by Van ©2012
Chapter 10

Olivia was not having a good time.  None of them were, not Dana, Jane, or Kate.  She wasn't sure how they all "decided" to try and make a beeline for the alarm clock and the wall of windows.  One direction was as good as the next, and their gags certainly put a damper on any discussion of the matter.  They were surrounded by a wide circle of different handcuff keys suspended from the ceiling by clips and lengths of fishing line and held aloft by melting ice.  Eventually they'd drop, swing down, and dangle within reach, but not from where they'd all regained consciousness.  They had to get under the edge of the circle.  The ice in the direction of the windows might be melting a little faster than the rest, but it was difficult to be sure.

Anyway, one or more of them started squirming towards the glass wall and Olivia had gone along—literally, as they were all cuffed together with multiple pairs of handcuffs—and by choice.  She was actively participating in the snail-paced journey.  Slowly, carefully, they extended various hands, knees, elbows, feet, shoulders, or hips the few inches allowed by the tangled chaos of their naked captivity, and eased themselves towards their goal, rolling or sliding very carefully.  They had to do some rolling, otherwise the same parts of their bodies would take all the punishment.  Olivia had to be careful not to plant a body part where it might be crushed by her fellow captives, to not let the metal cuffs cut her wrists or ankles, and to spare herself from rug burns as much as possible, but none of them were going to come out of this unscathed.

Oh by the way... knees were sliding against thighs, gagged faces were squashing breasts, elbows were poking crotches, arms were gliding across tummies, feet were jamming into armpits, buttocks were bumping together, etc., etc.  All the bodies involved were becoming increasingly flushed from the exertion, and while the resulting sweat was aiding their locomotive efforts, the involuntary intimacy was... disturbing.  Their predicament was like an involuntary, kinky, and inept four-way.  All that was missing was erotic intent—and Olivia was doing her part to keep things professional by thinking non-erotic thoughts.  She liked Kate, Jane, and even her boss, Dana, but not that way.

Meanwhile, the ice blocks keeping the keys overhead had melted into tiny ice globs and would soon melt completely.  "All" they had to do was wiggle their way from dangling key to dangling key, find which key fit which handcuffs—and they'd be free!  In this case, "free" meant being naked, silenced by identical ball-gags secured by rubber-clad, heavy-duty cable-ties that could not be removed by hand, and locked in a vacant office in a Manhattan skyscraper.  However, it would be a vast improvement over being cuffed together in a naked pig-pile on the floor.

All of which assumed the keys suspended overhead actually fit their cuffs, of course, and this wasn't a joke even more elaborate and cruel than being abandoned in the multi-cuff, naked tangle.

The keys began to fall.  By happy circumstance, one of the first to drop down, swing like a pendulum, then dangle just above the carpet was in their path and they were already most of the way there.  After more squirming and wiggling the key was finally in hand, specifically, in Jane Rizzoli's hand.  She fumbled to fit the key into each of the cuffs in reach—a maddeningly slow and awkward process.  Then, with a gagged squawk of triumph—"Mrrfk!"—Jane found a pair of cuffs that accepted the key!  Locks turned, ratchets clicked, and the cuffs fell the couple of inches to the floor, freeing Kate's right wrist from Olivia's right ankle.  Of course, Kate's right wrist was still cuffed to Dana's left ankle and Olivia's right ankle was still cuffed to Jane's right ankle—but it was progress.

Olivia felt a little better.  At least the key worked!

The next two hours were a sweaty, intimate, exhausting ordeal fraught with frustration, but progress continued.  They squirmed their way to key after key, and pair by pair removed the cuffs.  By the time the sixth pair was removed, all the ice had melted and all the keys had dropped.  Each set of joined bracelets that fell away granted a modicum of freedom and made the quest for the next key just a little easier, but sometimes it took many, many tries before the right key was fitted to the right cuff.  Sometimes the only possible angle for the only captive positioned to wield the key was awkward and difficult, but they persevered.

By the time the last of the cuffs was unlocked it was late in the afternoon.  The street far below was already completely in shadow and the increasingly low-angle light reflected off the upper stories of the neighboring skyscrapers was beginning to take on an orange tint.  Sunset was coming.

The prisoners—and they were still prisoners—took stock of their scrapes, bruises, and abrasions.  Olivia noted the ligature marks on her wrists and ankles and the angry rug burns on her right hip, left elbow, and both knees.  Okay, the burns weren't that angry.  Olivia was the one that was angry, and she could tell the others were the same, both with regard to their easily ignored minor injuries and their attitudes.

