By "Harve"

             Sitting there in my New York office on the 17th floor, I felt pretty good.   It was a Tuesday morning in late May, the sun was shining through my window overlooking Central Park in the distance, and I, Wendy Summer, aged 29  (OK, maybe more like 34 but my friends all consider I don't look a day over 29,, so who am I to argue?), sat back in my executive chair and lifted my heels up onto my desk.    God, Wendy my girl,  I thought, you've done pretty well for yourself,  sitting there in your plush office as the CEO of the New York Head Office of Weisleberg Investments Inc.    I had only been in NY for some 3 months, after a promotion and transfer from the company's  Los Angeles office, where I had been the Chief Sales Executive.    After several years of hard graft in LA, heading upwards in the corporate ladder, the promotion and move to NY had been the pinnacle of my career in the futures market so far.   OK, I'd stepped on some toes and kicked some ass on the way, but now I there at the top, and loving it!   Weisleberg was a company that looked after those employees who produced the goods, something that its competitors didn't always do.    In the competitive world of futures trading, where knife-edge deals are going on all the time, it's good to know that Head Office cares - and pays its employees to care, too.
             Now of course, I was "Head Office", and as I sat there with my $450 black pumps resting on my desk, with my legs in their sheer 15 denier Dior pantyhose,  with a Dior 2-piece tailored jacket and skirt to match, things for Wendy Summer just couldn't have been better.   I dressed well, looked good, had a great job - and OK, I could be a pretty mean bitch to my staff sometimes, but that's the way it is in the Big Apple.
            There was a buzz on the intercom and my Personal Assistant, Penny Schultz called.    "Miss Summer, I have a couple of ladies here from LA who want to talk to you about a delicate matter relating to operations of our Branch over there.    They say it will only take a few minutes of your valuable time.    Can you receive them?"    I was a bit intrigued about just what this could be all about, so I said "Yes - send them in, Penny".   I have to mention here, that there had been rumours going around for a few weeks about investigations by the Los Angeles Police Department Fraud Squad into certain dealings of the LA branch of Weisleberg, following complaints from aggrieved clients - but nothing concrete, no arrests, nothing at all but "rumours".    Anyway, here I was now, over in the other side of the States, far away from any such problems, so I should be worried?
             So, I got my heels off my desk and walked across to my mirror to check my appearance - yup, everything looking suitably executive-like, no runs in my hose, make-up still perfect, hair immaculate.    I went back to my desk, and sat down in my executive chair to await these two visitors from LA with interest - just what could this "delicate matter" be?    Could it indeed be related to the rumours I'd heard?  Shortly, there was a knock at my door and in came Penny with the two ladies, one of whom looked about 40 and the other much younger, although considerably taller and athletic looking..   Both were nicely dressed in tailored jackets and skirts, just like me in fact, although to be a bit bitchy, I doubted if the same Dior label was on theirs .....      They were both carrying large briefcases, and I also noted that the taller, younger lady had a long overcoat draped over her arm.     Penny introduced them as a "Mary Wilson", the elder woman, and "Sophie Turner", the tall but younger one, both from Edison Recovery Services of LA.    It was clear that Mary was the senior partner and I shook her hand accordingly, and motioned them both to take a seat, while indicating to Penny that she could leave us alone to discuss this "delicate matter".
             "So, Ms.Mary Wilson", I asked, "Just what is this matter you've come all the way across the USA from LA to see me about?    Also, can you give me some background on what your company "Edison Recovery Services" actually does, please?    I always pride myself on being as au fait as possible on the business dealings of those I meet".     Mary gave me a sweet smile, and said in a slow, southern drawl not at all typical of LA:  "Ms. Summer, before Ah continue to fill you in on certain confidential facts relating to this matter, can you confirm that you were the Chief Sales Executive of Weisleberg Investments Los Angeles office in January of this year - in fact, on January 16th to be precise?"    She'd got my interest already, but I tried to appear off-hand and just said "Why, yes,  I was CSE there for nearly two years until my transfer here in February, so I was certainly in that position at that time.   So, what's the deal, then - and how exactly can I help you two ladies?"
