by Van ©2012
Beckett and Jane Rizzoli were not bound and gagged in any
way. Even their hands were free, no longer confined by
their former duct tape wrappings. They'd showered
together, but neither had cleaned their own body. To the
accompaniment of saucy smirks, teasing smiles, flirtatious
giggling, and many stolen kisses, they took turns scrubbing each
others skin, shampooing each others hair, toweling each others
naked bodies, drying each others hair, and gently brushing said
hair until their long, lustrous brown and shining raven tresses
were at their best.
Then, they helped each other dress. It wasn't
necessary. In fact, it significantly slowed the process,
but it was certainly fun. More importantly, like the
shared shower and grooming, they knew it would please their
absent Mistress. It had been her order that they make all
preparations to depart together.
Boots, slacks, blouses, and jackets—Jane and Kate were ready for
the streets of Manhattan. Their ID/badge cases were in
their accustomed places on their belts, as were their holstered
weapons and their handcuffs; however, their back-up pieces were
on the bed, in a heap with their bras and saliva-soaked
panties. The detectives were going bra-less and commando,
again, at Mistress' order. Outwardly, of course, as they
walked the streets of Manhattan, nothing would appear to be
They made their way to the room adjacent to the main entryway
and waited for Mistress to appear. Meanwhile, they carried
out Mistress' final instructions: (1) to embrace, but to be
careful not to unnecessarily rumple their clothing or hair; (2)
to make out, but avoiding hickeys or chapped lips; and (3) to be
sure not to
cum. They were to keep their hands above their
fellow-slave's waistline and outside each others clothes.
The squashing of tits together was allowed, but dry humping was
not. It might lead to violations of the first and/or third
The instruction not to cum was almost cruel. Both slaves
wanted very much to
cum. Okay, the orgasmic prohibition was cruel, but it was
nothing compared to what was happening upstairs.
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Rhodes was still on the bed and was still naked, bound, and
gagged. There was nothing unusual about that. Bound,
gagged, and naked had been her condition for nearly her entire
captivity, both back in the hotel and at her current, unknown
location. What was
unusual was the cunningly stringent and overly elaborate nature
of her bondage.
First, Rupandra used thin cord—many, many yards of thin
cord. It was braided nylon, between an eighth and a
quarter of an inch in diameter. She bound Natalie's wrists
behind her back and her elbows, squeezing them together.
She pinned her arms to her upper body, looping around her torso
above and below her breasts and
around her arms and torso. She bound Natalie's
forearms to her waist, and additional strands yoked her
shoulders. Natalie's legs were bound together at the
ankles, shins and calves, below and above her knees, and around
her upper thighs. In each case, for every grouping of
taut, cinched cord, Rupandra employed at least a dozen
Natalie's hands remained mummified in duct tape. In fact,
once Rupandra had bound Natalie's wrists with her encased hands
palm-to-palm, she used more
duct tape to doubly wrap them together. Short of
amputation, Natalie's fingers and thumbs couldn't be rendered
Something large and spongy was stuffed in Natalie's mouth and a
narrowly folded scarf tied to keep it there. Then, a
folded cloth, either a kitchen towel or a washcloth, Natalie
wasn't sure which, was placed over her mouth and turn after
tautly stretched turn of duct tape was wrapped around her
head. Rupandra didn't stop until Natalie's cheeks bulged
and her lower face was as tightly mummified as her hands.
Very little of Natalie's long, brown hair was trapped under the
tape, as it was already combed back and plaited into a single,
tight braid entwined with cord.
Next, Rupandra used more cord to bind Natalie's breasts. A
dozen strands were looped around the base of each breast and
tightened until the now taut globes darkened and took on a mauve
blush. Natalie's reaction as Rupandra tied a web of single
strands to further compress the bound melons confirmed their
Then, Rupandra used most of the larger, white nylon rope she
used to bind Natalie and her two other slaves. It was tied
to form a network of horizontal and diagonal strands overlying
Natalie's cord bonds from her shoulders to her feet. To
describe the resulting web as overkill was the height of
understatement. After tying the final knot, she produced a
large package of four-inch plastic cable-ties and began zipping
them through the places where the cord bondage met the rope
bondage. As she worked her way down Natalie's prone form,
rolling her helpless form as required, the already inescapable
bondage became a work or art—a cruel, perhaps even evil work of art.
