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FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER | |||
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| by Van ©2018 | ||||
| Chapter 1 |
| DRAMATIS PERSONÆ |
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OUR
STORY BEGINS |
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Kitty Wynter was enjoying her vacation. It wasn't an actual vacation but more like a lull in the action, a brief (hopefully) interlude between paying jobs. She was still in the city, as was her partner (and lover), Bertie Finch, and at the moment Kitty was strolling down a Manhattan street. Unemployed, on vacation... whatever. Anyway, there was nothing for her to do but enjoy the hustle and bustle (while ignoring the occasional pungent aromas) and indulge in a little people watching. Kitty enjoyed people watching. It honed her detective skills.
Bertie, who among other things was the bookkeeper and resident worrywart of Wynter & Finch Investigative Services, had served notice that while they could comfortably coast for weeks on their current retainers and were in no immediate danger of financial distress, they should be looking for new gigs.
Kitty wasn't worried and was determined to enjoy the downtime while it lasted. Also, she didn't want to accept the first less-than-desirable job that came their way, like following around some cheating wife or husband day after day and night after night. Kitty hated divorce cases. They were so boring... and sordid... but not in a nice way.
Anyway... at the moment... Kitty was free to relax and enjoy herself. Hmm... maybe I'll splurge on a Carmel Brulée Latte, she decided. The nearest Starbucks was in the opposite direction, so she spun on her heels—and froze. There she is again!
The she in question was a girl, a teenager, a veritable munchkin of short stature with a curly brown mop of hair, probably brown eyes (the distance being too great for Kitty to be sure about the eyes) and very attractive features. She was a cute little thing, without a doubt, and this had to be the tenth time in the last three days that Kitty had seen her, without noticing her. Sometimes she was dressed as a school girl, in uniform and toting a day-pack/book-bag, sometimes dressed for business as a probable intern in a cute little skirt and matching jacket, and sometimes more casually in jeans and a leather coat, like now.
And then she was gone, lost in the milling pedestrian cross-traffic.
Who is she? Kitty wondered.
Kitty was good at her job. Nobody was better, and nobody tailed Kitty Wynter without her knowing it, and certainly not some snot-nosed teenager, not unless she was also good at her job, very good.
Kitty took several quick paces, weaving through the crowd and retracing her steps... but failed to regain sight of the youngster, the youngster Kitty finally had to admit was skilled enough to follow The Great Kitty Wynter without being noticed. Okay, Kitty had noticed the teenager, but had been disgracefully slow to realize she'd acquired a tail. It was a mystery... a mildly embarrassing and somewhat irritating mystery.
It would seem I'm somebody else's case, Kitty mused as she made her way to the Starbucks and joined the back of the line. Somebody's following me, which means somebody wants something. But who hires a teenager to do surveillance work? I'll have to tell Bertie about this... and check with my contacts on the street. Somebody will know something about something if somebody's sending somebody after me for something... for some reason.
The line was moving... slowly... as usual... but a Carmel Brulée Latte would be worth the wait.
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 1 |
It was business hours, so the front door of Wynter & Finch Investigative Services was unlocked. Kitty knew a discrete chime had sounded in the back as soon as she entered, so Bertie would be appearing shortly—and she did.
Dressed in her usual business hours costume of high-heels, skirt, and blouse, Bertie raced into the front room. Her fine, pale blond hair was boyishly short, also as usual, and she was smiling a broad, dimpled smile with a sparkling blue eyes topper. The little Brit was happy—too happy, in Kitty's experienced opinion.
"Guess who else is currently unemployed?" Bertie gushed. She was practically bouncing up and down with glee.
Kitty rolled her eyes (and suppressed a smile). Bertie was, indeed, in one of her moods, simultaneously adorable and annoying.
"C'mon, you have to guess," Bertie giggled. "I'll give you a hint. Her initials are 'T'... 'W'."
