Darkness, and light.
Light, glaring from above and from below, Carrie felt as if she was on a stage, a grotesque display for her captors and that the next few minutes would be significant for her time in captivity. Standing bare chested in the grubby remains of her designer clothes, stripped of jewelry and accessories, she could not see who inspected her, but she knew that they were there in the darkness, beyond the white light.
Where was she?
That was the question that crowded her thoughts between moments of intense terror and dread. Hours in a van with the women who had been picked before the busses and the other victims had been sent over the precipice to their doom. Blindfolded and helpless, pushed and directed. Pawed and molested by the bandanaed men who secured them to the fetters in each van. So tired that she slept on the bouncing metal floor of the van despite the noises and terrible smell of fear. Stumbling out of the transport in the warmth of the sun, manhandled and seated, the thud of helicopter blades filling her ears. The queasy lift-off and then wild trip that brought her and the others to more vans, more long hours bruised and helpless.
Hands that enjoyed tormenting, between her legs and roving over her naked breasts. Chatter and laughter in Spanish and some other language. Darkness as the doors closed and then hours of travel over rough roads.
Who were they, their brutal abductors? What did they want? Were they open to negotiation? The questions remained unasked and no explanations were offered.
One thing was sure; they had been taken hundreds of miles from the scene of the kidnapping and the hope of rescue faded with every minute that passed. If there was to be no rescue, might there be ransom? Now the heat was oppressive. Almost wet with humidity, clammy and dripping with sweat, every movement was torture, each push that directed her taking Carrie further into nightmare.
Now they had reached a building of some sort and inside, out of the sun, they were spoon-fed and watered, sitting on the hard, rough concrete floor. A toilet break over holes in the concrete. Carrie heard the sobbing of the other victims, the shuffling and sighs, the footsteps of their captors but her intuition spoke to her: that they had reached their destination.
Hands lifted her, roughly pulling her to her bare feet. Urged and then walked the blindfolded Carrie with the others into cool corridors and smooth floors. Was she alone now? All she could hear was the clicking of heels on the tiles under her feet, the jingle of the chains between her ankles and the cuffs behind her back as she moved towards her destiny.
Veronica’s image once more came back to haunt Carrie; her arrival in Peru aboard the American Airlines SSL travelling in more than first class just like her and the way she had intended the abduction and supervised the murder of so many of the team, the officials and girl-friends like her. Anyone with even half a brain could see that these were no rag-tag group of rebels or revolutionaries or Mafia gangsters, emerging from the jungles of Peru to carry out a speculative kidnap in the hope of extorting a ransom.
She thought about the huge effort made to bring them to this place. The vans, all ready to receive them at exactly the right time, the helicopters, the journey, of hearing American accents! This all needed careful planning, the marshalling of significant resources…
By her side, lined up as if in a beauty contest, stood the others. Not in a coffle, but each restrained and pushed into position from the shadows by barely-seen abductors who were impersonal in their treatment of the victims. The gunmen were long gone, and it seemed as if they were in some sort of theater.
Carrie squinted and looked up and down the line. Players and wives, girlfriends and squad officials, only twenty in all. Just twenty from two full busses… She caught a glimpse of Mike at the far end of the row. Hunched and dazed, a heap of cowering muscularity squinting into the darkness before him.
By Carrie’s side, Valentina. Broken heels, tattered clothes, grubby, with her hair wild as she sweated in the oppressive heat. After her, Karl, the huge line-back, the only one standing tall.
She turned her gaze forward and peered into the blackness. The glare of the floodlights made sparks dance in her head, but now at last she could, see and see those who sat looking up at her and her colleagues on the stage. It was an auditorium, mostly unoccupied, white tiles on the floor that reflected the dazzle lights and figures resolving from the darkness, occupying the comfortable cinema-style seats. As her eyes adjusted, she saw four or five women chatting together in the shadows. Three of them in long white coats, the other two, fashionably dressed, looking, inspecting.
“These are for Crimson and Roan,” said a female voice, “though two are needed for Pink as well as the request from Silver…” The accent was definitely South American, a hint of Spanish, a lilt that almost came with a chuckle.
