buckled on, she tried to use her teeth to work the buckles, but tiny padlocks thwarted her efforts. As she explored them with her mouth she found that each mitten also had a small D-ring riveted in place at the tip.

  Frustrated and confused, she opened her eyes again, wider, staring into the darkness, and she realized she could see light after all. A thin sliver of brightness seeped in along the bottom edge of...

  A blindfold! She was blindfolded!

  She reached up to remove it, but discovered that her hands were useless. Trapped inside the small thumbless mittens, they were little more than stumps at the ends of
her arms.

  At that, she tried to sit up, but her head snapped back. A metallic rattle told her that her collar was chained down. She could only lift her head a foot or so off the mattress.

  Her alarm was fast turning into panic. She tried again to remove the blindfold, but couldn't get a grip on it. She tried tracing the edge of it, to see if there was a buckle she could work even with the mittens on, but soon discovered it was more than just a blindfold. She was wearing a hood that covered her entire head except her nose and mouth. In back she could feel laces that were pulled so tight that they dug into her scalp.

  No wonder my head hurts! she thought.

  She found where the laces were knotted, but without fingers to work with, there was no way she could loosen them.

  "Hello?” she called aloud, trying to still the quaver in her voice. “Is anyone there? Please. Where am I? What's going on?"

  She stretched her hand out to the side and found that the mattress she lay on was set directly on the floor. She continued feeling around, trying to orient herself to her situation. The mattress was little more than a thin slab of foam, and there was a hole in it to allow her collar to be chained to a ring attached directly to the hard floor.

  A noise nearby startled her. She froze and listened. The sound of someone else breathing became clear. She was not alone!

  "Hello?” she called again. “Please say something."

  Now she heard footsteps. The person came closer to her. A voice spoke. It was a woman's voice. Low-pitched, unfamiliar. Something about the voice suggested the speaker was an older woman.

  "Answer this question,” the voice said. “Do you?"

  Brenda blinked in confusion behind her hood. Do I? she wondered. Do I what? Aloud, she said, “I—I don't know what you mean."

  "Do you?” the woman repeated.

  "Please! What do you want? I don't understand."

  "Do you?!" the woman shouted.

  CRACK! The sound came from right next to Brenda's face. It was the sound of a whip or perhaps a belt being snapped against the hard floor.

  "Oh!” Brenda squealed and recoiled from the sound, only to be jerked back by the short leash on her collar. She could only crouch on her knees with her face on the mattress and quake before the unseen inquisitor.

  "Answer me! Do you?"

  "No!” Brenda blurted out at last, knowing her chances were fifty-fifty of getting the right answer.

  "Liar!" screamed the woman. Again the whip cracked, but this time, it landed across Brenda's exposed ass.

  "Ow!"

  Brenda's balled up hands flew back blindly trying to fend off further blows, but no more fell. “Please!” she panted, “I don't know what you're asking me!"

  Brenda squealed again as she felt the woman's shoe on her face. The foot pressed down gently but firmly, pushing Brenda's opposite cheek into the mattress.

  "Do you?” the woman asked once more.

  "Yes!" cried Brenda, her voice half muffled by the foam of the mattress. “Yes, I do. Whatever it is, I do. I swear!"

  She heard the woman chuckle and then snort in derision. “You're pathetic!” she spat. “So pathetic!"

  The foot lifted from Brenda's face and an instant later the whip cracked again, landing on her ass again, right next to where the first stroke's welt still stung. Brenda yelped and scampered to the side. Another stroke fell across her back. Then another. And another.

  With nowhere to run and unable to protect herself, Brenda curled into a ball, covered her head and wailed as the beating continued. She cried and begged her assailant to stop. She screamed for help. She pleaded for mercy. All to no avail.

  But eventually the whipping did end. Brenda heard the whip fall to the floor as her cruel tormentress tossed it aside. Then, without another word, but breathing heavily, the woman locked a pair of cuffs on Brenda's ankles. She chained them together, and then added another chain connecting her ankles to her collar. When Brenda tried to straighten out, she found the chain was too short to let her fully extend her legs.

  She heard footsteps receding, and the sound of a door opening and closing. Lying as still as she could, she listened until she was sure the horrible woman was gone.

  Alone once more, dazed, and hurting all over, the captive girl huddled into a ball and wept.

  * * * *

  Tom Sanders switched off the TV with an angry jab at the remote control and glowered at the man who sat across his desk. Brian Payne, Haller's head of security, swallowed nervously. They had just watched the surveillance tape from the night before.

  The recorded video couldn't have been any clearer. It showed two masked figures skulking down the hall to Number Ten's door. They opened it easily, disappeared inside for a few minutes, and then reemerged with a rolled up bundle.

