The Control Strap Page 8

  As the numerical greetings were exchanged, Sanders clucked his tongue and looked around anxiously. “Where's Twelve?” he said to no one in particular.

  Number Fifteen spoke up. “She's coming, sir. She was having a little trouble getting into her undergarment."

  "Hmph!” grunted Sanders.

  But if he was worried about the time, he didn't have long to wait. At that very moment, one of the other doors opened and Lindsay stepped out.

  At least Brenda assumed it was Lindsay. The woman who now sashayed toward them was almost unrecognizable as the same woman she'd first met as the office receptionist. Somehow, with her natural blonde hair revealed and dressed nattily in her flight attendant's uniform, she seemed transformed into a completely different person. The effect was even more startling than when she had been dressed as a man.

  But even more startling was how similar in appearance she was to Brenda herself. It hadn't been apparent before, but now she saw that Lindsay was not only the same size, but had an almost identical figure, and the same color and style hair. Even her facial features were similar. It was as if Brenda had found a long lost sister. A sister, she realized, who had somehow achieved a position in the company as receptionist, assistant trainer, and flight attendant.

  As Brenda gawked, Sanders merely scowled, and then pushed the elevator call button. The doors opened immediately, and the entire group stepped in. Sanders pressed a button and the door shut again. The five women stood in silence, and Brenda assumed this was the expected behavior. She watched the display change from level “B2” to “B1” and then the door opened again.

  The group stepped out into a parking garage, where a black stretch limo was waiting. The driver held the back door open and the girls filed in. Brenda held back and entered last.

  The seating in the extended passenger compartment was arranged with the rearmost seats facing forward, several other seats along the driver's side that faced inward, and a couple more toward the front which faced back. Brenda sat in one of the rear seats, directly opposite Lindsay. There was plenty of room for the five bags.

  To Brenda's surprise, Sanders slipped in as well and sat next to her.

  "You're coming too?"

  "Yes, Number Ten. I like to accompany new attendants on their first flight. Now, put on your gag."

  "Huh?” She glanced around at the others. Each was reaching into a side compartment of her bag and pulling out a ball-gag. As she watched dumbfounded, they all strapped their gags on, then sat back with their hands folded on their laps.

  Sanders leaned down and unzipped the same compartment on Brenda's bag. “It's in here,” he said.

  "But I ... Well ... Okay. I mean, yes, sir."

  Reluctantly, she reached into the bag and found the gag by feel. Beside it was a slender cylinder of plastic which could only be a vibrator. Sitting back, she looked at the large red ball and licked her lips, hesitating.

  "The ball goes in the mouth, Number Ten."

  "Y—Yes, sir. It's just that I've never, you know, used one of these on myself."

  "Well, it's not complicated. Just do it."

  "Yes, sir."

  As she pushed the ball between her lips, a shudder ran through her, as if it were made of ice. Then she reached behind her head and fumbled with the buckle. When she finished, she glanced at Sanders, expectantly.

  He frowned in return. “Not bad, Number Ten. But it can be tighter than that. Here..."

  He turned her around and re-fastened the strap, pulling another two notches through the buckle. Brenda groaned and sat back as the limo pulled out of the garage and into traffic.

  She looked around at the other gagged girls and noticed that they all sat perfectly upright; no one slouched. And their legs were all arranged in exactly the same manner, as well. She remembered Lindsay's advice about sitting back in the reception area: “Girls should sit with their legs parallel, knees together smartly in front, and lower legs at a slight angle off to one side or the other.” In this case, they all slanted to the right.

  Automatically, Brenda followed the pattern. Beside her, Sanders relaxed, leaning back in his seat with his legs crossed casually. The contrast was stark, yet she felt no resentment toward him, but rather pride in fitting in so well with the other women.

  They hadn't gone a block when Sanders said, “Number Fifteen, I need a footrest."

  "Yeffir,” mumbled the gagged brunette.

