by Van ©2017
		Chapter 5

Dr. B and Suki led the naked, bound, and gagged Opal from the tearoom to the very end of the central hallway.  Opal only got a quick glimpse of Erin, Scout, and Daphne as they passed the yoga studio.  Her friends' helpless, dangling conditions were unchanged, which was hardly surprising.

It was a straight shot of more than 100 feet from the front desk to the very back of the service area.  Dr. B pointed to the hard vinyl-covered floor.  "Down," she ordered.

"I assume you mean Miss Hanover," Suki said, nodding her hooded head towards Opal.

"Yes," Dr. B drawled, "I mean Miss Hanover.  Down," she reiterated.

Opal dropped to her knees, then awkwardly flopped the rest of the way to the floor.

Suki knelt at her side, opened the duffel, pulled out a coil of rope.  She'd already tied the elaborate web of ropes binding Opal's upper body (including her crotch), and now, over the next several minutes, she set about crafting an equally elaborate frog-tie, bending Opal's legs at the knees and binding each lower leg to its respective upper leg.  She used the ladder-tie running-hitch technique, looping and tightening doubled rope strands around Opal's shins and thighs every few inches from her knees to her ankles, each time cinching the ropes between her calves and thighs.

Opal was now in an elaborate box-tie with her wrists crossed, raised, and tied behind her back and against her spine, and a frog-tie that more-or-less converted her legs into semi-useless stumps.  And now, Suki enhanced the naked blonde's predicament into something of a hogtie by binding her big toes together, then looping the free ends of the toe-rope through the knotted ropes cleaving Opal's crotch.  She cinched the final knot, then climbed to her feet, stood beside Dr. B, and took her hand.  They watched Opal squirm, wiggle, and explore her new bonds.

Opal had long since satisfied herself that she wasn't going to escape from the box-tie (with crotch-rope), and that would be true even if her hands and fingers weren't cocooned in tight, multiple layers of white tape, which they were.  Reaching, much less untying the key knots of the ropes binding her legs and toes was even more of an impossibility.  Also, the super-absorbent towel rolled around a cable-tie and wedged in her mouth prevented her from complaining about her condition—not with any degree of eloquence, anyway.

Opal continued squirming and struggling... and Dr. B and Suki continued enjoying the show... for about three minutes.  Finally, the utterly helpless blonde heaved a gagged sigh, rested her gagged head on the vinyl floor, and stopped her futile escape efforts.

Dr. B released Suki's hand and cleared her throat.  "Ahem.  Now, congratulations Miss Hanover, you're going to be the one to save the day.  All you need to do is—"

"Hey!" Suki interrupted.  "My plan.  My execution (so to speak).  My gloating-slash-exposition scene."

"Oh, forgive me, darling," Dr. B chuckled.  "You're entirely correct, of course."

"Of course," Suki huffed, then cleared her throat.  "Ahem.  Now, Miss Hanover," she continued, "you're going to be the one to save the day."  Suki sat on the floor and crossed her legs in a half-lotus.  "And it'll be simple.  All you have to do is wiggle all the way down the hall to the front entrance."

Opal locked eyes with the short kidnapper.  What?  Tied like this?

"Now," Suki continued, "we gave you a good look at your friends—the three kids in the yoga studio and the two old ladies in the tearoom—so at this point you shouldn't be tempted to take side trips to try and free them, now that you know it'd be completely wasted effort."

"Phones," Dr. B said.

"Oh, that's right," Suki giggled.  "We pulled the plugs on all the telephones and computers, and all your cell phones are in your purses or jackets in the laundry hamper in the locker room where you can't get at them, so...  no dialing nine-one-one or sending frantic e-mails, no levitating up to the rafters and untying key knots, and no magically slicing through ropes or layers of plastic."

"The alarm," Dr. B added.

"Do.  You.  Mind?" Suki growled at her boss and lover, then turned back to Opal.

