The Contract

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician [email protected].

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Mary Madeleine Morrison sat at her new computer carefully typing instructions into a wordprocessor file that would eventually be an attachment to an email. The computer was brand new, top of the line, state of the art. It was one of the things she had purchased with her recent lottery winnings. She had won big. Not “Take this job and shove it!” big, but big enough to pay off her car, buy a bunch of new things like a really good computer, arrange for a month-long fantasy vacation, and most importantly for her, to put out a revenge contract on “The Target.”

Finding someone to do something underhanded and illegal on the internet is easy. Finding someone to do something underhanded and illegal who is not a cop or a member of some vigilante watch group is a little more difficult. Making sure that the person is reliable and will do exactly what they have been paid to do – no more, no less – is yet more difficult. And being sure that nothing could be traced back to you as you arranged for all of this is almost impossible.

Mary did the impossible, however, and guaranteed that her computer could not be traced by the simple expedient of donating multiple computers and internet access to four different mission schools in India. She paid to have the computers slightly modified before sending them on to the mission schools. The hard disks were virus free, but the onboard RAM had been modified so that a specific command received from the internet would turn on a relay system on the motherboard that would forward Mary’s computer connection. The program always connected through at least two other of the computers before making it’s final on-line connection, so anyone trying to trace something back to Mary would have to loop in and out of at least three mission schools in India to find her. And each of those computers would look as though the transmission actually originated there.

With the problem of anonymity solved, all Mary needed to do was to find the right “operative” to do what she wanted. When Mary first started searching for the right person, she began by trolling the BDSM chat rooms. What she wanted done, after all, most closely came under that general category. She soon learned, however, that asking “Are you a police officer, an officer of the court in any fashion, or a member of any volunteer internet watch group?” caused many of the people who were chatting with her to immediately sign off. She was never sure whether that meant they were cops, or just scared off, but in any case, pickings were fairly slim. It was obvious it would take time to find just the right person. After several months of effort, however, and after rejecting several initial prospects, she thought she had a good candidate in BigMomma73.

There were several things which made her think this might be the right person. To begin with “BigMomma” is not a handle that most petite young women would use, so it probably wasn’t a cop trolling for pedophiles. Secondly, she had Googled “BigMomma73” and found other posts from her and even some stories on various sites. It was apparent that BigMomma was a severe domme who didn’t mind inflicting pain if it was needed, but at the same time, she never spoke of going overboard – even in her fantasy stories.

BigMomma73 definitely seemed like the right one, but Mary still had to make sure she wasn’t a cop of some sort. She had read about the “show me your tit,” dodge that potential Johns used to make sure a prostitute on the corner wasn’t a decoy. Asking someone to show you their breast was technically not even illegal, but an undercover cop couldn’t do it because indecent exposure would be an unnecessary undercover crime, meaning that it wasn’t necessary to save her or another’s life. The test was simple. No tit equals cop. Tit equals prostitute.

Mary needed a similar test to be sure that Big Momma was not a decoy of some sort. She had thought of and discarded many possible solutions, when suddenly it came to her. She would use a variation of the tit test.

She wasn’t going to ask BigMomma to flop out a tit, but she knew that The Target liked to sunbath naked on her balcony every Saturday afternoon when the weather was good. She would offer Big Momma a thousand dollars plus expenses for her to get a video of The Target sunbathing nude on her balcony. Since there would be no audio, it wouldn’t be illegal under the current laws, but a cop wouldn’t be able to do it because it violated a person’s privacy, etc., etc., etc.

Mary also knew that The Target would often masturbate herself as she lay in the sun, but that was a bit of information she would not share with Big Momma. Intentionally filming a sex act was illegal, so if it happened, it had to be “accidental.”

Two weeks after mailing a money order to the storefront “mailbox” specified by Big Momma, Mary received an email with a link to an online file transfer box. Mary had been impressed that Big Momma had evidently rented one of those hard to trace mail boxes at one of the shipping stores downtown for transactions with her. She was further impressed that the file transfer box was also untraceable. Both were signs that Big Momma might be just the right one for the job.

