stepped from the yellow taxicab and found her eyes drawn almost
involuntarily upwards. Looming in front and especially
above her was a typical glass, steel, and concrete wonder of
Manhattan architecture, a skyscraper rising into the blue sky
and catching the sun about halfway up its 1,000 foot-plus
height. It was Joan's destination, specifically Cælestis,
an exclusive restaurant near the very top. She'd never
eaten in the establishment in question, but knew its reputation
for tasteful modern decor, spectacular views of the skyline,
cutting edge, overpriced cuisine, and above all, guaranteed
It was an open secret that Cælestis was the place
for the elite to hold meetings that never took place, including
trysts with mistresses, gigolos, or coworkers, tête-à-têtes
between whistle-blowers and reporters, and planning sessions
with bitter rivals who were actually secret allies.
Joan smiled. Cælestis probably counted Morland
among its regular customers, when he was in New York. It
was the perfect setting for Sherlock's notorious father to
expedite his latest morally and/or ethically and/or legally
questionable business scheme; however, Joan wasn't responding to
a summons from the hyper-wealthy, hyper-powerful Morland
Holmes. At the moment, both Morland and Sherlock
were supposedly in Mindanao, working together (under a no doubt
very uneasy truce) to unravel an incredibly complex and
problematic criminal/political mare's nest with the assistance
of Interpol, MI-6, the CIA, and various operatives of Morland's
global network. Sherlock and Morland had expressly
forbidden Joan from getting involved in whatever it was they
were doing, not even via the internet from New York. She
wasn't happy about it, but had little choice.
In any case, Joan's visit to Cælestis had nothing to do
with the Holmes family. Today, she was responding to a
summons from Jordan Shaw of the FBI.
Joan had never met the Special Agent face-to-face, but Jordan
was semi-famous, an up-and-comer at the Bureau who had closed
numerous high profile cases.
Also, the invitation (summons) had come as a welcome
surprise. With Sherlock overseas, possibly for weeks, and
with Joan frozen out of whatever the hell he was working on, she
needed a diversion. At the moment it was her bad luck that
there were no interesting cases at the 11th Precinct.
Captain Gregson had promised he would give her a call if
something worthy of her talents turned up, but so far the Major
Case Squad was purring along without her. Also, no private
clients with interesting puzzles had emerged since Sherlock's
departure. Finally, Sherlock would pout like a spoiled
brat if he returned home to find she'd tidied up the brownstone
and disturbed his "collections."
All things considered, meeting Special Agent Shaw was a welcome
diversion at a time when Joan needed one. At the very
least, meeting the inimitable Jordan Shaw would widen Joan's
network within the Bureau.
And adding a hint of mystery to the occasion, most meetings with
the FBI took place at their New York Field Office. The
choice of a venue like Cælestis was unusual, as was the
invitations' emphatic admonition that Joan should tell no one
where, when, or with whom she would be meeting. Joan
supposed there had to be a good reason for all the cloak and
dagger, but it was intriguing.
Joan entered the skyscraper's main lobby. Her burgundy and
black dress blended in well with the expensively dressed men and
women coming and going from the banks of public elevators and
the exclusive ground floor shops.
Tucked discretely in one corner of the lobby was a counter under
a prominent Cælestis sign, and behind the counter was
what was clearly a private elevator and an attractive,
The blonde smiled as Joan drew near. "May I help
you?" Her gold name tag read "Chrissy."
"Joan Watson, to meet Jordan Shaw," Joan explained, smiling
Chrissy consulted a touchscreen display built into the
counter-top, then tapped the screen. "Ms. Shaw has already
arrived," she announced, then gestured to the elevator. As
if on cue, a chime sounded and the doors opened. "Your
waitress will meet you at our sky lobby," Chrissy explained.
"Thank you," Joan said as she entered the elevator. The
doors closed and what turned out to be a very long ascent
began. Very subdued, almost subliminal music emerged from
speakers built into the car's ceiling. Joan recognized the
melodious chimes of a Balinese Gamelan orchestra. She was
impressed... or more precisely, she wasn't annoyed.
The car slowed and stopped, the doors opened, and Joan found
herself facing a brunette waitress with her hair pulled back in
a tight bun and dressed in a black pencil-skirt and a
long-sleeve, white blouse with a Cælestis name-tag that
read "Fiona." Her pale blue eyes smiled from behind a
stylish pair of designer glasses and Joan had no choice but to
admit the waitress' dimpled smile and girlish features were
"Welcome to Cælestis, Ms. Watson," Fiona purred, then
gestured down a nearby hallway.
