FROM THE CASE FILES OF "DR. BONDAGE"
		by Van ©2014
		Epilogue

Seven days after being rescued;
Five days after release from the hospital.

---

Charlie and Adele were under doctors' orders to rest.  For most people, that would mean no vigorous exercise.  But for a couple of trained dancers preparing for a new show, that meant clandestine and unofficial rehearsals with more than the usual number of rest breaks as their only concession.  As far as they were concerned, they were fully recovered from their ordeals at the hands of Dr. B and Suki.  Besides, to coin a phrase, the show must go on.

The costars and friends (who were rapidly becoming best buddies) were doing just that, rehearsing and, at the moment, taking a relaxing break in Charlie's apartment.  She had the space, with solidly built hardwood floors and a downstairs neighbor who worked during the day, so they could pound the boards without complaint.  There was no need to make the trek to the dance studios in Gail's building or get into arguments with their fellow cast and crew about who was supposed to be taking it easy.  Besides, Charlie's place was more... intimate.

Today they were working on the number that would open the third act.  Charlie's character had just won the dance-off with the Jawa-girls, she'd taken possession of her prize, meaning Adele, and they were trekking through the desert.  Both were wearing dancing shoes and tights.  Adele was in a leotard and Charlie in a tank-top, and both had worked up healthy sweats.

Adele's outfit was all black, with the only contrast being the matte finish of her tights against the satin finish of her sleeveless leotard.  Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail enforced by an elastic scrunchie.

Charlie's tights were silver-gray and her tank-top a dusky shade of burgundy.  Her hair was plaited in a single braid secured at the tip by a lace-thin black ribbon.

There was one more detail, and it was required by the scene they were rehearsing.  Adele's wrists were tied behind her back with a three-foot length of white nylon rope.  In addition, a twelve-foot length of the same kind of rope was loosely tied around her neck with a non-compacting knot and acting as a leash.  It was the way the Jawas presented Adele to Charlie and the way she would remain through the entire scene.  There was some discussion about exactly what color of rope would be used for the final production.  All agreed it must be light in color to contrast with Commander Pandara's (Adele's) Imperial Navy uniform, but there was debate as to whether or not it should also contrast with Yanni Starclashi's (Charlie's) bronze bikini, long, flowing, blue-gray loincloth, and tan desert boots.  The emerging consensus was that the rope should be either silver-gray or copper-orange.

Such was the production of a Broadway show, a million decisions to be made, any of which might seem trivial to the outsider.

Adele was comfortably sprawled on Charlie's couch, despite her "bondage," and Charlie was returning from the kitchen with a cold bottle of filtered water.

"I still don't like the neck-rope," Charlie huffed as she took a swig, then held the bottle so her "prisoner" and costar could drink.

"We can't do the tug-of-war business during the choruses without a leash," Adele noted.

"Yeah," Charlie sighed, "but Murphy is always lurking in the wings."  She flopped onto the couch next to Adele.

Adele smiled her trademark lopsided grin.  "Murphy's Law?"

Charlie nodded. "Six months into the show, probably at a Saturday matinee, I'm gonna get sloppy, or you're gonna get sloppy, and one of us is gonna trip on the rope and snap your neck."

"Highly unlikely," Adele countered.

"But marginally possible," Charlie.  "You know how it goes.  If there's an open trapdoor on stage, eventually somebody is gonna fall down the damn thing, even if everyone in the scene has danced around it for a year.  Murphy's Law."

Adele shrugged, which her bondage did allow.  "Point taken, but what can we do about it?"

"Well..."  Charlie smiled her trademark goofy smile (with dimples).  "I've been thinking about some of the ways Dr. Bitch and her sidekick Suckie tied us up, and I may have a solution."

Adele turned her head and favored her costar with a dubious look.  "I'm offstage only two minutes near the end of the Jawa scene before they drag me out and hand you my leash.  That's hardly enough time to get trussed into something that elaborate."  She gave her wrist bonds a halfhearted tug.  "Besides, we agreed not to talk about it."

The "it" in question was their shared kidnapping ordeal, of course.

"Don't be silly," Charlie chuckled.  "I know it will have to be danceable."

"Danceable bondage," Adele purred.