Kitty rolled her eyes, again, and this time she meant it. "Great," she huffed. "Just great." She stomped through the office/condo, making a beeline for the bedroom in the back, the one she shared with her partner.
"Kitty!" Bertie admonished her glowering partner, scurrying in her wake. "Be nice."
"I'm always nice," Kitty growled. The dimpled smile on her partner's pixie face was... cute. "Wait here," she ordered, pointing at the bedroom floor but meaning the bedroom in general, then stomped into the walk-in closet she shared with her infuriating (and cute) pixie/partner.
"Kitty!" Bertie whined.
"Stifle yourself!" Kitty called back over her shoulder, then approached a full-length mirror set in the wood paneling between two racks of hanging clothes. She pressed a section of the frame and an adjacent section in the paneling sprung open on spring-loaded hinges, exposing a stainless steel lever. She threw the lever, there was a quiet click, and the entire mirror opened inward like a secret door, which it was. Beyond was a dark walk-in closet, the mirror image of Kitty and Bertie's closet, but host to a lot more hanging clothes, all of it expensive, as well as something like a hundred pairs of high-heeled pumps, sandals, and boots, also expensive.
Kitty stepped through the mirror/door, carefully slid open a drawer in a built-in cabinet, and gathered a large handful of neatly folded silk scarves. She then silently crept to the closed closet door... and slowly, carefully opened said door on silent hinges.
The lights were on in the luxurious and expensively decorated bedroom beyond. The king-sized bed was neatly made, but marred by a random pile of silk underwear, pantyhose, a stylish skirt and matching jacket, and a silk blouse. A pair of custom-made, Italian, high-heeled pumps were discarded on the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed. The door to the master bathroom was ajar and Kitty heard the monotonous drone of a hand blow-dryer whining from within.
Kitty crept into the bedroom, picked up the shoes and quietly transferred them to the carpet next to an easy chair, then grabbed the rumpled clothes on the bed and tossed them onto the same chair. Next, one-by-one, she folded the scarves she'd taken from the closet—first point-to point and then into narrow strips—and arranged them in a neat row draped along the foot of the bed. She selected one of the longest folded scarves, then crept to a clear spot on the hinge side of the bathroom door... and waited.
The drone of the blow-dryer stopped... seconds passed... then the bathroom door opened, a naked brunette entered the bedroom, and Kitty pounced!
"Hey!" The brunette yelped as Kitty pulled her hands behind her back and, despite her vigorous struggles, tied her wrists together behind her back. The naked soon-to-be-captive looked back over her shoulder at her attacker, and scowled. "Dammit, Kitty! Not now! I'm jet-lagged. I need a nap!"
"Didn't I tell you to call ahead whenever you come to New York?" Kitty demanded as she tied the final knot in her kid sister's wrist bondage. Yes, the naked brunette was Tabitha Wynter, the successful and world famous (or world semi-famous) actress of stage and screen. Lesser known to the general public was the fact that "Tabby" was a general pain in in the ass (in Kitty's humble opinion), and had been since Tabby was a rampaging toddler and Kitty was an angelic (meaning demonic) kindergartner.
"It's my apartment," Tabby complained as Kitty dragged her to the bed, selected a second scarf, and used it to bind Tabby's arms together, just above her elbows. "Too tight!" she whined.
"It's your apartment," Kitty agreed, "but I'm your landlord." She ignored the issue of elbow-bond tightness. "And I sometimes use this place as a safe house if one of my clients needs to disappear for a while," Kitty countered. "You know that."
"I pay rent, dammit," Tabby complained, then complained again—"Hey!"—when Kitty shoved her down onto the bed and began tying her ankles together with a third scarf.
"That's beside the point," Kitty countered as she used a fourth scarf to bind Tabby's knees together.
Naked and bound on her bed, Tabby rolled onto her side and shook her straight, long, brown hair from her face, as best she could, then glowered at her sibling/assailant. Kitty was sorting through the clothes Tabby had worn on her flight from Heathrow to JFK. Tabby noted that Big Sis was wearing her usual urban-ingenue-at-home costume of boots, jeans, and a tank-top. "Are those the boots I bought you last Christmas?" she muttered.
