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FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER | |||
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| by Van ©2018 | ||||
| Chapter 7 |
| DRAMATIS PERSONÆ |
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OUR STORY CONTINUES |
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Bertie, Nikki, and Kirsten dragged Tabby out of bed (figuratively) and she did, indeed, treat them to breakfast at a really nice neighborhood restaurant. That was then. This was now, going on mid-afternoon.
In the absence of Kitty (who was off on her mysterious mission to some unknown destination with Robin Fey in tow), Kirsten had dialed back her Righteous Outrage to a disgruntled pout. The Shyster was still very cute (in Bertie's opinion), but her supposed attitude didn't distract from the general camaraderie. More of a distraction were the garments Bertie, Nikki, and Tabby had allowed (meaning forced) the frowning ADA to borrow from Kitty's wardrobe. First, of course, were thong panties and a bra, but both were skimpy, skintight, bright red, and trimmed with crimson lace! Next came a pair of red stockings and a red garter-belt—followed by a black leather skirt that wasn't quite a mini-skirt—and finally, a clinging, long-sleeve, turtleneck sweater in blood-red! Kirsten's British-tan, cape-style raincoat from her own coat closet—the one she'd been forced to wear the night before—covered the borrowed clothing. Her black knee-boots were the finishing touch, and while the ensemble wasn't overtly kinky (and certainly wasn't unattractive), that didn't mean Kirsten couldn't flounce around in a petulant manner and pretend she was unhappy.
Nikki was back in her "cop outfit" of black pants-suit, white cotton blouse, and sensible shoes, with her weapon, handcuffs, and badge on her belt and under her jacket. The party had a police escort to breakfast.
Bertie was in one of her stylish, semi-expensive dove-gray business suits with white hose, a white cotton blouse, and stylish high-heel pumps.
Tabby emerged from her apartment via the closet-to-closet secret door in a very stylish designer dress, suitable for almost any occasion and obviously expensive.
There was speculation over the meal about where Kitty had dragged Robin and whether or not The Littlest Kidnapper would return. Competing theories for Robin's fate were (A) a shallow grave in the Jersey pine barrens or (B) concrete overshoes and Robin "sleeping with the fishes"—but it was all in jest. They all agreed that while Robin did have a few rough edges, she was an amazing and incredibly cute young lady. Not even Kirsten could argue against that. Also, "Puck" was a ton of fun, something Kirsten could argue against. In any case, they had no choice but to wait for Kitty to return and explain how she'd solved her Robin Fey problem.
Breakfast over, Kirsten said polite goodbyes and stomped for home.
Nikki shared a smile with Bertie as they watched her big sister depart, then thanked Tabby for breakfast, kissed Bertie on the top of her head, and headed for her home.
Bertie and Tabby then returned to their respective apartments.
Bertie changed into jeans and a tank-top and began dealing with the clutter of tangled rope scattered about various rooms. They needed to be coiled and returned to their designated storage locations. Next, she tackled the weekly vacuuming. As to whether Tabby was similarly occupied on her side of the Magic Mirror, Bertie had her doubts.
Time passed.
Eventually, Bertie ran out of household chores and other make-work. What a time to be between jobs, Bertie sighed. Not having a paying customer meant no leg work, no servers requiring hacking, no field notes to compile, and no hours to bill or reimbursable expenses to document. However... it was too soon to start worrying about the absence of Kitty Wynter and Robin Fey.
Bertie froze in her barefoot tracks. When did worrying about Kitty become worrying about Kitty and Robin? she thought. Would it be so bad if Kitty returned with Robin? She had no answer.
Another hour crawled by.
Bertie decided the time had come to maybe, just maybe, start worrying about Kitty and Robin. She picked up her phone... set it back down... picked it up again... then finally worked up the courage to dial Kitty's number. Bertie bit her lower lip while the call connected... and went to voicemail. Bertie sighed and set down her phone.
"Okay," Bertie muttered. "Time to officially start worrying... a little."
Suddenly, the front door opened and Robin appeared, and at her side was—"Gulp!"—Lady Arabelle!
"Hope you don't mind," Robin said as she reset the alarm panel, then turned to smile at Bertie. "I let us in."
