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The Sisterhood By Jackdaw ft, bd, fd,nc Part 1 Jim Duggan pulled his collar up against the cold rain sluicing down from a grey leaden sky. A biting wind was whipping the rain along the city streets causing people to cling closely to walls as they made their half-hearted way to their jobs. He had given up fighting the loosing battle of keeping his cigarette lit in such shitty weather; it hung forlornly from his tightly clenched lips. Monday mornings were bad enough, he thought to himself, without starting the day soaked to the skin. Jake, his local news-stand guy, called out a greeting and Jim acknowledged him. Jim rounded the corner of the block into his office's street and fell against the door. He rented two second floor rooms of a less than auspicious turn of the century building. Truth to tell, it was about as much as he could afford and, like many other private eyes in San Francisco, he was definitely entrenched in the second division. Domestic cases, infidelity and the occasional surveillance job made up his case lists; it was grimy work and his office kinda lent itself to his workload. Speaking of surveillance jobs, he had just completed a three-week stint keeping tabs on old man Grozinsky's import/export business. Seems that Grozinsky's nephew and a couple of employees were "exporting" a percentage of Grozinsky's stock into their own truck every night. To keep a long (and boring) story short, Jim's photos helped nail the little creep and his pals. Grozinsky had paid a hundred bucks up front, with the remaining hundred and fifty dollars after Jim helped get a conviction. This meant that Jim could take the front door entrance today without fear of meeting his landlord Lenny Pullowski. The fire escape was bad enough when it was dry, with the rainstorm there was a good chance that Jim would break his goddamned neck. "Hi Lenny, mail come yet?" Jim asked, trying to muster some civility towards the rat like Pullowski. "Yeah, couple bills by the looks of it and a letter from Miami. That'll be Brenda after alimony again heh Duggan!" replied Pullowski with a lopsided smile. Jim nodded glumly. Lenny had a way of making a bad start to the day worse he thought to himself and headed up the stairs to his office. "Oh by the way Duggan. A dame came by wanting someone to track down her husband. I let her in to your office to wait for you," Pullowski said enviously. Jim turned; annoyed that Pullowski was so free with his entry into his offices but more intrigued by the "dame" as Pullowski had described her. He pushed open the half open door to what was formerly his secretary, Gloria's office. He had let her go, the prosaic word for firing her, two weeks ago. A downturn in business he had said, and this was partly true. However, he knew she was wasting her life on the pitiful wages he could pay he; she was definitely worth more than $25 a week and she deserved a job with a future. Her tearful departure still hurt though and Jim had eased the hurt with a bottle of Jim Beam. Jim pushed the frosted glass door open and walked into his office. She was stood looking through streaked windows onto the street below. Jim hated to agree with Lenny but this was definitely a Dame. She wore a long length shiny coat that shimmered wetly in the gloomy office. Peeking from beneath the coat Jim saw black patent stilettos, the 4-inch heels were steel reinforced and glinted in time to the rain-slicked coat. She turned as he entered and he saw that she had lit a cigarette, pale bluish smoke snaked surreally from the long cigarette holder. Her face was attractive but she was stopped from being truly beautiful by a patrician coldness visible in her steel grey eyes. Her lips were thin and painted a deep red that contrasted with her pale skin and ivory hair. Her cheekbones, strongly defined and well chiselled, gave her face a cat like quality. "Um, Hi I'm Jim Duggan and these are my offices. I, uh, didn't catch your name from my landlord," Jim floundered. "That, Mr Duggan, is because I never gave it to that annoying little man," she decreed, "my name is Juliet Smythe-Carter, you may call me Mrs Smythe-Carter." "Pleased to meet you Ju..., Mrs Smythe-Carter. How can I help you?" Jim spluttered taken back by her chilly introduction. He wouldn't be bitten twice and decided not to offer her his hand. "Quite simply Mr Duggan, you can find my husband Philip. He has been missing for nearly two weeks," she informed him. "I'm sorry to hear that, but surely this is a police matter, I mean..." "Mr Duggan, if I wanted my business broadcast all across the bay, then yes I would contact SFPD. I do not choose to do this. Do you want this case or should I consult one of your many competitors?" she said tersely. "No, no don't get me wrong, of course I want the case. I was just wondering why no police involvement. I get a lot of clients through that door that don't want the police involved in their affairs. I never pegged you for one of them, that's all," Jim was feeling more confident, after all if this dame was scared of the police then there was an angle he could work on. "Very well, may I sit so we can conduct business in a, more comfortable manner?" she asked. "Oh sure, I'm sorry." Jim was back on the defensive. As she sat she undid the coat and slipped it from her shoulders. Jim took the still wet coat and hung it, in an almost exaggerated show, on the rickety coat stand. He looked at Mrs Smythe-Carter (hell he even referred to her this formally in his own thoughts). She wore a simple, but