A PLETHORA OF HEATHERS
I remove the helmet. This always excites me, the turning of an unresponsive person into a compliant one. The effects never last long. An initial dose like this only lasts ten minutes or so, but I can personally attest that repeated doses are cumulative, especially after a long initial dose. I always love watching people turn slowly into what she wants.
“OK, let’s stand and walk out of here.”
Marlie and Yvettia carefully relax their grips. Heather doesn’t move. Marlie starts to slide out, her grip on Heather’s arm now guiding her out. Yvettia follows Heather out from behind the table. Soon Marlie and Heather were standing and Yvettia starts to stand. As she stands, Heather shook her head slightly and falls against Marlie. This often happens as the acquisition tends to be dizzy and disorientated at this point. As soon as Yvettia is standing, Heather’s right foot slams down on her foot. I heard bones crack from my position at the other side of the table. She’s wearing stilettos.
Everything happens so fast now. She has her laptop in her freed right hand and swings it at Marlie’s head. It bounces off her temple with a loud crack. Of course I jump forward to stop her but she fells me with a backhand that catches my chin. I go down, cracking my head on the table.
I’ve never seen this quick a recovery before. It’s exciting. I start to slide out but I’m not nearly quick enough. She’s scooped up her laptop and her bag as well as the helmet and just walks out of the booth. By the time I slide out and step over Lylia to get out, she’s well on the way out of the restaurant. I consider shouting, but that would alert the customers and I just don’t have the facilities to take them all. The last thing I want is the authorities checking the place out.
So I go to the kitchen and tell Ken and Brett to run round to the front and stop her somehow without the customers knowing about it and I call on the first aider to see to the people in the booth.
Ken and Brett return soon after, telling me she’d left towards the city in a car. They have the number. I don’t bother about that. She’s intelligent and I’m certain she’ll ditch the car sooner than I can locate it.
I’m walking out of the restaurant confidently, as if I own the place and I stuff the laptop and helmet into the case as I go, leaving it open. Before that is a blur. This is my normal walk, the walk and attitude I had perfected for my career. I’ve my bag over my shoulder. My skirt is split down one side and I treat that as a deliberate feature as well as hiding it as much as possible with the bag. Nobody raises an eye at me leaving. One of the staff opens the door for me as I leave saying, “Thank you for coming. Come again soon.” That’s said in such a sincere and obviously true manner it sends shivers down my spine, but again my career saves me and I don’t betray my emotions. I smile and nod, not trusting my voice.
I go straight to my car and drive off immediately, not knowing where I’m going. Eventually I feel safe enough to stop and take stock. That’s when the shaking starts. I have to open the door quickly to vomit in the gutter. A police car pulls up, obviously thinking I’m drunk or on drugs. I give them my card and took the tests to prove I’m sober and I tell them I feel ill and had to vomit. They’re considerate and let me leave once they’re assured I feel better. “See a doctor when you get home,” one of them tells me just before I drive off. I wonder why I don’t explain exactly what had happened.
I head for home but stop again before I get too close. What if that Heather knows my address? Did she go through my bag? I couldn’t remember so I decide to play safe and drive to the nearest hotel and book myself in. But that’s the obvious thing to do, so instead I drive across the city and book in at a random hotel I find.
I drop everything on the floor as soon as I lock the door behind me, run to the bed and lie there, curled up and shaking. In my job I had female clients who described such things, which I played up in court if necessary. But I never understood. I do now. It’s overwhelming and I can’t do anything until the shaking and crying subsides.
Eventually I can rise and make myself a drink. Tea, not alcohol. I can’t face alcohol right now.
My mind calms a bit when drinking the tea and I start to think properly again and suddenly realise why I didn’t tell the police. What would they think of such a story? I was certain Heather would have everything hunky dory at her restaurant if they decided to investigate immediately, which they wouldn’t, and where would that leave me? Unbelieved by the police and authorities and Heather would be able to do what she wanted with minimal concern for any consequences. Not to mention what it would do to my job, especially if she sued me. The best I could hope for there is no more progression. I had to protect myself.
But possibilities begin to appear when I think of my job. After all, I know all sorts of people, some of which I had succeeded in getting off. I know what most people say, but this is the only system I can think of which protects all of us from those in power. Yes, there are mistakes, but we, as a society, would be far worse off without this protection.
