Chapter 1

The last girl had been good, but just like all the others, after a while the novelty had worn off. There is something about a girl accustomed to servitude, hardened to service, resigned to suffering, that spoils my enjoyment.

Time to find a new slave, another unsuspecting plaything. Life is good!

Situations Vacant

Due to promotion, a vacancy has arisen for a full time personal assistant, applicants must be ready to start immediately, no experience necessary as full training will be given. This is a full time, live-in post, so those with other commitments need not apply. Applicants should be physically fit and healthy.

Interviews for those interested in this position will be held on [date] between noon and 6pm at the [hotel] Suite 101. Applicants should inform hotel reception of their presence.

Part of the initial thrill is in not knowing who will apply. Of course none of them will see me, why risk identification? So much better to remain anonymous until I make my selection. A small adjoining room, a video link a chair, well lit, is all it takes. Reception give them a key-card, the sign besides the camera explains the need for a video link. How are they to know I am in fact next door?

The first three were of no interest, the fourth, a possibility, sent down to wait in reception until 6pm. Only 45 minutes to go, perhaps another advert? Maybe the brunette will do, yet something about her is just not right. Movement on the screen catches my attention, and this time the girl looks perfect...

I enter the hotel lobby just after 5 pm, still unsure whether I want to apply for a job or not. I am not good at jobs. Well, that's not exactly right, most jobs I've done so far I have done quite well. I just have a habit of fucking up with my employers and usually get fired after a few weeks or months.

I have been a personal assistant to a photographer, have modelled panties (yes, my ass is one of my best parts), been a hostess and had done several other things. My last job had brought me to this hotel quite often. And I would still have it hadn't it been for the very unfortunate fact that one of my clients had croaked while I was sitting on top of him. Stupid bloke. After that, no other escort service wanted to hire me anymore. Too bad, the work had been easy and the pay had been exceptionally good and if I hadn't spent it all on parties and clothes and the occasional line of coke I wouldn't have had to look for a job yet.

So, yeah, I was on a streak of bad luck. I needed money and I didn't mind living in with some old frail lady. It had to be an old lady, who else would be looking for a full time assistant? I figured that with a little bit of luck and all my charm I could sneak my way into her last will. I can be quite nice, flattering and charming. If I want to, that is. And if I think it pays off eventually.

I walk up to the reception and tell the concierge what I had come for. She sent me to a room on the 9th floor and says I should just go in without knocking and three minutes later I looked not at a frail old lady but at a tripod with a camera, a note and a chair in front of the camera.

'What the heck', I say to myself, thinking that this is probably not a frail old lady after all. I turn on my heels to leave again, but then curiosity gets the better of me and I sit down on the chair, without bothering to read the note. I put on a nice smile and look into the camera.

Yes indeed, this girl is the one. Just the right amount of attitude. Much more enjoyable to break a strong character, dominate them utterly, such a juicy challenge, picking a meek little thing like the first girl today is hardly worth the effort, even if the outcome is the same.

I watch as the girl hesitates, then sits on the chair. Experience has taught me to read those expressions that flash across her face before the artificial smile spreads like fake butter, never quite reaching her eyes.

As I play the first question pre-recorded on my ipod, I re-run those expressions in my mind. Obviously sexually experienced, as backed up by her choice of wardrobe and demeanour, was recently earning good money, judging by the clothes and manicure, obviously no longer doing so or why would she be here?

As the girl answers each question I activate the ipod to play the next, almost without thinking. Having the questions recorded allows me to concentrate on the answers, the microphone will catch every word and I can watch and listen to her interview later. The answers, especially the early ones are of little interest, indeed they are mostly irrelevant to my purpose. What interests me is the way the questions are answered, body language, a slight hesitation, all speak volumes. As the questions progress beyond those banal ones asked by every interviewer, I look for the change in her attitude, noting her response to the more unusual questions.

Do you suffer from claustrophobia? Which if any allergies do you suffer from? What form of birth control do you use? Do you have any medical conditions and/or known reactions to drugs? Where are you headed after this interview? What languages are you fluent in? Can you swim? Do you like animals? Do you get air/sea/car sick? Do you have first aid training? Can you drive?

As expected, the girl is starting to realise that not all of the questions are relevant to the advertised job. So before she has a chance to think it all through, a distraction. I skipped through the tracks to the one I wanted.

"The starting salary is € 2,000 a month. Of course room and board is provided, as are certain required outfits both casual and formal."

As usual the mention of money caused a flash of avarice, quickly and consciously hidden under the pseudo smile. Once again what interested me was not her obvious response, but her attitude and demeanour. This girl had herself under control. My mind made up, I moved on to the next stage.

"That concludes the question part of the interview, you may now take a short comfort break before we resume and give you a chance to ask any questions you have. You will find the bathroom through the door to your left, and a selection of drinks in the cupboard behind you."

As the girl rose from her chair I watched with interest. The camera position was chosen with care, allowing a clear view of the entire room thanks to the mirror opposite. The room thermostat had been carefully set to ensure that by now the girl would be warm and thirsty enough to guarantee she chose a drink. Which one did not matter, all were spiked with a tried and tested formula.

I watched as she moved about the room, selected a drink, smiled at her careful, precise manner, trying to impress the camera even as she resumed her seat and sipped, the ice tinkling in the fine crystal glass. It would not be long before the glass slipped from her fingers...

A large aluminium 'flight case' marked 'Fragile' - 'Heavy' is both perfect to move an unconscious body and instantly forgettable to the staff of a major hotel, used to seeing them used by every conference and event. A generous but not exceptional tip to the bell-hop and the case was whisked away to the hotel loading bay where it was transferred, along with my suitcase, to the waiting van. Whilst I checked out and expressed sadness at the poor quality of the applicants. A little insurance just in case someone asked about my latest plaything. The unmarked van was waiting for me out front, the evening traffic light as we sped out of the city and headed home. Our unconscious passenger safely ensconced in the custom padded case.

