Ralph Atkins, age forty-one, is a plumber. He was born in Statesboro, Georgia, and has two siblings. He has no children, or at least no dependents listed on his tax returns. Income last year is listed at $49,029. Criminal background check is clean. Medical stats showed him to be five-foot nine-inches tall, one hundred and ninety pounds, with thirty percent body fat. He had had an appendectomy six years ago, and is currently prescribed ten milligrams a day of Crestol for high cholesterol. He drives a late-model Ford Explorer, with a tag number of X42FF.
He does not live in Massachusetts, as I expected from his MA monger, but Brooklet, GA—a small farming town with a population of 1,250, a tiny police force, and one local doctor. Google Maps shows Brooklet to be a thirteen-hour drive from my apartment.
What is missing from the information is if he knows a young girl named Annie. The possibilities seemed endless. A small town full of neighborhood kids and a job that takes him in and out of homes in all the surrounding towns. Couple that with two siblings, unknown cousins and unknown nieces. How could I ever find her? What if her name isn’t Annie? What if she doesn’t even exist?
I IM Mike back, asking for all known relatives of Ralph’s siblings, as well as all neighbor kids within a five-mile radius. I also ask for the last six months of plumbing jobs that Ralph had had and any hobbies or extracurricular activities of his.
Mike’s response came too soon to be productive.
—Your pu**y isn’t that good bb.
How much?
—$1000
Okay. I also need to know everything he is doing online—computer history, that kind of stuff. Can you get all that from his computer?
—Why?
Can you get it? I’ll go to someone else if not.
—Bitchy … Will he open an attachment that u send him?
Yes. If you can hide it in an image or video file.
—Ok. Then yes. Two thousand.
For both?
—No. For the computer clone. It will give you his files also.
$3k is pricey. Services exchange?
—Not for this shit. This is jail time shit.
Okay. $3500 if I can get it in the next 48 hours.
—Deal.
—Still love you babe
u2. get to work. :)
I ended up wasting that initial thousand dollars. I didn’t have to do any searching for her at all. Three days later, everyone in the country knew who Annie was. And everyone was hoping she was still alive.
CHAPTER 31: takeitALL61
FINANCIAL DOMINATION: A fetish that is rooted in deep need for a loss of control. Present mostly in submissive/dominant relationships, the arousal comes from the thought or action of being swindled or manipulated into parting with money. The larger the sum, the more aroused the submissive might become. For some, their strongest fantasies center around financial ruin.8
TakeitALL61 seemed to be the perfect man: sweet, caring, and wanting to give me every dollar in his wallet. We chatted for almost two months before he dropped off the face of the Earth. I’m assuming he finally hit rock bottom. I hope the orgasms were worth it.
Our first chat was almost six months ago.
- FREE CHAT ENDED - takeitALL61 HAS STARTED A PRIVATE CHAT
“Hey takeit!” I smiled and reached back, unclipping my bra and sliding it off, exposing my br**sts for the cam.
takeitALL61: hey babe. My name is Frank
“Hey Frank. What are you in the mood for today?”
takeitALL61: I want you to order me to give you money.
TakeitALL61 was the first Financial Dom client I ever had. He was patient with me, as are most clients with unusual requests, and by our third chat, I understood exactly what it was he wanted.
“Don’t you pull out your f**king c**k Frank—that is not what I want!” I pointed into the camera, my face fierce and angry.
takeitALL61: yes bb. sorry. what do you want?
“I want you to pull out your f**king wallet. Did you go to the bank today?”
takeitALL61: yes beautiful. I went at lunch
“Did you spend any money since then?” I knelt, a silk robe wrapped around me, all trace of compassion gone from my eyes.
takeitALL61: no! i promise.
“Good boy. I want you to open up your wallet, and then I’ll let you pull out that cock. You’re going to have to give me every dollar in that wallet before I let you come. Do you understand?”
takeitALL61: yes bb. i will. but I have bills that i need to pay
“Fuck that! You aren’t paying the bills this month, Frank. You are going to give me your money, every last cent of it, until you are broke and living in the gutter. Do you understand me, Frank? You jack off that c**k if you understand.”
Frank never gave me a dollar over the preset $6.99 a minute. He didn’t even use the ‘tip’ button that is so prominently displayed over our chat window. I could have used that as part of our play, but it seemed too evil. Especially to a client that was already doomed to financial ruin.
CHAPTER 32: The damn lake party
FOUR YEARS EARLIER
Jennifer Blake. She was that girl at school—the one who everyone wanted to be friends with, and whose friends were in constant fear of getting kicked to the curb. She was Queen Bee: beautiful, ruthless, and had everything going for her. Money, power and Josh Martin—the most gorgeous, perfect guy any of us had ever met. Jennifer’s parents had a lake house about ten miles out of town, and it was there that Jennifer hosted her annual party. No parents, free alcohol, and enough bedrooms for a hundred high school seniors to have one hell of a good time. I was one step under goody-goody, so I wouldn’t be having sex or doing drugs. But I wasn’t above drinking a few Smirnoff Ices and making out on a couch. And I desperately wanted to go to that party. I hadn’t been invited the previous year and had spent the whole night feeling sorry for myself in my bedroom. This year I had gotten the coveted invite, passed on casually by Jennifer as she walked by my locker one remarkable Wednesday. I was finally “in,” and I’d be damned if I missed the party by sleeping at my grandparents’.
So Saturday night I decided, sometime between Nana’s apple pie and Papa’s evening news, once I realized that there was, in fact, no graduation surprise planned, that I would go. I’d wait ‘til they both fell asleep, sneak out the back, and then drive to the lake house. I’d be back and sound asleep in bed by the time they woke up for church the next morning. Easy peasy.
I sat through three Seinfeld episodes before I kissed them both goodnight and headed upstairs, locking the door behind me and unzipping my suitcase. I quickly realized, after flipping through the folded piles, that Mom had not packed a single party outfit that would be Jennifer Blake acceptable. The worst thing was that I knew the perfect outfit—pictured it as clearly as if it hung before me. The green sundress—fitted enough to be sexy, but casual enough that I didn’t look like I was trying too hard. I had purchased it just two days ago, the shopping bag carelessly tossed in the backseat of Mom’s car, where it no doubt still sat. I chewed my thumbnail and thought, weighing my options: skip the party; attend the party in the wrong outfit; or swing by my house on the way. I checked my watch. Fuck it. I’d stop by home, sneak into the garage, grab the dress, and change in the car. That late at night, everyone would be inside or asleep anyway.