by Van ©2012
Chapter 6

Time can pass very slowly for a member of Rupandra's race, and tonight was passing very slowly indeed.

Still naked and strapped to the motorized wheelchair so tightly she could barely squirm, Rupandra was alone in an otherwise bare cell.  The floor, ceiling, and walls were stainless steel, polished mirror-bright.  Cold, blue-white LED light glowed from recessed fixtures in the ceiling.  Only long, narrow ventilation slits near the ceiling of all four walls and the hairline crack that defined the closed and locked door relieved the monotony of the four walls; that and the slightly distorted reflection of the chair and its naked, suffering prisoner.

The dominatrix who had "put her to bed" had placed clover-clamps on Rupandra's nipples.  The pads of the spring-loaded, chromed steel devices maintained a firm grip.  Not surprising, as they were lined with tiny spikes.  Granted, the tiny, pin-sharp points didn't pierce her skin, but they were making themselves known, aided by the force of gravity and weights dangling from the ends of the clamps.  The metal burdens were in the shape of leaping wolves and while they were no more than a few ounces each, they were heavy enough to stretch her nipples in a most unpleasant manner.

Rupandra gazed at her reflection in the closed door, specifically, at the leaping wolf weights dangling from her nipples.  They were chrome-bright, as highly polished as the walls, but their finish had a slightly bluish tint.  Ice wolves, Rupandra mused, the symbol of Irena's clan.  What's going to happen?  Will she return me to the Dragons?  Or will I simply... disappear.

Captivity, torment, and uncertainty aside, Rupandra felt a throbbing in her very core, as if not just her heart but her entire body was beating.  She knew the sensation was imaginary, but she also knew what it meant.  Her first change was approaching, and the timing couldn't be worse.

"The Gift," the gene combination that gave the Incufumarae their power to produce mind-controlling pheromones and enslave normal humans, also granted long life.  Some would say long lives.  After living the lifespan of a normal human, Rupandra's kind underwent "The Change," during which they would slumber while their body rejuvenated itself.  Safe in the enclave of their clan or in a hidden lair of their own devising, tended by their fellow clan members or their most loyal of slaves, he or she would lie in a coma-like state for several days while their skin grew increasingly leathery and dry.  And finally, they would awaken, slough off their cocoon, and emerge youthful, restored, and ready for another near-century of life.

There was another benefit of The Change.  With each rejuvenating cycle, an Incufumara's ability to tailor the effectiveness of their pheromones improved.  Extended control of individual normals became easier and easier, especially if they chose slaves with a propensity for obedience—or, in romantic terms, if they found slaves who would fall in love with their Master or Mistress.

For a Seventh-Cycle Elder like Irena, close control was almost trivially easy.  Rupandra very much suspected that every employee of "Lady Irena's House of Pain" was devoted to their Mistress and was enthralled by her power, and the potency of that power would never wane.  Irena's slaves wanted to obey.  Even if their bodies developed immunity to her Gift, they would remain her slaves.

And even for unwilling slaves, including other Incufumarae of lesser experience (like Rupandra) control was instant and unbreakable, at least for a while.  Eventually, the potency of even an Elder's natural perfume would fade, but for a Seventh-Cycle Elder...  that wouldn't happen for weeks... possibly even months.

Rupandra moaned through her gag and shivered in her bonds.  The dominatrix/slave had carried out all of Irena's instructions before sealing the door.

First, she painted Rupandra's breasts with a generous coating of a thick, syrup-like oil that burned on contact.  It wasn't a physical burn, of course, but as Rupandra squirmed in the chair and fought the straps, the smiling dominatrix used a soft, camelhair brush to apply a generous, thorough coat of the oil.  By the time the smiling bitch was finished, her breasts had felt like they were about to ignite!  The sensation had faded with time, but the "Nettle Oil" continued to torment her skin.

Second, the dominatrix had placed a vibrator inside and against Rupandra's pussy.  The device clamped to the chair and its cunning shape filled her and nudged against her clitoris.  It had been buzzing off and on for hours—or for however long it had been since the cell door closed and Rupandra was left to her fate.  Granted, the vibrations had been rather weak, but the duration and interval between pulses varied with no apparent pattern, making the insidious thing impossible to ignore.

