| FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY
| by Van ©2016
| Chapter 8
THE OFFICES (& DUNGEONS) OF "LADY ARABELLE"
MANHATTAN'S PREMIERE DOMINATRIX
| Guest starring as Lady Arabelle: Dina Meyer
A month had
passed since the very public and eminently newsworthy arrest of
Miriam Holden, as well as the somewhat less public arrest of her
sister, Angelique Porter. There would be additional months
of delay while the wheels of justice slowly turned, but the Case
of the Kidnapped Mathematician was already the media sensation
of the century. A beautiful victim? Equally
beautiful defendants? Scandal and divorce at the highest
level of one-percent society? As details leaked and rumors
spread, the local and national news organizations were working
themselves into a frenzy.
Kitty was Lady Arabelle's guest at her BDSM "consulting
service," in the establishment's "Domme's Lounge." They
had just enjoyed coffee and tea with a bevy of Her Ladyship's
tops, but at the moment they had the elegantly decorated
black-on-black with chrome highlights space to themselves.
And unlike earlier visits, Kitty wasn't naked, bound and gagged,
strapped in an inescapable leather costume, or locked in
steel chains. Actually, she was strapped in a
leather costume, but it was a dominatrix outfit, provided by her
hostess as a courtesy. Kitty's attire was similar to Lady
Arabelle's "uniform," but Her Ladyship's ensemble was a
full-length, kinky leather dress (with corset), while Kitty's
was an equally kinky but somewhat skimpier play-suit, designed
for action. A bullwhip was coiled in Kitty's hands, but it
was a fashion accessory, not something she intended to put to
The leather-clad pair were discussing recent developments in the
Maitland kidnapping case.
"Only one of Harcourt Holden's lawyers have been successfully
linked to the sisters' conspiracy," Kitty was saying. She
had inside information from the ADA assigned to the high profile
case, and when the ADA in question, Kirsten "Shyster" Braslow,
was unwilling to share, Kitty felt no reticence whatsoever about
tickling her until she spilled the beans. "The lawyer has
already flipped on Crazy Miriam and is singing like the
proverbial canary," Kitty continued.
Her Ladyship nodded. "I see. My social contacts
confirm that Harcourt does, indeed, plan on divorcing his lovely
wife. Apparently, there's a 'no kidnapping and torturing
beautiful women' clause in their prenuptial agreement."
"Really?" Kitty asked in mock surprise.
Lady Arabelle shrugged. "Either that, or there's a clause
that can be stretched around the concept. Not
surprisingly, that will leave the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Holden
destitute and unable to pay her soon-to-be ex-husband's
lawyers. Sadly, none of them appear to be willing to
continue her case on a pro bono basis."
"I heard the Porter family is also unwilling to help the younger
sister," Kitty purred. "Such a pity."
"And what about the hunt for the escaped kidnapper?" Lady
Kitty's smile turned decidedly coy. "You mean the
mysterious 'security consultant' the sisters hired to do the
actually kidnapping of Dr. Maitland?"
"The very same," Lady Arabelle confirmed.
Kitty's smile continued. "The detective in charge of the
investigation tells Bertie that New York's Finest are no closer
to identifying, much less locating, the 'consultant' in
Just then, a yodeling scream distorted but imperfectly muffled
by some kind of gag echoed down the hallway from one of Lady
Arabelle's "playrooms" and through the open door. Arabelle
and her guest paused to enjoy the brief, a cappella aria
before continuing their conversation.
"And that would be our consultant?" Kitty inquired.
Lady Arabelle nodded. "Perfect timing."
The distorted scream returned... then stopped.
"Mistress Portia is testing the latest upgrade to the
frustration software running the Sybian Pedestal," Arabelle
explained, "and Athena, sweet lamb that she is, volunteered to
help. I believe you have firsthand experience with that
Kitty's smile froze, slightly. Also, a tiny thrill rippled
through her leather-clad pussy. "That's neither here
nor there," she muttered.