"L-Lady Arabelle!" Bertie stammered as she padded to the entryway and shook Her Ladyship's hand.
Both Lady Arabelle and Robin were dressed in smart, expensive business suits, including hose and heels. For Her Ladyship that was expected, but where had Robin obtained such an outfit? And what was in the other boxes and bags with designer label logos that Bertie's newly arrived guests were depositing on the entryway floor?
"Lady A took me shopping!" Robin explained, which didn't explain much of anything to the flustered Bertie, other than the presence of the bags and boxes.
"I see," Bertie said quietly, then focused on her tall, beautiful, powerful guest. "Uh, tea?"
"Thank you, no," Lady Arabelle answered with a warm smile, "I just wanted to drop Robin off before returning to work."
"Oh... I see," Bertie responded. Needless to say, Bertie did not see, but knew she had to be very careful around Lady Arabelle, even on her home turf.
"You're going?" Robin sighed.
Lady Arabelle kissed Robin on her mop of brown curls. "I have to, Puck," she chuckled, then kissed Bertie's cheek.
"Thank you for the clothes!" Robin said, "and breakfast!" She turned to Bertie. "Have you ever had Smoked Salmon Benedict? It's delish!"
"You're welcome," Lady Arabelle called back over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold. "Bye!"
"G'bye!" Robin waved... then closed the door, turned, and faced Bertie. Her smile had abruptly changed to an expression of wide-eyed alarm!
Bertie opened her mouth to ask the first of several questions, but was forestalled by Robin's hand darting out to press against her lips. "Mrrrk?"
"Shhh!" Her hand still gently covering Bertie's mouth, Robin turned, went up on her toes, and peered through the peephole in the door and out into the hallway.
Bertie waited with rapidly diminishing patience for Robin to remove her hand... and the youngster finally did so.
"Okay, she's gone," Robin said breathlessly.
"Robin," Bertie demanded, "what the hell is—mrrrf!" Robin's hand was back over her mouth.
"Kitty!" Robin explained. "We gotta rescue Kitty!"
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 7 |
At that very moment, Kitty Wynter did, indeed, require rescue.
She was stretched on the Junk Room's inclined rack, her ankles locked in a set of padded stocks and her wrists, hands, and fingers in the same mitten-cuffs she'd worn since her capture, only now the cuffs were linked by taut chains to the rack's windlass. The ball-gag (with stretched rubber panel) still plugged her mouth and covered her lower face, and her nude body was drenched with sweat and bathed with bright light under the array of spotlights overhead.
Kitty had already been through the proverbial wringer. While Kitty balanced on one foot and dangled by one hand, Dominique and Athena had taken turns whipping her butt, tummy, and thighs with a riding crop and a multi-tailed flogger, then traded the use of a Wartenberg wheel (twenty or more needle-sharp pins spinning on the end of a steel handle) to trace long, slow, crisscrossing, excruciating lines across Kitty's taut, sculpted abdomen, as well as her ribs, breasts, armpits, thighs, and the sole of her right foot! Then, they used a wand-style vibrator to extract orgasm after orgasm from Kitty's flushed, moist pussy. And all of this happened several times, in no particular order and with no particular emphasis until Kitty was hanging in her bonds, limp, dripping with sweat, and semiconscious.
Maybe Kitty was no longer dangerous, and maybe not, but Dominique and Athena didn't take any chances. They summoned the pair of amazon giants who had overpowered Kitty in Lady Arabelle's office and helped them transfer Kitty's slippery form to the rack.
It turned out Kitty had been playing possum. She erupted in a frenzy of martial fury as soon as her bonds were released—and ran into the same wall of well-trained amazon strength as before. Maybe Kitty was more or less spent, because the only help the amazons required from Dominique and Athena was securing Kitty's squirming, mewling body to the rack, not to control her desperate struggles in general.
Mission accomplished, the amazons favored Kitty with gloating smiles, then left the Junk Room. Kitty tugged on her bonds and glared at the remaining dommes. Dominique stood on the right side of the rack, smiling down at Kitty's semi-stretched, squirming, glistening body, while Athena was at the head of the rack, her hands on the wooden handles of the windlass and also smiling down at Kitty.