Rupandra smiled as she went back over each and every junction
and snipped off the ends of the ties with a pair of
scissors. "You are so beautiful like this, Natalie," she
purred as she completed her work. "Your perfect physique
bundled and helpless, your smooth flesh dimpled by my cords and
ropes, your cheeks bulging and your eyes wide with fear... so
beautiful." She leaned close and kissed Natalie's shining
forehead. "I will remember you like this, Natalie,
always." She used the nails of her left hand to tease
Natalie's hypersensitive nipples while her right hand slid
between the captive's bound thighs and began caressing her
Natalie squirmed in her incredible bonds and moaned through her
gag. Rupandra's hand was working its magic, coaxing, nay extracting yet another
orgasm from her tired, sore, aching body.
"I'll feed on your fear one last time, Natalie," Rupandra
whispered. "Then, I'll put you away and my slaves and I
will depart. All is ready. You can have anything you
need delivered in Manhattan, even hardware, and Kate was very
happy to make the call and use her card to make her Mistress
Natalie could barely focus on Rupandra's words, but she knew her
future wasn't good. Hardware?
Rupandra continued stroking Natalie's pussy, feeding.
Finally, after several minutes, Natalie went rigid in her bonds
and writhed in orgasm. Rupandra continued to feed, and
finally, when Natalie was spent, the smiling redhead licked her
"One last detail," she said, and pulled a knotted rope between
Natalie's labia, slipped the end through her waist bonds, and
pulled it tight. Natalie now had a crotch rope, the only
thing that had been missing from her bonds.
Natalie squirmed, and found the crotch rope cleaving her pussy
and butt cheeks was tied to her wrist bonds in back. What more can she do to me?
Natalie wondered, and knew she was about to find out.
Rupandra frowned. "I can't help but think I'm forgetting
something," she said. "This always happens just when
you're leaving someplace, never to return, doesn't it?"
Then, her smile returned and she reached for one more coil of
cord. "That's right! Silly me. I can't leave
you without binding your feet and toes."
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and Jane continued sucking face. They paused when they
heard a banging noise echoing from upstairs. Apparently
Mistress—and it could only be Mistress—was pounding some nails.
"The stuff from the hardware store," Kate mumbled through Jane's
mouth and around her tongue.
"Yeah," Jane mumbled in agreement.
A couple of wet, slurping minutes passed, then Rupandra
descended the stairs. She'd donned an expensive and very
smart-looking business suit—jacket, blouse, skirt, panty hose,
and high heels—and was ready for the Manhattan streets.
"Are my warriors ready?" Rupandra asked as she joined the
"Yes, Mistress," the detectives answered, then released their
long embrace and began straightening their clothes and hair.
Meanwhile, Rupandra had pulled Kate's iPhone from her pocket and
was thumbing a message. She finished tapping the virtual
keyboard and set the iPhone on the floor. "Okay, time to
go. Don't forget to set the alarm, Kate."
"Yes, Mistress," Kate answered.
They negotiated the entryway heat lock, pausing only long enough
for Kate to arm the alarm panel. And then, the front door
closed with a solid thunk
and they were gone. All was still in the townhouse.
|rizzoli & beckett
heart was pounding and her well-roped and corded bosom heaved as
she panted through her flaring nostrils. Her eyes were
wide with terror as she stared at the close confines of her
prison. Inches to either side of her bound, gagged, and
utterly helpless body were the solid timbers of a pair of floor
joists. Immediately overhead was the sub-floor and the
underside of the access hatch Mistress had used to place her in
what might possibly be her final resting place.
Well, not her final
resting place, but Natalie knew it was a good bet that when
eventually discovered, she would be a decomposing corpse.
After binding her feet and toes, the final element of Natalie's
inescapable web of bondage, Rupandra had lifted her onto her
shoulder and carried her from the bedroom. It was a short
journey to their planned destination. Rupandra set
Natalie's bound feet on the floor, spun her around, and Natalie
beheld her fate. Her eyes popped wide and she screamed through her
There was a linen closet next to the door of the main
bathroom. The closet door was open and the small space was
empty but for a column of empty wooden shelves. The bottom
shelf had been lifted from its brackets and was leaning against
the wall next to a rectangular gap in the closet floor.
The gap was an access panel, and its wooden lid was also leaning
against the wall.
The space below was the space between two floor joists. A
major plumbing junction was revealed, near the back wall of the
closet. Obviously, access to the pipes was the purpose of
Natalie continued squirming and mewling, but couldn't prevent
Rupandra from lifting her upright body, planting her feet in the
open hatch, then sliding her into the space until she was lying
on her back. The cavity continued past the hatch
opening. There might be cross-bracing or strapping further
down, but her bound feet encountered nothing but air.
Rupandra leaned down and rolled Natalie's body until she could
pull free her braided hair. She then looped the cord at
the end of the braid around one of the pipes and tied a double
knot. Natalie would remain where she was, her bound body
framed in the opening from the waist up. Squirming and
wiggling down the joist cavity and away from the hatch was no
longer possible—not that there was any rational reason for
Natalie to want to
explore the darkness beyond her tied toes.
