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Subject: {deirdre}JDR"Month A"( FF mc ds )[1/2]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked
the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a
comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories
itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way
to encourage them to continue entertaining you.
The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in
any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright
below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as
well.
=====================
On many of her stories, but not on my copy of this one, deirdre wrote:
Permission granted to archive, repost, or publish in low-cost CD-ROM
archives of alt groups. Permission granted to publish in anthologies of
this type of material if attributed to deirdre and an author's payment is
sent to AIDS research in the name of deirdre. -- deirdre
I'm taking this as a general permission.
1/28/95
=====================
Month
by deirdre
Section A:
"So when will we be leaving?" We were always going somewhere so I
knew Becky would have an answer.
"Tomorrow: an 8 A.M. flight for Miami," Another early morning. Well I
was used to them. Becky takes care of me--she runs my life; I knew
without thinking that she had everything arranged.
"How long?"
"Four days, then Paris." I like Paris--I'm always up for that trip despite
the flight.
"Gaultier?"
"No, that's next month."
"Will we be there long?"
"Two days." She must have seen my disappointed look: "Thinking of
chucking it and retiring there?"
"Of course not. Well, not yet."
"So you plan to stick it out and collect the ten million the world is still
willing to pay you."
"I suppose."
She thought for a second, then let out a giggle. "How would you like to
earn the whole ten million in a month?"
"Becky; you didn't tell me you were a gambler." I smiled to make sure she
took it as a joke.
"Gambler? Oh," and she laughed. "No, it's a job. I wasn't planning on even
mentioning it to you; I mean: it's too crazy."
"Someone offered to pay me ten million for a month's work?"
"Yes," she said, stifling a laugh.
"Revlon! But..."
"No--it's anonymous."
"*Anonymous*!"
"That's why I wasn't even going to consider it."
"Some penniless crackpot."
She paused, then said more seriously: "Actually, the agency says it's quite
legitimte."
"Oh, please!"
"No! It *is*. I was so curious that I had them checked into it. The law
firm conveying the offer doesn't joke around."
"Some unknown company offered me ten million for a month's work?"
"Yes, isn't it a stitch?"
"What did they want me to do?"
"They didn't say: it all seems quite mysterious."
"Ten million!?"
"Yes."
"For some unknown service I can provide them!" The possibilities boggled
the mind.
"That's it. That's the deal."
I don't know what came over me. It was just so crazy, and I felt crazy
myself. "Ask for fifty."
She looked thoughtful. "This is a little wild for you. Are you sure you
want to get involved with this?"
"I'm not getting involved, I'm just letting them know *one* of my
conditions!"
"Don't you think it's dangerous?". But then her expression changed and
finally she giggled again, "Fifty million!"
"Come on, Becky, I know you'd like to know what they'll say."
Three days later I was coming back from the day's shoot and out of the
blue, Becky says "They agreed!"
"Who! What!" She had an almost stricken look on her face.
"The fifty million! They've agreed to pay it."
"No way!"
"They did. Here, look at this." She handed me a letter. I started scanning
it. *We are pleased to meet your asking price, fifty million dollars...* I
gasped.
"Did they say any more about what it's about?"
"No. Well, they did say... they suggested that for meeting your price that
you owe them the chance to explain the details and sell you on the idea."
"Becky, I don't know about this!"
"I *knew* you shouldn't lead them on. I think you'd better stand them up."
I couldn't believe it. Fifty million dollars! One month! Either there
was some kind of sex involved or it was a whale of an advertising campaign!
Fifty million for sex? It had to be the richest man in the world, or one
of them. Some middle-east oil sheik?
"What do they want me to do? To hear the details."
"They want you to contact a certain bank next time you are in New York
City." A bank? Well, with fifty million, I guess a bank would be
involved.
Walking through the bank's lobby, I got the usual stares. Well, they'd
have something to talk about when they got home. I thought of my mother
and what she would do if she'd happened upon a celebrity. I guess they'll
be entertaining their friends for a month. Then we were in the elevator.
The receptionist at this Mr. Prescott's office showed us in immediately.
He was older, perhaps fifty, tall and only slightly heavyset, with thinning
gray hair. He quickly dispensed with formalities and got right to the
point.
"My work at the bank is to handle delicate escrow situations, usually
associated with the sale of private corporations. Before I explain the
financial portion of the proposal, I was instructed to give you this sealed
envelope and allow you to read the contents."
I opened the envelope. In it was one short typewritten paragraph: *If you
agree to this proposal, you will place yourselves in the hands of agents
made known to you by Mr. Prescott who will transport you by private jet
to an island whose location will never be revealed. After one month's
time, you will be returned to Mr. Prescott with no physical injuries and no
harm to your reputation.*
I looked up at him, staring. He spoke up: "I have been given complete
control of accounts valued at two hundred million dollars with the
instructions to transfer fifty million to your control the very moment you
place yourself in my client's hands, and to transfer the other one-hundred
fifty million at the end of the month if I judge you are not returning in
perfect physical shape, and with your reputation intact. And even after
my initial judgement, I will continue to control the one hundred fifty
million for twelve months, it being stipulated that I will still transfer it
to you if I later judge the conditions of the agreement have not been met.
