The Gift of the Ball Thief

By DX

Copyrighted 4/2024, all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced in any format without the author’s permission.

 He watched her from across the street.

 She lived in a quaint, charming house in the middle of the block, like the candy and gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods that lured prey in.  Her front yard was a tiny maze of bursting roses, and every year the block association presented her with a certificate for most beautiful floral display.

 But she wasn’t a witch.

 She was the Ball Thief.

 Her real name was Candice Starling, and back in the day she was the focus of every boy’s wet dream.  Her hair was black as night, and her eyes as cool as winter.  She had strong, full lips permanently shaped in a bemused smile.  Her wholesome, fulsome breasts were magically light, and somehow bigger than her callipygous hips.

 She wore high heels, even when tending to her magnificent roses, and her tiny feet danced like giggling fairies.

 When the kids played in the street, eventually a badly thrown ball would smash into her roses, splinter their delicate limbs, and scatter petals everywhere.

 More often than not, a ball smashed her front window, or dented her screen door, or cracked the siding of her house.

 Even in her controlled, steaming vexation, she was alluring, and the kids would gather and stare as she chided them.  “You must learn to be mindful of other people’s things.”  She would always say.  “You may have your ball back when you return with a parent.”

 No parent ever came.  No ball was ever returned.

 Now, twenty years later, maybe twenty-five, he stood across the street and watched as she came out with coveralls clinging to her wonderful curves and picked apart a load of cinderblocks she had delivered to her driveway.  She hadn’t aged.  The few strands of grey only highlighted her hair.  Her cheeks deepened as her looks soaked in.  Her curves became more curvier, and she was still certainly the subject of every wet dream.

 His wet dream.

 He walked across the street, not because he wanted too, he could watch her haul cement blocks all day, but because he couldn’t look away and was quickly becoming a voyeur.

 She looked up as he approached her, and her steel blue eyes snatched his breath and stopped him from introducing himself.

 “William!”  She said with a breathy smile.  “How are you?”

 William was stunned to silence and only stammered before he regained his footing  “Miss Starling!  You remember me?”  He laughed breathlessly in surprise.  “After all these years.”

 “Of course, and please, call me Candice.  You were in my class in the eighth grade.”  She said knowingly.  “You were all about word problems.  You loved logic.”  Her smile deepened.  “I used to stay up and write them just for you.”

 “I’m honored, and flattered.”  He managed to say.

 “You were an excellent student.  One of my best.”  She pulled off her work gloves and shook his hand.  “How have you been?  You went to work for that big firm… United, something something.”

 He shook her hand and marveled at its softness.  “United Conglomerate Corpora.  Over twenty years now.”  His voice saddened.

 Her face showed his pain.  “Oh, I heard, they just…”

 He shrugged.  “Crumbled like a house of cards.”  His voice lowered.  “We had agreed to stock options instead of a retirement plan.”  He grunted.  “All gone now.”  He forced himself to smile with retuned energy.  “I have prospects, and many, many options.”  He said brightly, then motioned back across the street.  “I’m with Mom until the dust settles.  And she needs the help.”

 “Of course.”  Candice said sympathetically.  “You’re bright and skilled.  You’ll be okay.”

 He nodded.  “I saw you out here and I thought that a little manual labor would be good for me… get some blisters on my hands.”  He reached down and picked up a cinderblock, surprised at its ungainly weight.

 “Oh, no!”  She said, a little embarrassed.  “I can handle this.”

 “Please, let me.”  He said, smiling.  “Mom’s out, and I need something tangible to do.  Seriously, you’d be helping me out.”

 Her eyes were full on concern.  “Well, if you’re sure.”

 “I’m sure.”

 They hauled the blocks down her driveway into her backyard, a wonderland of flora and fauna.  There, they neatly stacked them to wait for her next project, a raised bed herb garden.

 When they finished, they retreated into her kitchen and had a proper visit over tea and cake.

 He returned the following day to help her build the raised bed.

 He returned often, sometimes a few times a week.  Sometimes to help, sometimes to just visit.

