by Van ©2017
		Chapter 1

Beebe Bonde (a.k.a. "Doctor Bondage") has a unique resume.  She's a fully trained physician and board certified in more than one specialty—or had been until until her "unique hobby" came to light and led to the revocation of her license to practice medicine, as well as the need to evade capture by various law enforcement authorities.  Her medical skill set remains intact, of course, and she has found it to be quite useful in her new career, that of kidnapper for hire.

It was a "natural" extension of the hobby in question.  You see, "Dr. B" (as she's called by her sidekick-in-crime) is into bondage, especially female bondage.  To be even more specific, Beebe finds nothing more pleasurable that watching (and doing pleasurable things to) comely damsels writhing in tight, inescapable bondage, bondage she has applied.  Always has—always will.

The resume in question could be divided into chronological subdivisions: (1) juvenile police records, (2) academic records and transcripts, and finally, (3) adult police records, local, state, federal, and international.  The third category, in paper form and gathered together in one place, would fill ten or more standard filing boxes.  Retained physical evidence would probably require an order of magnitude of more boxes.

Notably absent, however, would be categories (4): trial transcripts, and (5): penal records.  Dr. B has never been caught; however, she has accumulated an impressive collection of "Jane Doe" arrest warrants (the way some women accumulate shoes).  Dr. B is, at the very least, a "person of interest" in dozens of high profile and unresolved kidnappings and is usually the prime suspect.  Various sheriffs and police chiefs, the FBI, Mounties, Scotland Yard, the French National Police, and Interpol would very much like "Doctor Bondage" to help tidy up their outstanding case files.

Beebe's medical practice had been lucrative, and the proceeds from her second career especially so.  She owns properties in several countries as well as numerous offshore bank accounts, all under a host of false identities.  Beebe Bonde (and her various personas) are very wealthy women.  She's careful to move from hideout to hideout, lair to lair, and palatial estate to palatial estate on a regular but random basis, shedding properties and purchasing others in the process.

Beebe's also expert in the art of disguise.  Even in the age of ubiquitous security cameras and facial recognition software, "Doctor Bondage" knows the best ways to alter her hair style and color and change her facial profile with makeup and subtle theatrical appliances, as well as her clothing and apparent social status.  She routinely enters a building as one attractive woman... and exits as another, usually equally attractive woman.

By the way, Beebe is somewhat tall (5' 10") and naturally blond, a stunningly gorgeous Nordic beauty, and she keeps herself in tiptop shape.

And returning to the topic of sidekicks-in-crime, Beebe has one.  She goes by the name of "Suki", but her actual name was lost to the past.  Beebe knows Suki's true name, of course, but "Suki" is the only name her incredibly cute, talented, and devilishly mischievous protege and lover requires.

Suki also keeps her more diminutive, 5' 4" body in good shape, and, as mentioned earlier, is cute... very cute.  And sharing her mentor's talent and training in the art of disguise, Suki can present public personas as diverse as quirky cute (hot nerd), innocent cute (schoolgirl on her way to class), professional cute (adorable waitress, store clerk, secretary, executive intern), librarian (which arguably overlaps with hot nerd), or medically cute (candy-striper or novice nurse).  Her default/preferred appearance is that of a cute Goth.

Another thing Suki shares with her beloved Dr. B is a love of beautiful female bodies struggling to free themselves from tight bondage, as well as said helpless females "suffering" prolonged and/or repeated orgasms.

And speaking of suffering, neither Beebe nor Suki have a taste for inflicting actual harm, physical or psychological.  They weren't above putting good frights in their "playthings," but do their best to keep things "playful."  They only accept kidnapping commissions from which the target or targets are emerge unharmed and unmarked.  (The occasional rope-mark or quickly healing bruise doesn't count.  Tattoos, brands, and involuntary piercing definitely count; however, if a subject already has voluntary piercings and the client wants more... that's a gray area.)

And what if a client wanted someone to disappear forever?  Dr. B and Suki are not hit men... or hit women.  Anyway, they aren't assassins, especially not messy assassins who torture people to death for some rich psycho's amusement and/or profit.  Over the years, more than one such job offer has been turned down.  And more than one such potential client has found their scheme spoiled and themselves in prison, thanks to an anonymous phone call or text placed to the relevant authorities; but nothing, of course, could be traced back to Doctor Bondage or even hinted at her involvement.

