|by Van ©2021
times when Jess entertained the thought that perhaps... just
perhaps... she ought to find herself a new hobby... a more normal
hobby... one that wouldn't land her in prison if she made a
mistake and got caught. After all, kidnapping was against
the law, and thanks to her previous "hobby activities," the FBI
would like nothing more than to see that she spent the rest of
her life in federal custody. Fortunately for Jess (and unfortunately
for the bureau), the FBI had no idea who she was, where to find
her, or how to end her interstate crime spree, and it wasn't
from lack of trying.
There was also the issue of morality, of course, and that did
enter into her occasional battles with her conscience. But
fortunately for Jess (and unfortunately for her
victims), over the years she'd constructed a rock solid
rationalization that let her indulge her baser appetites without
sinking into the depths of depravity. Like Robin Hood, her
criminal escapades were progressive, in the way the
income tax was progressive. That is, the odds that someone
would be singled out for participation in Jess' hobby activities
increased exponentially as their income increased.
Jess only robbed from the rich, the robbery in question being
the theft of a few hours of her victim's time, the imposition of
a little terror, and the total but temporary deprivation of
their dignity. And when it was over, the only consequence
would be a few transitory aches and pains. On the plus
side, Jess compensated her victims with orgasms (however
unsolicited and unwelcome). Finally, being kidnapped and
erotically tortured would be a novel experience (probably), and
rich people are easily bored and can become jaded. Jess
knew this from experience.
Jess' operations were always of the catch-and-release
variety. Her victims might be put through the proverbial
wringer, but they were never harmed... not physically,
anyway. Were they traumatized? Yes, but all were
rich enough to afford a little therapy, and it was a safe bet
they were probably already getting their heads shrunk,
so Jess figured she might as well give them something really
juicy to talk about while on the couch.
All of which was ridiculous and not even approaching the
level of true justifications for her crimes? Yes, of
course. What's your point?
Jess (Jessica Vos) was a strikingly beautiful and exceedingly
wealthy blonde with time on her hands. Why not
indulge her darkest fantasies? She was privileged, and she
only preyed on the privileged. So, in Jess' book, it was a
wash. No harm no foul, right?
She had to make sure she never got caught, of course.
Prison was an "adventure" she'd just as soon do without.
For that reason, Jess was meticulously careful in her
planning, and she never ever exceeded the parameters of said
plans (no matter how strong the temptation). Also, she had
help, very good help.
Kera Foley started studying the martial arts when she was a
little girl, and she kept herself in exquisite shape.
Her body was, in a word, ripped. Some might
consider her physique to be just a tad mannish, but they were
definitely in the minority, and if Kera heard about it, they'd
wish they'd kept their opinion to themselves.
Kera made her living—or used to make her living—as a
physical trainer, and that was how she'd met Jess. She'd
been working a part time gig in the gym of a luxury hotel when,
one memorable day... Jess strolled in... blond, beautiful, already
in excellent shape, and filthy rich.
Somehow, they'd both sensed that there was something "special"
about the other (meaning kinky), and at some point
during Jess' half-hour on the running machine, grueling
free-weight session, and lengthy incarceration in a steam
cabinet, the topic of "restrained meditation" came up.
"RM" was the latest thing. The practitioner was tied up by
their therapist with soft rope. And once bound, they
willed themselves to relax into the resulting helplessness...
and meditated. Neither Jess nor Kera could ever remember
which of them brought up the topic, but that was
unimportant. Jess was intrigued, and made an off-the-books
appointment for Kera to come up to her penthouse that very night
for a demonstration.
Kera arrived at Jess' room well after dark, wearing casual
clothing and carrying a gym bag full of coils of soft,
well-conditioned hemp rope (which she just happened to
own). The only light in the luxury suite came from a few
flickering candles and the glow of the urban skyline through the
open drapes. Jess was wearing a welcoming smile, a hotel
robe, and nothing else.
As it turned out, while Kera might not be a certified Restrained
Meditation Therapist (if there was such a thing), she knew her
knots. And as it also turned out, Jess was a
bondage aficionado. Go figure. Who knew?
They'd both suspected, of course. Otherwise, the
appointment wouldn't have been made.
It was a magical night, with trust offered and accepted... then
offered and accepted in turn. Both of them felt the
embrace of Kera's ropes.
