Open House: By Appointment Only

"Hey, babe – file these for me, would you?" I glanced up, startled, as an avalanche of paperwork spilled across my desk.

"Oh, come on, Blake!" I protested. "It's almost five o'clock, and I've got a date tonight! Besides, I'm not your secretary. Why can't you do it yourself?"

"I'm meeting an important client for dinner," he declared haughtily. "But if you aren't willing to help me, I'm sure I can find someone else who will…"

"No… I'll do it…" I agreed reluctantly, though inwardly I was seething. It had been six months since I'd earned my real estate license, but Blake persisted in treating me like his personal secretary. Still, I really needed this job – and as he had implied, there were plenty of people looking for work. People who would be only too happy to type, file, fetch coffee, or do whatever other menial tasks he assigned them in exchange for a handful of leads.

"That's my girl!" he chuckled, patting my shoulder and favoring me with one of his gleaming smiles. "I'm sure you can get this done in no time and still make your date. Oh, and wear something nice – it wouldn't hurt you to show a little more skin now and then. Might help your sales, too." I stiffened but bit back a vitriolic reply, knowing that it would do no good. Ever since I'd started working for him, Blake had made a habit of standing just a bit too close, "accidentally" brushing up against me when passing in the corridor, allowing his eyes to linger too long on my legs and breasts. Nothing overt that I could report – but he made me uncomfortable all the same.

With a final flash of his steely blue eyes and professionally whitened teeth, Blake wished me a pleasant weekend and breezed out the front door, leaving me alone in the office. Sighing, I began straightening the mountain of appraisals and inspection reports, knowing that it would take at least an hour to get everything sorted and placed into the correct files. When the phone rang, I answered it automatically, not even registering that, as it was now past five, I could have let the machine handle it.

"Hello. May I speak with a Mr. Blake… Richards?" the voice on the line asked tentatively.

"I'm sorry. Mr. Richardson has already left for the evening." I corrected him, reaching for a pen. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"Oh. That's too bad," he said, "I was hoping he could show me the house at the end of Canyon Oaks Drive."

My mind kicked into overdrive at his words. The property in question had been vacant for over a year now – and seemed likely to remain so for quite some time, given the current economy. The owners were asking 2.3 million and refused to budge on the price. But what a house! The magnificent Victorian structure had been built around the turn of the century, outfitted in opulent style with intricately carved woodwork, Persian carpets, and exquisite tile. While it had been extensively updated with new plumbing, wiring, and appliances, the classic appearance of the original had been preserved. If I could manage to sell it… I smiled, mentally calculating the commission the sale would bring.

"Had you already spoken with Mr. Richardson about the property?" I inquired coolly, silently praying that he had not.

"Oh, no. I just saw his name on an MLS listing for the property," the caller assured me.

"Well then, perhaps I could show you the house?" I suggested, trying to keep my voice calm though my heart was racing. After spending the past six months slogging through the endless negotiations and paperwork of foreclosures and short-sales (for very little commission) this opportunity seemed like a dream come true! A momentary twinge of guilt struck me at the thought of Blake's fury if he knew I had poached his client – but I assuaged my guilt by telling myself that they'd never met or even spoken before. Besides, Blake need never know.

"Sure, but I'm in a hurry – I have to catch a flight in the morning. Is there any chance you could show me tonight?"

I glanced at my watch and made a few lightning calculations. If I left right now, I would just have time to dash home for a quick shower and a change of clothes. I could meet the prospective client and still make my dinner with Ethan – or call and cancel, if it looked like the sale might go through.

"How's seven?" I offered.

"Fantastic! I'll meet you there," he replied.

As I hung up the phone, I spotted Blake's filing. With an exasperated grimace, I swept the stacks of papers into a drawer – I could always come back in the morning to finish them. Or… If I actually pulled off a big sale like this, maybe I'd be promoted - and Blake would be doing my filing! I chuckled at the fantasy while rifling through Blake's desk for the lock box combination.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

An hour later, I pulled up to the ornate wrought-iron gates of the estate, armed with the gate code and key box combination from Blake's Rolodex. Sweet perfume from the surrounding citrus groves drifted in through the car's open windows and followed me up the long driveway to the house. I still had a little time before the client arrived, so I dashed through the house, turning on lights and opening windows to flush out the stale, musty odors of a place that had been closed up too long. That done, I turned a critical eye on the house itself – it looked nice, but a thick layer of dust had accumulated on the antique furnishings the owners had left behind. Congratulating myself on my forethought, I dashed to my car again for a bucket of cleaning supplies. There wasn't much time, but I could at least mitigate the worst of the dust, shine the mirrors, and wipe a few stains from the kitchen tile.

