by Van ©2012
traffic in this high-end, residential neighborhood of Manhattan
wasn't too bad, mostly
taxis, but Detective Jane Rizzoli, Boston Homicide, still looked
both ways before crossing the street. Ma would be so proud, she fumed.
Jane was in a foul mood thanks to recent events, not mad at her mother—no
more than usual, anyway. Her long, raven hair wafted and
her boots tapped the sidewalk as she counted off the street
numbers of the passing townhouses. The address she
was seeking should be near the middle of the block.
Jane was more than two hundred miles out of her jurisdiction and
under orders not to be
where she was, but Jane was Jane. She didn't exactly have
a reputation for obedience, not when she was chasing a suspect,
and certainly not when
the FBI did what the FBI always
did: get in the way of an ongoing investigation. "Stupid
Feds," she muttered to herself, for about the hundredth time
There had been a spate of kidnappings in the Boston area, all of
wealthy, attractive women. The victims were all released
unharmed, but only after being relieved of their best jewelry
and whatever cash they had on hand. The kidnapper was a
woman, working alone, and she had ravished all her victims,
virtually nonstop, for the several days she held each of them
prisoner. The crimes might technically be home invasions
or abductions and not normally a concern for Jane's squad unless
there was a homicide, but many of the victims were high
profile. For that reason, the Chief of Detectives had
handpicked a special taskforce: Detective Sergeant Vince Korsak,
Jane's immediate supervisor and former partner, Jane herself,
and Detective Barry Frost, her current partner.
Jane frowned in concentration as she mentally reviewed the
case. The victims' behavior had been... odd. Jane
had conducted the usual interviews and the victims had been
evaluated by a departmental shrink. All had been
cooperative, but strangely unhelpful. Stockholm Syndrome,
the sympathetic attachment hostages or kidnap victims sometime
develop with their kidnappers, was a possible factor, but Jane
sensed something different at play.
All the victims wanted the kidnapper caught, and they certainly wanted their
stuff back, but their eyes glazed over and they actually smiled, in an eerie, goofy
sort of way, when asked to recount what the kidnapper had done
to them. It was... strange. One or even two oddball
victims on a large case was one thing, but all of them? None of
the women had much of anything in common, other than beauty and
wealth, and none had histories of kinky sex. And yet, they
all reacted exactly the same way, almost as if they'd somehow enjoyed themselves.
The victims' eyes also glazed when they tried to physically
describe the kidnapper. All agreed she was female, very beautiful, and had
dark-red hair; but that was where the similarities ended.
Every police artist rendering was different. Eye color,
cheekbones, nose, chin... all different. It was
frustrating. The psychologist "diagnosed" some form of
post-traumatic aphasia, which Jane and her fellow detectives
recognized as a retreat into jargon.
All they could do was start the painstaking work of finding
patterns in the activities and relationships of the victims,
something that would eventually point to a suspect.
Then it happened.
They had hardly begun expanding the case files when the FBI
arrived in a swarm of blue jackets led by a blond Special Agent
by the name of Olivia Dunham. They waltzed into the squad
room, accompanied by Lieutenant Cavanaugh and the required
paperwork. The case was now federal, Agent Dunham
announced. All files and notes were to be turned over
And Cavanaugh had backed her up! "Orders from the Chief,"
Jane had argued. Jane always
argued. The victims were all Bostonians and state lines
hadn't been crossed. Agent Dunham simply smiled as her
minions boxed the case files.
Okay, Jane was off the case, but she didn't have to like it.
The part about there not being any interstate involvement wasn't
quite true. None
of the women had left Boston, but the last victim had been a
high-end realtor specializing in luxury properties and she
remembered being ordered to use her computer during her
ordeal. She'd tapped the keys and conducted some sort of
search, but she couldn't recall the details. The Computer
Crimes Unit isolated a list of possible properties in New York
City from her laptop, but Cavanaugh wouldn't authorize a trip to
the Big Apple. However, he did call in a favor and
(supposedly) the NYPD sent detectives to each address. The
report back was negative. The addresses were all luxury
townhouses, half of which had already sold, and there was
nothing suspicious about any of the transactions.
"Yeah, right," Jane muttered to herself. New York cops
assigned to do legwork for Boston? They probably drove by
the addresses, glanced at the "FOR SALE" signs on the front
doors, then stopped for donuts.
Jane's iPhone vibrated. She pulled it from her pocket,
checked the screen, and smiled. It was her partner.
"Hey, Frostie," she purred.
"Don't 'Hey, Frostie' me," Barry muttered. "Cavanaugh is
chewing Korsak's ass for letting you take the weekend off."
