James Warrington Thompson, multimillionaire and captain of industry, sweated as he sat behind the mahogany desk in his elegant office and contemplated the events of the last two days. He awaited the arrival of the person he hoped would save him. When his secretary announced the visitor, Thompson fought to control himself. His hand shook when he extended it in greeting.
"Mr. Thompson, I'm Phillip Zim," the visitor said. His voice was well modulated and polite.
"I'm glad you could come on such short notice, Mr. Zim. Please have a seat."
"Thank you," Zim answered as he sat in the large, high-backed leather chair in front of the desk. "Have you talked with Hermann Weller today?"
"Yes. I visited with Hermann again. He assures me I'll be pleased with your services. I'd no idea his wife was one of your subjects."
"Mrs. Weller's a delightful woman, Mr. Thompson. That's to be expected. All our subjects are as delightful as she. All our clients are as satisfied as Mr. Weller. We perform first class services and we guarantee the results."
"I first heard about your company from Hermann two days ago. I know nothing about you. My normal investigative procedures didn't even reveal your name."
Zim grinned knowingly. "In our profession, it doesn't pay to advertise. We've been in business forty years and we operate worldwide."
"Worldwide? I had no idea you were so big," Thompson replied.
"There's quite a demand for us," Zim said. "We offer two basic services, Mr. Thompson. The majority are engagements like yours. The client has identified a specific subject. We contract to acquire and mold her to his specifications, including modifications."
"Yes. Breast enhancement, hair coloring, rhinoplasty, liposuction, that sort of thing. Lip enhancement is rapidly gaining in popularity with the new surgical techniques which have been developed."
"Are most of your subjects modified?"
"All subjects have some physical modification. Our basic program hones the subjects to their best natural appearance using diet and exercise. The property is instilled with a strong desire to maintain a perfect shape after her return to you. She will continue the diet and exercise program without instruction or intervention on your part."
"All hard bodies?" Thompson said with a grin.
"Predominantly. We offer the Victorian option. With that option, the subject is programmed for little to moderate exercise. Rather, she controls her shape primarily by diet. She'll have a soft, voluptuous feel. Part of this option is corset training, which gives the property a narrow, wasp waist, emphasizing an hourglass figure. These subjects are lush rather than hard."
"Simply amazing," Thompson said. "May I ask how the training's done, Mr. Zim?"
"That's proprietary information. However, part of the secret of our success is evaluation of subject's personality. We might recommend the direction her appearance should take, or management of her after her return."
"I don't understand," Mr. Thompson replied. "I thought she'd be whatever I wanted."
"She will. Have no doubt about it, our training provides perfect control. However, if we can meld features of her natural personality into the final characteristics you desire, the results are much better. In all honesty, Mr. Thompson, the results do vary. Melding her existing personality with the desired one creates a much happier and more positive subject. There's no negativity in her, no part of her fighting to resist.
But - if we can't meld the two, we imprison the existing personality within her mind. The new personality we create controls her inwardly and outwardly. In that circumstance, the existence of the old personality within can cause conflict and, sometimes, depression. I wouldn't be overly concerned. We believe this exists in less than three per cent of our subjects."
Zim stopped. He could see the confusion on Thompson's face. He waited until Thompson looked at him again.
"We have one other option, although we normally try to dissuade our clients from selecting it," Zim continued.
"What is it?"
"We can destroy her inhibitions. The subject becomes a sex machine. She'll be a stereotypical slut."
Thompson laughed. "Why don't you recommend that? Isn't it what most men want?"
"Not really. Most of our customers want a woman who's wildly sexual with them, but them alone. They want love, comfort and companionship much more than they want sex. They want someone acceptable in any social situation, someone to show off to their friends. This option I'm referring to produces a true and complete slut."
Zim grimaced remembering a distasteful event.