Joan looked into the main restaurant. There were the
expected tables and chairs, half of which were occupied by well
dressed clients, as well as servers dressed like Fiona. A
window-wall provided the famous Cælestis view of
"Ms. Shaw is in one of our private dining rooms," Fiona
explained, repeating her gesture.
"I see," Joan answered, then followed Fiona's lead. The
restaurant had other doorways providing glimpses of other narrow
hallways. Joan surmised they led to other "private dining
It was a short hallway with one left turn. Fiona pulled
back an opaque drape, revealing an open sliding glass
door. Beyond was a cozy, well-appointed room with a table
and two chairs, and sitting opposite the glass door was Jordan
Shaw. Joan recognized her from her official FBI portrait,
as well as photos in newspaper and magazine articles about her
various law enforcement triumphs. Jordan smiled, set down
the Cælestis menu she'd been reading, and
stood. She was dressed in an elegant brown sheath-dress,
rather than the conservative business attire (the FBI "uniform")
Joan might have expected.
Jordan Shaw was strikingly attractive, with auburn hair, even
features, green, intelligent eyes, a fair complexion, and a
dimpled smile. Irish good looks, Joan mused.
As she'd been trained by her partner, Joan continued her
"casual" assessment. Jordan's dress was obviously
expensive, but not terribly out of line with an FBI
salary. Joan knew that Jordan had a husband and teen-age
daughter, and the husband in question was a high-ranking lawyer
with the Securities and Exchange Commission. His success
explained the exquisite champagne pearl necklace around Jordan's
neck. It was a gift.
Joan stepped forward and shook Jordan's hand. "Joan
Watson," she introduced herself.
"Jordan Shaw," Jordan responded.
Joan and Jordan sat as Fiona poured ice water into the glass at
Joan's place setting. A menu was already waiting atop her
"May I bring you a cocktail?" Fiona inquired.
"Water is fine for now," Joan answered. "Thank you."
Fiona bowed and backed out of the room, slid the glass door
closed, pulled the curtain, and Joan and Jordan were
Joan began reading her menu.
"I'm very glad to finally meet you, " Jordan said as she sipped
her water. "As I'm sure you're aware, your partner has
both his fans and detractors in the Bureau, but I've
yet to meet a Joan Watson detractor."
Joan smiled. "That's very kind, but I know a few of your
colleagues who might fall into that category."
"Not anyone important, I assure you," Jordan replied with a
sincere smile, then opened her menu and resumed reading.
"I confess I'm surprised you asked to meet at Cælestis,"
Joan remarked. "I hope the Bureau will be picking up the
Jordan lifted her gaze from the menu. "Excuse me?"
"This place is expensive," Joan clarified. "I hope you'll
be able to put it on your expense account."
Jordan set down her menu. "That's not an issue; however, I
believe it's you who invited me to lunch at Cælestis."
was still smiling, but now her gaze was penetrating.
Joan locked eyes with Jordan. "I received a message from
email@example.com requesting a meeting here and now.
Are you saying you didn't send it?"
"Are you saying you didn't send me a similar message?"
Joan nodded and her smile faded completely. "I think we
should find the maître' d or owner and ask a few polite
but pointed questions."
"I agree," Jordan muttered.
Joan and Jordan pushed back their chairs and began to rise...
then sat back down, rather heavily, and blinked at each other in
"I... I'm suddenly dizzy," Jordan said.
Joan struggled to focus. "I smell a trace of...
Jordan opened her mouth to answer... but said nothing.
Joan blinked twice more, then...
Both women slumped in their chairs, eyes closed and heads
lolling. Jordan slowly slid to the side and dropped limply
to the floor. Joan pitched forward onto the table, nearly
upsetting her water glass. Clearly, both the consulting
detective and the FBI agent were unconscious.
More time passed, possibly a minute.
Then, the curtain beyond the glass door opened, the glass door
itself opened, Fiona reentered the room, then quickly closed the
curtain and door behind her. She had added a gasmask to
her waitress ensemble.