undoubtedly expensive cream angora sweater. Her sizeable breasts heaved slightly as she exhaled another blast of cigarette smoke and Jim realised she had detected he was ogling her. "My husband is wealthy, very wealthy. He is heir to Carter Consolidated Chemicals. I think he has been kidnapped." Her resolve appeared to splinter ever so slightly. "Have you received any ransom letters, telephone calls from the kidnapper?" asked Jim. "No, nothing as yet. You don't understand Mr Duggan. I don't think mere criminals have kidnapped my husband. He has recently become infatuated by um, a woman of less than perfect breeding." She paused annoyed as she saw a smile creep onto Jim's lips. "A woman called Madame Angelique, though I doubt that is her real name." "So you think this Angelique dame has you old man?" Jim thought he had the angle on this case now and he wanted this woman to know it. "Then how'd you know that he is being held against his will?" Low blow Jim, but worth it, he thought to himself. He regretted his last remark seconds later when he saw her jaw tremble and Mrs Smythe-Carter fought back tears. "I'm sorry." Jim handed her what passed for a clean handkerchief and watched as she dabbed her eyes. Hell she even had class when she was crying. "When I say infatuated with her. I am not doing justice to my husband. He was enslaved, hopelessly besotted by this woman. I do not know how she has gained control of my husband but he appears to have been robbed of his will by her," Juliet added. "Intriguing, do you have anything on this woman an address or something?" asked Jim, his curiosity peeked slightly. "Unfortunately Mr Duggan I do not. All I have is an article in a local newspaper about the strange beliefs of Madame Angelique." She took a crumpled piece of newspaper from her purse and passed it to Jim. Whether Jim's disappointment that the article contained no photograph showed he wasn't sure. He read the brief article slowly, glancing up at his prospective client a few times. The article was poorly written and slightly sensationalist. It went on to say that a Dr Angelique Verlaine, an expert in classical studies had formed a society for women only. Dr Verlaine believed, and Jim sniggered audibly at this, that mankind was doomed unless women took control of society. To this end she had instituted a club based on ancient pagan practices and vague allusions to Amazonian traditions. Men were, and this was the killer, allowed to join as underlings and subjects of the women members. "I've read some crazy, way out stuff but this is really way out there with weirdest. And you say your husband...?" "Philip," she interjected, "Philip was besotted with this woman, and I guess her insane ideas." Jim looked across at his client; her eyes were giving away her battle to stem tears. He wanted to throw a protective arm round her, to assure her that he would reunite her with her husband. However, he froze; Mrs Smyth-Carter moved in a different social world to Jim's usual female clients, and in 1950s America, a guy like Jim definitely did not take liberties with "dames" like her. A brief pause allowed her to compose herself and continue to relate how a casual leafing through pulp magazines one fateful morning began the chain of events. "We were out driving, out in the bay area, when Philip pulled over into a gas station. While he filled the Corvette, I casually flicked through magazines. Now Mr Duggan, although I am not without knowledge about, ahem, some of the more exotic activities adults indulge in these days, nothing had prepared me for activities described in one particular magazine." Jim moved in his seat, and he urged her to continue. "A magazine called Fantastique, containing deplorable acts and lewd suggestions was in my hands. I must have let out an audible gasp of horror because both the gas station owner and Philip came over to my aid. Philip took that horrid publication from me and suggested I go and sit in the Corvette. The owner looked embarrassed and was offering some sort of implausible excuse to Philip as I left." Jim was making rough notes as the story progressed, occasionally looking up to see Mrs Smyth-Carter's ivory cheek redden from embarrassment. A faint smile was on his lips. The sight of Jim taking this story lightly angered Juliet. However, she decided not to give him the pleasure of an outburst. She would however shorten her planned tale to the salient details. "Philip returned to the automobile and we returned back home. I was in no mind to continue after the unpleasantness at the gas station," she continued, "we did not mention the event and I thought no more of it." "Don't tell me your husband had bought that magazine," Jim stated, almost triumphantly. "Am I really so transparent Mr Duggan?" she asked peevishly. "Um, no. But frankly Mr Smyth-Carter I've heard this type of story a million times. OK, so some of the variables are skewed in this story, but it still boils down to your husband wanting what you're not prepared to give. Marriage guidance is not my line of work," Jim added, this case was a crock and he had bitter experience of this type of domestic situation. "You, you bastard," she spluttered as a slap from her dainty hand underlined Juliet's anger. Her eyes were focussed, accusing and bitter and Jim felt a little ashamed for his half-arsed brush off. "I'm sorry. I just thought it was better to clue you in at the beginning. I don't think I can help you. Your husband has gone to this woman under his own will. Unless you are alluding to unlawful detention, then neither I nor SFPD