Contract Modifications

by Tigger
copyright 2002

 

Part X

 

Chapter 33: Hostile Takeover

The cell phone - the SPECIAL cell phone provided by Mr. Webb - rang, playing the theme from the movie, "The Sting", several times before Ed picked it up. His hands, he noted, idly, were shaking. He closed his eyes to center himself, and then consciously put himself into character before pushing the activation button.

"Davinia Delacourt," she answered, crisply.

"Helen Martin, Ms. Delacourt," was the clear reply.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Martin," 'Davinia' managed.

"Are you in contact with your. . . client, Ms. Delacourt?"

"Yes, of course."

"Tell him I'll be there, on that damned island, three days from now."

"In three days?"

"I'm driving my car to Key West. The resort has a boat that runs between there and the island on a daily basis."

"Very well, Ms. Martin. I'll see that Mr. Davis is apprised of your intentions."

"Just tell him to get his ass down there," was the angrily snapped reply. "I want this over and done with."

"Of. . ." Ed stared at the suddenly buzzing phone before finishing, "course. . . " The woman hadn't even waited for a reply.

"Well?" Veronica asked from the door to her home office. She'd appeared there when she'd heard the distinctive tones of 'Ms. Delacourt's' phone.

"It's on," Ed replied, and then chuckled. "Well, that was hard."

"What? Setting her up? Going soft on us, Ed?"

"Good gumdrops, no!" he retorted. "What was tough was remembering to speak in 'Davinia's' voice while wearing jeans, boondockers and my flannel work shirt."

"Your couture does leave a bit to desired for the lady-shark lawyer. I suppose we could have arranged for you to, ah, stay in character until now?" Veronica smiled back, strolling into the room and taking a seat next to Ed.

"Umm, thank you, Mistress, but, I'm happy as I am just now."

She kissed his cheek. "So am I, dear, but you certainly did have the voice and attitude down - both now and when you were with her from what I could tell from Jack's recording. That's rather unusual, you know."

"How so?"

"You do the authoritative, hard-as-nails bitch almost as well as you do the mincing, simpering femmy-maid. In my experience, most subs, particularly sissy subs, tend to go way overboard when put into a situation requiring a. . . shall we say, more 'dommely' air."

Ed shrugged. "They're both just roles to me. I played the one to suit me and my goals; I play the other to please you, which, in turn, suits me and my goals."

"So, that's all your submission is, then? A role? A way to please me?" It was clear that she didn't like that notion very much. "I suppose I'm sufficiently selfish to accept that, but it worries me that it's not something. . . well, more intrinsic? Something more vital to you, as well."

Considering that, Ed shook his head. "There's a difference between submitting to you, and playing a role for you - at least in my mind. I submit to you because I want to submit to you, maybe even NEED to submit to you - as part of my love for you. I don't particularly need to do that as a feminized sissy slave, but if that pleases you, that pleases me."

"I guess I'm used to subs who wanted to play sissy games for their own pleasure, and found me to be a useful means of obtaining that sinfully pleasurable end for themselves," Veronica mused, thoughtfully. "And in you, I have a submissive who really is putting me first, and sees my sissy games as a useful means to give me pleasure."

"That's about the extent of it. In the end, it's about loving you, and by extension, being loved by you."

Veronica felt the wet heat of tears behind her eyelids, and happily snuggled up to Ed, resting her head on his shoulder. "That's so lovely," she sighed.

"You're lovely, and I love you."

~-~

"Ms. O'Hurley," the familiar voice was tinged with excitement. "We have a problem."

Mary looked at the phone in her hand in surprise. For Jack Webb, this was a highly agitated mood, and it got her attention. "Go ahead, Jack."

"We have a street name - 'Flyer' - that's what the Martin woman called him when she spoke to him on the bugged cell phone."

"What's the problem, Jack?"

"She called this Flyer person and arranged to have him provide her with, and I quote, 'more of that stuff I bought last week'. From what we can infer, he is a dealer of illegal drugs."

"You think that is what she tried to put in Veronica's drink?"

"It is one possibility, Ma'am, and one we should take seriously. That being the case, we have to ask ourselves who is she intending to drug and why?"

"When is she meeting this fellow?"

"This morning - right before she leaves town to start heading south."

"You have any idea of her itinerary?"

"She's staying at Hilton Savannah Desoto tonight. A non-smoking suite, in fact. We got that from the taps on her phones."

"The woman does like her luxuries."

"Indeed, but to our purposes, that will allow us to pinpoint her likely whereabouts. I have already acquired the necessary uniforms for our party to masquerade as hotel staff - bellmen, maids, porters and such - so that much is well in hand."

"What about this 'Flyer', then."

"I have two agents already heading to the meet-location, Ma'am. One will follow Martin to make sure she is, in fact, heading south, while the other will surveille the dealer to ensure he is only selling her a drug, and not taking a more. . . active role in her little schemes."

"I hate drug dealers," Mary snarled.

"Rest assured, Mary," Webb said in a surprisingly gentle voice, "Anything my people get on this fellow will be in the hands of a reliable member of the local narcotics division just a soon as our mission in Savannah is satisfactorily concluded."

"Very well, Jack. Thank you."

The phone began to buzz, and Mary deactivated it. "Now," she said to no one in particular, "Do I tell Veronica and Edward about this? Or keep it to myself?"

