Chapter Ten

Alex Russo pushed open the heavy front door of the Russo manor, his arm slung possessively around his new wife, Kayla Russo. Two months had passed since their twisted Vegas wedding. Now, they strode into the grand hallway of the Atlantic City estate, their return from a kinky honeymoon marked by the echo of Kayla’s 6-inch platform stilettos against the marble hallway floor.

The new wife’s black vinyl micro-dress hugged her curves, and the plunging neckline dipped low enough to reveal the tips of the silver nipple clamps that painfully gripped her taut nipples. Thigh-high fishnets stretched over her legs, accentuating every step, while a thin silver chain cuffed the blond’s wrists behind her back. A studded white collar encircled her neck, snugly brushing against her skin.

Alex, in contrast, wore a plain white tee and faded jeans. His casual attire was a stark foil to his wife’s fetishistic display.

The large, intimidating Vincent Russo stood in the hallway, his broad frame filling the space as he watched his son and new daughter-in-law enter. His gray-stubbled jaw twitched into a smirk, his dark eyes gleaming with approval.

Maria Russo emerged from the sitting room to the left, her silk blouse rustling softly as she approached. The matriarch’s typical warmth was tempered by a tight smile. Dominic lingered near the stairs while little Abby darted out from behind him, her yellow sundress with floral patterns bouncing with each step. A handful of Vincent’s cronies loitered near the dining room door ahead; the smirks on their rough-and-tumble faces spoke more than their voices ever could.

“Well, look who’s back,” Vincent said, his deep baritone echoing through the hallway. “Two months of fun, I heard, eh, Alex?”

Alex grinned, his fingers clutching Kayla’s vinyl-clad hip even tighter. “You know it, Pops. We had a blast out there. Public shows, private playrooms, the whole deal. Kayla’s a real pro now, aren’t you, babe?”

Kayla stood motionless, her full lips pressed into a thin line, her blue eyes blazing with a fury she couldn’t unleash. Alex had told her that he would do the talking inside before they entered the manor, and the conditioning clamped down on her tongue, forcing silence while her mind screamed in anger.

Abby skipped forward, her tiny hands tugging at Alex’s jeans. “Did you bring me something pretty, Uncle Alex?” She asked pleadingly.

“Of course I did, kiddo,” Alex said, tousling her dark-blond curls with a lazy hand. “I got a snow globe in the car with your name on it. Daddy can grab it later.” He smiled at the child before turning his attention to her father. “So, where is Stefano hiding these days? That dumb fuck better not have got himself locked up again.”

Dominic leaned against the stair railing, his arms crossed over his charcoal blazer, a faint scowl tugging at his lips. “Stefano’s out there somewhere, probably at a casino or nightclub with that pink-haired bimbo he’s been dragging around,” he said, his tone flat but edged with irritation. “He’s been living large since he got out, so there’s no surprise there.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, his grip on Kayla’s hip loosening momentarily as he processed his brother’s words. “Wait, you mean Suzie? That little nanny’s with Stefano now?” He let out a sharp laugh, his hand sliding back to clutch his wife’s vinyl-clad ass. “Didn’t see that coming. I thought she was your pet project, Dom.”

Dominic shrugged, his hands slipping into the pockets of his charcoal blazer as he straightened from the stair railing. “She was just the nanny, Alex. Nothing more to it. Stefano saw something shiny and took it like he always does.”

Kayla’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of concern flashing across her face as she stood beside her husband. Her silver-cuffed wrists twitched behind her back, the thin chain brushing against the vinyl of her micro-dress.

She knew exactly who that pink-haired bimbo was, and the thought of Kennedy tangled up with Stefano sent a jolt of worry through her chest. The FBI agent knew her cover had been blown wide open and that Kennedy might have been her only chance at salvation. Still, she couldn’t speak, not with Alex’s command for silence and certainly not around these people who now knew her as the traitor agent. Her full lips stayed sealed.

Vincent chuckled, his massive frame shifting as he approached his sons. “Stefano’s got good taste; I’ll give him that. That little doll’s been turning heads, and he’s making sure everyone knows she’s his.”

Abby tilted her head up at her uncle, her tiny hands clasping together in front of her floral sundress, interrupting the adult conversation. “Can Daddy get my snow globe now, Uncle Alex? I want to see it.”

Dominic glanced down at his daughter, his scowl softening for a moment. “In a minute, Abby. Let Uncle Alex and Aunt Kayla get settled first. They’ve had a long trip.”

Alex tilted his head toward Dominic, his grin widening as he gave Kayla’s ass a playful squeeze. “So, Stefano’s snatched up Suzie, huh? Guess he’s got a thing for the Barbie types.” He grinned and looked at his own transformed wife. “That much runs in the family.” He chuckled, pulling Kayla in even tighter.

Vincent’s smirk widened as he clapped a heavy hand on Alex’s shoulder. “You’ve done well with Kayla, son. Two months, and she’s a proper Russo woman now. It looks like you’ve got the touch.”

Alex laughed, his fingers digging into Kayla’s vinyl-clad ass as he held her close. “Oh, I’ve got more than a touch, Pops. She’s trained up real nice. This will show the Feds what happens when they mess with us.”

Kayla’s gaze flicked to Vincent, then back to the floor. The studded collar bit into her neck with each breath, a constant reminder of her captivity. She wanted to scream, to shove Alex away, but the conditioning held her silent, her fury locked inside. The cronies near the dining room door snickered, their eyes raking over her exposed flesh, their smirks growing wider.