At the moment, Dr. B and her sidekick were between gigs.  They weren't without prospects, but it was their long established modus operandi to rest between jobs, changing geography and lying low until things had settled down.  They were currently residing in one of Dr. B's more modest safe houses, a bungalow-style cottage in a suburban neighborhood of a medium-size American city.  Beebe intended to sell the property after this visit, so the area was perfect for a personal project she'd been planning for some time.  Specifically...

It was time for Suki to move up from sidekick and minion to Beebe's actual partner... meaning junior partner.

That said, Beebe had decreed that before any such promotion, Suki would be required to plan and execute an operation entirely on her own.  This time, Dr. B would play the role of Suki's minion, as well as observer and (if necessary) umpire; but from start to finish, including cleanup and relocation, it would be Suki's show.  And there would be no client involved.  That way, in the event that something went wrong, the reputation of "Doctor Bondage Incorporated" wouldn't suffer.  In any case, Beebe wouldn't be allowing this test if she didn't think Suki was ready.

Anyway, Suki had done her homework, selected an operation, and Beebe had approved the plan.  It was a simple group kidnapping at a single location.  On second thought, "simple" might be considered a poor choice of words.  Anyway, Suki had a target location, a list of potential target subjects, an "entertainment" agenda, and a specified endgame.  The meeting in progress was for Dr. B to give her final approval.

They were in the basement of the bungalow.  Beebe was wearing her usual at-home costume (for this particular hideout and "identity") in the form of sneakers, denim jeans, and a sleeveless, white cotton blouse.  Her long hair was its natural blond color, pulled back in a tight ponytail, she was without makeup, and (objectively and in Suki's highly prejudiced opinion) was absolutely gorgeous.

Suki, on the other hand, was naked, as in nude, as in without a stitch of clothing.  She was lying on her back on a very long, somewhat narrow wooden table, that, after a shopping spree at the local hardware store and a little DIY, had been converted into a functional rack.  Some might criticize the design as excessively complex, but Beebe found its interlocking intricacy to be aesthetically pleasing.  Under different circumstances Suki might have agreed with her boss (and lover), but at the moment the rack's braided steel cables were connected to padded, suspension-style cuffs that were buckled and padlocked around Suki's wrists and ankles.  She was not in the mood to say anything positive about the homemade torture engine.

The rack's cables traveled in a complicated crisscross pattern, threaded through steel pulleys in brackets screwed into the top, both sides, and the underside of the table, then were drawn onto the drum of an electric winch.  If or when Beebe thumbed the switch of the remote control in her hand, the winch would turn, taking up more and more cable, and Suki would be stretched... and stretched... and stretched!  There were physical safety stops engineered into the system than could be set to accommodate damsels of different (pre-stretched) heights, and at the moment they were at the 5' 4" setting; but even with that knowledge, riding the rack was a terrifying experience.

"So," Beebe purred, comfortably seated in a comfortable chair at Suki's and the rack's side, "you're absolutely certain you've thought of everything?"

There was a ball-gag secured on the strap's first hole dangling loose around Suki's neck, so she could answer, and she did.  "You know it's impossible to think of everything," Suki huffed.  Her lips were set in a heartbreaking pout.  Suki knew it wouldn't earn her a reprieve from the "punishment" to come, but she also knew Beebe found the expression to be particularly cute.  "I've got multiple escape plans for multiple contingencies, like always, meaning like for one of our paying gigs.  I'm ready."

Beebe let Suki worry and fret for a few seconds before answering.  This was for two reasons: (1) it was expected.  A thoughtful villainess always gives her damsel plenty of time to languish and contemplate her fate; and (2) Suki in a four point stretch—naked—her slightly flattened breasts (with their cute little erect nipples) rising and falling as she drew deep, even breaths—her pale, smooth skin shining with a patina of sweat—her flat tummy quivering as she squirmed and tugged on her inescapable bonds—her labia flushed and pink—her muscles defined, even though she was inches away from full stretch—and her adorable, adorable face, as she bit her lower lip and awaited her mentor's verdict...  Suki-on-the-rack was just too darn cute for Beebe not to savor the moment.

Finally...  "I think we can proceed," Dr. B decreed.

Suki smiled and heaved a rack-impeded sigh of relief.  "Allrightiethen!  Let me go and I'll start moving the final supplies into position."

Beebe smiled back, leaned forward in her chair, and popped Suki's ball-gag into her mouth.  "Nice try," she chuckled as she tightened the strap until her mewling protege's cheeks bulged.

"Mrrrpfh!" Suki complained in betrayal (as if she didn't know it was coming).

