I can still remember in perfect detail the moment Trixie strutted her way into my house. Mid-twenties, Asian or maybe half-Asian girl, but with real curves. Hair dyed platinum blonde, almost to the point of being silver. Tattoos up and down her arms and legs. Tits — real tits, without a mark on them — to die for. All wrapped up in a tiny black dress, carrying nothing except a little bag with birth control pills, a letter, and a vibrator. (She also had a butt plug, but I didn’t find that out until a little while later.) She lowered her sunglasses and gave me a coy smile. “So,” she said. “Where do you want me first?”
That was a hell of a weekend. The trainers had done maybe some of their finest work with her. She needed some more practice when it came to taking up the ass — she admitted as much herself — but man alive, could she suck cock like a pro. And that squeal she made when she came — well. Like I said, it was a hell of a weekend.
What really stuck with me above all else, of course, is the energy, the pure enthusiasm she put into everything. Even by the standards of the Business, she was an amazing slut. Creative and nasty, with a real talent for dirty talk. When you fucked her, you really believed she was putting her all into it. I can still remember her wolfish little smile as she went down on me for the third time, her fingers eagerly working at her cunt.
Needless to say, neither of us got much sleep over the next two days. I made the best of the time that we had. Even had her down on her knees in front of me as I made us breakfast Sunday morning, rubbing my cock between her tits, before plunging her mouth down on me just as soon as I came, swallowing up every spare drop. (She gave me a grin when I served the eggs. “I’m kinda full.”) All the same, the hours flew by. Soon enough, our time was up.
I’d been working for the Business for about a year up until that point. I was what they called a “quality assurance tester.” Not a trainer. I just took whoever they gave me and tried them out for a few days. Made sure the product was up to Business standards. Then I filled out some paperwork and drove them off to the next person in the chain. Didn’t pay much at that point. But the perks — well.
I didn’t know too much about what they vaguely called “the process” at that point. Didn’t care to. By the time they reached my door, the women were always sluts. Always wet, always willing. Obedient and submissive to the core. You could do whatever you wanted with them. Take video or pictures, they didn’t care. (In fact, I was required to take three photos to send along with my report. One with them riding me, one with my cum on their face, and one with them lying back with their legs spread wide. Trixie kept putting up the horns when we took her pictures with a smug little smirk on her face.) As far as I knew, they’d always been that way. At least, that’s what I told myself.
I mentioned there was a letter in Trixie’s bag. She got it out and presented it to me after the second or third time (I forget which.) I wiped the sweat out of my eyes and read:
Mr. Abbott has requested that #E489 “Trixie” be sent for advanced training. Please deliver her to the following location by Tuesday morning…
Abbot was the big boss in charge of our region. The address was new to me. It wasn’t my usual drop-off point. Not too much further of a drive for me, though — three hours or so by the highway, if I made good time.
In addition, while the product should at this point be a complete exhibitionist, I regret that we did not have time to fully test her response to public exposure and humiliation. After consulting with Mr. Abbott, we’ve decided to impose additional requirements to the delivery. We apologize for the inconvenience.
Your instructions are as follows: until your arrival at the delivery point, you are to store the product handcuffed, blindfolded and nude in the front passenger-side seat of your vehicle. Furthermore, she is to spend the entirety of the trip masturbating herself, be it with her hand, a vibrator, or a dildo. You are to make it clear to her that she is fully exposed to the other passersby on the road at all times. Under no circumstances should she be allowed to orgasm prior to arrival.
A package with the required materials (i.e. a blindfold, handcuffs, standard conditioning dildo) will be delivered to your residence promptly on Monday morning. Again, we apologize for any inconvenience, and appreciate your assistance in this matter.
I turned the letter over in my hands to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. My one thought was that it sounded like this delivery promised to be an interesting time.
Monday night, I got things started by carefully putting down plastic on the passenger seat of my Chevy Malibu. No sense in leaving stains. I set up the toys down on the floor by the seat, and put the suitcase holding Trixie’s bag and her little black dress in the trunk. “Okay,” I said. “You can come out now.”
