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FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER |
 by Van ©2014 |
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| Epilogue |
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FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER |
| by Van ©2014 |
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| Epilogue |
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OUR STORY CONCLUDES | |
AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
SOMEPLACE IN NORTH AMERICA
(OR NOT)
The chamber had started out as a basement storeroom, twenty feet by thirty feet with an unusually generous ceiling height of twelve feet. After a thorough cleaning, the concrete walls and ceiling were sealed and painted flat black. Then, acoustic panels covered in black fabric were installed to absorb sound. Next, a grid for track lighting was bolted to the ceiling. The chamber already had electrical power, but the service was upgraded. Likewise with heating and air conditioning. Finally, the floor was leveled and sealed with epoxy, for ease of cleanup.
Suki had done most of the work herself, between kidnapping operations and over the course of several months, finishing more than a year ago. When practical, depending on the task at hand, she'd labored either completely nude or in a full bodysuit of skintight latex... and in chains, almost always in chains. Why? Because it pleased her Mistress, of course.
Actually, Dr. B considered the use of "slave labor" for purposes of home renovation to be theatrical and rather cliché, but obviously it pleased Suki to please her with displays of her Captive Subservience (with a side of Brave Defiance and a dash of Tragic Ennui), so who was she to say no? Besides, the sight of Suki laboring nude in chains, especially when her fair, smooth skin was all sweaty and her black hair in damp disarray, a pout on her lips and batting her big blue eyes... Cliché be damned! She was gorgeous!
Anyway, all of Suki's hard work (with Dr. B pitching in for the heavy lifting) was to provide a suitable setting for the star of the show: The Evil Chair of Doctor Bondage!
The chair in question had begun life as an adjustable surgical couch designed to support patients in a variety of positions for different surgical procedures. It was a bit of an antique, dating to the fifties or sixties, and Dr. B had gotten it for a song at auction. She cleaned and sanded the steel frame, then sprayed on gunmetal-gray epoxy paint. Ratcheting gears and worm-drives controlled by small handwheels allowed for the repositioning and fine adjustment of the chair's various elements, and the mechanisms were all cleaned and lubricated. Finally, the chair's padding was replaced by modern gel-pads covered in a breathable, washable, dark brown fabric.
The final result was classic Mad Scientist, with none of the Sci-Fi ambiance of most modern medical furniture. It was also decidedly sinister, thanks to the plethora of medical restraints and straps dangling from the chair's seat, back, leg supports, foot stirrups, armrests, and headrest. All were butternut leather with white leather padding. Another Evil Villainess/Mad Scientist/Depraved Doctor might have gone with black-on-black-on-black, but Dr. B liked the look of classic butternut restraints on a naked damsel, and it was her chair, her lair, and her choice.
And speaking of naked damsels...
Suki was comfortably reclined on her back in the chair. Its various elements were locked in "Gynocological Exam" mode, leaving her legs lewdly splayed with her knees bent and her bare feet in the steel stirrups. Padded cuffs were around her ankles, and straps buckled tight just below her knees and across her thighs. More straps secured her waist and passed above and below her breasts. Her arms were raised and bent at the elbow with her wrists in cuffs and straps securing her forearms and biceps. Finally, a padded collar encircled her neck and a narrow strap crossed her forehead. Together they pinned her head to the headrest. A ball-gag with a butternut strap and a two-inch sphere of white silicon rubber filled her mouth and was buckled tight enough to make her cheeks bulge. All the straps were tight enough to dimple her pale flesh and all the buckles incorporated spring-loaded catches that required the use of two hands to release.
Sensor-pads with long, thin wires trailing away into the darkness were adhered to Suki's temples, both sides of her throat, over her heart, and over her femoral arteries. Spotlights bathed her pale, glistening skin in white light. The air was humid and hot, but that wasn't the only cause of her sweaty, flushed condition. Her eyes were squeezed tightly closed and her mouth grimaced as she bit into her ball-gag. Her nostrils flared, and her breasts heaved as much as her stringent bonds would allow. There was a cause for all of that as well.
