pleasantly, beckoning to me.
I joined him.
I glanced over at my robe on the easy chair, and the slippers at its foot. 'My robe and slippers,' I said, 'were in the bathroom, were they not?' 'Yes,' he said.
'You then entered the bathroom while I was showering, and removed them, did you not?'
'Yes,' he said.
I had neither seen nor heard him doing this, of course. The water had been running. The shower curtain had been drawn.
'Why?' I asked.
'We decided that you would appear before us much as you are,' he said. 'But, why?' I asked.
'It would be more convenient for us,' he said. 'Matters might then proceed somewhat more simply for u~ than might otherwise have been the case.'
I was angry. Obviously I had been manipulated. I had been ordered to shower. Then, while I had showered, my apartment had been entered and my robe and slippers removed from the bathroom. I had been surprised in my own apartment. Then I had been given little alternative other than to present myself before them, doubtless as they had planned, well cleaned, fresh from the shower, and half naked.
'Are you angry?' he asked.
'No,' I said, suddenly, 'of course not.' I was suddenly afraid that they might cease to find me pleasing. Doubtless their entry into my apartment had some purpose. I was then certain I understood their motivations. They had wished to take me by surprise, to observe my reactions, to see me as though I might be confused or startled, to see bow fetching and exciting I might appear, captured, so to speak, in a moment of charming disarray. I hoped I had not disappointed them. Doubtless they were interested in testing me for a performance in some commercial, perhaps having to do with soaps or beauty products. I hoped that my responses had not jeopardized my chances for participation in whatever might be their intended projects. I did so want to please them. They paid well.
He was looking down at me. He was so large and strong. I was afraid he was not pleased. I smiled my prettiest up at him. I adjusted the towel a bit about my breasts, seemingly inadvertently, accidentally, pulling it down a bit, and then, hastily, with seeming modesty, tucking it securely, much higher, even more closely, about my body. 'It is only,' I smiled, 'that you took me by such surprise. I did not know what to do.'
'I understand,' he said.
'It is not every day,' I said, smiling, 'that a girl finds herself surprised in her own apartment and then, in effect, forced to present herself before unexpected guests clad only in a towel.'
'Mat is true,' he said.
I smiled again.
'I hope that you are still interested in me,' I said, teasingly, and, I am afraid, a bit anxiously.
'Perhaps,' he said.
I would have preferred a more affirmative response.
There was a moment of awkward silence. I hoped they were not disappointed. I did not want to fail to please them. I would have been willing to do anything. I would even have been willing to let them hold me in their arms, or kiss me. I would even have been willing to let them make love to me. I knew such things were common. Why should a girl not turn her charms to her own profit? I did not want them to lose interest in me. They paid well.
'The coffee is ready,' he said.
'Yes,' I said, gratefully. I could no longer bear it perking.
I recalled I had been told to make it.
I hurried into the kitchen.
In a few moments I was serving them coffee, in white cups on the rectangular, black-legged, white-topped Formica table.
The kitchen tiles felt smooth and cool under my feet. They sat about the table. I felt aroused, and very feminine, serving them. I then poured myself a cup. 'Put your cup on the floor,' said the man, 'there, on the tiles.' Puzzled, crouching down, I did so.
'Now, kneel behind it,' he said.
I knelt down on the tiles, behind the cup, the refrigerator to my right, the table, with the men seated about it, in front of me.
They sipped their coffee.
'You may drink,' said the man.
I reached for the cup, before me, on the floor. I lifted it.
'No,' he said. 'Do not hold it by the handle. Hold it in your hands, as a bowl.' I then sipped the coffee in this fashion, the cup warm in my fingers. I then put it down. They were using the handles of their cups, I noted. And, too, of course, they were sitting at the table. Why should they be sitting, and I kneeling, I asked myself. Are we not the same? Are we not identical? I watched them drinking in the customary fashion. Then I, again, sipped coffee from the cup, holding it in both hands, like a small bowl. I felt an urge to put the cup aside, tear off the towel, and put my body naked to the cool tiles before them, at their feet. I wondered what the tiles would feel like against me, against my breasts, my belly, my thighs.
The men finished their coffee. he 'Have you finished your coffee?' asked he who. seemed in charge.
I finished the coffee, holding the cup as I had been instructed to do. 'Yes,' I said.
'You may clear the table,' he said.
I rose to my feet and put my cup in the sink. I then went to the table. I began to gather together their cups. 'What is in the metal box?' I asked, lightly. 'I told you,' he said. 'Nothing.'
I stacked the cups and carried them to the sink. 'Really?' I asked.
Yes,' he said.
'I thought maybe you were delivering something to the apartment,' I said. 'No,' he said.
I rinsed off the cups.
'Is it really empty?' I asked.
'Now,' he said, to one of his fellows, 'we need not listen to her blithering.' I felt my bead pulled back. There was apparently a ring at the back of the leather pad now pressed so closely into the back of my neck.
I shook my head. I whimpered.
The man then jerked the towel from my hair. I looked at him. I shook my head. He then jerked away the towel I wore on my body. I was then turned and thrown on my belly, on the table, the two assistants pressing me helplessly against it, holding me tightly down by the arms. The men, when I had been stripped, had not even paused to look at me. They had seen, I gathered, many women.
I felt a piece of cotton or cloth touch my back, above and behind my left hip. It was wet. The area then felt cool. Then I whimpered. I felt a needle being entered into my flesh, in the center of that chemically chilled area. Tears sprang to my eyes. The needle was then withdrawn and I felt the area swabbed again with fluid. I was then drawn from the table and, by the arms, carried into the combination living and dining room of my small apartment. Their leader then, be who had ankleted me, opened the side of the stout, metal container. It had a heavy door. Inside were various straps, and rings.
I tried to struggle.
'Resistance is useless, Miss Collins,' said the man.
I looked at him pleadingly.
Then I was thrust, in a sitting position, into the box. The ring at the back of the gag, doubtless sewn into the slotted leather pad, was snapped about a ring mounted at a matching height in the box. My head was thus held in place. For a moment the room seemed to go dark and then I gathered my wits again. My left wrist, to my horror, was fastened back, and at my left side, by straps attached to a ring. My right wrist was then secured similarly. In moments both of my ankles, too, had been fastened in position. I fought to retain consciousness. Then I was thrust back further in the box. A broad leather strap was then drawn tightly about me. I winced. Then it was buckled shut. I could hardly move. I looked at the men, from the box. My eyes pleaded with them.
'She is secured,' said one of the men.
The man in charge nodded. 'Close the container,' he said.