Suddenly, the cell door slid open and Lady Irena entered the cell.  She was wearing the same dominatrix outfit as before, and the same superior smile graced her beautiful face.  "Congratulations, youngster," she chuckled, "you've earned yourself a place in the history of our kind—a footnote, at least."

Rupandra stared at her captor, trying not to beg, but she very much feared her eyes were betraying her.

"A conclave of all five clan leaders is a rare event," Irena continued, "even in this age of video communication.  Anyway, it was my honor and duty to brief them on your antics, after first briefing the Ice Wolf and the Red Dragon, of course.  I still don't know what you did to anger your clan.  I suspect it's the same old story: a talented and vain youngster who thinks she's good enough to found herself a new clan."  Irena shook her head, sadly.  "That's it, isn't it?  Silly girl.  Weren't you taught the dangers?  How many promising first or second cycle children have tried?  How many were stoned as sorcerers or burned as witches as a result?"

Irena reached out and released the nipple clamps, first the left, and then the right.

"M'MMPFH!"  Rupandra screamed through her gag.  She was glad the clamps and the Ice-Wolf weights were gone, but Great Gift it hurt!

Irena waited while Rupandra composed herself, then continued.  "There were two votes to put you in the ground, youngster, but it was finally agreed to let you undergo the change."

Rupandra shivered in her bonds, both in distress and relief.  Her breasts still burned with that insidious oil and the vibrator had chosen this moment to begin buzzing.

Irena's smile widened as she watched her prisoner squirm.  "Unfortunately, the Red Dragon doesn't want you back until afterwards.  I suspect she wants time for your Enclave Elders to invent new torments for your punishment when you are returned.  Also, none of the other clans want you, the Ice-Wolves included.  Fortunately for you, there is a possible solution.  Anyway, it falls to me to clean up your mess, and negotiate your disposition."  She strolled to the right side of Rupandra's chair, leaned close, and whispered in her ear.  "In the meantime, I want you to sleep, and dream, and I want you to remain aroused.  It will help stave off the change and grant me a little more time to work things out.  But don't you dare cum, youngster.  Quiver on the edge until I return, but don't you dare cum."  She then kissed Rupandra's sweat-glistening forehead.

Rupandra's body jerked, then she sighed through her gag, her eyes closed, and she slumped in her bonds.

Irena left the cell and the door closed behind her.

Rupandra remained asleep.  Her eyes were already moving under closed lids as she began to dream.

The vibrator continued to buzz at intermittent intervals.

Irena strode down the brightly lit hallway, then paused at a door and entered a code in its cipher-lock.  The door slid open and she entered the large chamber beyond.  It had a high ceiling and was something like a fun-house hall-of-mirrors.  Tall, fully reflective panels on pivoting brackets lined the walls.  Overhead, in addition to banks of small spotlights, four identical winch assemblies were mounted to the ceiling in a neat row.  Each had a pair of drums with a dangling chain separated by about two feet.  Three sockets were visible in the steel floor directly beneath each winch.

Also present was a dominatrix and the two gurneys holding Kate and Jane.  The detectives were still naked, tightly strapped and cuffed to the gurneys, and ball-gagged.

Irena smiled at her employee (and devoted slave).  "Any problems?"

"None, Mistress," the dominatrix answered.

Irena's gaze shifted from gurney to gurney.  "Hmm... I think we'll begin with Jane.  Prepare her."

The dominatrix released all of Jane's straps, including the wrist and ankle cuffs, then stepped behind one of the mirrored panels.  She returned with four new cuffs.

Two were suspension cuffs of black leather, with stainless steel hardware.  They closed around Jane's wrists, first by means of Velcro panels, and then with wide, locking cuffs of polished steel.  The design incorporated padded hand-grips and steel rings dangling from heavy leather straps.  The dominatrix made sure Jane's fingers and thumbs were closed around the grips as she secured the cuffs.