~-~

Helen Martin sat in the sitting room of her downtown Hilton suite, sipping a stiff drink and contemplating the small amber bottle she'd put on the coffee table. Flyer had assured her that this bottle contained the real deal - full strength - something so potent that only a regular user could ingest it and hope to survive - and then only in small doses. She didn't intend that Edward Davis 'ingest' anything like a 'small dose'. One of the useful bits of information she'd garnered at the library was that this resort had recently experienced an unfortunate rash of drug-related incidents among their clientele. Mr. Edward Davis was about to become just one more casualty in the war on drugs, and then? Well, she'd disappear and live off Amelia's money for the rest of her life. She'd lost her gamble to grab power in the business world - to prove she was more than just a pretty face and a body that looked good in designer clothes - but she hadn't lost the fortune she'd hidden away in all those lovely numbered accounts.

The antique mantel clock chimed twelve times. She sighed, and decided to go to bed. She had another long day on the road tomorrow, and she'd need her rest.

The bed was gorgeous - a true dream of a bed with a velvet canopy, diaphanous silk curtains draped about the sides, all on a huge pedestal in the center of the room. The thick satin duvet had already been turned down, and a single red rose laid upon the pillow. It was like something out of a romance novel.

Enough of a woman to be entranced by the setting, Helen sighed happily - and never felt the prick of the needle at the base of her neck.

~-~

The maid was surprised to see the 'checked out' indicator light on her status board lit up for one of her suites when she arrived for work at 6:45 AM. Suite-guests usually did not check out until after having been served the breakfast that came with the accommodation. "Must have express checked out," she told herself. Still, that meant she could go right up and get started - at least an hour before she expected - which meant she might be able to slip out early today and do a little shopping.

And the twenty-dollar tip she found waiting for her on the coffee table of the luxury suite would make that shopping just a little bit more fun, too.

~-~

"It's a new designer drug, Mary," the investigator told her from Savannah. The use of her Christian name was, Mary mused, an indication of just how upset Jack was at that moment. She could count on one hand with spare fingers the number of times his composure had cracked like this. "This is really bad stuff - a combination of PCP, THC and formaldehyde. It's called flyer on the street because people sometimes don't come down from it. Addictive as hell and toxic on top of that.

"Toxic?" Mary was appalled.

"Especially in the concentration of this sample."

"She was going to try to kill him." It wasn't a question.

"Most likely scenario, Ms. O'Hurley. We did consider that to be a distinct possibility when we developed this plan.""

"Where is the bitch now?"

"On board the yacht, still sedated. The Mary-Marq sailed from Savannah Harbor at first light, and should be arriving at your island in about thirty, maybe thirty-six hours depending on wind and current."

"We'll be there to meet her," Mary said, her voice only slightly colder than her anger.

"My people are going after that drug dealer with the police as we speak, Ma'am. If we want, I think we can make him roll on her."

"She'd just claim it was for personal, recreational use, Jack. Just get the animal off the streets and we'll leave it at that."

"Very good, Ma'am. Good luck with the Martin woman."

"Luck no longer has anything to do with it, dear, but thank you, all the same."

 

Chapter 34: Contracted Deliveries

Veronica broke the connection and set her cell phone down. "They have her," she told Edward across the breakfast table. "She'll be on Mary's island sometime this evening."

"Then everything's ready to go," Ed replied quietly.

"You're really sure you want to go there?" Veronica asked, carefully. "You have a lot of bad memories from your time there, and what Mary has planned . . ."

"Will visit on Helen much of what she did to me."

"Do you really want to be part of that? What about the personal cost to you, Ed?"

Edward sat back and considered. Finally, he sighed. "I'll have to pay it, then, because if I'm not part of Mary's little drama? It may not have sufficient impact on Helen and she might, well, she might decide to try to get back at you or me again. We don't know what she put in your drink, but if that stuff she had with her in Savannah is potentially lethal? Then, for our own safety if for no other reason, we need to make HER fear for HER own life."

"You think you can do that better than Mary?"

"Maybe not better, but differently. We have to try."

Veronica sighed, and then nodded. "I have Friday and Monday off. We're ticketed to leave for Key West on Thursday evening. We'll be met by a boat for the final leg of the trip Friday morning."

~-~

She rolled her back to the door, pretending to sleep - trying in any way she could to delay the start of another day in this hellhole.

"Good morning, Helen," an entirely too-chipper voice called from behind her. "Wakey, wakey." It was, she realized, the Amazon-tall black slut - the one who seemed to take real personal pleasure in degrading Helen.

Helen tried to ignore the voice, only to be jarred upright by the involuntary clenching of every muscle in her abdomen. The purple wand device they'd affixed to her pubis, she remembered, at the same moment wondering how she could have forgotten the damned thing.

"I said," the voice called out again, but now edged with irritation, "Wakey, wakey, bitch! The next one will be at full power for sixty of the longest damned seconds of your miserable life."

"I'm up, I'm up," she groaned, rolling over and feeling the heavy chains of her leg irons fall to the floor, nearly over-balancing her. Another jolt hit her, forcing her to remember to add, "Mistress."

"Better - still inadequate, but better. I suppose that means that when I convince La Marquesa to sell you to some far east slaver, we'll have to implant one of these shocking little toys subcutaneously - it seems to be the only way to get you to obey. On your feet, Helen!"

Wearily, Helen obeyed. It wasn't nearly as easy as one might surmise. For on thing, she was physically exhausted after who knew how many days of this torture chamber - a condition which ruined both her depth perception and bodily control. For another, her arms were tightly bound behind her back which thoroughly compromised her muscle memory and balance points. The six inch-stiletto-heeled ballet-boots didn't help, either.

