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The Informer
by Uto
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© Copyright 2018 - Uto - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-F; prostitute; FF+/f; capture; bond; gag; raincoat; force; threat; kidnap; transport; revenge; clinic; examination; naked; captive; cons/reluct; X
jpn
The Informer Uto Solo-F; prostitute; FF+/f; capture; bond; gag; raincoat; force; threat; kidnap; transport; revenge; clinic; examination; naked; captive; cons/reluct; X
 

The Informer Part 1

It was a cold wet late winter afternoon in a quiet middle class inner city suburb.

Molly was walking back to her home in a narrow, almost deserted street. She was a slim narrow waisted young woman in her late twenties with an attractive face and lustrous black shoulder length hair. She was not of European background like most residents of the locality in which she lived. Instead, she one of the indigenous race that had once inhabited the country before present settlement but were now very few in numbers. Like many of her people she was fit, athletic and very dark complexion. As a rule they were not discriminated against, not in the city anyway.

Her home was a two floor terrace townhouse in a block of identical housing units. It had a narrow frontage with a minute front yard. Then the residence itself and lastly a long courtyard which backed onto a paved lane.

She had lived here quietly for some years and had very little to do with her neighbours. She was also a successful practising prostitute.

Her fellow residents did not know what she did. Most thought she was somehow vaguely connected with the entertainment business. The club scene, stage, advertising film work - something like that. A behind the scenes job, they thought. Certainly not an actress, nobody had ever heard of her appearing in anything. They all knew she kept to herself and they tended to leave her alone. And Molly was quite happy about this.

She mainly worked out of her small property which she was paying off. Some few of her clients came to her home and could be relied on to be discreet in their comings and goings but mostly they lived outside the immediate area. These she visited on foot, making house calls herself, as she had just done this winter afternoon. Because of this she might perhaps be best described as a call girl. All told, her business worked quietly, unobtrusively and very efficiently. And she did quite well out of it.

It had not always been like this. A few years ago a functioning brothel had opened about a mile away near the boundary with a busy industrial area. And Molly’s trade, together with that of several other ladies like herself, had diminished accordingly. 

This enterprise had been owned by a magnate amongst brothel operators named Agnes Jardine. This lady entrepreneur was in the business in big way, owning many such establishments throughout this and other cities and even, it was rumoured, in other countries. It was generally felt by Molly, and others whose business had suffered, that she need not have started this place at all. It was well known she was a millionaire many times over and certainly did not need the money. They felt they quite adequately catered for local trade.

The competition did not last long. Molly had seen to it that local Council learned that some of their zoning requirements were being ignored and that the police found out that certain by-laws were being flouted. The end result was a raid that closed the brothel down for good.

Agnes was furious and she was well known as a bad woman to cross. It was rumoured that some who had betrayed her had simply disappeared. At least such an informant could expect to be badly beaten up but Molly had covered her tracks very carefully throughout. It had happened a year ago now and she felt that as more time went by without anything happening to her, the safer she was.

Actually, Agnes knew full well what Molly had done. She’d known for a long time now.

But Molly was unaware of this as she made her way home this late rainy afternoon after a visit to an old client. She was wearing a long, tight fitting raincoat firmly belted at the waist and a matching rain hat. She carried a leather briefcase which fitted in with her local role of show business woman. Actually, it held a couple of hand towels, necessary in her work. Sometimes it carried ropes, sashes and other bondage equipment. She catered for many tastes. A drizzle began to fall and drops collected on her wet weather gear. She quickened her pace to get under cover before it got any worse.

She crossed her small paved front yard in two steps and began to unlock her front door. This was protected by an expensive state of the art deadlock. In her situation she believed in total security. This lock certainly provided this but was complicated and took some time both to open and close. 

Molly finally got the door open, entered and then turned immediately to re-set the lock, dropping her brief case on the floor. She did not turn on the light immediately, the switch was some distance away along the wall and she considered security came first. Re-locking took some time but she got it done and then reached for the light-switch. And then a voice spoke from the darkened rear of the room.

“Good evening Molly.”

Startled, Molly snapped on the light and spun round. Two women were seated on chairs against the rear wall. Both were wearing overcoats. With sinking heart Molly realised who they were. And that both worked for Agnes Jardine. 

