Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title: Miss Prim & Proper, or what goes around, comes around
Codes: MF, torture, humiliation, nc, drugs
Outline: Cynthia gets some payback when a rebuffed suitor from her youth
finally takes what already should have been his years ago (and then starts
handing it out to every one...)
Suggestor: likes to be unmentioned

   Chapter 3 - The Sinker

   Cynthia started to look for her suitcase, but then she saw the
bodyguard/driver waiting for her.  The sign showing "Cynthia Hauser" was
clearly visible and when introducing herself to the man who was way to
muscular to be just a chauffeur, he told her, as he took her luggage tag,
that her luggage would be taken care of.  Showing her the way to the limo,
she only caught him looking once at her legs and ass, but that might have
been a quick overall assessment of her capabilities.  At least he was more
professional about it then the several businessmen who had tried to strike
up a conversation once they had left the plane.  In the plane she had slept
most of the time, but as she had walked the corridors towards the exit, it
seemed as if most of other the First Class passengers had woken up with a
serious case of morning lust!  It has started with some small Italian type
of guy.  He even had the audacity of touching, no almost grabbing, her
elbow as he offered to be of assistance.  As she briskly declined his offer
and firmly brushed him away his hand, she thought about the reward he'd
expected...  soon his help and conversation would have led to offering a
drink, then a small dinner and before you'd knew it, she would be expected
to be on her back, spreading her legs and taking his Italian sausage inside
her!  No...  she was not going to have any of that!  Men only thought of
one thing!  And while she was musing on the Italians filthy plans with her,
she bumped into the back of a big Scandinavian guy.  Now where did he came
from to block her path?  As he turned around Cynthia looked sternly at him.
Even as the man stuttered an apology she still was irritated by the way his
eyes gave her the once over and just kept aimed a bit too long at her hips
and tits.  Obviously he must have like what he expected to be under her
functional two piece business suit.  When traveling back up towards her
face his eyes lit up and his stutter transferred into to a warm masculine
tenor that smoothly extended the apology into something akin the Italian
had offered!  Cynthia cut him short with a sharp remark that she had other
business to attend to and that she thought with body parts NOT positioned
between her legs!  As the big man stared at her dumbfounded as she trotted
towards the exit, he made sure to remember and tell the messes up
assumptions, that this woman had just displayed, to his boyfriend.  But by
then Cynthia had reached the driver and even though his once over was just
bearable it was still misplaced in her opinion.  When she got the chance
she was going to report his behavior to Mr.  Dammer as soon as an opportune
moment occurred.  She was certain that Mr.  Dammer would take appropriate
action, but no need to take any risk and possibly aggravate him before all
tests were done.  After all, she needed this BDSM-5000 to be acquired by
her firm.  If the system did not live up to its promises and her
expectations, her career withing the company was finished.  For sure she
would become the laughing stock of the management team and probably even
demoted to the staff-level functionality again.  Back into a shared office,
having to endure the innuendos, double entendres and outright flirtation
attempts, that always had been a constant horror for her during the earlier
years of her career, again.

   With a professional detachment equal to his previous assessment the
driver now opened the door from the limo and as Cynthia let herself slide
inside on the leather backseat, he softly closed the door and waited. 
Across the compartment another man was seated and introduced himself as
George Dammer, while handing over his business card.  As Cynthia
reciprocated and shook his hand she failed to recognize her former suitor.
But then again, how could she?  Over 25 years had passed, and just like
her, Frederic (or George for the moment) had matured very well.  Even
reclined in the luxurious backseat of the car his 6'10" was impressive. 
During puberty Fred already had grown more than the average male teen. 
Because of his enhanced testosterone production (due to active libido
needed to expand his group of blackmailed women) he already shot to just
under 6'4" before his 20th birthday.  As few years later, his team of
bio-chemists discovered, while working on the perfection of Z, how to
create an artificial (for lack of better name) 'second puberty'.  Six
months of this food supplement and any person would experience the primary
physical effects of puberty again.  For men it meant another growth spurt
(both in length and width) of his bones, another increase in cock size and
balls size (including increased recuperation and production of semen) and
another (although small) increase in muscle mass.  And the good thing was,
the muscle did not deteriorate if was not exercised.  For women the effects
were about the same: bigger tits, rounder ass, wider hips and also some
growth in height.  The effect on muscle mass were negligible.  The only
(depending on your point of view) disadvantage was an increased fertility.
Instead of the usual 4-5 fertile days of the average 28 days female cycle,
it was cranked up to somewhere between 15 and 20.  Mainly due this aspect
the demand from women themselves was not that big...  especially since any
other chemical contraception failed to work after the 'second puberty'
drug. So basically it meant that if a woman (who had taken her 6 months of
SP-drug) was not menstruating, there was a good chance she was fertile and
ready to impregnated.  But then again...  Fred found some good use for the
drug if his male clients wanted to knock up their wives, mistresses or one
of Fred's hookers.  Whatever his bio-chemist team came up with, Fred knew
to make money from it!