Lady Arabelle chuckled and planted a kiss on Kitty's pouting
lips. "Tell me, Kitty," Arabelle continued, "why didn't
you turn Athena in to the police? You needn't have
compromised your professional reputation. All it would
have taken was
an anonymous phone call. Why did you bring her to me?"
The smiling madam strolled to a large flat-screen
television/computer monitor and used a touchscreen tablet to
navigate her way through various menus. The screen flashed
and resolved into a high-definition image of Athena Davros.
Athena was naked—her fit, tan, athletic body glistening with
sweat—and was perched atop the padded saddle of a Sybian mounted
on a vertical post. Her legs were splayed to either side
in a near split and held in that position by suspension-cuffs
strapped around her ankles and taut steel chains. Above
the waist, she was restrained by a leather harness pinning her
upper arms to her sides and her folded and raised forearms and
hands behind her back in what amounted to a leather-enforced
box-tie. A ring-gag was strapped in her open mouth,
explaining her distorted screams.
The ghostly thrill between Kitty's legs returned. She knew
(firsthand) that the Sybian included a thrusting, vibrating
phallus. The memory of being humped by the insidious
(delightful) monster explained part of her reaction. As
for the rest... Athena Zavros—naked, bound and gagged, dripping
with sweat, panting through her gag with her shining breasts
bobbing—was a world-class example of a
damsel-in-erotic-distress... in Kitty's experienced opinion.
"I'm sorry," Kitty purred. "What was the question?"
Lady Arabelle chuckled before repeating her query. "Why
didn't you turn her in?"
Kitty continued gazing at the screen. "Two reasons," she
said finally. "Athena was mean to Bertie, but she didn't
have to send me that text. She didn't have to make sure
Muffin was rescued right away."
Arabelle raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Right away?"
Kitty shrugged. "Two or three hours of tight
bondage? That's par for the course for my Muffin."
On screen, Athena was continuing to sweat... and pant... and
fight her inescapable bonds. Apparently, the Sybian was
currently on a programmed rest period, which if Kitty's memory
served correctly, meant relentless waves of low-level vibration
emanating from the saddle, accompanied by the slow, shallow
penetration of the throbbing phallus.
"And your other reason?" Arabelle purred.
Kitty watched as a shiver shook Athena's helpless form and a
whine escaped her ring-gagged mouth. "There, but for
divine grace, go I."
"You hope to turn Ms. Zavros from the Dark to the Light," Arabelle
"I do," Kitty confirmed with a nod.
Lady Arabelle's smile morphed into a disapproving moue.
"And I get to play the role of Yoda," she intoned. "You're
saddling me with the project of rehabilitating Athena
Kitty shrugged, carefully ignoring Arabelle's ironic use of the
term "saddled." Onscreen, Athena's rest period
continued. "It seems like a win-win to me," Kitty
said. "Athena gets a safe place to hide from the cops—"
"Which," Arabelle interrupted, "it turns out she doesn't
Kitty shrugged, again. "Athena doesn't need to know
that. Anyway... you get an 'eager' volunteer to
help train your staff." Her smile turned somewhat
mischievous. "And don't even try and tell me
you're not intrigued by the idea."
Lady Arabelle's smile returned. "Cheeky Monkey," she
chuckled. "This is all a very preliminary assessment, of
course, but I believe Ms. Zavros may be amenable to a
career change, from kidnapping criminal to professional bondage
model and bottom. Also," she added, "as a special kind of
top, for a special kind of client. I have customers who
quite enjoy being used and 'abused' by a talented, well-trained
domme, then turning the tables on said top for a little
well-supervised revenge." She eyed Kitty in an appraising
manner. "Perhaps you'd care to assist with that aspect of
Athena's training, in the role of the customer, of course."
"Don't hold your freakin' breath," Kitty chuckled, then
belatedly added, "Your Ladyship," including an only marginally
respectful bow for good measure.
