INTERNET RELAY CHAT – When Predator Becomes Prey – Sex Stories

I.R.C.

Internet Relay Chat

“ When predator becomes prey.”

© drkfetyshnyghts 2009

Foreword

IRC stands for “Internet Relay Chat”. It was originally written by Jarkko Oikarinen in 1988. Since starting in Finland, it has been used in over 60 countries around the world. IRC is a multi-user chat system, where people meet on Channels (rooms, virtual places, usually with a certain topic of conversation) to talk in groups, or privately. There is no restriction to the number of people that can participate in a given discussion, or the number of channels that can be formed on IRC.

So much is written about the internet and its dangers. Who are we REALLY talking to? Is that person REALLY who she says she is? We put so much emphasis on protecting those who may be vulnerable. But what COULD happen when the predator becomes the prey? This story is a complete work of fiction inspired by adult chat rooms that exist on the Internet Relay Chat networks. But, just think… just think, for one minute – things happen. Actions have consequences. Behaviour has consequences. For one predator, one ‘poser’… life will change forever.

ONE: Deception.

Claudette looked at one screen and casually clicked the mouse as another deal went through without a hitch. And yet she seemed ‘underwhelmed’ by it all. She had just earned the finance house she worked for another billion dollars. With the same click of the mouse she had banked herself probably in excess of a million dollars in bonuses. Oh she looked at the huge, flat panel LCD computer screen long enough to ascertain that the deal had in fact gone through without problems. Claudette never actually got problems with her deals. She never had, in twenty odd years in the City. Colleagues would put that down to her attention to detail. Anyone who knew Claudette knew about her attention to detail. Dotting the i’s crossing the t’s. She never left everything entirely to the automation. Never relied completely on computers doing all of the work for her. This latest deal was no different. The same minute attention to detail applied before the mouse click. That mouse click just the final action. The one that sealed the deal. Her perfectly manicured nails clicked and drummed the desktop. A good days work.

Claudette had this habit, before that final mouse click, of simply crossing her legs under her desk. Making the sheerest of nylon swish on nylon so that her thighs rasped. It wasn’t quite the little ritual people might assume it was, if they knew. But it was a habit. If one were to study that particular action one would see that her impossibly clean stilettos were placed precisely, minutely in the same place before the leg cross and then the lifting of one, arched foot so that she could cross one thigh over the other was like an identical replay each and every time. The only way it could be differentiated from the one before, or any of the ones in the future, would be the outfit that Claudette wore. Always power dressed but always slightly different. Never two days in one week the same. Claudette was always impeccably turned out. Corporate outfits of the ‘look at me I am in charge’ variety. Maybe slightly different shades of nylon. From flesh through to barely black. Never totally black. Claudette saved the black for when, or if she wanted to look like a hooker. Those days did happen. But those were special days. And never during work hours. Also, those nylons, never garish colours. Rather from flesh colour through all the shades of brown. And always, but always the most expensive, silkiest nylons one could buy.

And then there were the shoes, or the boots.. Once again, stylish and expensive. Once again impossibly, even slavishly clean. Anyone knowing shoes and boots would just know that these were not off the high street shelves. The only similarity in these shoes and boots, were the height of the heels. Extreme heels would be an appropriate way to describe them. Another word that may spring to mind, was ‘fetish’. Boots, shoes, either always impeccably, or even unnaturally clean. Shoes of various styles from ‘court style pumps’ through to intricately detailed fuller shoes. Never anything styled in a way that spoiled the line of Claudette’s stunningly shapely and long legs. Always shoes and boots adding to Claudette. Boots never above knee height, or never below calf height and always but always tight fitting in supple leather and usually tightly laced. She abhorred ankle boots because they cut off leg length and it didn’t matter what was worn with them, they just didn’t look right. If Claudette made sure of anything, it was the fact that she always, but always ‘looked right’. Those heels, boots or shoes, were another constant. She never wore flats. And yet she always went one or more above the ‘killer heels’ level. It wasn’t simply killer heels that she wore. The heels that Claudette arched her feet into every single day of her life were closer to ‘ultra-fetish’ than they were to simply ‘killer’. Claudette was a woman who didn’t simply wear high heels. She enjoyed them. Embraced them. She loved then. Understanding then why she also didn’t simply cross her legs, but got some kind of buzz out of that very action. It was quite obvious to anyone who knew Claudette that she had this ‘thing’ about her feet, and her legs. She simply had to show them off to best effect. And the simple matter of fact was that she could do that with a natural and consummate ease. She didn’t need to work at it. It was a simply matter of fact of her life. It was the same as everything in Claudette’s life, it just seemed to come easily with the very minimum of effort. Maximum impact and vision in return for the littlest of effort. Claudette liked that. She liked it a lot. She liked it that she didn’t have to try too hard at anything she did. She liked the casual way she achieved and succeeded in any challenges she seemed to come up against.

Claudette had crossed her legs, and sucked in air at the sensation that very action had caused. That tingle up and down her upper thighs. She had waited for that to fade and die before clicking the mouse and watching the transaction go through. Job done! But apart from that little sparkle that leapt out of her huge, saucer like eyes as that tingle had travelled, she had seemed maybe a little jaded, but also a more than a little preoccupied. No reports back of problems with the deal. A split second and she would have got a report back telling her if there had been such an issue. Then her eyes flicking to another screen. Her own personal laptop screen. A massively bright, impressive seventeen inch Apple wide screen. The top end of Apple’s MacBook Pro range. Fully loaded and Claudette’s own machine. Logged on to the company network and yet operating behind its own sophisticated firewall. Something was bugging her. Not absolutely obviously, just something in the way her attention was being stolen from the billion dollar plus deal she had just put through. Just something in the way her eyes flicked from screen to screen and then back again. The way her eyes just seemed to be drawn to her own laptop more than the huge deal she had put through on the company’s machine.

Claudette was also “Athenia” an IRC Super-Operator. IRC being the Internet Relay Chat community. One of the oldest, if not ‘the’ oldest on the internet. IRC actually existing before the internet itself, as we know it today. Claudette having found it, quite by accident when she was in her twenties. Now in her forty first year, she, or Athenia had risen in the ranks and was the single most respected operator on the servers. BonNet being abbreviated, like most things IRC. Abbreviated in this case from the words Bondage and Network. The BonNet servers hosting some one thousand plus chat rooms for people with varying interests within the BDSM and Fetish spectrums. A community totalling some one hundred thousand people, and counting and with a host of ‘interests’ and ‘hobbies’ too exhaustive to list here. Usually the name of that room reflecting the interests of the occupants. “Latex Sluts” for instance needing no further explanation, for most. Athenia actually discovering fetish and BDSM through this very medium. Her interest, turning into a passion and then a full blown way of life over the years. Albeit a secret way of life. Athenia, her ‘other-self’ and very much, or for the most part at least, apart from her professional life. Her professional life being very much able to fund her ‘secret life’. For sure, Claudette’s footwear alone didn’t come from the budget end of the market. And yet for the hundreds and thousands of dollars that her footwear cost at a time, she was able to make the purchases barely noticing the difference in her personal banking balances. Having said that, she DID notice the ever changing balances simply because of her eye for the minute of detail.

BonNet, very strictly an adults only community so with none of the child protection issues that a lot of networks have. Apart from the odd underage person stumbling upon the network accidentally and trying to gain access that is. Issues of that kind were soon exposed and dealt with. BDSM and Fetish got enough bad press as it was without allowing access to curious adolescents. And yet, after saying that, BonNet was a network with its own little nest of issues. Or potential issues if matters weren’t kept in check. As super-op, Claudette had various advanced access privileges afforded to her. Tracking and tracing for instance. Screen names logged and linked with advanced tracing of IP addresses. ISP (Internet Service Providers) and in general, access and use that was not available to the normal everyday user of BonNet. Nor the normal level of operators. Normal operators could for instance kick and ban individuals, from individual rooms, but Claudette could kick asses off and ban them from the server in total for repeated abuse of the terms of service. Athenia often laughed to herself at the level of ‘asshole’ that sometimes found their way onto the BonNet server and into the various rooms. Assholes were usually easy to spot, easy to weed out and even easier to eradicate with a few clicks of the mouse. She left the moderating of the rooms to their respective individual operators and on the whole things pretty much ran smoothly. Thing had run smoothly since she had been at the helm. It was rare for her to get involved operationally unless there were issues that arose that room operators could not deal with. Or wanted advice on. Athenia was always more than happy to help and advise the lesser experienced operators.

Something was bugging Athenia though. The deal had gone through and she was personally, a million up. But the way she crossed her stunning legs, then recrossed them just wasn’t sitting quite right with her normal confident demeanour. Her huge, expertly made up eyes flicked back to her lap top and stayed there on an increasing basis over the period of a few minutes. Eventually, that screen had her total and unflinching attention. It wasn’t so much a troubled expression that came over her face, more like an expression of puzzlement. Head slightly tilted to one side, and then running her fingers through the thick, long mane of flame red hair that seemed to frame her stunningly attractive face making it even more so. The pressing of her full, deep red lips together, then rolling them in before ‘smacking’ them against themselves allowing them to peel apart of their own accord. A deep sigh. Tapping the page-down key on her keyboard. Then the page up as though she were reading and then re-reading. Leaning over the desk to press the intercom button to her PA in the office pool outside.

“Selena, hold any calls. I don’t want to be disturbed not even urgently. Take messages, tell people I’ll get back to them if you can’t deal with it yourself. OK?”

Claudette didn’t wait for the response from the other end of the intercom. Pure confidence that her PA was in place and had heard and understood every word. Almost an arrogance in the way she conducted herself. Not a rude arrogance. Just a very confident, no-messing arrogance. Claudette’s attention, even before she had released the intercom button was back to her screen. Full immersion. She idly fingered a pack of cigarettes on her desk. She had been trying to give up and had decided that slowly was the best way. Already she was in the ‘social smoker only’ spectrum and was more pleased with herself because of that than with all of those massive deals she pulled off. This time though, it was different. She needed a cigarette and slipped an extra long cork tipped one from the pack. At first she simply dangled it from her red lips. Eyes still fixed on the screen. She seemed to leave that cigarette dangle for an age before she finally flicked a lighter to life and lit it. When she did, she dragged heavily, then inhaled. It was only when she inhaled that the mass of her breasts shifted under the silk blouse she was wearing. Both breasts rising, and staying high as she held the smoke down in her lungs. Then lowering as she exhaled lazily. Letting the smoke pour from between her full lips rather than blowing it out. All the time her eyes focused on the screen of her laptop.

A few weeks previously, Athenia had had a nickname brought to her attention. A nickname being the screen name that members of IRC communities use instead of their own real names. For instance Claudette’s nickname, or screen name is Athenia. What was odd about the screen name brought to Athenia’s attention was that it appeared to log on through a countless number of internet service providers, but more importantly from different geographical locations. That is, not different locations say within the United Kingdom, or United States for instance, but different locations on a worldwide scale. On the face of it, there was nothing wrong with this. People travel and people take their computers with them. What was strange, was when the ISPs and geographic locations were all married up to the time stamps of log-ins to it became glaringly obvious that this person, whoever she was could not physically being doing all of that travelling in the time slots that the log-in records indicated. Even when local time versus log-in location time was take into consideration, that fact jumped out and begged for attention. These were the facts that attracted the attentions of the IRC super-ops in the first place. More so especially leaving Claudette with more than a little disturbed feeling in the pit of her stomach. When the facts slowly unravelled the disturbed feeling in the pit of her stomach would only increase. And then increase again.

Somebody using the screen name MissMyndFuck was, with apparent ease being able to log on to the network and feed their connection through any number of ISPs through any number of countries, worldwide and simply talk to anyone in the rooms. The IRC network offered its own security and anonymity for users discretion and BonNet further enhanced user discretion making it impossible for normal, everyday users to track or trace anyone else on the network, for obvious reasons. Added to this was the fact that the network and BonNet were completely free to use. Which meant that there was no subscription, or pay transactions to be processed or encrypted which in itself ensured users discretions and secrecy if that was what they desired. So quite why, this MissMyndFuck would want to add a further level of advanced and sophisticated ‘rumble prevention’ escaped Athenia, at least initially. One could only come to the conclusion that in fact, the intentions of the user MissMyndFuck were less than honest. Or less than genuine. Or more worryingly, that the intentions were in fact sinister. These facts as they rattled around Athenia’s head didn’t simply escape her, they implored her to look further into it. It was simply something she had to do. And, another strange and nagging thing that was chipping away at Athenia was that there felt that there was something of an urgency attached to the matter. Just a feeling that the sooner she acted, the sooner she came up with answers, the better she would feel. That accounted for the slight chill down he spine. The one that made her shift constantly on hr seat. The one that made her cross and recross her delicious legs time after time.

The further Athenia had dug, the more concerned she had become. MissMyndFuck had used a fixed IP address. She understood that because it meant that her connection wherever it was made remained stable. The IRC network, or more to the point, BonNet would recognise it immediately and not flag it up as a ‘new’ or ‘unknown’ user. So the stable, uninterrupted connection was important to her. More important than the fact that because she was using a constant IP address and apparently from different countries, her connection would be eventually flagged up as suspicious anyway. It became totally obvious to Athenia that this person, whoever it was, just simply did not want to be tracked or traced and had gone to a lot of time and trouble to set herself up so that that would not happen. That feat alone took pretty advanced knowledge of networks and protocol. That bugged Athenia. It bugged her more than a little bit. Why would anyone go to such trouble? She considered that the whole IRC thing, and especially BonNet with its Fetish and BDSM roots was clandestine enough to offer any level of ‘enthusiast’ the anonymity they needed without going to this extra trouble. And, really, re-routing connections through other countries, sometime several countries at a time was not an easy thing to do. It took network knowledge and skill to be able to set that up, and maintain it. MissMyndFuck, it appeared, had been using BonNet for something like three years before she had been flagged up as overly “odd’. This MissMyndFuck, whoever she was had to be investigated further. There was something on a level up, more than simply sinister about it all. There was really only one person who could carry out this level of investigation.

Athenia had got the bit between the teeth. She had prided herself that she could explain, fix or set up anything IRC that anyone cared to bring up. Her knowledge was vast. And so ok, she had found out what this woman was doing. Even, more or less how she was doing it. She had even come to the conclusion that well actually MissMyndFuck wasn’t breaking any rules, or abusing the terms of service and usage of the BonNet network at all. But that wasn’t the point. Something, just something kept niggling at Athenia. She had to dig deeper. She simply had to. One thing just kept going through her mind and that was that no-one, but no-one went to THIS much trouble in order to get their jollies on BonNet. There just had to be something very very sinister about the whole thing. Athenia did dig deeper. In the first instance she set up a track script so that every instance of every log-in by MissMyndFuck would be catalogued. And every instance of every room entered also catalogued. Every room conversation in which she took part would also be catalogued and filed. But that was an added cause for concern. She very rarely took part in room conversations. In fact, the sum total of her involvement in the rooms themselves was a simple,

“good morning / good afternoon / good evening, I am MissMyndFuck a 40 year old Dominatrix of the advanced variety.”

And that was it. Simply an introduction. An habitual one because most of the rooms on BonNet required an ‘id’ on entry. Age and sex was usually enough. But MissMyndFuck’s intro and id went a step further, like a laying of the bait. Just a gentle stretching of the feelers. Most, if not all of MissMyndFuck’s conversations were in the form of private messages. IRC carried the facility to enable users to have private conversations between each other. That is two users could communicate by private message, and their conversation would remain invisible to other users. It was a fact that most conversations on the network were carried out this way. The rooms were usually simply a meeting place. Occasionally there were protracted, often boring conversations taking place, even some ‘play’, in which role-play scenes depicting interests connected with the room itself were engaged in. Even Athenia had to admit that some of these scenarios had more than perked her interest. It was how she got into BDSM and Fetish in the first place. But MissMyndFuck never played in public and never took part in protracted conversations in the rooms. This only served to further Athenia’s puzzlement and increasing suspicion. She had to dig deeper still. It was possible for her as Super-Op to set a script whereby private conversations were also recorded and logged. This was a power that was not used lightly. In fact, Athenia had never used it. It was like a gross invasion of privacy and probably illegal in most countries. However, on this occasion, and solely this occasion, there was a need and a justification. Claudette, aka Athenia was not getting good vibes from this whole thing. In fact the vibes she was getting were very bad ones. The deeper she dug, the worse those vibes became.

Over the three years, MissMyndFuck had talked to literally hundreds upon hundreds of people. Always other women. Commonly young women. Late teens, early twenties and exclusively those who described themselves in the rooms as ‘submissive’. She seemed to ‘filter’ these women down until she was left with those that appeared vulnerable, or lonely. Or both. From them, she would then seemingly select her ‘victims’. What made it particularly hard to decipher for Athenia was the fact that people ‘played’ on IRC. That was what they went there for. To escape and immerse. So untangling the ‘play’ from the ‘reality’ was not an easy task. A simple fact was that people got ‘immersed’ in IRC role-play scenes. That is they ‘lived’ what they played at least in their minds. Having to read between the lines to try to find out what was real and what wasn’t was just almost a mountain too steep to climb. At least for anyone other than Athenia it would be.

Athenia had pulled three of the private chat conversations involving MissMyndFuck and another user. The other user was simply ‘fullcry’. Apparently a nineteen year old bi-curious (a usually hetrosexual but with bi-sexual curiosity) girl with submissive tendencies who came over, to say the least vulnerable. But that could have been intentional. Someone giving that impression so that any play between the two would be more realistic and fantasy based. Over the three years there were many other conversations that MissMyndFuck had had with other users. If anything, these conversations had divulged a predatory nature in MissMyndFuck. Worryingly, further exposing the bridge between the IRC or the BonNet world, and the real world. Very few people mingled the two. Real and cyber usually stayed apart. Not always, but usually. MissMyndFuck fell into the unusual category in that she appeared to use the BonNet community as a hunting ground. Taken into consideration with her ‘interests’ in advanced Fetish and BDSM, alarm bells should and were raised to an even higher level.

The conversations between MissMyndFuck and fullcry told a story. A quite harrowing story when taken as a whole. A story of a chance meeting on the IRC network between an advanced Fetishist and a vulnerable nineteen year old. The questions on Athenia’s lips at the beginning were, was this story real or was it just a role-play thing? It would easily be dismissed as a role-play thing if it were between two innocuous users of the network. That it was between MissMyndFuck and fullcry, sent a deeply unsettling rumble through the inner femininity of Claudette. MissMyndFuck had gone to considerable lengths, and either displayed expertise herself, or employed expertise in cloaking her real identity on the IRC network. Claudette had chosen just one file of logs, those of ‘fullcry’ to follow, so that a picture could be built. MissMyndFuck it seemed followed a set Modus-Operandi each time. Obviously one that had been successful for her in the past. From that immense file of logs she just pulled three out. Not at random. More like from the beginning, the middle and then the latest conversation. Just to give her that overall picture. Claudette could do that. She could speed read through reams and reams of files and simply select and pinpoint the key points. The key notes. The important bits. All she needed to do here was go over some stuff, and convince herself that her feelings, her gut instinct was in fact right. Once she was convinced she was on the right track she would level up the investigation. Some of it she would be able to do alone. For some of the more technical and advanced stuff she would need help. But she had that in droves from contacts all round the world. BonNet was a massive global community. IRC as a whole even bigger. Its reaches were far and wide.

Excerpts From Private Message (PM) 1:

MMF: “HI I’M MissMyndFuck AND YOU ARE?”

FC: “I’M FULLCRY PLEASED TO MEET YOU MISSMYNDFUCK.”.

MMF: “YOUR NAME GIRL WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?”

FC: “OH SORRY, I AM LISA. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME MISSMYNDFUCK?”

MMF: “BETTER GIRL. MY NAME ISN’T IMPORTANT. YOU SIMPLY ADDRESS ME AS MISSMYNDFUCK OR MISS. DO YOU UNDERSTAND GIRL?”

FC: “UHHHH YES, YES MISSMYNDFUCK. I UNDERSTAND.”

MMF: “GOOD GOOD LISA. I LIKE GIRLS WHO UNDERSTAND ME, AND WHO DONT NEED CONSTANT REMINDERS. I THINK WE WILL GET ON VERY WELL LISA, DONT YOU?”

FC: “YES MISSMYNDFUCK. YES I HOPE SO.”

MMF: “GOOD GOOD. I CAN SEE FROM YOUR PROFILE THAT YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF EXTREMELY SUBMISSIVE. DOES THAT INCLUDE SUBMSSIVE TO OTHER WOMEN LISA?”

FC: “UHHH Y-YES YES IT DOES” *blushing

MMF: “OH THAT’S QUITE ALRIGHT DEAR. THERE IS NO NEED TO BLUSH. NO NEED AT ALL. DO YOU HAVE ANY EXPERIENCE OF SUBMISSION, OTHER THAN HERE?”

FC: “N-NO NO I DONT. I AM QUITE A NEW USER HERE. I AM JUST EXPLORING REALLY. I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT GOING ANY FURTHER.”

MMF: “WELL LISA, THAT’S QUITE ALRIGHT. ACTUALLY ITS A GOOD THING I CAME ALONG BECAUSE IT MEANS WE CAN EXPLORE TOGETHER. IF THATS OK WITH YOU?”

FC: *giggles “HMMMM WELL YEAH THAT MIGHT BE FUN. I AM PRETTY HIGHLY SEXED MOST OF THE TIME. SO IT COULD BE FUN” *blushes more

MMF: “DELCIOUS. I DO LIKE HIGHLY SEXED GIRLS, YUMMY! WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE LISA DESCRIBE YOURSELF TO ME?”

FC: “UHMMMM I’M NINETEEN YEARS OLD, 5′ 6” TALL AND 34c-23-33 FIGURE. I HAVE PLATINUM BLONDE HAIR. AND I HAVE BEEN TOLD THAT I HAVE GREAT LEGS.”

MMF: “MMMMM YOU SOUND DELICIOUS ENOUGH TO EAT LISA.”

This first conversation went on for some time. It was the introductory one. Lots of small talk. Lots of slow but deliberate mind-fucks by the older woman. It didn’t take much imagination to work out where MissMyndFuck’s screen name came from. Indeed, it underlined the pre-meditated nature of what she was doing. By the end of it, MissMyndFuck was undoubtedly inside the head of the younger woman. But… as it stood, it was pretty much a run-of-the-mill conversation of the kind that went on every day on the network. Part play, part real life. MissMyndFuck becoming the Mistress and Dominatrix. Basically a role-play with the nineteen year old submitting to a variety of things as simple as how to address and speak to her new Mistress, down to how often, or indeed, if at all she could masturbate. Once again, pretty much normal everyday occurrences on IRC and in particular on the BonNet network. People needed to play. Needed a release. People from all walks of life came to BonNet to ‘live out’ their fantasies on a cyber-sex basis. Nothing wrong with that. But perking Athenia’s bad vibes more was that how easy this younger woman gave over her personal details. Email address. Town that she lived in. Cell phone number. Landline number. Even agreeing to the possibility that this may not remain solely a cyber relationship. It being clear that a lot of this information was being transmitted not via this particular private message system, but via email. The exchange of emails taking place even as the private conversation via IRC was taking place. Lisa, sending a selection of photographs to MissMyndFuck. The Dominatrix complimenting her on her looks, and on the ‘delicious’ poses the girl had obviously adopted. It appeared that ‘delicious’ was one of MissMyndFuck’s favourite words since she used it on a regular basis. More rumbles of worry… Lisa agreeing to a web cam connection between the two in which she would be visible and yet MissMyndFuck would not.

MMF: “YOU WILL SEE ME IN DUE COURSE. BUT I INSIST THAT ALL OF MY GIRLS ARE EXPOSED TO ME. THIS DOESN’T WORRY YOU DOES IT LISA DEAR?”

FC: “N-NO NO MISS NO IT DOESN’T WORRY ME AT ALL.”

Leading questions with the expected answer built-in pointed at manipulation. Obvious from the tone and direction of the conversation that MissMyndFuck was sexually arousing the younger woman. Nothing forced. Nothing overly pushed. Nothing illegal. Everything consensual. Just a slow, and yet quite deliberate domination of a young woman, by an older one. A very experienced and very mature seduction of a younger woman by an older one. Once again, nothing that unusual in the world of BonNet, or the other numerous IRC servers out there. But this was different. Athenia’s bad vibes about this didn’t fade or die. If anything they increased in intensity, She could feel a strange kind of throb in the pit of her stomach that fed the bad vibe. But at the same time it fed something else. There was an ‘excitement’ there also. It was the kind of excitement that forced her to uncross and recross her legs on a constant basis. A quickening of her breathing. Was it because she had the bit between her teeth? Was it because she was on some kind of mission? Maybe a mixture of all these things. She pressed the page-down key, and re-read the second of the chosen private message transcripts. She had to be sure. She had to be certain that the story these private message logs intimated at was what she was beginning to think they were. She had to be certain that this wasn’t simply net play. Cyber play. Role-play. Or what ever one would call it.

