& beckett
by Van ©2012 
jane & kate

Chapter 8



Rupandra was lying on her side on the floor of a padded cell.  She was naked.  Her hands and arms were behind her back and zipped and strapped into an arm-binder, a skintight single-sleeve of black, chamois-soft leather.  It pressed her hands together, finger-to-finger and palm-to-palm, and her forearms together along their entire length, from wrists to elbows.  This rolled back her shoulders and thrust forward her already prominent breasts.  The binder was part of a system of straps with locking buckles that included a wide, stiff collar, narrow straps that yoked her shoulders and encircled her upper-arms and torso, and more straps around her waist and sheath-bound forearms, through her crotch, and around her upper thighs.  The crotch straps didn't cleave her pussy, but anchored what amounted to a pussy spider-gag, an oval-shaped steel ring with cleverly designed, curved flanges that wedged her labia apart and attached to the thigh and waist straps.  An actual spider-gag was strapped in her mouth, propping open her jaws.  It was buckled and locked at the nape of her neck, tight enough for its strap to cause her cheeks to bulge.  Finally, locking leather cuffs separated by a foot of light chain hobbled her ankles.

The prolonged immobility was taking its toll.  A normal human would have been in great pain, especially in the shoulders, but what Rupandra felt was the deep burn that accompanied the healing of an injury.  She knew that was why Irena had ordered her to be strapped into the binder and harness.  They were sapping her strength, continuing the process begun by the vibrator and nipple-clamps she'd endured while strapped in the wheelchair.  The need to heal was delaying the change, making her too weak to begin the process.  Eventually, she'd have to feed, and she'd have to feed a lot.  Otherwise, when the change finally came, her body would consume rather than rejuvenate itself.  But first, slowly and with great suffering, Rupandra would go mad.

Among the Incufumarae, it was called the "Traitor's Death," an ancient form of execution not used for centuries, reserved for those who had betrayed their clan or had sided with human fanatics against their own kind.  She knew Irena wasn't really going to let her die.  The Mistress of the House of Pain was making Rupandra suffer for the Ice-Wolf Elder's enjoyment and to make her easier to control—and it was working, the control aspect, anyway.  Rupandra was weak with hunger, thirst, and the need to feed on the essence of a normal human, what was called "soul hunger,"  She assumed the enjoyment aspect was also working, for Irena.  The Elder certainly seemed to be finding pleasure in her predicament, whenever she dropped by to gloat.

And speaking of gloating, the padded door opened and Irena entered the cell.  She was dressed in her usual dominatrix drag with the usual smile curving her flame-red lips and dancing in her pale-blue eyes.  In her gloved hands was a steel tray, which she set on the padded floor.

On the tray were two small, stainless steel pet bowls.  One contained what appeared to be clear water, and the other some sort of brown kibble.  Rupandra stared at what she hoped would be a much wanted meal.

Irena knelt and unlocked, unbuckled, and removed Rupandra's spider-gag.  "Not a word, youngster," she cautioned as she stood and took a step back.  "Eat."

It was an order Rupandra was more than happy to follow.  It was also an order she was powerless not to follow.  Irena's pheromonal control of Rupandra's mind was as unbreakable as her bonds.  She alternated between lapping water and tonguing kibble into her mouth, chewing, and swallowing.  All the while, Irena watched with the same self-satisfied smile.  Finally, the modest repast consumed, Rupandra sat back on her heels and glared at her captor.

"I know your other appetite is great, Little Dragon," Irena chuckled, "so I've decided to allow you a meal for your soul, as well."  She turned, stepped back through the door, and returned immediately, leading a naked woman in chains.

Rupandra stared, her eyes wide with hunger.  The woman was a redhead, a normal human by her scent, with pale skin, a toned, fit body, modest but well-formed breasts, and green eyes.  Padded cuffs of brown leather bound her wrists and ankles with a matching collar around her throat.  A light steel chain about a foot in length joined her wrists, a chain of similar length hobbled her ankles, and a longer, vertical chain linked the collar to the central links of the wrist and ankle chains.  A gag covered and compressed her mouth.  It was a panel-gag, also of brown leather.  It had a chin-strap, and from the bulge in the panel, it incorporated some sort of mouth-filling plug.

"Rupandra," Irena said, "allow me to introduce Executive Assistant Director Dana Scully of the FBI.  No doubt she'd like to arrest you for your crimes, but instead, she's going to serve as your snack."

