by Van ©2016
		Chapter 1

The ninety-seven story skyscraper of bronze, mirrored glass, dubbed the "Payne Tower" by the Chicago press, is the world headquarters of the PAYNECOM entertainment empire and houses the powerful conglomerate's corporate offices, the administrative offices of its many television programs and movie productions, as well as the offices of a handful of affiliated studios.  A dizzying number of smartly dressed men and women come and go through the vast lobby on the business side of the building on a daily basis, and there's a second lobby on the opposite side of the block serving a world class luxury hotel and its many restaurants and nightclubs.

Papparazi lurk around the hotel entrance at all hours, hoping to capture the arrival or departure of celebrity guests.  The veterans among them know to operate from across the street, however much that limits their access.  Novice papparazo learn the hard way that when their cameras get too close to the hotel's front doors, they had a tendency to break, and if the newbies try sneaking into the lobby itself, hotel security very politely but firmly give them "the bum's rush."  If they persist, they discover that neither the Chicago police nor the Cook County Attorney's office are sympathetic to their cause.

Security on both the business and hotel sides of the tower is formidable and effective, and increasingly so as one ascends towards the clouds.  The top floors—the most executive of the executive offices and the most expensive, luxurious, and exclusive of the hotel suites and nightclubs—are about as secure as anyplace on earth not dedicated to espionage, war plans, or nuclear launch codes.  And that includes the uppermost stories, the private work-spaces and penthouse apartments of the Payne sisters, the majority stockholders of the corporations that comprise the PAYNECOM empire.

There are three Payne sisters: Dominique, the 50-something eldest—Sorcha, the 40-something middle sister—and Penelope, the 40-something "baby" of the family.  All three are involved in PAYNECOM's day-to-day operations, but Dominique is in charge.  In fact, Dominique rules PAYNECOM like a medieval despot.  A joke among the staff (shared in hushed tones) is that the devil wears Prada and reports to Dominique Payne.  In the Payne Tower it's a given that Sorcha is Dominique's most trusted adviser, but not so well known is that Penelope is the creative genius shepherding many of PAYNECOM's most popular and lucrative productions.  That said, Dominique is unequivocally in charge.

At the moment, Dominique was in her "ceremonial office," four stories below the penthouse levels.  It was a large, severely Modern, open space with a glass desk, a comfortable, throne-like office chair, and a spectacular ceiling to floor vista of the Chicago skyline.  She was dressed in her usual "working uniform," a little black dress (LDB) from her extensive collection, all hideously expensive and custom tailored to her svelte, firm, athletic but very feminine body.  Her hair was closely cropped in a finger-length pixie and was its natural silver color.  This was something of a trademark for Dominique.  Without question she was beautiful, not beautiful for 50-something, but beautiful for a woman of any age.

Dominique's desk was "smart," a massive touchscreen linked to management software bordering on artificial intelligence, and Dominique played the system like a virtuoso piano, her fingers tapping and gliding, opening folders, viewing videos, and annotating memos.  In addition to the open windows and virtual documents on display, several icons jockeyed for her attention, color-coded by priority.  Two of the icons flashed to red and began to shake.

Dominique smiled and tapped each of the wiggling icons in turn, placing one on "acknowledged hold," then dismissing the second.  It had notified her that a meeting in progress required her personal attention.  Still smiling, she rose from her throne-like chair and left the office.

Dominique passed junior executives, male and female, all of them smartly dressed.  They bowed respectfully and backed against the glass, marble, and wood-paneled walls of the corridor, their eyes respectfully downcast as the Boss-of-Bosses breezed past.  She came to a closed steel door, paused to gaze into a binocular retinal scanner, and the door slid open.  She crossed the threshold into another corridor, and the door whisked closed behind her.

The tone of the wood, the color of the plush carpeting underfoot, and the shade of marble cladding some of the walls were darker than on the other side of the door, but the decor was just as tasteful and expensive.  All of that was cosmetic.  Greater changes were the reduced number of people hurrying about and the manner of dress of a select few.

Most were dressed for business, indistinguishable from their fellow employees on the far side of the steel door; however, a number wore what amounted to black uniforms, leather and spandex unitards with boots, elbow and knee pads, and utility belts with holstered tasers and/or pistols.  The cat-suited security guards—and clearly they were security guards—were male and female, and all moved with the athletic grace of trained martial artists.  Finally, a decided minority of those present were in some way restrained, as well as, to varying degrees, under-dressed.