Excerpts From Private Message (PM) 2:

MMF: “MMMMM GOOD GIRL LISA. NOW I WANT YOU TO MOVE THE WEB CAM OUT A BIT SO I CAN SEE MORE OF YOU. DO YOU THINK YOU CAN DO THAT FOR ME?”

FC: “YES MISTRESS. OF COURSE THIS GIRL CAN DO ANYTHING FOR HER MISTRESS. HER OWNER. ANYTHING AT ALL.”

MMF: “GOOD GIRL….DELICIOUS. NOW I CAN SEE YOU MUCH BETTER. I CAN SEE MUCH CLEARER HOW MY NEWEST GIRL IS SERVING HER MISTRESS, AND OWNER. YOU DO UNDERSTAND WHY GIRLS LIKE YOU NEED AN OWNER. AND NEED TO BE CONTROLLED DON’T YOU LISA – YOU DO REMEMBER OUR CONVERSATION ABOUT THIS, DON’T YOU GIRL?”

FC: “OH YES, YES OF COURSE MISTRESS. I UNDERSTAND FULLY. IT’S LIKE YOU TAUGHT ME. SOME PEOPLE ARE FOLLOWERS. OTHERS ARE LEADERS. THE FOLLOWERS NEEDS TO BE CONTROLLED, AND OWNED BECAUSE THEY ARE LOWER IN CLASS AND STATUS THAT THE LEADERS MISTRESS.”

MMF: “THAT’S RIGHT LISA. WELL DONE. AND TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE, AND WHAT YOU NEED?”

FC: “I AM A FOLLOWER MISTRESS. I NEED TO BE CONTROLLED, AND OWNED BECAUSE I AM OF A LOWER STATUS THAN YOU MISTRESS.”

MMF: “GOOD GIRL LISA. GOOD GIRL. I AM SO PLEASED THAT YOU APPEAR TO BE LEARNING FROM YOUR OWNER. SOMETHING ELSE YOU WILL LEARN IS THAT IT IS ALWAYS BEST TO PLEASE ME. YOU WILL LEARN THAT IF I AM NOT PLEASED, THEN IT WONT BE GOOD FOR YOU IN ONE OR MORE WAYS.”

FC: “OH YES MISTRESS, OF COURSE MISTRESS. I JUST FEEL, FROM DEEP DOWN INSIDE THAT I WANT TO PLEASE YOU. AND THEN PLEASE YOU SOME MORE.”

MMF: “WELL, NOW THAT DOES PLEASE ME LISA, TO HEAR THAT AND I CAN ALSO ‘SEE’ THAT YOU WANT TO PLEASE ME. SEEING YOU NAKED LIKE THAT PLEASES ME. IT PLEASES ME A GREAT DEAL. BUT SOMETHING ISN’T QUITE RIGHT IS IT? I AM NOT THAT IMPRESSED WITH YOUR NAME. LISA, JUST DOESN’T SEEM TO BE THE RIGHT NAME FOR YOU. NOW THAT YOU HAVE FOUND YOUR TRUE POSITION IN LIFE. DOES IT MAKE SENSE TO YOU THAT YOU NEED TO HAVE A NEW NAME. ONE THAT BEFITS WHAT YOU ARE. AND WHO YOU ARE?”

FC: “UHMMMM MISTRESS. I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE. BUT I GUESS IT MAKES SENSE. I GUESS IT MAKES SENSE FOR ME TO HAVE ANOTHER NAME, MORE FITTING TO MY NEW CALLING IN LIFE. B-BUT, I DONT KNOW WHAT THAT NAME CAN BE. I DONT KNOW WHAT KIND OF NAME THAT WOULD FIT ME MISTRESS?”

MMF: “OF COURSE YOU DONT LISA. BUT THAT IS OK. THAT IS FINE. I HAVE A NAME FOR YOU. BUT FIRST…. FIRST OF ALL DID YOU PREPARE THE ITEMS I ASKED YOU TO PREPARE?”

FC: “OH YES MISTRESS YES I DID, LOOK….”

MMF: “AHH GOOD, GOOD GIRL. I CAN SEE THAT YOU HAVE PREPARED WELL. NOW LISTEN VERY CAREFULLY. VERY CAREFULLY INDEED. JUST DO EXACTLY WHAT I SAY. THAT IS FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS TO THE LETTER AND THEN, WELL, I MAY JUST ‘RENAME’ YOU HERE ONLINE LIVE. WOULD YOU LIKE THAT GIRL?”

FC: “OH MY GOD MISTRESS, YESSSSS YES PLEASE. JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT ME TO DO MISTRESS AND I WILL DO IT.”

MMF: “GOOD GIRL. GOOD GIRL. REMEMBER MISTRESS ALWAYS LIKES TO BE PLEASED. IF MISTRESS ISN’T PLEASED, THEN THERE WLLL BE REPURCUSIONS. YOU DO KNOW THAT GIRL, DONT YOU?”

FC: “OH YES MISTRESS YES OF COURSE. I UNDERSTAND THAT ALWAYS MY MISTRESS AND OWNER MUST BE PLEASED WITH HER PROPERTY. I UNDERSTAND THAT COMPLETELY.”

MMF: “THAT’S RIGHT GIRL. I NEED TO BE PLEASED AT ALL TIMES AND WITHOUT EXCEPTION. NOW… I WANT YOU TO PLAY WITH YOUR NIPPLES. MAKE THEM HARD AND SWOLLEN FOR ME. MAKE THEM ERECT GIRL. USE YOUR THUMB AND FORFINGERS TO MAKE THEM HARD AND ERECT. THEN ONCE THEY ARE HARD, AND FULLY ERECT I WANT YOU TO TAKE TWO OF THE CLOTHES PINS YOU HAVE READY AND ATTACH ONE TO EACH NIPPLE. SQUEEZE OPEN THE CLOTHES PINS AND ATTACH THEM TO THE VERY BASES OF YOUR NIPPLES. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I WANT FROM YOU GIRL?”

FC: “MMMMM YES, YES MISTRESS, YES I UNDERSTAND. B-BUT WONT THE CLOTHES PINS HURT ME MISTRESS?”

MMF: “YES, YES IT WILL HURT A LITTLE BEFORE YOUR NIPPLES GO NUMB. BUT THAT PLEASES ME GIRL. TO SEE MY PROPERTY SUFFERING FOR HER OWNER. THAT PLEASES ME. AND YOU ‘DO’ WANT TO PLEASE ME GIRL DON’T YOU?”

Athenia sat back. That disturbed feeling in the pit of her stomach again. She sat back in her chair and recrossed her legs. At the same time she found herself clenching her thighs. Inside she hated to admit it, but she found herself excited by the control this MissMyndFuck had over the younger girl. That was her base interest in the BDSM and power exchange coming to the fore. MissMyndFuck appeared to know her stuff. Appeared to know exactly what she was doing. Appeared to know exactly what to say, and when to say it. Knew when to instil just a minute feeling of guilt into the younger girl, in order to garner a deeper loyalty. Just a little was all it took. A little bit of guilt and loyalty dripped in at a time. Feeding the younger girl. Actually convincing her the she was what MissMyndFuck said she was, and who she was. Athenia cleared her throat before she continued reading. Waiting for the chill that was careering down the core of her spine to dissipate before she continued.

FC: “YES, YES OF COURSE MISTRESS, YES OF COURSE THIS GIRL WANTS HER OWNER TO BE PLEASED ALWAYS. ALWAYS MISTRESS.”

Yet another clench of the the thighs as Athenia recognises the girl slipping into describing herself in the third person. An often required detail in an online Domme / sub relationships. A recognised acceptance of one’s lowlier position to her owner, or superior. There is just the slightest pause in the timeline then, one can only assume that fullcry is playing with her nipples. Erecting them in full view of the web cam, in real time, which is feeding the images directly to MissMyndFuck.

MMF: “GOOD GIRL. GOOD GIRL. MMMM WOW, THEY ARE SUCH BIG NIPPLES. DELICIOUS GIRL SIMPLY DELICIOUS. I LIKE BIG NIPPLES GIRL, THEY MAKE ME HAPPY. BIG ERECT, FACT NIPPLES MAKE YOUR MISTRESS HAPPY AND THAT IS GOOD ISN’T IT GIRL?”

FC: “OHHHHHHH Y-YES, YES MISTRESS THAT IS GOOD. SO GOOD.”

MMF: “NOW… DO AS I INSTRUCTED WITH THE CLOTHES PINS GIRL. ATTACHED ONE TO EACH NIPPLE AND THEN REMOVE YOUR HANDS. ONCE THE PINS ARE ATTACHD, REMOVE YOUR HANDS FROM THE PROXIMITY OF YOUR NIPPLES AND DO NOT BRING THEM BACK THERE. IN FACT GIRL, SIMPLY ATTACH THE PINS AND THEN CLASP YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD. INTERLINK YOUR FINGERS AND KEEP THEM THERE. DO YOU THINK YOU CAN DO THAT FOR ME GIRL, HMMMM?”

FC: “YES MISTRESS YES I CAN DO THAT… MMMM YESSSS MISTRESS.”

Another slightly longer pause in the time line. Obviously, fullcry following the instructions to the letter. Athenia clenching her thighs again, and becoming more than a little aware of the collection of moisture between her legs. That little throb that was feeding the feelings of disturbance, also feeding a deeper thing inside her. Oh, MissMyndFuck was good. Athenia had to give her that much. And once again, once again, were it not for this older woman’s self imposed, highly complex security measures, there would be nothing really sinister to be concerned about. In fact it would be a very arousing exchange between two consenting adults. That bit Athenia liked and responded to. The sort of games played out daily on BonNet. Power exchange. Micro control. Micro management. The sort of games that people played to escape the real world. The sort of games they played just to be in a different zone for a few hours at a time. But once again, Athenia having had the benefit of knowing about these security measures, and having the further benefit of reading the entire file of logs of conversations between the two meant that she knew there was more to it. Lots more. Sinister may have been one word that could have been applied. And yet the more Athenia read and the more that things fell into place, the more she realised that sinister just wasn’t an appropriate word. What was happening here, what was occurring between the two went far beyond that. MissMyndFuck was indeed mind-fucking the younger woman on a mind-boggling scale.

FC: “SSSSSHHHHHH OHHHHH MISTRESS THAT HURTS A LOT. SUCH A LOT MISTRESS.”

MMF: “MMMM I KNOW HONEY. I KNOW IT HURTS. BUT IT ALSO PLEASES ME. AND I KNOW YOU WANT TO PLEASE ME. THATS RIGHT THATS RIGHT GIRL CLASP YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD. LET YOUR MISTRESS, YOUR OWNER SEE THOSE THROBBING NIPPLES. MMMM DELICIOUS GIRL DELICIOUS. YOU ARE DOING SO WELL. SO WELL.”

There is another pause in the time line. A time during which obviously MissMyndFuck is watching the girl suffering. fullcry not able to to type because her fingers are interlaced behind her head. MissMyndFuck simply enjoying the sight of the girl and her numbing nipples.

MMF: “MMMMM NOW I AM PLEASED GIRL SO VERY PLEASED. NOW, THE THIRD CLOTHES PIN GIRL, THAT IS TO BE ATTACHED TO A VERY SPECIAL PLACE. A VERY SPECIAL PLACE INDEED. DO YOU KNOW ABOUT YOUR CLITORIS GIRL. THAT SPECIAL THING, UNDER THE HOOD, AT THE TOP OF YOUR SLIT… HMMMMM YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT YES?”

FC: “YES, YES MISTRESS. AS YOU KNOW, SOMETIMES I PLAY WITH THAT. I PLAY WITH IT QUITE A LOT. I CANT HELP MYSELF MISTRESS. IT JUST FEELS LIKE SOMETIMES I HAVE TO PLAY WITH IT.”

MMF: “YES, YES OF COURSE YOU DO GIRL. A LOT OF GIRLS, A LOT OF CREATURES LIKE YOU DO THAT. SOME, LIKE YOURSELF JUST CANNOT HELP YOURSELF AND THAT IS ONE OF THE REASONS THAT PEOPLE LIKE ME EXIST, SO THAT WE CAN CONTROL THE AMOUNT OF TIME YOU PLAY… OR ARE ALLOWED TO PLAY WITH YOURSELVES.”

FC: “MMMM YES MISTRESS, YES I UNDERSTAND THAT” *blushes

MMF: “AWWWW I CAN SEE THAT BLUSH FROM HERE GIRL. NO NEED TO BLUSH, HONESTLY NO NEED TO BLUSH. I AM GOING TO TAKE CARE OF THESE LITTLE CRAVINGS YOU HAVE. THE ONES WHERE YOU NEED TO PLAY AND PLEASURE YOURSELF. ONLY I CONTROL THAT CRAVING NOW. NOT YOU. DO YOU UNDERSTAND GIRL?”

FC: “MMMMM YES MISTRESS YES.. THIS GIRL UNDERSTANDS FULLY.”

MMF: “GOOD GIRL, GOOD GIRL. NOW BRING YOUR THUMB AND FOREFINGER TO YOUR SLIT AND JUST PRESS ON THE HOOD OF YOUR CLITORIS. JUST PRESS IT AND MAKE THE CLITTY POP OUT. WHAT I WANT YOU TO DO THEN IS JUST PLAY WITH, IN THE SAME WAY THAT YOU ARE USED TO DOING. PLAY WITH IT AND MAKE IT SWELL. MAKE IT WET AND MAKE IT SWELL UNTIL YOU CAN FEEL THAT THROB IN THE BASE. THEN, ONCE YOUR CLITORIS IS FULL, SIMPLY OPEN THE THIRD CLOTHESPIN AND ATTACH IT TO THE BASE OF THE CLIT… DO YOU THINK YOU CAN DO THAT HONEY, HMMMM? DO THAT FOR YOUR OWNER AND MISTRESS?”

FC: “MMMM YES MISTRESS, THERE ISNT ANYTHING THIS GIRL WONT DO FOR HER MISTRESS, NOTHING AT ALL.”

Oh god, Athenia had to give it to this woman she was MORE THAN good. Playing the younger one like a pack of cards and getting her exactly where she wanted her. Another clench of the thighs as the Super-Op found herself wishing she could see those images that MissMyndFuck was privvy to. But even then, she had that bugging air of despondency in the back of her mind. MissMyndFuck, whoever she was had a hidden agenda. There was just something about her that struck all of the wrong nerve endings. Claudette swiped her full lips with her tongue, trying to retain the focus. Trying to maintain the focus on what was after all, an incredibly and an increasingly disturbing issue.

FC: “OHHHH MISTRESS THAT HURTS SO MUCH. THAT HURTS SOOO SO MUCH.”

MMF: “YES, YES IT DOES HONEY, I KNOW THAT. BUT IT IS A DELICIOUS HURT AND IT PLEASES ME AND THAT IS WHAT IS IMPORTANT ISN”T IT?”

FC: “MMMM Y-YES MISTRESS YES IT IS.”

MMF: “GOOD GIRL. NOW, NOW JUST BRING YOUR HANDS BACK UP. CLASP THEM BEHIND YOUR HEAD AGAIN AND JUST READ CAREFULLY WHAT I AM GOING TO SAY NEXT. YOU WILL NOT TYPE BECAUSE YOU WONT BE ABLE TO. JUST READ AND TAKE IN WHAT I AM SAYING…. OK?”

FC: “Y-YES MISTRESS, YES I UNDERSTAND.”

Another pause in the time line as fullcry obviously follows the instruction. Her hands clasped, fingers interlaced behind her head as she sits, one can only assume, spread legged with tightly sprung clothespins attached to each nipple and to the swollen, de-hooded clitoris.

MMF: “MMMMM GOOD GIRL GOOD GOOD GIRL. JUST LET EVERYTHING GO NUMB, BUT LISTEN TO ME HONEY. YOUR NAME… NO LONGER LISA. YOUR NAME IS ‘CUNT’. THAT IS WHAT YOU ARE. THAT IS WHO YOU ARE – ‘CUNT’. YOU BELONG TO ME CUNT. I WANT YOU TO UNDERSTAND THAT. I AM YOUR OWNER. YOU ARE MY PROPERTY. I OWN YOUR MIND AND I OWN YOUR BODY. I OWN YOU DOWN TO ATOM LEVEL. I EVEN OWN YOUR THOUGHTS. AND I MOST CERTAINLY OWN YOUR SOUL. YOU ARE ‘CUNT’ I AM YOUR OWNER.”

From the time stamps and the pauses its obvious that MissMyndFuck is simply sitting back, savouring her control, and her torment of the younger woman.

MMF: “NOW JUST ABSORB THE PAIN AND THE DISCOMFORT BUT TAKE THIS IN AS WELL. I WANT TO VISIT YOU. AND USE YOU IN PERSON…. I WILL DO THAT CUNT, I WILL VISIT YOU AND I WILL USE AND ABUSE YOU IN REAL TIME. BUT I WILL ALSO SEND OTHERS AROUND TO DO THE SAME…. I WILL ALSO SEND OTHERS ROUND TO USE YOU CUNT. YOU ARE INFERIOR, YOU ARE ‘CUNT’. A FOLLOWER. ONE THAT NEEDS TO BE CONTROLLED AND ONE THAT NEEDS AND CRAVES TO BE ABUSED.”

Athenia shaking her head as the older woman begins to show her full hand in an almost hypnotic way. Convinced that she is now totally in control of the nineteen year old. Athenia stroking her upper thigh, aroused… undeniably aroused by the unfolding scenario and yet at the same time that feeling of being ultimately disturbed by it. Disturbed by just something about it, deepening and deepening further. In the transcript it being obvious that fullcry cannot type but can speak her acknowledgement. MissMyndFuck not having that luxury. She having to type because she had not revealed herself to the younger woman. That COULD have been due to her apparent obsession with her own security and privacy. But increasingly it pointed to something more sinister. Fullcry didn’t even know what the woman looked like, or sounded like. The whole reveal being just a one way process, not a two way one. So clever though. So very clever. Getting into the girl’s mind so completely, so totally that she was following instructions and agreeing the way ahead without a second thought. The older woman using the girl’s high sexuality to control her. Then micro control her. If there had been a second thought there would have been alarm bells, but that just wasn’t the way it was. Nor would it be. Fullcry was being taken along on the ride. Fully immersed. Fully aroused by her subjugation.

MMF: “GOOD GIRL. DONT CRY NOW THERE’S A GOOD GIRL. JUST BEGIN REMOVING THE PINS NOW… JUST BEGIN REMOVING THEM. FIRST FROM YOUR NIPPLES. LET THE BLOOD RUSH BACK INTO THEM.”

A timeline pause as fullcry removes the nipple clothespins one at a time. All the time MissMyndFuck talking to her reassuring her.

MMF: “YESSSSS YES I KNOW IT HURTS, CUNT. BUT THIS IS PLEASING ME. JUST REMEMBER AS YOU ARE SUFFERING THAT I AM PLEASED. DELICIOUSLY PLEASED. AND THAT I AM PLEASED IS MUCH, MUCH MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR SUFFERING. MMMM GOOD GIRL. GOOD CUNT.”

MMF: “NOW… NOW TAKE THE CLITORIS CLOTHESPIN OFF. TAKE THAT OFF BUT AT THE SAME TIME, AS THE BLOOD RUNS BACK INTO IT, FLICK IT. FLICK THE CLITORIS AND AS THE FEELING COMES BACK INTO IT, PLEASURE YOURSELF, PLEASURE YOURSELF AND MAKE YOURSELF CUM. YES CUNT, YOUR MISTRESS AND OWNER IS GIVING YOU PERMISSION TO CUM. ENJOY CUNT. YOU DESERVE THE LITTLE TREAT.”

An exceptionally long pause in the time stamps of the chat as MissMyndFuck simply enjoys the spectacle of her property performing for her in front of a web camera. Soaking up the pain and despair of the girl as she removes the pins. Claudette simply clenching her thighs, imagining the sight. She shouldn’t have been aroused by it, but her own high sexuality making it so. It was why she got involved with IRC and BonNet in the first place for God’s sakes. Oh this woman was so, so fucking good. Knowing the female anatomy so well. Using the knowledge to use and control the girl. That transcript coming to the end, eventually.

MMF: “GOOD GOOD CUNT. NOW DO YOU UNDERSTAND ALL I HAVE SAID. YOUR NEW NAME. THE WAY AHEAD? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE IN FOR A LIFE OF USE, AND ABUSE, FOR ‘MY’ PLEASURE?”

fullcry most obviously panting in the aftermath of her self initiated orgasm.

FC: “MMMM Y-YES, YES MISTRESS, CUNT UNDERSTANDS. CUNT UNDERSTANDS EVERYTHING.”

Athenia pressing her own lips together. Rolling them in and very expertly clenching her thighs and holding. Bringing herself to an intense orgasm. Not noisy, or revealing. Just intense. That intensity only revealed through her deep, huge eyes. The intensity and focus concentrated and totally committed to that multiple orgasm. Athenia eventually pulling herself together. She had to read more. She had to find out more. Mixed feelings of a dread and yet also an excitement mingling and creating an inner conflict. And yet despite that conflict, Claudette was able to prioritise, and moralise.

Excerpts From Private Message (PM) 3:

Athenia had needed to take a break from reading the logs. She stood at the huge picture window that looked out over the City of London. It was like she could almost reach out and touch St Paul’s Cathedral dome it was so close. The company hadn’t long moved into the state-of-the-art offices on Cheapside. The building was brand new. Part of the brand new London that just so happened to be set in the oldest part of London. She had read somewhere that it was in this very vicinity that the great fire of London had started. Where this building now stood, used to be the Alan & Overy building. Alan & Overy being the huge, and I mean huge American law firm. That had been one of the few real old buildings left on Cheapside. Now even that was gone. There was a new sate-of-the-art shopping complex on the north side of Cheapside due to open at any time. The changes in this relatively small area alone astounding, and yet the history steeped and stacked remained an integral part. Claudette stretched, framed by the floor to ceiling window. In doing so she had once again emphasised her absolute statuesque beauty. She truly was an astonishing looking woman, made only more so by her style. Her sense of dress and, then her interests outside of work.

Claudette had considered another cigarette. But that was it, she had only considered and then dismissed it. She was calm now. Thinking rationally and thinking calmly. She didn’t know where that need to orgasm had come from. Actually she had given up trying to find the source of that particular need years ago. Now there was more pressing matters on her mind. Who was fullcry for a start? And more to the point who was MissMyndFuck? Something was deeply unsettling Claudette about this whole thing and that feeling just would not go away. But it was funny really. The more that feeling in the pit of her stomach stirred and stirred, the more resolute that she became to get to the bottom of it. One nagging thought had begun to gnaw at the back of her mind and that was fullcry whoever she was might be in some kind of danger. She dismissed that being of the ‘immediate’ kind of danger simply because it seemed that MissMyndFuck was taking her on some kind of journey. One into a deeper kind of submission and degradation. Not a quick trip, but a long and protracted one. One that would feed the needs of the older woman on a long term basis. That fact so glaringly obvious from the logs of their chats. But also, the fact the this older woman, whoever the fuck she was, wasn’t only taking a girl called fullcry on this trip, but also several others. The file of logs was huge. It would take an age for Athenia to go over all the logs. But she might have to do that. If she was going to get to the bottom of it, that was what she would probably have to do.

Claudette brushed down the front of the expensive, perfectly fitted blouse as she returned to her desk to the open MacBook Pro. It was one of that last batch of logs really that confirmed to her that all was not as it seemed. All could not have been as it seemed. That it was NOT an IRC role-play that was taking place. Claudette had the habit of brushing herself down like that. Imaginary dust, or imaginary hair. It probably would remain either a coincidence or a mystery how that imaginary bit of dust, or that imaginary hair always, but always managed to settle on the silk just over, or across the top of one nipple or both. There didn’t need to be an excuse. Claudette was a woman in the prime of her life, enjoying the prime of her life. She was what she was, despite some of her darker interests. Maybe even because of those darker aspects to her life, her sexuality was a constant thing. Bubbling just below the surface and with the occasional need to erupt. It was true that sometimes, just sometimes she had to force her latent sexuality to the back of her mind in order to concentrate on matters in hand. She looked at her watch, it was three a.m. God she had been at this for hours. But she wasn’t going to let this go. She couldn’t. Someone was taking the piss on a big big scale. Had it only been a taking the piss scenario she could maybe have laughed along with it. There had been loads of those over the years. Assholes who had come onto the server and tried it on in one or more of many ways. None had managed to do this for any length of time. MissMyndFuck wasn’t going to either. Not any more at least. Claudette, aka Athenia did make that silent resolution as she read excerpts from that last log again and for the umpteenth time.