   And now Fred was sitting right across the object of attention of the
last 20-something years!  And the stuck up cunt had no fucking clue what
was about to happen.  Cynthia and the company she worked for had bought
their sting operation hook, line and sinker...  And even if she had
recognized him and made a futile attempt of dashing out of the car, the
driver would have just as easily slammed Ms.  Goody Two Shoes back into the
seat.  As Fred (or George as his business card read) and Cynthia exchanged
the usual pleasantries, Fred ticked on the window and only now the driver
went away to pickup the luggage.  Soon the car was set into motion and
while Fred talked about the surrounding and the local highlights, he poured
some champagne to toast with Cynthia on a successful cooperation.  Cynthia
was getting more and more at ease with this man.  Kind, gentle, informing
her about the route they followed and all the time keeping an eye on her if
she might need anything but without being pushy or intrusive.  Even as she
had pushed down the hem of her skirt to just above her knees right after
she had sat down in the somewhat reclining seats, he had made no attempt to
look at her legs.  Only a positive comment about her choice travel clothes
and that the dress code at his firm was a bit less formal.  But he assured
her that she would not feel uncomfortable or overdressed if she decided to
wear clothes comparable to her current attire.  George made her feel so
relaxed (or maybe it was the champagne as well a bit) that she acknowledged
his request to switch to first names with pleasure.  And as he poured her
another glass of bubbly they entered the driveway to the DataSerf
facilities, somewhere in the middle of a large piece of non-descriptive
woodlands.  "Look, there to the left is the view on that mountain ridge I
told you earlier about," George informed her.  As she looked away from him
out of the window, something else entered her glass together with the
alcoholic liquid.  Of course, Fred could have spiked all of the champagne
earlier and taken an antidote himself before he picked up his victim, but
if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that drugs were never 100%
foolproof.  So why take the risk?  Besides, chatting up the unsuspecting
woman across him had been exactly the kind of fun he had predicted it to
be. "Oh George, that is sooo pretty!" Cynthia cooed.  "Can you stop the car
for a moment?  I want to enjoy it a bit longer..." George/Fred pressed a
button and the driver braked and backed up the car a bit.  With a press on
another button the glass roof of the car opened up and they were able to
stand up and enjoy the view unobstructed by glass or metal.  Fred handed
Cynthia her glass and another toast was made.  Cynthia sipped through half
of it, still enjoying the view and taking in both the scenery and deep
breaths of fresh woodland air.  George was standing next to her, gentleman
like guiding her by her elbow to point out some particularly interesting
points.  Thank God that he was not one of those usual men that would have
had more attention for her 'interesting points'...  An average man would
for sure have made a comparison between the hills in the distance and her
two boobs, between the curve of that slope and the curve of her buttocks,
or between the color of that distant lake and the color of her eyes.  But
not George.  As she realized how nice it was when a fine and well educated
man truly took care of a women without making any rude remarks or expecting
any sexual favors in return, she felt a wave of fatigue rush through her
body.  George steadied the grip around her arm a bit and informed she she
felt alright.  "Maybe this fresh mountain air," Cynthia answered and
continued somewhat stuttering, "Maybe I am not use-e-ed to i-i-it!" "Please
sit down, Cynthia, and we'll close the roof and turn on the air conditioner
again," Fred suggested her.  As the knockout pill that he slipped into the
champagne began to do its work, he pulled Cynthia back onto her seat.  The
last thought that went through her fogged up mind was that George seemed to
be taking some liberties went he pulled her down and guided her down to the
seats...  his hand had been sliding with too much liberty from her arms
over her sides to her hips...  M-u-s-t...  t-e-l-l-l...  h-i-i-m-m-m... 
l-a-a-a-a-t-e-e-r, she tried hold on her grip to reality, but irrevocable
she slumped further and further into the welcoming black unconsciousness
until it totally engulfed her.