"So… does the maid service come with the house? If so, I'll take it!"

I whirled, startled by the teasing voice behind me. I'd been so caught up in cleaning that I hadn't heard him arrive. A tall man stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the setting sun. He stepped into the house, revealing dark hair just beginning to gray at the temples, strikingly blue eyes, and a tasteful but expensive suit that accentuated his athletic figure. Blushing, I dropped a cleaning rag into the bucket and straightened, smoothing my short skirt and extending my hand.

"Good evening! You must be Mr. Corbett?" I greeted him.

"Please, call me Andrew." He smiled, his eyes locking with mine in a way that made me shiver. "And you must be Kate. If I may say so, you look very nice this evening." He raked his gaze over my body, almost as if he could see through my clothing, through my lingerie, to the vulnerable flesh beneath. Taking my proffered hand, he bent and kissed it ever so gently, his lips warm and soft.

"Umm… Thank you," I stammered, flustered – but also pleased. Stung by Blake's earlier words, I had taken special pains with my wardrobe tonight, selecting a slim-fitting black skirt, low-cut blouse, and high-heeled pumps instead of my usual conservative suit and comfortable, low-heeled shoes. Perhaps he'd been right – dressing a little sexier might help me land the sale. Besides, there wouldn't be time to change before my date, and I wanted to make a good impression. I'd only met Ethan a few weeks ago, and this was to be our fourth date.

"So, shall we begin with the kitchen?" I turned and started through the doorway. "The granite countertops were installed three years ago, along with stainless steel sinks and all-new appliances…" I glanced over my shoulder to see if Andrew was following me, but he seemed rooted to the spot, staring at me with an almost predatory gleam in his eye. "The kitchen…?" I repeated, gesturing toward the door.

"Perhaps we could start with the bedrooms," he countered, a confident smirk crossing his lips. The first tendrils of uneasiness prickled at me as I turned toward the stairs, but I told myself that I was being foolish - imagining things.

"Of course," I said, setting my foot on the bottom step. "There are five bedrooms upstairs, plus two bonus rooms downstairs that have been used as a study and a billiards room – but could easily be converted to bedrooms as well. The master bedroom has an en suite bath, while each pair of smaller bedrooms shares a bath." I started up, attempting to draw his attention to the hand-carved newel posts and banisters – but the architecture he seemed most interested in was my own, and I caught his gaze sliding up the backs of my legs.

"The… uh… master bedroom is right through here," I stammered, directing him through a set of French doors.

"Very nice," he purred, coming up behind me, his hands wrapping around my waist and pressing me to him.

"Hey! Stop that!" I protested, twisting away from him. "What are you doing?"

"Only taking what is offered." He smiled again, the easy warmth with which he had first greeted me replaced by a cold hunger. Frightened now, I backed away – but was stopped by the edge of the huge four-poster bed. Darting nervous glances around the room, I saw that the only escape was the door through which we had entered – and he stood between me and the door.

"If you'll excuse me a moment…" I gulped, edging toward the open door. "I just need to make a quick… phone call…" For a moment, I thought he was going to let me pass – but no. Effortlessly, he picked me up and threw me onto the bed, the impact raising a cloud of dust from the heavy velvet coverlet and knocking the wind out of me. I shrank back against the pillows, cowering from the figure that loomed over me while I gasped for breath. Slowly, he began unbuckling his belt. "Please… no…" I whispered, mouth suddenly dry. His lips twisted in a cruel grin and he stepped closer, sliding the belt free of his pants. The bed creaked and shifted as he climbed up beside me, one knee planted firmly on my stomach, pinning me to the mattress. He easily captured both my hands, lashing them together with the belt despite the struggles that left me red-faced and panting.