Love at first sight? No, but it was certainly lust at
first sight, and a rapport developed that blossomed into a
unique employee/employer relationship. But love?
Well... after a fashion. In any case, from the next day
forward they were partners in crime, with Jess very much the senior
family's "vacation cottage" in the Hamptons could be described
as cozy only by the standards of royalty.
It was arguably huge, with
enough room to house more than a dozen people in the lap of
luxury. The amenities included a home theater/media room
with all the latest technical wonders, a fully equipped gym
(with dry sauna), a decently large swimming pool (with hot tub),
an attached garage, and a kitchen that would make any chef very
happy. There was also the nearby beach, of course, just
across the vegetation-stabilized dunes.
The cottage stood empty most of the year, protected by an
expensive security system. There were state-of-the-art
alarm sensors on all the doors and windows, as well as regular
patrols by the security service, and it was kept spotless by the
periodic visits of a bonded cleaning service. A property
management company in Westhampton coordinated maintenance and
repairs. Most recently, the air filtration subsystem of
the mansion's AC/heat-pump system had received an upgrade.
The work was performed by a pair of licensed service techs five
days before the arrival of the family for their long-scheduled
two week vacation.
The matriarch of the family was Noreen Flanagan, the
fifty-something widow of the late and much beloved Miles
Flanagan. She was kept very busy running the Flannagan
business empire, but insisted on regular downtime with her
daughters, Caitlyn and Erika. In the winter, that usually
meant a ski trip at their other vacation home, an
alpine lodge near Telluride, but this summer it meant lounging
around in bikinis on the beach and beside the pool of their
"cottage" in the Hamptons.
Noreen's personal assistant, Crystal Willis, would be
accompanying the Flanagans, and she would be the only member of
the party even thinking about business. After all, someone
would have to screen "emergency" calls and e-mails from the Flannagan
International board of directors and senior executives,
and Crystal was it. She'd also be doing her fair share of
basking in the sun and generally relaxing, of course, but her
iPhone and laptop would always be at her side and at the ready.
All three Flanagan women are unarguably beautiful, with shapely
figures, fair skin, flaming red hair, even features, and green
eyes. They were undeniably photogenic. And
thanks to Noreen's generosity and regular attendance at
exclusive philanthropic events (often with one or both of her
daughters in tow, and all dressed to the nines in expensive
designer gowns and showing a little skin), the Flanagans
regularly appeared in the social columns of all the New
"Ma Flanagan," her "Darling Angels," and "Ma's Girl Friday"
drove up together in a company SUV. Crystal was behind the
wheel, Noreen was in the front passenger seat, and the girls
were in the back.
"Oh!" Noreen said, "we have to stop somewhere for—"
"Sunscreen," Caitlyn, Erika, and Crystal interrupted in unison.
Noreen gasped in mock outrage and assumed her best We Are
Not Amused expression.
"You always pester us about sunscreen," Caitlyn
"Every time," Erika confirmed.
"Even when we go to Telluride," Caitlyn sighed.
"Even when its cloudy and the sun never shows its face," Erika
"Sunscreen is important," Noreen pouted. "You girls burn
like a pair of lobsters."
Caitlyn and Erika exchanged another smile. "And you
don't?" they countered in unison.
"I brought extra," Crystal told her employer, "in case you
Caitlyn and Erika exchanged yet another dimpled smile.
"You brought sunscreen?" Erika purred. "What for?"
With the ebony skin of her African heritage, Crystal certainly
didn't need to wear sunscreen herself.
"Due diligence?" Caitlyn suggested.
"Due diligence," Crystal confirmed, not at all offended by
Erika's teasing reference to her dark brown complexion.
Erika and Caitlyn were her sisters in all but blood.
"Such a thoughtful assistant," Noreen beamed, patting Crystal's
right shoulder. "Now, once we get to the cottage, I want
you girls to help Crystal with the chores. Don't make her
do all the cooking, cleaning, and other drudgery."
Crystal smiled at Caitlyn and Erika in the rear view mirror and
they smiled back. They knew their mother was
kidding. Crystal was one of the family.
"We'll help," Caitlyn promised.
"After all," Erika added solemnly, "she brought sunscreen."
"No more shenanigans," Noreen decreed. "We're almost
The Flanagan daughters exchanged yet another amused smirk.
'Shenanigans,' they mouthed in unison. Erika
covered her mouth and stifled a minor giggling fit while Caitlyn
smiled her trademark dimpled smile.
