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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Cleaning Room 211
by Triple Delta (triple--delta@hotmail.com)
***
Pacifica Medina is an illegal Mexican immigrant working
at a hotel resort near San Diego. Whilst cleaning Room
211, she stumbles upon the rather unusual contents of a
certain guest's luggage, followed by an encounter with
the unusual guest himself. (MFF, reluc, v, bd, Mexican)
***
Author Note: This is a work of fiction, and all
characters and events are completely fictitious. Any
connection to any person, living or dead, or any
historical event is purely coincidental. The actions
and events described in the story are for entertainment
purposes only, and should never be repeated in any
context.
This text is not to be read by any person under the age
of eighteen years, and the reader agrees that reading
this story will not violate any law or bylaw at any
level of government in any jurisdiction they are
subject to. This text is released into the public
domain by the author. This text may be reproduced,
redistributed or edited without the author's consent.
***
Pacifica Medina slid the hotel's Master Key into Room
211's lock and swung the door open, sighing after a
brief survey of the room revealed that whomever was
staying in Rom 211 was, unsurprisingly, a complete
slob. Wheeling her small trolley of cleaning supplies,
towels and small bottles of shampoos, Pacifica left the
door ajar as she set to work.
The Great Blue Ocean was a family resort located just a
few kilometres north of San Diego, California. For its
location, the resort had surprisingly tropical weather
and fine-grain beaches, making it a popular get-away
resort for American families who couldn't afford the
problems of international travel. Although several
similar resorts existed along California's Pacific
coastline, the Great Blue Ocean Resort had something
that other resorts didn't: large numbers of illegal
Mexican employees.
Pacifica Medina was just one of the nearly 700 Mexicans
who had crossed the border and found employment with
the Resort within days of 'freedom'. The owner, one
Julian Rodriguez, a legally-registered Mexican himself,
initially offered covert employment to any illegals he
found. After that, however, he forced them into
employment with pay and hours little better than what
they had fled from in Mexico. $3.25/hour coupled with
sixteen-hour a day shifts in exchange for a free bed
and whatever was leftover from the buffets for food. In
the brief three months that Pacifica had worked here,
nobody had spoken out against Julian.
Tossing the blanket off the bed, Pacifica began to
refit the white sheets over the mattress. At seventeen,
she was probably the youngest 'employee' of the Resort.
Pacifica was a little over one and a half meters tall
and weighed about one hundred and ten pounds. She had
strong Hispanic features, apart from her eyes, which
her mother had said she'd inherited form her father.
She had deep blue eyes that had prompted her name.
Pacifica had dark black hair which one of the hotel
employees had done up in a tight bun behind her head,
allegedly for some obscure regulation nobody ever
enforced. She was relatively well-built by American
standards – a side-effect of her impoverished
upbringing, with almost no body fat and what one
resort-goer had called 'decent' breasts.
The bed remade, Pacifica moved to the next easiest
thing, the bathroom. She replaced the dirty towels on
the floor with newly-folded white ones, wiped up water
that had spilled over the sink and bathtub, replaced
the half-empty shampoo bottle and worn bar of soap and
changed the roll of toilet paper. After checking to
make sure the toilet flushed properly, Pacifica
returned to the main room.
At least the job gave her some satisfaction – turning a
mess into something tidy and organized. She was wearing
her uniform – a dark green skirt that stopped well
above her knees and a matching plain green polo shirt.
A white apron covered most of the front of her skirt.
She had a pair of grey socks that went halfway up to
her knees, as well as a pair of black dress shoes. A
nametag reading 'PACIFICA' was pinned to her polo
shirt.
Pacifica reached underneath the bed to pull out a
suitcase that looked like it'd been kicked underneath.
As she picked it up, she realized – too late – that the
front zipper was open. Immediately, a handful of shirts
and bathing suits toppled out, accompanied by an
unusually heavy 'thud' when they hit the floor.
Curious, Pacifica shifted the bathing suits out of the
way to reveal what had made the unusual sound. Two
rolls of duct tape – one grey and one black – were
immediately revealed. Beside them lay a handful of
other objects Pacifica normally only saw when watching
whatever cheap late-night TV the resort got. A handful
of gags of various shapes and colors, several pairs of
handcuffs, leather restraints...
The door closed behind her. Pacifica instantly shot
around, although still holding the strap to a large
purple ballgag in one hand. The man who'd stepped in
was wearing only a green-orange bathing suit and a pair
of black sunglasses. He looked to be in his early
thirties, with short brown hair and a very muscular
build. A small smile seemed to be playing over his face
as he took in the situation.
