Two office girls, Julie Jo Johansson and Marcie Dumont, embark on a great adventure at Box M Ranch, which offers a BDSM Boot Camp. The advertisements say the camp is for anyone who wants to totally experience true master-slave relationships– from either side. I will be publishing a new chapter approximately every week. In this chapter, Marcie and JJ begin to understand what might be ahead for them at Box M.
WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2016 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Chapter Two: A Taste of Things to Come
Marcie and JJ stood nervously with their suitcases just outside the front doors of the hotel. The text had not specified what type of vehicle would pick them up. They were hoping for a limo of some sort, but what pulled up was an ancient, rusting, off-white pickup truck with a faded Box M emblem painted on its side.
“Bags in the back,” the driver said curtly through his open window. Marcie and JJ waited for a moment, thinking that he would get out and handle the bags for them, but instead he said, “If I drive away, you lose your registration. Bags in the back. Sluts in the front.”
Both turned slightly red but quickly lifted their bags into the dusty back of the pickup. As soon as they had slipped into the front seat with the driver, he roared away, leaving a cloud of blue oily smoke lingering behind.
A few minutes later, they were on the other side of town. This was definitely not a tourist area. None of the signs were in English, and the houses and businesses were more than a little seedy and run down. Marcie and JJ looked at each other, each wondering what they had gotten themselves into. Their looks turned to looks of disgust– or perhaps fear– when the driver turned into what appeared to be an almost abandoned motel, which advertised on a hand-painted sign, “Rooms by the Month, Week, Day, or Hour.”
As the truck came to a stop, the driver grunted, “You’re expected. Stop at the desk. Don’t forget your bags.” JJ was still pulling her suitcase out of the back as he once again roared away in a cloud of smoke.
The office was everything Marcie and JJ dreaded it would be. A slovenly-dressed, extremely obese man sat behind what appeared to be a bullet-proof window with a sliding drawer built into the counter. He looked up as they entered and took the wet cigar from his mouth. “ID,” he barked out.
Marcie held her driver’s license up to the glass, but he spat into a large ashtray next to the cash register and said, “In the drawer, dumbo. I gotta scan it.”
It looked like JJ was going to say something, but Marcie put her hand across JJ’s front and said quietly, “The nice man wants to scan our driver’s licenses.” She then put her and JJ’s licenses in the drawer and slid it under the glass.
The man ran both licenses through some sort of scanner and then grunted out, “Room 106.” As he slid the licenses and an old-fashioned motel key with a huge key tag back under the glass, he added, “It’s around back.” He then went back to watching his small television.
Marcie pulled JJ toward the door and said softly, “Let’s go see what our room looks like.”
“Hopefully it’s better than this,” JJ replied.
It wasn’t.
The back side of the motel faced an alleyway that was filled with junked cars, junked appliances, and a variety of the debris of life you find in the most run-down areas of any city or town. Tall fences separated the alley from the back of some multi-story apartment buildings. They could hear faint conversations drifting down to them from the balconies that overlooked the alley.
Both girls hurried down the sidewalk, searching for their room. At one time, the entrances to the rooms had been adorned with large brass numbers attached to the center of the doors. Now only one or two numbers remained as they walked quickly down the row. A large “106" was badly painted on the door to their room.
At least the room was locked and the key worked. The room itself consisted of a standard double bed, a threadbare chair, several lamps mounted on the walls, and a bathroom. There was no door on the bathroom. Hinges in the doorway hinted that at one time there might have been such a door, but the layers of paint clogging the empty hinges indicated that had been a long time ago. The chipped and broken sink and tub also spoke of years of neglect.
“I don’t understand,” JJ said. She wasn’t quite crying, but there were tears in her eyes and a slight hoarseness to her voice.
“I do,” Marcie replied. Her tone wasn’t bitterness. Instead, it was the emotionless voice of one who knew enough about the realities of life to know the truth of what was happening.
“I’m a fourth-generation Navy brat,” she said flatly. “Military Boot Camp is more than just a lot of exercises and training. The idea of a boot camp is to take everything that you are away from you. They take you apart... and then they rebuild you in whatever image they want.” She gestured to the barren room. “Our BDSM Boot Camp experience has already begun.”
A phone began to ring, and both Marcie and JJ started frantically looking around the room for the source of the sound. JJ finally found the phone on the floor, pushed partially under the bed. She answered with a simple, “Hello?”
“Put this on speaker,” the voice instructed, and JJ pushed a faded button that she hoped was the speaker. The voice became louder, so evidently she had chosen correctly. “This is your first decision point,” it said. “You can leave now, if you so desire. Just say ‘I quit,’ and you will be picked up by a limo and taken back to the airport. The driver can be knocking on your door in less than five minutes. No refunds, but no other repercussions either. If you leave now, you just go home ten thousand dollars wiser about yourself.”