The black woman unlocked the barred door, and stepped inside. She curled the strong fingers of her left hand around and under Helen's chin, forcing her eyes up, while her right hand slapped a riding crop loudly against the leather of her thigh-high boots. "I still see some defiance in those pretty snake eyes of yours, sugar," the woman who'd introduced herself as Lady Shamarra said. "Well, we've got somethin' planned for you today that'll fix that right up for you."

With no warning, the woman's riding crop licked out like a striking snake, biting into the tender flesh of Helen's inner thigh. The shock had Helen jumping - a gross error in ballet boots - and she would have fallen there and then had not the taller woman moved to catch her.

"Come along, you - you've just got time for a quick trip to your sandbox for your morning toilette - and then, breakfast. Fancy Feast tuna this morning. After that?" Tamiqua's smile chilled Helen's blood. "Well, we'll just let you find out about that when it happens. Wouldn't want to ruin your appetite, would we?"

~-~

"You're sure she won't get. . .well, ill?" Ed asked, watching on the closed circuit television monitor.

"Edward, please, I thought I assured you that none of this would have. . . lasting implications," Mary sighed. "It's just plain old Chicken of the Sea that we've put into a sanitized catfood can. Much as she deserves it, I don't intend to poison her as she meant to do to you."

Ed nodded sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Mary. It's hard to be, well, hard enough, I guess. Even after what she did and intended to do."

"Well, I'm not so limited, dear. Understand this, Edward. The only reason she will be leaving my island in relative health and freedom after this little learning experience is because she DIDN'T succeed with those nasty little chemicals. Do I need to remind you that it was first Verita she tried to hurt with those?"

Mary saw Edward's features harden, and stifled a pleased smile. "I haven't forgotten," he replied, his voice suddenly hoarse with dark emotions.

The brunette domina nodded. "Then, I think you should go get ready. It's time for your part in this little passion play."

~-~

"Enjoy the ride while it lasts, slut," the woman called Shamarra purred, as she planted a high-heeled boot between Helen's shoulder blades, and pushed.

The gimbaled frame to which Helen had been bound, began to slowly rotate, taking the rigidly restrained woman head over heels into lazy cartwheels and flips.

Helen tested the bonds that held her to the articulated arms of the rack at her wrists, upper arms, waist, thighs and ankles. The leather restraints creaked, and she might have managed a few millimeters of movement, but that was all. She wasn't going anywhere until one of O'Hurley's damned bitches came to free her from this abomination for their next little torture. God, she thought, but she wished she had never met Amelia Hereford and her damned Sisterhood of the Delta of Venus!

She'd been affixed to this instrument of torture three times she could remember, and knew that it was designed to do more than simply give her a bad case of vertigo. The multiply-articulated frame of the rack allowed the victim's torso, arms and legs to be locked in just about any position humanly possible. So far, Helen had been bent over at the waist - as on a whipping bench - for a whipping, and she'd been sprawled on her back, her legs spread wide for a fiendish variation on a gynecological and rectal examination. She hadn't known it was possible to hurt that much without bleeding.

She didn't want to think about what might happen this time.

But she couldn't stop herself, either, even as the irregular, dizzying motion of the spinning rack threatened to bring back up that disgusting slop she'd consumed for breakfast.

Which would be disastrous for her health with the huge penis gag filling her mouth.

~-~

Helen, and the bondage frame, finally came to rest. Unfortunately for her still iffy stomach, she was completely inverted - and she could not even move enough to start the frame turning again.

The door in front of her opened. With what little head movement she could manage, she looked up and saw two female figures, both outfitted in high fashion fetish garb. Then she recognized one of the women - Mary O'Hurley - La Marquesa. The woman who, upon discovering Helen's part in Davis' adventure, had ordered Helen's own kidnaping.

"And here we have a blonde for your consideration, dear," the black-clad brunette said to the other woman. Mary turned the frame so that Helen was once again right side up. The intention was to permit her guest to view Helen, but it had the effect of permitting the bound woman to do the same back. Dressed all in white latex, she was tall - taller than Mary - in part due to the heels Helen had seen before being righted. She was dark haired and dark-eyed, but that was all she could tell because she wore a full-head helmet. Her figure was voluptuous, but not overblown - a true Victorian hourglass which led Helen to suspect the white latex catsuit covered a heavily boned and tightly laced corset.

The white figure walked about Helen slowly. The bound woman felt a stinging pinch beneath her right underarm, a testing squeeze of her left buttock, a weighing of her breast.

"A little. . . on the skinny side, isn't she?" the masked woman asked.

"But she's in excellent physical condition," Mary replied, sounding for all the world like a used car salesman. "And we could . . . augment her for you. She could easily carry a pair of D-cup breasts - perhaps even a size larger - without looking TOO artificial. She might have back trouble later in life, but that's not our concern. We'd give you an excellent deal on the surgery, however, should you decide to buy her."

"BUY ME?!?!" Helen yelped, but with the gag forcing her mouth to remain open, that came out "IIII-EEEE?!?"

"Undisciplined, isn't she?" the prospective buyer noted, "and her voice is not pleasing."

"We could fix that surgically, as well, if you want her completely unable to speak," Mary replied, "But we do recommend that you try other. . . less drastic means first. Sometimes, having a voice-capable slave is useful."

