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Trading Stocks for Bonds

12

Trading Stocks for Bonds (How Linsey was Collared)

Her teacup chinked against its saucer. Not once, but five or six times in quick rattling succession. She was trembling and couldn't hide it.

"I can pay you back," Linsey Altmell pleaded with passion. "You know I can net that amount in just one year. I did it two years ago."

Apart from a security man blocking the door there was only one other person in the plush office at 6:30pm on a Friday evening. Ranulph Markham, her boss and chairman of Markham Brandham Stockbrokers sat on the other side of the large teak desk.

He frowned to indicate he did not share her optimism. "Miss Altmell, we're talking about eighteen million pounds! Perhaps there is more we haven't uncovered yet. You are not in Leeson's league, and this company certainly won't be going the way of Barings, but you have nevertheless wiped out almost one percent of my personal net worth. Miss Altmell, a schoolchild could have handled these accounts better than you did, although perhaps not as deviously."

Linsey gave up trying to drink her tea. The clattering of her cup and saucer only served to incriminate her further. She placed them carefully on the table and moved her trembling hands onto her lap.

Their eyes met. His, a sixty-five year old glazy blue, slightly baggy and wrinkled beneath; hers a vivid penetrating hazel, still glistening with the beauty of youth. She was not the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but he thought her more attractive than most - a pleasant face, long brown hair, a slim body; and she knew how to dress well, an increasingly rare thing in the modern age. For her part, Linsey had always thought Markham rather good-looking in spite of his advancing years.

It had been hectic week on the markets and Markham was tired of talking prices and profits. He valued his weekends, putting aside financial matters to concentrate on his true passions. Closing up the file containing Linsey Altmell's catalogue of disastrous deals he declared to himself that the weekend had just started.

"Am I fired?" Linsey asked, perplexed at why Markham couldn't just come out and say it.

"No. I'm not firing you. That would be too easy," he replied.

She squirmed awkwardly in her seat and ventured another question: "So are you going to call the police?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Why bother? You might go to jail for a couple of years. Then you are released, you write a book and sell the film rights. Meanwhile I'm still eighteen million down. I might have to close one of my charitable foundations."

"So, you're going to keep me on?" She asked, smiling, but a little surprised.

"Yes I am... after a fashion. You are an attractive young woman, with a pretty face and a nice body. Miss Altmell, I intend to have you."

She became wide-eyed with shock and gave a nervous laugh, unintentionally mocking him. Her boss might be a rich and powerful man but she always regarded him as a gentleman not a sexual predator. This didn't suit the mild-mannered chairman at all.

"This is a joke, right? It's ridiculous! You're trying to blackmail me, and I have a witness to that effect," she glanced at the impassive security guard by the door then looked Markham squarely in the eyes. "You... can't... have... me," she snarled, "I resign!"

Her witness was Cormack, Head of Security at Markham Brandham. After two years with the firm Linsey still didn't know if it was his first or last name. Like 'Shakira' he used to joke, as only a man 6'5" tall and built like a boxer can. He was good looking, helpful and sociable, liked by everybody including Linsey, but everyone knew him to be fiercely loyal to his employer. He did not return Linsey's glance. Instead he looked at his boss, ready to carry out any instruction.

"You misunderstand me Miss Altmell." Markham said, appearing not to take offence from her comment or the implicit ageism. "I didn't mean to suggest anything as crude as bedding you. I'm well catered for in that respect already. What I meant was to have you, in the sense of owning you. Owning your body permanently."

Linsey was stunned into silence for several seconds. "This is sick." She said, rising from her chair. Cormack immediately moved towards her.

"Sit!" Ranulph Markham barked. Linsey recoiled at the surprising ferocity of Markham's command. She sat down again whilst Cormack backed up to his position by the door. "I haven't explained what I intend to do to you yet."

Linsey prided herself on her cool composure but it was being severely tested. Feeling her mouth drying up she reached again for her teacup. This time she left the saucer on the table, but it still rattled as she lifted the cup. It needed both her shaky hands to raise the cup to her lips. Markham bided his time. He enjoyed watching her discomfort as she sipped repeatedly, hoping perhaps that the cup contained something a good deal stronger than tea.

