BindContractIf you thought the renegade ex-white slaver known as Tyler only had to fight professional procurers, you were wrong. Back in the demented 1990’s, when stock and real estate markets went crazy, there was a human monster working in the highest levels of big business …a human monster who wanted to take anything he lusted after. Whether it was a supremely sexy young executive, a lovely intern, or even the innocent teen-age daughter of a competitor …. Whatever, and whoever, he desired, he only had to say three dreaded words – "I want her" – and his brutal, amoral, sycophant staff would go to work, taking, hiding, silencing, restraining ... forcing them to sign their own, unwilling, lifelong BINDING CONTRACT.

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They all hustled toward the train, Hansen straining to be released. It did her no good. The group had reveled in her costume. First, the gag. It was a pulp-filled square bag in her mouth, held in place by a tight, thin, flesh-colored band. Over that was insulated tape, sealing and covering her lips. The final touch was the cunningly tight choker around her lovely throat – designed constrict her air passages just enough to keep her breathing.

Next, her fingers and wrists were taped flat to her thighs while her elbows were tied to her torso. A band of cord surrounded each elbow and they in turn were connected to a band surrounding her waist. Several strands stretched from her waist band down through her vaginal lips, up her ass crack, and to the waist band in back.

Then, her legs. They was a monofilament hobble stretched from upper thigh to upper thigh, to keep her strides minimal. Finally, the most cunning device: four strips of solid steel buckled around each knee to keep them from bending. On her feet were high heels strapped to her toes, heels, and ankles.

Over her eyes went sunglasses. They all wore sunglasses. Over her body and lower face went a tan trenchcoat, tightly buttoned to her nose to keep out the cold and to keep eyes from seeing her gag. They all wore coats with the same high collar. They had slid her out of the limo, stood her up outside the station door, and then hustled in. They kept to their huddle, keeping her in the middle.

Valerie tried to surge, buck, or simply shake, but between her invisible prison, their hands, the nostril narcotic, and the unaware bystanders’ indifference, there was nothing she could do. They reached the idling train door just as Deborah Johnson appeared at the track entrance. It was a business trip, so Johnson had dressed accordingly, despite the late hour: a red, u-necked top, gray skirted suit, and grey three-inch high heel pumps.

The Masters group stopped and looked. The blonde was with her boyfriend, a nice looking, sandy-haired, youth. The Procurer watched as she kissed him goodbye. He motioned for Hill and Hannigan to take Hansen inside. Valerie tried  a final struggle and scream to warn Johnson, but to no avail........

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