When Mary downloaded the file, it was a crystal clear video of The Target walking out onto her balcony in her robe, setting up her lawn chair, and then taking off the robe and rubbing down her entire body with baby oil before lying in the sun. The video zoomed in for explicit details of each breast and of the neatly trimmed bush between The Target’s legs. The video faded to gray and when it returned, The Target was rubbing a large vibrator over her breasts and labia. After several minutes, she began to squirm on her chair and started thrusting the vibrator in and out of her cunt. This went on for several minutes until The Target’s body suddenly went rigid in climax. Big Momma zoomed in on her face to capture the “O” moment. The video was everything Mary wanted, and more. Not only did Big Momma do everything that Mary asked, she was also a damned good videographer or had access to one.

It was time to move to step two of the plan, the revenge attack on The Target. Mary emailed Big Momma and congratulated her on a job well done. She then asked if Big Momma would like to take it up a step or two. Big Momma’s only question was “How much?” Mary had her operative.

“This will be a weekend kidnaping and punishment,” emailed Mary. “I want this woman punished and humiliated exactly as I specify. I will pay $5,000 in advance and an additional $5,000 on completion. There will be up to another $10,000 for expenses and additional people.”

The email ended with, “Are you still interested?”

“I want at least $2,000 of the expense money up front,” was Big Momma’s only reply.

Mary was now preparing carefully detailed instructions of exactly what she wanted done and when. She had arranged for a month off work to go on her fantasy vacation and, so that no one suspected anything, this was to occur while she was gone.

The instructions began, “You have one week to prepare everything. You already know The Target. You have taken videos of her on her balcony. One week from Saturday, you are to capture her as she is waiting for a bus in front of her apartment. Every Saturday morning at ten, she takes the bus to the mall where spends the morning walking through the shops and then eats lunch alone in the food court before returning home in the afternoon. She is always late getting down to the bus stop, however, and misses the first bus. Since almost no one takes the bus from there on Saturday, she will be standing alone at the bus stop for quite a while. You are to be ready with a van and at least one helper. When she steps up to the curb to look down the street for the next bus, drive up and pull her into the van through the open side door. There are no security cameras that pick up the area of the bus stop.”

The instructions then continued with a detailed list of exactly what Mary wanted done to The Target and the fact that Mary wanted full, detailed videos of everything, including the initial capture.

The following Saturday, The Target, stood at the bus stop in front of her apartment building. As Mary had predicted, she was late and just missed the ten o’clock bus. After standing for several minutes, she stepped up to the curb and looked down the road to see if the next bus was arriving yet. It wasn’t. What arrived instead was an older, white, extremely dirty van with mud smeared over the license plates. It stopped for only a few seconds while the side door slid open and two figures dressed entirely in black, with black masks totally covering their faces, grabbed The Target and pulled her into the van.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a knife pressed against her throat and a hoarsely whispered warning to stay quiet or die caused her to immediately close her mouth. Tape of some sort was slapped across her mouth. A bag was pulled over her head and tied around her neck. Then her hands were pulled roughly behind her and taped together. She was pushed to the floor of the van and her ankles were also taped.

The Target tried to keep track of where they were going, but the van turned repeatedly and soon she was totally disoriented. Then a loud drumming, pounding sound hit the side of the van. It sounded like a very heavy rainstorm, but had a rhythmic pulsation to it. She finally recognized the sound and decided that, for some reason, they were going through a car wash.

If she had been able to see what was going on from outside the van, she would have seen an old, very weathered, very dirty, white van enter the car wash, and a bright, shiny, medium blue van exit at the other end. The weathered white coloring and the mud had been merely an expertly applied disguise. If there were any witnesses to the abduction, the only accurate description they could give was that it was that it was an old, white van – that didn’t exist.

After the van pulled out of the car wash, one of the figures in black said, “Now we can start.” He reached down and began to cut The Target’s clothing from her body. After she was totally naked, he slapped her on the ass and said with a laugh, “You must have really pissed somebody off.”

