T H E     B O N D A G E     I S     O U T    T H E R E	by Van ©2009
___		___
		Chapter 3
___
___

Lindsay hung from the frame in misery.  Where's Veronica? she wondered.  What have they done to her?
———————————— ?? —————————
YES, WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO VERONICA?

---

Betty sat cross-legged on the floor, close behind Veronica's bound, gagged, and kneeling form.

As best she could, Veronica looked over her shoulder at the masked, catsuited brunette.  The chain linking the back of the ball-gag to her crossed ankles was pulling her head back and forcing her to arch her back.  She turned her gaze to the curtained doorway across the store, through which her captor's companion had dragged Lindsay Boxer, seconds before.

"Don't worry about the Inspector, Agent Mars," Betty said, then pulled Veronica into a tight embrace, scissoring her leather-clad and booted legs around the little blonde's waist and hugging her close.  "My partner will be entertaining your partner..."  Her gloved left hand cupped her prisoner's right breast, and her right hand patted her thigh.  "And I get to entertain you.  Neither of you will come to harm.  I promise."

Veronica blinked and stared at a rack of leather harnesses against the far wall.  Her captor's lips were less than an inch from her right ear and the embrace was tightening the ankle-to-gag chain.  She mentally reviewed her Hostage Situation Training, but with her wrists and upper arms cuffed in leather, a collar buckled around her throat, and a ball-gag in her mouth, her training wasn't of much value—not physically, anyway.

"And speaking of promises," Betty purred.  "If I remove your gag, do you promise not to scream?"

Let the negotiations begin! Veronica thought.  She nodded, as best she could.

"Good girl," Betty whispered, and kissed her ear.  She then unclipped the ankle chain from the gag and reattached it to the central ring of the chain linking Veronica's cuffs and collar.  She then loosened the gag-strap.  "Can you spit that out for me, sweetie?" she cooed.  "Give it a try.  I know it's big, but try for Betty."

Veronica worked her jaws and tongue, and after several seconds succeeded in expelling the red, semi-soft rubber sphere.  It fell from her mouth, down her chin, and flopped onto her chest.  The gag was now hanging around her neck at the limit of its strap, like a very ugly necklace.  The ball glistened with saliva.  "You're in a lot of trouble," Veronica growled.  "If you let me go right now, I'll try and—Hey!  Stop that!—M'rmpfh!"

Betty had thrust her tongue into Veronica's ear, then clamped her hand over her mouth in a tight hand-gag.

Veronica squirmed and mewled through her captor's gloved hand.

"I think it's abundantly clear which of us is in trouble," Betty whispered, then twirled her tongue in Veronica's ear, once again.

Veronica shivered in disgust.  Bitch! she fumed.  She's messin' with me.  How should I play this?

"Are you finished pretending you have any control of this situation?" Betty chuckled.  "Can I take my hand away?  I have an important question."

Veronica hummed through the hand in question.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Betty whispered, and took her hand away.

Seconds passed.  "Well...?" Veronica huffed.  "What's your question?"

"Are you ticklish, Agent Mars?"

Veronica blinked in surprise.  "Am I what?—Ah!  Stop that!  You bitch!  Get your hands off me!"

Betty was seeking the answer to her question by the most practical of means.  Holding her squirming captive close with her crossed legs and left arm, and reaching under Veronica's jacket with her right, she was prodding and tickling her ribs.  This persisted for several seconds, then she reached under Veronica's skirt and shifted her attention to her pantyhose-clad thighs.

"Oh... you're no fun," she said, finally, and withdrew her hand.  "On a scale of one to ten, you're a wet blanket.  You're hardly ticklish at all."

"You're only making things worse for yourself," Veronica muttered.  "Let me out of these cuffs and—M'ffh!"

"No matter," Betty chuckled, as she popped the ball-gag back in Veronica's mouth, tightened the strap, and secured the buckle.  "We don't have time to play, anyway."  She unscissored her legs and stood.

Veronica fell onto her side and glared up at her captor.  The leash chain was still looped around her crossed ankles, and while she had more slack than she'd had when it was clipped to her gag, she was still hogtied.

"Please wait here while I go fetch something," Betty purred.  "I won't be a minute."