She put the cup down decisively, as if strengthened by the tea. It had to be a sick joke, she thought. You can't turn an employee into a sex slave. Not even if she's lost your company eight million pounds. Not in London in the twenty-first century! She realized she was taking this game far too seriously. It was time to humour him.

"Okay Sir." She sat up straight and ground her buttocks into the seat with a little wiggle as she tried to regain her poise. "Then please explain what are you planning to do to me."

Markham was happy to oblige. In fact he had been waiting for this moment. He spoke slowly and deliberately in his gravelly tones so that Linsey could absorb every word.

"First of all, you will remove all your clothes. You can do it by yourself or with Cormack's assistance, I really don't mind. Your jewelry too, you won't need it anymore. I'll donate the proceeds to one of my charities."

Linsey instinctively reached up to touch the expensive gold chain that lay gleaming against her tanned skin; tantalisingly visible between the two-button opening of her blouse.

"When you are completely naked Cormack will bind you. The rope we use is soft, but there will be lots of it and it will be very tight. We need to fit you into the suitcase behind you."

Linsey swiveled around to see the suitcase she'd barely registered before. It would be difficult to fit somebody into it, but not impossible. She turned back to face him.

"You'll be gagged of course. We will pack your mouth with a silk scarf then tape it over several times." He looked up at Cormack for confirmation of this. Cormack nodded.

"And hooded too. A black cloth bag with a drawstring pulled tightly around your neck."

She swallowed her saliva nervously. Markham noted and enjoyed that first nervous gulp.

"When you are locked in the suitcase we'll leave. You'll be traveling in style, in the boot of my Rolls-Royce. Ever been in a Rolls-Royce before Miss Altmell?"

She shook her head and gulped again.

"They're beautiful machines, automotive works of art. It's like floating on air. They have such a smooth ride, as you'll discover for yourself very soon. Where was I? Oh yes, I remember...

"Immediately upon arrival at my country estate your training will commence. Neither Cormack or I will be involved. I have excellent people to do that sort of thing. Did I ever mention that to you before? No?" He made it sound like an oversight, the forgetfulness of an old man. "It's not only stock-exchange traders I employ. I also have people who specialise in turning a sophisticated woman - as you pretend to be - into a shameless whore, which is what you will become. Sometimes, Miss Altmell, to build something worthwhile one must to destroy what was there before."

Single tears tumbled down each of Linsey's cheeks in perfect sync. She didn't believe him but it was scaring her all the same. She pleaded with him. "Mr. Markham Sir, you can't do this. John, my boyfriend, is calling to collect me in twenty minutes. He'll know something's wrong if I'm not waiting outside for him. Please stop this awful game right now." Buoyed up by the certainty of John's arrival she rose to her feet and walked hastily towards the door. She stood facing the barrel chest of an immovable object.

"Let me pass Cormack!" She demanded, looking up to him more in hope than expectation. Cormack gripped her by the upper arm, spun her around and pushed her down into her chair. He yanked her arms back through the vertical wooden slats of the chair's backrest and pulled the handcuffs from their holster on his belt. He ratcheted the cuffs onto her wrists, effectively locking her to the chair.

"I assume you finished your tea?" Markham joked meanly, noticing Linsey looking forlornly into the teacup. "Ever worn handcuffs before Ms Altmell?"

Linsey shook her head sullenly.

"These ones are very comfortable don't you think, they don't dig into your flesh like other types, much more suitable for long term use on a woman's soft skin and slender wrists. I like them so much I bought shares in the company."

Even though he was facing her from across the table Markham could tell that Linsey's wrists were tugging and twisting within their unaccustomed confinement. "Does that feel nice, Ms Altmell? Some women like it. Their powerlessness turns them on. They like being controlled, submitting themselves to another, and being done to. It frees them from guilt. Just imagine the exquisite torment when you want to masturbate, but you can't because your hands are secured behind you. Many women have their most intense orgasms when they are tied or secured. Perhaps you will be like that too?"

"No," Linsey mouthed softly, and without conviction. She ceased her struggling, sat up straight, composed herself and looked across to Markham. Just because she was handcuffed it didn't mean she need lose her dignity.

"That's a nice outfit you're wearing, Miss Altmell." Markham commented casually. "Medium grey pin-striped jacket and matching skirt. Very nice tailoring. Bespoke I presume?"

