Devilish Devices
Ashley Zacharias
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 Ashley Zacharias
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Contents
WWAC: The Un-Pleated Non-Dress
Forward
In this volume, I offer three novellas and a short story. Each story is based on a device that constrains a woman in a sado-masochistic scenario.
The first two novellas describe erotic adventures staged by five women who call themselves the Wicked Women’s Adventure Club.
In “WWAC: The Un-Pleated Non-Dress”, the constraining device is physical: a fiendish dress that forces a woman to be circumspect in her comportment while playing a game. But she faces a dilemma. If she acts too cautiously, she will lose the game and pay a sexual forfeit.
In “WWAC: The answer is ‘Yes’”, the constraining device is logical: a rule that, when followed, forces a woman to obey other people. Strangers sometimes benefit either by inadvertently saying the right thing or by discovering the rule that controls her behavior.
The short story, “The Joy of Contrition” provides an intermission to separate the Wicked Women’s Adventure Club novellas from the other novella. The constraining device is psychological: a woman needs to have herself punished in order to continue to engage in unethical behavior.
In “Voodoo Doll”, the constraining device is a sophisticated medical device that a wealthy woman has designed and had implanted in her body for her new husband’s amusement.
Although these stories describe activities that degrade the female protagonists, in all cases she is an informed, consenting adult. They do not include the kind of rape, mutilation, and murder that is offered nightly on television for general entertainment.
These stories are not for everyone. They are intended to appeal to people with a taste for submission, bondage, public humiliation, and sado-masochistic activities. If you do not enjoy these types of fantasy, you will not enjoy these stories.
You are warned.
Ashley Zacharias, 2011
WWAC: The Un-Pleated Non-Dress
“I hereby call this meeting of the Wicked Women’s Adventure Club to order.” Lydia looked at the four women sitting around the table and nodded. “I would like to take this opportunity to introduce our newest member, Miss Amelia Cox.”
The four other members nodded at the young woman with the short blond hair and muttered soft words of welcome.
She nodded back, nervously. The introduction was needlessly formal because she had met three of these four women already; and had told two of them a considerable amount about herself. But if this was the club ritual, then who was she to argue?
“Amelia is a senior analyst at Hawthorne, Blake, and Powell Consulting where she hopes to make junior partner within the next year.”
There was polite applause.
“Certainly we will do what we can to help her succeed.”
More enthusiastic applause.
“Amelia has been fully briefed by Trixie and understands the nature of our club. Today, she is ready to participate in her first adventure.”
Even more enthusiastic applause.
The other members of the club could see fear lurking beneath Amelia’s brave smile and empathized – each of them felt exactly the same fear when it was their turn for an adventure. Not just before their first adventure, but before every adventure. Each adventure was so different from every other, that, no matter how often a woman had participated before, the next adventure was still a new experience. Part of their enthusiasm in welcoming Amelia came from the other women’s relief that it would not be her who would be suffering the adventure this time.
But each member also felt a little let down for exactly that reason.
Amelia was bemused by the phrase, “fully briefed,” because she felt anything but. She had been told that the club was a small group of professional women who supported each other’s careers by engaging in a variety of “erotic adventures.” Other women might try to sleep their way up the corporate ladder, but the members of this club distained such boring and uncertain means to success. When you fish off the company dock, invariably you create a situation that comes back to hurt you in any number of unpleasant ways, from office gossip that destroys reputations to revenge by former lovers as you move on up. These women solved that problem by cross-pollination. Amelia would never have to have a personal relationship with anyone at HBP because the other women in the room would do that for her. But the quid pro quo was that she would put herself out there to assist the other women in this room when they needed personal help.
During the briefing, though, Trixie had been adamant that the word, “adventure,” was not a euphemism for prostitution. These women had far too much self-respect to simply sleep with men in exchange for career advancement. Rather each adventure was an elaborate and interesting game in its own right. It merely an incidental bonus that the games could be designed so that the stakes included mutual career advancement.
When Amelia had tried to get some sense of the nature of these adventures, she had been put off with assurances that it was impossible to explain because each adventure was entirely different from any other adventure. Sometimes they involved engaging in sexual acts, but not always. Usually they involved a competition with a winner and loser, but not always. Nothing was ever certain.
When Amelia had wondered if an adventure might involve picking up a man in a bar and spending the night with him, the other women had only laughed. “Nothing nearly as simple as that, my dear. That would be downright boring. If you wanted to do something that crude, you wouldn’t need an adventure club, you could just go trolling on your own. Nope. Our adventures are far more exciting than that.”
Amelia was fast realizing that excitement can be nothing but a euphemism for terror. But the popularity of horror movies and roller coasters provided ample evidence that people liked to experience terror. In the right setting.
So here she was, sitting in Lydia’s dining room, waiting to hear what kind of sexual adventure these women had created for her.
Lydia began by laying out the background. “Jeanne managed to win a contract for Brigstone Defense. Successful completion of this contract requires the development of new network management software for a military command and control system within the next year. It is critical to her career that this contract be completed successfully, but she cannot do that unless she can recruit a team of exceptional software developers. MIT holds a number of software development competitions for senior students and she has been wooing the winners of one of those competitions. The problem is that the team members have made it clear that they would rather work for a computer game startup than a defense contractor. Offers of substantially more money and appeals to their patriotism have fallen on deaf ears. We have raised the stakes by offering them a very special signup bonus if they will accept her offer.”
