Bondage a la Carte

Chapter Five-3

“Well, give me some sort of location I’ll be going to so I know I am dealing with a company that is governed by our federal laws.”

“Your federal laws do not apply to us.”

“What protections do I have then?”

“If you wish to leave the country, you will be flown to a location where the only laws you need worry about are ours.”

“How far away would you take me?” he pressed, feeling a certain tightening in his stomach.

“You could go to one of our primary care facilities. The nearest are at least three hours from where you are, according to your incoming call.”

“By car?”

“Certainly not.”

“By plane?”

“Yours or ours?”

“Yours.”

“Approximately six and a half hours door to door.”

“Do I need a passport?”

“Yes. Among other things, for identification and security. You supply that and we hold it until you return home.”

“Can I bring a friend?”

“Yes, providing they supply the same personal data as you do and they meet our specifications.”

“Even if I vouch for them?”

“They still need proper ID.”

“Can I get laid?”

“Of course.”

“More than once?”

“Of course, time providing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can do anything you want within our parameters. How long you take at whatever enterprise you pursue will determine what you can do.”

“Can I do the whips and chains thing?”

“With some caveats, yes. We have a simple code of ‘hurt but do no harm’. Also, the sub, the recipient of your attentions, must agree and whatever you do must be consensual. Since we service both sides of the coin, so to speak, this is normally not a problem.”

“Both sides?”

“Male and female. Top and bottom. Sub and dom. Straight and gay.”

“Well, then, today is Tuesday. Can I go this weekend?”

“We’ll need time to verify your credentials, medical, and other data, but it can be expedited if you wish. If everything is in order, we can take you from a nearby airport on Friday afternoon and you can return in seven days to the same place or to another of your choice.”

“How do I verify your…ah, credentials?”

“First of all, I’ll tell you yours. You are an executive officer of Calolus National Bank and on the Board of Filletes, Ltd. If you contact the chairman or CEO of either and give him or her a password, which I’ll supply, they will verify that we are legitimate.”

“Gees. How do you know this?”

“Sir. We are discrete and highly experienced professionals. Do you wish to proceed?”

“Yes. I’m not a neophyte in this arena either, so I will leave information with a trusted associate about my contacts with you should anything untoward occur while I’m gone. Can you assure me that you will meet my needs and that it will be worthwhile?”

“We are aware of your interests. When you initiated this call, your background data were almost instantly processed. We know quite a bit about you already: your financial situation, your job, your family, your education, your military record, your residences, your on-line usage, and so forth. Fortunately, you have, either intentionally or by accident, furnished a great deal of personal data to Tracebook and other similar social networks. Those services, despite their promises to the contrary, anxiously offer us virtually every piece of personal data they have on you. If you did not meet our criteria for membership, we would have refused you already. However, just as a personal recommendation, we strongly urge our members to restrict themselves to truly confidential resources, as few as there are. The public social networks are very dangerous to people like you, Mr. Greg.”

“I have heard that. I started with them when it was new and everyone did it. I guess I just let it lapse. I had heard that they sold private, personal data, I just never believed it, despite the cases of breach of privacy they seem to be constantly entangled in. I’ll close those accounts out today. Thanks.”

“You are welcome, but I must also warn you that getting out is much harder than getting in and it is all but impossible for you to recover data they already have…even if you die.”

“Well, let me deal with that. I need your assurance of full and complete confidentiality.”

“Your CEO will confirm that,” the woman assured him. “Our service is guaranteed. If you are not totally happy, your money will be refunded…less the deposit, of course.”

“Okay. Where do we go from here?”

“You just proceed with your business today as you normally would. You will hear from us shortly. I suggest that, for your piece of mind, you have a chat with Brian Masterson, the Chairman and CEO of your firm. He knows you and your proclivities, so be open, candid and honest. He has no interest in harming you as long as you follow the program to the letter.”

“I see. Is there a choice of sites?”

“Yes. Where do you want to go?”

“I’d like to be at least eight hours from home, by air.”

“It shall be done. Anything else?”

“No. I may think of something else. How do I reach you?”

“We will remain very close. In about two hours, you will get a delivery. The package will contain more helpful information and a special mobile telephone. In three hours, at 7:30, you’ll get an encrypted call on that cell. Take the call where you can talk without being overheard or monitored. If you have additional needs, tell us then. Otherwise, you should be prepared to travel to a nearby airport not later than noon, Friday. Our vehicle will pick you up at your home. It will look exactly like the private car you usually use. Bring nothing but your passport. All of your needs will be met and you will undergo a security screening that is most easily completed if you wear light clothing with no metal.”

“Bring NOTHING?”

“Correct.”

The line went dead.

The preliminaries were not simple, but he got plenty of personal attention throughout the process. After forty-eight hours of faxes and phone calls, electronic funds transfers and miscellaneous other petty annoyances, he was finally seated in a comfortable, fully reclining leather seat in a new Gulfstream 650, a top of the line charter jet with a crew of four, heading, he thought, southwest. Once at cruising altitude, he was offered either hot or cold meals. He opted for a light snack of a small salad, sliced rare filet mignon on a fresh baguette and a single glass of wine. In the curtained off area behind his seat he found a fully equipped bathroom and a carefully made up bed with a real mattress.