At the same time, a second door opened, admitting a tall woman
who also wearing a gasmask. Her blond hair was pulled back
in a ponytail and she was dressed in a rather frumpy, dark-blue
coverall with the word "MAINTENANCE" embroidered above the left
breast and in large letters across the back. The second
door in question wasn't exactly a "secret door," but had been
carefully decorated to blend into the wall. Joan and
Jordan could be forgiven for not noticing it earlier, or more
probably, for dismissing it as a camouflaged closet or service
Fiona and the newcomer worked quickly. The blonde produced
a pair of hypodermics and gave Joan and Jordan injections in the
sides of their necks. Next, both gasmask-wearing women
used milky-white "plasticuffs" to bind Joan and Jordan's wrists
behind their backs and their ankles together. They then
stuffed balls of pink, medium-density foam into their mouths and
applied taut, 3" x 7" strips of off-white Elastoplast medical
tape to seal their lips and smoothly cover most of their lower
faces. Finally, one at a time, Joan and Jordan were
lifted, carried through the "hidden" door, and deposited inside
the padded interior of an approximately 4' x 4' x 3' plastic
shipping container with sturdy, dark-gray walls. It rolled
on four wheels and had a hinged lid with a pair of strong,
Fiona and the blonde made sure Joan and Jordan were
"comfortably" arranged inside the container, closed, latched,
and locked the lid, then made a quick and careful search of the
private dining room, making sure they were leaving nothing
behind. Jordan and Joan's purses, phones, and the single
black, high-heeled pump that had slipped from Joan's right foot
during her capture all went into a black day-pack which Fiona
settled onto her right shoulder.
They closed and locked the hidden door, then retrieved the small
canister of anesthetic gas and long length of clear, flexible
plastic hose they'd rigged to flood their targets' private
dining room. They then wheeled the container and its
bound, gagged, and unconscious contents down what was clearly a
service corridor and began a circuitous journey to the nearest
This was far from the first time one of the special private
rooms at Cælestis had been used for a clandestine
meeting/liason. Nor was it the first time the anonymous
patrons and guests of such a meeting had made a discrete and
unobserved exit via the restaurant's labyrinth of back
corridors. It wasn't even the first time the restaurant
had agreed to have its wait staff replaced by the outside
"security personnel" of one or both of the participating parties
(for the appropriate consideration, of course). However,
this very well might be the first time Cælestis was
being used to perpetrate a double-kidnapping without the
knowledge of the owners or staff.
Several feet down the corridor, the blonde removed her gasmask
and handed it to Fiona, who removed her gasmask and placed both
inside the nylon daypack. The waitress also removed her Cælestis
nametag and zipped it inside the pack's front pocket.
"Easy-peasy" the waitress-who-was-not-a-waitress purred.
"Suki, darling," the blonde-who-was-not-a-maintenance-worker
said, rolling her eyes, "what have I told you about tempting
"Sorry, Dr. B," Suki chuckled.
After an elevator ride down to the skyscraper's
loading docks, Dr. B and Suki approached a white rental
van. Soon, Suki and their containerized cargo were in the
back and Beebe (aka "Doctor Bondage") was behind the wheel,
wearing sunglasses and a black baseball cap. They pulled
up to a booth housing a very bored security guard, Beebe
presented the paperwork authorizing her presence, the security
gate lifted, and the van pulled out onto the street.
They took their time exiting the City, doubling back through
various boroughs to make sure they hadn't acquired a tail.
Actually, neither Beebe nor Suki were truly worried. They
were old hands at this sort of thing and had planned the mission
with the usual due diligence.
Once the operation was over and "Target #1" (Joan Watson) and
"Target #2" (Special Agent Jordan Shaw) were released back into
the wild (as Suki was fond of joking), the authorities would
find no meaningful evidence linking them to Cælestis or
leading away from it. The van would be returned to the
rental agency spic and span and clue-free (and sporting its
original plates). Finally, the various disguises and
costumes they'd employed while making their arrangements would
make identifying the perpetrators impossible.
The contract was for a five day sequestration. That is,
"Dr. Bondage Incorporated" was to keep the targets off the
streets for exactly five days. They were free to "indulge"
themselves during that period, of course, but their anonymous
client had been emphatic that no permanent harm was come to
Of course, Beebe and Suki wouldn't have accepted commission,
otherwise. They were kidnappers who liked to play, not
assassins for hire. Why five days? And why
Watson and Shaw? Beebe and Suki had no idea.