"Now, then," Beebe said as she settled back into her chair, smiled, and slid her thumb over the remote control's red button.  "I suppose I could deploy the Hitachi and nipple buzzers and we could make a night of it..."

Suki eyed the remote, blinking her pale blue eyes in horror (as if she didn't know what was coming).  The Hitachi in question could be rigged to dangle from an adjustable cable clipped to an eye-bolt screwed into the ceiling such that it hovered with its business-end just in contact with the rack occupant's pussy.  The nipple buzzers were clover-clamps with pill-style mini-vibrators attached, also equipped to dangle from the ceiling, although in their case Beebe would adjust the cables until Suki's nipples were stretched as taut as the proverbial fiddle strings.  The mini-vibrators would not be allowed to dangle.  "Mrrrk?"  Suki blinked again.  What was Doctor Bondage going to do to her pathetic, innocent victim?

Beebe set the rack's remote control aside, lifted a plastic pump-bottle of body lotion from a shelf under the rack/table, pumped a generous dollop of the pale-pink, oily lotion into her left palm, and rubbed her hands together.

"I think we'll start with a thorough moisturizing of your entire body," Dr. B announced, "then, we'll tighten up the rack, and I'll use the silver, streamlined, torpedo-style vibrator to help you relax.  You know the device I'm talking about. You've christened it the 'Naboo Cruiser' if I'm not mistaken."  She leaned forward and started with Suki's breasts, massaging the lotion into the pale globes with firm, gentle, kneading strokes.  "Anyway, no more than a half-dozen orgasms.  I want you relaxed when I carry you upstairs and tuck you into bed, not in a coma."  She enlarged her massage to include Suki's armpits and the skin stretched over her prominent rib cage.  "Final preparations can wait 'til morning."

Suki squirmed and shivered in response to Dr. B's skilled hands.  For the moment, at least, she was not relaxed.

A FEW DAYS LATER

---

The red brick and concrete building with its high ceilings and exposed rafters had started life as a light manufacturing facility.  The neighborhood had been undergoing gentrification for the past decade and most other such structures had been refurnished and converted to loft apartments, but Leah Harper and her partner, Kate Ricci, had purchased and put this particular property to a very different use.  The Harper-Ricci Day Spa & Tearoom might be described as a boutique fitness center with an attached bistro.  Leah is a bestselling author of fitness books and the star of her own yoga and exercise videos and Kate has her own successful line of healthy cooking/recipe books and videos, so it's a match made in holistic fitness heaven.

And speaking of matches, Leah and Kate are more than business partners, much more.  They've shared a loving relationship for years, as well as a loft within walking distance of the spa and tearoom, including the loft's only bed and its California King size mattress.

It's Leah and Kate's habit to share the opening routine.  On an alternating basis one would sleep in for an extra hour and the other climb out of bed early and trek to the business to unlock the front door and supervise whichever of their employees has the opening shift.  Of course, the Harper-Ricci Day Spa & Tearoom is as much a happy family as a business, so, unless paperwork intervenes, the early-bird boss du jour generally shares the setup tasks with the early-bird subordinate du jour.

On this particular day it was Leah's turn to roll out of bed, kiss Kate on the lips, then take a quick shower and slip into one of her work uniforms, in this case sneakers and anklets, thong panties, yoga tights, sports bra, and a tank top.  A range of colors were available, but today Leah decided to go with a slate-blue top and black everything else.  She slipped on a jacket, slung her purse over her shoulder, and made her exit, locking the loft door behind her.

When it was her turn, Kate would usually wait 'til she got to her tearoom to prepare herself a cup of chai, but Leah always stopped at a Starbucks on the way for a dark coffee with soy milk.  Sipping the steaming beverage, Leah strolled down the street to the spa's front door, unlocked and rolled up the security gate halfway, stooped underneath, and unlocked the glass double doors beyond.  She entered, closed and locking the glass doors behind her, then disarmed the security system, entering the required code at the wall-mounted touch-pad nearby and easily beating the thirty second countdown before the silent alarm would have been triggered.

Sipping her coffee, Leah strolled down the hallway towards her office in the back, passing the front desk, the entrance to the tearoom, the locker room and showers, the dark and silent aerobics/yoga studios, weight room, and massage/meditation rooms.  As she was nearly to her office door, something unexpected happened—and that something was...

Two female figures clad entirely in black seemed to materialize from the shadows.  Not counting her jacket and purse, their costumes were superficially similar to Leah's, but their skintight outfits were single piece with long sleeves, their sneakers were more like boots, utility belts were buckled around their narrow waists, and they wore gloves and full-face masks that left only their eyes visible.