Hilarious, Veronica fumed as she watched Betty walk toward the back of the store.  She fought her bonds and tried to twist her ankles free from the looped chain, but it was hopeless.

Betty returned almost immediately.  "Stop that, you bad girl," she scolded.  "You'll ruin those pantyhose, if you haven't already."  She was hiding something behind her back.

Veronica twisted her body and tried to squirm away, but was powerless to prevent her captor from lifting her back onto her knees, then kneeling and scissoring her legs around her waist, as before.

"I'm afraid this is going to be unpleasant," Betty purred, as she grabbed a handful of Veronica's hair and pulled her head back.  "I have to get you ready for something, and it'll be much easier if you aren't struggling."

At the moment, Veronica was struggling for all she was worth, because Betty had pressed a plastic breathing mask with a small, attached gas cylinder over her nose and gagged mouth, and was holding it tight.

"Don't fight me, sweetie," Betty whispered in Veronica's ear.  "Just take deep, even breaths, and go to sleep, like a good little girl."

Veronica held her breath and continued to squirm and fight, but her bonds were too stringent and Betty's grip was too tight for her to dislodge the mask.  She knew her situation was hopeless, and she couldn't go without air, but she had to try.

"You are a fighter," Betty whispered.  "It's a good thing you're totally helpless."  She blew in Veronica's ear before continuing.  "Otherwise, you'd kick my butt... or try, anyway."

Veronica had to breathe.  She gasped—then held her breath again, but it was too late.  Her vision was already fading, and a buzzing sound filled her ears.

"That's right, deep breaths."  Betty tongued her ear, then playfully nibbled her earlobe.

I know, Veronica thought, I'll pretend I'm unconscious... and then... and then...  Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she was out.

"Poor thing," Betty whispered, continuing to administer the gas.  "Hardly ticklish at all."

Veronica's jaw was really beginning to ache, the floor was cold against her bare skin, and something was sitting on her butt and legs, and—her eyes popped wide and she screamed through her gag and tried to roll away.

"You're awake," Betty's voice noted.  "Good."

Veronica continued to struggle.  Her arms were still folded behind her back, but now they were in a reverse-prayer.  Déjà vu all over again, the prisoner thought, remembering Claudia's rope demonstration from this morning... at least she thought it had been this morning.  From the light streaming through the windows it was still afternoon, so either she'd been out only a short time or more than twenty-four hours.  In any case, her bonds were still leather, but they were no longer the leather cuffs she'd let Betty lock her into earlier.  Also, her clothes were gone!

"I taped your fingers before putting you in those mittens," Betty explained.  She was the weight Veronica had felt earlier, of course, and she was busy lacing a stiff leather corset around her captive's waist.  "Isn't the harness binding your arms clever?"

Leather straps yoked Veronica's shoulders and pinned her arms to her sides, but she couldn't really pass judgment on whether or not the thing was 'clever'.  She could, however, confirm that it was tight.  Her legs were encased in skintight leather thigh-boots, stiff enough that they more-or-less locked her knees.  They held her feet in a permanent pointe position, and leather bands, possibly a pair of the same cuffs that had bound her wrists and arms, earlier, were around her booted ankles and clipped together.  She tried to kick, but only succeeded in flopping like a fish out of water—a leather encased fish out of water.

Betty finished lacing the corset, stood, and lifted Veronica to her feet.  "Don't worry," she said, "I won't let you fall."

Veronica tottered on her toes, but managed to stay upright.  The boots were laced up the front, all the way to her upper thighs.  The corset hugged her waist and was uncomfortably tight.  It had stiff stays, and a pair of half-cups that lifted her breasts and exaggerated their size.  The only thing she could see of the harness was a pair of straps criss-crossing her chest and dimpling her upper arms.  Her hair had been combed back and pinned into a tight bun.  At least it's out of my face, she thought.  The ball-gag strapped in her mouth completed the picture.

"Very pretty," Betty said, with a gloating smile.

I'm really getting to dislike this bitch, Veronica fumed, glaring her disapproval.  She looked around.  They were in the back of the store, in an area screened from the front windows by racks and tall display cases.  Off to one side—Veronica's eyes popped wide, again.