Lady Arabelle favored Kitty with a tolerant smile, then shook
her head. "So, Miriam Holden and Angelique Porter are well
on their way to learning whether orange is, in fact, the new
black, and Athena Zavros has a 'safe' place to hide from the
police, who, incidentally, aren't looking for her. But
what about Jessie Maitland?"
Kitty shrugged. "Last I heard, she's still working at
Harcourt Holden's institute as one of his genius
number-gurus. Shyster—I mean my mysterious unnamed source
at the DA's office—says she's cooperating fully with the
prosecution and will be a formidable witness when the
crazy-bitch-sisters come to trial."
"Well," Lady Arabelle said with a coy smile, "for once it
appears I know something Kitty Wynter doesn't." She
gestured towards the open door leading to the playrooms.
Kitty's gaze returned to the screen depicting Athena's
continuing "rest period," then grinned at her hostess.
"You are recording this, aren't you?"
"Cheeky Monkey," Lady Arabelle chuckled, again. "Come with
Kitty followed Her Ladyship from the Domme's Lounge.
| Chapter 8
leather-clad hostess and her leather-clad guest strolled down
the "East Playroom Hall," passing the closed entrances of room
after room. Unfortunately, the open door of Athena's
chamber was in the opposite direction, so Kitty was deprived of
the pleasure of savoring a direct view of the naked, bound, and
gagged fugitive/bottom-in-training writhing atop her new best
friend, the Sybian Pedestal.
There was a pause while Her Ladyship produced a key from her
cleavage and unlocked one of the doors, then Kitty found herself
in a small, dark room facing a large picture window of one-way
glass. She could tell the glass was one-way because the
walls of the larger chamber beyond were completely mirrored and
there was no reflection of either Kitty, Arabelle, or the window
The room was square, about twenty feet on a side, with the walls
and ceiling completely covered with mirrors. In the center
was a waist-high, rectangular platform roughly the proportions
of a twin-size bed. Its sides were clad in smooth panels
of brushed stainless steel and the vertical corner edges were
all well-rounded. The horizontal surface was lit from
below, glowed with a blue-white light, and was covered by a dome
of clear glass or acrylic in the streamlined shape of a
recumbent human body. Taken together, the overall
impression was that of a futuristic sarcophagus, a "hibernation
pod" for space travelers in a science fiction movie. This
was reinforced by what lay under the dome.
Atop the platform and dramatically lit from below was a female
human body, feet slightly apart, arms at her sides, and
restrained by a plethora of padded restraints. Cuffs and
straps with no visible buckles or other means of release tightly
encircled her ankles—thighs, just above her knees—her waist—her
wrists—her upper arms, just above her elbows—her torso, above
and below her breasts—and finally, her neck, in what amounted to
a posture collar. Her fingers and hands were encased in
leather mittens and her face covered by the rubber
breathing-mask and glass face-plate of a gasmask, and the mask
incorporated straps that also secured it to the platform.
Despite her features being obscured, Kitty recognized the
totally helpless and completely naked damsel under the
dome. It was Dr. Jessie Maitland. Kitty turned to
Lady Arabelle. "Care to explain?"
"Why the hot nerd mathematician you rescued requires more
rescuing?" Arabelle purred, "or the details of her predicament?"
"Both," Kitty huffed, "and Bertie did the
rescuing. I just hung around and watched."
Arabelle chuckled, leaned close, and planted a kiss on Kitty's
pouting lips. "Don't fault yourself, darling," she
said. "Things like that happen in your line of work."
"They aren't supposed to," Kitty responded. Obviously, she
was mad at herself, not Her Ladyship.
"Vigorous investigation is one thing," Arabelle intoned, "but
barging into potentially dangerous situations without proper
backup is something else... not that I'm an expert, of course."
Kitty said nothing, but continued staring through the glass
window and sarcophagus cover at Jessie's helpless body. "I
can't say you're wrong," she said finally.
Arabelle smiled and planted another kiss on Kitty's lips.