He slapped her ass softly several more times and continued, “Someone you know as ‘the bookkeeper’ sends her regards. She told me to tell you that she has been wanting to do this for a long time. If you behave yourself and cooperate, you will be released on Sunday night. If you don’t cooperate, you will never be found. If you understand, nod your head enough so we can see it move through the bag.”

The naked figure lying bound on the floor of the van slowly nodded her head up and down.

“Now you just relax and enjoy the ride. We have a ways to drive before we get to the club.”

At first Target cringed in fear that they might rape her in the van, but as the minutes turned to hours, she began to wonder why they did not. Strangely, she began to ask herself, “Don’t they find me attractive?” After all, there was nothing that she could do to keep them from violating her, and yet they did not. The thought then entered her mind that perhaps there was something worse than rape awaiting her at this “club.”

It was well after nightfall when the van finally stopped. Rough hands slid her out of the van and pulled her to her feet. She could tell that she stood on gravel of some sort by the feel of the stones against her feet. She could feel hands fumbling with the heavy string that held the bag in place. Suddenly it was gone.

Target blinked her eyes in what, to her, was bright light. In reality, it was a relatively dim parking lot. A somewhat run down looking building was the only structure visible. Turning her head she could see only darkness beyond the lights of the parking lot. They were obviously way out in the country somewhere.

A neon sign flickered on the side of the building. It said, “The Wicked Whip.” The neon formed a coiled whip that made three circles around the handle. As she watched, the whip uncurled in neon steps to extend across the side of the building to strike exactly on the ass of a painting of a large naked woman that stood next to the entrance.

Target had read about this club once when she was slumming on the internet. It was a BDSM Club with a bad reputation even among BDSM clubs. They ran a monthly “Ultimate Winners and Losers” contest that was streamed live on their website. It was rumored that some of the contestants were not willing participants. That may or may not have been true, but it helped justify their high membership rates and added to the enjoyment of those who watched the shows.

The contest was a series of competitions, primarily between subs and slaves, the purpose of which was to ascertain the Ultimate Winner and The Ultimate Loser. Like many contests or tournaments, there was a Winner’s Bracket and a Loser’s Bracket. The Winner’s Bracket functioned as did most tournament winner’s brackets. If you won, you continued on toward being the Ultimate Winner. If you lost, you were out.

The Loser’s Bracket was exactly opposite. If you won, you were out. If you lost, you continued on toward being The Ultimate Loser.

The Ultimate Winner received a cash prize of $1,000 plus some perks at the club. The Ultimate Loser was the primary entertainment for the overnight party following the show.

There were smaller prizes – and punishments – given at each level. Everyone who made it into the semi-final eight in the winner’s bracket received $100. Everyone who made it into the semi-final eight in the losers bracket received ten lashes with a belt. The semi-final four winners received $200. The semi-final four losers received 20 swats with a wooden paddle that had one inch holes across its surface. Target had watched those contests and punishments several times as they were streamed live on the guest portion of the club’s website.

She did not know exactly what happened with the semi-final and final competitions because those matches and their aftermaths were available only in the member’s area of the club’s website. It was rumored that in some of the contests the winners in the semi-finals received $500, and the losers had to sexually satisfy – orally, anally, or vaginally – three different members of the audience chosen by random lot. Tickets for that drawing were supposedly part of what supplied the prize money.

“Are you going to behave yourself?” asked the man standing in front of her. His voice identified him as one of her abductors from the van. A somewhat heavyset, but very muscular woman standing next to him said curtly, “I’ll take it from here.”

The woman led Target into the building and into a huge open room with a large stage area and audience seating. It appeared that there were around 300 people present. The stage had a large open area directly in front of the audience and behind that were three set of risers like choirs would stand on for a performance. On each of the four levels of the center riser, evenly spaced across its width, were eight platforms of some sort.

Each platform had a heavy railing on the front of it at approximately waist high. On each railing was what looked more or less like handcuffs, but the bottom of the loop was firmly attached to the railing. In each of the first three rows, there were eight naked people standing on a platform with their hands cuffed in place on the rail in front of them.

Target was taken to the fourth row and cuffed in place.