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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008.  Please
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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