"Mrrrfh!" Kitty fumed, then braced herself. Athena was turning the windlass and her condition slowly transitioned from semi-stretched, to stretched... and then into over-stretched. The grinning Greek beauty stopped at just the right point. Kitty's body was in full stretch but she wasn't quite in pain.
Kitty stared daggers at her torturers... tired but defiant daggers. Panting was no longer a viable option. Her stomach was flat, her breasts more-or-less flattened, and her rib cage prominent. The rack's stocks were well-engineered as well as padded, and the mitten-cuffs evenly distributed the pressure of the rack's chains. So... thank god for small favors, Kitty fumed.
Athena joined Dominique at Kitty's right side.
Seconds ticked by.
"Well," Dominique said, finally, "she held up pretty well, don't you think?"
"It's only phase one," Athena stated. Her self-satisfied smile was unchanged.
"True," Dominique agreed. "It's always fun playing with the strong ones."
"Oh, I totally agree," Athena chuckled, "much more fun that the whiners and weepers."
Kitty continued staring daggers at the smiling dommes, even though she knew continued defiance was pointless. She was wasting her strength for nothing, but Kitty Wynter was incapable of surrender.
"Coffee?" Dominique suggested. "I believe Inga stopped at Muffy's Muffins on the way in for a box of carrot-cake cupcakes."
"The ones with the yummy cream-cheese icing?" Athena responded. "Excellent!"
Dominique gently rested the palm of her gloved right hand on Kitty's taut, shining tummy. "Enjoy your break," she purred, then turned and strolled from the Junk Room. Athena blew Kitty a kiss, then left as well. The door closed, and Kitty was alone.
You better run, Kitty thought defiantly, but her heart wasn't in it. She was exhausted, and helpless, and she'd missed breakfast. Even a carrot-cake cupcake sounded pretty good right now.
Kitty closed her eyes, trying her best to ignore the bright lights still shining in her face from above. She knew that eventually Lady Arabelle would tire of teaching her a lesson. She could only hope it would be sooner rather than later, and that Athena's talk about "Phase One" had been teasing braggadocio. And Kitty still thought Her Ladyship was overreacting. Why shouldn't Arabelle take Robin out of her hair and train her as a domme?
I just hope Arabelle's troops aren't torturing the little twerp like Dominique and Athena are torturing me.
Kitty opened her eyes and blinked in surprise.
Why the hell do I care if Arabelle is torturing Robin? Lady Arabelle and her dommes were experts at taking clients to their limits, but not beyond, never beyond. They wouldn't hurt the little idiot, meaning Robin. They'd teach her a lesson—just like Lady A was supposedly teaching Kitty Wynter a lesson—but they wouldn't hurt her.
But why do I care? Kitty wondered. It's not like she's Bertie.
Kitty hadn't told her partner where she'd gone because in the back of her mind she's supposed there was a chance something like this might happen. She hadn't considered it likely, but it was always a possibility. It was reassuring that Bertie didn't know where she was—where they were—so Bertie couldn't come roaring to their rescue and wind up naked and tied up like a pretzel on one of the Junk Room's bondage tables.
Actually, that wasn't fair to Muffin. Bertie was smart, smart enough to know she couldn't take on Lady Arabelle by herself. But Bertie was only human. If she knew her beloved partner was suffering (heroically, like the stoic warrior she was) it would tear the precious little Brit apart.
Anyway... Kitty was also smart. She relaxed as best she could and settled in to wait... and languish... and maybe try and take a nap. Perhaps some sort of Phase Two was in her future, and perhaps not. Best to at least try and recharge her batteries while she waited to find out.
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 7 |
"And that's why we gotta rescue Kitty!" Robin exclaimed, then leaped to her feet. "C'mon!"
Bertie remained comfortably seated on the living room sofa, where she'd been throughout Robin's detailed recitation of the events that had transpired at Arabelle Consulting Services, as well as her delicious breakfast at the exclusive restaurant on the top floor of Lady Arabelle's building, and the shopping spree Arabelle had treated her to afterwards.
"Down girl," Bertie chuckled, pointing at the easy chair Robin had just vacated.