One was Florence. Aged about forty with a trim, athletic figure, she had a square, determined face framed by short straight brown hair. She had once worked as a prostitute for Agnes but now had some sort of administrative job in her organisation. She was known to handle difficult assignments. Such as dealing with people who got on the wrong side of her employer.

The other was Betty, late twenties, solid chunky build with jet black hair and a pugnacious look about her. She was one of Agnes’ working girls but occasionally did other work for her. Molly could guess why they were here. 

She was not afraid of either of them. Her race were a warrior people and she was a true daughter. She felt she could have handled either of these two separately but not both of them together. The pair stood up and advanced across the room towards her.

Betty was in front. Molly landed two good punches on her, knocking her back against Florence and almost making both lose balance. This done, she spun round and began frantically to undo the front door lock she had secured a few minutes before. But this very expensive lock, which provided such excellent security, had one disadvantage. It could not be unlocked quickly. This was a complicated business.

Florence and Betty recovered quickly and surged forward while Molly was still struggling with the door. 

Betty seized her by the forearms and using her considerable muscular strength, forced them down and then backward and finally crossed them behind her back. Meanwhile Florence reached into a satchel carrying bag she had, took out a length of webbing strap and used it to tie Molly’s crossed wrists together. She was quick and deft and within less than a minute their victim’s hands were firmly bound behind her back. Thus secured, she was then turned around to face her two assailants. 

Molly glared at her captors. She thought she was going to be beaten up in this helpless position, with her wrists tied behind her. “Bitches,” she hissed.

“Now Molly,” said Florence calmly, taking some short lengths of white rope out of her carry bag. “Whatever you might think, our next move will simply be to tie you up.” She held up the pieces of cord. “You can make it easier for everybody if you stand still and let us do just that. But,” she continued, “If you persist in struggling, making it difficult for us, then we’ll use this.”

She took a screw cap jar out of her bag and held it up with a soft white cloth. “This is hospital grade anaesthetic. A good dose of this will make you woozy and semi-conscious and we'll tie you up in that condition. But,” she even smiled,”You’ll be a lot more comfortable if you just stand still and let us get on with it.”

Molly looked at her. She wondered why they wanted to tie her up at all. But at least it seemed they were not going to beat her up. She nodded.

“Very sensible,” Florence said. “And now let’s get on with it.” She and Betty set to work with the ropes for the carry bag. 

They bound her forearms to her body below her breasts and then above them. Then they tied her lower arms and bound wrists to her waist. They used the prepared lengths of white rope generously, pulling them tightly and knotting with some care. The stiff dark waterproofed fabric of Molly’s raincoat rustled and creaked. She began to look like a parcel carefully wrapped with white string.

“Very neat,” commented Florence, stepping back and admiring their work when they had finished. “Neatly packaged and ready for shipment.” Betty scowled but nodded agreement. She had not forgiven Molly for the punches she had thrown at her but so far had not retaliated. 

“Shipment?” Molly queried. “What you gonna do? You bitches goin'to take me somewhere?”

Molly had been born and grown up in a remote country district. She had only come to the city in in recent years. Like so many of her people with this background she had received only the most rudimentary education and had left school at an early age. Consequently, her speech left a lot to be desired.

“Really, Molly,” said Florence, speaking with mock disapproval, “You’re going to have to learn a little refinement for where you’re going.”

“What,” barked Molly, “Going where?” She was puzzled and not a little worried. A beating up she could have understood, but to be taken somewhere - kidnapped? What was going to happen to her?

“Anyway,” said Florence, reaching into her bag, “Time to gag you.”

“You don’t hav’ta do that,” protested Molly and then gulped as Florence pushed a gag into her mouth. It was made of folded, dampened towelling and fitted snuggly and effectively. Betty produced a strip of flesh coloured, adhesive surgical tape which she carefully placed over their captive’s lips, completely sealing the wad inside . 

Molly was now very securely bound from the waist up and effectively gagged. She made muffled noises and tried uselessly to move her arms. Her raincoat rustled softly. Her captors both smiled. Betty spoke for the first time, “We’ve been here long enough. Time we got going.”