              That's when everything in my life seemed to turn to ABSOLUTE SHIT right there and then!!!    The elder one, this Mary Wilson bitch with the sweet smarmy smile, was now reaching down inside her black briefcase - and so was her butch-looking younger partner, Sophie Something-or-Other.    They both came up with totally different objects though, as they stood up and approached me  - the Wilson bitch had a piece of legal-looking paper in her hand, and Sophie had an automatic that was pointed straight at my head!!    I couldn't believe it - in my office, I was apparently being robbed in full daylight, by a couple of women dressed as smart executives just like me .....
              I was so shocked with the display of the handgun especially, that I just sat there in my chair - dumbfounded.    "Whhhaaatttt doo yyyooouuu wwwaaannnnt?", I finally managed to stammer.   "I don't have any money or cash here in my office - look around you, there's no safe , is there?"    "Oh" said the Wilson bitch, now right up close to me over my desk,  looking straight down at me,  "it's not your money we're after, Honey - it's just you that we want!"    Her accomplice by now had her gun pointed right at my head from close-up, and snarled at me to get up.    What could I do, with a gun at my head, but do what she said?
              "OK, bitch, off your ass, get your hands behind your head, and come forward really slowly around this fancy desk and hit the floor on your knees - right now, or I'll give you a kick to help you on the way", came from the younger one.    What could I do but follow?   She was built like the proverbial brick outhouse, maybe 6 feet tall even without her heels - and she had a gun pointed at my head!   I got up as ordered, with my hands behind my head, and walked with quaking steps around the front of my desk, where I fell to my knees between them, as ordered.    "Very good"  said Wilson, "You're getting the idea.   Now, Ms.Wendy Summer, this piece of paper in my hand here is an Arrest Warrant for you, made in Los Angeles in the State Of California, on the 10th of May, on charges of Embezzlement and False Pretences.    Now, you asking before just what our Company,  Edison Recovery Services do - well, we follow up Arrest Warrants on behalf of clients, and trace and return them to the place where the Warrant was issued.    You get the picture now, Miss High-and-Mighty Executive Wendy Summer?   We're more commonly known as BOUNTY HUNTERS,  you thieving bitch, and you're coming back to Los Angeles with us, to face that arrest warrant.    Edison Recovery Services employs Sophie and I to carry out these tasks in any way we feel fit, so long as the person we're after is produced safe and sound at the other end, to be handed over to the relevant authorities."
              Despite being in such a vulnerable position, on my knees with my hands behind my head, with them both looking down at me, I was starting to recover my senses after the shock of both having a gun stuck in my face and being ordered down to the floor, right there in my own office.    "Look", I said, "You can't just arrest me here and now like this.   I strongly demand to be able to make a call to my lawyer, right now!   I know my rights, you know."    The Wilson woman just sneered down at me, nodding at her taller partner who then passed her the gun.    She brought the gun right down close to my face, and hissed "Lady, we don't give a fuck about your goddamn so-called rights, or your alleged innocence or whatever bullshit you want  to say in your defence, because we're not Police Officers, lawyers or Social Workers or anything like that.   Remember what I told you earlier, bitch?  We just get arrest suspects back to where they're wanted, OK, and you're our current No 1 target.    So, cut the crap about your "rights" - you're going back to Los Angeles with us whether you like it or not.    So, sit there on your knees and keep your hands behind your head, and don't even think of making a move.    Sophie here has a few nice "matching accessories" for you, to add to those fancy heels and that smart little outfit of yours.    You may not become attached to these here things, but they're sure going to be attached to you ......"