"Yes," Charlie nodded, "only pretty."

"Oh, pretty danceable bondage," Adele chuckled.  "Why didn't you say so?"

Charlie favored her costar with her best petulant pout.  "Are you gonna let me show you," she huffed, "or not?"

Adele rolled her eyes and heaved a theatrical sigh.  "Well... if I have to."

Charlie grinned.  "It'll be fun," she said, then untied Adele's leash, spun her around, and began working on her wrist bonds.  "If it works, of course."

"Of course," Adele agreed.

"It's called a box-tie," Charlie said.

Adele twisted her upper body and tugged on her bound wrists.  Her arms were folded behind her back with her wrists crossed and pressing against her spine a few inches below her shoulder blades.  Doubled strands of a single long length of the same white nylon rope as her former bonds enforced the arrangement, passing above and below her breasts, yoking her shoulders, pinning her upper arms to her torso, and binding her wrists.  The key knot was at the nape of her neck.

Charlie smiled.  "You can't reach the knot, can you?"

"What knot?" Adele muttered, still struggling and testing Charlie's handiwork.

Charlie patted the knot in question.  "This knot."

Adele fluttered her fingers, straining to reach the simple double hitch.  Her fingertips brushed against the inch or so of free ends dangling from the knot, but didn't even come close to the knot itself.  "No."  She continued writhing and squirming.  "This is tight."

"Too tight?"

"No," Adele conceded, then climbed to her feet.  She took a few tentative steps, then danced a few more.  "This will work, but you think they can put me into it in the time available?"

Still smiling, Charlie nodded.  "That was actually my first time tying a box-tie, and I did it in under two minutes.  Piece of cake.  Besides, this is as simple a version as it gets, and it looks great."

Adele's smile turned a little shy.  "It does?"

"You do," Charlie confirmed.

"Where'd you learn to do this?" Adele demanded, twisting and squirming, again.

Charlie walked to a bookshelf, returned with a large format, soft cover book, and held it so Adele could see the cover.  The title was Bondage for Sex, Volume 1, and the author was someone named Chanta Rose.  The cover illustration was a photo of an apparently nude woman having her wrists tied by a pair of female hands.  "I found it at Strand Books."

Adele blinked in surprise.  "I take it Bondage for Dancing was out of stock?"

"How droll," Charlie purred.  "It has good illustrations.  That's why I bought it."

"Of course," Adele agreed, then watched as Charlie retrieved her former leash, threaded one end of the long rope under the doubled strands above and below her breasts, then turned a cinch into a secure knot.  This pulled the chest ropes together, forming an "X" between her breasts.

"That's even tighter," Adele noted.

"And now we can really lean into the tug-of-war sequences," Charlie said with a bright smile.  "Seriously.  All this looks complicated, but it's not.  Above the boobs loop—below the boobs loop—under the elbow, up and behind the head, then down and under the other elbow to yoke the shoulders—once around the wrists—then one quick knot.  Add the leash rope in front, and voilà.  Two minutes?  Easy-peasy, with a half-minute to spare."

"Well..."  Adele gave her bonds one last squirming test.  "Let's try it."

They were using a piano recording of the show's music on Charlie's laptop and playing it through her home theater's wireless speakers.  Charlie selected the appropriate track, pressed the "enter" key, then hurried to grab the end of Adele's leash and take her place.

They ran through the entire number, twice.  The new rope arrangement worked perfectly, and allowed them to be more aggressive in their moves.

Adele said she had an idea.  There was a sequence where she could spin several times as she "struggled" to escape and Charlie "struggled" to control her.  This would wind the leash rope around her body several times.  Charlie could give the rope a jerk, and Adele would spin away like a top until she was checked by the rope.  They never would have tried it with the leash around Adele's neck, but tied to her breast ropes it was a safe and spectacular move.  They couldn't wait to show it to the choreographers and see what else they would come up with.

They danced the scene with the new move two more times, then flopped back down on the couch, breathing heavily and even more sweaty.

"Well... I guess it works," Adele gasped, then turned to look at her costar.  Charlie was gazing back, and her expression was strangely grave.  "What is it?" Adele asked.  "What's wrong?"

