The start of a friendship sparked between those two women in room 418 of Worrell Hall.  They had little in common save for their investment in the missing heiress, yet their reasons were distinct.  If only they knew where the poor girl was being kept...<br/><br/><div align="center">=</div><br/>Miles away, a young woman's head bobbed back and forth along the stiff cock of a masked client.  He grinned and laughed as he pushed the servant's head down further along his length, deeply proud to have won a chance with the most desirable new worker.  Everybody in the club knew who Francesca Connor was, even before she disappeared to minor media attention.  Though her face was caked with far more makeup than she ever wore her days of freedom, and her thick glass removed for aesthetic reasons, she was still immediately recognizable as the only daughter of very hated man.<br/><br/>Her red lingerie, stockings, and pumps drew attention to her figure.  She always thought of her body as decent, but the lecherous glares and grabs of the club's clientele made her second guess her attractiveness.  She was the newest star, after all, and all eyes were on her. If any of the participants noticed the immense sadness that lurked beneath the layers of makeup, they either pretended to not notice, or took sadistic satisfaction at the poor girl's mental and physical degradation.<br/><br/>She was not the first girl to be ensnared in their grasp, nor would she be their last.<br/>