Anyway, thanks to the false messages and carefully worded texts
they'd already employed, their targets' absence probably wouldn't
be noted for at least two days, and there was an outside chance
the hunt for their kidnappers wouldn't begin until after Joan
and Jordan had already been released. Beebe and Suki were
well aware that they were kidnapping both a valued NYPD
consultant and the Special Agent supervising the futile
flailing around their own ever-growing FBI case file.
Whenever they got around to it, both agencies would be
investigating the mistreatment of their own. It would be
personal. Beebe and Suki had been (and would continue to
The van pulled into a supposedly abandoned warehouse in the
jungles of wildest New Jersey, the door rumbled closed behind
them, and Dr. B, Suki, and their cargo had arrived at their home
for the next five days.
"One more hour, right?" Suki demanded as she wheeled their
containerized guests from the back of the van.
"I swear," Beebe chuckled as she began unbuttoning her coverall
disguise, "you're always like this."
"Like what?" Suki pouted.
"Like a four-year-old on Christmas morning," Beebe purred.
"Is it morning yet? Is it morning yet? Can we open
our presents? Pleeeeease-please-please-please!"
"Very funny," Suki huffed. "As if you don't
want to play with the exquisite Dr. Watson and the delectable
Special Agent Shaw. And I behave like an eight-year-old.
Not a four-year-old."
"A precocious four-year-old," Beebe chuckled.
She'd nearly finished peeling off her coveralls, revealing a
very sexy bra and panties combo. Both were "nude" in
"Well?" Suki demanded.
"Between the 'sleepy gas' and the injections," Beebe answered,
"yes. We do, indeed, have at least one more hour before
the sleeping beauties awaken."
"Sleepy gas," Suki purred. "Is that what they call that
stuff at doctor school?"
"My 'sleepy gas' is a proprietary mix," Beebe responded, "as you
well know." Beebe had removed her boots and socks and was
now dressed only in her underwear.
Suki smiled at her senior partner's toned, feminine, athletic
curves. Not for the first time, Suki reflected that Beebe
would have made a perfect Viking shield-maiden... just as she
made a perfect professional kidnapper and ex-physician.
"Go double-check the perimeter," Beebe ordered as she padded to
a nearby clothes rack and deposited her "work clothes" in a
"Oh, yes, Your Highness!" Suki gushed, bowing and taking
three groveling steps backwards. She wasn't really upset
about being dismissed. At this point in any operation Suki
would have made a security sweep of the warehouse and
surrounding area. She pointed at the plastic
prison-on-wheels containing their targets as she sauntered
past. "No cheating," she admonished. "I want to be
here for the unveiling."
"By which you mean the stripping and initial binding," Beebe
purred. She'd been sorting through the garments hanging
from hangers on the rack, trying to decide what to wear... then
turned and beamed at her partner. "Would I do that to you,
Suki couldn't decide whether to roll her eyes or shiver with
delight, so she did both, then abandoned Beebe to sort out her
fashion dilemma on her own.
The rack held "normal" outfits, such as jeans, slacks, blouses,
jackets, skirts, dresses, and a tan raincoat, but also
full-length, long-sleeved variations on the theme of "catsuit,"
and it was the catsuits that held her interest. One was
all leather, black with burnished stainless steel buckles and
zippers, and the rest were black spandex with panels, stripes,
or trim in various dark, subdued colors. Beebe called them
her "Peelers," after the scandalous and kinky outfits (for the
time) worn by Diana Rigg in the role of Mrs. Emma Peel on The
Avengers, Beebe's favorite TV show as a child. She'd
had to explain the reference to Suki.
Beebe decided on a black spandex catsuit with blue-gray piping
that would complement her blue eyes. She was lifting the
suit on its hanger when—
"Very pretty," a melodious baritone voice announced, "but don't
put it on. You'll only have to take it off again."
Beebe froze in place. She didn't visibly flinch, but
instantly shifted into combat mode, both mentally and
physically. She slowly let the catsuit and its hanger drop
back in place. Then, using her body to shield her actions
from the unknown male intruder somewhere behind her, Beebe
"casually" reached between a pair of hanging catsuits for a
leather body harness that was also hanging from a hanger.
The harness included, among other skulking essentials, a
shoulder holster with a Glock 17—only the handgun wasn't there.