"The alarm," Suki continued.  "We're going to make a final cleanup sweep, then reset the alarm system as we make our final exit."  She pointed to the entrance of the storeroom and its door to the back alley.  "The back door has a contact alarm, a very solid deadbolt, and two heavy throw-bolts at the top and bottom, so it'll do you no good to try and wiggle that way and escape down the alley."  Suki pointed down the hallway to the front.  "On the other hand, the entryway has a motion detector.  If you wiggle all the way down the hallway and around the front desk, you should trigger the silent alarm.  That said, the detector is up near the ceiling and focused on the front doors and I don't know how close to the floor the field extends.  So, just to be sure you trigger the alarm, I suggest that once you get out there you slither to the doors and squirm up the glass and onto your knees, if you can do it.  I'm sure that will interrupt the field.  But remember, it's a silent alarm, so you won't know when or if you've succeeded.  You'll have to hang in there and keep trying.  Anyway, the cops should arrive... eventually"  Suki leaned forward and patted Opal on the head.  "I know it's gonna be tough, kiddo, but you can do it."  She climbed to her feet.  "Look on the bright side.  You'll be a hero."

Opal stared up at her kidnappers and squirmed in her incredible bonds.  All the way to the front?  Impossible!   Actually, she knew it would only be incredibly difficult.  She was in tiptop shape and not totally immobilized by her bonds.  She could wiggle, squirm, perhaps roll, and eventually reach the entryway.  It would take a great deal of effort and would be unpleasant, but she knew she could do it.  She had to do it.  She had to save the others... and herself.

"Well," Suki said, "it's been a real pleasure being your kidnapper today.  Good luck!  But don't start squirming just yet.  I'll be back soon."

Opal watched as the kidnappers strolled away down the hall.  She squirmed in her bonds as the black-clad and hooded duo dwindled into the distance.  One made a side trip into the yoga studio from which Scout, Erin, and Daphne dangled from the rafters... then rejoined her nefarious companion with a second duffel bag.  They continued to the entrance to the tearoom... then the short kidnapper reemerged, and strolled back down the hallway in Opal's direction, now carrying a cardboard box.  As she got closer, Opal could see "Pompeian Extra Virgin Olive Oil" printed on the box.

Suki reached into the box and lifted out a 32-ounce bottle of olive oil.  She'd already removed the cap.  She'd removed the caps of all the bottles.  About three feet from Opal she began emptying the bottle onto the vinyl floor, stepping back as the oil splattered on the floor in a zigzag pattern.  "Okay," she said as she returned the now empty bottle to the box and pulled out a second, "feel free to start squirming.  We'll be out of your way shortly."  She resumed slowly stepping back and emptied the second bottle.

Opal watched as the evil monster backed down the hall, emptying bottle after bottle.  The oil formed a slowly spreading sinusoidal slick on the hard, smooth floor.  Coverage wasn't total, but there was no clear path that would allow Opal to avoid the slippery, ever-growing mess.  Bitch!  Opal very much doubted the lubrication afforded by the oil would help her squirm to her goal.  If anything, it would impede her progress.

Now at the far end of the hall, the short kidnapper set the box inside the entrance of the tearoom, joined her taller companion, and they stepped around the front desk.  The desk now partially obstructed Opal's view of the distant kidnappers, but she could tell they were donning lightweight coats of some sort, probably to disguise their black outfits.  They then removing their hoods, turned them inside out, rolled them up, then placed them back on their heads, now in the form of stocking caps.  The tall kidnapper had a tan coat, red cap, and blond hair, and the short kidnapper a brown coat, blue cap, and brown hair, but the distance was far too great for Opal to make out their features or any other details.  The villains exited the front doors... and that was that.

Opal continued staring down the hallway to the front desk and the entryway beyond, then heaved another gagged sigh.  There was no point in delaying the inevitable.  She started the long, slow journey across the hard, oily floor to the front doors.

