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		T H E     B O N D A G E     I S     O U T    T H E R E	by Van ©2009
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		Chapter 8
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Bondarella was reclined on a comfortable lounge chair, with her leather clad legs crossed and stretched, full length.  Betty was close by her side, sitting on the floor, with her head on her Mistress's lap.  Both had removed their masks and Bondarella was slowly, gently combing her fingers through Betty's long, silky, brown hair; but her eyes, like Betty's, were focused on the bank of flat-screen television monitors covering one wall.

The TVs displayed Megan Wheeler, from various angles, and included close-ups of her beautiful face—and her face was beautiful, even locked in a grimace of effort and shining with sweat.  She was still astride "Roger" and struggling to maintain an erect posture to prevent herself from being shocked.  She was also still struggling to keep the rubber ball clutched in her mouth from being pulled free, to prevent her partner from being shocked.  Megan was a pitiful and (in her watchers' opinion) erotic sight.  Her fair, freckled skin glistened with sweat, and the muscles of her lithe, slender body were corded and strained.  Drool glistened on her chin, dribbled down her chest, and spotted the top slopes of her bulging, rope-bound breasts.  Her auburn pixie-cut was damp, with several strands of her short bangs plastered to her furrowed forehead.  Clearly, her task was ever more demanding.

"How many?" Betty inquired.

"I haven't kept count," Bondarella purred.  The canister had been delivering steel balls to Megan's bucket with monotonous regularity, albeit in no predictable pattern.  Sometimes three or four balls would arrive in the space of a single minute, and sometimes as infrequently as one every two or three minutes.  "As you can see," Bondarella continued, "the weight of the bucket is now something of a challenge for the good Detective."

The chime sounded, the tube attached to the canister lowered, and another ball dropped into the bucket.  Several beads of sweat on Megan's forehead coalesced and dropped into her right eye.  She blinked several times... and a delicate shudder coursed through her body.  Roger was moving, again.  Megan began rolling her hips, as much as the ropes binding her in place would allow.

"I think she's really starting to appreciate her new boyfriend's talents," Betty noted.

"They always do," Bondarella purred.  "Strong she may be... but she's only human... and we primed the pump, so to speak, by entertaining her in the cage all night."

"I think Roger's doing another 'Low and Slow'," Betty sighed.  "Poor thing.  When you used me to test that thing, I think that was the one I hated the most."

"Not 'Bucking Bronco'?" Bondarella chuckled.

Betty sighed.  "They're all bad... especially towards the end... like now... for poor Megan."

The door opened and Belladonna entered the room.  She stepped to the side of the chair opposite Betty and removed her mask.  "I'm surprised she's still at it," she purred, smiling at the screens.  "How long?"

Bondarella's eyes remained on the screens.  "How many balls?  How long?  I'm not here to provide running commentary.  If you two want to know the stats, check the computer log, but let me enjoy the show!"

Betty and Belladonna exchanged smiles.  "At least tell me if Miss New Jersey is still gonna be shocked into oblivion when Freckles finally loses her war with gravity," Belladonna requested.

"The bucket link timed out about a half-hour ago," Bondarella chuckled.  "Gracie's slumber will remain undisturbed... not counting the periodic, subliminal crotch-buzz, of course."

Belladonna lifted Bondarella's nearest leg, stepped in front of the chair, settled to her knees, and slid onto her stomach on the lower part of the lounger, between her Mistress's legs.  "I wonder what I can do to enhance your enjoyment of Detective Wheeler's predicament?" she purred.

Betty giggled, then stood, stretched, and stepped to the head of the chair.  "I wonder?" she cooed, then removed her gloves and began gently massaging Bondarella's temples.  Betty smiled, watching as Belladonna unzipped the closure running through their Mistress's crotch, parted the supple, black leather, and leaned close.

Bondarella shivered in her chair as Belladonna's lips settled over her crotch and her tongue slid between her labia.  "Don't let your head block the screens," she cautioned, "or you'll regret it."