  Puzzled, Brenda glanced around, not seeing anything even resembling a footrest. Perhaps it was stored under Number Fifteen's seat. But instead of retrieving an actual footrest, the woman whom Brenda thought had such a sophisticated appearance got down on her hands and knees in front of Sanders. She crouched all the way down so her face was on the floorboard, and her rounded bottom angled up toward him.

  Sanders sat back and put his feet up on the woman's ass cheeks. Then he pulled out another cigar and lit up.

  Brenda looked around from girl to gag-faced girl, and then down to the female footrest. Outside, through the heavily tinted windows, people drove by without an inkling as to the strange scene inside the long black limo.

  She stared at the passing buildings, only vaguely aware of the route the driver took. Then as they merged onto I-35E, she knew they must be headed for DFW and not Love Field. Her notion of slipping off in the crowd came back to her, yet it seemed somehow foreign now, as if someone else had suggested it. As bizarre as the scene around her was, she couldn't shake the feeling that she belonged here.

  Most of all, she understood that Sanders had been right. She would not escape. She would not even try.

  CHAPTER 10: BOARDING PASS

  Tom Sanders gazed down at the perfectly rounded pair of ass cheeks that supported his tired feet and smiled. Life was good, he thought. Private limos, private planes, wealthy clients, and docile women. If only the rest of the world ran the same way.

  Yes, his airline had turned out to be an excellent investment. Better even than the trucking company he'd sunk his money into a few years before. “Chick Transport” it was called. Still going strong, last he heard.

  He wondered what his old partner, Evan Sinclair, would think of his new venture. Not that Sinclair would recognize him anymore. The trucker had known an entirely different person back then. Sanders had not only used a different alias, but also wore a beard and ponytail. And never a suit.

  Now in the back of his limo, Sanders took a few more puffs on his cigar before putting it out. No sense overdoing the fumes, he thought. Too much of his special blend could actually counteract its intended effect. And his new Number Ten didn't seem to require even the normal dosage. She'd only had a whiff back in his office, but her reactions to his outrageous questions and demands had made lighting up again unnecessary.

  Amazing girl, he thought, stealing a glance at her. She fit in so well, it was hard to believe she'd been there less than a day.

  But perhaps more amazing was the blend of chemicals he added to his “special” cigars. He'd discovered the concoction quite by accident. It acted in ways he didn't understand, and had no need to understand. All he knew was that it somehow altered the brain chemistry of women, making them unusually susceptible to suggestion. It also enhanced their natural submissive tendencies. And over time, its effect became permanent.

  The chemical mixture certainly made his line of work much easier, if somewhat less adventurous. And as far as he could tell, it had no effect on men. Must be an X-Y chromosome thing, he assumed.

  The car, he noticed, had slowed down. He peered out at the bumper-to-bumper traffic and tried not to let himself grow anxious. They would get there as fast as they could. The client would just have to wait.

  To take his mind off the time, he flipped open a latch on the armrest which concealed several rows of switches and dials. Might as well have some fun while I'm waiting, he thought.

  He grinned and looked across at Number Six. She noticed his glance and shifted nervously, knowing what he was about to do. He paused and le
t her think about it. She tried to stare straight ahead, bracing herself, but couldn't stop her eyes from flicking his way every few seconds.

  At last, he turned one of the dials and flipped the switch next to it. Immediately, Number Six shivered and let out a moan. Ah yes, he thought. I've already forgotten what I was worried about.

  * * * *

  Brenda tried not to cough when Sanders blew cigar smoke her way, but couldn't help breathing in some of the fumes. She wondered how long it would take to get used to working around someone who smoked so many cigars.

  But he couldn't have drawn more than five or six puffs before he stubbed it out again. Strange man, she thought.

  In any event, she needed to focus on the task that lay before her. She couldn't even seem to make herself think about escape anymore. All that mattered was doing her job and making her boss proud of her. She was going to be the very best hors d'oeuvres girl Haller Airline ever had!