Once well outside the city, a quick stop to check on my new plaything, air circulation system working perfectly, restraints in place and secure, she will be conscious before we reach our destination still two hours away.

Upon arrival it is a simple matter to roll the case down the van's built in ramp and wheel it through the garage and several sets of security doors into the dungeon. Only then was the lip popped open, revealing the girl's back as she knelt, strapped securely. First the blindfold, then the wrist cuffs, snap-linked close together, only then are the restraining straps released and the front of the case hinged down to allow easy access.

"Welcome to your new job..."

The interview starts with the usual questions about name, what I have done so far, experience, why I'm applying for the job and so on. Easy to answer, although I take the liberty to give the woman a slightly different name, because my real name plus my picture had been all over the tabloids following the croaked guy-incident. So it's Jamie Sumners, but she doesn't seem to be interested in my identity, judging from the fact that she doesn't want my ID.

It's all quite weird anyway, I have the impression I'm talking not to a person but to a recording. Just when I think I'll fall asleep of boredom having to answer all those questions the nature of them changes. The voice wants to know about contraceptives, claustrophobia, allergies, where I'm heading after this interview, whether I can swim, which languages do I speak and much more. I try not to sound too irritated as I answer them one by one with 'pill, no, none, to the pub for a vodka, yes, German and a bit of French' respectively, starting to wonder whether this interview is really about a full time assistant. It reminds me of a scene in a spy movie I've recently seen, but then again, nobody in their right frame of mind would hire me as a secret agent. I certainly wouldn't.

Then the voice mentions the salary and I silently curse the croaked idiot again. 2000 Euros ... I've earned that much in two weeks as an escort. But with room and board provided it ain't that bad.

Just when I start thinking that I'll be out of here soon if I don't get to ask my questions - not to mention to see the person behind the camera before I sign any contract or commit myself to a job - the woman announces a break. I'm glad, it's hot in here and I could do with a drink. A minute later I sit down on the chair again and take a sip of tonic water.

"Enjoy your drink and then please start asking your questions," says the voice, but somehow it sounds strange. The room looks strange too, it begins to turn and I feel suddenly dizzy. The glass falls from my hand as I slip from the chair, thinking that hopefully the woman sees what's happening and sends hotel security up to check on me.

But when I come to there's no hotel security. In fact there's no one. Just darkness, motion, the sound of a car, a terrible headache and sickness. For a moment I fight the urge to puke, but then it passes and I start trying to figure out what happened and where I am. I'm on my knees, that much I know. My hands and feet are restrained. Bad, very bad. I lift my head and bang it against something metallic. To the left and the right there's the same metal. A box. I'm in a box, in a car, driving to God knows where. Nobody knows that I went to that job interview and I have died my natural blonde hair a dark chestnut a couple of days ago, so nobody would recognize my picture in the hotel anyway.

Fuckin' A.

The car stops, the crate is moved, I hear doors being opened and closed again and then the lid is opened. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?," I snap, trying to turn my head to see the person. But I'm quickly blindfolded and cuffed. That, of course, can't stop me from swearing and cursing.

"Welcome to your new job," a woman, apparently the same who conducted the interview, finally says.

"Yeah, fuck you too, you bloody bitch! Let me go now!" I snarl.

"Or what?" she asks, chuckling.

Yeah, she's got a point there. What if she doesn't let me go?

"Yeah, fuck you too, you bloody bitch! Let me go now!" Just a hint of a slur beneath the vehemence. Better and better, I love a challenge and this girl has just the spirit to hold my interest. Traditionally at this point a forceful blow would send her reeling, nothing so crass here.

My reply, delivered in calm, measured tones, is just as effective, to her mind, if not her body, "Or what?" I allow myself a soft chuckle, a reward for correctly guessing her response, the pause as she realises the truth behind that simple question followed by the tensing of her body, half in anticipation of a blow, half poised for flight. Neither is forthcoming.

There are many ways to handle the next few hours, I like to think that my method, refined from long experience, achieves everything required. No rough man-handling, why damage my new plaything so soon? A snap-link secures the overhead chain to the one linking her cuffs, gentle pressure on the radio remote and her arms are drawn relentlessly upwards, at some point her body is bound to follow. The low electric whirr drowned out by an impressive selection of curses, threats, even a few pleas. Only when she is standing, bent forward, arms drawn up, shoulders straining, only then do I stop the winch.

Now is not the time to bandy words with my plaything, besides, I did not go to all this trouble for a conversation. I have no interest in anything she might say for now, but no gag, for though her words are of no interest, her mental state is, her voice provides a view into that complex intriguing world.

The winch is suspended on an overhead track, designed to handle much heaver weights, it provides a simple way to control even the most violent victims. As the winch moves along the track, the girl follows, a little unsteady at first, the residue of the 'knockout' drops combined with an utterly pointless attempt at defiance.

The winch clicks as it runs over the joints where the different tracks branch off. Almost the length of the dungeon, to the waiting cell. Solid back and side walls, the front formed from the customary bars. Once inside it is a simple matter to close and lock the door, reverse the travel on the winch to bring the girls wrists within reach, release the snap link and remove the winch chain from the cell.

"When you have stripped naked and pushed all your clothes and shoes through the bars, you will be given food and water." Turning, I walked across the dungeon to the door, closing and locking it behind me before switching off all the lights, save for the floodlights that washed the cell with bright hard light.