One such female, a cute, twenty-something youngster with short, curly brown hair, wore black high-heeled pumps, sheer, dark pantyhose, a black pencil-skirt, and a white, long-sleeve cotton blouse.  She also wore a wide steel collar attached to the center of a horizontal steel bar and with a steel wrist-cuff at either end.  The homage to Maggie Gyllenhaal's famous scene in Secretary was unmistakable; however this particular administrative assistant's predicament was even kinkier.  The front of her skirt was hiked up and held that way by a chastity belt of thin black leather straps, cinched tight enough to cleave her panties and pantyhose-clad labia.  Also, her blouse was unbuttoned along its entire length and the tails tied together behind her back, baring her firm breasts.  Finally, a tight muzzle-gag of chamois-thin leather compressed her lips, cupped her chin, and was tightly buckled at the nape of her neck.  She paused to bow as Dominique passed, then minced away on her precarious heels.

Another was a tall, decidedly male, thirty-something executive with a glowering (and frightened), handsome face partially hidden by a tight gag similar to the one silencing the departing secretary.  He was dressed in an expensive tailored suit, white shirt, and red power tie; however, he seemed to have misplaced his shoes, socks, trousers, and boxers or briefs.  From the waist down, he was completely naked.  His arms were bound behind his back, encased in an arm-binder of black leather.  Oh-by-the-way, the smartly half-dressed gentleman's penis and testicles were locked in a stainless steel, form-fitting cage secured by a tiny, dangling padlock.  In addition, a light chain of nested steel links, suitable for taking a toy poodle for a walk, dangled from the tip of the penis-cage.

One of the female, cat-suited guards—with delicate, high cheeked, Asian features and a severe, dark-brown ponytail—held the black loop at the other end of the leash.  She bowed as Dominique approached.  "Mistress—"

Dominique silenced the Asian with a smile and a gesture.  "I got your message, Xin," she purred.  "Hand off Mr. Smith to one of your subordinates and then find me and give a full briefing."

"Yes, Mistress," the Asian (who apparently was named Xin) acknowledged with another bow.  She watched as her elegant, beautiful mistress strolled away down the corridor.  Finding Dominique again would not be a problem.  Xin had the highest clearance of all of PAYNECOM's "Special Security Cadre."  The tower's computerized system would instantly answer her future inquiry regarding Dominique's location.  She gave the leash in her hand a callous jerk—causing her prisoner to wince in pain—and stepped off.

Mr. Smith had no choice but to follow.

The security/privacy light above the door of the conference room winked from red (locked/private) to green (unlocked/public) and the door whisked open.  Dominique crossed the threshold, the door whisked closed behind her, and the light returned to red.

The room's two occupants, Sorcha Payne and Audrey Klein, turned in their chairs as Dominique entered.  Both were attractive 40-something women dressed in identical black dresses superficially similar to Dominique's LBD.  The garments' lower hems came to their mid thighs and hugged their perfectly proportioned and well-endowed bodies.  There were cutouts for their shoulders and another providing a peekaboo glimpse of the upper curves of their breasts, but the dresses' most unique features were the half-sleeves that tightly encased their upper arms from their armpits to their elbows.  It might not be immediately obvious to the casual observer, but each sleeve was sewn to the body of the dress along its entire length.  As long as Sorcha and Audrey remained zipped into their respective LBD's, their arms would permanently pinned to their sides.  And the zippers in question were not only impossible for them to reach with their upper arms fixed to their sides, but the zipper-fobs were secured by tiny heart-shaped padlocks positioned between their shoulder blades.

"Well?" Dominique purred as she stepped to the head of the conference table and settled into the large throne-like chair reserved for her use.  "I assume you've finally acquiesced to our position and we can move forward with production?"  She was addressing Audrey, the senior partner of Klein Studios, an independent studio with offices in the Payne building.

"No," I haven't acquiesced," Audrey huffed.  "Klein takes all the risk and PAYNECOM walks away with half the profits?  It was unacceptable last week and it's still unacceptable."  She tossed her glowering head, flipping an errant curl of her chestnut-brown hair from her face.

Sorcha cleared her throat.  "Ahem.  I've suggested that we may be able to trade a little of the back end for favorable terms on some future project," she suggested, "but—"

Dominique silenced her sister with a raised hand.  "I see the problem."  She focused on Audrey.  "You've still not learned what it means to be a team player."  She shifted her smile to Sorcha.  "And you lack the dedication to carry negotiations through to the required conclusion.  I'm afraid additional motivation is in order."

