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She opens, the sight of a cashier’s check most welcomed. There is also a note...
Kelly,
Your commission. I prorated the sale price of the penthouse at $3,500,000. If we receive more I will forward the difference. By the time you are reading this the girl will be immersed here at Nusquam... perhaps being caned... perhaps sucking off a member as she endures fellatio training. Her discomfort and servitude will be assured... in safety. She can look forward to many years of torment before ending her stay being worked in the pump house.
Do come and visit us sometime. As you know the plane leaves Teterboro every Friday afternoon.
Regards,
Director
The check brings a broad smile. It is seven figures. Perhaps indeed Kelly can now retire. Perhaps she will become a Nusquam member. She can now afford the annual fee.
The reference to the pump house also brings a smile. She conveniently neglected to describe that aspect of Nusquam life in enticing her client into volunteering for existence there and signing away her life. The horrid facility really is no longer a pumping facility, the large heavy capstans long ago converted to generate electricity... generated by the toil and sweat of those subjugants no longer deemed alluring or otherwise useful.
They are declawed, defanged and desexed then relegated to a long later life of heavy unending labor.
Even Kelly, so calloused to human misery, shudders with thoughts of the subjugants in heavy shackles endlessly pushing in circles, the heat of the tropics bringing constant streams of perspiration and rarely requited thirst.
Well, she consoles herself, that’s years away for the youthful Patricia Lamange.
Chapter Twelve
The once wealthy and well educated Patricia LaMange awakens. Confused, her consciousness slowly clears, cognition returns.
Her last memory was lying in bondage, the Segufix straps tight, bringing the strange sense of comfort in which she has come to revel. There come sounds, person or persons entering her apartment.
Miss Kelly returning so soon? It seems she just finished teasing her in near masturbation... ultimate orgasm denied Not likely. There are many other possibilities. She has issued many keys. But the locks have been changed.
Then the bedroom door opens, but with the only illumination remaining from the hall, her visitors to remain indistinguishable in the semi darkness. There comes a woman’s voice.
“This is going to be one of the easiest to wrap. She’s already snugly bound.”
The comment brings laughter, throaty male laughter. The intricate restraint system offers no ability to lift her head to view. Then something is tossed over her face... cloth... cool, moist and smelling of chemicals. And that’s it. Whatever the drug, a journey to dreamland beckoned... and it has seemed to be an unending trip.
Pattie finds she still cannot move. Normally this brings comforting thrill, bondage tight and controlling. But not now. She is not at her home, not under the caring auspices of Nurse Kelly... so strict... so firm... so matronly... and so safe. When she attempts to lift a leg, there comes the sound of crinkling plastic. Similar sound when an arm finds unyielding restriction. She begins to panic. In the darkness the unknown frightens.
There comes a voice, close by, as if someone is whispering in her ear. Then she realizes earpieces have been inserted.
“Welcome, 128. Welcome to Nusquam. Your new home... your last home.”
The voice is deep, somewhat whispering, the gender indistinguishable.
There comes light, narrow, the beam limited. Pattie, in lying supine, looks straight upwards, head remaining immobile. She looks into a mirror on the ceiling directly above. There is a reflection... and it shocks. Is that she? Could it really be?
It is a face and head. Bald now with eyebrows removed to bring eeriness. But worse, prominently imprinted on the forehead... her forehead? Are the numerals... 1... 2... 8. Such are large... and in black. If a tattoo, never to be removed without significant scarring. More likely never to be removed!
Pattie emotes. Tears form. The reality of her voluntary new existence dawns. It is no longer voluntary. How can she ever again present herself in public?
“What is your name?” the voice returning.
“Patricia LaMange.”
With her reply there comes an instant jolt... painful... where a girl feels much... and prefers tenderness. Something has been inserted, a dildo... deep and thick... and it delivers a shock well into her viscera.
“What is your name?”
As the voice repeats, the spotlight highlighting her forehead blinks, the numerals 128 seeming to be even more prominently displayed. She stares into the mirror. She notes plastic about what little of her body she can see. She recalls the woman intruder’s brief comment before succumbing... ‘one of the easiest to wrap’. Like a leftover morsel of food, Pattie begins to realize her immobility is no longer due to the Segufix straps, but instead that she is encased in plastic, her moist skin stifling and irritated by her own perspiration.
