Kitty Wynter

  FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER
  A Kiss Before Tying by Van ©2014

  Chapter 9

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ


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OUR STORY CONTINUES meow

Kitty hurried home as quickly as she could.  Even so, by the time she arrived an ambulance and several police cars, all with flashing lights, were double parked in front of the building.  Upstairs, she had to convince a uniformed officer to summon Nikki before she was allowed to duck under the yellow crime-scene tape and enter her own office.  Nikki led her to the playroom.

Kitty noted Nikki's costume of sneakers, black yoga-pants, and blue sports top.  She didn't leer, of course.  Okay, she totally leered, but she carefully hid all signs of her appreciation of Nikki Braslow's smokin' hot body.  Nikki's badge and holstered sidearm were clipped to the waistband of her yoga-pants.  Maybe I can talk Bertie into swapping sisters sometime, Kitty thought.

In the playroom, cops and forensics techs were milling around, waiting to go to work.  A pair of EMTs were about to wheel a gurney carrying a young woman, possibly a teenager, down to the ambulance waiting below.  The patient seemed to be naked under the blanket and straps securing her in place and an oxygen mask was over her girlish face.  She was conscious but in mild shock.  She had long brown hair, with bangs, and big brown eyes, which she blinked at Kitty as she was rolled past.  Kitty had absolutely no idea who she might be.

Bertie was also present, wearing the exercise togs she'd donned for her "date" with Nikki.  The little Brit pointed to an open suitcase and the surrounding pile of severed rope, cord, duct-tape, pantyhose, and scarves.  Kitty couldn't resist an opportunity to give her partner and "Nikki Heat" a little grief.

"What the hell did you guys do to that poor girl?" Kitty demanded.

Nikki's eyes popped wide and she blushed, but Bertie would have none of it.  "Shut up," she snapped, then quickly explained the circumstances of the girl's arrival.  She pointed at the suitcase, again.  "Look familiar?"

"Yeah," Kitty nodded.

"These were also inside the suitcase," Nikki said, handing Kitty a plastic evidence bag containing a New York driver's license and a student ID for the Hudson Academy for Girls.  Both bore the name "Candice Carson," and their photos matched the girl on the now departed gurney.  "She appears to be unharmed," Nikki added, "but needs rest.  She said she was grabbed by a tall blond and a black-haired Goth, yesterday morning."

"She reminds me of someone," Bertie said, frowning at the photos on the license and ID, "but who?"

"Grabbed by a tall blond and a black-haired Goth," Kitty muttered.  Obviously, the kidnappers were Dr. B and Suki.  Kitty noted from the date of birth on the license that Candice Carson was eighteen, and the school ID said she was a Senior.  Hudson Academy was a very pricy and prestigious prep school, so unless Candice was a scholarship student, her parents were wealthy and well-connected.  "Ransom?" Kitty asked.

"It's complicated," Bertie muttered.

"Complicated as in fucking with Wynter and Finch Investigations by leaving the kidnap victim on their doorstep?" Kitty drawled.

Bertie shook her head.  "Complicated as in Nikki trying to call Candice Carson's parents before you got here and the FBI answering the phone."

Kitty frowned.  "The FBI?"

"We're going to the New York Field Office to meet Special Agent Shaw," Bertie explained.  "I've gotta go change."  She turned and headed for the bedroom.

"I guess we'll have time to swing by my place so I can change." Nikki said.

"Nonsense," Kitty said with a smile.  "I'm sure I've got something that'll fit you."  She nodded towards the bedroom.  "C'mon."

 Nikki was dubious.  She had about four inches in height on Bertie's partner, but she might as well see what Kitty had in mind.  She followed Kitty to the bedroom.
A Kiss Before Tying  meow
 Chapter 9
Kitty found a pair of leather pants that Nikki could squeeze into.  They were skintight, a little short in the cuff, and were causing a little camel toe action, but they'd do.  And Kitty could tell that in Bertie's opinion they'd do quite nicely.  She caught the little Brit ogling the blond cop as she changed.  There was no doubt about it.

Kitty very much suspected the suitcase full of schoolgirl had arrived at exactly the wrong moment, interrupting Bertie's demonstration just as it was shifting into high gear.  Poor Muffin, Kitty thought.  I'll have to make it up to her... tonight.