"Ah, sir, please excuse me," stammered Pacifica, in
English. She quickly dropped the ballgag and stood up,
head bowed, hands clasped together in front of her. "I
was just-"
"No preocupe," replied the man, in flawless Spanish,
roughly meaning 'don't worry'. "We can take care of
this ourselves."
"Ah, si senor," replied Pacifica, in uncertain Spanish.
"Now, I can understand that you're a little curious
about some of these things," continued the man, calmly.
He placed his sunglasses on a bed-side table, revealing
hazel-brown eyes. He walked confidently towards her,
stooping down to pick up the ball gag Pacifica had
dropped. He smiled as her eyes nervously tracked the
ball. "This is called a 'ballgag', unlike many gags,
this is specifically engineered for bondage purposes."
Clutching the ballgag by one of the leather straps with
one hand, the man turned Pacifica around by her
shoulders with his free hand. Her feet didn't have
enough room to move, so she ended up falling face-first
into the newly-made bed, tripping over her own feet.
"Now, this particular ball is two inches in diameter,
which is slightly larger than the normal size,"
continued the man¸ with a tone suggesting he was giving
a presentation to a not-particularly interested group
of businessmen. "Pacifica, would you please open your
mouth?"
Pacifica's torso was pushed over the bed, whilst her
legs had involuntarily spread on the ground to keep her
balance. The man was right behind her, pushing her into
the bed by moving his chest closer to her back.
Pacifica obligatorily parted her lips. The purple ball
fit tightly between her teeth, prying her mouth wide
open and her jaws almost painfully apart. The ball slid
deeper into her mouth as the man fastened the leather
straps through a buckle behind her head.
"There, that's not so bad, is it?" inquired the man,
standing up. Awkwardly, Pacifica got to her feet. It
was rather bad, as her jaws were spread painfully
apart, but she could hardly complain. Pacifica
involuntarily pressed two fingers to the ball between
her teeth, feeling the smooth rubber sphere that was
inhibiting her from speaking. Her fingers brushed the
smooth leather straps, but she dared not go farther
back, towards the buckle.
"Now, for our next article," continued the man,
reaching into the assortment of unusual goods that had
spilled out of his suitcase. He withdrew was looked
like an oddly-shaped translucent white band. "These are
called PlastiCuffs, they're very similar to handcuffs,
you know. Unlike handcuffs, however, there is no key to
a pair of PlastiCuffs – once they're sealed, they're
sealed."
He spun her around again, but Pacifica maintained her
balance this time. After a moment's pause, she pressed
her hands together behind her back. Pacifica had never
been handcuffed before, and only gagged once as a child
in a game, so the sensation was very unusual to her.
The man rearranged her hands so that her palms were
facing outwards, then tightened the plastic loop, which
made a sound like a muffled zipper as the figure-eight
binding Pacifica's wrists became significantly smaller.
Pacifica was unable to move her hands – obviously, but
she could barely slide them at all. Her elbows were
forced uncomfortably close together, so she could
barely move her arms at all, let alone struggle.
"Room service!" came a woman's voice from outside the
door. The two occupants of the room glanced at each
other for a second, before the man leaped into action.
"One second," he yelled, in English, now, pushing
Pacifica so she seated on the bed. He then ducked into
the bathroom right next to the door, before yelling
"Okay!"
The door opened, and Pacifica silently groaned as she
spotted Julina Sanchez, one of her co-workers. An
illegal immigrant like herself, Julina lived up to the
Latina reputation of fiery passion. About five foot
eight and a hundred and twenty pounds, Julina was the
undisputed 'sex diva' of the hotel staff. She had large
breasts that were always exposed by the liberal
cleavage in her uniform, along with long, lithe thighs
and flowing black hair that stopped halfway down her
back. She had dark brown eyes and darker skin,
originally hailing from Panama, and was one of the few
to dare to get into an argument with Julian Rodriguez.
"Pacifica, que sucede?" inquired Julina (Pacifica, what
is happening?), as she spotted her handcuffed and
gagged friend a few feet away. Pacifica shook her head
violently, indicating for Julina to leave immediately,
but the twenty-year old illegal simply cocked her head
and moved forward, stepping past the bathroom the man
was hiding in without a second glance.
