by Van ©2012
TWO VERY FULL DAYS
"THE GREAT SKYSCRAPER RESCUE"
AT THE FBI NEW YORK FIELD OFFICE
Jane, Kate, and Olivia were very
tired of going over what little they could remember of what had
happened. They'd been repeatedly interviewed (meaning
politely interrogated) by various Agents and FBI shrinks, not to
mention being poked and prodded by doctors who repeatedly
demanded blood, saliva, and urine samples. That didn't
mean they hadn't been treated well, of course. Underwear
and changes of clothing were provided so the forensics lab could
go over their original clothing, and the clothing provided was
actually stylish and of high quality, but Kate demanded and
received a promise her leather Armani jacket would be returned
undamaged. Also, meals had been regular and quite
excellent and the sleeping facilities were comfortable.
That said, they were beginning to feel like lab animals and it
was getting old.
They'd seen little of each other since the rescue and nothing of
Executive Assistant Director Scully, but the three were together
now, gathered in an executive conference room of some
sort. It was not
one of the interrogation rooms in which they'd spent too many
hours of the last two days. There were no cameras mounted
in the corners or one-way mirror-walls "concealing" unknown
observers. Nor was it a "relaxing" psychiatric interview
space with overstuffed chairs and "soothing" generic art.
There was a long table surrounded by a dozen executive
chairs. A lectern at one end stood in front of a
white-board and was flanked by a pair of huge, flat-screen
TV/computer monitors. The fabric-covered walls bore the
seals of the FBI, DHS, and DoJ. Old Glory and the flags of
those same agencies stood in stands against the opposite
wall. A dozen water glasses and a dozen saucers with
inverted coffee cups, carafes of hot coffee, bottles of water,
and tiny bins holding packets of sugar, various brands of
artificial sweeteners, creamer, and plastic stir-sticks formed a
neat row down the middle of the table.
Jane poured herself a cup of coffee, then took a sip. "I
swear, if they don't let us out of here soon—"
Suddenly, the conference room opened and Dana entered.
"Very soon, I promise." The others started to stand, but
settled back when she waved a dismissive hand and sat in a
chair. Obviously, she had heard Jane's complaint.
She was dressed in one of her power suits (with skirt) and was
carrying a file folder with a cover-sheet designating some sort
of classification. The others were in boots and pants
suits, ready to return to work—if only the powers-that-be would
release them. And speaking of the powers-that-be...
"The Bureau will send med-techs to take blood samples once a
week for the next month," Dana announced, "but you're all
cleared to return to duty as soon as I finish this briefing."
"About time," Jane huffed, eliciting a smile from the others.
"By the way," Dana continued, "about the time we all arrived
here, a courier delivered a package with our sidearms and
everything else that was missing, except for our underwear."
Jane, Kate, and Olivia digested this information. "I don't
suppose—" Kate ventured.
"No such luck," Dana interrupted with a head shake. "The
delivery was another dead end. The courier service was a
cutout. The weapons have been thoroughly examined and test
fired. Nothing of forensic value was found. The same
with the clips, ammunition, holsters, and handcuffs."
"So, all we're out is a change of undies," Jane muttered.
"And someone has added ours to their collection," Kate
added. "That's not at all creepy."
"Not at all," Olivia agreed. The exchange was an exercise
in sarcasm, of course.
Dana smiled and nodded. "You can keep what you have on,
courtesy of the Bureau."
"That's something, anyway," Jane sighed, then managed a sheepish
smile. "Sorry, I'm anxious to get back to work and catch
"Rupandra," Kate and Olivia said in unison. That name was
one they all remembered or had heard repeatedly during their
Dana cleared her throat. "Ahem, now..." She opened
the folder, withdrew two printed forms, and slid them across the
table to Jane and Kate.
"Nondisclosure forms?" Jane demanded. "Really?"
Dana nodded with an apologetic smile, then focused on
Olivia. "You're cleared for this, Agent Dunham."
Olivia nodded. Meanwhile, Dana had pulled a writing pen
from her jacket pocket and passed it across to Jane. "What
I'm about to tell you is covered by—"
"Section whatever of Federal Statute blah-blah-blah on penalty
of yadda-yadda-yadda," Jane interrupted, clicked the pen, and
signed her form, then handed the pen to Kate and the form to
Dana. "Anything to get us out of here."
Kate smiled as she signed her form, then slid the pen and form
to Dana. "Amen to that."
Dana slid the forms into the folder and pocketed her pen.
"I head a division of the Bureau that deals with highly unusual
cases," she said. "Agent Dunham is one of my best
"Unusual in what way?" Kate inquired.
Dana smiled. "Let's just say cases in which advanced
technology or science seems to be a significant factor."
"Industrial espionage?" Kate suggested.
Dana shook her head. "Not necessarily. Cases in
which advanced technology or science are being used to
perpetrate a crime. Also, cases in which elements of the
crime would seem to suggest unusual talents or powers on the
part of the perpetrators."
