Number 19

[mc, ff, fd]

((This one is quite dark, but the idea simply had to come out. Denied ideas are dangerous so…))


Deborah placed both hands on her face and started crying. Try as she may, she just couldn’t help it as the few memories she possessed of what had happened to her over the last couple of weeks were simply too awful.

“Number 19… that’s what she called me the whole time…” she sobbed. “And that room… God, that dreadful room!”

“Please calm down, Miss Mayer….” asked Detective Sanders, knowing deep inside that was a false hope. They never did, and that was perfectly understandable considering the torments they went through during their abduction period. He had only been in contact with 7 of the 18 women that had come before her, but already knew how they reacted during the standard questioning procedures. “Is there anything you can tell us about your captor? Can you describe her for me?”

Another useless question: their answer was always the same.

“I… I don’t know… I can’t remember!

Why that was nobody knew for sure. The ‘tox screens’ were always negative and the subsequent psychological evaluations couldn’t remove or alleviate the mental trauma. All of the victims had the clear notion of being abused by a woman in a dungeon-like setting with all sorts of kinky instruments at hand, but none could precise any physical characteristics of the tormentor, as if they had all been removed from their conscious thoughts quite effortlessly. They couldn’t even remember how her voice sounded like, except the fact that there was more than a hint of power in it. Whenever she told them to do things, they had to obey.

“That’s what I did….” Deborah kept on bawling. “I obeyed and I feel dirty and useless for giving in. Please make the pain go away, Detective! PLEASE!”

And all of a sudden, she banged her head on the metal table with such violence that he immediately thought she was a goner. Luckily, that wasn’t the case, but she was in pretty bad shape. The open gash and the flowing blood on her forehead had to be addressed as soon as possible.

“Get me a doctor in here!” the Detective shouted as he held her left hand and tried to keep her appeased. Deborah just smiled in a half-mad way and repeated a sentence she was to use again many times in the future:

“Number 19… that’s what she called me the whole time…”

* * *

Half an hour later, Detective Sanders stood by his desk, drinking a cup of black coffee. Amy Weber, his partner, was right next to him, as well as Captain Thomason, who was the most disturbed person in the whole precinct.

“We have to catch this maniac no matter what!” he spurted.

“It’s what I wish most in the world, sir, but the bitch isn’t making things easy for us. Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s going to stop kidnapping women any time soon.” replied Sanders.

“Captain, if I may… I would like to have a conversation with Miss Mayer, just the two of us….” said Amy.

“What do you hope to accomplish, Weber?” the Captain asked.

Amy bit her lower lip.

“I’m not sure. It’s just a gut feeling I have. Somehow, I think I might be able to get her to remember something else and open up if I show her my personal resolve and commitment to this case. For all purposes and effects, she was repeatedly raped and had her will-power sapped for a while. All things considered, that’s not very different of what happened to me.”

“Amy, don’t….” Sanders began, but she immediately interrupted him.

“That’s okay, Bill. It was a long time ago and you know I’m over it, now, but some of those memories might be the key, here. I can empathize with her to a certain degree. I thought about asking this before but then decided against it. I don’t want to do that any longer! Please, Sir?”

Captain Thomason looked at her with a stern expression upon his face. He really didn’t like the idea, especially given the fact that rummaging through the past would most likely affect the judgment of one of his finest officers, whether she admitted it or not, but perhaps a different approach could indeed help them achieve some real results instead of vague conjectures. He also believed that Amy had more balls than half of the men working under his command and her gut feelings were usually quite useful in the midst of desperate situations.

“Hmmm, I suppose there’s no harm in trying….” He eventually said, despite Sanders’s obvious protests. I’ll have a room cleared for the two of you and will make sure nothing or any one interferes in your conversation, but I hope you really pull this off, Weber. I’m tired of seeing these broken women appearing all over town, deprived of any hope to keep on living!”

“I’ll do my best, sir! Thank you.”

Sanders finished drinking his coffee. It was wrong to do so, but in his mind he was already anticipating her failure, and though he liked her, he wasn’t really bothered by it.