As part of her mission planning Suki had mapped all the surveillance cameras that focused on the streets surrounding the Harper-Ricci Day-Spa & Tearoom and found routes that allowed them to make their departure without leaving an electronic trail.  It was now late afternoon and the start of the evening rush hour.  Suki and Dr. B were just two among the growing number of pedestrians striding down the sidewalks.  They made a turn... walked another block... and made another turn.

Finally, Dr. B spoke.  "Well done... partner."

"Ohhh," Suki sighed.  "You would say that when we're in public and in the middle of the mission withdrawal phase so I can't squeal and jump yer bones."

"Well then, minion," Dr. B chuckled, "never mind."

"Oh, I mind," Suki giggled.  "I'll jump yer bones later."

"Not if I jump yours first."  Br. B leaned close and planted a kiss Suki's cheek.

"Stop it," Suki huffed (and blushed), then indicated a small cafe with a flip of the wrist.  "Coffee?"

"I could use a cup," Dr. B purred.

They entered the cafe and took seats at a table in the back (with a view of the front door and close to the kitchen and its door to the alley).  They set their duffel bags on the floor beside their chairs.  Actually, the cafe was a pre-planned pause-point on this particular withdrawal route.  The waitress took their orders—coffee for Dr. B and coffee and a slice of cherry pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream for Suki—then left.  There was an elderly gentlemen at a table near the window enjoying an early dinner and a pair of middle-aged women chatting over coffee.  Otherwise, they had the place to themselves.  It was still a little early for dinner.

"Pie?" Dr. B purred.

Suki shrugged.  "Villainy makes me hungry."  She unzipped a side pocket of her duffel, produced an iPad, folded back its black leather case, and turned it on.  She tapped and slid her finger across the screen a few times, then placed it on the table where Dr. B could also see the image on the screen.

"Oh... poor thing," Dr. B sighed.

"She's so beautiful like that," Suki said quietly, almost reverently.

On the screen was real time video of Opal Hanover, naked, box-tied, frog-tied, hogtied, gagged, and struggling to make progress down the the entire length of the Harper-Ricci Day Spa & Tearoom hallway to the front doors across the oil-coated vinyl floor.  It turned out squirming in extra-virgin olive oil didn't make it easier to wiggle and inchworm her way along.  In fact, the lubrication was making the process more difficult.  Opal's tan body became increasingly slick with oil as she struggled, twisted, fought her way forward, and continued her rope-impeded journey.

Dr. B and Suki continued watching.  They blanked the screen as the waitress arrived with their order... then resumed watching after she left.

Opal continued making progress down the glistening hallway... but it was slow progress.  Very slow progress.

They'd told Opal they'd pulled the cords of the spa's computers, but that wasn't quite true.  They'd left the WiFi server and the desktop computer that served as the Harper-Ricci network hub plugged in and turned on.  They'd also deployed four wireless video cameras, hiding them up in the rafters.  Camera number one focused on the three dangling damsels in the yoga studio: Erin, Scout, and Daphne.  Camera number two focused on Kate and Leah in the tearoom.  Camera number three looked down the hallway, providing a view of Opal's naked, bound, gagged, and slowly diminishing form.  Finally, camera number four focused on the entryway, patiently waiting for Opal to arrive at the glass doors.

Suki had taken full precautions.  The cameras were all expendable and had never been handled with bare hands.  The video feeds from the server streamed to the cloud, and Suki had left behind a software worm that on her command would repeatedly erase, overwrite, erase, and overwrite the hard drive, obliterating all routing information and anything else that could conceivably lead the authorities back to one or more of Dr. B's many geographically distributed computer systems.

Dr. B and Suki sipped their coffee... Suki ate her pie and ice cream... and they watched the show.

Opal was getting the hang of it.  She found a zigzagging inchworm technique that allowed her to slide across the smooth, hard, vinyl floor at a respectable rate—if one could call a half-inch to an inch of forward progress per contortion as respectable.  Heaving herself onto her side and rolling all the way over produced more of a gain, but at the price of the tight ropes punishing her toes and crotch.  She did it every now and then anyway, but mostly it was endless repetitions of the inchworm wiggle.

