enough! Suki fumed silently.
She was sitting in her boring, modernistic,
all-the-comforts-of-home, boring jail cell and staring
at the back of the closed and locked steel door. By her
internal clock (which was generally reliable) it was morning...
and time for breakfast. She was naked, as she'd been for
the last five days, and sitting on the microfleece-covered
memory-foam slab that was her bed. Granted, the "bed" in
question was quite comfortable, as was the air temperature in
her boring cell, but still...
Enough is enough!
Suddenly (and as expected), the rattle of a key turning the lock
of the cell door sounded... and the thick steel portal swung
Three women entered the cell. All were fit and athletic,
with very feminine physiques revealed by their skintight,
sleeveless catsuit uniforms of black spandex. They were
also wearing black knee-boots and "utility belts" with numerous
small pouches and neatly coiled lengths of black paracord.
Suki recognized the leader, "She Who Must Be Obeyed," in the
center of the trio. She was 30-something (probably a
little older than Suki) and had long, straight, dark-brown hair
(like Suki) pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her features
were symmetrical (she was beautiful), her doe eyes brown, and
her smile... quirky and adorable (in a sinister sort of
way). She moved with the grace and poise of a dancer, but
Suki wasn't fooled. Whatever her name (which she'd never
felt the need to share during the five days of Suki's
captivity), she was dangerous. She was a fighter.
All of Suki's handlers were fighters. It was obvious.
And speaking of handlers, "She" was flanked on her left by a
blonde, and an Indian on her right (meaning an Asian
subcontinent Indian, not a Native American). Suki had seen
them before, but they were equally anonymous, as were the
Chinese, Latina, and African American who had also served as
"She's" escorts and/or backups on other occasions.
"Enough is enough," Suki growled, scowling at the
trio-in-black. She climbed to her feet and clenched her
hands into fists at her sides. "No more
interrogation. I want to see Beebe, and I want to see her
"Isn't she adorable," the leader purred.
"Like a cranky little puppy," the blonde chuckled.
"Or a grumpy kitten," the Indian added.
"Beebe!" Suki repeated. "Now!"
The leader returned Suki's angry stare with her beautiful,
crooked little smile for a few seconds... then stooped and
released the buckles of her knee-boots. (The models worn
by the handlers closed with straps just below their knees,
rather than laces.) She pulled off the boots... followed
by her black socks... and tossed them through the open door and
into the corridor. She then removed the coil of black
paracord from her belt and handed it to the blonde, removed the
belt itself, and tossed it into the corridor.
"You're making a mess," the Indian scolded, stepped into the
corridor, and gathered the boots, socks, and belt.
Meanwhile, the leader, her eyes on Suki, unzipped her catsuit
from throat to navel.
As Suki watched (and did her best to maintain her scowl) the
leader shrugged her right shoulder out of the now gaping
garment... followed by the left shoulder... tugged the catsuit
past her hips... peeled it down her legs... and stepped
free. Now totally nude, she tossed the suit into the
corridor and the Indian's waiting arms without looking.
Commando, Suki thought, staring at the leader's smooth
skin, firm breasts, sculpted stomach, nearly trimmed but
luxuriant pubic bush, and toned physique. She glanced at
the blonde, then the Indian, then returned her scowl to their
naked leader. I wonder if they're all going
The leader reached behind her head (which caused her firm
breasts to rise), released her ponytail, and tossed the
fabric-covered elastic that had been holding it in place to the
Indian. Her brown eyes remained locked with Suki and her
The Indian had rolled the leader's boots and catsuit into a neat
bundle, which was tucked under her arm. The blonde
returned the leader's coiled paracord, then removed her own
paracord coil from her belt and dropped it to the floor, next to
the leader's bare left foot. The Indian smiled, released
her paracord from her belt, and tossed it into the cell, where
it landed next to the leader's right foot.
The blonde exited the cell and stood next to her Indian
companion in the corridor. They smiled and waved at Suki,
then the blonde pulled the cell door closed.
Suki heard the key turn in the lock. The leader's eyes
remained fixed on Suki. Several seconds passed... then the
naked leader released the retaining hitch of the coil in her
hands, doubled the ten foot length and found the center, formed
a loop—and pounced!
