by Rod Harden
"So it was Jim?!"
"Yes. I'm sure of it. Payne's tracing the source of the funds now."
"So what are you going to do, sir? How are you going to get her back?"
Sanders smiled warmly. “You're so sure I want her back?"
"Of course you do! And ... I do too."
"Yes, I know. But I haven't decided what to do yet. I have a feeling about who's behind the money, and if I'm right it won't be easy."
Sanders drummed his fingers on the desk, lost in thought, while Lindsay nestled her head in his lap again. Presently, she said, “Tom? Sir?"
"Hm?” he said absently.
"You called me ‘precious’ just now. You haven't called me that for a long time."
He blinked away the train of thought he'd become sidetracked on and glanced down at her. “You're right. When I thought you had betrayed me ... And what I would have to do about it ... Well, it just reminded me, I guess."
"Thank you, sir. And I know you feel bad about Jim, but as long as I'm down here, maybe I can help you forget your troubles for at least a few minutes."
He sighed and leaned back as she slowly lowered his zipper. “Yes,” he said, “that's precisely what I need right now."
CHAPTER 20: BRENDA'S MAID SERVICE
Brenda's toes rested once more on the top of the box. The Senator had wheeled it back in place.
"Thank you, sir,” she sighed in relief.
His hands came to rest on her breasts, and his fingers squeezed deep into her yielding flesh. “Don't be thanking me, little gal,” he said. “I only did it to steady you so I can get a good grip. Harder to grope a moving target."
As his hands roamed along her body, Brenda knew he wasn't joking, but it still felt infinitely better to stand on something solid than the alternative.
"Senator,” she said, deciding to press her luck, “could you take off this hood, please? It really hurts my head."
"I might just oblige that request. But I was going to do it anyway. I just happen to like watching a pretty face while I take my liberties with her."
Brenda decided removal of the hood would be a definite improvement anyway, especially as he was no doubt intent on taking “liberties” with her whether she was hooded or not. It seemed to take him forever to untie the knot, and then to loosen the laces enough to slip the hood off her. Silently, she kept telling him to hurry.
With the blindfold finally lifted, she blinked and squinted to become accustomed to the light again. But the ache in her head vanished almost immediately, which was the important thing. In the meantime, the Senator had taken an interest in the belt and strap between her legs.
"Now,” he said, “let's just see what got put in your storage compartments.” He unbuckled the strap and began to slide the huge dildo out of her pussy. “Hoo whee!” he cried. “Pumpkin, y'all brought out the big guns for this little gal. I'm surprised this thing could fit!"
"It was a tight squeeze,” remarked Mrs. Morrison. “For such a slut, she has a tight little twat."
"I'm not a slut!” protested Brenda. She glared across the room at the missus. The woman was not at all the way she had pictured her. She was actually rather attractive. Her age was obvious in her face, but she had managed to keep her body relatively slender. The hateful spark in her eyes, however, made Brenda shudder and she wished she hadn't spoken out.
"Y'all better watch that tongue, gal,” warned the Senator. “I can control my pumpkin only when I'm home, which isn't all that often. Y'all get her mad, and I can't be held responsible for what happens when I'm out."
Brenda decided to heed his warning. “I—I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to contradict your pum—um, Mrs. Morrison."
"I see she plugged up the back door, too,” continued the Senator as he pried the plug from Brenda's anus. “She must have taken quite a shining to you, gal."
"She's a liar and tart,” announced Mrs. Morrison. “Just like all the others. But I do appreciate having a new one to play with. Where did you say you got her?"
"Haller's operation. Y'all might say I got her for a steal!” he chuckled.
"Well, whatever you paid, it was too much."
"He didn't pay anything," broke in Brenda again. “He kidnapped me!"
"Is this true, Charles?"
"Oh, now, I wouldn't rightly call it a ‘kidnapping'. It was more of an ‘unauthorized borrowing'. Heh. Got the idea from Jeremy. He's a sharp one, that boy. But anyway, what does Sanders care? He can just go out and ‘hire’ himself a new one."
