FROM THE CASE FILES OF "DR. BONDAGE"
		by Van ©2014
		Chapter 1

Beebe Bonde, aka Dr. Bondage, was naked, flat on her back, and relaxing in her hotel room bed.  She was also playing with her favorite sex toy.  Beebe had put in a long day finalizing the details of her current operation, checking and double-checking all of her arrangements, but she'd found the time for both a yoga session and a full workout in the hotel gym.  In fact, Beebe had overexerted herself.  Her trim, tan, athletic and very shapely body was a little sore and very tired from the strenuous exercise, but it was receiving just the therapy it needed.

Suki—Beebe's junior partner in crime and the sex toy in question—was providing said therapy.  The little brunette was as naked as her boss and was between Beebe's splayed legs, using her talented and experienced lips and tongue to slowly bring her boss to orgasm.  Suki's hands were palm-to-palm behind her back with her arms folded, raised, and thin cord lashing her wrists, palms, and fingers against her spine in a stringent reverse-prayer.  In addition, neatly stacked cord bands lashed her upper arms against her torso and yoked her shoulders.  Finally, her big toes, the insteps of her feet, and her ankles were bound with yet more cord, making rolling off the bed and hopping away in some sort of hypothetical escape attempt a very iffy proposition.

All in all, it was an unnecessarily cruel tie that would have eventually caused even a fit and flexible damsel-in-distress a great deal of discomfort; however, in this case, the victim of the flesh-dimpling cords would have been offended if her Mistress had "gone soft on her" and done anything less villainous.  Suki was in the same exquisite shape as Beebe, with a toned, limber body.  She could take it, and Suki knew Beebe enjoyed letting her inner bondage monster test her junior partner's limits.  Besides, the helpless captive reasoned, she needs to relax... which might actually happen if she'd put down the damn iPad and let me do my job.

Enough was enough.  Suki stopped licking the most villainous and wonderful pussy in the whole wide world, lifted her chin, and glowered up her Mistress' light brown/dark blond pubic patch and flat tummy.  She couldn't see Beebe's boobs or face, as her hands and the offending iPad were in the way.  However, she could see the top of Beebe's head, which at the moment was a mousy (in Suki's opinion) brown, instead of its usual blond.  The dye-job wasn't a part of Beebe's constant efforts to disguise her identity and movements as she went about the business of kidnapping and "entertaining" beautiful women for her various clients.  She'd just decided to go brunette for a while. 

Suki preferred her boss and lover as a blond, but she was just the junior partner, after all, and knew better than to make an issue of it.  If Beebe was this cruel under normal circumstances—reverse-prayer, toe and foot bondage, mandatory pussy licking—just imagine what she'd do if Suki ticked her off by referring to her new hair color as "mousy."  No, Suki wasn't that much of a masochist.

Eventually, the lack of pussy stimulation registered and Beebe moved the iPad to the side and frowned at her captive partner.  "What?"

"You're insulting my tongue by staring at pictures when it's busy licking your pussy," Suki pouted.

Beebe smiled.  "I'm sorry, tongue," she purred.  "I found some new images of our client and our possible targets and I find them most... inspirational."

Suki's response was a wounded, silent pout of truly epic proportions.

Beebe sighed, a tolerant smile still curling her beautiful lips.  "Your tongue is also inspirational, Little One."  She turned the iPad so Suki could see the screen.  "Gail Tarkington, our client."

"Yes, I know," Suki intoned.  "I've been directly involved in the planning for three weeks, as you might recall."

"Look at the picture," Beebe chuckled.

Siki's eyes shifted to the iPad's screen.  Gail Tarkington was seated in a canvas campaign chair, probably at a rehearsal studio somewhere.  The Tony-winning producer was dressed in a business suit and sandal-pumps, her long brown hair loose about her shoulders and her nylon-clad legs crossed.  "Oh look," Suki said, perfectly deadpan, "Gail Tarkington has legs.  Who knew?"

Still smiling, Beebe positioned the screen so they both could see the image of the forty-something, undeniably very attractive woman.

"You aren't thinking about playing with your employer, are you?" Suki demanded.

"I can dream, can't I?" Beebe chuckled.

"No, you can't," Suki huffed.  "I forbid it."

Beebe's smile turned coy... and evil.  "You forbid it?"

"We can't start kidnapping our clients," Suki sighed.  "Who's going to hire a crazy woman?"  She, squirmed in her bonds.  "I have my own career to think about, you know.  You can't 'play' with your employers, no matter what they look like."