Amelia suddenly realized that her body was about to be offered as a “signup bonus” for a bunch of geeks. This wasn’t exactly what she would consider an erotic adventure. Maybe it was time to put a stop to this whole idea; walk out of the room and never see these women again.
Lydia noticed that Amelia was looking uncertain, but she continued talking, “The signup bonus that we have offered them is as follows. They are going to be given an opportunity to play a game against a beautiful woman. If they win, she will spend the night with them. If they lose, tough luck. They get nothing, but they still work for Jeanne for a year. They understand that the game is fair, that they have as much chance to lose as to win. And we have assured them that the game involves skill rather than chance. If they play well, they are likely to win; if Amelia plays better, then they are likely to lose. These guys love games. As long as the game is transparent, as long as they see that if they had been just a little smarter, played just a little better, that they would have won, then they won’t mind having lost. And, I hope, that as long as Amelia sees that she has a fair chance to win, then she will enjoy competing against them. Three MIT graduates who beat their classmates in a technology competition are no intellectual slouches. But I believe that any member of our club is an intellectual force to be reckoned with in her own right. And this game takes place in the real world, not in some computer. These guys aren’t all that worldly, if the truth be known. So, Amelia, do you accept the challenge? Are you prepared to play the game and pay the price if you lose?”
Amelia looked back at Lydia with wide eyes. “I don’t know. What kind of game is it?”
Lydia looked disappointed. “You won’t know the rules until the game starts and neither will they. It’s not a game of chess; it’s an adventure. It will require wit and imagination. And it will be fair to both sides. This is all any of you will know before the game starts. Will you accept the challenge or not?”
There was a long period of silence. Amelia looked at the other women, one by one. They looked back expectantly. She had joined the club because she wanted an erotic adventure. This was her opportunity. “I accept the challenge.”
The other women applauded long and loud. After the applause died out, Lydia said, “Welcome to our club, Amelia. You are a brave and bold woman. You are one of us.”
For an instant, Amelia felt brave and bold and her chest swelled with pride. Then she asked herself: What would a woman would have to do to be “brave and bold?” She had no answer and felt her pride washed away by a wave of fresh fear.
She consoled herself with the thought that whatever was coming, these women had already done similar things themselves. If these adventures had made these women the confident, successful people that she saw here, then it couldn’t be too bad. Could it?
“The game begins at twelve noon next Saturday in the Prudential Center. We will meet at the Free People Store in the Boyleston Arcade.” As the women rose, Lydia addressed Amelia, “I’ll pick you up at your house. You’ll be riding in my car. Don’t bring a purse, but we will need to borrow your car keys, so bring them along.”
Amelia wondered if she were being chauffeured for her convenience, if it were a necessary part of the game, or it they were just making certain that she didn’t chicken out. And she wondered why Lydia would need her car keys.
* * *
Trixie was chatting with the store manager when Lydia escorted Amelia through the Free People Store clothing boutique. She and the manager appeared to be friends. Amelia’s attention was attracted to the shopping bag that Natasha was holding. She could see black satin where the top of the bag gaped slightly, but had no idea if she were glimpsing a bit of a conservative blouse or whorish lingerie. As this was an erotic adventure, she feared the latter.
Lydia opened the door to a dressing room, let Amelia enter, and then followed her in. “Please disrobe.” With no small amount of trepidation, but maybe some small flutter of excitement as well, Amelia unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it from her shoulders. Natasha, carrying the shopping bag, entered without bothering to knock, overcrowding the small room for a few moments until Lydia slipped back out.
As Amelia undid the waistband of her jeans, Natasha spoke. “This is the game. You can think of it as a hunt. Like a treasure hunt. The treasure that you seek is your means to escape, specifically, a trench coat with your keys and a parking stub in the pocket. The location of your car is written on the stub. Get the coat, go to your car, drive home, and you’ve won. You will be following a trail of clues that lead to the coat. The treasure that the men seek is you. If they identify you and get you alone in a private location, they’ve won. The problem that the men face is that they do not know who you are or what you look like. They will be given clues about how to find you, but their clues are not simple or explicit. At least, not at the beginning. The problem that you face as you follow your trail of clues is that you will be handicapped by the clothing that you will be wearing.” Natasha looked at Amelia, “Please remove your bra, panties, and shoes.”
Amelia slipped her bra straps from her shoulders and twisted it around so that the hooks would be easy to reach. She hate being naked, even inside a dressing room, but feared that she would hate the clothing that Natasha carried in the shopping bag even more.
“You will be wearing a dress that has been designed specifically for this competition. You won’t be wearing underwear, of course.” She pulled a pleated black satin dress from the shopping bag and arranged it on a hanger, then hung the hanger on a hook.
As Amelia slipped her panties over her bare feet, she looked at the dress. She could see nothing special about it. It looked like a regular, semi-formal party dress: high empire waist with a wide band; wide, sharply-pressed pleats extending to a hemline that would reach to her knees or maybe a little below; and a demure halter-style bodice. Not backless, no neckline plunging to her waist, no crotch-baring hemline. She had expected that she would be wearing something rather more explicitly erotic like a black corset and obscenely short mini skirt. It was a bit of a relief to see that she would be wearing a rather modest semi-formal dress. Maybe even a little disappointing. Where was the erotic part of this adventure?
“Turn around and hold your arms a few inches away from your side.”
