Of course, James didn’t have an explanation of any kind, good or bad. As it turned out, after Fabiola’s parents didn’t hear from her for a week and reported her missing, her friends all pointed the police in his direction - Mika wasn’t the only one who’d been suspicious of him. The cops questioned him for hours, but got nowhere. He couldn’t tell them what he didn’t know. Though they were sure they had the right man, they knew they’d have to let him go if they didn’t find any hard evidence.

Luckily for them, and very unluckily for James, he’d kept just one memento of his misdeeds. While he’d scrupulously edited memories and destroyed all other physical evidence, when the police searched his apartment, they found a broken pair of glasses on his nightstand. He’d made a show of throwing them in the trash in front of Fabi, but upon returning home after dumping her in the woods, he couldn’t help but fish them out again and put them on display, as a trophy of his total destruction of the woman who’d rejected him.

The officer that found them took particular note of a strand of long brunette hair caught in one of the frames.

When he heard that the police had found DNA evidence linking him to Fabiola’s disappearance, and that he’d be staying with them for the foreseeable, James panicked. Keen to show he had nothing to hide, he unlocked his phone for them - which was a mistake, because he’d forgotten he had plenty to hide. A vast quantity of nude photos of Fabi, for a start, as well as contact information for the traffickers. That was more than sufficient to put him away for a long time, and also enough to locate and raid the traffickers’ hideout. Herm and Arnie, too, were arrested, and ultimately convicted.

But it was too late for Fabi.

***

So, what became of James’ various victims?

Ariana was none the worse for wear for her time spent as James’ manservant, mostly because she didn’t remember it any more than he did. The weeks she’d spent at his beck and call were a complete haze. She vaguely recalled having a summer job of some kind, but couldn’t pin down exactly what - and her bank account didn’t exactly imply she’d done a lot of paid work that August. Soon she headed off to college, and never thought of it again.

Oddly, it was Kyla who fared the best. Once word got out about her sideline as ‘Angel K’, her dream of becoming a pastor was dead. But that didn’t deter her. She kept filming content that shared both her body and her beliefs, making it clear that she truly believed the scripture she spouted mid-sex-act, and that she didn’t think being a devout Christian and a shameless whore were mutually exclusive for a second. (Her standard response to arguments to the contrary was, “Mary Magdalene.”) Her fanbase rapidly expanded as videos of her nude sermons - quoting Leviticus while scissoring with a fellow camgirl, or recounting lines from Mark as she rode a man with the same name - went viral. As the money rolled in, she put it to use campaigning for sex workers’ and LGBT+ rights, which made her even more popular. In the years that followed, the ‘Naked Preacher’ achieved nationwide fame, as a prominent activist with a vast following, who put the majority of her earnings towards philanthropic ventures.

James had tried to humiliate Kyla, to transform her into everything he thought she’d hate. Instead, he’d turned a kind but reserved young woman into a self-assured, outspoken crusader, equally committed to her unwavering faith, her ceaseless charity work, and her prolific, massively popular porn.

On the other side of the scale, his efforts to destroy Mika had been an unqualified success. As the only one of his victims aware of her plight, she was in a living hell, trapped in a body that insisted on behaving like a dog, with a family who perceived her as nothing else, all memory of their daughter or sister removed and replaced with that of a treasured family pet. That was almost the worst part - they clearly thought that everything James had planted in their brains so they could ‘take proper care of her’ was genuinely for her own good. She couldn’t bear the broad beaming smile on her mother’s face as she poured her a bowl of dog food, or dragged her into their garden for ‘walkies’ and stood patiently by while Mika unwillingly did her business in the flowerbed, or replaced her plug when she was done, heedless of the weirdness of having a dog with a detachable tail.