Suki knew how to fight. She wasn't a trained martial
artist, but she could take care of herself... under most
circumstances. However, it became instantly clear that the
leader was, in fact, a highly trained martial
artist. Suki tried for a punch to her naked adversary's
jaw, intending to follow through with a kick between her
legs—"Oof!"—but the punch never landed and she didn't even begin
shifting her weight for the kick. Suki had been slammed
down face down on the memory-foam pad and her attacker was
straddling her waist!
"No fair!" Suki complained as she struggled and fought.
Her opponent had used some sort of fancy kung-fu
take-down! And now—"Ow!"—she was using joint-bending
hand-grips that numbed her wrists and hands and robbed her arms
of their strength! "I said, ow! No fair!"
In a depressingly short time, Suki found herself in a
"reverse-prayer kimono-tie." Black paracord yoked her
shoulders, encircled her upper chest, above her breasts and
passing under her armpits, and her hands were palm-to-palm with
her wrists lashed together and against her shoulder
blades. Her thumbs and hands were also lashed together.
The leader stepped off her body and Suki squirmed and tested her
bonds with all her strength. "Bitch!" she complained as
she rolled on the soft pad, twisted at the waist, and flapped
her folded arms. Obviously, the leader was not only a
martial artist, but also an expert rigger. Suki knew she
wasn't going to escape the tightly cinched paracord, nor was she
going to be able to untie the unreachable key knot. "I
want to see Beebe!"
The leader had padded to the cell door and retrieved the other
two coils of paracord. "Bad girls don't always get what
they want," she chuckled.
Suki rolled onto her back, continued scowling her most ferocious
scowl, and prepared to defend herself with strategically placed
The leader smiled down at her half-bound prey. "My name is
Betty, by the way."
Suki blew an errant strand of her long, straight, tousled brown
hair from her frowning face. "Betty the bitch!"
"I have been called that," Betty chuckled, then pounced again.
The struggle that followed wasn't exactly epic, but Suki did her
best to resist. That said, the result was the second coil
of black paracord being used to frog-tie her left leg (including
her ankle, upper thigh, foot, and big toe), and the third and
final coil to frog-tie her right leg in identical fashion.
"Ow!" Suki complained. "Why'd ya have to tie up my damn
Betty sat on the pad with her bare back against the concrete
wall and hauled the reverse-prayer-kimono-tied and frog-tied
Suki up against her body in a close embrace. "Because they
were too cute not to tie up?" She planted a quick
kiss on the left cheek of Suki's pouting face. "Because
they were there?" She kissed Suki's cheek, again.
"Because you deserve it?"
"You have no right to do this to me," Suki muttered.
Betty laughed. "That's rich, indeed, coming from
the sidekick of the notorious Doctor Bondage."
"No right," Suki reiterated. Her eyes welled with tears
and her breasts bobbed as she panted.
"The right of conquest," Betty whispered in Suki's left
ear. "I have the right of conquest."
"Oooh!" Suki whined, delicately shivering in pathetic
"That's not gonna work," Betty said quietly, "but bravo.
You're a much better actress than you are a fighter."
Suki heaved a disappointed sigh. "It was worth a
try." She blinked in sudden distress. "Hey, what are
you doing? Hey!" What Betty was doing was
playing with Suki's right nipple! "Stop that!"
"To the victor go the spoils," Betty quoted, and continued
toying with Suki's now erect nipple.
"I want to see Beebe," Suki whined. She was still
shivering and pouting, but now it wasn't an act. Betty's
fingers were magic. Suki was finding if increasingly
difficult not to get into the spirit of the exercise.
"I'm afraid the decision to reunite Suki with her nefarious
mistress is above my pay grade," Betty purred. She was now
directing her expertise to Suki's right nipple and breast.
"Please," Suki whined.
Betty's smile widened, unseen by her wiggling conquest.
"Eventually, Suki," she said softly. "Eventually the two
of you will get back together. I promise."
Suki bit her lower lip. Now Betty was entertaining both
of her nipples. "When do we eat?" she demanded.
