THE CASE FILES OF "DR. BONDAGE"
|by Van ©2014|
|OUR STORY CONTINUES|
For the next several minutes, Charlie's world was reduced to the vibrations she was sure were caused by her barrel prison being pushed to the loading dock on Suki's loading cart. Helplessly bound in an intricate web of hemp rope, encased in a balloon-sheath of latex, suspended inside a plastic barrel, then sealed in rock-hard foam, the only thing Charlie could move was her gagged head, and that was severely restricted by the collar clamped around her neck. Finally, her head was encased in an opaque plastic bucket-cap that was screwed or bolted to the lid of the barrel. She might as well be blindfolded. In any case, she was helpless in a way she wouldn't have believed was possible... until now.
The vibrations stopped... there was a lurch to the side... Charlie and her barrel slid forward. Then... silence. No more vibration.
A minute passed. Then, Charlie felt more vibrations, maybe. They were far away, meaning beyond her barrel universe.
Then, an engine started, a truck engine. That she could definitely feel.
Charlie and her dark, close bubble of captivity began to move. Everything seemed to tip in one direction, then the other, and all the while the low-level growl of the engine reverberated.
I'm being driven somewhere, Charlie surmised. Is Adele here? Is her box next to me? Adele—mummified and packed in Styrofoam peanuts—is she here?
The journey continued.
Then, the truck—van, whatever—rolled to a halt and the engine stopped. There was a pause, then Charlie and her barrel were in sliding motion, again. She was lifted onto another hard surface, and the rolling vibration of the loading cart resumed.
How much time had passed? How long had the trip to wherever taken? Charlie couldn't guess. As when Dr. B placed her in the isolation helmet back in the lair, Charlie's sense of time was starting to drift.
Charlie and her barrel were offloaded from the cart. She slid a few feet. Then... silence.
Suddenly, Charlie heard a noise. It was difficult to tell what it was, what with the bucket-cap encasing her head. Then, in a moment of clarity and just as the sound ended with a resounding clang, Charlie realized it was the sound of a rolling gate of louvered steel slats being lowered.
And then... silence.
"Mrrpfh." Charlie made noise just to relieve the oppressive silence. It didn't help. Nothing helped.
Suddenly—"MRRRF!"—the tit and pussy vibrators came to life! They weren't buzzing very strongly, but after all that time with so little happening, the feeling was... remarkable. The three vibrators buzzed for all of eternity... or maybe only a couple of minutes. Then, they began pulsing on and off. That is, the tit-flowers stopped while the pussy-pill continued. Then, the pussy-pill stopped and the tit-flowers began to alternate—left, right, left, right, left, right... Then, all three pulsed on and off at random. And then—
"Nrf?" The vibrators had stopped. Charlie panted through flaring nostrils, or was breathing as deeply as the rigid foam encasing her body would allow.
Charlie thought she heard something. A scream? A gagged scream? Whatever it was, it was either very far away or very well-muffled. Adele? Charlie realized she might not have heard anything. It might have been in her head. But if the computer controlling Charlie's "entertainment" was active, might not Adele's computer be "entertaining" her, as well? It made sense, but the noise had stopped—if it had been there in the first place.
More time passed.
The vibrators repeated their performance three additional times, randomly modulating their level of intensity, varying which vibrator was active, and with the intervals between bouts of stimulation impossible to predict. It was never enough to make Charlie cum, not even close, but the buzzing monsters were making it impossible for her to sleep.
Suddenly, Charlie heard voices, faint and far away—either that or she was hallucinating. Then, the sound of the rolling metal door sounded, and was followed by more voices, this time much louder!
"MRRRPFH!" Charlie screamed through her gag.
Seconds passed, during which Charlie heard a voice shout the word "clear," followed by more voices barking orders and talking. Next, Charlie heard the sound of a powered drill and felt the accompanying vibrations! She surmised her rescuers were releasing the fasteners securing the bucket-cap. Rescuers! "M'mmmf!" Charlie's eyes welled with tears of joy. The bucket lifted free and Charlie squeezed her eyes tightly closed against the sudden bright light.
"It's Simms!" an alto, female voice called. "She's alive!"
Charlie opened her eyes, blinked, and focused on the beautiful face of a middle-aged redhead—auburn brunette, actually—dressed in a business suit and beaming a friendly smile. There were other figures moving around, male and female. Some were dressed in black uniforms with helmets and bullet-proof vests and armed with military-style weapons. Others were in business clothes and sporting navy-blue jackets or vests emblazoned with "FBI" or "NYPD."