Mounted on a wheeled pedestal clamped to the chair frame and running in a metal track on the floor was a machine. It had a dozen or so tongue and finger-sized pads, all clad in translucent latex and mounted to the ends of articulated, robotic steel arms. Some of the pads were studded with rounded bumps and some with soft bristles. And at the moment, several of the pads were pressed and vibrating against Suki's upper thighs, lower tummy, and pink, moist labia. Other pads, also vibrating, were in motion, slowly caressing the pale skin between the stationary pads. It was a complex mechanical dance, with the arms and pads shifting positions and changing roles. Sometimes only a few of the arms were in gliding motion, and sometimes only a few were pressing against Suki's sweaty, quivering flesh.
There was no penetration.
Suki's panting moans and the quiet whirring of the machine were the only sounds in the chamber.
Suddenly, all of the tiny robotic arms retracted into their housings with a series of quiet clicks and clacks. Then, the entire machine pulled back, rolling away from the chair about four feet and locking in its track with a click.
The chamber's steel door opened and Dr. Bondage entered. Suki gazed at her Mistress and heaved a gagged sigh.
Dr. B had been poolside, basking in the sun in a very skimpy, peach-pink string bikini and sipping a mojito, but she'd taken the time to don sandals and a white lab coat before coming to visit her beloved Suki. The coat was unbuttoned, revealing the evilly smiling doctor's underlying costume, as well as a great deal of tan, smooth skin shining with sunscreen. She smiled down at Suki for several seconds, letting her gaze travel over the helpless prisoner's heaving, glistening breasts and erect nipples, flat tummy, black pubic thatch, pale thighs, and rosy-pink labia. She then released the forehead strap, followed by the ball-gag. Dr. B hung the gag on a convenient hook mounted on the side of the headrest, then strolled to the area between Suki's splayed legs and the retracted machine. "Well?" she inquired. "That's two hours."
Suki licked her lips before answering. "I think it actually works," she croaked.
"Hold that thought," Dr. B chuckled, then went back to the hallway and returned pushing a stainless steel lab cart. Among the many things on the cart, most of which Suki couldn't see very well from her reclined position, was a large laboratory beaker holding a bottle of sports drink nestled in crushed ice. Suki smiled as Dr. B opened the bottle, then held it to her lips so she could drink. "Thanks," Suki sighed. "Anyway, it works."
Dr. B and her assistant had an ongoing research project in the science of doing nasty but pleasurable things to helpless naked women. Suki wanted to call the field "DiDology," the scientific study of Damsels-in-Distress, but Dr. B argued that term was far too general and at the very least they should use "Applied ErotoDiDology." However, she didn't really like that either. It was sufficiently pompous, but she didn't like it.
Suki's other two suggestions had been (1) "Diddlology," which had made Dr. B laugh and earned the little Goth a spanking, and (2) "Gwendolinology," which was far too inside-the-game. What they needed was just the right Greek or Latin translation of the Damsel-in-Distress concept. They agreed they would kidnap an attractive female classicist at their first opportunity. Anyway, the naming of the new discipline was a work in progress.
The main work in progress, however, was the development of a machine that could diddle a damsel for extended periods of time without bringing her to orgasm. In other words, an Engine of Frustration, or "EoF." Of course, it was more a System of Frustration. Several things had to come together to insure the damsel didn't cum. Specifically, sensors had to collect data on the damsel's state of arousal, the vibrating pads on the robotic arms had to do arousing things, and software had to coordinate everything. And to make the EoF really work, an artificial intelligence capable of machine learning had to be in charge. It was not a trivial task, and they'd been at it for some time.
The Sybian they'd used to "entertain" Helena Garrett had been a stripped down version of EoF 1.0, without biometric feedback sensors and with a thrusting dildo and simple vibrating pads. It relied on extended rest periods to frustrate its subject. That said, the software coordinating the action of the shaft and vibrators was rather sophisticated, and Suki was the code-monkey responsible.