“You’re right,” agreed Florence, “But we can’t go out in public with our little charge looking so obviously tied up and with a gag in her mouth. We’ll have to make her a little more presentable, not that we’re likely to meet too many at this hour and in this weather.” Indeed, it was already starting to get dark on this cold winter evening. Most households would be indoors, preparing the evening meal. Outside, a steady light rain had set in.

Florence produced a folded rubber rain cape out of her satchel and shook it out. It was long with buttons down the front and had a pixie type hood. Between them they draped it over her, adjusted it smoothly and uniformly and pulled the hood well forward over her head. Molly, her arms tightly secured and quite speechless, now looked like a woman about to venture out on a rainy night and who had dressed sensibly for the purpose. 

“Right,” said Florence, “Let’s go.” Betty put both hands on their captive’s shoulders and moved to push her forward. Molly remained firmly in place, her feet solidly planted on the floor. She wasn’t going to go anywhere.

The two didn’t argue. Florence got out her jar of chloroform and white cloth. “We can make you groggy with this and push you anywhere. You won’t be able to do a thing about it. It’ll be a lot easier for every one if you just come along.” Molly decided she should stay conscious, even if it meant coming along.

They walked the length of Molly’s townhouse. Past the stairs which led up to the bedroom where she entertained her clients, past the bathroom where she washed up afterwards. Through the dining room, then the kitchen where she sometimes ate and finally the well equipped laundry and drying area where she laundered the hand towels, so essential to her work. And out the back door into the paved courtyard and small garden. “We found your back door a lot easier than that Fort Knox lock you’ve got on the front,” Florence told her. Molly wished she’d put a similar one on the back too. The rain was falling softly.

Across the courtyard and through the wooden back gate into the lane behind the block of townhouses. Lights were showing in the curtained back areas of some of the households of Molly’s neighbours where they were doubtless preparing dinner. No one was looking out to see the procession of three move down the lane. The rain continued to fall in the gathering darkness.

The lane ended in a tree lined side street where a car was unobtrusively parked in deep shadow. As the trio approached a raincoated woman got out of the drivers seat and stood in the increasing drizzle. She nodded at the group and opened the back door. Molly’s captors pushed her inside and made her sit on the seat. Betty reached inside and bound her ankles with one of their last pieces of white rope. This done, the car door was shut and locked.

Betty then got in the other back door, settled herself and then made Molly lie down on her side of the rear seat. The rubber cape rustled softly as she did this. Florence and the silent driver got in the front seats. The car was driven off into the increasing rain.

They travelled for nearly half an hour and finally stopped outside the garage door of a large but unobtrusive building in a commercial - residential area in a somewhat up-market part of the city. The door opened quietly within seconds of their arrival and the car drove in.

Inside the large garage area Florence and Betty got out, unbound Molly’s feet, pulled her out and made her stand on the concrete floor. The raincoated driver drove the car away. They pulled the cape off their captive, folded it and put it into their satchel and then marched her to the door of a lift. Molly looked around in bewilderment. Where was she? A button was pressed.

The lift arrived. Molly was pushed inside. She noticed the floor was softly carpeted and the interior generally well appointed. They went up four floors and got out into an equally plush, tastefully decorated hallway. There were even some pictures on the wall. Clearly some money had been spent on the interior of this building despite its simple outside appearance. The trio stopped outside a polished timber door. Florence pressed a button on a side panel.

A light flashed and they entered. They were in what was obviously a large ante-room to an important business office. The decor was quietly and yet tastefully expensive as that outside. Two desks were each side of the door to the main room. Two women sat at them. Though Molly had never met either, she knew instantly who one of them was.

This was Alma. A lady in her early forties, very solid and firm, her broad face was surrounded by pale, almost white fair hair. She had been in Agnes Jardine’s employ for a long time but, unlike the others, had never been a prostitute. Despite her active physical appearance, she was intellectual and had a gift for clerical administration. She had been Agnes' very effective personal secretary for many years. At the same time she occasionally did duties where a certain amount of muscular effort was required. Such as perhaps now?

Alma got up from behind her desk and walked towards the three visitors. She was wearing a white shift, belted at the waist and flawlessly tailored which looked something like a nurse’s uniform. She smiled.