She was staring at some sort of... display stand?  It had a wide, heavy, metal plate as a base, and from it projected a vertical steel post.  The post was about two inches in diameter, maybe a little less than three feet in height, and mounted on the top was a horizontal, triangular steel wedge—and protruding from the center of the wedge was a glistening rubber phallus!  Veronica turned to face Betty, unable to fully hide the fear in her eyes.

"Yes, that's right," the smiling brunette confirmed.  "That's for you.  And don't look at me that way, sweetie.  I lubed it."  Her smile faded and she affected a rather theatrical pout.  "If I'd know you were going to be so ungrateful," the catsuited beauty huffed, "I'd have used the 'self-heating' stuff."

Flight was a ridiculous impossibility, but Veronica fought like a wildcat—a tightly bound and well-gagged wildcat—as Betty lifted her onto her shoulder and carried her to the stand.  Slowly, using her gloved hands to keep her thighs open, Betty carefully lowered her onto the phallus.  Kicking was impossible, trying to clinch her inner thighs together didn't work, and neither did twisting her upper body to free herself from her captor's surprising strength.  Veronica squealed through her gag as the rod impaled her sex and her weight settled onto the cold steel of the wedge-shaped saddle.

"Good," Betty purred.  "I got the height adjustment right.  I can tell by the way your cute little pussy is squashed that it's not taking all your weight, just most of it."  Her smile turned even more evil.  "You think it's bad now... if I'd adjusted the height so the toes of your pretty boots were dancing in the air, then you'd really be uncomfortable.  That would hurt so much you'd eventually pass out... but what would be the fun in that?"  She walked to a rack of leather straps, selected several of various lengths, and returned to the stand.

Veronica watched as Betty knelt, released the clip joining the ankle cuffs, adjusted the position of her feet so that she perfectly straddled the post, and began strapping her in place.  She considered trying to kick, but that wasn't really an option, not from her precarious perch in these ridiculous boots.  An especially thin leather band was used to bind her ankles.  Betty threaded it through the attachment rings of the cuffs, then buckled it tight.  Oh darn, Veronica thought, dipping deep into her dwindling reserves of dry wit, now I can't escape. Wider bands tightened around Veronica's shins, above and below her knees, and at mid thigh.  All were cinched tight enough to dimple the supple leather of the boots and make themselves felt.

Betty strolled away, again.

Veronica squirmed and struggled, but all this accomplished was a twisting of her upper body.  Her legs quivered and shook, but the motion was barely perceptible—and her efforts, especially the torso twisting, caused the phallus to send all sorts of unwelcome sensations through her body.  Veronica Mars—Bondage Slut of the FBI, she fumed.  In many respects, she was surprised she was taking all of this so well.

But then, the alternative was gibbering hysteria, so internalized 'hostage humor' would have to do.

Betty returned with a tangle of wires.  A roll of duct tape was riding her right wrist, like an oversize bracelet.  "This place is incredibly well-equipped," she purred.  "That's why we chose it as one of our sources."  She peeled the paper backing from a small pad and stuck it to Veronica's left breast, just to the right of the nipple.  A second pad was pasted to the left.  "They have color-coded leads in a rainbow of colors," she explained, "which makes it much easier to keep things straight when you plug it all into the panel."

Veronica glared, defiantly, but didn't bother even trying to squirm away.  What was the point?  The pads and their trailing wires resembled medical sensors of some sort, but she very much feared they were something else entirely.  She watched as Betty applied pairs of pads to her right breast, to either side of her sex, and a pair on each of her butt-cheeks.  Betty then used strips of duct tape to secure the wires against her body, being careful to leave slack in the wires as she taped them down.

"There," she said, then produced a black latex hood and began pulling it over Veronica's head.  "This will protect all that pretty hair," she explained.  The skintight hood had an oval opening for the prisoner's face.  She then retrieved the roll of tape and ripped free several inches.  "Now, let's make sure you stay nice and quiet, shall we?"

"No, we shall not! Veronica fumed.  She tried to struggle, but couldn't prevent Betty from taking turn after tight turn of tape around her head, covering her gag and mummifying her face from just below her flaring nostrils to just under her chin.  Additional windings were taken from under her chin and across the crown of her head, then across her forehead and around the back of her head.