             I couldn't believe what I was hearing from this slow-drawling Bitch From Hell, but things certainly suddenly got from bad to worse for me.   Her partner Sophie had been delving in her briefcase after she passed the gun to Mary Wilson, and was now coming around to the back of me, carrying something that I couldn't quite make out from my eye corner.    "Now, you look straight at me, bitch, and don't move"  Mary ordered, moving the gun right up to my nose.    I then felt Sophie wrapping something  wide around my waist, like a thick belt, tightening and then fastening it behind my back..   "OK, showtime!"  she said, and grabbed my left wrist from behind my head, forcing it down to my waist.    I felt the hard, cold feel of steel around my wrist and heard a series of "clicks".    The same treatment was attempted on my right wrist, but now realising what was happening to me, I tried to fight her grip.   It was a total waste of effort, as my right wrist was forced downwards into its steel cuff.   Not only was this Sophie woman far too strong for me, I realised only too well now just why I had been forced down to my knees, while I was being cuffed.   It is impossible to try and resist an experienced person like this Amazon, in such a situation.   It is all you can do, just to keep your balance.   "OK" said Wilson, "You can take a peep down now at your new fashion accessory belt - don't it look and feel real pretty on you?"    I looked downwards, and now could see clearly what I feared was the case.    These two had fitted me with a prison-style leather restraint belt, with attached separate handcuffs about 12 inches apart.    Each cuff was joined to the belt with a very short 3 inch length of chain, giving me hardly any wrist movement.   In fact, I could barely touch the tip of my index finger on my left hand to that on my right, so restrictive were these manacles.
               Mary Wilson seemed to be enjoying watching me struggling, because she gave a short laugh and said "Yup, honey, you just test those cuffs out any damn way you like, while Sophie here attends to another little item in your new accessories.    There ain't any way a lil' slip of a woman like you is going to escape out of that belt and cuffs combination - we get them from the same maker who supplies all the max security prisons, and they ain't had even a 20 stone man break out of a set of them yet.    Cunning, ain't they?   You couldn't even reach the key hole, if I were to pass you the key - now, ain't that real smart of them designer boys, putting that key hole well away from where your pretty little fingers might just reach?    In fact, it might just be time for me to double-lock them right now, so you just sit tight there."     I hadn't a clue what "double-locking" actually was, but it seemed to be something that the Wilson woman did with the reverse end of a small key, poking it into a little hole close to where the cuff key hole was.    I could only hear a very slight "click" as she inserted it, first into my left wrist cuff and then the right.     She then squeezed hard against both cuffs with her hand, feeling apparently satisfied that there was no further movement.   Clearly that must have been what she meant by double-locking.
           "Wendy, my girl" she smiled "That's you nice and tight!    Now, just relax now, while Sophie here gets some more nice shiny accessories for you, but this time for those pretty lil' ankles of yours.     Oh, God, I thought - surely they're not going to fit me with leg irons as well as these inescapable wrist restraints?     "Oh, please"  I pleaded with them, "Don't do this to me, right here in my own office.   It's so embarrassing as it is, wearing this handcuff belt, but have mercy - don't use leg irons on me!    I can't escape with my wrists manacled like this, especially in a skirt and high heels, so why do you need to make things even more terrible for me?"    I might as well as have been talking to myself, because even while I was pleading with Mary Wilson,   I could feel the first cold claw of a leg iron being fastened by her partner Sophie around my left ankle then my right one.    For some strange reason, I immediately felt concerned that the leg irons might just snag my $20 Dior pantyhose, but I choked back the impulse to ask them to be careful.   It would have been a waste of time anyway, because Wilson was already poking the gun close to my face again, clearly annoyed about my pleas not to be shackled with the leg irons.    "OK, bitch" she said "Understand this - we ALWAYS manacle and shackle everybody we take custody of.   Do you know why?    Because we've both been kicked before by cows like you in high heels and skirts, who'd pleaded there was no way we needed to use anything other than the cuff belt on them.    Let me tell you, girl, there ain't any which way you're going to be kicking any of us - or running off - with those leg irons on.   You can walk in short steps, and that's about it.   Come to think of it, in that skirt and those heels, that's all you can just about do anyway, so don't feel that anybody watching us leave your office is going to notice anything unusual.   