One of the sinister strangers seized Leah from behind, pinning her elbows together behind her back, and clamped a cloth soaked in some sort of noxious chemical over her mouth and nose!  The other plucked the coffee cup from Leah's hand before she could drop it.  Leah locked eyes with the coffee-grabbing stranger, and the eyes in question were pale blue and very pretty—and given the circumstances, Leah had no idea why that was noteworthy.  She knew she should be fighting, but her head was spinning and she was dizzy, confused, and disoriented.  Whatever was soaking the cloth pressed against her nose and mouth—Chloroform?—was horrible and...

Leah slumped into unconsciousness, still in the arms of the taller of the two assailants.  The cloth was pressed against her lower face for a few more seconds.  Then, with practiced ease, the tall assailant tucked it into a plastic-lined pouch on her belt.

Meanwhile, the shorter of the two assailants had lifted the front of her mask and was sampling Leah's coffee.  "Good stuff," she (Suki) remarked.

"Quit messin' around," the tall assailant (Dr. B) ordered as she pulled Leah's purse off her shoulder, removed her jacket, then lifted the limp, brunette beauty over her shoulder in a fireman's carry.  "What if the next target shows up early and you're standing here drinking coffee?"

Suki shrugged.  "I'd share, but take a chill pill.  The front entrance motion detector's quiet."  Two hours earlier, when they first arrived, they hadn't just defeated the spa's alarm system but Suki had cloned the system's sensors to their iPhones and Apple Watches.  (Yes, there's an app for that—or there is now, as Suki has written one.)

"Nobody likes a lazy kidnapper," Dr. B chuckled as she carried Leah to her office, opened the door, and entered.

Suki was right on her heels, still sipping their first target's Starbuck's cup.  "Just for that, get your own coffee."

The office door closed, and all was still in the Harper-Ricci Day Spa & Tearoom.

Target number two arrived approximately twelve minutes after Leah.  The front security gate was halfway up, signaling that her boss had arrived first, as expected.  She stooped under the gate, unlocked the glass doors beyond, then entered and locked the doors behind her.  All Harper-Ricci employees have a copy of the key.

The target in question was Scout Conroy, a brunette in her early twenties and a recent graduate of Lewis & Clark University.  An aspiring writer, Scout is working on her first novel, but to pay the bills she teaches aerobics classes at the day spa and waits tables in the tearoom.  That also means that when called upon to do so, she bags dirty towels so they can to go out to the laundry, scrubs down the showers, washes dishes and teacups, mops floors, etc., etc.  The same is true of all the employees, including their bosses.  At Harper-Ricci, everybody pitches in and does whatever needs doing.

Scout made her way through the semi-dark hallway to the locker room and the staff section in the back.  She opened her locker, hung her purse from a hook, shrugged out of her jacket and hung it from the same hook, then pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail and used a fabric-covered elastic to keep it that way.  She was now ready for work, dressed in sneakers, anklets, calf-length stretch-pants, and a sports bra, all in gray with black and white accents.

She closed her locker door, and—"What the mpfh!"—suddenly was grabbed from behind by a masked, female figure in black!  Simultaneously, a second masked, black-clad attacker appeared and pressed a chemical-soaked cloth against her mouth and nose!

"Mrrrrf!"

In retrospect, Scout realized screaming for help might not have been her best move.  Her sinuses burned with whatever was in the cloth, it was making her dizzy, and the deep, noxious breath she'd taken after the scream certainly hadn't helped.  Holding her breath as long as possible would have been better, together with planting a swift kick between the legs of the ninja-wannabe with the nasty cloth.  She made the attempt anyway, but the attacker pinning her elbows together was tall and had lifted her off her feet, throwing off her balance.  Also, the attacker in front proved adept in dodging kicks and was using her free hand and her body to counter further, increasingly weak defensive moves on Scout's part.

In any case, it was too late.  Scout's eyes rolled up in her head, closed, and she went totally limp.

Working quickly, the attackers lowered Scout to the locker room floor, cuffed her wrists behind her back with plasti-cuffs, then used a plastic cable-tie to bind her ankles.  Finally, a super-absorbent cloth rolled around another cable-tie was wedged in her mouth and the tie vripped closed at the nape of her neck and under her long brown hair.

The shorter of the two attackers opened Scout's locker and transferred her jacket and purse to a nearby covered laundry cart.  Then, the tall attacker lifted Scout's bound and gagged form, slid her into the locker, and held her in place as the short attacker closed the locker door.

