The Control Strap Read online

  "You, on the other hand, can call me Lindsay."

  "Oh. Sorry. Um, by the way, Lindsay, I didn't say you were hairy and massive just now. I mean, it might've sounded like that because—"

  "I know that! God, you are so gullible."

  "Sorry."

  "Ya know, I bet you probably would've signed that contract even without—"

  "Without what?"

  "Never mind. Anyway, I bet he thinks you're just the sweetest thing. I mean besides being so damned gorgeous."

  As they spoke, Lindsay removed the tray as well and set it aside.

  "You're going to untie me?” Brenda asked expectantly.

  Lindsay snorted. “Not hardly. Remember those balls he put in your pussy before?"

  "Yes."

  "When you were upside down?"

  "Yes!"

  "And we took turns whipping your cunt?"

  "Oh my god, yes!” Brenda tried not to think of how aroused the memory of it made her.

  Lindsay grinned and slowly massaged her lower tummy. She sighed and said, “When you were unconscious, he took them out of you and put them in me. Still coated with your juices."

  "Oh,” said Brenda. The notion, strange as it sounded, added to her arousal. She tried not to squirm, not to make it obvious.

  The other woman hooked a finger through the ring at the front of Brenda's collar and led the hobbled girl over to the couch.

  "Kneel down, Ten."

  "I thought you said we could use our names."

  "If we choose to. I don't. Now kneel down."

  "But Lindsay, I—I can't! Not with my feet chained together and my hands tied."

  Lindsay rolled her eyes. “Fine, I'll help you.” She grabbed Brenda by the shoulders and steadied her as the bound girl bent her knees and lowered herself to the floor.

  Lindsay then loosened her belt, and let her pants fall to the floor. Brenda saw she wore a strap similar to her own control strap, but something told her it wasn't the same thing. It was simply a plain strip of leather that passed between her legs.

  As Brenda wondered what purpose it served, Lindsay unbuckled the strap and set it next to the tray. She was naked now from the waist down. She sat on the couch and spread her legs wide, exposing herself to view. From her vantage, Brenda could see the end of a thin chain emerging from between the other woman's pussy lips. She knew it was the chain that connected the four little metal balls.

  "Take the chain with your teeth and pull it."

  "What?!"

  "Do it!” shouted Lindsay, raising her hand as if to strike.

  Brenda winced but no blow fell. The threatening hand remained in the air, however, and she leaned forward to comply with the command. The moist fragrance of the other woman's sex greeted her as she sought out the end of the chain first with her tongue to coax it out, and then with her teeth.

  "Don't pull too fast,” cautioned Lindsay just as Brenda began.

  Heeding the warning, Brenda tugged ever so lightly at the chain, managing to extract only a link or two at a time. Soon, the first of the heavy metal balls appeared. The light tugs on the chain were not enough to free it. In fact, it seemed to Brenda that Lindsay had clenched her muscles as if trying to hold it inside.

  "Keep going,” said Lindsay. “Pull it out."

  With a harder pull, Brenda forced the ball into the breach and then yanked it out. Lindsay sighed contentedly.

  "Yess,” she hissed. “Now keep going."

  In front of Brenda's face, the other woman's finger appeared and began to massage her own glistening, engorged clit. Brenda had touched herself in the same way too often to count, but she had never witnessed the activity from such close proximity.

  She knelt, spellbound, for a moment before continuing. And then, link by link, she resumed pulling the chain until the second ball appeared.

  Lindsay moaned louder as the second ball squeezed out from its warm moist hideaway. Her finger accelerated. Brenda was hardly aware of her own moans joining Lindsay's. She watched the other woman's self-pleasuring, her mounting excitement aided by the methodical withdrawal of the balls, and could almost feel the stimulation herself.

  Soon the third ball dangled free and the last was on the verge of emerging. As Brenda tugged it loose, Lindsay let out a yelp and plunged three fingers of her other hand inside herself while the first hand continued its blur of activity.

  It didn't take long for her for come. Brenda watched the other woman spasm and twitch, and she wished she could switch on the control strap.