Also, Miss Smarty Pants Wendy Summer, you'd be quite surprised just how fast a woman can run in a skirt, once she's kicked off her heels, even with her wrists cuffed.    No, you bitch, you get the same treatment as all our "customers" these days, the full manacles and leg irons plus, oh yes, here comes Sophie now with the last of your accessories.    You just relax, now, it won't take long."     Sophie was walking round behind me, carrying a short length of chain with a pair of padlocks at either end.    Although I couldn't see her attaching them from behind me, I could feel her hands tugging against the rear of my waist-belt as she first fixed one end of the chain to it, followed by a loud click as it shut tight, then the same as her hands brushed against my stockinged legs as she joined the bottom end of the chain to the centre of the chain linking my ankle shackles, with a final similar click.    That was clearly the end of the fitting of my "matching accessories" as the Wilson cow kept referring to it, because the pair of them now grabbed one of my shoulders each, and yanked me up from my knees.    I was actually grateful they did, because there was no way I could get back up to my normal standing position manacled and shackled like that, not to mention of course the added difficulty of wearing a tight tailored skirt and heels.
              "OK", said Wilson,   "Now listen to what I have to say,  honey,  and don't interrupt me.   This is for your own protection and peace of mind, so hear good!   You're going to ask why your leg shackle chain is joined to the back of your waist-belt, aren't you?    Well, it's actually to help you to walk, without the chain jinglin' and janglin' along the ground.    It'll also help prevent you tripping over the chain.    You see, we aren't such a pair of bastards as you've been thinking we are.   Our job is to get you across to Los Angeles safe and sound, and we don't want you falling over your leg chains and hitting your head.    Equally well, we don't want you trying to pull some stunt and running off, so that's why you're going to be wearing those cute little devils around your pretty ankles for the next few days, comprende?    You'll have noticed that all these nice cute little items we're fitted to you, all fit you perfectly.    We actually take the time to do some research on your height, weight and such, before we pack Sophie's box of tricks with the correct size items, trust me!    It isn't Company Policy for Edison Recovery Services' agents like us, to inflict unnecessary pain or discomfort on our customers, OK?    You with me so far, Wendy?"    I nodded my assent.     She was quite correct about the fit of all my restraints - they could all have been designed with just me in mind, which really worried me.    They were really cold-bloodedly efficient, these Ladies from LA.
            She then continued  "Now, we're going to be walking out of your office shortly, all three of us.   So,  how do you want us to take it from here?   Do want the hard or the soft approach, it's totally up to you.   Right now, we can gag you, hood you, blindfold you - you'd be amazed just what Sophie here has in her briefcase "box of tricks", to keep our "customers" nice and quiet.   She even has some nice soothing sedatives she can inject you with, if necessary.    So, how do you want us to handle you, Miss Wendy Summers?     We can even save you the embarrassment of having to leave your own office here shortly, with all your staff, colleagues and subordinates looking at you now wearing your full set of restraint chains, if  you agree to wear this overcoat to conceal them".      She was of course, referring to the long overcoat that Sophie Turner had carried over her arm when the two of them first were brought into my office, I now realised.   " Just how humiliated do you want to look - it's totally up to you -so what's it to be?"    I couldn't even stand the thought of being seen by my colleagues, taken from my Executive's Office in chains by these two Harridans from Hell, so I mumbled that I would prefer to be wearing their overcoat to conceal my "matching accessories".    "Say again, Miss Summer" said Wilson, "I want to be sure I heard you properly then".    I cleared my throat and said as clearly and loudly as I could, "Please, Miss Wilson, I would like to wear the long overcoat to conceal my handcuffs and leg irons from my staff and colleagues.    I do not want to be seen in this humiliating situation as we leave the building.    I promise not to make any screams or calls for help, or anything like that.   Just get me out of here as quietly and with the minimum of attention, I beg of you".     Mary Wilson smiled at me and said, "That's my girl - we hoped you'd see it the sensible way.     You're clearly the thinking type or you wouldn't have made it all the way to having such a grand office, at your age.    However, first you need to practice walking around for a few minutes to get used to wearing leg irons and with your hands cuffed in front of you, all concealed under Sophie's coat here.    By the way, you'll find it fits you perfectly, just like all the other items you're wearing - we pride ourselves on doing our homework, at Edison's!"