MMF: “SO CUNT, DONT YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO THANK YOUR OWNER AND MISTRESS FOR HMM?”

FC: “OH YES MISTRESS, YES I DO.”

Something in the ‘tone’ of what fullcry typed told of the stage of abandonment she had already reached. It was like nothing else mattered to her any more. It was like the sole focus of her life now was centred on her owner, her mistress, MissMyndFuck.

MMF: “AND WHAT IS THAT CUNT? WHAT IS THAT YOU HAVE TO THANK YOUR OWNER FOR HMMM?”

FC: “OH, MISTRESS FOR SENDING THAT MAN AROUND TO ME SO THAT HE COULD USE ME, AND REMIND ME WHAT I AM AND WHY I HAVE TO BE AN OWNED PIECE OF PROPERTY FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.”

MMF: “MMMM YES CUNT YES THAT’S RIGHT AND TELL ME, BEFORE YOU THANK YOUR OWNER FOR SENDING THIS MAN AROUND TO YOU, WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU? WHAT DID HE MAKE YOU DO, HMMMMM?”

It was like MissMyndFuck was enjoying, in a way forcing fullcry to relive what had happened to her recently. This older woman was so clever. Everything so consensual. Using and manipulating the girl’s obvious highly sexed, even highly addictive personality to ensure that no laws were broken. Either UK laws, or international laws. Law agencies world wide would have a tough task on their hands to make anything stick to this woman. That was even if they could find out who she was or where she was.

FC: “MISTRESS, HE USED ALL OF MY HOLES. FUCKED THEM AND REMINDED ME THAT IT WAS WHAT I WAS PUT ON THIS EARTH FOR. FOR THE PLEASURE OF PEOPLE LIKE HIM. AND HE BEAT ME SOME TOO. SLAPPED MY FACE. MY BREASTS. AND MY ASS AND THIGHS. HE SAID THAT YOU WANTED THAT. HE SAID THAT YOU WANTED HIM TO REMIND ME IN THE FLESH, WHO I WAS, WHAT I WAS AND THAT I EXISTED PRIMARILY FOR YOUR PLEASURE. THAT YOUR PLEASURE WAS PARAMOUNT. AND THAT USING ME AND BEATING ME IN THE WAY HE WAS DOING WAS WHAT YOU WANTED AND THAT I SHOULD MAKE SURE ALWAYS THAT YOU, MY OWNER AND MISTRESS ARE PLEASED.”

MMF: “THAT IS ALL SO RIGHT CUNT. AND I AM PLEASED THAT YOU APPEAR TO UNDERSTAND IT FULLY. THAT YOU APPEAR TO FULLY AND COMLETELY UNDERSTAND YOUR NEW LIFE. AND THE WAY IT WILL BE FROM NOW ON. NOW THAT PLEASES ME SO MUCH CUNT. DO YOU KNOW THAT CUNT? YOUR MISTRESS, YOUR OWNER HAS NEVER BEEN MORE PLEASED THAN SHE IS RIGHT NOW. I AM SURE THAT WE ARE GOING TO GET ALONG JUST FINE.”

There it was again. That deliberate pouring in of good vibes into fullcry. The reassuring her that her owner and mistress was happy with her. The single most important thing that existed in fullcry’s world right now – that her owner was happy with Cunt. Another deep deep concern was forming in the mind of Athenia. At first she dismissed it. Like it was too far fetched to be true. Like “nah… that couldn’t be it.” That thought had reared its head very early in Claudette’s investigation. But that had been just it. It had reared its head and she had dismissed it. But the further she delved. The further she dug, the more often that thought was popping back into her mind. And with the absolute knowledge that this MissMyndFuck was ‘sending around men’ to use and abuse fullcry, or that she was sending at least one man around to her to use and abuse her… the unthinkable, that thought that seemed to gain more credibility each and every time it reared its head, was that MissMyndFuck WAS that man who went round to use and abuse fullcry. And that somehow the young girl had swallowed the whole MissMyndFuck line, hook line and sinker. When that thought had first glanced across the bows of Claudette’s mind it had simply been too far fetched to be true. Oh yes Athenia KNEW that men pretended to be women all the time on the BonNet network. It was the bane of her life. Finding them and exposing them and kicking their asses off the network and banning them for life. But none, as far as she was aware had ever produced such a huge ‘illusion’. One that took in so many people. That MissMyndFuck was in fact a predatory male exploiting the vulnerabilities, the weakness and the sexualities of the victims that he picked very carefully. Very astutely. It was far fetched and it was unbelievable that such a thing could happen. Claudette still dismissed the thought as nonsense. Although, now and the more she thought and the more she read and found out about what was happening, the more her mind was coming round to the idea that really, in actual fact there was a deception so big and so expertly put together, alive and thriving on BonCom, that it would have to be brought down. Exposed, ended once and for all.

Other little thoughts had begun to enter Athenia’s mind. Not simply ones that would see an end to the deception, if that is what it was, but also ones of teaching the mother-fucker a lesson she (or he) wouldn’t forget. A lot of mixed thoughts, mixed emotions tunnelling through the Super-Op around this time. In actual fact, it didn’t matter if MissMyndFuck was a male or female. He or she needed to be taken down. The deception ended but also, some kind of price paid for what she or he had been doing. Maybe it was more than one person. Maybe it was a couple. I mean all of that feminine knowledge that MissMyndFuck had. Men just didn’t know stuff like that. Did they?They just didn’t know which buttons to press when it really came to it. Did they? But MissMyndFuck did. She seemed to know every last nuance of every last nerve ending she needed to jangle in order to bring her latest ‘victim’ in deeper and deeper. Men just couldn’t do that? Something, just something in the male makeup stopped them from knowing really what made women tick. I mean what REALLY made them tick. These were the reasons that Athenia could with ease dismiss the idea that the perpetrator was in fact a man. That is, that she could at first easily dismiss it. But not so any longer.

MMF: “NOW DONT YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO YOUR MISTRESS AND TO YOUR OWNER CUNT. DOESN’T CUNT NEED TO SHOW HER GRATITUDE. TO THANK HER OWNER HMMMMM?”

FC: “YES MISTRESS… CUNT WANTS TO THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF HER HEART AND SOUL FOR SENDING THAT MAN AROUND AND ARRANGING TO HAVE HER THOROUGHLY AND COMPLETELY USED. THANK YOU SO SO MUCH MISTRESS AND OWNER. ALTHOUGH I DO FEEL A LITTLE GUILTY THAT I ACTUALLY ‘ENJOYED’ BEING USED LIKE THIS MISTRESS. IT FELT LIKE I WAS SERVING A PURPOSE AS WELL AS PLEASING THE SEX IN ME MISTRESS.”

There it was again. Third person speak. Ultimate surrender. Athenia’s head moving slowly side to side. As though there was pity for the girl. The clearer it became that this was not simply a game of slave and mistress on the BonNet network, the clearer it become that it was indeed possible that this was a case of a man posing and taking advantage, the more sorry for the girl the Super-Op became.

MMF: “GOOD GOOD CUNT. DELICIOUS. NOW THIS IS WHAT YOUR OWNER WANTS TO HEAR. THIS PLEASES ME CUNT. PLEASES ME A GREAT DEAL…….”

Claudette had read all she needed to read. Her investigations simply had to move up a level.

TWO: Discovery

“Selena…. I don’t need to tell you what happens if they are not cleaned properly, do I?”

Claudette had just sat forward in her chair a little and leaned forward and down to where her PA was licking clean her boots. At first she had simply leaned forward and watched. She had watched the girl, like maybe an owner would watch her pet. She liked the slavish way that Selena cleaned her boots. She always had. There was an eagerness there. An eagerness to please. On this occasion it was her boots. Although, it must be said that it was Selena who was responsible entirely for all of Claudette’s scrupulously clean footwear. That explained why, and how Claudette’s footwear was always, but ALWAYS so clean, so shiny. Claudette could watch her, if truth be known, for hours. Just bobbing and weaving her head. Angling it this way and that way so that the flat of her tongue ran with the grain of the leather. She liked the way that her PA got right down low. So low that she couldn’t get any lower. So low that her breasts, either naked, or not, dragged on the floor as she carried out her cleaning duties. And so low that her own hair, also dragged on the floor. Claudette liked that kind of display in a slave. Claudette liked attention to detail. Meticulous and minute attention to detail. She liked to instil that same attention to detail in her slaves. It must be said that such attention to detail was an obsession that Claudette had. It was one of the reasons she had got to where she was. It was one of the reasons that once a girl became a slave of Claudette’s, it meant she was a slave for life. Owned for life. Claudette ran probably the biggest role-play network on the internet, but she also had a ‘real life’ and this was it. Claudette was a fetishist, and a sadist. In real life she could ‘live’ the dreams. She used IRC as a kind of research tool and a place where she could immerse in her deeper fantasies. It was what BonNet was created for. It was why it existed.

“Mmmmmm no, Mistress, no You don’t need to tell me what happens if I fail in any way at all.”

She liked that about Selena too. That she didn’t just know what happened if she didn’t clean her boots properly, she knew what would happen if she failed her in any way. And, if all eventualities were taken into consideration, there would be quite a few ways, or manners in which she could fail, if she wasn’t on-the-ball, or up-to-speed all of the time. Well, that is, she knew that she would be punished. She would never know exactly how she would be punished. Just that she would be punished in differing degrees of severity, depending on the level of failure and of course Claudette’s mood at any given time.

Claudette had planted her spike heeled boots on the floor, quite wide apart, and one slightly in front of the other so that Selena had room to get around them with her head, and bend her neck, giving herself ample room with which to extend the flat of her tongue for the cleaning process. She had watched her for what seemed like an age, just the most casual smile curled onto her deep red lips. Then she had leaned forward a little more so that the weight of her breasts was in her lap. Just collecting a clump of Selena’s hair, she had tugged. She had tugged the hair, not hard. She didn’t need to do it hard. The tug was a token tug. A tug to send a message down the strands of hair to her girl’s mind. The tug just enough for Selena to know to lift, lift her tongue off the leather and lift her head to look up to her Mistress.

“That’s right Selena, I don’t have to tell you what will happen, but I want you to tell me. You tell me what will happen if you don’t clean my boots properly?”

Claudette didn’t raise her voice above a barely there, husky whisper. She didn’t need to. It was two a.m. and she was in her office on the sixteenth floor. The place was deserted and it was so quiet that she could hear every saliva dripping lick that her PA applied to the leather. She didn’t need to raise her voice for those reasons. But also, she didn’t need to raise her voice because Selena was well versed, well trained. She had been well trained for the last five years. She had been well trained ever since Claudette had found her, quite by accident on the BonNet network. Oh at that time she hadn’t been aware that it had been her own PA she had been talking to. More to the point, her PA hadn’t been aware that she had been spilling out all of her fantasies to her own boss in the very next office to her. Claudette had found out that it was in fact Selena, aka “morning dew” in a routine check on IP numbers connected to the network. The IP address signified an individual computer that was connected at any time. And what happened when more than one computer connected from the same network or company intranet was that they were allocated automatically, an IP address within a certain range. The company Claudette worked for was huge, and with literally thousands of computers, but the chances of anyone other than Claudette herself logging on to BonNet during a working day, were nil. Claudette’s system just flagged up that two PCs were connected through the company intranet. Obviously one was her own. And then there was the other one. Whose was that? It didn’t take much work to find out. Claudette simply used her own in house security features to track down the exact PC, and exact desk that PC was on. Hey presto! Selena, her very own PA. Selena also-known-as Morning_Dew. The first time she used the company intra-net to speak to Athenia was the day that she was caught. Banged to rights, in City speak.

How fate had a wonderful way of (net)working. Claudette had then had many weeks ‘playing’ with Selena on BonNet before finally revealing herself, and taking the younger woman in hand. Oh what a picture Selena’s face had been that day. Normally she had the most delicious and succulent lips that were always generously coloured. But on this day, when Claudette had stood over her, put a hand lightly on the her shoulder as the PA had sat typing, and called her by her BonNet screen name, the poor girl almost fell off her chair. She had turned, looked up at Claudette and the colour had just drained out of her lips. It had seemed that the colour had just drained completely out of her entire, startlingly attractive face, through her lips. It wasn’t just that the colour had drained, but also, the lips had seemed to swell up, and the huge eyes had misted over. And yet at the same time, there was an undeniable feeling, just a sense getting to Claudette that a huge weight had been lifted off Selena’s shoulder. That she was ‘relieved’ that she had been ‘outed’. Shocked, yes that it was her boss. That shock went through to the core of her spine. But as that hand had rested on her shoulder, as Claudette had whispered the simple sentence,

“Morning Dew – do you know the penalties of accessing adult chat rooms through the company intranet… hmmmmmm? But, its ok honey. Your secret is safe with me. We can come to an arrangement.”

Just the way that Claudette had toyed with Selena was a hint, just the simplest and smallest hint as to what she was in fact capable of. Selena had let out a huge huge sigh. An audible sigh of utter relief. And from that day, from that minute, from that second, Claudette had begun training her, reeling her in. Controlling and managing her. Control and management were just a couple of Claudette’s own fetishes. Along with a whole long list of others.

“If I fail Mistress… nothing will happen immediately. But eventually You will take me to Your Rubber Rooms, in Your basement.. and You will punish me. Punish me until you are satisfied that I have learnt a lesson. And that I will not fail, in that respect ever again Mistress.”

Claudette loved to watch Selena speaking. She spoke so well. Was so well educated. Selena had been educated in fact at a public school. Had well-to-do parents and as a child had wanted for nothing. Consequently that came across in her voice. And yet, under these circumstances something else came across in her voice. Each and every word well spoken. Perfectly spoken in fact. And yet at the same time, each and every word literally dripping from her lips. And those huge pools of eyes, just looking, imploringly into the eyes of her Mistress like she meant every single word she said from the bottom of her soul. And she did, she truly did.

“Hmmm that’s right Selena. That’s right. And you don’t want to go to my Rubber Rooms now, do you? At any time?”

Claudette simply held the clump of Selena’s hair, not tight, just enough to keep the head in position. Like a guiding grip really. Not one that had to be enforced in any way. Just in a way that was enough.

“No Mistress, no… this girl doesn’t want to ever visit the Rubber Rooms unless she has to. Unless her Mistress requires it. Unless it pleases Her.”

Such submission, such abandonment in the voice and in the eyes of Selena. And she spoke as though from previous experience of those Rubber Rooms. The eyes of Selena, so pool like, so watery that tears almost dripped with every word she spoke. Claudette didn’t speak again. She simply smiled at the girl before guiding her head back down. Selena’s fleshy, wet tongue emerging from between her lips even before she was all the way down. The sound of the licks like music to Claudette’s ears. The tongue lapping up over the arch of the foot, and down around the back of the heel. And then seemingly impossibly lower as that tongue wrapped around each of the spiked stiletto heels. Cleaning them. Shining them. Scrupulously clean. Absolutely clean. Further cleaning up the less soiled main body of the tight calf leather. The boots so tight fitting to Claudette’s lower legs that she could feel every stroke of Selena’s tongue through the supple leather. Selena using her own saliva and her own tongue surface to clean her Mistress’s boots. Then swallowing and consuming any dirt that her tongue collected. Claudette clenched her thighs as she looked down on her slave. She simply adored the power she had over her PA. She clenched her thighs and at the same time she forced her pelvis forward on the chair. In doing that she was forcing her clitoris to pop out from under its own hood and press against the nylon crotch of her pantihose. She liked that feeling. She liked the feeling of her swollen clitoris pressing against the delicateness of her hose. She was well practised at that. She could also make herself orgasm by simply, very slightly twisting in the chair. Just rising one hip higher than the other, and then flicking a slight twist so that the clitoris rubbed against the nylon. So that the very tip of it just rubbed up against the nylon. The tip of Claudette’s clitoris was also the centre of her universe. She could invoke and provoke orgasms of the most intense variety at the barest, most imperceptible twitch of any muscle at that precise point. Just that point. The tip of he clitoris. And, against the sheerness of nylon, the orgasm would be immense. For now though, just the press of that tip to the nylon. That was enough as she watched Selena working her tongue. She liked that. Yes she liked that.

A “ping” brought Claudette’s attention back to her laptop. Yes.. the information she had been waiting for had arrived via email. There had been many late nights and early mornings since she had begun the investigation into MissMyndFuck. A lot of the work she had been able to do herself. But some of the very advanced network stuff she simply didn’t know about and needed help. There were a number of sources and resources she could call on for that help and did. As the email had arrived, Selena was in the process of drying Claudette’s boots with her hair. She did that as slavishly as she licked and cleaned the boots. After hours in the licking and cleaning stage, she would spend equal time polishing the leather, using her own hair. Human hair proved a good polisher. Much better than any rag. Plus, there was what the very act of polishing someone else’s footwear with your own hair signified. It was quite a lowly thing. A lowly position for Selena to be in. Claudette curled her toes in the tight leather boots as she felt her girl polishing, and rubbing with her hair. There was an urgency about the polishing actions. Even a complete utter focus. Like one that she didn’t want to lose, or be distracted from. She did not want to miss one single bit of licked leather. Because Claudette would know. She would know. Later she would check her boots. Not especially putting herself out to do it. But just idly she would lean over her own lap, twist her feet this way then that way. Letting the light reflect off the leather. She looked at her footwear often because she loved her footwear. Like an obsession she loved her footwear. But she also wanted all of her shoes and boots to be absolutely clean. Perfectly clean. At any given time she was checking, idly checking for any imperfections in the polishing. If she found any. If she just saw one imperfection, like an unpolished, cloudy spot of saliva that had dried in to the leather, then she would have to make room in her diary for an extended visit to her Rubber Rooms with her girl. That is the Rubber Rooms in the basement of her own extensive property outside of the M25 London boundary.

The grand-objective was to identify MissMyndFuck. That is, identify the person behind the screen name MissMyndFuck. Somewhere behind that name was a real person. And somewhere behind that real person was a reason for doing what she was doing. What was she doing? That was the question. Hiding behind a screen name. And, doing everything humanely possible to conceal her real identity. Going to unusually complex lengths to conceal her identity. Then with her security, at least in her own mind, assured, spending time in the rooms, literally handpicking room occupants so that she could get inside their heads. Once inside their heads, she was dominating them on a catastrophic level. Actually peeling back the layers. Something similar to creating a blank canvas. Then, once that blank canvas had been created, she began to paint on it. In the case of fullcry, she peeled back the layers and discovered emotional, and sexual turmoil. Reading the logs of those chats, in some places had been disturbing. But that was what MissMyndFuck did. She selected her ‘victims’ with the utmost care. And so ultimately, the reason for MissMyndFuck, doing what she was doing, was there in full detail, like technicolour glory, in those logs. Full explicit, obscene detail. To be doing what she was doing, she HAD to go to the extraordinary lengths that she did to conceal her identity. She simply had to do it. Claudette actually ‘got that’. She got it, but despised it in equal measures.

What MissMyndFuck was doing and why, really had BEEN established. Claudette had needed help to work out the technicalities. And she got that help from a variety of on-line sources and contacts. It had to be found out HOW she was doing it so that the person behind that screen name could be traced and identified. With network and protocol knowledge it was really quite a simple matter of re-routing her connections through different servers around the world. It would ‘appear’ that she was logging in from all around the world when in fact, the woman, whoever she was, was probably in the same bedroom, or lounge, or suburban conservatory all the time. The reasoning behind this could, or more likely was two-fold. Firstly it would appear that she was a jet-setting, corporate type person simply indulging in her own ‘fantasies’. That illusion in itself held great allure for submissive types who were easily led. The vision was an attractive, erotic one in fantasies. The fact that she appeared to be this all powerful global Goddess with tentacles reaching worldwide was like an aphrodisiac to weaker individuals who would simply swallow the whole globe-trotting, perverse Mistress illusion hook line and sinker.

Secondly, there was the more sinister reasoning of the identity protection and what she was really doing with that secrecy. There was the possibility that she WAS this high profile, powerful global woman with very real and sincere reasons to conceal her identity. The chat logs though pointed in a very different direction. A vastly more sinister one. But that was it. That was precisely it. It could be said that MissMyndFuck’s identity, location and motive(s) had to be discovered and understood, even if at the end of the day, it was for her own good. She may well have been genuine, sincere and was working through her own issues in the only way she knew how. That was one side of the coin. The sinister explanation was the other. This was a situation, or an issue that had to be got to the bottom of for all concerned.

As that “ping” had pierced the early morning silence Selena was finishing off polishing Claudette’s boots and she was being guided away, by one booted foot. Not kicked away like an unwanted animal, or a stray bitch. But fairly gently. Just nudged and pushed away. The sole of the boot pressing directly into her cheek, directing her away. Such an action having the same effect of humiliation. And yet Selena, embracing the humiliation, tilting her head and pressing it against the boot as it guided her. Claudette purring as her ‘pet’ crawled away towards the bowl to take a drink. Selena in a slow crawl, a very slow almost feline crawl to the little metal pet bowl that had been set against the huge picture window sixteen floors up. Claudette loved setting the office out like this. With the building deserted except for security guards who patrolled every few hours. Even they didn’t come by when the knew an office was being worked in. Claudette always, but always set that water bowl against the window. Loved to see her pet framed in that window. The silhouette of her girl, her mature, big busted and on this occasion absolutely naked girl crawling then leaning, back dipped, huge nippled breasts grazing the floor beneath her as she lapped at the water. Behind her, the City coming to life for a new day. The City just waking up. And yet no-one from any of the neighbouring buildings being able to see the bizarre scene. That glass, of the one way variety. Claudette could see out. And so could her pet. Every so often, Selena would stop lapping at the water and look out. As she looked out she would stretch. Just dip her back a little and stretch. Extend one leg backwards slowly making Claudette purrrrrr at the sight. But no-one could see in through those windows. Discretion was assured. But from Claudette’s position, the scene was just delicious. Sometimes Selena would crawl around and lap at the bowl from different angles. She did this naturally, almost subconsciously except it wasn’t like that at all. She knew that her ‘owner’ Claudette liked to watch her from different angles. Liked to feast her eyes on what belonged to her. And this was the ideal opportunity to please her owner more. Move around the bowl lapping at it, sometimes noisily whilst Claudette poured her eyes over the raised ass and the dripping wet smooth hairless lips of the sex that was protruding back between her upper thighs. Claudette purred again.

The work involved in investigating the electronic equivalent of a paper trail was immense. In this instance so many servers involved around not only the UK, but the world. This task would have been a near impossible one for just one person to carry out alone. Or at the very least it would have been month upon month of painstaking work. Many hours and many set-backs and hurdles along the way. Thankfully, through BonNet Claudette had contacts around the world. There were Super-Ops around the world who could pour resources into this quite urgent matter. And were only pleased to do so. Once Claudette had explained her concerns about this particular matter, the wheels were put into motion. A group of Super-Ops located in different parts of the world all investigating their little bits of the world wide web, and then feeding their results to another Super-Op who collated and fed the results back to Claudette in London. Once one looked more closely a pattern emerged. That is a pattern of IP addresses. A pattern of ISPs. A pattern of server locations. A huge complex pattern of the deceit required for MissMyndFuck to pull this whole thing off. It just became impossible to think that a woman had created this huge ‘illusion’ just because she was a women with needs in the BDSM arena and that she wanted or needed to remain anonymous. It just seemed less and less like this was the case.

As with any pattern there were repeated elements. Elements that cropped up repeatedly throughout the process. There were a scattering of IP address for instance. Sometimes random ones that cropped up. But also, that one constant IP address. That was the IP address that belonged to MissMyndFuck’s computer. Most obviously it was a lap-top. MissMyndFuck connected from just one lap-top only. She didn’t spread herself around a host of machines. Too risky that way. Computers held electronic paper trails themselves. It was pretty obvious that this was a machine that was with this woman constantly. That she practically guarded it with her life. The other IP addresses were mostly random ones, ones that were allocated to the different servers at different times depending on log-in times. Then there were the huge amount of internet service providers (ISPs) around the world who were inadvertently involved in hosting this person at any given time. It wasn’t so much that they were hosting her, but that she was “hi-jacking” their services. At some point, either MissMyndFuck, or someone working with her, had hacked numerous ISP accounts in order to script the re-routing of her connection. Actually, the whole deception seemed so much more startling in audacity and complexity simply because the woman hadn’t been rumbled by any of the companies involved in over three years. That was the single most stunning thing about this whole mystery. This woman was more or less working this deception at will and with no recourse. Someone must have been connected to the IP addresses. Somewhere along the line, actual human beings were involved. MissMyndFuck had to be one of those human beings.