On the screens in question, the canister was delivering yet another ball to the bucket.  The speakers delivered the strangled sob that escaped Megan's lips.  The crisis point appeared to be very near.  They watched as the ball was pulled from Megan's mouth with exquisite slowness.  More drool oozed from the captive's pale, strained lips, no doubt making it even more difficult for her to maintain her grip on the smooth, semi-soft, red rubber.

"How very sad," Betty purred.

Bondarella continued to squirm, and her breathing was deeper and more rapid.  She reached into her thigh pocket, pulled out her PDA, and handed it to Betty.  Her eyes remained glued to the screens.  "Trigger one of the high-end routines," she gasped.

"I take it you'd like to try for a nice double climax?" Betty giggled.  "It's kind to share, as nanny used to say, but timing will be difficult."

Belladonna lifted her head away from Bondarella's crotch and smiled.  "I'm doing my part," she purred, "but give me a little more time."

Bondarella clutched Belladonna's hair and forced her head back in place.  "Less talk, more action," she gasped.

Betty smiled and tapped the PDA's tiny screen.

On the television screens, another shudder racked Megan's body, her eyes popped wide, and she began moving her hips with even greater enthusiasm.

"Ride'em cowgirl," Betty giggled, pocketed the PDA, and resumed massaging Bondarella's temples.

Megan managed to last nearly two more minutes, a seemingly endless interval which included the delivery of yet another ball.  The rubber still clutched between her teeth seemed to actually stretch, as it emerged from Megan's straining mouth—and then it popped free!

The pulleys sang,  the ball whipped on the end of the cable, and the bucket landed on the metal pad with a loud clank!

"Nooo!" Megan wailed.  Her eyes were on the screen in her room, and her kidnappers knew it was depicting the continuing, undisturbed slumber of her fellow-captive.  Sobs rocked Megan's bound body, strong enough to make her bound breasts wobble.  Her head turned to either side and her teary eyes focused on the ends of the long pole to which she was bound.  She realized both copper-clad ends were resting on their respective copper hoops, and she that was not being shocked.  Also, although he was still lodged inside her wet, throbbing vagina, Roger had stopped moving and vibrating.  Megan let her head drop and continued to cry.

"Poor thing," Betty whispered.

Meanwhile, Bondarella was gasping and shuddering.  Obviously, Belladonna's efforts were paying off.  Betty took a step to the side, knelt, gripped her Mistress's head in both hands, and delivered a savage kiss.  Now, hot, wet tongues twirled and slid through both sets of Bondarella's lips, and she shivered—and came.

"I hate you," Megan sobbed, knowing she was on camera and that her kidnappers and their patrons were listening.  "I hate you."  Her head was still lowered.  She cried for several seconds... then lifted her head, fought her bonds with savage fury, and screamed, "I HATE YOU!!"  The pole rattled in the hoops as her body bucked and twisted—but it was pointless.  She was still inescapably bound, and helpless, and at the mercy of her tormentors.

Megan let her head drop, again.  "I hate you," she sobbed, in a strangled wail.

Betty ended her kiss.  Her Mistress had come.  Belladonna sat up, wiped her smiling lips with the back of her hand, then stood and stepped to the side.

"You realize you haven't broken her, of course," Belladonna remarked.

"Of course," Bondarella purred.  "She's simply angry, and feeling sorry for herself."

"Poor thing," Betty whispered.

Bondarella focused on Betty with an affectionate grin, and gave her a playful shove.  "Change the record, you silly thing," she chuckled, "and give me back my PDA."  She stood and extended her hand, and Betty giggled and handed over the device in question.

Meanwhile, Belladonna knelt, folded her arms behind her back, cupping each elbow in its opposite hand, then leaned forward and used her lips and tongue to restore the crotch panels of her Mistress's catsuit.  She then took the tiny fob of the zipper in her teeth, and tugged the zipper closed.

Bondarella took Belladonna's head in her gloved hands and their eyes locked.  "You're getting very good at that," Bondarella said, a warm smile curling her lips.

"Practice makes perfect," Belladonna responded, with a smile of her own.