"But, they're probably torturing her!" Robin objected, "right now!"
"Sit," Bertie ordered.
Robin did so, but she was still anxious.
"Have you ever heard the expression 'Fools rush in'?" Bertie purred.
Robin's expression brightened. "Oh! You wanna make a plan." Her frown returned. "Can't we do that on the way?"
"I don't suppose the clothes you were wearing when Kitty dragged you out of here is in one or more of the boxes currently cluttering the entryway, is it?" Bertie inquired. "Why don't you change out of your pretty new outfit while I brew us some tea. We're not barging into Lady Arabelle's lair half cocked and unprepared."
"But—"
"But me no buts," Bertie giggled, then pointedly pointed towards the entryway. "Change!"
"We're wasting time!" Robin whined, but stomped away to the entryway, as ordered.
Bertie watched the adorable little "Puck" disappear, then made her way to the kitchen, filled the kettle, and set it on stove. She didn't know how Robin took her tea, but this was the perfect occasion to find out. She loaded a tea-ball with Twinings™ English Breakfast Tea, placed it in her favorite little-brown-teapot, arranged the pot on a tray with two cups and saucers, spoons, sugar, honey, and a small pitcher of milk. By this time the kettle was whistling, so she filled the teapot, made sure the stove was turned off, then carried the tray into the living room and set in on the coffee table between the easy chair and sofa. All was in readiness for Robin to return so they could—"Eeek!—Ooof!"
Someone—obviously Robin—had tackled Bertie! She'd landed on the carpet, face down and hard enough to force the air from her lungs, and her attacker—Robin—was astride her back and lashing her wrists together behind her back!
Bertie was chagrined she's allowed herself to be blindsided. She was also impressed by Puck's expert take-down. The barmy little trickster obviously had some training. There were counter moves that Bertie could try, even at this point. The problem was the break-aways with the greatest chance of success might mean Robin suffering a seriously sprained knee or a thump on the head from the edge of the coffee table. Both eventualities were unacceptable. Bertie lay still under Robin's "control" and "allowed" herself to be tied up.
"This is rank insubordination," Bertie purred, her right cheek resting on the plush carpet.
"You might not wanna save Kitty," Robin huffed as she worked, "but I do! And I will!"
Bertie smiled, but didn't otherwise respond. Obviously, rather than change clothes as she'd been ordered, Puck had raided Kitty's collection of conditioned hemp rope in the playroom. And just as Robin was at least partially trained in the martial arts, she was something of a rigger. Soon, Bertie's wrists were crossed and bound behind her back, her ankles also crossed and bound, a simple kimono-style rope-harness was yoking her shoulders and armpits, and everything was coalescing into a stringent hogtie as Robin removed the slack, tied the final knots, and stepped back.
Bertie squirmed and groped with her fingers. "Good job, Puck," she said. She wiggled and squirmed until she could focus on Robin's face. The Littlest Kidnapper was flushed and worried, not gloating. "You realize I'm going to have to punish you for this at some point, don't you, Puck?"
"Ha!" Robin scoffed, shuffling forward on her knees until she could pop a ball-gag (more borrowed loot from the playroom) into Bertie's mouth and buckle it tight at the nape of the Brit's neck. "Big words from the hogtied 'Muffin' who's too scared of Lady Arabelle to rescue Kitty."
Bertie watched (smiling around the gag plugging her mouth) as Robin climbed to her feet, straightened the front of her skirt, shrugged into the matching jacket she'd snatched from the back of the sofa, then stomped from the living room. Bertie heard the front door open... then slam closed.
Bertie explored her bonds. Robin "Puck" Fey really was a competent rigger. Bertie was balanced on her thighs and tummy with her pert breasts just off the carpet and her back arched. It wasn't the most stringent hogtie of Bertie's experience and far from the most elaborate, but it wasn't anything to sneeze at.
Just then, Tabby Wynter, dressed in a jade-green hapi coat—and as far as Bertie could tell, nothing else—strolled into the living room from the direction of the bedroom. Obviously, she'd entered Kitty and Bertie's domain through the Magic Mirror. The younger Wynter padded into the kitchen... there was a brief pause... than she returned with a pint-sized milk carton in her right hand.