"I'm Special Agent Shaw of the FBI," the auburn-haired woman said. "You're safe." She reached behind Charlie's head and unbuckled the gag's strap, then eased the plug from Charlie's mouth. Meanwhile, a male FBI agent was using a compact driver to remove the bolts securing the collar and the two halves of the barrel's lid.
"Ah... Adele," Charlie croaked in a hoarse whisper. Her jaw was very sore and her mouth incredibly dry.
Special Agent Shaw produced a small bottle of spring water, removed the cap, and held it for Charlie to drink. "Just a swallow," she cautioned, "to wet your mouth."
Charlie gulped a swig of the blessedly cool, gloriously wet water, then licked her lips. "Adele." she gasped. "S-she's in a box."
"She's right here," Shaw said, glancing to the right. "We're getting the lid off right now. And speaking of lids..." Working with her fellow agent, Shaw eased the two halves of the lid from the barrel. There was a little resistance from the foam clogging the inside of the two screw-cap fittings, but they managed. "Oh, my," Shaw said, gazing at the top of the rigid, yellow-tan expanse of hardened foam. "This may take a while."
Above the racket of the milling FBI agents and New York's Finest, Charlie could hear noise to her left, possibly the sound of the wooden lid of Adele's box rattling to the floor, followed by the rustle of packing peanuts.
A minute passed with various FBI and NYPD agents, detectives, and crime scene technicians examining Charlie's predicament, then stepping back to hold a hushed discussion of exactly how they were going to get her out of the barrel. Charlie couldn't hear much, but they seemed to be arriving at a consensus that they'd have to saw through the sides of the barrel, remove the front, then attack the foam with hand tools.
Suddenly, Charlie heard a voice that simultaneously brought her great joy and wrenched her heart with concern.
It was Adele, and she sounded as exhausted, stressed, and weak as Charlie felt.
"Charlie is right here," Agent Shaw's voice answered. "Try and relax. We'll have you out of there and on your way to the hospital in no time."
"Adele," Charlie sighed, then Agent Shaw appeared in her limited field of view, once again.
"We'll have her out of those bandages very soon," Shaw reassured Charlie. "She appears to be just fine. How do you feel?"
Charlie heaved a sigh. "Alive."
Agent Shaw smiled. "Hang in there, Miss Simms."
"Charlie," Charlie whispered, then forced a smile. "I'm Charlie."
"Jordan," Agent Shaw answered. "Call me Jordan."
"How did you find us?" Charlie asked.
"Your kidnappers sent a text to the FBI Field Office with your exact location," Jordan explained. "We got here as quickly as we could."
Charlie looked around. "A storage unit?"
"Yes," Jordan confirmed, "a public storage business in the Bronx."
"Dr. B and Suki?"
Jordan's smile faded. "We're looking for them."
Charlie sighed. "Gail?"
Jordan's smile returned. "Gail is fine. I'm sure you'll see her very soon." She eyed the foam filling the barrel, along with Charlie. "Once we get you out of there."
Suddenly—"Urp!"—Charlie's vibrators buzzed to life!
"What is it?" Jordan asked, concern evident on her beautiful face.
"V-vibrators," Charlie answered through clenched teeth.
"The bitch!" Jordan muttered under her breath, then turned to her fellow law enforcement types. "Where the hell is that saw?" she demanded.
Gail Tarkington turned her key in the deadbolt of the front door of her apartment/loft, opened the door, crossed the threshold, closed the door behind her, then turned the deadbolt from the inside. As usual, the little red light on the control panel of her alarm system was flashing and the message "FRONT DOOR OPENED" had appeared on the tiny touchscreen. She had thirty seconds to enter the appropriate code in the touch-pad or the alarm would sound and the security company would receive a signal. She entered the code, then rearmed the alarm in the "AT HOME" mode, disabling the motion-sensors.
Gail dropped her purse on the entryway sideboard, rummaged for her phone, then made her way to the apartment's "Great Room." She'd been letting her calls go to voice-mail all day, and had already decided she had no intention of answering inane press inquiries or settling trivial production disputes tonight. She sighed and slipped the phone into her jacket pocket.
Gail's apartment was quite large, and she needed the room for the theater parties she was more-or-less required to host. Some producers relied on wealthy investors to throw soirees at which possible future investors and Manhattan movers and shakers could hobnob with the stars of their productions, but Gail liked being in control. She shuddered as she removed her jacket and draped it over an expensive antique chair.
Control, Gail thought. She was physically recovered from the hideously tight hogtie Dr. Bondage had inflicted on her naked body back at her office, when she'd kidnapped Charlie and Adele. In the days since that event, the rope burns had faded away and her joints were back to normal. Massage and yoga therapy sessions at her private health club had helped. Physically, she was fine. Emotionally, she was not so fine. She felt... guilty.