"I... I wanted so much to help you," Charlie answered in a near whisper.  "But I couldn't."

Adele knew exactly what Charlie was talking about.  It was the subject they'd both agreed not to talk about, but apparently Charlie had changed her mind.  Adele managed an encouraging smile.  "I wanted to help you too, but we were both helpless."

"I know, but..."  Charlie pulled her bound costar into a warm embrace and rested her head against Adele's shoulder.  "She was so mean, and all I could do was watch... when they had us together, I mean."

"I know," Adele sighed, "but we're both okay.  She didn't hurt us."

"She said she wouldn't," Charlie noted.

Adele frowned.  "When did she say that?  Suki kept hinting that we were going to end up in a Jersey landfill when they were through playing with us."

"Dr. B told me they were gonna release us unharmed," Charlie muttered.  "Mind games.  They were playing mind games.  I was so scared when she flogged you."

"I was pissed off when they tickled you," Adele muttered.

"You were so brave," Charlie sighed, giving Adele's bound body a gentle squeeze.

Adele's smile returned.  "You were brave too, Charlie."

Charlie sighed, and they lay together in silence for several seconds.  Bound as she was, Adele didn't have much choice about cuddling with her costar on the couch, but she didn't object.

"At least the food was good," Charlie said after a while.

Adele's eyes popped wide.  "What?"

"The food," Charlie reiterated.  "I don't know who their caterer was, but—"

"You like dog food?" Adele demanded.

Charlie turned and stared at Adele in shock.  "Dog food?"

"Every meal," Adele confirmed.  "I take it you were served something different?"

"That bitch!" Charlie huffed.  "Yes... different.  More mind games."  She heaved another sigh.  "I'm sorry, Adele."

"It's not like you could—Mrf!"  Adele's eyes popped wide.  Charlie had leaned in and kissed her!

"I sooo wanted to be able to help you," Charlie sighed.  "You were so helpless.  And so beautiful."

Adele realized her heart was pounding, and she suspected Charlie's was, as well.  "Uh... you too," she said, finally, then leaned forward and they kissed, again.

"Well," Charlie said with a warm, dimpled smile, "you're safe now, and I'm going to keep you that way."  They kissed again, and this time the kiss was long and wet, with tongues.

Finally, they came up for air.

"I take it you like girls?" Adele asked.  She was smiling. They both were smiling.

"I like beautiful, talented people," Charlie purred, "boys and girls."  Her hands were caressing Adele's rope-framed breasts and toying with her nipples.  They were rigid, poking the satiny black fabric of the leotard, and by Adele's reactions, Charlie could tell they were very sensitive.  "How 'bout you?"

"The same, I guess," Adele answered, and they kissed, again.

Their tongues twirled and lips smacked, and finally, after several long seconds, the kiss ended.

"Untie me so we can do this properly," Adele purred.

"No," Charlie replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Adele affected a wounded pout.  "I take it Dr. Bitch has created a monster?  Or have you always been into ropes?"

Charlie's grin turned wicked.  "Never.  This is the first time I've personally kidnapped a damsel-in-distress.  As for Dr. Bitch... I suppose she's widened my horizons a little, but..."  She kissed Adele's smiling lips.  "You know I'd never hurt you, don't you?"

Adele returned the kiss.  "More mind games?"

Charlie's eyes narrowed in outrage, but her lips were still curled in a smile and her cheeks dimpled.  "No, it's not more mind games.  I'll never hurt you."

Adele smiled.  "I know," she said in a whisper.  Both pair of eyes were welling.  "Anyway," Adele said after a while, "untie me so we can get out of these sweaty clothes, take a shower—"

"Share a shower," Charlie interrupted.

"Share a shower, Adele continued, "and do this right."

"I told you," Charlie chuckled, "no."

"No?"

"I'm not done sucking face."  She leaned close and nuzzled Adele's neck.  "Of course, you can always escape.  Then, you might capture me, and you'd be the one keeping me safe."

"Fat chance," Adele purred, squirming in her ropes.  "You're the one who's been studying that book."

"Well..."  Charlie planted a kiss on Adele's pouting lips.  "After our shower, we could have a wrestling match to see who gets to keep who safe."

"You mean who gets to keep whom safe," Adele said.