Claudette could see names cropping up. It had taken some extra special help from those with abnormal access to electronic payment systems worldwide to begin to uncover names. The detection work had to begin at the widest end of the wedge. It had to start there in order for it to be narrowed down. The objective being, to narrow it down to the thinnest end of the wedge. Not really a wedge but the sharp end of a spike really. At the very tip of that spike would be one name. The name, the real name behind the screen persona of MissMyndFuck.

Some names were repetitive and on further digging and further detective work were simply either connected to the companies running the servers, or the machine with that repetitive IP address linked to it. In most occurrences these names could be looked into discretely and discarded. Much like a process of elimination. The eventual goal was to get to the ONE name.

“Oh this is getting better. At last its getting better.”

Claudette was thinking out loud. She had been pouring over the minute details of the email she had received. Selena was curled up, in a human sized dog basket near the water bowl she had been lapping out of and was in a deep deep sleep. Claudette’s eyes had flicked to the curled naked form in the basket. She loved watching her pet sleep like that. The gentle rise and fall of her immense breasts as she breathed deeply through her sleep. The almost ‘expressionless’ expression of peace and contentment on her face. She was where she wanted to be, and nothing else mattered. She didn’t even stir as Claudette had at last started to make sense of all of the information she was given.

It seem that the trail led back to Europe. Most log-ins by MissMyndFuck was taking place through servers located on the European mainland. Germany. Austria. France. Belgium. Holland. The spike was getting thinner. And once the initial unravelling had been done, the spike, as opposed to the wedge was getting thinner at a rate of knots. Consequently the list of names was narrowing. The initial painstaking work that had been essential, was beginning to pay dividends. At long last it seemed that there was a result just around the corner. Eventually, all of the investigations were coming together and concentrated in Europe. MissMyndFuck, not such a globe-trotter after all it seemed. One name, or actually two names became highlighted and dominant in the work of those looking into it. All names were forwarded to Claudette. She was heading the investigation and consequently had to filter through the names. Besides, it was just a possibility, no matter how slight, that a name would ring a bell. It would have made things so much easier if that had happened. If this person whoever she was was known to Claudette, either through BonNet or through her professional life. Obviously no such luck. But like her aids in this investigation, the names on the list were gradually being narrowed down. Eventually there were only two names. But it was at this point that things began to get disturbing yet again. Actually, Claudette’s stomach did several turns when she had at last, gone through the mountain of stuff and after reading this final email had come to the same conclusion that her team had.

There was a female name and a male name. The female name was Alexandra Rothe. All of the accounts required to set up the huge network of deceit were in her name. ISP accounts all in the name of Ms Alexandra Rothe. Payment through electronic means, once again in the name of Ms Alexandra Rothe. All of the payment means available via the internet would state at some point whether the account holder was “verified”, or not. Verification meant that the address and bank details that the company held had been confirmed and verified. That in fact, Alexandra Rothe was who she said she was. However, in each and every case here, those accounts were “non-verified”. So yet another layer of deception and secretion had been uncovered. In normal circumstances this wouldn’t be an issue. One would suspect that the amount of non-verified accounts out there in cyber-space far outweighed the verified ones simply because, for instance, in order to make purchases through an online auction site, one would need to have one of these accounts. Many people would only use these accounts once and never use them again and therefore not go through the process of verification that was in most cases long winded and fraught with pitfalls. In this case though, and having all of the information to hand, Claudette could only worry just that little bit more. I guess ‘worry’ was an inappropriate word in connection with Claudette. It was simply an ‘issue’ that she had to resolve.

An unverified account held by Alexandra Rothe rang alarm bells. Several unverified accounts only emphasised a deception that seemed to be expanding even as the very tip of that spike was being accessed. So Ms Alexandra Rothe appeared to be the illusive MissMyndFuck. That much was clear. Or so it seemed. Except it wasn’t quite as simple as that. It would have been so nice to have had it all wrapped up with this. Having that name, Ms Alexandra Rothe should have seen the end of the matter in sight. A name, a single name that could be investigated. Eventually that name, hopefully being attached to THAT IP address and THAT computer. It was true to an extent of course. Except that investigations into that name drew a blank. There was no such person. Firstly on a European search. Then one that included the United Kingdom. Then out of desperation, one worldwide. Oh, even a Google search spat up many instances of the name Alexandra Rothe which instigated more dead ended investigations. But officially and in the context of Claudette’s investigations, Alexandra Rothe didn’t exist. There was no such person. But that was just it, there was.

It appeared that just as that tip of the spike was being reached, just as that light at the end of the tunnel was in sight, another dead end had been reached. Except, not quite. The unverified electronic payment accounts were the key. Those accounts were held in the name of a person that to all intents and purposes didn’t exist. However, whilst for anyone with the slightest internet knowledge would know that holding accounts in assumed names was fine, but somewhere along the line a real person had to exist. A real payment had to be made to the electronic payment companies. A bank account had to be used. A credit card. A debit card. Something, somewhere along the line had to be used by the person who was at the very tip of that spike. And that was it, that was the key. That was the very key to this investigation. That was where the second name came into the equation. All ISPs, all IPs, all servers, all countries and all names, investigated. No stone left unturned and eventually coming down to one name. Not MissMyndFuck. Not Alexandra Rothe. Just one name. Not a female name at all.

“Mr Stephane DeLaurie…… gotcha you little Cunt.”

Once again, Claudette thinking out aloud. The word “cunt” dripping out and over her scarlet lips like she was ejecting some kind of poison or something. This time to, it was with a little more volume, and this time Selena stirred in her basket. She opened her eyes dreamily and then stretched. Her long blonde hair cascading over the lip of the pet basket she was sleeping in. Her stunningly long legs seeming to unfold and then stretch forever as she woke from her deep deep sleep. Peering over the basket lip at Claudette,

“Is everything alright Mistress.”

Selena’s voice whispery, almost smoky in its tone and texture. Her long slender fingers just creeping up over the same lip of the basket and resting either side of her face. The perfectly manicured nails, deep red and catching the room lights. Her chin, also resting on that lip as she looked over, and up at her statuesque owner with nothing short of adoration and love.

“Oh yes. Oh yes pet. Everything is just fine. Mighty fine. And do you know pet, its going to get even better.”

Claudette looked over at Selena, watched her curl up again and fall into a kind of semi sleep before turning back to matters in hand. That light at the end of the tunnel was beginning to shine a little brighter.

Later that same day…

Claudette smiled to herself. She was on a roll. At last a single name to work on. A most bizarre twist though was the fact that Mr Stephane DeLaurie, as such did not exist. And, contrary to where the name pointed, neither was he French in orientation. Stephane DeLaurie was in fact Steven Laurie before having his name changed by deed pole.

“Oh My God! This cannot be right, surely !!!?”

Once again Claudette was thinking allowed. She had done a lot of that since embarking on this little project. It wasn’t something that she could exactly talk to someone else about. At least not anyone outside of her BonNet circle. Besides, where there had been the feelings, or the ‘need’ deep inside her to get to the bottom of the mystery known at MissMyndFuck, now that part of the matter was in the closing stages, stronger deeper feeling of anger were beginning to emerge. Had Alexandra Rothe not turned out to be Steven Laurie, had it actually turned out to be a fact that this was a woman who had covered her tracks for fear of her ‘hobbies’ and her deviant sexual nature being discovered, then Claudette would undoubtedly have gone about handling the next phase in a different manner. In a different way altogether. Probably, Claudette would have discreetly met the said Alexandra Rothe, explained to her that she had been rumbled and that she would have to find some other, less invasive and suspicious way of getting her jollies. Who knows they may have even ended up as friends. Close friends. Claudette could never say that she hadn’t become more than slightly moist during the hours and hours she had spent reading those chat logs. And because of this she did have something of an affinity with the person known as MissMyndFuck.

The fact was that, with the discovery of Steven Laurie, her illusion had been broken. Not just broken but smashed wide open. She actually, in a mature, simmering kind of way, felt ‘cheated’. Almost defiled by this Steven Laurie person, whoever the fuck he was. And that was the next question that needed to be answered. Who the fuck was he? It didn’t take much digging. And the first thing found out totally astounded Claudette. The intense and complex deception that had taken place pointed to someone mature and with knowledge that the normal person in the street just could not have. It involved financial fraud and identity fraud and finally immoral fraud of the most invasive kind. All of those factors were right. Except the first. Steven Laurie was a ‘boy’ barely out of his teens. In fact, within the last week he had just had his twentieth birthday. A coincidence that didn’t escape Claudette was the fact that this boy spent his twentieth birthday with his cock slipping down inside fullcry’s throat. She knew this, from the chat logs she had spent endless hours pouring over. It had become evident that, the man ‘sent’ around to use fullcry, was indeed the one and only MissMyndFuck aka Alexandra Rothe aka Stephane DeLaurie aka Steven Laurie.

Steven Laurie was, it turned out, the drop-out son of a well known politician. Or that should be ex-politician since he was now a Lord. Extremely high profile. Claudette couldn’t find out the reason for his dropping out. She hadn’t been interested. Not in the slightest. She was more than a little bubbling that this ‘little shit’ had caused her to be slightly damp between the thighs. The fact was that he had dropped out and then set about changing his name via deed-pole in the United Kingdom. Really he had dropped out without a trace. At least that was as far as his family was concerned. They simply had not wanted to know him. Claudette had thought that a little strange. He must have done something to warrant being ignored, or more or less disowned by his own family. He had dropped out yes. Lots of teenagers dropped out but still retained the full support of the family. He had dropped out of his own free will and accord. But the family had done nothing to stop him just disappearing into a black hole of anonymity. That puzzled Claudette but there was no pressing need for her to dig deeper on that. At least not yet. Steven had dropped out just before his seventeenth birthday. Almost immediately his deception had begun. A seriously mixed up dude with issues. Nothing more than a kid creating this huge deception for purely sexual reasons. Not just sexual reasons, but apparently because of advanced and quite twisted deviations from the normal. Maybe his family had found out about his strange tastes in sexual preferences? Who knows. As soon as he was eighteen, Steven Laurie had changed his name to Stephane DeLaurie by deed poll. Fuck.. where did THAT come from? There were all sorts of twists and turns that could be explored with regard to Stephane DeLaurie. But they weren’t important, not right at this time. Claudette was just about getting her head around the fact that she was dealing with a rampant, sexual predator of just twenty years old. Fuck! It was laughable. Or was it? When everything was taken into consideration, laughable wasn’t an appropriate word.

The dropping out phase had lasted just long enough for Stephane to disappear from the radar. He had had a talent for computers from an early age. This seemed to have been overlooked, or eclipsed by whatever else was going on in his life. He eventually crept out from under the stone of drop-out status to secure a position with a small IT company operating outside London. It was whilst he was at this company that he fine tuned his deception and set everything up. It might have been the fact that he then spent the next two years moving from company to company that he avoided detection. Or that he hadn’t been flagged up. He had quite obviously used the company facilities in order to gain access to various networks that enabled him to create this huge on-line persona that was MissMyndFuck. There was no doubt either that Stephane DeLaurie was good at what he did. He had started at the bottom, as an IT assistant and then with each and every subsequent job move, he moved up the ladder. That was normal. For people to progress in that way. But this guy was so good at his job, and had become so well known within the greater London area, or in particular the City, that his current company had head-hunted him from his last job and enticed him with a salary that just wasn’t the normal for a ‘boy’ of his age.

Stephane DeLaurie had successfully dropped-out and remerged. As far as Claudette could tell, and she could tell a lot from the information she had gained about this boy, he had no contact with his family, and apart from work was something of a loner. He went to work, and he went home. Home had become a £2million bachelor apartment in the Docklands area of London. There was no mortgage on the property, it had been purchased outright. In the shadow of 1 Canada Square, otherwise know as the Canary Wharf tower, the apartment existed across the entire top floor of a twenty storey building and with roof garden and balcony views across the City. There was no doubt that this guy was being well paid by the company that he worked for. But what IT professional could afford to purchase outright, a £2million pound property? It would be unheard of. More so for a twenty year old to do be able to do that. Only further digging into Stephane’s finances would reveal that he had secured many sizeable payments from individuals over quite an expanse of time. That was an avenue that had to be explored further because it did ring certain alarm bells within Claudette’s increasingly agitated mind. That further probing and further digging revealed that Stephane, aka MissMyndFuck had extorted funds out of more than a handful of his on-line victims. In fact so immense was his MissMyndFuck income that it actually dwarfed the really quite sizeable salary he was receiving from the company he worked for. It would be safe to say that this guy was simply using his day job as a cover. His on-line deception was paying huge dividends. That much was an understatement. Baring in mind he was only twenty years old, his ‘achievements’ could quite rightly be described as ‘staggering’. The fact the he blended in with the City high flyers meant that he kind of became ‘invisible’.

The City was full of wealthy young people. Male and female. Claudette knew that. She had started as a runner on the floor of the stock exchange and had been notable simply because she had been only one of two female runners at that time. She had quickly risen through the ranks whilst the other girl had faded away. Claudette had eventually come to mergers and acquisitions simply because of the returns. It was true that Claudette had become something of a legend. Even an icon that other women looked up to. A prime example of what could be achieved in the previously male dominated world of high finance. She knew the City. She knew how it worked. The City knew her. And to think all the time, this little shit, this little slip of a twenty year old ‘boy’ had infiltrated not only the City, but her BonNet network. And to further think that he was operating pretty much right under her nose all of the time just, for a moment, made Claudette sink back in her chair, at a loss for words. This guy took the biscuit. He just took the biscuit. She was curious as to what he looked like. That is curious to the point that she had to know. The problem with twenty year olds who just so happened to be also megalomaniacs was they liked, to a certain degree at least, to show off. Maybe not show-off, but ‘be seen’. Of course Stephane DeLaurie had a FaceBook page. He had a Yahoo page and he even Twittered. . Of course he belonged to every social networking site that existed. A simple search on his name brought up all of those pages. Oh… of course, he did not introduce himself as Stephane DeLaurie – Deception Artist, Pervert, Extortionist, all-round fuck-wit. No, of course he didn’t do that. It was Stephane DeLaurie IT Professional. In fitting with the unfolding character this boy had become, he had more online friends than real-life friends. It was obvious just reading these pages that he didn’t mingle in the real world. He felt safer and was more effective from behind a computer screen. The computer was his weapon of choice. Oh yes, there was the odd foray into the real world. I mean, MissMyndFuck often sent ‘men’ around to give the girls who had come under her control a good seeing to. Except that it wasn’t a man, as such. It was a boy. Stephane DeLaurie himself. That was probably the only way that he could get his rock off in the real world. To have these girls, and in some cases, women, at his complete and utter mercy. He didn’t strike Claudette as the kind of guy who pursued normal relationships. A normal relationship would probably break him down into little tiny pieces.

Claudette felt like applauding the boy. Fuck he was good. She had said that countless times about MissMyndFuck, when it WAS MissMyndFuck she was looking for. Now she was saying it about a twenty year old BOY who was a cunt of the biggest order and taking the piss in the most audacious way imaginable. She had to admit though, he was a good looking boy. Pretty even. From his profile pictures on the social network sites, he didn’t just look his age. He looked younger. Claudette spent a lot of time looking at the countless pictures he had put up of himself. Obviously very proud of his own looks. Very taken with himself. Oh yes she could believe that he took pride in his own looks. It wasn’t just in his grooming it was the way he posed for the pictures. There was not only a confidence in his looks, but an arrogance. Claudette spent time pouring over these pages. Like she was getting to know him. Like she was getting to know him intimately. She couldn’t help thinking that this guy, this Stephane DeLaurie was not only a good looking boy, a pretty boy… but he was also, at least from his photographs, more than a little effeminate. Somehow, it didn’t matter which of the hundreds of pictures she looked at, she came to the same conclusion. It could have been the long blondish hair. Or the fact that not only did he have no facial hair, but there didn’t appear to be any ability to grow any. Then there were the big eyes. The high cheekbones. The full lips. Claudette chuckled to herself. But then she considered, was she simply thinking this way because they were facts, or was she thinking this way because there was something more than a little anger simmering and increasing inside her about this person. She considered all for a few seconds and decided that both cases were probably true.

Claudette had to meet this guy. But in the first instance she needed to do more homework on him. The deception was solved. The identity was solved. Now the man-boy-girl had to be explored in greater detail. Layers peeled back. Investigations made. Before Claudette made her move, before she met this little shit face to face she had to know EVERYTHING.

Location…. Claudette’s country property.

The weekends was when Claudette could usually relax. Chill. Let her hair down. The City only worked five days a week. Monday to Friday. At least it did for her. She had long since passed the stage where she had to work hours on end seven days a week. Claudette was so established that the wheels pretty much oiled themselves. These days she was raking in money for her company, and for herself for little more than clicking her mouse a few times a day. At almost forty one years old it was where she needed to be. Enjoying life. She could retire now and not even dent her bank balance by living off the interests her cash and investments made. She hadn’t quite become that kind of lady of leisure yet. She still needed a buzz. Still needed a challenge.

“MMMM MMMMM AAHHHHH MMMMMM MMMMMMM.”

Selena was naked except for a pair of self supporting stockings and high heeled shoes. She looked more than a little unkempt because one of the stockings had peeled down her leg and was just slipping over her knee. And yet the other remained fully encasing her stunningly long leg. The scene was a little decadent. Actually it was very decadent. In the middle of an otherwise bare room in the basement of the extensive property was a gynaecologists chair. Selena was laid back with her knees in the smooth, rubber covered stirrups. The stirrups and consequently Selena’s legs had been spread wide open. As wide as they could go really without causing any discomfort. Actually to look at Claudette’s PA, one would be quite surprised at how wide her legs would spread without causing even the slightest discomfort. It wasn’t the spread of her legs that was causing her to moan out loud. A short time before Claudette had slipped a bunch of vibrating ben-wah balls up inside Selena.

There had been no need for lubrication. Selena, ever since becoming the property of Claudette had been in a permanent state of wetness and self lubrication. She was also hairless between the legs. Her sex smooth and totally hair free. Claudette had simply walked between her slave’s wide open legs and lightly stroked the labia, just encouraging the leaking juices to ebb and flow out. She had then used those juices to introduce the the string of vibrating balls one at a time. Pushing the first, then the second then the third, fourth and fifth balls up inside her. Making sure the cunt was closed after the insertion of the last ball and leaving just the string, used for retrieving the balls, hanging out. Claudette had enticingly licked her own fingers that had become coated with Selena’s juices, right in front of her PA. She liked to do little things like that. Little tokens in return for how her PA pleased her. Then she had stood back as the balls up inside her had vibrated and worked that inner flesh. Claudette knew what was happening inside Selena. She knew what those balls did.

“Pet… I don’t mind you enjoying the balls. But if you cum, or if I see your clitoris even peeking out, you will be punished. Do I make myself clear sweetie?”

It was a little game she played. It wasn’t even like Selena was secured or imobalised in any way other than her legs being suspended high and wide apart by the stirrups. It was a display of how well trained she was. Just her hands behind her head as she laid back in the leather covered chair. The balls working and vibrating away up inside her. Both she and Claudette knew all too well what the outcome would be. Claudette had simply retreated a little to the side, to read some documentation pertaining to the little shit known as Stephane DeLaurie. She did that in a casual way. There was no rush. It was Saturday and both her and Selena were locked away in the property until Monday morning. Claudette would be working on her PA and slave for the whole of that time. Selena could just reached down and rip the balls out of herself if they drove her too mad. Another sign of her devotion and her training. Even knowing the outcome. The balls working her and her labia beginning to contract and peel open. As though her sex had a life of its own. The roll and the pulsating of the sex flesh just happening and then becoming more and more with each passing minute.

“MMMMMM MMM M M M M M AAAAAHHHHHH…..”

The moans becoming more telling. Claudette blatantly ignoring her pet as the beads worked up inside Selena. Then even more casually commenting,

“Don’t forget what I said pet… no cum… no clitoris.”

Claudette speaking almost nonchalantly and yet knowing also what the outcome would be. In the event, it was the clitoris that made the appearance first. The balls up inside Selena working her to such an extent that the clitoris simply filled and swelled and then peeled itself from under the hood. There was no way that Selena could prevent that from happening. Really, a case, a prime example of the PA and pet being betrayed by her own body. The clitoris peeling out. Like it was ‘popping’ out and then there in full view of anyone who might look between those quite glorious legs. Once again, Claudette casually, ever so casually looking over. Tutting at the sight of her girl’s most intimate organ on display and then waiting for the inevitable to happen.

“MMMMM OHHH GODDDDD MISTRESSSSSSSS I CANTTTT HELP ITTTTTTT I’M CUMMINGGGGGGGGGGG.”

A deeper betrayal by her body as the intense orgasm began to roll through her at precisely the same time as that clitoris slid out. It was like that friction of the tight clitoris hood, sliding around the circumference of the clitoris right down to and around the base was the single cause of the orgasm. It wasn’t that way of course. The balls were feeding the clitoris and so they were playing their part in the betrayal. As the first wave of what was to be a multiple orgasm rolled through Selena, she squirted from her cunt. Her own produce squirting some feet in front of her and between her legs. Almost to the stiletto’d feet of Claudette who simply looked her girl deep in the eyes and smiled. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t interrupt the flow of the orgasm. She let it ride out, just watching her girl in the deepest throws of pure passion and love. Listened to the whimpering throws of undiluted pleasure as they drained the energy out of her girl. Selena limp in the chair, legs splayed, hairless smooth cunt dribbling as the balls continued to work inside her. Still working inside her as Claudette retrieved a long, dressage type whip from the stand in the corner.

“EEEEEEEOWOWOWOOWWWWOWW OWWWWWWW.”

Selena’s cries were real. And yet they were also accepting cries and whimpers. She had done wrong. She had done something that was told not to do and now she was paying the price. The orgasm had subsided, but the balls hadn’t been removed. They kept working the sexual flesh and consequently kept feeding the full, bloated clitoris. The clitoris could not, therefore slide back into its hood. Neither did Claudette want that to happen. In an almost effortless, but definite manner she set about just whipping said clitoris with the very end of the dressage whip. At the end of the dressage whip was a little thick leather tab that “flicked” deliciously. Such a flick would do not very much to any other area of flesh, but when applied to the very tip of a clitoris that had just been hyper-sensitised by an intense and multiple orgasm the effect was exquisite pain that dripped with extended pleasure.

“Naughty… naughty… naughty… clitty…”

Her words were spaced and timed with each flick of the whip. Consequently so were Selena’s whimpers and cries. With each slap of the leather whip pad, little splashes of sexual juice were catapulted into the air. Selena limp in the chair, simply accepting the punishment. A well trained pet.

“Naughty…. naughty… naughty… orgasm…”

Not a formal punishment session. Nor by any means a severe one. Just a little light relief for Claudette and yet another opportunity for Selena to show her devotion to her Mistress and Owner. The gynaecologist’s chair and indeed the room in which it was situated was simply for supplying pleasant distractions. For deeper, more meaningful, prolonged and protracted methods of inflicting torture and enforced pleasure, there were the sub-basement rooms of Claudette’s property. A complex of rooms that were below the level of basement. Fully equipped, sound proofed rooms that were a mix of Hell and Heaven. Or perhaps somewhere in between. Most definitely somewhere beyond the normal world. Down there, the Rubber Rooms were where advanced BDSM and fetish activities took place. Deviances and perversions, not for the feint hearted nor the novice. One would not want to be one of the ‘unfortunates’ down in that place. An unfortunate being someone on the business end of Claudette’s forays into the unexplored. Claudette like to explore. Liked to charter the unchartered. She liked to go where no-one had gone before. She liked a challenge. This was true in her professional life and it had brought her untold wealth and status. The same was true in her private life. Selena wasn’t one of Claudette’s ‘unfortunates’. She was Claudette’s pet. Claudette loved her. Cherished her. And the feelings were reciprocated. The games she played with Selena were not even on the same level as the ones that went on in that basement with other girls. What kept Selena on Claudette’s (sometimes) invisible leash, was the knowledge of what her Mistress and Owner was capable of. The potential of that basement, its contents and Claudette’s extensive mind and imagination, was immeasurable. Frightening even

“Naughty… naughty… naughty… naughty girl.”