Rupandra smiled, kissed Natalie's nipples—first the right, and
then the left—then her gagged lips, and finally, her glistening
forehead. She then tore open a long, thin foil wrapper and
pulled out a glow-stick, a plastic cylinder full of chemicals
that would emit a greenish light when mixed together. She
snapped the stick to release the internal capsules and gave it a
vigorous shake to start the reaction. She then slid the
stick between Natalie's breasts, wedging it under the cord and
rope bonds and against her sternum. Still smiling, she
reached for the hatch.
"Oh, don't beg Natalie," Rupandra cooed. "As an actress
who cut her cinematic teeth her on the genre, you know very well
that only a select few of the cast of a Horror movie survive
until the end credits." She fit one edge of the hatch into
the opening, that gazed down at her helpless, gagged, terrified
victim one last time. "Good bye, Natalie," she whispered,
and closed the hatch. She then placed the bottom shelf on
the floor, across the hatch, and reached for the hammer and
nails waiting on the next to the bottom shelf. She'd
already marked positions that would be directly over the joists
on either side of the hatch, and began driving nails through the
shelf, the floor, and into the joists, three on the left and
three on the right.
Below, in the coffin-sized space, Natalie struggled against her
incredible bonds and fought the panic threatening to overwhelm
her mind. She knew the bang—bang—bang
of the pounding nails spelled her utter and certain doom.
Finally, the pounding stopped. Natalie panted through her
nostrils The underside of the hatch and the wooden joists
to either side of her roped shoulders glowed with the eerie
green light of the glow-stick. How long before the glow
faded to nothing? How many hours before the onset of
|rizzoli & beckett
and her two slave-warrior escorts made the long walk through the
teeming pedestrian traffic to their destination.
Residential streets gave way to taller and taller buildings as
they entered midtown. The skyscraper canyons of the
financial district loomed ahead.
They entered an office tower on 38th Street, made their way
across the bustling lobby, and took an elevator to the
twenty-eighth floor. Ahead was a set of double doors with
an elegantly engraved brass plaque reading "Lady Irena."
The full name of the establishment was "Lady Irena's House of
Pain," but customers would know that and there was no need to
offend vanilla passersby.
Lady Irene was, perhaps, Manhattan's premiere dominatrix.
She catered to the masochistically inclined of the city's
powerful and successful, mostly men, but Irena and her employees
wielded equal opportunity whips. No sex was involved, as
far as NYPD Vice could determine, and all the "services" offered
by her establishment were entirely consensual. Her lawyers
had the paperwork to prove it.
Kate took the lead as they opened the doors and crossed the
waiting room to the receptionist's desk. She had
encountered Lady Irena a few years earlier when one of her
employees was murdered. The investigation led to the
"House of Pain," but it turned out Lady Irene wasn't directly
involved in the crime. Kate flashed her shield. "I
need to see Lady Irena," she told the smiling receptionist.
"Do you have an appointment?" the pretty blonde inquired.
"No," Kate answered, "but it's very important, and she knows
The receptionist focused on Kate's ID as she picked up the
phone. "One moment, please, Detective Beckett." She
gestured towards a sofa and a pair of easy chairs on the left
side of the room. "Please, be seated."
Kate, Jane, and Rupandra walked to the conversation grouping and
sat. The waiting room was dark and severely modern: glass
panels, polished floor, and indirect lighting. There were
Victorian accents in the form of a hanging chandelier and the
style of the seating, but they sounded a grace note rather than
clashing with the decor. Rupandra and the detectives were
on the plush side of the room. The right side held a row
of what appeared to be over-sized school desks with hardwood
seats and folding writing surfaces. They were adult in
scale but didn't appear to be at all comfortable.
"I imagine that's where naughty boys waiting to see the Head
Mistress sit and squirm," Jane muttered under her breath.
Kate smiled, but Rupandra shrugged in disinterest.
The receptionist hung up the phone, then stepped around the desk
and gestured towards a side door. "This way, ladies, if
Kate, Jane, and Rupandra followed the blonde down a long
hallway. The decor was the same as the lobby, but without
the Victorian elements. A series of framed,
black-and-white photos graced the walls. The nude male
form was the unifying theme and they were either genuine
Maplethorpes or the work of imitators.
The receptionist opened a door without knocking and held it for
the others to enter the space beyond. The door closed with
the receptionist remaining in the hallway and they found
themselves in an office—a large, modern, and somewhat kinky office. Three
of the of the four walls were clad in black leather
padding. Leather covered buttons formed a diamond
pattern. The fourth wall was an expanse of glass providing
an unobstructed vista of the urban landscape. Underfoot
was plush, steel-gray carpeting. The desk was a granite
slab with black, skeletal supports that made it seem to almost
float in midair.