The man shot out from behind her, one strong hand
covering her mouth whilst the other slammed the door
shut, bolting it. Julina immediately tried pull his
hand off her mouth, but it was firmly planted over her
mouth. She landed a kick to his shins through her dress
shoes, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Parada! Policía!" he said, a little louder than
normal, in Spanish. That made Julina stop. He released
her, pushed her away, and continued in Spanish. "I am
Officer Mark Harrods with the Drug Enforcement Agency,
and I have authority to search this resort for any
illegal narcotics," announced Mark, finally introducing
himself, and regaining his composure. "But I am also on
the lookout for illegal immigration activities...
Julina," continued Mark, reading Julina's nametag.
"Now, it's just one phone call to, say, the Department
of Justice, or even Homeland Security, and this entire
resort will be flooded with immigration police inside
of half an hour. Now, if you'll relax, Pacifica's fine.
We're just playing a little game."
"What kind of a sick game is this?" demanded Julina,
temper flaring. She was a foot away from Mark, and was
struggling to balance her anger with her understanding
of the situation.
"Ah, temper, temper," chided Mark, like a parent. Then,
without warning, he slapped her across the face, hard.
Julina stumbled back onto the bed beside Pacifica, who
immediately let out a muffled yell, her hands
struggling against her plastic bonds. Julina was
rubbing her right cheek with one hand, her eyes showing
an inner fire raging.
"You are quite the Latina, aren't you?" continued Mark.
Sorting through his pile, he pulled out a roll of black
duct tape. "Now, in order to ensure your cooperation, I
want you to turn around and lie face-down on the bed."
Julian glared at him for a second before turning over,
her eyes meeting Pacifica's.
Mark moved quickly. He wrapped the roll of duct tape
around Julina's wrists several times, in the same
palms-out position he had Pacifica in. But instead of
simply stopping there, he continued, until both of her
fists were completely covered in the black tape, like
sticky mittens. Satisfied, he ripped off the long piece
of duct tape and tossed the roll into his pile of
clothing, then proceeded to sit Julina up.
"Now, I need you to spread your legs," continued Mark,
like a doctor examining a patient. "You too, Pacifica.
I'll be there in one moment."
"What kind of pervert-" began Julina, but Mark
interrupted her, with a second slap across the face.
Julina's face shot sideways before returning to its
position several seconds later. The ballgagged Pacifica
could see her blinking back tears. Reluctantly, Julina
spread her legs, and Pacifica mirrored her.
Completely neutrally, Mark reached up between her legs
until he found the front of the black thong Julina was
wearing. His fingers curling into the lace material
near her vagina, her yanked hard, the two straps
breaking. Mark emerged with a black lace thong clutched
in his fist. A second later, he repeated the move on
Pacifica. She felt the semi-elastic straps stretch
before snapping, one of the bands almost giving her a
ticklish sensation as it grazed the crack of her ass
and her vagina.
"Pretend we're at the dentist's," said Mark, smiling,
to Julina. "Open up." Julina begrudgingly complied, and
the two thongs were stuffed into her mouth. They took
up surprisingly little space, so Mark accompanied them
with a white gym sock on the ground near him. He then
reached over to a nearby pillow, removed the
pillowcase, and cleave gagged her with it. Mark
tightened the gag, and the white material of the
pillowcase was pulled deeper into Julina's mouth, until
the gag was deep over her tongue. Mark deftly knotted
it behind her head.
"Alright now, girls," announced Mark, smiling, "we're
finally going to get to play some games now." Julina
muttered something, but the sock/cleave gag turned it
into some completely illegible. "It's a pity I spent so
much time getting those gags in place, because I'm
going to have to take them out," continued Mark. "But
before I tell you the rules, just remember this –
you're free to leave at any time. Just remember, I know
there are more than a handful of illegals working at
this Resort, at that's something the immigration police
would also like to know."
Mark grabbed each woman by the collar of their green
uniforms, stood them up, and marched them to the
bathroom. Sighing, he undid the straps of Pacifica's
purple ballgag, and used a pair of scissors to cut
Julina's cleave gag off, pulling out the materials
stuffed into her mouth and tossing them to the floor.
Neither woman said anything. Pacifica's arms were
starting to ache from being cuffed behind her back in
such an uncomfortable position for so long.
Forcing each woman to their knees, Mark found and
unwrapped two fist-sized bars of soap – ones that
Pacifica herself had recently replaced.
"Game Number One is called 'Pottymouth'. As you may
know, when young children swear, it is a common
parental technique to wash their mouths out with a
foul-tasting soap. Julina, here, has been something of
a swearing child. I am a customer, and it is grossly
unprofessional to swear at a customer." Mark paused,
savouring their expressions. "Now, this game is simple.