Sorcha heaved a sigh.  "Dominique," she whined in complaint.

Audrey continued her icy stare as Dominique rose from her chair, walked to a cabinet, and produced a ball-gag and a "Gwen-hood," a black latex hood with a small opening for a ponytail in the back and a larger opening in the front for the wearer's upper face.  "You can't simply kidnap your business associates when they won't roll over for you," Audrey huffed.  "M'mrfh!"

"Apparently—"  Dominique jerked the ball-gag's strap and secured its buckle, tight enough to make Audrey's cheeks bulge above the rubber sphere now filling her mouth.  "—I can."  She slipped the hood over Audrey's head, pulled her hair back and tucked it into the ponytail-opening, zipped the hood closed, then closed and buckled the hood's integrated collar around Audrey's neck and secured it with another tiny padlock.  She then took hold of Audrey's ponytail and not-so-gently lifted her from her chair.

"Mrrrf!" Audrey complained as Dominique turned her around, unzipped a flap in the back of her dress, folded her arms behind her back until they were tucked forearm-to-forearm against her spine, then zipped the flap closed and secured it with yet another tiny padlock.  This was an additional "unusual" feature of the dress design with which Audrey was already all too familiar.  There were other zippers hidden in the LBD's folded pleats, and she knew what was probably coming next.  Resistance was not only useless but would probably lead to severe punishment.

Sorcha watched as her sister unzipped a horizontal zipper running completely around Audrey's waist... then pulled the lower half of the dress down the bound, gagged, and hooded executive's long, tan, sexy legs.  Sorcha knew her dress had identical hidden zippers.  Would she be next?  Was Big Sister going to humiliate and punish her in the same manner?  They'd discussed the contract negotiations in detail before today's session, so Dominique was well aware of Audrey's recalcitrance, and Sorcha had promised to do her best.  The problem was, of course, that Dominique didn't need an excuse to be a bitch.  Was Sorcha in trouble?  It all depended on Big Sister's mood.

Audrey was now naked from the waist down, but the dress had one more hidden surprise, a surprise that was also not a surprise for Audrey.  Smiling the same evil smile, Dominique released two additional horizontal zippers, one running above Audrey's breasts... and the other below.  This freed an elliptical cloth panel that included the peekaboo-boob cutout.  It also freed Audrey's firm, shapely, generous (but not huge), and now fully exposed breasts.

What had been an LBD was now a box-tie arm-binder of silky black cloth.  Audrey was now, for all practical purposes, naked, dressed only in black pumps with precariously high heels, the black cloth arm-binder, and the shining black latex hood.  She stared daggers at Dominique but didn't bother testing her restraints.  She'd been helpless all day, helpless the day before, and helpless the day before that.  And she knew she'd continue to be helpless until she caved to Dominique's demands and signed yet another unfavorable contract.

Sorcha heaved another sigh, then focused on her big sister.  The moment of truth—her moment of truth—had arrived.  Would Dominique also transform her LBD?

Dominique savored the fear in her sibling's eyes for several seconds... then turned and strolled towards the conference room door.  "Xin's people will be along to escort you both to one of the penthouse parties in an hour or three."  The door opened and she paused in the threshold to smile at Audrey.  "I certainly hope my more inebriated guests don't grope your delicious body as thoroughly as they did during the last two parties.  It's your own fault, of course, for being so... unreasonable."

The door closed and the light above winked from green to red.

Sorcha turned to Audrey.  "She sort of has a point," she sighed.  "Just sign the damn contract, Audrey.  I'll do my best to get you better terms for the next production."

Audrey's eyes were still angry.  She knew Sorcha was sympathetic to her cause, but she refused to stand up to her tyrant of a big sister.  Audrey stomped back to her chair and sat, settling in to wait for the arrival of Xin's goons.

Dominique strode down the hallway, her hips swinging with every step and a smile curling her lips.  Tormenting beautiful women like Audrey always lifted her spirits.  She paused at an elevator to peer into a retinal scanner and the door whisked open.  She entered the car, tapped a code into a small touch-screen, and the car descended seven floors.