 “My boyfriend and I,” she delicately slipped into conversation that she was spoken for, “are going to the open air concert tonight.  Maybe you and your… girlfriend,” she winced slightly, “boyfriend?…would like to join us?”

 He dismissed the idea.  “It’s just me, right now.”  He said, trying not to be too much a downer.  “Three’s a crowd.”  He finished his tea then looked up.  “I just… I appreciate visiting you,”  He grinned.  “and I appreciate you putting up with me.”

 She touched his hands.  “I enjoy your visits!”  Her face brightened.  “I delight having someone to talk to in the afternoons.”  She looked over her tea ware.  “I have all these herbal teas I grow in the garden and I get to share them.  You would be amazed what grows back there.”  Her eyes searched his.  “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

 “I am.”  He assured her.

 As time went on he became a fixture at her table.  Sometimes she had friends over, and on more than one occasion she tried to introduce him to friends closer to his age, subtly playing the matchmaker.

 It never happened.

 Days and weeks, then months flittered on the calendar, until one day, as the fall leaves fell like snow, he went to visit.  She smiled like a spring morning when she saw him at the door.  

 “Come in!”  She ushered.  “There’s something I want to show you!”  She moved with the energy of bee, almost buzzing, as she sat him down in the kitchen in the chair where he usually sat.

 He watched her in askance as she retrieved four little jars from the shelf above the door.  They were glazed, earth-ware pottery about the size of a baseball, fat and stout, with proper fitting lids.  He had seen them a thousand times and paid them no mind, figuring they were the part of the wonderful, magical decorations she had throughout the house.  Seeing them up-close, he noticed the lids were wax sealed in place.

 She took her usual seat across from him.  She picked up one of the jars.  “I take a pottery course at the community college.”  She studied the jar, scrutinizing its invisible flaws.  “I made each of these.”  Her eyes flashed at him.  “They are very special.”  She set it down on the table for him to inspect.  “Each one contains a man’s testicles.”

 Her voice was like a saber, so keen it took seconds to bleed.  

 He said nothing as his mind tripped and fell and lay on the floor wondering what it could have tripped over.

 She went on, picking up the first jar.  “A man broke into my house.”  She said, almost speaking to the jar.  “He was going to hurt me.  He had duct tape, a gun… but I lucked out.  With my self defense training I got the upper hand and restrained him.”  

 She rolled the jar in her fingers before setting it down and picking up the second.  “This one is his brother.”  She snorted a laugh.  “His sister-in-law came to see me.”  She pushed forward the first jar.  “She figured out something had happened because her abusive husband had changed almost overnight and she put it all together.  She was also in my class, and smart like you.”  She pushed forward the second jar.  “So she introduced me to the sister in law.”  She shook her head sadly.  “Poor thing, looked like a prize fighter… he had beaten her so bad.”  She tapped the lid of the jar, brightening.  “He’s nicer now, and getting nicer by the day, or so I’m told.”

 She pushed forward the third jar.  “This one’s empty.  It’s sort of a place holder in my collection.  I found out about this guy through a series of friends of friends.  He was a human trafficker.  He forced girls into prostitution.  He was the first I used my special herbal remedies on.”  Her face hinted of pride as she thought.  “Grown in my garden and distilled in my basement, my little magic potion drugged him up so I was able to get a band on him.  It’s a very strong, very tight, rubber band that cuts off all the blood flow to the testicles.  After a couple hours the testicles are unsalvageable.  I stayed with him for several hours after to be sure.  My potion not only dopes him up, but it messes with his memory so he woke up with no idea what happened and a black ball sack with dead balls.”  She smiled gently.  “I hope he went to the ER.”  She nodded.  “I’m sure he did.”  She shrugged.  “Or maybe not.”

 She regarded him, watching for some reaction, but he only watched her numbly, unable to process what she was saying.  