"I'm instructed not to accept any answer from you at this point. I will
contact you in three days to see if you have reached a decision. If you
remain reluctant, the offer will remain open though naturally my client
retains the right to withdraw the offer at any time. Thank you for your
time."
I sat there staring at him. This was so crazy. He gathered some papers
into a pile, took his attache case and left, excusing himself, leaving us
alone in the office. Becky and I left immediately after.
"Becky, can you believe this? Two hundred million?"
"Listen, let's forget all this, please!" Becky was a little predictable--
she seemed to think I wasn't a grown woman, capable of keeping out of
trouble.
"But it's so outrageous."
"You shouldn't mess with them! With that money, they're serious. Please
just tell him no and forget it."
"Oh, I'll tell him no all right, but it's just so amazing that this
mysterious client is spending so much! Two hundred million!"
"That's only if they don't keep their part of the bargain. I wish I'd
never brought this up--can't you get it off your mind?"
"A mysterious island!"
"Look, *please* get your mind on something else! You'll tempt yourself
into it!"
Becky could be like that: afraid to even *think* about something wild like
a fifty-million dollar offer at, well, prostitution probably. I'd be the
most expensive hooker ever! I gave Becky a break, but I couldn't help
wonder what kind of man this was making this offer.
I thought about it. I go to an island, and fulfill this guy's fantasy. He
doesn't hurt me and no one ever knows about it. I have sex with him.
Fifty million dollars in one month! What would he be like? Old? Fat?
I'd never know. Could he be young? How would a young man get so much
money? What sort of man was so turned on by my kind of looks that he'd
spend fifty million dollars?
Why didn't he just propose to me? Not that I'd necessarily accept. Maybe
he figured that. It was all so weird. But I couldn't get my mind off it.
"You're thinking about that offer, aren't you?" Becky asked. She knows
me. She had a disgusted look on her face.
"I'm just curious about it," I answered.
"Don't think about it!" she said. "*Please* put it out of your mind!" Good
old Becky. She ought to have known me well enough to know her warnings
would just make me more curious.
I wondered all day about the call from Mr. Prescott. I never got it. "He
never called," I mentioned to Becky that night. She didn't say anything.
Not *thank heavens* or anything. "You're probably glad," I finally added. I
noticed something about the way she was acting. I spoke up again: "he
called, didn't he?"
"You didn't need to talk to him!"
"It's *my* decision!"
"But you *can't* decide to do something like this! It's *impossible*!"
"Becky!" My voice was raised. I paused, and consciously lowered it. "I'm
sorry: you help me manage my career, and I'm grateful you're looking out
for me." She looked visibly relieved. We didn't say any more--in fact, we
were a little too quiet with each other.
I thought as I lay in bed. Fifty million all at once. Retire in Paris.
Maybe do a few runway shows a year, only whatever I feel like. The
Riviera. Anytime. A yacht. Two. No, a big one with a huge crew. Go to
benefits. Give money to the President's reelection. Big money. People
would be coming to *me*!
"You should have given me the call," I said to Becky in the morning. "If
he calls again, make sure you get him back for me." I looked at her. She
didn't answer me and she looked nervous. "He said he'd call again, didn't
he?"
"Yes."
"Listen, you really don't have to worry about this. I'm a grown woman and
can take care of myself." She suddenly looked *very* nervous. I was
briefly thrown again by her attitude--it's not like I was planning on
accepting the deal or anything!
I was on break when she approached, the phone in her hand. She didn't even
say a thing--I could just see from her look what it was. "Please!" she
mouthed to me. I still couldn't believe she was so worried about this.
I took the phone.
"Well, have you made your decision yet?"
"I... I'll do it." I couldn't believe I said it. Becky almost fainted.
We stood in the wind at an airport. A small jet was in front of us. Mr.
Prescott explained the details, going on and on about how he was going to
transfer the fifty million immediately and would be there when I returned,
and that Becky would be there too, to corroborate his judgement. And how
a person was arranged to take over custody of the account if anything
should happen to him. And on and on he went. I stared at the plane.
There were two men, both in dark grey coveralls. One must be a pilot.
"Take care of yourself," Becky said, looking worried and forlorn. I
crossed the field to the jet, which was ready to go. I had no luggage, as
per instructions. The men both wore sunglasses. They assisted me through
the door, and into a seat. Then one of them showed me a blindfold and put
it on me. Then I was strapped in the seat. Then I was handcuffed! "Hey!
I don't need to be..."
Something was pushed in my mouth! Gagged! Somehow, I didn't imagine it
like this! It had been very clear that I was putting myself under the
man's control. I had even thought about being tied up. And whipped--or
something. Facing this for real was something else, though.