Gail kicked off her shoes. They were hideously expensive and the height of style, like the rest of her business outfit. She then padded towards her home office, intending to check her e-mail. Voice-mail could wait, but in Gail's experience, e-mails were often more important, from a business perspective. Gail heaved a sad sigh. She was wracked with guilt over what had happened to the stars of her show, and guilt was a feeling with which Gail had little experience.
At least they're okay, Gail reasoned (rationalized). It was entirely Gail's fault Charlie and Adele had been subjected to days of the sort of bondage ordeal Dr. B had inflicted on her, but at least it was over. Charlie and Adele were safe. The doctors had given them clean bills of health, the cops, including that FBI busybody Shaw, had conducted their interviews, and tomorrow they'd be allowed to leave the hospital. Gail had ordered them to take at least a month off to recuperate from the kidnapping, and she fully intended to take advantage of the added time to solidify her political advantage with the Disney executives, the idiots who had caused her to plot the kidnapping in the first place, and to let Tatooine Night's songwriters and choreographers continue polishing the songs and dance numbers.
Yes, Gail thought (rationalized) as she crossed the Great Room, it was all those Disney fools fault I had to hire 'Dr. Bondage.' I have nothing to feel guilty about. She knew it would take a while, but eventually she'd come to believe it.
Gail's apartment was a variation on the loft theme. She'd managed to find a suite of rooms at a reasonable price—reasonable for the Upper East Side, that is—and had found a young decorator up to the challenge. The walls were all red brick, there were exposed pipes and track lighting running along the high ceilings, and the windows might be called retro-Industrial, with anti-burglar bars and wire-reinforced glass. Rather than going Modern, like with most urban lofts, Gail's designer had gone antique French Provincial, and the incongruous mix of old and really old was distinctive.
Gail's office was the same way, expensive antiques and unadorned walls and ceiling. She was opening the buttons of her silk blouse as she padded into the space—then froze in wide-eyed alarm!
Suki, Dr. B's sidekick, dressed in her usual black-on-black Goth style and smiling her usual unsettling, dimpled smile, was seated at Gail's desk and tapping the keys of her desktop computer. "Hiya, Gail," Suki giggled, then tapped a final key and leaned back in the throne-like office chair.
"What are you doing here?" Gail demanded. Her heart was pounding.
Suki nodded at the computer monitor. "Dr. B has changed her mind. She's decided after all to accept the ransom your insurance company so gallantly paid for Big Mouth and Twinkle-toes. The Credit Suisse account has a watch on it, of course, but I've rerouted the transfer so many times it will take Interpol, the NSA, and the NYPD hours to trace the transfer to your computer, even longer if they decide they have to stop for warrants to breach the firewalls of some of the service providers and banks. As for where the money finally ends up?" She shrugged, still smiling her devastatingly cute and sinister smile. "By the time the forensic accountants and cyber-crime specialists follow the trace to its final destination, the money will be long gone. Anyhoo, pretty quickly they'll figure out it's all being triggered via your service account and the delectable Agent Shaw and her friends will be pounding on your door. But not to worry, you'll have plausible deniability."
"Especially after we've finished making all of our arrangements."
Gail nearly jumped out of her skin, as the saying goes. The owner of the new and all too familiar voice had been right behind her! She turned to find Dr. B smiling at her like a cat eying a parakeet in a cage. How the kidnappers had gotten into her apartment without tripping the alarm, and how Dr. B had remained hidden while she unsuspectingly crossed the Great Room, Gail had no idea.
Dr. B had a pistol of some sort in her right hand. "This is a taser," she explained, waving the weapon but keeping it aimed at Gail. "At this range, it's impossible for me to miss, and it will knock you into next Tuesday if you make me use it." She was dressed in a business suit. It was as stylish as Gail's, but not quite as expensive.
"It's nasty," Suki confirmed, "the taser, I mean. And it really hurts."
"Into the main room," Dr. B ordered, taking a step back and to the side.
Gail had no choice but to follow Dr. B's order. Soon, she was standing in the center of the large, open space. Dr. B was a few feet away, still covering her with the taser, and Suki was leaning against the home office door frame, her arms crossed under her breasts and smiling her trademark smile.
"Strip," Dr. B ordered. She was also smiling.
Gail glanced towards the front door, then back to her sinister visitors. There was no way she'd be able to successfully make a break for the door or lunge behind any of the furniture. Her heart was pounding—was still pounding—and she was out of options. Her fingers fumbled with the remaining buttons of her blouse, then she eased it off her shoulders, freed her arms, and tossed it away. Her skirt was next. She unbuttoned and unzipped the waistband closure, then slid the skirt down her nylon-clad legs. Next, she removed her bra... followed by her pantyhose... and then her panties. She started to toss the panties away.
