A Hand Overplayed

An exasperated Lance let out a puff of relief as he pushed open the turning glass that guarded his exit from the offices of Baxter and Michaels, one of the most illustrious asset managers in the country, the 3 hour meeting combined with the 2 hour drive having worn on him. Descending down the polished granite steps, his right hand dug into his pants pocket and fumbled around for his cellphone. Pulling it out, he brought the screen to life with a press of his finger against the back and examined what he had missed during his time upstairs. A notification blinked across it reading, "12 missed calls from Eugene" accompanied by a text message from the same number that simply stated "call me". Pressing his thumb against the telephone symbol in the corner of the text, Lance wedged the phone between his shoulder and jaw while pulling a small golden cigar case from inside his blue cambric jacket. Extracting one of the Cubans from within, he put it up to his lips and lit it while listening intently to the ringing on the other end of the line. Within a few seconds the deep voice of an African American man responded, "Bout fuckin time bruh, been blowing you up for over an hour".

Lance relaxed against a metal light pole at the end of the steps while taking a puff of his cigar, "Yeah, sorry about that," he replied, "had something important at noon and couldn't reschedule. What's up?"

"Yeah, we all got important shit" the voice on the other end laughed, "just remember you're paying me by the hour" they finished in a playful tone.

Lance snickered at the comment as he responded, "of course buddy, you never let me forget it" clearly more relaxed now than he had been upon exiting the building, "now what is it I can do for you, my good man?"

"Well, you know that remodeling project you wanted me to work on? The loft down on 5th avenue?" his friend inquired over the line.

Lance's look became a little less jubilant, anticipating the sentence following his response would likely agitate the mild headache that had begun upstairs. His lower lip tucked in underneath his upper one as he deeply inhaled before responding, "Yeah, I do." he stated less than enthusiastically.

"So, we're here right now, and everything's cleaned up and shipped out like you wanted..." the voice began, Lance tensed up sensing the inevitable bad news to follow, "...but this motherfucking lock box? Shit is tougher to open than a virgin at a church cookout." he finished.

Lanced huffed realizing this was likely to be a costly setback, reaching to his previously upbeat tone in an attempt to mask his annoyance he replied, "Well she's a fucking theif 'Gene, were you expecting a Rubbermaid container?" laughing in a vain attempt to imply his friend was overstating things.

"Nigga, you think i'd call you up on the job over a Sentri-Lock?!" the man replied to him jokingly, though clearly somewhat offended at the implication Lance had made, "This shit is the Lamborghini of safes, whatever's in this motherfucker she wanted to make sure nobody could get to it but her."

Lance closed his eyes in frustration, knowing that indeed if Eugene felt it serious enough to call him over he wasn't exaggerating things. Lance shook his head and took a strong puff on his cigar before replying, "So how long?" he asked.

"Well..." the voice began, "I can open it but I gotta take it to the warehouse, probably looking at 2 hours once I get it there, but that's two hours of overtime if ya get me".

Lance nodded despite Eugene not being able to currently see him, his belief that this would cost more confirmed. "Yeah, I get you." Lance replied, "What about everything else?" he finished, pushing himself off the light post he had propped on, he began walking toward a large parking garage across the street.

"Oh, we're great on that..." his friend confidently replied, "...furniture, bed, tv, shoes, clothes, etc all clear. All the social media shit's clear, your fed boy ain't even gonna be able to find her now. I'm standing in the middle of a squeaky clean apartment, bitch had more dresses and shoes than I do miles on my car, boys was splittin em all up to take home to their girlfriends." Eugene laughed.

Lance picked up his stride as he went through the crosswalk making his way to the garage opening, "and the security tapes?" he asked.

"Not to worry..." came the voice over the phone, "...your donation was more than enough for the security head to let me look at their archives for a while. Thankfully we didn't have to delete too much since she aint been here long, which is lucky for me since she seemed to run in and out the goddamn house all the time. Anything else you want me to have dropped off besides the box stuff?"

Lance's reply came quick, "No, that'll be it, appreciate you as always man." as he came under the archway that led into the garage he took pause and looked at a Walgreens across the street.