"Shut up," Charlie replied, then kissed Adele's lips, again.  "And don't worry about the book.  If you win the match, I'll give you my parole while you study the illustrations.  I'll even make suggestions."

"Dr. Bitch has created a monster," Adele chuckled.

"Shut up," Charlie reiterated, and the make-out session resumed.

Adele continued fighting Charlie's box-tie, even as their lips sucked and tongues probed, but her costar had done her work too well.  She was, indeed, helpless... and safe.

Meanwhile, at another of Dr. B's many secret lairs...

---

The room was off the basement of an outbuilding, well away from the main house, the garage, and the workshop where Dr. B and Suki fabricated many of their "fun" items.

Suki was wearing black jeans, sandals (not boots), and a baggy black t-shirt over a skintight, purple tank-top.  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.  Basically, she was in one of her casual-at-lair lounging outfits.

Beebe, on the other hand, was in leather—hideously expensive, custom crafted, skintight, and body-hugging leather.  It was a full-length catsuit, with gloves and boots. They were ballet boots, actually, that kept her feet permanently pointed.  The suit also had integrated, locking straps and buckles—lots of integrated locking straps and buckles.  Half simply encircled a part of her anatomy and buckled tight, for aesthetic purposes.  The other half were more functional, serving to anchor the straps of a separate, overlying body-harness of heavier straps. Strictly speaking, the anchoring straps weren't absolutely necessary, for once the harness was buckled in place, it wasn't going anywhere.  It was that favorite of bondage themes, beloved by both Suki and her lover, boss, and victim-of-the-moment: overkill.

All of the suit's zipper-fobs and buckles (including the straps and harness) locked by means of tiny, flush-mounted levers that snapped into recessed slots.  This required a specialized tool, one end of which closed the spring-loaded locking pins and the other opened them.  Without the tool, Beebe could fiddle with the steel fittings for hours without result, assuming her fingers were free to fiddle with anything, of course, which they were not.

Beebe was wearing gloves, highly specialized gloves.  The fingers and thumbs were stitched together along their entire lengths, thus imposing a flipper-type pose on her hands.  Arguably, this made them more mitts than gloves; but the outlines of the individual fingers were clearly visible, so Beebe and Suki had agreed to call them "gloves."  Regardless of the designation, they included wrist enclosures designed to fit under the catsuit's wide, heavy wrist cuffs without bunching, and each glove had a one-inch diameter steel ring solidly stitched in place and dangling from the fingertips.

The only parts of Beebe's anatomy exposed to the basement air were her head and her breasts.  The catsuit's collar was wide and stiff, nearly a posture collar, but it did allow limited head movement.  The circular breast openings were lined with what might be called gaskets, and included lace-thin leather nooses that could be tightened, knotted, and the free ends threaded through locking clamps for security.  Properly adjusted, as now, they caused Beebe's breasts to bulge, just a little.  It was enough to make them blush and become very sensitive, but not enough to cause long-term damage.  Suki was expert in such adjustments, and at the moment (and until she was released from her leather prison) Beebe's boobs were firm, pink, vulnerable pillows emerging from the suit like a pair of large, delectable button mushrooms wearing pinkish-mauve nipple-caps.

And then there was the "couch," upon which Beebe was "comfortably reclined."  She was on her back with her outstretched arms to either side and her legs splayed widely apart, only a few degrees shy of a full split.  There was a pillow-soft rest to support her head and neck, for which Beebe was thankful, but otherwise the couch had only minimal padding.

There were means to insure that Beebe remained in place, of course.  D-rings sewn into both the catsuit's straps and the overlying harness had been inserted into slots in the frame, where they locked in place.  Also, the rings at Beebe's fingertips had been clipped through locking brackets, holding her gloved hands palm up and at full stretch.  In addition, ankle-straps and a pair of cavities for the boot-heels secured Beebe's ballet-booted feet on point.  Finally, custom-sized, steel cuffs and brackets on hinges swung over strategic parts of Beebe's leather-clad anatomy and had been secured by means of bolts that screwed into the frame.  Suki was using a cordless electric driver to secure the last of the brackets.