The remainder of the trip passed in amiable silence... and
then... they arrived.
The security system functioned perfectly. Noreen opened
the security app on her iPhone, the required digital handshaking
happened, and the mechanized gate barring entry to the driveway
rumbled open. Crystal drove the final quarter-mile to the
attached garage, Noreen tapped her phone again, and the garage
door rumbled open. At that point, the system began a
one-minute countdown, awaiting the input of the proper code in
any one of the cottage's many security panels. Noreen made
it to the garage panel with plenty of time to spare and entered
the required password, then the Flanagans (and Crystal, the unofficial
Flanagan) carried their luggage to their respective rooms
Noreen was in the master bedroom, of course. Caitlyn and
Erika settled into in the bedrooms they'd occupied on vacation
since childhood. Crystal occupied the guest bedroom
closest to the master bedroom. By prior agreement, all
four immediately changed into swimsuits and headed for the
beach. Crystal was the last to arrive as she'd checked her
e-mail before leaving her room to make sure there were no sudden
business disasters Noreen needed to worry about. There
There were few other bathers basking on the sands or splashing
in the surf, and they were all at a considerable distance from
the stretch of sand fronting the Flanagan property. This
was unsurprising as the closest public access points were more
than a mile distant in either direction. It wasn't exactly
a sweltering day, but it was warm enough to be
pleasant. The Atlantic was cool (borderline cold), but
warm enough for swimming. After all, this was Long Island,
not the tropics.
The maternal decree regarding the use of sunscreen was strictly
adhered to. As a show of solidarity, even Crystal applied
a glistening layer to her smooth, dark skin. Caitlyn and
Erika smiled and held a lengthy discussion of whether or not
they should admonish Crystal for being such a suck-up, but
ultimately decided to let her transgression pass. Crystal
overheard the entire exchange, of course, and responded with a
smile of her own, as well as a rudely extended tongue.
Noreen had been busy getting herself thoroughly wet in the
Atlantic, so she missed the entire melodrama.
The vacationers spent nearly an hour out on the sands and under
the sun, then adjourned to the shade of the umbrellas and
vine-draped pergola of the cottage's "modest" swimming
pool. And despite their use of sunscreen, the three
redheads had somehow managed to develop slight sunburns.
Nothing painful, but all three were showing a full body flush of
pink highlights. This did not bode well for the
future. Noreen worried that they'd all look like
lobsters by the time they returned to the city. Her
daughters kissed her cheek and promised to be more careful in
the future and to wear long sleeves when they went running on
the beach and sunhats when they went hiking in the dunes.
When the property management service was notified of the
Flanagans' impending vacation, they'd arranged to have the
kitchen stocked with fresh produce and semi-prepared meats, all
organized into ready-to-cook meals with cooking instructions
posted as attachments on the household computer's digital
calendar. Dinner preparation was a snap.
After the meal they shared the cleanup duties, then returned to
reading books, watching TV, listening to the crash of the
distant surf, watching the moon rise from the sea, etc., etc.
It was nearly midnight when Crystal checked her e-mail queue one
last time, then retired to her guest bedroom, slid between the
sheets, and, like the Flanagans, drifted off into untroubled
Without a doubt, the Flanagan's vacation was off to a perfect
This was not
Jess and Kera's first rodeo. They had a plan, as well as
the technical knowledge, specialized equipment, and experience
to carry it out.
Concealed among the dunes near the Flanagan cottage, they were
dressed all in black, from head to toe. Specifically, they
wore soft boots, suitable for stealth—skintight, long sleeve,
spandex catsuits with integrated knee and elbow pads—lightweight
spandex hoods with open faces—and utility belts with pouches
containing their initial "hobby supplies," as well as large
pouches containing gas-masks. Everything else they'd need
for the operation was neatly stowed in the compartments of a
pair of large black duffel-bags resting on the sand.
Jess was tapping the dimly glowing screen of a mini-tablet with
the gloved index finger of her right hand.
Kera's eyes were scanning the house, alert for any movement
behind its unlit windows.
"The alarm system is spoofed and..." Jess tapped the
screen again. "The gas has been released." She
tapped the screen a final time, then slid the mini-tablet into
the right thigh pocket of her catsuit.
Kera nodded, the black-clad invaders donned their gas-masks,
picked up their duffel-bags, and strolled towards the mansion.