She carefully stepped into the garage. Though I’d just spent the last few days getting to know just about every inch of her body, I’ll admit the sight of her still took my breath away. Her toned arms and legs made it clear she’d been some kind of athlete before, maybe a runner or swimmer. In addition to the ones on her limbs, ornate tattoos ran down her hips and wrapped around her inner thighs, making it abundantly clear that the artist had been given access to her most intimate of places. Right above her shaved pussy sat the brand of the Business, a pentagram-circle kind of thing with the letters E489 printed at its center. (She had another one too, I knew, a tramp stamp above her ass that read PROFESSIONAL FUCKTOY. They all did; I’d been told it was their official diploma from the training they all went through.) Her piercings — five in total, including her nipples, belly button, clit and tongue — gleamed in the light. She was a teenage rebel’s wet dream, every Suicide Girl and punk rock bondage model I’d ever gotten off to summed up and topped off with a cheerful smile and a dirty mind.
I’d already had her put on the blindfolds and handcuffs in the house. She tottered forward another step uncertainly on her heels. (Of course I let her wear shoes. I kept the floor of my garage swept, but still.) I went over and led her to the side of the car. She slid inside once I opened the door for her. “Ooh.” She rubbed her shoulders appreciatively against the back of the seat. “Leather. Nice.”
I went around and got into the driver’s seat. “You got your seat belt on?” I asked as I buckled myself in.
“You find your toys?”
“Uh-huh.” She experimentally pushed the tip of the dildo inside herself. It went in and out with a pop sound.
I pressed the garage door opener. “You remember the rules here, right?” I asked. “You’re going to tell me when you’re about to cum. Right?”
“Say it, then.”
I could see her roll her eyes under the blindfold. “Yes, I will tell you when I’m about to cum.”
“All right, then.” I started the car and put it in reverse. “Okay. Here we go. On your marks…”
She chuckled, that wonderful naughty smile flashing onto her face.
“Get set…” I grinned and put the car. “And…”
As I pulled out of the driveway, I heard the hum of the vibrator start up in the seat next to me, in perfect time to the engine.
I wasn’t an idiot, you know. Of course I was driving her at night, well after the majority of traffic was off the road. Sure, delivering her in the middle of the work day might’ve made for a better test, but it was also a sure way to get us pulled over and slapped with a public indecency charge. And I had every intention of staying off the cops’ radar.
(I’d only been pulled over once since I started the job. I’d been stupid and hadn’t been paying attention, and wound up going through a speed trap at twenty miles past the limit. I remember the cold sweat dripping down my neck, praying to God I could somehow keep the mortal terror off my face as the policeman got out of his car and trudged over to my window.
Fortunately, that’s when the busty little redhead I’d been driving that day took over. As I pulled down my window, she gave the officer a little wink and pulled down her tube top a little. Fifteen minutes later, she walked out from behind a crop of trees just off the shoulder, wiping her mouth, a smug little wiggle in her step. We got the fuck out of there before the cop could change his mind.
That redhead had shown me a pretty great time, too. Wish to hell I could remember her name.)
Still, Trixie didn’t have to know that. I decided to check in on her once we pulled onto the highway and out of the right-hand lane. “So you know everyone can see you now,” I said to her. “They can see what you’re doing.”
“Mmmmmmmh.” The chain of the handcuffs swung back and forth as she held the vibrator to her clit with both hands.
“They wanna take pictures, there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”
“How’s that make you feel?”
“It makes me wet, baby,” she said breathlessly. Her face under the blindfold looked a little red to me, but that might’ve just been the vibrator getting to her.
I glanced up ahead. We were about to pass one of those new automated trucks — the kind that drives themselves, no human necessary. Perfect. “We’re going by a truck now,” I said. “I’m slowing down. Driver’s gonna see you.”
She grinned. “Want me to press my tits against the window?”
“You do you, babe.”
We passed by the front of the truck. She got up on her knees and pushed her breasts up against the glass, wiggling her shoulders and making kissy faces at the windowless cab. I had a certain inkling that public exposure wasn’t going to be an issue for her.