"Last week he was chewing all
our asses for having too many vacation days on the books," Jane
noted. "Besides, when is Cavanaugh not chewing Korsak's
ass?" They all knew the Lieutenant had the greatest
respect for the entire squad and the feeling was mutual.
The ass chewing was a matter of leadership style. They
didn't take it personally.
"He knows you too well, Rizzoli," Frost continued. "Please
tell me you're not in New York."
"I'm not in New York," Jane lied, "and I'm not about to check
the last address on the list the NYPD and Special Agent Blondie said was a dead
Barry sighed. "Well, is it?"
"Is it what?" Jane responded.
"The list. Is it
a dead end?"
"Yeah, so far. I'll let you know what I find at the last
"Only if it means something," Barry said, "then get back
here. Shanghai the doc and have her drag you to the park,
or a museum. Better yet, another spa. Anyplace that
will keep you out of trouble."
The doc in question was Dr. Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner
of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and Jane's BFFL (Best
Friend For Life). "What I do with my off time is my own
business," Jane replied. "If I want to hop the Amtrak for
a weekend in New York, I'll hop the Amtrak for a weekend in New
York. Anyway, Maura is at some conference at the
Jeffersonian in D.C."
"Whatever," Barry sighed. "Be careful, Jane."
"That's sweet, Frostie," Jane chuckled. "I didn't know you
"I don't," Barry huffed (which they both knew was a baldfaced
lie). "I just don't want the hassle of breaking in a new
partner when Cavanaugh assigns you to permanent crossing-guard
Jane's smile widened. "Goodbye, partner." She broke
the connection and pocketed the phone.
She'd reached the address, but there was no "FOR SALE" sign in
sight. She climbed the steps to the front stoop and rang
the doorbell. While she waited for an answer she pulled
her ID/badge case from her pocket. She was just about to
ring the bell again when the inner door of the vestibule
opened—there was movement visible through the rippled glass of
the front door's small windows—then the front door opened to
reveal a smiling woman.
"May I help you?" the woman smiled. She was very beautiful, perhaps in
her thirties, with long, dark-red hair and sparkling, blue-green
Jane held up her badge. "Hello. I'm Detective
Rizzoli of the Boston Police. I'd like to ask you some
questions about..." Jane blinked as she stared into the
eyes. "I..." The woman was wearing perfume—and
whatever it was, it was fabulous!
Jane shook her head, trying to collect her thoughts. "Uh,
sorry. I have questions about... about..."
The woman took the badge case from Jane's suddenly weak and
trembling fingers. "Detective Jane Rizzoli," the woman
read, smiling at Jane's ID and tracing the embossed shield with
her right index finger. "Jane is such a pretty
name." She shifted her gaze to Jane's staring, confused
face, wet the index finger with her full lips and pink tongue,
then reached out and traced Jane's lips. "And you are such
a pretty girl."
Jane was frozen in place, gasping like a hooked fish. "I,
I, uh..." What's
happening to me? "Y-your perfume is
very..." Screw the
perfume! her inner voice screamed. Assert control of the situation!
The woman opened the door wider, took Jane by the arm, and led
her across the threshold. "Why don't you come in?" she
purred. "I'll make some tea and answer all your questions."
The front door closed and the street was quiet—quiet for daytime
|rizzoli & beckett
Helen Magnus followed the maitre d' through the posh, dimly lit
D.C. restaurant. The tables were crowded with political
movers and shakers (and wannabes), and immediately ahead was
their goal: the table of Dr. Dana Scully of the FBI.
Dana smiled, gracefully stood, and exchanged a polite greeting
and air-kiss with Helen. Both were wearing LBDs (Little
Black Dresses) as were most of the women in the
restaurant. A waiter took their drink orders and left.
Helen smiled as she surveyed the dining room. "I've always
liked this place," she said, then beamed at Dana.
"Executive Assistant Director. My belated
Dana favored her
companion with a wry smile. "Don't mock my pain, Helen,"
she sighed. "A corner office is hardly compensation for
being the face of the Bureau whenever something 'special'
happens. I don't enjoy the required subterfuge.
Earlier this week I spent two hours convincing Congressman
Hardwell that giant vampire bats are not roosting in his home district."
"You mean the family of Chiroptemorphs my colleagues repatriated
to their Yucatan homeland?" Helen asked.
Dana nodded. "The animal smugglers responsible are in
custody—the survivors, anyway And very little of that
information could be shared with the good Congressman."