             I wondered just how I was going to wear this long concealing coat, with my hands cuffed to my waist belt?    I shouldn't have bothered, because like everything else in their operating methods, the pair of them had already worked everthing out.    The coat pockets had no bottom to them, so all that was required was for them to unlock my wrist cuffs and pull my now free hands into the arms of the coat, then into the pockets, and reattach my wrists to the wrist cuffs.    This routine was carried out by Sophie, while Mary Wilson once again picked up her gun and pointed it at me while I had my perhaps slight chance of escape.    However, to be honest, how could I have escaped?    My legs were still schackled, and these two bitches could have grabbed me before I'd got even two stuttering steps.    So, I just went along with things, and allowed my wrists to be manacled again, but now within the concealment of the long coat of course.    Wilson even asked me where my handbag was, so that I could carry it over my shoulder to make things look even more normal.    I pointed out where it was, in my executive cupboard behind her, and she quickly retrieved it.   However, she gave its contents the once over before hanging it over my shoulder.    I guess she thought there was always the chance I might have a small gun in there, but the closest thing in there to anything dangerous was a steel nail file.   She even removed that, though.    God, these bitches thought of everything ....      Then Wilson said, "OK, Miss Wendy Summers, it's time for your rehearsal at walking casually while wearing wrist manacles and leg irons.     Remember to keep your steps short, OK?"
              So, I hesitantly took my first steps in their chains.    Surprisingly, it wasn't as difficult as I'd expected, just so long as I kept my steps short - indeed just as this Wilson woman had said.    There wasn't even much noise from either my ankle chains or the link chain from them up to my waist-chain, for that matter.    Wilson had positioned herself next to my office door, I suppose just in case I got any fancy ideas about trying to run for it and raise the alarm.    Run for what, in leg irons?    She bent over as I was doing my slow walk around the office, clearly to check if my leg irons were visible.    Apparently they weren't, once again proving these two had done their homework correctly on the length of my coat.   Within a couple of minutes of my first steps, I seemed to be making adequate progress, so Wilson asked me if I felt confident enough now to face the world outside.    "Yes", I quietly said.     We headed to the door with Mary Wilson on my left and Sophie Turner on my right.   Mary opened it, and we headed out into the main office foyer.    I gulped several times, and thought "God, please don't let anybody speak to me or stop and ask for anything ......"
              However, I should have expected that my Personal Assistant Penny Schultz would get up from her reception desk and say "Are you leaving, Miss Summer?    Shall I take any messages while you're out?"    All I could say in my most off-hand voice was "Yes, please do, Penny - I shall be out of the office for some time".   The three of us then headed to the executive lift, with the pair of my "escorts" in very close attendance at both left and right of me.   So far, nobody had looked taken aback at my rate of progress or possibly unusual appearance in the long overcoat, thank God!   My escorts kept up a continual conversation about just about nothing whatsover as we made our slow way across to the lift, clearly to draw attention away from me.    As we got into the executive lift, the uniformed guy immediately recognised me and said "Why, Ms. Summer, you're looking quite unwell for such a nice day - and wearing an overcoat too, I notice.   Are you feeling OK?   Can I help?"    I smiled and shook my head.   Mary Wilson bitch joined in here, and told the guy with her syrupy smile, that I was being escorted by them to the local Clinic, so there was no need to worry.    It was all just routine.    I don't to this day know why I didn't just scream out that these two bitches had shackled and manacled me, and were taking me to God Knows Where, but it's a strange feeling when and if this sort of thing happens to you - and I sincerely hope it doesn't.    However, if it does, you have this feeling of shame being cuffed hand and foot, and don't want people to know about it - especially those who know you.    All you want to do is get the hell out of the place, even though on reflection, you may be heading for a worse hell.