"That's true,” said his wife. “But won't he be mad at you when he finds out? You'll still want to use his airline, won't you?"
"As a matter of fact, pumpkin, I intend to call him soon and smooth things over with him. And as far as ‘borrowing’ this little gal is concerned, I have a feeling he'll be thanking me for finding the holes in his security system."
"Well, I wouldn't know, Charles. You're the politician. But before you call, would you help me get the slut ready to make herself useful?"
"Sure thing, pumpkin! Y'all lower the rope and I'll make sure she doesn't fall. Heh."
His concern for Brenda's wellbeing was soon revealed to be little more than another reason to run his hands all over her.
"Easy does it,” said the Senator, manhandling Brenda as she stepped off the box. “There! Now let's just get y'all out of those mittens, too. Pumpkin sure has interesting ways to make a gal helpless, doesn't she?"
"Yes, sir,” said Brenda, with a nervous glance toward the wife.
"Oh really, Charles!” exclaimed Mrs. Morrison. “I learned everything I know from the Master himself."
"Heh,” chuckled the Senator with a wink at Brenda. “Where y'all fixing to put this one to work, pumpkin?"
"She'll be helping out upstairs. For now."
As the Senator removed the mittens, Brenda gratefully flexed her fingers. “Oh, that feels good,” she said. “It was torture not even being able to unclench my fists."
"Whatever,” muttered the Senator. “By the way, what was your name, gal?"
"My name's Brenda."
"I meant what did Sanders call y'all? What was your number?"
"Ten."
"Oh right. Of course! I remember now. Well, y'all will have to get used to another new name, ‘cause pumpkin likes to give all our gals her own names. Pumpkin, y'all got this one's name picked out yet?"
"Cunt!” said Mrs. Morrison, without hesitation.
"Y'all hear that, Cunt? Your name is Cunt from now on, Cunt."
Brenda's face reddened at the thought of being referred to as ‘cunt'. But she hadn't given up hope that Sanders would get her out of this madhouse.
"Here's her outfit,” announced Mrs. Morrison, handing a small box to her husband.
Shortly, Brenda found herself wearing a classic French Maid's outfit: a short black dress with puffy sleeves, white lacy apron, and fishnet hose. She balanced atop clear plastic shoes with wide ankle straps and equally clear acrylic six-inch heels and one-inch platforms. The virtually invisible shoes made it look like she was standing on her toes, hovering just above the floor.
The senator watched, grinning, as she dressed herself. When she was done, he took one more item from the box to complete her outfit. It was a leather sleeve into which he stuffed her arms behind her. As he adjusted the buckles, Mrs. Morrison attached a chain leash to her collar and headed for the stairway.
"You can start by dusting one of the guest bedrooms,” said Mrs. Morrison as she led the bound girl up the steps.
"But how can I dust with my arms bound like this?” asked Brenda even though she had a feeling she wouldn't like the answer.
"With a feather duster, of course, Cunt."
"But—"
"What did I tell you about whining? I have no qualms about giving you another good whipping before you get started."
Brenda bit her lip and followed along. As soon as they entered one of the upstairs rooms, she saw the feather duster sitting on the dresser a
nd whimpered at what she saw.
At first it appeared to be a typical duster, with ostrich feathers bundled at the end of a short handle. But the other end of the handle was embedded in a large rubber ball with straps attached to it.
Brenda's instinct about how the modified duster was meant to be used was confirmed immediately as Mrs. Morrison pushed the ball into her mouth and strapped it snugly in place. The duster was left protruding from Brenda's mouth. Then the woman stooped down and connected Brenda's ankles with a short chain.
"Now get busy, Cunt. I'll be back in thirty minutes with white gloves, and I better not find a speck of dust anywhere in this room. Clear?"
"Mm hm,” mumbled Brenda.
With that, Mrs. Morrison turned and left the room, leaving Brenda alone. The bound and hobbled maid looked around nervously and decided to start where she was, at the dresser.