The greatest source of Olivia's irritation was her lack of recall.  She could remember being on a serial kidnapping case, Executive Assistant Director Scully showed up to participate, they went someplace... together... and that was it.  She knew Jane Rizzoli from Boston, but could not remember where, when, or how she came to know Kate Beckett... but she did know her, and she liked her.

Olivia had noticed the one door in the large space not secured by a locked clam-shell cover over its doorknob, and apparently, so had the others.  As if by formal agreement, they all started across the room at the same time.  Kate got there first.  She turned the knob and pulled open the door.

The space beyond was a small coat closet.  A clutter of shoes was on the floor, three pair of boots and one pair of high heels, and hanging from the horizontal rod were four sets of clothing on hangers.  Olivia recognized the boots and pantsuit she'd worn to... wherever she was going before her memory blanked out.

Jane gave another gagged squawk—"Mrrfk!"—and lifted a pair of heavy-duty ratcheting cutters from the shelf above the clothing rod, just the thing to cut thick cable-ties.  Olivia parted Kate's hair and Jane carefully snipped the tie securing her gag.  They did the same for Dana, Kate and Jane did the same for her, then Kate took the cutters, Olivia parted Jane's hair—snip—and they were all free of the hateful, mouth-filling, jaw-stretching gags.

"Arrr," Jane gasped as she pulled the ball from her mouth.  "I think those are my clothes and boots," she said.

"Same here," Kate said.

Olivia had already lifted the hanger with her clothes from the rod.  "And here.  It looks like we're all going commando."

Dana shrugged.  "Won't be the first time."

Olivia noticed the quizzical glance exchanged by Kate and Jane, and smiled.  "Executive Assistant Director Scully, allow me to introduce Detective Jane Rizzoli of the Boston Police and Detective Kate Beckett of the NYPD."

"Please, call me Dana," Scully said, smiling and shaking their hands.

"Executive Assistant Director?" Jane asked.  "Uh, pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"That's 'Dana-ma'am' to you," Dana chuckled and they all laughed.  Shared naked adversity trumped great differences in rank.

They began dressing, and soon were in their respective blouses or tops, pants, and jackets.  Only Dana was in a skirt and heels.  The others were in boots and pants.

"I've got my ID," Olivia announced, pulling her ID/badge case from her jacket pocket.

"Same here," Jane confirmed.

"And here," chimed in Kate.

"And here," Dana added, "and, I've got my phone."  The phone in question was in a foil-lined plastic bag.  She pulled it from the bag and turned it on.  The screen lit.  "I'll go to the window and try and call for some help.  They should be able to ping the GPS.  Agent, Detectives, why don't you confirm that the other doors actually are locked."

"Yes, ma'am," Olivia answered, and the others nodded.

"When you're done, may I call my captain?" Kate asked, and Dana nodded.  She already had the phone to her ear and had turned and was walking towards the window-wall.

"I guess I better call my lieutenant," Jane sighed, "or, if we can get one of those windows open, I can jump.  It would be quicker and less painful."

Helen had to wake up.  She wasn't sure what, but something had happened, something that was wrong, and she had to wake up.  Smack!  And then there was the hand slapping her face.  Smack!  At least it felt like a hand, her eyes were closed and she couldn't be sure.  One thing she was sure of, however—Smack!—hand or no, she wished it would stop and she said so.  "Stop."  At least she thought she was the one speaking.  Smack!  "I said stop!"  Yes, that was her voice, but she sounded like she was asleep.  Oh, that's right... I have to wake up.  Helen opened her eyes.  She was in the secure lab... still in the secure lab, and— 

"Bloody hell!"

She was strapped to the examining table!  The leg supports and stirrups were locked in the gynecological exam position, with her knees bent and legs splayed apart.  Her back was reclined at a comfortable angle and her arms straight out to either side.  "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded, tugging on the leather straps and cuffs securing her in place.  She was still wearing her paper scrubs, but her slippers had gone missing.  There was no one in sight.  She glared at the closest HD camera, noting the red light that signified it was on.  "Henry, you bloody well get down here this very instant and release me or I swear I shall—M'mpfh!"  A pair of strong, feminine hands had reached from behind the headrest, stuffed the foam and rubber plug of a panel-gag into her mouth, and were buckling the strap at the nape of her neck.  The front panel was of thin rubber, and Helen realized it was the same gag Rupandra had been wearing in the transport capsule.

Helen's captor was Rupandra, of course, and the still naked Incufumara stepped around the table, leaned close, and buckled the gag's chinstrap, smiling an infuriating smile at her glaring captive.  "Your lab is remarkably well equipped for my purposes, Dr. Magnus," she said, "with a few notable exceptions."