"Perhaps. Still, she is remarkably unattractive, and you say she was a fashion model? Must make up better than most."

"I have a tattoo artist on staff who also does permanent makeup, if you think that would help."

"How about other skin art? Hair removal? Piercings?"

"Any tattoo design you want anywhere on her body. Our hair removal is laser-based, and it can be done anywhere - head, pubis, underarms, legs. And we will pierce her anywhere you want. Whatever it takes to give you your ideal slave."

"I do so loathe blond hair," the customer noted, considering. "How do you think her bare scalp would look?"

Helen's eyes went wild - her HAIR!? Her beautiful HAIR? And they were talking about removing it? Permanently?

"We could shave her first, and then, if that is what it takes to make the deal, it's gone permanently when you take delivery of her following final training."

"Is she. . .sexually skilled? And enthusiastic?"

"She will be, although I must admit, thus far my ladies have found her . . . under-motivated."

"You're not making a very good sales pitch here, Marquesa," the woman said, her voice disgusted.

Mary walked over to the frame and grabbed Helen's hair, pulling it tight in her fist. "Listen to me, bitch," she hissed, her mouth but bare millimeters from the bound woman's face. "I am going to leave my friend here to play with you. Unless you want to be sold to some brothel in Thailand as a pain slut, you're going to be VERY motivated to please my friend. VERY motivated, indeed." She let go of the hair with a painful jerk of her hand.

"Have fun," Mary said to the white clad figure, as she made to leave the room. "She's all yours."

Moments later, the door closed behind her, leaving Helen and the customer facing each other.

~-~

Helen watched as her would-be buyer turned away. She heard the rasp of several zippers, and saw the woman begin peeling off the catsuit. When she turned back, she wore a white all-in-one corset that covered her from her substantial bosom down to her crotch.

"You know, slut, we know each other," she began conversationally, as she kicked off her high-heeled shoes and undid the garters holding up with white silk hose. "That's one reason that Marquesa thought I might be interested in owning you."

The woman knew her??!? Who could it be? Who did she know who was that tall?

"Bet you're wondering who I am?" she asked, as she began undoing the front hooks down the front of the corset. She stopped at the last one - the one that would completely release the corset. "Maybe this will give you a hint."

The catch came loose, and the corset snapped open. It took Helen several moments to realize what she saw there. . .or rather, what she didn't see. That magnificent bosom came away with the corset! The bitch was flat chested as a boy.

And that was it . . .- the woman WAS a boy. .man, Helen corrected herself. She had a cock - a REAL one!

"Yes," the MAN said, shedding the corset. "I'm not a woman." He began undoing the laces at the back of the latex helmet. "And we do know each other."

Hair and helmet came away with a single jerk, and Helen's eyes went wide with shock. She DID know him. The eyes and mouth were incongruous, made up with cosmetics as they were, but the short hair - all sweaty and spiky from the skull cap he'd worn beneath the wig, and the shape of his face. It WAS him! "EH A-hih?!?" she squealed around the penis gag filling her mouth.

"Yes, Helen," Ed replied softly, "Ed Davis. The man you set up, and more to the point of our current circumstances, the man who has set YOU up."

With deft movements, Ed spun and adjusted the bondage frame to reposition Helen's legs, spreading them wide in front of her, leaving her sex fully available and vulnerable. With a dark smile, Ed then stepped between her spread thighs - coming so close to her that his naked sex brushed up against light patch of hair guarding Helen's feminine slit.

"I could take you right now," he said, still smiling, "with no more care or thought than you gave me when you set me up, and you couldn't do a thing to stop me. More than that, you could do nothing TO me - now or later." Helen squawked indignantly, her tone, at least, negative. "You think not? I think so because Mary would see to that you could never again be a threat to me or mine. You really pissed her off, you see. Using her that way."

Helen felt fear deep inside her. She tried to retreat, to pull back from him, but the frame prevented that.

"One small problem with that rape idea, though," he continued, sounding almost disappointed. "I need a hard-on to do it, and you know what, Helen? You just aren't woman enough to arouse me. Besides, I don't think I want to fall to that level - to YOUR level. So. . ." Ed stepped back and headed for the door. "See you later, Helen. Have a . . . nice day. I'm going to find a real woman instead of a breathing, spiteful clothes dummy with delusions of grandeur." With that, Ed slipped out the door, leaving her alone - trembling with both anger and fear.

~-~

"So, you failed to attract his interest," a thoroughly disgusted-looking Mary O'Hurley said upon returning to the dungeon. Helen's eyes went wide when she saw the frighteningly long hypodermic the Domina carried in her hand. "Not unexpected. Mr. Davis is a man who both wants and recognizes warmth in a woman. You have nothing that would interest such a man. Well, I guess that means we're going to have to . . . make you more salable." Helen felt a sting in her thigh, and then the world went black.

 

Chapter 35: Partial Payment

The blackness began to lighten into gray, and Helen groaned with the effort required to regain consciousness. Her eyes opened, and then cleared, but she still wasn't . . .quite there, somehow. She couldn't seem to feel anything - except fatigue. She groaned again, and then saw a figure step into her field of view.

"About time you woke up, Helen," Mary O'Hurley said, her voice almost triumphant. "We're going to be packaging you up for delivery in a few minutes, but I'm so glad you woke up in time for me to see you react to your . . . improvements."