Whoever eats their entire bar of soap first, wins.
Don't worry, I checked, it's non-toxic, doesn't even
cause stomach aches, but does, I assure you, taste like
a bitch. The loser," Mark beckoned to the shower, "has
to spend five minutes kneeling in the shower with a bar
of soap in their mouth, with the water as cold as it
can get."
That, Pacifica knew, was cold. The cooled water was
something advertised in the promotional kits, and when
she occasionally tried to wash something in it, the
mere touch sent shivers up her spine. Mark knelt down
and neatly placed a bar of soap in Pacifica's and
Julina's mouths. Both had to bite into it in order to
keep it from slipping out.
"Three...two...one...go!" said Mark.
Julina bit into her bar of soap, chewed, and swallowed.
Pacifica began, but was shocked by the taste. It wasn't
something she could easily describe, but it had an
almost burning sensation about it. She forced the first
mouthful of the white-blue bar down her throat,
struggling to keep the bar in her mouth.
Julina had tilted her head back, letting gravity keep
the soap in her mouth whilst she bit small chunks of it
out. Pacifica tried to mimic her stance, but the bar
slipped out of her mouth and onto the tiled floor.
Fearing a loss, Pacifica struggled to nibble at the
bar, which annoyingly slid about every time.
"Alright, you can give up now, Pacifica," said Mark,
smugly. Pacifica had about a third of her bar gone,
whilst Julina's had completely disappeared. Her lips
were covered with a white slime of the soap, and
Pacifica could see a bubble forming in her mouth. "You
know the rules," said Mark, unwrapping a third bar.
"Shower time."
Grudgingly, Pacifica walked into the shower and knelt
down, opening her mouth to allow Mark to stick a piece
of soap between her lips. Her hands still cuffed behind
her back, she allowed Mark to 'fix' her posture. He
straightened her back and her legs, pressing her knees
closer together and her nose just against the tiled
wall. Before turning the tap on, Mark turned back on
Julina, grabbed her by the collar, and pushed her head
into the toilet, but not the water.
"Stay there," he commanded to Julina, her head in the
toilet bowl. Turning back to Pacifica, kneeling with
her hands behind her back, Mark turned on the water,
and then adjusted the tap to the extreme end of cool.
The water shot out of the nozzle like a chilly breeze
to nude skin. The water immediately soaked Pacifica's
uniform and sent shivers up her spine. Her hair,
tightly knit in a bun, was quickly soaked. She was
still wearing her dress shoes, which were very non-
waterproof. She could feel the cheap fabric of her
uniform sticking to her skin, but the chill of the icy
shower was overwhelming. She tried to focus on the
foul-tasting bar of soap in her mouth, actively sucking
on it, trying to concentrate on the taste, but to no
avail. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity,
Mark closed the tap.
"There, now that wasn't so bad, was it?" said Mark,
grinning as he yanked Pacifica up by her collar to her
soaked feet. Her dark green uniform clung to her, and
she could feel the water sloshing about in her black
leather shoes. Julina's head was still in the toilet,
apparently, she hadn't moved. Mark pulled out the bar
of soap from her mouth for a second before shoving it
back in, giving her one final mouthsoaping before
tossing the bar into the sink.
"Alright, Julina, time to get up," said Mark. Julina's
head emerged from the toilet, parts of her long black
hair soaking wet. "Pacifica lost this game, but they're
still two more games. Maybe things will change." To the
surprise of both women, Mark then took out his pair of
scissors and cut Pacifica's PlastiCuffs, doing
effectively the same thing for Julina's tape
restraints.
Marching the two back into the bedroom, Mark pushed the
Mexican/Panamanian maids onto his bed. Reaching into
his assortment of BDSM gear, Mark pulled out a handful
of scarves, tossing a bundle to each woman. A nod
seemed to indicate to them what to do. Pacifica took
two of the scarves and stuffed them into her mouth,
before wrapping her third and final scarf around her
head in an over-the-mouth (OTM) gag, as she had
occasionally seen on crime television. Sometimes known
as the detective gag, due to its appearance in such
films, the OTM gag simply tightly wrapped a piece of
cloth around the victim's mouth, preventing them from
spitting out whatever was forced into it, like a scarf.
It was significantly more comfortable than the ballgag,
and the cloth was comfortably warm compared to her cold
shower.