After another brief stroll down another corridor with dark carpeting and paneling, she opened another steel door also protected by a retinal-scanner, then entered a space that was dimly lit, except for the area directly beneath a bank of brightly shining spotlights.  Bathed in their light was Dominique's kid sister, Penelope, reclined full-length on her back on a stainless steel table on wheels.

The most junior Payne sister was naked, except for a wide strip of medical tape sealing her lips and covering her lower face from nose to chin and ear to ear.  Her body was decidedly fit, feminine, and curvaceous; her skin fair, firm, and smooth.  Penelope was just entering her 40's, but looked ten years younger, if not fifteen.  Her brown hair was cropped short, not as short as Dominique's pixie, but short.  Her arms were at her sides and her feet about eighteen inches apart and held that way by thick, padded steel cuffs encircling her wrists and ankles and clamping them to the gurney.  A matching collar encircled and clamped her neck.  Penelope was on the gurney to stay.

One more very important element transformed Penelope's situation from restraint to predicament.

Penelope's nipples were pierced and permanently ringed with the finest, hardest steel available.  The half-inch rings had been presents from Dominique on her eighteenth birthday, but a knowledgeable outside observer might be forgiven for thinking Penelope's rings were gifts Dominique had given to herself.  The eldest Payne sister certainly enjoyed playing with them.

Two very thin wires or cables, clipped to each ring and shining like spider-silk against the room's dark background, stretched vertically upwards.  The glare of the spotlights hid whatever arrangement held the wires at the ceiling, but they were as taut as proverbial fiddle strings, stretched Penelope's nipples, and lifted her breasts from their natural resting states.  Could the wires have been tighter?  Certainly, but Penelope found the current degree of stretch to be an adequate, even compelling argument for remaining perfectly still.

Penelope turned her tape-gagged head as best as her rigid collar would allow and watched Dominique stroll towards the gurney.  She begged for release with her eyes.  It was pointless, of course, and had been pointless since she was a girl, but she begged nonetheless.

Dominique smiled down at her littlest sister's helpless, naked body and stretched nipples.  The temperature in the room in general was pleasantly warm, but under the direct glare of the spotlights, it appeared to be a little too warm.  Penelope's pale, flawless skin shone with sweat.  Dominique enjoyed it when Penelope was bound and suffering—not suffering in pain, of course, but suffering in delicious discomfort she was helpless to alleviate.

This had always been the case.  Well... truth be told, not always.

Dominique had been a handful as a child.  Mumsy and Dada Payne went through more than a dozen governesses trying to find someone, anyone, who could keep their eldest daughter under control and make her behave.  A trained and qualified parade of childcare professionals failed, one after the other.  And then, Ms. Grey arrived.  Finally, a governess who could handle the problem that was Dominique Payne!  What the Paynes never suspected, of course, was that Ms. Grey's unique solution wasn't to control Dominique, but to teach her control, and what better teaching aids that her little sisters, Sorcha and Penelope?

It all was perfectly innocent, of course, first with Ms. Grey enforcing the domestic tranquility Dominique's parents craved by means of melodramatic games with ropes and gags.  She roped all three Payne sisters into the exercise, so to speak, but soon Dominique emerged as Ms. Grey's diligent student and assistant.  It was all fun and games for the younger Payne sisters, of course.  Ms. Grey saw to that, but as the sisters came of age, games of Cops & Robbers, Cowgirls and Indians, and The Pirate Queen and the Viceroy's Daughters grew less and less innocent.  Eventually, as each of the younger sisters blossomed into a beautiful young woman, it all became about Dominique being in total control, in total control of Sorcha and Penelope.  All three sisters entered the family business, but there was never any question as to who was in charge.

As for Ms. Grey, she retired after many years as a Payne family retainer (and Dominique's bondage tutor) and passed away at the age of ninety-one.  Every year, Dominique honored her beloved former Governess and bondage mentor on her birthday by doing something extra nasty to Sorcha, Penelope, or both.  Today, however, wasn't a special occasion.  Today, Dominique was simply being Dominique.

Dominique had many possible way to proceed from this point, an ever-growing list of torments she could visit upon poor Penelope.  After a brief interval of contemplation, she decided to go with one of her favorites (and Penelope's least favorites): "Hermione's Wand."