Abby tugged at Dominic’s blazer near the stairs on the right, her floral sundress swishing as she bounced on her toes. “Daddy, please get my snow globe now. I want to shake it!”

Dominic sighed, his hands slipping from his pockets as he glanced at his brother. “Fine, Abby. I’ll go grab it.” His tone carried a bite, his gaze flicking to Kayla’s fetish-clad form before settling on Alex. His brother threw him the car keys, and he left with his dirty-blond-haired daughter to grab her gift.

Vincent turned to the cronies, his smirk widening. “Get the bags from the car. Let’s get them settled.” He nodded at Alex, stepping back as the men shuffled toward the front door, their boots scuffing the marble.

Alex leaned in, his breath warm against Kayla’s ear. “Time to introduce Atlantic City to the newest Russo bitch.” He straightened, his grin flashing as he guided his bride toward the sitting room on the left, her stilettos clicking sharply.

Kayla followed, her silver-cuffed wrists held firmly behind her. The cronies’ laughter faded as they moved outside, leaving her bound and silent in Alex’s grip, a captive centerpiece inside the Russo mansion.

❖

Stefano Russo strutted through The Diamond Flush, Atlantic City’s flashiest casino nightclub, his arm hooked around Kennedy like a trophy on display.

Over the past two months, Stefano had molded Kennedy into his ideal bimbo, exploiting Dr. Foster and Jeremy’s conditioning to amp up his submissiveness and ditziness until “Suzie Taylor” was a perfect, brainless doll.

Tonight, Kennedy tottered beside his new man in a neon pink PVC crop top stamped with “Daddy’s Girl” in sparkling rhinestones, the fabric clinging to his enhanced F-cup chest. A pleated micro-skirt barely covered his plump ass, flaring with each step, while 6-inch glittery stilettos forced a seductive sway into his gait. A teased-up pink bouffant crowned his head, and a slim pink choker with a heart pendant dangled around his neck.

The glitzy nightclub buzzed with energy, velvet booths packed with wealthy East-coast socialites and high rollers, the dance floor alive with writhing bodies. Stefano’s sharp black suit hung open, exposing a swath of chest hair against tanned skin, his stride oozing the swagger of a fugitive beyond the law’s reach. His crew trailed behind, a rough bunch in mismatched jackets, their eyes glued to Kennedy’s PVC-clad curves as he clung to their boss.

Duke Alfonso sprawled in a booth near the bar, his red shirt unbuttoned to his navel, a tumbler of whiskey cradled in his hand. His sister, Charisma, perched beside him, her purple mini-dress riding high on her thighs, the glossy fabric catching the neon glow as she sipped a martini. Chad lounged next to her, his tight tank top hugging his muscled frame, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. The trio looked up as Stefano swaggered over, Kennedy in tow, their faces a mix of curiosity and strain.

Stefano stopped at Duke’s booth; his grin was sharp and taunting as he tugged Kennedy closer, pressing the bimbo’s vinyl-clad body against his side. “Take a good look, man. My little pink-haired bimbo looks good, doesn’t she?” He ran a hand down Kennedy’s bare arm, his fingers lingering near the rhinestone-studded crop top, his eyes locked on Duke’s tightening grip.

Duke swirled the whiskey in his tumbler, his jaw clenching as he stared at Kennedy’s glittering stilettos and teased-up bouffant. He tried not to get caught up in the family drama of a much more powerful family. “She’s looking real fancy, Stefano. Guess you’ve been playing dress-up with her since you stole her from me.” His voice stayed low, but the venom in it was thick.

Kennedy giggled, a shrill chirp forced by his conditioning, his manicured fingers twirling a strand of his pink bouffant as he pressed closer to his captor. “Oh my gosh, like, Stefano’s totally the best ever!” His voice bubbled with fake glee, the programming making his skin flush under Duke’s glare while his mind screamed in trapped fury.

Stefano smirked, his hand sliding down to squeeze Kennedy’s ass through the micro-skirt, his gaze still fixed on Duke. “Stole her? Nah, man, I just took what’s mine. I’m untouchable in this damn town.” He boasted. “I’m living the high life and got this little slut on my arm to string along.”

“The Cops can’t go anywhere near me, and neither can you, Duke.” He turned his head toward the bar, his grin sharpening as he nudged Chad. “See that guy in the gray jacket? Undercover cop. Thinks he’s slick.”

Chad tilted his head, squinting at the man in the gray jacket sipping a drink at the bar. “No shit? You’re just letting him sit there like that?” His broad grin flashed as he leaned forward, intrigued by the game.

Stefano raised a hand and waved mockingly at the man at the bar, his grin widening as the undercover cop stiffened but kept his eyes on his drink. “Yeah, Chad, I let him sit there. He’s got nothing on me. I’ve been free two months, and the cops are too busy pocketing my cash to care.” He turned back to the booth, his voice loud with bravado. “He’s been tasked with staking me out, but he’s going to tell his boss in the morning that he couldn’t find me.”

Charisma leaned back in the booth, crossing her legs so her mini-dress slid higher, her martini glass tilting as she smiled at Stefano. “You’re a cocky bastard, waving at the pigs like that. Guess money does do the talking in AC if you have the right last name.” Her tone carried a playful bite, her eyes flicking to the cop at the bar, then back to Stefano’s smug face.