Helen's mind fought to understand, and somehow managed - at least somewhat. "Immmmm prove mennnts?" she managed to ask.

Mary's smile was malevolent. "Improvements - to make you more desirable for our market. Want to see?"

Without waiting for a reply, the brunette toggled a switch, and the gurney to which Helen was strapped began to rotate her to the vertical. When the blonde captive was upright, Mary rolled a curtained object, maybe seven feet tall by four feet wide to a position directly in front of the tightly restrained and groggy woman. With a grand flourish, Mary pulled the curtain aside to reveal a mirror.

Helen stared at the reflected image for five full heartbeats and then began to wail. "No. . no . . NO - it CAN'T be. . NOOOOooooooo!"

A quick slap silenced her. "Oh, but it most assuredly can be, bitch. Here, let me make sure you get the full picture."

Helen saw rather than felt a slender hand lift her right breast. "D cup, as promised - and a bit more for good measure. Still, if that size isn't enough for your. . . new station in life, we can . . ah, inflate you even more without further surgery. The nipple rings are a nice touch, and made of very high grade steel, too. A similar augmentation process was done to your lips, dear. That isn't collagen, but implants that won't shrink. I like the ring piercing the septum of your nose, too. Heavens, between that nose-ring flopping down over those huge cocksucker lips of yours, and those surreal tits, you rather look like a cow. Can you say, MOOOO, darling? Oh, and we've pumped you full of hormones so you'll start lactating in the next two or three days, too, bossy."

"Don. . don . . feel. . your hands," Helen said, and realized her tongue wasn't working normally.

"After effects of the anaesthesia, I suspect. Trust me, you'll be feeling PLENTY when it wears off - not half enough, if you ask me, but painful nonetheless. Too bad you won't be awake to feel all of it, but that's the breaks."

"Tonnn-gahhhh?"

"You mean your tongue? Pierced, too," Mary said pleasantly. "As are both your labia, your navel and your clitoris." The brunette licked her index finger and rubbed it vigorously over Helen's cheek, before bringing it up for her victim's inspection. It was devoid of color. "Permanent cosmetics - a little tasteless and out of date, if you ask me -I mean, blue eyeshadow went out with the 50's, and those high, thin penciled eyebrows are just so 1930's. Still, it's not TOO bad a look for you - considering your future career. Not only that, we added a few. ..other illustrations in strategic points of your anatomy. I'm sure you'll love them. . . or at least, your new owners will. I am particularly fond of the target and bullseye above your pubis. Darts, anyone?"

It was more than a body could take in, and yet, one horror stood out in the mirror's silvered depths - one that seemed to be worse than any other. "Hair?" Helen got out, the metal-filled piercing in her mouth still garbling her speech.

"All gone," Mary said equably, "and quite permanently. Cue balls have more hair than you do. More than you will ever have again."

The wail Helen let out was music to Mary's ears, and for several moments, she simply stood there, watching this woman suffer. Finally, she decided she'd had enough, and removed another hypo from her pocket. "Time to get you packed. Enjoy Thailand, Helen," she purred as she again drove the needle home and pressed on the plunger.

Helen was out cold within seconds.

~-~

"Well, I think that went well. Ready for stage two, Peggy Sue?" Mary asked as she left Helen's room.

"I guess," a richly southern-accepted contralto voice responded. "I think we mighta gone a bit over the top with this, Mary," Peggy Sue said, looking at her own reflection.

"I think you're cute," Veronica laughed.

"Right. Then why didn't YOU volunteer for this gig?"

"Not tall enough," was the quick answer, which was true.

Peggy Sue had again transformed herself into Helen Martin's twin - except this time she was the NEW Helen's twin. Right down to the highly dramatic makeup, the huge breasts and a few tattoos, visible where her. . . somewhat skimpy outfit left uncovered skin.

"Mr. Webb and his people are gonna be close by, right?" Ed asked, concerned. "Girl looks like that, dressed like that? She wouldn't be safe in church let alone on the streets of Fort Lauderdale."

"Not to worry, sweetie." Mary reassured him, "All Peggy Sue has to do is get checked in to that hotel. Jack will take care of getting our package in to sleep off the sleeping drug and then getting her out afterwards."

"I look like some adolescent boy's wetdream - all boob and no brain," Peggy Sue groused.

"Ah, but you know it's not permanent," Ed put in gently. "For you, it's just a costume and a means to an end. You can take it all off as soon as you have Helen tucked in."

"An' don't think I won't!" the southern belle scowled. "Well, c'mon, Mr. Webb. Let's get this over with."

~-~

Helen again felt the dawning of consciousness and tried to wake up, tried to escape the nightmare. Finally, she managed to force her eyes open, but when she did, they were greeted by the two huge mountains peaking up through her sheets - mountains where two quite pretty breasts had once been.

The nightmare was real.

Shakily, she tried to get to her feet, and nearly fell. Her feet! What the hell had they done to her feet? Looking down, she discovered what they'd done. Black boots, she saw, so shiny they looked wet, with heels that had to be seven inches - so tall that her tip-toes were all that could reach the floor.

"What the hell did they call boots like these?" she wondered aloud, and then remembered. "Ballet boots." Helen reached down to find whatever held the boots in place and her hand found the padlocks before she saw them. The damned things were LOCKED on her. "DAMN!" she cursed, trying without success to open the heavy brass security devices.