"Your career," Beebe chuckled.  "Your career as an assistant criminal mastermind, or as a pussy-licker?"

Once again, Suki's response was to pout.

Anyway," Beebe purred, "look at this."  She swiped her finger, replacing the photo of Gail Tarkington with one of Charlie Simms, a veteran Broadway star and the co-lead of Gail's new musical.  She was in a Vegas showgirl costume, a publicity still from a show two seasons ago, or was it three?

Anyway, Charlie had played a dancer on the Vegas strip who went on to become a big star.  It had been the perfect showcase for Charlie's talents as a singer and dancer, and even though the show itself had received so-so reviews and had only been a marginal commercial success, it had earned its star her third Tony nomination.

"Hot little bod," Suki conceded, smiling at the way Charlie filled out the showgirl costume... what there was of it.

"Actually," Beebe chuckled, "Charlie Simms is nearly as tall as I am, darling, but I quite agree about the 'hot' assessment. And that face..."

Suki gazed at the screen for several seconds before answering.  "Yeah... goofy-cute.  She'll do."

"She's adorable," Beebe purred, "and hot.  She'll more than do."  Beebe swiped the screen, again, bringing up a third photo.

"Adele Dazeem," Suki sighed.  "She's funny looking."
 
"She's gorgeous," Beebe corrected her partner, "and you know it."

Adele was a Broadway star, like Charlie, and had also done movie and television work, more than Charlie, anyway.  She was also Gail's co-star in the new show.  In the photo she was wearing a bodysuit of black, skintight Lycra with a pair of cat ears tucked into her long, dark brown curls.  It was an actual cat costume and completely concealed her fit, trim dancer's body—except for her hands and sexily pouting face—while totally revealing every curve.

"If anyone has a 'tiny' hot bod, it's Adele, by the way.  She's a mere five-foot four... like you, darling."

Suki frowned, and decided to ignore the dig about her height.  "What show is that from?" she asked.  "Was there a Catwoman musical I somehow missed?"

"It's not important," Beebe chuckled.  "You're right about her face," she continued, "but I'd call her looks 'interesting,' rather than funny—although she can do comedy."

"Her nose is too big and her mouth is huge," Suki muttered.  "She could probably swallow her own fist, if she tried."

Beebe smiled.  "She can also take a deep breath, open that 'huge' mouth, and blow them out of their seats in the balcony, with perfect pitch."

Suki stared at the screen with a sullen expression.  "There's nothin' wrong with funny looking when you're that gorgeous," she huffed.  "Have you decided which one we're going to nab?"
 
"Actually..."  Beebe continued gazing at the screen.
 
Suki heaved a truly tragic sigh.  "No," she muttered.  "Not again.  It's a simple job: grab one, exactly one, of two unsuspecting targets, 'entertain' her for a few days, demand ransom we have no intention of collecting, then arrange for her convenient rescue and return to her native habitat, unharmed.  Easy-peasy."  She sighed, again.  "You're going to over-reach, again.  Aren't you?  You always over-reach."

Beebe swiped the iPad's screen a fourth time, bringing up a photo of Charlie Simms, Adele Dazeem, and Gail Tarkington, all three together at some publicity event.  "Really, darling," she purred, "just look at them.  How can I choose?"

"Because you have to," Suki huffed, "that's why."

Beebe chuckled and placed the iPad on the nightstand.  "I never over-reach, darling, but I'm always open to opportunity."  She indicated her crotch with a graceful, languid gesture.  "Now, I strongly suggest you get on with the task at hand before I decide to take formal notice of your goldbricking and rank insubordination and you suffer the horrendous consequences."  She lifted her splayed legs, crossed her ankles, then rested her feet on the small of Suki's back.

Rather poorly concealing one of her trademark impudent, saucy smiles, Suki licked her lips and followed her partner's suggestion.

Gail Tarkington stormed into her office and slammed her purse onto the credenza behind her expansive antique desk.  Next, she removed her jacket and hung it in the office's small closet, then kicked off her high heels, flopped into her very comfortable executive office chair, and propped up her pantyhose-clad feet on the desktop.  She was tired, tired from too little sleep, and above all very tired of arguing with bone-headed idiots!  She'd spent most of the day in meetings with various investors and executives from partnering studios.  There had been at least some progress in the Herculean task of bringing Tatooine Nights to the stage.  Specifically, her efforts to get the local Disney "creative executive assistants" off her back seem to have succeeded.

