||FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER|
| by Van ©2013
|OUR STORY BEGINS
Bertie Finch was wearing her best business attire, minus the jacket that matched her charcoal gray skirt and with the addition of a pink cardigan. She'd debated what to do with her pixie-short blond hair. There was no time to get it styled, so she's decided to go with gel, slicking it back with a part on the left. Personally, she liked her usual spiky, puckish look, but professionalism was the order of the day as Bertie was taking her first business meeting as a full partner in "Wynter & Finch Investigative Services."
Granted, the brass plate on the door of the office/condo read "Katerina Wynter, Licensed Private Investigator," and Bertie's official title remained that of "Secretary," but she had a P.I. license, just like Kitty, and was waging a campaign for what she considered a well deserved and long overdue promotion.
Bertie was seated at Kitty's desk in the front office. Across from her in visitor chairs were two lawyers. Both were blonds, like Bertie. One was known to her (and to Kitty, in the biblical sense) and the other was a potential client.
The known quantity, Assistant District Attorney Kirsten Braslow, was on the right, gazing at Bertie with a smirk curling her full lips and a sparkle in her blue eyes. Kitty referred to Braslow as "the Shyster," and Bertie thought their relationship might best be described as "frenemies with benefits." On more than one occasion Kitty had bound and gagged the tall, gorgeous lawyer, boinked her brains out, and had the favor returned (the boinking part, that is). Kitty hadn't shared all the details with her junior partner—she didn't kiss and tell—but Bertie knew Kirsten and Kitty had history... legal history, romantic history, etc.
Bertie wasn't jealous. She wasn't in the least bit jealous. Kitty might play her silly bondage games with her statuesque Shyster, with her long, silky hair, pouting (meaning fat) lips, and huge rack, but Kitty's heart belonged to Bertie.
The potential client on Bertie's left was Helena Garrett. After Braslow called to arrange the meeting, Bertie had fired up her laptop and done her due diligence. Garrett was a partner in a highly successful law firm and specialized in civil manners, mostly corporate takeovers and contract disputes, and apparently she was getting threats.
Bertie would classify Garret as a "hot nerd," and she was quite beautiful, with even features, hazel-green eyes, prominent cheekbones, button nose, and bow lips. And she was the perfect height, 5' 4", the same as Bertie. It was her eyeglasses that tilted things towards the nerd end of the spectrum. Yes, it's the glasses, Bertie decided. There was certainly nothing nerdy or awkward about Helena's demeanor. She was well spoken and self assured.... and sexy... very sexy. Yeah, hot nerd.
"I'm disappointed that Ms. Wynter has decided to make herself unavailable," Braslow purred, continuing her smirk.
"She's only unavailable at the moment," Bertie responded. "In any case, from what you've told me, the immediate issue is the security of Ms. Garrett's new apartment, and I'm the agency's physical and information security specialist."
"You're Kitty's hacker," Braslow suggested.
Bertie smiled back. "Who uses the term 'hacker' anymore?" She turned to Garrett. "You've received threats?"
Helena nodded. "Letters, e-mails, text messages, even greeting cards, all threatening but vague." She gestured towards the manila envelope on the desk. "It's all there."
"The operative word is vague," Braslow added. "The language is ominous but without explicit threats of violence. The police can't take action, which is why I suggested Helena come to you."
"We'll examine everything," Bertie said, "and tomorrow I'll personally evaluate the security of your building and apartment." Braslow glanced at her watch and Bertie took her cue and stood. The lawyers stood as well. "If there's nothing else, text me with your preferred time and I'll be there." She came around the desk, shook their hands, and led the way towards the front door.
"My regards to your partner," Braslow muttered as they crossed the office space.
Bertie noticed the ADA's eyes were on Kitty's collection of antique handcuffs. There were thirty-seven pairs, all hanging from a grid of decorative hooks. Bertie was quite familiar with the collection as she'd worn every single pair on one or more occasions, as part of her "training." Some of the designs were quite rare and unusual, but all were fully functional. "Those are Kitty's," Bertie explained.
ADA Braslow blushed. "I know," she muttered, cleared her throat, and made her exit.
"Thank you," Helena said with a smile, and followed her fellow lawyer.