Using the bed and other furniture for balance, she managed to get to her feet, and began looking around. Where the hell was she? Was she in Thailand? If she was, it was an awfully nice room for a whore. Then she saw the envelope, taped to the mirror above several strange bottles and tubes. She slowly tip-toed over and tore it down when she saw her name typed onto the flap. It had an odd, chemical odor to it.

She sat down, and opened the missive; afraid to read it, and at the same time, afraid not to.

Dear Ms. Martin - or perhaps I should say -

Hey there, Baldie-Girl!

Good morning, and contrary to what you see, it is a better morning than you might at first believe. Well, maybe it is better. In the final analysis, that will be entirely up to you. Be a good little girl, and you just might live through this experience relatively whole and hearty.

The large bottle you see on the dresser contains a chemical that will dissolve the special adhesives that hold the artificial breasts onto your skin. It will also dissolve the adhesive holding those oh-so-lovely and so-very-full red lips in place, but you might want to be careful there. The chemical is VERY toxic if swallowed - even in the tiniest amounts - which wouldn't be enough to soften the adhesive, anyway. The adhesive will break down on its own in no more than a week. I'd be patient if I were you, but that's your choice. You've been warned.

Unfortunately, nothing will dissolve the deep-dye cosmetics that currently have you in such, shall we say, high color, nor the tattoos now decorating various parts of your anatomy. The cosmetics, and MOST of the tattoos will, however, wear off in time. Once you get out of your little nest here, and get some cosmetics of your own, you'll find it possible to cover up the relatively light shades we used - except on your lips - but you'll need to be careful to keep your makeup fresh and perfect for the next six weeks or so, unless you want to look like a rejected extra from a bad remake of a Mae West movie.

The hair on your head will grow back. Until then, you can go au naturel - some men do find the bald look sexy, or you can wear a wig. You'll find one in the closet for your use until you can make other arrangements. Brunette, I'm afraid, and not all that attractively styled, but it will have to do until you can purchase something else. Sadly, all the other hair on your body HAS been permanently removed, but on the plus side, you'll never have to shave your legs or underarms, nor tolerate a bikini waxing ever again. Aren't you just the LUCKIEST girl?

Just to prove we are serious, however, the piercings are real, at least the ones that are in YOU and not in the fake breasts. You'll find that we pierced your real nipples, too, so be a little cautious when you remove the prostheses - you might pull off something important.

Except for your lovely nose ring, you'll find that the barbells and rings decorating your body will be very difficult to remove. In fact, you will need some tools to remove our little adornments to your tongue, nipples, navel and pubis. The devices themselves are made with very strong, rather thick metal while the threads and catches have been sealed shut with epoxy. Be sure to speak slowly and enunciate very carefully as it is difficult to be understood when your mouth is full.

Bolt cutters, perhaps? You'll need those to cut the padlocks we used on those lovely high-heeled ballet boots, anyway. Good luck finding a hardware store, by the way.

In any case, the various holes in your body should soon heal and close up quickly once you manage to remove the rings, but do be sure to clean them in antiseptic you'll find on the vanity at least twice a day for the next week or so. You wouldn't want an infection, especially down there - it would be rather difficult to explain at the emergency room, wouldn't it?

The tattooed-on false eyebrows, and that oh-so-sexy little bullseye above your labia - are also permanent - little reminders to you, but hidden easily enough when your real brows grow back or when you are dressed.

Besides those lovely high heels, we've left you some clothing- a thin fifties-style sweater and a poodle skirt with built in petticoats to show off your legs (and your ass if you bend over too much). Hope you enjoy making a spectacle of yourself because we've left you no lingerie, so those nipple rings should show to advantage through the scratchy wool of that undersized sweater - even on your cup-size-challenged real bosom.

By the way, Helen, we DO know about those numbered accounts. In your purse, along with your identification papers and your credit cards, you'll find a listing of those accounts - complete with bank location and current balances - just so you know I'm telling you the truth. We have decided not to remove the money from them, but we could have, and still can in the future. Consider it the carrot side of the carrot and stick deal. If you ever try to cross us - we'll take that money and leave you so poor you'll have to peddle your ass on the street just to make your daily bread.

And we WILL be watching you from now on. That's actually to your benefit, for now, because we'll make sure nothing TOO bad happens to you while you're still 'enjoying' the benefits of our 'enhancements'. But even when you think you're back to normal, we'll still be watching, and we'll still be ready both to defend ourselves and to make real the life which you are currently experiencing only the merest glimpse. It could still be your life, Ms. Martin - for real and forever.

In case you don't quite fully appreciate this threat, let me be very explicit. Should you make or be perceived to make any attempt - ANY attempt at all - on Mr. Edward Davis or any of his friends, you will be back on my island within forty eight hours. Once there, my dear Ms. Martin, everything you see in your mirror will be made quite real. The gross breast enlargements, the complete hair removal, the piercings, the tattoos and the permanent cosmetics - it will all be real and very, very permanent.

As will your one-way ticket to a Thailand brothel.

I very badly WANTED to do all that to you this time - was fully prepared to do it this time, but Ed Davis prevailed on me to change my mind. So I have. I think he's too soft hearted and forgiving for his own good, but there you have it. Perhaps I am a bit soft hearted, too, Ms. Martin, but only with people who rate that consideration from me.

In your case, however, I am NOT at all softhearted. In fact, I find myself fervently hoping you DO stupidly try something against Ed. I am still very angry with you for your tricking me into violating the most sacred tenets of the Delta of Venus, and besides - selling you to a whorehouse will net me a very tidy profit.

