short

Treadmill test

"Miss Penn, in your report you stated that you had concluded your investigation, and were on your way out. Can you tell us what happened then, please?"

"I passed this door, and I thought I heard someone sobbing, and panting at the same time, accompanied by some mechanical noise. I entered the room and there was a woman on a treadmill, running. She didn't notice me, as she was indeed sobbing, her eyes full of tears. At first, I didn't understand why. She wasn't running at an incredible pace, she was muscular and stocky: it all looked like part of a normal work out. I wanted to turn around and leave, but then she saw me and she... SHRIEKED at me, telling me to turn it off. I looked again, and then I freaked out! I saw that she couldn't stop and couldn't get off. She was impaled on a metal upright that rose from the middle of the treadmill right... well, INTO her! I understood then why she looked so mortified. One misstep and she could injure herself horribly. Or worse! I rushed forward, only to recognize at the latest moment that I would have to be very careful in my actions. I couldn't just pull the plug: an all too sudden halt would have resulted in a disaster.

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Hopping

Bohuslav Grant. He was her worst client, by far. He was also paying her the best, by far. Over double of what her second most hated freak would pay her (that would be 'Eddy Tickle', story for another time).

She hated doing sessions with him: the only good thing was that she knew exactly what to expect. And no intercourse. Another good thing, one would imagine. But no: there always would come a point in time where she would wish he would just do her and get it all over with! Instead, apart from the initial preparations, he would barely touch her.

Twice a year he would be in town, and they would meet. Always at the same date, at the same hotel, in the same room. The same huge room, for that matter. Space was of the essence.

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Unwanted attention

"Oh come on, you guys: you know weren't supposed to see this! Get out!"

Amy said it with a smile, but her heart wasn't in it. It was to busy pounding like crazy in her chest. Her bare-breasted chest. Which she couldn't in any way hide or protect. As little as any other private part of her body. The harness kept her arms glued to the sides of her body. She was, well: still, but also just, a biped.

Apart from all the emotions triggered by the current situation, like panic, frustration and intense embarrassment, there was also some fury lurking in the background. Franklin! How could he have done this to her?! Just answering the doorbell, letting her best friends in... during their weekly session! And then just leaving, to top it off. Closing the door behind him, leaving her behind in wide-eyed disbelieve, standing there helpless and completely naked facing, her two friends. Her fully clothed friends. Who clearly weren't inclined to leave anytime soon.

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Free but yet…

Lermontov just gestured with the gun, and she moved to the contraption in front of her. The gun was Russian, a Tokarev TT 33. She knew it quite well, and with someone else, she might have taken her chance and go for it. But despite her current dismal situation, she had done her homework. With him, such a move would be suicide.

It looked a bit like a low scaffold, but the neck hole was missing, and the holes for wrists were way too wide. There were belts hanging from the front, and at the bottom a black, steel rod pointed upwards, leaving little to the imagination. She would be 'invaded' once again, for sure.

"Turn around..." His English accent was near perfect, one of the reasons he was one of the most effective agents on the planet: he spoke twelve languages fluently. She stood with her back against the wood, her legs on either side of the steel apparatus at the bottom. He walked around, out of her line of sight.

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