can be of any help." "You think that you are such a smart, tough guy don't you Mr Duggan. Well it may surprise you to know that I do believe he is being restrained against his will him, and several other wealthy industrialists. As I said earlier, if you cannot handle this then I will go elsewhere. Although from the looks of your office work is something you should not be turning down," she retaliated venomously. Jim was shocked, largely from her angry tirade and from the fact that she was right. The remaining money from Grozinsky job was pretty much spoken for, Lenny would see to that. "OK, it's your money and I have given you fair warning," Jim conceded defeat. He would be working for her after all. Juliet's dark mood lightened slightly, "Good, your rates?" "$45 a day plus expenses." Hell, he might as well get something out of this he thought as his conscience pricked him at quoting $10 above his usual rate. "Agreed, I will see you tomorrow at my home, 10:30 am," she said as she handed Jim an address card. She turned and left the room without saying goodbye. The entrance of Lenny followed her departure in almost unseemly proximity. Lenny raised his eyebrows in a symbolic acknowledgement that Mrs Smyth-Carter had got him hot. Jim didn't reciprocate; instead, he glanced down into the street as best he could through grimy windows to see his new client make her way to her car. "What do you want now Lenny?" Jim asked tiredly without turning to face him. "Oh, nothing much," he lied, "you working for her then are you Jimmy boy?" "I hope that was a guess Lenny, if I find you've been earwigging confidential conversations...." "No I may have caught the end of your talk but I thought she had gone," Lenny's next lie lacked all the probability of the first. "Yes, I am working for the lady and now if you don't mind I have work to do," Jim said, irritated at Lenny's continuing presence. Lenny skulked back out of the offices and down to his own floor. Jim read and re-read Juliet's card. He didn't exactly know the area, he did know that it was in the richest district of San Francisco though. The wet morning dragged into an equally miserable afternoon with no let up from the rain driving in from the Pacific Ocean. Jim closed early, taking advantage of a short break in the deluge. Try as he might he couldn't get Juliet out of his mind, and yes the formalities of Mrs Smyth-Carter would be dropped. This had all the hallmarks of a run around and he was damn sure he wasn't going to put up with any Dame's pretensions. A bourbon induced sleep overwhelmed Jim and he dreamt of Juliet. Not lasciviously however; no just Juliet, her icy visage softening to a smile and her eyes reflecting radiant happiness and not the red rimmed sorrow of Jim's office. "Hellfire!" Jim woke to the piercing ring of his alarm. "Whoa Jimmy boy you'd better keep to purely professional on this, She is way outta your league," he audibly cautioned himself. The storm had passed through during the night and left a clear though chilly morning in its wake. Jim knew that he needed time to find her home and skipped breakfast. A Marlboro replaced his usual coffee as he quickly dressed. Juliet's home, well her husbands house actually, was quite a spread. He rang at the wrought iron gates and was escorted up the drive by a tall groundskeeper. "Mrs Smyth-Carter is expecting you," Jim was informed. "Good morning Mr Duggan, I am so glad you are prompt," Juliet appeared on the balcony, "Tom will show you inside." Jim went through the large doors and waited for Juliet to descend the stairs to meet him. "Quite a house erm ... Juliet," he ventured half expecting a rebuke. None came. "Yes, it is my favourite amongst the several homes we have." If that was a boast she didn't expand upon it. "At least it was... until recently." A housekeeper entered the room carrying unsolicited coffee and placed the silver tray on an adjacent side table. "Thank you Melissa," Juliet said, as the housekeeper poured two cups and placed them on the table. Juliet waited for the housekeeper to leave before continuing, "I have the magazine here Mr Duggan, with its filthy contents." Jim took the rolled up pulp magazine from her, and noticed the gaudy cover. The irony that a $1 magazine could bring down such a wealthy couple wasn't lost on him. The cover showed a rather plain woman with a painfully nipped in waist from what looked like a tightly laced leather corset. Turning the pages the theme continued, women wearing impossibly long leather boots, capes and a whole host of corsets. "Call me a hard bitten PI, but this isn't all that shocking," Jim said dismissively "Page 29, Mr Duggan," Juliet murmured. Jim complied and saw the offending image. It was of a man shackled face down on a leather covered vaulting horse. A woman, masked in something that looked like leather, was mounted on him. He then noticed that she was actually penetrating the shackled man. A huge fake dick sprouted from her crotch and was inches deep in the poor sucker's butt. The most distasteful element was the look on the man's face; pain, humiliation and excitement gave him an almost mask-like visage. "I, I see," Jim said, genuinely shocked to see such an image. "Your face reveals you too are shocked Mr Duggan. Even now I find the picture too distasteful to look at. Although I believe that the woman, if such a term may be applied to that creature, is none other than Angelique Verlaine." Juliet's whisper like voice concealed a rising tide of anger at having to mention this woman again. Jim had discretely folded the magazine