Bound by Control 2: A worm turned

The group sat huddled around the tables in the closed club. The dim lighting cast a warm, almost conspiratorial glow over their faces, highlighting the serious expressions and focused gazes that spoke of the weight of their upcoming plans. The air was charged with an undercurrent of tension.

Marcus and Sheila had joined them. Marcus had uncovered a wealth of information from Olivia's computer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and excitement as he recounted his findings. "With the data I've gathered," he began, his voice low and measured, "we have a comprehensive picture of their operations, their weaknesses, and their vulnerabilities."

Lance and Roy chimed in, their voices a low, menacing growl. "And with the information we've squeezed out of Olivia and her husband," Lance continued, "we have more than enough to act on."

Kay, her hand still resting on Michael's knee, leaned in, her eyes sharp and focused. "So, what's the plan?" she asked, her voice low.

Sheila, her expression a mix of confidence and calculation, said, “We’ll have to put our heads together, get our ducks in a row. If we tip the bitch off, they might find out about us before we can act. 

Michael, feeling the weight of the responsibility for all this, rose from his seat, his eyes meeting each of their gazes in turn. “I just want to thank you all,” he told them, his voice steady and determined.

The group exchanged glances, a silent, almost telepathic understanding passing between them. They knew the risks, the dangers. Kay pulled on his arm, directing him to sit down. This is not a place where you stand up and make speeches of gratitude. 

Roy, his voice a low, authoritative rumble, broke the silence. "It's too late to do anything tonight. I'll have a couple of my boys watch Chrissie's house in Cuxton. They'll let us know when she goes to her office. We can then check the office out to see if it's a viable option."

Sheila, her eyes gleaming with a mix of ambition and calculation, leaned forward, "I want all the information you can get. I think whatever is happening could lead to some good business opportunities."

With a final, decisive nod, the group rose from their seats, the atmosphere charged with a mix of determination and anticipation. The weight of their plan hung heavy in the air, a silent, ominous promise of the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead. The dim lighting of the closed club cast long shadows across their faces, highlighting the serious expressions and focused gazes that spoke of their shared purpose and the power dynamics at play.

Kay and Michael moved first, both exhausted by the day’s events, and headed towards the exit. Kay's hand rested comfortably in Michael's hand. Michael, feeling the warmth of her touch, the pressure of her fingers, allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Sheila and Roy followed closely behind, their dynamic a contrast to the others. Sheila had locked Roy's collar back on him after making him kneel before everybody to ask for it. The act was a public, almost brutal assertion of her power and control. Roy, his head bowed in submission, followed behind her, his steps measured and controlled.

Marcus, Anne, and Lance remained behind, the atmosphere in the closed club shifting from one of strategic planning to a more intimate, almost conspiratorial tone. Marcus had poured them drinks, the clink of glass against glass a soft, almost melodic sound that broke the silence. They sat, enjoying the quiet for a moment.

Lance spoke first, his voice a low, authoritative growl. "So, what do you think of him, Anne? Talking about Michael, do you think he's on the up and up?".

Anne leaned back in her seat, her eyes thoughtful and assessing. "I think so," she replied. "I think he's smart, too. I think you guys could put him to good use."

Lance nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "Sheila has a job in mind for him," he informed them.

Marcus chimed in, his voice low and measured. "Kay really likes him. I thought at first he was like her little lost puppy or something, but it's much more than that." His words carried a note of surprise and a hint of admiration.

Anne leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Well," she said, her voice low and  menacing, "I've told him what will happen if he fucks her over." Her words were a promise.

She turned to Lance, her voice low. "So, Lance, what do you want to do with the two downstairs?”

Lance, a slow, almost sadistic smile playing on his lips, leaned back in his seat, "Olivia," he began, his voice a menacing growl, "I want her tits pierced. Big rings. Something that I can play with a  little."

He continued, his tone shifting to a more calculated, almost clinical, edge. "And both of their cocks I want caged. In the most uncomfortable way possible. Something that will make them wish they would never get hard again." His words painted a brutal image.

Anne, her expression a mix of approval and consideration, nodded slowly. "And your plans for them?" she asked.

Lance, his eyes never leaving hers, replied. "Johnathan is a tax inspector. He'll be useful to us from a business standpoint. We can use him to... streamline our operations, shall we say."

He paused, a cruel, possessive smile playing on his lips as he continued. "And Olivia? I'm keeping her for my own personal use. She's a special one, isn't she?"

Anne nodded, a smile spreading across her face. "Sounds like you have it all planned out," she purred. "I'll make sure they're ready for you. Whatever you need, just say the word.”

Lance looked over to Marcus and said, “Good job tonight, kid. Get some sleep, it’s gonna be another busy one tomorrow.” Marcus nodded, hiding his frustration, Lance always called him kid, despite being in his 30’s. He wished he had the guts to call him on it, but he wasn’t built like Anne, so he just suffered in silence. 

Kay and Michael climbed the stairs at the back of the shop, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet evening air. As they reached the top, they found Kay's brother in the kitchen, his eyes focused intently on the computer screen as he wrapped up the daily accounts for the shop.

Kay, with authority in her voice, asked, "How was business today?" 