"There's not much left," Betty cooed, "but let's not waste it, okay?"  She exhausted the roll by taking additional turns over Veronica's already gagged and well-mummified mouth.  She tossed the empty cardboard roll away, then reached out and pinched Veronica's nose closed!  "Testing, one, two, three," she teased.

Her eyes wide, Veronica struggled and squirmed.  The air was trapped in her lungs, so the only sound she made was the quiet creaking of her boots rubbing against the overlying straps.

"Perfectly airtight," Betty purred.  "And your face is such a nice shade of pink.  How 'bout some air?"  She waited about two more seconds... then released her hold.

Veronica bosom heaved as she panted through her nostrils.  She continued to glare at her tormentor.

"Such strength," Betty whispered.  "How I wish you were ticklish.  That tiny, firm little body... all that tan, smooth skin... and that delightfully feisty spirit.  I'd take you with us, if you could appreciate my art... but my feathers and brushes would be wasted on you, I'm afraid.  Such a pity."

She strolled away to a rack and returned with a long swath of very thin, black leather.  "Almost finished," she cooed, and pulled the chamois-thin garment over Veronica's shoulders and body.  "They call this a 'hobble cape'," she explained, zipping it closed down the back, and began tightening the laces that ran the entire length of the cape, covering the zipper.  This took some time, and as she tugged and tightened the laces, the leather stretched and conformed to Veronica's torso, to the point one could begin to make out the shape of her underlying bonds, the bulge of her breasts, and the triangular front end of the saddle.

Betty stood, stepped to the front, and smiled at her victim.  "Squirm for me," she ordered.  Veronica continued to stare.  "Would you like me to test your gag again?" she inquired.

No, Veronica thought.  I'd just as soon not, thank you.  She tried to turn and twist her body.  This did some marginally "interesting" things to her sex, thanks to the dildo, but she had little choice.

Betty beamed.  "Perfect!  You can barely squirm.  Perfect!  One more thing."  She stepped away, and returned holding a black leather case by the steel ring at the top.  It had a curious shape, like a dimpled, oversize potato perched atop a short, conical cylinder.

What's inside that thing? Veronica wondered—then her eyes popped wide.  Betty had released a set of latches on one side, and the "case" had opened like a clamshell.  It was a stiff leather helmet, thickly padded on the inside.  Oh... I'm about to be what's inside.

Betty settled the helmet on Veronica's shoulders, then locked eyes with her captive.  "Don't worry, sweetie, there are a pair of holes for you to breathe, and this model has plastic goggles.  They're silvered on the outside, but you'll be able to see."  She closed the front and secured the latches, one-by-one.

Veronica blinked in the close, sudden darkness.  Betty had been telling the truth.  She could breathe, and she could see out, but the so-called goggles were thick and heavily tinted.  She could barely see out.  The padding pressed against her already gagged, hooded, and tape-wrapped head.  Her captor stepped into her severely limited field of view.  Now, she had a wire microphone clipped behind her right ear.

"Can you hear me?" Betty asked.

Apparently the helmet incorporated a pair of tiny speakers, because Veronica could, in fact, hear her captor.  Letting Betty know she could hear, however, was a bit of a problem  She was completely encased, from head to toe, and now she couldn't even turn her head.  That was assuming Veronica wanted to let her know, of course.  She was not in a very cooperative mood.

"No matter," Betty continued.  "I'll assume you can."

Betty stepped out of Veronica's line of sight.  Seconds passed, then a jarring shudder passed through the pedestal (and the phallus), and she began to move.  The goggles allowed her to track her progress through the store as she was wheeled towards the front door.  The post continued to vibrate... but it wasn't too bad... for the moment.

As she approached the door, itself, Veronica noticed that the robot that had been beside the door was gone, pedestal and all.  Her field of vision spun—and she realized the truth—that she was taking the robot's place!

Betty was absent for several long seconds... more than a full minute... and then she stepped back into view.  She had a small control unit of some sort in her left hand.

"Alrighty then," Betty said.  "Let's see if I plugged everything in correctly.  Left nipple."  She tapped a button.

Veronica flinched and screamed through her gag.  A jolting electrical shock had coursed through her left nipple.

