The Long Way Down · Part 1

The Long Way Down · Part 1 (1/2)
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Dedicated to those who like secure straitjackets and powerful women. Derivative works and sequels are welcomed, but please acknowledge this work.

Part One

As soon as I dive through the door, I realize something is wrong.

Certainly, many things are right and familiar. There is the exhilarating feeling of weightlessness, the whipping of the jumpsuit, and the roar of the wind.

And then, there is the afternoon sun glistening off the distant desert lake. But this beautiful sight is part of the problem.

You see, there are no lakes within a hundred miles of the drop zone.

Then where am I? Though I try to match the features below with the geography I've encountered on the job, I am unable to place myself anywhere in the country.

In my confusion, I seize upon a chilling thought.

I realize now with fear what lies below me.

Her hair still damp from the shower, the pilot emerges from the locker room. Crossing the hall into the empty men's locker room, she unlocks #103 and empties the customer's wallet. Having inspected the identification with satisfaction, she transfers half of the small stack of bills to her own wallet, where they nicely complement the foreign bills she has recently received. The other half go to the receptionist.

"Hey Jessica, this is for you. And close our latest customer's account. He won't be needing it anymore."

Jessica grins.

After spending a couple thousand vertical feet hoping that I am wrong, I finally resolve to act. A low-altitude opening, I decide, will minimize my chances of detection and hopefully get me back home safely. In another scenario it might be feasible to open high in an attempt to steer back, but probably not at this distance; all the while I'd also be a sitting duck.

As soon as I land, I hide the chute and take off to the north. There are parts of the border where some have successfully made the crossing. I don't know exactly how I'll do it, but one thing is certain: I can't stay put and just let myself be caught. It worries me to think what will happen if they discover a foreign officer on the edge of their military base.

Keep in mind that this isn't just any other country. For many years our diplomatic position regarding our female neighbors to the south has been one of deferential tolerance. Though we are perennially appalled by the leaked stories of their human rights transgressions — especially the psychological and sexual torture — their military's superior funding and technological sophistication have left us no choice but to tolerate their methods. Frankly, we consider ourselves fortunate that so far, they've been uninterested in bringing their military to bear against us.

But instead, there's the kidnapping. Every once in a while, someone near the border will disappear and never be heard from again. Sometimes it's a civilian. Sometimes it's military personnel. Today it's me.

It is anybody's guess what happens to those they have taken. It is known, however, that they enjoy playing cat and mouse. I heard from the border guard that once, they saw a man running toward the fences from the other side. He came close enough for our patrolmen to see the hope in his face — and then to hear his plaintive yelp as he was subdued and dragged off by black-suited female forms. Apparently they had lain in wait for hours just to savor that moment.

But that transpired fifty miles to the east of where I have now arrived. Only the faintest purple traces of sunset remain on the western horizon as I see the barrier in the distance. From my thigh pocket I retrieve a bundle of cord that I have saved from earlier.

I am tying the first knot when I feel a light prick in my thigh. I keep on working feverishly in hopes that I've only imagined it, but my fears are soon realized. My body grows heavy, and despite my best efforts to stay on my feet, I slump to the ground. As I gaze upwards at the sky, a woman strides, hands on her hips, into my rapidly dimming field of view.

"Come on. You didn't think we could afford a few motion detectors?"

She turns, motioning to others I can't see. "Bring him in. And put his rope to good use."

Part Two

"Wakey wakey."

I find myself in a small, dark, windowless room. As my confusion clears, I discover I am strapped down to some sort of seat with my legs spread widely apart. Beneath the many strong bands holding me against the molded frame, a rubbery grey suit stretches tightly over my body.

Across from me sits a stunning woman; she wears a gleaming catsuit which, aside from the red collar, is as black as night. The glossy reflection of the dim ceiling light delineates her contours; I can even see her chest rising and falling lightly as she breathes. Where I come from, this is not something we see every day. She notices my wandering eyes.

"You like our uniforms, don't you? We like them too." She smiles. "But on to business."