As she sat back down, she let out a little moan. She’d kept holding the vibrator on her the whole time somehow. I could see a thin layer of sweat on her bare stomach. “I’m gonna cum, baby,” she said. “Please, sir, may I cum? Please?”
“You know what I’m gonna have to say to that, babe.”
“Mmph.” She made a face and reluctantly moved the vibrator away from her pussy.
“Atta girl.” So far, so good.
My first… deviation, I guess, from the instructions happened about five minutes later. I mean, they have to have known, right? They have to have realized I’d need it to happen. I’m only human here. And I could see her and hear her and smell her and — well. After that stunt with the truck, I was so hard that it hurt.
Still, I waited for about as long as I could bear before I finally gave in. “Hey, babe,” I said. “You ever give road head before?”
“Huh?” She’d switched over to fingering herself at that point. “Oh. No. Not yet.”
I unzipped my fly. “Think you’d mind learning?”
She shook her head. I put on cruise control and took my feet off the pedals. She casually sucked the juices off of her fingers, then crawled over the console. “Show me where it is,” she said.
I gently guided her face over to my cock. She found the tip of the shaft with her tongue and licked her lips. “I’m gonna need my hands to hold on, okay?” she said. “I won’t be able to play with myself until I’m done.”
“You all right with taking a break?”
“Then I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
She nodded and took me into her mouth. It took me everything I had not to explode the moment she went to work, her head flying up and down. Damned if she wasn’t some kind of cocksucking virtuoso — and, by then, I’d had plenty to compare her against. She knew exactly how to use that tongue stud, too. I rubbed her back with my hand and did my best to keep my eyes on the road as she continued her ministrations on me, her inked hips and back bobbing beneath the yellow streetlights.
The second deviation came about an hour into the trip. “Hey,” she said suddenly. She’d taken off her shoes and put her feet up on the dashboard, sliding the dildo in and out of her pussy. She’d asked me permission to cum twice since I’d finished in her mouth. Though I felt guilty about it, I’d still had to say no. Orders were orders. “I’m gonna need to piss soon.”
I paused. That seemed reasonable. “How soon?”
“Ten minutes, I guess?”
Fortunately, I’d just seen a sign for a rest stop. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Eight minutes or so later, we pulled into the rest area. She must’ve felt us slow down, because she set aside the dildo and put her shoes back on. I glanced around the parking lot. It was completely deserted, which suited me fine. We got out of the car. I led her — butt-naked and shameless, not a stitch on her aside from the blindfold and the heels — over the sidewalk and into the travel center.
Once we got to the women’s room inside, I took off the cuffs and the blindfold. “Okay, make it quick,” I said. “Anyone else comes in, play like you’re drunk, all right? I’ll handle it from there.” She nodded and padded through the door.
I knew better than to trust the coffee in these places, so I settled for a candy bar. As I fed change into the machine, I tried to work on my cover story, just in case someone happened to walk in. So my girlfriend — no, my wife and I, we were at this party, I thought. This dumbass server dumped an entire tray of drinks on her. Completely ruined her dress and everything she was wearing, straight down to her panties. She was pretty wasted at that point, and it was late — we decided to chance it…
A sound at the edge of my hearing managed to get through my inner dialogue. It wasn’t much — just a sharp intake of breath. But something about it was familiar. It sounded like…
I burst into the women’s bathroom. “Hey!” she snapped indignantly. “I’m not done yet, jackass!” I could see her feet inside the stall closest to the door.
“You just came, didn’t you,” I accused her.
There was a long pause. “… yeah,” she admitted.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “You know I could get fired if we don’t follow the instructions, right?”
“Sorry,” she muttered. At least she sounded somewhat apologetic, if not exactly contrite. I noticed that she only seemed to be wearing one shoe. She must’ve used the other’s heel to… anyway…
Obviously, I couldn’t let this go by unanswered. Time for a little more quality assurance, I thought.
When she came out of the bathroom, I put the blindfold on her without a word. This time, though, I cuffed her hands behind her instead of in front. She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
We got back in the Malibu and I started the engine. Rather than heading back onto the highway, though, I drove up onto the curve and onto the grass. On this little hill overlooking the travel center, I could just make out what looked like a picnic area beneath this copse of trees. There weren’t any lights up there, and the trees blocked the view of the highway. Perfect. I pulled up the hill and parked in the shadows.