Rupandra gazed into Dana's eyes.  They were wide but knowing.  Rupandra could tell the redhead was enthralled—just as Rupandra, herself, was enthralled—but Irena was allowing the human full awareness.  Dana was aware of all that was happening to her—but, bondage aside, she was powerless to disobey.

"Dana, please go down on your hands and knees with your back to Rupandra," Irena ordered.  Dana shuffled forward and complied.  "Knees further apart," Irena added.  Again, Dana complied.  The Elder smiled at Rupandra.  "You don't mind taking her doggie-style, I hope.  Given the other dining arrangements, it seems appropriate."

"No, Mistress," Rupandra muttered.  Irena had asked a direct question, she wasn't gagged, and therefore had no choice but to answer; however, she couldn't keep the contempt from her voice.

"Excellent," Irena chuckled.  "Begin."

Rupandra leaned close, nosed Dana's pussy, then extended her tongue and slid it across her "snack's" flushed, glistening labia.  Both captives shuddered with pleasure.

"As slow as you can, Dragon whelp," Irena purred.  "I know your hunger is great, but make it as slow as you can.  Prolong Dana's pleasure.  Keep her on the edge until I give you permission to let her cum.  Then, and only then may you actually take in her aura."

Rupandra continued licking and sucking Dana's pussy, using light, teasing strokes and taking playful, ever-so-gentle nibbles of the shivering redhead's labia with her lips and teeth.

"She's delicious," Irena sighed, "don't you agree?  No, don't stop to answer me, silly girl.  Continue."

Rupandra did continue, and Dana continued moaning softly through her gag and shivering delicately in her bonds.

"I've always been partial to the flavor of redheads," Irena continued.  "I may make my next lair in Ireland or Scotland."

rizzoli & beckett
Chapter 8

Jane Rizzoli stared at the canvas padding of her cell.  The ceiling, floor and all four walls were the equivalent of a thin mattress.  Well, she assumed the walls and ceiling were that soft.  She could only vouch for the floor.  The off-white, tufted canvas was only relieved by a recessed lighting fixture covered by a grid of heavy wire in the ceiling, directly overhead, and by a rectangular outline in the padding that was probably a closed and presumably locked door.

Jane was naked, bound, and gagged.  A wide strip of some sort of tape covered her lips, plastered to her lower face from nose to chin and ear to ear.  Her arms were folded behind her back and laced and buckled into a "U"-shaped binder that pressed her fingers and hands against her forearms and stretched from armpit to armpit.  Finally, leather ankle cuffs were buckled around her ankles and attached to the ends of a four-foot wooden pole, splaying her legs.

Despite her bondage and nude captivity, Jane felt oddly relaxed, as if she'd been given a painkiller of some sort.  Her body was a little sore, but her stomach was full and she wasn't particularly thirsty.  She had vague memories of consuming some sort of brown nuggets and lapping water from a bowl, but that was all.  When she tried remembering anything else that had happened or how she came to be in this cell... the details eluded her.  She did remember a whip, and being shocked, and sweating and struggling in inescapable bonds—bonds different from her current inescapable bonds—but they were only fleeting impressions.  At some point her body had been washed and her long, raven curls shampooed, dried, brushed, and arranged in a ponytail, but when and how that happened was also a mystery.

It was frustrating in the extreme.  "Mrrrrf!"  Jane squirmed and fought her bonds.  She knew who she was, Jane Rizzoli, and what she was, a Boston cop, but the actual events of recent hours—or recent days, for all she knew—were a near total blank.

Just then, the door opened and a woman entered the cell.

Irena!  Jane recognized her instantly and a thrill strong enough to make her entire body quiver rippled between her legs and up her spine.  "M'mmmpfh!"

Irena was naked—gloriously naked.  Her auburn hair framed her perfect, smiling face.  Her body was smooth, tan, toned, and magnificent.  She gracefully strode to Jane and knelt beside her prostrate form.  "Jane Rizzoli," she sighed, then lifted Jane's head and shoulders onto her lap.  "How I'd love to keep you, Jane... and Kate and Olivia as well, but it's not to be."  She leaned close and kissed Jane's forehead.

Another shiver passed through Jane's body.  Kate?  Olivia?  And then she remembered.  The New York cop!  The Fed!  But most of her attention was on her Mistress.  Irena's breasts were so close, and her pussy was nestled against the back of her head!  "M'mmmf."  Jane gazed into her Mistress' beautiful, ice-blue eyes.