The other two cuffs, part of the matching set, were similar in materials and style and went around Jane's ankles.

Irena leaned close and whispered in Jane's ear.  "You're still asleep, my beauty, but I want you to ease yourself off your nice, soft bed.  Will you do that for Mistress?  I'll help you."

"Mrrpfh," Jane mumbled through her ball-gag, then rolled off the gurney.  Her eyes remained closed and her face relaxed, not counting the grimace imposed by the ball in her open mouth and the straps keeping it there.  With the slow, casual steps of a sleepwalker, Jane allowed Irena and the dominatrix to guide her beneath the second winch assembly.  The dominatrix stepped behind another mirrored panel and returned with several items: an iPad, two heavy, stainless steel clips dangling from short, thick steel rods, and another pair of double clips not attached to anything.

Irena accepted the iPad and tapped the screen.  A red LED glowed on the second winch, the motor hummed, and its two chains unreeled from their drums.  Meanwhile, the dominatrix knelt and secured Jane's feet to the floor.  The clips snapped through the ankle cuffs' dangling rings, then the pegs slid into the two outside floor sockets and snapped into place.  Jane was now standing with her feet about twenty-four inches apart and secured to the floor.  The center floor socket was directly under her body.  The dominatrix stood and lifted Jane's arms, one by one, and clipped the suspension cuffs' terminal rings to the overhead chains.

"The saddle," Irena told the dominatrix.

"Yes, Mistress."  The dominatrix turned and headed for a cabinet behind another panel.

Irena tapped the iPad again, the winch motor hummed, and the chains began slowly winding onto the drums.  This continued until Jane was in a standing spread-eagle with her arms fully extended, but her feet remained flat on the floor.

The dominatrix returned with a steel post about an inch-and-a-half in diameter and two feet in length.  One end was blunt and was scored with several six-inch, shallow grooves.  The other end was shaped something like an unusually small and obviously quite uncomfortable bicycle seat.  It was stainless steel and without padding, but several small, blunt copper studs surrounded by rubber rings studded its upper surface.  Also—and it was a big also—a glistening, black, rubber phallus jutted from the center of the "seat."  The dominatrix snapped the blunt end of the post into the center socket, then gave it a twist until it locked in place with a solid snap.

Irena tapped the iPad, a motor hummed, and the post began to rise from the floor.  The dominatrix leaned close and used her gloved fingers to part Jane's labia and guide the phallus as it slid into her vagina.

"You did lube that thing, didn't you?" Irena inquired.

The dominatrix affected a wounded pout.  "Mistress."

"Forgive me," Irena chuckled.  "Of course you did."  She tapped the iPad and the post locked in place.  Jane's feet were still flat on the floor, but the saddle was nudging her crotch.  "Jane," Irena purred, "I want you to go up on your toes for Mistress, as far as you can."

Jane did so, and in the process lifted herself off the saddle.  Most of the phallus remained inside her.

The dominatrix was leaning close, intently examining Jane's crotch and the saddle.  "She's free of the contacts, Mistress.  All of them."

Irena nodded.  "All right, Jane.  You may rest those pretty toes."  Jane settled back onto the saddle as Irena nodded at the second gurney.  "And now for Kate," she told the dominatrix.

Soon, Kate's condition was identical to Jane's.  Both were in standing spread-eagles, feet on the floor, ankle cuffs secured to steel rings, hands curled around the padded handles of the suspension cuffs locked around their wrists, crotches resting on tiny, copper-studded saddles, and impaled on rubber phalluses.

The dominatrix began wheeling one of the gurneys from the chamber, then paused in the doorway.  "Pain and suffering will really cleanse their bodies, Mistress?" she inquired.

Irena was gazing at her pair of spreadeagled, naked, captive detectives.  "It will," she confirmed.  "They were slaves of the Red Dragon whelp for many hours, more than a day, in fact.  After they are... entertained for about twenty-four hours, their bodies will be purged and my Gift will have its full potency."

The dominatrix smiled.  "Mistress, your Gift is omnipotent.  Is this really necessary?"