"I'm afraid that thanks to your defiance, the entire day's
schedule has been thrown out of whack." Betty continued
teasing Suki's left nipple with her left hand, but now her right
hand was sliding down Suki's flat tummy to her pubic bush.
"You're having nookie for breakfast." Her fingers
slid through Suki's pubic thatch and she nudged the quivering
captive's clitoris. "I already ate."
Suki went rigid in her bonds (and Betty's embrace) and her
breath hissed through clenched teeth. "Bitch!"
Betty kissed Suki's left ear. "Oh darling," she whispered,
"you have no idea."
Joan was not
having a good time.
She was naked (of course), with her arms folded behind her back,
forearm-to-forearm, her elbows resting in her palms, and bound
by twenty or more tight, neat, doubled strands of conditioned
hemp rope. Additional doubled-strands pinned her upper
arms to her torso and yoked her shoulders. Her legs were
bent with her ankles lashed to her upper thighs and her lower
thighs lashed to her lower legs, just below her knees.
Joan was also suspended by multiple vertical ropes, as if she
was kneeling in midair. Her bent knees were widely
splayed, placing her labia and neatly trimmed pubic bush on open
display. She could twist and squirm and buck her bound
body, if she so chose, but when she relaxed, gravity and the
expert placement of the suspending ropes conspired to return her
to her former pose.
Being the subject of Jamie's current "bondage installation,"
Joan couldn't see all the details of her bondage, but from what
she could see of her bonds, they were elaborate, intricate, even
decorative, as well as being fully functional.
There was an additional important detail: Joan was gagged.
Jamie had tightly rolled a powder-blue hand towel of
super-absorbent synthetic fabric around a short length of hemp
rope, thrust the resulting bit in Joan's mouth, then tightly
knotted the rope at the nape of her neck, under her long,
straight, raven-black hair.
Once again, Jamie Moriarty had demonstrated her expertise as a
world class rigger.
The setting was a large, plain, concrete space with a high
ceiling. It was somewhere above ground. One entire
wall was a bank of windows, ceiling to floor, but completely
covered by a translucent curtain of white cotton that totally
blocked Joan's view of whatever lay beyond. From a
geographical perspective, Joan still had no idea where she was
being held, other than in an apparently deserted industrial
building that was clean and in good repair.
The space served as Jamie's current studio, and she was a gifted
painter. Her "Irene Adler" persona had been a highly
respected and successful art restorer. She worked mostly
in oils and used a variety of techniques. She'd already
painted a portrait of Joan in the style of Johannes
Vermeer. Joan had first seen it while visiting Jamie (with
Sherlock) after Jamie's capture, and later, Sherlock had
borrowed the canvas and briefly hung it in his brownstone
residence. Joan had to admit the painting was truly
stunning, and she'd been somewhat flattered by her portrayal (as
well as being creeped out).
Anyway, Jamie was now working on a second portrait of
Joan heaved a gagged sigh. The first painting had been
done from memory and without Joan's knowledge, but now,
apparently, Jamie found it necessary to have Joan pose as her
life model... for the last three hours... and for who knew how
many more hours to come.
Joan had to admit that she wasn't in actual pain. Not yet,
anyway. The suspending ropes evenly distributed and
supported her weight, but the forced immobility was getting
tiresome, very tiresome. Joan's bound body was
beginning to ache, and she knew the sensation would only get
Jamie was wearing a white men's dress shirt, perhaps a size too
big, with its long sleeves rolled up and the front secured by
only a single button, midway between her breasts and
navel. She was sitting on a wooden stool, her feet and
legs bare, and Joan could see that she wasn't wearing panties
(not that she gave a damn). Jamie's concentration was
divided between the large canvas on the easel before her and her
model. She was painting with her dominant, right hand, so,
with her arm raised, her right nipple and the inner slope of her
right breast peeked through the gaping shirt.
"This is turning out quite well," Jamie purred, breaking the
silence of the last three hours.
Joan hung in her bonds and stared at her kidnapper and
artist. The gag rendered any comment she might wish to
share completely moot. All Joan could see was the easel
and the back of the stretched and framed canvas. She had
no idea whether the painting was, indeed, "turning out well,"
but had little doubt. Jamie was very gifted. Give
the devil her due, as the saying goes.