"Nice try," the intruder said. "Face me."
Beebe raised her arms and slowly turned. She found she had
four visitors, all male, and all dressed entirely in black,
including boots, gloves, and ski-mask-type hoods. #1 was
on her far left and was covering her with a MAC-11
machine-pistol. #4 was on her far right, and was armed
with an H&K MP 5K. As for the pair in the middle, one
held a mini-Uzi equipped with a silencer, and the other was
holding a tazer against the side of Suki's head!
Suki was bound and gagged. That is, a wide strip of
silver-gray duct tape was plastered across her mouth and lower
face, her hands were behind her back, and her pale blue eyes
were as wide Beebe had ever seen.
Also, the intruders were professionals. Beebe could tell
by the way they were deployed, the way they handled their
weapons, and the way the one with the tazer was handling
Suki. They were all six-feet tall, or taller, and
obviously in excellent physical shape. Also, they weren't
cops or feds. Beebe could tell.
So, it finally happened, Beebe thought, despite all
our careful research and meticulous precautions. Is
this the end?
Beebe smiled sweetly (with everything but her eyes). "Can
I help you?"
"Yes, you can." The speaker was the black-clad intruder
holding (and threatening) Suki. "Take two steps forward
There was no point in arguing. Smiling a winning smile
(that still didn't reach her eyes), Beebe padded forward the two
ordered steps. She then reached behind her back, unclasped
and shrugged out of her bra, and tossed it aside. Her
panties were next. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband
over her hips, pulled them down her legs, stepped free, one foot
at a time, sighed, and and began to toss them after the bra.
Suki's handler shook his masked and hooded head. "No, in
Beebe's smile faded. Then, she compacted the silky mass
with her fingers, opened her mouth, and stuffed it inside.
The intruder with the silenced mini-Uzi next to the spokesman
reached behind his back, produced a pair of black plasticuffs,
and tossed them at Beebe's feet.
"Around your ankles," Suki's handler (and probably the group's
leader) ordered, "then kneel and place your hands atop your head
with your fingers interlaced."
At which point you'll pull out another set of cuffs, steel or
plastic, and bind my wrists, Beebe thought. She
locked eyes with Suki, who gazed back with equal parts bravery
and terror. It broke Beebe's heart, but there was nothing
she could do.
Beebe settled her naked rump on the cold, concrete floor and
picked up the black plasticuffs. They were by the same
manufacturer as the off-white cuffs binding Joan Watson and
Jordan Shaw, and had the same improved feature. The
weakest part of most plasticuffs (and cable-ties, for that
matter) was their locking mechanisms. All had small
flanges that snapped into one of the many slots on one side of
the main straps. But if with the proper technique, careful
pressure could be applied in just the right manner to snap the
base of the flange. Not so with this particular
model. It had steel flanges set in steel
brackets molded into the plastic housings. Instead of
being weak points, the locking mechanism were as strong, if not
stronger, as the straps themselves.
Beebe slid her feet through the plasticuffs joined loops and
pulled on the ends, vripping the loops closed around
her ankles. Then, as ordered, she lifted herself off her
butt and onto her knees, placed her hands atop her head with her
fingers interlaced, and lifted her chin to stare at her captors
(and Suki, her fellow captive). Beebe could have spat out
the panties crammed in her mouth, but now was not the time for
pointless displays of defiance, not with Suki helpless and in
The black-clad intruder with the mini-Uzi slung his weapon,
stepped behind Beebe, pulled her hands behind her back, and vripped
a second set of plasticuffs around her wrists.
Beebe's and Suki's capture was complete—or rather—their captors
had made a good start.
things happened over the course of the next hour.
Beebe became convinced there were more than four intruders in
the warehouse; however, they were all male and identically
dressed in black from head to toe, including the same boots,
gloves, and ski-mask hoods, and they came and went one or two at
a time. At one point there were clearly five
individuals present, but while she strongly suspected there were
more, it was impossible to be get a firm count... not that it
made a lot of difference. Beebe and Suki were already
bound, gagged, and helpless.
The intruders removed Joan and Jordan from their gray plastic
container and laid them out on the concrete floor. They
were still unconscious and still fully clothed, with the
exception of Joan Watson's missing black high-heeled pump.