Gail had already been in negotiations to secure the rights for a Star Wars-based musical when George Lucas passed the Star Wars torch to the House of Mouse, and miracle of miracles, her project survived the change; however, it was very much the proverbial red-haired stepchild.  Most of her financial support was still from her original investors, but the branch of Disney-Corp that spawned musicals based on Disney films had fought her tooth and nail for creative control... but somehow, Gail had come out on top... for now.

There was a preliminary poster design for Tatooine Nights on an easel next to her desk, a half-sheet, 22 by 28 inches, mounted on foam-board.  It showed both of her costars—Adele, in a black, skintight version of the uniform of an Imperial officer—and Charlie, in a gray-brown desert robe over what was obviously a Princess-Leia-as-Jabba's-Prisoner metal bikini.  Both characters were glowering at each other.  Adele's right hand was on her holstered blaster and Charlie was holding a "Gaffi-stick," the signature weapon of the Sand People.  It was night, with sweeping desert dunes in the background, the stars and moons of the Tatooine sky overhead, and an Imperial cruiser streaking across the heavens.  The font of the title made the Star Wars connection crystal clear, if the costumes and wedge-shaped starship weren't enough of a clue.

Gail heaved a sigh.  Actually, things were looking up.  The book was more-or-less finalized, the music was coming along, and there was definite progress with the choreography.  Good thing, too, as the start of rehearsals was less than a month away.  And with the conditional surrender of her most vocal opponents at Disney in hand, things could move forward, and Gail wouldn't have to resort to the "special tactic" she'd arranged to give herself some breathing space.

It could all come off the rails, even now, and it very nearly had.  Her most skittish investors had been threatening to pull their funding over the delays in the schedule—delays caused by the "creative input" of the Disney cretins.  But, after today's meetings, everything was okay... for now.

Gail rose from her chair, turned her back to the office door, lifted the heavy crystal stopper of a decanter of very expensive scotch, and poured a generous splash into a crystal glass.  The "special tactic" she'd been contemplating would have been highly unethical (not to say grossly illegal).  Every production, every real production, took out insurance policies on its stars and key creative staff, and Tatooine Nights, Incorporated, was no exception.  It wasn't altruism, of course, but the hedging of bets against accidents and unforeseeable occurrences causing schedule delays.

If something happened to one of Gail's stars, something that prevented her from executing her contractual obligations and required the production to reschedule the opening and/or recast the part, they were covered.  Of course, one would hope that whatever had happened would be temporary and non life-threatening, but the extra cash from the insurance company, and especially the added time to deal with the ongoing negotiations, would have been very helpful.

And Gail knew some people who knew some people who could make things happen.  Of course, she'd never consider doing something as despicable as having one of her stars kidnapped, having either Charlie or Adele held someplace quiet for a few days, then released totally unharmed.  Never!  But if it happened, the insurance company would pay, both the ransom and compensation for the delay, as long as there wasn't even a hint of fraud or collusion.  Also, the inevitable publicity when the proverbial shit hit the fan would be an added bonus.

But still, Gail would never do such a thing—unless there was no possibility of getting caught, of course.  After all, business was business.

Anyway, the front half of the "consultant" fee had already been paid and the kidnapping was already in progress (supposedly).  So, either Charlie or Adele would get a few day's unexpected vacation, the insurance company would pay out, and all would be well.  Only now, the Disney idiots had caved, no funny business was required, and Gail could call the whole thing off.

"Thank God," Gail muttered as she took a sip of scotch.

"You're welcome," a female voice chuckled from behind her back.

Eyes wide with surprise, Gail barely avoided choking on her drink.  She spun on her nylon-clad feet and found the very person she'd been thinking about smiling at her from one of her visitor chairs.  It was "Beebe" (probably not her real name) and she was dressed in a dark gray business suit, a skirt and jacket over a black satin blouse.  Her brown or possibly honey-blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail.

"Sorry," Beebe purred with a somewhat disturbing smile.  "I couldn't resist."

"How did you get in here?" Gail demanded.

"Through the door, of course," Beebe answered.  "It's late and everyone else seems to have gone home.  We had to let ourselves in."

Tatooine Nights Incorporated rented the rehearsal halls below Gail's offices.  She already owned the building, so in effect she was paying herself rent from her investors' money.

"Who is 'we?'" Gail demanded.

"We would be us," a new voice chuckled.