Julina had stuffed two scarves into her mouth before
cleave gagging herself as she had been before, a red
scarf pulled tight behind her teeth. Mark gestured for
them both to stand up.
"Game Number Two is even simpler," declared Mark. "It's
a faceslapping competition. You each slap the other
woman across the face, as hard as you can, one at a
time. Whoever has tears in their eyes first, loses.
We'll start with Pacifica, because she needs the
boost."
Pacifica hesitantly raised her hand to shoulder height,
looking first at Mark, who nodded, then at Julina who,
after a brief pause, also nodded. Swinging with all her
might, Pacifica bitch-slapped Julina as hard as she
could, causing a resounding slapping noise. Julina's
head swung sideways, a red mark already forming on her
face, for the third time that day. Her head remained
there for several seconds, but when it returned, no
tears were in her eyes.
"Julina, it's your turn," said Mark, like a referee
instructing amateurs on the complicated rules of a
sport.
Julina didn't hesitate. She struck Pacifica across the
face, although the eighteen-year cleaning lady was
surprised by how little it hurt. Julian Rodriguez was
known to frequently slap those who disappointed him,
and this was nothing compared to what he could do.
Then, of course, Pacifica realized that she was going
easy on her. A flaw in Mark's little game.
Pacifica and Julina exchanged softened blows again, but
an infuriated Mark rapidly seemed to be catching on.
After seeing Pacifica's obviously-fake after-slap
performance, he angrily grabbed Julina by her collar
and pinned her to a nearby wall.
"Listen, you trespassing criminal scum," spat Mark,
small spheres of spittle flying from his face, "that,
was not a slap. This is a slap!" With his free hand,
Mark hit Julina across the face, very hard. Julina let
out a muffled yelp of pain. "Maybe you need another
example...or ten," sneered Mark. Holding her up by her
collar, Mark rapidly slapped her across the face with
his free hand, each slap more vicious than the next. A
sound was like something out of a Hollywood soundboard,
loud and wet. Finally, he let go of Julina, who sank to
her feet.
"Julina forfeits round two for cheating," said Mark,
coldly, to the gagged Pacifica. "Now, you'll have to
wait one minute before the Final Round." Mark pushed
Pacifica up to the wall beside Julina. He made them
kneel in perfect posture, except with their hands
behind their heads, like a schoolgirl's corner time.
Both women faced the bland white wallpaper of the hotel
room for about five minutes, whilst Mark moved around
the room. Finally, he pulled them both up, lay them
face-down on his bed, and undid their gags.
Pacifica was free for only a brief moment, until Mark
pulled out a pair of handcuffs, cuffing her hands
behind her back, palms together, this time. Her then
proceeded to shackle her ankles with identical
handcuffs.
Using a small length of white rope, Mark tied the
chains of Pacifica's wrists and ankles together, in a
hogtie. Mark then took a small ice cube and dropped it
into her mouth, before wrapping a roll of black duct
tape around her head several times, completely
indiscriminate to her hair. Tape gagged, a metal chain
was tightened around Pacifica's waist, which was, in
turn, locked into her handcuffs, forcing her hands to
be pressed up against her back.
Finally, Mark withdrew a black leather collar,
fastening and locking it around her neck. Pacifica
recognized it as a shock collar – the same used on the
security dogs.
After repeating the procedure on Julina, who had
regained her composure after the shock of Round Two,
Mark grabbed each of the hogtied and gagged maids and
lay them down on the floor.
"Round Three is called 'The Great Race', it's exactly
what it sounds like," announced Mark, the anger he had
displayed towards Julina minutes ago completely gone.
"It has several steps, none of which can be skipped.
The winner is whomever is free of all their restraints
first.
"Part one, in your hogtied forms, you must race to the
bathroom, where a knife is waiting. You can use the
knife to cut the rope hogtying you, allowing you to
stand up.
"Once stood up, you are to hobble back here, where Key
Number One is waiting. You can use it to unlock the
shackles around your ankles.
"Your feet free, you are to go back to the bathroom and
stand on the toilet seat. Attached to the wall is Key
Number Two, which you can use to unlock the chain
around your waist.
"With your chain waist gone, you should be able to
slide your feet through your handcuffs behind your
back, due to the liberal length of the chain and the
position of your palms. With your hands in front, you
can undo your tape gag.
"Inside your mouths right now is an ice cube. Inside
the ice cube is Key Number Three. Key Number Three
unlocks your handcuffs.
"With your hands free, you can return to this position,
where Key Number Four is placed on this shelf. That key
unlocks your shock collar. The first person to have
their shock collar off, wins.