He looked up from his work, his expression a blend of fatigue and satisfaction. "Typical weekday," he replied,  "Though online is up. We had a few good orders come through.” Then he asked how her day was.

Kay leaned into Michael, her voice dropping to a low. "It was good," she said,

Turning back to her brother, Kay's tone shifted to one of command. "We'll have to be up by 6:30 in the morning," she informed him. "And you're to bring us in coffee.”.

Her brother nodded. "Yes, Miss," he replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

Kay kissed him on the head, then made sandwiches for all. She cut the bread, spread the fillings, and assembled the sandwiches, a familiar, simple domestic task that brought a sense of normalcy to the day. 

They took their sandwiches into her bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm, inviting light.

As they ate, they chatted, their voices a low, intimate murmur, a quiet exchange of thoughts and feelings. The sandwiches were a simple pleasure.

Exhaustion and satisfaction washed over them. They fell asleep in each other's arms, their bodies entwined. 

Michael and Kay pulled up behind the Range Rover, which was parked in the car park of a block of flats just around the corner from Chrisie’s London Road office building. They had discovered that Chrissie, real name Christine Smythe, held numerous psychiatric degrees and now ran a research facility for a group called The Sisterhood of Nyx. Despite their efforts, they couldn't find any information about this mysterious organization.

Lance was leaning against the Range Rover, smoking a cigarette. They chatted for a while, and it was decided that Michael would go into the building alone first. The plan was for the rest of them to follow thirty minutes later.

Michael, feeling the weight of their expectations, set off towards the office building with a determined stride. He walked into the entrance of the building, his eyes scanning the signs. He noticed that an auctioneer's office occupied the ground floor, while Smythe Research and Development was located on the first floor. Deciding to take the stairs instead of the lift, Michael ascended to the first floor.

Upon reaching the top, he saw an unmarked double door. Assuming this was the entrance to the office, as no other obvious entryway was present, Michael pushed open the door and stepped inside, ready to face his nemesis.

Michael approached the desk, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. The pretty lady sitting there was engrossed in her work, her head bent over a stack of papers as she shuffled through them with a focused intensity. She didn't notice his arrival.

As Michael waited, he took a moment to survey the room. His eyes landed on something just behind the desk—a mysterious object draped in a black silk cloth. The sight was intriguing. He thought he heard a faint rattling beneath the cloth. The noise made him a little curious.

To get the lady's attention, Michael cleared his throat with a soft cough. She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, a warm smile spread across her face. But as recognition set in, her smile faded slightly.

Recovering quickly, she composed herself and asked in a polite, professional tone, "How can I help you?" Her voice was steady and professional.

Michael stepped forward, his voice steady and confident as he introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Michael Johnson. I'm here to see Christine Smythe." As he spoke, he thought he caught just the faintest flicker of a frown across her forehead, a brief, almost imperceptible reaction.

"Er, is she expecting you?" She asked

 "Probably not." He replied with a smile.

She nodded, picked up her phone, and pressed a button. "Sorry to bother you, Miss," she said, her voice low and hesitant. "You have a visitor, a Mr. Michael Johnson."

There was a pause as she listened to the response on the other end. "Yes, Miss. Yes, Miss," she replied, her voice low.

She turned to Michael, her eyes not wanting to meet his, and said,” Miss Smythe will see you now. Please follow me.”

Michael followed the receptionist into Christine Smythe's office, a room that blended professional and personal. As they entered, the receptionist introduced him . "Miss Smythe, this is Michael Johnson."

Christine, seated behind her desk, looked up and smiled, "Michael," she said. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Michael, taken aback by her nonchalance, felt a surge of surprise and wariness. He wanted to jump across the desk and grab her by the neck. Christine's casual demeanor was an ominous reminder of the control and manipulation she was capable of.

She gestured to the chair opposite her, the desk a physical and symbolic barrier between them. "Please, sit," she said, her voice low and almost hypnotic.

Michael sat. "Coffee?" she asked, almost mocking.

Michael declined, his voice determined. "No, thank you." But Christine, with a dismissive gesture, instructed her receptionist. "Bring us some coffee, please, Sally," she said.

As the door closed behind Sally, sealing them in the intimate confines of the office, Christine leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving Michael's face. "You look well, Michael," she said. "We've been a little worried about you."

Michael, feeling the weight of her gaze, glared back at her. "Why?" he asked, his voice a challenging growl.

Christine replied with a slow, amused tone. "Because we've missed you, Michael. And you were making so much progress." Her words were deliberately mocking.

Michael, feeling the weight of her words and the implications of her tone, pressed further. "Why me?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

Christine leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and cruelty as she began to speak. 

"Once your name was put forward by your wife," she said, "we did our research. And what we discovered was... intriguing."

She paused, a slow, sadistic smile playing on her lips as she continued. "You're an underachiever, Michael. Unable to grow, unable to learn, unable to please your wife after fifteen long years. It's almost pathetic, isn't it?".

Michael glared back at her. But Christine was not done.