in half and was reading the accompanying text as Juliet continued. "It was several... yes I believe about a week later that I was searching through a closet for some item or other when I came across that filthy magazine hidden inside Philip's jacket pocket. Of course I confronted him about it, but he would not reply, instead he stormed out of the house. He finally returned several hours later and apologised." "What was his explanation?" asked Jim. "He just said it was an impulse. One he couldn't rationalise or understand. He cried and asked for my forgiveness and of course I gave it," Juliet said as tears trickled from her eyes. Jim leaned forward and tentatively held her hand. He felt the alabaster skin and long perfectly manicured fingers in his rough hands. Juliet looked up. Sniffling back tears and smiled slightly. "It was a lie, he kept the magazine and I discovered that he had made contact with Madame Verlaine. He changed, I noticed marks on his body that he blamed on sports injuries. He wanted me to... to do things, unspeakable things and he raged when I refused," Juliet said. "And so he went to this Verlaine woman?" Jim enquired. "Not immediately, our rows got worse, he accused me of frigidity, of much worse," Juliet whispered, "he staid away for days, returning at all hours and then 6 days ago he left and I have not seen him since." Jim paused momentarily, allowing the distraught woman to compose herself and dab a handkerchief at moist eyes. Jim smiled at her, her eyes and body posture screamed out for physical contact. He knew that she was vulnerable, scared and insecure and he knew that he would hate himself if he took advantage of her in this condition. Jeez, he thought, his friggin' conscience would always get in the way! "I think it's pretty damned obvious where your husband is and I think we need to play this carefully. He is probably, well at least as far as the law goes, there under his own volition. I need to know what this Madame Verlaine has on him," Jim said, trying to prepare Juliet for the long haul. Juliet had managed to compose herself and Jim teased additional information from her. Unless there was some form of blackmail going on, and Jim sincerely doubted that, then all he was going to do is show that Juliet's husband had found another woman. He hated the thought of crushing Juliet's demoralised spirit further; but he had warned her. An uneasy hour later Jim stood and bade Juliet goodbye. She tried to smile, but failed and another of her ubiquitous servants showed Jim, ever so respectfully, to the door. Jim took a tortuous route back to the office. One that took him past one of the city's exotic book shops. He hurriedly parked his beat up Buick and went inside, resisting the temptation to run slightly to carry himself over the threshold. Inside he browsed the shelves and kept his ears alert for anything of use, as several "regulars" exchanged banter. Just as he was setting out to leave, he saw a copy of Fantastique. He grabbed it eagerly and flicked through the pages. Same format as the one Juliet had, he thought, and continued to the end section. Not a sign of Madame Verlaine and then Bingo! One of the letters was from the lady herself and was an incendiary attack on men, modern society and just about every other institution Jim could think of. He had a rough idea of an address for Madame Verlaine in a warehouse district. Jim purchased the magazine and hurried from the store to his car. His mind was most definitely not on his driving as he made his way back to his office. How was he going to play this one? The direct approach, "Good day Madame Verlaine, I think you are have my client's husband in your building." No, he was going to have to use a more indirect method. That night Jim set out for the approximate location of Madame Verlaine's premises. As he drove at little over walking pace through the largely deserted warehouse district, Jim felt uneasy. This case was weird and Jim hated weirdness. His headlights picked out a couple walking briskly about a hundred yards in front. Both were women. His headlights reflected of the women's silhouettes, especially from their legs. As he edged his car closer he could see that both women tottered on positively monstrously healed patent leather boots. The boots reached up above thigh height and were side buttoned with tiny white buttons contrasting with the gleaming black of the boots. "Don't need to be a genius to bet where those two are heading," Jim whispered to himself as he slowly turned of the main street and parked in a side street. He returned to the street and furtively peered round the corner of a grimy warehouse wall. The two women had crossed the quiet road and were approaching a rather large building that looked unremarkable amid the industrial and storage units scattered throughout this area of the city. Jim couldn't shake the idea of the ridiculous situation he was in, looking for all the world like some kind of peeping tom. Furthermore he still had no "big idea" of how the hell he was going to gain entrance to whatever the place was that had just taken delivery of the thigh booted couple. Jim always thought better with a cigarette and as he sat on a packing case he realised he had a lot of thinking to do. Any approach would be suspicious given the fact that this was not an area where things happened at night. Half-baked ideas flittered into his mind only to be rejected as implausible, dumb or just desperate. "Hey stranger, got a light?" Jim literally jumped from his impromptu seat. As he looked he saw a