| by Van ©2017
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
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
By the way, Beebe is somewhat tall (5' 10") and naturally blond,
a stunningly gorgeous Nordic beauty, and she keeps herself in
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
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
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
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
"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
"Mrrrpfh!" Suki complained in betrayal (as if she didn't know it
"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
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
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.
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
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!
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
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
"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.
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
Not only wouldn't Leah be falling off her chair, she could
"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
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
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?
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
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
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
Squirming and mewling through 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.
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.
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
There was another prisoner! Someone else was bound and
gagged and stuffed in the neighboring locker! And Erin
recognized the gagged voice: Scout!
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...
|Fit 2B Tied
| Chapter 1