   Fred, the performer of this last unwelcome action, was already taking it
to the next level.  Working on the buttons of her skirt, he quickly removed
it.  The one part of his plan that he had been unable to test, was to check
if this woman was really physically frigid.  If that was the case, no
amount a drug Z or the SP-drug could be of any use.  Once the driver saw
Cynthia slump back inside, he closed the roof and continued the drive to
the facilities.  Yes, the boss was going to have quit some fun with this
one...  and maybe he and the other guys would get some action too
eventually.

   Once the skirt was gone, Fred groaned in frustration.  Cynthia was
wearing pantyhose!  A fucking pantyhose for crying out loud!!  These days
every women simply wore stockings...  and if you wanted go stylish (or
sluttish) you'd use the appropriate garter-belt and some garters to keep
them up.  Sliding one hand under Cynthia's firm skirt-less ass, he lifted
her up like a rag doll.  Even knocked out she looked hot, despite the stuck
up bitch she still was.  As her head hung down, her mouth was opened a
little and making a quick check he noticed her slow breathing caused a
slight snoring sound.  Good!  The drug should normally work for 10-12
hours, but she had not drank all of the bubbly.  Fred's other hand slid
under the blouse and moved up her slim belly until he found the elastic
band of the pantyhose.  Grabbing it just under her bellybutton he yanked it
all the way down to her knees.  Now he only had to remove the panty from
his unconscious victim.  Shoving the blouse and jacket up to her midriff,
Fred created enough room on her torso to see the top of her plain full-size
white cotton panty.  But even as it was only plain cotton, it still hugged
the curves of her ass just as perfect as the rays of the sun had those
danced over the curves of those hills just a few minutes ago.  Too bad
Cynthia was not awake right now to experience this (for her) humiliating
and (for him) interesting starting moment of their renewed relation. 
Enough reminiscing, Fred thought and he pulled down the panty so far that
it joined the pantyhose below her knees.  With still a 30 minute drive to
go he had plenty of time to make his test, but he wanted to be sure and
have it done before the reached their final destination.  Mmmm, his huffy,
thin-skinned bitch seemed to have some vanity after all.  When the panty
went south, its whiteness was replaced by continuous light bronzed skin and
a neatly trimmed patch of brown pubic hair on top of her gentle curved
vulva.  With her legs still closed the landing strip of hairs appeared to
run down to her lips as well.  Cynthia's monthly trip to the solar studio
had made sure that no tanning lines marked her body.  Too bad that no one
had been able to enjoy until now.  Fred rubbed his hand slowly on the top
of Cynthia's vulva.  A small but audible moan escaped from between her
lips. As Fred increased the pressure and kept on rubbing, her moans grew
stronger and her breath became more panting.  So far, so good, thought
Fred. At least already a reasonable physical response as expected from any
normal woman.  After a few more rubs, each ending just that closer to the
slit between Cynthia's legs, she tried to open her legs.  With the
pantyhose and panty still just beneath her knees, that failed and Fred
quickly pushed both the panty and pantyhose all the way to her ankles. 
Sliding both hands upwards over the inside of her now totally naked legs,
Fred admired the firmness of her calves and thighs.  Once he is halfway up
her thighs, only a small push outward is sufficient.  Cynthia opens up her
legs, reacting only subconsciously and autonomously to the stimulus and
sensations she received.  Thirty thousand years of evolution had firmly
ingrained in every woman's DNA that, once you were laying on your back and
your legs were being pushed open, it always was a good idea to comply and
go along.  Even if it meant accepting something being stuck deep in the
center of your femininity.  Cynthia was no exception.  With her conscious
mind being knocked out, only her subconscious reacted the way it had been
trained for so many generations: she spread her legs and offered her pussy.
Fred noticed that the patch of short trimmed pubic hair indeed went all the
way to the fleshy lips of her cunt.  Already engorged with some blood as
her vulva and legs had been fondled, the pinkness and wetness shone through
the short dark hairs.  Pressing two fingers together, Fred placed the
fingertips at her moist entrance and slowly but surely pushed the two thick
fingers inside.  MM-Nggg, moaned Cynthia as he slid without much resistance
into her slick but tight cuntal passage.  Wiggling his fingers to create
some room, Fred realized that physically Cynthia had no problems at all...
her body simply reacted as it should, she lubricated well, her cunt
loosened up when penetrated and she moaned to further encourage the