  Just then she heard footsteps. Lindsay heard them too and snapped to attention in mid-orgasm. She grabbed her wig and tried to put it on with one hand while she tugged her pants up with the other.

  Sanders strode into the cabin. He didn't even seem to notice the disheveled state of the girls. “Twelve,” he said. “That was Mr.... Smith. He needs to move his flight up to this afternoon. I've already contacted the pilots and they're on their way. You need to get the attendants ready."

  He turned to Brenda. “Number Ten—” He stopped short. Brenda stared up at him. She was kneeling right at his feet, the string of shiny wet balls still dangling from her teeth. He closed his eyes and appeared to count to ten. “Number Twelve...” he said in a quiet yet menacing tone.

  "Sir, I was just—"

  "Never mind! I'll deal with you later. Just get the other girls now."

  As Twelve hurried off, he turned again to Brenda. “I want you on this flight, Number Ten."

  Brenda let the balls fall to the floor. “But—But—"

  "You'll do fine. I'll get you ready myself.” He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Now follow me, princess."

  "Princess?!” she said.

  "Huh?” He turned and glared at her.

  "You—You called me ‘princess’ just now."

  "I called you Number Ten."

  "No,” she insisted. “And ... Before, you called me by my name. My real name."

  "You're mistaken, Number Ten."

  "But—"

  "What did I tell you about when we disagree?"

  Brenda's shoulders sagged as she recalled what he'd said earlier.

  "Well?” he demanded.

  "You said that ... You are always right."

  "And?"

  "And I'm always wrong."

  "Good girl. So ... what did I call you just now?"

  "You called me Number Ten, sir."

  "And before? When you thought I called you by your old name?"

  "You—You called me Number Ten then, too."

  "Excellent. Now, follow me, princess."

  CHAPTER 9: OFF TO THE AIRPORT!

  Brenda again found herself struggling to keep up with Sanders. He walked fast and seemed to forget that she was unable to take a full stride. This time at least, she was ungagged.

  "Please, Mr. Sanders. Not so fast. I can't keep up."

  Ahead of her, he said nothing, but noticeably slowed. Thank god, she thought, huffing to catch her breath.

  But her relief was short lived. Now that she didn't have to concentrate so hard on the simple act of walking, she had a chance to think about where he was taking her and why. And with each step her anxiety rose. He meant to put her on a real flight, with real clients, and then ... Would it really be like on the simulator?

  "Mr. Sanders, wait. Please.” She stopped, but he didn't, so she shuffled ahead to catch up again. “Please, Mr. Sanders,” she said, trying once more. “You don't understand. This is crazy! I—I only came for an interview today. I never expected anything like this. I can't do what you expect me to. I just can't!"

  Abruptly, he did stop. Without turning to look at her, he said, “Yes you can, Number Ten, and you will.” Then, after he'd spoken, he turned and looked at her. The expression on his face sent a chill down her spine. She took a hasty step back and almost fell over.

  As she regained his balance, he turned and continued on, and she followed, not daring to say anything more.

  He led her out o
f the large training room and down a hallway past numerous closed doors on either side. Each door was labeled with a number, even numbers on one side, odd on the other. The pattern was obvious and she noticed it immediately. But as she followed the purposeful stride of Mr. Sanders, she realized the numbers had started at three. Perhaps, she thought, one and two are in a different hall.

  When they reached the door marked “Number Ten,” Sanders stopped and reached into his pocket for a keychain. He unlocked the door and motioned for Brenda to enter ahead of him.

  Somehow, she knew what she would find inside even before she saw it. She stopped in the doorway and turned to Sanders. “This is my ... room. Isn't it?"

  "Obviously,” he said, as he took her arm and muscled her inside.

  "But I have an apartment! All my stuff is there."

  "Not anymore."

  Again, his look alone was enough to quell her protests. She stood in numbed silence as he set about releasing her from her bonds. Looking around, she determined the room was about the size of a typical hotel room. It was furnished the same as well. A single king-size bed, a dresser, an end table, a desk and chair. But there was no television, phone, or radio anywhere to be seen. And probably, she thought, no Bible in the end table drawer either.

