Trapped and Tamed Read online

  She approached the huge painted Octopus staring predatorily from the ripped gash in the side of the painted ship. A couple weeks ago an inspired Internet Master noticed she looked at the octopus sometimes when she climaxed and he instructed her to go kiss it. She’d been so adorably tentative and then kissed the octopus so tenderly and then with such passion the incident became legend among the Internet Masters and kissing the Octopus standard practice.

  Wilrey had told her that on the Institute of Submission website Fishy was one of the main attractions and she was advertised with short video clips in addition to the live camera feed of her free during non-session times. She knew one was of her being shocked in the hot tub during orgasm but, amazingly, another was the fearful but passionate kiss of the Octopus. Telling her these things was intended by Wilrey to humiliate her but it actually gave her a thrill.

  The octopus was frightening and, though it was realistically rendered, it did somehow still look like Jones. Fishy tenderly smooched it, allowed her ringed breasts to gently rub on a painted tentacle, made the kiss more passionate, then ended it with a tiny tongue lick. She could imagine the unknown Internet Master groaning in satisfied delight as his computer screen went dark.

  Fishy, still aroused despite all the orgasms but far too tired to pursue that arousal, went to her bed. It was a waterbed in one corner of the room and, of course, was afforded no privacy, a camera suspended directly above it. She climbed in and lay on her back, wet from the pool, breathing the humid air of the pool room, rocked by miniature waves inside the waterbed.

  As she fell asleep Fishy wondered where Wayne Jones was, if he was well, if she would see him again, and if he was having success in getting revenge on Cassandra Zane. She was jealous of her for having his undivided attention but she still wished him good luck….

  Chapter 2

  Wayne Jones pulled into the parking lot in a brand new fully loaded Cadillac SUV. He checked his appearance in the rear view mirror. He’d waited for several months after his release in order to allay suspicion, prepare, and grow a bushy mustache to somewhat disguise himself. There had been news stories after all. Besides, the heat of summer was a great time for the hot things he planned. In the winter his sexual playground was reduced to all indoor locations. Summer opened up so many more locations to carry out his plans. Through the huge windshield Wayne Jones viewed the clean, orderly, friendly look of the Wallace Clinic. It looked like a trustworthy medical establishment and a nice place to work

  Jones knew it would soon have a dramatic decline in patient clients and would contiguously be both a much less nice place to work and, in some ways, a much nicer place to work.

  Jones knew these things because he was the new owner of this private medical practice. The clientele would soon be referred to other relevant clinics for future services. The small staff of six did not yet know they had a new boss. It would be his delight to inform them.

  The only people who knew about the change in ownership, other than King Jones’ own retinue, were a couple lawyers and the previous owner, one Walter Wallace. As a highly successful Doctor, Wallace was already a wealthy man even prior to Jones’ intervention. He was now much richer but that wasn’t why he’d sold. Wallace had long since reached the point where he no longer strove for greater wealth but only practiced medicine for its own sake. Normally, Wallace would never have sold.

  What do you get for the man who has everything?Jones knew the answer to that question. It was based on a false premise. Rare indeed was the man who actually had everything he wanted or who did not want more of what he already had. So, in answer; give the man who has everything that which he does not have.

  Jones’ retinue researched carefully to find the type of situation he was looking for. A particular type of clinic. Small. Staffed by beautiful women. Of course, the odds on a staff like this of six women all beautiful would be infinitesimally rare as to defy fulfilling Wayne Jones’ requirements if it were all up to random chance.

  It wasn’t chance. Dr. Walter Wallace, married, a fine upstanding member of the community, involved in charities, was still thoroughly human. He liked pretty women. He really liked pretty women. Enough to be blinded to fairness, always hiring the most attractive female candidates, not the most qualified. Or, rather, in his mind their beauty made them the most qualified.