Bondarella pulled her cell phone from her pocket, stopped its buzzing, and gazed at the tiny screen.  "Hmm... important e-mail," she announced, and pocketed the phone.  She leaned down and kissed the top of Belladonna's head, then turned and left the room, pausing only to give Betty a kiss as she passed.

Belladonna stood and gazed at the screens.  Megan was still sobbing, but the worst seemed to have passed.  She hung in her bonds, trying to relax.

"What do you suppose that's about?" Betty inquired, "the e-mail, I mean."

"We'll find out soon enough," Belladonna shrugged, then smiled, strolled over, embraced Betty, and they shared a long, deep kiss.

After several long, wet seconds, Betty came up for air.  "I can taste Mistress on your lips," she whispered, and the kiss resumed.  More time passed, then she pushed away.  "You are getting good, you know," she purred.

"You're pretty good, yourself, Little One," Belladonna chuckled, "after I whip your heinie and tits for an hour to warm you up."

"If only you were really ticklish," Betty sighed, and they kissed, again.

On the screens, Megan had finally stopped crying.  She hung on the pole, unmoving, her fair, freckled skin shining with sweat, her captive flesh dimpled by her hemp bonds.  "I hate you," she said in a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the speakers.

Betty broke the kiss, rested her head on Belladonna's shoulder, and they both gazed at the screens.

"Poor thing," Betty whispered.

Dana Scully walked into the taskforce conference room to find Claudia, Lindsay, and Veronica patiently waiting.  "Sorry," she muttered.  "The other group wanted to brief me on their progress."

"It took a twenty minute conference call to say 'nothing to report'?" Lindsay huffed.

"Be fair," Veronica admonished.  "They didn't have to call at all."

Lindsay shrugged.  "That's true," she conceded.

Scully smiled.  Maybe the rookie was finally learning a little tact.  "We agreed that our group should pursue the phone records and any other longterm developments, and they'll handle the more immediate aspects."

"Which at the moment means almost nothing," Lindsay huffed.  "I assume we're to pass on anything we discover that calls for immediate action?"

"As long as we get Gracie and Megan back," Veronica said, "I don't care who gets credit for what."

Silence hung in the air for several seconds.  That was how they all felt. 

Scully gazed at Veronica's sad, worried face.  The youngster was doing first-rate work, but there were signs of strain.  A case like this, with friends and colleagues in horrible jeopardy, could be a crucible.  Either it would temper the rookie's character, or it would burn her out before her career had even started.  So far, she was holding up.  Scully shifted her focus to Claudia.  "Anything new from the Central Bureau?"

Claudia shook her head.  "I tell them about the phone number Ronnie find, and they say they inform Lyon."

"And what the hell can INTERPOL Headquarters do from the far side of the Atlantic?" Lindsay muttered.

"They're just keeping their chain of command up to date," Scully answered.

Claudia nodded.  "Essatamente."

"What else?" Scully asked.

"Technical Services is analyzing the calling records," Veronica said.  "No GPS on the throw-away phone, unfortunately, but they've started triangulating the tower activations.  They'll e-mail me the results, as they come in."

"Unfortunately," Lindsay muttered, "all they've established, so far, is an area of about twelve square blocks."

"And the phone in question seems to have gone quiet," Veronica added.  "I just started a map overlay of the recent transactions of the Realtors on the original NSA list.  That might help."

Scully nodded.  "Okay."  She focused on Claudia.  "Agent Bosco, please remain a moment."  She smiled at the group as a whole.  "Good progress.  Let's get back to work."

Veronica sighed as she stood.  "What progress?"

Lindsay winked at Dana, as she stood.  "It's called leadership, Rookie," she chided in a stage whisper, "as in maintaining team morale."

"Oh," Veronica responded, then gave her boss a sheepish grin.  "Sorry.  I'm just... worried."

"But still doing excellent work," Scully noted, "like an experienced field agent."

"Now that's laying it on a little thick," Lindsay chuckled.

"You have your style," Scully purred, "and I have mine.  Back to work."