woman, waving a long cigarette in his direction. She was easily 6 feet tall, and glancing down he saw the reason, as again the gleam of patent leather boots revealed themselves from beneath a long leather coat. The woman's peroxide blond hair shimmered in the poor street lighting. Her face was heavily made up, dark purple shadow, thick red lipstick and deeply accentuated cheeks gave her a doll like quality. "A light?" she continued. "Um oh sure." Jim fumbled for a matchbook and lit the woman's cigarette. "That's a pretty amazing look." "That's a pretty lame line," teased the woman as she blew a thin stream of smoke towards Jim. "This look is more than the application of cosmetics, it is a mark of who I am." She turned and walked rapidly towards Madame Verlaine's building. "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." Jim saw an opportunity walking away and his desperation was reflected in his apologetic outburst. It did the trick. "So you crave forgiveness. Perhaps I could be persuaded to indulge you. Follow me and by the way, you may address me as Mistress Jennifer," she said, her back still to Jim. Jim obeyed and followed several paces behind the statuesque blonde. The loud report of her six-inch heels advertising their approach. Jim was nervous, he didn't really know why, but his back was wet with nervous perspiration in spite of the relatively cool San Francisco evening. He stood a few yards from the door as the woman knocked and exchanged a few words with an unseen door attendant. It was obvious that there was a problem, the mysterious woman began to raise her voice and eventually the door swung open. A nonchalant wave from the woman ushered Jim inside. The light level was low and Jim looked around the entrance hall edgily. There was no sign of the reluctant door attendant. Though rather gloomy, there was enough light to make out expensive decorations. The walls were hung with heavy velvety coverings, dark mahogany appeared to make up much of the structure of the entrance. "Well, how do you like Madame V's residence?" Jim was asked by the woman, a delicious half smile on her scarlet lips. Jim began to think this woman was the mysterious Madame Verlaine and answered accordingly, "Not bad, a bit clich?d. Needs a man's touch." That last remark brought him a hard slap across his still smirking face from a now glowering Jennifer. Before he could act two women, clad in shiny halter tops and short leather skirts, appeared and grabbed both of his arms. "You will learn to show more respect, little man, or you will experience the true meaning of pain and humiliation, do you understand?" Jim was shocked, his jibe was designed to elicit a response, but not this kind of reaction. He had better play along with this crazy bitch he decided. "Yes, I understand," he said. Another slap and Jim tried to get free, but the two women levered his arms behind his back, forcing his torso to lower. His mind spun, the women were too strong and he was starting to regret coming in to this madhouse. "Yes Mistress Jennifer. You will address each goddess in this establishment as Mistress, am I making myself clear?" she spat. "Yes Mistress Jennifer, I beg your forgiveness," Jim said, the last part of his reply coming out involuntarily. Jim was looking down at his captor's booted feet, the reflection from the lights shimmering on the well-polished patent leather. His thoughts began to drift, he imagined caressing those impossibly long leather-encased legs, feeling the rigid cool leather and tracing its pattern to his mistress's upper thighs. He was shaken out of his dream. "Take him and make him acceptable for his presentation to the Sisterhood," Jennifer ordered. Jim was escorted by the two woman, each wearing ebony halter-tops that shimmered and displayed each woman's full bosom to perfection. It was obvious by the way that there full breasts moved in the material's embrace that it was not leather of any kind Jim was acquainted with. The women's midriff were bare, much like the south sea women Jim had seen and occasionally got closer to while in the Marines during WW2. However, around their navels was a marking, a kind of tattoo, a red circle enclosing the navel and a cross descending from the circle again in vivid red. The skirts were shorter than Jim had ever seen. The scarlet contrasted with the ebony halter-top and was obviously leather as it held their curvaceous behinds in a firm embrace. Fishnets framed powerful and athletic looking legs that tapered into jet-black ankle boots that glimmered hypnotically as the women moved. The trio approached a dark, solid looking wooden door. It dawned on Jim that he did not know what these two women looked like as he was forced to stoop by the firm hold each had taken of his arm and shoulder. He attempted to plug this gap in his knowledge and strained his head to one side to look up at one of his escorts. As his eyes fell on the woman's head he let out a gasp, part surprise and part fear. The woman's head was a shimmering sphere, highly polished black material clung to every part of her head and descended to her throat to be engulfed beneath a shiny metallic collar. A slight bulge revealed her nose and two ovals lined up with her nostrils. Apart from two enlarged ovals for her eyes there was no other break in the hood's surface. Indeed, the area around where Jim realised her mouth would be was more rigid and was obviously built up to hold the wearer in a permanent mute state. The woman looked at Jim, her eyes betraying no emotion as they sparkled under heavy, colourful lids