"I think you could love me, Jane," Irena continued, "really love me, in time."  She sighed.  "But it's too dangerous.  I release your mind, Jane, completely."  She leaned close and kissed Jane's forehead.  "Remember."

Jane blinked in surprise, then screamed through her gag and fought her bonds in a frenzy of angry frustration.  "MMMMF!"  All of her memories had come flooding back!  She knew exactly what had happened, exactly what had been done to her, and exactly what had been done to the others!

Irena smiled and watched as Jane fought her bonds and glared up at her.  "It's wicked of me to let you remember, even for a little while, I know, but I take my pleasure where I can find it, Jane."  She took a long, deep breath.  "Your anger is exhilarating."

Jane growled through her gag and stared daggers at her kidnapper.

Irena gazed back with a serene smile.  "I know you don't believe it, but you could love me, Jane.  I could make you, but it would be a long journey of months, or even years.  But eventually, inevitably..."  She sighed, again.  "It's a delicious game, one I've played many times in the past.  But in this case..."  She reached down and rested her left palm on Jane's lower abdomen, between her bellybutton and the black curls of her pubic thatch.  She shook her head.  "It's too dangerous.  This time it's too dangerous."

Jane flinched, pausing in her vain efforts to free herself.  Irena's hand was working its magic, again!  Jane shivered and quaked as the now all too familiar thrill of Irena's touch rippled between her legs.

"As I feed this one last time, Jane," Irena purred, "you will purge your mind of all that has happened.  You will remember nothing from the time you arrived in New York to continue your investigation of Rupandra's crimes.  However, I want you to remember Kate and Olivia, your 'Sisters in Pain,' if you will.  In fact, I want you three to become good friends.  Will you do that for me?"

Jane nodded, shivering and writhing in her bonds.

"Excellent," Irena whispered, and kissed Jane's ear.  "To reiterate, you will forget all other details, including my name and face—"  Her fingers parted the curls of Jane's bush as her hand slid lower until it cupped her pussy.  "You will forget any and all things that might lead others to me or my lair.  And—"  Her palm began to slowly slide across Jane's labia and she squirmed in response.  "If at some point in the future you do start to remember anything of importance, even an impression, that will trigger the memory of what my Ladies did to you in the Chamber of Mirrors—not the details, but the feelings, Jane.  You will remember the pain and the horror of what my bunny and cat and devil did to you—but you will not remember Irena or the House of Pain.  I know you're a tenacious cop, Jane, but in your gut you'll know that nothing good will come of continuing this investigation.  Do you understand?"

"Mrrrf!"  Jane moaned through her tape-gag and nodded her head, again.

"Such a good slave," Irena chuckled, her hand gliding as she continued to feed.  "There is one last thing.  I know all about Rupandra's little joke, how she planted a command in the back of your mind, a certain task for you to perform, when the time is right—and I thoroughly approve.  It's deliciously humorous, and with respect to said command, and only with respect to said command, I order you to consider her order to be my order.  When the time is right, Jane, when it is safe for you to do so, you will pounce like a pretty panther."

Jane had no idea what Irena was talking about, what the "joke" she was referring to might be.  In point of fact, all she could concentrate on was what Irena's hand was doing to her body.

"Don't you dare cum, Jane," Irena chuckled.  "I want you to build to the cusp of orgasm and ride it like a wave, flirting with release... but don't you dare cum."  Her hand continued to slide.  "But finally, when you can take it no more, you will cum—and then you will sleep, Jane.  You will sleep as if in a coma, as if you are Sleeping Beauty, herself.  And when you hear the sound of a ringing bell, you will awaken."

Jane shivered, squirmed, and fought her bonds, her body shining with sweat as Irena's hand continued gliding across her flushed, glistening labia.

rizzoli & beckett
Chapter 8

Dana was back in the harness she'd worn before, and quite possibly the same bed of the same severe, Modern bedroom.  Arms raised, fingers and hands encased in tight leather mittens, wrist cuffs secured behind her head to the harness, ball-gag plugging her mouth and adding to her arm bondage, ankles and upper thighs strapped and buckled in the frog-tie position—it was the same.  Only this time, Dana could remember everything that had happened to her.  She remembered Irena making her cum, several times.  She remembered Rupandra making her cum, doggie-style.  She remembered the three masked women in dominatrix costumes who bathed and massaged her body, shampooed, dried, and brushed her hair, and fed her a delicious gourmet meal.