Lindsay flashed a smile as she shepherded her young partner from the conference room.  "Yes, ma'am," she muttered in her husky, alto voice.

The door closed and Scully and Claudia were alone.

"I know this is a painful subject," Scully said, focusing on the beautiful Carabinieri, "but I'd like you to brief me, in detail, on your personal experience with the Bondarella gang."

"Is in the file," Claudia responded.

"There's very little in the file from Lyon," Scully said, quietly.  "Not about your kidnapping, at any rate.  I need to know, Claudia."

Claudia sighed.  Her expression was grim.  "All information is important to the true investigatrice," she whispered, then nodded.  "One condition," she said.

Dana's eyebrows rose in mild surprise.  "Condition?"

"You come to my room," Claudia continued, "and I cook you the dinner.  Then we discuss."

Dana smiled.  "Your hotel room?"

Claudia nodded.  "It has the small kitchen."

Dana's smile broadened.  "Better yet, you come to my place and we'll cook dinner in a real kitchen.  There's an excellent market on the way.  We can leave in—"  She glanced at her watch.  "About an hour?"

"Perfetto," Claudia responded, finally smiling.  "I still have another call to make to the Central Bureau," she said as she stood.

Scully stood, as well.  "I know this is difficult," she said.

Claudia's smile never wavered.  "I understand why you ask.  One hour."

"One hour," Scully confirmed, and they left the conference room.

Scully felt guilty about enjoying what she was sure would be an excellent home-cooked Italian meal while god-only-knew-what was happening to Gracie and Megan... but they had to eat, and if it helped Claudia to open up...  She entered her office, went to the window, and gazed out at the airport.  A commercial cargo jet was slowly moving down a taxiway, in the far distance.

When this is over, she resolved, after Gracie and Megan are safe and their kidnappers captured, I'll help Claudia cook a feast for the entire team... after Gracie and Megan are safe.

Gracie had been released from her cage and peeled out of her straitjacket.  Then, her tape gag was replaced with a ball-gag, and her wrists were locked behind her back with hinged handcuffs.  She was dragged down the hall to a room lined with salmon-pink tiles, possibly the same chamber in which she had received her humiliating sponge bath and enema, soon after her arrival at... wherever the hell they were.  A second pair of cuffs were locked around her ankles, then, a noose in the end of a plastic-clad steel cable was dropped over her head and pulled tight around her throat.  The cable's other end ran through a pulley in the ceiling and down to a friction clamp solidly bolted to the far wall.  A second noose and cable dangled from a second pulley and down to a second clamp.  The drain in the floor and a hose and reel mounted opposite the clamps completed the picture.

Belladonna had done the honors, changing Gracie's bondage with her usual professionalism and giving her no chance whatsoever to mount more than a token resistance.

Gracie's hair was a tousled, dirty mess, and her body was still slick with sweat.  She stared at her torturer with sullen resignation.  The cuffs, both sets of cuffs, were heavy and tight, and the two-inch ball in her mouth was already making her drool.  At least the cable has a little slack, she thought, and my feet are flat on the floor.

The door opened and Betty ushered a very naked, tired, and sweaty Megan into the room.  Her bonds were identical to Gracie's, with the exception of the ankle cuffs and noose, but Betty immediately corrected both those deficiencies.  In seconds, the partners were side-by-side, helpless and awaiting their kidnappers' next move.

Gracie felt somewhat refreshed (in an anxious, tired sort of way) from her time in the cage, but Megan looked nearly spent.  Her eyes were red and her cheeks tear-stained.  She focused on Gracie and tried to force a smile, but the result was better described as a hideous grin, thanks to the rubber sphere filling her mouth to capacity and strapped tight enough to make her wet cheeks bulge.  Gracie got the message, nonetheless, and responded with a gag-distorted smile of her own.

"Poor things," Betty purred.

Gracie and Megan's heads snapped around and they glared at Betty's beautiful, lifeless mask.

"Mercy me," Betty chuckled.  "If looks could kill."

"I believe our guests would very much like five or ten minutes alone," Belladonna purred, "with the cuffs on our wrists, in the interrogation room of their choice."

