“You want her dead?”
“Do I have to draw you a fuckin’ portrait?”
“No sir. I just wanted to be sure.”
“The answer is ‘yes’. If you fail to be able to figure out how to get your hands on her and bring her back here, do her there. I don’t care how. The messier the better. Make her suffer.”
“Yes, Sir. I can do that,” the ex-volleyball player added, inching towards the door.
“Hermann,” said Brillcart carefully picking up the tiny watch parts that he had spilled on his flawless black carpet. “You are not the brightest bulb on the chandelier, but I think you have the talent and the qualifications to carry out this mission, so don’t disappoint me. By the way, have you ever considered a sex change? You have such a great ass.”
“Thank you, Mister Brillcart. And yes, the thought had crossed my mind, but I just haven’t had the money for it. You know. Hundreds of thousands of Euros.”
“Yes, well, I suppose so,” said Brillcart. “If you get serious about it, let me know. Maybe I can help you out. I know a few medical people who do that sort of thing and I have a long list of those who would immediately need your services. A sex change, with the appropriate planning, can be very useful for some kinds of activities, and profitable, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, Sir, that’s what I thought. If the right opportunity comes around where I can do a very special job as a man and then disappear forever, having been changed into a woman, it would be interesting, no?”
“Agreed,” said Brillcart, rearranging the watch parts on his felt green desk pad. “Meanwhile, do you understand what you are to do with this Lynx woman?”
“Yes. Can I get some help?”
“If absolutely necessary, but then you need to dispose of them as well. No trails, Hermann. No trails. See Calista for your tickets, a couple of different passports and enough cash to cover expenses. Make sure the passport photos are, shall we say, gender neutral.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“Never mind. Calista will take care of everything. And…when you finish and leave Miami, go West.”
“West. To…ah, to Tampon?”
“It’s Tampa, you fool. Not Tampon. My God, your head is a jumble of gender-oriented topics. But no, go all the way West. Go to Hong Kong, to Tokyo. Do not write or phone me from anywhere but one of those cities. I want no connection with your activities. If you get arrested, for any reason, use one of your special passports and visas that Calista provides for you. You will be protected so long as you do NOT contact me. Do this right and I’ll start the process for your sex change. I’ll even pay for it. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good-bye, Hermann,” Brillcart shouted.
The former volleyball star looked carefully at Brillcart, wondering if he’d live long enough to be able to call Brillcart on this vacant promise. He turned around and left the office, not looking back, closing the heavy door behind him.
“Bibi Wolfe Lynx,” mumbled Brillcart to himself, moving the scattered watch parts around on the desk as if they were chess pieces. “I want her dead,” he said aloud, oblivious to the multiple recording devices in his office. He got up from his comfortable, leather-upholstered swivel chair and headed for the floor to ceiling bookshelves on the left wall. He pulled out two pristine volumes of War & Peace and the shelves slowly retracted into the wall itself, revealing a dark stairway leading down. Brillcart stepped into the stairs and a sensor turned on the overhead caged lights. He descended, still muttering to himself.
At the bottom of the stairs was another door and this one he opened using a magnetic key and his left handprint on a concealed pad to the left of the doorway. Electrically controlled bolts slid back into the door and he pushed it open, revealing a short, arched passage with small metal doors along each side. The doors resembled the kind of portals that were seen on furnaces and power plant boilers. Cast from heavy iron, each door contained two apertures with sliding panels, had massive hinges on one side and a locking bolt on the other.
“Oh Karine, Karine,” Brillcart called in a calm voice as he moved along the passageway, inspecting the locks on each door, left and right. As he passed each doorway, he spoke in a loud voice to no one, except possibly the women who were behind the locked steel hatches.
“Sorry, Lisle, it’s just not your day,” he said as he passed the number three door and then stopped in his tracks, turning slowly and imagining what lay behind the steel door, what he might be missing if he continued on down the corridor. “But then again, it won’t hurt too much of I just peek in on you, I suppose.” Brillcart stopped at door number three, released the locked bolts and pulled the heavy door open. The hinges squeaked appropriately. Brilliant light flooded out from the small stone cell. Inside, it was very warm. The digital thermometer on the wall showed that it was almost ninety-five degrees, Fahrenheit, inside the tiny, windowless room. The humidity was probably about the same. Warm, fetid, moist air engulfed Brillcart and sweat beads immediately formed on his forehead and upper lip.