Amelia felt the dress slipping over her arms, then the high waistband being fastened about her ribs just under her bust, and, finally, she felt the halter being adjusted over her breasts. Once Natasha had tugged and adjusted it to her satisfaction, settling it into place, the dress fit perfectly – no surprise because her admission into the club had included allowing the women to take measurements of every part of her body.
The halter provided no support and she felt a little floppy, but that was all right. She did not have particularly large breasts so she did not need a lot of support. She looked down, but could see no outline of her nipples through the loose folds; nor any darkness from her areoles – the material was completely opaque. Her naked crotch felt like it was air-conditioned – the hemline allowed ample air flow and she had no panties snuggled against her moistness. Apart from those details, the dress felt good; easy to wear. Amelia did not yet see how this dress would hinder her in a race against the boys.
She stood still while Natasha walked around and examined her from every angle. “Perfect,” she said, then smiled wickedly. “Put on the shoes.”
Amelia nodded. That would be the trick. The shoes would hobble her in some way. They looked like normal shoes – black patent leather with three-inch spike heels – but maybe there was something painful hidden inside.
She bent to pick them up and got the shock of her life. The dress separated in the back and fell forward past her hips, to hang in ribbons from the bodice. She was completely naked from the bottom of her rib cage to her feet, her ass and cunt completely exposed. And, to top it all off, the halter cups slipped off her chest, so that her tits were hanging, free and uncovered.
She shrieked and stood back up.
The pleated dress fell back into place, looking once more like a modest semi-formal except that her boobs still hanging naked over the high waistband; the two pieces of the halter dangling like the useless black scraps of satin that they were.
Natasha lifted the halter pieces back into place. “That’s the problem, you see. The halter cups aren’t attached to anything. The waistband is held up by the two clear plastic spaghetti straps that fit over your shoulders. If you knock the halter straps off your shoulders, your tits will be left sitting in plain view for all the world to enjoy. You’ve got nice looking tits, but I doubt that you want to flash them to every shopper in the center. And the dress, of course, isn’t pleated at all. I call it an un-pleated non-dress because those aren’t really pleats. They’re independent strips of satin hanging from the waistband, shaped and reinforced with bits of plastic in strategic places to fall over your hips just like real pleats. As long as you stand upright, all will be fine. Bend over in any direction and they slide apart to show all. Take too big a step and your legs will shove them aside. Get caught in a breeze and they’ll blow in the wind like pennants. I’d advise you to spend the remainder of the day walking slowly and elegantly with perfect posture unless you do want to be taken away by mall security for being a female flasher. If we have to step in and bail you out with the police or anyone else, that’s an automatic loss and we hand you over directly to the boys. Now, you better put your shoes on because you can’t walk around barefoot.”
When Amelia sat and bent to fasten her shoes, the non-dress fell away from her again, leaving all her vital parts naked once more. When she stood again, the un-pleats fell right back where they belonged. She felt behind to assure herself that her ass was covered again. It was. The non-dress was perfectly engineered. When she manually returned the halter to its proper position, she felt small weights sewn into the ends of the straps that hung down her back. She realized that would have to spend the remainder of the day fighting to keep those weights in their proper position just below her shoulder blades.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I’ll take your watch.” Amelia handed her watch over and Natasha put it in her purse. “The game is timed, but you don’t need to know the time to the nearest minute and there are lots of clocks around. Right now, it’s twelve-twenty and the boys have already been given their first clue: that you are a woman between the age of eighteen and thirty-five, that you are somewhere in the building complex, and that you are wearing clothes that are exceptionally erotic. Knowing these guys, I expect that they are looking for someone who is dressed like a streetwalker or dominatrix. Or more likely, Laura Croft. If you’re careful, you can hide from them easily enough. But if you make a clumsy move and flash a bit of tit or ass when they’re nearby, they’ll be on you like flies on shit. They’re dweebs but they’re not dumb and they know that the best way for them to win the game is to find you as quickly as possible. If they figure out who you are, they’ll be able to follow you to one of your clues and then leapfrog you. They can move a hell of a lot faster than you and, if they get to the end of the hunt before you do, you’re toast. Even if they don’t figure out who you are, you have to beat them because, as the day wears on, the clues that they get will become more explicit. If you haven’t made it to your car keys by five o’clock, their last clue will tell them exactly who you are and where to find you. You want to be long gone before they get that clue, believe me.” She gestured to the door. “Let’s get started.”
Amelia was concentrating on the game rules and forgot that she was wearing the non-dress. When she turned and took a step, she flashed herself in the full-length mirror that was mounted on the back of the dressing room door. The pleats parted and her skin beamed white and stark against the shiny black material – a beacon blazing in the night. She caught a clear view of pubic hair where her legs met. She froze, and the pleats returned to position. When she took a much slower, more delicate step, the pleats stayed in place, protecting her modesty. She took a few experimental steps round the dressing room. The satin strips slithered easily across her skin. To keep herself covered, she had to take steps that kept her knees within a couple of inches of each other. At this rate, it would take her a half hour to walk the length of the mall. They weren’t kidding when they said that her dress would handicap her. How could she win a race through a public venue when she was forced to saunter along as though she had not a care on her mind and all the time in the world?
She wanted her jeans and blouse back, but Natasha had already stuffed them into the shopping bag and was not about to return them. Her eyes were glittering with the excitement of the game. Natasha was in the club for the thrill of the competition and Amelia suspected that she had designed the game rules as well as the non-dress.