The words were so empty of meaning to Carrie they might just as well have been spoken in a foreign language. Tears filled her eyes and then rolled free and she found that she was almost panting with the terror of the place. Now at last, her eyes were accommodating themselves and she found that lowering her head and squinting allowed her to see the woman who was speaking. Middle aged, red lips and white teeth, a sensual look and a figure to match. Her head moved slightly, and the blue-black hair moved in waves like a cascade down her back.
“Let’s see what we have here…”
If you play American Football, you need strength and stamina, courage and determination. You need it when the game goes well and you need it even more so when the game goes badly and Karl, the huge line back, knew when a game was going badly. The opportunities to break free were diminishing: smaller opportunities and fewer of them. It was now or never!
To her left, Carrie saw and heard a commotion flare up.
One of the Team had begun to kick out, all the while shouting insults.
As if in slow motion, one of the white-coated women drew a stubby pistol from her belt and fired point blank at Karl. Two lines snaked and found their mark, a brief blue spark flamed. Karl collapsed, releasing his bladder and coming to lay, a crumpled writhing heap in the puddle on the stage.
“Anyone else have something to say?” came a women’s voice from behind.
In her mind’s eye, Carrie saw once again the agonizing tip of the team busses, the see-saw moment as they poised on the edge of the cliff. The faces in the windows and then the slow-motion movement as they tipped into the void and she choked back a cry of anguish. The oppressive heat lifted, and a cool breeze swept the room, carrying the stench of sweat and fear with it.
Despite the cool breeze in the auditorium, Carrie felt perspiration run down her back and thighs and her knees struggled to keep her upright.
By the time that she had managed to get herself under control the three women in white coats were on the stage while the other two women stood watching as clothes were stripped and slashed to leave the line-up naked.
The brief cold kiss of the knife, the steel moving over her quaking flesh and then she too was naked as the shreds of her shorts fell to the floor. On parade, on show, standing in the bright white light. Instinctively she held in her stomach, closed her legs tight and tried hard to stand straight.
“I’ll take this one and that for Silver,” said the woman with the black hair as she stepped onto the stage and stood before one of the team. “Now then, we need suitable males for Pink… Him and him…” as she picked two smaller men.
A team coach and a trainer were indicated by two touches. Hands from behind pulled them from the line-up.
“The induction in Pink is in two days, have them ready for it…”
“Mistress Consuela,” said one of the women in white in affirmation.
The woman walked the line, followed by the others. A slow stroll as she decided the fates of each of her victims with a smile. Each step she took, a sharp click on the stage. Each time she paused, she spoke a few words in Spanish or English.
She came closer.
Carrie smelled the perfume, a heady musky smell that she recognized as one of her own brand. The woman was not beautiful in the conventional sense but she had an animal magnetism in every liquid step as she reached and touched Carrie’s breast with her hand. As she stood quivering, all Carrie could take in was the perfect manicure, the long red curved nails, the small hands that touched her momentarily. Dressed almost as if for a burlesque, almost see-through lacy top over rounded breasts, stocking-tops that were dark stripes below the tight skirt.
“Crimson,” said the woman as she paused by Carrie. “Veronica wants this one for herself!”
Her hands moved from breasts to Carrie’s neck and then under her chin.
“Mmm, you were Carrie Rudd, weren’t you?”
Carrie could not help herself nodding, the use of the past tense scarcely registering. Now Mistress Consuela’s face was almost in hers. The dazzling smile, the crimson lipstick and deep décolletage filling her vision. Eyelashes flickered and the woman shrugged.
“Perhaps Silver would be more appropriate. Have we had any other requests for this slut?”
“No Ma’am,” said a voice from behind.
“Never mind, Crimson it is for now. She will be perfect… no adjustments needed for the moment…”
Mistress Consuela moved on and was now replaced by the women in white. For a moment the white coat rippled as she took a step. Carrie caught a glimpse of the lascivious body beneath and then the coat closed like some liquid fabric. The nurse raised an eyebrow and smiled. She raised a clipboard and marked something and then looked Carrie up and down. Carrie stepped back in apprehension, but the young woman just smiled again and moved on to stand over Karl the line-back.
“This one’s for Roan,” said Mistress Consuela as she stepped over the stricken Karl and delivered a small kick with her outrageously high stilettos. “Somewhere he will be very happy, I’m sure.”