Remember how easily I took Edward and how easily I took you. I can do it again.

I WILL do it again, unless you are a very, VERY good girl.

Good bye, Ms. Martin. For your own sake, pray that we never meet again in your lifetime.

Mary O'Hurley

La Marquesa

 

Shaking, as much from the residual effects of the chemicals in her body as from the threats in the letter, Helen set the note down on the dresser. Gathering herself, she began to examine the bottles. She found the container of liquid antiseptic and set that one aside. The other held the solvent. Opening that one, she dabbed a bit of the contents onto a cotton ball and wiped it up and down above her left breast. A seam appeared where the prosthesis and her own skin met, and the cotton ball came away flesh-toned.

Well, she thought, at least O'Hurley hadn't lied about that. Then, she brightened. And the stupid slut left the letter, hadn't she? If it wasn't proof of kidnaping, it certainly was of intended malice. Only it was typed. Could she link it to the bitch, somehow? Maybe there were finger prints on it or something. Helen went back to the letter and was reaching out for it when the paper literally burst into flame. It was consumed to ash in mere instants.

A single tear tracked down Helen's brightly colored cheek. In that instant, she realized that she'd lost - completely. Then, she turned to the chemicals, and began to restore what little she could of herself and her dignity.

~-~

"Mr. Tolivar?" Derrick started at his name, having been deep in thought trying to decide what should be his next step when the secretary stuck her head into his cubicle. Only then did he realize how . . . disrespectful? Yes, that was the word - disrespectful her tone had been.

"Yes, Miss Simmons?" he replied, infusing his words with every bit of cold disdain he could manage, in hope of wiping away the smirk he now saw on her face.

"The Director's secretary just called. You're to report there immediately. . . . sir." The last word had obviously been added as an afterthought, and carried with it a blatant insult.

Well, he'd deal with her later - once he figured out how to take over Helen's position - if he could now that she'd gotten the boot from Veronica. Damn, that had been sudden - here one day, her desk cleared and her gone the next. Hadn't Helen at least SEEN that coming? Couldn't she have given him SOME warning? Just so he could have had gotten himself a little maneuvering room? Somehow, he was certain she could have done so, but she hadn't warned him, had she?

That rankled, for her mentorship and sponsorship of his career goals at the agency had been his price for helping her in her little scheme to take down Davis. And for all those times he'd abased himself for her perverse little pleasures. Hell, his ass still bore the remnants of the last set of welts she'd raised with that damned cane of hers. And she couldn't even be bothered to warn him when she left the company under strange circumstances.

Still, whatever the reasons were, they must not include their little setup of Ed Davis - that was accessory to kidnaping, wasn't it? If whoever had given Helen her walking papers had known about that, and by extension, about Derrick Tolivar's involvement in that operation, surely Helen would not have gotten off so easily.

Suddenly, Derrick felt better. Of course that HAD to be the case, which meant that HE was in the clear. And with Helen gone, and assuming the water-cooler intelligence was true that Davis was also leaving the shop, then that meant Veronica Johnson's replacement would be someone from the outside - someone who didn't share the locals' unfair and prejudiced views on the abilities of one Derrick Tolivar.

The more he thought about it, the more things just got better and better, and if the replacement was a woman - even a merely halfway attractive woman? Why, that would be the best of all possible worlds. He'd have Helen's old job inside of two months.

Smiling broadly, Derrick stood, straightened his coat and tie, and headed for the director's office. It was only as he approached the desk of the director's secretary that he thought to wonder who had summoned him so preemptorially. Wasn't Veronica still out of town?

~-~

The executive secretary's "The director will see you now, MISTER Tolivar," was, if anything, even less respectful than his own secretary's address had been, causing a frisson of anxiety to curl up Derrick's spine. Suppose that bitch went out of way to poison the mind of the new director against him before he had the chance to demonstrate his undoubted abilities? Secretaries, in his view, often wielded far too much of their boss's power.

Derrick forced his features into a welcoming smile, opened the office door, and froze in shock when he recognized who waited for him behind the executive desk.

"Shut the door, Derrick," Delores - Didi - Conners ordered from behind the desk nameplate declaring her as Managing Director, "And take a seat. We need to have a little talk."

Swallowing hard against his suddenly dry throat, Derrick did as he was ordered.

Things, he thought, just couldn't get much worse.

But he was wrong.

~-~

"You can't prove I did ANY of those things," Derrick railed, after listening to Didi's quietly delivered recitation of all the things he HAD done to promote Helen at Ed Davis' expense.

"No, I can't," Didi agreed, equably.

"Because I DIDN'T do them!"

"Oh, you did them, all right - I'm convinced of that, and more importantly, the new Vice President for East Coast Operations is convinced of that. But since I can't prove it, I'll tell you what I can do, Derrick. I'm placing you on a formal letter of notice and instruction. Your work has not been up to standard, and unless your performance improves and you meet the goals laid out in that letter, you will be terminated. Your new supervisor, Mr. Alan Edmonds, will evaluate you on a monthly basis. Failure to show adequate progress toward your goals will result in termination."

"Alan Edmonds? But. . but he's GAY!"

"And what has that to do with anything? This is an Equal Employment Opportunity shop and the only thing we discriminate against is incompetence. As to Alan, besides being openly gay, and much more to the point, he's also highly qualified, an excellent worker and as smart as they come. Any more questions, Mr. Tolivar?"