"It's for Sherlock, of course," Jamie added, smiling her
mocking, quirky smile and nodding at the canvas. She
continued painting. "I only wish I could be there when he
tears off the wrappings and first sees it. I'm sure his
reaction will be simply priceless."
Joan continued staring.
"Perfect," Jamie sighed. "Your expression is equally priceless."
Joan tossed her head and turned her gagged face to the side.
"Too late," Jamie chuckled. "You know I have an eidetic
memory. I've already visually captured the moment in full
detail and have it mimeticly coded and stored. Sherlock
will find your brave defiance quite captivating... as
well as your imperfectly masked humiliation and, of
course, your stunning beauty. Above all, your stunning
beauty. I rather imagine he'll regret his decision not to
have already taken you to bed."
Joan blushed and squirmed in her bonds. She couldn't help
"Perfect," Jamie purred as she painted... and she continued
painting for several long minutes.
Joan turned her head and resumed sullenly staring at her
kidnapper... and stoically ignored the complaints of her nude,
bound, gagged, and aching body.
Suddenly, Jamie paused, smiling broadly. She set down her
palette on a side table, dipped her brush in an open jar of what
Joan assumed were mineral spirits, then wrapped the tip in a
small cloth. She then stood, executed a full-body stretch
(something Joan very much wished she could do), and
strolled in Joan's direction.
Joan watched (nervously) as Jamie approached.
Stopping close to her helpless model, the smiling evil genius
reached out and gently combed her fingers through Joan's
hair. "So beautiful," Jamie sighed, then cupped Joan's
right breast and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Mrrrpfh!" Joan complained and tried to squirm away.
Jamie's grip tightened and Joan stopped moving and stared
furiously at her kidnapper.
"I think we'll do a whole series of painting on the Kinbaku
theme," Jamie purred, then released Joan's breast, lowered
her hand, and cupped Joan's labia.
"MRRRF!" Joan screamed through her gag and once again tried to
Jamie simply smiled, continued cupping Joan's crotch, and slid
her middle finger between Joan's labia and inside her
Joan shivered in humiliation and disgust.
"I think one canvas a month is a reasonable goal," Jamie said
quietly. "One a month. Sherlock can convert one of
the rooms of his brownstone to a gallery."
Joan closed her eyes but continued shivering. She couldn't
help it. Jamie's finger was moving... slowly sliding back
and forth across her clitoris. And then it was gone, as
was the rest of Jamie's hand.
Jamie was strolling towards a closed door, the door through
which she'd dragged an already bound and gagged Joan into the
studio before rigging the suspension.
"I think a spot of tea is in order," Jamie called back over her
shoulder. "Unfortunately, you still have a few hours of
posing ahead of you, so your tea will have to wait."
And then, she was gone. Joan stared at the now closed
door... and heaved another sigh. She then composed
herself, striving to enter a meditative state to ameliorate the
effects of her continuing bondage. She knew she might not
succeed... but she had to try. Joan was in very good
shape. Her fitness regime including running and yoga;
however, days of tight bondage was taking its toll.
Granted, Jamie wasn't keeping her tied up 24/7, and she was
rarely gagged, but every day since her kidnapping had included
hours of stringent bondage, punctuated by hours of less stringent
bondage. Jamie was playing with her... like a spoiled
child abusing a long-suffering doll... and Joan was that doll.
Sherlock, Joan thought. Please. Find me.
She thought of Jordan Shaw, her fellow kidnap victim, who might
be a prisoner in this very same building, which was quite
obviously large and complex. Of course, Jordan could be
someplace else entirely. Find us, Joan amended her
her way through the corridors of the "Golden Tower," responding
to an electronic summons from her sister (who she delighted in
teasingly characterizing as "The Legendary Bondarella").
The tower in question was an eight story office building (with
parking garage, helipad, helicopter hanger, basement, and four
sub-basements), located in the general vicinity of Aspen,
Colorado. Viewed from the highway, it was an unremarkable
building, supposedly home to an academic and scientific
think-tank affiliated with several different colleges and
universities. The "Golden" label referenced both the
gold-tone reflective finish of the tower's windows and the
Cotswold Limestone shade of the sealer applied to its concrete
elements. At certain times of the day the rising or
setting sun caused the tower to glow like a shining spear, but
the rest of the time, it might be pleasing to the eye but was
hardly an architectural icon.