Helen struggled against her bonds as Rupandra wheeled over a steel stand supporting a tray of medical instruments.  Tight, padded cuffs bound Helen's wrists and ankles, and equally tight straps crossed her forearms and upper arms, her torso, above and below her breasts, her waist, thighs, and just below her knees.  The tan leather medical restraints were heavy-duty, designed to control a struggling abnormal with superhuman strength.  Helen knew she wasn't going anywhere.

"I found your Jennings and Whitehead mouth-spreaders," Rupandra continued, "and a drawer with several rolls of medical tape.  I prefer the white to the flesh-tone Elastoplast, by the way, but that's a matter of taste, isn't it?  However, I found nothing recreational.  No ball-gags, bit-gags, penis-gags...  So, I rinsed off the gag Irena loaned me and we'll use it."  She selected a pair of light bandage scissors from the tray.  "Also, no vibrators of any kind, and not a single feather.  Really Helen?  No feathers?  And we'll have to use forceps and hemostats as nipple clamps.  Don't you realize how easy it is to over-tighten those things?  At least you have a decent selection of specula, blunt probes, and a Wartenberg pinwheel."

Helen continued fighting her bonds and glaring at the TV camera.

Rupandra noticed the direction of Helen's angry gaze.  "Oh, don't worry about your friends," she chuckled.  "I don't mind them watching.  I don't mind in the least, and we've already reached an understanding.  I'll explain later, but first..."

Helen watched in horror as Rupandra used the scissors to cut the left side of her paper trousers.  She started at the cuff and worked her way up the outside of her leg to the waistband.  She had to make horizontal cuts to free the paper fabric from under the calf and thigh straps, but didn't have too much difficulty.  She then stepped around the table and did the same to Helen's right leg.  She severed the waist band, then pulled away what was left of the ruined scrub pants.  The short-sleeved top was next, and Helen could do nothing to stop her.  All too soon, Helen's scrubs were gone and her clothing reduced to her underwear; a bra and panties.

"Delightful, Helen," Rupandra sighed, trading the bandage scissors for a slightly heavier pair.  "This is going to be delightful.  You see, I need to feed... a lot.  Any human aura would serve my purposes, but you'll do wonderfully.  In any case, there don't seem to be a lot of options."  Her smile become quite feral.  "Yes, you'll do quite nicely, Helen, and I understand from Irena you possess unusual strength and stamina.  You're going to need both, Helen, because I'm starving."

"Nrrrf!"  Helen tugged on her bonds as Rupandra severed the bra at the shoulder straps—snip, snip—and between the cups—snip.  Rupandra then pulled away the bra and her breasts bounced free.

"Magnificent," Rupandra sighed, then exchanged the heavy scissors for the lighter pair and snipped the sides of Helen's panties on her left hip—snip-snip-snip—then her right—snip-snip-snip.  "And now, the final unveiling," she purred, and jerked the cut panties from under Helen's rump.  Rupandra sighed.  "I was hoping you'd have a fluffy bush.  I've never been a great fan of shaved pussy."  She leaned close, between Helen's splayed legs, and gave her pubic thatch a delicate sniff.  "I love the way aromas linger on the delicate curls.  And your scent is delectable, Helen."

Helen jerked her torso and shoulders from side to side, struggling with all her strength to escape what she knew to be a totally inescapable system of humane restraint.  All she accomplished was to make her breasts sway and bob.

"You naughty tease," Rupandra chuckled, then knelt between Helen's legs.  "I know you're confused and alarmed.  I can smell it.  I'll explain what's happening later, as I said.  I'll also deliver a message from Irena... after I've fed... a few times."

Helen's eyes popped wide and she shivered in her bonds.  Rupandra had delivered a slow, wet lick down the length of her labia, sending titillating, electric sensations through her body.  Instantly, her mind flashed on the last time she'd served as a meal for an Incufumara.  Lisbon!  Then, the pleasure took her.

The huge television/computer monitor in the Sanctuary's main library was displaying all that was happening in the containment lab far below, in high-definition and multiple windows, each depicting a different angle.  Dr. Helen Magnus, the Sanctuary's Director, was naked, gagged, and strapped to the lab's examination table in a very vulnerable position.  She was struggling against inescapable restraints and mewling through a tight gag.  Her nostrils flared and bosom heaved as she took deep, rhythmic breaths.  Her blue eyes were wide and staring and her smooth, tan skin glistened with sweat.  Rupandra was kneeling between her legs, her head bobbing as she licked, sucked, probed, and teased Helen's genitals with her tongue, lips, and teeth.