It was all beyond understanding, a nightmare dream that had escaped the unconscious and found form and substance in the waking world. One by one, they were taken from the line-up. Roan and Silver, Crimson, Pink and White, adjectives without meaning until only those selected for ‘Crimson’ were left standing on the stage.
Herself and Valentina, two reserve players from the team, Jerry the Physical Therapist and last, her Mike, his muscular figure standing tallest of all. They stood blinking as Mistress Consuela moved once again down the line. One hand on her hip, the other moving a manicured finger over the crawling skins of her captives. Valentina started to sob and received a sharp slap as the woman passed by her and Carrie once again caught the whiff of the heady perfume that moved like a cloud around the dominant woman.
Finally, Mistress Consuela moved off the stage and turned to address the group of six who sweated with terror in the cool breeze.
“Mmm, the oldest profession,” said Mistress Consuela with a smile. “Not what you think, actually the oldest profession is ‘slave’!”
She paused for a small chuckle and surveyed the shocked faces of her victims.
“You are now slaves and the property of CM Domains! You might have thought about the efforts which have been made to choose you and to bring you here, so you will now understand that there will be no ransom and no escape from your new owner. Put that thought out of your minds once and for all. This is where you will live out your whole of the rest of lives. You are here for one reason only…”
She paused for effect and held out her hand. One of the white-clad women passed her the handle of a long whip and Mistress Consuela caused it to snake and crack with a snap.
“To entertain and amuse our clientele! You will learn what is required of you and obey every command, learn every lesson and most of all, become what we want you to become!”
The whip cracked again, and she spoke in a sweet almost re-assuring tone.
“The whip and the cane… you will answer to both. If you serve as we desire, then you will be fulfilled in ways that you have never dreamed of. All you need to do is obey…”
Her eyes swept the terrified victims of the Domains.
“Are there any questions?”
Carrie shivered, the question was a trap, that was clear to her. Words set to ensnare…
“Just who do you think you are, huh? Do you seriously expect to get away with this? And how dare you treat us in this way? We are working for one of the most powerful men in the whole of the United States and you, sister, you are going to end up doing serious jail time!”
The words came from Jerry, the physiotherapist, a man who could not contain himself, a man who had to be in the center of every discussion, a man that Carrie disliked for his argumentative attitude and the way that he belittled her Mike at every turn in training and on TV. The man that it was rumored had enjoyed a brief affair years ago with the woman who was now President.
Mistress Consuela smiled and nodded slightly. Un-noticed, one of the women in white had moved in the shadows behind him.
The nurse touched a cattle prod against his thigh so gently that he failed to realize until there came a small crack as a bright spark jumped through Jerry and between the prongs of the prod. Jerry sank to his knees crying out in pain and surprise and was dragged from the line–up to the back of the stage. Carrie turned with the others to follow the punishment with horror and disbelief on their faces as Jerry’s arms were momentarily released but only for the second it took to clip the shackles on his wrists to a trapeze bar. It was winched up until the sobbing Jerry was stretched tall and balancing on his tip-toes.
“Not polite!” said Mistress Consuela. “Obedience and respect…”
Carrie caught sight of Mike now standing slightly behind Valentina. His huge cock stood to attention as if entranced by the scene playing out. Carrie watched him from the corner of her eye. How could he be excited by these sordid events?
Carrie turned to watch Miss Consuela again. The woman had an innate superiority, an almost arrogant stance; the hand with the whip twitching as her eyes took in Carrie.
“I don’t think you’ll like the answer to your question,” she said. “But, since you asked… You are a special bonus for us and we have special plans for you…”
Like a goddess from some sexual inferno she moved, slowly walking the length of the stage and stepping past Carrie. The muscles of her thighs and calves beautifully defined as they moved under the sheer nylon of her stockings, each step on her heels making a click as steel met the tiled floor until she reached Jerry, stretched and sobbing beneath the trapeze.
Carrie stood as one hypnotized as the woman passed by, her whip trailing behind her, snaking over the tiles. Carrie could not even tear her eyes away to glance at her boyfriend, at the far end of the line.