"And with the camera turned off," Betty nodded.  "Well... we'll just have to make sure that never happens, won't we."

The door opened, again, this time revealing Bondarella.  "With me," she ordered, without crossing the threshold, then turned and took several steps back.

Betty and Belladonna followed their Mistress's order and the trio held a conference in the hallway.  They gazed at their helpless victims through the still open door as they talked in hushed tones.

Gracie could hear their voices, but they were too distant for her to make out even the occasional word.  It was clear, however, that something was up.  She turned and glanced at her partner.

Megan looked back, and managed a wink, to reassure her fellow captive.

They both sighed, and resumed gazing at their leather-clad and masked kidnappers as they continued their discussion.  For the moment, gazing and waiting was all they could do.

"This sucks," Belladonna muttered.  "You mean I'm not going to get to play with the freckled cop at all?  And I had plans for Miss New Jersey's tits, during round two."

"I'm not going to get to tickle Gracie," Betty noted, "and I had plans for Giggle-elf's armpits and pussy."

"Our patrons are also disappointed," Bondarella chuckled, "but you know my policy.  Risk management trumps pleasure, always."

"How disappointed?" Belladonna inquired.

"Let me handle our patrons," Bondarella responded.  "We'll make it up to them, and I'll make it up to you when we get home.  Besides, the endgame should be most entertaining."

"We could just shift venues to one of the backup sites," Belladonna suggested, "and keep to the original plan."

Bondarella shook her head.  "Timing is always the least controllable variable, and this isn't one of our usual snatch-and-grab operations where the police don't get involved until the game is over.  There are already too many sets of players on the other side of the board, and it's all happening in near real time.  We'll truncate and move on.  Get our guests secured.  The next phase is now active."

"We can have a little fun, can't we?" Betty begged.

"Of course," Bondarella purred, "just don't neglect your follow-through tasks and the monitoring of our final targets."

"Don't be insulting, Mistress," Belladonna huffed.

Bondarella laughed, then shook her head.  "My only regret is we didn't plan an actual two-at-once contingency from the very beginning.  If we had, the appropriate specialized equipment would be on hand."

"It was lucky we already had the extra-large canvas bag stowed in the truck, ready for the endgame," Belladonna noted.  "Otherwise, we would have had to improvise."

"Yes," Betty purred, "simply tying them together and letting them roll around on the floor would have been sooo crass."

Belladonna's mask swiveled and her green eyes locked on Betty.  "I know a sure cure for sarcasm," she growled.

"Enough," Bondarella chuckled.  "We all have things to do."  She turned and started to stroll away, then paused and turned back.  "Two-at-once," she mused, aloud.  "I've just had the most delicious idea.  How does four-at-once sound?"  She turned and continued on her way, without waiting for a reply.

"Four-at once?" Betty whispered.  "First she's worried about risk management and now she wants to change the final sequence on the fly?  Should we be worried?""

Belladonna shook her head.  "Mistress is nothing if not inventive.  She's probably only thinking about some form of embellishment."  She nodded towards Gracie and Megan.  "And they're the ones who should be worried."

"Oh, I'm sure they are," Betty giggled as the catsuited pair returned to the tiled room.

Gracie and Megan watched with tired eyes as Belladonna pulled several feet of hose from the reel and Betty dropped a large sponge and a dollop of liquid soap into a steel bucket.

"A pity you turned off the hot water in here," Betty remarked.

"Yes," Belladonna agreed, "but the water isn't that cold, until after it runs for a while—"  She pointed the hose's nozzle at the bucket, pulled its trigger, and the bucket began to fill.  "—like now."

Betty's mask faced the prisoners.  "Don't worry," she purred.  "The enemas will be warm."

Gracie and Megan's gazes hardened into angry stares.

Bitch! Gracie thought.

Bitch! Megan silently agreed.