 "And sexually?" she continued, her voice low and mocking. "You're underwhelming. A disappointment in every sense of the word.” Her words were deliberate and well-chosen

She leaned back in her chair, her expression one of satisfaction as she concluded. "You're the perfect specimen for our study, Michael. A man in need of... correction. And we're just the people to provide it”.

Michael, feeling the weight of Christine's words, asked. "Who's ‘we'?".

Christine replied with a slow, dismissive wave of her hand. "That doesn't matter right now," she said,” it's not too late for you, Michael.”

She paged Sally. "Sally, bring in the coffee. And bring a collar with it.”  She instructed, her eyes not leaving Michaels. 

Michael was stunned as the door opened and Sally entered. On the tray, alongside the coffees, lay a collar and leash.

Christine turned to Michael, "If you simply get on your knees and accept the collar, Michael, then all will be forgiven.” 

Michael was dumbstruck by the sincerity in her voice. She actually believed he would do it. 

He stood up, and Christine smiled, but her smile turned to a frown when he took his phone out of his pocket. He dialed a number and said, "Now."

Christine looked bemused and asked, "What have you done?"

Michael just smiled and said, "What I had to." He glanced at the coffee, noting that it looked and smelled good, but” It probably wasn't wise to take a drink offered by Christine.” He thought to himself.

Five minutes later, Christine looked past Michael at the noise outside her office. Sally was screaming that Christine was busy and couldn't be disturbed. Suddenly, the office door burst open, and Roy barged in, dragging Sally by the hair.

Michael told Christine, "You had your chance." Christine stood up, demanding to know who they were. Before she could say much more, a black sack was forced over her head, and her hands were handcuffed behind her back by Lance. Roy still held Sally tightly.

Michael snatched up the collar and leash from the tray. With a sneer directed at Christine, he strapped the collar tightly around her neck, the leather trapping the black sack more firmly over her head, adding to her disorientation.

Just as he finished, Marcus and Kay walked into the room. Kay immediately went to Michael, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, reassuring hug. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

Michael, enjoying the warmth of her embrace, smiled and kissed her cheek gently. "It's all good," he replied.

Lance turned to Marcus and said with a commanding growl. "Go through the computers,""Get all and everything."

Lance grabbed hold of the leash that held Christine, pulling her towards him with a cruel smile. 

"Kay, Michael," he said, "help Marcus. We'll meet you at her house, referring to Christine.

Lance and Roy escorted Christine and Sally down to the office carpark via the service lift. They had already surveyed the area, ensuring that the businesses on the ground floor were already out of the office, the space empty and quiet, so that their actions would go unnoticed.

With efficient, brutal movements, Lance and Roy bundled Christine and Sally into the large hatchback of the Range Rover, their bodies contorted and constrained. They tied them together, the ropes biting into their skin, ensuring that movement was impossible.

In the office, Marcus worked swiftly and efficiently, his fingers dancing over the keyboard as he navigated through the computer system. All the firewalls and passwords were breached with ease. He delved into the digital depths, extracting precise information and data.

Meanwhile, Michael and Kay were immersed in the physical files, collating all relevant information. They sifted through documents, notes, and records, each piece a puzzle that contributed to the larger picture.

As they explored the outer office, their curiosity piqued by the mysterious object covered in black silk, they lifted the cloth. What they discovered should have shocked them—a man chained up in a cage, his body contorted.

He was chained tightly, the metal biting into his skin. A black hood covered his face.

But it was the dildos that truly locked him in place. One was attached to the end of the cage, shoved deep into his mouth, and another dildo was sticking out of his arse, essentially locking him in place.

Michael's exclamation of "Shit!" echoed through the room. He quickly followed it with a laugh. Kay, catching his reaction, joined in, her laughter low.

As they stood there, taking in the sight of the man in the cage, they exchanged a glance. "What are we going to do with him?" Michael asked, his voice low.

Kay replied, "We can't leave him here."

With a decisive nod, they made their decision. "We'll take him with us," Michael said.

Gently, their movements were a mix of care and authority. They used the chains to keep his hands trapped behind his back.

The man struggled to stand, his body weak and unsteady. As he rose, they noticed the collar around his neck, welded in place

Once Marcus had finished his work on the computers and they had loaded the physical files into the car, they returned to the man. Gently, they guided him to the car, using the service lift to ensure their actions went unnoticed.

With the man secured in the car, they set off towards Cuxton,

In the excitement, Michael, Kay, and Marcus had failed to notice the two security cameras discreetly hidden in the air vents. One camera had a clear view of the office, capturing every movement and interaction, while the other was positioned to monitor the reception area, ensuring that no detail went unrecorded.

Unbeknownst to them, 127 miles away in a small, windowless room, in a Stately Home in the heart of Whilshire, two men sat chained by their ankles to uncomfortable chairs. Naked except for their collars and cock cages.

These men were tasked with monitoring the security systems of the various properties and businesses belonging to The Sisters of Nyx, their eyes glued to the screens before them.

As they scanned the feeds, their attention was drawn to the commotion unfolding in the Maidstone office. The sudden burst of activity, the sight of Christine and Sally being escorted out, and the discovery of the man in the cage—all of these events played out on their screens.

Recognizing the gravity of the situation, they swiftly alerted their superiors,