Bertie closed the door, waited a few seconds for the sake of politeness, then turned the deadbolt lock, spun on her high heels, and crossed the office space, a broad grin on her freckled face. That went well. Better tell Kitty.
|A Kiss Before Tying|| Chapter 1
Bertie opened the door to the condo's largest open space. Kitty and Bertie used it as their gym and dojo, but its official designation was "the playroom." It had a hardwood floor and flush-mounted cabinets for "exercise equipment"—meaning bundles, coils, and entire rolls of various kinds of rope and cord, boxes and bins of steel rings, pulleys, shackles, snap-hooks, and everything else needed for rigging practice. One wall was an expanse of glass, mirrored on the outside like all the windows of the building. At the moment it was hidden behind lowered ceiling-to-floor venetian blinds. Steel eye-bolts and brackets were screwed into the walls at various heights and in a regular grid pattern across the ceiling. The room's only furnishings were a rolling ladder platform tucked in one corner, a rolled up exercise mat standing on end in another corner, and their "special chair."
The chair in question was in no way kinky or exotic. It would be perfectly at home as part of an unremarkable semi-modern dining set. However, its selection had required Kitty and Bertie to visit five furniture stores until they found just the right model. It was a wooden straight-back chair with a padded seat covered in beige fabric. Nothing unusual, but its slatted back was just the right height for a hypothetical occupant of average height to sit with her arms behind the chair-back and her armpits resting on its rounded top. It was quite solidly constructed, even though its legs weren't cross-braced in any way. In short, it was perfect for practicing chair bondage. As an added bonus, the store carried it in open stock, meaning they could buy just the one chair, rather than an entire set.
And speaking of the chair, at the moment it was occupied, and that occupant was Kitty Wynter herself.
Kitty was dressed in a navy blue power-suit, ready for the meeting that had just concluded, the meeting for which she had been "unavailable," and the reason for her unavailability was quite obvious. Kitty was bound and gagged. Royal blue nylon rope lashed her arms to her sides, yoked her shoulders, and bound her crossed wrists behind her back in a classic box-tie. Neat, tight bands of rope passed above and below her breasts and around her waist, just below her ribs and anchoring the wrist bonds against her spine. In addition, blue rope bound her legs together above and below her knees and around her ankles. Her gag was a white cotton cloth narrowly folded with a large knot tied in the center. It cleaved her mouth with the knot clenched between her teeth. Kitty's feet were bare, her stylish pumps having been removed and tossed in a corner. One final detail: she wasn't tied to the chair in any way.
Kitty stared daggers at her secretary, the perpetrator of her predicament.
"Don't be that way, Kitty-Kat," Bertie sighed. "You lost the bet fair and square." She strolled to the chair, swinging her hips seductively and smiling her infuriatingly cute smile, then sat on Kitty's lap. She parted the captive's hair, untied the gag, then pulled the knot from her mouth.
Kitty licked her lips and worked her jaw, continuing to stare daggers. "You're toast," she growled, finally. "A toasted English muffin."
"Now, now," Bertie chuckled. She'd been born in London and this wasn't the first time Kitty had compared her to an English bakery product. Her hands resting on Kitty's shoulders, Bertie leaned close and kissed her prisoner's pouting lips. "Pride comes before the fall, or in this case, pride comes before cooling your heels in the practice chair while bound and gagged."
"You bet me I couldn't get out of a crossed wrists tie with a highwayman's hitch as the key knot," Kitty huffed, "then you tied a full box-tie with the highwayman's hitch up between my shoulders. That's cheating."
Bertie sighed. "In the first place, I never specified a simple crossed wrists tie. In the second place..." She kissed Kitty's lips, again. "You let me."
Kitty continued to stare. "What you did was tie my wrists, then tie my ankles, then use a noose to keep me on my toes while you tied the box-tie. I didn't 'let' you. How was I supposed to stop you?"
Bertie glanced at the hangman's noose still dangling from an eye-bolt and pulley in the center of the room. "So, I get to practice my prisoner handling skills and you get to practice your capture resistance skills. What's the big deal?"
"You made me miss the meeting," Kitty huffed. "That's the big deal. You're toast."
Bertie combed strands of Kitty's tousled hair from her face as her partner and prisoner continued to glower. "I didn't tie you to the chair," she noted, "and I didn't leave you dancing on your toes. I was even nice enough to remove your pumps so you could hop around without breaking a heel. You could have attended the meeting."
A ghost of a smile curled Kitty's lips. "Yeah, I would have made a really good impression on the client when I hopped into the office bound and gagged. Very professional."
Bertie's cheeks dimpled and her blue eyes danced with mischief. "But think of the reaction of your 'Shyster' friend," she purred. "Braslow would have cum in her designer panties at the sight of you bouncing into view."
Kitty's smile was now unmistakable. "Toast. You're toast."