"I think so," Kitty confirmed, then returned to the bed with Tabby's pantyhose. "Here, I'll show you a new trick," she purred, then rolled Tabby onto her boobs, tummy, and thighs, and quickly gathered up one leg of the pantyhose. "Hands palm-to-palm," she ordered. "Now."
"Why?" Tabby demanded with a heartbreaking pout. "Ow!" Kitty had delivered a stinging slap to her left butt-cheek. "Okay, okay," she huffed, and followed her big sister's command.
Kitty slid the leg of the pantyhose up Tabby's bound arms until the toe bottomed out on Tabby's fingertips and the sheer nylon began to stretch. Kitty continued pulling the leg upwards, then stretched the waistband up and over Tabby's shoulders. This left her little sister's arms tightly encased in stretched, beige nylon with the remaining (and empty) leg of the pantyhose dangling from the middle of her upper back, just below her shoulder blades. Kitty stretched the empty leg horizontally around Tabby's arms and torso, passing under her breasts, and back to her back. She formed an elegant hitch that secured the leg through itself, and tied a final knot. "Voilà! One 'pantyhose armbinder'."
Tabby rolled back onto her side, again, blew an errant strand of hair out of her face, and favored her big sister with her best disgusted pout. "Color me amazed," she drawled.
Kitty smiled. "Amazed and helpless. I wish I had a couple of rolls of duct tape. A few hundred tight bands at strategic locations and all this would all be totally inescapable. Right now, it's just... inescapable."
"That's not funny," Tabby pouted, squirming and testing her silk and nylon bondage.
Kitty watched, beaming with pride at a job well done. "How long are you staying this time?"
"About a month," Tabby sighed. "Six weeks, tops. It all depends on when my next movie actually starts filming. One of the studios is waffling on the front end financing, so there's a possibility it might be two months, but probably one."
"I see," Kitty purred, then sorted through Tabby's travel clothes until she found her discarded panties. She gave them a careful sniff, wrinkling her nose in exaggerated distaste. "Heathrow to JFK, huh? How many hours is that of grinding these into the padding of a first-class seat?"
"Too many," Tabby huffed. "Kitty! No—mrrrmpfh!" The panties were in her mouth and Big Sis was cleave-gagging her with the remaining narrowly folded scarf, tying a tight square-knot at the nape of her neck and under her tousled hair. "Mrrrrrrrrrrk!"
"Temper, temper," Kitty chuckled, then sauntered into the walk-in closet. There was a brief delay... then she returned to the bedroom. Dangling from her right hand was a single white cotton lace from a pair of Tabby's designer sneakers.
Tabby watched (and glowered) as Kitty tied her big toes together with the sneaker lace, and tied an elegant bow.
Mission accomplished, Kitty stood back and smiled at her little sister. "There. Enjoy your nap, and don't hop around or you might hurt your little piggies." She gave Tabby's bound big toes—the piggies in question—a teasing shake, then strolled back to the closet. "You're taking Bertie and me out to dinner tonight," she announced. "Next time, be a good girl and call ahead, like I told you."
Tabby watched the closet door close, then rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh through her gag. Typical. It was just like when they were kids... and teenagers... and like her last visit to New York... and every visit to New York. She sighed through her gag, closed her eyes, and settled in to wait for sleep... and for Kitty or Bertie to return and untie her.
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 1 |
"What did you do?" Bertie demanded as Kitty reentered their shared bedroom and closed the walk-in closet's door behind her. The diminutive Brit was favoring her partner with her best Disapproving and Disappointed Glower.
"Nothing," Kitty said innocently as she pulled her tank-top over her head, tossed it on the bed, then removed her bra. Bertie was cute when she looked at her like that. Bertie's reactions were half the fun of being bad.