The wand in question was a nearly perfect replica of the "magic wand" props Emma Watson had wielded as Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter movies, only instead of being made from "vine wood with a dragon heart-string core," it was molded from dark-brown insulating plastic.  It was loaded with the latest hi-tech batteries for power, had a hidden recharging socket in its base, and operated in two modes: shock-wand, and vibrator.  The shock feature delivered a nasty, pulsating sting that was somewhat painful but in no way dangerous.  As a vibrator it was about as powerful as a pill or butterfly model.  That is, not as stimulating as a full-size knob or saddle-style Hitachi, but in an experienced hand it could be very effective, and no one was more experienced than Dominique Payne.

Dominique fantasized about having Emma Watson, Hermione herself, naked and restrained in a manner that would allow Dominique to demonstrate her skill with a "magic wand," but so far such an opportunity had proved itself to be elusive.  Hope remained, of course.  Perhaps the day would come when Emma would visit PAYNECOM to negotiate a deal, be seduced by the delicious debauchery of the kinky, nightly parties in the Payne Hotel's most exclusive and strictly private nightclubs, and would find she was now Dominique's plaything.  Stranger (and equally pleasurable) things had happened in Payne Tower.  In the meanwhile... Penelope would have to do.

Penelope watched as Dominique strolled to a steel cabinet against the wall opposite the closed and locked door, opened the cabinet, and returned with Hermione's Wand.  A pathetic whine escaped her tape-gagged lips.  "Mrrrrf!" she protested.  She knew the sad, muffled plea would only fuel her big sister's sadism, but she couldn't help it.  The tip of the wand flickered with a blue-white light.  From bitter experience Penelope knew that meant Dominique had set the wand on "dual mode."  Both the shock and vibrating functions were active.  This drained the batteries quickly, meaning in about an hour and a half of near continuous use, but Dominique had three more identical wands in the cabinet, all plugged into the same recharging stand.

"Have you enjoyed your day off, Penny?" Dominique purred as she slowly waved the glowing tip of the wand back and forth before her little sister's horrified eyes.  "Have you had many frightfully clever inspirations?  Clever ideas about how we can improve our existing productions?  Have you had flashes of new, even more lucrative projects?"  She continued waving the wand.  "I certainly hope so.  I'd hate to have to punish you for being lazy... for lying on your comfy steel bed all afternoon and wasting your talents."

Dominique slowly... ever so slowly... let the wand's glowing tip approach Penelope's ringed and wire-stretched right nipple.

"Mrrrp!"

The distance between the pulsating wand and the pink nipple, steel ring, and shining wire continued to decrease.  Six inches.  Five inches.

"Nrrrrr!"

Her lips curled in the same evil smile, Dominique continued.  Four inches.  Three.  Two.  One!  The wand was just about to touch the ring—when the door whisked open and Xin entered the chamber.  Dominique withdrew the wand and thumbed its off-button (much to Penelope's relief).  "Ah, Xin," Dominique chuckled.  "Perfect timing, as always."

Xin still wore her black security catsuit.  "Mistress," she said with a bow, looking down at Penelope's naked, helpless body and sad, beautiful, tape-gagged face.  Clearly, she took just as much pleasure in the younger Payne sister's predicament as her mistress.  Xin had no need for a mask of inscrutability with Mistress Dominique.  "May I report, Mistress?"

"You may," Dominique purred.

"The intern situation, Mistress," Xin said, her eyes still on Penelope.  "Things appear to be coming to a head, tonight."

Dominique's eyes were also on Penelope.  "You are prepared?"

"Yes, Mistress," Xin answered.

"Proceed," Dominique said, then flicked the wand back to life.  "Anything else?"

"Mr. Smith says he's very sorry, Mistress," Xin answered.  "He promises he will never alter his division's quarterly numbers to inflate his bonus prospects ever again."

"And you believe him?" Domique chuckled.

Xin shrugged.  "My opinion is irrelevant, Mistress."

"And Dr. Folke?" Dominique purred, once again slowly waving the wand before her little sister's horrified eyes.

"Dr. Folke has only just begun her interview, Mistress," Xin responded.  "She promises a report on the matter by late tomorrow.  The day after at the latest."

"No rush," Dominique purred.  "I know Dr. Folke likes to be both diligent and thorough while conducting her Human Resources evaluations.  Tell her to take as much time as she requires."

"Yes, Mistress."  Xin bowed, backed two steps, then turned and made her exit.