When Trixie saw Amelia emerge from the dressing room actually wearing Natasha’s dress, she felt immensely relieved. She and Amelia were almost the same size. The game must go on and, if Amelia had chickened out, she was the club’s designated backup player. If Amelia had quit, she would have been called into the dressing room and, right now, she would have been the one mincing ever so carefully through the store, wondering if she were going to be entertaining the geek squad all night long. Somewhere deep inside, she felt a twinge of disappointment. These games were a lot more intense when it was you own ass on the line – literally – and Trixie had joined the group for the rush of the adventure more than for the career advancement side benefits. Today Amelia was the star of the show and the rest of them were just the audience. Trixie envied her.
As the women left the store, Lydia handed Amelia an envelope. “This is your first clue. If you hope to win, you won’t waste any more time around here.”
Three of the other women walked away immediately, but Jeanne lingered and, once the others were out of earshot, said in a private tone, “Something you should remember. There’s a Costco-sized bottle of K-Y jelly in the drawer beside the bed. If you lose, you’re going to need every drop of it. The boys spent most of the week doing research on Internet porn sites and spent most of last week compiling a list of things that they want to do to you. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to have to find out what’s on that list.”
Jeanne was the sadist in the group, always happy to instill a little more terror in the victim. The salt in the wound was that she was the one whose career was being helped because Amelia was playing this game.
After Jeanne slinked away, Amelia opened the envelope and read her first clue. “Barnes and Noble, The Story of O, Page 69. Hope you get there before someone buys it.” She seldom shopped downtown and had no idea where the bookstore might be. She carefully turned a full circle; she could feel the satin pleats slithering against each other, but was certain that they had not parted to show any forbidden flesh. There was no bookstore in sight. Having no better plan, she began walking, slowly and elegantly, with perfect posture, toward the centre of the mall.
She began to realize that, for her, this game was going to be an on-going exercise in self-discipline because she dared not forget herself and flash her ass. If the hunters did not see her, some prude would surely call mall security and report her. She had no hope of running away.
* * *
Floyd, Gerry, and Adam were giddy with excitement. Not all MIT graduates were geeks – far from it – but these three boys were the kind that had given rise to the stereotype. Between the three of them, they had less sexual experience than the starting quarterback of the average freshman high school football team. But today was their big chance. If they won this game, they would all be men-of-the-world by breakfast tomorrow. And that was what they wanted, more than anything else, more than falling in love or slaking their lust. To have some experience. They were sick of going to the pub, trying to pretend that they had more than an academic knowledge about things that the other guys were bragging about, and seeing the contempt in their peers’ eyes. The next time another guy mentioned some common sexual act, they wanted to be able to say, in a casual tone, “Yeah, I’ve done that,” with a jaded look in their eyes.
They discussed their first clue with a tone of near reverence. “A woman wearing exceptionally erotic clothing,” Adam gushed. “What do you think? Lace? Black leather?”
“Maybe a short red dress,” Floyd countered. “Real short. Like short enough to see her underwear. And a tube top, too. You know, real tight with bare shoulders.”
“Black silk stockings with a seam up the back and a garter belt. Or a corset. Corset’s are really erotic.”
“Wait a minute,” Gerry interrupted the other two. “I think we have to take the clue at its face value. It didn’t say erotic clothing, it said exceptionally erotic clothing. What you guys are talking about is pretty standard, not exceptional. I think we have to look for something outside the ordinary.”
“Hey, man. A corset and silk stockings is outside the ordinary. You don’t see that walking around the mall every day. Not with really high heels, too.” Floyd said.
“Especially if it’s a leather corset.” Adam’s eyes were wide with hope.
Gerry did not want to dash his friend’s hopes, but he really wanted to win and that meant making them see reality. “All I’m saying is that, at this point, we have to be careful not to blinker ourselves. If we form too many preconceptions, we’re going to miss something important. If you see a woman who’s dressed like a porn star at a film promo, fine, but don’t look only for that. Look at all the other women, too, and try to see if they are erotic in a more subtle way.”
“You mean like not wearing a bra? It better be something better than that. But don’t worry. We’re not going to miss anything,” Floyd pouted. “The chicks who made up this hunt aren’t like geniuses, you know. When they say erotic clothing, they aren’t thinking cosplay. And if they are, Sailor Moon isn’t going to walk through the mall without one of us noticing.”
“Don’t underestimate Jeanne and her friends. She didn’t get to be a partner at Brigstone Defense at her age by being a dummy. These women play to win. Keep your eyes peeled for something subtle.”
“Yeah. Of course.” Floyd looked offended.
Adam said, “What about the other part of the clue – that she’d be between eighteen and thirty-five? Can we do anything with that?”
“Not much. I think they deliberately gave us a wide range just to keep us guessing. We wouldn’t want to win if the woman was too old and they wouldn’t dare hand a minor over to us because they could get into trouble. Eighteen to thirty-five is the biggest range they could offer and keep us interested. I’m hoping that they’ll narrow down the age range in the next clue,” Gerry said.
“You think she’s a hooker?” Floyd asked.
“I don’t think so. They promised us that the woman wouldn’t be a pro. What did they say? That we would ‘win a night with a willing and enthusiastic amateur.’ We have to believe them.”
“That’s good,” Floyd replied. “I don’t want a hooker. If I’d wanted that, I could have hired one myself and I wouldn’t have to give up a year of my life writing boring code.”
Adam shrugged. “A hooker’d be better than nothing.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Gerry said. “They have to honor their part of the deal if they expect us to honor our part. They promised us a fair game and a regular woman who would be willing to do anything we wanted, all night long.”