"Hey no problem pimipin..." Eugene replied, "...I'll shoot you a text when my courier leaves".

Lance seemingly caught off guard while entranced by the drug store stammered a reply, "yeah...sounds good...thanks again 'Gene" he said pulling the phone down and tapping a symbol on his screen to end the call. Staring intently toward the pharmacy entrance, Lance briefly looked back over toward his parked vehicle in the garage, before turning back toward the drug store and making his way toward it.

Brittany's exhaustion had allowed her a good four hours of sleep, but the uncomfortable position she found herself in quickly made staying asleep a tough task. She had removed the collar immediately when Lance left, but there was little she could do about the boots, meaning that lying on her back was the only viable option to avoid the invading pressure of the locks against her legs. Resting there against the soft black leather with her head propped on the tiny white pillow Lance had provided, she stared blankly at the ceiling of her confines, feeling like a doll trapped in it's box. All she needed was to get out of here and get back to her loft, she had the remainder of her money as well as the expensive collection of fake IDs and paperwork she had acquired over the years stashed there. All the things she needed to make a break out of Vegas. Calling the police on Lance never crossed her mind as it would undoubtedly unveil her transgressions as well, she reasoned that despite feeling violated it was not worth her also going to prison, still unable to acknowledge the minor feelings of arousal she had experienced during her ordeal earlier. Much as she denied them to herself, there was something about the way Lanced stripped and humiliated Brittany that sparked a feeling deep in her soul she had never experienced. Those shocks too! As much pain as the wand had caused she couldn't shake this feeling that a part of her wanted to experience it again. Still, she was no man's plaything, she ignored any deep seeded stimulation the events had brought about and pressed on with formulating a plan.

She had seen the sort of doorway Lance used to exit the room before, so she knew how it worked, unfortunately that meant she knew enough to realize it wasn't as simple as pressing something and leaving. There is a very specific section of the wall one has to bear down on to trigger the mechanism, which could take some time to find depending on the size of the device. Glancing around the room there didn't appear to be any surveillance, meaning if she could escape the cage she could potentially figure out the contraption while Lance was away. She had fiddled with the locks on her boots and cage enough she was now confident given tools she could easily get them off, regrettably in her current state of nudity aside from said boots, no such tools were available. The temperature of the room was mercifully well maintained so she wasn't exceptionally cold, though laying there on a leather mattress with no blanket or clothing save for giant footwear that contorted her feet was about as comfortable an experience as one imagines it would be. Brittany also found herself quite hungry and thirsty, her tongue practically sticking to the roof of her mouth, would he forgo even feeding her? Brittany prayed Lance couldn't be so cruel, he had taken great care not to injure her when he cut off her dress and underwear, it stood to reason he at the very least felt some semblance of concern for her physical well being. Her stomach growled in unison, as if signifying it shared her hope.

Realizing she had been lost in thought for quite a bit, she scampered to reattach her collar, taking intricate care to place the straps in the exact same fashion Lance had earlier least he noticed she removed it. She had accomplished the task just in the nick of time too, as within minutes of her reattaching the restraint she heard the door slide open into the wall, quickly she rolled to her side and looked over toward the exit.

Lance entered the room in a blue sports jacket with a black set of dress pants, his hands were full, one containing a large bottle of water and the other holding a bowl of something with a Walgreens bag dangling from his wrist. "I take it you were unable to sleep, whore?" despite the now all too familiar "whore" at the end his gentle tone was welcomed. Could it be possible he was legitimately concerned?

"N...no sir..." she replied "...I slept, just not for very long", Lance nodded acknowledging her answer before setting the contents he carried down on the floor near her cage. Looking inside the bowl, Brittany could see a rich oatmeal and granola mix with brown sugar and sliced up fruit drizzled in honey, the warm smell drifting toward her causing her mouth to salivate.