 “This guy was a college.”  She pushed forward the last jar.  “I discovered he was…” She paused, thinking of a diplomatic term.  “behaving inappropriately with students.”  Her lip sneered with disgust as she set down the jar, unwilling to touch it any more than she had too.  “No need to be ribald.  Let’s not get caught in details, but to say the least, he doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

 She sat back, and her eyes smiled at him as she presented her little collection.  “Do you remember what the kids used to call me back in the day?  The Ball Thief.”  Her hand fanned across the table.  “How prophetic.”

 He looked at the jars.  He felt a touch of delight that she trusted him enough to share her secret.  What she had done was illegal, albeit justified; but she trusted him enough to disclose her superhero secret identity.

 He nodded.  “Thank you for telling me.”  He finally said.

 She watched him for a moment, then slid forward and touched his hands.  “I have one more thing.”  She rose, and returned the jars to the shelf.  She then opened a cupboard and retrieved a fifth jar.  “I made this last month.”  She set it before him.  “I wasn’t quite sure why I made it, or why I glazed it in these colors and pattern.”  She admired it.  “Sometimes art is that way.”  She looked up at him.  “I also think it’s my best work.”

 He smiled simply as he admired the squat, little jar.  “Yes, I think so.”  He noticed the lid had not been sealed in wax.  He looked at her curiously, then slowly lifted the lid.

 It was empty.

 “I think I know why I made this now.”  She said warmly, and held his hands as they held the jar.  “I made it for you.”

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Copyrighted 4/2024, all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced in any format without the author’s permission.

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Chastity Experiment

By DX

Copyrighted 7/2019, 12/2022 all rights reserved.

Sanford Oaks receives an offer to wear a chastity device for one week to receive 50 pounds UK.  How easy is that?
Hand-jobs, sex and debauchery!  A 16K novella!

 He bent down the blades of the blinds and peered out along the rain swept street.  He imagined her stepping around the corner, her sharp heels clicking hollowly, clacking on the pavement.  She would be wearing her black, shiny mac, and it would be beaded with raindrops.  She would be wearing her clear plastic rain cap over her glistening black hair.  Beneath the hem of her mac would be her latex clad legs, moving quickly.  She would be pulling a black suitcase wheeling behind on quiet castors.

 She was late.

 She had never been late.  He could set his watch by her.  Since the program’s inception she would step around the corner at precisely 1359hrs and ring his bell at the moment of 1400hrs.  It had become the pattern he expected.

It was now the pattern his life depended on.

He looked away from the window.  He paced back and forth in his tiny front room, and then sat in his comfy chair.  He looked at the clock on the wall.  She was late.  He looked at his wristwatch to confirm the clock on the wall was correct.  He then got up and walked into the kitchen to look at the clock over the sink to confirm his wristwatch.

 1428hrs.  She was late by twenty-eight minutes.  On the scale of things this wasn’t much of a deal and easily explained.  The subway was late, the bus was late, another client held her up, her cat was sick, (if she had a cat and it was sick) would make a perfect, forgivable excuse for being late one time.

 In the quiet of the kitchen he could hear the battery-powered tick of the clock as the big hand neared 1429hrs and he became aware he had been sub-consciously touching the device through the fabric of his trousers.

 He pulled his hand away quickly and walked into the front room and looked down the street through the gap in the blinds.  He needed her.  He needed her to remove the device.  He had decided definitively it would be the last time.  If they offered him a million pounds to wear the device for another second he would resolutely state, no.  He practiced saying it, so it would be a quick, knee-jerk response.

“Would you like to wear the device for another second for a million…”  

“NO!”  He wouldn’t even let her finish.  “Just unlock it, give me my fifty-thousand pounds and have a good day.”

 The clock on the wall read 1430hrs.

 He pulled his hand away from the device.  Touching it did nothing and he could do nothing about his cock crushed within its confines.  It was the perfect chastity device.  He could not get erect, he could not orgasm.  It was the pinnacle of design, far removed from the first device they had him wear at the start of the program nearly two years ago.

 It began with a simple letter in the post.

 Buried with the bills and adverts was a plain white envelope with his name neatly written on it.  Initially he tossed it aside figuring it was an advert, but its simplicity called back his attention.  For starters, they spelled his name correctly, Sanford Oaks.