"And that's number two," Suki purred as she produced a small padlock and locked the locker.

"Don't get cocky," Beebe chuckled.  "Picking off unsuspecting targets one-by-one is hardly our most challenging scenario."

"Well, yeah," Suki countered, "but it sure is fun."

Inside the locker, it was a tight fit.  Scout's helpless, semi-upright, and still unconscious body was slumped against the narrow confines of the coffin-like space.

Leah opened her eyes and blinked as they adjusted to the light.

She was in her office, in front of her desk and in the center of the room.  The pair of comfortable chairs that normally accommodated visitors in her approximate position were off to her right and against the wall.  She was seated atop her office chair, the Gaiam Balance Ball Chair that was usually behind her desk.  Basically, the chair was a large inflated ball resting in a round steel frame with legs, rollers, and a small padded backrest.  It was comfortable, but required her to use her abdominal muscles and maintain an upright posture to keep from falling off.  That said, at the moment, Leah was in zero danger of sliding off the ball and landing on the floor.

Leah's wrists were tied behind her back in the reverse-prayer position, pressed against her upper spine and just below her shoulder blades.  Also, a harness of rope strands yoked her shoulders and pinned her upper arms to her torso.  Her legs were bent at the knee and splayed apart with her knees and ankles lashed to the base of the chair-frame.  Finally, a vertical rope was tied to the back of her chest harness, loosely looped around her throat, tied around the base of the topknot-bun of her coiled hair, passed up and over an exposed rafter, then diagonally down and tied to the right front leg of her desk.

Not only wouldn't Leah be falling off her chair, she could barely move!

"Mrrrrrrpfh!"  Oh-by-the-way, some sort of thick, rolled cloth was tightly wedged in her mouth.  Whatever it might be and however it was secured in place, it was an effective gag—"Mmmmmf!"—or at least an adequate one.

Leah squirmed and struggled, as best she could.  Her fingers fluttered and groped, but all they managed was to brush against a few strands of her rope bonds.  Nothing even resembling a knot was within their awkward, straining reach.

Her clothing was all intact, which she supposed was a plus.  Whoever had captured her hadn't resorted to rape... yet.  She remembered being grabbed and drugged by two people, one of whom was a coffee-stealing woman, but that was all she remembered.

What was going on?  Robbery?  Between the petty cash box in the drawer under the front desk and whatever was in the cash register in the tearoom, there couldn't be more than a couple of hundred dollars and change on the premises.  99% of their business was conducted with credit cards.  Robbery was an unlikely motive.  That left motives Leah didn't want to contemplate.

Whoever had left her in this condition was skilled in the art of tying people up.  Leah continued struggling and testing her bonds, but couldn't find any weakness in her restraints, nor could she find any relief from her current pose.  She was atop the ball and, by all appearances, was there to stay.  However, she didn't give up.  Leah Harper didn't know how to give up.  She continued fighting the ropes binding her to the ball.

Leah also worried about her family... meaning her workplace family... including her partner/spouse, Kate.  Leah had walked into a trap.  Would the others as well?  What was going to happen to her friends?

Erin Rafferty wasn't scheduled to start work for more than an hour, but when it was Scout's turn on the roster to report early and run the vacuum through all the public spaces, thoroughly clean the powder room, or do whatever onerous task was on the schedule, she liked to show up early and help.  You see, Erin and Scout are roommates.  They're also something of a couple, and the "something" part was only there because they hadn't outed their status (whatever it was) to their coworkers or bosses or other friends.  Why?  No particular reason.  It was early in their relationship and they were still feeling their way (so to speak).

Dressed in a Nile-green and salmon-pink variant of her usual work uniform of sneakers, anklets, calf-length stretch pants, and sports bra, toasty warm in her ratty, olive-drab, army-style jacket, and with her sling-purse over her shoulder, Erin sipped her Starbucks coffee as she strolled down the still largely deserted early morning street towards the Harper-Ricci Day Spa and Tearoom.  Her long, ginger curls were loose about her shoulders.  A police cruiser rolled past and she lifted her cup in salute and directed a warm, dimpled smile to the officers inside.  The cop on the passenger side grinned and waved back.

Erin's job title was masseuse, and she had the required AMTA certified training and state license in Massage Therapy.  Her customers agreed that she had "magic hands," and that was also Scout's opinion.  Erin basked in the memory of the private massage session she'd given her roommate last night.  The massage she'd received in return had made up for its lack of technical finesse with loving enthusiasm.  Also, it had hit the proverbial spot (meaning her G-spot).  A side effect of Erin's Celtic complexion was a propensity to blush rather easily, and she did so as she took another sip of coffee.  Sex with Scout was... grrreat!