"You're out of half-and-half," Tabby announced as she padded towards the bedroom... and was gone.
Bertie rolled her eyes, then twisted her wrists, shrugged her rope-yoked shoulders... and pulled her hands free of the suddenly slack ropes formerly binding her wrists. She quickly dealt with the remaining ropes, the ball-gag, then climbed to her bare feet and stretched. Puck is competent, Bertie mused, but no match for Kitty's Squirmy Little English Muffin! She then padded to the sofa, sat, leaned forward, and poured milk into a teacup... followed by tea... then gave it a quick stir. She took a sip and smiled her dimpled smile. "Brilliant!"
Bertie then picked up her phone and placed a call. "Philberta Finch for Lady Arabelle, please," Bertie announced when the call connected. "Yes, I'll hold." The phone still held to her right ear, Bertie took a sip from the teacup in her left.
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 7 |
Much to her amazement, Kitty had succeeded in taking a nap while stretched on the Junk Room rack. Then, the amazons reappeared, and with the largely unnecessary help of a pair of Lady Arabelle's average-size dommes, released Kitty from the rack, then dragged/carried her down the hallway and through one of the anonymous doors.
The decor of the room beyond screamed medical clinic. The vinyl floor tiles were a bilious shade of green, the walls stark white (without even a hint of any other color), and the ceiling clad with white acoustic tiles. Stainless steel cabinets, some with glass fronts, lined parts of the walls. LED panels and spotlights provided illumination, but the chamber's pièce de résistance was a stainless steel gynecological/examining table/couch padded with black leather and with a plethora of dangling straps! It was obviously modern, state-of-the-art, fully adjustable, and motorized!
Needless to say, Kitty wanted nothing to do with the room or any of its contents, especially the table/couch; however, was unable to prevent the amazons from plunking her butt down on the appropriate pads and holding her in place while their helpers strapped her in place.
Soon, padded straps pinned Kitty's wrists to the armrests and her ankles in the footrests. More straps, all unpadded, bound Kitty in place at her forearms, upper-arms, lower-legs, above and below her knees, thighs, waist, and torso, above and below her breasts. The padding was memory foam molded to fit the generalized human form, and working in concert with the straps, firmly pinned Kitty in place, leaving her trapped in its insidious embrace. She could wiggle her toes, twist her bound feet, flex her fingers, and toss her gagged head. Kitty was glad to be free of the mitten-cuffs she's endured since soon after her capture, but having "free" fingers did her little good... meaning zero good.
The "normal-size" dommes made their exit, but the amazons lingered for a few seconds, smiling and leering at Kitty as she squirmed and explored her new bonds. Kitty glared at the muscular female giants in their kinky leather costumes. She knew they were just doing their jobs, but that didn't mean she couldn't wish their positions were reversed, that Kitty was the one gloating while they struggled against inescapable bondage. That wasn't gonna happen, of course, not anytime soon, but Kitty could dream, couldn't she?
Finally, the amazons left and Kitty was alone... again The only thing missing is a Nasty Nurse in a sexy white uniform, Kitty thought. And then, the door opened and a Nasty Nurse in a sexy white uniform entered. Specifically, she was wearing white high heeled pumps, white stockings, a white cotton uniform dress that was mini-skirt short with a plunging neckline and French-style short sleeves, and a traditional nurse's cap. Her blonde hair was coiled in a tight bun and her lower face hidden behind a white surgical mask. She was pushing a big-screen TV on a rolling stand. She positioned the screen at the foot of Kitty's throne, knelt and plugged it in, then turned and left the room.
Kitty was alone, again, only now she had a blank screen to watch. The least she could have done is turn the damn thing on, Kitty fumed. I bet Lady Arabelle gets premium cable and Netflix.
The door opened again and Lady Arabelle, herself, strolled to Kitty's side. She was wearing one of her signature domme costumes, the way Kitty had expected to find her when she'd escorted Robin to Arabelle's place of business to make her eminently reasonable and sensible suggestion that Her Ladyship should take the charming and talented youngster under her wing as a Junior Domme-in-Training. Arabelle's lipstick was red... really red. Her smile was mesmerizing... and scary.