  Despite the relief of having her limbs finally freed of their restraints, she felt like crying. It was as if she had entered an entirely different universe when she had entered Sanders’ office earlier. Everything familiar in her life lay in the old one. And there was no way back.

  Sanders next removed the control strap, which surprised her. “That's just so you can use the toilet now,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “You won't have a chance later."

  She nodded and headed for the door to the bathroom. When she got there, she noticed there was no actual door, just an open doorway. She looked back at Sanders, puzzled.

  "Feeling modest, Number Ten?” he sneered. “The concept of privacy is no longer operative for you. It's all contained in your contract."

  "Yes, sir,” she said meekly. Then she took a deep breath, entered the bathroom and sat on the toilet while Sanders stood just outside and stared in.

  "Do you have to watch?” she asked.

  He said nothing, but kept staring straight at her. It was unnerving, and despite really needing to pee, she held it in. How did he expect her to do it with him standing right there?

  She turned her head and tried to ignore his peering eyes. Soon she became lost in thought. She thought about his apparent slips of the tongue just before leading her here. She was positive he had called her princess, despite his denials. At the time, it seemed like he was trying to make her feel special somehow, but now, in view of this latest humiliation, she decided it was just his sick sense of irony.

  "Finished yet?” he asked, interrupting her reverie. “I don't hear any tinkles."

  "I'm trying!” she huffed. Besides being degraded this way, she was apparently under a time limit. He took a step into the bathroom, toward her. Then another. What was he doing? “Mr. Sanders, I'm really trying,” she insisted. “I just can't do this with you watching me.” But by then he stood right in front of her. He reached out for her. She flinched, but he merely cupped her chin in his palm.

  Then he titled her head up, leaned down and kissed her. It was a quick, light kiss, barely a touch. But he followed it immediately with another, more insistent one.

  At first, she tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. And the feel of his lips against hers quickly dispelled her urge to fight. And then, with the third kiss, when his tongue and teeth joined his lips as he possessed her mouth, she knew she was lost.

  She moaned into him, reached up and clenched her fingers into his hair, holding his head against hers. A shiver ran down her spine and at last the urine flowed out in a gush. He lingered, tasting her, until the tinkles stopped.

  When he finally pulled away, she was left panting and wondering what had just happened.

  He motioned casually to the hinged mirror above the sink. “There's makeup in the medicine cabinet,” he said. “Make yourself presentable. And be quick about it."

  "Y—yes, sir.” She stood and flushed the toilet as he walked back into the main room. Surprisingly, she found the cabinet contained her favorite brand of cosmetics in the colors she usually used.

  The juxtaposition of humiliation and pampering puzzled her. It was almost as if she were being treated now like a ... a prized show dog.

  She hesitated to even think it, but the analogy seemed appropriate. Her “owner” had seen to it that she “did her business,” but also showed her affection and made sure her grooming was done to perfection.

  As such thoughts raced through her mind, she applied her makeup as quickly and carefully as she could. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she found that Sanders had arranged her clothing for her on the bed. Actually, it appeared that he'd arranged two completely separate outfits.

  The first one caught her eye at once. It was a shiny, latex dress in shocking pink. It was something she might imagine wearing just to be wild, but she would never really wear anything so outrageous.

  Beside it was a conventional, conservative, flight attendant uniform, consisting of a modest navy skirt and jacket, plus a simple white blouse. The jacket already had a name tag, with her real name on it, and the Haller Airline logo pinned on the lapel.

  But before she could dress in either outfit, Sanders stepped up to her with the control strap. Apparently, he really intended for her to wear the devious device. He locked it in place and then picked up the pink dress and handed it to her. “Put this one on first,” he said.

  "First?"

  "Just do as you're told."

  "Yes, sir."

  "You might want to sprinkle on some powder. It'll be a tight squeeze."