"You didn't bind your little sister in some beastly fashion?" Bertie demanded.
"Of course not," Kitty chuckled.
Bertie remained skeptical. "Kitty."
"Not 'beastly'," Kitty clarified, making air quotes for emphasis. She sat on the foot of the bed and removed her boots and socks, then stood, unzipped her jeans, peeled them down her legs, and stepped free. That left only her bikini panties, but not for long. Soon, nude (gloriously nude in Bertie's opinion), Kitty turned and gracefully padded towards the master bath. "Tabby's taking us out to dinner, so you need to make reservations. Make it someplace expensive. You in the mood for lobster? I'm in the mood for lobster."
"Why not Tabby?" Bertie drawled. "Why isn't your sister the one making reservations?" (As if she didn't know.)
Kitty grinned as she paused in the bathroom threshold. "She's tied up at the moment."
Bertie rolled her eyes (and giggled) as the bathroom door closed. Seconds later, she heard the shower start running. Still smiling, Bertie shook her head, spun on her heels, and left the bedroom, heading for the office to start making calls. Making reservations at an expensive restaurant on such short notice was usually highly problematic, but she'd be able to drop the name of Tabitha Wynter, the famous actress, so it shouldn't prove that difficult.
Back in the bedroom, the bathroom door flew open. "Bertie," Kitty said, "There's this teenager following me around, and—" She was too late. Bertie was already gone. Kitty would have to tell her to look out for her new tail later.
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 1 |
Tabby opened her eyes.
She was in her apartment in New York. She was naked. She was tied up with several Gucci, Givenchy, and Burberry scarves from her own collection, as well as a pair of her own pantyhose. She heaved a muffled sigh, muffled because she was gagged with a pair of her own panties and yet another of her scarves. Her sister could be a real pain-in-the-ass when she wanted to be, which was always. Good thing I love her, Tabby mused. She rolled over on the soft bed—and froze in her bonds!
There was a stranger in her bedroom! A complete stranger! A youthful, female, complete stranger! Undeniably, she was a cute little thing—a teenager with a tousled mop of brown hair and big brown eyes—and was wearing sneakers, stylishly ripped and worn jeans, a white-t-shirt, and an black, inexpensive cotton jacket. Tabby could see all this (including the sneakers) because the teenager was sitting in a semi-lotus on the easy chair where Kitty-the-pain-in-the-ass had dumped her travel clothes after removing them from the bed. The clothes in question were now a heap on the floor, but that wasn't particularly important. The presence of a cute, gawking, teenage stranger—that was important!
"Wow!" the teenager gushed. "Tabitha Wynter, Kitty's little sister! I've seen all your movies, including the one where you were a ballerina and went down on the other ballerina. I bet that was fun to film. Did they clear the set? Did you guys really do it, or were you pretending? I also saw that sci-fi movie where you were secretly a space princess. It wasn't all that good, but you were, in the movie, I mean. Anyway... Wow!"
Tabby blinked in surprise, squirming in her bonds. The youngster was babbling. She was starstruck, something Tabby had run into before, and all her questions were rhetorical, unless and until she removed Tabby's gag. Oh-by-the-way, could the teenager—whoever the hell she was and whatever might be her intentions—be any cuter? In point of fact, the little stranger was seriously beautiful, potentially gorgeous with the right fashion advice; however, at the moment she was giving off something of a common street vibe (not that Tabby was a snob). As a professional actress, Tabby was expert in reading people (and stealing what she needed to play a part) and the stranger was... urban, as in "modern street urchin"... unless it was a persona. For all Tabby knew, she was actually some spoiled rich brat/prep-school student who'd decided to announce her supposedly fully emerged maturity by cultivating a street-smart facade.
"Anyway..." Still smiling, the teenager unfolded her legs, gracefully flowed to her feet, then strolled over and sat on the bed. "I'm really glad to meet you." She reached out and rested a hand on Tabby's naked hip. "We're gonna be really good friends, and you're gonna help me with Kitty."