“So, let’s get looking for this mystery woman,” Adam said. “Time’s a wasting.”
“We split up,” Gerry replied. “We can cover more ground that way. Just remember that we’re looking for exceptionally erotic clothing. Not just your average goth teenager in a black miniskirt and tight sweater.”
“What do we do if we think we’ve found her?”
“Follow her. Don’t let her see you, but keep her in sight, no matter what. We have to watch out for each other. If you see one of us following a woman, then close in and help out. If you find her, it could be a couple of hours before the rest of us find you, but that’s all right. The important thing is that we don’t lose her again. If we can pick up the trail of clues that she’s following, then we can figure out where she’s going next and trap her. So, we’re supposed to find the next clue at the Barnes and Noble bookstore in an algebra book at one o’clock. Everyone who’s not tailing the woman, meet there and we’ll plan our next step. If you don’t show, we’ll assume that you’ve found her and we’ll come looking for you.”
“What if I’m tailing the wrong woman?”
“Keep on her until she goes into a ‘private place,’ whatever that is. Better to follow the wrong one for a while than to let the real one get away. You’ll know if it’s the wrong woman if she leaves the mall. The clue said that the woman will be in the mall and that means that she has to stay in the mall.”
“Damn, I wish we had cell phones to keep in touch,” Adam complained.
“Against the rules, man. We gotta play by the rules or they won’t have to pay up when we win. Besides, it wouldn’t be much fun if it was too easy.”
“I don’t care about fun, I just want to win.”
“We all want to win.” Gerry clapped his friends on their shoulders. “So let’s get out there and do it.”
* * *
“You think they’ll run into each other in the bookstore?” Jeanne asked Natasha.
“I don’t know. It’ll be close. Amelia got dressed and brought up to speed on the rules of this adventure in less time than I’d scheduled. She’s a quick study but she’s walking slower than I expected.”
“Can she win if she keeps walking that slowly?” Jeanne watched Amelia sauntering down the mall, pretending to window shop as she went.
“I don’t think so. I’m hoping that she’ll learn to walk quicker with practice. She’s going to have to take some chances if she wants to beat the boys to ground.”
Jeanne’s eyes glittered. “I don’t think she has it in her. I think she’ll waste the whole day worrying about flashing a patch of skin and end up entertaining the troops all night long.”
Natasha was no friend of Jeanne. Her stomach clenched as she recalled the last adventure that Jeanne had designed for her. She still relived that camping trip in her nightmares. “She’s got more balls that you think. I’ve given her a good, fair chance.”
“What to add a little spice to the game?”
“What kind of spice?” Natasha felt herself getting set up, but couldn’t stop herself from walking into Jeanne’s snare.
“What do you say to a little side bet?”
“On Amelia?”
“Exactly. I think she’s going to lose, you think she has a good chance of winning. The game will be a lot more interesting if we’ve got something to lose along with her.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We promised the boys two bonuses. A signing bonus now and a completion bonus next year after the clients accept delivery of their software. Let’s say we wager the completion bonus.”
“You mean, you or me?”
“Exactly. Amelia wins today and I’ll serve as the completion bonus next year, competing in a game that you design. Amelia looses today and, next year, I design a game for the boys with you as the prize.”
Natasha thought about that for a minute. “That violates the rules of the club. You’d be engaging in a sexual adventure with your own employees. The whole idea of the club is that we keep out of our professional colleagues’ beds.”
“I’m willing to suspend that rule for one game. Just think of it as giving me a little extra incentive to root for the boys today. I’m going to be their boss for the next year. If they fail to win Amelia, then, I get to spend that year knowing that I’m going to end up being their sex toy. Surely that idea appeals to you. That I would be the target of a year’s worth of sexual frustration from the very geeks who are supposed to look up to me and respect me.”
That idea appealed to Natasha very much. After suffering through Jeanne’s sadistic adventure, she wanted nothing more than a chance to put Jeanne in the hands of three exceptionally horny young men who had spent a year suffering under her micro-supervision. “It’s a bet.”
As she shook Jeanne’s hand, Natasha prayed that Amelia would play well because, if she lost, it would be Natasha who was playing by Jeanne’s rules next year and that would not go well.
However the game turned out today, the boys would be assured of an easy win next year.
* * *
Every time Amelia took another slow step, she heard the satin slithering and felt cold air swirling around her moist nether parts. With every step, she was sure that the non-dress had parted like the Red Sea before Moses’ staff. But she kept looking at her reflection in the store windows and saw that her pace was sufficient to keep her modesty intact.
There were fine clothes in the windows by the Fashion Court and she wished that she were wearing them. She would already be at the bookstore if she were able to move normally. She had no money to buy an alternate dress, but she thought briefly about slipping into one of these stores and stealing a coat off the rack. That was tempting but would entail too much risk. She was no shoplifter and these stores had good security. If she were apprehended, she would gain a criminal record as well as losing the game. That would be hard on her career.
All she could do was look longingly at the elegant threads on the manikins and keep moving.
Emerging from the Boyleston Arcade, she saw a mall directory in the Center Court. She felt exposed, walking across the open area at her sedate, elegant pace. Her heart was pounding and her stomach churning with fear as she thought, first about what might be written on page 69 of The Story of O, and then about what might be written on the list of sexual acts that the boys had compiled. No man had ever penetrated her asshole with even as much as a pinkie finger, but Jeanne’s comment about needing a whole bottle of K-Y jelly suggested that she could be in for a lot more than that. Her sphincter puckered reflexively at the thought. With her body and mind both in such turmoil, being forced to move in such an elegant and dignified manner was a separate torture in its own right.