"There," Suki said with a dimpled grin.  "That should hold you."  This was the ultimate in clichés, as steel brackets or leather straps secured Beebe to the frame at her wrists, above and below her elbows, her waist, thighs, above and below her knees, her ankles, and at a dozen or more other places.  Beebe could barely squirm.

"Just get on with it, would you?" Beebe purred.  Her heart was pounding, as she had only a general idea of what her sidekick and lover had in mind for her agreed upon twenty-four hour of "welcome home entertainment" to which she was already committed.  She had her suspicions, but to coin a phrase, Beebe was completely at Suki's mercy.  "Taking time out for gloating is not only inefficient," Beebe continued, "but very déclassé."

"Well la-de-da," Suki giggled.  "Just for that..."  She produced a ball-gag, thrust the ball into her prisoner's mouth, then buckled its strap at the nape of her neck.

Beebe sighed through the gag.  It was a simple "breather-gag," an inch-and-a-half rubber sphere pierced by a quarter-inch hole and one of the simplest and least effective damsel-silencers in the lair's extensive inventory.  However, it served its purpose: to make Beebe feel even more helpless and vulnerable.

And speaking of vulnerable...

Suki left the chamber... there was a pause of several seconds... then she returned wheeling the latest generation of their semi-portable "orgasmatron."  Put bluntly, it was a fucking machine, a vibrating phallus on a piston with a half-dozen articulated, robotic arms terminating in vibrating and/or tickling probes.  It was the current technological peak of their ongoing research to develop a computer-controlled machine that could stimulate a captive female to orgasm, deny her orgasm but keep her on the cusp, or anything in between.  Their scientific quest was definitely making progress, and Beebe suspected their recent enhancements of the hardware and software might be approaching the point of diminishing returns.  Anyway, the gathering of data was a never-ending task, and apparently Beebe was the lab rat du jour.

Beebe sighed as Suki attached adhesive sensor pads to her throat, to monitor her pulse and breathing.  The little Goth then released the zipper running up her crotch and used the tiny straps and clips built into the catsuit to stretch the opening in the garment to either side, exposing an inch of flesh on either side of Beebe's pussy.  She attached more sensor pads, this time reaching under the suit's crotch-slit and placing the pads on Beebe's upper thighs, on either side.  Finally, she rolled the orgasmatron to the base of the frame, clamps engaged and clicked, locking it in place, and she plugged the wires trailing from the various sensors into the base of the machine.

"We don't need to set the penetration parameters," Suki purred as she anointed the machine's phallus with lubricant, "as your coefficients are already on file with the system."  Her evil smile broadened.  "And guess what!  I've got a surprise!"

Suki produced a pair of clear glass cylinders the size and shape of large test-tubes.  Attached to the base of each was a long length of clear plastic tubing that trailed down to the base of the machine.  She stepped to the side, leaned close, and carefully placed the open ends of the cylinders over Beebe's nipples.  There was a brief pause, then a motor hummed, air was evacuated from the cylinders, and Beebe's nipples were stretched into the tubes.  Suki then produced a pair of plastic clamps similar to the "flowers" they had attached to the nipples and breasts of their most recent "customers," Adele and Charlie.

Each flower clamped around one of the nipple-stretching vacuum tubes.  Then, a ring of self-adhesive "petals" steadied and anchored the arrangement in place.  Each petal had a tiny copper stud.  They were all joined by wires, then a single twisted pair trailed from each flower to the base of the orgasmatron and was plugged in.

Suki smiled at her helpless boss.  "Don't worry, darling.  I've set the petal-zappers at very low power.  They're less painful than... shall we say... irritating, the proverbial itch you can't scratch.  And once they start pulsing and the nipple-suckers start sucking, together they're a lot of fun.  I let them play with my girls for three full minutes before I had to rip them off.  Of course, I wasn't all strapped down and helpless, like you, so..."

Beebe heaved a sigh of truly tragic proportions.  They always did something epic like this after a caper, and this time it was Beebe's turn; but Suki seemed to have put a lot of planning and effort into this one.  Little did Beebe suspect.

Suki leaned close and planted a kiss on her captive's forehead.  "The program's already running, so a few minutes after I leave, the fun will commence.  Also..."  She produced a small touch-screen remote and pressed a virtual button.

