Nusquam Beckons

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

“You’re intrigued with this facility, Linda. Whatever it’s called. Yet you know not where it is.”

The observation comes as Rhonda Flamboise’s hand extends, playfully pinching the plumped and hairless buttocks of Chrissy Boy. Humbly standing, made to present his nakedness to the stern woman of the U.S. Marshal’s Service, he blushes and giggles, embarrassed yet strangely appreciative of the attention.

“Very few do. Even the members are in the dark. The pilots must know, but are sworn to secrecy.”

“You know the jet, Linda. When it next lands at Teterboro we could sweat the crew. I’m sure we could make a case that they aided and abetted a known fugitive.”

“To what end? That wouldn’t assure Mansfield’s return. And the members have influence, lots of wealthy high level folks... not wanting to share knowledge of their kink and their quirky playground with anyone. And, well, it’s an idyllic setting. I’d join, given the financial means.”

“Manicure, pedicure, and made up in such detail. Very cute with his p***s being so small,” Rhonda blurts, the hand moving to graze over the slight cylinder of useless male anatomy.

“And getting smaller... it’s the hormones... or lack thereof.”

“I prefer them large... virile... able to stand... but only when I want it to stand. It’s a power thing.”

Linda nods, recalling again the encounter with Penny Osbourne and her steed... handling the chastised appendage... tantalizing to have it harden and rise for her... ah the thrill in knowing it will never ever again function as the male beast so much desires.

Watching Rhonda’s interaction with houseboy Chrissy, she concludes with certainty that unbeknownst to many Deputy Marshals of the New York office, the woman in charge is one of us. But how is it the woman manifests her need? for control... to satiate her desire... scratch the itch for degradation... assuage her disdain for the male?

“I met with Attorney Valance,” Linda deciding that with the beers at Harry’s, and bottle of wine shared, perhaps it is time to press her thoughts. “She told me some things that my friend Kelly Devers neglected to mention... intentionally or unintentionally. And it’s been spurring some thought.”

Linda notes the fingers of her boss have moved, tenderly kneading the empty scrotum, examining with unabashed intensity. Yes, the alcohol is working.

“Yes, how did the interview go?”

“I’ve not yet written it up. Been meaning to speak with you first. It may be best for us... being women of certain penchants... that what we’ve learned remain... under wraps. This place could prove to be useful... and lucrative.”

“Lucrative?”

“It seems in the constant search for subjugants there is the potential for commissions to be earned. Most are more or less consensual masochists, their need to satiate warped desires overriding their ability to function in the vanilla world, the ennui of normalcy bringing surrender.”

Linda pauses, seeing Rhonda Flamboise in thought.

“But there aren’t enough. Others are taken. If not to serve the prurient desires of the members than to labor. It’s how Muskrat Mike serves. And there is need for more. The commissions are sizable.”

“And we know of likely candidates...” Rhonda Flamboise completing the thought

Linda smiles, her quest, her intent understood.

“Miscreant fugitives. Who would know... who would object... if instead of being remanded to Federal custody they end up on a private jet to... wherever?”

Rhonda smiles, nodding in thought.

“Chrissy... open another bottle of Chablis,” Linda commands.

“Yes, another glass. We need to talk. I may have a messy diaper to change when I get home... but you have my attention.”