||FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER|
| by Van ©2014
|OUR STORY CONTINUES|
Bertie was nervous. Not all that nervous, but she was nervous. At any moment, Nikki would arrive for the rope demonstration, which actually was a rope demonstration but was also a chance for her, Bertie, to get to know the tall, blond, gorgeous cop better... and it might lead to getting to know her a lot better, so... Bertie was nervous.
Kitty had agreed to make herself scarce, meaning make herself absent from the Wynter & Finch office/condo for the rest of the day. She didn't say that in so many words, of course, but she'd "casually" emphasized that she'd be out for the entire day and would very much appreciate Bertie not calling her about anything unless it was earth-shatteringly important. Bertie solemnly agreed, and very much appreciated the space her partner (and lover) was giving her. Playing with Nikki would be fun—if it actually came to playing with Nikki—but it would be fun, and only fun.
Kitty-Kat Wynter was, and would always be, Bertie's other half. Kitty was her life.
Besides, Bertie didn't make a fuss when Kitty did unspeakably cruel and unbearably pleasurable things to Nikki's big sister, so why should Kitty mind if she did the same sort of stuff to the junior Braslow sibling? Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Bertie cautioned herself as she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom's closet door. We'll take it nice and easy. I don't want to scare her away.
She'd told Nikki to dress comfortably, to wear something that would give her freedom of motion, like for aerobics or yoga class. Bertie promised she'd be dressed the same. So...
After much internal debate—and much to Kitty's amusement, before she left—Bertie had settled on a pair of baggy running shorts in a predominately zinfandel (purple) floral print over a pair of black, thigh-length shorts in skintight Lycra, a pink sports bra, and a loose-fitting, spaghetti-strap tank-top in a black and fuchsia print that matched the pattern of the baggy shorts.
It was something she'd randomly grabbed from the closet and thrown on—and the fact that she was standing in a pile of every cotton, nylon, and/or Lycra clothing item she owned (and half of Kitty's) in no way implied she'd been trying on outfits for the last hour.
Bertie had finally managed to find time for a haircut, and her fine, pale-blond locks were now cropped short in a full pixie. She'd decided she might as well go low maintenance (meaning zero maintenance) and everyone (meaning Kitty) said she looked good as a post-Hermione Emma Watson wannabe, so why not? It would grow out if she didn't like it. It would also grow out if she did like it.
Bertie frowned at the mirror. This looks ugly, she decided—but before she could change clothes (again) the doorbell rang.
Bertie's heart hammered as she pattered in her bare feet to the front door, but she had composed herself by the time she arrived. She peeked through the peep-hole and her heart skipped a beat. It was Nikki. She was here. Bertie composed herself, again... then opened the door.
"Hi!" Nikki and Bertie said in unison, then laughed. Bertie took a step back and motioned for Nikki to enter.
Nikki was wearing running shoes, white cotton socks, black Lycra pants, possibly yoga pants, and a baggy, olive-drab army jacket. She unzipped and shrugged out of the jacket, hung it from one of a row of coat hooks mounted on the wall, then turned to smile at Bertie. The skintight pants were, indeed, yoga pants, and her only other clothing was a sports top, a bandeau-style top with spaghetti straps that met behind her back to form a "Y." It was steel blue, and more or less matched her eyes. Her long blond hair was pulled back and plaited in a tight, single braid secured with a black ribbon. Her skin was smooth and tan and flawless. She was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Her smile was gorgeous, and her blue eyes sparkled. She had strong arms, full, perfectly shaped breasts, and her lips—
Bertie blinked in surprise, then blushed. "Oh. Sorry. I was trying to decide how to begin."
Nikki's smile never wavered. "No problem." She noted Bertie's bare feet, then stooped, unlaced her running shoes, kicked them off, then pulled off her socks.
Bertie waited politely for her guest to bare her feet. That is, she ogled the spectacle of Nikki bending over and stretching the already stretched fabric of her bun-hugging pants across said buns. Not in a creepy way, of course, and not so Nikki would notice her leering attention—but Bertie's heart was hammering, again.
"You want anything?" Bertie offered. "Coffee? Tea?"
"I'm good." Nikki answered.
Bertie smiled at her guest... then realized she was making a dorky idiot of herself... again. "Uh, this way." She led the way to the playroom.
Bertie had already stowed away all the "incriminating evidence" of the things Kitty did to her in the space. The pad-eyes and eye-bolts mounted in the walls and ceiling remained, of course, but Bertie had stowed all the detachable clips, clamps, pulleys, and rings Kitty used to work her rigging magic, not to mention all the coils of rope and cord, leather straps and cuffs, gags, harnesses, etc., etc. All were in the closed cabinets lining the walls. The blinds on the window-wall were down, the punching bag hung forlornly from its chain in one corner, the ladder platform was rolled into the corner opposite, and the wooden practice chair was innocently tucked against the wall between a pair of cabinets.