Lady Arabelle wheeled over a stainless steel stool, sat, and smiled at Kitty. She then leaned forward and removed Kitty's gag.
Kitty licked her lips and swallowed, as best she could. "Look," she croaked, "I—"
Lady Arabelle placed her right index finger against Kitty's lips. "Hush, Kitty," she purred.
As if on cue, the door opened and the Nasty Nurse reappeared. She was carrying a stainless steel tray with two old-fashioned, cut crystal glasses full of ice, some sort of clear, fizzy liquid, and slices of lime. She wheeled over a stainless steel table, set down the tray, then curtsied to Lady Arabelle, turned, and began puttering around the room, opening various cabinets and loading various things onto a second steel cart. The distance was too great for Kitty to see what the Kinky Nightingale was up to, but it didn't bode well.
Meanwhile, Lady Arabelle held one of the glasses to Kitty's lips. From the aroma Kitty could tell it was a gin and tonic before her first sip. Lady Arabelle let her guzzle half the drink, then set it back down on the tray.
Kitty licked her lips, again. "Thanks," she sighed, then tugged on her bonds, a silent plea to be released.
"Robin is a delightful young lady," Lady Arabelle said with a warm smile. "I took her out to breakfast." She paused to sip her own gin and tonic. "Salmon Benedict. Delicious."
Kitty's stomach growled. She'd had erotic torture for breakfast, as well as brunch and lunch. She tried not to scowl at her hostess, but knew she was largely failing.
"Anyway," Lady Arabelle continued. "We had a very nice chat. You know..." She held Kitty's drink so she could take another sip. "Robin would make a delightful addition to my stable. I have a wealthy female client who's obsessed with the works of J.K. Rowling. I find it very easy to imagine Robin in Hogwarts uniform with a Slytherin tie, and doing various erotic things to a captured Gryffindor alum. I'm sure the little scamp could master the required British accent. But..."
Kitty waited for Her Ladyship to continue... and she did.
"The little pixie has no interest whatsoever in even temporary employment at Arabelle Consulting Services. She sees herself as a sort of streetwise Nancy Drew, and you, Kitty, are her idol. She adores you. Can't you see that? Or maybe you haven't bothered talking to Robin long enough to get to know her."
Kitty bit her lower lip. She had no defense. She hadn't talked to Robin. Not really. But then, there was no need. The very idea of taking on an apprentice was... absurd.
The Nasty Nurse finished whatever the hell she'd been doing and rolled the cart next to the one with the drinks. Whatever was on its steel surface was hidden under a green cloth. She dropped another curtsy... and waited.
"That will be all, Florence," Lady Arabelle said. "Thank you."
The blond dropped yet another curtsy, spun on her sexy heels, and left the room—swinging her sexy butt and flaunting her medical hotness. She closed the door behind her.
"Florence," Kitty huffed in a near whisper. The Nasty Nurse is named Florence. What a surprise.
"Hush," Lady Arabelle chuckled, then sipped her drink.
Kitty eyed her drink, but Her Ladyship chose to ignore the hint.
"Now," Lady Arabelle said, setting down her drink, "as I said earlier, Robin is a delightful young lady, very talented, even gifted, but she is young—experienced in some areas, inexperienced in others. In a word, she's immature, and in need of mentoring and guidance."
"Which is why—"
Lady Arabella's finger was back over Kitty's lips. "I talk. You listen."
Her Ladyship withdrew her finger and Kitty remained silent... and tried not to glare.
"You and I, on the other hand," Lady Arabelle continued, "are neither young nor inexperienced. Robin is just beginning to flirt with what we might euphemistically call our Special Interests, but you and I are well past the flirtation stage. You and I are at a much higher level; therefore, our discourse and our interactions are at a higher level, a level Robin Fey is not even ready to witness. Therefore..."
Kitty watched as Her Ladyship reached over and removed the green cloth from the second cart. Kitty made a quick visual inventory of the contents of the tray—"Gulp!"—and her eyes popped wide in alarm. She shifted her horrified gaze to Lady Arabelle's smiling, beautiful, sinister face. "You wouldn't!" she whispered.
| The End of... | ||
| A STUDY IN Cute | |
Chapter 7 |