Scully and Claudia entered Scully's Georgetown apartment, burdened with shopping bags bulging with fresh produce, bundles of fresh spices, a bottle of extra-virgin olive oil, a hideously expensive bottle of balsamic vinegar, four kinds of cheese, several cuts of choice meats, and two bottles of moderately priced wine.  The one bedroom, ground floor apartment was dark, but the light filtering through the closed drapes of the main room's bay window provided adequate light for Claudia to identify and start moving toward the open kitchen to the left.

Scully switched on the lights, closed the door, threw the deadbolt, then followed her guest with her share of the groceries.  "Would you like to freshen up?" she asked.  Both were still dressed in the same business wear—jackets, blouses, skirts, and heels—that they'd worn all day.

"No, I start with the zucchini and melanzana," Claudia answered, shrugging out of her jacket.  "But please, be comfortable."

"I'll hang that for you," Scully said, taking the jacket.

Claudia smiled, shrugged out of the leather shoulder holster holding her Beretta and two spare clips, and handed it to her hostess, as well.

"The pots and pans are easy to find," Scully said as she walked to her bedroom, "but give a shout if you can't find something."

"Okay!" Claudia called back over her shoulder.

Scully dropped Claudia's jacket on the bed, then carried the Beretta and holster to her chest of drawers.  It went into the top drawer, along with her SIG-Sauer and ID case, then she removed her own jacket and hung them both in the closet.  She stepped out of her heels and into a pair of slippers, then clopped into the bathroom and splashed water on her face.

Scully's green eyes gazed back from the mirror as she patted her face dry with a towel.  She forced from her mind the images of the things Bondarella had done to "Lady Andra", the sort of things she might be doing to Gracie and Megan at this very moment, and sighed.  Gracie and Megan remained in her thoughts, but she imagined them free and smiling and helping with the prosecution of their former kidnappers.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash, the sound of a metal pot being dropped.

Scully rehung the towel and hurried towards the kitchen.  "Claudia?" she called.  "Are you okay?  What—"

Scully froze—with her hands at her sides and carefully away from her body.  Claudia was kneeling on the kitchen floor with her hands on top of her head.  Next to her was a woman dressed in skintight, black leather pants, knee boots, a low cut silk blouse of blood red silk, and a black leather toreador jacket with red accents.  Her long, brown hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and a shining black half-mask covered her upper face.  A smile curled her full, red lips.  What was unmistakably a compact taser was in her gloved, left hand, with its twin, shining copper studs against Claudia's left ear.  A handgun of some sort was in her right, and it was aimed at Scully.

A lemon was stuffed in Claudia's mouth, and her angry, brown eyes flashed as her gaze darted from the leather-clad and masked newcomer, to Scully, and back.

"Good evening, Agent Scully," the stranger purred.  "I can zap Investigatrice Bosco into instant unconsciousness, and a dart from this pistol will knock you out in less than two seconds, leaving an unsightly bruise, I might add.  And if you're thinking that some sort of valiant effort, however improbable your chance of success, is your best hope—"  She pressed the taser until Claudia winced.  "A charge to the skull is the only sure way to ensure the instant result I require, but there is a very slight chance the experience will have, shall we say, lingering effects on the fair Signorina.  This is a specialized, low-voltage device, but there is a slight risk, and I'd rather not take it, if possible.  Don't you agree?"

Scully considered her options.  She had none.

"Very slowly," the stranger continued, "I want you to raise your hands, interlace your fingers, and place them atop those magnificent titian locks."

Scully complied.  "Who—"

"Not a word!" the intruder ordered.  "Not one word.  Now, come forward, slowly—"  She nodded at Scully's table.  "—and pull out that chair."  Again, Scully complied.  "Excellent.  Step in front, slowly lift your skirt, and show me you have nothing strapped to either of your thighs.  Oh, and kick those ugly, ratty slippers across the room."

As gracefully as she could manage, with her hands atop her head, Scully kicked off her slippers, first the right, then the left.  She was now in her stocking feet—her pantyhose feet, actually.  Unarmed combat on the carpet would not be a problem, but she knew that it would be much more difficult if she tried anything on the hardwood floor of the kitchen and dining area.  She lifted her skirt by its lower hem.

"Higher," their captor ordered, "and hold it away from your hips."