She hadn't gotten far before the door opened again. It was the Senator. He had taken off his suit and wore only a pair of boxers. Brenda stopped and gaped at the expanse of his rotund belly, which promptly began jiggling as he broke into laughter.
"I know I'm an impressive sight, gal, but I suggest y'all focus on your job. Don't pay me no never mind; I just like to watch.” He started toward the bed, and then stopped. “Oh, almost forgot."
He had a pair of clothespins in his hand, which he nonchalantly clamped onto her tits, right through her dress. Then he plopped down on the bed and leered at her as she tried to get back to work.
By the time Mrs. Morrison returned, Brenda was sure she had covered every surface in the room with the duster. The Senator had long ago fallen asleep and was snoring loudly on the bed.
"Charles!” said Mrs. Morrison. He jerked awake, sputtering. “Weren't you planning to call Mr. Sanders tonight?"
"Oh right. Thanks, pumpkin.” He rolled himself out of the bed, scratched his crotch and headed for the door.
* * * *
Sanders was just about ready to call it a day. Payne had not been able to trace the funds yet, so he figured he might as well get some sleep. As he stood up to leave his office, the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Sanders! Is that you answering your own phone?"
"Yes, it is. How are you, Senator?"
"Fine. Fine. Y'all must have that there caller I.D."
"Not on this phone, actually."
"How'd y'all know it was me?"
"Oh, I could just tell, Senator."
"Heh. Well, you know what they say, Sanders, you can always tell a Texan, but you can't tell him much!"
"So I've heard,” said Sanders with a forced chuckle. He rolled his eyes, having heard the same collection of sayings from Morrison for years now. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?"
"Actually, Sanders, it's more like I can help y'all. Not sure how to say this nicely, so I'll just blurt it right out. I got your gal."
"What are you talking about, Senator?"
"Don't play dumb, Sanders. Your missing gal. I got her."
"I see.” Sanders face flushed with anger. The nerve of this guy, calling to gloat! “Why are you telling me?"
"I just wanted to spare y'all some trouble, trying to figure out where she got to."
"Am I supposed to be grateful?"
"Heh. No, I guess that would be a little much to expect at this point. I bet y'all're pretty pissed right about now."
"You might say that."
"Look, it's nothing personal, I just took a shining to her and thought she'd go nicely with my other gals. The wife's taken a fancy to her as well already."
"How nice. Is there a reason you didn't wait to just purchase her?"
"Not really. Got the idea when Jeremy—that's my aide who was on the flight the other day—"
"I remember him, Senator."
"—When he asked about why somebody doesn't just take one of your gals. Anyway, I just decided, what the hell? Why not? I suppose y'all've figured out I had a little help by now."
"Yes. It was pretty obvious."
"Y'all shouldn't be too mad at her—"
"Her?"
"Yes. What's the gal's name ... Number Twelve."
"Oh, I see what you're doing now! You're trying to add to the misdirection. But it's too late, Senator. I've already figured out who helped you. I just hadn't confirmed who he was working for yet. But you'll be pleased to know you were my top pick. In any event, I've already given Mr. Gibson his walking papers, so to speak."
"I see ... Well, I reckon I may have underestimated y'all, Sanders. But then again, it don't take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep."
"No, it doesn't. Look ... You were blunt with me, so I'm going to be just as blunt with you, Senator. You stole something that belongs to me. What makes you so sure I won't come after you?"
"Because I know y'all're not that dumb, Sanders. I may have underestimated y'all, but don't make the mistake of underestimating me. This ain't my first rodeo, boy. I am a U. S. Senator. And before that I was a self-made millionaire. Or billionaire. Hell, I don't even know how much money I got. Anyway, I have connections from the local school board all the way up to the state supreme court. Make no mistake, Sanders: I can take y'all down before y'all even start to commence to think about coming after me."
Morrison paused and Sanders said nothing for a moment, silently fuming as the impact of what had just been said sank in.