"Something for you and your partner to discuss at length," she
suggested, then indicated the chamber beyond with an elegant
gesture. "As for Dr. Maitland, we were able to adapt one
of our sensory deprivation chambers to help her, shall we say,
meditate—at her own insistence, I assure you."
Kitty raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Meditate?"
"Remember the ream of paper Jessie covered in what you or I
would consider gibberish at the time of her rescue?"
"Well," Arabelle continued, "I have it on good authority our
former damsel in distress has made some sort of brilliant
breakthrough in cutting edge mathematics that doesn't yet have
an accepted name. I'm betting the concepts will eventually
be referred to as 'Maitland Functions,' but what do I know?"
"More than me," Kitty muttered. She could tell the
"meditating" hot nerd captive with the brilliant mind was
breathing by the slow rise and fall of her breasts. Also,
her body was continuously squirming and wiggling, ever so
slightly, and her smooth, firm skin glistened with sweat, also
ever so slightly.
Arabelle smiled. She was also enjoying the sight of the
helpless, naked Jessie Maitland. "Anyway, Jessie very much
desires to repeat the experience of contemplating mathematics
while bound, gagged, and utterly helpless, so I agreed to
help. Harcourt Holden feels genuinely terrible about
everything that happened—meaning Jessie's kidnapping, of
course—so he's agreed to foot the bill for Jessie's continuing
'research'—including the improvements to her new laboratory, the
ongoing rental of the facility, etc."
"Wait," Kitty said, turning to Arabelle, "how the hell did
Jessie know to come to you for, uh, research
"She didn't, silly," Arabelle chuckled, "but Harcourt did."
"Harcourt Holden is one of your clients? Kitty demanded.
Arabelle's smile turned decidedly coy. "Kitty, you
surprise me. You know I never discuss my
clients. And that includes clients who have billionaire
friends, as well as private detective guests I've had the
occasion to entertain."
"Uh, I get your point," Kitty sighed. Whether or not
Harcourt Holden was one of Arabelle's clients was really none of
her business, and as for "private detective guests," Kitty
certainly didn't want the embarrassing details of the Liesl
Zirner case to become common knowledge. It might damage
her reputation as a bad-ass.
[Editor's Note: See the story Bondage,
My Sweet for details.]
"Anyway," Arabelle continued," the mirrored walls are actually
smart boards, the latest technology from Cornell Labs and
"Giant touch screens?"
"Yes," Arabelle confirmed. "There's a tray of styluses
mounted on the side of the deprivation chamber, and once Jessie
is out and about, she'll grab one and start doodling.
Special mathematical handwriting recognition software
straightens up her scribblings and it's all automatically saved
to the cloud and beamed to her office back at the Holden
"Her real office," Kitty purred.
Arabelle nodded. "The bed of the 'Meditation Chamber' is
actually a large gel-pad. Dr. Maitland is more-or-less
floating in a neutrally buoyant environment. The padded
linings of the restraints are similar."
"Why the mitts?"
"They keep her from digging her nails into her palms as she
meditates," Arabelle explained.
A thrill of sadistic glee shivered through Kitty's pussy and up
her spine. Kitty wasn't an actual sadist, of course, but
she did enjoy playing for the dominant team. Kitty
was a top... even though she occasionally found herself on the
"The system includes a urinal catheter," Arabelle lectured, "and
before she's placed in the chamber she's given an enema with an
anal-plug chaser. I have medical professionals on the
"No surprise there," Kitty purred. She knew Her Ladyship
had dommes who specialized in medical play—nasty nurse uniforms,
straitjackets, bed restraints, unethical fun with medical
instruments, etc.—and the fact that some, if not all, of the
dommes in question might be actual medical professionals wasn't
exactly a shock. Arabelle Consulting was a first rate
"Vibrators and shock-pads?"Kitty inquired.
"Of course not," Arabelle chuckled. "No
distractions." Her smile broadened. "Are you paying
attention, Ms. Wynter? This is all so Dr. Maitland can
explore mathematical subspace, not for your prurient
Kitty grinned. "I have Bertie for that. But what's
wrong with a win-win?"