 “Dear, Sanford;” it began.  “We are currently conducting an experiment which based on your profile would make you a suitable subject.  You will be paid for your time.  If interested, please return the self-addressed, pre-paid postcard.”

 Sanford checked the return address.  It was foreign, probably Norway or Scandinavia or some such place, but they used the magic words, ‘paid for your time’.  Sanford considered himself a man of intricate complexities.  He was in his fifties, owned his house (inherited), and was collecting disability.  He had a long résumé of random jobs; building crack monitor, caviar extractor, drying paint supervisor, to name a few, but his last job, a level one inventory resupply specialist, had left him, as the doctors described, nervous and unable to work.

 He did supplement his income with random, unlisted jobs.  This income was never reported to the taxman, a villain if ever there was one, and kept him in beer and chips.  Sanford was always on the prowl for a few easy quid.

 Within a week of posting his reply, he received another letter in the same, plain, boring style.

 “Our experiment is to study male sexuality.”  The letter explained.  “To eliminate random factors, we need a chaste subject as a control.  To achieve this, we would first need to create a safe, gentle chastity device for long-term wear.  If you agree to wear our prototype for seven days you will be paid fifty pounds UK.  If you manage to escape the device, without damaging the device or injuring yourself, you will be paid an additional fifty pounds.”

 Sanford mused.  ‘Fifty quid for seven days of not touching me John Thomas?  How easy is that?’  He thought.  ‘And another fifty if my willie gets whiley?  Well!  A hundred pounds for a week’s worth of nothing?  Yes, please mister man!’

 As he checked off the card, he thought about how many times he self alleviated his male urges.  He casually went weeks without even bathing, let alone diddling himself.  This, he thought, was easy money.

 Only a few days later a post arrived announcing the device would be delivered in a few days.  It would arrive at 1400hrs.  “Please make every effort to be available to receive the device.”

 He glanced at his calendar.  He was available.

 It was a Thursday.

 He expected a lorry.  What arrived was quite unexpected.

 Her dimples sank into her cheeks and her smile was blinding.  “Good afternoon!”  She said.  “Sanford Oaks?”

 He nodded, numbly.  Her eyes were chocolate morsels, her nose crinkled when she talked, and her lips were soft and welcoming.  She was a delight!  Curvy, and nicely packaged in her blue nurse’s uniform.

 “I’m Madeline, I’m here to install the device.”  Her eyes flashed like a co-conspirator, almost winking as she said the word, device.  When Sanford didn’t respond, she went on.  “May I come in?”

 “Oh, yes!”  Sanford exclaimed, realizing he had been staring.  “Please, forgive me.  I was expecting the postman, yeah?”  He stepped back and ushered her in.

 She walked in, dragging her case behind as her eyes evaluated the house.  “This is excellent.”  She said turning towards him.  “Is there anyone else in the residence?”

 Sanford was lost in the depth of her dimples.  “Uh, no.”  He replied.

 She talked while smiling.  “Excellent.  Then we can do this here in the front room.”

 “Do what?”

 “Apply the device.”  She said simply.  As Sanford continued to stare, she went on.  “No worries, I am a certified professional.”  She reached into her purse and pulled out a flat, black wallet.  With a flick of her wrist a fan of cards draped out like a broken accordion.  “Please take a look.”  Her face tinged with bashfulness.  “I’m quite proud of them.”

 Sanford forced his eyes to look away from her pretty face to the list of cards hanging like a banner from her hand.  She was pointing out her accreditations and he was struggling not to watch her.  She wasn’t the prettiest girl, nor did she have the biggest boobs or curviest bum, but she was such combination of everything, her voice, her charm, her poise, her smile as it lit up the gloomy room, it was hard not to drink in her intoxicating image.

 “If you would pop in the shower and come back with a towel covering up, I’ll get set up here.”  She finished.

