The clock on the wall was the only witness to her late-night diligence. Lost in her work, the professional woman didn't hear the whisper-quiet footsteps behind her, didn't sense the shadow that fell over her desk. By the time she turned, startled by a creak of the floorboards, it was too late. A figure loomed over her—the notorious Handsey Bandit™. Before a scream could form in her throat, a damp rag saturated with chloroform was clamped over her nose and mouth. Her panicked, muffled struggles were useless as the chemical sweetness flooded her senses, pulling her down into a black, helpless abyss.
Her return to consciousness is a groggy, terrifying ordeal. She's on the cold, carpeted floor, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. As her vision swims back into focus, she feels rough hands on her body, her blouse ripped open, her breasts being crudely groped by her captor. A guttural chuckle rumbles from above her as he works. He secures a tight cloth gag in her mouth, stifling her moan of terror, before moving to her feet. He binds her stockinged ankles together with rough rope, then her wrists, leaving her trussed and exposed on the floor of her own office. The Handsey Bandit™ stands for a moment, admiring his work—a professional woman, utterly degraded, now just a helpless, whimpering prize.
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