Sure, Stephane DeLaurie had been clever. Was clever. But he was also incredibly stupid. The problem with people like him was that they got greedy. And it was inevitably their greed that culminated in their downfall. The fact that Stephane’s greed outweighed his cleverness, several fold was pretty astounding given what he had achieved. And therein lay the problem. With so much unchallenged success, and so much undiscovered, or unexposed deception occurring on a huge scale and over such a long period of time, complacency was bound to creep in. Older more life-experienced people were guilty of complacency all the time. Stephane DeLaurie’s age was a contributing factor to his. He thought he was untouchable. Thought that he could scour cyber-space and then suck his victims into the real life of his sexual abuse with no recourse or repayment. His older victims filled slightly different parameters. They not only had to be ‘with issues’ but they needed to be wealthy and with asset lists that could be stripped with ease by DeLaurie. He didn’t need to interrogate the women concerned, he simply had to get into their lives. Into their heads. Once he was where he needed to be, then he could turn the screw and simply fleece them. Its what he did. It was what he did well. Each of his wrong-doings fed each other and contributed to his downfall. If he had just found lonely older women with issues, he may never have been caught. His downfall was the fact that he was also a pervert of the highest order who sourced his younger ‘bits of fun’ on servers such as BonNet. If it hadn’t been for MissMyndFuck being flagged up, he may have gone on, and on for a long long time. The most simple fact was that, where it might have been next to impossible to pin him down for the sexual misadventures, once he had started to fleece older women of their life savings, their assets and their properties he was heading into the massive fraud arena. Serious fraud investigators would be interested in him. Insurance companies. Private investigators. When all was taken into consideration, DeLaurie, had the legal route for his downfall been taken, would be looking at a considerable stretch, detained at one of Her Majesty’s institutions. Claudette smiled to herself as the grief started to pile up without Stephane DeLaurie even knowing. Just when in reality he thought he was still on top of the pile and rising even higher, in actual fact he was about to come crashing down in a catastrophic way. Not in a way that any one person could ever imagine. All the time Claudette digging and uncovering, digging and uncovering. DeLaurie really was incredibly stupid. On top of everything else he had begun to skim off his company. Completing IT projects but re-routing electronic payments into his own account. Claudette just taking her time, making sure all the i’s were dotted and the t’s crossed before she made her move. At the time she made the call, she had everything she needed. There were no stones left to turn. Even as she made the call, her voice remained cool, calm and unruffled.

“Ahhh Mr DeLaurie this is Claudette, from A&A in the City. I wanted to discuss the possibility of you doing some work for my company. We’ve been thinking of upgrading our servers and network worldwide and I’ve heard good things about you. Do you think we could meet some time?”

Claudette never introduced herself with her surname. She didn’t need to. Her reputation preceded her. Just the name, the company name, and Claudette’s business like tone. She was very rarely, if at all turned down for a meeting. Her phone call was short, straight to the point. Stephane DeLaurie chilled back in his chair. He was watching the the stunt pilots over the river. The event had been the

Red Bull Air Race. People came from all over the world to watch men in their little stunt planes, come close to death over Docklands, and pay a fortune for tickets in the process. Stephane DeLaurie had an unhindered view from the floor to ceiling lounge window.

“I’d be delighted to meet you Claudette. You are a legend after all. Why don’t you see what you have free in your diary, and I will fit in with you. How does that sound?”

Claudette’s mouth curled into a smile. He sounded as young as he looked. And yet he sounded very confident, very arrogant as well. He also sounded like he was sucking up. Whilst that kind of aggravated her, it also amused her.

“That sounds like a plan. I’ll be in touch soon.”

Claudette hung up the call without even waiting for his final farewell. She didn’t want him to get suspicious that she was trying to get him on some kind of hook after all. DeLaurie heard the call click to an end and his smile, when all was taken into consideration, was probably wider that Claudette’s. He kind of carried on the conversation, even though he knew that Claudette wasn’t on the other end.

“… and I will look forward to it Claudette Tennison from A&A in the City. Claudette Tennison also-know-as Athenia from BonCom. I will look forward to it like you cannot imagine.”

Stephane DeLaurie sat back in his recliner. Arms up,fingers interlaced behind his head as he watched the Red Bull series in full flow. His thoughts were written all across his smug face.

“Does that Bitch really think she could do as much digging without me knowing about it? Ha Ha Ha… my biggest pay-day yet… stupid, stupid Lesbian Bitch.”

Stephane had known for some time that someone was digging into his past. Unfortunately he didn’t know the extent of the turmoil he was about to be embroiled in. Or who it was that had instigated it. Claudette’s name had come up quite by accident and then he had done a little digging himself. He hadn’t achieved what he had achieved without some street nous after all. The problem was that his stupidity was extended somewhat when he had only done a ‘little’ digging once Claudette’s name had cropped up. He should really have gone into it a lot more. His arrogance, stupidity and his complacency meant that his digging hadn’t gone anywhere near far enough. He still thought he was untouchable. He had got away with so much for so long, that he really thought that this power bitch from the City, this Claudette lesbian bitch was playing in water that was out of her depth. Overall it was a simple display of what he really thought of women in general. And how he had no respect for them. None whatsoever.

Stephane was the one playing out of his depths. Stephane DeLaurie was about to enter a traumatic time in his relatively young life. That, in itself probably was a drastic understatement. Stephane DeLaurie, at some time in the very near future, would, on several occasions, wish he was dead.

But death would never be an option for him. That would be a too easy way out for him. And if Claudette could be sure of one thing, that was that things were not going to be easy for Stephane DeLaurie. Ever!

THREE: The Sting

DeLaurie wasn’t going to turn down ANY time slot offered for the meeting with Claudette. Thinking that he had the upper hand even before the meeting, he would have put anything on hold. Claudette, strangely enough had become the single most important thing in his life. Before her call, she had simply been a minor cloud on the horizon. One that he would have to deal with at some point in the future. But since her call, since he had heard her silky, even dulcet tones over the telephone, well, life had taken slightly different perspective for him. Truth be known, after three years of the greatest audacity in the modern era, he was slightly bored. He was operating at will and was untouchable, he thought. He needed a new focus in his life. And well, this “Claudette Lesbian Bitch” certainly gave him that focus.

“Ahhhh Mr DeLaurie, I’m pleased I caught you. I had envisaged us meeting for lunch or dinner but my diary is oversubscribed….. Hmmmm yes precisely. I have a meeting at my office which will run until about 5.30 tomorrow evening. If you could come to my office, we can perhaps have that chat after that meeting. Possibly seal a successful meeting with a few drinks in a little champagne bar that I know down the road. How does that sound to you? I mean I am hoping for a long and fruitful collaboration with yourself. Either with your company’s involvement, or not. That can be another subject of discussion.”

The conversation was mostly one way. That is, Claudette spoke and Stephane DeLaurie listened, with just the occasional grunt in acknowledgement. Dropping in a little hint that she could operate in a slightly underhand way did Claudette no harm at all. It made Stephane smile. An almost sickly sweet smile stretched across and over full lips.

“That sounds perfect Claudette. I know what you mean about the oversubscribed diary. Oh My God, tell me about it. I’ll get to your office just about 5.30. Don’t worry if your meeting runs over, I will wait.”

Claudette’s turn to smile as she detected the over exaggerated compensation in DeLaurie’s tone. He had always had to do that. He had dropped out early and so had always lacked the education in some ways. Communication was one of those ways. Oh he could read and write and his mind, or more like his brain was a brilliant thing. It was just a psychological thing. As though it was overcompensating for that lack of education. Like he felt he had to try harder than everyone else in certain areas. And that trying harder coming across sometimes obviously. It was just an obviously forced thing when he tried to put on the well-to-do-accent even given his true roots. Even this early it was as though Claudette could read that devious, shit-head mind like a book. Oh, she kind of knew the sort of things that would be running through his mind.

“Excellent Stephane, that is just excellent. I will see you then… bye for now.”

“Yes indeed, bye for now lesbian bitch.”

Claudette had already hung up. Stephane was thinking aloud. He licked his lips and continued with his day. That day was Thursday. The next day, the day of the meeting was Friday. He couldn’t think of a more perfect lead into the weekend. Maybe even, over the weekend, he would have the lesbian bitch squealing for some kind of a mercy that would never be granted. He laughed out loud as he thought of the many possibilities. As he laughed he rubbed firmly at a quite enormous bulge in his trousers.

Location… Claudette’s Office – Friday

Both Claudette and Stephane had been stunned in equal measure when they first met. From Claudette’s point of view, this meeting was the culmination of months and months of painstaking work and there was a buzz riding through her like she hadn’t had for such a long time. Indeed, she could never recall having experienced such a ‘buzz’. She had clock-watched all day. Just going through the motions whilst at the same time increasing her bank balance by another million and her company’s by several million. Fridays were always good in mergers and acquisitions. At least they were for her. She had always just been grateful that she had been on the business end of mergers and acquisitions and not on the lawyers side of things. ‘Yuch those lawyers earned every penny’, she thought.

Claudette had been on auto pilot through her final meeting of the day. No-one would have noticed that though. Claudette was such a professional. No-one except Selena would have noticed. She knew Claudette inside, and out and she would have known about the pre-occupation. The buzz that Claudette had woken with that Friday morning was one that stayed with her all day and on more than one occasion, caused her to clench her thighs. It was like an adrenalin rush. One that went right to the base of her clitoris and stayed there. Just throbbing in the base of her clitoris like a little ‘nag’ all day. Threatening to make its way to the tip of her clitoris but never quite getting off first base.

And yet, when actually, for the first time Claudette came face to face with the “boy”, in her mind she exhaled in an almost cry of disappointment. The little shit who had caused pandemonium on a global scale, turned out to be just that. A little shit of a boy. Stephane DeLaurie was a tiny, almost petite slip of a young man. Actually in the context of ‘man’, he was a sorry excuse. Claudette could easily, and simply hide any shock or feelings she had. She had had to do that in business for many years on a daily basis. She had long since subscribed to the analogy that ‘life was one big bluff’. The few seconds it took, for Selena to usher in Stephane, make the introductions and for the two to shake hands, Claudette had scanned the ‘boy’. Taken in his almost girlish blonde locks and his flawless, hairless face. Oh he was a pretty boy. She had to give him that. He WAS an extremely pretty boy. But so slightly built that she had the feeling that if she shook his hand with her usual firmness, the bones would surely break. His slightness, or skinniness was such that whilst he appeared tall, in actual fact, of he was very short for a man, at little more than five feet six inches. That WAS short for a man even if he was only twenty years old. There would be no future growth spurts that was for sure. Five feet six was his height. Full stop.

“I am SO pleased to meet you Mr DeLaurie, so pleased. I can’t tell you how long I have been trying to fit you into my plans. Or indeed hoping that you would fit in with my plans.”

Claudette’s turn to exaggerate. Using words and a tone that was almost like sucking up to Stephane. That was no accident. Everything that Claudette did was deliberate. It was built-in to her plan. She already felt that she knew Stephane DeLaurie so well. Intimately in fact. As well as digging into his personal real life, she had read and re-read selected logs of chats that he had had with several of his victims. She had researched his online persona minutely. She read what he liked to see in a woman under his control and she dressed accordingly for the meeting. Her forty FF breasts barely contained in a low cut top and which threatened to roll out with every slight movement she made. And a skirt so tight to her thighs that it forced a hobble in the high heels she wore. And yet at the same time, short enough to display the extraordinary length of her shapely legs. Those same legs sheathed in the sheerest of nylon. Her hair piled high then pulled back into a high tight pony tail and makeup so heavy that even she knew she looked like a hooker. But it was a look that he liked. It was how he liked the women he terrorised to look.

From Stephane DeLaurie’s point of view, he was stunned. His eyes peeled open wide as this giant of a woman came towards him with her hand extended in greeting. To highlight the scale involved, DeLaurie was no more than a slight, five feet six man-boy. Claudette was five feet ten inches in her bare feet. She was wearing five inch heels which brought her to a towering six feet three. On top of that she was stacked with forty FF breasts, had a twenty six inch waist and thirty eight inch hips. To say that she ‘dwarfed’ this boy would be an understatement. He swallowed and his eyes peeled open. But he was as expert as Claudette at masking shock, or surprise, or disappointment. He placed his soft hand into hers for the greeting. Even her hands, ultra feminine and perfectly manicured seemed to make his look, and feel tiny. God he was weedy to the point of being effeminate.

“Claudette the feeling is mutual of course.”

He spoke in reply as she indicated a chair on one side of her desk. She made her way to her own seat. It was ok, Claudette was used to having her tits spoken to as opposed to her face. It happened all the time. She knew what he was thinking. Or at least along the lines of what he was thinking. In his mind she just knew that already he was clamped onto one of her teats with his teeth and was laying the riding crop across the other. She just knew he would be thinking along those lines. And so she didn’t in anyway hold back from exaggerating her movement as she sat. Causing her breasts to roll in the most provocative ways. All of the flesh rippling and rolling as she sat. She knew also that he was a leg man. Or a leg ‘boy’ as it turned out. So she moved her chair back from the huge, oak desk enough for him to be able to see and fully appreciate the deliberately slow leg cross which was accompanied by the rasp of nylon on nylon. He hid it well, but she knew, she knew all to well that he was dribbling inside his trousers at the sight she had treated him to. She had further emphasised the Amazonian proportions of her breasts as she poured two glasses of prepared, chilled water. Leaning over her desk had inevitably brought the massive mammaries to rest on the desk top. As Claudette had then reached for the water, reached for the glasses and slid the filled glasses in front of herself and Stephane, her breasts had rolled and shifted, and distorted a little for his further pleasure. She could smile without being seen. She could do that simply because DeLaurie’s eyes were fixed to those breasts. He didn’t even hide that. Just like he didn’t try to mask the slippery, quite repulsive lick of his lips.

“I want to talk business, but first of all I want to talk about MissMyndFuck.”

It was like an electric bolt out of the blue. It was short and straight to the point. Stephane hadn’t finished feasting his eyes on Claudette’s exceptional breasts, but his eyes snapped up to meet hers. She looked directly at him. A delicate smile just about curled onto her glossed lips. His mind went into an immediate whirl. He hadn’t been expecting it. He had known she had been digging. But not that she had discovered his MissMyndFuck persona. That was a problem for him but he didn’t show it. He didn’t show it at all. He simply picked up the glass and took a sip of water. Then took another and replaced the glass before responding.

“Sorry, who?”

He smiled and her eyes didn’t leave his. Once the initial shock had died down, and he had composed himself inwardly, his arrogant untouchable self kicked in. It was ok, he thought, his security had been so tight, so flawless that even if someone had kind of worked it out, it could never be proved. The evidence could never be collected and collated and then traced back to him. Little did he know that it already had been. ‘Lesbian bitch is pissing into the wind’…. was his immediate thought. And yet there was a rising cause for concern.

“If I mention Alexandra Rothe and ‘fullcry’ for instance, will that help to jog your memory?”

Claudette brushed imaginary dust off her top making her breasts jiggle and ripple a little more, right in his line of sight. Stephane’s heart missed several beats. If she knew about Alexandra Rothe then she knew about finances. But still his security had been so tight, it would still be next to impossible to pin on him. He had spent months and months building up his security. Ensuring it was watertight, he thought. His mouth curled into a smile a little frown across the brow indicating, falsely that he didn’t have a clue what Claudette was talking about.

“Awwww still a memory problem Mr DeLaurie? Well, let me try again. Lets ignore, for a moment the sexual entrapment and abuse of the individuals ‘MissMyndFuck’ hunted on-line. Now I KNOW you know that Alexandra Rothe is indeed linked to you and your bank accounts. And I KNOW that in amongst your many sexual victims, there are women who have been relieved of their savings, investments and properties. And I KNOW that all of these transactions are linked to YOU Mr DeLaurie. Am I making any inroads now to your memory.”

The smile had begun to fade from Stephane’s face and he swallowed visibly and dryly. And yet there was still that arrogance. He kind of looked at Claudette’s shifting breasts deliberately and for a long few seconds before finally responding, still with a smile on his face that some people might have been persuaded to slap off.

“You’ll never prove that shit. I’ve covered my tracks too well. You’ve got fuck-all on me. FUCK ALL.”

Claudette laughed this time as she sat back and recrossed her legs.

“Well, I have to give it to you. You have been very clever but you have also been very stupid. All of that re-routing of your internet connections, through all of those countries and all of those ISPs. So clever. Very clever. And yet, all of those connections leading back to the one fixed IP address. The one fixed computer. That computer you have with you right now I am guessing.”

Claudette indicating the expensive leather laptop bag that DeLaurie had placed in top of the expansive desk. She was right of course, that was ‘the’ offending machine. And his eyes darted to it, as though any second it would be snatched away and sealed into an evidence bag or something. Whilst explaining in simple terms that she knew how his scam was operated Stephane’s colour was draining from his face at a rate of knots. His complexion had become pale, almost white, definitely sallow.

“I have logs. Bank account details. Transactions. Times. Dates. I have everything. And everything leads back to you. NOW am I jogging your memory.”

Claudette blew down her considerable cleavage. Another piece of imaginary dust dislodged. Even in Stephane’s diminishing arrogance and confidence he couldn’t resist yet another lingering, almost lecherous look at those gorgeous tits. If it were possible for a twenty year old city IT expert to look perverse, and obscene, then this little shit DeLaurie was that person.

“And I Claudette Tennison, also know about your little sideline. ‘Athenia’. Lesbian Bitch. But I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

A split second resurgence of confidence. Stephane DeLaurie’s turn to sit back. Quite smugly in his chair. Admittedly, she hadn’t been expecting that but she was not adverse to a little cat-and-mouse when the occasion called for it. In his mind she hadn’t been expecting that and should have been rocked to the core because of it. Claudette just looked at the boy. Kind of letting him have his few seconds of glory before her mouth curled into a wide, lip-glossed smile and then a little chuckle. She chuckled directly into his face before picking up her glass of water and sipping a little.

“Hmmmmmm, so I am a lesbian and I administer a fetish chat network, which means what, exactly?”

“It means you are finished if you don’t comply with MY requirements.”

It wasn’t exactly how Stephane had envisaged this meeting going at all. He was on the back foot and he had needed to make his move early. Because it was early it was also laughably clumsy. He had to put his cards on the table sooner rather than later. In fact, his actions at this point were smacking of desperation. Claudette tossed her pony tailed mane of thick red hair back and laughed again as she sat forward on her chair, causing her breasts to roll and shift again.

“So.. I am lesbian. Wow.. that is a revelation in this day and age. And, I run an adult chat network. Wow. News Of The World stuff! Neither of these things break any laws of the land by the way but yeah. Yeah you got me there…. and oh, yes you have got one thing dead right… I am a Bitch. One of the first order. You just don’t know how much of a bitch, yet.”

Claudette had been a little taken aback that Stephane had done some homework of his own. But it was ok, he was desperate she could sense that. She kept her private life private, but being a lesbian was hardly going to be the coupe of the century had it been made public. She wasn’t exactly a closet lesbian, and it didn’t take much math to work it out. And so what? She sat back again, studied Stephane for a little while before talking again.

“You dropped out just before your seventeenth birthday and your parents don’t want to know you. I know the reason for that as well by the way. Actually, I know your father very well. Lord Laurie and myself go back a long long way.”

There was all but a deep, exhaling groan that poured from between Stephane’s lips as the masses of knowledge that Claudette held on him was given to him, a little bit at a time. He seemed to shrink into his seat in incremental steps as things began to unravel in front of him.

“So Steven Laurie drops out. Out of sight and re-merges as Stephane DeLaurie. Who’s a clever boy then hmmm?

“You’ll never pin any of this stuff on me…. never.. you fucking dyke bitch.”

Once again, Claudette let the boy have his little outburst. This time there was some emotion in his voice. She recognised that. She was winning the battle hands down. She liked the show of emotion. It was yet another layer that once exposed could be peeled back, and cajoled.

“Hmmmm well, that would remain to be seen. But I KNOW that you KNOW that I have all the information that I need to pretty much ensure that you wouldn’t see the light of day for a good few years. And then, well, there’s what that means. A pretty boy like you, in prison. There are guys in prison who would just ‘love’ a lil boy like you……”

Claudette spoke slowly, even paused so that her words could sink in. Stephane’s eyes dimmed a little more with each word spoken and as realisation began to sink in. He leaned forward in his chair agitated, and then running long lender fingers through his thick locks of blonde hair.

“…. but then, we mustn’t forget what you would be in prison for. Oh, there would be all that fraud, and all those financial irregularities. But also you would be a ‘sexual offender’. And if I am not mistaken, you would be in the one of the worst classes of sexual offender. I mean you would be up there with the paedophiles and rapists. I mean, what you have been doing on a mass scale for the last three years is nothing short of serial rape. Serial abuse of the most obscene kind. Not to mention the terrible corruption that you have carried out to your ‘victims’….. Do you have any idea of the kind of time that sex offenders have in prison, hmmmm?”

Claudette was spelling out an extremely bleak future for Stephane DeLaurie and he was taking it in and was feeling every single word filter in, tumble round and then settle on his psyche.

“You’re fucking bluffing you bitch cunt… you are fucking BLUFFING.”

Another outburst, expressing himself the only way he knew how. Stephane DeLaurie’s true colours coming to the fore. Claudette got up. A deliberately slow rise so that she towered over the shrinking boy in the chair. She came around to his side of the desk. To him, her high heels sounded loud, amplified. Even the rasp of nylon on nylon as her upper thighs rubbed with every step seemed louder and seemed to fill his head. The chickens coming home to roost. She walked around the back of him and trailed her fingers around his shoulders and then came back round and slid up on the desk right next to him. More deliberately engineered movements designed to grip him. Hold him where she wanted him. This time she crossed her incredible legs just inches from him. God, he seemed so small next to her. Small and shrinking all the time. His cock would have been twitching. She just knew that despite the shock he was being subjected to, his cock would be twitching.

“Well, no, no I am not bluffing in that I have all the information I need to sink you for a long long time. The fact is that I don’t want to do that. Not in the way I have described above anyway. The point of letting you know that I have all of this information is that I want your attention. I want your undivided attention. Once I have that, well… once I have your attention and once I know that you are actually listening to me instead of living in that freaked out fantasy world that you have been living in for the last three years, well.. then we can talk business….”

Claudette talked coolly and calmly. She spoke clearly and she spoke down to Stephane. By this time he could barely raise his eyes to hers. He was in deep deep shit and he knew it. Although, it could be said that right at this time he had absolutely no clue how deep the shit was. And yet, even with his mind beginning to melt and beginning to be unable to function correctly, the lesbian bitch wanted to talk business. She still wanted to talk business. It looked, at that precise time at least, that there was a way out of it for him. OK, so for the first time in his life he might have to take the rough end of the deal. He might not come out of it with so much as he thought. And, ok ok, he might not have this bitch where he wanted her, so cropping and sucking those glorious tits of hers, and generally splashing about inside of her might have to wait until he could turn the tables again. Then she would pay. Then she would pay dearly for this grief she was giving him. But for now… at least there was a little chink of light. At least there was some hope.

“Ok.. ok… what do you want… what the FUCK do you want from me?”

Now there was a contriteness in his voice. For the first time there was a hint of contriteness. Like an acceptance that he was being held by the balls, by this big titted lesbian lunatic. Claudette recognised that. No-one could be involved in the fetish and BDSM scene, as much as she was and not recognise that tone of defeat. She simply moved one hand, stroking two of her fingers around the almost delicate jaw line of the boy until they were under his chin then she lifted. Guided his chin up until his eyes met hers.

“All in good time. All in good time. I’m not that convinced I have your fullest attention just yet. I mean correct me if I am wrong, but you are probably thinking you can sense a way out of all this now. That in some way you can slither your way out of the shit you are in on an enormous scale. So… just so that I know you know that isn’t the case, I want you to see something. And I reckon that right about now is the time.”

She checked her wrist watch. Claudette had this eery kind of insight into people’s minds. She had hit the nail on the head and she wanted him to know it. In knowing it, he would be sinking just that little bit deeper into the beginnings of a pit of despair. She released the boys chin and reached for a remote control unit. The remote operated the wall-mounted fifty inch plasma screen on the far wall of the designer, minimalist office. The screen immediately flickered to life. Stephane DeLaurie had been shown into Claudette’s office by Selena at exactly 5.30pm and although it must have seemed like a creeping crawling lifetime to him, only half an hour had passed since that introduction, and to the juncture that had been reached now. The evening news was just starting. The state-of-the-art television housing four separate tuners which meant that the screen could be split into four, with four different channels being watched at the same time. Such coverage was sometimes necessary when something big was happening in the markets. Or when there were worldwide news events. The roof of the company’s building was covered with various sized satellite dishes that were pointed in various directions and to various degrees to the skies above.

On this occasion the screen was tuned in to Sky News, ITV’s London Tonight, BBC News Channel and Channel 4 News. There was breaking news. The story the same on each of the channels. Outside a London address were the flashing lights of police cars. Scenes of crime investigators. News crews. In general the scenes shown by all four channels depicted pandemonium on a large scale. The high definition screen warmed up quickly and the pictures became crystal clear in clarity. Matching that clarity was the high definition digital sound that seemed to fill the office that Claudette and Stephane DeLaurie were in. There was the deeper base speech sound coming directly from the screen speakers. But surround sound, collected crowds and associated noises was pouring from invisible speakers around the room. Claudette glanced at the screen and then at Stephane whose eyes simply peeled apart as his world crumbled around him. The narration, coming from a speaker nearest to his seat. It was the Sky News narrative.