Unfortunately, Kitty's shoe size was too small for Nikki to borrow a pair of knee-boots to go with the pants, but her running shoes and socks were adequate.  A baby-blue cotton blouse and her olive-drab army jacket completed the ensemble and Nikki was ready to go.

Bertie was also ready, having donned a pair of ankle-boots, dark gray pants, a white blouse, and a brown leather jacket.  Kitty, of course, had been ready all along.

A little less than an hour later, with FBI "Visitor" badges clipped to their jacket lapels or pockets, they were cooling their heels around a table in a hi-tech conference room in the New York Field Office.

Special Agent Jordan Shaw breezed in and took a seat.  "Sorry for the delay," she apologized.  "About three hours ago, one Charles Carson, a senior partner in the law firm of Bristol, Carson, Gailbraith, and Wendig, walked into the lobby, handed a small box of USB flash drives to the guard manning the metal detector, and announced that he was the mysterious client who hired Dr. Bondage to kidnap Helena Garrett."

Jordan activated her tablet computer and transferred files to the gigantic flat-screen monitor dominating one of the conference room walls.  Front and center was a photo of a distinguished white male in his fifties wearing a suit that looked expensive enough to trade for a very good used car.  The photo was captioned "Charles H. Carson."

"Carson refused a lawyer," Jordan continued.  "He still refuses a lawyer, and has signed paperwork to that effect.  He's currently three rooms away filling a legal pad with a detailed confession.  Agents are cataloging and processing the flash-drives as quickly as they can, and the U.S Attorney is hovering around making sure all of this will stick when he gets to trial."

"I take it Candice Carson is his daughter?" Kitty asked.

"And the reason he confessed," Jordan nodded.  She tapped a file and a photo of Candice appeared, next to her father's.  "He intended Helena to be erotically tortured for two days and two nights before Dr. B was to tell the police where to find her.  When you and your partner rescued Helena in less than half that time, Carson was miffed and refused to pay the back half of Dr. B's fee."

"So they kidnapped his daughter," Bertie suggested.  She was staring at Candice's photo with laser intensity.

"And ordered him to confess," Nikki added, "or else."

"All correct," Jordan confirmed.  "The flash drives contain records of Carson's interactions with Dr. B, including voice, video, e-mail, etc.  Like I said, we're still cataloging everything.  Detailed examination is going to take quite a while."  She smiled at Kitty.  "Among what we have so far is a discussion of you and your partner.  Dr. B tapped Garrett's phone and internet connections."

"We know," Kitty huffed.  "She told Bertie.  That's how she knew we were on the case."

Bertie nodded in agreement.  "Before Kitty got there, Dr. B told me my bug detector wouldn't be necessary."

"She mentioned the taps again, to me, while Suki was ringing Bertie's chimes."  She focused on her partner.  "The second time or the third?"

Bertie blushed (and so did Nikki).  "How would I know?" the little Brit huffed.  "I was... distracted."

"I see," Jordan chuckled.  "Anyway, we have proof that Carson was in the loop.  He knew all about the added complication of Kitty Wynter and Bertie Finch, Private Investigators, becoming involved, and insisted that the kidnapping continue."

Bertie frowned.  "What sort of complete idiot keeps those sorts of records of a criminal conspiracy?"

"The records were kept by Dr. Bondage," Jordan explained.  "And even at this stage, Technical Services says they'll be able to cross-reference the files to existing ISP and phone company records.  Carson's lawyers, once he gets lawyers, may try to argue it's all fake, but enough will hold up in court to convict.  He's going away."

"What did he have against Helena Garrett?" Nikki asked.

Jordan shrugged.  "Something about a series of lawsuits involving corporate clients on three continents.  Garrett cleaned Carson's clock and he didn't take it well."

"No, ya think?" Kitty said dryly.

Jordan smiled.  "Once we sort out the mountain of data on those drives, his motive may make more sense.  Suffice it say Charles Carson is a piece of work."

Suddenly, Bertie jolted from her chair and pointed to the screen, to Candice Carson's photo.  "Taylor Swift!" she shouted in triumph.

The others stared at Bertie in surprise.

Bertie's broad, self-satisfied smile faded as she noticed the others' reaction.  "Taylor Swift," she explained.  "She looks like Taylor Swift.  That's what I was trying to figure out."