Gail flinched in surprise, again.  It was Beebe's Goth assistant with the long, straight, dark hair with bangs, pale-blue eyes, and air of menacing innocence—a description most people might consider contradictory, unless they'd met "Suki."  She was dressed in black boots, jeans, and a leather coat, also black.

"You've made a full sweep?" Gail inquired.  Obviously, she was speaking to her minion.

"Yep," Suki confirmed.  "Nobody in the hen house but us foxes."  She smiled at Gail.  "And one hen."  She had a large duffel bag in one hand, which she dropped on the floor next to the office door.

Gail ignored the little Goth and her joking insult and successfully disguised her nervousness—she hoped.  "I'm glad you're here," she said.  "I was about to call you."

"On the disposable burner phone I gave you, of course," Beebe purred.

"Of course," Gail responded.  "Uh... due to recent fortuitous events, I no longer require your services."

"You no longer want me to kidnap one of your stars and keep her tied up someplace for a week or so?" Beebe inquired.

Gail blushed.  She'd never wanted to do this in the first place, but business was business.  "Yes... I mean no, I don't want that.  The deal is off.  You can keep the first half of the payment, for your time and trouble, but—"

"Sorry," Beebe interrupted, "but as I explained the last time we chatted, things have already progressed past the point of no return.  I've already made extensive and expensive arrangements, and have no intention of turning back."

"That can't be true," Gail objected.  "All you have to do is not go through with the kidnapping."  For the first time, she noticed that her visitor, both her visitors, were wearing what appeared to be latex gloves.  They were clear and the same texture as skin, so they'd been easy to miss.  And the fact that Beebe and Suki was wearing them was... ominous.

"I'm afraid it is true," Beebe sighed.  "I have no intention of stopping.  This sort of thing is both a vocation and an avocation for me."

"Me too," Suki agreed with a saucy grin.

"Also," Beebe continued, "I have a professional reputation to maintain.  Nobody likes a quitter."  She gracefully climbed to her feet and walked around the desk.

Gail rose from her chair, ready to fight or flee, whichever gave her the best chance of escape—but Beebe was too quick, and far too skilled.  "No!  Stop!  MRRRF!"  Before she could do more that start to react, Gail had been grabbed, spun around, her arms were trapped behind her back, and Beebe was holding something, a cloth of some sort, over her nose and mouth!  "N'mpfh!"  And the cloth was soaked in some sort of noxious chemical!

"This is a general anesthetic something like chloroform," Beebe purred, her smiling lips about an inch from Gail's right ear, "but without the deleterious side effects.  Don't worry.  I know what I'm doing.  I'm a doctor."

Kicking and struggling, Gail stared with wide, desperate, pleading eyes at Suki—"Mrrf!"—and the little Goth smiled back.  Then, Suki, the office, and everything doubled in Gail's vision... went out of focus... then began to fade... as if receding into a deep, dark tunnel.

Gail had a headache... but it wasn't too bad.  God knew she'd had worse.  Broadway productions and migraines go together.

But there was something else.

Still very much in a daze, Gail realized something was pinning her upper arms to her sides, and her arms were folded behind her back, and her wrists were crossed, bound together, and were pressing against her spine.  Was it... rope?  She squirmed in her chair... and could tell she was in her chair, her office chair.  She tried to kick... but her ankles were also crossed and tied, and her knees were bound together, as well.  And when she tried to heave herself out of the chair... she couldn't.  More rope?  Also, something was stuffed in her mouth, and something else was wound around her head, tight, very tight, and was keeping the stuffing in place.  But what?  None of it made sense.

Then, Gail opened her eyes, shook the hair from her face, her mind finally cleared, and it all made sense.  It all made terrible sense.

Gail was, indeed, sitting in her office chair and was behind her desk.  And for the immediate future, she was going to be staying there.  She was tied up!  And her bonds were rope, quarter-inch, solid-braid nylon rope, in brown!  She was also tied down, meaning tied to the chair, by more of the same rope!  Also, her bound ankles were tethered to the chair's base.  She could squirm, she could squirm quite a bit, in fact, and she did so.

"Mrrrmpfh!"

Gail was also gagged.  She'd realized this before, but now her headache was gone, banished by a surge of adrenalin, and her drugged confusion had been replaced by a stomach clenching wave of ice cold fear.  She drugged me!  She tied me up!  And then, Gail realized the "she" in question was present.  Beebe was standing near the open office door, quietly conferring with her Goth partner.  Gail continued tugging on her bonds.  Nothing loosened or gave the slightest impression that it was going to loosen.  There was some slack in the ropes lashing her to the chair, but only as a consequence of the chair's padding.  None of the ropes shifted as she tried to wiggle free, and her groping fingers—which like her hands were trapped between her body and the chair's back—could find nothing even vaguely resembling a knot.