Not that she could blame Sofia, Alistair, or Cameron for being unable to see her for who she truly was. Mika couldn’t overcome her own conditioning, and unlike them, she knew it was there. Any time she tried to fight - to act or speak like a human - met with failure. Persistent attempts only frustrated her more - and, weirdly, aroused her more. She was pretty much permanently in heat nowadays, but for some reason her inability to break free of James’ brainwashing drove her wild, and she’d soon find herself humping the nearest item of furniture in a frenzy, mind lost in a fog of lust. She reluctantly accepted her predicament, fearing that if she kept on struggling, she might get so horny she’d forget she was ever a person.

Her one hope - that a neighbour, or a relative, or a family friend would stop by the house and stumble upon her in her helplessly hypnotised state - was dashed when, one day a few months after her puppy-fication, her parents-turned-owners told her they were moving to a big new house in the countryside. “With lots of open fields and woods all around for you to explore, and no-one to disturb us for miles!” Sofia told her excitedly as she gave her loving headpats. “Won’t that be wonderful, Mimi?”

The only answer ‘Mimi’ could give was a mournful whine, her heart sinking as she realised she was going to spend the rest of her life as her mother and father’s lapdog, roaming the open land around their isolated house, chasing squirrels and peeing against trees. After that, she worried less about her human mind eroding away - in fact, she came to welcome the prospect of forgetting there was anything wrong with her situation. The sooner she thought of herself as a dog too, the better.

As for Fabiola? She was never found. Her captors never made any effort to help the authorities locate her. There was no evidence to indicate she was even still in the country. In time, the police regretfully closed the investigation. Her name was recorded as just another poor, lost girl - stolen from her life, and sent far away from home, to meet a fate that couldn’t be known, but could be strongly, and sadly, suspected...

***

Fabi had no idea where she was, either. Her new ‘owner’ was American, but he could still live overseas. She doubted it, though. She didn’t think even James would go so far as to send her to another country in the interests of a practical joke. Although, she admitted to herself, it’d be hilarious if he had...!

Aside from his predilection for making her don neon wigs of varying colours (for which she had to keep her hair shaved to no longer than a buzzcut), he used her pretty much as she’d expected - as a servant, both domestic and sexual. Keeping to her character as a fully broken-in slave, she followed all his orders unhesitatingly and unquestioningly. She cooked, she cleaned, she served him drinks, she sucked his cock, she let him prop his feet up on her back for hours at a time. In many ways, that evening she spent under James’ thumb had been good training. Unlike James, or Herm or Arnie for that matter, her ‘owner’ didn’t keep her naked the entire time - although the skimpy maid lingerie he had her wear didn’t cover much up, particularly since he rarely let her wear anything underneath.

This was particularly evident as she trundled through his lounge on all fours one afternoon - her skirt didn’t reach past her buttocks anyway, so in this position, everything was on show. Not that she wasn’t used to that, and besides, she didn’t have much choice. She had a task to carry out.

As she plodded across the floor, she bent down occasionally to pluck a stray chip from the carpet with her lips, crunching it between her teeth and swallowing it down. It wasn’t the most efficient way of cleaning up, but she was under strict instructions: mechanical vacuum cleaner for tiny crumbs and dirt; human vacuum cleaner for anything larger. Her owner had spilt half a bag of chips earlier - deliberately, she suspected, so she’d have to clean them up in this way - but at least they hadn’t had time to go stale. Still, she could’ve done without the carpet fluff.

Munching absently as she scanned the surface ahead of her in search of more trash to guzzle, she wondered inwardly when James would arrive to take her home. He had to come and get her eventually. As fun, amusing, and oddly arousing as this drawn-out charade was, it couldn’t go on forever. She wished she could try and contact him somehow, and find out how much longer it’d be - but her phone was left behind when she got ‘trafficked’. Besides, that would be breaking character. And that was something she’d never do.

No, Fabiola told herself calmly, brushing a strand of electric blue synthetic hair out of her eyes as she vacuumed up another discarded chip with her mouth, she just had to be patient. She just had to wait, however long it took, for her friend to show up and call time on the prolonged prank, and bring her back home so she could resume her normal life.

Until then, she would stay completely in character as a meek, obedient maidservant, sex slave, human vacuum cleaner and footstool, playing along perfectly.