Stefano laughed, squeezing Kennedy’s ass playfully. “Having muscle nearby doesn’t hurt either. I ain’t hiding from nobody,” the brash Russo declared. He waved again at the undercover cop, who shifted uncomfortably on his barstool, his eyes lowering to avoid eye contact. “We’re the golden couple, isn’t that right, babe?” He coyly asked his new catch.

Kennedy nodded, his conditioning jolting him with a shiver of forced pleasure at Stefano’s pet name. “Like, oh my gosh, totally, babe! We’re, like, super golden!” His voice squeaked out in a high-pitched chirp, the words a humiliating echo of Stefano’s taunt, while inside he clawed at the mental cage locking him into this role.

Duke leaned forward, his whiskey tumbler thudding onto the table as he fixed Stefano with a hard stare. “Golden couple, huh? You’re a real big shot. Just don’t trip over your own hyper-inflated ego, Stefano.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, his fingers flexing as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Without responding, Stefano grinned and pulled Kennedy backward in a surprising, lustful kiss. The pink-haired transformed journalist gasped as his body fluttered with unwanted heat. The activity was turning him on, and he couldn’t turn it off.

“Me and my babe are gonna go dance.” Stefano softly bit her lower lip. “Catch you losers later.” He led Stefano away from the group, with Chad and Charisma waving goodbye and Duke silently seething at being one-upped again.

❖

The following morning, Kayla stepped into the dining room of the Russo manor, her 5-inch stilettos clicking softly on the polished hardwood floor. Morning sunlight streamed through the heavy curtains, casting golden streaks across the long mahogany table beneath the chandelier.

Alex had picked her outfit out for the day. The red latex catsuit hugged her curves, unzipped to her sternum to reveal a tantalizing overindulgence of cleavage without baring her entire breasts, the glossy fabric shimmering in the sunlight. She stretched her arms, free of cuffs for the first time since arriving yesterday afternoon, her sexy, blond hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

Maria Russo stood near the long table, her sleek silk bedroom robe shimmering in the light, hiding the casual pajamas she was wearing beneath. She turned to Kayla with a warm smile, her hands clasped in front of her. “Bella, dear, you must be exhausted after yesterday. Come sit, relax for a bit.”

Alex Russo lounged against the wall, his casual white tee and jeans a lazy backdrop to his wife’s fetishistic display. He smirked, watching Maria lead Kayla toward a cushioned chair with armrests, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He knew what was coming, and his mother’s use of his wife’s undercover name made him chuckle.

Kayla hesitated, then nodded, trusting Maria’s familiar warmth from their two-year friendship, however fake it had been on her part. She needed an ally in this environment, and Kayla knew she could pull on the older woman’s heartstrings. She had done so for the last two years. “Thanks, Maria, I could use a break.” She lowered herself into the chair, placing her hands on the armrests, her fingers brushing the soft fabric as she settled in.

Suddenly, and without warning, velcro straps snapped shut around Kayla’s wrists and ankles with a hasty, sharp crack, pinning her to the chair. She gasped, her body jerking against the restraints, but they held tight, the straps digging into her skin. Maria’s smile vanished, her eyes narrowing as she leaned closer. “Relaxing’s done, Bella. Or should I call you Kayla now?”

Alex laughed, pushing off the wall with a casual grin. “I’ll let you handle it, Ma. She’s all yours.” He sauntered toward the dining room door, tossing a final smirk at his trapped wife before slipping out into the hallway, leaving the two women alone.

Maria’s face hardened, her silk robe swishing as she towered over Kayla. “You lied to me, you treacherous little snake. I trusted you, welcomed you into my home, and it was all a sham.” She slapped Kayla across the face, the sound sharp and jarring, her hand trembling with rage as a red mark bloomed on Kayla’s cheek. “Two damn years of it!”

Kayla’s head snapped to the side, her breath catching as she tugged against the tough velcro straps, her wrists and ankles straining uselessly. “Maria, wait, it wasn’t all a lie.” She pleaded. “I cared about you, I swear; those two years meant everything to me!” Her voice quivered with a desperate edge, her blue eyes wide with feigned sincerity as she tried to pull on Maria’s heartstrings, though a flicker of defiance simmered beneath her plea.

Maria’s laugh was harsh and bitter as she approached the table and picked up a pair of scissors. “Cared about me? You’re a filthy liar who played me for a fool.” She demonstrated the scissors in front of Kayla’s horrified face. “You don’t deserve any sympathy from me, you lying tramp.”

Maria stepped up behind the undercover agent and seized her hair with a fierce grip, yanking Kayla’s head back as the scissors gleamed in her hand. She snipped at the blond strands, her movements quick and ruthless, cutting uneven chunks that fell in a messy cascade around the chair. “Everything you said was a lie, every smile, every moment.” She hissed, her voice thick with venom as she hacked away, leaving Kayla’s hair a jagged ruin.

Kayla twisted against the velcro straps, her wrists and ankles straining as the scissors flashed near her face. “Maria, stop, please, I’m telling you the truth!” Her plea broke into a sharp gasp, her eyes wide with panic as the last of her long locks tumbled to the floor, her deception faltering under Maria’s fury.