Derrick shook his head, stunned, and rose to his feet. Didi nodded, and indicated he could leave. Slowly, he trudged to the door. He stopped, just before opening it, and turned back to smile winningly at Didi. "I won't let you down, boss," he forced himself to say. "Good knowing we have a strong new hand on the reins."

Didi looked at the man, utter contempt radiating from her. "Derrick, your first and only warning. Don't try that suck-up shit with me - it won't work. First of all, you're not my type - I like MEN, and secondly, even if you WERE a man, I wouldn't consider taking up with an employee or colleague. Now get the hell out of my office. My secretary will have your letter ready by tomorrow morning."

Derrick felt more than just a physical door closing behind him as he left the director's. . . Didi's office. He'd never have a seat on the family board now.

 

Chapter 36: Closing the Contract

"It went well, then?" Ed asked Mary.

"So Peggy Sue assures me. She's on her way home, now."

"De-bosomed and de-colored, I suspect," Ed grinned.

"It was the first thing she told me when she called," the dark haired domina smiled back. "So, all's well, or so the saying goes."

"Ummm, Mary?"

"Yes, Edward?"

"I was wondering . . . "

~-~

Veronica let herself into the rooms she shared with Edward on Mary's island. She'd spent the late afternoon through early evening walking along the shore, trying to deal with the inner conflict the treatment of Helen had evoked in the petite redhead's soul. On one hand, they'd had to do something about Helen. She'd posed too dangerous a threat to ignore. The woman had tried, on no fewer than three occasions, to cause one or both of them mental or bodily harm. There was no doubt in Veronica's mind that Helen was spiteful enough, vindictive enough to keep trying until she achieved some form of vengeance for being passed over for promotion at the agency.

On the other hand, what they'd done to her - using the craft of dominance to punish a non-consenting person - was abhorrent to Veronica, both as a person and as a member of the Delta of Venus. Unfortunately, the more legal path - that of using the law and the courts - had little chance of success. There was, according to Mr. Webb, at best a forty-sixty chance of winning, and even then, Helen would have been free to plot her plots and weave her schemes.

And she'd have been more pissed off than ever, too.

Fear was the only tool that seemed to have a chance of stopping her from taking further steps to hurt Ed without killing her. Helen had certainly believed Mary's threats. Heavens, Veronica thought, SHE'D believed Mary's threats, and she was in on the development of their little plan of vengeance and retribution.

Only time would tell if she'd compromised too much of herself in this plan.

Tired from her time in the sun, wind and surf, Veronica reached out and turned on the room lights. "Ed must have gone to bed without me," she said to herself, and then stopped short when she saw the figure standing in the circle of light she'd just illuminated.

"Edddd?!??!" she squeaked at the white-clad figure. She recognized the shape, and the costume - how could she not? This was one of Mistress Verita's favorite swerves for her sissy subs. The short-haired black wig was a cap of tightly coiled curls. There were the familiar doll-like circles of rouge, and the spidery false eyelashes around huge, deep-shadowed eyes. And most of all, there were lipstick-thickened angel-bow lips that made her mouth water.

Mincing up as best she could in the killer heels, 'Betty' then went down on one knee, and held up a small velvet box to Veronica. Hands trembling, she took the box and opened it - a beautiful ruby and pearl ring glittered up at Veronica's suddenly teary eyes. "Marry me, Mistress, please?" Betty's squeaky voice begged.

Her heart overflowing, Veronica nonetheless felt the need to ask, "You're sure, my love? Very sure you want all that being mine entails? I won't be an easy keeper, you know. I really do love being the Domme."

"I know that, and I also know that I'm sure," Ed's voice answered, before rising. "Let me show you how sure."

With a sultry smile and hip wiggle, 'Betty' minced her way over to the music system in the corner of the suite. She pressed a button, and music began to play, and then, 'Betty' began to dance - sort of - and began to sing - also sort of . . .

"I wanna be loved by you, just you,

And nobody else but you,

I wanna be loved by you, alone!

Boop-boop-a-doop!

Veronica stood transfixed, watching her beloved put on a silly little show for no other reason than to please her - with obviously no concern whatsoever for any other consideration such as masculine ego, and was enraptured.

'Betty' finished her song with a flourish, but messed up her grand finale by slipping on the heel of her left shoe. In a wild tumble of white satin and silk, she fell ingloriously onto a nearby chair, knocking the black wig askew and thoroughly compromising what insignificant modesty the very short skirt MIGHT have afforded her. "Boop-boop a gum-droppin' Doop," she finished, quite disgustedly.

Veronica threw back her head and howled with laughter. "Good God above, the man MUST love me," she gasped out between bursts of laughter.

"Well, didn't I just SAY so?" Ed grumped from the chair which seemed determined to hold him in its clutches.

An instant later, Veronica was in her beloved's arms, kissing and being kissed thoroughly.

A very long time later, she said, "Yes, dear, I'll marry you, but there's just this one little thing. . ."

"Oh?"

"I don't think Betty ever sang that song - I think it was Marilyn Monroe. You'll need to try again when you're suitably costumed."

"Marilyn Mon-ROE!? Gumdrops, but MISTRESS! She was a BLONDE!"

The tiny redhead snuggled closer into Betty, and gave a girlish little giggle. "Don't worry, dear, you'll just be SO cute," Veronica assured her soul's mate.

Then she returned her mouth to the much more important business of celebrating and then consummating their betrothal.

 

 

 

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