"Now, where was I?" Dominique purred.  "Oh, that's right, I was torturing my darling Penny."  She touched the glowing tip of the wand to Penelope's left nipple ring and two things happened:  (1) Penelope flinched, mewled through her tape-gag, and began to shiver.  (2) a melodic, low frequency hum sounded.  The taut wire stretching up to the ceiling was singing.

Jade Porter smiled at Bonnie Schnupp as she finished changing her clothes.  "Cover for me," she begged.  They were in a small storeroom off the giant  "cubicle farm" they shared with three or four dozen other interns and PAYNECOM worker-bees.

Bonnie rolled her blue eyes.  Jade was now dressed in a really cute black cocktail dress, but the thing was PAYNECOM property, and her friend had no authority to borrow it (meaning steal it) for the evening.  It was one of several identical frocks Jade had found "abandoned" on a rolling clothing rack in a little used corridor.  Obviously, they were costumes that had been stashed in the hallway, for some reason, before being returned to the wardrobe department of one of the building's production companies.

"How exactly am I supposed to 'cover' for you?" Bonnie demanded.  "The security system knows who has and hasn't logged out in the lobby, and I can't log out for you.  You look great, by the way."

Jade smiled and gracefully turned in a full pirouette.  "All I ask is that if somebody comes asking, tell them I'm off looking for a file or getting coffee or something.  It's late and almost everybody's gone home, anyway.  Do I really look great?"

Bonnie rolled her eyes again.  In point of fact, Jade looked hot.  The dress was sleeveless, came to mid thigh, and had a generous decolletage.  Jade's smooth, firm, coffee-brown (with a dash of cream) skin, very feminine curves, flouncy black curls, and smiling, beautiful face were hot.  Bonnie was taller, and her body was equally curvaceous (albeit slightly more gawkish, in Bonnie's own opinion), but Jade was hot.  "Whatever," she muttered.

"You're a peach," Jade giggled, then bundled the clothes she'd just removed and handed them to Bonnie.  "Hide these in your desk for me," she asked as she clipped her work ID to the front of her borrowed dress.  "I'll be back in two hours.  Three, tops."

"I'll stash them in the bottom drawer," Bonnie promised.  "I still think you're being stupid, risking your job to check out the penthouse nightclubs."

"I told you," Jade said, straightening her hair.  "I'm looking for my boss.  I haven't seen Audrey in days, and its not like her."

Both Bonnie and Jade were paid interns, but Bonnie worked for PAYNECOM, directly, while Jade worked for Klein Productions.  They'd arrived at the Payne Tower (or "Tower of Payne" as all the interns called it) at about the same time, and had quickly become good friends.

"And you're hoping to run into her in one of the nightclubs?" Bonnie demanded.  "I can see it now.  'Oh, there you are, Jade,' she'll say as she hands you a stack of memos.  'File these for me.'  Then she'll go back to dancing with Chris Hemsworth."

"You never know," Jade giggled, then planted a quick kiss on Bonnie's right cheek.  "See ya!"

"You're stupid!" Bonnie called after her friend as Jade minced away on a pair of black pumps with precariously high heels... looking very hot.

Jade waved back at her honey-blond, pouting, disapproving friend, and continued forward.  Two turns of the corridor later she came to a nondescript door with a subdued plastic sign bearing the single word "UTILITY" above a string of numbers specifying its location on the Tower's floor plan.  Did she expect to find Audrey Klein partying in the utility closet?  Of course not, but this was where she would be using her "secret weapon."

The day before, while wandering the building in the course of her regular duties (meaning while snooping around and looking for her missing boss), Jade had stumbled upon a tiny, apparently vacant office.  The computer workstation on the single desk had an attached card reader, suggesting it was a security workstation.  She figured she might be able to use it to make an inquiry as to the whereabouts of Audrey, or at least find the last place she'd swiped or scanned her ID card.  It was a long shot, given PAYNECOM's paranoid security measures, but she might as well try.

Jade tapped the space-bar, and to her surprise the workstation's screen immediately came to life and displayed a "Security Maintenance" menu.  Nothing suggested a way to enter the active security monitoring system, but it did have a "Change Card Access" choice.  Jade chose that option and the message "insert card" appeared.  She inserted her ID card into the card-reader and after a brief pause her picture and employment information appeared.  Jade's file confirmed that she had about as limited an employee clearance as was possible, but not for long.  She tapped a virtual button, opened a list of options, and changed her clearance level to "Senior Management."  She didn't know exactly how far her new access might get her, but it couldn't hurt her quest to locate her boss.  She hit "Save," very much afraid the system would ask for password confirmation before granting her higher clearance... but the system accepted the change!  Apparently, Jade had stumbled upon a veritable Achilles's heel in PAYNECOM's vaunted security system!