Somehow my laptop still works and I access my work files through a secure connection. I know how to work effectively under a deadline and I use that talent to its utmost. I need to protect myself immediately.
The first thing I do is order a cleanup. Everything that can be interpreted as suspicious is removed or moved to its proper place. That’s hectic, especially as we’re still feeding our patrons.
Nothing happens for a long while and I begin to think nothing will. After all, what can she tell them? Everything that happened to her is so fantastic they would automatically look for alternative explanations, even if they believed her. But they probably wouldn’t. The connection between the two buildings is locked and there’s no connection between me and the owners of the building next door. I made certain of that when I bought it.
But it’s important to go on the offensive. After all, she’s a lawyer. She knows how to spin a story if she was any good. And her clothes and demeanour attest to the fact she is good. So I have her car checked by Sophie, who used to be a policewoman before she accepted my offer of employment as a waitress. Sophie knows all about such things and quickly gives me her address and her brief history. She also tells me the police have not been contacted by her up ’till now. That’s good to know.
Unfortunately both Marlie and Yvettia are now out of action and I have no replacements. I have them and Lylia placed in the second floor under the care of the first aider, who’s doing a magnificent job. So I collect a scratch team together of the people at my disposal, go to her apartment and ring the doorbell.
Her apartment confirms my estimate of her. She really is successful at what she does. There’s no answer so I tell Stephanie to open it and enter, which she does confidently, as if she has all the authority in the world to do so.
I stay back with Carla and Merry, just in case. We can get out easily if there’s any problem, but no alarm goes off and there’s no commotion. I resolve that these three will also build themselves up. It appears just having two security guards on the premises isn’t enough. It isn’t as if they have anything else to do so there’ll be plenty of time. I’d get Marlie and Yvettia to put them through a crash course.
Eventually Stephanie emerges and beckons us in. I’m curious to see what this Heather’s apartment looks like. It’s sparse and modern. After a good root around we don’t find my helmet, but I now know she’s a kinky lady. The equipment and the clothes she has stored out of the way, but not really hidden, are an eye opener. I’ll definitely use them on her. I wonder who she uses them on. I think I’ll take her as well, once she tells me everything I want to know. It’ll be fun to watch her submissive beat her to a bloody puddle.
It’ll be even better of she has more than one submissive I can take. I can force them to fight each other for the prize of beating Heather Burns to a bloody pulp with her own equipment.
But there’s a problem. I assume that the submissives aren’t called Heather, so what do I do with them? Heather House is only for Heathers.
So far they’ve been only the inmates there and my staff who have all had their names changed by deed poll to add Heather as a middle name. I’ll just do the same with the submissives. It’s not perfect but we all have to compromise at times.
I could put this submissives under the helmet for a few months to condition them, but that would take away a lot of my pleasure. I want to see her favourite reduce Heather to a bloody puddle because that’s the only way she’ll not get punished. I want to see the agony in her sub’s eyes as she realises what I want. I want to see the irony in Heather’s eyes when she realises what’s going to happen. That can occupy me for months, but it will eventually happen. I smile and rub myself at these thoughts. I’m happy.
And now I think about it, taking the submissives should be soon. It’ll be safer that way. They won’t get worried about Heather’s absence and do something stupid. So I’ll have to work on Heather from the start and get those details. After that I can dawdle and totally enjoy my experiences.
I’m not sure where to keep the submissives while she’s being trained. They won’t be true Heathers so they can’t stay in Heather House. The second floor? That would be too disruptive to my staff. No matter. I’ll think of something later.
We leave without incident. No alarms go off and nobody sees us. On returning to the restaurant I send them to their barracks to have their nightly session under their helmets with my mantras in their ears.
That leaves me on my own which is usual and I would normally retire to Heather House for some teasing and fun, but I don’t feel like it now. The new Heathers are in their dog cages and the other Heathers have their collars to keep them confined. I want something else. I don’t like this feeling of waiting for someone else to do something before I can even know what to think about it. So, I resolve to enjoy myself tonight. I call Hector. Hector’s always good for a night out and tonight’s no exception. I take an Uber to his apartment and we go clubbing.
