Ted obediently follows the pulls and pushes. He flinches when girl two injects his buttocks. I am amazed at how quickly his legs become rubber. His wrist cuffs are separated and he is neatly laid to rest, so to speak.
Girl number one unplugs the wire from my stereo then plugs it into a portable CD player, which she places into the coffin like box.
“Just boring static...but with the Thorazine it doesn’t matter.”
She laughs and clips the wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs to eye-hooks on the inside. Then comes the final touch, completely transforming Ted into a piece of human cargo. Girl number one gruffly intubates him. A connecting canister at the floor of the coffin assures he will have a supply of oxygen.
“He’ll be in the unpressurized cargo hold of the plane. The box is well insulated but at thirty thousand feet the air is rarified.”
The lid is clamped on and I am impressed when the two girls effortlessly lift the box with my husband inside and return it to the bottom of the stretcher. In adjusting the covering sheet, no one will suspect what lies underneath.
“We will tell the doorman that your husband recovered from his chest pains and further assistance was not necessary. You’ll have to cover his absence from there.”
Easily done.
‘So long, Ted,’ I murmur to myself.
Forms are placed before me. I sign and keep a copy for later reading. A very bad practice for a gifted jurist with an ivy league degree, but I am tired and after all...it’s only Ted. The physically imposing girls whisk away the seemingly empty stretcher as if rolling a weightless shopping cart.
I return
to the bedroom experiencing second thoughts. Perhaps I have been too harsh.
Then I find under the bed, apparently pushed aside by the felonious ‘Mistress Samantha’ in her hurried escape, a small bag, within are an assortment of drugs. Amyl nitrate and other so called stimulants, possibly illegal but questionable all the same. Small items, but if discovered have the potential to alter one’s livelihood...particularly that of a licensed attorney.
So long indeed, Ted.
Chapter Three
The Girls of the ASBM
It’s an easy way to make some money while attaining an advanced nursing degree...and be entertained.
Just once or twice per month we get a call from the American Society for Behavior Modification (ASBM). We’re given a time...that’s all...and we know to meet at a west side garage where the Society’s secretive truck is hidden deep in the basement. With the bright red striping, large letters spelling out ‘AMBULANCE’ and numerous flashing lights, the garage’s owner thinks it is used for movie shoots...scenes in which a vehicle is needed to respond to a medical emergency. And when Cindy and I appear in our white uniforms the cover works every time.
Upon arrival we find on the front seat is an envelope from the Society. On one simple sheet of paper is what we need to know for the evening’s work. The name and address of the ‘patient’ and other pertinent details. From there all else falls into place...deliver the boxed patient to Kennedy Airport by 3:30 a.m. and retrieve a returned empty ‘coffin’ to be stored in the ambulance until the next pick up.
For that, Cindy and I receive $500 each...in cash. Not bad for college students of modest means. I only wish there were more opportunities.
And then there is the annual summer trip to Constancia Island. A free week in a dreamland for Dominant women. There are morning training sessions for us but during afternoons we are free to frolic in the tropical sun. Not a bad ‘perk’ for a job demanding 3 hours of time twice per month.
So we stop at this Dalton apartment and encounter a scenario that makes our job even easier than normal. The guy is already bound! Most times to get the ‘patient’ into cuffs we have to use a little ‘persuasion’...which, after a few years of working in a mental institution during our undergraduate days, is easily applied. Of course we can always use the Thorazine, but Cindy and I agree that’s like cheating. It’s more challenging to physically place the subordinate male in cuffs, cleanse his backside and catheterize him while he is fully alert. It’s a very satisfying ‘take down’ scene, stripping him of both clothing and dignity before two clothed women...or more if his benefactress cares to observe, like Mrs. Dalton did.
Months ago, we had one pick up where the wife invited two of her neighbors. Seems the guy thought of himself as quite the cocksman and had been enticing certain nubile daughters into his apartment. Well the mothers of the building united, I think all chipped in to cover the ASBM fees, and we soon had Mr. Cocksman stripped down and feeling the effects of some of Cindy’s very deep enemas.
Those are the extractions where I wish I could observe the entire process at the Island. He initially resisted quite adamantly. But by the time Cindy got done he was groveling as with the all the others. Then it’s the Thorazine and into the box for a nice trip to another life...one of obedience and servitude. The girls on Constancia would find much amusement with that one, I remember thinking.
So we missed out on some fun with Mr. Dalton. No pleading. No crying. Though sometimes a smooth extraction is welcomed...it is a little boring.
But to enliven our task there is always Eddie...the little wimp at the freight terminal. At Kennedy, it is he who takes the box...termed ‘cargo’ at the loading dock and ensures it is properly stowed. Officially working for the air freight company, ASBM owns him and Cindy and I enjoy watching him cower in our presence. We know he spent some indoctrination time at Constancia Island. He occasionally makes remarks, which could be judged as disparaging to the Society...then catches himself and apologizes...very humbly.
At some point, we’re planning to disclose his true thoughts to the Society at a time when Cindy and I are leaving for our week on the Island. It would be fun working him there without need for interruption. After all, it would not be difficult to secure him into a box and toss him on that 5:00 a.m. plane to Aruba. We know how to handle ‘cargo’.
Currently we appease our urges by ‘inviting’ him into the back of our ambulance. After the ‘cargo’ is tucked away in the plane and paper work is completed, Cindy and I are given to stripping Eddie down and having some fun. After all, the vehicle is fully equipped. Nothing like strapping a naked male to a stretcher, pulling his feet up around his ears and slowly masturbating him into a partial catheter tube while probing his anus with a sizable insertion of our choosing. Though at that hour there are few onlookers, Eddie panics when later we push him out the back sans clothing. Then one by one we slowly toss him his garments and watch him fidget in getting dressed. The control element is arousing.
Chapter Four
Ted Dalton