"Nothing," Arabelle chuckled. "Anyway... no
distractions." They both returned to watching Jessie's
ongoing exploration. "The restraints are comfortable but
inescapable, the mask includes a gag, of course, and together
with the non-nonsense handling my ladies use to install her in
the chamber... she tells me she's finding it quite easy to
achieve the proper frame of mind."
Kitty noticed the system seemed to have no provision for
nutrition or hydration, unless there was a stomach tube hidden
under the gasmask. She guessed not. A urinary
catheter one could get used to, but stomach tubes were very
uncomfortable and easily qualified as a distraction. "How long?"
"How long will Dr. Maitland drift helplessly in sensory
isolation?" Arabelle purred. "Hours. Let's leave it
Kitty noticed one more detail. When last she saw (or
rather didn't see) Jessie Maitland's nipples, the
three-dimensional shapes of the posts piercing said nipples were
prominently visible, but the posts themselves were hidden under
protective band-aids. Now, the band-aids were gone and the
posts had been replaced by closed steel rings, each of which
incorporated a tiny steel sphere. "Nipple rings?"
Arabelle smiled. "Tungsten carbide, high carbon,
molybdenum steel alloy.
Very expensive. They require special tools for installation
and are quite impossible to remove without surgery."
"And whose idea was that?" Kitty demanded.
Arabelle nodded towards the isolation chamber. "You're
looking at her."
Kitty smiled. And a
hot-nerd-mathematical-genius-bottom is born, she
mused. "I assume that once you do get around to
letting her out of that thing, your employees will make sure
she's properly watered and fed."
Arabelle's smile broadened. "Until she's done recording
whatever is rattling around inside her brilliant mind, it does
take a firm hand to drag her away from the smart boards for
anything—even a cold drink and a gourmet snack—but my ladies are
up to the challenge."
For several more seconds Kitty continued watching the slow,
steady rise and fall of Jessie's shining breasts and erect,
ringed nipples as she breathed... then turned to her
hostess. "You don't suppose Athena would benefit from a
visit from Your Ladyship and myself, do you?"
"So you can gloat like a cartoon villain?" Arabelle
purred. "Probably. But remember, that bullwhip in
your hands is only a prop."
Kitty's smile turned mischievous. "Could I borrow a riding
Lady Arabelle gazed at her guest domme, an amused moue curling
her lips. "We'll see," she said, then led Kitty from the
Back in Dr. Maitland's office-away-form-her-real-office, the
helpless explorer drifted in a multidimensional ocean of
numerical relationships... and relationships between
relationships... and wondered if a new family of symbols might
be needed to better organize and explain the basic framework of
what was revealing itself.
| Chapter 8
WYNTER & FINCH INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES
Nikki "Heat" Braslow was
tied up. Specifically, she was in a stringent hogtie
with her fingers and hands mummified in tight, overlapping
layers of silver-gray duct-tape. She was also naked.
Bertie "Squirmy English Muffin" Finch was the perpetrator of
this outrage, of course, but the taller, stronger, and now totally helpless "victim" had fully
cooperated in the process.
"Let me get this straight," Nikki muttered as she tested her
bonds, "you're telling me this is what Angelique did to
Jessie Maitland? This is the condition she was
in when you rescued her?"
"More or less," Bertie responded. She was also naked,
and was sitting in a semi-lotus a few feet from Nikki's
glowering face... giving the bound prisoner a perfect view of
her pussy and neatly-trimmed bush... as well as her bare feet,
flat tummy, perky breasts, smiling lips, dimpled cheeks,
sparkling blue eyes, mop of blond hair, smooth, tan skin,
miscellaneous freckles, etc., etc.
"I've seen the video," Nikki reminded her grinning
Still smiling, Bertie gave an adorable little shrug.