The person speaking paused a few moments awaiting an answer. “OK, then,” the voice continued. It was now obvious that it was a man speaking. “I would recommend remaining in your room with the door locked and the window shades closed,” he advised. “You may have noticed that this neighborhood is not the safest, especially for a couple of young women on their own. Tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m., sharp, you are to line up with the other trainees alongside the alleyway. That is where you will be picked up for transit. Two small packages will be delivered to your door later tonight. You are to use the contents tonight... and be thorough about it.”
After a short pause, he asked, “Any questions?”
“Are there any special instructions for tomorrow morning?” Marcie asked.
“The instructions are simple,” he answered with a laugh, “be there at seven o’clock sharp. It will be obvious where you are supposed to stand, so don’t worry about that. Just don’t forget your room number.”
He laughed again. “The instructions will be with the package,” he said, “and an additional copy will be shoved under your door in the morning. The only special instruction for tomorrow is that when you go out there, you are to leave everything that you own behind in your room.”
After another short pause, he barked out, “That means everything!” Then, in a much more gentle voice, he said, “It will all be stored for you until you complete– or abandon– your training. We, understandably, have a fairly high attrition rate from this program.”
There was another pause. “Do you understand, Marcie?”
She answered, “Yes.”
“Do you understand, JJ?”
She shook her head yes.
“I can’t hear– or record– you nodding your head,” the voice chided.
“I’m sorry,” JJ sputtered. “Yes, I understand.”
“Until morning, then,” he said, and the phone went dead.
JJ set the old-fashioned phone back on the floor next to the bed. As she pushed it slightly under the bed, she suddenly said, “Hey! Wait a minute! How did they know I was nodding my head?”
“Maybe it was a good guess,” Marcie said with a grin. Then, grinning even wider, she added, “Or maybe big brother is already watching us.”
“In that case,” JJ said, trying to sound defiant as she began unbuttoning her blouse, “Maybe I should give them something to look at.” She reached into the bathroom and turned on the light. “I really need a shower,” she continued, “and there’s no door on the bathroom, so if they are watching, they will be able to see me anyway.”
She set her suitcase on the floor and dug out a sleep shirt. Then, stripping off the clothing she was wearing, she walked into the bathroom. Although the bathroom fan was extremely noisy, it had little effect on the clouds of steam that drifted out into the room as JJ took her shower.
About fifteen minutes later, she returned to the main room, still carrying her nightshirt. “Deciding to give them a real show?” asked Marcie.
“I don’t think they are really watching,” JJ answered. “And I’m still too sticky to put this on.”
She sat down on the bed and pulled her knees up to her chin. Marcie wasn’t sure which was more captivating: JJ’s glistening slit which was peeking out between her legs, or her equally wet eyes, which threatened at any moment to overflow down her face.
Marcie put a hand on JJ’s shoulder. They were now looking directly into each other’s eyes. “Having second thoughts?” she asked softly.
“Not exactly,” JJ answered, “but I’m scared... a little... ... OK, more than a little.”
“Why?” asked Marcie. “Isn’t this what you have been fantasizing about?”
“Yeeeees, I guess so,” she replied. “And I’m pretty sure I can handle the bondage and other kinky stuff. But I’ve never really... done it... with another girl. What if I can’t bring myself to do it? What if I hate it?”
“Then you drop out and go home,” answered Marcie. “I’m sure there will be many more chances to do that as the three months goes by.”
“But what about Evelyn’s... Ms. Brown’s promise that she would make us cease to exist?” JJ asked in a very plaintive voice.
“I think as long as we don’t show back up at work in the next 90 days, Ms. Brown won’t give a rat’s ass where we really are,” replied Marcie. “So that takes us back to the original question of whether or not you like doing it with a woman.”
“We could try it out now,” JJ said. She was blushing furiously and staring at the bed. “Then we would both know if we liked it.”
“I already know,” Marcie said with a laugh, “but I’m willing to help you find out for yourself.”
Having said that, she leaned closer to JJ and tilted her head slightly so their lips would meet in a kiss. A moment later, she was lying on top of JJ with her hand between her thighs. As they both moved rapidly toward the emotional release of an orgasm, neither of them noticed that the fire sprinkler above them seemed to swivel slightly so that the strange-looking nozzle was pointed directly at them on the bed.”
About an hour later, both were startled by a loud “Thump” against the door. Marcie carefully opened the door and peeked outside. There were two small boxes sitting against the door. Each had a slip of paper taped to the top. On the top of one box, written in thick black marker, it said, “Marcie.” On the top of the other, it said, “JJ.”
Marcie retrieved the two packages and brought them into the room. She glanced at the paper. It was a repeat of the instructions given over the phone. Then she opened the box with her name on it. Inside was a small pair of scissors, a package of razors, a travel-sized can of shaving cream, and two full bottles of what appeared to be some special kind of hair remover. There was also a small card that said simply, “Everything below the neck.”
“What does that mean?” JJ asked.
“It means,” answered Marcie, “that you are going to have to take another shower.”
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END OF CHAPTER
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The true rulers of this world, the credit card companies, have made it almost impossible to sell books with true BDSM themes. Erotic publishers will soon be a thing of the past. So I have pulled all of my books from the one publisher that I had left, and have decided to share them with my on-line followers.