  Perhaps he only wanted to see them all around him day after day. Maybe he thought their beauty would accrue patient loyalty. It could be, though his sense of decorum prevented him from making a move himself, that he always secretly hoped one of them would come onto him, that proximity would lead to intimacy. Who knows, and, Jones thought, who cares.

  Dr. Wallace received a very generous buy out. Anyone reviewing the purchase would not question the price and only funds were mentioned in way of payment. But, under the table -- literally in one case -- Wallace also received two slaves. His to own and use and do with as he wished as long as he and they lived.

  The best deals were the ones in which both parties profited. Wallace now had two slaves whereas before he had none. Jones was down two slaves but that was only a tiny percentage of his stock and only a momentary setback before leaping forward. Like climbing up a mountain, sliding back a step before taking two more. Or, in this case, sliding back two steps before taking six more forward. Jones lost two slaves but would soon have six more, none of whom a man like Wallace would ever otherwise have pulled off enslaving. So both sides did well for themselves.

  Jones could not be absolutely sure of success, only confident based on his past accomplishment in the enslavement field. You never really knew. People were complex, women included, and it was not easy or certain breaking them down to their most simplistic mental framework.

  The six woman ranged from the receptionist, to four nurses, to a lovely doctor. Jones expected the doctor to be the most difficult challenge. It might be best to take care of the strongest first, or at least early on. When the leader type succumbed the others may come in line all the easier.

  It gave Wayne Jones quiet pleasure to contemplate the six unwitting beauties waiting inside for him. How surprised and dismayed they would be when they learned Wallace was gone and he was their new boss. They were all thoroughly investigated while they were oblivious to the maneuverings that could so egregiously impact on their lives. Jones was nothing if not a moulder of destiny. He had a detailed dossier on each and knew he would feel a delightful moment of déjà vu as he met each of them. Not just beautiful, they were all nice, good, wholesome, moral ladies. Sensitive sweethearts wanting to help people and all that.

  That was exactly how Jones liked them. Why bother corrupting the already corrupt?Jones looked forward to the six little challenges ahead of him.

  It would keep him pleasantly and productively occupied while his arrayed forces advanced on other fronts. Vengeance on Cassandra Zane was a priority but it would be a long time before he became involved in that directly. That sort of thing -- even personal revenge -- was why a King had subjects.

  A well-dressed Wayne Jones stepped into the clinic. His new clinic. Time for the staff to meet him. Time for them to learn new roles.

  It was early, just seven in the morning. Jones didn’t mind since he was an early riser. Dr. Wallace reported that they opened the doors at seven but the first patient appointments didn’t begin until a half hour later. Jones needed to meet with the lovelies and task them to cancel appointments and coach them to turn away those who showed up for today’s appointments. He wasn’t concerned about the patient clients. They would be set up with equally competent doctors, those doctors would profit from an increase in business, and the staff here would be kept quite busy on a greater mission.

  The girl at the reception desk had a cute round face and a slim body. Dark brown hair framed her face, seeming to hug it. Jones could hardly blame the locks of hair their affection for her. She was so adorably cute and, by all accounts,
had a heart of gold.

  “You must be Amber Rogers. I’m so pleased to meet you!Allow me to introduce myself…. ”

  “Mother, for God’s sake, stop cleaning!I’m a grown woman you know!”

  Dawn Zane paused her disinfectant wipe down of Cassandra’s room as if she were seriously considering Cassandra’s request and declaration. Her wide intelligent-looking forehead furrowed in consternation.

  “Yes, I know you’re an adult Cassandra. At least in age since you are twenty-one. That doesn’t mean your room is clean. It isn’t. I’m just trying to help. ”

  “Maybe I want it messy, Mother. That’s my choice, isn’t it?You’re constantly cleaning!We’ve got plenty of money and there are maids out there that need jobs. I wouldn’t mind a maid cleaning up after me but you, it feels like an excuse to be nosy even though I know it isn’t. ”

  “It’s not the money and it’s not nosiness dear. I just love to clean. You know that. ”

  Dawn set aside the wipes. She’d come and clean sometime later when Cassandra was out with friends. She didn’t want to invade her personal space or do anything to alienate her daughter, the light of her life.