Scully did so, fully exposing her pantyhose-clad crotch, and the panties underneath.  She felt her cheeks burn as she blushed in humiliation.

"A full pirouette," was the intruder's next order, "slowly, and up on your toes."

Scully slowly turned on her tiptoes.  The drapes of the bay window weren't opaque, but no one on the street would be able to see anything of what was happening inside her apartment.  Also, there was nothing useful as a weapon anywhere in sight.  Nothing.  She completed the circle and came down off her toes.  Claudia was still angry, but was just as helpless as Scully—for now.

"Very pretty, Agent Scully," the stranger purred.  "Very graceful.  Now, unbutton the blouse, grab the tails, and hold it open and away from your body, then dance on your toes for me, again."

Scully let her skirt drop, then pulled open the buttons of her white cotton blouse, one-by-one.  She pulled it open and away from her torso, as ordered, exposing herself from the waistband of her skirt to her armpits, including her breasts, covered only by her "nude"-colored bra.  Her coral nipples were clearly visible through the sheer fabric of the cups.  She tried to keep the anger from her eyes as she went up on her toes and turned, again, in a slow, full circle.

"Such pretty, fair skin, and such a firm tummy," the stranger cooed, "and yet, with just a hint of baby fat.  Delightful.  Don't you agree, bella?"  The question was for Claudia, but her eyes and the sights of the tranquilizer pistol never wavered from Scully.

Claudia and Scully locked eyes.  There was nothing they could do, but eventually their captor might make a mistake, and they would be ready.

"Excellent," the stranger purred.  "Now, take off your pantyhose, sit, cross your ankles, and use the pantyhose to bind them together for me.  Slowly.  And make it nice and tight, or I'll zap bella Claudia, so I only have one of you to handle at a time, and then I'll bind them myself."

"I know who you are," Scully muttered, as she peeled her pantyhose down, sat, and stripped them from her legs.

"Such a clever detective," Bondarella chuckled, "a modern-day Irene Adler.  You even have her pretty red hair.  Nothing in your file suggests you can sing Grand Opera, however.  But I remind you, we agreed that I'd be doing all the talking."

Scully glared as she crossed her ankles, wrapped the pantyhose around them, twice, cinched it tight, and tied a square-knot.

"Hands,"  Belladonna ordered.

Scully no longer tried to conceal her feelings.  Her green eyes flashed and her features were set in an angry pout as she interlaced her fingers and settled her palms atop her head.

"This pistol has a twelve dart magazine and cycles in approximately three-tenths of a second, by the way," Bondarella announced, then took the taser away from Claudia's ear and slid it into the side-pocket of her jacket.  The pistol was now aimed at a point midway between the captives.  Bondarella remained in complete control of the situation.  Her eyes never leaving her prisoners, she reached behind and into the side pocket of a small, leather gym bag on the kitchen counter, and produced a ball-gag.  Its translucent rubber ball was tinted a deep emerald green, the chin and main straps were of brown leather, and the buckles were a dull bronze.  "Here," she said, tossing the gag to the floor at Claudia's knees.  "This is for our hostess.  I chose the colors to complement her Celtic complexion and hair.  Shuffle on over to her on your knees, and do the honors.  The limone remains in your pretty mouth, of course, and make sure you don't block my line of fire, understand?"

Claudia favored her captor with a withering glare, then forced a sigh around the yellow fruit filling her mouth.  She picked up the gag and shuffled to Scully's chair, keeping her hands raised at her sides.

Scully locked eyes with her fellow captive, heaved a sigh of her own, then nodded and opened her mouth.  Her gaze shifted to Bondarella as Claudia popped the ball into her mouth.  It snapped between her teeth and forced her jaws wide as the main straps were pulled back and buckled.

"I like them tight," Bondarella purred, "as you very well know, bella.  Make sure the chin strap is especially tight, and be careful not to trap or snag any strands of those pretty, ginger locks."

The brown leather bands tightened until Scully's cheeks bulged.  Claudia secured the chin strap, then pulled Scully's hair free and tightened the main strap, again.