Five days earlier, in the guise of the bonded technicians
installing the "upgrade" of the air-filtration subsystem, Jess
and Kera had hidden small pressurized cylinders with
WiFi-controlled release mechanisms just inside the heat/AC
registers of every bedroom in the mansion. When triggered,
they would release a generous dose of a powerful but harmless
anesthetic gas. Why every bedroom? It was a near
certainty that Noreen would sleep in the master bedroom and
Caitlyn and Erika in their childhood bedrooms (which were
readily identifiable by the presence of old toys and vacation
photos), but Crystal Willis had been a wildcard. They
could guess which bedroom she'd claim for her own, but it would
only be a guess. They decided they had no choice but to
outfit every bedroom with "sleepy-gas."
The entire alarm system was under their control. It was
now sending the expected "all is well" signal back to the
security company, but in point of fact, the door and window
sensors, entryway and garage motion sensors, and bedroom
panic-buttons were totally disabled. Jess used a copy of
the front door key to turn the lock, Kera swung open the door,
and they entered the cottage. Next, as planned, they
dropped their duffel-bags and dispersed for the next phase of
the operation: securing their assigned targets.
Jess entered the master bedroom and smiled behind her
gas-mask. Noreen Flanagan was stunning. She easily
lived up to the beauty of her pictures in the papers and online
news outlets, just as Jess had hoped. Sprawled in the
rumpled covers of her king-size bed, she was fast asleep.
It was probable she'd already been fast asleep when the gas
flooded her bedroom, so it might be said she was now doubly
unconscious. Her relaxed features were angelic,
evident even in the dim, silver moonlight shining through the
open drapes. Her red curls were a tousled curtain, with
several errant strands draped across her perfect face.
Jess pulled back the covers to find her quarry dressed in a
frilly nightie. A matching dressing gown was draped across
a nearby chair.
Working quickly, Jess pulled a pair of plastic flex-cuffs from a
pouch on her belt and vripped Noreen's wrists together
behind her back. She then used a second pair of flex-cuffs
to bind Noreen's ankles. Next, she crammed a ball of
sponge-like, medium density foam into Noreen's mouth and used a
strip of Microfoam tape to keep it there, covering Noreen's
lower face from ear-to-ear and from just below her nose to just
below her chin.
Jess stood back and indulged in a few seconds of gloating.
A thrill of arousal rippled down her spine and between her legs
as she smiled down at her prisoner. The exquisitely
beautiful Noreen Flanagan was hers to do with as she pleased,
and Jess had plans for the gorgeous redhead—but those plans
would have to wait a little while longer.
Jess conducted a search of the nearby guest rooms, or that had
been the plan, anyway. It proved unnecessary as she
located Crystal Willis on the first try, in the closest guest
bedroom. Jess' second target was sprawled in a king-size
bed, like her employer, but when Jess pulled back the covers,
she found the dusky sleeping beauty was wearing panties and a
white cotton tank-top, not a nightie. Two pairs of
flex-cuffs later—Vrrrip! Vrrrip!—followed by a
second foam-ball and strip of tape, and Crystal was bound and
gagged, like her employer. Jess smiled. Crystal was
something of a bonus. Noreen and her daughters were the
primary targets, but if a beautiful, loyal employee and friend
of the family wanted to join in the coming games, who was Jess
to say no?
Meanwhile, Kera had also been busy.
She'd located Caitlyn's bedroom without difficulty, and in less
than a minute the oldest Flanagan daughter's wrists and ankles
were flexi-cuffed, her mouth stuffed with foam, and a taut strip
of tape covered her lower face. She was now lying on her
rumpled bed, wearing white panties, a gray heather t-shirt with
the NASA logo and the message: "NOT FLAT (WE CHECKED)," and her
Smiling behind her gas-mask, Kera hurried down the hall and
secured her second target. Erika, the youngest
Flanagan, slept in panties and a V-neck t-shirt tie-dyed in a
riot of pastel colors. Soon, like the other occupants of
the cottage not dressed in black, she was also bound, gagged,
Control established, Jess and Kera quickly checked the remaining
guest bedrooms, just in case. As expected, they were
unoccupied. They then rendezvoused back at the entryway,
retrieved their duffel-bags, and the next phase of the plan
It was time for Jess and Kera to have some serious fun.
| Chapter 1