“As we go live on air, the serious crime squad, in association with the Metropolitan Police Sexual crimes unit and Interpol have raided the city office and apartment of the well known young IT professional Stephane DeLaurie. At this time, exact details of the crimes being investigated have not been released, but with the attendance of the named agencies, the matters are quite obviously extremely serious. Entry was gained to Mr DeLaurie’s office and apartment in a coordinated raid. It is understood that Mr DeLaurie was not at either address. It is further understood that there is a warrant out for the arrest, without bail of Mr DeLaurie…….”

Claudette watched he screen but repeatedly flicked her eyes down to Stephane.

“See, you’re famous Mr DeLaurie. Famous even beyond the City. This is your fifteen minutes of fame. Everyone has fifteen minutes of fame, at least.”

Claudette’s voice had dropped to a husky, throaty tone as she leaned down and talked into Stephane’s ear. The buzz she had been feeling all day was at its most intense at this precise time. DeLaurie was white and he simply got whiter as the TV pictures and the narrations filtered into his head. He didn’t exactly say anything, although something like a whimpering sound did escape his lips from time to time. That whimpering seemed to increase as the level of understanding of what he was seeing dawned on him. Claudette replaced her two forefingers under the chin of the boy and lifted, guided his eyes away from the TV screen and to her once again.

“Now.. do I have your attention. Your FULL attention? Hmmmm?”

DeLaurie at last looked totally contrite. Totally defeated. As a Dominatrix deeply involved in the control of other people, Claudette recognised that look of despair in his eyes. She recognised that look of abandonment and of being lost. Recognised that look of him needing help, needing guidance. She recognised that look, the one that told her that this little shit, this cunt of the first order was now in a different place altogether. A completely different place to the one that he had been at for the last three years. He was in an unfamiliar place now. One that was all but alien to him. One that he didn’t understand. The words that spilled out were the only ones that his diminishing mind could come up with.

“B… but I’m fucked… I’m done for…. they’re looking for me !!!”

“Yes, yes you are ‘fucked’. And yes they are looking for you. But that doesn’t mean to say that they are going to find you now, does it, hmmmmm?”

Once again the display of power that would tell anyone looking in on such a scene that Claudette held all the cards. That she was brandishing all of the power. And it was a power. A devastating power. Inside of just forty minutes, Claudette had reduced this man-boy to nothing. Literally nothing. And yet once again, giving him that little chink of light to look at from the other end of a long dark tunnel. Yes they didn’t know where he was. And she, quite deliberately hinted that they need never find him. Once again that slight chance that he could get out of this mess that he was in. Oh fuck he owed this lesbian dyke bitch on a big scale. Big time!

“So now, now we come to the business. Do you want to talk some business, hmm?”

Claudette throughout had not even slightly raised her voice. She had never had to raise her voice to anyone. The chances of her doing it for a little cunt like DeLaurie were slim to say the least. Admittedly, Stephane couldn’t think straight let alone negotiate a business deal. Had he been able to think straight he would have worked out that his business life and his private life, as he had known them were over. But part of him coming to terms with all that was the grasping at straws in the hope that something could be salvaged. He nodded, he was ready to hear what Claudette the lesbian bitch had to say.

“Good, good. Now I know you are not really thinking straight right now and that is quite understandable. Completely…. but my uhmmmm ‘proposition’ is simple. It isn’t hard to understand and what’s more, there are only two options to consider. I will give you those options first and then the proposition. Option one is that you simply go along with what I suggest. Simple as that. Option two is that you turn down my kind proposition and I make a telephone call to get you collected from here by the police… are you with me so far?”

Claudette remained seated on the edge of the desk. This time though she used the nails of her free hands to lightly scritch at the nylon sheathing one knee. She did that in little light circles and yet the resulting rasp seeming loud. That rasp getting into the head of the boy as he grasped and held onto every single one of the words she spoke.

“Yes, yes I understand.”

“That would be ‘Yes Miss I understand’, correct?”

“Yes Miss, I understand.”

Simple auto-suggestion. The short exchange and understanding reached so naturally flowing that it was almost imperceptible.

“Good, now… the proposition is simple… I am looking for a Bitch. And you are it. That is it, simple as that. No small print to consider. Nothing overly complex to get your head around.”

The one-line simple proposition was accompanied by a wide, lipsticked smile. A sincere and genuine smile as though she had just suggested a picnic in the park, or something. Those words though seemed to be the ones that tipped him over the edge. His eyes misted up and he simply nodded.

“Sorry, I can’t quite hear you…?”

“Yes Miss, yes Miss I understand. You are looking for a bitch and I am it.”

Truth be known, he heard the words but didn’t really understand what they meant. He got the rough gist having been around the networks and having played games of control and BDSM for the last three years. He didn’t know the technicalities though. What it all meant. What being a ‘bitch’ meant. He just kind of accepted that his life was over. Or that at the very least there was about to be a big, big change. What Claudette said next though had the single most profound effect on him as she stroked his cheek.

“Good ‘bitch’. Good ‘bitch’. Now that we have that understanding, you need to know that you don’t need to worry about a thing. You have simply ‘disappeared’ and I will see to it that your affairs are wound up. The only difference this time is that you wont be resurfacing any time soon. Or any time at all.”

Claudette didn’t say anything else to Stephane at that point. She simply rubbed one of her lower legs against him, in a reassuring way as his mind went into meltdown.

Mission One Accomplished.

24 Hours Later…

Stephane lost control of his bladder at the same time that he heard the ‘clip clop’ of Claudette’s high heels. It wasn’t his fault that he lost control like that. That was a pretty basic effect of despair and humiliation. Oh, despair and humiliation weren’t the only reasons that someone might lose control of their bladder. There was also the fear. Fear would do it to. Truth be known, fear was more than likely the biggest and most telling factor. Especially for Stephane.

That meeting at Claudette’s offices had effectively ended Stephane DeLaurie’s life as he knew it. Funny really, as Claudette had switched off the plasma, even with the TV reports about his activities in full swing, time had kind of come to a standstill for him. Just less than an hour before, he had entered into Claudette’s company building full of something called confidence and also in full control. Although, he didn’t know what either of those two things, confidence and full control, meant any more. That day, for the whole of the day actually he had even harboured very real, and erection inducing thoughts that he would get to have a feel of this lesbian bitch’s tits. Somewhere, he had heard that she was well stacked although he had never seen so much as a picture of her. When he did come face to face with her, not only was his breath practically take away by her sheer presence, but he had dearly wanted to dive into the mass of flesh that was her cleavage there and then. Of course, that was in his mind. That meeting had barely started when he had been forced to re-evaluate his plans regarding Claudette Tennison. By the end of the meeting he had been totally demolished and without Claudette even breaking into a sweat.

It had been midnight before Stephane could be secreted out of that building. That had been carried out much like a well worked, military pincer movement. Smuggled into the back of a blacked out SUV. For him it had happened in much of dream like state. I suspect if one were to compare it with anything, it was like when those unsuspecting people end up breaking the law in catastrophic ways and appear in court, only to learn that they are going to spend the next fifteen years inside a jail cell. That sudden losing of one’s liberty. That sudden losing of everything. Gone. The shock induces a kind of zombie like state. That was bad enough. For Stephane though it must have been worse by several fold. For him there was no warning. No waiting for months and months for a court case. No court case at all. Just a woman called Claudette explaining to him, convincing him that it was all over for him. But even then, even in that office, as Claudette had painstakingly described the evidence against him, even as he sat, slumped in his chair and watched the television reports beaming in live he could not even remotely guess that he hadn’t simply lost everything, but that, well… that his life was going to take a turn, not solely for the worse, but the catastrophic.

“UHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Stephane didn’t lose the contents of his bladder in a trickle. He lost it in one gush. There really was nothing he could have done t prevent it. He was suspended by the wrists in one of Claudette’s Rubber Rooms. He hadn’t really known that that was the worse possible place for him to be. He hadn’t known anything about Claudette’s complex of rooms under her country property. Why would he? He did have this all-encompassing feeling of doom that seemed to be pressing in all around him. But he couldn’t, not right at this moment, know that he was in the worst place on earth.

Although the demolition of the old Stephane DeLaurie had begun in that City office, and to him that had felt like the complete destruction, that in fact had been only the beginning. Stephane had sat on a low stool in a dimly lit room gently sobbing as Selena had relieved him of all of his blonde locks. His hair completely and utterly removed and his bald head then oiled. Oiled and treated. His own hair would not grow back, ever. That in many ways had been more devastating than being shown in vivid colour, the raiding of his office and apartment, live on TV. He had cried like a baby, at least inwardly, as his hair had collected around his feet as it was shorn. To make matters worse for him, Selena didn’t speak to him, she didn’t even acknowledge him as another human. She had slinkily moved around him. First with the scissors. Then the electric clipper and then finally, wet shaving the head of Stephane before drying and oiling it. She could have been bathing and clipping an animal such was her detachment. From Selena’s point of view, and as she worked, she had been unable, unwilling or both, to take her eyes away from the gargantuan cock that Stephane possessed. And it was a huge cock. It didn’t sit right with his slight build. Long, thick and hugely bell-ended. It was like a vein engorged snake that was just limp and hanging from between his legs as he was shorn. It would be difficult to imagine that cock with an erection. It just looked like it would take too much blood to pump it up. That cock had been another of Stephane’s claims to fame. The women he used, didn’t forget him in a rush. Far from it. The women that Stephane used were never the same again. That cock hadn’t just fucked cunts, and asses, it had fucked minds.

Getting an erection had been the furthest thing from his mind as Selena had relieved him of his pubic hair and then oiled him. Made him more slippery than he had ever been in his previous life. Those special oils meaning that hair would never grow back. Turning Stephane into a hairless, smooth, oiled ‘gimp’. One would guess that gimp was as good a word to describe him as any. But even that was the least of his woes as he was led into the bowels of Claudette’s house. Down even below basement level to sub-basement level. She’d had the foundations of the house modified as it was being built. Having decided a long time previously that Fetish, BDSM, Torture and Despair were going to take up a lot of her private life. That is, the infliction of those things, on others. No expense had been spared. And no questions asked. Through a network of contacts on BonNet she had acquired all she needed. There wasn’t one single form of despair, pain and sexual perversion that existed that couldn’t be inflicted in those rooms. A completely self contained world-of-woe.

The first thing that hit anyone being taken down into the Rubber Rooms complex was the stench of latex. Just like everything in Claudette’s world, nothing was an accident. It wasn’t an accident that she was a rubberist. A latex devotee to the deepest levels. And neither was it an accident that that smell, that heady, invasive smell was the first thing to hit anyone brought down to that place. It wasn’t just that it was a smell but a whole heavy, atmosphere. An atmosphere that dripped with dread, and despair and debilitation. And, the thing about that was that one didn’t get used to it. It wasn’t a case of being hit by that smell and atmosphere and then after a few minutes getting used to it to a point of not even realising it was there any more. No that didn’t happen at all. What did happen was that it hit you, and then it seemed to work on every single nerve ending in the body. It seemed to work its way into the mind, into the brain. Then, well then it just stayed there and served to enhance every single happening in that place. That had been the case with Stephane. The smell had hit him. Oh it had hit him like the proverbial freight train and then it had just served to reduce him more and more. By the time he was led into the Rubber Room he would be spending, at least the foreseeable future in, he was a trembling, nervous, hairless, oiled wreck of a gimp. The gimp label was enhanced due to the immense size of the cock that swung from him.

The walls were black and rubber lined. Like all rooms in that place they were soundproofed and lined. No sounds got out. And none got in. In effect, each and every room in that sub-basement complex were vacuums. Likewise, the ceiling was black and rubber. Temperatures could be controlled to either extremes. Hot or cold. For Stephane’s arrival the room was extremely hot. The heat in there simply magnified the smell and therefor the atmosphere. The heat also made the oils coating Stephane’s head, body, torso, legs, feet, tingle. As though coming alive. Like everything in that place everything was enhanced and accentuated. Even Stephane’s sobbing was accentuated in volume and intensity. The sobs snow breaking out into the real world and not mere inward sobs. The floor was also black. But not rubber. It was bare laid stone. This floor was gently sloped inwards from the four sides. The floor gently sloping down and into the centre. All four sloping sections of the floor meeting in the middle where a mesh covered drain was situated. Selena had worked with an expertise that was chilling. Totally chilling. Not even waiting for Stephane to raise his arms for the cuffs that were suspended from above by chains.

“OHHH GODDDDDDD NOOOOOOO NOOOOO PLEASSSSSEEEE NO.”

More chilling than the way Selena worked was the way she didn’t even respond to what was becoming a pitiful sobbing. She didn’t even get the gimp to stand as she attached the cuffs and locked them in place. She simply wrapped the leather around thin wrists and then took a remote control unit which when pressed saw Stephane’s arms raised above him. Eventually forcing him to stand off the stool of his own accord. Arms being brought up high and spread wide. One might have expected an almighty scream as he was eventually lifted off his bare feet. But that didn’t happen. As his feet were lifted off that black stone floor, he had just about whimpered. Oh his feet and legs had moved in like walking motions as he tried to extend his toes to find solid ground but as it became clear, even for the gimp, that his feet would not feel solid ground at any time soon, he just settled into a steady wracking sob. Even as the ankle cuffs were wrapped around and locked on, that same tone and pitch of sob remained a constant. There had been a slight difference, just the slightest increase in urgency as his legs were spread wide by another button on the remote. In reality, his feet were not very far off the floor. Inches, if that. Just enough so that he was suspended in this kind of inverted, slightly built “X”. Actually, the noise, or lack of noise coming from Stephane belied what was going on inside his head. The only real clue to the torment he was suffering was if one was to take a closer look at his lips. Those full delicious lips were in a constant state of quiver. Like he was in a constant state of sobbing. Whereas that sobbing was s steady droning sob, the lips and the mouth was in a more urgent state of quiver. Like a shiver, but not. A quiver that told that onlooker that his mind was in meltdown.

The only thing that interrupted that quivering mouth was the addition of a rubber coated ring gag. Claudette it appeared used all manner of gags for all manner of reasons. And all sizes of gags, but favoured, for the gimp at least, the largest one. Selena offering it to Stephane’s lips and mouth in his most desperate hour of need. Funny really, that even at this time this man-boy thought things could not get any worse for him than they already were. That was so, so wrong. He didn’t need to be told to open his mouth. He just knew that’s what he had to do. His quivering lips peeling open then stretching as the ring was clicked behind his teeth. Selena coolly, calmly and expertly securing the leather strapping, tightly behind his hairless head. The thing about ring gags. They don’t prevent any of the noise coming out of the mouth. Actually quite to the contrary, they kind of amplify the noise. If not in volume, then in intensity of despair that is being felt by the unfortunate person that it is fitted to. This even more the case in these Rubber Rooms. Selena circled the suspended gimp once. Then one other time. Just checking. Just looking. Her face expertly made up and yet expressionless. Taking up the remote control again and sliding her thumb across a master button that seemed to simply fine tune the suspension. Tighten it just up that few more notches. The simplest of actions that caused spit and saliva to catapult from the centre of the ring gag. It was probably at this point that Stephane’s really, and truly became fearful for his state of health. His state of mind. His mental stability. His life even. This was not helped by the fact that Selena then simply left the room. The door closing with a ‘whoosh’ as it sealed all of those bad vibes inside with the suspended, prose Stephane DeLaurie.

The human body, and mind is particularly resourceful and adaptive. That is, the human being can, even in unusual circumstances adapt to survive. But that is only the case if there are not opposing forces preventing that adaption from taking place. As had been said before, nothing with regard to Claudette happens accidentally. Certainly the stripping of Stephane’s ability to adapt was not an accident. It was one of Claudette’s ‘kinks’ to heap despair, on top of despair. And yet she had a speciality. That speciality was just keep her victim on the edge of sanity. Just on the edge peering over. Not letting them tip over into complete madness. Just letting them peer into that darkness wishing that they could take that leap fully into it. Disallowing the victim to adapt was part of the process. If there was only one person that Claudette didn’t want to disappear into total madness it was the gimp Stephane DeLaurie. She wanted him teetering on the brink on a permanent basis. A very delicate balancing act. A very delicate one indeed.

It was the ‘whoosh’ of the opening door and then the distinct clip clop of Claudette’s pencil thin stilettos that was the cause of Stephane losing control of his bladder. He did it with a deeper groan that seemed to emanate from the back of his throat. Or even deeper. His bladder contents simple gushing from the urethra of the gargantuan mushroomed bell end of his cock. The urine splashing on the stone floor and and into the meshed drain that he was suspended directly over. The click of Claudette’s heels told of a confidence on the heels. The door was situated behind Stephane as he hung suspended in the X so he could not see her at first. He just knew it was her. He wouldn’t be able to say why he knew it was her. He just did. Something inside him, like a trigger just went off and told him that his tormentress was near and here to torment him some more. Besides, he had had the pleasure of Selena’s company for the last, fuck-knows-how-long and he knew her foot steps. Even if she was in comparably high heels. Her steps were different. Slightly shorter steps than Claudette’s enhanced ‘strides’. As Claudette came into view there was a loud

C R A S H

She had dropped a heavy bag, more or less at the suspended feet of the gimp. She hadn’t batted an eyelid as he had pissed himself. Inside she would be buzzing from the effect. She was having the desired effect on him, and she liked that ‘power’. She liked it a lot. Outwardly though, her demeanour matched her mode of dress, severe. As the bag had crashed to the floor, Stephane had twitched and jumped as much as his prose, suspended form would allow and his huge, limp, thick, snake like cock had flopped and swung between his legs as it dripped the last remnants of urine down into the drain cover.

Another part of the process, another part of the treatment to ensure Stephane stayed on that brink of madness without tipping over into it was the lack of communication. The lack of acknowledgement from Selena, or Claudette. No conversation. Just like an isolation without being isolated. If words at any time were spoken, they were simple, directed words. Not conversational. Usually words that served only to deepen despair that was being laid on thickly already. Claudette was sheathed tightly in a an all in one leather cat suit. The leather supple soft and most obviously made to measure for her substantial feminine form. Mountainous breasts tightly sheathed, tightly cupped. The leather thin and supple enough for the nipples to be defined through it. It was a catsuit yes, but it was enhanced in a military like fashion. Belts and buckles and unrecognisable insignia. With the statuesque woman perched on top of the most foot arching stiletto heeled boots that were tightly laced just below the knees. A leather covered, peaked cap was perched with a slight tilt on top of her hair and seemed to frame a deliciously, if not frighteningly and severely made up face. Stephane’s heart probably missed several beats because even despite the aching agony his body must have been experiencing after hanging like that for god only knows how long, the sight of Claudette looking, once again, not accidentally like some military interrogation officer, made him groan through the wide “O” of the ring gag. This time the groan was from way deeper than the back of his throat. Oh it came up into his throat. Yes it did that, but by the time it got to his throat it was gurgling and mixing wetly with the rapidly collecting and multiplying drool. That was only enhanced more by the sight of her carrying and dropping a huge leather bag at his feet.

“I thought this time of reflection would be good for you.”

Stephane must have been feeling a little of what his internet victims had felt as he had entered, and fucked with their minds. Claudette’s words weren’t an invitation for conversation. Not that the ring gag would allow conversations anyway. Neither did the words require any form of response. It was like another case of Claudette thinking out aloud. Claudette circled the petrified Stephane before returning to the bag. She unzipped it at the same time as squatting back on her own heels. Her perfect balance enhanced given the six inch plus height of the heels.

“But well, now we have to move on.”

This time she looked up to Stephane who despite the tight suspended “X” he formed was in an advanced stage of quiver. There was a genuine smile across her face. Surreal really and not really fitting in with the way she was dressed and made up. Another deliberate effect. A slight show of kindness, even sorrow or pity that didn’t escape Stephane despite the level of despair he was already in. Claudette took out a few items. An obscene looking, anal insert with what looked like thigh straps. Something that looked like it was designed to wrap around a cock. Like a harness with the wrap that would form the tube around the cock and then additions, straps and a sack for the testicles. For things that looked quite run-of-the-mill bondage and BDSM items, the groan and production of drool from Stephane was out of the ordinary. It was like… it was like he was thinking… that these things looked too ordinary, too boring even to be true. It was like he was thinking that he knew that Claudette didn’t do ‘simple’ or didn’t do ‘run of the mill’. It was like he expected the anal insert to be packed with high explosive or something. Or that the cock harness was a device that once fitted would both de-cock AND de-ball him in one concentrated explosion. That was another effect of the process he was going through. To always think of the worst case scenario and then treble it. This was a low time for him. There was no reason, nor encouragement for him to be thinking good things. Or happy things. But the other effect or the other sign was just ‘knowing’ things when ordinarily that wouldn’t be the case. Well, Claudette probably was so experienced that she knew the kind of things that would be going through his head so she smiled inwardly to herself as she prepped the items, casually, right in front of Stephane. On this occasion at least, he wasn’t going to be de-balled and de-cocked. However, he had been right in that Claudette never did simple. Never did straightforward and never, but never did ‘boring’.

The anal insert hadn’t been particularly big and due to the oils that Stephane had been coated with, neither did his anus offer any resistance. Claudette had quite casually, and yet in one firm movement, slid the slightly shaped insert inside the suspended gimp. He had sucked in air sharply through the “O” of the ring gag and drooled out a groan as he felt his tight ass tunnel gripping the thing inside him. At that point he couldn’t see, or sense the little chain tab hanging from his ass. Claudette attached the thigh straps. Buckling them tightly around the very upper thigh, where thigh flesh met groin. These straps prevented the body’s natural attempt to evacuate any alien objects that might be in place. The insert had resulted in an increase in the volume of Stephane’s distress. And what had been a droning sob had increased in both urgency and wetness.

For a lesbian, Claudette handled a cock very well and very confidently. Even the huge, obscene and almost grotesque limp thing that was Stephane’s cock. But it was more the sadist in her that was handling the cock as opposed to the lesbian. Strangely she wrapped the cock loosely. Securing it, but not tightly. It wasn’t erect at this point. More to the point, an erection wasn’t even on the gimp’s radar. As he felt his cock handled and wrapped he only had fear for it really. Or.. even for his life. I mean she could kill him in the most obscenely cruel way possible and who would know? Indeed! The cock harness and straps all in place and secured. Checked then rechecked. Claudette stood back, looked at her victim. Even tilted her head like she wanted to study his despair from all angles. Claudette did that. She liked it. Looking at despair and agony from all angles. Like she wanted to understand every nuance of it. Like she wanted to learn and soak it all up, so that it would help her further her BDSM experience and knowledge. A genuine and very real sadist at work. Like she was on an eternal hunt for the ultimate. But ultimate what? She even circled him several times, not saying a word. Just circling. And every time she went out of sight behind him she would pause and enjoy the sight of his tort muscles twitching in anticipation. That twitching always accompanied by a guttural groan from the ring gagged mouth. Claudette just loved ring gags. The soul laid bare.

“This will hurt a little bit. A bit of advice. Don’t fight it, let your ass go. Let it absorb it.”

Claudette spoke as she squatted down behind Stephane. She fingered the tab first and then pulled it. It seemed that a lot of things all happened at once. Like an amalgamation of a lot of things all coming together at precisely the same time. Precisely the same split second. Firstly there was the clenching and tightening of Stephane’s every muscle and sinew. Then there was the pure, undiluted noise that came from the ring gag. That noise wasn’t a scream or a squeal and it wasn’t a moan or groan. It was more like a mixture of all of those noises. What wasn’t up for debate was that the noise and resulting catapult of drool signified significant levels of distress and urgency. Inside Stephane’s back passage, the tab had been pulled from the insert and this had activated the release of compressed air into the hollow insert. This in turn had inflated the insert to extreme levels. The very first thing to occur was the expansion of the point behind the sphincter. Ensuring that the thing was held fast and the pressure applied to the inside of the sphincter, intense. The effect of this then was that the object got fatter and consequently stretched the inner tunnel wider. All of this happening against Stephane’s natural instinct to at least attempt to evacuate the item. This meant that it was the body’s natural reaction to close in tightly around the thing that was growing inside him. That in turn caused muscles to cramp even more. At the same time, the object was elongated. It grew in length as well as girth. In doing that it was forcing itself into the deeper anal tract and eventually was pushing up against the colon. Pressure on the colon, in this manner, at least sustained a permanent pressure that had an effect all of its own. This kind of pressure instigated an immediate erection. Not a voluntary erection. Very much an involuntary and immediate one. But this was also an intense erection. One that forced more than the normal levels of blood into the cock head and shaft. Immediately the harness was filled with the swelling cock. In like a split second. From limp docile cock, to blood engorged, gargantuan erection. The inside of the harness covered with tiny little pin like studs that ‘cracked’ and pierced the shaft of the erection as it formed.