 Sanford scrubbed himself red in the fleeting moments he was in the shower.  When he returned, Madeline had donned a black rubber apron and had laid out a collection of documents across his coffee table.  “Please, have a seat and read these carefully.  I only ask you to keep them in order.”

 He sat on the sofa and watched her.

 Madeline had moved some of the furniture to make room for her set up.  She set her case on the floor and clicked it open.  Reaching in she grabbed the top strut of a skeletal structure and with a pull it began to unfold.  It moved on hinges and formed a stout chair.  She gave it a final pull and all the joints clicked into place solidly.

 She looked at him.  “Any questions?”

 Sanford had barely glanced at the paperwork.  “To be clear,” he surmised.  “I just have to put on a device,”  he wavered, “on my, privates, yeah?  For one week, right?  And I get fifty quid.”

 She shrugged while nodding.  “No and yes.  I put the device on you, and then you wear it for one week and get fifty quid.  If you get out of the device, without injury, you get another fifty quid.”

 He stammered.  “You put the, uh, device…”

 She smiled, brightening the room.  “I am a certified professional.  While everyone is a unique individual, I’m confident I have a good idea what’s under that towel.”  She gave her chair a pat.  “If you are satisfied with the paperwork and initialed and signed the highlighted parts, we’ll get started.”

 Sanford signed, scribbled, and scrawled.

 Tentatively, he took a seat in her chair as she donned gloves, a surgical mask and a white cap, leaving only her milk chocolate eyes visible to him.  With that done, she placed his feet into stirrups and secured his legs down with nylon straps of hook and loop material.  He tensed as she did the same with his arms, strapping them down to the chair.  His face of rising panic was soothed with a glance from her smiling eyes.

 “We must insure the control is free of variables.”  She said, patting his hand.  “You’ll have plenty of time to explore the device later.”  Madeline took a packet from her bag, ripped it open, and pulled out a sanitized mouth guard.  “Open up!”  She said, holding it to his mouth.

 “Wraugh gru?”  He mumbled as she stuffed the device in his mouth.

 “Again, variable control.”  She pulled a strap from her pocket and encircled Sanford’s head with it, ignoring his eyes of alarm, and sealed the mouth guard in place.  Running her hand smoothly along the side of his head, she checked for fit.  “Are you having any discomfort?”

 Sanford shifted in the chair.  He couldn’t speak.  He could barely move a muscle.  Glancing up, he fell into her eyes as she looked for any indicators of distress.

 “Alright then.”  She said.  “Let’s get started, shall we?”

 Gently, she pulled his towel away.

 A cool breeze brushed against his skin and Sanford tried to look away as his cock began to stir.

 Madeline was changing her gloves.  “That is a perfectly normal response.”  She said.  “Please do not be embarrassed.”  She draped a sterile sheet over him and threaded his manhood through a slit in the center.  “You are already showing healthy signs.”  She kicked at something beneath the chair and Sanford realized it was an attached, collapsible stool.  With her hands in the air, she sat down and made herself comfortable.

 Her eyes of chocolate birthday cake peered at him.  She took his blood pressure, pulse, and listened to his heart.  She then placed a sensor over his finger.  She noted his vitals, then changed her gloves.  “I will now start my examination.  During this time, many men experience an erection.  That is perfectly normal and somewhat expected.  This will take a few minutes so sit back and relax.”

 As she donned her safety glasses, he could see his ghostly reflection in her eyes.

 Her fingers skirted across his cock like the sweep a feather.

 Sensations rolled over him like an ocean wave as her gentle touch slid across his tender skin.  She cooed and ah’d, congratulating him on blood flow, size and girth.  He risked a glance at her and watched her eyes peer down at the task at hand.  Instantly he was like a rock, harder than he had ever been before.

 She rolled her fingers across the head of his cock and her fingers moved as if she played a wind instrument in an orchestra.  Gently she cupped him.  Gently her touch slithered up and down his shaft.  Gently she explored every millimeter of his genitals.  

 Gently, gently, gently.

 “It is perfectly normal,”  she went on, professionally, “to extrude pre-seminal fluid.”  She paused.  “Ah, here we are.”  Her finger dragged the clear tear around the head of his cock.  “Excellent.”  She stopped and sat back.  