Opal passed the locker room entrance... followed by the yoga studio with her dangling colleagues: Erin, Scout, and Daphne.  She paused to pant through her nostrils and gag and share a commiserating look with her friends across the length of the studio... then continued her excruciatingly slow journey.

Eventually... she reached the entrance to the tearoom and paused again to gaze at Kate and Leah, the remaining two bound and gagged captives.  This time, neither the plastic-wrapped Kate nor the rope-bound Leah turned their heads to gaze back at her.  Opal knew that was probably impossible for Kate, thanks to the bands of plastic and clear tape crossing her forehead and tape-gagged mouth and pinning her head against the yoga-board.  And as for Leah, at the very least it would be difficult to turn her head, thanks to the taut ropes loosely looped around her neck, tied to the back of her upper body bonds and around her gathered hair, then passed up and over the rafter directly overhead.  In any case, by all appearances Opal's bosses were unaware of her presence in the hallway.

Opal heaved a gagged sigh... and continued squirming and wiggling her way forward.

The entryway was slowly, steadily getting closer.  Soon (meaning after additional Herculean effort) all she had to do was negotiate the turn around the counter-like front desk and cross the entryway itself.  The problem was... Opal was exhausted.  She rested the side of her gagged face against the oil-slick floor and took a breather.

Her kidnappers had promised they'd reset the alarm system as they departed.  That would be Opal's chance to summon help.  All she had to do was trip the motion detector and trigger the silent alarm—but what if they'd lied?  What if the alarms system wasn't armed.  Opal would have made the long, exhausting, agonizing slow journey across the entire length of the building for nothing.  Well, not quite nothing, Opal thought.  The front doors were glass, so if—make that when—Opal finished her journey and a passerby on the street happened to peer through the glass, they'd see the spectacle of a naked, bound, and gagged Opal Hanover.  That someone would, of course, dial 911... and they'd all be rescued.

She heaved another gagged sigh, then pressed forward (meaning wiggled forward) to complete the home stretch of her oily ordeal.

With flagging effort, Opal wiggled her glacially slow way around the front desk.  The front doors were closed, as expected, but the steel security shutter beyond was rolled up.  The sun was setting and the entryway's overhead lights were off, but she could see pedestrians passing on the sidewalk.  None seemed in any way interested in the closed and dark entrance of the Harper-Ricci Day Spa & Tearoom.

Opal marshaled her remaining strength and surged forward.  If the motion detector triggered the silent alarm—which very well might already have happened—there would be no audible signal, flashing light, or any other sign, whether the system was armed or not.  And there was still the backup plan.  If one of the passing pedestrians noticed her squirming, naked, bound, and gagged body, all the better, but she hadn't seen any reactions yet.

Seconds passed... Opal continued squirming forward... then finally touched the closed doors with her nose.  She then started struggling to wiggle her way up the glass.  This was for two reasons: (1) to make doubly sure she interrupted the motion detector's sensor field (as the shorter of the two kidnapping bitches had suggested) and; (2) to make herself more visible from the street.  It was a daunting task.  She repeatedly made a few inches of vertical progress—punishing her toes and crotch as the ropes tightened—then slid back down the glass to the floor.  Once again, the extra-virgin olive oil the short kidnapper had poured on the hallway floor, some of which now glistened on Opal's tan, naked body, was upping the degree of difficulty.

After five failed attempts, Opal rested her head on the floor... then lifted her chin and gazed up at the door.  Oily smudges marred the glass, but otherwise nothing had changed... and none of the men and women passing on the sidewalk beyond had noticed her plight.  Opal heaved another gagged-sigh and tried again.  This time the olive oil might actually be helping a little.  She'd managed to plant her weight on one knee, pushed for all she was worth, and with her breasts flattened against the glass, slid up the glass a few inches.  She shifted her weight to her other knee, tried again, and slid even higher.