Behind the desk was an executive chair that could only be
described as a throne, and seated in that throne was Lady Irena.
The dominatrix was appropriately dressed in shining black
leather: boots with stiletto heels, a hobble-skirt, corset-top,
and opera gloves. Her hair was long and red and her
smiling lips painted a flaming
crimson. She was in her forties... perhaps... and was very
beautiful—exceptionally beautiful—stunningly beautiful. Her pale blue eyes
and smirk conveyed the authority of one used to total control.
Rupandra smiled and stepped forward, confident that soon she would be in change.
Irena was focusing on Kate as she rose from her chair and walked
around the desk. "Detective Beckett," she said, "to what
do I owe the pleasure of—" She shifted her gaze to
Rupandra as she approached, and her eyes widened with surprise.
"Hush," Rupandra purred as she drew near to Lady Irena.
"I'll do the talking for a while. Cross your wrists behind
your back and kiss me. I want to taste you. I
want... I..." Now, Rupandra's
eyes were wide as she stared at Lady Irena in
Lady Irena's smile had returned. "I think a kiss is an
excellent idea," she said, pulled Rupandra into a tight embrace,
and planted a deep, wet kiss on and in the still startled Rupandra's open mouth.
After several seconds, Lady Irena broke the kiss and embrace and
took a step back. "Now, youngster," she said, "I want you
to stand right where you are. Don't move and don't
speak." She then walked to Kate and gave her a polite kiss
on the cheek.
Both Kate and Jane were staring at Rupandra in confusion.
Irena chuckled. "There's nothing to be concerned
about." She remained focused on Kate. "Detective
Beckett, just look at you. You're as beautiful as
ever." She kissed Kate, again, but this time full on the
"W-what's going on?" Jane demanded.
Irena ended her kiss with Kate, embraced Jane, and kissed her as
well. Jane shivered in Irena's arms, and Kate gazed at the
Boston detective and the dominatrix with what could only be
called a goofy smile.
Irena leaned back and smiled at Jane. "And who might you
be, my raven-haired beauty?"
"Detective Jane Rizzoli," Jane answered, "Boston Homicide."
"Another goddess of justice walking among us," Irena smiled,
then returned to Rupandra.
Still frozen in place, Rupandra's eyes remained wide and
surprised. Her arms and hands repeatedly shook with
tremors, as if she was trying to move and could not.
Irena was still smiling at the detectives. "You both look
very tired," she
said. "Why don't you lie down on the floor and take a nice
Kate and Jane smiled and followed Irena's suggestion
(order). Soon both were on their sides on the plush carpet
in loose fetal tucks, their eyes closed and lips curled in
Irena shifted her gaze to Rupandra. The dominatrix was
still smiling, but her eyes had become hard. "You silly girl," she
muttered. "You think you can simply waltz into the Prime
Lair of a Seventh-Cycle, Ice-Wolf Elder and take over?
What are you? What is your clan?"
"R-red Dragon," Rupandra answered, her lips twitching.
"Yes, you smell like a Dragon," Irena nodded, then kissed
Rupandra's lips. Again, it was deep and long.
Rupandra stood passively as Irena's tongue explored her
mouth. She was no longer fighting to control her
body. "You're at the cusp of your first cycle, aren't
you?" Irena demanded as she took a step back.
"Y-yes, Mistress," Rupandra answered.
"And you've decided to do it on your own," Irena sighed, "to
strike out and establish a lair, to shun the Dragon-Sisters who
would shelter and guide you through the change?"
"Incredibly stupid. Incredibly dangerous." Irena
walked behind her desk and pressed a button on her phone.
"Mistress?" a voice answered.
"I need two gurneys and a wheel chair to take three new clients
through the wall," Irena stated. "Is the main
"Mistress Bethany and Mistress Aarti are entertaining clients,
but I'll inform them that a transfer is in progress and lock
"Make it so," Irena ordered, then tapped the button, ending the
call. She then sat in her chair and frowned at
Rupandra. "So, not only do you offend me personally by
invading my lair with slaves in tow, but you involve me in a
potential inter-clan dispute and who knows what else among the
normals." She stared at Rupandra for several seconds, then
sighed, again. "Obviously, an interrogation is in
order. Not even the Red Dragon, Herself, can fault me for
that, as long as I leave enough of you alive for clan
discipline. Strip," she ordered, "and neatly fold your
clothing. Don't you dare
make a mess of my office."
"Yes, Mistress," Rupandra whispered. Her hands once again
trembling, she began releasing the buttons of her jacket.
|rizzoli & beckett