Maria dropped the scissors onto the table with a clatter, grabbing a pair of ominous clippers that buzzed to life with a menacing hum. “The truth? You wouldn’t know it if it bit you in that oversized ass of yours.” She pressed the clippers to Kayla’s scalp and started shaving off every remaining strand, the golden stubble falling away until her head was smooth and bare, a stark canvas of her humiliation.

Once she had finished, Maria tossed the clippers aside, the buzzing fading into silence as she picked up a small bottle of lotion from the table. “You’re done pretending.” She slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and poured the permanent hair-loss lotion onto her hands, rubbing it into Kayla’s bare scalp with rough, deliberate strokes, the sharp chemical scent stinging the air as she ensured no regrowth would ever mark her again. “You’re just a toy now. My boy’s toy.”

Kayla gasped sharply, and a solitary tear ran down her face as the lotion burned faintly into her scalp. Her eyes blazed with a mix of panic and defiance. “Maria, you don’t have to do this, I’m begging you!” Her voice cracked, her desperate plea echoing her earlier deception, but the matriarch had already started her revenge and created irreparable damage.

Maria let her angry scowl drop and grinned at her handwork, her gloved hands lingering on Kayla’s scalp as the lotion set. “Begging won’t change a thing, Kayla. You’ve lost that privilege.”

The matriarch peeled off the gloves, tossing them onto the table, and reached into a nearby box, pulling out a platinum blond wig with two high, bouncing pigtails that framed an artificial sheen, its plastic texture shimmered under the lights glow.

Kayla took a deep breath, her wrists tugging futilely against the velcro straps as Maria dangled the wig before her eyes. “Maria, don’t, I’m serious, you don’t have to do this!” Her plea quivered with desperation, her blue eyes stretched wide as she tried to cling to the fading hope of swaying the older woman.

Maria’s grin sharpened, her silk robe rustling as she pressed the platinum blond wig onto Kayla’s bald scalp, the high, bouncing pigtails framing her face with a cheap, plastic sheen. “Oh, I do have to do this, Kayla. You’ve earned every bit of it.” She smoothed the new hairpiece into place, her fingers firm as the solvent attached to the inside of the wig began to set against her new bald skin.

Maria stepped back, her grin widening as she picked up a vial of solvent from the table, admiring the view before her. “This will keep it permanent.” She showed Kayla the front of the vial as if to mock her. “Alex has the solvent and removal solution, just in case he wants to switch your style or color. You’re his little doll now, Kayla.”

Kayla tugged harder but to no avail, and her voice rose with panic. “Help me, Maria. This isn’t right!” Her plea cracked, her body trembling as the reality of her new look sank in, the high pigtails framing her face like a cruel, silly caricature of her former self.

Maria tilted her head, her grin twisting into a cruel smirk as she reached out, gripping the platinum blond pigtails. She tugged hard, testing its hold, her fingers slipping over the artificial strands that refused to budge from Kayla’s scalp. “Not coming off, is it? Good, that’s exactly how you’ll look from now on.” Her voice dripped with satisfaction, her silk robe shifting as she pulled once more, ensuring the solvent had locked it tight.

Kayla’s wrists jerked against the velcro straps, her ankles straining as the pigtails bounced with Maria’s pull. “Maria, please, you’ve made your point, let me go! I’ll disappear and never come back!” Her plea trembled with desperation, her blue eyes wide and pleading.

Maria released the wig, stepping back with a cold laugh, her hands brushing against her robe. “My point? Oh, Kayla, this is justice, and you’re going to see it every day you stare at yourself in the mirror.” She smoothed her hair, her smile widening as she admired the ridiculous pigtails framing Kayla’s face, a plastic mockery of her former elegance.

The matriarch turned toward the dining room door, her robe swishing as she moved. “I think it’s time to bring Alex back into the room.” She chuckled, “He needs to see the new you, all dolled up just for him.”

Her tone was sharp, final, as the older woman strode out, leaving Kayla bound to the chair. Kayla’s eyes blazed with silent rage at Maria’s betrayal. The woman had sealed the foiled agent’s fate as Alex’s permanent plaything.

❖

As the day turned into late afternoon, Alex Russo pushed open the heavy door to the VIP room at Lavender Pleasures. His arm, as always, was slung around Kayla Russo’s waist as he guided her inside. The faint thrum of club music from the main room pulsed through the walls.

Kayla’s sheer black babydoll dress clung impressively to her curves and left nothing to the imagination. Her garters dangled loosely over her bare thighs, with no panties beneath, and her 6-inch stilettos clicking on the hardwood floor. A buzzing plug hummed in her ass, of which Alex had the controlling remote, while her platinum blond wig with high, bouncing pigtails framed her face.

Butch, Raf, and Sal sat lazily across the black leather couches, their casual shirts and slacks wrinkled from hours of drinking, empty bottles scattered on the table.

The trio’s eyes lit up as Alex shoved Kayla forward, her stilettos echoing in the dimly lit room. Alex grinned, his white tee tight across his chest as he surveyed his buddies. “I’ve hired this room all night, boys. No one’s bothering us till dawn, so get comfortable.” He squeezed Kayla’s waist before whispering in her ear. “Be eager and willing, babe, give ’em a show.”

Kayla’s conditioning snapped into place, Dr. Foster’s programming forcing a smile onto her lips despite the fury raging in her mind. “Mmm, yes, baby.” Her voice chirped with false excitement, her body responding with unwanted heat as she stepped closer, her inner rage clawing at Alex’s command. “Who wants some fun?”