"Now look,” continued the Senator, “I admit I may have crossed the line a mite, but there's no going back now, Sanders. Y'all should just forget about this particular gal, and do what you do best. In other words, don't worry ‘bout the mule, son, just load the wagon."
Sanders clenched his teeth and hissed into the phone, “I ... I suppose you're right."
"That's the spirit! And I'll still be doing business with Haller Airline. If y'all will still take my money, that is. And y'all are in business to make money, right? Anyway, Jeremy will be calling again tomorrow with more specifics on our next flight."
"Very well, Senator. Goodbye."
An hour later, Sanders was still in his office. The passionate strains of Mozart's Requiem filled the air. He sat brooding, having tried and failed to put Brenda out of his mind. There was no way he could just forget about her. Or let Morrison get away with what he'd done. But what could he do about it?
He stood and retrieved his dog-eared copy of Steppenwolf. Often when he was at a loss, he could find inspiration in the anguished tribulations of its hero. As if guided by an outside force, he flipped right to the end, to the part where Harry Haller enters several of the mysterious doors inside the surreal “Magic Theater".
Sanders skimmed through two of the sections, the doors labeled, “Marvelous taming of the Steppenwolf", and “All girls are yours.” But nothing clicked.
And then he turned the page, and his blood went cold.
Of course! he thought. That's the answer! He stared at the page without seeing the words anymore as his mind raced ahead, planning, scheming. Staring back at him from the book was the name of the next door:
"How one kills for love"...
CHAPTER 21: LA PETITE MORT
Brenda waited nervously as Mrs. Morrison ran her white-gloved finger along every surface she could find. When she had circled round to where she started, she peered at the glove. Brenda could see it was spotless and heaved a sigh of relief.
"Well,” Mrs. Morrison sniffed, “you'll have to be punished anyway, Cunt. I don't like your attitude."
Brenda whimpered and retreated a step.
"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about.” Just then the Senator returned to the room. “How'd your call go, Charles?"
He chuckled and said, “Why that boy was madder'n an old wet hen when I told him I got his gal. But we reached an understanding."
"That's my Charles. Always the diplomat. Or did you just threaten him?"
"Now, what do you think, pumpkin?” They both laughed at that. Brenda assumed the Senator must have threatened Mr. Sanders, though h
ow, she had no clue. Meanwhile, the Senator turned to her and said, “Y'all might as well get used to this place now, Cunt. Your old boss won't be coming to take y'all back, if that thought ever entered that pretty blonde head of yours."
Brenda shook her head and retreated another step away from the pair of lunatics she was trapped with. It couldn't be true, she thought, what he said about Mr. Sanders. He would never just give up on her. Would he?
She took another step backward.
"Now where do y'all think you're getting to there, Cunt, gal?"
"I was just saying, Charles, that she needs an attitude adjustment."
"All in good time, pumpkin. Right now, though, it's late and I just want to tie y'all to the bed and fuck your brains out."
"Why, Charles!” exclaimed his wife, blushing. “What about Cunt?"
"She can have some too if I'm up for it. Or she can just watch. Now, come on, the both of ya!"
Not seeing any alternative, Brenda followed along to the master bedroom. She prayed the Senator would not, in fact, be “up for it” as the prospect of having sex with him turned her stomach.
Inside the bedroom, the Senator removed Brenda's duster-gag, and immediately replaced it with a “normal” one. He then plucked the clothespins off her nipples and strapped her tightly to a chair.
Before she knew it, he had his wife naked and tied down with her limbs spread out to the four corners of the bed. Then the portly old man climbed on top and humped her for several minutes, before letting out a big grunt and collapsing next to her. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, leaving both women tied where they were.
Brenda squirmed and moaned in her chair for a while, trying to get Mrs. Morrison's attention, but the other woman had apparently drifted off as well.
This is crazy, thought Brenda. I can't spend the whole night tied to a chair!
But there was no one else around to free her. Eventually, exhaustion from her day of torment and restrained labor caught up with her. Her head slumped forward and she dozed off.