"Well," Betty purred, "that got a reaction.  Not much... but a reaction.  However, I can't really tell if it was the left tit, the right tit, or something else."  Her smile broadened.  "And you certainly aren't in a position to tell me, are you?  I'll just tap the buttons, one by one, to confirm all the circuits are live."  She began tapping the buttons, pausing to gauge Veronica's reaction for a few seconds each time.

Veronica continued to flinch and moan.  She was shocked in the right nipple—Zap!—the left butt cheek—Zap!—the right butt cheek—Zap!—and the upper part of her sex, right across the clitoris!  She blinked back tears, and found Betty had taken a step closer.

"You okay in there, sweetie?" she inquired.  "Here, I'll make it all better."  She touched another button.

Veronica flinched, again.  The phallus had begun to vibrate!  She shuddered and tried to struggle against her bonds, but could barely move.  Betty was continuing to push buttons, and each time, the vibrations increased in intensity.  Her tormentor pressed a final button, and the vibrating stopped.  Veronica panted through her nostrils, wondering what would be next.

"Okay, here's the program," Betty announced, "...by which I mean the computer program."  She held up the control unit.  "I'm triggering a routine that will randomly vary the settings and timing of the various circuits, with an emphasis on the rubber cock in your pussy.  So... every few minutes, for as few as several seconds to as much as a full minute, the vibrator and/or one or more of the shock-pads will turn on... which might or might not turn you on... but it will be interesting.  And don't worry about getting shocked into next Tuesday.  The stronger the current flow, the shorter the interval.  So, there will be a continuum from long, low sizzle to sharp jolt."

Betty tapped another button.  "There, let the suspense begin."  Her smile turned evil.  "By the way, the vibrator has a wide variety of subroutines—rapid, rhythmic shifting between two or more settings, variation in the pulse timing, that sort of thing—and all of them are unique events as far as the program is concerned.  I expect some of the longer combinations might trigger minor orgasms, but mostly I suspect you'll find it to be very frustrating."

Betty disappeared from view, then returned without the control unit.  "Well, I'm going in the back to see how Bella and the Inspector are doing, but I'll be back."  And she was gone, again.

Well... Veronica mused, this certainly sucks.  Suddenly, the phallus buzzed and pulsed, alternating between low and moderate levels, for about twenty seconds.  Wonderful.

Time passed... punctuated by jolts of pain... and bouts of stimulation.  Betty's prediction was correct.  The phallus had yet to deliver anything the prisoner could call a real orgasm.  Part of that was her "fault".  She just wasn't in the mood.  All Veronica wanted to do was slap the Betty-Bitch in cuffs (none too gently), toss her in the local lockup, and lose the paperwork.  Arousal wasn't in the picture—not for her forebrain, anyway.  Her hindbrain and sex seemed to have other ideas—especially when the rubber invader was buzzing—and despite the substantial wet blanket effect of the periodic shocks.

Time passed...

Suddenly, Betty stepped back into view.  She was still wearing the wire microphone.  "How's it going, sweetie?" she asked, with a bright smile.  "I just wanted to let you know we'll be leaving by the back door.  We've sent your boss a text-message, and I expect she'll be coming through the front door in a few minutes.  Beltway traffic is starting to pick up, but I'm sure she'll be as quick as she can."  She turned and unlocked the door, then flipped the "CLOSED" sign to the "OPEN" position.  "One more thing," she purred.  "The control box is also wired into the door bell, so be sure and put on a show when the pads all go off at once.  I put the sign back on the base of the pedestal, by the way.  Remember?  'Audio-Animatronic Gynoid by Roboto-Corp'?"

No!  Veronica realized Betty's plan.  How long would it take Scully or whoever came to their aid to realize the "robot" next to the door that squirmed and moaned whenever anyone crossed the threshold was not a robot?

"Well," Betty continued.  "Ciao, Agent Mars.  I hope we meet again.  Of course, I doubt if you or your partner will let me simply put you in bondage, next time.  But don't worry, I'll think of something.  I've handled reluctant volunteers before."  She waved, spun on her heel, and walked towards the back.

This is bad, Veronica thought.  This is very—Ow!  Her left nipple had just been shocked.  The random "entertainment" program was still running.  Wonderful.

Scully maneuvered the sedan into a parking slot near Leatherotica's front door.  "Still nothing?" she asked.