Her heart hammering, Tabby blinked in surprise and did her best to ignore the teenager's hand. Help you with Kitty? What the hell does that mean?
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 1 |
"Kitty!" Bertie said gravely, still conveying Profound Disappointment without so much as a trace of visible amusement.
"What?" Kitty demanded. Her shower was a thing of the past and she was brushing her already blow-dried hair. She hadn't bothered getting dressed, and for good reason: she hadn't yet decided what to wear. Bertie had announced she'd managed to make a reservation for three at Eleven Madison Park, which was something of a minor miracle. Snazzy attire would be expected and Kitty owned a suitable LBD, but Tabby had an entire rack of designer gowns and dresses in her closet, all of which would be more-or-less in Kitty's size (or possibly a little snug across the boobs), so she had other options.
"You need to untie your little sister," Bertie continued. Muffin (Kitty's pet name for her partner) was removing her work clothes in preparation for her own turn in the shower.
"Why?" Kitty purred, still brushing her hair.
Bertie rolled her eyes (and continued suppressing her smile). "We can't take Tabby to dinner with rope-marks on her wrists or arms or... wherever."
Kitty smiled, serenely. "Silk-marks."
Bertie had stepped out of her heels and was unbuttoning her blouse. "Pardon?"
"Silk-marks," Kitty reiterated. "I used scarves—not rope, or cord, or wire, or duct tape, or chains, or... whatever."
Bertie lost her battle and her smile emerged. She had to admit, the situation was pretty funny—both funny-ha-ha and funny-strange—meaning the way Kitty treated her little sister whenever she visited New York. It wasn't like Kitty kept Tabby a prisoner 24/7 when she was in town, but Kitty always found some flimsy excuse to bind and gag her famous sibling at least once, or a couple of times, or several times.. They must have been a lot of fun when they were growing up, Bertie mused. They must have driven their parents absolutely insane... just like my siblings and I drove Mother and Father insane.
"So," Kitty said, continuing to brush her hair, "Eleven Madison Avenue. Full-length gowns or cocktail dresses?"
"Oh, dresses, not gowns," Bertie answered as she removed her blouse. "Kitty." She nodded towards the walk-in closet door.
Kitty rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't have a cow." She tossed the hairbrush to Bertie to be returned to the bathroom, then sauntered towards the closet, still naked.
Bertie took the handle of the brush between her teeth, then unzipped, pulled down, and stepped free of her skirt. She removed her bra and panties, then took the brush back in hand and headed for the bathroom.
Meanwhile, in the closet, Kitty was passing through the "magic mirror" and into Tabby's closet.
"Wakie, wakie," Kitty said as she entered her little sister's bedroom. "I don't care if you are jet-lagged, you need to—" Kitty froze in place. Except for her naked self, the bedroom was empty—and that included the bed—if you didn't count the many still narrowly folded silk scarves not binding Tabby's absent body, as well as the tangled pair of pantyhose no longer being used as an impromptu armbinder to bind her absent arms, the rumpled panties that should be stuffed in her absent mouth, and the folded scarf that should be cleaving said absent mouth. All of Tabby's bonds were there, but no Tabby!
Kitty acted quickly. She confirmed that the bedroom was, indeed, empty, then executed a quick but through search of the rest of the apartment. Still no Tabby.
A second search followed, this time even more thorough, and with an eye towards unearthing anything out of place that might explain... something. Still no luck. Still no Tabby.
Kitty's face was now set in a serious frown. This isn't funny. Where the hell is she? What the hell is going on? She knew Tabby couldn't possibly have untied herself, not in a million years. She was 100% positive she hadn't made any mistakes during the tying and placement of the knots securing the silk scarves, and the pantyhose-armbinder would have made everything even more secure. So...
Kitty headed for her apartment to alert Bertie and get dressed. The game was afoot, and it looked like they were gonna miss their reservation at Eleven Madison Avenue.
| The End of... | ||
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 1 |