Irena smiled back.  "Of course not, but it certainly is fun, don't you agree?"

"Oh, yes, Mistress," the dominatrix chuckled, wheeled the gurney into the hallway, then returned and wheeled out the second gurney.

Irena gazed at her prisoners for several more seconds, then walked to the door and turned.  "Kate, Jane, I want you to count to one hundred, then, wake up."  She crossed the threshold and the door slid closed behind her.

Dana had let Olivia keep the "Visiting Agent" office so she could coordinate the investigations in Boston and New York.  Dana had accepted the temporary use of a senior Agent's office for the duration.  She had no idea what the poor guy had done to earn the "honor" of being evicted to appease the visiting Executive Assistant Director, but the politics of the New York Field Office were none of her concern.  Besides, the office had a window.  She closed the folder before her on the desk and gazed at the Manhattan skyline beyond said window.  The sun was setting and the buildings were already transitioning from glass, steel, brick, and concrete towers to pillars of light.

Dana's stomach growled.  She'd skipped lunch.  The building had a cafeteria, but she had no idea of the hours.  Maybe I'll order a pizza, she thought, or Chinese.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.  "Enter," Dana answered.

The door opened to reveal Olivia.  "I just got a call from a Dr. Helen Magnus," she announced.  "She claims to have important information regarding the whereabouts of Detectives Beckett and Rizzoli."

Dana's eyes widened in surprise.  "Helen Magnus?"  Dana had told Olivia nothing about her Sanctuary Network contact.  Olivia didn't have a need to know.  Why would Helen call Olivia, and not me?

"I haven't had time to do a search," Olivia responded.  "I asked her to come in, but she wants to meet in a restaurant."

Dana's stomach growled, again, and a smile curled her lips.  That sounds like Helen.  She wants another free meal from the Bureau.  "I'm coming with you."

Now it was Olivia's turn to be surprised.  "Executive Assistant Director?"

"You're here without a partner," Dana observed.  "You can't take a meeting without backup."  Besides, she thought, there's no way I'm gonna miss the expression on Helen's face when I walk in and demand to know who the hell she thinks she is to ignore the Bureau's chain of command.

Olivia nodded.  "From the name it's an Indian place, about three blocks from here."

Dana stood, opened the side drawer of the borrowed desk, and pulled out her Glock.  She slid the holster's clip under the waistband of her skirt, at the small of her back and under her jacket.  "I like Chicken Marsala," she said.

Jane tugged on her wrist cuffs for what felt like the millionth time.  She'd opened her eyes to find herself in a standing spread-eagle and impaled on some sort of rubber prod.  She was also naked and ball-gagged.  Kate Beckett was to her left, in identical condition.  Jane tried lifting herself off the... thing between her legs, but the wide, leather and steel cuffs securing her ankles to the floor made this impossible.  She had sufficient slack to go up on her toes and the even wider cuffs securing her wrists with their integrated grips for her hands let her put her shoulders and arms into the effort, but it was impossible.  She tried, nonetheless, as did Kate.

They'd tried communicating early on, not that Jane could think of anything helpful or clever that Kate needed to know about their situation that she didn't already know.  In any case, their repertoire was limited to simian grunts and growls and the blinking of eyes.

And then, it happened.  The steel saddle or platform under Jane's crotch suddenly delivered a stinging electric shock!  Jane yelped through her gag and went up on her toes.  As Kate's behavior mirrored her own, Jane surmised the New York cop had also been shocked.

Supported by her toes and the strength of her arms, Jane remained above the saddle.  The thing—dildo, phallus, dong, whatever—wasn't quite as far inside her as when she was "sitting" on the saddle with her feet on the floor, but she was still impaled.

Jane held the up-on-her-toes pose for several minutes...

Then for several minutes more.

Finally, Jane decided that perhaps a test was in order.  She knew she could alternate between putting her full weight on her toes and taking her full weight with her arms—but she couldn't do it forever.  Eventually she'd exhaust the relevant muscle groups.  Maybe the saddle wasn't electrified all the time.  Maybe it would "allow" her to rest.