(Bertie couldn't help but be adorable.) "Well... I did
indulge in a
It was true, the basic framework of the combination box-tie,
frog-tie, and hogtie was there, but Bertie had used additional
coils of thin rope to reinforce and amplify Angelique's
technique in an aesthetically pleasing but totally unnecessary
"Kitty and I call this sort of thing Überbondage,"
Bertie explained. "I think this is what Crazy-Angelique
would have done to Jessie if she had any real
experience... and good taste."
"Überbondage," Nikki huffed, continuing to wiggle and
squirm. "What about the suspension?"
Bertie's smile broadened. "I suppose we can add that
part later, if you want.
The same goes for the
hair bondage." She'd already braided Nikki's blond locks
around a length of rope, doubled the braid back onto itself,
then neatly wrapped it with the same rope. At the moment
the still quite long free end of the hair-rope was dangling free,
but it was ready to be added to the hogtie and thereby pull
back and her body into even more of a spine-bending,
"This is tight," Nikki complained as she continued testing
Bertie's handiwork. Obviously, escape was a total
impossibility. "And remember, I get to tie you
up once this is over."
"That was the agreement," Bertie purred. "All you have
to do is escape."
"Hey!" Nikki objected. "That was not part the
deal. There is no escape clause."
"'Escape clause,'" Bertie chuckled appreciatively. "I'll
have to remember that one." She went onto her hands and
knees, kissed Nikki's pouting lips, then settled back into the
semi-lotus. "Anyway, it's an established principle of
contract law that when the party-of-the-first-part is naked
and tied up and the-party-of-the-second-part is naked but not
tied up, the party-of-the-second-part gets to change the
contract however she
"I'll have to ask Kirsten about that," Nikki huffed, "next
time I see her."
"Also," Bertie continued, "I know you've been taking
bind-the-Muffin lessons from Kitty-Kat, so don't hold your
breath waiting for me to volunteer to be your bondage
"Kitty ratted me out?" Nikki demanded.
Bertie's dimpled smile turned coy. "No, Kitty did not
rat you out. I'm a detective, remember? I figured
it out on my own."
Nikki's smile was also coy. "I'm also a detective.
I figured out that you've been giving my big sister
"Oh, that." Bertie then flopped down on her stomach,
crossed her ankles, bent
her knees back, lifting her lower legs, propped her
chin on her elbows and hands, and continued smiling. "I
can't wait to hear how that turns out. My money is on a
colossal fail for Shyster."
Nikki twisted and squirmed in her bonds. It was an
unsuccessful attempt at comfort movement, not an escape
attempt—although it was also an unsuccessful escape
attempt. "Don't underestimate my sister's
perseverance. She didn't graduate at the top of her law
school class, ace the bar exam, and land a job in the
DA's office by giving up too easily."
"Point taken," Bertie giggled, then leaned forward and planted
another kiss on Nikki's lips. She settled back into the
semi-lotus, but this time quite a bit closer to Nikki's
face. "Now, on the topic of gags..." She spread
her legs to either side. "I have something else in mind
for your lips and tongue."
Her pouting mouth inches from the glistening folds of Bertie's
labia and her dark-blond pubic bush, Nikki heaved a heart
breaking, truly tragic sigh. "Well... to the victor go
"Later, we can try this with you suspended," Bertie
added. "And if that proves difficult, I'll pop down to
the neighborhood sex store and purchase one of those
sex-slings. That should work."
Nikki continued gazing at her captor's pussy. "So... I'm
playing the role of Jessie-the-hot-nerd and you're crazy-Angelique.
I assume when Kitty gets home she'll play the role of the
rescue me, and tie you up?"
"Don't count on it," Bertie giggled. "I have it on good
authority that Kitty-Kat has plans for the entire
weekend. Now..." She indicated her crotch with a
graceful hand gesture. "Get to work... or else."
Nikki sighed, again, and started squirming her way towards her
target... but found she was making very little progress.