Bertie kissed Kitty's lips, then placed the knot of the gag back in her mouth, parted her hair, and tied the ends at the nape of her neck, cinching it tight enough to make Kitty's cheeks bulge. "I recorded the entire meeting, audio and video," she said, "so you really didn't miss anything." She stood and stretched. "Well, I'm taking a shower," she announced, then sauntered towards the bedroom door, swinging her hips as before. "Afterwards..." She paused in the open doorway and smiled back at her captive. "Since I'm toast, I guess I might as well smear myself with marmalade, like a good little English muffin." She then blew a kiss, waved, and was gone.
Kitty waited several seconds, then sighed through her gag, heaved herself to her bare, bound feet, and started hopping towards the bedroom. Might as well wait on the bed for 'Muffin' to see reason, she thought. She wasn't really mad. Kitty Wynter could appreciate a good prank as well as the next Top betrayed by her cheeky monkey of a Bottom. That didn't mean her revenge wouldn't be epic, of course. But Kitty knew that was what Bertie was counting on, for her revenge to be cruel, unusual, and epic.
|A Kiss Before Tying|| Chapter 1
Kitty was nude and sitting cross-legged in bed, reading the screen of her laptop and researching the career and personal life of Helena Garrett. The four-eyed blond had come from money, growing up in privilege in Connecticut, one parent a lawyer and the other a fashion designer. A Harvard alum, both undergraduate and law, she passed the bar on her first try, was recruited by a top Manhattan firm, moved to another, then was made partner in a third. She was smart, apparently a very good lawyer, and was loaded. She also had no social life to speak of—very little that had left any electronic footprint, anyway—and there was nothing in her work history that suggested why she was suddenly receiving vague threats. Granted, any talented corporate lawyer left a string of metaphorical corpses in her wake as she cut the proverbial swath through the boardrooms of Manhattan, but nothing stood out. Easy on the eyes (like the Shyster), workaholic, rich, entitled—that was Helena Garrett..
"So who wants to do Garrett harm?" Kitty mused aloud.
The question was probably rhetorical. Bertie was present, in that she was reclined on her back to Kitty's right, but she didn't answer the question.
Bertie's situation was as follows: (1) naked; (2) her left arm raised and bent at the elbow with her left hand behind her head; (3) her right arm at her side and folded up behind her back with her right hand between her shoulder blades; (4) and both legs bent at the knee with the heels of her feet pressed against their respective thighs. The same royal blue rope that had earlier bound Kitty in the practice chair now enforced Bertie's pose. One complex of neatly hitched bands bound her wrist-to-wrist and loosely encircled her neck. The other ropes enforced the frog-tie. It was a punishing predicament and Bertie had endured the ropes' tight, inescapable embrace for more than two hours.
It would have been truly punishing but for Bertie's fit, limber, athletic condition. Her regular practice of yoga, exercise, and the study of various martial arts had its rewards—among them the mitigation of the stringent, rope-enforced contortions Kitty regularly perpetrated on her petite body.
The tan, freckled body in question was shining with sweat, but this was as much a reaction to the clover clamps pinching her nipples and the knob of the wand-style vibrator lashed to her labia by a crotch-harness of blue rope as the prolonged bondage. The clover clamps weren't too bad, but the vibrator was plugged into a wireless controller, the controller was linked to Kitty's laptop, and the laptop was running a program that meted out randomly timed and highly frustrating pulses of vibratory stimulation. It was never enough to get Bertie off, but always enough to get her attention.
And then there was the way Kitty was ignoring her helpless and available bed partner. It was downright rude!
Granted, every now and then Kitty would teasingly tug on the chain connecting Bertie's nipple clamps, or would curl her right hand in a horrifically feline manner and use her nails to delicately scratch Bertie's left armpit and ribs, but mostly she worked on the case, her eyes never leaving the laptop screen. Bertie realized her beloved captor's "indifference" was all a part of her punishment, but it was infuriating... and frustrating... like the vibrator.
Bertie would have given Kitty a piece of her mind and answered the occasional rhetorical question, but she was gagged. Kitty had retrieved her panties from the laundry hamper, meaning Bertie's panties, and they were currently stuffed in her mouth and held there by a wide strip of Microfoam tape plastered over her lips and most of her lower face.
Kitty continued working... and Bertie continued stewing in her juices, both figuratively and, as the vibrator continued its intermittent buzzing, literally.