Watching this spectacle were the only two members of the Sanctuary staff currently in residence (not counting the Director, of course).  Bigfoot, aka "Big Guy," was slouched in a comfortable wing chair and Henry Foss was standing nearby.  Both were reading hard copies of the protocol Helen had developed for shepherding Rupandra through her change.  Actually, the binders were open in their hands, but their eyes were on the screen.  After all, they were only human—or not.  Big Guy was actually (and quite obviously) an abnormal.  In fact, he was what some people call a Yeti.  Henry was also an abnormal, a lycanthrope, and was currently in the form of a rather hairy and slightly disheveled human.

Big Guy uttered one his characteristic grunts.  "Urh."

"I know," Henry said.  "She's gonna kill us, but what choice do we have?  The redhead has to feed, and she has, uh, particular tastes.  What can we do, recall Kate from her assignment?  Go across the street to the Starbucks and ask the female baristas if they'd like to volunteer?"  The Kate in question was Kate Freelander, a Sanctuary colleague.  The baristas in question were uniformly cute and perky, but knew nothing of the Sanctuary other than it was "the big creepy place across the street that probably used to be a church."

"Urh.  Magnus kill you," Big Guy responded.  "She'll only be mad at me... for a while."

They both continued to stare.

"Helen needed to get her ashes hauled," Henry said.  "She's been working too hard for too long, and she won't take a vacation."

"Urh."

"If Will was here," Henry continued, "and he had the guts to admit he's crazy about her, he could do it."

"Urh," Big Guy grunted.  "Magnus will make you erase the video files."

Henry nodded.  "She'll keep one encrypted disc for the research archives.  She'll make me wipe the backup files, and will probably find and erase my 'secret' copies."  He winked at Big Guy.  "Most of my secret copies.  I'll burn you a blu-ray disc... and one for Will."

On the screen, Helen had gone rigid in her bonds and was holding her breath.  Her eyes were clenched tightly closed.  Rupandra continued feeding.

"Fifth time?" Henry asked.

"Urh," Big Guy answered.  "Hard to tell.  First time was many-many."

"Also much-much," Henry added.  "You hungry?"

"Urh."

"Me neither," Henry muttered.

Down in the lab, Helen was breathing again, and Rupandra was still feeding.

"Here they come," Jane said.  The others moved to the window-wall and followed her gaze down to the street far below.  Several tiny, black SUV's and NYPD patrol cars with flashing lights had pulled up to the building.  Night had almost fallen and the blue, red, and white strobes flashing on the vehicles were making quite a light show.  They watched as a couple of dozen ant-sized Agents and uniformed officers rushed into the lobby.

"I wish we could give them more than an estimate of which floor we're on," Olivia said, and the others shrugged.

"I suppose we're gonna be debriefing all night," Kate sighed.

Dana nodded.  "At the New York Field Office, and probably for most of tomorrow.  Also, the medics and shrinks will want to work us over.  We need to sort out this memory loss thing and compare notes."

Kate sighed, again.  "May I borrow your phone again, Director?"

Dana smiled.  "Only if you start calling me Dana like I asked."

Kate managed a sheepish smile as she accepted the phone.  "Thanks, Dana."  She tapped out a number and held the phone to her ear.  "Ryan, it's Kate," she said.  "Do me a favor and..."  Kate smiled and twisted a strand of hair around the index finger of her free hand.  "Oh, that's so sweet.  Thanks.  I'm fine, really.  Listen, I need you and Espy to go to Katz' Deli and get four pastrami on rye with yellow mustard, fries, and creme sodas.  Bring it to the FBI Field Office and tell them it's for Executive Assistant Director Scully's party.  You got all that?  Excellent, and don't take no for an answer.  Yes, four complete orders.  Thanks.  'Bye."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Jane purred as Kate handed the phone back to Dana.

"Creme soda?" Olivia asked.

Kate shrugged.  "It's traditional."

Helen was exhausted.  She was still cuffed and strapped to the examining table and still in the gynecological exam position, but the gag was out of her mouth and hanging around her neck, the chinstrap dangling loose, and the main strap buckled on its last hole.  Her skin was flushed and dripping with sweat.  Rupandra held a paper cup to her lips, gently lifted the back of her head from the headrest, and helped her drink the contents.  It was cool, clear water.  Helen swallowed until the cup was empty, then licked her lips and locked eyes with Rupandra.  "Release me," she demanded.