The flight attendant offered him a set of cotton pajamas, asked if there was anything else he needed and told him the flight would take about eight hours. She said they’d wake him an hour before landing and bid him good night. The windows were deeply tinted, a feature controlled by the cockpit crew to the point where nothing outside could be seen and no light entered or escaped the cabin.

Not quite eight hours later, feeling somewhat jet-lagged, but reasonably fresh, he stepped off the plane and immediately felt the heat and oppressive humidity that he associated with the tropics. That fact narrowed down the possibilities of where he was.

He was escorted quickly into a waiting, dark blue Mercedes S550 sedan with a driver wearing a shoulder holster with a large frame semi-auto pistol and bodyguard with a 12-gauge shotgun in the front seat. In a minute, they were out of the airport and speeding through the suburbs of what he decided was Brasilia, Buenos Aires or Santiago. Like the aircraft, the Mercedes’ windows were darkly tinted and he didn’t bother trying to see what was passing outside. He had made too many long business trips to worry about the terrain and landscapes near the airport. It was raining and the surrounding countryside was shrouded in early morning fog.

He really didn’t care which city it was, but he considered that if the people he was going to see looked anything like the two flight attendants on the charter, he was in for an exciting weekend. He had not failed to notice that both young women, who were perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five, wore unique gold jewelry on their ankles, wrists and neck. The bright, thin cuffs and collars didn’t seem the least bit out of place, but were unusual enough to indicate that these women were employees of the agency with which he was now a client. The Story of O, which he’d first read years before, came back to him as he settled into the car’s luxurious leather seat and sipped a cold beer provided by his hosts. The beer, he noted, was an expensive, West Coast brand, not foreign.

The two men in the front seat didn’t speak, other than to ask if there was anything else he needed. His response was simply that he needed to get where they were going and get a shower.

“It will be the best shower you’ve ever had, my friend,” said the man in the shotgun seat. “I can promise you that.” His voice was friendly, neutral and without any accent.

“Fine. How long until we get there?” he asked, grateful for the air conditioning in the Mercedes and trying to keep track of their route, although the car’s windows were so darkly tinted that not much of the passing scenery was visible. It had been the same on the aircraft, although he was reasonably sure that he saw what looked like an ocean off to the right as they landed.

The car went through an automatic gate and then proceeded slowly up a gravel drive, the stones lightly hitting the fender liners and somewhat muffled by the rain and wet ground. The car stopped in front of a fog-wrapped stone building.

“We are there,” the escort said.

The shotgun man got out, walked around the car, opened the left rear door and said, “Right up these stairs, please, Mr. Greg. They are waiting for you, Sir. Have a great time. We’ll be here Sunday night to take you back to an airport.”

The “an airport” didn’t register with him at the time, but the broad marble staircase leading up to a huge, dark wooden door of this country manor house was imposing enough to distract him. The door opened before he was there and two men in well-tailored, dark wool suits, starched white shirts and black ties, which seemed to be the corporate uniform, welcomed him graciously.

The inside of the house was as impressive as the jet, the car and the surrounding land: well tended, quiet, secure, elegant. He followed the two men to a room down a well-lit hallway. They opened a door for him, showed him his quarters and suggested courteously that when he was ready, to simply press a button next to the door and someone would take him to his “appointment”.

“Should you need anything in the meantime, just say ‘phone’. The audio monitoring system will pick up your word and ask what you desire,” the guide said. “And please, Mr. Greg, do not leave this suite for now. We maintain very high level security for all of our guests and so, until you are more familiar with our systems, we ask that you remain in your quarters. I hope you don’t find this inconvenient.” Handing him the coded room key card and bowing slightly, the guide backed out the door as he closed it.

“A quarter million bucks and I get confined to quarters,” Greg said to himself as he surveyed the suite of four rooms. Aside from the entry and the main living room, there was a massive bedroom with adjoining bath, a small pantry and a room that said: Entertainment Center. As he was about to open that door, one of the small electronic devices on the wall clicked softly and a female voice asked, “Can I help you Mr. Greg?”

“Ah, no. Sorry. Just talking to myself,” he said to the wall.

“Of course, sir, I understand your comment. All of our new guests say that. Let me assure you that you can leave any time you desire. You are free to go. By tonight, you will have had a short security briefing and be able to go anywhere on the premises. I hope that will be satisfactory.”

“Thanks. I don’t mind staying put for awhile. I want to check out this suite anyway.”

“I understand completely, Sir. Will that be all?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“Enjoy your visit with us Mr. Greg.”

Greg used his keycard to open that door and was greeted by a series of lights coming on in the walls and ceiling of what was unquestionably the most complete dungeon he had ever seen. The collection of devices and implements was vast, with wall and glass cabinets displaying every sort of b**m gadget he had ever considered or used. There were some well built wood and metal devices that he thought only resided in museums and on movie sets: a platform with stocks, a massive torture wheel, two crosses, several whipping posts made of steel and wood, a very complex-looking rack, an iron maiden, a full suite of blacksmith equipment including a bellows with a gas-fired bed of coals, an anvil, an authentic-looking gallows, several coffins, metal and concrete burial vaults and hundreds of hand tools from whips and canes to simple police come-alongs and cuffs. Drawers in the chests held rope of all colors and sizes, chains, locks, collars, hoods, branks, gags, harnesses, shackles and cuffs.