Butchwas the first to stand up and approach the transformed beauty, his thick fingers brushing her pigtails, pulling back at the plastic feel. “What’s with this fake-ass hair, Bella? It feels like some cheap doll shit.” His gravelly laugh rumbled as he grabbed his beer, his eyes raking over her bare thighs.

Raf leaned forward on the couch, a smirk tugging at his lips as he set his bottle down. “It’s no more fake than the rest of her, Butch. Look at those inviting lips and round-ass tits.” He unbuttoned his shirt halfway, his lean frame shifting as he eyed her up and down. “She looks like a goddamn pornstar.”

Sal chuckled, sprawling back as he tossed an empty bottle aside. “You’re right, Raf. We all know how much she fucks like one.” He rubbed his hands together, his wiry frame tensing as he watched her approach, his slacks already tightening. “I’d love to try her out again if her new husband agrees, of course.”

Alex grinned, his hand sliding off Kayla’s waist as he stepped back. “Oh, I agree, Sal. She’s all yours, boys. Start her off, Raf; give her a good ride.” He leaned against the wall, pulling the plug’s remote from his pocket, his thumb hovering over the controls.

Raf stood, unbuttoning his shirt fully, and he grabbed Kayla roughly by the arm, pulling her onto the couch. “Come here, Bella, Kayla, whatever the fuck your name is. Let’s see those lips work.”

The mobster shoved her down, unzipping his slacks and freeing his cock, thrusting it into her bright, painted mouth with a rough jerk. His hands gripped her new pigtails, the plastic strands stiff under his fingers as he fucked her throat hard, his groans loud and crude. “Suck it good, you little slut,” he snarled, slamming deeper as Kayla gagged, her conditioning forcing her to comply, her lips stretching wide while her mind screamed in revulsion.

Butch lumbered over, his meaty hands yanking Kayla off Raf mid-thrust, her lips leaving a wet pop as she gasped. “Move it, asshole; I want that ass.” He flipped her onto her knees on the couch, pulling the buzzing plug out with a rough tug, tossing it aside as it clattered to the floor.

The hulking man unzipped his own pants, his thick cock springing free, and thrusted into her ass, already puckered open from the plug. His hips slammed against the blond with force. “Fuck, she’s tight,” he grunted, spanking her hard, the crack echoing as red welts bloomed on her skin, his thrusts relentless.

Kayla’s body rocked forward, her conditioning forcing a loud moan from her throat. “Oh yes, Butch, harder!” Her voice quivered with fake lust, her mind seething with disgust as his hands gripped her hips, bruising her flesh with each savage pump, her inner rage boiling beneath the act. What angered her the most was that her body was actually getting hotter the more she was used. This was turning her on.

Raf knelt in front of her, shoving his cock back into her mouth, his fingers twisting her pigtails. “Keep sucking, bitch, you’re not done.” He thrust deep, gagging the FBI agent again, his lean frame tensing as he fucked her throat, his groans mixing with Butch’s. “Fuck! She’s a pro, Alex,” he panted, slamming harder as spit dripped down her chin.

Sal pushed Butch aside, “My turn, Fuckers. Spread those legs.” He twisted her onto her back, ripping the sheer dress up to her waist. Her mouth never left Raf’s cock as she was repositioned. Sal pushed his own cock deep inside her wet, needy pussy. “Take it, you little whore,” he snarled, pounding hard, his hands groping her chest, pinching her nipples through the fabric until she yelped, her conditioning making it sound like a moan of pleasure.

A topless VIP waitress strutted in, her bare torso exposed above a black thong and heels, a tray of bottles in her hands. “Fresh round, boys?” Her voice purred as she leaned over, handing out beers while the men grunted their approval.

“Keep it coming, Bambi!” Butch said as the waitress stepped back, watching as Sal slammed into Kayla, his thrusts brutal and unrelenting.

Butch shoved Sal off, his massive frame looming as he kept Kayla’s legs apart. “Outta the way, runt, I’m finishing this.” He thrust into her needy slit, his thick cock stretching her wide. “Fuck, she’s dripping for it,” he snarled, spanking her ass again, the welts darkening as he drove her into the couch. The waitress shook her head and sauntered out of the room.

Raf grabbed the blond’s fake hair, pulling her head back to shove his cock deeper into her throat. “Swallow it, slut,” he grunted as he paused, and shot his cum deep down her throat. Kayla’s conditioning forced her to gulp it down, her eyes blazing with defiance she couldn’t voice.

Sal reapproached with his dick in his hand, stroking it fast over Kayla’s sprawled form. “Fuck, she’s too good,” he panted, his breath ragged as he jerked himself to completion. The wiry man groaned and his cum splattering across her exhausted body, landing on her barely covered chest as Butch continued to fuck her.

Butch gripped Kayla’s hips tighter, his massive frame tensing as he slammed into her pussy one last time. “Take it all, you filthy slut,” he growled crudely, his cock pulsing as he also emptied his load inside of her. After several final thrusts, he pulled out, panting hard and stepping back, wiping sweat from his brow.

The men sank onto the couches, their laughter rough as they grabbed the waitress’s left beers. “She’s unreal, Alex,” Raf said, his voice hoarse as he chugged his drink. Sal nodded, sprawled back.

“She fucks like a champ, man.” Butch grinned, tossing an empty bottle aside. “A real professional.”