There was a silent pause of several seconds... then Bertie slowly resumed her seat.

Kitty gazed at her partner.  "Dork," she accused.

Bertie blushed, then smiled weakly when Nikki reached out and patted her hand.

Kitty suppressed a smile, then focused on Jordan.  "What about Dr. Bitch and her minion?  Are we any closer to catching them?"

Jordan shook her head.  "Nothing has popped from the drives so far.  It's still early.  Carson hasn't even finished writing his confession and it'll take days to examine everything, not to mention whatever we find searching his homes and offices and wherever else the trail leads."

"They're long gone," Kitty muttered.

"Probably," Nikki agreed.

Bertie nodded in agreement.  Her eyes were back on Candice's photo.  "Taylor Swift," she mumbled under her breath.  "She looks just like her."

Kitty, Nikki, and Jordan exchanged a tolerant smile.

"Dork," Kitty reiterated.

This time, Kitty's teasing disdain rolled off Bertie like water off the proverbial duck's back.  "It's the bangs," she explained.  "She could be her twin."
A Kiss Before Tying  meow
 Chapter 9
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
LATE ON A FRIDAY

Nikki rang the door buzzer of Wynter and Finch Investigative Services.  The brass plate on the door still read "Katerina Wynter, Licensed Private Investigator," but Nikki assumed it would be replaced some time soon.  The door opened and Nikki beheld the smiling face of Kitty, not Bertie, as she had expected.

Kitty was dressed in typical fashion: black knee-boots, black leather pants, and a dusky rose tank-top.  "Come in, come in," she said, stepping aside and making a sweeping gesture.

Nikki was wearing running shoes, cotton socks, yoga pants, and her olive-drab army jacket.  She unzipped and hung up the jacket, revealing a racer-back, Pacific-blue sports top from Victoria's Secret.  She'd made a shopping trip just for this meeting... with Bertie.  It was supposed to be a repeat of their interrupted "rope demonstration."  So what was Kitty doing here?

Kitty seemed to read her guest's mind.  "I don't plan on staying."  Proving her point, she took a denim jacket from the coat-hooks and pulled it on.  "I just wanted a word before I go."

Nikki smiled.  "Okay."

"We're still getting nowhere finding Dr. B and Suki," Kitty said.  "I don't think we're being stonewalled.  Nobody on the street has a clue."

Nikki's smile faded, and she nodded.  "Same here.  My C.I.'s don't know anything.  Last time I talked to Jordan it was the same."

"They've gone to ground," Kitty muttered, "sticking to their pattern.  In a few months they'll strike again, and almost certainly not in New York."

Nikki sighed.  "I'll try and keep the case active, but..."

"I know," Kitty responded.  "I'll let you know if I hear anything."

Nikki nodded.  "Good.  Thanks."  Her eyes were on the wall across the office, on Kitty's handcuff collection—or more correctly, on what was left of Kitty's handcuff collection.  About half of the hooks that normally held the various manacles were empty.

Kitty noticed Nikki's gaze, but said nothing.  "Anyway, Bertie's in the playroom.  Your sister usually doesn't work late on Fridays, right?"

"Huh?" Nikki refocused on Kitty.  "Kirsten?  Not usually."

"I see," Kitty purred, then opened the door and stepped across the threshold and into the hall.  "Later.  Lock this behind me, okay?"  She walked away, not waiting for a reply.

Nikki watched her go, then closed the door and turned the deadbolt.  "Playroom," she muttered under her breath, turned, and walked in that direction.

The playroom was as before, with the expansive exercise mat spread on the hardwood floor in the middle of the open space.  However—and it was a however that caused Nikki to freeze in her tracks and stare in open-mouthed wonder—there was one significant change.

Bertie was sitting on her butt in the center of the mat.  She was nude, as in naked, as in not wearing any clothing.  However—another big however—she was wearing the handcuffs missing from Kitty's collection, all the handcuffs missing from Kitty's collection.  She was also wearing a ball-gag with a two-inch, mouth-plugging and jaw-stretching sphere of translucent red rubber and a narrow, black leather strap buckled tight at the nape of her neck.  Her blue eyes were wide, her bulging, freckled cheeks bright crimson, and as for the rest of her...