"No," Dr. B said, shaking her head. "Put them in your mouth."
Gail stared at the panties in her hand in horror, then directed her gaze to Dr. B. "Please," she begged.
"Okay," Dr. B chuckled, "put them in your mouth, please."
"We know you've been to the gym today," Suki purred, "but they can't be that sweaty and disgusting."
Dr. B nodded towards her partner. "My Suki's been keeping track of you," she explained. "We always do our homework before making a move, and that includes the endgame."
"Especially the endgame," Suki chuckled, "with Jordan Shaw nosing around."
"Yes," Dr. B agreed. "We might have to do something about Special Agent Shaw, if she continues making a nuisance of herself."
"Yeah," Suki nodded. "And wouldn't that be fun?"
"Very much so, I'm sure," Dr. B chuckled. She waved the taser. "In your mouth."
Gail crumpled her panties into a ball, opened her mouth, and crammed the silky wad inside. A delicate shudder shook her nude body. She couldn't help herself.
"If you spit those out," Dr. B said, "you'll regret it." She nodded to her grinning sidekick. "She's all yours."
Suki's smile broadened as she stooped and picked up a small duffel bag. "Doc got to tie you up last time," she purred as she sauntered towards Gail, "so now it's my turn."
Suki did, indeed, tie Gail up, and Gail let her. After all, Dr. B was still covering her with the taser, and Suki was careful not to get between her boss and their naked captive and block her line of fire. Given what had happened back at her office, Gail knew she was in for something unpleasant, but if she'd know Suki's full intentions, she might have at least tried to fight, and Dr. B and her taser be damned! In any case, it was soon far too late.
Using quarter-inch, copper-colored, braided nylon rope, Suki tied Gails wrists together in front, then lashing her ankles together She then deftly tossed a rope over an overhead pipe, tied one end to Gail's wrist bonds, hauled on the other end until she was up on her toes, then tied the rope off to a lower leg of a large, heavy cabinet. Next, Suki tied one end of a very long rope around Gail's waist, passed it between her legs, from back to front, then pulled its remaining length through the loop dimpling her waist, just under her bellybutton.
Gail's eyes widened as the rope tightened along her butt-crack, parted her labia, and nudged her clitoris. Suki had tied several figure-eight knots in the crotch portion of the rope and they were making themselves felt. She watched as Suki tossed the rope over another overhead pipe, several feet to her front, pulled out the slack, and tied a slipknot around another piece of heavy furniture. The vertical rope linking her bound wrists to the ceiling was already keeping her up on her toes. The crotch-rope was pulling her forward into a bow-like arch, and if she tried to rest her feet, it tightened. Gail didn't need to experiment. Up on her toes and leaning forward, the pressure on her pussy was already unpleasant. Riding the rope would be worse.
Next, Suki produced a roll of duct tape. Dr. B stepped forward, gathered Gail's hair and held it atop her head, then Suki snapped strip after strip from the roll and plastered them over Gail's mouth, taking her time and smoothing each silver strip with her fingers, insuring maximum adhesion. First, a horizontal strip sealed Gail's lips, then was reinforced by two strips in the form of an "X." Next, a strip went under Gail's chin and up the sides of her lower face, on either side of her mouth. This was followed by three more horizontal strips, covering Gail's already taped mouth from just beneath her nose to the point of her chin. Finally, Suki freed a long strip from the roll and began wrapping the tape completely around Gail's head and over her already well-gagged mouth. She took six tight, stretched, full turns before ripping the tape from the roll, smoothing the end, and returning the roll to the duffel. Needless to say, the panties crammed in Gail's mouth were in to stay.
Dr. B released Gail's hair, then stepped around her naked, stretched body. "Ever think about short hair, Ms. Tarkington?" she inquired. "I think you'd look good with a nice bob, something between a pixie and a pageboy."
"We could shave her head," Suki suggested. "That way she could make her mind up while it grows out. Personally, I think she'd look good with a spiky crop. You know... punk-chic?"
"Hmm," Dr. B purred, gazing at the horrified captive. "No, I think we'll leave her hair alone. Once you start fiddling with a damsel, where does it end?" She turned, strolled to a wing chair, and sat.
Gail was relieved she was not going to get an involuntary haircut. Her current predicament was pretty bad, but at least Suki seemed to be done doing things to her.
Unfortunately, Suki wasn't through.