              So, out of the lift we got, and headed to the Executive Car Park.   All I could do in my ankle chains was to shuffle quietly along between my two escorts, with our heels clicking in unison on the cement.    However, my steps weren't just "clicks", there now also was the sound of my chains slightly clanking, because we were crossing bare concrete and not carpet as before.    However, there were very few other people about to notice the slight noise, and my two escorts carried on their clearly well-rehearsed patter about nothing in general.   I guess, to be honest, nobody could have detected anything with me wearing that long overcoat, covering even my leg irons. Even if somebody had suspected I was being abducted, Wilson had her gun inside her tailored jacket and was clearly prepared to threaten any would-be rescuers.     However, there weren't any, and we continued our slow walk across the concrete floor of the car park, with our heels clicking in unison, and my chains jingling very slightly.
             With these two bitches at either side of me as I shuffled along in my chains, we eventually reached a plain white enclosed Ford panel van at the back of the car park.    Mary Wilson had already called somebody on her mobile phone as we were walking towards the van,  just  saying "Ted - object retrieved - on the way as planned".    Hmm, so that's all I was right then - an "object", shuffling along in my chains between the pair of them.    Clearly it was somebody inside that van who she'd called on her mobile, because as soon as we got close to it, the side door was opened by Ted, a guy of about 30, and I was pushed/helped/lifted, whatever you want to call the difficult process of getting up and into the side door of a Ford panel van in a tight skirt, high heels and leg irons.    God, what a shock for me then - there were actually two separate seats in the rear section of the van, and one was already occupied!    A lady of maybe around my age was held in one of the seats already, and it was clear that I was going to be alongside her.   The reason I couldn't be certain about her age, was that her head was totally covered in a black leather helmet of some kind, stretching down to her neck.   That awful leather device over her head clearly also included an effective gag, because she was gurgling and spluttering something incomprehensible.    Sophie walked over to her and shouted "shut the fuck up, bitch, or you get another shot with the needle - got it?"      Apparently she did "get it",  because the awful noises she was coming out with stopped.    Her hands were cuffed in the same sort of leather device around her waist as I was, and her ankles were also shackled, but were also linked to a floor securing point in front of her.   There was a wide safety belt wrapped around her waist, over the top of her wrist cuff belt.     The two bitches held me by both arms and manoevred me into the spare seat, wrapping the safety belt around my waist and securing my leg iron chain to the floor mount in just the same manner.     Mary softly spoke to me "OK, lady, it's up to you - either you carry on being a good girl like you have been so far,  behaving yourself and keeping quiet, or you can get the same treatment as Betty here.   We picked her up in Chicago enroute to NY, so she's already had a couple of days of this.   She's heading to LA too on an Arrest Warrant, but she's been a bit difficult so far, so we've had to give her the leather helmet approach to quieten her down   Which way do you want us to go?    Are you going to carry on behaving yourself?"
            I was getting really scared by now, because these people - who weren't even official police, remember - seemed to be so well trained, with all the right equipment, contacts, information etc, that what could anybody taken by them actually do?    That sadistic bastard cow Mary Wilson came up close to me and whispered in my ear "Wendy, you're going for a hell of a long drive now, all the way to LA.     You've been a good girl so far, but we have to clear the NY traffic.   So, you're going to have to wear the same restraint helmet as this silly cow Betty for maybe an hour or so.    We get these leather helmets specially made by a Bondage Goods Supplier back in LA.    Can you believe some folks actually buy these fun things to put on themselves?    Hang on in there, girl - we'll take it off just as soon as we leave NY and hit the open roads.   We'll also remove that overcoat, if you want us to.    However, if you start to scream or play up in any way,  the helmet will stay on.   You have been warned, OK?"