Dana squirmed in her bonds and forced an angry growl past her gag.  After the meal, they'd also given her an enema!  Two had done the deed while the third took every opportunity to squeeze her breasts and lick her nipples.  It had been humiliating, but afterwards, after cleaning her nether region with warm, wet washcloths, the doms had made her cum—several times—using fur gloves and wet tongues and buzzing vibrators.

It was like a dream, a glorious, waking wet-dream, a dream of some sultan's harem.  No, some sultana's harem—and the sultana was Lady Irena!

And then, as before, the "sultana" in question stepped from the shadows, and as before, she was gloriously naked.

Dana quivered with excitement as Irena climbed onto the bed.  Curiously, at the same time, Dana's mind was clear and her thoughts were on escape and the arrest of her kidnapper—her beautiful, generous lover and kidnapper.

"My Irish Rose," Irena purred as she lifted Dana's head and her folded and bound arms onto her lap.  "I confess I'm giddy with the auras of your fellow slaves."  Her fingers lightly tickled Dana's exposed armpits, causing her captive to squirm.  "I've already fed upon Jane and Kate and your Olivia and do not need to feed on you, as well—but I will, because I must."

Dana shivered as Irena's hand slid down to her lower tummy and began its all too familiar—and glorious—slow massage.  "Mrrrf," Dana moaned through her ball-gag as the sparkling, titillating waves of pleasure rippled across her skin.

"When you live as long as I have, Dana," Irena said, "empathy becomes difficult."  She leaned close and kissed Dana's forehead.  "I mean empathy for 'normals,' such as yourself, Dana."  Her hand continued to glide.  "You're like a mayfly to me, my pretty one.  Your life is a brief candle, while mine is long-burning, and can be renewed.  Some of my kind can't handle it.  They sink into depression and waste away, or they go mad.  Elizabeth Bathory was one such.  She was like a sister to me, before the madness took her.  The Clans had no choice but to let the humans deal with her.  It's something the youngsters in their first few cycles don't really understand.  It takes great strength to live in the world, Dana."

Dana continued squirming in her bonds as Irena's hand continued its massage.

"As the decades turn into centuries, it can become difficult to recognize and acknowledge the Godhead in every living mind,"  Irena continued.  She kissed Dana's forehead, again.  "Like your mind, my Irish Rose.  It's one thing to take my pleasure and sustenance from your body, or to let my slaves take their pleasure from the bodies of others, like the pretty cops and your fellow Agent; but you are not mayflies.  Your all-too-quick comings and goings do not make your lives valueless."  She paused, her hand going still—then she laughed.  "Listen to me.  I am giddy, and chattering like a magpie."  Her hand began to move, again.  "To business."

Dana squirmed and shivered as Irena's fingers toyed with the fiery curls of her pubic bush, then lightly traced her flushed and glistening labia.

"I held you back from the tender mercies of my Ladies for a reason, Dana," Irena explained.  "For you, my Irish Rose, only pleasure, never pain.  You will remember nothing of how you came to be my guest, other than it was part of an investigation that has been successfully resolved with the help of Helen Magnus.  From your seat of power in the Bureau, you will insure that all records that might lead others to the House of Pain, or to any of my kind, shall be purged or buried.  When you think of me, all you will remember will be feelings of pleasure—unfocused, nonspecific pleasure."  Her fingers slid between Dana's labia, eliciting a gagged moan of delight.  "Lady Irena, in New York, is your confidential informant, Dana.  If ever the Incufumarae or any individual who might be of the Clans come to the attention of the government, you will contact me, secretly, with none of your colleagues the wiser.  Will you do that for Mistress?"

Dana attempted to answer, forcing an affirmative moan through the ball in her mouth and nodding her head as best she could.

"Such a good slave," Irena purred.  "And now, Dana, to seal our little pact, and only when I give you permission, you will cum, and it will be the best orgasm of your life, Irena's parting gift to her Irish Rose."  Her fingers and palms continued working their magic.  "And then, you will sleep, and will only awaken when you hear the sound of a ringing bell."

Dana nodded, again.  Her pale skin was flushed and shining with sweat, her green eyes glazed and staring.

"Slowly, Dana," Irena cautioned.  "This is going to take a very long time."

rizzoli & beckett
Chapter 8

Irena strode through the double doors of the largest workroom of her Hidden Lair.  The space was brightly lit, with cabinets and shelves lining the walls.  In the center was a large worktable, and clustered around it were three of her dominatrix-slaves.  They were in their House of Pain "uniforms," as was their Mistress.  To their left were four gurneys occupied by the nude, unconscious forms of Jane, Kate, Olivia, and Dana.