With the slightest rustlings of her uniform, she gets up and begins to pace slowly. There is more than a hint of enjoyment in her voice as she continues.

"It seems, my darling, that you are in quite a bit of trouble. Apparently you were sneaking around without identification, trying to pass back north under cover of darkness, when the border guard took you down. They were almost done filling in the forms for the standard five-year jail sentence when they felt the canister sewn into the lining of your jumpsuit."

Canister? In all the years I'd used that jumpsuit, I'd never felt anything. And surely it would have been noticed when after that last jump, I was asked to leave the suit behind for repai–ohhh.

The officer pivots dramatically to face me. "And what did they find in that canister? Film copies of our military spec sheets and drawings."

"Naturally, that changed everything. The border documentation was immediately destroyed. You were promptly conducted under heavy guard here to the base, where tonight you are to stand trial before the high court on charges of espionage." She leans in and gleefully places her hands over my strapped wrists. "And, pardon my language, but it looks to me like you're royally screwed."

Glumly I agree. Someone has set me up for deep, deep trouble.

She resumes her pacing. "In the meantime, you will be held here. Perhaps you should use the time to figure out how you're going to explain yourself. You're also welcome to try to escape — though I should point out that, as part of your preparation for the trial, I'm about to activate your control suit."

Since realizing the severity of my predicament, I have not really been very concerned about the strange suit I am wearing.

"Embedded in its fabric, you see, are multiple processors, powered wirelessly, that transmit your location and the position of your major joints. Using fine wires sewn into the suit, the processors also verify that the suit is still intact and snugly fitted around you. In other words, this suit is a guard you can never escape, and it knows everything you're doing. Recently we've even been using the joint data to tell us where prisoners are moving too much and need their restraints tightened down."

I realize that maybe the grey suit is not so benign after all.

She produces a small device like a key fob and begins playing with it lazily. "But the suit does more than mere monitoring. Through it we can administer any strength or quality of electric, eh, 'inducements' that may strike our fancy. And as a last resort, we can also trigger an embedded explosive charge that will most certainly stop you in your tracks. Basically, with this thing, we may not even need any other restraints, but we definitely enjoy using them all the same."

She picks up a clamp-like device and walks behind me. Now I feel her breath lightly against my ear. "So how 'bout it? Ready to be sealed in?"

I am not. Yet she pulls the suit's reinforced collar tight around my neck. As she clamps down on the collar at the nape of my neck, I hear the device power up and discharge with a sizzling sound. The clamp is removed, and now the collar remains tight. Now I feel the device against me a second time, this time further down my back. There is another hum and another sizzle.

My captress steps back around, watching the fob expectantly. After several seconds, she points out the numbers now flashing on its small screen.

"The sense wires are connected, the collar and zipper are fused, and the control suit is activated. Welcome, prisoner, to the first day of the rest of your life. I think I'll give you some time alone to reflect on that." She turns toward the door.

She is halfway through the door code when, glancing back at me, she decides to stay a little longer. Enjoying my helplessness, she stands in front of me possessively for a few moments before crouching down between my restrained legs. First a few fingers, then her palms, slowly move up and down my thighs, lingering slightly over my hardening bulge. The sensation sends a shudder up my spine. Grunting, I twist slightly in my bonds to meet her touch.

"You know, you're the first male visitor to drop by here since I got transferred to this post six weeks ago. I had heard that these were the best parts of the job, but I never understood what they were talking about until now. It turns me on to think about all the things they'll probably do to you."

Keeping one hand on me, she brings the other hand to her own suit. As my massage slows to a stop, increasingly she lets her fingers wander and play gently under herself. After a minute of moaning and shuddering, she reluctantly opens her eyes. "Okay, I think I may need some alone time of my own." Hurriedly she rises and turns toward the door.

As she turns off the dim lights and rushes out, I suddenly remember again the seriousness of my situation. Wrestling with my bonds, I break my silence. "Wait, you've got it wrong! I'm not a spy!" Silhouetted against the bright doorway, she silently manipulates something in her palm. "I was kidna–!" A sudden electric blow stops me in mid-sentence.