"Mrrrf!"  Kate had obviously had the same thought, decided to conduct the same test, and had beat Jane to the punch—or in this case, the jolting shock.  Jane watched a shudder pass through her fellow captive's glistening body.  Kate was back up on her toes.  She heaved a gagged sigh in Jane's direction, nodded down at her crotch with her drool-dripping chin, then shook her head.

Jane heaved a gagged sigh of her own and settled in for the duration.

Suddenly, the door slid open with a quiet hum and a truly bizarre figure entered the room.

She—and the figure was definitely a she—had a smooth, coffee-brown complexion and an athletic, voluptuous build.  She was wearing skintight thigh-boots, a very French-cut thong, a corset that constricted her waist and supported her generous breasts, and opera gloves, all of white leather.  Her features were hidden behind a mask, also of white leather, and it was sculpted in the visage of a grinning rabbit, complete with pink nose, full cheeks, buck teeth, and long, floppy ears.  Her curly hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and was as jet black as Jane's own tousled locks.  In her right hand she held—Gulp—a flogger!  It had twenty or more long, narrow ribbons of white leather dangling from a braided leather handle, also in white.

"My, my, my, what a pretty pair," the rabbit-woman chuckled.  Her voice was disguised by some sort of electronic device that imparted a buzzing, very eerie lilt.  "They told me your names, but who has time to worry about such things."  She stepped behind the spreadeagled prisoners, there was a brief pause, then she delivered a stinging lash to Jane's buttocks.

"M'mpfh!"

"I'll call you Blackie," the rabbit-woman said, then delivered a lash to Kate's butt.

"M'rrf!"

"And you I'll call Brownie."  The rabbit-woman produced a small remote from somewhere behind her back.  Jane to Kate looked back over their shoulders and watched as the white apparition pointed the remote first at Jane, then at Kate, and then back at Jane.  "Eenie meanie miny mo.  Who gets to go first, Blackie or Brownie?"  Finally, she thumbed one of the remote's buttons.

Jane yelped through her gag and flinched in her bonds.  The phallus between her legs had begun to vibrate, and was also slowly sliding up and down.  And if she wasn't mistaken, it was also slowly spinning and wobbling, ever so slightly.  It's fucking me! she realized, and howled through her gag in frustration and humiliation.

"Oh goodness me," the rabbit-woman laughed.  "If looks could kill, your pretty brown eyes would strike me dead."  She shifted her animal mask gaze to Kate.  "Don't worry, Brownie.  You'll get your turn."  She gave the flogger a practice swing.  "In the meanwhile..."  Swish.  "To pass the time..."

Jane tried to ignore what the dildo was doing to her.  She also tried to ignore the flogging the rabbit-woman was delivering to Kate's back, butt, and thighs.  There was nothing she could do about either.  Most frustrating of all, she couldn't remember what the hell had led to their current ordeal.  She remembered meeting Kate, that she was a New York cop, but the details were just out of reach.  There was a case, they were working on a case.  Also, she remembered naked skin... lots of naked skin, as well as lapping tongues, teasing fingers, soft lips...  And above all, the scent of this wonderful perfume... but it was all flashes.  She just couldn't remember any details!  The full picture kept slipping away.

And speaking of things that were slipping...

Buzz-buzz-buzz... Jane's mechanical violation continued.  She shuddered in her bonds as the phallus worked its evil magic.

Whack—whack—whack...  Kate's flogging also continued.

There was a woman, Jane remembered, with reddish-brown hair and the most incredibly beautiful pale blue eyes, or was it two women, and...  She couldn't remember!

Buzz-buzz-buzz...  The spinning, vibrating shaft pumping her pussy was NOT helping her concentration.

Olivia and Dana passed through the doors and discovered that the "Madurai Palace" was, not surprisingly, an Indian restaurant.  The decor of the lobby was tastefully exotic, with dark wood paneling, a splashing fountain, and a multi-armed sculpture of a Hindu deity in an artfully lit alcove.  Truth be told, Olivia had no idea what an "authentic" Indian eatery was supposed to look like, but it seemed like a pleasant place. 