 Sanford was afraid the exam was over.  He quickly thought, ‘Ah, so this is the scam!  I knew it was too easy!  Get me all worked up, cut me off and charge for a finish.’  He squirmed in his chair.  ‘and I’m trapped good, right where she wants me.  A fool I am, blundering into this trap!”

 Madeline, ignorant of his rising panic, took a cotton swab and captured a sample of his fluid and set it in a plastic test tube.  This process involved changing her gloves several times.

 With the tube sealed and properly stored, she changed gloves.  Then she pulled open a small packet and squeezed out a dollop of goo in her gloved hand.  “For the next part of this examination I will be using a sterilized lubricant.  While I tactilely survey your penis, it is quite normal to become aroused.  Many men ejaculate.  This is a normal and natural response.  Please do not feel embarrassed or feel you need to restrain yourself, alright?”

 Her hands were like silk as her fingers roved over every millimeter of his cock.

 Already primed from the first part of his exam, Sanford grunted as his eyes rolled back.  In seconds he went off like machine gun.

 “Excellent!”  Madeline exclaimed.  She busied herself using a fresh cotton swab to collect a sample of his seamen.

 Changing her gloves again, she took a warm, moist cloth and thoroughly cleaned him.

 Finally, after another glove change, she secured the device onto his manhood.

 She rose and quickly went through a well-rehearsed and methodical removal of her hat, apron, mask and gloves, and disposed of everything into a sterile bag before un-doing his restraints.  “I hope that wasn’t too distressful for you.”  She said, her dimples deepening.

 “Nuh, nuh, no.”  He said, nervously, his head swimming.

 “Next week this time?”  She asked, helping him out of the chair.

 Sanford was weak in the knees.  As Madeline pulled the sensor off his finger and helped him over to the couch, he peered at her confusedly.  “Next week?”

 She draped his towel over his lap.  “Yes, to remove the device.”

 “Oh, yes.”  He blinked, his senses returning.  “I’m a little winded.  That was a heck of a, uh, um, examination, yeah?”

 She shrugged.  “Many men enjoy it.  When I remove the device there will be a similar exam.”

 “Similar?”  Sanford exclaimed in disbelief.  “I don’t think I could manage that!”

 She smiled warmly.  “I’m certain you’ll be up for the challenge.”

 “What if I escape the device?  Will there be another, uh, exam?”

 Madeline nodded.  “Certainly.  Also another fifty quid.”

 Sanford could not believe what she was saying.  “Yeah, next week then.”

 She nodded as she turned to her equipment, and in moments everything was neatly folded back into her case and the furniture was properly arranged.  She surveyed the room, making sure everything was in order.  “Until next week then.”  She said brightly.  “I’ll see myself out.”

 And she was gone.

 Sanford was still reeling from the exam.  He sat on the couch until the clock chimed and nudged him out of his reverie.  Reliving the moment, he peered back in time and watched it again, this time floating out-of-body.  He watched her fingers filled with lightning rove around and touch all the spots of his cock, driving him mad.

 Although he was satiated enough to keep him for months without even thinking of his cock, he felt his member stir.

 He peered under the towel.

 The device was black.  It was sleek and shiny.  It encompassed his penis and clamped around his scrotum almost as an after thought.  He nudged it slightly, then tapped the surface with his fingernail.  He couldn’t decide if it was metal or plastic.  While it looked impressive, he couldn’t figure out what held it on.

 He tried the simplest and went to pull it straight off.

 It didn’t budge.

 It didn’t seem to pull on anything and he couldn’t imagine how it was anchored in place, but it certainly worked.

 He never realized how often he swelled and shifted until he had no access to his cock.  Often his Johnson tested the confines of the device, like a jungle cat pacing back and forth in the cage at the zoo.  Although the device was like wearing nothing, he was constantly reminded of it.  Thinking about it made his pecker grow.  His growing pecker would then be thoroughly restrained by the device.  Being restrained made him fidget with the device.  Fidgeting made him think about it.  Thinking made him grow.