They put earphones on me. There was soft music and a voice, a low
woman's voice that kept saying relax and go to sleep. We flew and flew.
Blindfolded and gagged, it seemed forever. I don't think I slept. Finally
we landed and I was unstrapped and led out of the plane. Still
blindfolded, handcuffed, and gagged.
I was made to stoop down and kneel on the ground. My bound hands were
attached to something on the ground. Then my clothes were ripped off,
piece by piece! Then my gag was removed.
"What's going on?" I said, almost reflexively.
"Quiet!" came the one word answer. I cringed.
Then they left! Took off! I heard the jet leave--there was no way I could
miss that, then absolutely nothing! I was kneeling on the ground, wearing
nothing but a blindfold and handcuffs, my hands attached to the ground,
outside, and had no idea what was going on around me. I couldn't hear a
thing!
I just knelt there and waited. Finally it got to be too much for me. I
bent my head down to my hands and pulled off my blindfold. Ocean. It was
all around--I was on a small, completely flat island with absolutely
nothing, and with ocean as far as I could see in every direction!
It was rocky and flat without a bit of vegetation, and there was a single
runway. My handcuffs were attached to a metal ring that was attached to
a large rock in the ground. I could see that it was easy to detach my
hands, but I couldn't reach the release!
I sat there and sat there. I started getting worried. I recalled the
money--fifty million dollars; two hundred million! I'd stopped thinking
about it--the reality was so much more... *frightening* than my
imaginings.
It seemed forever. Finally I heard something and turned to see a plane
approaching. It was pretty close by the time I noticed it above the sound
of the ocean. It was completely black--not even a number painted on it--
and was another small jet similar to the one I'd been on.
I watched as it landed and pulled up. Two people got out: a man and a
woman. Both wore sunglasses and I couldn't see their faces well. Both
were dressed very neatly: in suits!
"Oh, thank God you're here," I said, unable to control myself, I guess.
The woman put her finger over her lips, indicating that I should stay
quiet. The man picked up the blindfold off the ground and put it back on
me.
I was detached from the ground and made to stand and soon they had me in
the plane. My handcuffs were removed, but then I was guided to lying face
down in it and tied down, spread-eagled. The plane took off.
I lay there, unable to move, flat on my stomach. The flight went on and
on. No one said anything to me though I heard a little talking. Finally
we landed.
I heard them get out of the plane. I was left there for several minutes.
Finally the door opened again and I heard someone say "Uh huh... OK." Then
it shut again. It seemed like forever, and it finally opened and someone
detached me from the floor and handcuffed my wrists again and led me out
of the plane, still blindfolded.
It was immediately obvious that a number of people were around. Mostly
they didn't talk about me, but occasionally they referred to "her" or "the
merchandise" and it was evident they were talking about me. Then I was
walked for a while and ended up in a building of some sort. Finally my
blindfold was removed. It was like a little air terminal and there were
numerous people going in and out, none paying me any attention! It had
been a man dragging me in and he had brought me to a woman. The man
was in coveralls that suggested "airport", but the woman was in a neat
little dress. She smiled at me. "Welcome to our island," she said. She
was beautiful, and tall, and photogenic, I guessed. She could be a model.
Her cheerfulness struck an odd chord with me. Occasionally someone
would peek at me, but for the most part, no one seemed to care. Then she
told me to follow her and led me out.
The island was very pretty and green and I was sure it was in the tropics
somewhere. Beyond that, I had no idea. There were numerous other
people, some of whom took the trouble to look at me and some who didn't
seem to notice! There I was, naked and handcuffed, being led among all
those normal-looking people. The woman could definitely be a model. I
saw other women who looked like models. Briefly I wondered why this guy
needed *me*.
Finally I was led into a rather large building, down a hall, and into a
bedroom. "This is where you will stay, at least for now," she volunteered.
She looked down the hall and said something, and another woman came in.
She was also tall and looked to be a model, but she was dressed in a plain
gray dress, like a maid's. "Jill here will take care of you, for now," the
woman said and she took off my handcuffs. At last! Jill's dress had a belt
and the woman attached the handcuffs to it and gave Jill the key. "Grab
Jill's wrist," the woman said. I stared for a moment, confused. "Grab it!"
she repeated and Jill held one arm out to me so I could take hold of her
wrist.
I didn't manage to. In two seconds, I was on the bed, face down, Jill
straddling my body, with my hands behind me. "Just remember that Jill
has been trained to handle people like you," the woman said, and left.
"You should take a bath," Jill said and she went into the bathroom and
started running water. I looked around the room. I wondered about
clothes. There was a closet door so I peeke in. Nothing. In a dresser,
every drawer was empty. I checked the door to the hall: it was locked. I
finally joined Jill in the bathroom. This was an attractive jail cell.
The bathroom was huge and the bath looked wonderful--it was a very large
rectangular tub. Jill had prepared it with bubble-bath. She held my hand
as I stepped in.
=====================
Month
by deirdre
Section A
-30-
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