and thick, obviously false lashes. Jim's penis hardened instantly, its bulge noticeable to both women. Why the hell did these strange creatures turn him on? Parts of Jim's psyche he didn't want to confront was unravelling rapidly as this bizarre night continued and Jim did not like that fact one little bit. The women threw the door open to reveal a large white tiled room. Quickly Jim was pulled inside and placed on bench. His arms were strapped to two radiating poles and his legs were likewise strapped to similar poles. His body resembled a giant X shape. The room was not cold but Jim felt himself shiver, his eyes wide with fear. He had been in dicey situations before, fistfights and even on two occasions he had had to use a gun. He had come through some of hellish moments during the pacific campaign. However, all that was in the normal world with situations, although frightening, that corresponded to rules and behaviour Jim understood. Here, now, as he was circled by two elaborately dressed figures Jim felt both confused and fearful. The women began to undress him, clothes were cut from his body and rapidly his former garments lay in a shredded pile on the floor. He squirmed, naked before the identically attired, hooded women. "Please, let me go I promise you won't see me again," Jim pleaded with them. He wasn't lying either; he had no attention of ever coming back here, Mrs Smyth-Carter could go to hell. This job was one Jim Duggan could definitely do without. His pleas were ignored. The women almost mechanically assembled a collection of items on adjacent wheeled tables and pushed them ominously towards the struggling man. Jim screamed at them, any pretence at macho bravery melting away as his predicament came into focus in his fearful mind. One of the women grasped his head, long black fingernails emerging from smooth red fingerless gloves. For the first time Jim got a whiff of the material making up so much of the women's costume, it was latex. These crazy bitches were wearing latex clothing. He tried to shake his head against her vice like grip to no avail. Silently, the other woman approached him, a shiny black item hanging from her red, gloved hand. Jim's head was lifted slightly and something was slipped over his head. Again the whiff of rubber assailed his nostrils and he glimpsed a small bundle of black latex as it was moved past his eyes and allowed to rest against his throat. Jim felt a band tighten around the base of his skull. Another band was pulled over the top of his head and was attached to the latex item. Jim could see that the band was about a half inch thick and ran along the bridge of his nose before splitting into two narrower bands that flared out as an inverted Y. More tightening of the new band cause a cup shaped latex half mask to cup Jim's lower face with increasing firmness. Eventually, Jim's mouth was clamped firmly shut as the cloying rubber mask fixed itself as a skin tight addition to his lower face. Jim's protests were now reduced to a meaningless "Mmpphh" as the women viewed him with complete dispassion. A thick latex collar was raised to his throat and wrapped around his trembling neck. He realised that the collar would prevent him looking down and, because the collar flared at either side to peak at eight inches at the rear, side to side vision was also robbed from him. A strap at the rear of the collar was tightened and the base of his skull was compressed much as his jaw had been earlier. The front of the collar was then closed and held his throat in a firm though not choking grip. Things, bad as they were, got worse when Jim saw one of the women grab his still firm member and pull it away from his body. The other brought a 4 inch long curved shiny metal tube and proceeded to feed his penis into the confines of the metal cylinder. The coldness of the device caused his manhood to shrink significantly. The women, obviously aware of the fact, waited several seconds until nature had taken its course and then unseen by Jim began to tighten the grip of the tube. A small key caused the tube to close by a ratchet mechanism. As Jim sensed the growing compression he squirmed in his bonds, attempting to kick free from the thick cords binding his limbs. Eventually the tightening ended and Jim realised that his prick was now in its very own shiny metal prison. One of the women slowly and deliberately threaded the key onto a thin silver chain in Jim's plain sight. Then his legs were released. Unfortunately, his hopes of release were dashed when more strange items were readied at his feet. First briefs were slipped over each foot and pulled up his legs. The sleek black latex rubbed over his legs deliciously as the women eased the garment over his thighs and threaded his now shimmering penis through a small opening. The latex briefs were then pulled up tightly and his buttocks were spread to accommodate a thick latex intruder as it ploughed into his anus. Jim's eyes opened in shock and pain as the dildo slid past his sphincter and lodged itself within his body. Tears of embarrassment ran from his reddened eyes and his body fell back to the bench. He felt the women fit shoes to his feet, but such was his submission he did not look to see them carry out their latest task.. Had he looked he would see the women fit shiny ankle boots to his feet. They tugged the boots onto his feet and began to lace the 4 inch heeled boots on. Jim winced as the narrow leather boots crushed his toes. Finally the women released Jim's arms. Thoughts of escape still crossed his mind and seemingly