Miss Elizabeth's Captive

“It’s the affidavit of Ms. Jamie Lindsey, minor, transcribed as required by law in the presence of her guardian Ms. Elizabeth Mouquoud.”

Minor! I sat up in shock. I had not intended to speak but could not remain silent.

“She’s a ‘he’ and not a minor,” I protested vehemently.

Suzanne Regal interrupted her obviously staged presentation. But the interruption itself seemed rehearsed.

“Why, Mr. Winthrop, we have no intention of attempting to disguise Jamie’s gender identification problem...something with which the poor dear has had to deal since a tragic accident caused physical injury and caused the masking of certain characteristics of masculinity. Such will be stipulated. But let me suggest that if it’s your intent to highlight the matter, drawing attention from your actions and the facts at hand, I think you will find that the courts will equate that to putting on trial the victim of a rape, which as you may have read has rightfully been restricted. Any allusions to Jamie’s accident and his resulting condition will be quashed. You would be well served to consult with your own counsel on that matter.”

“He was trimmed by his alleged guardian,” I blurted under my breath.

A calm hand slid two folders toward me.

“Just for your edification, Mr. Winthrop. I won’t consider these as exhibits since they’ll never come to light in a trial. It’s young Jamie’s birth certificate, certifying that he’s age 15. The other is the hospital report which will detail the circumstances mandating his alteration.

“And just look, Mr. Winthrop. What reasonable person would debate his age?” Suzanne gestured toward Jamie.

I did look. A smiling, pigtailed Jamie did not appear to be 15. He appeared to be 11 or 12.

I glanced at the documents. A birth certificate from Liz’s Middle Eastern country for a boy with blond hair and blue eyes. There was an odor to it. And the hospital report was geographically similarly derived. With Liz’s family running the country, one could probably obtain a document certifying he was born on the planet Mars and sustained injuries when his flying saucer crashed.

“But let’s get to the crux of the matter.” Ms. Regal held up the videotape. “I’ll term this exhibit B.”

“I’m afraid it will show that I was restrained during any sexual encounter. And despite the fact pattern that you’re building here counselor, one is unlikely to commit sexual assault while restrained in cuffs.”

I spoke with brazen machismo. The tape was embarrassing, the ingenue Jamie standing to my side and stroking away at Little Sam. It was indeed a career ender. On that I had already consigned myself. But it was not criminal. Kneeling naked, in a very restrictive neck collar, half hanging from a pulley, it could not possibly be argued that I forced myself on Jamie.

“Really, Mr. Winthrop. Is that what your defense will be?”

Suzanne Regal, attorney at law, calmly strolled to a credenza. She plopped the videotape into a very expensive VCR, turned, smiled irritatingly and paused.

“Jamie, can you watch or will you be too upset?”

My ingenue friend put on a lugubrious face and leaned to hug Liz. What an act!

“She’ll be okay,” Liz answered on Jamie’s behalf.

A firm finger pressed the start button, The high tech room automatically darkened and a curtain parted to reveal the huge high definition screen installed at the cost of thousands. The conference room was transformed to a small theater with the simple press of the start button.

“I’ve taken the liberty of forwarding to the pertinent segment. Obviously the tape will be available in its entirety. You can take this copy when you leave, Mr. Winthrop.

“And, by the way, did you know that video cameras can be rigged to begin recording whenever motion is detected. Clever, the technology they now have.”

As expected the tape was from the hidden camera in Liz’s examination room. But what was unexpected was that the scene was not me being suspended from the neck and slowly masturbated. No, it was from last Wednesday’s visit, where in my building frustration I had slipped out of the wrist cuff while Jamie retrieved a margarita. The high definition caught every lurid detail and I was forced to silently watch in terror.

My mind replayed the events as they simultaneously unfolded on the huge plasma screen.

Chapter Twenty Five

Little Sam was free. Jamie looked so alluring and, at five foot three and some 120 pounds, deliciously vulnerable. I knew the little cocktease liked me, having at the door experienced the wonders of a trained and exceptionally supple tongue swathing over my scrotum.

Now it was my turn.

I stood with my hands clasped behind my back not alerting the bare footed blonde of my escape. She placed the margarita laden tray on a low cabinet, took the goblet in both hands and approached as if offering a humble sacrifice to an enraged pagan god. And Little Sam so nicely fit the role, standing in full tumescence, purple with virility.

Yes, Jamie, you should be approaching with reverence. It’s as close to an erection as you will ever get, I thought so callously.

But as much envy as Jamie exuded, I too was envious. He serviced Elizabeth, nightly basking in her rich bronzed flesh, his tongue and lips feasting in her feminine essence. And now I stood about to pounce on that which so arduously ministered to the exquisite Liz.