Beebe finished her conversation and Suki left, closing the office door behind her.  Beebe smiled at Gail, strolled to the visitor's chair she'd occupied earlier, sat, and crossed her long, tan, nylon-clad legs.

Gail continued struggling and testing her bonds, still making no appreciable progress.  Finally, her breasts heaving between the ropes lashing her arms to her sides and binding her to the chair, her nostrils flaring above her gag as she panted for breath, Gail forced herself to stop.  At some point, the top three buttons of her blouse had come undone and she was showing quite a bit of cleavage, framed by rope and revealing a little of her bra, as well as displaying more of her full breasts than she would have otherwise liked.  She shook her hair from her face, again, and locked eyes with her captor.

Beebe continued smiling at her prisoner for several seconds... then sighed and spoke.  "Out of curiosity, as a medical professional, I was wondering what sort of heartless bitch would arrange to have her coworkers and supposed friends kidnapped.  A high-functioning sociopath, no doubt.  Perhaps we'll have a chance to discuss the matter at some point in the future."

Gail's response was to weakly squirm in her bonds, and to try and control her fear.

"The question was rhetorical, of course," Beebe purred.  "Now is not the time for a psychological evaluation."

Gail watched as Beebe reached into her jacket pocket and produced a... dog collar?  Whatever it was, it was made of thick black leather, about an inch in width and sixteen inches in length, and had a locking buckle.  And attached to the collar was a small, rectangular object of black plastic.  As Beebe turned the collar in her hands, Gail could see that a pair of very short and decidedly blunt metal studs protruded from the plastic box and pierced the inside of the collar.

"You're familiar with shock collars for dogs?" Beebe inquired, and Gail's eyes widened in response.  "I can see you are," Beebe continued.  "This particular model can be set to shock bad doggies in response to a wide range of attempted vocalizations.  It has the dual function, when set at the appropriate level, of paralyzing the vocal cords for a brief period and punishing naughty, unwanted behavior.  Unfortunately, that particular power setting is very painful."  She reached back into her pocket and produced a small remote control and indicated a small rotary dial.  "As you can see, this can control up to four different collars at once."  She then pointed to a small slide bar.  "This varies the intensity."  Finally, there was a red button.  "And this delivers a shock whether the bad doggie is attempting to bark, or not."

Beebe gracefully climbed to her feet and strolled around the desk.  "To summarize, the collar is both automatic and manual, in that it can be used to punish attempts to speak, or just to punish."

Gail's struggles became more vigorous.  "Nrrrrrf!"  But she could neither free herself from the ropes nor prevent Beebe from fitting the collar around her neck.  She tried, but Beebe took a firm, scalp tugging grip on her hair and pulled.  That more or less decided the issue.  Gail felt the buckle engage, the collar tighten, and a small padlock click closed through the buckle's tongue.  She could feel the metal studs pressing against her throat.  Reflexively, she complained—"Mm-Urk!"—but a painful shock put an immediate halt to her efforts.

"Funny," Beebe said as she returned to the visitor's chair, "but almost every damsel I've ever placed in one of my collars insists on a test, as if they don't really believe the things work as advertised."  Her smile turned even more evil.  "Do you also wish a test of the red button?" she asked, "the discretionary punishment feature?"

Gail stared at her captor in wide-eyed horror, then shook her head.

"Good," Beebe purred.  "You may have the conscience and ethics of a sewer rat, but at least you aren't stupid."

It had been a while since anyone insulted Gail Tarkington by calling her a sewer rat.  When Gail screwed someone over in a business deal, it was not at all unusual for her victim to resort to colorful language, but no one had referred to her as a "sewer rat" in months, not in her hearing, at least.  In any case, Gail had other things to worry about, much more important and immediate things—like being bound, gagged, and shock-collared by a professional kidnapper.

"We may be in for a bit of a wait," Beebe said, her lips still curled in her trademark beautiful and disturbing smile.  "I cloned your phone some time ago, and just now sent text-messages to your costars—in your name, of course—summoning them to separate late-night meetings.  Both have answered to the affirmative, so... all we can do is wait for the first arrival."

Charlie and Adele are coming here?  Gail shook her hair from her face, yet again, and squirmed in her bonds.

This was not going as she'd planned, not at all.