"Mistress," the doms said in unison, bowing in greeting.

Irena acknowledged with a smile and a nod, then examined her captives.  All four were bound to their gurneys with medical restraints, cuffs around their wrists and ankles and straps across their chests, waists, and thighs.  In addition, broad strips of Elastoplast tape were plastered over their lips, sleep-mask blindfolds covered their eyes, and noise-cancelling headphones covered their ears.  The two Detectives and two Feds were fast asleep, confirmed by their slow, even breathing and the scent of their naked bodies.  The locked cuffs, flesh-dimpling straps, tape-gags, blindfolds, and noise dampeners were added and almost certainly superfluous precautions, but Irena hadn't survived for many centuries by taking unnecessary risks.  Besides, to Irena and her slave-doms, helpless and restrained the captives were even more beautiful.

Irena gazed at each in turn.  Jane, she thought, my Minoan princess.  Kate, my Roman princess.  Olivia, my Viking princess.  And Dana... Oh Dana, my Irish Rose.  "It breaks my heart to let them go," Irena sighed.

"Mistress?" one of the doms asked.

Irena smiled.  "Nothing."  She joined her beloved slaves at the worktable.  "All is in readiness?"

"Yes, Mistress," one of the doms answered.  "I've personally checked the location.  The hidden surveillance cameras and encrypted signal repeaters are in place and tested.  The signal will piggyback on the building's broadband connection and is untracable.  That assumes the authorities ever discover the cameras, of course.  The location, itself, is also untraceable.  The property will never be linked to any of your financial holdings, or the House of Pain.  The building management is aware that a new tenant is moving furniture and equipment into the suite, but that is all.  The shipment will be made first by ourselves—"  She gestured at her fellow doms.  "—to a bonded company for transshipment.  Then, we'll take back the delivery, with different personnel and the appropriate paperwork, of course.  Once we arrive at the location, we'll make the final arrangements."

"Using a bonded company as an intermediary," Irena nodded.  "Clever."  She gazed at the clutter of materials on the table.  They included:  (1) rolls of plastic wrap and duct tape; (2) four breathing masks and regulators with clear plastic tubes leading to small, green bottles of oxygen; (3) four anal plugs of black rubber; (4) four urinary catheters with plastic tubes and collection bags; (5) several open cases of handcuffs of various design and manufacture, some joined by only an inch of steel links and some by twelve to eighteen inches of light chain; and (6) four ball-gags.

Irena picked up one of the gags and turned it in her gloved hands.  Its ball was a two-inch sphere of hard rubber.  The strap was a black, heavy-duty cable-tie, padded for several inches on either side of the ball with rubber tubing.  The ball and tubing had been dipped in black latex, fusing them into a single unit.  Once the ball was placed in the wearer's mouth and the cable-tie zipped tight, it would have to be cut to be removed.  "Very good work," Irena said.

Her Ladies beamed with pride.  "The gags' individual components are untraceable," one of them said, "for sale at any one of a hundred hardware stores or building centers across the city, thousands across the country."

Irena nodded, then kissed her slaves, one by one.  "My loyal, talented, beautiful, and diligent slaves.  What have I done to deserve you?"

The doms giggled.  "Mistress," one of them whispered, "that is for us to ask."

Irena chuckled, then pointed at four wooden packing crates to the right of the table.  Each crate was a four-foot by four-foot cube with an open, hinged lid that could be secured by spring-loaded hasps and padlocks.  Beside them were four large, clear plastic bags of Styrofoam packing peanuts.  "Get our guests wrapped up, secured, and on their way.  I'll be across the way, preparing our other shipment."

"Yes, Mistress," the doms acknowledged and watched Irena leave the room.

They strolled to the gurneys and gazed down at their naked, slumbering, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and headphone-deafened occupants.

"Let's start with the redhead," a dom suggested.

"You're jealous," another suggested, "because she's Mistress' favorite, and because she let us pleasure her, but wouldn't let us torture her.  I love the way pale skin colors under the lash."

"Of course I'm jealous," the first dom purred.  "We all are.  The ginger won't be harmed, as Mistress ordered, but that doesn't mean she can't be the first into her box."

"Or the last to be unpacked," the third dom added.

rizzoli & beckett
Chapter 8


Chapter 7
Chapter 9