by Van ©2021
		Chapter 1

There were 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.

Jessica Vos

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

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 partner.

The Flanagan 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.

Noreen Flanagan

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 York papers.

"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—"

Caitlyn Flanagan

"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 chuckled.

Erika Flanagan

"Every time," Erika confirmed.

"Even when we go to Telluride," Caitlyn sighed.

"Even when its cloudy and the sun never shows its face," Erika added.

"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 forgot."

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.

Crystal Willis

"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 there."

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 and unpacked.

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 were none.


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 slumber.

Without a doubt, the Flanagan's vacation was off to a perfect start.

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 new bonds.

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, and helpless.

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 commenced.

It was time for Jess and Kera to have some serious fun.