Alex stepped forward, inspecting Kayla’s ruined state as she lay trembling, her dress tangled and ripped while her body was spent and slick with their cum.

“Hear that, babe? You’re a star now.” He leaned close, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “Might make this a weekly thing, huh? Fuck-Me Fridays with Kinky Kayla.” His voice oozed mockery, his grin sharp as he pulled back, leaving her broken on the couch.

Kayla’s mind roared with fury, her eyes blazing with defiance as she lay there. She was exhausted, and her pulsing, hot body betrayed the anger she felt. The blond lay on the table in a wet, horny, well-fucked mess as the men toasted a beer.

❖

Stefano Russo slammed his beer bottle onto the rustic wooden table at The Rusty Anchor. His laugh boomed over the smoky din of the gritty Boardwalk bar. Kennedy sat pressed against him in the booth, his glittery silver tube dress clinging to his enhanced undercover curves; the tight and shiny material looked out of place in the dive bar. His 6-inch matching platforms rested on the sticky floor, and a high ponytail swung behind him.

Dominic sat across from the pair, his dark blazer a sharp note against the casual sprawl of Stefano’s cronies occupying several booths. The elder Russo son had a serious gaze fixed on his fugitive brother, a flicker of concern in his eyes. Tony Costa, Vincent’s lieutenant tasked with reining Stefano in, sat beside him; his presence was a steady and serious anchor amid the rowdy group laughing at Stefano’s latest quip.

“We’re throwing a bash at Dad’s place tomorrow night,” Stefano said, his voice brimming with reckless energy. “Gonna be a hell of a time, boys.” He squeezed Kennedy’s waist and pulled him closer. “Got my party prize right here. Suzie’s the main event, aren’t you babe?”

Kennedy giggled as his conditioning triggered a forced response. “Oh my gosh, like, totally, babe!” His voice bubbled with forced cheer, but his mind churned with unease.

Dominic took a measured sip of his beer and set it down. “You’re riding this freedom pretty hard, Stefano. Dad might not like how loose you’re playing it.” His tone stayed calm, but a hint of worry underscored his words as he watched his brother’s grin widen.

Stefano waved him off and grabbed another bottle. “Relax, Dom, I’ve got it covered. After the party, we’re back to work. Trust me, Dad will like what I have planned.” He leaned back and patted Kennedy’s thigh. “Oh, and you best find a new nanny. Suzie’s mine now.” His smirk grew as he changed the subject, his hand rising up and squeezing Kennedy’s plastic chest.

Dominic tilted his head slightly and kept his gaze steady. “Talking of getting back to work,” he paused for a moment. “How in the world did you figure out that FBI bitch’s identity anyway?” His question prompted silence at the nearby booths. Everyone wanted to know.

Stefano grinned a toothy smile as he leaned forward and set his bottle down. “It turns out my cellmate was an informant for Peter Lutz, the FBI crank we buried a while back,” Stefano whispered. “He got locked up after refusing to report for the pig anymore.” Stefano took another swig of his beer.

“Anyway, he saw that bitch with Lutz in a dive bar just like this way back. He spilled it to me after Alex got out. I did a bit of digging and found out who she really was.” He sat back with a smug nod, his Hawaiian shirt flapping open as he stretched. “You can be pretty productive when you got nothing to do but read and lift weights.”

Kennedy shifted against Stefano, his stomach tightening as the words sank in. His own identity hung by a thread, and the revelation about Kayla sent a chill through him. He thought about his own predicament. What if someone had seen him with Jeremy or noticed him sneaking around with Kayla previously. Despite his concerns, the conditioning kept his smile bright.

Vincent’s right-hand man, Tony Costa, leaned forward and fixed Stefano with a hard stare. “You need to keep that quiet. Vincent won’t be happy if that story gets around.” His voice was firm, his role as Vincent’s watchdog clear in his clipped tone. “I’m here to keep you out of trouble, and you’re not making it easy for me.”

Stefano laughed and slapped the table with his palm. “Lighten up, Tony. It’s all good fun. What’s Dad gonna do, ground me?” He turned to Kennedy and squeezed the pink-haired undercover journalist’s chest again. “Wasn’t I smart, babe?”

Kennedy’s giggled again, his voice squeaking. “Oh my gosh, like, totally smart!” His mind raced with dread, his smile a mask as he pressed closer to Stefano, the weight of Kayla’s exposure pressing on his own fragile secret.

A burly crony at the next booth raised his beer with a rough grin. “You’re a genius, Stefano! Outsmarted those Fed assholes even as you were locked up!” His laugh echoed as the others clinked their bottles, their cheers filling the smoky air.

Dominic shook his head slightly. “It’s a good story, but Tony’s right.” He warned, “You’re too loose with it. Don’t assume everything will fall your way. He finished his beer and set the bottle down.

Stefano stood and pulled his date up with him, his grip firm on the bimbo’s waist. “That’s enough serious talk for now, Dom.” He turned his attention to Kennedy. “Let’s head back to Dad’s place for some fun, babe.” He grinned before tugging the undercover journalist towards the exit.

Kennedy followed, his platforms clicking on the hardwood as he kept pace, and he held his smile in place. His gaze darted across the bar, and his eyes widened as he landed on a familiar figure. Jeremy lurked near the far wall, watching him with a steady stare all this time. Kennedy’s heart thudded hard, his mind spinning with panic as Stefano led him out. The Russo twin’s arm stayed tight around the bimbo’s waist, guiding him toward the door, oblivious to the sight Kennedy had just spotted.