The triple-impaled young woman kneeling on the floor was bathed in sweat, but she turned her head ever so slightly towards Brillcart as if to acknowledge his fearful presence and then quickly moved her head back to the forward and upward facing position she had held for much longer than she could estimate or calculate. With no visual or audible references, she didn’t know if it was night or day. She simply knew that when someone entered the oven-like cell, more pain would follow. She could smell Brillcart’s expensive, sweet cologne and knew that this man with this distinctive scent was probably responsible for her imprisonment, continued pain and suffering. What she didn’t know was why she was being kept here and why she was being tormented. The heat and intense light were too much for any other movements or sign of recognition.
She was secured in a kneeling position with rope, chains and leather fittings on her limbs and body. There was so much paraphernalia holding her that Brillcart often remarked that a photo would be worth hundreds, if not thousands of words to describe her predicament. Nevertheless, he thought it might tantalize her a bit to hear once again exactly how she was being kept.
“Time to review your situation, Lisle,” Brillcart said, as he sat down on the floor in the open doorway, hoping to benefit from the cooler outside air. He immediately realized that it was still much too hot and he stood up and addressed the small control panel on the wall, resetting the temperature to something that he thought he might manage to endure while he visited this particular slave.
“I see that you have settled in quite nicely, Lisle,” he said quietly, suspecting that she couldn’t hear him and if she could, would not understand the few softly spoken words. “Nudity presents your assets quite well. I do like your breasts hanging there, with the nipples nicely clipped to the weights and almost reaching the floor. I suppose you have already tried to relieve that double tension by flexing your back and hips in hopes that the nipple weights might reach the floor and offload one of your many trials. Humm? Have you?”
Lisle could only shake her rubber-encapsulated head slightly.
“No?” asked Brillcart, reaching over and tugging lightly on the chain and weight hanging from her pendulous left breast. Lisle hummed inside the rubber hood.
“Well, I guess that plan is shot,” he said, laughing. “And, of course your knees must hurt a tad by now, eh? Wondering how this lovely set-up works, are you? Well, here’s the picture you present to me. You are kneeling on a nice pallet of closed cell foam, which is why you can still even feel your knees. You are on all fours, as they say, with your legs spread apart a few feet to either side and held there by ropes from your ankles, which pull them back and to either side. So there is no motion possible for your legs or feet. Your knees are tied as well, of course, pulled to the side to keep them apart and also pulled forward by leather straps that are connected to cuffs on your arms just above the elbow. Your forearms are flat on the pallet, parallel to the floor and wrists stretched nicely forward and chained so that you cannot move them in any direction. They cannot move from side to side because of the chains going both left and right to sturdy rings in the floor. Similar chains lead forward and, of course, the straps at your elbows pull them backward towards your knees. Have you got all of that?”
Lisle seemed to acknowledge his narrative with a slight groan than seeped out from behind the gag and hood.
“Good. Good girl,” Brillcart intoned. “I have already mentioned the weights clipped to the lovely steel rings in your nipples, but did I talk about the rings in your lower lips and how they too have chains and weights attached? I suppose you knew that, right? So, let me see here. Did I mention that your fabulous ass is sticking out most hospitably and your waist is well encumbered by the wide and dreadfully snug leather cincher belt that is chained to the overhead and out to both sides. The other chain that leads from the front of the belt goes, (did I mention this already?), directly to the stainless steel ring embedded in your highly sensitive clit, which I hear is most responsive to almost anything from a feather touch to direct whipping with a cane. Is that true, Lisle Dear?”
The girl moaned and the head nodded slightly.
“Amazing,” Brillcart muttered, mostly to himself. “Just amazing that you can be so totally restrained and still get your jollies when someone flogs your cunt.
“Well, anyway, back to your outfit…or lack thereof. The heavy weight, rubber hood is pretty much your standard discipline helmet, tightly laced, zipped shut and sealed with the appropriate straps and locks, shutting off sight and most sound. Nothing new there, except that instead of holding a common ball or plug gag in your wide open little mouth, the hood has those ingeniously designed straps and springs that force the extra long penis gag and its extension deep into your throat. It looks like you are sucking on a broomstick.”