Claudia's phone was against her ear.  "It go to the voice-mail, again," she replied.

Scully turned off the engine and they exited the vehicle.  According to the sign on the door the store was open, but there was no sign of customers or staff.  Lindsay's text message had read—"LEATHEROTICA. COME QUICK."—and that was all.  And despite repeated calls, neither Lindsay or Veronica would answer.  "I have a bad feeling about this," she told her companion.

"I also," Claudia confirmed.

"Stay alert, and remember to clear my field."

Claudia smiled.  "You Americans really are the cowboys, no?"

Scully smiled back.  "Sorry.  I've never worked with a Carabinari and don't know your field procedures.  This is probably nothing, so let's not get jumpy and draw down on the first store clerk that pops into view—but stay alert."

Claudia nodded.  "I take the left and you the right."

They stepped through the door, jackets open and hands "casually" on their holstered weapons.  A gong sounded, announcing their arrival, and a figure to the right side began moving and making quiet mewing sounds.  It was dressed, or rather restrained, in some sort of black leather body-sheath and helmet.

Claudia pointed at the sign at the base of the writhing form's pedestal.  "The robot, to greet the customer," she chuckled.  "How very... Japanese."

Scully watched the "struggling" automaton for a few seconds, then shook her head.  "Let's go," she whispered, and led the way through the store.  "Hello?  Is anyone here?" she called out, as they passed the racks and cases of kinky leather merchandise.  There was no answer.  "Hello?"  Still no answer.

As they approached the back, Scully noticed a curtained doorway with a pile of clothing just to its left.  She recognized the jackets, blouses, and skirts Lindsay and Veronica had been wearing when they left the task force office.  Their badge and ID holders, holsters, and weapons were on the top of the pile.  Both handguns had their slides locked back and the clips removed.

Scully drew her own weapon and Claudia followed suit.  "Watch my back," Scully whispered, her eyes on the curtain.  "Remember, the store isn't cleared."  She parted the curtain, and gasped.

A very naked Lindsay Boxer was spread-eagled in a vertical, rectangular frame of steel pipes, suspended by leather cuffs at her wrists and ankles.  Steel clamps were pinching her nipples, and a cell phone was tied to the connecting chain, stretching her small breasts.  In addition, something, possibly another cell phone, was wedged in her sex and bound in place with a black leather thong.

Lindsay lifted her ball-gagged head and mewled through her gag.

"Watch the door while I clear the back," Scully ordered, entered the storeroom, and did a quick search of the entire room.  "Clear!" she shouted, as she hurried back to the front area.  "There's one exit, in the rear."  Lindsay's cuffs were secured with heart-shaped padlocks, but not her gag.  Scully stepped behind the frame, holstered her weapon, went up on her toes, unbuckled the ball-gag, and pulled it from Lindsay's mouth.

"Ah!—control box on the wall," Lindsay croaked as she worked her jaw and licked her lips.  She nodded towards a panel mounted on the wall between two racks of boxes.

Her weapon still in her hand, Claudia opened the panel's cover and pressed the green button labeled with a down-arrow.  A winch whirred to life, cable began unrolling from a drum, and the pipe frame began lowering to the floor. 

When the winch stopped and Lindsay was flat on her back, Scully reached for the left nipple clamp.  "Brace yourself," she warned, and released the clamp.

"Ahh!" Lindsay gasped.

"Sorry," Scully said, watching the blood flow back into oval-shaped marks on either side of the nipple.

"I wasn't planning on keeping it there," she huffed, managing a weak smile.  She nodded her chin at the right clip.

Scully sighed, and released the clip.

Better prepared for the pain, Lindsay managed to keep her reaction to a sharp intake of breath.  She looked up at her right wrist cuff and mitten-encased hand, and tugged on the strap.  The heart-shaped padlock rattled against the buckle.  "Better start looking for some bolt-cutters," she suggested.

Claudia noticed a small key chain on the floor, directly beneath the control box.  Its fob was a black pocketknife engraved with the store's name and contact information, and the ring held a single key.  "Here!" she said, and tossed the key chain to Scully.

Scully knelt and tried the key in one of the padlocks.  It fit.  She worked her way around the frame, releasing the cuffs, one-by-one.