Lance had wandered over to the folding chair he had placed earlier and picked it up, turning around he walked back over and sat it a few feet beyond where he laid the items down, right next to the metal post containing the ends of her leash. Lance took hold of it and turned around toward her cell, walking passed the bowl and bags, kneeling down to the lock that guarded her cage he pulled out the same copper keyring she had seen earlier and unlocked the door. Opening it up while maintaining a hold on the leash, Lance walked back over to his chair and sat down before motioning for Brittany to come out. "Come, whore, eat your breakfast".

Needing no more motivation than that, Brittany quickly crawled out of her cell, banging the locks of her boots on the bottom section of the entrance. A spoon had been placed in the bowl for her, Brittany struggled to stay on her knees while trying to fetch it out and comfortably eat from it, which prompted a chuckle from Lance. "You must crawl like an animal, but for convenience sake I'll spare you the trouble of having to eat like one", to which Brittany nodded gratefully before sitting up Indian style.

Taking the warm bowl in her hand she quickly began scarfing down the contents, the symphony of flavors dancing on her taste buds even after she washed it down with several large gulps of water. It was to say a fantastic dish, not that her grumbling stomach would have argued with anything at the moment, as she excavated through the oatmeal she found a large scoop of peanut butter housed in the middle which she quickly began mixing with the rest of the contents. Lance smiled watching her enjoy his cooking, she would need quite a bit of energy for what this evening had in store for her. "When you're done you will set the bowl and water down then follow where I take you, understood whore?"

Brittany, who was currently mid swallow, nodded her head, and when the food had passed down her throat responded with a clear "Yes Sir". Setting the empty bowl down she guzzled the last of the water before placing the drained bottle inside of it. Lance stood, picking up the bag and towel while tugging on her leash, prompting her to crawl passed the dishes and toward his direction, a prompt she was quick to obey. As they arrived to the other side of the room from the cage she had slept in, Brittany saw a large section of bare wall that she wagered was another door. How many of these did he have installed!? Her guess was confirmed as Lance pressed down on a section of the wall, which Brittany clearly made out, and the familiar sliding mechanism pulled the spot open.

Inside was a sparkling white porcelain bathroom with smoke color tiles forming a standing shower in the corner, the sink had a brass faucet and handles while a large mirror with a cream colored wooden border stood attached to the wall above. Brittany's aching body, still coated from the old sweat of the day's earlier events, screamed out for the amenities from underneath her skin. Lance kneeled down next to her and placed the towel with plastic bag inside the entryway before reaching toward the locks on her boots. Taking them in his hand and fiddling with the combination, which Brittany was quick to notice and memorize, he removed them before reaching his hand up to her collar and removing that as well. When he was finished he looked up and nodded toward the newly unveiled bathroom, "Go ahead and clean yourself whore, we need you ready for the day's events, but do not remove the boots until you've crawled inside. When you are finished, put the boots back on and knock on the wall 4 times, is that clear?".

Brittany was elated at the prospect of a shower, she felt so terrible dirty, and her body was sore all over, looking up at the man who held her by a leash she batted her eyes and replied, "Yes sir, it's clear" putting her head back down she crawled into the room, Lance taking particular notice of her scrumptiously round ass bouncing side to side as she went in. Her exposed asshole was in clear view, looking every bit as tight as Lance predicted, while the dainty folds of her flower rubbed together hypnotically. When she entered completely the door sealed behind her, leaving her inside.

Brittany scrambled and quickly began to unfasten the straps on the front of her boots, one by one she peeled her sore feet out of the confines of the footwear. With an emphatic thud she tossed them to the side, she sat on the floor momentarily to gather herself and stretch her achy limbs. The cold tiles pressing into her shapely ass cheeks, Brittany quickly changed her mind about the position and stood up, a soft crack expelling from both her knees as she did so using the sink as balance. Once she had stood up she turned to face the mirror to her right, when she did, she struggled to recognize the woman staring back at her.