                All I could do was nod my head, in understanding.    I have always had a phobia about darkness and being enclosed, but what the hell could I do?    This team from Edison Kidnapping Inc. held all the aces.    The Wilson bitch opened a small cupboard in the front of the Ford van, and came towards me with a similar black leather mask device, as Betty wore.   She stopped right in front of me, pushing it against my face.    "Now, Wendy my dear, remember - Sophie, Ted and I couldn't give a fuck either way, whether you wear this awful head thing all the way to LA or not.    Betty here alongside you is a naughty girl, so she's going to have to wear hers until she shows some signs of behaving.    However, for now I just won't stand for my prisoners kicking at me like she did, so she suffers accordingly.    If she hadn't been leg shackled she might have really hurt me.    You have been a well-behaved prisoner so far, but there's a long way to go yet - in fact, all the way from the East Coast to the West of this great country.    Now, lift your chin so I can fit this thing around your head ......"
             I had no choice but to lift my chin as ordered, and allow Mary Wilson to attach the leather discipline helmet around my head.    It was a shocking thing to wear, because it not only acted as a blindfold, but it also had a padded circular gag device that pushed inside my mouth, plus it seemed to have padded sections for around my ears.   The end result was that my head was totally restrained.    I could breathe, but literally could not move a muscle, or hear, see or talk.    That damned thing around my head even incorporated a heavy neck collar, so I couldn't even turn my head - not that I could have seen anything, thanks to its total coverage.    Possibly the worst aspect about it was not being able to turn my head - it was just as if my head was being restrained in some awful medieval torture device.    I'd like to say that I just gritted my teeth and put up with it, but the damn gag inside it even stopped me doing that.    All I could do was count the seconds and minutes, and keep trying to swallow the drool coming from the back of my mouth.
             With the leather helmet fitted, I just about was aware of our Ford van starting up and heading off, despite its limitations on my hearing.    It was an awful hour or so, with my head clamped inside its claustrophobic interior.    However, that Bitch Mary Wilson kept to her word and released me from it in about an hour, as I guess we left the NY area and hit the open road.    She asked me if I wanted the overcoat also removed, and I said "Yes, please" as I had had enough with being encased around both my head and most of my body, by then.    The three of them had to release my safety belt and then my wrist handcuffs from my waist belt again, as I stood up to let them take the overcoat off.    God, what a relief to stand up again, and stretch my arms.    Unfortunately, it was barely for a minute and then I was sat down again and the wrist cuffs reapplied.     Even though my arms had been released while the coat was coming off, I had not a single thought of trying anything on escape-wise.    For one thing, my ankles were still chained with the leg irons, and to the floor securing point, and even more of a factor was poor Betty with her face mask still left on, and I could hear her slight moans and groans as our sad journey continued.    I did not want a repeat performance of wearing that awful head restraint again, and was prepared to go along with every whim of my captors.