 He was out of the device on the third day.  He had been distracted as he checked for lottery winnings while reading an article on how to win the lottery and not pay any tax, while subconsciously fumbling with the device, as he increasingly did.  

 It simply came off.

 He looked at it curiously.  No lock, no mechanism, it seemed to have be held on by nothing more than force of will.  He set it down and went into the toilet for a celebratory piss while standing.  He had never realized what a privilege it was to pee while standing.  It was a surprising revelation, one that really struck him while at the pub.  The device had forced him to sit to pee and the loo at the pub wasn’t the most hygienic place.

 With his tinkle done, he jiggled, then jiggled again, then closed the seat on the toilet.  He sat, closed his eyes and had a nice, meditative moment of self-gratification while thinking of Madeline.

 It had only been three days yet he spewed readily and heavily.

 Thursday at 1400hrs precisely he opened the door.  Madeline was there, mildly startled as she hadn’t even rang the bell.  Sanford presented the device.  “Good for you!”  She exclaimed.  “There’s another fifty pounds for you!  Perhaps, however, you’d want to do this inside?”

 “Oh, yes of course.”  He stepped back, bidding her entry.  “Would you like a hand?”

 “No, I can manage.  Why don’t you pop into the shower while I get set up?”

 “I just showered for you already.”

 “That won’t do, I’m afraid.  Rules are you have to shower while I’m here.  Make a quick rinse off for me?  There’s a good lad.”

 Sanford sprang up and back within moments, a towel around his waist.  Madeline sat on the couch and laid out her paperwork.  “Here is your gift card for fifty pounds.”  She held it up.  “You’ll get another one in the post once the paperwork is processed.”

 He watched her.  The afternoon sun shone in sharp lines through the blinds and brought everything it touched into high resolution; the curve of her cheek, the corner of her lip, the sphere of her breast.  She moved with precision and practice.

 Her brown eyes sparkled in the sun as she looked up at him.  “Read these over, alright?”

 “You changed your hair.”  He said, dreamily.

 She nodded.  “You’re the first one to notice.”  She reached up and pat her hair.  “It’s a wig.  To eliminate variables we all have to be brunettes now.”  She shifted over on the couch so he could sit and sign the paperwork.

 He joined her.  “How many others?  Nurses, I mean.”

 “We’re called technicians.”  She said, thinking.  “I don’t know how many they are.  The whole thing is done on-line; training, paperwork, the whole lot.  I’ve actually not met another person in the company.  I just get my assignments, install the devices and post the paperwork.  All the signatures have to be hard copies.”  She stood up and brushed the creases from her uniform.  “I’ll get set up while you have a read.”

 He glanced at it.  “Um, taxes, yeah?  How is it reported?”

 She pointed to a form.  “Here, you’ll see how that’s done.  You have to submit this income separately and you are responsible for all the taxes.”

 He nodded and grinned as she turned to pull her chair from her magic bag.  He then read the form.  In short, the taxman didn’t know.  ‘and what the taxman doesn’t know,’  Sanford thought. ‘won’t hurt him.’  He turned over a page and noted it was printed in several languages.  Obviously it was a foreign company and the experiment was being held in different countries.  The burden of dealing with different governments and tax rates would be challenging, so to skirt the issues they relied on the honesty of the test subject.

 This all translated to Sanford as simply, tax-free income.

 His eye caught numbers on the last page.  “What’s this, Madeline?”  He asked.

 She had set up her chair and was busy donning her black latex cap and latex smock.  “They’re offering you one hundred pounds to continue the program.  Two weeks.”

 “And if I escape the device?”

 She pulled on gloves.  “Without damage to the device or injury to yourself, one hundred pounds.  If you damage the device and get out, you’ll get fifty pounds.  If you injure yourself, there is no bonus.”  She patted the chair seat.  “If you just sign the other paperwork we can get started.  Once the exam is over, you can decide if you want to sign up for the two week program.”

 Sanford signed everything.

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