* * *

Though Deborah Mayer’s wounds had been tended to, she was still a mess. Her eyes were red because of the incessant flow of tears and she looked like a wrinkled sexagenarian instead of a vibrant college sophomore. She had been restrained as a precautionary measure and wasn’t really in the mood to talk, staring blankly at the ceiling, perhaps looking for the floating pieces of her scattered soul.

Amy walked in and the first thing she did was to place a small note book and a pen on the table. Afterwards, she locked the door and, after making sure that all recording devices in the room were disconnected, and that no one was indeed spying on them from behind the two-way-mirror, she sat provocatively on the edge of the table, very close to the semi-catatonic woman.

What Deborah heard was certainly not what she expected.

“Hello again, Number 19!”

Deborah’s eyes widened for her subconscious mind had emitted a signal of recognition, an alarm that echoed in every recess of her brain. She summoned her voice in the hope of a scream, but the lips moved silently, the absence of sound disguising the frantic nervousness she was experiencing within.

“Now, now….” continued Amy, mellifluously. “There’s no point in straining yourself, is there? Not when you don’t have a voice! That’s right: in my presence, you only speak upon command, as I’m sure you’re remembering right now. I’ve arranged for this little private gathering because I wanted to tell you a few things before releasing you for good. Now, be a good girl and listen in that special way I taught you, will you?”

Deborah had no choice in the matter. She was completely defenceless, her spirit adrift within the currents of the brainwashing she had been subjected to. Hearing that number out loud in Amy’s overpowering voice had brought it all back: the deliquescing thoughts; the call of submission; the all-consuming fire in her loins….

She remembered the agony, but also the jubilant rapture of being a human piece of property, whether naked and suspended from ropes or completely encased in a latex vacuum bed. Tiny flickers of the past exploded in orgasmic fireworks as she saw and experienced once again the overpowering bliss of the strap-on’s double penetration, the dripping nectar between her Mistress’ legs and the branded collar around her neck. Her now completely dreamy eyes saw Amy in her over bust back lacing leather corset and her eager nostrils caught the scent of a pair of white stretch patent knee-high boots she had lavishly worshipped after being ridden all night long. The sensory overload was positively devastating to her already conditioned mind.

“I really enjoyed your service, Number 19! You provided me with more intense pleasure than all the other girls combined and, for a while, I was tempted to keep you, but that would be problematic in a long term. Besides, I’m not really into commitments of any kind, and new experiences are always welcome. I need fresh pets on a regular basis to keep the juices running and so we’ll never see each other again after this day. When I’m done, you’ll remember to forget my face, my voice and everything else that happened here. You’ll keep some of the recollections of the guilty pleasure with you just for fun like all the others, but you’ll never tell anyone about me. That’s my wish, and you will comply, as you’re supposed to. Nod if you understood me, pet.”

Deborah did so, her nipples hard and her legs tingly. The slave’s programming instilled was practically begging for one last chance to please her, but that wasn’t to be.

Amy placed one of her divine hands on her chin, melting the college girl with the brief touch.

“That’s too risky, and I have a perfect cover-up, here. I’ll be leaving soon, but I’ll always remember your unquestioning devotion! After the door closes again, you’ll become Deborah again and my training will begin to wear off.” Amy got up, scribbled a few things on the note book to pretend she had indeed been working and began moving away from the restless thrall. “Goodbye, number 19!”

She left the room, grinning, adjusted her raven hair on the corridor outside, and then changed her facial expression with skilful technique. By the time she caught up with Sanders and the Captain again, only a frowning mask was visible.

“I tried, but I got nothing”, she sighed. “Most of the time, she didn’t even react to my presence. I’m sorry.”

With drooping shoulders, she sat in a comfy chair and only pretended to hear the Captain’s words of disappointment. Almost instantly, her predacious instincts kicked in, alerting her for the presence of a long-legged blonde that was being processed only a few feet away, on account of solicitation. She was exceedingly attractive and most certainly knew a thing or two about the arts of pleasurable sex. Hookers were not really her type, but those breasts and that hair were two good enough reasons for her to explore different avenues in her quest for perfect gratification.

“Nice to meet you, Number 20….” she thought as her eyes twinkled ever so slightly under the precinct’s strong lights.

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