They were also still bound with the same milky-white
plasticuffs, wrists behind their backs and ankles together, and
still gagged with foam balls stuffed in their mouths and their
lips sealed with off-white Elastoplast tape.
Two of the intruders wheeled a pair of gurneys into view,
comfortably padded metal stretchers on wheels with retractable
legs. They then lifted first Joan and then Jordan and
placed on the gurneys on their backs and bound arms. Wide
canvas restraining straps were stretched across their arms and
torsos, then cinched and buckled tight. Identical
restraints were cinched and buckled across their thighs.
Another intruder stepped forward (and this was the point when
Beebe realized there were at least five intruders
present) and used a stethoscope and penlight to give the drugged
captives a quick examination. Beebe could tell he was a
trained medical professional of some sort. He placed a
small, blue-painted gas cylinder on each gurney, strapped clear
plastic breathing masks over his "patient's" noses and
tape-gagged mouths. Nitrous oxide, Beebe
thought. They're going to abscond with my targets...
and are keeping them unconscious while they do it.
Confirming Beebe's deduction, the warehouse vehicle door rolled
up and a medical transport van backed into the warehouse.
With admirable efficiency, Joan and Jordan were wheeled into the
back of the van, accompanied by the medically-trained intruder
with the stethoscope. Suki's day-pack was tossed in the
back and the doors slammed. The van's engine purred to
life, it drove away, and the warehouse door rolled down.
Beebe (and Suki's) kidnap victims had been kidnapped!
Three of the remaining intruders converged on Beebe. One
held her hair atop her head while a second stretched and wound
silver-gray duct-tape around her head, mummifying her lower face
from just under her nose to the tip of her chin. Beebe's
panties stuff-gag was no longer "voluntary."
Meanwhile, the third intruder lifted Beebe's hanging clothes off
the clothes rack and haphazardly tossed them on the floor.
The rack in question was sturdy and utilitarian, the kind used
in the clothing trade behind the scenes, as opposed to the
equally sturdy but often gold-tone and "fancy" rolling racks
used to move a guests' luggage between the hotel lobby to their
Next, and working together with practiced competence, the trio
lifted Beebe's arms over the clothing rack's horizontal top-bar,
settled her armpits against the cool steel, and let the rack
take the majority of her weight. This was decidedly
uncomfortable, but two of the intruders were supporting her body
and keeping her from falling while the third was busily
mitigating her condition, after a fashion. That is, he was
using coil after coil of hemp rope to craft an elaborate torso
and thigh harness, distributing her weight between the rack's
top bar and side supports on the left and right. Adding
insult to incapacitation, Beebe recognized the ropes in
question. They were from the large store of conditioned hemp
Beebe and Suki had purchased and intended to use to "entertain"
Joan and Jordan.
As soon as the clear majority of Beebe's weight was supported by
the ropes, the two intruders who had been supporting her body
stepped away and left the third to complete Beebe's
predicament. The manhandling Beebe had endured, the gloved
hands clutching her naked body, had been unpleasant (and
humiliating); however, Beebe had to admit that her anonymous
male handlers had behaved like gentlemen (within limits of the
exercise). They had treated and were treating her like a
job of work, rather than a beautiful naked woman. (Beebe
was well aware of her physical attractiveness. It was a
potent weapon in her arsenal.) There had been no
"unnecessary" groping or rudely intimate placement of gloved
hands. For that she was... grateful? Not really, but
she wasn't fuming.
The behavior of the remaining intruder, the one still tightening
rope around Beebe's body, had been and continued to be
professional, but Beebe could tell he was enjoying his work...
and was a highly skilled rigger. In fact, she suspected he
might be a trained practitioner of Kinbaku-bi. His
continuing efforts to spread her weight among the growing
pattern of cinched and wrapped ropes binding her to various
parts of the rack was symmetrical and elegant. And
as hitch followed hitch and were cinched tight, her weight was,
indeed, being more evenly supported.
Not all of her rigger's efforts involved rope and were in
service of "the beauty of tight binding." Some might best
be described as overkill, the sort of things Beebe herself might
do to make one of her targets feel a degree of helplessness beyond
Beebe was still bound by black plasticuffs, but the Master
Rigger added ropes to unnecessarily reinforce her wrist and
ankle bonds. He added hemp bindings to capture her feet
and big-toes, and to lash them to the base of the rack.