Brittany's makeup was now chalky and dry, cracking along her cheeks. Her lipstick was spread across her lips like jam, trailing off the corners of her mouth like clown makeup. The image was jarring, last time she had looked in a mirror was when she had finished preparing for her date with Lance, so arrogant and satisfied with herself that she was about to spring her trap. When all along it was her naively falling into one. She held her hands up to her cheeks and touched them, her face felt oily and gross, she quickly turned and picked up the Walgreens bag to examine the contents. Lance had apparently purchased several travel sized bottles of soap, shampoo, and conditioner. As well as razors, a toothbrush with paste, and feminine products. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. Having seen the combinations to the locks on her boots all she needed to do now was find a tool to break the cage lock with. There was the problem of the mechanical door, but Brittany was confident she could figure out the section on the wall just as she had the combination. Another problem of course was her lack of clothing, meaning even if she did escape she would be running down the street naked, which wouldn't help in her quest to avoid law enforcement. She would have to find a way to cover herself, even if it was something as simple as...a towel.

Lance cleaned up the dishes and exited the room, a long wooden staircase stretched before him, as the dungeon entrance closed behind him he marched up the steps and opened a hatch that led into a damp basement. The floor was dark green painted concrete, a large navy blue shag carpet dominating most of the floor space. An empty room, save for a washer and dryer, a couple of trash bins, and a few storage racks containing dry food. Lance tossed the plastic bottle into the specific trashcan used for recycling, then made his way to a large white door on the opposite side of the room. Halfway to the destination, he felt a buzzing in his pocket, sitting the empty bowl down on a nearby washing machine he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. A notification for a text flashed across the screen from Eugene, it simply read "five minutes...u lucky I'm your friend". Lance smiled and put the phone away, continuing his walk toward the door.

Brittany stepped underneath the hot water and let it cascade down her body, underneath Lance's sink she had found several washcloths and a few more towels, lathering up the yellow rag she held Brittany began the process of cleaning herself. Intricately massaging the soap into her arms she ran the rag up her shoulders and around her neck, then stepping under the falling water to rinse it off. The shower felt indescribably good on her arms still weary from earlier in the day, the caressing water trickling down off her limbs and running down the front and sides of her body. A vocal sigh as the water kissed each spot Lance had delivered a shock to, Brittany could still feel the searing pain in the back of her mind, she stood there squeezing her washcloth thinking back on it. How Lance had zapped her exposed nipple, how animated she became at each jolt, how he threatened her sweet pussy with similar treatment. She continued to be lost in thought remembering the events, her rag dripping soap and still firmly clutched in hand despite her body being fully rinsed off now. Lance had cut the clothes off her body while she sat there helpless, he made her call herself a "lying whore", he put a leash on her and made her crawl on the ground, he put her in a god forsaken cage! She had so many emotions thinking about it, primarily she wanted to be angry, but she kept thinking back to how he spoke to her, how he guided her around the room, how he commanded her. Brittany's soft pink nipples began to harden as her heartbeat raced...

"Whore..."

"Understand, whore?"

"Little whore..."

"What's the first fucking rule, whore?!"

The words radiated through her mind as the contents of her wash rag plopped down onto the shower floor, whisking wastefully down the drain. Brittany's tiny pussy lips found themselves coated in a sticky clear substance while her rag free hand wandered down toward her clitoris which had started to swell. Immediately she caught herself before touching it and snapped out of the sexual trance she found herself in, scoffing at what just happened and quickly washing the rest of her body before stepping out of the shower.

Lance carried the plastic tote he had received from Eugene's courier over to his couch and dropped it down very close to where Brittany herself had dropped the night before. Cracking the lid open he glanced inside at a perverpiable treasure trove. Piles of fake IDs and forged paperwork, passports for each ID that were also forged, the collection of aliases in total had to number over a dozen. Nestled into the corners were wads of cash tied up in rubber bands, Lance dug through and counted them all totalling up $94,600, the last of Brittany's money and no doubt the reason Eugene reminded him he was lucky they were friends. The contents inside of this box represented almost a decade's worth of work for the young con-artist and the last evidence of her existence. Lance brimming ear to ear popped the lid back on then carried it out back to sit next to his pool, turning toward his house, he re-entered the living room then marched back toward the basement. Now fully prepared for the evening's events.