Music, a song with musical accompaniment, started playing through the room's stereo speakers.  It wasn't particularly loud, but loud enough to be easily heard.  Beebe frowned as the song progressed.  Then, she sighed, again, and rolled her eyes, and glared at her captor.  The recorded voice was Suki's, lightly filtered through auto-tune software, and Suki herself was now dancing to the music.

Who's peeking out from under a stairway;
Calling a name that's lighter than air?
Who's bending down to give me a rainbow?
Everyone knows it's Suki!

Who's tripping down the streets of the city;
Smiling at everybody she sees?
Who's reaching out to capture a moment?
Everyone knows it's Suki

And Suki has stormy eyes;
That flash at the sound of lies.
And Suki has wings to fly;
Above the clouds, above the clouds.

Who's tripping down the streets of the city;
Smiling at everybody she sees?
Who's reaching out to capture a moment;
Everyone knows it's Suki!

Suki tapped the button again and the music stopped.  "Ain't Karaoke wonderful?" she giggled.  "I've got seven more songs like that, and each one will play on a continuous loop while the orgasmatron—now with tit-sucking enhancement—fucks your brains out.  I'll let the playlist be a surprise, but guess what?"  She struck a theatrical pose.  "They're all about me!"

Beebe rolled her eyes, again.

"Don't worry," Suki continued.  "You'll have plenty of rest periods between orgasms.  And this time we're going for the record, or rather, you're going for the record: most orgasms in twenty-four hours."  She leaned close, again, and kissed Beebe's gagged mouth.  "No frustration, just orgasms.  Welcome home, darling!"  She giggled and skipped to the door, waved and blew her prisoner a kiss, then closed the door.

The bolt slammed and the lock turned.  Seconds later, the lights clicked off, plunging the chamber into total darkness.  Beebe heard the muffled and diminishing sound of Suki giggling... followed by silence.  She knew that somewhere in the orgasmatron's computer, a virtual clock was ticking, counting down the seconds to the start of her first orgasmic session at the mercy of the machine.

Beebe had already decided to put off planning her next operation.  Several potential clients were interested in hiring her services, but none of the tentative contracts were time sensitive.  In any case, Dr. B and her minion/sidekick always took a break after a job.  It not only cleansed the proverbial palate, but allowed them to play with their most expensive and non-expendable toys, like the orgasmatron and Beebe's custom catsuit.

Beebe heaved another sigh.  Overkill-bondage from the neck down, but a minimal gag and my head free to flop around—insidious!  Sometimes, in Beebe's opinion, Suki had an absolute genius for counterpoint, and this was one such instance.  There were multiple hoods and head-harnesses that went with Beebe's catsuit, but Suki had chosen not to use any of them.  Insidious!

Planning their next kidnapping could wait, but the planning of Beebe's revenge on Suki?  That had already begun.  In fact, it was complete.  All was in readiness.  All Beebe had to do was survive Suki's half of the welcome home party.

As she waited for the orgasmatron to begin working its evil magic, Beebe's thoughts drifted to her most recent customers, Adele and Charlie.  In Beebe and Suki's jargon, Gail was a "client," but Adele and Charlie were "customers."  It was a much nicer term than "victims."  Anyway, Beebe was looking forward to attending an early performance of Tatooine Nights, once the out-of-town rehearsals were over and show debuted on Broadway.  She'd have to wear a disguise, and Suki as well, but they would attend, with box seats, if possible.

It would be a lot of fun watching such a pair of supreme talents strut their stuff—while remembering their naked, bound, gagged, writhing bodies under entirely different circumstances.

Suddenly, the machine between Beebe's widely splayed legs emitted a nearly imperceptible whine, which slowly built to a quiet hum.  She knew that in less than a minute the phallus would start thrusting and buzzing, the robotic probes would begin stroking and vibrating against her skin, and the "tit-suckers" would start doing their thing.  The system would slowly pick up the pace, inexorably building to the first of the many, many orgasms Beebe would be forced to "suffer" before Suki finally set her free.  A delicate shudder shivered through Beebe's body.  She couldn't help herself.

Well, the helpless captive mused, on with the show!

◄

Chapter 12

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