"Excellent," Bondarella purred, then took a step to the side.  Using her left hand, and with her eyes never leaving the captives, she opened the gym bag's main compartment, pulled out a neat coil of hemp rope, and tossed it to Claudia.  "Nice and tight, using my preferred method, and don't make any subtle 'mistakes', or I'll dart you and do it myself.  And when you wake up, you'll find that I've discovered binding techniques that are even more unpleasant than what you endured during our previous encounter."

Claudia had caught the rope—it appeared to be about fifty feet in total length—but made no move to follow Bondarella's instructions.

"You're trying my patience, bella," Bondarella muttered, and made a shooing motion with the pistol.

Claudia sighed, and began undoing the wrappings holding the coil together.

About ten minutes and several coils of hemp rope later, Scully was no longer in any position to help Claudia overpower their captor, no matter what happened.  Bondarella had kept careful watch as Claudia bound Scully's upper body with the same crossed-wrist, reverse-prayer, box-tie technique she'd used to bind Veronica during her demonstration back at the task force office.  Where it was visible between the disordered, rumpled folds of her still open blouse, Scully's fair, peachy-pink skin was dimpled by the tight, neat bands of brown hemp.  Her breasts, still covered by her sheer, nude bra, bulged between the same ropes, as well as the additional strands yoking her shoulders and binding her to the chair.  Claudia had untied the pantyhose and tossed them aside, then bound her legs together, above and below her knees and around her ankles.  The last coil of rope criss-crossed her body and the chair, enforcing a sitting hogtie, with her toes and feet off the floor.

Her task accomplished, Claudia took a step to the side, settled to her knees with her rump on her heels, placed her hands atop her head, lowered her chin, and stared at the floor.

Scully's bonds were neat, symmetrical, and carefully hitched, as far as she could tell.  Her skirt had hiked up during the process, and she gazed down at the bands of hemp lashing her thighs to the seat of the chair.  There's no way I can get out of this, she realized.  She doubted she could make any of the ropes even shift in place, no matter what she tried.  She lifted her eyes and glared at their captor.

Bondarella smiled and pointed her pistol at Claudia.  "Spit out the lemon, bella," she ordered.

Claudia lifted her chin, reached down and pulled the lemon from her mouth with her hand, and tossed it to the side.  She then licked her lips, worked her jaw, and placed her hand back atop her head.  "What do you want now, puttana?" she demanded.

Bondarella laughed as she thumbed on the safety of her pistol and holstered it under her jacket.  "What now?  Why, you can come over here and give me a kiss, of course."

Scully's eyes popped wide as Claudia laughed, jumped to her feet, rushed to their captor—to Scully's captor—and they embraced.  Scully struggled against her inescapable bonds as Bondarella and Claudia enjoyed a long, deep kiss.

Seconds passed, then the kiss ended.  Still in a tight, mutual hug, both women turned to regard the helpless prisoner.

"And now, Mistress?" Claudia inquired.

"And now..." Bondarella responded, "you can continue cooking.  It'll still be dinner for two, of course.  Agent Scully is fasting, for the time being."  Her blue-green eyes leered at Scully's disheveled, helpless form.  "She certainly doesn't need to watch her weight, but that pretty green ball is staying in her mouth.  We'll wait until after midnight to move her out of here, until all her neighbors have gone to bed and nothing is moving on the street."

Claudia planted a quick kiss on her Mistress's cheek, then set to work.

Scully blinked and stared at her masked captor as Bondarella took two steps closer.  She was still in shock from the revelation of Claudia's betrayal.

"Agent Scully," Bondarella intoned, her hands on her leather-clad hips, "you and your team have caused me and my team a great deal of trouble... and pleasure.  That's now over."

Bondarella's smile turned evil, to the point that it sent a chill shivering down Scully's spine. 

Bondarella reached out, lifted Scully's chin, and they locked eyes.  "I was being imprecise," she purred.  "For you, the trouble will continue, in spades."  She released Scully's chin and took a step back.

"My pleasure will continue, as well... also in spades."