I got out and headed around to the other side of the car. I put my hand on the hood. It was warm, but not blistering. Good. One last thing: I pulled out my wallet and fished out a condom. One of the kinds with extra lube.
Showtime. I opened the passenger door and dragged Trixie out of the car by her elbow. She went along with it, a bemused look on her face beneath the blindfold. I pushed her down and bent her down over the hood. She let out a gasp as her tits pressed down against the warm metal.
“You hear that highway, slut?” I asked.
“We’re right next to the road now,” I lied. “Under a streetlight. Whole damn world’s about to see you take your punishment. How’s that make you feel?”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh, fuck. I love it.”
“Do you now?”
“Uh, yeah?” She snorted. “I told you, didn’t I? I fucking love getting people horny. Just imagining it, you know? All those hard cocks and wet pussies. Out there, aching for me…” She growled hungrily and licked her lips.
Once again, she’d passed the test with flying colors. I still wasn’t done, though. Quietly, I slipped off my belt and dropped my pants. “Guess you really are a slut through and through, huh?”
“Fuck yeah! You know it, dude.” She grinned. “Hey — you think the bosses might let me do porn?”
“You’re asking the wrong man, babe.” I carefully unwrapped the condom and slid it onto my cock.
“God, that would be amazing,” she gushed. “I mean — it’s like I’d get to be the whole world’s slut all at once, you know? And it’s not like they couldn’t sell my ass in between shoots. If anything, it’d just be advertising or something –”
Time to get back on track, I thought. I doubled up the leather section of the belt, then brought it down hard on Trixie’s ass.
The only reaction this elicited from her was an approving giggle. “Ooooh! One! Please, sir, may I have another!” She wiggled her ass invitingly. She was obviously familiar with this game.
Time to switch things up, then. I struck her a few more times with the belt — “Two! Thank you, sir, may I have another! Three! Thank you, sir, may I have another!” — just to establish a pattern, each blow raising a red welt on her cheeks. She didn’t seem to mind the pain any, judging from her tone of voice and the big smile on her face. I waited until after the sixth lash. She gleefully chanted, “Six! Thank you, sir, may I have an–”
I shoved my cock into her ass.
She shrieked, more out of surprise than anything else, and arched her back. I seized her cuffed wrists and used them as leverage to push deeper into her. We’d done anal before, but not like this. She’d never been this tight before. Still, the lube seemed to be working. As I started to thrust in and out, she let out a loud, shameless moan.
“Oh?” I slapped her ass just beneath the PROFESSIONAL FUCKTOY tattoo. “You like that, huh?”
“Harder!” she shouted. She bucked her hips, raising her ass to meet me as I pushed into her. “Fuck me harder! Please, baby — fuck! — I want it. Oh god, I want it so much. Just like that. Oh fuck, just like that — use my ass! Ruin me! Ruin my slut asshole with your cock!”
I couldn’t exactly say no to that. I redoubled my efforts. I could feel her entire body tremble with every thrust. Sweat poured down her back and over her tattooed hips. Her cries and moans were loud enough to block out the highway noise.
“Pull my hair!” she begged, lifting her head off the hood. “Pull my fucking hair!”
I made a grab for her blonde locks and yanked a handful back. She thanked me with a guttural howl of pleasure. Her asshole tightened around me. With that, I felt myself explode inside of her, the climax so intense it pulled the breath from my lungs.
We were both pretty drained after that. She collapsed fully on top of the hood. I leaned, sweaty and exhausted, against the side of the car and waited for the world to stop spinning around me.
“Ha,” she said triumphantly, after a while. “I came again.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What — you serious? From taking it up the ass?”
“Mmmmm-hmmmmmm.” The dreamy smile on her face provided all the proof I needed.
I gave up. I couldn’t help but smile as I shook my head. “Damn, girl. There’s just no winning with you, is there?”
She held up two fingers on each hand where they lay cuffed behind her back. V for victory.