Linsey nodded warily, wondering where that line of questioning was heading.

"You have good taste. I do so prefer a suit with a tailored fit. Quality is always worth the price. Cars, clothes... slaves." He looked at her chest, noticing the anxious rise and fall of her breasts. "That blouse goes perfectly with your jacket. Burgundy, I would call that."

"Yes, Sir." Linsey reluctantly confirmed. It was indeed burgundy, and this particular blouse was one of her favourites, a Donna Karan.

"You've worn the suit and the blouse before, haven't you?" He looked down at his typed-up notes. "March 21st, it says here."

She was taken aback by the mention of such a seemingly irrelevant detail. "What's that got to do with anything?" She asked with genuine curiosity.

"You'll find out later. First allow me to continue explaining what will happen to you. I assume you are interested in what your future holds?"

Linsey glared back at him, trying to maintain her dignity by sitting bolt upright in her chair, aided ironically by her cuffed wrists trapped behind the chair's back.

Markham continued. "When you reach my estate you will be unpacked from the suitcase, untied, and your naked body will be paraded in front of some specially invited guests. You will be chained to one of the oak pillars in my library and will be whipped. It will hurt, perhaps more painful than anything you've ever known. Yet it will only be a taste of what will follow. Then you'll be left hanging in your restraints while I provide dinner for my guests...

"I'm sure Miss Altmell you will look exquisitely beautiful, your whip-marked naked body standing chained against a pillar whilst my guests enjoy a sumptuous meal just a few yards away from you...

"You, Miss Altmell, will be the dessert course. My guests will give you a thorough and extremely intimate examination...

"You will be fitted with a thick leather collar in keeping with your new status as an untrained whore. Then you will be chained in your cell for the night. You'll have to get used to that Miss Altmell, you'll sleep in chains every night from now on...

"In the morning you will dress as a maid and learn how to scrub floors, polish shoes and attend to any number of menial tasks. If it is a fine day you may be allowed outside to weed the flower beds. Naturally you will be chained like a dog as such times...

"Every afternoon you will be taught how to serve men and women, and how to behave in the presence of your superiors. Superiors means everybody, including the garden labourers. You will learn how to take a man's cock fully within your throat and how to accommodate him in your rectum as if it's no different to the missionary position...

"You will be whipped if you are bad, You will be whipped if you are good. You will learn to respond to the whip. In due course, the very sight of a whip in a man's hand will arouse you...

"A tattoo artist will begin etching an elaborate design on your skin, which will weave its way up and down the length of your body from ankles to neck. It will be beautiful, and will mark you out as a lifelong slave. You will be pierced and branded in any manner we see fit."

Linsey had closed her eyes, but could not close her ears to Markham's monologue. Her mind was reeling, overwhelmed with the images he described. The cool steel encircling her wrists seemed to reinforce everything he was saying.

Markham continued relentlessly, like a boxer finishing off his opponent. "You will experience extreme forms of bondage, sometimes you'll be suspended or stretched, contorted or compressed. You will attend elegant parties, where your body will be exhibited in ways more obscene than you can possibly imagine...

"Occasionally you will be permitted the release of an orgasm, but always under the strict control of one of your handlers, or perhaps as part of a public performance...

"When, after three months your training is complete I will decide whether to keep you or sell you. I am a member of an exclusive club that owns a small island in the South Pacific. Perhaps I will send you there to be trained as a ponygirl. You might enjoy that Miss Altmell, being harnessed in an array of leather straps, a bit wedged between your teeth, every day spent trotting around the island with a whip being applied to your buttocks.

"There is a market for young attractive women like you. A market bigger than you can possibly imagine. You are a valuable commodity, or at least you will be when you are a fully-trained bonded whore."

Linsey was still immaculately dressed in her burgundy and grey, but her clothes no longer seemed to fit. The jacket that always felt so comfortable now seemed too tight and too warm, and she even wondered if it really suited her as well as she always supposed.

She was biting down on her bottom lip, her eyes darting nervously about the room. Loose strands of hair, which she habitually tucked behind her ears with her fingers, now hung untidily at the side of her face. She flicked her head back in a wild gesture that only messed her hair up even more. Inside she was a mess too. Markham's speech had scared her. It was like the strange churned up feeling she had in her belly when she fell in love, but this was far more intense, almost painful.

