The client had requested that they would arrive in character at the location. This was nothing new: it happened frequently. And the agency had different ways of handling such requests. For instance: if the session would require child role-playing, it would be denied. The women would never be sent out in public wearing school uniforms, with their hair in ponytails and such. When fetish clothing was the issue, it was left up to the ladies themselves. Some of them would never do it, others loved to show off. But in this case, the request was granted without any problems, although it was of a unique nature. So unique even that the wardrobe department, which was quite extensive, couldn't provide it. Some new garments had to be purchased, along with a few gadgets.

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"How-how many left?" she stammered after he pulled the penis gag from her drooling mouth. She was panting heavily and her hips were still jerking back and forth with irregular intervals even after he had turned the damned thing off.

"Shoots, you mean?" he asked, unbuckling her collar. "Just one more... And you will be relieved to know that there will be no vibrating gadgets involved. It will be more of a fashion thing, with you sporting a fancy single glove."

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The medicine had been experimental, illegal, and virtually unattainable. And as such, it was very, very expansive.
But the Frescobaldi family had been running a very successful high-tech company for four decades. And so, when their Pater familias fell ill with this mysterious and seemingly incurable disease, money wasn't an issue. Investigators were hired, bribes were paid and deals were made. In the end, a shady pharmacist was found, half around the world, who was willing and able to produce the pills. So for tenths of years, a package would be delivered every six months. At huge costs, but the drugs did work. Mr. Frescobaldi was living his life, and the whole family prospered.

But then, as he reached sixty-nine, the packages stopped coming. Panic set in as he started to deteriorate fast. All they had to go on was an old-fashioned e-mail address that seemed to have died down. They sent message after message, ever more urgent, proposing to pay a higher price, doubling it even, but to no avail. The future seemed dim.

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Leaving the lady of the house all trussed up, and with the large girl naked and out of it on the floor, he went around the house according to his usual routine. A lot of jewelry, disappointingly little cash (but hey: in these days), and a few cryptic safe-words, to be studied later.

He went down the stairs again, ready to take his leave. As he passed the living room door he heard a voice.

"Get up... get up! He could be back here any second!"

The lady of the house obviously, in a low voice. Amused, he decided to stay a little longer...

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