“EEEEEEGHGHGHGHGHGHGHHGHGHGHGH NGNNHNHNHNHNNH.”

Drool flying in several direction. The harness wrapped simply around the shaft of cock, and not the cock head. The enormous cock head left protruding, purple and angry and yet at the same time constricted around the base. What had been a loosely applied harness had become a tight, piercing device of pure torture. And it had become that in all but a split second. The cock straining, and standing up, practically against the belly of Stephane. The pin lined ball sack harness snapped up and clinging the the hairless smooth, heavy balls. The testicle weight assisting in the torture of themselves. The anal insert, having instantly expanded, then falling back into a steady throb that was fed on a constant basis by little pulses of compressed air. Stephane’s abject noises of distress eventually falling back to something like a groan with increased base attached to it. The exposed, vulnerable bell end of the cock was engorged to a point that it looked like it might burst. Of course it wouldn’t. It just looked like that. On closer look, it was pulsing and throbbing. That throbbing would be in time to the releases of compressed air into the anal insert. In order to produce this sort of result, it took specialist medical knowledge not to mention the ability to be able to carry it out physically. Someone with this type of knowledge and this type of experience was capable of …. well, the imagination probably cannot even fill in the gaps as to what that person, Claudette was capable of.

Claudette had watched the genital bondage “snap” into place in the matter of a few split seconds and then she had stood back and once again tilted her head this way, and that, as though studying the effects of this new sensation on Stephane DeLaurie. A sadist soaking up ‘the moment’.

“I thought… whilst you still have this cock… I might as well use it, to prove a point.”

This time Claudette had gone right up to Stephane’s face and spoke directly to him. Not accidentally, but deliberately she was talking more or less to his soul.

FOUR: The Rubber Rooms

Stephane could hear and feel every word that Claudette was saying. She was so close, into his face that her breath washed over his. Warm, feminine breath as her words hissed into him. Even with him suspended in the prose “X” she was still at face level with him, such was her height. He heard and understood every word she said. It was like he was on heightened state of understanding and alertness. It was like he had been taken to an advanced level of hearing and understanding. He understood yes and yet at the same time he didn’t. Some things he couldn’t get his head around. The things he couldn’t get his head around caused another level of turmoil inside him. Those were the words that replayed time and time again inside his head.

“I thought… whilst you still have this cock… I might as well use it, to prove a point.”

What the fuck did that mean? When he didn’t understand something, he questioned himself, in his own head and in his own arrogant manner. As though he were talking to one of his underlings or something. Like he might do out loud to another person. It was that voice he used in his own head. Fear and despair did that to a person. Yet again that wasn’t an accidental side effect of the process he was going through. It was all part of the bigger picture. Maybe he was going to be de-cocked after all. That was what that statement implied. That statement by the lesbian bitch. That was what it all implied… that he was going to lose his cock. That she was going to take it away from him in some way. Once again, visions of his own miserable burial in some area of urban regeneration, or the foundations thereof rushed through his mind. Even in his deepest and darkest hours of despair, even when he KNEW that he was completely at the woman’s mercy, even knowing that on a whim she could dispose of him in some ungodly way, he still thought of her as ‘that lesbian bitch’. That didn’t escape him. Far from it. That arrogance again. The thought even resulted in a manic ‘chuckle’. Except it didn’t come across as that. It came across as a kind of cough, then a spill of thick drool over the bottom section of the ring gag, and his lip. That drool exiting dead centre of the gag and the lip like it was just meant to be.

“AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGLLLSSHSHHSHSHSHSHSHSHSSHSHSH.”

Claudette had brought the mammoth erection down so that it lay horizontally. Already the mushroom head was leaking fluid that resulted from the compressed air throbs his colon was being treated to. But the forcing down of the cock was against the natural grain for it to stand proudly on end so a throbbing ache was the result. Pulling it down and securing it to a little stand that had been brought in and secured to the floor just in front of Stephane. The stand looked bizarrely delicate. A single thin stem of stainless steel with its round base secured to the floor by little decorative studs. The top of the stand like a little table. Shaped almost organically to fit the underside of the massive cock into and then secured just so with velcro straps over the enormous girth. That cock head though… that all important, glan carrying, dripping cock head left to over-hang the stand. It kind of protruded out and into thin air. And, just as Claudette had secured the final velcro strip, she had begun to toy with the cock head. Using a forefinger to collect the leaking pre-cum and then very delicately very lightly move her finger tip in little circles around the glans. Moving that finger tip in delicate light little circles. Each circle in a slightly different position. It was as though she were searching with that finger tip. And the fact was that she was searching. She was searching for the most sensitive of the glans. Moving around the piss hole and over it then to the underside of the mushroom. Looking for and seeking out the absolute most sensitive glans. Ensuring that they were brought to life by her slippery finger tip. Alternating the little circles. First with the pad of her finger tip and then the very edge of her nail. Causing turmoil as those glans were brought to life. Round and round. Claudette, despite being a lesbian, knowing all about the male anatomy. Knowing all about the cock, and the male mind and what made them tick. Bringing all of the glans to life and yet searching out the most sensitive ones. And then manipulating them, cajoling them.

Once Claudette had found the single most sensitive area of the cock head, she then simply concentrated her little circles over that area. Periodically she would move the finger tip back to the hole at the tip of the monstrous cock head to collect more of the slippery fluid. Then her finger would move back to that same area and move it in more of those little delicate circles. Every so often pressing a little harder making Stephane cry out as the pain of the bondage and the pins caused a complete and utter contrast to the pure pleasure that Claudette was creating through her finger tips and his pulsating glans. Building up the pleasure and the pressure in the cock head. Her finger tips denting and distorting the most sensitive of male sexual flesh. Denting and moving the dent as she moved her finger tip. Those glans reacting and producing sensations of the most intense, mind blowing kind. If Claudette could do anything she could blow minds. Male and female.

“If you cum. I will slit your throat and leave you to bleed to death.”

Claudette’s hissed, yet casual threat causing him to cry out. She had said it like she meant it. He wouldn’t cum because she wouldn’t allow it. She was just having a little bit of fun. A little light entertainment for her during his time of deep deep anxiety. Just a little joke she was having with herself and at his expense. But he didn’t know that. He didn’t know that at this time, at this precise time, it was impossible for him to cum without assistance despite the intense pleasure that she was giving him through the glans of his cock head. Claudette returning to the hole at the tip of the cock head and collecting more of the cock-drool. That cock-drool was now increasing in volume and was quite openly and literally dripping in thick, slippery dribbles. Claudette coating and saturating her finger tip and nail with the juice and then lifting her hand away from the cock so that she could run that finger tip across the upper lip of Stephane. Coat the top of his lip, just under his nose, with his own fluids. That salty, slippery smell invading his head straight away. The finger depositing the cock-drool over the top lip and under the nose before returning to collect more of the dribbling stuff. The hand, that finger then returning to the ring gagged mouth of Stephane so that she could run the fluid around the O shape that his lips were stretched into. Running that fluid around the lower lip. Coating it thickly. Delicate full lips, glossed with his own cock fluids. The aroma of his own produce so thick, and his own senses so heightened that he could all but ‘taste’ himself as she stepped away, leaving his nostril twitching from his own smell and his tongue lapping around his lips taking his own juices into his mouth. And at the same time, his cock head visibly throbbing, visibly pulsating from the pleasure Claudette had enforced on it. She laughed inwardly and thought,

‘Men so fucking easily pleased.’

The point that Claudette was making was that she was in control. She now controlled every nuance of this little man. This man-boy. He could only whimper and spill his own cock-drool out of his O shaped mouth as the leather clad dominatrix retrieved a lethal looking riding crop from a stand in the corner. The woman making the trip to the corner of the room and back with the crop a deliberately slow one. A deliberately taunting one as she returned, flexing the crop. Whooshing it through the air. Stephane’s quivering and trembling in his bondage rising to another level. The relatively simple non complex bondage self tightening to ensure absolute and complete imobilisation remained.

“Now… you little cunt, now I am going to make you cum. Now I am going to let you cum. Because I WANT to. Because I say it is ok for you to cum.”

As she circled the helpless Stephane she cracked the crop just once, extremely accurately and extremely hard and viscously across Stephane’s exposed, vulnerable ass cheeks. The single stroke was laid on horizontally and crossed both cheeks equally. The ‘CRACK’ the leather made on on flesh was loud and sharp in the room. Like other sounds in that room, it didn’t escape. It simply jumped off the flesh and then bounced around the rubber walls before fading out. The cracking sound of the actual crop stroke faded, but as that faded, the shrill, drooling scream had emanated from the centre of the ring gag.

“EEEEEGHGHGHHGHGGHGHHGHGHHGHGHGHHHHHHNNNNNGGGHHGHHGHGGHHGGGHHGHGHGHHGHGHHGH HHHHHHHGHGHHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHG.”

That scream didn’t die down quite so quickly. As one breath full of scream died, so a fresh breath was fed into it as the pure undiluted screaming was reignited. Claudette circling, almost feline, like a big cat would circle her prey before the kill. Looking at Stephane studying him in his agony. Knowing that an orgasm was the furthest thing from his own mind right at that precise time and yet choosing that precise time to enforce the orgasm. Claudette coming back around to the front of the suspended gimp. Right to where his bondaged cock was dribbling, pulsating and throbbing and then, with him in the throws of the pain of the vicious stroke across his ass, she very simply, very ‘lightly’ flicked the leather tab end of the crop across the huge mushroom cock head. She tapped the cock head in quick succession, not hard, just light flicks probably six times right across the very spot that she had located with her finger tip. The most sensitive of the cock head glans treated to six very light, yet definite taps with the crop. The orgasm being produced even before the last flick had hit home. The first stroke starting the pressure build in the cock head and then the subsequent ones coaxing the orgasm to erupt full flow.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHH GODDDDDDDD GODDDDDDDDDD AHHHHHHHHH.”

The fire intense pain across his ass still burning brightly, the complete utter contrast of the orgasm induced in this way melded to induce a different level of mind melt. By the third flick of the crop, the cock head had visible ballooned and was on the verge of bursting. It didn’t burst of course, rather it ‘erupted’. It erupted with great pressure sending thick gushing bursts of semen directly out in front of Stephane. The flicks feeding the orgasm but also, the little bursts of compressed air being forced into the anal insert and thus the pressure on the colon maintained, all adding to an immense, intense orgasm. Claudette sidestepping the eruption and simply finishing her six crop flicks and then standing back watching the multiple orgasm run its course. Stephane, bucking and heaving in his bonds. Movement ability, nil.

“UHGHGHHGHGHGGHGGHGH MYYYYY GODDDDDDDDDD.”

Claudette waiting patiently for the orgasm to end. Idly checking her nails as Stephane’s ring gagged mouth overspilled with the drool the orgasm had forced him to produce.

“I think you mean ‘thank you Miss Athenia’, yes?”

Her words didn’t escape Stephane as his mind and body struggled to cope. In point of fact, her words were acutely clear in his mind. He didn’t need prompting, or further instruction as he tried, and tried very hard to get the words out from his ring gagged mouth.

“MMMMM TTTTTHANKKKK YYYYYOUU MISSSSSSS ATHENIAAAAAAAAAAA.”

It wasn’t very decipherable. But his heart was in it. His heart was very much in it. And for the first time, for the very first time Stephane was beginning to understand what being Claudette’s bitch meant. But… not really. He didn’t really know that. He just thought he knew. He just thought that this control and submission was what being a ‘bitch’, being Claudette’s bitch was all about. Fortunately for him, at least at this point, he had no idea at all. Not really. The tip of the iceberg had barely been touched. Claudette stood back, and watched, his words spilling from the ring gag in the form of drool and the cock, spent of semen and yet erection maintained and enforced just dribbling the last remnant of post orgasm dribble. She allowed herself a clench of her thighs. At last a new focus. At last a new challenge. For him, post-orgasm shame, and a creeping guilt. Like the big come down after a hit of something illegal.

Whilst it was true that this ‘breaking process’ didn’t allow the victim’s mind to adapt completely, it was quite startling in its permission for the body to at least partly adapt. Time most certainly didn’t mean much. Such as the time that Stephane was in that suspended, prose state. His body should have been in agonies that were unimaginable by anyone in the normal world. But somehow, the state of his mind, that is the diminishing state of his mind, allowed him to numb out the agony of what must have been a grossly extended stay in that suspended “X” state. His ass and genitalia had been the first to gain the relief. Claudette standing to one side watching her PA Selena deflate and then slide out the anal insert.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGHHHH.”

That had been accompanied by an extended groan that sounded like relief. It ‘sounded’ like relief. The ring gag prevented clear and concise communication. But it was the exhalation of air and the hissing, drool drenched gasp as the insert deflated and was slipped out of his back passage with something of a ‘plop’. That gave away the relief. As soon as the insert had been removed the cock dwindled to its idle snake like, limp state. The pressure on the colon no longer feeding the cock its erection food. More groans as the pins that had pierced the shaft and testes broke free. The previous torture of the cock obvious as the harness and straps were removed. Then the stand taken out of the way.

If there was a defining ‘key’ moment when Stephane’s downfall, and submission became “bitch training’ proper then, this was probably it. Claudette had left the room. That ‘whoosh’ as the vacuum seal was broken quite chilling. Then again as she returned. She was carrying something. A pair of pink leather boots. From the design and the way that they were made, the boots were knee highs and had delicate pink laces right down the decorative fronts of each. The heels were high. But they weren’t just high. They were impossibly high. Claudette carried the boots by the knee hem and placed them in front of the still suspended Stephane. Long dribbles of drool were still pouring from Stephane’s ring gagged mouth and were running down his smooth hairless front, collecting over his lower tummy then dripping down the length of his cock and off the cock head and into a pool directly behind the boots.

“Did you ever wonder, how us ‘bitches’ managed to walk on high heels… hmmmm, did you ‘cunt’?”

Another extended wet, drooling groan of resignation which told Claudette all she needed to know. Claudette seemed to emphasise the ‘cunt’ word. It was as though she liked to say it. Even got a pleasure out of it. That word seemed to drip from her lips, as though as she said it, the base of her clitoris was being pleasured by it. She most certainly thought that the word was appropriate for Stephane.

“No, I didn’t think so. But well, after the reflection, after the proving of my point that you control NOTHING any more, and looking ahead to the future, YOUR future, comes the learning. You WILL learn. Learning won’t be easy and at times it will be painful. Extremely painful. But you WILL learn. Heels will be a part of your life from now on albeit only one of many parts. Accept that fact and the learning can begin…. do I make myself clear… cunt?”

“MMMMMNNNGGHHGHGHGGHHHHGHGHHGHGHGHGHG.”

If there was a time when Stephane might have been crying for his mother then this was probably it. Or if there was a time when he might have wished he was dead this was it. But once again the drenched groan telling Claudette all she needed to know. Telling her that this little shit was being taken down to another level. It wouldn’t be the last time Stephane would wish he was dead.

Later That Same Day…

In a way, I wish I could say that over a period of time, walking in those heels had become easier for Stephane. But that wasn’t really the case. The act of putting one severely arched foot in front of another had become slightly easier but what he was doing at least at this point was ‘walking’ to some degree. Everything that those boots did fought against the natural instinct to be male. The moment Stephane had been lowered from the suspension and into the boots, there had been a pressure on the spine. A pressure right on the base of the spine. And a curve. Heels did that to girls. But girls were used to it. Better able to cope with it. Stephane had whimpered as his feet had been forced to arch so much. Forced to arch so much in fact that he was barely on the tip of all five toes. Most of the weight concentrated though the points of his big toes. With those thin, delicately tapered heels measuring in excess of seven inches, from not wearing any type of heels to being forced to bare one’s weight in these hyper-heels and then those same heels forcing him to stand as though he were sexually promiscuous was a double blow to his psyche. He must have looked like he felt. Like some kind of bizarre sex drenched hooker. The first few steps he had taken in those boots had been almost comical. A delicate balancing act. He had almost toppled over through the lacing up process but had managed to ‘get’ the fact that if he placed his feet wider apart, in effect, if he ‘splayed’ his legs somewhat, balancing would be a much easier affair. Then if he shifted his weight, from one foot to the other in a constant manner, then he could partly relieve the strain, not only on the toes, but on the spine. At this early point he could not see that every single movement he was forced to make on those boots was effeminate. Kind of clumsy but effeminate. Like a young girl wearing high heels for the first time. Maybe her mom’s high heels for instance.

Every single slight movement he made kind of brought out an inner femininity. An exaggerated femininity. Even at this stage of his breaking, he wanted to fight this urge. Wanted to fight the way his body was being forced to act because of a pair of pink high heeled boots. But he couldn’t. Any fight was draining out of him. The absolute fact that he was a hairless, oiled, effeminate gimp, was beginning to dawn on him. He did sob, but not outwardly. The dignity left in him meant that sometimes he sobbed outwardly, sometimes he didn’t.

It was strange really, but the physical torture of wearing those tight, high heeled boots was not the first thing that played on his mind. It was the colour, pink. A very definite pink. Pink was the very colour that he would never had chosen for any garment for himself. But also neither would he have chosen pink for any of his ‘victims’. Pink was to him, over-femme. It was too cuddly. Pink was like a ‘gay’ colour. And this, in his twisted mind was yet another weight baring down on his mind. That was being released from that god-awful bondage and into the ‘pink’ stiletto boots. Claudette had watched with a slight smile curled up from the corners of her mouth as Selena had laced him up and then watched him take those first stumbling, awkward steps. She actually noted, mentally how the boots extended his leg line, even formed a quite attractive shape to them. The ‘strut’ even when standing still, or ‘balancing’ was quite striking. And as that little movement was made, shifting weight from foot to foot, there was more than something ‘slutty’ about Stephane. She already knew what the boots pinkness did to the mind. Once again this was not an accidental choice.

The small walk to the next Rubber Room had been a tortuous affair for Stephane really. Supported on one side by Selena who didn’t speak but merely offered that support. On more than one occasion Stephane almost toppled over, or buckled at the knees. Each step accompanied by a whimpering that was almost pitiful to hear. But, as the few steps required to reach the second rubber room had been made, the act of putting one foot in front of the other had become slightly more easier. Slightly more fluid. Claudette, who had followed, noted that really, he was getting the hang of those heels far easier than would be the case normally. It was more than a possibility that Stephane had a natural feminine ability in there somewhere. Maybe not easy, but ‘natural’ non-the-less. Like a reluctant femme in the making. A natural femininity that simply needed to be coaxed out, and ‘trained’.

Whereas the first room had been a place for quiet contemplation, perhaps a place where Stephane could reflect on the error of his ways, at least to an extent despite the “X” bondage, this second room was not like that. This was a place where he needed to perfect the art of walking in those high heels. A wide heavy latex belt was secured around his waist. This belt had ringlets just above the hips. It was to these ringlets that his wrists were cuffed. It wasn’t really heavy cuffs that were used as opposed to wide latex bands that had little spring clips attached. It was these spring clips that were attached to the ringlets in the waist belt. The position of the wrists then, resting just above the hips kind of helped, in a bizarre, minutely managed way, for the feminine in Stephane to be brought further out. They forced a ‘pose’. Ok, an enforced pose not a natural one, but a pose that once the tension had faded, looked almost organic and natural. To his neck a fairly broad latex collar was secured. It can only be described as a collar simply because it was around the neck. It was broad in that it covered almost the entire length of his neck and emphasised that longness of the neck. Forced the deportment. Forced an almost Vogue like pose. Just to the side of the front of this collar another steel ringlet. This ringlet having a chain attached. The other end of this chain than having a larger clipped ring attached. This ring being clipped to a horizontal bar that was roughly neck or head height to Stephane as he stood. One looking in on such a scene could only come to the conclusion that Stephane had been ‘collar and leashed’. That is collar and leashed and naked, except for pink laced, knee high stiletto boots. This bar set at one side of the room and with room for walking and moving either side of it. The opposite wall and opposed to being entirely of visible rubber was mirrored. Not simply mirrored but with slight magnification. The reflected room, or more to the point the reflected person in the room seeming just that little bit larger than life. And the mirror so acutely clean and clear that it seemed it offered a high definition magnified vision of Stephane.

At first it had been like Stephane was trying to avoid looking at himself in that mirror. That was something that didn’t escape Claudette. It wasn’t something that had been entirely unexpected either. Here was a guy who just some hours previously had been in total control. Now he was forced into a situation so bizarre that even his twisted mind would not have been able to come up with it. Eventually, but only eventually Stephane’s eyes were drawn to that mirrored wall and to the magnified reflection of himself. At first there had been a visible wincing and a twisting of the face as he had seen himself perched on top of those pink high heels. The enforced arch to the back. The thrust back of the pert ass. The splayed, long legs. The tippy toes feet arched. The reaction had been such that he would turn away, sharply and not look again for a few seconds. Then his eyes would be drawn back and to the enforced, leg splayed strutting reflection that he presented himself.

“That’s right Stephane. Take a good long look at yourself. You are going to be in here for a long time. Well, you will be in here until you can walk in those heels properly. Back and forth up and down the bar. Get used to the heels Stephane. Don’t fight the strut they produce. Don’t fight the hip swaying feminine roll they produce. Go with it. Its what I want. I want to see how much of a strutting slut you can be. I want to see the girl in you Stephane. Don’t fight it. Go with it. The longer you fight it, the longer you will be in here to endure the torture of your boots. And, if I think you are fighting the girl in you deliberately and trying to escape ‘her’, then I will bring enforcement measures into play. That is I will torture the girl out of you. Believe me, it will be easier for you if you just go with the natural flow.”

Yet again every single word entering the mind and psyche of Stephane. Even as Claudette was speaking about ‘the girl’ in him he could feel the boots and his stance enhancing a femininity he would have forever denied was in him. There was a kind of resignation that came down on him like a mist. Right in front of his eyes. And it was a mist that despite the huge dangling piece of meat that was his cock, waving obscenely in front of him, just persuaded him, convinced him that that girl in him was going to be brought out. Coaxed out and cajoled. That the girl in him was going to be harnessed, and then pointed in one direction. He couldn’t possibly know at this early point that he was going to be feminised and bitched to extremes and then brought into the very lowest form of degradation. Lower even than his victims had been brought. His days on IRC, at least as he knew them were over. A new chapter beginning.

Stephane didn’t need to be ‘told’ to begin walking up and down that bar, from side to side of that room. He took the first steps even as that mist was setting in around his psyche. One step, then fighting the urge to stumble or topple. Then another step. Progress slow and yet very clearly being made. Stephane eventually losing either the will, or the fight to be manly in those boots and letting the strutting swagger take over. This becoming more evident as each step became more confident. The collar forcing his head high, almost proud. The boots enforcing that strut. Forcing the girl in him out. Hips, ok a little thin, but none-the-less, swaying side to side like god intended. Or like Claudette intended. Claudette leaving Stephane for long periods so that he could perfect that walk. Occasionally, and increasingly, Stephane would look across at his magnified self in the mirrored wall.

“When I return, ‘cunt’, I want to see a marked improvement. I want to see that bitch in you. Do you understand, bitch?”

Stephane’s mind struggling to cope and yet thinking logically at the same time. If this was bitch training then fine. Fine. If this was bitch training then fuck it, he would do it. Please this lesbian bitch. It was a kind of hate thing that drove him on. It was a kind of hate thing that was drawing out the girl in him. A kind of a hatred for Claudette. A hatred because she had been the one to bring him down. A hatred because of what she was forcing him to be. A hatred because of this ‘girl’ inside of him. One he would never have admitted to possessing. And yet, one that he was not only forced here to acknowledge but also to be. Forced into letting that ‘girl’ take the dominant role. Forcing his maleness, his masculinity to the back. Into that grey area. And yet that conflict also. The one of his cock waving in front of him as he took one step in front of the other. That cock reminding him who he was. What he was. Maybe not. Maybe reminding him who he ‘was’ as in, past-tense. Such an internal fight Stephane was having with himself in that second Rubber Room and all at only twenty years old. The girl in him eventually winning. Or, the male in him accepting that it had lost. And then funnily enough, once that had settled in, once that loss of his male side to his female side had been established and accepted, he could concentrate on perfecting that feminine walk in those heels. He could perfect that bitch walk and please Claudette. It was like, despite hating the bitch that had brought him down, he wanted also to please her. Maybe if he pleased her, things would be easier for him. Claudette just knew that at some point he would be thinking like this. She so liked to work with intelligent people. The problem was that she had met very very few truly intelligent men. She had come to the conclusion that possibly, they didn’t exist at all. So this was a double delight to her. Maybe just maybe that girl in Stephane had been the dominant persona all the time. She watched as he began to walk like a girl walked. One foot directly in front of the other, tippy toes pointing forward and the walking action producing a swagger and a bounce. One couldn’t help but notice the pout to those full lips either. Like he was trying very hard to be that bitch that Claudette wanted to coax out. The clicking of the heels becoming more and more pronounced, more and more confident as the time in that second rubber room went on. The perfection of the walk, of that slut-strut just a quite small task completed.