A thrill quivered between Nikki's legs and rippled up her spine.  Naked Bertie Finch lived up to all her expectations.  Pert breasts, erect coral nipples, flat tummy, freckled shoulders—and with her arms behind her back and held there by nine pairs of handcuffs of different design locked around her wrists and forearms, nearly up to her elbows—with six more pairs of handcuffs locked around her ankles—all that tan, freckled skin—and that mortified, ball-gagged, cute-as-a-bug face—she was perfect!

All doubts were banished.  All thoughts that playing kinky games with Bertie Finch would be too kinky disappeared.  A smile on her lips and a twinkle in her blue eyes, Nikki walked a slow circle around the embarrassed captive.

Off to the side she noticed a long, vertical string of keys of various type tied every inch or so along a length of fishing line and dangling from an eye-bolt mounted in the ceiling.  The bottom key of the string was something like six feet off the floor, out of reach for Bertie in her multi-cuffed state.  Also, a small white gift box tied with a festive red ribbon was resting on the floor directly under the keys.

Nikki locked eyes with Bertie.  "Wait here," she said, then strolled over and picked up the box.  She returned to stand in front of the squirming, naked captive, then pulled the ribbon's bow.  It fluttered to the floor.  Nikki opened the lid, gazed into the box, and her smile broadened.  She sat cross-legged on the floor close to Bertie and held the box so the little Brit could see inside.  "If I recall your witness reports correctly, these are the models Dr. B and Suki used on you and your partner."

Bertie looked into the box, then locked eyes with Nikki and slowly nodded.  The box did indeed hold a blue Pussy Rocket and pink Frisky Finger mini-vibrator, nestled together on a bed of white tissue paper.  Bertie watched as Nikki removed her running shoes and socks, stuffed the socks in the shoes, and tossed them away.  The tall, blond, beautiful cop then pulled Bertie close and embraced her from behind, much as Bertie had held her, days before, after she'd bound Nikki in that delicious box-frog-hogtie and before they were so rudely interrupted by the arrival of the suitcase full of Candice Carson.

Only this time, Bertie was the bound prisoner, and she was naked.  She felt Nikki unbuckling the ball gag.  The strap slackened, then Nikki's strong, tan fingers gently plucked the red ball from her mouth and it bounced against her chest.  Nikki had buckled the strap on the first hole, and the gag now dangled around Bertie's neck like a very kinky necklace.

"Your partner has a unique sense of humor," Nikki purred in Bertie's ear.

Bertie simultaneously blushed and pouted.  "I'm gonna kill her," she huffed.

Nikki kissed the side of Bertie's neck, then whispered in her ear.  "In that case, I guess I better not let you go."

Bertie shivered in Nikki's embrace, then gasped as the cop reached around her body, cupped her breasts in both hands, and gave them a slow, gentle squeeze.  "Okay," she sighed, still shivering.  "I won't kill her.  That would be too easy."

"You're beautiful," Nikki whispered.  Her hands continued caressing Bertie's breasts and teasing her nipples.

Bertie squirmed and her redundant steel bonds clattered, clanked, and slid against Nikki's body.  Kitty had been careful to arrange her wrist and forearm bonds in ascending order.  That is, the cuffs binding her wrists were joined, with no flexibility.  The next pair was hinged, and each successive pair had more and more chain separating the steel bracelets.  Bertie's shoulders were rolled back, but her joints weren't stressed and she was more or less comfortable.

"Beautiful," Nikki repeated.  Now, her left hand was cupping Bertie's left breast and her right hand gliding down Bertie's body, sliding over the tense muscles of her abdomen.

"You're the beautiful one," Bertie sighed.  She tried kicking her feet, but all that did was rattle her ankle cuffs.  Kitty had chosen models with the most generous amount of chain between the cuffs for her feet, allowing Bertie to spread her legs; not by much, but enough for Nikki's hand to caress her crotch.  She shivered in her bonds and Nikki's embrace, and a sly smile slowly curled her lips.  "I take it you're over your shyness?"

"I guess I am," Nikki agreed.

"You're supposed to be the helpless one," Bertie pouted.

"Maybe later," Nikki whispered in Bertie's ear.  "Seriously.  Watching you struggle against those cuffs makes me... curious."

