Annie's Game

The following morning, the house was unnervingly quiet. The air, usually thick with the scent of latex, fear, and sex, was sterile, as if scrubbed for an important visitor. Chloe and Gary, naked and shivering, were strapped into heavy wooden dining chairs in the formal dining room. Their arms were bound to the chair arms, their ankles to the legs. Ball gags were strapped tightly into their mouths, their jaws aching. Herr Meister stood behind Chloe's chair, a silent, imposing figure in his immaculate suit, his hand resting on her shoulder. Frau Meister stood behind Gary, her fingers lightly stroking his bald head, a gesture of ownership that was both intimate and terrifying. Annie made a pot of steaming coffee and placed it on the table along with four cups.

The doorbell rang, and Annie, dressed in a simple but elegant black dress, went to answer it. She returned with a lady in her late thirties, sharp and professional in a tailored pantsuit. This was the solicitor. Annie led her into the dining room. The solicitor shook hands with the German couple, her smile polite and practiced. "A pleasure to finally meet you both, Herr Meister, Frau Meister."

"And you, Ms. Albright," Herr Meister replied.

The solicitor then turned her gaze to the two figures strapped to the chairs. She looked at them for a moment, her expression unreadable, then looked away, completely ignoring them as if this was a common sight in her line of work. She placed her briefcase on the dining table, clicked it open, and emptied the contents. She took out a stack of files and lined them up neatly, positioning each one so that only the signature and witness lines were visible.

"We'll just need their signatures here, here, and here," she said, pointing to the documents with a perfectly manicured nail. "And yours, Annie, as witness."

Annie nodded and moved to stand behind Chloe. She unfastened her arms. "Sign," she commanded, pointing to the line. Chloe, her eyes wild with panic and confusion, stared at the document. It was a transfer of ownership for their house. She wagged her head wildly

Annie's face hardened. She picked up a thin, whippy cane from the table and brought it down hard across Chloe's breasts. A muffled scream escaped Chloe's lips as a thin, red line appeared on her pale skin. "I said, sign," Annie repeated, her voice dangerously low. Tears streamed down Chloe's face as she took the pen offered to her and scrawled her name on the line.

The solicitor watched, sipping the coffee Annie had poured for her, and made small talk with Frau Meister about the local property market. Gary was next. He too resisted, a muffled plea escaping his gag. Herr Meister pulled a plastic bag from his pocket, walked behind Gary, and placed it over his head, pulling it back against his face as he smiled at his wife. Gary pulled at the bag, a mistake everybody makes, instead of simply poking a hole where his mouth was; panic subdued rational thought. Gary needed no more prompting. He signed.

The documents were a litany of their own destruction. They signed away their house, their savings, their cars. They gave Annie full and irrevocable power of attorney over all their affairs, citing "severe and debilitating mental illness" on both their parts as the reason. Annie, of course, had procured bogus doctors' reports, expertly forged, to support the claim. With each signature, they chipped away at their life until nothing was left. When the last document was signed, Annie handed the solicitor a thick wad of cash from her handbag. "Thank you for your discretion, Ms. Albright."

"Always a pleasure, Annie," the solicitor replied, packing her briefcase and heading out.

An hour later, a large removal truck rumbled up the street. Two burly men in overalls came to the door, carrying two specialized, oversized crates made of dark, reinforced metal. They were placed on the living room floor. Gary and Chloe, their chairs unstrapped, were forced to stand. A breathing mask, connected to a small oxygen tank, was fitted over each of their faces. They were then forced to sit down into the crates, their knees against their chests. They were already panicking, their breath coming in ragged gasps inside the masks, when the men began to secure the lids.

The lid went on with a heavy, final thud, plunging them into total darkness. Then came the true horror. With a loud hiss of compressed air, the inside of the crate began to expand. Thick, heavy, rubber-coated padding inflated, pressing in on them from all sides. It crushed against their bodies, forcing their limbs into immobility, squeezing their chests until they could barely draw a breath through the masks. It was a living tomb, a prison of suffocating pressure. They felt a fear like no other, a primal, claustrophobic terror that made them want to scream, but no sound could escape the crushing rubber and the mask.

The Germans had a specialized business . They procured adult slaves for very wealthy people. Some for pleasure, some for torture, some out of revenge. When the order for a married couple came in, Annie suggested to her German owners that she might know the perfect couple. She was given the task to procure the assets; failure was an option.

As the removal truck trundled away through the streets of Rochester, heading for Dover and then a new life of servitude, Annie knelt between the German couple in the empty house.

After a while, they sat at the dining room table. Annie handed them the bank account details and the deeds to the house. They smiled and pushed them back towards her. "You have done exceptionally well, Annie," Herr Meister said, his voice filled with genuine approval. "We would like you to be our agent in England, if you would like the position."

Annie's heart swelled with pride. "I would be honored."

"Good," Frau Meister said, handing her a slim file. "Then here is your next target." Annie opened the file. Inside was a photograph of a stunningly beautiful woman and a detailed dossier. Her name was Mistress Alexander; her real name, Sue Jackson, didn't have the same pull. She was a dominatrix who specialized in blackmail; she had crossed the wrong people when she tried to blackmail a young Japanese businessman who had come to her for some kinky play. Now, his powerful family wanted revenge. They wanted her broken.

"You have two months to deliver a broken woman to the Japanese family," Herr Meister stated.

Annie looked at the photo of the confident, arrogant-looking woman, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. She felt a thrill, a surge of adrenaline. She was more than ready. "Thank you for the opportunity," she said, her voice steady and sure. "She won't know what hit her."