"Oh, and before I forget, your shock collars have nine
settings, and will always be active. For every minute,
the setting is increased by one."
Pacifica and Julian glanced at each other, at the
Herculean bondage-escape task before them. Both,
however, had no intention of slowing down for the
other.
"On your marks...get set...go!"
Pacifica was immediately jolted by an electric shock to
her neck. The lowest setting was about the equivalent
of a strong static shock, except shocking her every
second. Arms and legs immobilized, Pacifica was forced
to rely on her shoulders to inch forward at a painfully
slow rate. Julina was slightly ahead of her, but that
didn't matter, right?
Shock Level Two was much worse. It felt almost like
touching a wire that was too hot, except permanently.
The electrical current circulating around her neck was
very painful, but Pacifica crawled through the pain.
Despite Julina's lead, Pacifica actually made it to the
bathroom first, due to her 'inner track' advantage.
Inside was a small butter knife, probably taken from
the kitchen below. Arching her back, Pacifica managed
to saw through the rope in about half a minute,
snapping the rope. Even as she began to stand up,
however, Julian was cutting her own hogtie ropes.
Pacifica began hobbling back towards Mark, her ankles
tightly handcuffed together. Struggling not to lose her
balance, she found Key Number One waiting on the bed.
Shock Level Three was obtained the moment Pacifica had
her fingers on the key. She yelled something through
her gag, the fiery pain causing her to involuntarily
shake her restrained limbs. Crouching down, Pacifica
managed to undo her shackles with her hands cuffed
behind her back, freeing her legs.
Striding back to the bathroom, Pacifica knew she was
going to win. Julina was still hobbling back to Key
Number One, whilst Pacifica had a considerable lead.
Back in the bathroom, Pacifica stood up on the toilet
seat and, using a key nailed to the wall, undid the
chain binding her hands to her waist.
As Mark had told her, Pacifica lay down, carefully
trying to swing her ankles through the loop between her
wrists and her back. She knew she couldn't touch her
toes, but Pacifica had never realized how inflexible
she was until now. It took her forty-five seconds of
muscle-stretching in order to get her hands in front,
just as Julina was returning, and Shock Level Four was
obtained.
Shock Level Four felt almost like a paper cut, except
permanent, and around her neck. A white-hot ring of
pain was forming around her neck, but Pacifica just
winced in pain and carried on. Finding the end of the
duct tape to be at the back of her head, she managed to
rapidly undo the tape gag. Her bun hairstyle minimized
pain from the tape, but Pacifica knew Julina, with her
long hair, would have a nightmare with the gag.
Pacifica plucked the ice cube out of her mouth, which
was almost completely melted by her body heat. Cracking
it open, she withdrew Key Number Three, and undid the
locks of her handcuff.
Almost completely free, Pacifica doubled back rapidly –
but not fast enough. Shock Level Five hit her at a
level of pain she'd never experienced. It felt like
being pinched by a pair of knives at every square
micrometer of skin along her throat. Pacifica had
collapsed onto a bed, struggling to reach...
Key Number Five unlocked the shock collar, allowing
Pacifica to collapse onto the bed in relief. Then, she
remember, Julina wasn't quite free yet. She lobbed the
final key to her friend and co-worker, who managed to
unlock her own collar right before Shock Level Six was
obtained.
The sound of Mark clapping was the eeriest thing all
day.
"Very good, ladies, very good," applauded Mark. "Five
minutes and fourteen seconds, Pacifica, almost a
record. Well, you appear to have won Pacifica.
Congratulations."
"So, you're going to leave us now?" asked Pacifica,
half questioningly, half demandingly.
"Well, the games are over, so I suppose I should,"
mused Mark. He reached into his suitcase and pulled out
a manila envelope. "It would be rather unfair not to
tip the cleaning staff, wouldn't it?" And with that, he
left the room, without a glance back.
Pacifica opened the envelope, causing a handful of
documents to tumble onto the bed, which Julina had
collapsed onto. She flipped through them, rapidly. An
American passport, complete with her image. A birth
certificate. Social security number. And a small note.
'If you ever need some cash, or perhaps a second job,'
read the note, almost speaking in Mark's voice, 'we
always have time for more games'.
END
This is a work of fiction authored by Triple Delta. If
you would like to pass on any comments, suggestions or
criticisms, the author can be reached at the following
e-mail address: triple—delta@hotmail.com
This author is open to requests, which may or may not
be completed, for free, on any subject matter.
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 57