Suddenly, Opal heard a soprano scream through the glass.  She turned her face and found herself staring into the horrified face of a young woman in a business suit.  Nearby pedestrians, male and female, young and old, were frozen in place.  They turned to stare at the young woman—then turned to follow her gaze and stare at Opal!  One of them, an older gentleman, produced a cell phone and began placing a call.

Opal sighed in relief... and allowed herself to slide back down the glass to the floor.  It was done.  They were going to be rescued.

Still at the cafe and sharing a table in the back, Dr. B and Suki were watching the unfolding events on the iPad.  Suki had long since finished her cherry pie and ice cream, and now was consuming a Reuben sandwich with a side of double-dipped fries, bite by bite.  Dr. B was picking at a Cobb salad.

The iPad's screen was now divided into four windows, allowing Dr. B and Suki to see all four venues: the entryway, the hallway, the tearoom, and the yoga studio.

A single police cruiser had arrived first... followed by additional units, including a sergeant... then at least two sets of EMTs.  All six naked beauties were rescued, and none of the cops tripped on the oil coating the hallway floor, although one came close.

"I still think ya should have let me use the nipple-clamp thingie," Suki huffed.  "Why else cut little holes in the plastic and expose Big Nose Kate's nipples?"

Dr. B smiled.

The "thingie" in question was an elaborate array of pulleys, thin cords, and two sets of clover-clamps connected by thin chains.  Suki's brainstorm had been to place the clamps on Kate and Leah's nipples and rig the pulleys and connecting chains up to one of the rafters.  The net effect would be to make it even more imperative that Leah maintain an upright posture and not move.  Otherwise, the cord would tighten—with a force multiplied by the pulleys—and both damsels' nipples would be pinched.

"As I told you at the time," Dr. B purred, "there was always the chance Miss Hanover wouldn't have the strength to complete the journey to the entryway, which would mean we'd have to make an anonymous phone call to get the damsels rescued.  I don't like making anonymous phone calls."

"I could have made the call," Suki pouted, then dipped a fry in a puddle of ketchup and popped it into her mouth.

"Irrelevant," Dr. B purred.  "Nipple-clamps would have been mean.  What we did was mean enough."

"Mean," Suki huffed.  "Wouldn't wanna be mean."

"As for exposing Ms. Ricci's nipples," Dr. B continued.  "Why?  For the same reason people climb mountains: because they're there."

"I don't climb mountains," Suki muttered.

"But you do pinch nipples," Dr. B chuckled.  "We made a deal.  Either I let you rig your Rube-Goldberg nipple thingie, or I let you oil the hallway floor."

"But not both," Suki huffed.

"But not both," Dr. B nodded, "and you made your choice."

"I like extra-virgin olive oil," Suki sighed.  "With a little chopped herbs and garlic it makes a great dip for bread."

"And a very good damsel slide," Dr. B chuckled.

"Big Nose looked good coated in oil," Suki sighed, referring to the way she'd massaged Kate with oil before wrapping her in plastic.  "We should have coated all of them in oil."

"Coulda, shoulda, woulda," Dr. B chuckled.  "Don't start crying over un-spilt olive oil and un-pinched nipples.  It was an excellent operation, and you've earned your promotion from minion to co-villainess."

Suki grinned (and blushed).  "Partner," she said, lifting her coffee cup.

Dr. B lifted her cup and tapped Suki's cup.  "Partner."

Meanwhile, on the iPad screen and a few blocks away, the employees and owners of the Harper-Ricci Day Spa & Tearoom were departing the establishment via ambulance, covered by blankets and reclined on gurneys.  Obviously they were headed for the hospital.  Detectives and forensic-techs had arrived and were going over the scene of the crime.

"I pity all of this gets charged to overhead," Dr. B noted.

"Being your own client can be expensive," Suki agreed, then nodded at the iPad.  "Time?"

"I think so," Dr. B agreed.