Jade withdrew her card, backed out of the menu, and carefully exited the office.  She now had a powerful tool (she hoped) that would allow her to sneak around the building and find Audrey.

And now, Jade was ready to use it!  She slid her ID through the utility room's card-reader, heard a click, and the door opened to her hand.  She entered a decidedly cramped space, with pipes running vertically and diagonally along one wall and electrical panels on the other.  Also, there was a door identical to the one through which she'd just entered in the opposite wall.  She closed the door behind her, crossed the room, and opened the second door.

Jade recognized the plush and posh decor in the corridor beyond.  She had crossed over to the hotel side of the Tower.  It confirmed her intuition that the business and hotel sides of the Tower shared the same service spaces.  Also, if her research was correct, she had already passed the first two levels of hotel security.  Only the third level remained, the security protecting the penthouse nightclubs and restaurants.  As an appropriately dressed "guest," Jade hoped she'd be able to bluff her way to the action on the upper floors.  As a last resort, she could always say she was there on business and ask to be led to Audrey Klein.  That might or might not work, but it had the virtue of being true (after a fashion).  Jade worked for Audrey, she was dressed for the occasion, and why shouldn't she want to see her boss?

Jade carefully eased the utility closet door closed behind her, hiked up up her skirt and tucked her ID card under the waistband of her pantyhose.  After straightening her dress, she stepped off.  She passed what were probably the doors of guest rooms.  All had built-in card-readers, as found at any modern hotel.  The side corridor led to a larger corridor with elevators and Jade began passing hotel guests.  The men were all dressed in dark suits or tuxedos, and the women in cocktail dresses or formal gowns.

A guest room door opened as Jade approached, a man and woman emerged, and Jade's eyes popped wide.  The man was forty-something, handsome, and dressed in a tailored tuxedo.  The woman was slightly younger and was elegant and gorgeous and wore a black cocktail dress similar to Jade's borrowed frock; but it had a highly unusual and decidedly curious design feature.  The lower hem came to the woman's mid thighs (like Jade's), hugged the woman's body (like Jade's), and had a generous decolletage showcasing the woman's breasts (also like Jade's); however, the dress had long sleeves.  In fact, the sleeves were an integrated single-sleeve, an arm-binder that tightly restrained her arms behind her back from fingertips to armpits.  The woman was tied up, bound, helpless!  That said, she was not in distress.

Jade blinked in surprise, but quickly composed herself.  The woman was a real beauty, with high cheek bones, pouting lips, and brown, expressive eyes.  Her skin was lighter than Jade's, but darker than Bonnie-the-Viking-Shieldmaiden.  Her raven-black hair was combed back and coiled in a tight bun.  If forced to guess, Jade would say the woman was Indian, Persian, or had ancestors from somewhere in southwest Asia.  Whoever she was, the exotic, bound beauty smiled and winked at Jade as she passed.

Jade smiled back, then quickly turned to face a hanging mirror and primp her hair (which didn't need primping), giving the couple time to continue without her.  Well, she thought, that happened.  She counted to ten, then followed the man and woman down the corridor.  That 'bondage dress' has to be custom tailored, she mused, her eyes on the woman's bound arms.  The joined sleeves were not an afterthought.  The dress hugged the woman's body in a perfect fit.  Even the arm-binder section was a perfect fit.  Bondage haute couture?  Where do you go for that?

The couple paused at an elevator.  The man pulled a card from his jacket pocket and inserted it in a card-reader built into the control panel.  A chime sounded and the down arrow over the door began to glow.  The car was descending, answering the man's summons.

Jade made a quick decision and hurried forward, catching up with the couple just as the elevator doors opened.  The man smiled and gestured for Jade to enter first.  "Thank you," Jade smiled, and entered the car.  The couple followed, the door closed, and the man inserted his card in the inside panel and pressed a button labeled "Aqua Lounge."  He then turned his head and smiled at Jade.

"Uh, the same," Jade answered.  The man nodded and turned away, then returned the card to his pocket.  Jade realized the woman was still smiling at her.  "Hi," she said quietly, smiling back nervously.

"Hello," the woman purred with a smile, then turned to face the elevator door.