Markham paused to observe his latest acquisition and saw that Linsey's subtly made-up eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, her breathing rapid, as if fighting a mental battle.

"Oh Lord, look at the time!" Markham exclaimed, breaking the silence and causing Linsey to open her eyes. "Your boyfriend will be here in fifteen minutes. We'd better get you undressed and ready. You won't need clothes any more. What's it to be? With or without Cormack's assistance?"

"Without," Linsey replied automatically, though being undressed by the handsome hunk Cormack would not have seemed such a terrible prospect until this evening..

Cormack unlocked her cuffs. She rubbed her wrists, more in imitation of scenes in television and movies than from any actual pain. She glanced warily at both men, and began hesitantly undressing under Cormack's intimidating gaze.

She folded and laid her jacket, skirt and blouse carefully on the table and stood self-conscious and vulnerable in her underwear, unable to shield her body from view, and unwilling to flaunt it.

Her undergarments, - bra, panties, matching garter-belt and stockings - were burgundy, just like her blouse. Attention to detail! Markham liked that. The men nodded to each other in approval. They often talked of how so few women make the effort these days. Cormack was equally taken with Linsey's gym-toned body, neither skinny nor muscular nor too fleshy. Her three-inch heels, strappy and open-topped, gave her posture that all-important lift. Stockings absolutely had to be accompanied by heels in Markham's opinion.

Linsey pleaded to Cormack with her eyes, hoping that being stripped down to her underwear would suffice. It was futile, Cormack gestured that she should continue undressing. He doubted Linsey's nakedness could improve on her lingerie-clad body, but somehow it did.

Markham, meanwhile, stared impassively out of his tenth floor window. Was his indifference designed to insult her further, Linsey wondered? "Earrings, bracelets, necklace, watch and rings," he reminded her without bothering to turn around.

She fought back her sobs as she removed her jewelry, placing each item carefully on top of her folded clothes, as if she expected to be dressing again. She'd almost forgotten her earrings until Cormack reminded her. She removed them, replacing the fastenings on each before adding them to the rest of her garments.

Linsey stood head bowed and naked in front of two fully clothed men, stripped not just of her clothing, but her identity, her status, and her will to resist. Neatly folded and piled on the table was the sum of everthing she enjoyed, held precious, and strived for.

On top of the pile were the high-heeled sandals placed side by side, receiving the attention of all three of the room's occupants. Markham's philosophy was that the delicated straps which caressed the arch of the feet and wrapped around the ankle were subtle yet powerful symbols of bondage. High heels, to him, represented a woman's willingness to conform to a man's ideal. He consulted his clipboard and the photo of Linsey leaving the building on March 21st. The shoes in the picture were very different. He showed the picture to Cormack.

"We already have the shoes we need," Cormack confirmed, "we don't need those."

Markham laughed at how Cormack and his team always had things covered. "Put the shoes on," he commanded Linsey.

She sat down, her naked buttocks sticking to the leather cushioned seat. She placed the sandals on the floor and fastened them onto her bare feet buckling the straps around her slim ankles. It was an awful feeling - these Jimmy Choo's always made her feel so sexy, yet now, parading naked in front of these two men it was the last thing she wanted to feel.

"Tie her wrists, Cormack, then take out the clothes," Markham instructed before returning to his view out of the window. Cormack opened the suitcase containing the rope and the gagging tape they mentioned earlier.

"No. Please don't." Linsey's quivering voice pleaded as Cormack approached her, a length of thick white rope gripped in his hand.

"Do as Cormack says or he'll hit you. Then he'll tie you up anyway." Markham advised.

The combined advice and threat made Linsey shiver. She remembered an awful incident in the ground floor lobby one day when one of Cormack's punches split open a man's nose. She had no choice but to turn her back to him, cross her wrists behind her and let him tie them.

After making six neat loops and giving a couple of decisive tugs Cormack was done. Such was the efficacy of his binding technique Linsey felt like her wrists had been at once tied, glued and riveted together. She looked forlornly over her shoulder at her joined wrists, bending back her fingers in the vain hope she could reach the knots. It was hopeless.

12
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