Suki picked up the iPad, tapped and swiped her way through various apps and menus... then gave the screen a final tap.

Back at the spa, a program was triggered, the network computer's hard drive spun, and Suki's worm began eating all trace of all routing information.

The iPad's screen went dark.  The show was over.

ONE WEEK LATER
J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON D.C.

---

		Dana Delany
		Jordan Shaw Special Agent, FBI
		Wants to catch Dr. B & Suki
		■  50-something ■  5' 6" (1.67m) ■  reddish-brown hair ■  brown eyes

Special Agent Jordan Shaw returned to her office from a video conference with the NYPD detectives tasked with investigating the bizarre in situ kidnapping/assault/whatever-the-hell-it-was at the Harper-Ricci Day Spa & Tearoom.  She settled into her desk chair and logged onto the FBI system.  As promised, all the digitized information gathered in the Harper-Ricci investigation to date was waiting in her inbox.  She opened the Computer Forensics sub-folder and found the document that had been the reason for the conference.

It was a printout of the compiled code from the home-board of the homemade control box the perps had used to "entertain" Leah Rockwell and Kate Ricci with vibrators, and a forensics tech at One Police Plaza had discovered a string of characters hiding in plain sight in the middle of an otherwise "random" block of text and numbers.

The string read "...hellojordanyouareonehotspecialagenthubbahubba..."

Jordan glowered at the screen, her cheeks flushed and eyes narrow.  It wasn't much, not enough to waste the Behavioral Science Unit's time on a formal consultation, but she recognized the message for what it was, a taunt from "Doctor Bondage," the serial kidnapper she'd been chasing for the last few years.

The Bureau had been slow (in Jordan's closely held opinion) to recognize Dr. Bondage as a continuing criminal threat.  Only as links between a dozen international cases of kidnapping and humiliation came to light did Assistant Director Scully summon Jordan to her corner office and task her with bringing Dr. Bondage and her Goth accomplice to justice..

The problem was, despite her best efforts, Jordan was making zero progress towards that goal.  Her diligent efforts had confirmed the linkages between the various open cases, international and domestic, but nothing constituting an actual lead had emerged.  And Jordan wasn't the only frustrated law enforcement professional.  She was now acquainted with several investigators in Europe, Asia, South Africa, Australia, and the Gulf States, all of whom were also tasked with chasing their tails and trying to catch Dr. Bondage.

Zero progress, and therefore zero resources.  Special Agent Jordan Shaw was a task force of one with zero budget.  She was not alone in this situation.  Most senior agents, even up-and-comers like Jordan, found themselves tasked with monitoring specific cold cases in their "spare time" and hoping for a breakthrough.  It wouldn't damage Jordan's reputation if such a breakthrough never came, but it would definitely boost her career if due diligence and hard work paid off and she did the impossible, which in this case meant bringing Dr. Bondage and her Goth sidekick to justice.

Just then, Jordan's system emitted a quiet bleep, the signal that a priority e-mail had just dropped into her inbox.  She opened the message, read the contents, and her lips curled in a smile.  Her request for travel to NYC was granted.  That was quick, she mused.  She noted AD Scully's budget code in the accounting line.  Dana Scully had taken notice of the case, which wasn't surprising.  Prior to her promotion, Special Agent Scully had carried a cross similar to the Dr. Bondage investigation.  In her case it was the so-called "Bondarella" file.  She'd since handed that particular collection of dead ends off to Special Agent Gracie Hart, but obviously Dana maintained an interest in any new kidnapping case with gratuitous bondage elements suggesting a possible link to either Dr. Bondage or Dana's personal nemesis, Bondarella.

Jordan picked up the phone and called the travel office.  She needed a seat on the evening Arcela Express.  Her next call would be to the New York Field Office, and the call after that would be to let her husband know she'd be in the Big Apple for at least a couple of days.  She wouldn't be home to tuck her daughter into bed and read her a story, but unexpected and disappointing separations went with the job, and Jordan had a serial kidnapper to catch.