"You're welcome," Rupandra chuckled as she crumpled the cup and tossed it in the non-medical waste bin.  She stretched her nude body with arms extended straight up.  "Ahhh."  She came down off her toes and smiled.  "That will hold me for the moment, but I'm going to require regular feeding sessions for the next two or three days, before I enter a coma and begin the actual change.  Maybe four.  I'm really hungry."

Helen focused on one of the TV cameras.  "Henry!" she yelled.  "Get down here and—M'mpfh!"

Rupandra had her right hand clamped over Helen's mouth.  "Now, now.  If you don't want to be civilized about this, the gag goes back in and will stay there except for meals.  I've already placed our breakfast order, by the way.  Funny how satisfying one appetite can create another, isn't it?"  She took her hand away.

Helen locked eyes with her captor.  "I want to help you.  Release me."

"Oh, you are helping, Helen," Rupandra laughed.  "I need to feed, and if not from the delicious and delectable Dr. Magnus, then from whom?  Do you have any female friends or acquaintances you'd like to invite over?  I insist they be young and attractive, of course."

Helen continued to stare, then sighed.  "You can't keep me strapped to this table for two or three days."

"Actually, I can," Rupandra purred.  "As I feed, my saliva will repair and restore your body.  However, I have no intention of leaving you like this.  Your friend Henry has placed a next-day rush order for 100 meters of conditioned jute rope—six millimeter, five-strand twist, the good stuff."  She pointed at the ceiling.  "A little low for Shibari suspensions, but there are several hard-points for mounting equipment I can use as lashing points and a motorized winch.  We'll make do."

100 meters? Helen thought.  "Henry would never agree to such a thing," she huffed.

"Your protocol specifies meeting all reasonable requests for special food, drink, or miscellaneous items that will make my stay more comfortable," Rupandra countered, then leaned close and whispered in Helen's right ear.  "Besides, I think he wants to watch.  I could hear it in his voice while we talked."

Helen focused on the TV camera, again.  "I'll deal with you later," she promised in an even tone.

"Now," Rupandra continued, "soon I'll restore your gag so we can both take a nice nap."  She gestured towards the patient bed/hyperbaric chamber.  The medical restraints had been removed and formed a tangled heap of tan leather on a nearby worktable.  "I'll take the bed and you can remain where you are.  But first, I suppose I might as well deliver that message from Irena and the Clan Elders I mentioned."

Helen continued her We-are-not-amused stare.  "Very well."

Rupandra smiled and cleared her throat.  "Ahem.  Dr. Magnus, while the Five Clans understand your scientific curiosity, applaud your moral stand on the rights of 'abnormals,' and appreciate your technical assistance, even benign interference in the affairs of the Incufumarae will not be tolerated.  There will always be a price to be paid for meddling with our kind, however good your intentions.  And on a personal note, Lady Irena looks forward to reinforcing this lesson at your earliest convenience, or, whenever her Ladies get around to kidnapping you, whichever comes first."

Helen sighed.  There were worse fates than being schooled by Lady Irena.  But first she had to survive serving as Rupandra's final meal—meals, plural—before her change.

Rupandra slid the gag into Helen's reluctant but accepting mouth, then buckled the main strap at the nape of her neck, under her hair, and the second strap under her chin.  She then lifted the first of several rolls of wide, flesh-colored, elastic cloth bandages from a nearby tray and began stretching and wrapping the fabric around Helen's head.  She made pass after tight pass, across Helen's gagged mouth and nose, but leaving her nostrils free for ease of breathing, then across her forehead and from under her chin to the crown of her head.  Two more rolls were consumed, and eventually, Helen's entire head, including her hair but excluding her eyes, had disappeared under multiple overlapping layers of wide, tight bands of stretched fabric.

Rupandra smiled into Helen's blue eyes as she reached for two thick pads of cotton and a fourth rolled bandage.  "If you were susceptible to my scent-of-control," she purred, "I'd order you to have sweet and very wet dreams of the wonderful adventure that awaits.  But as you're not susceptible, all I can do is wish you a good night... and feed upon you, one more time."  She placed the pads over Helen's eyes, then used the bandage to keep them there, completing the mummification of Helen's head.

Helen lay in helpless darkness, slowly testing her restraints, restraints she herself had designed and tested and knew to be completely escape-proof.  Suddenly, a pair of hands—Rupandra's hands—gently squeezed her breasts... toyed with her erect nipples... then slid down her abdomen, through her pubic bush, and parted her labia.  There was a pause... then a warm, soft, wet tongue—Rupandra's tongue—began licking and probing her tingling pussy, yet again.  Helen moaned through her gag and shivered in her bonds.

The things I do for Science, she thought as once again waves of unendurable pleasure engulfed her mind.