Mistress Consuela was now standing just a couple of paces from Jerry. She carefully planted her feet and her muscles moved as she made ready. Carrie almost began to enjoy the sway of her ass and the rasp of nylon on nylon. Large breasts moved under the shimmering net as the tyrant drew back her arm.
The bright stage lights swelled: now the whole room was flooded with white radiant light.
“We are your owners,” she said in that false-pleasant tone. “The rest follows on naturally from there… That’s who we know that we are!”
She raised her arm and the whip snaked upwards; an almost perfect ellipse and then with an almost relaxed flick of her wrist a wave travelled along the braided length of the whip, accelerating as it moved until the leather writhed on Jerry’s back with a soft hiss.
“The answer to your second, question, what right do we have?’ follows on naturally from the first…” her tone was almost conversational, “We are your owners, we are merely exercising our absolute rights over our property.”
“You will all learn about the whip”, continued Mistress Consuela.
As she spoke, the tail of the whip found Jerry’s back again, “It will find you out…”
The whip was striking hard now, the soft popping replaced by loud slaps as leather licked across skin and left snaking welts.
Jerry, stretched below the trapeze bar, was not speaking any more, he was gasping and sobbing as the whip moved across him, wrapping about his chest, striping his buttocks, travelling across his thighs.
“Another question was, about why you in particular have been acquired?” her light conversational tone continued as she walked slowly around Jerry inspecting the pattern that she had created on his pale skin.
Her strong arm moved back again, Mistress Consuela’s body flexed, her breasts heaved, a swell under the nylon, as she brought the whip around and dealt an especially hard and cutting stroke across Jerry’s shoulders. The sound of the leather connecting with skin filled the auditorium and this time, Jerry’s legs gave way and he hung by his wrists, beaten into submission.
“You were specially chosen; a woman waits to use you. That is all there is for you to know!”
Next to Carrie, Valentina began to sob as Jerry writhed under the whip and Mistress Consuela turned to see which part of her audience was reacting in such as satisfactory way to the performance?
Valentina, now crying incoherently, fell to her knees. Hands on the tiles, she sobbed and shook as her tears dripped to the floor. The ominous sound of heels on the tiles brought Mistress Consuela to the stricken woman and she stood legs apart over her, wrist flicking the whip like a viper, a smile on her lips.
“What’s this, Mrs Rossi? So very upset by the answers I am giving?” she said. “Why, I could almost believe that you feel some small affection for him…”
Carrie could feel her own knees ready to give way as she realized the utter sensuality that was so plain on Mistress Consuela’s lips. She dared not look into the face of the woman who was so enjoying torturing their minds and bodies.
“You see,” said Mistress Consuela as she continued in the same soft tone. “We know all about the little affair you were having with the team physio! Cheating on that rich husband of yours, fucking Jerry at every turn, making Barrington a cuckold with every shafting in every hotel room between Miami and New York! We know every sordid detail, every slut-trick you turned! We know everything about you and your past…”
Miss Consuela stooped over the sobbing woman and reached out, running a nail from ass to neck in an almost affectionate touch.
It was possessive sexual contact that caused the tearful face to lift to look up and then drop again.
“Don’t think that I am judging you, darling,” she continued. “We don’t care if you fucked the whole team and then some… But, it answers Jerry’s question. You were both chosen for Crimson because some of our clients just love to play with those that have personal value … I have been told that you are both to be reserved for special people who have specifically requested your company!”
Mistress Consuela moved her foot slightly forward.
The elegant black stiletto moving under Valentina’s face, wetted by her tears. The tailored nylons smooth over the ankle, the cleavage of the toes showing as creases from her uppers. Carrie felt herself holding her breath, instinctively knowing what was to follow.
There was a pause, utter silence in the auditorium.
Then, Valentina lowered her head so slowly. Tears splashed on the black patent surface. Her lips touched shiny leather and Mistress Consuela smiled with sly satisfaction.
“That is the first lesson, slut,” she whispered as Valentina kissed her foot. “Here in Crimson Domain, obedience and submission is all there is, your pain and our pleasure. That is all you need to know…”
There was a pause, utter silence in the auditorium.
Then, Valentina lowered her head so slowly.
Tears splashed on the patent surface.
Her lips touched shiny leather.
Mistress Consuela smiled.
With sly satisfaction.