  Just then, one of the other girls moaned. Startled, Brenda looked around and saw that it was the Asian girl. Although she tried to remain still, it was obvious that something was wrong. She was breathing erratically, her chest heaving as she struggled for air. And she had begun rocking in place, back and forth and from side to side.

  And then it dawned on Brenda. Of course! she thought. The girl's control strap must have been activated somehow. It was hard to tell from Brenda's perspective if it was in pleasure mode or pain mode. She knew from experience that a girl's body could react similarly to very different types of stimuli.

  The poor girl continued to moan, glancing at Sanders occasionally. Brenda wondered why he didn't try to stop it.

  And then Number Eight began squirming as well. Her gagged moans mingled with Number Six's like an erotic counterpoint.

  "Hmmhn!” “Ummmm.” “Ahhh...” “Ooooh!"

  Brenda glanced at Sanders, questioningly. From the expression on his face, she at last realized he was doing this deliberately. Of course, she thought. We girls might as well amuse him while we're stuck in traffic.

  But why isn't my strap turned on? she wondered.

  No sooner had she thought it, then Number Fifteen's sighs rose from the floorboard to join the chorus. Now the only girls not being tormented with their straps were Brenda and Lindsay.

  Brenda gazed across at the other blonde. Lindsay, however, was staring at Sanders. Somehow, she was managing to pout even with her mouth stretched wide around her ball-gag. She wants him to switch her strap on, thought Brenda. Come to think of it, I do too.

  Her eyes shifted to Sanders and she found him returning Lindsay's stare head on. He was silently, firmly refusing her unspoken plea, even taunting her about it. But Brenda felt it also, as if he were staring at her as well.

  Without taking his eyes off Lindsay, he said, “None for you either, Number Ten."

  "Oh!” whined Brenda, wondering if he could somehow read her thoughts.

  Meanwhile, traffic had picked up and began moving steadily. They continued on with three of the women subtly writhing in place and softly moaning, while the other two pouted and fumed.

  Just when Brenda could see the airport in the distance, Sanders switched off the control straps, and told Number Fifteen to return to her seat. The brunette, who at first had seemed as cultured and refined as Jackie Onassis, sat flushed and disheveled, hurrying to put herself back in order.

  "Gags out,” announced Sanders as the limo worked its way toward Terminal D. By the time it pulled up to the curb, all five women had removed their gags and had shoved them back in their bags. And Number Fifteen no longer looked like a girl who had recently been used as a footrest.

  The driver got out and held the door open. Mr. Sanders climbed out first, followed by his girls. Brenda hesitated, looking around uncertainly, feeling lost. There was the Grand Hyatt and the entrance to the terminal. Everything looked the same as it always did, yet she felt like she was seeing it all for the first time.

  "Mr. Sanders,” she said with a quiver in her voice, “you expect us to just walk in there?"

  "Of course. Why not?"

  "Well, you know ... We have those ... belts on. And whatever's in our bags. And these collars!"

  "I assure you, my dear, you're not wearing, or carrying, anything that will set off any alarms. But more importantly, as Goethe said, ‘Whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact that he possesses one.’”

  "What? Who?"

  "Goethe. He was—Oh, never mind. Don't worry your pretty blonde head about it.” She flushed at his degrading comment and his condescending tone of voice, but she said nothing. “The point,” he continued, “is that when we act as if we have nothing to hide, no one will suspect we do."

  "B—But I don't even know where we're going."

  "You don't need to know. Just follow the other girls."

  And the others, she saw, were already by the door. They all seemed so ... normal. Maybe he was right. If she just acted normal, she would look normal as well. Even though...

  "Oh!” she squealed. Her strap had come alive to deliver a single quick jolt.

  "Is something wrong?” asked Sanders with a knowing grin.

  "N—no. I'm fine, sir."

  "Good. Get moving then."

  She hurried along and quickly caught up with the other four girls. Sanders strolled slowly at some distance behind them. Probably to make sure I don't run away, thought Brenda. Not that I have any intention of trying.