❖

Two hours later, Kennedy sat on the plush pink bed in his bedroom at the Russo manor. Stefano loomed over him after their return from The Rusty Anchor and pawed at him with his calloused hands. The twin pressed his lips against Kennedy’s neck with a hungry urge; his fingers traced the edges of the glittery silver tube dress and lingered on the fabric covering Kennedy’s E-cup breasts. Kennedy’s skin prickled under the unwanted touch, but his conditioning continued to keep him in place.

Stefano scooted closer on the bed and deepened his kisses along Kennedy’s soft, feminine jawline. He slid one hand up the pink-haired bimbo’s thigh with a slow, deliberate squeeze that made the feminized man’s stomach twist. Stefano’s other hand tugged at the dress’s hem and pulled it halfway off with barely a grunt of effort. The cool air hit Kennedy’s bare skin as Stefano’s groping intensified. His breath grew hot against the undercover journalist’s ear while his fingers dug into the soft flesh beneath the fabric.

Kennedy tensed as Stefano’s hands roamed further over his curvaceous body and began fondling his impressive chest with a possessive grip. Stefano kissed him hard on the lips and forced his tongue inside with a rough thrust. The weight of the Russo man’s body pinned Kennedy against the bed while his hands squeezed and kneaded relentlessly. His drunken intent pressed down on Kennedy until the buzz of Stefano’s phone broke through it all. Stefano sighed and pulled back with a curse before fishing it from his pocket.

He answered the phone. “Yea, not much man, just with my girl.” He listened, a gentle smirk running across his face “Yeah, sure, I’ll be there” as his twin brother’s voice crackled faintly from Lavender Pleasures with an invitation.

Stefano hung up and turned to Kennedy with a grin. “Don’t wait up, babe. I’ve got somewhere to be.” He planted one last hard kiss on Kennedy’s lips and playfully twisted the bimbo’s nipple before standing and heading out the door.

Kennedy exhaled a shaky breath as the door clicked shut behind his man. Relief washed over him at being left alone for the first time in hours. He sat up on the bed and pulled the silver dress back over his curves with trembling fingers; his 7-inch platforms clicked on the floor as he stood and smoothed the fabric into place. He could still feel Stefano’s fondling paws all over him.

The feminized man left his room and crossed the hallway into Maria’s mirrored vanity, staring into his reflection. The dress hugged his body deliciously and stood as a glaring emblem of “Suzie” swallowing him whole. His mind replayed the forced giggles at The Rusty Anchor and the way he’d melted under Stefano’s hands just moments ago. Each memory twisted his gut tighter with dread. He pictured Kayla’s ruined fate—her identity stripped bare for all to see and her body paraded and broken by the Russos’ cruelty.

Kennedy’s thoughts churned into a storm of panic. He couldn’t let this nightmare stretch on any longer. If he didn’t do something soon, he’d end up like Kayla, trapped in a nightmare with no hope of escape. The conditioning from Dr. Foster and Jeremy made his body crave the role with every grope and pet name. He hated how it responded so eagerly to the torment, and he finally resolved to act before that fate claimed him completely.

He turned from the mirror and moved toward the closet door, his heels clicking with purpose as he stepped into the hallway. Determination surged through him and drowned out the panic for a fleeting moment. He had to act now or risk losing himself forever to this twisted game.

❖

Kennedy crept through the dimly-lit late-night hallway, his 7-inch platforms clicking annoyingly on the floor as he made his way to the dungeon. He landed on the forbidden level and slowly moved towards his target. As Kennedy approached, he pushed open the dungeon door and slipped inside, where he was greeted with red brick walls decorated with chains, cuffs, and paddles. He scanned around until the pink-haired man found what he was looking for: a tall glass-fronted display box that stood in the corner of the room with a faint glow illuminating its captive.

The feminized man tottered closer and froze as he recognized Alyssa Scaletti trapped within the box. She stood encased in a black latex full-body catsuit that hugged every curve from head to toe. A rubber hood covered her face with a tall red ponytail jutting out. Her blue eyes peered through the hood’s narrow slits, and her mouth stretched wide around a long cock panel gag. A black armbinder pulled her arms tightly behind her and uncomfortably kept them locked and helpless, and cuffed black ballet boots arched her feet painfully. Finally, a corsetted black leather strap wrapped around her waist to hold her rigid against the box’s interior.

Kennedy fumbled with the latch on the glass door and swung it open with a subtle creak. His hands trembled wildly as he reached for Alyssa’s restraints. He unbuckled the corseted strap around her waist first as it detached from the rubberized doll, hanging along the back of the box. Next, he knelt to uncuff the ballet boots, his fingers slipping on the metal before they clicked free.

The undercover journalist stood and worked the armbinder loose, easing her arms out of its grip with careful pulls. Finally, he grasped the long cock panel gag and tugged it from the former personal assistant’s mouth, the wet sound making him wince as it dropped aside. “I should have done this when I first found you, Alyssa. I need your help.” His voice shook with desperation as he pleaded for her aid.

Alyssa flexed her jaw with a soft groan as she stumbled out of the box, her blue eyes glistening with relief. She was still wearing the ballet boots, but her forced training meant that she tottered around like a trained ballerina. She rubbed her freed wrists and looked at Kennedy. “Thank you,” she muttered, although the guilty glint in her eye betrayed her words.

