Dawson City Airport
“That’s a pretty thick hood. Can she hear me?”
Having arrived at Dawson City Airport Roberta is mystified that she remains fully bound in the her seat. The jet has landed, taxied, come to a stop and the fuselage door has opened to a blast of frigid Canadian arctic air.
“If you speak loudly,” flight attendant Marissa replies.
Roberta once again feels fingers at her nipples, painfully pinching.
“Good afternoon, pretty girl... or whatever. I am Margie Stenson. Miss Margie to you. And I am in charge. Very much in charge. If you can hear me nod. You are not to speak... not unless I say so.”
Roberta nods.
“Good. Now we’re going to get along just fine... if you obey. The pilot has taken your passport to customs. You’ll be cleared... not needing to show yourself. Hate to have to dress you, ha, ha, ha,” the laughter deep, almost masculine. “She’s an old colleague... the immigration lady. So I’m going to walk you to my jeep. And you’ll probably find a need to hurry. It’s the Yukon. It’s cold.”
Roberta feels what she presumes to be her leash being attached to her testicle rings and the wrist and ankles straps torn away. Remaining sightless, she carefully stands responding to a brisk pull on the leash. Having been so often led about while blinded in Zolanda she knows to be most obeisant, an errant step giving rise to agonizing tension on the leash and barbed testicle rings. Yet there comes no directing tug. Instead she feels attachments... ankles and wrists... heavy... metallic. Then comes the familiar rattling of chain links. Again heavy, not of the slim chain at the Cabot Estate.
“Good girl. You take to being shackled very nicely... like a very experienced, long incarcerated felon. We’re going to get along just fine. Just keep in mind bondage is your friend. Keeps you out of trouble. Just place yourself in Margie’s hands. You’ll be protected. No harm comes to good girls.”
The words come by rote, along with the quick and convincing shackling and bondage. Roberta feels as if she is under arrest!
Tension, a gentle pull on he leash comes. Roberta follows, hearing through the thick rubber the laughter of the young termagant Miss Marissa.
“See you in a few days Miss Roberta,” snickering her feminized honorific.
Baby step, baby step, the blast of cold air becomes stronger.
“Down one, down another,” each step of the stairs announced, Roberta finding the ankle shackles offer limited footwork. “That’s a good girl.”
And indeed Roberta finds a need to hurry, difficult in remaining in garish red high heels. Naked in the arctic cold, Roberta attempts to lift her arms to hug herself. Motion denied, chains rattling but restricting. Again mobility is limited!
“My jeep is right here. Ramp access... special consideration for Benchmark arrivals and departures. Leona swings a big stick around here,” Margie Stenson narrating the short but too slow journey. “Works real well when bringing in naked whores, ha, ha, ha.”
Finally Roberta is directed to halt, hearing a car door open. Then hands guide, pushing and prompting. She steps up, a hand goes to the top of her hooded head, both pushing and protecting from striking the frame of the vehicle. There comes slack on the leash. Roberta sits. The door slams shut. The wind cuts off but the temperature remains well below that of Baton Rouge. She shivers.
“Passport?” Roberta hears the voice of the pilot, shouting in the wind.
“You may as well keep that for the return trip. No need for it the middle of the tundra,” the husky voice of Ms. Margie Stenson replies.
Roberta next hears what is presumably the driver’s door open and shut. The engine starts.
“Well, pretty girl. I think you’d appreciate a blanket.”
Daring not to speak, Roberta energetically nods.
“Good. You know not to speak. Spent a few years in prison... on the righteous side of the bars. When promoted to run my own cell block I instituted a rule of strict silence. Not only no talking, but directing everything be done quietly... like in a library... though I doubt any of my guests ever read. Perhaps better like in a church. Makes a boy humble, having to think... not talk. And to focus and concentrate on never being heard while he’s being worked. My boys tiptoed for me. Imagine that.”
Roberta hears clicks then feels a rush of warm air, the jeep’s heater apparently turned up.
“Well... a blanket is a privilege for a girl... or whatever... of your status. Privileges are earned. How’s a naked girl in shackles going to earn a blanket?”
Roberta knows not how to respond without speaking.
“Can’t help saying you’ve got a set of balls. Ringed... leashed... but prominent... and ripe. Ten years in a men’s prison, I know balls... know a lot about ‘em. Very useful for when a supervising woman needs to correct behavior. Takes very little effort to get a boy’s attention... modify behavior... when you focus on the testicles. Would you like to see... better understand... behavioral modification?”
Frightened, Roberta shakes her hooded head.
“But you would like a blanket.”
The connection become obvious. Roberta must earn her blanket. She is shivering spasmodically She again nods energetically.
“Good. I had these little gadgets specially made. Took a few with me from the prison after I... well... the prison system and I parted ways.”
Roberta feels fingers about her gonads, lifting her elongated scrotal sac. Something is adhered to her left testicle. It squeezes... and squeezes. Roberta breaking the rule of silence in bellowing in pain.
“Good, girl. You took it for me... and earned a blanket,” feeling a covering of warmth enveloping her nakedness.
“So on to the drilling site. And do keep in mind, my little clamp can get tighter... and tighter. So you will be an obedient little girl... and keep my boys happy. In the pink tent. I’ve seen my share of cocksucking... and worse. Prison rules were to discourage... break up any unauthorized displays of affection... as the manual termed it,” Roberta hearing the jeep placed in gear, feeling the wheels rolling. “But I quickly learned that when guys got off, even the most belligerent inmates calmed. Made my job easier. No need for them to make trouble, easier for the inmates... no matter how much of a brute... to stay focused... just do the time. At Benchmark its not about doing time it’s just keeping the rig going.”
Roberta feels the jeep turn then accelerate.
“So, Roberta, you’re here to make my job easier. But do keep in mind, I have more clamps... and you have many more places subject to behavior modification.” fingers of her free hand going to the left nipple. “Suck, bend and spread, that’s the email from the boss lady. And don’t think I failed to notice you’re well plugged... greased up and ready for action. I may just visit the pink tent myself.”
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