Smooth, Jade chided herself.  Very smooth.  The elevator chimed, the door opened, and the man gestured for Jade to precede them.

"Thanks."  Jade took several steps forward—and froze in shock and amazement (see also stupefaction and horror).

The "Aqua Lounge" was a large, complicated, Modern space with a very high ceiling.  It had balconies along two of its walls, a large bar in the center, a scattering of cafe tables, chairs, sofas, and love-seats, and off in one corner an alcove with a jazz quartet.  The partying occupants wore tuxedos and gowns or dresses, like Jade's companions from the elevator, and the theme of the decor appeared to be "Under the Sea."  Shades of blue and blue-green with sand and coral highlights predominated, and somehow the overhead lighting was producing a rippling effect that carried forward the underwater illusion.

The serving staff, male and female, were dressed in black trousers, white shirts with wing collars, bow-ties, and waistcoats embroidered with stylized fish, seashells, starfish, and kelp.  Most of the drinking and chatting guests were unbound, but a minority were either dressed in restraining gowns or dresses, like the woman from the elevator, or their wrists were bound or cuffed in some manner, and that went for both women and men!

That was unusual, not to mention kinky, but was not the reason for Jade's gobsmacked amazement.

One entire wall of the lounge was glass.  In fact, it was a huge aquarium lit from above and below, and about a dozen men and women swam and/or floated in the bubbling water.  All were naked, bound in what appeared to be rubber or latex arm-binders of various designs, and were wearing full-face diving masks with long, clear, flexible hoses trailing up to the unseen surface.  Through the clear face-plates of their masks Jade could see that all of the swimmers were gagged in some manner, either with shining black tape, ball-gags, or head harnesses with muzzling panels over their mouths.  All were kicking to stay afloat and from their gagged expressions were none too happy about their predicament.  Some appeared to be angry, and others were frightened.

The guests on the dry side of the glass wall mostly ignored the bizarre water-ballet, but a few gazed at the struggling, naked, and restrained underwater spectacle as they sipped their drinks.  Jade found herself staring, mesmerized.  The swimmers were athletic and fit, prime specimens, if she wanted to be callously objectifying.  Every race was represented, and the squirming, kicking, helpless men and women varied in age from twenty-something to a healthy (and gorgeous or handsome) forty-something.

"Miss Porter, here you are," a soprano voice announced from behind Jade's back.

Jade spun around and found herself staring at another amazing sight, an obviously very fit Asian woman—probably Chinese—with her hair swept back in a severe ponytail and dressed in a highly unusual manner, even for the Aqua Lounge.  Everything was shining black latex.  Her strong legs were encased in skintight thigh-boots with stiletto heels, her torso in what amounted to a French-cut, one-piece, strapless swimsuit that barely covered her crotch and caused her half-exposed breasts to bulge, and her fingers, hands, and arms in a pair of skintight opera gloves.  A collar with steel spikes encircled her neck, and exquisitely applied makeup enhanced her beautiful features, especially her brown, almond-shaped eyes.

"I've been looking for you," the woman purred.  "You've been a naughty girl."

Jade blinked in surprise.  "I—"  That was all she had time to say before the Asian woman pounced.  Before Jade knew what was happening, the bizarrely-clad woman spun her around and seized her from behind!   She trapped Jade's arms behind her back by the woman's left arm and clamped a clear plastic breathing mask over her nose and mouth right hand!  She squirmed and kicked, but the woman was strong and apparently—obviously—well-trained in the control of struggling prisoners.  "What are you doing?" Jade demanded, her words muffled by the mask.  "Let me go!  Let... Le..." Jade's eyes rolled up in her head and she went limp in the woman's embrace.

Several of the watching guests chuckled and politely applauded.

Xin smiled at her appreciative audience, looped the breathing mask's attached elastic band over Jade's head to keep it in place, then hoisted the limp, unconscious beauty onto her right shoulder and carried her back to the elevator.  Its doors opened as if on their own, Xin and her prey entered the car, and the doors closed.

Back in the lounge, the air hose of one of the swimmers—a twenty-something woman with short blond hair and a deep tan with prominent bikini tan-lines—went taut, pulled her upwards, and hands lifted her from the water.  After a brief pause a woman with long, ginger hair, a fair, freckled complexion, and generous breasts took the blonde's place, plunging deep into the blue water... then slowly drifting back up to join the other male and female swimming captives.