Kennedy nodded and turned around. “We need to get out of here before Vincent or one of his sons gets back,” he said urgently.

Alyssa stared at the floor, as if she was fighting with her own conscience. As one part of her brain won out, she took a thick wooden paddle off the wall and stepped towards her scantily clad former fling.

“I’m sorry, Suzie.” Kennedy’s eyes widened at Alyssa’s words. The redhead didn’t even know who he truly was. As he turned back around, it was too late. Alyssa smacked Kennedy around the back of the head as hard as she could, knocking the pink-haired beauty to the ground. “I - I can’t go back in there,” Alyssa said shakily as Kennedy felt drowsy and drifted off to unconsciousness.

Kennedy stirred awake with a throbbing pain pulsing through his skull. His body felt constricted, and he blinked slowly to clear the fog from his mind. A tight rubber hood encased his head, pressing against his face with narrow slits for his eyes. His mouth was filled with a long phallic object down his throat as a panel gag kept him silent.

The confused man tried to move his arms but found them locked behind his back in a rigid leather armbinder that pinned them helplessly together. His feet ached in black ballet boots that forced them into an unnatural arch and were cuffed together.

A strap around his waist gripped him tightly and held him upright against something solid. Panic crept in as he realized he couldn’t shift his position. And then he felt it—the hum of vibrating plugs buried deep in his pussy and ass, buzzing relentlessly.

Kennedy’s vision cleared as he registered the transparent cabinet door closed in front of him. He caught a faint reflection in the glass and pieced it together slowly. The black latex catsuit hugged his body from head to toe, and a tall red ponytail jutted from the rubber hood wrapped around his face. His own pink locks had disappeared, tucked away beneath the hood that now defined him. Kennedy looked just as Alyssa did when he entered the dungeon.

Kennedy’s eyes adjusted beyond the glass, and he shifted his gaze away from his own trapped reflection. A figure stood before him, and his breath caught as he took her in piece by piece.

First, he noticed the familiar glittery silver tube dress hugging a curvaceous frame, the fabric stretched tight over hips that weren’t his own. Then, his focus climbed to the ponytail swaying gently, but the hair spilling from it gleamed a vivid red instead of his dyed pink. His 7-inch platforms adorned her feet, lifting her stance with confidence. Finally, he met Alyssa’s face—her natural red locks framed her features, her blue eyes glistening with guilt as she stared back at him.

Alyssa stepped closer to the bound and gagged undercover journalist, her hands fidgeting with the hem of the silver dress as she struggled to meet his gaze. “I can’t go back in there, Suzie. I can’t spend another day as that asshole’s slave.” Her voice trembled with fear as she justified her betrayal to the figure she only knew as Suzie, unaware that it was the man who unintentionally put her in that position in the first place. She brushed a tear from her cheek and shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

Kennedy’s muffled pleas strained against the gag as he twisted in the latex suit; his arms were useless in the binder, and his cuffed ballet boots made it impossible to step forward. The corseted strap held him rigid while the plugs buzzed mercilessly inside him. His eyes blazed with panic and betrayal through the hood’s slits as Alyssa’s words sank in.

She took a final look at Kennedy and pressed her lips together to stifle a sob before she backed away from the box, her shoes clicking with each retreating step. She turned and ran out of the dungeon, leaving her former lover to his fate.

Kennedy thrashed against the restraints futily as the reality of his entrapment crashed over him. The rubber hood muffled his cries into faint, desperate sounds while the fake red ponytail marked his new anonymity as Vincent’s doll. His body ached from the boots and plugs, and the armbinder kept his struggles useless.

Alyssa’s betrayal buried his identity deeper than ever as he remained locked in the glowing box, a silent prisoner who could only wait and see what came next.

❖

Duke Alfonso drunkenly slumped on a couch in the Russo manor living room with Chad and Charisma sprawled nearby. Empty bottles cluttered the coffee table between them after hours of drinking. Their slurred laughter filled the space as they tossed crude jokes back and forth. The trio’s senses dulled from the booze, which kept them oblivious to anything beyond their stupor.

Duke heard a clicking noise and glanced toward the hallway with bleary eyes, squinting at a figure slipping out the manor’s front door. He recognized the silver dress Kennedy had worn earlier at the dive bar but wondered if he was imagining things.

His drunken vision blurred the details as Alyssa fled in the stolen outfit with her red hair tied in a tight ponytail. “Is that Suzie running off?” Duke muttered under his breath with a sloppy frown forming on his face. He shrugged it off and sank deeper into the couch, too wasted to give a damn.

Duke’s slurred mutter drifted through the living room while Kennedy stood trapped in the slave display box upstairs. The black latex catsuit and rubber hood held him rigid, with a fake red ponytail jutting out as he strained against the corseted strap, pinning him in place. His muffled panic was hidden behind each breath he tried to draw through the gag.

Kennedy’s ears caught the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the dungeon door from the hallway beyond. The thuds echoed with a masculine weight too deliberate to be Alyssa’s fleeing clicks. His heart hammered against his chest as the noise grew louder and temporarily moved his attention from the plugs buzzing away inside of him. The footsteps paused, and the handle began to turn. Kennedy’s blue eyes widened behind the mask of anonymity as the door opened, and someone entered the room.

End of Chapter 10