After another stop at the bathroom to clean ourselves up — during which time I made sure to keep a close eye on her — we got back on the highway. Trixie got back on the dildo. The miles flew by.
Then everything caught up to us all at once.
I felt my phone go off. I pulled it out of my pocket and did a double take. It was Mr. Abbott, the regional boss. He’d never called me before, not in the middle of a run. I answered the call. “Mr. Abbott?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Trixie stop humping the dildo beneath her. She froze in place, listening.
“Mr. Phillips.” Abbott was an older man, mid-fifties and a lifelong smoker. I’d had worse bosses, but his voice sounded like gravel and broken glass. “Are you on route with the product?”
“Yessir. Sorry, we’re a little behind schedule here –”
“I don’t care about that,” he snapped. “You’ve got Bluetooth in the car, don’t you? Put me on speaker. I want a word with number E489.”
Stranger and stranger. I fit my phone into the recharging dock I had rigged above the center dash. It automatically routed the call to the stereo.
“And how are we tonight, Ms. Park?” Abbott rasped through the car’s speakers. At the sound of his voice, Trixie immediately shot up straight, the color draining from her face. “How is Little Miss Feminist of the Year?”
Uh-oh, I thought. For whatever reason, Abbott seemed to have a major stick up his ass when it came to women. He tended to average at least one full, all-caps rant about feminism and social justice stuff each day — at least from what I’d seen, anyway, before I’d discreetly stopped following his Facebook feed.
“Sir!” Trixie blurted. I got the sense she’d been through this line of questioning before. “This fucktoy’s name is Trixie now, sir! This fucktoy is proud to be your whore!”
“Oh, yeah?” Abbott growled. I could hear this sucking sound from somewhere. It took me a second to realize it was coming from the other end of the line. Great. Could’ve gone my whole life without that mental image. “So what happened to Little Miss Genius Law Student, huh? What happened to Miss Nancy-Drew-Special-Investigator?”
“Sir! That bitch is dead, sir! This fucktoy begs your forgiveness, sir!”
“Yeah? Forgiveness for what?”
“Sir! This fucktoy regrets that she ever thought of herself as a person, sir!” She rocked back and forth in her seat. “Fucktoy knows she was born to be a stupid airheaded bimbo slut, fit only to crawl and beg at the feet of her betters! Fucktoy exists to serve her masters! Fucktoy’s only purpose in life is to be a — a foolish, trashy little cum dumpster for their amusement!” She swallowed. “Please, sir! Please accept this worthless fuckpig as your property! Let her serve your every whim for the rest of her pathetic life!”
“Oh-ho!” Abbott snorted. “Not bad, whore. Not bad. But not nearly enough. We’re not finished with you yet, cunt. Your punishment’s not over. Not by a long shot. Keep going, bitch,” he muttered to someone out of range of the microphone, “I’m nearly there.”
Abbott coughed and continued in a louder tone. “Think you’ve hit rock bottom now? Think we’ve broken you as much as we can? Well, guess where you’re headed? When they’re done with you, you’re not gonna have a name anymore. You’re not even gonna fucking know what a name is!
“We’re gonna grind you down to nothing, cunt! You hear me?! Nothing! You’re gonna be an object. A machine. A idiotic, drooling meat toilet without a single thought in your moron head! You’ll be lucky if you remember how to wipe yourself! And when you’re ready, we’ll ship you out to one of our less reputable client establishments. They’ll chain you up in a little cage out by the bar, so customers can use your holes while they wait for a real fuck. Won’t even charge for it. You’re gonna be even lower than a whore, understand? We’re making you a complementary service. Free to every diseased hobo and dirtbag illegal who wanders in off the street! They’ll take you out of your box twice a day to hose you down and shove some dog kibble down your throat. That’s gonna be every single fucking day of the rest of your life, cunt. Once you’re installed, you’re never gonna see the sun again. That’s a fucking promise.
“What do you say to that, Miss Law Student? Huh?! What do you think of that, you — you uppity, pretentious little waste of flesh?!” His voice trailed off into a groan.
“Sir,” Trixie said in a small voice. “This fucktoy looks forward to serving you in any way she can, sir.”