This was Bertie's fault, of course. She was the one who had crafted
elaborate and restrictive Über-hogtie, making even inchworm
"Well," Bertie giggled, "if the mountain won't come to
Muhammad..." She scooted her way forward until Nikki's
face was more-or-less planted in her crotch, gripped the back
of her precious prisoner's head with both hands, and found
that Nikki's hitherto unused hair-bondage made for a
|The Damsel Vanishes
| Chapter 8
APARTMENT OF KIRSTEN BRASLOW, A.K.A.
Preparations for criminal
trials, even high profile criminal trials, happen in
cycles. There are times with feverish activity and long
hours on both sides. Other times it's a slow and steady
grind. However, on rare occasions, there are lulls in the
action, the second chair ADA and staff can handle things, and
the lead ADA can take the weekend off and recharge her
batteries. This was one such occasion, and the lead ADA in
question was Kirsten Braslow.
Kirsten pulled out her keys and unlocked the brand new,
top-of-the-line, high-security deadbolt lock she'd recently had
installed on her front door. Supposedly, it was impossible
to defeat with either conventional lock picks or a "bump key," a
modified key blank designed to lift and align the pins by brute
force. Kirsten had only a vague understanding of the
technical details, but had been assured that there wasn't a
better lock on the market. She opened the door, crossed
the threshold, then entered the disarming code in the keypad of
her alarm system.
Once the door was closed behind her, the deadbolt turned, and
the alarm reset, Kirsten heaved a sigh of relief. She hung
up her coat, dropped her key-ring into a small, decorative dish
on the entryway sideboard, and continued on into her
bedroom. Everything was in its proper place, the magazines
on the coffee table were in a neat stack, the kitchen spotlessly
clean, and her queen-size bed neatly made. Being an ADA
meant long hours, but Kirsten took pride in maintaining a neat
apartment, unlike certain habitually messy, NYPD detective
little sisters she could name.
Kirsten undressed. Her jacket, skirt, and blouse were set
aside for a trip to the dry cleaner and her underwear went into
the clothes hamper in her closet. Totally nude, Kirsten
removed her ear posts and deposited them in her jewelry box,
then padded to the bathroom. She hadn't made a decision
about dinner. She couldn't remember anything in her
refrigerator that sounded appetizing, so it would be either
take-out or a trip to one of the neighborhood bistros.
Kirsten reached into the shower stall to turn on the
water—"What? Hey!"—and was suddenly seized from behind and
her hands pulled behind her back! A quick glance in the
mirror over the washbasin revealed a fluttering mass of silky
brown hair framing an all-too-familiar, angelic face with
laughing brown eyes and a dimpled smile, and the identity of the
intruder with the grabby hands was confirmed. "Dammit,
Wynter!" Kirsten growled. "Let. Me. Go!"
"Inside voice, Shyster," Kitty chuckled, "or I'll be forced to
gag you." She was tightening a pair of Darby-style
handcuffs around Kirsten's wrists. The cuffs were
stainless steel and padded with clear vinyl, designed both for
comfortable wear and use in wet environments.
"How did you get in here?" Kirsten demanded. Kitty had
finished applying the cuffs and released her wrists, so Kirsten
turned to face her captor (house guest). Kitty was wearing
a white tank-top and skintight leather pants, but the jacket and
boots that usually completed her signature ensemble were not in
evidence. No doubt they'd been hidden somewhere in the
apartment so as not to warn Kitty's quarry of her presence.
"Your new lock?" Kitty chuckled as she unbuttoned and unzipped
her pants and started sliding them down her legs. "Money
well spent to keep out the average burglar, but Kitty Wynter is
in no way average."
Kirsten tugged on the cuffs and glared at her captor with an
angry scowl (carefully suppressing the smile threatening to make
her mask of righteous indignation slip).
Kitty finished removing her pants and tossed them out the
bathroom door. They were soon followed by her tank-top,
bra, and panties... and she was now as nude as her
hostess. Her brown eyes locked with Kirsten's blue, Kitty
reached into the shower stall—her arm brushing against Kirsten's
left breast in the process—and turned on the water. The
mutual gaze continued while they waited for the shower stream to
come up to temperature.