Finally free, Lindsay sighed and hauled herself to her feet.

"Maybe you better stay down," Scully suggested.  She'd noticed the red stripes criss-crossing Lindsay's sweat-slick, nude body.  The skin wasn't broken, and the marks couldn't really be called welts, but from the way she moved, Scully could tell the tall, tan brunette was stiff and sore.

"I'm okay," Lindsay huffed.  "They've left, or said they were leaving, anyway.  We need to find my partner."  She nodded at another pile of clothes, on the floor to the left of the door to the main store.  "And whoever all that belongs to."

"Allow me," Claudia said, took the key chain from Scully, opened the blade of the pocketknife, and cut Lindsay's waist thong.

"Thanks," Lindsay gasped, pulling the thong-cinched, glistening phone from between her labia.

Meanwhile, Scully had pulled out her own cell phone (from the much less embarrassing place of her jacket pocket) and was summoning help.

Local cops continued to arrive.  Most entered the store—Gong!—and were sent back out by a sergeant—Gong!  There was already more than enough uniformed help milling about the FBI agents and the INTERPOL liaison.

"I tell you, I'm fine," Lindsay huffed, waving away an EMT.  "At least let me interview the other victims," she asked Scully.  "They might have heard something that will tell us where they took Ronnie."

The owners of the second pile of clothing had been located.  Claudia had eventually noticed movement in three large cardboard boxes in the back of the storeroom.  All three boxes had a large "X" scrawled on the side with a broad tip marker, and inside they discovered a store clerk, a cute little redhead—the store's manager, a fair-skinned brunette—and a store customer, a tall blonde.  All had been forced to strip, at gunpoint, bound and gagged with leather restraints, and then packed in the boxes.  Their catsuited and masked captors had punched holes in the heavy cardboard so they could breathe, then filled the empty space between their bodies and the box walls with Styrofoam packing peanuts, up to the struggling prisoners' necks.  They said they'd watched Lindsay's whipping ordeal through the tiny air holes, but could barely squirm.

They were lucky Claudia was so observant, or they might not have been discovered for some time.

"We'll all interview them," Scully said.  "I'm worried about her too, Lindsay."

"I know," Lindsay sighed.  She had donned her blouse, skirt, jacket, and shoes, but not her ruined underwear, of course.  Her hair was combed back in a loose ponytail.  She could use a shower (although a long, hot bath and a full body massage would be better), but she was okay, for the moment.  She watched the EMTs roll their equipment-laden gurney out the front door.  The door gong sounded—Gong!—for the umpteenth time since the cops had started arriving.

Scully turned to Claudia, who was on her cell phone.

"Still no answer," the Italian beauty sighed.

"Great," Scully muttered, "now we can't get hold of Gracie and Megan."  She noticed that Lindsay was staring at the front door.

"Oh my god!" the tall brunette gasped, and raced toward the door.

"What is it?" Scully demanded, hurrying after her.

"The robot.  It's different," she explained.  The cops and EMTs watched as she fumbled with the latches of the leather helmet, and pulled it open.  "Oh, Ronnie!" she gasped.

The watching crowd of cops gasped as Veronica's hooded and tape-wrapped head was revealed.  Her tired, bleary eyes were wet with tears.

One of the EMTs pulled a pair of bandage scissors from a holster on his belt and stepped back across threshold.

The door gong sounded—Gong!—and Veronica squealed through her gag and her eyes popped wide.

Claudia lunged for the electrical control box behind the pedestal and jerked the electrical leads plugged into the back.  "I don't know what this do," she explained, "but it look evil."

The EMT began carefully slicing through the duct tape wrappings while Lindsay fumbled with the thongs securing the leather sheath.  "Got another pair of scissors?" she asked, and accepted a pair from the second EMT.  She made two careful cuts, and handed a piece of knotted leather to Claudia.

The Italian's face was grim as she examined the knotted thongs.  "The Tudor Rose," she confirmed, and focused on Scully.  "Bondarella."

Scully pulled her phone from her pocket, placed a call, and held it to her ear.  Seconds passed, then she flipped it closed.  "Still going to voice-mail," she said.

"Gracie and Megan?" Lindsay asked, as she worked on the remaining laces.

"Gracie and Megan," Scully nodded.