With every step, she worried that the halter cups were slipping and casually raised, first one hand, then the other to check that the straps were still in place over her shoulders. She would suffer the most dramatic exposure if she bent over, but the halter was the part that was most likely to slip if her attention wandered. Everybody’s shoulders slope downward from their neck so it was inevitable that the shoulder straps would slip further with every move she made, no matter how slow and careful she was.
She was relieved when the directory told her that she had been walking in the right direction and was already more than half-way to the bookstore – she need only continue down Winter Garden Arcade to the Barnes and Noble entrance.
She turned her head and upper torso in that direction – a motion that stretched her right shoulder down and pressed her right breast against the inside of the loose halter cup. The strap slipped off and the cup fell away, exposing her entire right tit to the open air. She suppressed a shriek and snatched at the dangling cup, throwing the weighted strap back over her shoulder. But that sudden movement, combined with the stress that her upper body torsion was putting on the pleats made them part from her right knee all the way up to the base of her rib cage on her right side. The pleats fell away to mid-hip, exposing half of her right buttock. She gasped at her gaff and snapped back into her erect posture. As the pleats shifted back into position, they flashed tiny, tantalizing bits of white skin here and there all around.
She froze and stared straight ahead at the directory, waiting to hear screams and feet running toward her, shouts of “Slut!” and “Whore!” and “You’re under arrest!” but all was normal. She heard nothing but the murmur of quiet conversation and footsteps clicking across the tiles, nothing directed toward her or coming in her direction.
Carefully, she turned around. No one was paying the slightest attention. No one had noticed her. Or, at least, if anyone had, they were pretending that they had seen nothing.
No one except one young man standing by himself on the other side of the courtyard. Amelia did not notice him until she began walking again, taking one careful step after another toward the Winter Garden Arcade and the bookstore. Suddenly, she felt his eyes following her every movement with a preternatural avidity. He was fifty feet away, but when she met his gaze, he dropped his eyes and turned away with a blush that was bright and visible from this distance.
God! Was this one of the hunters? Had she been found so early in the game? Had she already lost?
She watched him shuffle away with his eyes on the ground, trying to pretend that he had seen nothing, trying to pretend that their eyes had never locked, even for an instant.
He certainly looked like a geek.
She resumed her progress, her heart sinking. If she had been caught, then it was only a matter of time until this kid would be fucking her every way that his perverted imagination could conceive. He looked so young. So clumsy. So not the lover she dreamed of.
And, somewhere, there would be two more boys just like him.
* * *
It was time to get to the bookstore. Adam had spent the last twenty minutes in The Game Stop, sorting through PS3 games, telling himself that he could design a better game than any one of these. There was no imagination here at all on the rack, just one first-person shooter after another.
If Floyd and Gerry hadn’t been so keen on getting laid, all three of them could be working on a new game design right now instead of having to spend the next year working on some dull defense contract. It was going to be a real-time network manager for command and control systems. They wouldn’t even be writing a weapons simulator. It wouldn’t be anything like designing a computer game.
Damn, they better win this game and this chick better put out like they were promised or he was going to forget the whole deal and walk away.
Of course, there was the completion bonus, as well. If the signup bonus was as good a promised, he’d sure like to stick around to collect the completion bonus, too. He had to admit that he’d been just as keen as the other two to get his wick dipped but good.
He knew that he should have spent the last half hour wandering through the mall, looking for the chick instead of hiding in here reading the backs of computer game boxes, but it was still early in the day. They’d be getting better clues later. That was the way this game worked. No sense wearing himself out now.
As he walked through the mall, he inspected every eligible woman’s chest in detail, making sure that he could discern some evidence of a bra before moving past. It could be that the only sexy aspect of their prey’s clothes was that she wasn’t wearing underwear, and he had to make sure that he didn’t miss her.
He was oblivious to the offended looks that he received from the women who were the objects of his inspection. He was a veteran bra inspector and had received such looks every day for years. They meant nothing to him.
So intent was he on his task that he bumped full on into some kid who was walking along in a state of equal distraction. “Hey, watch where you’re going!”
The kid said nothing, just kept staring across the mall at a woman in a black dress who was slowly sauntering in the direction of the South Garden. Floyd looked at her for a few moments, but saw nothing special about her. She was four of five years older than him, pretty, but dressed up like a snooty Saks shopper. Not his kind of chick at all; more like the classy women who had been snubbing him since he was a high school freshman.
“She’s way out of your league, kid,” Floyd snapped and continued on his way, toward the bookstore, by coincidence, walking in the same direction that the kid was looking. As he walked, he kept a watch for the woman that they had been promised, undoubtedly some braless floozy in hot pants.
Halfway across the court, Floyd glanced back and saw the kid still standing in the same place, still staring at the woman in black, who was still slowly walking down the Winter Garden Arcade. “Retard,” he muttered and marched on toward the bookstore.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, he continued to wonder why the kid was so entranced by this particular woman.
As he walked past her, he took a close look, but could see nothing special about her.
He had to meet his friends in the math section of Barnes and Noble.