Finally, Kitty took Kirsten by the arm, pulled her into the
stall, and closed the glass door behind them. In seconds,
both captor and captive were soaked from head to toe.
Kirsten stood in stoic indifference as Kitty dispensed a dollop
of liquid soap into her hands, rubbed them together, then began
soaping the indignant ADA's smooth, glistening body.
"No angry comments about how much you hate me?" Kitty purred.
Kirsten did her best to ignore Kitty's slick, soapy hands as
they slid across her shoulders, arms, breast, stomach, and
back. "We need to talk," she said, finally.
"About me not doing things like this?" Kitty inquired with a
dimpled grin. It was unclear whether she was referring to
her soapy hand sliding against Kirsten's thighs and through her
crotch, or the topic of home invasion/booty calls in general.
A shiver shook Kirsten's dripping body and she tugged on her
steel and vinyl, waterproof cuffs. "You nearly got
yourself killed," she sighed.
"Oh, Shyster," Kitty chuckled. "You do care."
"I do," Kirsten admitted. "I care about Bertie, too."
Kitty wasn't exactly stunned, but she did find herself without a
snappy comeback. "We had to move fast," she said as she
replenished the soap on her hands. "Jessie needed rescuing
and there was no one we could turn to for help."
"What about Nikki?" Kirsten demanded. "What about me?"
Kitty was now soaping her prisoner's butt and legs. She
pulled the slippery blonde into a steadying embrace and Kirsten
lifted her legs, first the left, and then the right, so Kitty
could could soap her feet. "If we'd gotten the law
involved," she said finally, "we'd have lost freedom of action,
NYPD procedures would have kicked in, and who knows what would
have happened to Jessie Maitland?"
"I've got a secret for you," Kirsten purred. She still
wasn't smiling. "The law is only black and white in the
pages of law books—black and sepia in some of the older
books, actually—and the same goes for law enforcement.
There are ways we could have helped. Things we could have
"Without getting in trouble?" Kitty chuckled.
"Maybe," Kirsten responded. "I'm not saying there might
not have been a cost. So what? We don't want either
of you to get yourselves killed."
Kitty blinked in surprise. "You do care," she said in a
The smile finally succeeded in curling Kirsten's lips, briefly,
then was once again suppressed. "Stop it," she
demanded. "Stop mauling me. I hate you."
Kitty's grin returned. "There's my Shyster," she chuckled,
continuing to soap and caress her captive. "Bertie and I
will talk about it," she promised. "We did get a
little ahead of ourselves on this one. I guess we're lucky
the crazy-bitch-sisters were somewhat incompetent."
"Competent enough to get you naked, bound, and gagged," Kirsten
"Shut up," Kitty snapped, then began shampooing Kirsten's
hair. "Your legs need shaving, by the way. We'll get
to that later. I'll give your short-and-curlies a quick
trim at the same time."
"I hate you," Kirsten huffed... and she did not smile.
Kitty started soaping and scrubbing herself while Kirsten
watched. Her eyes were on Kirsten's wet breasts and
semi-erect nipples. "Did you know Jessie Maitland has
traded in her nipple-posts for a really nice pair of permanent
rings? You ever think about having the girls pierced,
"No," Kirsten intoned with an imperious, We-are-not-amused
stare... then, that pesky smile reasserted itself. "How
about yourself, Ms. Wynter? I think you'd look quite
fetching with a little tit jewelry."
Kitty rinsed the shampoo from her hair, then favored her
prisoner with a dimpled smile. "Just for that..."
She pointed at the wet tiles under their feet. "Get down
on your knees and give your house guest a proper welcome.
If you make me cum before the hot water runs out, I won't spank
"I have a flash heater," Kirsten growled, "not a hot water
"In that case," Kitty countered, "you have to make me cum twice
before my fingers get all wrinkled and pruney."
Kirsten heaved a tragic sigh and tugged on her cuffs, then
carefully settled to her knees.
|The End of...
|The Damsel Vanishes
| Chapter 8 & the story entire