Nikki padded to the middle of the open space, to the center of the very large exercise mat Bertie had unrolled to cover most of the hardwood floor. "So... you're gonna show me the way Dr. B tied up Kitty."
Bertie nodded, then strolled to one of the cabinets, opened the door, and selected three coils of conditioned hemp rope.
|A Kiss Before Tying|| Chapter 8
Half an hour of rope slithering and tightening around Nikki's firm, tan, athletic body later...
"To review," Bertie lectured, "this is called a box-tie." She used her fingers to trace the bands of rope pinning Nikki's upper arms to her sides, passing above and below her breasts, yoking her shoulders, and binding her crossed wrists against her spine and just below her shoulder blades.
"The sadistic version," Nikki purred, "with the wrists raised past the horizontal." She was kneeling on her Lycra-clad, folded and splayed legs with Bertie at her side.
"It's what Dr. B used on Kitty," Bertie said, somewhat defensively, "and you told me to do it."
"That I did," Nikki agreed, grinning at her captor. "We want to do this right."
"We do," Bertie agreed. She ran her fingers over the ropes binding Nikki's thighs to her lower legs. "And this is a frog-tie."
"All different forms of..." Nikki focused her smile on her captor. "What did you call it? Shibari?"
Bertie nodded. "There are Japanese words for all this, of course, but I'm more interested in the techniques than the language. Kitty's the same way."
"I thought honoring the traditional aspects was part of the subculture?" Nikki twisted her torso, testing her bonds.
"Some people worry about kimonos and bamboo," Bertie conceded, "but in my experience, most don't. Shibari methods are being absorbed into Western B&D. Some would say they've already been absorbed."
"In your interviews you said Kitty could barely move," Nikki noted. She rolled her shoulders, flexed her fingers, and wiggled her toes. "It might take me a while, but I think I could work my way around the room without too much trouble."
Bertie's smile broadened. Binding her guest, and especially her guest's reaction to being bound, had helped the little Brit relax. "Yes, but it wouldn't do you any good," she purred. "You're already helpless." She stood and strolled back to the cabinet. "Also, I'm not finished."
"I see." Nikki watched Bertie return with a fourth coil of rope.
"Flop down onto your stomach for me," Bertie said, "would you please?"
Nikki grinned. "It's not like I have a choice," she drawled. "Like you said, I'm helpless." She eased herself down onto her right side, then rolled onto her breasts, stomach, and thighs.
"Box-tie, frog-tie..." Bertie began looping rope through Nikki's existing bonds. "And now we add the hogtie."
Conversation lapsed as Bertie linked the various elements of the box-tie and frog-tie with a complex web of crisscrossing strands. She pulled out the slack, causing Nikki to arch her back as she was pulled into the hogtie. Bertie tied a quick-release knot, then repeated the process. She did this several times. The result wasn't quite as stringent as what Dr. B had done to Kitty, but it left Nikki balanced on her tummy in a tight bow.
Nikki grimaced as she tested her condition, or more correctly, tried to test her condition. Her fingers fluttered and her shoulders rolled, slightly, but the rest of her efforts were more quivers than squirms.
"Okay," Nikki sighed. "I get it. I see why Kitty had to wait for you to free her."
"Hold that thought," Bertie purred, then rolled Nikki onto her side. "I'm not quite finished." There were still three or four feet of rope remaining. Bertie fished the two ends to either side of Nikki's waist, from the left and right, tied a square-knot across her belly-button, then began tying a series of knots in the remaining rope. First she tied a figure-eight knot using both strands, then an overhand knot in each individual strand, then an overhand knot in both strands, an overhand knot in each strand, an overhand in both strands, etc., etc.
Nikki watched this process as best she could. "What the hell are you—oh—Oh!" Bertie had finished the series with another figure-eight knot, placed the row of hemp knots against Nikki's Lycra-clad crotch, looped the remaining foot of rope through Nikki's hogtie bonds behind her back, and pulled out the slack. The result was a crotch-rope, of course. First it slid against Nikki's pussy, then enforced a hemp and Lycra camel toe as it was tightened!
"Bertie!" Nikki's complaint was half gasp and half nervous chuckle.
Bertie rolled Nikki back onto her stomach. She had the ends of the crotch-rope in her hands and a very naughty dimpled smile curled her lips. "I have just enough to tie this off to your big toes," she announced, "if I pull it tight enough to make you point your feet." She threaded the strands between the toes in question and tugged, making her point.
"Ah!" Nikki gasped, then clenched her teeth. "I'd just as soon you didn't."