Oh-by-the-way, the tower was also an important base of the
The Sisterhood, of course, is an ancient, benign, and largely
unknown organization dedicated to human progress. As the
name suggests, its membership is largely (but not exclusively)
female. Also, it is heterogeneous, an umbrella
organization with many cooperating, semi-independent branches,
most of which are undeniably conventional. Others,
however, are less conventional, with what some might call
eccentric or bohemian interests.
Betty and Bondarella belonged to one such branch.
Specifically, their branch was dedicated to the ethical
enjoyment of consensual bondage. That is, while its
members liked nothing more than restraining and boinking the
brains out of willing women, young and old, the process had to
be 100% voluntary—role-playing as a damsel-in-distress aside, of
The branch was more than a social club. The Sisterhood
(Betty's branch, anyway) actively interacted with law
enforcement across the globe to combat non-consensual BDSM
activities. They did their best to help eradicate human
trafficking and bring rapists to justice. When a
potentially high profile case of abuse was discovered,
Bondarella and her colleagues sprang into action.
Bondarella was one of the branch's leaders and Betty a mere foot
soldier, but she worked closely with her sister. At the
moment, Betty was dressed in what she thought of as a Handler's
The catsuit hugged
Betty's toned, athletic, very feminine body like a
second skin, and was comprised of panels stitched together in a
manner that complemented her underlying musculature, giving her
complete freedom of movement while making her look utterly hot
at all times. Her long, straight, dark-brown hair was
pulled back in a tight ponytail.
- Black leather
knee-boots. They were stylish and functional, with
good ankle support and textured, "waffle-stomper" soles.
- Black, spandex,
sleeveless catsuit. It was skintight, but without the
ballistic fabric armor of the long-sleeve catsuit uniforms
worn by agents of the Action Directorate, the Sisterhood's
cadre of elite field agents, the organization's version of a
hostage rescue or SWAT team. Betty had some AD
training, but wasn't a fully qualified agent.
- Black nylon
utility belt. It was festooned with pouches and
holsters holding handling essentials (like keys, a vibrator
remote control, a compact taser with a biometric trigger
tuned to Betty's fingerprints, and a packet of wintergreen
Everyone in the Golden Tower was a member of some branch of the
Sisterhood, but not all were operatives of Betty and
Bondarella's particular branch. That said, Betty's handler
uniform elicited no response as she strode down the corridor,
not so much as a raised eyebrow. She passed
administrators, technicians, and academics, all female, and all
hot in their own way. Betty smiled and exchanged greetings
as she passed her fellow Sisters.
Betty passed a twenty-something cutie in business attire with
short-cropped brown hair and girlish features. Her name
was Chloe, and for the last few weeks Betty had made a project
of recruiting her to "The Dark Side," Betty's nickname for the
consensual BDSM branch. Thus far, Chloe had been resisting
her charms, but Betty had received no clear "no" signals and had
no intention of letting up. Betty smiled her most
seductive, quirky smile as they passed... and Chloe blushed,
smiled, and dropped her gaze to the plush carpet underfoot.
Promising, Betty thought, then continued down the
corridor to her big sister's office.
The outer door whisked open as she approached, she entered the
front office (which at the moment was empty), and continued on
towards the inner office door. It whisked open as well,
Betty crossed the threshold, and was in the presence of The
Bondarella's office was large and luxurious (in a spartan sort
of way). She had office suites in several other Sisterhood
facilities, worldwide, as well as three large personal estates,
all in a variety of styles, but this particular office was French
Provençal. The upholstery of its various furnishings
were in shades of wheat, creme, sand, ecru, etc.
Bondarella was behind her desk, which was more-or-less a large
table. The window-wall behind her afforded a spectacular
view of the mountains, and the wall in front was one gigantic
HDTV screen. At the moment it displayed several windows
containing memos and e-mail messages, as well as clusters of
file folder icons.