Some weeks later….

The ‘animals’ were male human beings, although they didn’t much look like that. Overweight, hairless and smooth. Naked except for heavy leather collars and leashes that they had been brought in on. They had been brought in kind of stooping. Not quite on all fours like dogs and yet, not quite standing either. Kind of psuedo-semi-apes. They had been brought in practically snarling and drooling. It was clear that these two ‘things; had been through some kind of process in a similar way to Stephane was going through some kind of process. Though not with the same end result in mind. It was clear from their eyes, almost vacant and misted over that they, along the way somewhere had lost their minds and yet, once they had clapped eyes for the first time on Stephane, their huge swaying cocks had sprung to life and become gargantuan members that had the ability to sniff out and drool at any femininity in the immediate vicinity. Bizarrely, almost scarily it was like their surreal sexualities had a life of their own. And yet, it was ultra females in the forms of Claudette and Serena who had brought them into the room. They were totally feminine and yet they didn’t drool and growl after them. It was like their minds had been conditioned. Whatever process they had been through their minds had been conditioned and washed. It was only when they saw Stephane, part girl, part man still, that they strained at their leashes and drooled from the limp, full lipped mouths. The chain of the leashes tightened, and the exit of drool, not simply confined to the cock heads that swayed under them, but also their mouths. Thin lips peeled back exposing the teeth and gums and with little growling sounds that emanated from the backs of their throats. Not loud, vicious growls, rather low guttural rumbling growls, like warning growls. And just a restrained tightening of the leash chains. Both ‘animals’ giving the impression of power and speed despite the masses of rolled, and oiled flesh. Claudette and Serena giving just little tug backs on the leashes, like a reminder of who the fuck was in charge here. What the animals were seeing wasn’t the newly broken Stephane. What they were seeing was a different Stephane. One in transformation. One who at this precise point was neither male, nor female.

Stephane, or what used to be Stephane was simply sitting, not bondaged or restrained in any way, on a low stool in the centre of another rubber lined room. The stool was the only item of furniture. Actually it was the only item of anything in the room. It was like Stephane had been put in this room to contemplate his future. And, or even to contemplate his past. He was naked still, almost. The pink high heeled boots were still laced tightly to his lower legs. But there was something else about those legs too. There was a sheen. A gloss to them. Not stockings, and not with any colour. Transparent pantihose and yet made of the tightest fitting latex. Pantihose that had been pulled over the legs and were banded around the lower tummy. Latex pantihose that were also crotchless. A gaping slit that ran from the pubis bones right round and to the tail bone. A slit that itself was shaped, and mimicked one big vaginal gash in that it splayed either side of the genital and sightly indented the flesh such was its tightness. The gash of latex tapering out and around the genitalia leaving it all exposed and then around to the anal area, likewise leaving that exposed. The pink boots had then been pulled back over the latex pantihose. The transparency, if anything adding to the femininity in that the legs were smooth. That is there was no flattened masculine hair. The hair over the legs, like the hair on his head, long since removed. Just a smoothed, oiled like texture remaining to the flesh. And the ultra smoothness of the latex.

The way Stephane sat on the stool told a story too. There was most certainly a kind of ‘slump’ like one of a person who was accepting of what was now going on in his life. As though he was baring the weight of the world on his shoulders or something. But there was something else to. Where once there was an undeniable ‘man’, albeit and small, tiny and slightly effeminate man, now there wasn’t. It was like the man in this slight shell had been replaced by girl. And his posture and actions were all replaced with those of a girl. Or a woman. There was a slight limpness to the wrists as he, casually brushed imaginary dust off his latexed, upper thighs. It was as though every movement he made, even every facial expression had an effortless feminine quality. Not that he was trying to be feminine or trying to impress the people who had done this to him, but that the femininity and the impressing came as natural to him. Like he didn’t have to try any more. Like it was just there. On closer inspection, at least part of the reasoning behind this startling transformation could be physically seen. It wasn’t just what had happened in the mind. Although, it became quite obvious that things had most certainly happened in his mind. There had been modification away from his mind. Physical modifications that were not simply apparent but were blazingly apparent.

Stephane’s eyebrows had been removed, and like a pencil thin line tattoo’d where the brow used to be. It was like the pencilled, or tattoo brow lines were guidelines for future more elaborate eye makeup. There was also a smoothness to the facial flesh, like some sort of treatment had been applied. Or, like some form of invisible and yet very effective foundation had been applied to highlight the naturally high cheekbones of the gimp. The lips too, had been plumped. Most definitely they had been plumped with some form of injections to each in order to produce a permanent non-fading pout. Stephane had already possessed the fullest lips that it was possible for a man to possess without being accused of being a transsexual. This added plumpness took away any doubt that gender was indeed an issue. Like the issue of gender between MissMyndFuck and Stephane DeLaurie. It wasn’t simply, or just the plumpness of the lip flesh. Those lips had also been perma-coloured a deep, almost blood red and somehow, or in some way had been perma-glossed. It wasn’t that lipstick and gloss had been applied. That wasn’t the case at all. Each lip had been painstakingly coloured via a tattoo gun to provide that impression. To provide the impression that Stephane was some kind of obscene hooker. The overall effect was startling and stunning in one swoop. Even without any hair, even given the smooth hairless dome that was Stephane’s head, the transformation was startling and quite disturbing. Even more disturbing was his whole demeanour, his whole body language. Yes that defeat, but yes that girl in him winning over. If not winning over, then more predominant. The man in him, the one that had all his own way, his wicked and evil way for those three years had most certainly and most completely been forced back. Right back. If not taken out of him altogether. Strangled, dead, gone.

Stephane also had breasts now. Not simply, little pert breasts that he might be able to conceal as man-boobs should circumstances ever change for him in the future, but mightily impressive mountainous breasts that far from looking of the false and implanted type, looked real, very organic and very sensitive breasts. Undoubtedly implants of some kind had been involved to add to the volume and quality of what had been induced via hormonal treatment. Stephane had spend a lot of the past weeks on a continuous drip of various medications, hormones and treatments that all but strangled the maleness out of him. The breasts could have been enlarged more, and yet a double D cup size seemed the right blend of natural and enhanced for his quite slight body size. Double D breasts that were impressively uplifted and pert and were tipped with even more impressive nipples and aureoles. These were most definitely the produce of some kind of surgery. And yet, not surgery of the synthesised variety. Rather Stephane’s nipples and aureoles had been transplanted. That is what he had been given were living flesh as opposed to simple cosmetic surgery. Those nipples, as Stephane sat on the stool, looked alive and looked erect. There was nothing false about them. To anyone looking on they were the real thing. The real thing that were also in a state of semi-erection and elongation. Stephane wasn’t simply wearing those nipples he/she was ‘feeling’ them also. His man nipples had been removed and discarded. Simply disposed of and replaced with these works of living feminine, female art.

Whatever Stephane had endured, apart from the obvious over those weeks, had the resulting effects as he sat on that stool. One would suspect that he had been isolated and taken away from any maleness or masculinity of any kind. The hormonal and medical treatments doing the work on him physically, but also adding to what was happening inside his head. It would not be beyond the realms of possibility that Stephane’s old life was fading to grey. Or had already faded to grey. Certainly, his ability to think, or live in those terms was no more. Occasionally, his tongue would slip out from between those blood red lips and lick side to side. Even the way he did that was feminine and deviant. And the way he checked, quite idly his nails. Yes those nails, perfectly manicured, filed and glossed to match the redness of the lips. The lick of the lips and the natural droopy pout of those same lips. Sitting on the low stool, the combination of the low stool height plus the height of the pink high heeled boots, forcing his knees high. Legs spread quite idly displaying the manhood that he had been left with. Whatever the last few weeks had done to Stephane, he had not been turned into some kind of virginal female. There was a poise and arrogance about his body language. Even a decadence. One might suspect that trait was left over from his old life. Yes that could be true. Probably was true. More likely though, and more to accentuate this, was the need to impress Claudette of his femininity. That was more likely the case. She had said she wanted a ‘bitch’ and it looked like he had perfected the look. Actually what Stephane portrayed here and now in this room and on that stool was more than an ‘act’. It would be impossible for an individual to ‘act’ this out. He seemed to be living it from the inside. From deep inside.

As Claudette and Serena had come in, bringing the two leashed animals with them, Stephane had looked up. It was almost like ‘SHE’ had looked up ‘casually’. Far from being shocked by the sight of the two sexually aroused ‘things’, she had looked up slowly and had slipped out that fleshy tongue again. After peeling her lips apart, she had run the tongue over her lower lip and had quite unashamedly looked between the legs of the two. From one to the other. A spark most obviously coming to life in her eyes. The way she looked at the two beasts. Or more to the point the way she looked at their huge, obscene, erect and dripping sexualities was with a hunger and with a need. As she looked she raised her right hand and simply flicked each of her nipples. Like she was feeding that need. Both nipples reacting immediately and turning from a semi erect to a full erect. Any last possibility that those nipples were simply cosmetic at that point disappearing. The teat like nipples thickening and engorging and filling. The surrounding aureoles suddenly also springing to life, sprouting speckles that were raised from the main flesh and just ‘looked’ like they carried a whole lot of sensitive sexual nerve endings all of their own. Stephane’s eyes, yes ‘her’ eyes told a story to. Lashes curled and mascara’d without a doubt. But in addition there was something else there. If one was to look deeper. Maybe even into the soul. There was an abandonment there. Total abandonment. The eyes slightly narrowed. Slightly watery. The facial features, whilst looking slightly weary and worn, also with a deep deep need in them. It hadn’t simply been Stephane’s gender and mind that had been worked on over the last weeks. It was also her sexuality. Or more to the point her addictive sexuality. That had been her weakness as a man. Or as a boy, not forgetting her age was just twenty years. Always on the search for the ultimate kick. His sexuality had been far too advanced, far to complex for him to be able to control it himself. That now coming back to bite him. That was why he had sought out and made his victims suffer. Now the wheel of fate turning a complete circle. What goes around comes around and all of that. Claudette more than able to harness all of that raw sexuality, but in ways that Stephane would never, could never imagine or understand. Her mind, at this precise time was in one-track mode. It was obvious seeing her on this stool, in this state, that nothing mattered to her any more. At least nothing from her old life. This was her life now. Or at least this was a hint of how life was going to be. And it could only be a hint. She was going to be taken much much further than any of her victims had been taken.

One could all but smell the drool drenched breath of the ‘things’ on the leashes as Claudette and Serena brought them into the room. Claudette simply smiled, a sick almost sadistic smile as she saw Stephane’s reaction and actions.

“Ahhh I see you are hungry, cunt?”

Claudette was referring to the glaringly obvious way in which Stephane all but drooled at the two beasts. Stephane answered. Even her voice changed. It had been manly before even if in a boyish way. But now, one would suspect that the bombardment of hormonal treatments that her body had received had taken its toll on the voice. What came out was drippingly seductive. Husky to a point of being smoke stained and with more than a hint of femininity about it.

“Mmmmmmm yes Miss Athenia. Mmmm yes, cunt is hungry.”

That had been accompanied by a filthy, obscene lick of both lips

“Good girl. Good girl. My pets here like to be sucked. Sucked to completion. Do you think you can do that, for me cunt? Do you think you can use your mouth, that gorgeous red mouth of your to suck the two of them to completion. Use your mouth to pleasure them all the way, hmmmm?”

As Claudette spoke, Stephane’s eyes flicked from one of the beasts genitalia to the other as though already in her mind she was devouring both dripping erections and swallowing the produce.

“Mmmmm yes please Miss Athenia. Yes please. May I?”

Once again husky seductiveness bubbling from the mouth of Stephane.

“Oh yes, yes indeed you can. And.. if you do a real good job, then we can talk about once and for all getting rid of that nasty cock between your legs. You’d like that wouldn’t you cunt? To get rid of that cock. Give you a proper cunt that can be used like cunts should be used. You’d really like that wouldn’t you?”

Stephane looking down between her spread legs almost recoiling in disgust at the sight of her own cock, although still there, pretty lifeless. The treatments that she had received rendering that big meaty cock useless. Getting and maintaining an erection had been a dwindling possibility. At this precise time it was an impossibility. The glans of her bell end just about feeling the intensity of pleasure she once felt. Claudette knowing this and yet also knowing that once he had had the surgery, once and for all turning him from male to female, the sensitivity would return full on. Not just that, it would be hyper-sensitised. Worked on in microscopic ways to ensure that that sexual hunger, and need remained a permanent fixture of ‘her’ new life. She would become a hungry slut. A sex addicted whore of the first order. She smiled as he answered. For the first time she smiled almost brightly at the prospect of what the future held. Or at last and what some of the future held.

“Ohhhh God Miss Athenia… goddddd yes I would like that… g-get rid of this fucking horrible cock. Give me a cunt that I can use like I supposed to use a cunt. My own cunt.. mmm yessss please Miss Athenia yessss please.”

The abandonment wasn’t solely in her eyes. It was in her voice also. Only one thing mattered to her now. That was that ‘he’ would become a she. And that was connected with his deeper need for a purely sexual future. Which in turn was connected with the deeper base need to please Miss Athenia. She was the whole key to his whole future. She was all that mattered.

“Good girl. Good girl.”

The one beast’s cock seemed to glide in and out of Stephane’s mouth with ease. It wasn’t just helped along by the thick slippery mixture of pre-cum and saliva-drool, although that undoubtedly helped. That lubrication seeming to form a natural coating to the lips. Each lip, lower and upper being stretched to the maximum around the brutal, vein engorged tool, and then being slightly dented and distorted, either with the in stroke or the out stroke. Those thick, plump, luscious lips either being pushed in, or pulled out depending on the direction of travel of the cock. It wasn’t so much that the beast of a thing was fucking Stephane’s mouth. Although he was doing that, and with drenched, gurgling grunts as he did so. What he was more doing was ‘rutting’ her mouth. And then at the same time using all of the stretched lips and then the constriction of the throat in order to create the required friction. The huge, pulsating cock head blocking the airway with every stroke. Stephane’s eyes bulging as that airway was blocked and yet flaring her nostrils, getting what breath she could through those as this thing maximised his pleasure by pressing the cock head as far down the throat as possible. Then pulling out again.

The way Stephane sucked and pleasured that cock would tell anyone looking on that she had done that before. Oh certainly not in ‘his’ former life. Stephane used to cringe at the thought of those gay-boys kissing and sucking each other’s cocks. This was different. Stephane hadn’t just been taught how to pleasure a cock with her mouth. She was ‘enjoying’ it. Feeding her own debauched hunger with it. Even the way she cupped and massaged the huge heavy balls sack as the thing rutted her mouth was a revelation. The huge ball sack overspilling Stephane’s small, and undoubtedly feminine hands. The finger working slowly, just squeezing and then massaging. Squeezing and massaging as her mouth worked the dripping nerve infested glans of the cock head. Those fingers and the hand in general just working slowly and gently, to feed the need in the thing that was fucking her mouth. Raking the nails over the smooth, hairless ball-sack flesh. Finding each testicle and rolling them around her fingers like giant marbles. When the rutting became more urgent, those same testicles slapping the underside of Stephane’s chin. The combination, or coming together of those two separate entities, mouth and cock creating quite the obscene, disgusting noises. Those noises increasing in urgency then as the ‘thing’ was cajoled and goaded towards eruption of the single most important thing in its life, inside Stephane’s mouth. Inside the warm wet, eager confines of her mouth.

There was a very definite, extra bulge to the eyes as the time of orgasm and eruption drew near. The cock head, already using the the entire, warm wet cavernous confines of Stephane’s mouth, would be swelling and pulsing. That pressure into the back of the throat would be added to the significantly increased volume of cock and the urgency of the pressure behind that cock. As the semen built in the tube, and collected inside the cock head, the rutting becoming more of an urgent desperate thing. And when the explosion inside Stephane’s mouth did happened, her eyes bulged even more as the first jets of thick, creamy semen hit the back of her throat. Her natural instinct was to swallow. The throat rolling with the swallow informing the closely watching Claudette of what was happening. From that quite urgent swallowing action, Claudette would have known that the thing was in the throws of coming. She then, just leaning forward and stroking the huge, engorged nipples of Stephane. That stroking giving enough pleasure, feeding enough of that hunger for the sucking action to provide maximum pleasure. Each subsequent gush of semen then either hitting the back of her throat or filling the mouth. Making Stephane taste the cum inside of it. The swallowing actions then more urgent as she tried to keep up with the seemingly never ending eruption of semen into her mouth. That being impossible and little drools, at first, of semen appearing at the corner of the mouth and then larger gushes as her stretched mouth overflowed. It didn’t matter as, at least on this occasion, she was not under warning not to spill a drop. Claudette was more interested in displaying the ex-boy’s ability and eagerness in the oral department. The exercise had certainly produced the result she had wanted for. More than. She smiled as she rolled one nipple between thumb and forefinger. The thing rutting the mouth to completion and Stephane eagerly and hungrily consuming all of the produce and then cleaning the member as it became flaccid and soft. Stephane seemingly not wanting to give it up even though it was spent.

“Good girl, good girl…. Hungry cunt. Dirty girl. Mmmmm now do you want the other, hmmmm?”

Stephane still sucking and cleaning the cock as she nodded and looked imploringly up at Claudette. Her eyes said it all. She wanted the other cock just as badly just as hungrily as she wanted the first and there was a groan of delight as the second cock was glided, in one swift smooth movement into the semen infested, warm wet interior of Stephane’s mouth. The grunt hungry, needy, the tone feminine as she set about her second task of that particular day.

A few weeks later….

The city bar was buzzing with the early evening crowd. City workers on their usual stop-off at the watering hole before making their weary way home through the usual commuter throng. Talk of huge bonuses and what the weekend held in store was the order of the day. Attractive women mingling in either groups of women or with their male colleagues. Some drinking wine. Some drinking beer. There was no shame in power dressed women wrapping their lips around the top of a beer bottle. They just didn’t give a shit. On some tables there were spent or half spent champagne bottles. Those mixed with wine bottles, and crazy cocktail glasses. The scene was a usual Friday evening one. The week’s work done. Some nice bonuses banked. Work hard, play harder. It was the City way.

In one dimly lit corner booth, away from the crowd, two women sat in close, and seemingly intense conversation. One of the women was an impressive statuesque woman in her early forties. She was power-dressed and her femininity enhanced to the maximum. She had this ability, even just to look at her, of getting over the fact that she didn’t like to be, or would not be fucked about by anyone. The swell of her breasts under an expensive silk top was almost frighteningly huge. That was the swell that most men would fix their eyes on. Oh Claudette had been through the sexual harassment thing when she had arrived in the City all those years ago. She had dealt with it. She never got sexually harassed any more. Guys these days were too scared of losing their balls. Little did they know how literally close to the truth that could be. Oh they may have a sly look. Even a sly lick of the lips as she strode past. But the moment, that fraction of a second in which their eyes met, the guy would always be the one who blinked first and looked away. If she so chose, she could eat men alive. Ask anyone in that bar on that particular night. Any one of them, male or female would know Claudette and any one of them would shake their heads if asked if any of them would mount any form of challenge against her. Claudette kicked ass in the City. There was no doubt about it. She kicked ass in the charismatic stakes. But always, not more often than not but always, her reputation preceded her.

The other woman was younger. Much younger. In her twenties. That is just about in her twenties. She had flame red hair that seemed to be pulled back tight from her quite heavily made up face, and secured in a high tight pony tail that seemed to erupt from the top of her head. She was leaning in slightly, as though hanging on to every word the older woman was saying. Impressively long legs were sheathed in what looked like expensive nylons and her feet were arched into fuck-me-pumps that had heels so high that they were only just about manageable. The gold, early evening cocktail dress was short. Yes it was short but it was also kind of loose. Low cut front and back gathered to reveal enough flesh. The young woman’s cleavage blatantly visible to whoever cared to look. Claudette’s eyes, periodically flicked down to the cleavage. One of her hands was rested on the thigh of the young woman and was stroking gently. Claudette never hid her sexuality. Oh she never announced her lesbian tendencies to the world. Never ‘came out’ as such. But also never remained in the closet. She didn’t care. Nobody cared in this day and age and in such a cosmopolitan city. Besides, it added to her aura. That aura of mystery that surrounded probably the single most successful woman in the City. Occasionally people would look across to the booth. Always they would wonder who Claudette’s latest girl was. Even envy the girl whoever she was. There would be that envy in both women’s and men’s eyes. That was the sort of attention that Claudette didn’t mind. She could take the distance worship, and it almost was a worship. She could take any amount of that any day of the week. She didn’t welcome anyone invading her space though.

At one point Claudette’s hand slipped around the nylon thigh and under the dress. What wouldn’t be noticeable in the buzz of the bar was that she was forcing the younger woman to open her thighs a little. First to uncross her legs and then just part her knees a little. The hand wandering up, all the time stroking, and then out of sight under the dress. Probably no-one would notice the eager tongue of the girl washing over her own lips as the hand disappeared. It was what went on under the dress and out of sight that was private. Very private. Claudette finding the tiny thong and just gently slipping it to the side so that she could slip first one, then two fingers inside the girl. Gently working them deep. Then once deep enough, hooking them back and pressing just above the pubis and outward. Like she was massaging the G spot with her two fingers. As she did this, adjusting herself on the seat. Leaning in closer, and whispering into the girl’s ear.

“See, no-one knows you any more. No-one is looking for Stephane any more. Stephane doesn’t exist. As far as anyone is concerned, Stephane got out of the country and is holed up in some foreign paradise. Or… the other possibility that went through the authorities minds is that Stephane has committed suicide in some god forsaken hole somewhere. The body never found, or never would be found. No-one, would ever guess… well.. well they just wouldn’t. No one will be looking for Stephane, the redhead, the blonde, the brunette or whatever I decide to make you on any given day. Stephane is gone and now you are here.”

All the time Claudette’s fingers working deep. The girl’s cunt hungrily sucking the fingers. The eyes and the mouth saying it all.

“And what do you have to say to me, hmmmm? What have you got to say to me Stephanie, hmmm?”

The tongue slashing over the young girl’s deep red lips again. Even in the buzz of the bar, if one were to look closely at the girl’s face one would be able to see her exhaling the air from between those full, plump lips. An even closer look would see that abandon in the eyes to. But that was just it, no-one did ever look that closely. No-one dared. But then they only didn’t dare because of Claudette’s reputation in the City. If they had known what she was capable of on a more intimate level. Or, if they had had any clue what she was capable of through her sexuality and her overt sexual interests, it would send a shudder down the spine of the most hardened. And yet, that would only add even more to her aura and mystery. Like another level. Stephanie, formerly known as Stephane, leaned in to Claudette and whispered huskily into her ear, even as the two fingers were working inside of her new, extra sensitised sexuality.

“Mmmm thank you Miss Athenia, thank you for everything. Thank you so much.”

Claudette exhaling as the girl’s words hissed in to her ears and mind. There was almost a pitiful gratitude in Stephanie’s husky tones.

“We have the whole weekend…. I want you to suffer, just a little bit. Well actually, not just a little bit. A lot. But then you deserve to suffer don’t you Stephanie? To suffer in my Rubber Rooms, hmmmm?

There was that flick of pure dread that passed over the made up eyes of the former MissMyndFuck, the former City IT expert. The former man-boy. But it was an instant dread, there one second then gone. Quickly replaced by one of adoration and a need to please.

“Y-yes Miss Athenia… yes this slut wants and deserves to suffer.”

As Stephanie was whispering, so Claudette was bringing her off in an intense orgasm. But no-one would know. The turmoil and intensity of the orgasm held and restrained. If Stephanie made any sound, or gave away even minutely the fact that she was orgasming, then well, the suffering that weekend would be multiplied. Claudette let the girl ride the orgasm before take her finger out of, and then tracing the outline of Stephanie’s lips with her own cuntal produce.

“Good girl.”

The thing was, that in this world, that is the outside world, ‘suffering’ meant many different things on many different levels. No-one from the outside, ‘normal’ world would ever, could ever comprehend what suffering meant in Claudette’s world. Even as Claudette and a completely sex changed Stephanie left that bar, arms linked, no-one could ever even slightly guess, or imagine, not even in their worst nightmares what Stephanie would suffer that weekend. All of that weekend. And for all of the future.

THE END

of the beginning

© drkfetyshnyghts 2009

 

An End -Note From The Author:

I concede that some technicalities of IRC, networks and protocols contained herein may not be accurate. That isn’t the point, the cautionary tale remains the same. Predators can hide behind their computer screens, but the digital fingerprint remains and predators DO become prey. Y’all be careful out there 🙂

 

TO BE CONTINUED