Bertie knotted the rope, but not around Nikki's toes, and not with what she would call cruel tightness—not as cruel or as tight as Kitty would have pulled the knot if Bertie was in Nikki's place, anyway. She then gently rolled Nikki onto her back, pulled her head and shoulders onto her lap, then lifted her box-frog-hogtied body until she could embrace her captive from behind.
"There," Bertie whispered in Nikki's ear. "I'm finished."
Nikki squirmed and shuddered, testing her bonds—and in the process squirmed her body against her captor. "This is how Dr. B tied Kitty?"
"Actually," Bertie purred, "Kitty's bondage was much more elaborate. I've used a more straightforward approach, but the result is the same." Her hands slid across Nikki's body, testing her handiwork, and gently caressing the Lycra-covered or naked flesh in between the flesh-dimpling strands of conditioned hemp. "I did make one addition," she confessed. Her right hand slid lower and caressed the knots doing their best to cleave Nikki's pussy. "Dr. B didn't give Kitty a crotch-rope."
Nikki shuddered in her bonds, and Bertie's embrace. "D-don't do that," she sighed.
"What?" Bertie purred. Her hand continued slowly sliding up and down the knots, gently pressing them even deeper into Nikki's most sensitive flesh. "Don't do this?"
"Yes?" Bertie's hand continued to glide. "You want me to continue."
"You don't want me to stop?"
Nikki shuddered and squirmed. "You little scamp. Stop."
Bertie kissed the side of Nikki's neck, then did, indeed, stop. However, her embrace of Nikki's helpless form continued. "It's all part of the demonstration, Detective," she chuckled.
"In what way is your groping me part of a rope demonstration?" Nikki demanded.
"You don't want to explore just the physical aspects of rope, do you?" Bertie objected. "Aren't you interested in the psychological aspects?"
Nikki continued squirming, slowly... but she didn't answer.
"Suppose I were to tie your toes to your pussy," Bertie whispered in Nikki's ear, "like I promised. Then, get another length of rope, double back your braid and lash it tight, then tie it back to your toes and the crotch rope, tight enough to lift your chin and pull back your head, and keep it that way?"
"I'd scream," Nikki muttered.
Bertie kissed Nikki's neck before continuing. "Not if you were gagged. Kitty and I have quite a collection. I think I'd go with a simple two-inch ball-gag, thread some rope through the back of the strap, and add it to your pussy-to-toes-to-hair bondage."
Nikki continued testing her bonds and squirming against her captor, and she didn't comment.
"I'd place you on your stomach," Bertie continued, "right here. Then, I'd get your phone, set the clock app for a one hour countdown, and order you to escape. And if you failed to escape, that would mean I could do anything I want to you. I'd leave the phone where you could see the screen and watch the seconds tick away as you struggled." She kissed Nikki's neck, again, then nuzzled her ear. Her right hand was cupping Nikki's rope-framed and Lycra-clad left breast, and her left hand was caressing Nikki's taut, rope-bound tummy. "Do you think you'd escape, Detective? Do you think you'd be able to wiggle free of my ropes."
Nikki continued squirming. "W-what would I get if I did? What would be my prize?"
Bertie smiled. "Your prize? I would be your prize. I'd let you tie me up." She gently squeezed Nikki's breast. "And you could do anything you want to me."
"I see," Nikki gasped. "You know I can't possibly escape from all this. I can barely move, and my fingers can't reach any of your knots."
"Which is why I placed them where I did," Bertie purred. Her hand had returned to the crotch-rope knots. "I suppose we could just cut to the chase," she suggested. "Forgo the hour wait and move on to the prize collection?"
There was a pause of several seconds... the proverbial pregnant pause... then Nikki answered. "I suppose, but 'cut to the chase' is an inappropriate metaphor. I couldn't win a race with a slug tied like this."
Bertie giggled, then eased Nikki into a position that allowed her to kiss her lips—and did so.
The kiss lasted a while, and was deep and wet—with smacking lips and probing tongues on both sides—and with gliding and caressing hands on one side, Bertie's side. Nikki's hands couldn't caress much of anything, bound as she was, but she tried.
Finally, Bertie came up for air and shared what a hypothetical outsider might characterize as a goofy smile with her gift-wrapped prize. "Are you a screamer?" she inquired.
Nikki frowned. The question was unexpected. "Huh?"
"I need to know whether or not I need to pick out that gag," Bertie explained, "before we move on to the vibratory phase of the demonstration."
A thrill passed through Bertie's body. Nikki's expression was so precious! "We don't have either of the models Dr. B and Suki used on us," she explained, "but we do have a cordless, rechargeable wand that will do quite nicely."
Bertie smiled and kissed Nikki's lips. "I guess I better get that gag, just in case. Wait here while—"
Suddenly, she was interrupted by the ringing of the office/condo's front door buzzer!