  She moved across the room to watch her daughter sitting at the vanity brushing her long, rich, brown hair. They both had their idiosyncrasies. For Dawn, it was cleaning. She loved to clean. Sweeping, mopping, dusting, dishes, laundry, any kind of cleaning. She even did windows. It was so relaxing and reassuring. Cassandra’s “thing” was her hair. It was quite long, nearly to her waist and she tended it all the time with visits to salons and at home brushing it to prevent snarls. Her hair had a beautiful fullness and luster. Just as Dawn did not clean for the sake of others, Cassandra’s preoccupation with her hair had little to do with ego though she was proud of her hair. It was a relaxing and reassuring habit. Cassandra took after her mother in more ways than just hair color and a light trim build.

  Ever since the incident with Wayne Jones Cassandra had barely dated despite her beauty and numerous suitors. When she did reluctantly date someone she never went on more than three total dates. Obviously she was avoiding making intimate connections, especially once they got to a point where a young man might expect some progress in sexual relations.

  “Mother, I love you so much and you take such good care of me, especially since Father died, but you need to live life to the fullest, and I don’t mean by opening an industrial cleaning business. Why aren’t you spending more time at the Ladies of Greenville Club?”

  “Those ‘ladies’ are always gossiping mean about everybody and comparing bank account statements. I don’t want to be like them. ”

  “C’mon, Mother, they can’t all be bitches. If you don’t want to hang with them you should join some kind of dating service. ”

  “Cassandra!”

  “Dad’s been gone over a year, Mother. If there is an afterlife, wherever he is, he couldn’t hold it against you. You know if the roles were reversed and you were lying in a coffin he’d be dating like crazy. He’d probably be remarried by now. ”

  “Cassandra!”

  “Mother, you know it’s true. He was a good husband and good father, too, but he was also a great catch. All that money?You know how superficial women are. Just as superficial as men except they pay attention to money and looks instead of just looks like the men do. ”

  “I hope you don’t really think that way. Everyone superficial, selfish, exploitive, and with ulterior purposes behind every act. You and I aren’t like that, now are we?”

  “No, we’re not, but we don’t have to be. Father left us tons of money. What if he hadn’t?If we were poor we’d both be working unskilled jobs pining away for a rich dude to come sweep away either one of us. We’re only not superficial because we can afford to be. Literally. ”

  Dawn gently took the brush from Cassandra’s fingers and took over brushing her daughter’s hair. That felt even better than cleaning. She marveled at Cassandra’s cynicism. She was so young and had so many advantages in life. Dawn knew the source of that cynicism. That asshole Wayne Jones.

  Nearly three years now since the neighbors heard Cassandra’s yells and screams all the way across the huge decorative pond. The police responded quickly -- they always did in the rich neighborhoods -- and found Cassandra naked and covered in whip marks and other signs of abuse. Wayne Jones had also been naked but, unlike Cassandra, was not chained down and had no physical damage. That monster Jones claimed the sex and chains and whipping were consensual sadomasochistic acts. Dawn didn’t know if such a thing even existed but her daughter had certainly set the record clear on that. Dawn and Cassandra’s father, Douglas, were on a Mediterranean cruise at the time. Jones was arrested and prosecution attempted.

  There was an issue with the “he said, she said” nature of the incident. The local press was near unbearable in their lack of respect for Zane family privacy. Sensationalist muckrakers!They fostered the idea that Wayne Jones’ defense was, in fact, the truth. They even fabricated stories of Cassandra’s lascivious sexuality and random sexual encounters at her private school. It was a nightmare!Poor Cassandra!