Oh-by-the-way, in one corner of the office stood a captive Beebe
Bonde. The prisoner was naked and standing up on her toes
with her arms raised. Her ankles were bound together in
stainless steel cuffs, her waist and crotch locked in a
stainless steel chastity belt, her entire head encased in a
featureless steel helmet, and her wrists bound in wide,
well-padded, stainless steel suspension cuffs. A taut,
vertical steel chain linked the wrist-cuffs to a steel-lined
hole in the ceiling and enforced the stringent AOH pose.
"Hey," Betty said as she crossed the office and slouched into
one of the two visitor chairs in front of her big sister's desk.
"Hey," Bondarella answered, absently. Dressed in a
dove-gray linen suit, her eyes were on the tablet computer in
her left hand. Apparently, she wasn't quite ready for the
meeting to begin.
Betty turned her head and gazed at Beebe... the legendary Dr.
Seconds passed as Bondarella continued to read.
Betty made a languid gesture towards Beebe. "May I?" she
Bondarella looked up from the tablet. "Huh? Oh,
certainly." She went back to reading. "I'll be with
Betty flowed to her feet and sauntered in Beebe's direction.
Without a doubt, Beebe Bonde had a magnificent body—smooth, tan
skin—toned muscles, with added definition thanks to her
stretched pose—and superb breasts, despite the
inevitable flattening imposed by her AOH predicament.
Betty recognized the model of chastity belt in use (from
personal experience) and was fully acquainted with its
features. The belt had dual penetrators, with vibratory
and electro-stimulatory functions, and both were under
independent WiFi control. The helmet was also
familiar. It incorporated a mouth-filling ball-gag and
earbuds, and the tiny green LEDs glowing on the helmet's ear
regions confirmed that its noise-cancelling function was active,
broadcasting environmental noise shifted 180° out of phase.
Beebe was effectively mute, deaf, and blind, as well as
That meant it came as a complete surprise to the captive when
Betty gently clutched Beebe's breasts in her two hands... and
Beebe flinched and mewled through the helmet. "Mrrrm!"
Betty's smile was decided wicked... and unseen by the object of
Bondarella continued reading as her little sister satisfied her
curiosity regarding the tactile properties of Beebe's firm
breasts, pert nipples, flat stomach, smooth thighs, and dimpled,
Finally, Bondarella set down the tablet, gazed across the
office, and smiled. "Ahem."
Betty gave Beebe's left nipple a final teasing flick with
her right thumb and forefinger, then strolled back to the
visitor chair. "It's very rude to summon me into your
august presence, then keep me waiting."
"Please accept my sincere apology," Bondarella said dryly.
"I assume you have news?"
Bondarella nodded. "Sally," she said. "Please join
The windows on the HDTV
screen collapsed into icons, migrated to the margins or into the
appropriate file folders, and were replaced by the image of
"Sally," aka "Sally Salamandas," aka "Sim-Sally,"
Sally worked with many different branches of the Sisterhood, in
some capacity, and was known throughout the organization as
their most gifted hacker and/or computer scientist.
Some of Sally's Sisterly coworkers believed she was an
artificially intelligent avatar designed to speak for the
committee of human scientists and government operatives who
performed the Sisterhood's most sensitive and sophisticated
Others believed Sally was an artificially intelligent avatar
serving as the mask of a single, spectacularly brilliant
computer genius who, for her own reasons, chose to conceal her
Only a select few knew that Sally was, in fact, an artificially
intelligent avatar, but was in no way human. Sally was
Sally, 100% software and distributed across the internet.
Sally was a mask for no human.
Also, for reasons known only to herself, when required to
project a human avatar, Sally very much preferred to simulate
the appearance and speak with the voice of Sigourney Weaver, the
actress. However, once she joined the Sisterhood (or the
Sisterhood joined her) Sally had agreed to make her "Siggy-form"
less than fully realistic. On most occasions it was clear
to any and all human participants that they were interacting
with a computer-generated simulation of Sigourney
Weaver, and not Sigourney Weaver herself.
Oh-by-the-way, the actual, fully human Sigourney Weaver was a
member-in-good-standing of the Sisterhood (but not the
same branch as Bondarella and Betty). It was therefore a
good thing she couldn't be easily mistaken for Sally. It
was less confusing for all concerned.