“Good evening ladies,” she began pleasantly and then stopped and looked at the bound and gagged, raincoated Molly. “And this of course is Molly Lamura? We’ve been expecting you for some time.” The captive gaped over her gag. Alma turned and picked up an internal phone from her desk. “I’ll let Madame know you’re here.” A quick conversation followed, and then, “You’re to go in straight away.” She opened the door to the main office and ushered the trio in, entering with them. 

This room was large. Rectangular in shape, good paintings hung on one side wall, the other held a long picture window which afforded a wide view of this part of the city. A polished wooden desk sat at one end. And behind this sat Agnes Jardine.

Agnes was a trim, active woman, somewhere between forty and fifty. A firm, oval face framed by short blond hair, immaculately coiffed. She had eyes of deepest blue which pierced through every one she looked at. She wore an immaculate long sleeved white blouse and a neat, snug fitting brown tailored skirt. Her only jewellery was a simple but obviously very expensive necklace. She got up and moved to approach her four visitors. 

She spoke. “Well ladies, nice to see you.” Firstly she spoke to Florence and Betty. “Thank you for doing this so quickly - and,” she looked at the neatly bound and gagged Molly, “It appears, very effectively.” She concluded, “Julia (apparently the other lady seated at the desk outside) will settle up according to the agreement.” 

The two smiled and nodded. “Thank you Ma’am,” murmured Florence. The pair moved to withdraw.

“You stay here Alma,” commanded Agnes, “You’ll perhaps be needed.” Florence and Betty left the room.

“And now, to business.” She turned to confront her remaining visitor. “Well Molly," she said, "I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you.” And then slapped her across the face. Alma stood slightly behind Molly, tensed and ready for any problems.  

“I think you know what that’s for.” Agnes turned slightly, “Alma, would you remove Molly's gag please.” Alma did so, deftly and efficiently.

“You’ve caused me some trouble Molly,” she continued. “And some financial loss. At first, I wasn’t sure what to do with you. My first thought was a good beating up, or something more drastic. And then I thought, why shouldn’t I make something out of you? And at the same time, prevent you from ever informing again”

It took some time for Molly to regain the power of speech after the removal of her gag but she finally made it. “Look Missus, I….” Another slap. This time Alma moved behind and held her by the forearms.

Agnes continued. “Around here Molly, people call me ‘Ma’am' or sometimes ‘Madame.' ‘Missus’ sounds like something from that remote indigenous settlement you had the misfortune to grow up in. And it certainly won’t do for the situation you’re going to.” 

“Because you see, you're going away Molly,” she went on, “To a far place, to somewhere where you’ll never inform on anyone again. Though indeed, it may well be to your own betterment eventually.” 

Molly was flabbergasted, “Far away? Miss.. er Ma’am, but what about my home? My things?” She could hardly grasp that her world was falling apart.

Agnes explained. “In the early hours of this morning a small van will stop near your place. A specialised team will remove your clothing and personal possessions. It’ll be as if you’d never lived there. You’ll have vanished from the face of the earth.” She went on. “Your things will be taken up the coast and disposed of in some of the places up there.” A smile, “Some of them may even end up in the hands of your own people " Molly was speechless.

“But enough for now,” Agnes turned to Alma. “Gag her again and take her to Hazel for further processing. And stay there while it's being done. Hazel may need your help.” She looked again at Molly, “I’ll see you again before you go, but meanwhile, Madam, you’re dismissed.” She went back to her desk. Alma re-gagged her before she could say another word. She then seized the captive by the fore-arm and ushered her over to a side door and out into the hallway outside. Meanwhile Agnes had re-seated herself and started looking at some papers. She had already forgotten Molly Lamura. 

Alma wasted no time. She hustled Molly along the carpeted hallway to a room at the far end. 

This was almost as large as the room they had left only this one looked like a doctor’s surgery and consulting room. Medical equipment was neatly arranged and the walls held charts and diagrams. An X-ray machine stood stood in a corner and a securely locked glass fronted cabinet, containing what were obviously drugs and medication was attached to the inner wall. There was a curtained off area at one end, a rubber sheet covered examination table in the centre and in the corner nearest the entrance was a desk and filing cabinets.