  Douglas, or rather one of the top lawyers he retained, struck upon an expedient solution that seemed brilliant at the time but much less so presently. Instead of prosecuting Wayne Jones in a criminal court where the press would have a field day -- or a field month more like -- and where the outcome was very much in doubt, they would simply have Wayne Jones declared “mentally unfit” and a “hazard to society”. That way he would be locked away for a long time and possible even forever. Also, no one would doubt Cassandra’s word against the word of a “diagnosed” madman.

  The problem was that Jones was not locked away forever. He was freed over three months ago. Every day Dawn and Cassandra wondered if he would show up at their doorstep. He’d supposedly stated he intended to seek revenge. How could they release such a man?Who were the incompetents to blame?If only Douglas were alive to deal with them and ensure Jones was locked away again, this time for good.

  Instead of being on the offensive all they could do was practice good defense. They weren’t the only ones watching for Jones to show himself. Detectives were out there trying to locate him and the house was guarded by four guards at any given moment. Money was no object when it came to protecting her daughter, her only child, her darling Cassandra.

  Her best expenditure, by far, was Indira Swanne. Indira was such a treasure!A mulatto, half black and half Indian, she was a very special body guard. She looked young enough that she was now attending the same classes at University as Cassandra was. That way they were together all the time and Indira appeared as just a close friend of Cassandra’s. That way she could get the drop on anyone intending harm to Cassandra, especially Wayne Jones whose face Indira had memorized. Indira gave Dawn great confidence.

  She was beautiful but Dawn understood she was deadly with her bare hands. More than that, she and Cassandra had already struck up quite a close friendship. Cassandra needed friends.

  “Slower, Mother, don’t rip any hairs out. ”Cassandra kept her voice as sweet as possible. She didn’t actually like her Mother touching her hair especially when her hands smelled like a cleaner’s. It was exasperating but she didn’t let it show. She knew her Mother was just trying to be a good parent, an effort she usually succeeded in, and she was just trying to help. So her exasperation was mixed with appreciation.

  “Have you decided what degree to pursue yet?”

  “No, you’d be the first to know. Plenty of time for that, Mother. I intend to take at least eight years to complete my degree. Maybe I’ll even do more than one degree just to keep going to school. After all, once I’m done you’ll probably expect me to get a job -- even though we don’t need the money -- and get married. You know, just because you married Father when you were younger than I am now doesn’t mean I want to be that way. I don’t want to go
around with people saying “There goes the wife of so-and-so”. I’d rather be my own person, define myself. ”

  “By taking classes endlessly, never working, and being a spinster?”

  Cassandra couldn’t help but grin. She loved it when her Mother showed spirit, “You’re being a smartass, Mother. Good for you!”

  Dawn snapped the oven door closed. It wasn’t even two weeks since she last cleaned it but she knew she’d clean it again today. Oh well, it was something to do and gave her a sense of accomplishment, however false. Dawn put food away in the butler’s pantry. The pantry was as big as a cabin and they could probably survive on the food in there for a year. Even so, she’d just come back from a shopping trip to their local high end grocery store. She always wanted the freshest vegetables and fruits. The cook would prepare them. She wasn’t much of a cook. Too bad, it would probably be a better hobby than cleaning, or at least a pursuit more respected by other people.

  She’d intended a long multi-store shopping trip along with a manicure and had told Cassandra and Indira as much but had changed her mind before she left and made it quick, only briefly visiting the grocery store. She had a headache and the poor dears looked hungry from all their studying. Even though Indira wasn’t actually pursuing a degree the professors didn’t know that and she still had to pass her exams. It was crucial for her to do that in order to maintain her “stealth” bodyguard positioning.

  Indira was so intelligent she was actually doing better than Cassandra and was practically a tutor for her. Dawn expected Cassandra’s B average to bump upwards.

  Dawn zipped up two stair cases, to the second floor and then up to the third floor of the mansion. No servants were allowed up here for security purposes as it held, among other rooms, Cassandra’s monstrous bedroom and attached bathroom, a room bigger than most people’s bedrooms.