My phone alarm goes off when I’m deliberating whether or not to call him. It’s a drastic and dangerous step, a deal with the devil, but I can’t see any other way.
The phone alarm is from the alarm in my home and I check in and see what’s happening. There’s a woman wandering around my apartment looking for someone—me probably. I switch off the house alarm and wait to see what’ll happen next. After a short while she steps out and then returns with three more people and one is that Heather. They don’t ransack the place but they do search everywhere. They find my domme clothing and toys and inspect them. I don’t like that. I also don’t appreciate her pawing through my lingerie, even if she seems to approve.
“We know where she lives now. We’ll get her later.”
I heard Heather saying that as they tidy up their traces. I now understand why they hadn’t moved a lot of things and always replaced what they moved. They leave as quietly as they arrived. I still have the option of calling the police—I could say I felt too ill to drive all the way home and took this hotel. Those police who saw me stopped at the roadside before would give good corroborative evidence but I instantly realise I could pick that evidence apart easily. The timing of my vomiting to the time of my arrival here, which would be recorded somewhere, would easily do that. And why did I drive all the way here, past my home, when I was sick?
My decision is made for me. I make the call. With luck I’ll have a busy night and I’ll just have to deal with the consequences later as they occur.
It’s in the early hours when my phone rings. I’ve been dancing for hours now and I feel good again so I check it with a smile on my face. I can’t hear what’s being said but it’s frantic so I go to the restroom and try there. There’s a line in the corridor but it’s far enough away from the music that I have a chance of hearing what’s said.
It’s from Stephanie. The restaurant’s on fire and there’s no way out for them. I can’t understand how that’s possible. Everything is non flammable. I made certain of that as I keep them locked up at night. After all, there’s nothing for them outside anyway and they want to stay there. I made sure of that when I programmed them.
“I’m coming,” I yell above the noise. Some people in the line stare at me but soon lose interest. I run out as fast as I can in my heels, collect Hector and drag him out.
“My restaurant’s on fire. I must get there now.” He’s good to me and gets me a cab quickly. He wants to accompany me, but I tell him no. This is my business and I need to deal with it immediately.
The cab drives me to my restaurant and I take care to bribe the driver on the way. I always carry a wad with me—you never know when it might be useful.
We arrive at the scene and it’s a nightmare. The fire brigade are there along with police. We’re approached as soon as we stop and I step out for a better look.
“Sorry, you can’t stay here,” he says. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asks when he sees my clubbing attire.
I’m proud of my ability to think on my feet. I point to a building further away and tell him, “I work there and a client just called me. He’s in Australia and needs a response immediately.” I look at the blocked road. “But obviously I can’t. I’ll just have to work from home as best I can this time.”
He seems to accept this and I start to turn away when I exclaim. He turns back to me. “Are those people being carried out?” I ask. He turns and confirms it. My staff are being carried down from the second floor where they sleep. I’m glad of that. I don’t want them hurt. Their conditioning will hold for months, at least, and they’ll pass any lie detector test. I can sort this mess out in that time.
But then I see people being escorted out of the Heather Building. My Heathers are escaping. How? They’re locked in individually and their collars should shock them whenever they even approach the outer walls but they’re showing no ill effects. This is different. My Heathers aren’t conditioned. There’s no fun playing with conditioned Heathers. The old Heathers probably won’t be able to give any coherent help to the police any time soon but my new Heathers will spill everything immediately. This means the police will hear their stories in an hour or two at the most.
I smile at the officer. “Good night,” I say as I return to the cab.
“Goodnight ma’am,” he replies.
I need to disappear now, so I tell the driver to take me to the airport. I’ve a wad of cash with me and I’m dressed for clubbing. Excitement bubbles up inside and I smile in anticipation. This has been the best day of my life by far and now is the topping on the cake. I don’t have any helmets I can take with me and I don’t know how to make them, but I do know who made them in the first place. I’ll have to persuade him to make more somehow as well as live on whatever I can find to live on. This is going to be a blast. And in a few years time, once I’m back, I’ll take that Heather Burn. My smile turns into an anticipatory grin. I’ve something amazing to live for. It’s going to be so much fun.