And at the desk sat a lady whom Molly had not met but at once knew who she was.

This was Hazel, who had been with Agnes from the beginning and had very definitely never been one of her working girls. She was a thin wiry woman in her mid fifties, a narrow face with a sharp chin and dark greying hair. She wore glasses and a short white medical coat.

She was known to have an extensive medical background though nobody knew whether she was qualified or not. But she had successfully and efficiently treated Agnes’ girls and staff for years. Any condition which she could not cope with, and there were few of these, she referred to somewhere where it could. Consequently, Agnes' people were the healthiest in the business. A situation appreciated by both them and anyone they had dealings with. Hazel was known as a pleasant person and, understandably, well thought of.

She was doing some paperwork when Alma marched Molly in. She looked up and smiled at both. The spectacle of a bound, gagged and raincoated woman being brought to her for what appeared to be professional reasons was not, it seemed, regarded as unusual. 

"Good evening ladies,” she began pleasantly, “You’re Molly, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you and been told you were coming. Well, this shouldn’t take long.”

“Alma,” she began, “Take that gag out of her mouth and untie her. You can put the restraints in there.” She pointed to a cardboard box beside her desk. “And you Molly, when you’re free, take off your raincoat please. You can hang it there.” She pointed to a coat-hanger on a hook on the wall. “And then undress completely. Put everything you’re wearing in there.” She indicated another box beside the first. Hazel then turned back to the papers on her desk and resumed writing.

Alma followed her instructions quickly but once unbound, Molly did nothing. She even put her hands in the front pockets of her raincoat. Alma, apparently uncertain whether she should forcibly undress her, moved forward. However Hazel merely looked up, noted the non-compliance, smiled and indicated her fellow captor should stand back. She rose from her seat, picked up a small plastic box from her desktop, stood in front of the unco-operative visitor and opened it. 

She showed the contents to Molly. It was a small syringe, fully charged. “This,” she explained smilingly, “Is a powerful sedative. Within minutes of being injected, you’ll be in a complete stupor. You’ll be standing there totally unaware of what’s happening to you. And we’ll just do what we have to do with you in that state.” Meanwhile Alma moved into position behind her, ready to hold her. “But,” Hazel cheerfully continued, “You’re only here for a simple medical examination. It’ll be a lot easier for all concerned, certainly including yourself, if you simply co-operate.” 

Molly, it seemed, now thought this herself. Without a word she slowly unbelted and unbuttoned her raincoat and hung it up as directed. Then she began to undress. Her captors obligingly took each item as it was removed, folded it neatly and placed it in the designated box. Finally the dusky captive stood naked before them. “Good,” beamed Hazel, “And I must say you look in very good shape. Now let’s get on with it.” 

And so the examination went ahead. Molly was accurately weighed on a state of the art set of scales. Her height was estimated against an elaborate wall chart. Waist, bust, hips and others all carefully measured by graduated tape and noted in Hazel’s neat handwriting. Blood pressure, blood sample, other tests. She was made lie down on the rubber sheeted table for a vaginal examination.  All smoothly and expertly carried out and recorded. Never had she been so thoroughly examined. She wondered, why such meticulous care? And lastly her teeth. Her examiner smiled her approval. “Ah, good teeth, and well looked after. But then your people are usually like that aren't they?”

At last it was over. Hazel sat down to finish writing down the information obtained which now filled several sheets of paper. She pointed to a chair against the wall. “Pull that up and sit down.” Alma dragged the chair to the corner of the desk and indicated Molly should sit on it. She did so and was now facing her examiner as she worked. 

Alma spoke. “Do you still need me Madame?”

Hazel had finished her report. “I don’t think so Alma. We’ve finished the physical. There’s only the personal now and a certain amount of privacy is best for that. You may go. I’ll give you a buzz if you’re needed. And thank you for your help.” Alma nodded and went out.

Molly, naked and seated, looked at Hazel as she straightened the papers she had just filled. “Well Molly my dear, we already know quite a lot about you but there are a few personal details we’d like to have.” She smiled as she said this but she noticed the subject of the examination tensed at the words. 