intruder.  Her usual behavior was therefore artificial and unnatural.  The
wiggling of his fingers caused Cynthia to slowly move her hips as well. 
Her body felt the 'problem' that the intruder had in advancing, so it had
started to help with movements of its own.  Adding more female lubricants
and loosing of her vagina, her body made sure that Fred's fingers were able
to go as deep as they wanted.  Not that he needed to go much deeper.  Once
his fingers were in all the way, he quickly found the small rubbery spot he
had been searching for.  While some theoretical scientists still denied the
existence and/or use of the G-spot, his waste personal experience with
women of all ages had learned him that if a woman could achieve an orgasm
through her G-spot, she was definitely not frigid.  Cynthia was now
starting the final phase of her test.  If she failed that, she would not be
of any further use as none of Fred's drugs could turn her into even
something slightly useful like one of his prostitutes.  A unfortunate
accident where the car drove of a treacherous mountain road, with
miraculously both the driver and Fred Dammer surviving, would left her body
quite dead and quite easy to recognize for the coroner.  If she has been
awake, Cynthia would have most likely scorned her antagonist for putting
her through this ordeal, and at the same time have cramped up at the
prospect of failing and being disposed of.  But being drugged, her body
only reacted autonomous and autonomous.  Fred's gentle probing of her
G-spot, or inner clit as he usually referred to it, caused the Cynthia to
rock back and forth her wide open crotch in a lewd rhythm.  As he rubbed
the sensitive area, the sensations caused her hips and ass to push her cunt
upwards, in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure.  But as he stopped his
rubbing for a moment, her cunt clamped down on his fingers and Cynthia
lowered her hips in a just as vain attempt to regain the pressure she like
after all.  Up and down her pelvic area went, like a jumping jack when
pulled on its rope.  Totally controlled by the two fingertips from Fred,
her breathing grew more and more erratic as the stimulation brought her
closer to her first orgasm induced by another person (and without her
explicit or implicit consent).  Just before she was about the explode, Fred
stopped the rubbing of her inner clit.  Aimless her hips bucked up and down
a few more times, but without any direct stimulation of her clit or G-spot,
she could not cum.  The two large fingers being stuffed in her vagina did
keep her aroused, but just by themselves they were not enough to push her
over the edge.  Even as her body clamped and released her cunt as strong as
it could around those fingers.  Once when Cynthia's body had accepted to
the lack of orgasm and it lay limp and lewdly spread out on the leather
seats, Fred restarted his manipulations.  Up his fingers went and up did
Cynthia go.  Just as her pelvis followed his fingers once he broke contact
with her inner clit.  Fred now knew that Cynthia's body at least reacted
like any female body would, and he was about to conclude the test.  These
next few weeks would be most interesting as he would work on her mind as
well.  Thinking about it, it was a win-win situation...  If Cynthia changed
her attitude and started to like male attention (and the occasional fuck
that resulted from such attention, if she played her cards the right way)
that would be fine.  In fact just as fine as when she kept on being
reluctant and active in trying to brush off previous attention...  the
Z-drug would make sure of it that, time and time again, she would have to
seek out male companions and bring back proof that they actually fucked her
before she would be granted another dose of Z.  Continuous seeking exactly
those attentions that she detested so much.  The other win for Fred.  So it
did not really matter which way it went, Cynthia would end up getting his
cock and plenty of others as well deep inside her pussy over and over! 
With that pleasant thought on his mind, drug/crime syndicate leader Fred
(and temporary DataSerf CEO George) expertly manipulated the G-spot of the
now ever stronger bucking and moaning Cynthia Hauser.  Finally she came
hard and locked his fingers deep in her pussy as her uninhibited primal
scream of her unconscious and unwanted orgasm ricocheted through the car.
When Cynthia's body finally relaxed, Fred pulled back his hand, dried it
somewhat wiping across on her belly and pulled back up her panty and
pantyhose.  It would ease transporting her to her room later on.  The skirt
stayed were it was.  She would not need those non-revealing business
clothes anymore for the coming period...  Yes, it sure would be some
interesting time, Fred thought as the car finally reached the mansion that
was the syndicate headquarters, build deep in the woods.

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