Finally, Kitty closed the laptop and moved it to the nightstand. Bertie's vibrator had been in mid tease as she did so and the wand immediately went inert. Kitty smiled at her secretary/partner. "You screwed up, Muffin," she purred, a wicked smile curling her lips and dimpling her cheeks. "You should have taken Garrett's fingerprints before she left so we could do elimination on the materials she left." She cupped Bertie's left breast, her hand gliding under the clover clamp's chain and giving the modest globe a gentle squeeze. "Granted, there's little chance any of the cards and letters have any prints other than her own, but I could be dusting them right now."
Bertie shivered in her bonds. She knew Kitty was teasing, meaning the bit about not fingerprinting the client, not the boob. Of course she was teasing her tit. Modest they might be, but Kitty liked teasing her tits.
Kitty continued kneading Bertie's breast. "As is, I've done just about all I can on the case tonight." With that, her hand left Bertie's breast and in one fluid motion she lifted the nipple clamp chain until the pressure stretched Bertie's nipples and breasts into pointing cones. She then used her other hand to release the clamps, first on the left and then on the right.
Bertie mewled through her gag and her helpless body shuddered. Her blue eyes locked with Kitty's.
Kitty tossed the clamps away, then reached down and gently peeled the tape from Bertie's lips. The little Brit's tan skin and coral lips stretched as the Microfoam surrendered its adhesive grip. Kitty then plucked the panties from Bertie's mouth and tossed the damp nylon wad and used tape away as well.
Bertie licked her lips before speaking. "Tomorrow I'll bring my fingerprinting kit to Helena's place."
A Jameson on the rocks was on the nightstand. Kitty lifted Bertie's head, shoulders, and bound arms the few inches required for her to drink, then held the moisture-beaded Old-fashioned glass to her lips.
Bertie drank, then wet her lips as Kitty eased her back down and returned the glass to the nightstand. "You're slipping, Kitty-Kat," she sighed, squirming in her inescapable bonds.
Kitty smiled. "Slipping?" She leaned close and untied the vibrator, then tossed it on the floor.
"This is hardly the worst thing you've ever done to me." Her tone and expression were serious, but there was mischief in her eyes.
"Oh, I see your problem," Kitty chuckled. "You think this is your punishment for the egregious betrayal of this afternoon." She leaned close and kissed Bertie's lips. "You have a security evaluation to conduct in the morning. Your actual punishment will come later, and it will be epic."
A ghost of a smile curled Bertie's lips. "How very professional of you. So..." She wiggled her hips and tugged on her wrist bonds. "I assume you're going to untie me so I can get some sleep?"
"Silly Muffin," Kitty purred. "It's still a little early for bed." She rearranged the pillows into sleep mode, then lay on her back and spread her legs. "If you want to sleep rope free—" She indicated her crotch with a languid gesture. "Wiggle down there and earn it."
Bertie sighed and tried rocking her bound body onto her side so she could inchworm her way to her target. The frog-tie and awkward position of her arms were giving her difficulty. "A little help here?"
Kitty smiled at her struggling partner. "And what would be the fun in that? Get a move on, or I'll find the riding crop and give you additional motivation. That would also be fun."
Bertie sighed, continued struggling, and finally made some headway. She succeeded in heaving herself off her back and onto her right side, then started squirming and wiggling her way down the bed. The tangled bedclothes weren't making the journey any easier.
Kitty watched Bertie's slow, difficult progress. It was adorable the way she wanted a promotion. And her chosen tactics for lobbying for said promotion were highly entertaining, including the prank she'd used to usurp the client meeting and the way she was handling the aftermath. Kitty had every intention of letting Detective Finch take lead on the Garrett case, and would tell her so in the morning. She was also inclined to acquiesce to Bertie's desired enhanced status. They'd have to figure out what a full partnership actually meant, but Kitty was willing to give it a try—not that she was going to say that to Bertie, of course. Cruel bondage and erotic torture aside, Kitty wasn't about to let the Muffin off that easily.
Finally, Bertie's body was between Kitty's splayed legs, her left elbow resting on Kitty's right thigh and her smiling lips hovering over Kitty's labia. She lifted her chin and gazed up Kitty's curly pubic bush, flat tummy, and round boobs to her lover's smiling face. "This pussy here, Kitty-Kat?" she asked, then pursed her lips and delicately blew on the labia in question. "Is this the one?"
"That's the one, Muffin," Kitty purred. "I'll let you know when you can stop."
Bertie heaved a decidedly non-convincing melancholy sigh, licked her lips, extended her tongue, and set to work.
|The End of...|
|A Kiss Before Tying|| Chapter 1