  In fact, right now, all she was worried about was fitting in and not attracting any attention to herself. How strange that she had actually considered escaping earlier. She could remember having such thoughts, but the whole notion seemed totally absurd now. As unthinkable as throwing herself out of a plane without a parachute.

  Sanders suddenly hurried ahead and whispered something to Lindsay. Then he went off in another direction, leaving the other blonde in charge of the group. She strode purposefully and confidently toward the separate security entrance for airline staff. But as they approached the entrance, Brenda became worried again. She had no idea where her identification was. And it was for the wrong airline now anyway.

  Not wanting to cause a problem, she quietly got the redhead's attention. “Psst. Number Eight. I don't have any ID."

  The woman smiled at Brenda without breaking stride. She was several inches taller than Brenda and had an almost boyish figure. “It's in the side zipper section of your bag,” she said. “And my name's Samantha, by the way."

  "Oh, okay, Samantha. I'm Brenda."

  "Hi, Brenda. You can call me Sammie."

  "Thanks, Sammie. And you can call me Bren."

  "All right, Bren."

  "How long have you, um, worked for Haller Airline?"

  "A while. This will be my tenth flight. It's fun, Bren. Don't worry about a thing."

  They had arrived at the security station, and just as Sanders had said, Lindsay made it through without incident. Next, Number Six and Number Fifteen went through. Sammie went next. She turned and smiled reassuringly.

  Brenda stepped forward, hoping she didn't look as nervous as she felt. She laid her bag on the conveyor, and then walked through the metal detector. Her heart was pounding so hard, she was sure the security staff could hear it thumping in her chest. But no buzzer sounded as she stepped through the detector and her bag was waiting for her on the other side as if there was nothing unusual inside it.

  Maybe they get a lot of bags packed with gags, she thought.

  As they continued on, the other two girls introduced themselves. Number Six was also known as Amy and Fifteen was, ironically enough, Jackie.

  "What gate do we depart from?” asked Brenda as they walked along.

  "D1,” said Jackie.

  Brenda thought about that for a moment. “But D1—"

  "I know. It was never officially opened when they expanded the terminal. But we board there anyway. Don't ask me how, but the company has some kind of arrangement with the airport. The gate isn't even visible to the
public, and it's accessible only through a locked door. Your Haller ID badge unlocks it."

  Brenda merely nodded, amazed that such an arrangement would ever be made with an operation like Haller Airline. On the other hand, in Texas, anything was possible with enough money.

  As they walked past the escalator that led to Skylink, the automated train that connected the terminals, she thought about the many times she had ridden in one of the cars alone late at night, how spooky it could feel. And yet, that sensation didn't compare to what she felt now, wearing her control strap and collar in plain sight, and heading for a gate that didn't really exist.

  Ahead of her, Lindsay veered to the right and approached a door that Brenda had never noticed before. It was unmarked and easily overlooked. By the time she and Jackie caught up with her, Lindsay had already opened the door and was holding it open, motioning for the others to hurry in.

  On the other side was a stairway that led down to the tarmac. No jetway, thought Brenda. And where had Mr. Sanders gone anyway?

  Lindsay stood at the top of the stairs and waited for the others to gather around. “Mr. Sanders went to the Executive Club to accompany the clients to the plane. We're to be ready to go when they get here."

  Brenda nodded and followed the rest down the stairway, across the tarmac, and up the steps into the waiting Boeing 737. The plane's color scheme was simple, white with a single long splash of purple along the side, and of course the wolf logo on the tail.

  As she expected, the cabin had the same basic layout as the simulator. But it contained a couple of optional ... furnishings as well. One was a large rectangular metal frame, and the other was a padded horizontal beam about three feet long and waist high.

  Before she had a chance to imagine what the additions were for, Lindsay grabbed her by the arm and hurried her to the back of the plane. “No time to gawk,” she hissed. “Get your outer uniform off and strap yourself in. That's your seat there."