Helen continued smiling. "One would think Dana Scully
would be accustomed to handling 'special' situations by
now." She took a sip of ice water. "By the way, I
think you did the right thing merging the X-Files with Fringe
Dana raised an eyebrow. "And how does Dr. Helen Magnus
know anything whatsoever about recent changes at the FBI?"
"Because Dr. Helen Magnus is Director of the North American
Sanctuary," Helen purred, "and it's her business to know."
"You mean she makes it
her business to know," Dana chuckled. "Please thank your
technical people for cross-referencing the newly digitized
X-File records with the Sanctuary database, by the way."
"I will," Helen promised.
Dana sipped her
water. "I don't suppose I could convince you to open your
complete database to my
Helen shook her head, but was still smiling. "Sadly, while
our professional interests usually coincide—" She sipped
her water, again. "—such is not always the case."
"The Bureau," Dana stated, "specifically, Fringe Division, only
concerns itself with what you call 'abnormals' when they're
implicated in criminal activity. Public safety is our
"However," Helen countered, "the Sanctuary Network recognizes
abnormals as members
of said public." Dana opened her mouth to answer but Helen
raised a preemptive hand. "Don't have kittens, Dana," she
purred. "I know we're on the same side in this.
However, social and political winds have been known to shift,
and information is power. My fellow Sanctuary Directors
aren't willing to share all
of our secrets."
The waiter returned with their drinks, a Hendrick's Martini for
Dana and a Cucumber Gin Tonic for Helen. He took their
food orders and left again.
"Lobster?" Dana asked with a teasing smile.
Helen shrugged. "It's on your expense account, is it
not? You called this meeting."
"True enough," Dana smiled, "but being English, I expected you
to order their famous Beef Wellington."
"It was either that or Bangers and Mash."
"Touché," Dana chuckled. "Unfortunately, good ol'
Irish corned beef and cabbage isn't on the menu either."
"So you settled for the Porter-House."
They both sipped their drinks.
"So," Dana said, "to business. What can you tell me about
this Rupandra person?"
"Historically," Helen answered, "she would probably be
considered a form of succubus."
Dana smiled. "A seductive demon?"
"Historically." Helen sipped her drink, again. "The
'Incufumarae' are a variety or perhaps even a subspecies of Homo sapiens.
Scientific opinions vary. They produce pheromones that
induce a highly suggestible state in normals. Further,
they have the ability to customize their pheromones for maximum
"Alter the chemistry?" Dana frowned. "How?"
Helen shrugged. "Unknown at this time. Obviously,
some form of chemical feedback is involved. Also, they
feed on the strong emotions of those they control, and I mean
that quite literally."
Now Dana was openly skeptical. "They're psychic vampires?"
"If you will," Helen confirmed, then chuckled at Dana's dubious
expression. "Obviously, you won't. Some sort of energy
transfer occurs. And don't be alarmed, I'm not a sudden convert to
Spiritualism. Energy transfer between organisms by means
other than chemical digestion and absorption is far from
unprecedented. In any case, it's been established that
Incufumarae receive some sort of healing or regenerative benefit
from direct bodily contact with those they control, and they can
heal, in turn. I subscribe to the Casimir Radiation
Theory, myself, but formal research on the matter is almost
totally lacking—something I hope to remedy if I can convince
Rupandra to accept Sanctuary."
Dana was still frowning. "Wait. These Incufumarae
can effectively control people's minds through the use of
customized pheromones? Why don't they rule the world?"
Helen chuckled. "The Incufumarae have evolved a great and
powerful gift—but like all gifts, it has limitations."
|rizzoli & beckett
was in the kitchen of the townhouse, kneeling on the tiled floor
with her rump resting on her crossed ankles and her hands behind
her back. Her own handcuffs were locked around her wrists
and she was completely naked—and she'd done it to herself!
The woman—Rupandra she said her name was—had ordered Jane to
strip—and she did it!
Rupandra then ordered Jane to kneel and cuff herself—and she did
All the while, somewhere in the back of her mind, Jane's voice
was screaming. Stop!
You're a cop! Control the situation! Control
"Such a beautiful creature," Rupandra had sighed as Jane removed
her clothing. "Strong cheekbones, gypsy eyes, raven hair,
and the smooth, dark skin of a Minoan princess..." Jane's
disrobing continued. "And what a physique! Those
strong, sculpted abs! You're much like my other new slave,
Jane. Both of you are svelte, strong, feminine
warriors. You'll make a magnificent matched pair."
'Other new slave?' Jane
wondered. "S-slave? Who?" She tugged on her
cuffs and shifted her weight to rise.
Rupandra smiled at Jane's clumsy efforts and leaned close.