“Of course,” she went on, “You can refuse to say anything but I must tell you I have some very effective truth drugs here,” she glanced up at the locked glass fronted wall cabinet, “And I’m very skilled in the using of them. We have need of them from time to time. But,” her smile her broadened slightly, “I’m only after some details of your background which you probably think are already well known and not important anyway. In short, it’ll be a lot easier for both of us if you listen, think about it and then tell me what I want to know.”

Molly did think about it. The thought of being in a state where any question could be asked of her - and that she would answer everything truthfully,  frightened her. She decided it it would be best to stay conscious, to co-operate - and play it by ear as best she could. She nodded.

The personal examination was simple and short. Questions about Molly's birth, her childhood and education. Anyone who took the trouble to visit her birthplace could have found it out. It was a story of deprivation and impoverishment. A remote poverty stricken native settlement in the north west where unemployment, deprivation and lack of opportunity were facts of life. Hazel was appalled at the short and very limited education she had received. Small wonder then that after a painfully troubled adolescence she had made her way to the city and there, being equipped for little else, she had ultimately turned to prostitution. Where she had some success, helped in no small part by practical intelligence and sound common sense.

Hazel noted all of this was pleased by the final results. And she was by now convinced that Molly was intelligent enough to be more than the ordinary prostitute she was at the moment. The old Greek word hetaira came happily to her educated mind. This had been one of the reasons for the investigation from the beginning. True, her subject had had a rotten start, but perhaps this could be corrected? 

Molly had been thinking too. Ever since her abduction she had been hearing from her captors about being sent somewhere, perhaps out of the country. But where? And under what circumstances? Hazel seemed a kindly person.

She began. “Ma’am. Ah... there is something. Something I’d like to ask.”

“Yes dear,” Hazel raised her eyes from putting Molly’s papers into order and securing them with a paper clip. 

“Ever since I’ve met you people you’ve talked of sending me somewhere. What’s going to happen to me?” 

Hazel put the papers down, sat back and looked at the naked Molly. She began.

“Well Molly. Madame Agnes was not pleased when she found out you’d informed on her. She was ready to deal with you very severely. But then,” Hazel went on. “She has this old friend who runs a large operation, similar to her own, in the Middle East. Where, I’m not entirely sure. In an area of oil, finance, I’m not even sure of that either. All I know is that some of the wealthiest men in the world are involved, and in that area, means very wealthy indeed. This lady runs an establishment that caters for many tastes. Though, to give her, her due, she draws the line at at complete depravity.” 

“This friend,” Hazel continued, “Is called Madame Sophia. She makes use of ladies of all races, nationalities and specialities. Her organisation costs a fortune to operate but then it’s the land of big fortunes. She’s got girls from Africa, the Far East, Latin America, many countries. Everywhere on earth. Except here. Your people are not represented.”

"And an astonishing number of men ask about them. They’ve all heard of your people. They want to be able to sample women from every culture and nationality on earth and there is literally no one from your race.” Molly gaped at her. 

Hazel elaborated. “Some time back Madame Sophia asked our Agnes if she could send her a girl from your people to satisfy these men. This was about the time you got the western operation closed down. Madam Agnes saw it as an opportunity to pay you back and to oblige an old friend. Of course Sophia will have to pay for some of the costs and so she may even come out somewhat ahead. Though it’s already cost a lot of time and effort to have you removed and brought here. You’ve no idea of the work involved in kidnapping a girl and sending her overseas.” 

“Overseas?” Molly was appalled, “How you gonna do that?”

“Standard procedure,” Hazel obligingly confided, “You’ll only stay here till the routine work is done. I’ve done most of it already. Then you’ll be shipped to a holding place in the country. You won’t be there long. It’s got a good all-weather airstrip. You’ll flown out by private jet. Bound and gagged, probably in the company of three or four other ladies on their way to a new life. It’s more efficient to send them in batches. I would say in little over a week you’ll be on another continent.”

“What’ll happen to me there?”

“Well,” Hazel went on, “You won’t go to work straight away. Madame Sophia’s girls get some briefing and instruction first. You’ll to a place of instruction on arrival. Don’t worry, it’ll be well equipped and have some of the best educators in the world. Just don’t ask where they come from or how they got there.”