aware of this his arms were grabbed by one of the women. Jim was forced to his feet and for the first time realised the limitations imposed by his footwear as he tottered unsteadily. More "mmpphhing" leaked from his masked mouth as he stared down past the projecting tube to see his feet held in the gleaming boots. A small padlock attached to each ankle strap ensured removal is no longer an option. He felt more latex pulled along his arms, forcing them together behind his back. The women quickly lace up the latex arm sheath, forcing Jim's forearms together in a painful back-prayer position. Jim felt his wrists touch and then forearms meet as the latex welded his limbs together. Jim howled in pain as cramps seized his throbbing arms, the mask distorting his cries into a faint mewling. A chain was attached to his collar and he was lead, half stumbling, from the room and back along the corridor. This time they took an elevator from the entrance lobby up two floors. The smell of warming latex perfumed the interior of the elevator, mixing with sweat from a frightened male captive. Momentarily the elevator juddered to a stop and Jim fell against the wall. Slowly, the doors creaked open and Jim peered into the dark expanse beyond the elevator. His heart pounded wildly in his chest and his skin became prickly, sensing each trickle of nervous perspiration snaking down his body. One woman tugged him into the darkness. His eyes adjusting to the gloom picked out tiers of seats occupied by figures. The tiers radiated from a central ornate focus and at the focus was a large and ornate seat. It was unoccupied. Lights flickered on strategically around the hall. Jim and his companions were picked out by the lighting, the tiers of seating remained wrapped in faint twilight. Suddenly a spotlight picked out a woman stood adjacent to the throne like chair. She stood haughtily. The word goddess, Jim thought, was overused, but in this case was apt. She stood in towering boots that reached up to her crotch area. The deep scarlet shone like coals in the surrounding gloom. A jet black shimmering corset encapsulated her body, moulding it to divine dimensions. The corset stretched from her hips to her bust and gave her a dramatic hour glass figure. Steel supports could be seen built into the fabric, expanding as the woman breathed before reasserting her erotic shape. Hands rested on her latex covered hips and again the sheen revealed that shoulder length gloves sheathed the woman's arms. "Sisters, we are gathered to witness another offering to our Leader's vision of a society ruled by the true superior sex. Below you see, bound, penetrated and cowed, a man. Robbed of his dignity and enslaved much as his vile sex has enslaved our sisters for millennia. This man has the opportunity to be amongst the first of his sex to atone for their crimes," the woman, whom Jim would later recognise as Antoinette, Mistress of the Whip, spoke with an obvious French accent. Cries of shame and punish him rained down from the darkened ranks above him. Jim wept silently. He was petrified by the prospect that this group, appearing to number hundreds of women, was going to live out their man hating fantasies on him. Part of him urged him to get a grip, to not give way to the fear churning in his insides; he controlled his shivering and stood eyes cast down grimly. The tirade continued from the throng of women and Jim tried to block it all out. His head was forcibly lifted just as the light level grew significantly. The women were arrayed along tier after tier of seats. Their ranks shimmered in the newly restored light, wave after wave of latex, leather and vinyl burned its erotic presence into Jim's psyche. "All rise for our gracious leader, goddess Angelique Verlaine," the invocation rang out from a tall woman clothed from head to toe in shimmering ivory latex - the herald. Slowly she entered the hall. In absolute, unnatural silence her boots taped out a staccato retort from the marble floor of the hall. Jim didn't want to look, like a child he imagined that if he didn't see the monster he would be OK. The timpani of leather heels got louder, Jim bit hard into his lip. She was approaching him that was clear even through tightly shut eyes. A shadow brushed against his limited awareness. It was her, she was stood inches from him. A gloved hand cupped his chin and slowly raised his sweat soaked head. "There, there, you are frightened. Sisters have you forgotten not to frighten our new playthings! See how he shivers, like a terrified little animal," a rich sultry voice resonated against Jim, as smooth latex enshrouded hands massaged his dampened head, almost in a motherly fashion. Jim chanced to open his eyes, just a fraction. As tear crusted eyes opened he saw her. Raven hair streaming in ringlets from a pale, porcelain like face. Dark eyes offset by azure eyeshadow and framed by fluttering lashes lanced into his. Scarlet lips, moist and inviting parted and she kissed him gently on his fore-head. His legs gave in and he slumped, only his ever-present attendants kept him from crumpling at her feet. "Jim Duggan, your previous life has ended, here, today. You belong to me now." Her voice was like a song, the words stung like a bullwhip. "Though you may walk again amongst the outer world, the dark violent world of male oppression. You will not be a part of it, your heart, your very soul is anchored here now and only from here, from me will you find succour." Jim stared mesmerised by her, only dimly aware that she like her sisters wore glimmering latex. Had