* * *
The Story of O was fiction, so it would be found in the fiction section, but Amelia could not remember who had written it. Some French woman. For a minute, she was afraid that she was going to have to ask one of the clerks to find it for her. The only clerk in sight was a pimply-faced adolescent who was stocking art books in the bargain shelves. He was not a person with whom she would enjoy a discussion of pornographic literature. She feared that he might be only too familiar with the location of the book she needed. Then she spied the computer terminal that allowed customers to search all the books in the store electronically. Thank-goodness, she would not have to talk to the clerk.
A few minutes later, she was standing in front of the right shelf looking down at the book she needed. Way down. Undoubtedly it was no accident that store’s only copy of The Story of O was stuck on the bottom shelf. She looked at the shelves. There were odd crowdings and empty spacings suggesting that someone had rearranged these shelves to ensure that the book she needed would be exactly where it was. How could she bend over and get the book without exposing her entire lower body to public view? There was no possible way. She looked around. Shelving blocked her from sight of customers in most of the store, but there were three open prospects, one in each direction along the wall and one between a row of shelves to almost the front of the store. There was an elderly woman, maybe eighty years old, walking slowly down the aisle away from her, but she was not looking around; she seemed to be concentrating on the books. In the other direction, there were two young men browsing aimlessly. One glanced in her direction and she turned her head to avoid catching his eye. The third direction was clear for the moment. There were windows some distance away in that direction, looking out on heavy foot traffic in the mall, but there was nothing to be done about that. Those people were not looking into the store – they had other shopping to do.
She waited for a long minute until the two young men had turned a corner and were out of sight. Then she carefully looked in all directions to ensure that only the elderly woman remained in sight; and that she was looking away. Taking a deep breath, she plunged down and grabbed the book. Predictably, the shreds of the non-dress fell apart, exposing her from the rib cage down, exactly as intended. The halter cups slid off her breasts, leaving her tits, shoulders, and upper back naked.
Book in hand, she bounced erect again and the un-pleats slid back together. Casually, she flipped the halter cups back into position before opening the book. She wanted to whirl around and see if anyone had caught her momentary strip tease, but dared not. Not only would a sudden movement re-open the pleats, but her action would signal to anyone watching that something had happened. Even if someone had seen the brief show, they would probably think that they had been mistaken about what they had seen if she remained cool.
That was her hope.
She opened the book to page 69 and saw these words scrawled in the margin: “Get the envelope from behind the book.”
She examined the book. There was no envelope tucked inside. What did that mean? “Behind the book.”
She looked down at the shelf. Was the envelope on the shelf behind where the book had been? Damn. Even bending down to look would require a second exposure of skin and private parts – a longer exposure because it would take a few extra seconds to reach behind the books and search for an envelope.
If she had to keep exposing herself, sooner or later, some prude was going to see her in an indelicate state, call mall security, and have her arrested.
She hated this too-aptly-named non-dress that she was wearing. What was a respectable, thirty-one-year-old professional businesswoman doing in a situation like this?
Once again, she scanned all three prospects, waited until nobody was looking, and then swooped into a low crouch. She dumped a handful of books onto the floor, thrust her hand through the gap, and, thankfully, felt manila. She knocked another couple of books off the shelf when she yanked the envelope free and stood back up.
Once again, she had to replace the halter cups to restore her modesty.
After a minute, she looked around carefully. This time, she saw the elderly lady staring at her with disgust.
She turned her back and walked carefully away, opening the envelope as she went. There were a few dollar bills inside and an instruction sheet that told her to buy the book, take it to the Saks Fifth Avenue lingerie department, and give it to the clerk named, “Mandy.” The instructions also said that she did not need a bag to carry just one book.
Damn. She had dropped the book when she had picked up the envelope. The Story of O was lying among the heap of books that she had left on the floor back up the aisle. She carefully turned and began walking back the way she had come. Back toward the elderly woman who was now walking toward her.
Because she was walking slowly and carefully, the woman reached her before she reached the book. The woman hissed, “You made that mess, young lady. Now you get back there and you clean it up or I’m going to report you to the store manager. You youngsters have no respect for anything any more. You clean that mess up, you hear?”
Amelia was dumbfounded. Had the woman not seen her ninety per cent naked? Or did she care more about neatness than modesty? Whatever, the woman was not going away quietly. “If you have to report me, ma’am, then I suggest you go do it.”
“You…You…You…” The woman sputtered, then found the word, “Pig. You messy pig.” She turned and marched off.
Amelia threw caution to the wind. She had to get out of here before the woman returned with a clerk. There was no one in sight in front of her so she marched the three last steps to the book, heedless of the way the pleats blew aside to leave her pussy bare, swooped down and grabbed the volume of classic pornography, and then stood and replaced her halter cups once again. She was getting well-practiced at flipping the lightly-weighted straps back over her shoulders.
Once she had the book in one hand, the envelope with the money in the other, and the dress arranged modestly, she strolled in the direction of the cash registers, her gait once again slow and stately, her posture perfect.
When she got to the front of the store, the elderly lady was creating as much commotion as she could, waving her arms about and shouting about “messy young people.”
The store manager was doing his best to manage her, assuring her that a clerk had already been dispatched to clean up the mess and that Barnes and Noble strived to keep their stores as presentable as possible at all times.
Then the woman spied Amelia. “There she is!” She pointed wildly in Amelia’s direction. “That’s the messy woman!”
The manager looked at Amelia, dressed in such a clean, conservative, modest dress, walking slowly and elegantly with perfect posture, shrugged and smiled abashedly.
Amelia smiled back in sympathy and waited for a minute until the next cashier was free.