“Goddamn right you do.” Abbott coughed again. “Phillips, get this dumb cunt to where she’s going.”
He hung up without another word.
Neither of us said much for a while after that. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the noise of the road beneath the wheels.
“I wonder how long I have sometimes,” Trixie said. Her voice sounded strange. Sort of distant and… hollow, I guess. Drained of all color and feeling, like a bone left out in the desert sun.
I glanced over at her. She sat with her face turned away from me, as if looking out the window despite the blindfold. “You mean until we get there?”
“Until I’m not fuckable.” She idly started up the vibrator and pushed it inside of her. “Ten years, I guess? Maybe fifteen, if they get me fake tits and stuff.”
“Babe, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I objected. “What Abbott said — he was probably just talking some shit to get himself hard.” At least, that was what I was desperately trying to believe myself. “Trust me. You got plenty of time.”
“But it’ll happen eventually, right?” She shrugged. “My boobs are gonna sag. I’ll get gray hairs and wrinkles. I’ll get fat, same way everybody does. Best case, I wind up as some ugly, used-up whore out on a street somewhere, giving blowjobs for spare change.”
“Might not work that way,” I said. “Maybe they’ll retire you. Set you up real nice somewhere.” Even as I said the words, I realized I didn’t believe them. Neither did she, of course.
She turned towards me. “… you know what the best part of being a fucktoy is?”
“You don’t have to worry about anything.” She gave me a weak smile. “You know? The only thing you care about is who you’re gonna fuck next. Fucking, pleasure, making whoever owns your whore ass happy — that’s your everything. That’s all you need. Nothing else really matters to you anymore.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“They could even kill me, you know?” She mimed holding a gun up beneath her chin. “Any time they wanted. They could just take me out back and — bang. Bullet in the head. I wouldn’t even care or feel scared or anything. All they have to do is let me suck them off one last time, and I’ll be fine. I’ll even pull the trigger myself.”
“Don’t.” She shoved the tip of the vibrator deeper into her pussy. “Don’t even start. I don’t want to hear it…”
I stared out at the highway through the windshield. Another mile marker passed by.
She sighed and tilted her head back. “Please,” she whimpered. “Please, may I cum? Please?” A single tear trickled out from underneath the blindfold and down the side of her face.
I took a deep breath. “… hold on a second.”
The third deviation. I took her for the last time in the backseat, the car parked off to the side of the road. Or maybe she took me. We started out in missionary, but she soon flipped us over and crawled on top.
She slammed herself down onto my cock with complete abandon, her stomach muscles writhing, her hips and legs gyrating up and down in time to a rhythm only she could hear. I tried grabbing her hips to help her keep balance, but she latched onto my hands and guided them up to her breasts. I caressed and massaged her mounds the way she seemed to like, ran the tips of my thumbs over her pierced nipples. She threw her head back and moaned wordlessly, her hair bouncing and shimmering like gold in the dim light.
She really did give me everything that time — every fiber of her being, every last bit of energy, every scrap of her soul that she still had left. I know she did. I tried to respond in kind. It felt like trying to keep up with a thunderstorm. In retrospect, I have to wonder how much of that passion — that incredible energy and enthusiasm and willing playfulness she invested into the sexual act — was just masked desperation on her part. Who knows? Maybe the process really had instilled her with some kind of crazed lust. Or maybe Trixie — or Miss Park, or whoever she really was — had decided to embrace the role the Business had forced upon her and make it her own. Use it, even as she was being used, to mine whatever pleasure and joy and comfort she could from her existence, before they could take those things away from her too. That’s my theory, at least. I guess I’ll never know for sure.
When she came, she went off like a firework, every moan and scream the sweetest of music to my ears. I didn’t last too long myself after that. Who could? Afterwards, she somehow found the energy to clean me off with her mouth before collapsing on top of me, completely spent. I put my arms around her. She clung to me there in the dark, her bare flesh pressed against mine, her warmth added to my own.
After we cleaned up, she silently put the blindfold and the cuffs back on by herself. I was and am grateful. To this day, I don’t know if I could’ve managed to do it myself.
