The woman known to the FBI only as the Rohypnol Maid, has finally been taken into arrest in the small town of Biddomfield. She will stand charged with abducting, molesting and sexually assaulting forty one families over the course of ten years.

Her true identity, as stated by the BFPD, is Marlene Brewer-Thompson, aged fifty nine.Mrs. Thompson was the director of a theater company which she and her husband had founded, thirty years ago. It had been a traveling company, performing in most of the states, apparently with modest success, until ten years ago, Mr. Thompson died a suspcious death. And although Mrs. Thompson was a suspect for five months, in the end she was acquitted, for lack of hard evidence. During those months however, the company had gone bankrupt, and it was then, that Marlene Brewer-Thompson went of the radar: there had been no record of her whatsoever after her discharge.

As it has turned out now, she has kept traveling, taking jobs as a house maid in different house holds, in various states. And it was in her capacity as a maid that she started her criminal career.
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Frederick sat in a corner of the large room, listening to his father giving it to Mrs. Grey, their housekeeper. Every word from his father was like music to his ears. "Wildly incompetent...greatly disappointed!" On and on he went and Mrs. Grey could only stand there, before the huge oak wood desk, and take it. Frederick couldn't believe his luck: she had indeed made a huge mistake, forgetting to lock the display case in the library. And now, the hundred and sixty three year old Liber Amicorum for Earl Rosewood, Frederick's ancestor, was missing.

He had always hated Mrs. Grey, and for good reason, at least in his opinion. In principal, she was an employee of the entire family, including himself. But de facto, when his father was gone on one of his long diplomatic journeys, he had to listen to her, follow her rules. And things would stay like that until his eighteenth birthday, six years from now. Frankly, Mrs. Grey had never told him to do anything preposterous. She only saw to it that he went to bed on time, reminded him of doing his home work and such. But still, the young nobleman found it infuriating!

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(Whispering)
"Nkgg.. Joyce, stop it! That tickles!"
"I'm sorry; I'm trying to keep my hands as still as I can. It's that damned thing inside me. It's making me twitch..."
"Well try harder; you're making ME twitch!"
"NGggg! Sorry-sorry!"

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"Are you ready?" Determent nodding, accompanied by some muffled noises. "Ok, then..." He flipped the small, pink switch, and then, using a piece of the same tape that was strapped over the lower half of her face, casually taped the controller to the front side of the box. He set the timer.

"It's not rocket science; it's pure plain biology! If you're nor capable of interfering, if you can't touch the thing you will have an orgasm within five minutes. If you can do nothing to influence the process, if you're unable to touch yourself or the device, it will make you come that fast, you will have no say in the matter whatsoever!"

He grinned. His better half had never shied away from a challenge, and look at her now. Her upper body encased in a heavy, wooden crate which was mounted on a pillar in their basement. From the top of the crate, her tape gagged head emerged, her face defiant. And underneath it her legs, doubled up into a tight squat, propped up against the pillar, with a strong iron clamp keeping them in place. No room for wriggling! In the small dark, diamond shaped cavity between her squeezed calves and knees he could see the narrow pink cord of the remote, finding its way between her thighs.

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