                 The three of them, Ted, Mary and Sophie, all took turns driving throughout night and day.    However, every time we had to make a refuelling stop, Mary would reapply my head restraint just before we pulled in to the gas station.    It would only be removed when we were well clear of the place.    The Ford van had its own portable potty, so when I eventually needed to use it, I indicated to Mary and she undid the leg chain floor restraint and seat belt so I could walk across to the toilet.    The next part was quite humiliating for me, but Mary had done some nursing  at some stage, and told me that she wasn't at all humiliated by the experience of lifting my skirt, pulling down my pantie girdle, panty hose and briefs so I could sit down on the potty to have a pee or whatever.    She would just put on a pair of surgical rubber gloves and do the necessary with the toilet paper, before pulling back on my underwear again and lowering my skirt.    I pleaded with her to release my wrists from the waist belt cuffs so I could at least do the necessary myself, but she said "no dice, honey - we take no chances, as good as you've been so far.    I've had to do a lot worse things than wipe your arse and fanny, while I was a nurse, believe me!"    For poor Betty, the experience of going to the potty was even worse, because they would not take her helmet off her at any stage.    Every few hours Mary or Sophie would peel back the zipper holding the ear pad over her ear, and ask her if she wanted to go to the toilet yet.    The ear pad would then be refixed, and her mouth gag partly removed for her reply.   Often it would just be a mouthful of profanities, so the gag would be reinserted into her mouth and that was that for another few hours.    I had to give poor Betty 10 out of 10 for her guts - or was it stupidity?    That girl would just not give up as I admit I had long done.    For food and drink, we would stop by a MacDonald's or similar hamburger joint every few hours, and one of the guys would leave the van to collect the food.    While this happened, I was again fitted with my headrestraint, which would only be removed when we were well clear.    We never ever pulled into a drive-through to collect food the easy way, I guess because even with our leather helmets on, we might just have made enough noise to cause trouble.    The three of them never gave either Betty or me the slightest chance to alert anybody to our capture, at any time.    Once we pulled up somewhere quiet at the side of the road to eat our burgers or whatever, my helmet would again be removed - but not my wrist cuffs.   One of either Mary or Sophie would hand feed me.    Poor old Betty just got her mouth gag removed, and that was all.   She had to eat whatever they stuffed into her mouth, and if she went into one of her explosive modes of swearing at them, the gag would just be reapplied.
                 Day and night went by, with this neverending routine of being hooded and unhooded, but my wrist shackles never removed.    The only time my leg irons were released from the floor securing point was for a short visit to the potty, and then it was the ignominy of having my skirt lifted and my underwear pulled down by Mary.    After a while, the humiliation started to wear off.   I guess it's the old story of eventually everything gets to be commonplace.    Night again followed day, and I still hadn't a goddamn clue just where we were, but I was beginning to think,  surely we can't be far from LA now.    That superbitch Mary was a strange one.    She would talk quite openly about some things, but absolutely nothing about just where we were at any one time, or the circumstances of my Arrest Warrant, for example.   I once pushed the latter point maybe a bit too far, and ended up back in the helmet again for at least two hours as a result.    Then again, she was nice enough to do my make-up again for me, after removing the helmet.    You can imagine just what a mess the helmet made of my lipstick and mascara, with my tears and drool combining.     It seemed from what Mary admitted during our 4-day trip, that both she and Sophie had once been Prison Warders at a California Womens Jail, before they decided to take up Bounty Hunter duties.
                Finally, I heard the three of them getting increasingly talkative, and the words "close to LA" were spoken by Ted.    God, can it be true?    It might just be, because Mary is coming towards me with the leather helmet again, to fix to my head.    I took my chance and said, "Please, Miss Wilson, are we almost there?"    She could hardly threaten me with more time in the helmet if it were true, and she sort of half-smiled and nodded as she tightened it around my head yet again.    For once, I was happy to be wearing it!     Do I now finally sense that our prison van is turning, and we are slowing down to a stop?  I hear faint voices coming closer - "OK, guys, sign here and we''ll take over now with your two prisoners - Gawd, that one has nice legs doesn't she ....."   I can now feel my ankle chains are being released from their central bolt restraint, and hands are helping me up from cramped seating position.   However, nobody seems to want to take the goddam awful head restraint from my head, so I just have to get up and be guided blind from the van.   I am still wearing my 4" heels, so it is difficult to walk blindfolded and still manacled at the wrists and ankles.    Helpful hands and arms guide me on my stuttering walk to  ......where?     Wherever it is, it must be better than my recent experience of a Long Drive Across America!!!!!
 

 c.     "Harve"    2004