"What a husky, sexy voice you have, Jane," she purred, and
kissed her lips.
Jane's entire body shivered in
delight as a thrill surged
through her crotch and rippled up her spine. "Oh, god!"
she whispered, her words blurred by her captor's lips. The
kiss continued, and Jane's nipples throbbed as Rupandra's tongue
explored her mouth. Stop
it! her inner voiced screamed. Fight her! Fight back!
Get up and kick her ass!
Rupandra retrieved Jane's panties from the counter, formed them
into a wad, and stuffed them in Jane's unresisting mouth.
"You've already told me that you've come alone," she purred,
"that you came to meet me all by yourself. I'm going to
make you more comfortable. Then, we'll talk some
more." She pulled Jane to her feet and led her to the
kitchen table. "Up you go," she urged, and Jane hopped up
and sat on the table.
Jane's bare feet and legs dangled off the end of the hard
surface. Rupandra reached behind Jane's back and unlocked
the cuffs, then gathered her hands together in front and locked
them around her wrists, once again. Click-click-click-click.
"Now, my raven-haired warrior, lie back and relax."
Jane settled back on the table.
"Arms above your head, slave," Rupandra ordered, and Jane
complied. Rupandra leaned over the table and kissed Jane's
navel—smiled as another thrill quivered through her new slave's
body—then walked towards the kitchen door. "Remain as you
are, my pet," she ordered, and was gone.
Jane willed herself to spit out her panties, climb off the
table, and retrieve her Glock. It was right there on the
counter, next to her badge, iPhone, backup piece, and the ammo
clips. Move it!
her inner voice screamed, but Jane couldn't move! She was paralyzed!
|rizzoli & beckett
returned in less than two minutes, carrying coils of white nylon
rope and a roll of silver-gray duct-tape. Still unable to
move, Jane felt loops of braided nylon tighten around her right
ankle and the lower right table leg. The rope was cinched
and knotted, there was a brief pause, then rope tightened around
her left ankle and the left lower table leg. Jane's knees
were splayed, but the spread wasn't extreme; it was a small
table. Rupandra stood, smiled down at her prisoner, and
began tightening loops of rope around Jane's left thigh and just
below her bent knee. A knot was tied, the free end cinched
around the upper left table leg, the slack was removed, and a
knot tied. She walked around the table and bound Jane's
right thigh and knee in similar fashion.
Next, Rupandra lifted Jane's cuffed hands from above her head
and reached for the roll of tape. "Separate your hands as
far apart as the cuffs will allow," she ordered, "and hold your
fingers straight out and together, like you're about to clap."
Jane complied, then watched as her Mistress (Kidnapper! the inner voice
insisted) mummified her left hand, fingers, and thumb in tight,
multiple layers of tape. Next, Her right hand received
similar treatment. When Rupandra finally put down the
roll, Jane's hands had become tightly wrapped, silver-gray
flippers, useless for untying knots, useless for much of
Rupandra hitched another length of rope through the connecting
chain of the cuffs, lifted Jane's cuffed and now tape-encased
hands above her head, hitched the free ends around the upper
table legs, pulled out the slack, and tied several knots.
Jane was now stretched across the table, flat on her back with
her knees and elbows bent, lashed down and helpless.
"Perfect," the smiling kidnapper sighed. "There's nothing
as beautiful as a bound warrior-slave. "And now, let's see
what we can learn about our new toy." She picked up Jane's
iPhone and sat in the chair on the "new toy's" right.
Jane watched Rupandra's fingers tap and glide across the
iPhone's screen. She surmised her Mistress (Kidnapper!) was surfing the
web and probably conducting a search. Jane, herself, was
the obvious subject.
"Ah," Rupandra said after several seconds. Her smile
broadened. "Another hero!" She shifted her gaze to
the gagged face of the hero in question. "That explains
your scars. Shooting through
yourself to stop the bad cop who was using you as a
human shield! Now that's
dedication. No wonder they gave you a medal." She
held the iPhone so Jane could see the screen.
thought. The screen was displaying a photo taken by the
Boston Globe at the banquet where Jane was awarded her
medal. Strangely, Jane found she could concentrate on the
subject without fear and panic. Her inner voice was still
jabbering, but it was an increasingly distant distraction.
Thanks to her inescapable bonds, whether or not she was capable
of disobeying her beautiful Mistress was very much moot.
"The gods mock me," Rupandra laughed, shaking her head. "I
learn of a beautiful, athletic, hero-cop and decide she simply must be mine—" She
leaned down and kissed the entry-wound scar on Jane's lower
abdomen. "—and another
such creature rings my doorbell and offers herself! What
can it mean?" She kissed the scar again, then dragged her
wet, warm tongue across the small, puckered blemish.