Finally, satisfied with his work, he rose from the bed. I expected him to begin removing his clothing – or mine – but instead, he stepped to the dresser and pulled a length of rope from one of the drawers. He paused to flash me a warning glance, then dragged a chair to the center of the room. Standing on the chair, he was able to thread the rope through an eye bolt in the ceiling. While he was occupied, I edged – ever so quietly – toward the foot of the bed. Although my wrists were tied, my legs were still free, and I dared to hope that I might get past him, if only his back would remain turned for a few more seconds. But of course, it didn't. I had scarcely touched one foot to the carpet when he turned, scooping me up in his arms and crushing me against his broad chest.

"Not so fast, my dear!" he laughed. "The night is young, and I've got so much planned for you!" Still chuckling, he secured the rope to my bound wrists, pulling on it until my arms were stretched high over my head and I teetered awkwardly in my high-heeled shoes. "That's better!" he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork, "But it still needs something more…" He cocked his head to the side, thinking, then returned to the open dresser drawer. After rummaging for a moment, he returned with a pair of thick, black leather cuffs which he buckled snugly around my ankles. A short metal bar snapped into place between them, locking my legs slightly more than shoulder-width apart. "Perfect!" he declared, rising to stand behind me, the bulge in his trousers pressed against my ass. His arms again encircled my waist, this time sliding upward to stroke my breasts through the thin fabric of my blouse.

"What's going on here?" Both Andrew and I jumped at the unexpected intrusion, our eyes snapping to the open door. A familiar figure stood there, watching us with a sardonic gleam in his eyes.

"Blake! Oh, Thank God you're here! You've got to help me!" I cried desperately, neither knowing nor caring how he came to be there. "Please, Blake. Help me!"

"Kate? What are you doing here?" he asked with mock incredulity, striding confidently into the room. Andrew stepped back, allowing Blake to approach. But instead of freeing me, Blake stopped short, looking me up and down. "Not bad," he mused. "I see you took my advice about your wardrobe. Could still be better, but it's a definite improvement."

"Blake… please…" I whimpered, frightened by the evident lack of concern on the faces of both men.

"Ah… of course." Blake said. "I would introduce you, but it appears that you and Andrew have already met. I did mention that I was meeting an important client tonight, didn't I?" He turned to Andrew. "Started without me, did you, mate?" he asked.

Andrew gave a semi-apologetic shrug, his face totally unrepentant.

"Well then, I guess I'd better see what I've been missing," Blake said, sliding up behind me. He slipped one hand down the front of my blouse, fondling my breasts, while with the other hand, he hiked up my short skirt to finger the delicate lace panties underneath. "Nice…" he purred, his breath warm against my ear.

"Let me go!" I shouted. "You can't do this to me!"

"Oh, but I can," he whispered, his lips brushing the back of my neck. "Who's going to miss you? You have no roommates. No close friends. No, my dear. I'm afraid you're quite alone." Tears stung my eyes, blurring my vision, as I realized that he was correct. Or was he?

"No… Ethan will be looking for me! I'm meeting him for dinner tonight, and when I don't show up, he'll call the police!" I declared triumphantly, though I was not at all certain that he would do so. More likely, he would just assume that I was working late and had forgotten to call. Still, all I had to do was convince them of it…

"Oh, I don't think we need to worry about Ethan," Blake laughed, pulling my cell phone from his pocket. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of texting him before I came up. I'm afraid your dinner date has been cancelled. You wouldn't want the poor boy to worry, now would you?"

I closed my eyes in despair, knowing that no rescue would be forthcoming. This marvelous house I had been so eager to show was isolated in the middle of a large, walled estate – there was no-one close enough to hear me scream.

"Well, now," Blake said, abruptly releasing me. "The others will be here soon. We'd better get her ready."

Others? Ready? For what? I quivered, wondering what he had in mind – and dreading it.

I didn't have long to wait. Moving swiftly and efficiently, Blake unzipped my skirt, easing it over my hips and down my legs. When he bent to remove it, he slipped my shoes off as well, forcing me to stand on tiptoe. He then retrieved a large pair of scissors from the dresser and cut away my blouse. I shivered as the cold steel blades slithered over my torso, snipping the silky fabric and letting it fall away from me like petals from a dying flower. A few more snicks and my bra and panties fluttered to the floor in pieces, leaving me totally nude. But they were not yet done.

Andrew emerged from the bathroom with a bowl of soapy water in one hand, a razor in the other. He knelt before me and lathered my neatly trimmed pubic hair, then set to work with the razor. I froze, wide-eyed, scarcely daring to breathe, as he tugged at my intimate parts, exposing every fold and crevasse. The blade glided smoothly over my soapy flesh, leaving me cold and bare where it passed. I flinched at every touch, feeling more exquisitely vulnerable than ever before. That sharp blade, so close to my most sensitive spots, was humiliating… and arousing… and utterly terrifying.