The hostess at the reservations desk was in her late twenties, with long, straight, black hair and stunning features.  The name tag pinned to her sari read "Aishwarya."  She smiled and spoke with a lilting accent.  "Welcome to Madurai Palace.  Party of two?"

"We're here to meet Dr. Magnus," Olivia answered.

Still smiling, the hostess nodded and picked up two menus.  "Of course, right this way, if you please."

She led them through the main dining room.  The dimly lit interior was as tasteful as the lobby, and a wonderful, spicy aroma hung in the air.  Waiters and busboys bustled about.  The tables were only about half-occupied, but it was still somewhat early.  Their destination was one of several private dining alcoves in the back.  The hostess parted a pair of gauzy, translucent curtains, and Olivia and Dana entered the alcove.

Within they found an attractive, middle-aged woman sitting on one of several large, flat cushions clustered around a low, circular table.  She was dressed in a smart business suit, a skirt and jacket of charcoal gray over a white blouse.  Her hair was auburn and long and her eyes a pale shade of blue.  She rose to her feet with the grace of a dancer, and smiled.

Olivia stared in stunned amazement.  The woman was... beautiful.  "D-Doctor Magnus?"

"Yes," the woman answered.  "I'm Helen Magnus."

"Special Agent Olivia Dunham."  The woman shook Olivia's hand—and a thrill rippled through Olivia's crotch and up her spine.  Her nostrils flared and she realized her pulse was racing.  The woman's perfume, together with the spices of the restaurant, was overpowering... and wonderful.

The woman turned and shook Dana's hand.

"Special Agent Dana Scully," Dana introduced herself. 

Olivia wasn't surprised by Dana referring to herself as a "Special Agent."  It was standard Bureau practice not to use higher rank designations in the field unless it was necessary.  And this applied especially to the "Executive Assistant Director for Special Cases."  The title led to too many questions.  What was not standard was the way Dana was staring at Dr. Magnus.  Olivia hadn't known her superior for very long, but Dana's expression might be one of poorly concealed confusion, possibly even panic.

Olivia also realized that she, herself, was staring at Magnus like an idiot and closed her mouth.

"Be seated, please," Magnus purred, and followed her own advice.  The hostess handed menus to Olivia and Dana, then left.

"Y-you're n-not Magnus," Dana stammered.

The auburn-haired beauty smiled.  "You know Dr. Magnus?"

Dana's jaw twitched before she answered.  "I..."

"Neither of you are to move unless I give you permission," the woman ordered, then repeated her question to Dana.  "You know Helen Magnus?  Tell me the truth."

"I know Helen Magnus," Dana answered.  "You're not Helen Magnus."

"No, I'm not," the woman chuckled.  "Please, show me your ID's."

Olivia and Dana fumbled for their badge/ID cases and handed them over.

"Olivia Dunham," the woman said quietly, then shifted her attention to Dana's ID.  "And Dana Scully."  Her eyebrows lifted in mild surprise.  "Executive Assistant Director," she noted.  The badge cases weren't quite identical.  Dana's had an additional flap under her Bureau ID.  The woman lifted the flap and gazed at a second ID.  "Ah, Homeland Security and Department of Defense special authority." Her smile broadened.  "I seem to have landed myself a big fish."  Her ice-blue eyes locked with Dana's worried, green eyes.  "And what an attractive fish you are, Dana Scully."  She shifted her gaze to Olivia.  "And you, as well, Olivia.  You're both very pretty youngsters."

Dana opened her mouth.  "Who—"

"Hush, Dana," the woman chuckled.  "I know you've come for information, but I'm afraid you're going to be doing most of the talking."  She paused to take a delicate sip of ice water.  "Smile, both of you.  We're good friends enjoying a pleasant meal and having a nice, friendly chat.  And after dessert...  Well, let's wait and see how the evening progresses."  She set down her glass.  "My real name is Irena, by the way, but you may call me Mistress."