At the moment, Sally presented the appearance of Ripley,
arguably the real Sigourney's most famous character. Sally
had stated on numerous occasions that she liked being
Ripley. "Ripley is bad-ass," she'd explained. At the
moment, Sally was "wearing" a blue jumpsuit with a "Sally" name
tag, her simulated hair was tousled and cropped short, the
background suggested the interior of the starship Nostromo,
and Sally was, indeed, bad-ass.
"Sally has news," Bondarella told her sister.
"I've located Watson and Shaw," Sally announced. "As we
speak, an Action Directorate strike team is moving into
position. They'll hold until you arrive on the scene."
Betty frowned. "Is that wise? Why wait?"
"The perpetrator of this debacle is none other than Jamie
Moriarty," Bondarella intoned.
Betty was still frowning. "Why is that name familiar?" she
muttered to herself.
Sally rolled her simulated eyes.
Bondarella smiled and rolled her real eyes. "How many
times have I told you to keep current on all Sisterhood
briefing summaries. Jamie Moriarty runs a global criminal
enterprise with ties to about thirty governments and perhaps a
hundred drug cartels and crime families."
"Teasing apart one of her operations is always a daunting task,"
Sally explained. "Simply crashing in and rescuing Dr.
Watson and Special Agent Shaw will almost certainly lead to
unwanted consequences, most of which will be exceedingly
difficult to predict and troublesome to resolve. We've
determined that while Moriarty's prisoners are uncomfortable,
they're not in immediate danger, We've also found
and blocked twelve potential escape routes from Moriarty's
lair. Due diligence continues."
"Oh," Betty sighed, "that Jamie Moriarty." Her
frown returned. "Wait, I thought she'd already been
"She was," Bondarella confirmed, "but it would seem Moriarty has
completely suborned her jailers. Moriarty 'answers' all
questions put to her by various law enforcement agencies, but
it's now clear that for the past year she's been totally gaming
the system, sacrificing some parts of her network while
protecting and even expanding others. Recently—and I only
just learned this—she's moved out of custody and is occupying
one of her many secure bases. Moriarty is more-or-less
free, but everyone thinks she's still
incarcerated. Jamie Moriarty is a formidable
opponent. We must act carefully."
Betty shook her head. "All of that's waaay above
my paygrade. I'm just a dumb grunt. I'll let you
guys mismanage the strategic blundering."
Bondarella smiled indulgently. "And don't think we aren't
Betty pointed to Beebe. "What about that one?"
Bondarella sighed. "It would seem Dr. Bondage is an
unknowing cog in Moriarty's latest scheme, a one-time-only,
fully expendable recruit."
Betty frowned. "Hired by Moriarty to do the dirty work,
then betrayed and abandoned?"
Bondarella nodded. "And the same goes for her partner,
"That's just... rude," Betty groused.
"An example of the byzantine layering characteristic of
Moriarty's operations," Sally lectured. "Dr. Bondage was
hired to abduct Watson and Shaw, mercenaries were hired to
relieve Dr. Bondage of her prey, and a third organization
was hired to deliver Watson and Shaw to Moriarty's lair and
deal with the mercenaries... with extreme prejudice."
Betty stared at Beebe's nude, bound, gagged, stretched, and
sensory-deprived form. "I suppose they were lucky, meaning
Dr. B. and her sidekick." She focused on her sister.
"I don't think I like this Moriarty character very much."
Bondarella nodded. "Nor do I. Go pack and get
Betty flowed to her feet and headed for the office door.
"I am ready," she huffed. "Later, Sally," she
said, waving at the screen as she made her exit.
"Later," Sally answered, then directed her simulated gaze to
Bondarella. "What about Beebe and her partner?"
"As you know," Bondarella answered as she rose from her chair,
"the matter of their disposition is under council review.
A decision is still pending. In the meantime, my staff
will keep them comfortable... or a reasonable facsimile
"I see," Sally purred, then touched her forehead in a casual
"Later, Sally," Bondarella answered, smiling and returning the
Sally departed (meaning the screen went dark), and Bondarella
gracefully departed her office.
Beebe remained behind and continued being nude, bound, gagged,
stretched, sensory-deprived, and beautiful.