“There you’ll learn some social graces, long overdue I’d say. And your education, lamentably and disgracefully neglected in the first place, will be rounded out somewhat.” Hazel was quite firm about this, “You’ll also get a grounding in current affairs and the politics and economics of that part of the world. After all, you’ll be receiving some very important men and some of them like to talk about what makes them important. Of course you won’t be expected to discuss things as an equal, just so that you'll know what they’re talking about. And can give the right answers. And finally, you’ll be initiated into a few techniques and practices with which to stimulate these gentlemen.” She smiled, “Not that I think you’ll need much of that. I’d say you’re well accomplished already." 

Molly was intrigued. To give her her due she always wanted to rise to the top of her profession and no one knew more than she how her educational shortcomings held her back. Being able to talk upper class clients on their level was something she had aspired to all her working life. And would lift her onto a whole new social strata. She knew that men of that class had just the same urges and inclinations as her previous clientele.  

And so she looked to the sort of training Hazel was talking about with enthusiasm, thinking how it would improve her appeal and enable her to cater for a better class of client. It did not occur to her that she was being removed from her present work situation forever.

Meanwhile, Hazel concluded, “Well we’ve done your physical, got your background details. Only one thing remains. Your sexual report.” 

“What’s that? What's it gonna mean?”

“Really Molly,” admonished Hazel, “Your choice of expression does need refining. But it’s quite simple really. You will have sexual intercourse with one of our people. He will then make a clinical report on your performance. His statement will be added to your record to date.” She held up the stapled sheaf of papers she had already compiled.

“Don’t worry,” she went on,”We’ve got a very suitable young man. He’s gentle, kindly and very accomplished. The question is how do you feel about receiving him? Basically, it doesn’t matter because, like it or not, he's going to fuck you.” Molly looked at her. “Anyway, I’ll get him in here now. The sooner we get this over the better.” She picked up the inter-phone and spoke briefly.

Hazel stood up. The naked Molly stood too and was taken by the arm and moved to the curtained off area at the back of the room. The drapes were pulled aside. Inside was a divan with a covered double mattress. “This is where the exchange will take place."

“It’s the best quality,” explained Hazel, putting her hand on the divan.  “With a mattress protector, rubber sheet and a first class bed sheet. The question is, are you going to co-operate willingly? Or do I have to get Alma back in here? That divan has rungs at the corners and we can provide ties to spread-eagle you, uncomfortable though it might be.”

At that moment a buzzer sounded beside the door leading out to the hall. 

Hazel promptly steered Molly back into her consulting office. At her desk she pressed a button and the hall doorway opened. 

A slim man who must have been in his early, mid thirties walked in. He looked fit with grey eyes and straight, light brown hair which framed an oval face. He wore slacks and a carefully ironed, open necked, long sleeved shirt. And he had a pleasant smile and could be said to be reasonably good looking. He did not appear to be at all surprised that he had been brought into the presence of a completely naked young woman of another race. Oddly enough, Molly felt herself warming to him the start. 

“Good evening Colin,” began Hazel, “To introduce you two, Molly, this is Colin. She’s in need of your attentions and I’ll get your report afterward.” Colin’s smile broadened somewhat and he bowed his head to the intended recipient of his ministrations. Hazel went on. “Unfortunately, there may be some problems. Molly is not here of her own free will. She came here tonight, bound and gagged and is on her way to parts unknown. She may not submit to you gracefully. But we’ve had them like that before and we’ve got the means of restraint if, unfortunately, they are required. In short Molly, you can be tied to the mattress in there if necessary..and gagged too if required. But I hope it won’t come to that.”

Colin spoke, his face now serious, “ And I hope it won’t come to that either. Molly, I’ll be easy on you. And I’m not boasting when I say I’m known as a good lover. Let’s get on with this and get it over.” 

Molly’s face gradually broke into a smile. The first time she had smiled since she had anything to do with Agnes’ people. “All right then. Let’s, as you say, get on with it. And there won’t be any need to tie me up. Or to gag me. Perhaps we’ll both enjoy it.” She turned and walked back to the curtained area.

Hazel smiled too. From what she had learned about Molly she had the highest of hopes for her. She was probably on her way to betterment after all. 

to be continued...

 

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