"Don't interrupt a girl when she has urgent business." With the door closing, she dashes back into the room one last time to kiss me on the lips. I am still in pain from my shock. "You've been fun. But really, save your story for the judge."

Then she is gone. In the complete darkness, there is the distant sound of hurried footsteps, a brief electric hum, and finally the sound of several deadbolts firing to secure the door. My straps creak lightly but do not give at all.

Part Three

I did save it for the judge, but it didn't seem to do me any good.

It was a quick trial in a mostly empty courtroom. When my military status was revealed, the judge — a woman in her twenties wearing the standard black suit with a thin yellow collar — merely leaned back and crossed her arms. I could see the corners of her lips turn ever so slightly upward. Though finally I was allowed to speak in my defense, my words fell on unsympathetic ears.

Now I was to receive my judgment. The room is silent as the judge begins. "Defendant, please rise to receive the judgment of the court." I do so. She pronounces the sentence looking directly at me.

"On the charge of espionage, this court finds you guilty. You are hereby sentenced to destructive punitive extraction." From a distant corner of the courtroom I hear a murmur.

"In accordance to law, you are from this moment forth divested of your rights as a foreign national. You are now the legal property of the State. Bailiff, please conduct the prisoner to the chief of police in preparation for the sentence. This court is adjourned."

As the courtroom empties, the bailiff collects my hands behind me and applies a pair of handcuffs. After we are alone, she gives my shoulder a few brief pats, as though from empathy, and ushers me gently through a side door into a mostly empty room.

At the far end of the room is an expensive-looking desk. Seated behind it, a lone woman is studying some papers. With her head down, all I can see of her is her suit, her hair, and the hand she is resting against her forehead.

"Well, well… look who we have here." She looks up, grinning.

"Serena?!"

Part Four

"Why, imagine my surprise when I found out that the spy I'd been hearing about was none other than my ex-boyfriend!"

"You! You were the one who did this to me, weren't you!"

"Sorry, but I'm afraid the only thing you can blame for your situation is your own bad judgment. Thanks, Jenna; we won't need the cuffs anymore." The bailiff nods, frees my hands, and leaves the room. Serena points out the seat across the table; I sit down.

"What bad judgment, Serena? That I stopped seeing you?" Seeing her figure brings to mind delightful memories of her warm body next to mine; indeed she is just as physically attractive now as when we were dating. The sticking point, however, was her tendency to be possessive. That facet of her personality has evidently blossomed in the meantime.

Serena shrugs. "I bet you didn't realize back then that you weren't the only one with some military clout. After we parted ways, I returned here to resume my former position. When I remembered your fondness for skydiving, I realized it was the perfect way to deliver you into my grasp. It was just a matter of time until your dive appointments matched up with my pilot's schedule. Oh, it's too bad you couldn't have seen yourself when you were shipped back to base! You were all chained and tied up like a big gift…"

"Well, now you have me. What can I do for you?" I figure the best I can do at this stage is to please her.

She chuckles. "Oh, no. It's a bit too late for that. The wheels have already been set in motion, and even I can't stop them. You have a sentence to serve." She presses a button on her desk. I look around nervously, but nothing happens quite yet. She swivels her seat to the side to cross her lustrous legs.

"You know," she continues offhandedly, "I don't know why it is that so many of our punishments are sexual in nature. Perhaps that's only natural in a female-dominated culture where males are the worst offenders. But whatever the reason, we've found it to be highly effective in males and females alike — and often, quite satisfying to watch as well."

The door opens, admitting a stream of agents who soundlessly begin to fall into formation. "Every once in a while, we get to carry out a destructive punition or, more rarely, an extraction like yours. The international community seems to disapprove of it, crudely terming it 'sexual torture.' But by utilizing certain tools and conditions designed to intensify the experience, we feel we've developed it into a punitive science."