Their latest EoF—the machine at the end of the floor-track between Suki's legs and patiently waiting to get back to work—included the fearsome Mechanical Beast-of-Many-Arms, Suki's fully mature control code, Dr. B's latest biometric sensor refinements, and Suki's third generation coordinating A.I.
"Seriously," Suki sighed. "It works. I didn't cum once. As soon as I come close, pun intended, the machine backs off."
"And it didn't just repeat the same subroutines over and over?" Dr. B asked.
"No," Suki answered. "And I was looking for that. The combinations of pad activity, intensity, and duration never seemed to repeat. I need to study the session logs, but I think it works!"
"You didn't cum?" Dr. B purred, "not even once?"
"Not even once," Suki sighed. "That cusp-of-cumming biometric saddle-point you talked about seems to be real. It really could tell when I was close."
Dr. B smiled. "Excellent. Well, I guess we've had a successful trial." She turned to face the lab cart, snapped on a pair of latex gloves, then turned back to the chair and spritzed alcohol on Suki's crotch. She then used a small white towel to scrub the test subject's labia, thighs, and lower tummy, including her pubic bush.
Suki gasped at the sensation of the cool alcohol, sighed as Mistress cleaned her nether region, then watched Dr. B turn back to the cart. "If you'd just let me go I could take a shower," she suggested with a grin. She knew that wasn't going to happen, but asking was part of the game. Her eyes popped wide and the grin disappeared when Dr. B turned back with a small aerosol can in one hand, a stainless steel safety razor in the other, and a truly evil smile curling her lips. "Beebe!" Suki complained. "You just shaved me!"
"Three months ago," Dr. B chuckled. "You've grown back completely." She nodded towards Suki's pubic thatch. "I could tie bows in that stuff."
Suki tried her most pitiful pout, even though she knew it was pointless. "I thought you liked my curlies," she whined.
"Oh, I do," Dr. B admitted, "but I've found this new shaving cream... with menthol and pepper oils."
Suki's eyes popped even wider. "P-pepper oils?"
"Five varieties of pepper oil," Dr. B confirmed as she spritzed a generous clump of cream onto her left palm. "It's a new product by a small company that specializes in essential oils and perfumes. Their chief research scientist shares many of our interests." She smiled at the fluffy mass of cream. "Look, it's pink. It must have a lot of pepper oil." She shifted her smile back to Suki. "She warned me not to get any of it on sensitive skin."
"Beebe!" Suki whined, squirming in her inescapable bonds.
Dr. B's smile turned even more evil. Suki only used her real name, Beebe, when she was really upset... or aroused.
"Nooooo!" Suki gasped. Dr. B had applied the cream to her pubic area, including her labia! "Beebe!" She watched as Mistress used the towel to clean her glove, then strolled to the head of the chair. "It burns," Suki whined.
"But only a little," Dr. B purred, "correct?"
"It's not too bad," Suki admitted, then shivered in distress. "W-wait! It's getting wrrrz—Nrrrf!" The ball-gag was back in her mouth and Dr. B was buckling the strap as tight as before. "Mrrrf!" Suki continued complaining and squirming as Mistress buckled the forehead strap in place, pinning her head in place, once again.
"Yes," Dr. B chuckled as she strolled back to the area between Suki's legs, "it takes a minute or so for the full intensity to develop." She pulled the razor from her lab coat pocket. "I better get that nasty stuff off of there, don't you agree?"
Suki's wide-eyed distress and violent struggles suggested she very much agreed.
Dr. B set about shaving Suki's crotch with slow, methodical strokes, using the towel to wipe cream from the razor as she worked. She knew that some of the oils in the pink fluff would remain behind on Suki's pale, smooth skin. She'd already tested the cream on herself before using it on her precious partner. She hadn't shaved herself, of course. Personally, Dr. B preferred a clearly defined but luxuriant pubic bush. However, she had let a generous dab of cream sit on her labia for a full hour. It had burned, of course, but it wasn't that bad. The burning sensation quickly became a slowly fading tingle something like a sunburn. The last remnants of the burn were with her still—even as she carefully dragged the exquisitely sharp razor across Suki's quivering flesh—even though she'd wiped the cream from her own labia hours ago, well before before she buckled Suki to the chair for their experiment.