The directions in the letter brought us to a concrete warehouse out in the middle of nowhere, just as the sun started to rise. Following the instructions, I drove around the windowless building and pulled up by the loading dock. There were three people waiting for us there — a short little man in a lab coat, flanked by two tall Amazon beauties, one white and one black, each decked out in identical leather corsets. The women looked to be exactly the same height. They stood at attention, perfectly still and silent, their faces devoid of expression.
I parked the car. The guy in the lab coat came over to my side. I lowered the window. “Mr. Phillips?” he asked.
“Sign here, please.” He handed me a clipboard and a pen.
As I put my signature on the form, I heard the passenger door open. I looked over to see the two Amazons drag Trixie out of the car. She didn’t resist. They pulled off her shoes and tossed them off to the side, then lifted her onto some kind of hospital bed. As I watched, they removed the cuffs and hooked metal restraints around her arms and legs. They left the blindfold on.
“Prep her,” the guy in the lab coat said absentmindedly.
The Amazons each unclipped an electric razor from the side of the bed. They proceeded to shave Trixie’s head. The platinum blonde tresses fell away like leaves. I heard a small whimper escape Trixie’s lips.
“Drive go okay?” Mr. Lab Coat asked me.
“Uh-huh.” I couldn’t move my eyes away from the hospital bed.
The black Amazon pulled Trixie’s head up by the ear, allowing the other to clear off the back of the scalp. Then they each shaved off an eyebrow. When they were finished, the woman on the bed looked like a completely different person. Smaller, more fragile. Like a malnourished cancer patient, shivering and alone.
“Don’t forget the cover,” Mr. Lab Coat said. The Amazons shoved a dark bag down over Trixie’s head. “Okay. Get her over to Sleep Deprivation. The doctors want to get started on her immediately.”
The Amazons wheeled Trixie away. I kept my eyes on her limp form until they disappeared into the building. I never saw her again.
“You can just dispose of any accoutrements that came along with her. She won’t be needing them. Here’s the delivery receipt.” Mr. White Coat handed me a piece of paper. I unthinkingly took it. “You drive safe now, all right?”
“All right,” I said.
He gave me a polite nod and walked back inside.
Once I was out of sight of the warehouse, I pulled to the side of the small local road and cried like a damned baby. I felt more sick to my stomach than I’d ever been before — or, for that matter, than I’ve ever felt since. Still kind of surprised I didn’t vomit right there in the car, all over those fancy leather seats Trixie had liked so much.
So what are you gonna do, jackass? I thought to myself. You gonna go back there? Rush in there like some John McClane Rambo and save the girl? Don’t you even fucking kid yourself. Face it, you goddamn coward. If you were gonna do anything, you never would’ve made the delivery. You would’ve just driven off with Trixie. Headed north to Canada or some shit.
Not that would’ve made any difference. I didn’t know the specifics, but the Business’ resources were vast. If I missed a delivery, I was fairly certain my life expectancy would’ve been measured in days or less. They would’ve killed me, then shipped Trixie back off to her fate. I’d be dead, and nothing would’ve changed.
But that wasn’t the part that hurt the most. Even as the rationalizations swam through my head, I knew that was all bullshit. Even the idea of myself as a coward was a comforting lie I told myself to hold the truth at bay. Underneath it all, of course, I knew better.
The truth was this: I was hooked. As thoroughly and completely as any junkie to any drug in history. I’d been a virgin before I took the job. No people skills, mostly. No ability to relate to or attract women. And as hollow and terrible as I felt — as much as I knew even then that that last image of Trixie being wheeled away would haunt me for the rest of my days… I just couldn’t imagine living without those Quality Assurance weekends. Without all those obedient little products lined up conveniently for me, already trained and tortured and warped until whoever they’d been was gone, murder victims still walking, compliant flesh molded and shaped until it would take any order, no matter how disgusting or horrifying. That would do anything at all — even willingly fuck a creature like me.
After a while, I started driving. I threw the suitcase and the toys into a river I came across. And somewhere along the way, I for the first time admitted to myself that I belonged to the Business now. The process had me too, maybe almost as much as it had Trixie and Miss Park. It had us all real good.