Suki reached into her hip pocket and pulled out a pair of nipple-clamps, then held the business end of one of the clamps for Gail's inspection, pressing the sides so its spring-loaded jaws opened. "Nasty ain't it? These little beauties come with a pair of spring-loaded spikes that poke through the pads and slide together. Well, to be precise, they're sliding needles. Once they're in place, any pressure on the clamp will pierce the flesh. All by itself, the spring holding the clamp closed will get the job done—eventually—but if anything tugs on the connecting chain, it happens much quicker."
Gail squirmed in her bonds, her toes dancing on the carpet as she forced vigorous objections past her gag. "Nrrrrrf! M'mmpfh!" But she couldn't prevent Suki from pinching and stretching her right nipple, then applying one of the clamps. She shuddered and screamed through her gag, again. "M'rrrf!" She repeated the reaction when Suki stretched and clamped her left nipple. "Nrrrm!" The connecting chain rattled and swayed as she continued writhing and fighting her bonds.
"Gee, you'd think they hurt, or something," Suki giggled.
"Cheeky monkey," Dr. B chuckled. "You damn well know they hurt, from personal experience."
The clamps did hurt, and it took some time for Gail to stop struggling. It took more time for her to stop panting. Her breasts bobbed and the nipple-clamp chain swayed as she inhaled and exhaled.
Meanwhile, Suki had produced a long length of copper-colored nylon cord that matched Gail's rope bonds. She tied one end to the center of the nipple-clamp chain, then stretched the cord several feet to Gail's crotch-rope, lifting the clamp chain. Suki pulled out all the slack and tied a clove-hitch, then wrapped the remaining cord several times to use up the free end and further anchor what was now a very taut nipple-clamps-to-crotch-rope connection.
Gail's nipples were throbbing. The pain had faded to a low burn, but the needles were definitely there. She tried easing off her toes to give them a rest, and immediately thought better of it. The clamps bit her nipples as the cord tightened, and the crotch-rope added its own reminder that it was already uncomfortably tight.
Dr. B pointed to the slipknot securing the end of the crotch-rope. "Tie something less sloppy, darling," she ordered.
Suki reacted with mock umbrage. "I know how to tie a knot," she huffed as she knelt and released the knot. "I just wanted to be sure I had it juuust—" She gave the rope a jerk, and Gail winced in reaction. "—right." Suki tied off the rope with a several carefully compacted hitches. "Satisfied?" she demanded as she climbed to her feet.
Dr. B gave the crotch rope a playful tug with her right index finger. Again, Gail winced. "An excellent job, Sweet-pea. Sometimes less is more, don't you agree?"
"I think Big Mouth and Twinkle-toes might be surprised to hear you say that," Suki giggled, "but in this case, yes." She picked up her duffel and moved to the door. "You done playing with the bitch?" she asked.
Her eyes locked with Gail, she nodded towards the front door. "I'll be along shortly."
"Whatever," Suki responded. "So long, Blue-eyes!" she called as she left the Great Room for the entryway.
"It's been a pleasure, Ms. Tarkington." Dr. B said, still smiling at her captive employer. "Suki programmed a delay into the start of the various transfers, so our most optimistic estimate of when the FBI and NYPD might complete their trace and come pounding on your door is something like three hours, but it might take them as long as some time after midnight. In any case, when they find you like this and hear your story, there's no way they'll blame you for the disappearance of the ransom, just as they don't blame you for the actual kidnapping." She gave the crotch rope another twang. "All part of the service. Recommend us to your friends, if any of them find occasion to have any family members or friends kidnapped and entertained."
Gail watched Dr. B saunter to the entryway. 'After midnight?'
"By the way," Dr. B called back over her shoulder, "as penance for being such a selfish, insensitive bitch, I order you to acquire and wear a pair of gold nipple-rings. Since Suki's being nice enough to pierce the nipples in question, it's only polite for you to make sure they stay pierced." She turned in the threshold and smiled. "I have contacts in all the city's health clubs, so I'll know if you show up in a sauna or steam room without them. I don't think you'd like what would happen if you decide to be disobedient. I might do something... mean."
With that, Dr. B turned and left.
Gail assumed Dr. B and Suki had the knowledge and means to reset the alarm and lock the front door after themselves. After all, they'd broken in without any trouble. Her toes were already beginning to ache, as were her poor nipples. She didn't know if the needles had worked their way all the way through her flesh, but she was sure the process was underway.
Her body in full stretch and bowed forward, naked, bound, and gagged, Gail knew the next few hours were going to be very difficult. She'd already decided that hiring Dr. B and Suki might not have been her most stellar of business decisions.