"I also have a vial of the same mix of oils," Dr. B announced as she used the towel to brush away the last of the cream from Suki's defoliated crotch. "If you don't mind, I'll paint a layer on your nipples. Then, we'll see if you can go two more hours without cumming."
Suki screamed through her gag and fought the chair's bonds with all her strength, but it was pointless. "Nrrrf!" Mistress had returned the towel to the lab cart and was dipping a small paintbrush in a clear vial of ruby-red liquid. Suki knew she was really in for a hard time, and there was nothing she could do about it—and her pussy continued to smolder. She was almost surprised there wasn't steam and/or smoke drifting into the hot, humid air from between her legs. "M'mmmmmpfh!" Her pathetic struggles were useless, both physically and as interpersonal communication.
When Beebe is in one of her moods, the Prisoner of the Chair mused, there's no reasoning with her.
| A Kiss Before Tying | |
Epilogue |
Beebe was still wearing the same bikini and lab coat. As she entered her home office (which Suki referred to as her "Lair of Lairs"), the shaving of Suki's crotch and anointment of her nipples with titillating oils was an hour in the past. She settled into her very expensive and comfortable executive office chair, kicked off her sandals, then leaned back and put her bare feet up on the desk. She then stretched, lifting her arms over her head and pointing her toes—"Eyaaah!"—then leaned forward and retrieved an iPad from the desk.
She tapped and slid her finger across the iPad and the sixty-five inch, wall-mounted touch screen across the office glowed to life and displayed an orderly array of folders and icons. She tapped an icon and several windows popped. The largest was a live video feed of Suki on the Evil Chair. The EoF was doing its thing between the flushed, sweaty, squirming, and helpless test subject's splayed legs, halfway through the second two hour session the Evil Doctor Bondage had promised before abandoning her to the mercy of the machine. Neighboring windows displayed graphs and tables of scrolling numbers. If the oils on Suki's crotch and nipples were still having any effect, Beebe couldn't tell from the raw data. She'd have to ask Suki herself, later. The pattern recognition programs they used to analyze their data might shed some light as well.
Beebe smiled. Suki was a sight to behold. When her bonus session was over, Beebe would take the precaution of locking a steel chastity belt around the little Goth's waist and between her legs. This particular model incorporated steel thigh bands connected by a short chain that prevented the wearer from separating her legs and reaching under the margins of the pussy-shield. It was an outstanding countermeasure for unauthorized masturbation. Just what the Doctor ordered.
And tonight, after dinner and a "relaxing" evening of reading, movie and/or TV watching, and Suki eating her Mistress' pussy a few times, Beebe would remove the belt and return the favor, and Suki would finally get to cum. Beebe's smile broadened, Suki was always such a grateful little bunny when that happened. That was why Pussy-on-a-Diet was one of their favorite games—although, at this very moment, she knew "favorite" was probably not the way Suki would describe the experience.
Beebe tapped the iPad and the video and data windows reduced in size and migrated to form a vertical stack on the left-hand margin of the giant screen. More tapping and gliding followed as Beebe checked her email and text messages, monitoring the various buffered data streams by which she communicated with her professional (meaning criminal) contacts.
She learned that the matter of Charles Carson was now before a federal grand jury. The man was an idiot. She'd told him there was always a possibility Helena Garrett might be rescued early, and he'd agreed that she'd be paid in full, regardless.
That said, Beebe knew she had made serious mistakes—at least three: (1) She underestimated by half the amount of time it would take for Bertie to free her partner. (2) She assumed they would call the police immediately, which would have added the complication of bringing the authorities up to speed, canvasing the building's residents, talking a judge into issuing search warrants, etc. That alone should have more than compensated for the early escape of the detectives. (3) She also underestimated Kitty and Bertie's intelligence. Their rapid discovery of the safe room dungeon was remarkable.