"Mrrrfh!" Jane tugged on her bonds and screamed through her
burns! It burns! She spit out her panties
and gasped in pain. "Let me go, you bitch!" she screamed.
"Let me go or I'll—Mrrpfh!"
Rupandra had stuffed the panties back in Jane's mouth and her
right hand was tightly clamped over her lips. She leaned
close until her smiling visage was inches from Jane's grimacing,
wide-eyed face. "Such a strong will," she cooed, her
flashing green eyes locked with Jane's. She pursed her
lips and gently blew.
Jane's nostrils flared and her body shivered in delight. The thrill
intensified as Rupandra's left hand cupped her left breast and
"Such a strong warrior," Rupandra mused. "Keep your mouth
closed for Mistress," she ordered, then withdrew her hands.
Again, Jane was paralyzed, not able to move anything other than
her eyes. She watched as Rupandra tore strips of tape from
the roll and tacked them to the edge of the table.
"Lips together, slave," Rupandra ordered.
Jane bit down on her panties until her lips met—Nooo! her inner voice
screamed—and Rupandra stretched and plastered a strip of tape
across her mouth. The first sealed Jane's lips, the next
two formed an "X" over the first, and the final three tightly
covered her lower face from ear-to-ear and from just under her
still flaring nostrils to the point of her dimpled chin.
"And now we can continue," Rupandra said. She kissed
Jane's glistening forehead, then sat back down. "You may
fight all you wish, my warrior. I'm afraid you will feel a
little discomfort as I continue healing your scars—"
Jane blinked in confusion. Healing my scars?
"But the pain will provide a focus for your warrior spirit,"
Rupandra continued, "as it did with my other hero-cop."
Again with the 'other
hero-cop,' Jane thought. What is she babbling about?
Then, Jane screamed
through her gag and tugged on her bonds. "Nrrrrf!"
Rupandra's tongue was back, licking her wound and surgical scars!
"M'mmpfh!" It burned like a hot iron!
"Poor Jane," Rupandra sighed. "It is necessary, my
slave. Necessary, to make you perfect." She dragged
her tongue the full length of Jane's surgical scar, then lifted
her face and smiled. "I know what will distract you," she
Jane's eyes popped wide. "Mmmf!" Rupandra's right
hand was stroking her pussy! Jane squirmed and strained to
close her legs, but it was a futile effort. The gentle
massage continued. "M'mfrh!" Then, Rupandra's middle
finger parted Jane's labia and began stroking her
clitoris. Jane quaked with pleasure—with indescribable pleasure—and
fought her bonds.
"Yes, my warrior," Rupandra purred, "fight for your
freedom." She licked Jane's scar, again. "Soon,
freedom will mean the joy of serving your Mistress and you will
be mine, body and soul. But for now, fight! Fight
your bondage, fight the pain, and above all, fight the orgasm
building in your loins as I feed upon your strength. Do
not cum, my slave," she ordered. "Do not cum until
Mistress is done healing your scars and has satiated her
hunger! Fight, my warrior!"
Jane writhed in her bonds, trapped in their steel and nylon
embrace. Her wrapped fingers and stuffed and sealed mouth
added to her helplessness. Despite the pain of whatever
Rupandra was doing to her scars as she dragged her tongue across
her flesh, Jane felt neither fear nor terror. And because
of the cunning, skilled manipulation of her pussy by Rupandra's
talented fingers, she was increasingly aroused; but unable to
cum! Jane wanted
to cum, just as she wanted to escape, but she could do neither.
felt her strength ebbing away as Rupandra continued to lick and
tease. Her world became a swirling collage of pleasure and
pain—and Rupandra's gorgeous green eyes—and her long, wet,
burning tongue—and her slippery, teasing fingers. Pleasure
And then, suddenly, the pain stopped. The pleasure
continued. Jane still wanted to cum. Jane needed to cum!
"Okay," Rupandra purred, "that will do, for now." Her
fingers continued to glide and probe and tickle and tease across
and inside her captive's pussy. "You may cum, Jane.
You may cum now."
Jane's body went completely rigid and her breath caught in her
throat. Her inner self continued to scream, but now all
parts of her consciousness were screaming with one voice.
Oh. My. GAWD!!
Jane came as she had never cum before, and she kept cumming—and
And then, finally, Jane heaved a deep, shuddering breath through
flared nostrils, closed her eyes, and all was darkness.
|rizzoli & beckett