  She heeded his advice, and carefully worked her way into the dress. It covered so little of her body that she wondered why he even bothered with it. The hemline was only a couple of inches below her crotch, the back was open down to the crack of her ass, and the front plunged down to her navel. All that held it together in front was a bit of lacing across her bosom.

  "Allow me,” said Sanders as she reached for the laces and drew them snug. A strap midway down her back held the dress together in the rear and allowed him to tighten the laces until her modest breasts bulged together and strained against the laces themselves.

  "There,” he said with a grin. “You look like a whore."

  Blushing, she said nothing and looked down, avoiding his stare. As she did, she noticed that the control strap made an obvious bulge in the skintight outfit. “Mr. Sanders, shouldn't you take off the strap? It ruins the look of the dress."

  "Nice try, princess. Now put on the uniform."

  "Over the dress?"

  "Obviously."

  "Well ... All right..."

  While she dressed, he sat down and lit another cigar. Though only peripherally aware of it, Brenda did notice its aroma, which was different from the one he had smoked in the simulator. This one had a distinctly sweet tinge to it.

  As she buttoned the blouse over the bright pink dress, the smell brought back her first few moments in Sanders’ office earlier that day. There had been a smoldering cigar in the ashtray, and it had had the same sweetness about it.

  Well, and so what? she asked herself. With a mental shrug, she decided he probably had different brands for different times of the day, or something like that. Cigar smokers, in her experience, were an eccentric lot anyway.

  By the time she had slipped the jacket on, she could tell that the “real” uniform had thoroughly hidden the slutty dress beneath. Even without the jacket, the blouse was made of a material that was heavy enough and opaque enough to conceal what lay beneath it.

  She slipped on the modest slingbacks he had also set out, and looked at him as he stubbed out the cigar.

  "So,” she said, “what do we do now? Just drive out to the airport and stroll out to one o
f the gates?"

  "Yes,” he said with a smile. “That's exactly what we do now."

  "Which airport?” she asked.

  Sanders ignored her question and said, “Are you ready?"

  The thought of escape entered her mind immediately. He could continue to pretend she was his employee all he wanted, but she didn't have to play along. Although he hadn't answer her question, she hoped they were headed for Love Field. It was smaller and it would be easy to attract attention there.

  On the other hand, she thought, with the larger crowds at Dallas-Fort Worth, she might be able to simply slip away and find the authorities without having to make a big scene. Plus, the drive would take longer and she would have more time to work up her nerve.

  Sanders tapped his foot, checked his watch, and glared at her. “Um, yes,” she said, snapping to attention. “I'm all set, sir. But Mr. Sanders, how do you know I won't—” She cut herself off. What was she doing? Why tip him off to what she was thinking?

  "How do I know you won't try to escape?” His smile grew smug. It infuriated her.

  "Yes! Exactly. How are you going to get me on a plane in full view of everyone? I can just walk off. Or make a scene. You can't make me do this, you know, unless you—” Again she cut herself off as she remembered her agonizing moments crammed into the trunk. Was that what he intended to do with her?

  "You won't escape, Number Ten. You won't even try."

  This time, she held her tongue. She simply nodded, and said, “Yes, sir. I—I guess you're right."

  "Good. Your bag is already packed for you, there. Now come on; the others are waiting."

  She extended the handle of the wheeled overnighter, wondering what was inside it, and followed him into the hall. A small group of flight attendants was indeed waiting by the elevator. There were three others, all dressed in the same plain uniform that Brenda wore. At least, outwardly that's what they all wore. She wondered if the others had similar dresses hidden under their uniforms.

  Sanders stepped forward and made introductions. “Girls, I'd like you all to meet the newest member of our staff. This is Number Ten. Number Ten, this is Number Six, Number Eight, and Number Fifteen."

  Number Six was a stunning Asian girl whose brilliant smile sparkled in sharp contrast to her velvety black hair. Number Eight was a dimple-cheeked redhead, and Number Fifteen was a sophisticated looking brunette with surprisingly blue eyes. Brenda felt strange shaking hands with women she only knew by number, but she assumed she'd have a chance to learn their real names later.