he glanced from her exquisite face he would see a voluptuous body bedecked in scarlet latex from throat to toe. Her figure constricted by a heavy leather corset and her legs held within red leather thigh boots, cruelly laced from ankle to crotch. He did not see this, however. His thoughts were lost in his goddess' eyes. "Your investigation of my sisterhood is at an end. You are now a part, admittedly a very lowly part, of that sisterhood. You have embarked upon a process of transformation, one trodden by very few of your sex. But one that I will ensure all men will one day tread. Some of your lowly sex are further along this path." Angelique Verlaine turned, walked towards a raised plinth and gestured. Jim wrenched his eyes away and traced the line from her face along a gracefully lofted, latex encased arm to where she pointed. Two women, sisters to those that held him, entered the hall, dragging a figure behind them. The figure was stumbling as much as walking on 8-inch stiletto heels that formed part of thigh high shiny black boots. The heels themselves contrasted with boots being shiny metallic in colour. Legs were held rigidly straight and the very rigidity of the boots compounded the captives' extreme difficulty in walking. "Hmm, Philippe you really are not applying yourself. I expected you to have, how I hate this chauvinistic word, mastered this moderate footwear by now. Never mind, you have a visitor who has graciously agreed to join you on this remarkable journey," Madame Verlaine said. If Philip Smythe-Carter heard any of this he did not respond. Then again, thought Jim, the huge bulbous mask would preclude most sensory input. The rest of his client's husband was similarly covered in restrictive glossy black latex. Briefs, very much like the ones Jim wore, rose into a thick jet black latex blouse. Overlying the blouse was a viciously laced corset, robbing its victim of any semblance of a masculine physique as his waist curved to 20 inches or less. Again, in consort with Jim, a heavy latex single arm binder folded Philip's arms into a painful back prayer shape. Was this Jim's future? Again, a rising tide of fear began to take hold of Jim: he was loosing the battle to retain any semblance of his nerve. Philip was anchored against a column and a leash was snapped into a dull grey metal ring that projected purposely from the stone column. He hung, trance-like, where he was left by his latex guardians. "Philippe has been most useful. His, soon to be my, chemical company has developed much of the wondrously sensuous latex that we have taken very much to our hearts. Now Mr Duggan, I believe it is time for you to take centre stage." She gestured to Jim's accompanying escorts who firmly led him towards the raised area where Madame Verlaine stood. Jim was forced into a kneeling position and a leather band was placed around his head, anchoring it to the floor. A thick rubber blindfold restricted his vision. Straps were fastened around both ankles enhancing his developing bondage. His senses ached for clues about what was happening. The pungent smell of the latex overpowered his sense of smell and thus, blind and immobile, he strained his ears to pick up any clue as to his fate. "Sisters, this man, James Martin Duggan, has entered our inner sanctum. He has spied on our temple and he has ventured arrogantly into our world. What would you have me do with him?" Angelique Verlaine shouted to the assembled throng. Jim gulped hard and attempted to stand. The leather bonds held firm, though a slap from a gloved hand stung his upper back in payment for his temerity. Sweat dribbled down aching limbs and salty tears trickled down his rubber-covered face. Shouts varied "whip him", "punish him". Then from a number of voices, almost in unison, "convert him, change him". Jim wondered what they meant but as the voices joined as one, he had little doubt that this, whatever this was, had been decreed as his fate. "Thank you sisters, your wisdom is, as ever, refreshing and your faith in my skills, gratifying. As for you James, oh what joys I have to offer you. In a way you are going to find out everything about this building, its purpose in the most intimate way possible." With that she stroked his head gently whilst a gloved finger toyed with his earlobe, sensuously, menacingly. The women started to move from their seats towards where Philip Smythe- Carter stood. Jim could hear the sound of countless high-heeled women boots file past him, his current head down position allowed no further sight of his new owners. Suddenly he was freed from the floor and raised. He felt that he was being lead towards the door he remembered Philip had so recently been lead from. Whatever lay beyond the door signified greater torment and greater humiliation, that was evident from what had happened to Philip. After traversing several doors, and descending a flight of stairs, Jim was laid on a rough mattress. The coarse material scratched his sweat soaked back and legs. He then felt his arms being drawn away from his body and heard the distinctive clicks as snap lock anchored him to the bench's frame. Legs were next and these were held taught and slightly upright, no doubt displaying his rubber clad arse to anyone who cared to look. Panic erupted as something pungent was brought into contact with his nose. His mouth was still bound in the latex half mask and despite his best efforts Jim was forced to breathe in the vapour filled air. His body felt light and he sped down an imaginary tunnel until sleep took away his fears. To be continued