Bertie watched as Nikki reached into the box and pulled out the blue Pussy Rocket torpedo.  "If you're expecting me to demonstrate that thing, we'll have to change places now, otherwise—m'mmpfh."

Nikki had taken the inert vibrator between her teeth, then used both hands to pop the ball-gag back in Bertie's mouth and tighten and buckle the strap.  She then placed her left arm across Bertie's chest, gripped the squirming captive tight, and took the rocket from her mouth.  She switched it on to its lowest setting, then began teasing Bertie's tummy, circling her bellybutton with the buzzing tip.  "You think I can't sort out the facts in a simple witness statement?" she purred, then kissed Bertie's ear.  "Let me know if I get anything wrong."

Bertie shivered as the shaft of the rocket slid up and down her labia.  Yes, she's definitely over her shyness, the naked captive thought.  She tried clenching her thighs together, but Nikki countered by lifting her right leg and planting her bare right foot between said thighs.  Bertie didn't really want to resist, of course, but a proper damsel-in-distress is required to resist being ravished by a beautiful villainess.  It's part of the code.

"In a while," Nikki whispered, "I'll order a pizza."  Her left hand was toying with Bertie's nipples, again, and the rocket continued exploring the flushed, moist, pink folds of Bertie's pussy.  "After an orgasm or two."  She planted the tip of the rocket against Bertie's clitoris and gently pressed.  "Or three."
A Kiss Before Tying  meow
 Chapter 9
"It's so frustrating," Kitty sighed.  "She's an international criminal wanted by everybody from Scotland Yard to the Adelaide Humane Society, and she just vanishes.  Poof!  She's gone.  And that Suki bitch too!"  Kitty was naked, sprawled on her back on the rumpled sheets of the bed, snuggled close against her bed-mate's side and staring up at the ceiling.

Kirsten "Shyster" Braslow, the bed-mate in question, was also naked and sprawled on her back.  Well, she was almost naked.  Kirstens' arms were folded behind her back with her fingertips touching her elbows and her forearms, hands, and fingers wrapped under tight, overlapping layers of duct-tape.  Four cable-ties had been tightened around her forearms and wrists, the ends clipped, then more duct-tape was applied, covering the ties.  Also, Kirsten's legs were folded in a semi-lotus and more duct-tape and cable-ties wrapped and tightened to make sure they stayed that way.  Finally, the panties she'd worn all day—in the office, in court, and even for a workout in the gym before heading home for a well-deserved weekend of rest—were stuffed in her mouth, with several strips of duct-tape sealing her lips and covering her face from nose to chin and ear to ear.

The perpetrator had been Kitty, of course, and the irony that she had used the same tape-tie-tape technique on Shyster that the Goth had used on Muffin was apparently lost on the grumpy P.I.

"Those bitches did what they did and we don't even get to watch them hauled off to prison in matching orange jumpsuits," Kitty continued, then heaved a self-pitying sigh.  "It's frustrating."

Kirsten heaved a gagged sigh of her own.  Frustrating?  Frustrating is being grabbed as soon as you enter your apartment, having your clothes stripped off, then being bound and gagged on your own bed by a nympho-nut-job who then runs a vibrating fake-fur glove over your boobs and abdomen for a solid hour while babbling about the unfairness of life!  That's frustrating!  "M'mmmpfh!"  Kirsten rocked and bucked her body and twisted her bound legs and arms, as best she could.  Enough was enough!

"What's your problem?" Kitty purred, then wrapped her legs around Kirsten's waist and pulled her even closer.  She turned off and peeled off the vibrating glove, then carefully peeled the tape from Kirsten's face.

Kirsten spit out her panties, then rounded on her captor.  "They got away.  Get over it!"

"It's not right," Kitty huffed.

"Boo-hoo.  Of course it's not right.  So what?"  Kirsten heaved another sigh.  "Some day she'll make a mistake."

"Or not."

A smile curled Kirsten's lips.  She couldn't help herself.  "Sometimes you're a big baby, Kitty-Kat," she chuckled.

"I'll show you 'big baby,'" Kitty purred, pulled on the glove, and clicked its hidden switch.  The tips of her furry fingers began to hum, and she began sliding them over Kirsten's breasts.