With a tip of her hand she gestures at the assembled black sea of femininity, now standing ten wide and three deep. They salute sharply. "Our transport and restraint teams are specially trained to subdue and apply restraints to unwilling prisoners such as yourself. Though some have many years' experience, they've all undergone at least a year of intensive training with psychological screening to guarantee–well, how shall I put it–their job excites them. I guess you would say these would be the dominatrices of your world."

"Curious thing about them. From our early experiences, we determined that after weeks to months of continuous destructive punition, the brain changes irrevocably, leaving prisoners in a permanent state of heightened sexual awareness. We've found that males, especially, become perfect sex slaves." She eagerly reveals her curious secret: "And certain female prisoners — if we stop at just the right time — become perfect transport and restraint officers."

That is intriguing, but I am concerned mainly about my fate. "So just because it didn't work out between us, Serena, you're going to fry my brain and make me a sex slave?"

"Yes," she says matter-of-factly. "But not just any sex slave. My sex slave. I've already called dibs on you." She sighs. "You know, back then, you and I we could have been happy together. But this way, we'll also be happy together — just in a slightly different way."

At her beckoning, the team shifts formation. Roughly half move to line the periphery of the room, while the other half advances in two rows to a few feet behind my seat. My heart begins to beat with dread and anticipation. The moment has come.

"Through your control suit, I could easily coerce you to put on all your restraints yourself. But, for the team's practice and my enjoyment, I'm going to let them do the work tonight. Stand up, please."

Part Five

Still looking upon my former girlfriend, I slowly push myself up from the chair. In the quiet of the room, I am acutely aware of my frenzied heartbeat and trembling breath. The chain of women has now come around me, hemming me in against the desk. Unseen hands whisk my chair away from behind me.

I glance to find two graceful women at my sides, both wearing a long ponytail and the slightest of smiles. On their mutual signal they move swiftly toward me. But just as their hands touch my arms, I twist to the right and dive behind me in the direction of the door. For a split second I sail toward a forest of gleaming calves before a sudden impact pins me against the padded floor. In the distance I can see the other group of agents, still impassively guarding the exit to the room.

As I fight to get up, I feel my ankles being grasped and separated. In spite of my kicking, I am pivoted and dragged backwards by my spread legs toward the center of the room. Clawing futilely at the retreating floor, I can see a smiling Serena seated behind the desk.

Reaching the center of the room, the women pause, still holding my ankles. My arms are firmly folded behind me; with several zips they are fixed securely in place. The operation has proceeded soundlessly to this point. Now Serena gets up from her chair and walks towards us, raising her voice only slightly in order to be heard across the distance. "A commendable effort to both the prisoner and the restraint team. What was that, number four in the playbook?"

A sweet voice rings out from above me. "Yes, ma'am, basically a number four."

"Again, well done." Serena bends down to pat me lightly on the head. "Don't feel bad. Remember, they've been doing this for a long time. Even to each other, when they're bored." She straightens up. "Now bring in the restraint."

Behind me I hear the swishing of steps. I follow the sound around to my left, where an agent now appears in my view. She presents Serena with a dark gray bundle. Though it has been folded neatly, I see a number of straps poking out from the thick square.

Serena takes one fold in her hand, and in one dramatic gesture she unfurls a fearsome looking suit covered in straps. "One straitjacket suit: male cut, high security."

She examines it before handing it to the agent I had previously seen at my side. "Very good. You are free to begin."

Still face down on the floor with my arms secured behind me, I can hardly fight as the restraint team begins to slip my legs into the thick rubber suit. But even without my fighting, it still takes some amount of work to stretch the tough material fully and evenly over my already suited legs. As the straitsuit settles into place up to my waist, I feel its firm compression throughout my lower body.

A pair of agents fastens thickly padded leather cuffs over the ankles of the suit. After locking my ankles together through their thick metal rings, they hoist me by my underarms back to my feet. Secured at the arms and legs, and tightly gripped by the suit, I can only stand unsteadily while the team continues its well-practiced choreography.

The Long Way Down · Part 1 (1/2)
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