The elderly woman, finding no resolution to her satisfaction, stormed out of the store, threatening to move back to New York where people were more considerate of each other.
The clerk, by chance, the same pimply adolescent who had been stocking shelves earlier, did not bother asking if she wanted a bag, but, with a blush, stuffed the book away as soon as possible, even before taking her money from her.
She left the few coins change on the counter. Having no purse and needing her hands to maintain the integrity of the pieces of halter about her bosom, she had no easy way to carry them. She also interpreted the instruction that “she did not need a bag” to mean that she was not allowed to have one. She slipped the book out of the bag and left it on the counter as well. That was no big deal – she could easily carry the book with the spine down and the cover held toward her body.
Before she left the counter, she slid the envelope with the instructions inside toward the clerk, “Would you throw that in the trash for me, please?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replied and tossed the envelope into the receptacle under the counter.
* * *
Gerry, Adam, and Floyd were unaware of the commotion that was taking place at the other end of the store. They were too busy complaining about the contents of the envelope that they had found tucked into a book on abstract algebra.
“What kind of clue is this?” Adam whined. “It says that the lady likes to read. That’s it? She likes to read? What the hell does that mean? Lots of women like to read. Are we supposed to go looking for a woman who’s reading something? A woman who’s sitting around in sexy clothes reading a book.”
“Or maybe it means a woman who wears glasses,” Gerry said. “Maybe they just mean that we should look for women wearing glasses.”
“That’d be sexy all right,” Adam sniffed.
“I make passes at women who wear glasses,” Floyd snickered, having no idea that he was referencing Dorothy Parker. These men had as little experience with literature as they had with sex.
“You make passes at everyone, all the time,” Adam replied. “It’s completing the pass that’s the problem.”
“Yeah, well, if you get busy, we’ll will find a woman who’ll complete all our passes tonight,” Gerry snapped, “And if you just want to stand here sniggering, then we’ll be spending the rest of the year with our dicks in our own hands, wishing we’d tried a little harder today. Let’s get to it.”
“But we don’t know what we’re looking for.”
“We’re looking for a woman in sexy clothes who likes to read. Just look for anyone who might fit that description.”
“Yeah,” Adam replied doubtfully, “and what about the rest of it. Who’s going to get the next clue?”
The three young men looked at each other uncertainly. Finally, Gerry said, “Okay, if you guys are too wimpy, I’ll take care of it.”
“You’re the man,” Adam grinned in relief.
“Yeah,” Floyd agreed. “We’ll wait for you outside Saks.”
“Damn right, you will. I don’t need you guys inside giggling and raising a fuss while I’m looking through lady’s lingerie.”
“That’d be a sight to see, though,” Adam grinned.
“If i see you anywhere in sight, and you’ll be the one looking for the clue. Got it?”
“Yessir.” The two others snickered in chorus.
“Grow up.”
* * *
Lydia sat on a bench in the South Garden and watched through the windows, her eyes following Amelia out of the store. “She’s got lots of time to get to Saks and ditch the book.”
Trixie nodded. “As long as she doesn’t get spotted with it, first. I still think this clue is coming too early in the game. It must be obvious to the hunters that they are looking for someone carrying a book and Amelia’s got to be the only woman in the whole mall who’s doing that. Anyone else would have their book in their purse or in a bag.”
“They have to have a fair chance.”
“But not a sure thing. They can move so much faster than her and there are three of them. They can get to the far end of the shopping mall and back before she can get hardly anywhere.”
“Maybe. But Natasha made the rules and she usually has a good idea about what’s fair.”
Trixie nodded again. “Amelia doesn’t know how glad she should be that we didn’t let Jeanne make up the game like she wanted to.”
Lydia nodded. “Jeanne does like to see us suffer, doesn’t she?”
“She sure made Natasha suffer on that camping trip. You know what I think about keeping her in the club.”
Lydia nodded. “I know. But I don’t think she’d go too far. She pushes us to the limit, but not over. Not yet.”
“I think she put Natasha over the limit.”
“I would have thought so, too, but Natasha didn’t. She voted to keep Jeanne in the club. She knew that we would have excluded Jeanne if she had said the word.”
“That surprised me,” Trixie admitted.
Lydia frowned. “Maybe Jeanne has a sharper perception about what we can handle than you or I do. I think that if it had been you instead of Natasha going on that camping trip, Jeanne would have made the game a lot easier. I don’t think she’d try to put you through as much as Natasha.”
“I’m glad that you have confidence in her.” Trixie’s voice was dry with irony.
“Not that much confidence. If Jeanne ever designs a game for you to play, Natasha and I’ll go over the rules and consequences with a fine-toothed comb first. I promise you that.”
“I trust you and Natasha.”
“Thanks,” Lydia smiled.
“But I still think this game favors the boys over Amelia. And these aren’t the kind of boys who know or care what things are going to feel like for her. She’s going to get slammed all night long tonight. I pity that poor girl.”
Lydia thought that maybe Trixie secretly envied Amelia “getting slammed all night long” but said nothing. She just smiled a little smile inside.
* * *
The mall was getting busy and Amelia had a new concern. People passed close to her as they rushed about. If they brushed against her, they were going to brush the un-pleats aside and give everyone a flash of her flesh, no matter how carefully she was walking. Yet, to get to Saks from Barnes and Noble, she had to cross the busiest part of the mall, where people were rushing from the Copley Hotel at one end to the Hayne’s Conference Center at the other.