Brillcart stopped for emphasis and the girl gurgled deep in her throat, the anguished sounds coming from around the round post stuck in her mouth.
“And,” Brillcart resumed, “of course, you have two other broom stick-like dildoes sticking out from between your legs… Ha, ha,” he almost giggled and extended a hand out to lightly jiggle the long stick rising up from Lisle’s spread crotch and held by a complex mechanical and electrical apparatus mounted on a bracket overhead.
“As you have discovered,” he continued, “I’m sure, this arrangement in your mouth is more or less a duplicate of these two long shafts sticking into and out of your ass and your pussy. All three of these clever impalers are mounted on flexible, digitally controlled, dynamic engines, which, as you also know, have the ability to sense and pillage your body cavities on a random schedule. At times, I am certain, you get the effects of all three rooting away inside you, but on the average, (at least according to the recorded data they provide), you mostly get the stimulation from one at a time. I suppose too that the chains holding your head at that difficult angle contribute something to your overall job satisfaction, don’t they?”
The chained and hooded head jiggled slightly.
“That is,” Brillcart continued, “a rather nice angle afforded by the tension from the chain extending from the overhead attachment to the front of the hood. There’s a stout metal ring fastened to the hood just above your forehead. It looks quite tight, I would venture. And it is complemented by the chain from your hair braid drawn back to the steel hook sharing your asshole with the dynamic dick that is deeper inside. Clever combination, isn’t it? You move your head and the hook roots in your asshole.
“Well, now that we’ve had this little chat and it’s much cooler in here, I have to be off. I have yet another fuckin’ date just down the hall. Perhaps you hear from her now and then. Have a lovely day, Lisle. Dom will be around later on to take your temperature with his cock in one of your three body openings. That cock is probably the most interesting thing that will happen to you today. Cheerio.”
Brillcart stood up, stepped out the door and closed it. The lock bolts automatically slammed back into place and he walked slowly on down the corridor, idling checking each door and noting the small printed nametags over each viewing port.
“Too bad, Meagan, your lovely little mouth will just have to wait,” he said as he passed another.
When he came to the door with the cast-in numeral six, he stopped and again used a magnetic key to unlock the bolt and swing open the heavy metal door with its twin tiny windows. Brillcart bent over, stuck his head and shoulders through the opening, studied the darkened interior of the area behind the door and then eased his corpulent body into the space behind the door. Once inside, he closed the door, pocketed the key and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then he moved slowly forward, addressing the shadowy form displayed before him.
“Hello, Karine, dear. How are you getting along down here in your private dungeon?”
A faint sound met his ears. It wasn’t a voice, it wasn’t a spoken word. It was more of an inhuman bleat like one made by a cow on the way to the slaughterhouse.
Brillcart reached out and pushed the switch on the nearby stone wall. There was a buzz and then the overhead mercury vapor lights flashed once and came slowly up to full, brilliant intensity, filling the small stone room and the high arched ceiling with devastating blue-white light. The figure before him was now illuminated in full, tormented detail. Every sweat-shiny muscle, every feature of the lush female body stood out in explicit detail.
Facing Brillcart was the slightly spread backside of a well-proportioned young woman. She stood with feet and knees shackled well apart and her abdomen pressed against a metal crossbar fixture that resembled a hitching post or simple railing. The horizontal rail was adjusted so that it came just below her waist. She was bent over the rail at a ninety-degree angle and chained so that her upper body, bent with her hands stretched out in front of her, was pulled harshly forward and chained to a floor ring. Both globular breasts hung down, stretched towards the floor by chains that led from ringed nipples to rings in the floor. The chains had adjustable turnbuckles for maximizing the tension. Encapsulating her head was yet another heavy, black, leather discipline hood. A long chain from the crown of the hood went upwards and connected to an overhead pulley. From the front of the hood, a dark rubber hose led upwards and disappeared into the vaulted stone ceiling. Another pair of hoses led from her lower body to twin metal containers on the floor. One hose, centered in the middle of her ass crack, was attached to the dark strap that cleaved her ass. The first hose joined another between her legs and disappeared downward to a plastic, 6-liter container. The second hose originated from between her legs and went to the second container.