Then, her lashed her elbows together, anchoring the elbow-bonds
to the torso-harness above, and by means of ladder-tie-hitches
to her wrists, below. Finally, he used the same
silver-gray duct-tape mummifying Beebe's lower face to mummify
her bound arms from her upper arms to her fingertips.
Beebe supposed the flopping ends of the plasticuffs must be
protruding from the tight shroud, but it was all behind her
There she was, naked, hanging in midair with her armpits still
resting on the top-bar and in a semi-kneeling position, with a
veritable spider's web of hemp pinning her in place. She
was more than helpless... but the artist of the
composition that was Beebe-and-the-Rack wasn't finished.
Beebe gazed into the intruder's masked face as he threaded the
center of a long, doubled length of hemp through the harness
ropes above, and below her breasts and pulled out the slack,
bringing the ropes together to form an "X" and squeezing her
breasts. He then tied a hitch to maintain the
tension. He's going to bind my breasts, Beebe
Through the holes in his mask Beebe could see her binder's brown
eyes. They had epicanthic folds and she surmised he was
Asian, an unusually tall, muscular Asian. His hands were
strong, and under the circumstances, gentle... if gentle was the
right word. Let's just say he has a skilled touch,
Beebe's rigger separated the rope and tightened loop after loop
of single-strand hemp around the base of her left breast.
She counted a total of twelve loops. They were
followed by twelve loops around her right breast. Her
rigger brought the ends together, crafted an elaborate hitch
through the harness ropes, and tied a final square-knot.
Beebe gazed down at her breasts. They bulged like the
proverbial melons, and were flushed pink. Her nipples were
flushed even darker, and were semi-erect. Could be
worse, she realized. Could be much worse.
A truly sadistic breast-bind would have left her girls purple
and hurting, with bulging veins. This was only...
So, there she was, naked, totally helpless, and in a perfect
position to watch the unfolding floor show.
His work accomplished, Beebe's rigger began assisting the other
two intruders in handling Suki, and arguably, they required his
assistance. Beebe's partner was putting up a fight.
Beebe sighed through her gag. Oh, Suki, you brave
Suki was already bound hand and foot with black plasticuffs, of
course. Nonetheless, she kicked and squirmed and twisted
and fought and forced well-muffled but no doubt very rude
noises past her head-wrapping and multi-layered tape-gag.
Unfortunately, none of her efforts impeded her handlers from
drawing razor-sharp knives and carefully using them to slice and
rip Suki out of her clothing, all ofher clothing,
including her bra. (As Beebe had already surmised, Suki's
panties had been removed at the time of her capture and were
stuffed in her mouth.)
Now totally nude, like her watching partner, Suki was made even
more helpless. Also like her watching partner, the rigging
went well past the point of overkill.
First, the intruders used duct-tape to mummify Suki's fingers,
hands, plasticuffed wrists, forearms, elbows, and upper
arms. The result was more or less a silver-gray
single-sleeve armbinder, with her elbows touching and the ends
of the plasticuffs protruding like a pair of flopping
antennae. Next, they tied a hemp body-harness, pinning her
mummified arms to her upper-body and waist. This included
a crotch-rope, of course, that both cleaved and pinched Suki's
labia. More duct-tape was used to mummify her thighs, as
well as her lower-legs, but her knees were excluded, allowing
Suki to bend her legs, at least a little. Next, they
lifted the now very weakly squirming but still angrily mewling
Suki and deposited her inside the gray plastic container the
partners (and now prisoners) had used to transport Joan and
Jordan to the warehouse. Finally, the container's lid was
closed and latched.
Beebe knew that even if she was completely unbound, Suki would
be inescapably trapped inside the gray plastic container.
There were breathing holes, but she'd be trapped. Only
Suki wasn't unbound. She was very much bound. As
Beebe watched, the container shook a little... just a little.
And then, the intruders left!
There was no gloating, no standing around and leering at
Beebe. They simply... melted into the shadows. Beebe
heard various side doors open... and close.
A minute passed... and then two... and Beebe realized they'd
been abandoned to their bound and gagged fate.
Left behind were the white rental van Beebe and Suki had used
for the original kidnapping, a jumble of discarded or
ruined clothing, several unused coils of hemp rope, several
partially or completely expended rolls of duct-tape, a racked
and helpless Beebe, and a boxed and helpless Suki.
The otherwise deserted warehouse was as silent as a tomb.