Kirsten bit her lower lip and shivered in her inescapable bonds and Kitty's strong grip.

"And don't call me Kitty-Kat," Kitty added.

"You call me Shyster," Kirsten noted.  Her nipples were now deliciously erect, and the feel of the vibrating fur on her skin was indescribable.

"I'm the one that captured you," Kitty noted.  "I get to call you whatever I want."

Kirsten continued shivering.  "Your logic is irrefutable," she sighed.

"I'm hungry," Kitty announced.  "What do you want?  Chinese?  Thai?  Indian?  Jamaican?  Greek?"

"I don't want to eat," Kirsten muttered.  "I want to cum."  Kitty's glove was sliding down her stomach, and Kirsten was straining to lift her crotch to meet the approaching glove.

"Greedy Shyster," Kitty chuckled.

"I want to cum," Kirsten whined.  "I've been listening to you bemoan the escape of Doctor Bondage and the evil Suki for an hour and I want to cum!"

Kitty used her non-gloved hand to turn Kirsten's chin until they were face to face, then delivered a savage kiss.  It was deep and wet, with probing tongues and sucking lips, and Kirsten gave as good as she got.  The glove finally reached Kirsten's pussy and the bound captive's body shivered and squirmed, but the kiss continued.

The proverbial pump was already well-primed.  It wasn't very long before Kirsten did, indeed, cum.  Kitty's tongue was still in her mouth, and her tongue in Kitty's.  Her body quaked, she broke off the kiss, opened her mouth, and screamed!  "Mrrrrf!"  Or would have, if Kitty's free hand hadn't been clamped over her mouth.

Kitty grinned and continued frigging Kirsten's pussy, and her hand continued gagging Kirsten's full, beautiful lips.

Kirsten's body bucked and quaked, her blue eyes wide and desperate as she continued trying to scream.  "M'mmmfh!"  Then, her body relaxed and Kitty removed her hand-gag.  However, being a diligent villainess, she continued teasing the margins of Kirsten's pink, glistening labia with her furry, buzzing index finger.  "I hate you," Kirsten sighed.  She was panting, and her breasts and face glistened with sweat.  Her long blond hair was a tousled mess, with several strands plastered to her shining forehead.  "I'm going to have Nikki arrest you."

"You'll have to pry her apart from Bertie, first," she chuckled, then kissed Kirsten's pouting lips.  "I know you hate me, Shyster.  I can tell."

Kirsten's breathing slowly returned to normal, despite the fact that Kitty's buzzing finger was still tracing a teasing path around her now hyper-sensitive pussy.  Her beautiful, naked captor was still holding her close.  "Thai," Kirsten said.

"Thai?" Kitty chuckled, then kissed Kirsten's ear.

"I want Phad Thai and Thai Pow Chicken," Kirsten confirmed.  "And beer.  Blue Moon beer."

Kitty smiled, then released her captive, knelt on the bed, turned off and peeled off the glove, then began peeling strips from a roll of duct-tape and tacking them to the headboard.  "Phad Thai, Thai Pow Chicken, and Blue Moon beer."  Kirsten's damp, slimy panties went back in her pouting mouth, then Kitty began stretching, plastering, and smoothing the tape over her lips and lower face.

Kirsten kept her head perfectly still during the process, staring daggers at her grinning captor.  She continued staring daggers as Kitty climbed off the bed and began dressing.

"Wait here," Kitty ordered, then laughed.  "'Wait here.'  The classics are classics for a reason," she chuckled.  She turned and left the bedroom—then immediately returned.  "Silly me."  She turned off the lights and left again, this time closing the bedroom door behind her.

Bound and gagged, Kirsten followed her captor's final order.  Other than struggling until she could somehow manage to roll off her bed and land on the floor with a thud, it was all she could do.

One lousy orgasm before she goes out for food, Kirsten thought.  I wish she'd caught that Dr. Bondage bitch.  Then I'd have had more than one lousy orgasm.  She squirmed her naked, helpless body against the soft, rumpled sheets, then shook her head to free her face from stray strands of blond hair, sighed, and relaxed.

Okay, Kirsten admitted to herself, it wasn't that lousy, and there will be more orgasms after dinner.
The End of...
A Kiss Before Tying  meow
 Chapter 9


Chapter 8
meow Epilogue

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