"In one instance," he said, "we processed a subject for a client who had requested this option. He returned her to us in ten days. During that time, she seduced thirty-four men, including three of his business partners and the entire crew who maintained his landscaping. We disposed of her to someone else."
"Good lord," Mr. Thompson said. "Who would want such a woman?"
"They make excellent call girls or corporate whores," Zim replied with a smile.
"What other services do you provide?"
"We operate a training ranch in a South American country where we inventory about three hundred subjects. They're selected for their beauty and intelligence. We acquire them around the world and train them there. Ages of the subjects range from ten to nineteen. It's easier to mold the personalities most often desired when one begins early and has time. We sell them when they're ready. Of course, the subjects are virgins when they begin their new lives."
"A beautiful, virgin sex slave. It sounds like a fantasy," Thompson said with a deprecating laugh.
"It's a fantasy many men are living, Mr. Thompson. Now, I need some information."
"Don't you want to hear why I'm doing this?" Thompson asked.
"That's your business and we don't inquire. To us, it makes no difference. The results are the same. May I ask some questions?"
James Thompson shifted in his chair to stare into space. Phillip Zim waited patiently as the clock on the wall ticked away the minutes.
"Go ahead," Thompson said wearily.
"Name. Oh. After talking to Hermann, I believe there'll be two of them."
"They're sisters. Their parents are dead and they have no other family. If both are taken, there'd be no family members to question the changes in them."
"Wise decision, Mr. Thompson. Let me tell you about another service we provide. If you choose to have us mold both of them, we offer a reduced rate for the second subject. Also, any subject custom trained by us can be resold if you desire. Sales proceeds, less our standard commission, is remitted to you or you may have credit against a new purchase. You might keep one for yourself and sell the other."
"No. Not just yet."
"The service is always available. To continue, what's the name of the primary subject?"
"Mary Catherine O'Brian. She's called Cathy."
Thompson answered. Zim continued his questioning, recording the answers in his laptop computer.
"Good," Zim said, the questionnaire on Cathy complete. "Let's talk about her sister."
"I don't know a lot about her. Her name's Christine. She's about twenty and goes to UCLA. I have her address and a snapshot."
"That'll have to do, I suppose," Zim said. "Shall we discuss the cover story to explain their disappearance?"
"Cathy has few friends in spite of her intelligence and talents. She's a loner. She's already announced she's resigning, moving to Paris, and taking Chrissy with her."
"Good. That'll explain their disappearence. When they return, there shouldn't be any problem. They'll be programmed to support any reason we wish for their return. May I borrow your phone?"
Thompson watched as Zim quickly dialed. He spoke in hushed tones and a foreign tongue before turning to Thompson again.
"Our Zurich bank received the wire transfer for the primary subject's training. We trust you to advance the balance tomorrow."
"Good. We can begin."
Thompson collapsed in his chair after seeing Zim to the door. The interview had drained him. He wished... No. The die was cast. He was lost in thoughts when the door burst open. She strode toward his desk with arrogance and disdain.
"Who was the suit?" she asked haughtily as she sat in the chair recently occupied by Mr. Zim.
"A business prospect. What are your plans?"
"I've changed them. Chrissy and I leave for Paris tomorrow."
Cathy watched his face, seeing the distress come and go.
"I've enjoyed outwitting you, Jim. Don't take it personally. It was business. You had money. I wanted it." She laughed cruelly. "Think of me when you authorize the monthly transfers. Think of me and all that secret information I have."
"You're a bitch!"
"You're a fool and I'm a rich bitch now. I'd like to say you were fun, but you weren't. Goodbye," she said as she stood. "Maybe we'll see each other someday."
"Yes, we will," he replied under his breath as she walked toward the door.
James Thompson was unable to sleep. He walked the halls of his expensive home. He jumped when the phone broke the stillness of the night.
"Thompson here," he said when he picked up the receiver.
"Just a short report, Mr. Thompson. The two subjects were acquired. We'll be in touch with you."
.... There is more of this story ...