Bertie heaved a furious sigh. "If that's Kitty," she growled, "I swear to god I'll—"
"I assume she has her own key," Nikki interrupted with a smile.
Bertie sighed, again. "Oh. You're right." She eased Nikki to the floor and onto her stomach, then stood. "Wait here," she admonished, then stomped towards the front office—or purposefully padded. She couldn't really stomp in her bare feet, as much as she'd like to.
The buzzer was now sounding its irritatingly raucous tone nonstop.
"I'm coming!" Bertie shouted, then paused in mid stride. Better safe than sorry. She made a quick side trip to her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled her G26 Glock from its holster. Her thumb on the safety, she peeked through the peephole in the door. Nothing. The buzzer was still sounding.
Bertie took a deep breath, opened the door and took a step to the side, ready to plug any hypothetical armed intruders who might rush across the threshold. Again, nothing.
Right in front of the door was a large, hard-walled suitcase up on its wheeled end, with its handle extended. A strip of duct-tape was holding down the door buzzer and a quick look to the right and left confirmed the hallway was devoid of visitors, armed or otherwise.
Bertie jerked the tape from the buzzer with her free hand, then visually examined the suitcase. It was the exact same model Dr. B and Suki had used to transport Helena Garrett from her apartment, and might very well be the exact same suitcase. As Bertie watched, the suitcase rocked on its wheels, just a little, and she heard a quiet, well-muffled moan from within. Obviously, the suitcase was occupied.
Bertie checked the hallway, again. It was still clear. She wheeled the suitcase across the threshold, closed the door and turned the deadbolt, then wheeled the suitcase towards the playroom. She paused, halfway there, checked the safety on her handgun and tucked it under the waistband of her shorts, behind her back, then retrieved her iPhone from her desk. She deftly opened her contacts list and thumbed Kitty's name with one hand as she resumed wheeling the suitcase towards the playroom.
"Muffin?" Kitty's voice answered. "Done so soon?"
Bertie sighed in relief. It wasn't Kitty in the suitcase. "Get over here right now!" she answered, "and be careful. Watch your six. Something's happening."
"What the hell are you—"
"Just come!" Bertie interrupted. "Now! We're okay, but come!" She broke the connection before Kitty could respond, then continued into the playroom.
|A Kiss Before Tying|| Chapter 8
Nikki watched as Bertie wheeled the suitcase into the room. "I take it you had a delivery?"
Bertie nodded. "I think there's somebody in this thing."
Nikki's eyes widened. "Inside the suitcase?"
Bertie stowed the telescoping handle with a snap, then eased the suitcase off its wheels and onto the exercise mat. "I'll untie you and—"
"Open it first," Nikki interrupted. "If there is somebody inside, they could be suffocating."
"You're right, of course." Bertie popped the latches, opened the lid, and gasped.
"What?" Nikki demanded squirming in her bonds. "I can't see."
Folded in a fetal tuck inside the case was a naked woman, a young naked woman. It was difficult for Bertie to gauge her exact age, as she was blindfolded and gagged with pantyhose, scarves, and duct-tape, but her skin tone and size suggested she was young, possibly a teenager. In point of fact, her head was mummified by layers of pantyhose, scarves, and duct-tape. Also, the newcomer was tied up—in the sense that the Antarctic might be described as being rather chilly. Rope, cord, more pantyhose, more scarves, and a lot more duct-tape had been used to lash her hands behind her back and her ankles together, then bundle her into a tight, elaborate, and highly redundant ball-tie.
"Well?" Nikki demanded.
Bertie noted that with the girl in the case was a small metal bottle, painted green and bearing a sticker that read "OXYGEN." A clear vinyl line with a pair of nasal cannulae led from the bottle's regulator to the victim's nose, her only facial feature not covered by layers of stretched nylon, silk, and tape.
As Bertie watched, the young lady squirmed in her incredible bonds, her nostrils flared, and she moaned through whatever was stuffed in her mouth. Bertie reached out and placed two fingers against the side of the girl's throat. "Strong pulse," she announced, then scrambled to her bare feet and padded to a cabinet.
"Bertie!" Nikki complained. "Who is it?"
"Haven't a clue," Bertie answered, "but she'll be fine while I set you free." She returned with a pair of stainless steel ratcheting clippers with a curved blade, knelt at Nikki's side, and began snipping through strand after strand of conditioned hemp. "Kitty's gonna kill me for ruining four coils of her best rope," she muttered under her breath.
Twenty or thirty strategic cuts later, Nikki was free, and together they set about the laborious process of freeing the mysterious Girl in the Suitcase.
|The End of...|
|A Kiss Before Tying|| Chapter 8