  "How the hell could this happen, Brian?” demanded Sanders.

  "It couldn't, Tom."

  "But obviously it did!"

  "I know, I know. I've gone over the system with a fine tooth comb and it's working perfectly. There should have been an alarm as soon as any unauthorized access was detected."

  "And yet there weren't any alarms."

  "Right. So the only other explanation is that this was not an unauthorized access."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Tom, I don't know any other way to say this, but this had to be an inside job. Someone who knows how the system works and how to disable it."

  Sanders’ frown grew as he acknowledged Payne's conclusion. It was the same conclusion he had already come to, but it was especially troubling having it confirmed. Worse yet, there were only so many people it could be, and each one had earned his trust over a period of years or they would never be in the positions they were.

  He leaned back, took a deep breath and relaxed. It seemed an odd time to allow himself such a luxury, but after the flurry of activity earlier that morning, he felt he at last had a problem he could solve now, as opposed to an imposing mystery.

  And a mystery was exactly what he thought he was dealing with a few hours before. His immediate reaction had been to drop everything and figure out what had happened to his girl. But he also knew he had to set aside his emotions. His company had a commitment that day and he needed to follow through on it.

  First he'd had to arrange for one of his other sales reps to take his place on the day's flight, as he had planned to do it himself. He had also instructed Number Twelve to take Ten's place. She had been surprised by that and tried to talk him out of it, but he had persisted. She was the last thing he needed around when he had to think straight.

  Only after satisfying himself that the job would proceed as normal did he let his mind focus on the mystery of the missing Brenda.

  He brought his thoughts back to the present and looked up at Brian. “So,” he said, “as far as you can tell this entailed someone on the inside shutting down the alarm system just long enough for those two goons on the tape to get in and out again.” With one of my girls in their clutches, he added to himself.

  "Yup. That's pretty much it."

  "Good."

  "Good?"

  "Yes, good. That means the problem's almost solved. We may not be able to call in the cops on this, but we can solve it the way cops would. It's obvious that this was no random abduction. There had to be motive as well as opportunity. Brian, as far as I'm concerned that leaves just two people."

  Sanders fell silent, reluctant to finish the thought.

  "If you tell me who you suspect, I can follow through from my end, Tom."

  "I know, I know. It's just so damn depressing. But no matter. See what you can find out about what Jim Gibson was doing last night."

  "He's one of your best pilots, Tom!"

  "I know. But he took an unusually keen interest in Number Ten right from the beginning. I can't imagine why he would feel it necessary to resort to something this stupid, but his interest in her is motive enough for me."

  "Okay. Shouldn't be too hard to verify where he was at the time. Who
's the other suspect?"

  "Number Twelve."

  The security chief stared at Sanders for a moment, and then nodded. “I understand. Again, it should be no problem to track her movements."

  "Okay. Get busy."

  * * * *

  Brenda couldn't tell how much time passed before her next visit. She had fallen into a troubled, fitful slumber and was startled awake by the sound of the door. Without thinking, she scooted away from the approaching footsteps.

  "Going somewhere?” laughed the woman.

  "I—No! Please don't hurt me anymore."

  The footsteps came very close. They paused right in front of Brenda and she lowered her head to the mattress thinking the woman was going to put her foot on her face again.

  Instead, the steps began to circle the crouching girl. On her knees, Brenda turned with the sound, trying to keep her face toward her tormentress.

  "Be still!” the woman commanded.

  Brenda whimpered, but stopped moving. The sound of the steps continued, off to her right, then behind her. There they paused again. She could hear the woman murmuring approval. “Mm hm...” Then the footsteps moved on, around to Brenda's left and stopping in front of her again. “He was right about you,” said the woman.

  Brenda shivered at the woman's cryptic remark. Who was “he"? What was he right about? Why were they doing this to her?

  The woman continued, “Think carefully before you answer this time. Now tell me: Do you?"

  "Yes!” cried Brenda at once, remembering what happened when she had guessed “no” the first time.

  "You didn't think about your answer."

  "B—But I do."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I—I—” Brenda froze. How could she be sure when she didn't even know what the question was? Suddenly, her mind snapped. “What do you mean, am I sure?” she shouted angrily, pounding her leather-wrapped fists into the mattress. “How the hell am I supposed to know? Damn it! You won't even tell me what you're talking about!"

  The woman clucked her tongue. “I see you need time to think about it."

  Brenda gasped as she felt the woman snatch up her wrists, twisting her arms painfully behind her. She yanked them upward and attached the “mittens” to a chain that must have been dangling overhead the whole time. Brenda felt the chain begin to inch upward, pulling her arms higher and higher.