Erin ducked under the security gate, unlocked the glass doors and entered, then locked them behind her.  She then strolled past the front desk and down the hallway, shrugging out of her jacket as she went.  This was somewhat awkward, thanks to her purse and the Starbuck's cup, but she managed.  She draped the jacket over her left arm and clutched the purse with her left hand, and took a sip of coffee with her right.

Suddenly, a hooded female figure in black grabbed her from behind while a second hooded female, also in black, lunged forward from around a nearby corner!

Perhaps it was because she was a little more awake that the previously arrivals, or perhaps it was a quirk of fate, but—just before the rear attacker pulled her elbows together behind her back, Erin managed to hurl the coffee cup at the front attacker.  The sinister figure caught the cup and managed to keep its lid in place, but in the process dropped the folded cloth that had been in her gloved hands.

"Mrrrrpfh!"  The rear attacker now had a hand clamped over Erin's mouth in addition to pinning her arms behind her back

"Go straight for the gag!" the rear attacker ordered.

"Might as well," the front attacker agreed, then pulled something from a pouch in the belt around her waist and lunged forward.

Her eyes wide in alarm, Erin realized the hand was gone from her mouth and some sort of rolled cloth was being forced between her teeth.  "MRRRF!" she screamed, struggling to twist free as a cable tie vripped tight against the nape of her neck.  She continued struggling as her ginger locks were freed from under the tie and the tie was tightened further.  Then, Erin was spun around, her hands grabbed and forced together, still behind her back, and a pair of plasticuffs tightened around her wrists with another rattling vrip!

In yet another lucky or well-timed move, Erin dropped to her knees just as the attacker holding her arms was shifting her grip, then quickly planted her feet and squirmed away.  The attacker would have seized her immediately, but she nearly stumbled on Erin's dropped purse and jacket and the delay was just enough for the bound and gagged ginger to sprint away towards the front entrance.

Erin only made it halfway there before (1) she remembered she'd locked the doors and the key was back in her purse, and (2) running in any other direction would have been equally pointless.  The shorter of the two attackers caught up with her, grabbed a handful of her tousled, ginger hair, and ended her flight for freedom.  "Mrrrrk!"  Erin was dragged back to the scene of her capture and the taller of the two attackers hoisted her onto her shoulders in a fireman's carry, stomach down.  Before she could start kicking, Erin's feet were pulled together and a cable tie vripped closed around her ankles.

Squirming and mewling through her gag, tossing her head in a vain attempt to free her ginger curls from her face, Erin was carried down the hallway, into the locker room, and to the staff area in the rear.  Once there, she was shrugged off her attacker's shoulder and finally managed to shake the hair from her face.  She watched as her other attacker deposited her jacket and purse in a covered laundry cart.  Meanwhile, the other attacker had opened her locker—meaning Erin's locker—lifted her off her feet—"Mrrrk?"—and was stuffing her inside!  "Mrrrpfh!"  Resistance was futile and her objections ignored.  The locker door clanged shut and she was plunged into cramped near-darkness.  A little light leaked through the ventilation slots in the door, but not much, and she couldn't see anything that was happening beyond.  "Mrrrrrrrf!"

Erin heard what was probably a padlock being snapping closed through the latch of her locker, followed by the shuffling of her attacker's boots, followed by silence.

"Mrrrf?"

The muffled question hadn't come from Erin, and she heard the sound of a locker door rattling—meaning another locker, not her locker!  She decided to provide a verbal answer.

"Mrrrf!"

"Mrrrl!"

There was another prisoner!  Someone else was bound and gagged and stuffed in the neighboring locker!  And Erin recognized the gagged voice: Scout!

"Mrrflf!"

"Mrrtfh!"

It wasn't the most informed discussion between the roommates and lovers, but served to confirm their common predicament.  As to what was going on, who their attackers might be, and what was going to happen next... Erin had no idea, and if Scout knew something, she was unable to articulate.  And what about Leah?  Had she also been captured?

Erin squirmed and fought her bonds.  Conditions inside her steel cell were too cramped for her to kick or heave her shoulders or hips against the door with anything like the force required to spring the latch, even if it wasn't secured with a padlock.  She was trapped—bound, gagged, and trapped!  And so was Scout!  And probably Leah... in some manner... somewhere.