Bianca caught sight of her by chance, nothing more. If she had not been in her limousine, stopped at that red light, and looking out the window on that particular street at that precise moment... she wouldn’t have seen her.

The woman was beautiful, of course. Bianca Lanese would not have noticed her if she were too plain. But not exceptionally so. Young, likely in her mid-twenties. A modestly substantial bust. She seemed to be fit, but it was hard to tell for sure. Her blouse and suit pants were nice enough. Nothing compared to Bianca’s own expensively tailored skirt suit, but they flattered her well and were probably the best a woman of her means could hope for.

It was something in her face, Bianca realized. Something about the way it was framed by her chestnut hair, her cute little nose, and her expression as she gazed absentmindedly over the street.

Bianca held up her phone and snapped a picture of the woman through her tinted window and sent it to one of her assistants a moment later. There was no response, as one wasn’t needed. Bianca’s team could track phone, so they knew her location. They would learn who this woman was within the hour and have everything taken care of.

The day went on, and Bianca moved on with it. She was a busy woman, after all, with much to attend to. Her executive position in the corporation she owned allowed for nothing less. Meetings, presentations, appointments. Millions of dollars were made and occasionally lost on her decisions and actions.

Her appearance reflected her station. There was nothing plain about Bianca Lanese. She was a tall woman, taller on her heels, fit and thin. Her luscious black hair fell across one shoulder. A private team of tailors, personal trainers, beauticians, and nutritionists were well paid to help her maintain her beauty (and woe betide any of them that did not perform to her satisfaction).

Bianca Lanese had come far in her forty-eight years. Her influence was far reaching, her wealth enormous, and her power undeniable. If she wanted something, she got it. And that was that.

Which is why, at the end of the day, the woman with the chestnut hair was waiting in Bianca’s bed.

Not willingly. Her cooperation was not required. Nor was it wanted. Bianca preferred her pets to be taken by force and trained by her personally.

It was 6 PM, when Bianca entered her penthouse apartment, as scheduled. It was quiet. She didn’t even take off her designer heels as she marched in and headed straight to her bedroom, where her new pet was waiting.

The brown haired woman was bound hand and foot with silk rope, each limb to one of the four posters of Bianca’s bed. Her mouth was stuffed with a sponge-like material that kept all the moisture from escaping her mouth, itself kept in by the silk cloth that covered her mouth, matching the blindfold that prevented her from seeing anything. A pair of ear plugs kept her from hearing Bianca enter the room.

She had been dressed in extremely fine lingerie. Each item—the bra, the stockings, the panties and garter belt—was colored a simple, tasteful black. On her feet were a pair of shoes that likely cost more than anything she had ever owned, and around her neck was her new collar, studded with diamonds.

Despite the gag, she was not quiet. Nor was she still. She was confused, terrified, and struggling against her bonds. Not as fiercely as she could, she was too tired for that. She had been fighting all day. Her breasts threatened to spill out of the fine bra she wore. Her hair, which Bianca knew had been styled and cared for by her team, had been mussed up, but was still visibly softer and better cared for than it had been this morning.

She prowled over to her bed, drinking in the sight of the woman she had ordered into slavery on a whim.

There was a dossier on the bedside table. It contained everything Bianca’s team had been able to drudge up about their boss’s new toy. The woman’s name, history, any health concerns... Bianca would look at it later.

First it was time to have fun.