Beebe called up photos of Helena, Kitty, and Bertie Finch. Doctor Bondage delighted in turning beautiful women into Damsels-in-Distress, and that included inescapable bondage, but her sense of sport required there being more than a glimmer of hope that they'd escape. In this case, the delicious little Brit had been the designated escape clause for the coterie of captives.
She focused on Bertie's image. She must have been magnificent, Beebe thought, squirming around the apartment, looking for Suki's gift, the knife that was their only chance to get free before being discovered hours, if not days, later—not knowing I'd be sending a message to the police to come rescue them and the four-eyed lawyer the morning of the third day. Magnificent.
Anyway, lesson learned. Next time—not that any future operation would be a copy of the past—Beebe would insist on tighter control of all elements of the timeline.
Hmm... we could have left the knife overhead, Beebe mused, suspended from a string with a classic melting ice release mechanism. That way, all the detectives could have done would be to squirm in their bonds, stare up at the dripping ice... and wait. Delicious. She opened an iPad app and made an entry, reminding herself to design an experimental protocol for the development of a reliable ice-timer.
It was a pity they couldn't have brought either Bertie or Kitty back with them for more fun, but Dr. B never, ever brought damsels to any of her several lairs. Her kidnapping escapades were already dangerous. Transporting bound and gagged women great distances, then making sure they were released unharmed with absolutely nothing in their memories or on their bodies that might lead the police back to the lair in question? That was too great a risk. The kidnappings themselves were enough of an indulgence. In any case, Kitty Wynter was far too dangerous to keep as a pet, and she could tell it would have crushed Bertie's spirit to be separated from her partner. She closed the windows with Helena. Kitty, and Bertie's photos.
Beebe's gaze returned to the still active video window of Suki's suffering. The EoF might actually be working at long last, as Suki claimed, but the pale little Goth was a sample of one. Beebe herself would be the EoF's second "victim" sometime next week, but they'd agreed that additional test subjects were required.
For that reason, the next phase of their research protocol would be to develop an easily portable version of the Beast-of-Many-Arms, perhaps with fewer robotic arms and with clamps and suction cups so the device could be mounted to a chair, table, or any convenient hard surface and easily removed after diddling (meaning not quite diddling) a test subject. The sensors were already portable, and the control software and A.I could be run in whole or in part on a powerful laptop or over the internet. Yes, field trials were the answer, and Dr. B's clients need never know their revenge plots were aiding scientific progress.
And speaking of clients...
Beebe opened a series of folders, popping windows that displayed summaries of proposals sent to Dr. Bondage by various brokers and contacts. None were time sensitive and all would pay handsomely. Prominent in each window was a photo of the proposed kidnap victim. All met Beebe's most important criteria: (1) they were beautiful, (2) they were over the age of eighteen, and (3) they were beautiful.
Next...
Beebe closed the file.
Beebe tapped the iPad, flagging the file for future study.
The anthropologist's file was also flagged.
Yes, this file had definite possibilities. It was also flagged.
Beebe heaved a sigh. There was no shortage of either potential clients or kidnap victim/test subject/playthings. She closed all the folders and returned the video of Suki and the scrolling data to full prominence. "Later," she muttered under her breath. I'm on vacation, she reminded herself. I'll worry about the next case later.
Suki squirmed and writhed in her bonds. By this time, her pale skin was dripping with sweat and she was panting nonstop, with her breasts heaving between the straps. Her shining, gagged, gorgeous face grimaced in concentration.
Beebe considered either cutting the second session short or making a visit to hydrate the test subject with more sports drink. No, she decided. Suki would never forgive her if she interrupted the session. Besides, Suki would have her revenge when Beebe was the one strapped to the chair.
Smiling at the erotic spectacle on the screen, Beebe slid her hand under her bikini bottom, and slowly, gently, began stroking her pussy—even as the Beast-of-Many-Arms continued stroking and vibrating Suki's pussy—as it had for the last three hours—as it would for a fourth and final hour.
| The End of... | ||
| A Kiss Before Tying | |
Epilogue |