"What's the matter?" Blake smirked at my discomfiture. "You're not afraid that he'll cut you, are you? Don't worry. We don't want to hurt you. Not yet, anyway."

Finally, Andrew finished. He rinsed away the soap, then patted me dry with a soft towel. "Now… We wouldn't want any unsightly razor burn…" he smiled, producing a bottle of antiseptic. I squirmed, frantic, as he slathered the fiery liquid over my newly-shaven mound.

"Oh, God… No… Please, stop. Make it stop!" I pleaded, to the amusement of my tormentors. Dangling from my wrists, I thrashed like a hooked fish, tears streaming from my eyes, until the burning subsided to a more bearable warmth.

"Ok, that's enough," Blake said, checking his watch. "They'll be here soon. Let's get her dressed."

Dressed? I sighed with relief, grateful that my captors did not intend to parade me nude in front of their guests, though the costume they produced wasn't much better. Handling me like a doll, they laced me into a black satin corset, so tight that I could scarcely breathe. Because my arms were stretched overhead, the top of the corset fit just below my nipples, pushing my generous breasts up and displaying rather than concealing them. A flared skirt followed, also black, and so short that it barely covered me when I stood upright. If I bent over even a little bit, I would be shamefully exposed. Next, they buckled my feet into a pair of high-heeled shoes - far higher than any that I owned. Finally, they raised the skirt and buckled a slim leather belt around my hips.

"Now," said Blake, "for the accessories." He held up a small, egg-shaped device from which dangled a short bit of wire. "For you, dear girl – I do hope you'll enjoy it." With that, he thrust the object deep into my pussy. I gasped at the abrupt intrusion, though in truth, I was already fairly wet down there, so it didn't hurt. It just felt… cold, and a little strange. He then produced a second object – a slender plug with a flared base. My eyes widened in horror at the realization of where he intended to put it – and sure enough, a moment later, I felt him probing my virgin ass. I clenched my buttocks tightly and attempted to swivel away from him, but he only laughed.

"Needs a little lubrication…" he said to himself, retrieving a tiny bottle from his pocket and squeezing a few drops into the crack of my ass. The liquid was cold and slippery. He swirled the tip of the plug in the lubricant for a moment, then began inserting it. Despite its deceptively slender appearance, it hurt as he relentlessly pressed it deeper, stretching me, and I whimpered with mingled shame and pain.

"One more," Blake smiled, showing me a tiny black box attached to a leather strap. He clipped the strap onto the front of the belt, then passed it between my legs, cinching it tightly in back, so that the box was seated snugly against my clitoris. The strap also covered my pussy and pressed against the flared base of the plug, ensuring that none of the objects could be removed. "Almost done…" He pulled two small padlocks from his pockets and used them to secure the strap, both in front and back, then stepped back to survey his work.

"Nice," Andrew said approvingly, sliding his hands over my ass and tugging at the strap to verify that it was secure. The vibrators shifted slightly with each tug and my cheeks blazed with fury. Still, the presence of that locked strap reassured me slightly. At least it offered a hint of concealment for my most private parts, plus it suggested that I would not be violated further. Gritting my teeth, I resolved to endure whatever further humiliation they had planned for me – at least until the opportunity to escape presented itself.

"Right, then," Blake began in a brisk, business-like tone. "Andrew and I will be hosting a small gathering this evening, and, well… you are the entertainment. It will be your job to serve drinks and hors d'oeuvres to our guests. You are also to comply with any requests they might make of you. Anything," he repeated, grasping my chin and looking me directly in the eye. "Please them, and you will be rewarded. Anything less than total obedience will be severely punished. And don't even think of trying to escape. I can assure you that no one here tonight will help you, but any attempt will be punished. Understand?" I nodded reluctantly. With a final stern look, he stooped to remove the cuffs around my ankles while Andrew freed my hands. My hopes of being left unbound, however, were swiftly dashed when Andrew replaced his belt with a pair of slim steel cuffs, one on each wrist. Short chains locked each cuff to rings on the sides of the corset, trapping my hands at waist-level. The chains were just long enough to permit a few inches of movement on either side.