Complaint

November 6, 2025

“What can I do for you, dearie?” The receptionist stabbed her cigarette in an ashtray while she looked up from her magazine over the top of her glasses. Her voice was somewhat nasal but managed to fit in the throaty rasp of a two-pack-a-day habit. Her demeanor ed oblivious to the new arrival having just slammed the door, which took the young woman aback for a second.

“What can you do? I want to make a complaint. I want a refund. Let me talk to somebody in charge!”

“In what order would you like all that, dearie?” This temporarily stunned the plaintive once more. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

“I- well- I-“ the woman stammered. She got a grip and started again a little calmer but still clearly upset. “I ordered an abduction.”

“And?”

“And?! I didn’t get it!”

“Are you sure?” The woman turned bright red. The receptionist continued before she could start yelling. “Do you have a receipt?”

“Yes!” the woman snapped. “And I want a refund!”

“Can I see it?”

More fuming before the woman started digging through her purse. “Yes! Yes, you can. You were hoping I didn’t bring it, weren’t you?”

“I just need to check the order number, precious.” She looked at the proffered receipt as if she had been handed a clipping from a tabloid. “Hmmm, yes,” she finally said in a tone that probably wasn’t meant to be as annoying as it was. She turned to her computer and entered a few keystrokes. “Uh-huh.”

“Well?” The woman was still angry, but at least something was getting done, even if not as fast as she wished and perhaps questionably.

“You ordered an abduction.” There was only a snort in reply. “You shouldn’t be here. Abductions are done as outcall services.”

“It was supposed to be last night!” The woman was back to loud anger. “I walked around for hours and nobody abducted me.”

“I see.” There was a pause. “Let me check the notes.” More typing into the computer. “Your application looks good. Limits listed in detail. Preferred kinks. You left the scenario open.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. They said I could leave it open.”

“Yes, within reason. Let me check their plans.” More keystrokes. “Uh-huh.” She flipped back-and-forth between windows comparing the application to the scenario outline. “Sometimes, at the last minute, they find an error and have to cancel. Did they call you?”

“Nobody has called me,” the woman said tersely.

“Uh-huh. Everything in their plans seems to be from your interest list. Nothing from your limits. There’s a service report. Hmmmmm.”

“How can there be a service report when there’s been no service?” The woman was almost back to shouting.

“Psychological expectations,” the receptionist read as if she hadn’t heard. “There you are. You were walking around, expecting to be abducted, so they didn’t abduct you.”

“Of course I was expecting to be abducted. I paid for an abduction.”

“Yes, but if you were expecting it then it wouldn’t be a very satisfactory experience. You’d still be asking for your *** back. This way everyone is happy.”

“I am not happy!”

“No, but it’s really all your fault for expecting an abduction.” If looks could kill that would have been the end of it. “All right,” the receptionist finally gave in to the angry glare. “Let me call a supervisor. Maybe they’ll be authorized to give you a partial refund.”

“PARTIAL-!’

“I’m doing the best I can, dearie. Please have a seat. Maybe they can answer your questions better.”

The woman muttered several unrepeatable comments about the company and its policies but took a seat as the receptionist started dialing for assistance.

She was too busy glaring at the receptionist to hear the panel behind her slide aside. A man swiftly pulled a sack over her head. Before she could do anything more than scream, a second man wrapped a strap about her pinning her to the chair and securing the sack around her. Her screams were muffled as she was dragged down the hidden passage and the panel slid back into place. Soon she would be driven to the sight of the rest of her scenario.

The receptionist returned to her magazine. “Weren’t expecting that were you, dearie?”