"Nothing vague about that," Jane muttered, then her eyes widened
and she sat up straight in her chair. "You're the 'Men in
Black!'" she gasped.
"My money was on the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense,"
Kate chuckled, then focused on Jane's blank stare. "Hellboy? Don't you
read comics or go to the movies?"
"Anyway," Dana continued. "Rupandra has been
apprehended. I'm afraid I can't go into the details.
International organizations are involved, and I'm not free to
divulge the details. However, I can assure you that
justice has been served. Rupandra will pay for her crimes
and an international victims' rights agency is compensating her
victims for any losses. As law enforcement professionals,
I'm afraid you can't accept any gifts or gratuities; however,
the Bureau has decided to make a minor exception in this
case." She reached into the folder and produced three
small envelopes which she distributed to Jane, Kate, and
Olivia. "Courtesy of the international agency I
Jane opened her envelope and pulled out a plastic card. "A
five-hundred dollar gift card to Victoria's Secret?" she
"Somebody has a sense of humor," Kate muttered, and Olivia
nodded in agreement.
"You have no idea," Dana chuckled. "And speaking of our
collective amnesia, the best-and-brightest of the Bureau are
baffled. There are very minor abnormalities in our blood
chemistry, none of which are consistent with any know drug or
pathology. That's the reason for the taking of more blood
samples. I know it's inconvenient, but I assure you it's
necessary." Dana indicated the inside elbow of her own
left arm with her right hand. "I'll be contributing to the
research effort as well." She focused on Kate. "Your
file is being forwarded to Dr. Burke, and he's been asked to
contribute to our efforts."
Kate nodded. Burke was the NYPD psychiatrist who had
counseled her after her shooting. Kate still confided in
him from time to time.
Dana shifted her smile to Jane.
"I'm not getting my
head shrunk," Jane huffed.
"We've asked Dr. Isles to talk to you about that," Dana
responded. "She's a brilliant scientist and your friend."
"That's hitting below the belt," Jane growled. She knew
Maura would pester her until she agreed to talk to a
psychiatrist—but then, Maura probably knew someone who wasn't
Dana shifted her gaze to Olivia. "You'll be working with a
Dr. Sweets from D.C."
Olivia nodded. She knew better than to press the issue.
"I know none of this constitutes full closure," Dana admitted,
"but it's the best I can do. I give you my word Rupandra
is no longer a threat to the public."
Jane very much wanted to know what had happened to her—to them—but at the same time,
in the back of her mind, she was convinced that nothing good
would come of pressing the issue. A delicate shudder rippled up her
spine and her stomach twinged, ever so slightly. Whatever
had happened to them had been bad,
and not something it was healthy to dwell upon. It wasn't
like Jane to take the easy way out on a case, but Dana said
Rupandra had been handled, and Dana could be trusted. Jane
decided to let it drop—unless something new developed, of
course. As far as she could tell, the others were having
"Now," Dana continued, "it's late in the day, very late in the day,
actually. I'd like to invite you all for a steak dinner,
my treat." She smiled at Kate. "Afterwards, you're
free to go home. I've spoken with your Captain Gates,
thanking her for her cooperation and for yours." She
focused on Jane. "As for you, one more night as our guest,
then Olivia will give you a ride to Boston in the morning."
"I'm based out of Cambridge," Olivia explained.
"I've also spoken with your Lieutenant Cavanaugh," Dana added,
"citing your indispensable help in resolving this case."
Jane managed a rueful smile. "I owe you big, Assistant
"Nonsense," Dana laughed. "Cavanaugh sounds like a
"He is," Jane admitted, "but he'll still give me grief."
"All right then," Dana said. She rose from her chair and
the others did as well. "It's time we put all this behind
us, as best we can, and get back to work. I'm sure my
in-basket back in Washington is overflowing."
|rizzoli & beckett
AT ROUGHLY THE
IN A SECURE LAB OF THE
NORTH AMERICAN SANCTUARY
Helen was exhausted. She was
also thoroughly satiated... on a sexual level. That last
part was something she'd vehemently deny, of course; but it was
true, nonetheless. At the moment, denial of anything was
impossible, verbal denial, anyway. The panel-gag—with its
mouth-filling plug, wide, mouth-covering strip of stretched
rubber, leather main strap and secondary chinstrap—was
performing its intended function.
Helen was also tied up. Rupandra's order of
conditioned jute rope had been delivered via the small airlock
used to transfer meals and supplies into the sealed lab and
bring out scientific samples. Accompanying the several
neat coils of rope had been an open cardboard box of various
steel brackets, clamps, and shackles, standard Sanctuary
hardware used to suspend and mount lab equipment from the tracks
and hard-points in the lab ceiling. The added appearance
of the box was either Henry being "helpful" (and thereby adding
another black mark to his charge sheet) or, like the rope, in
answer to one of Rupandra's earlier requests made while Helen
was still unconscious. In any case, the rope and hardware
had been used to demonstrate Rupandra's expertise in nawa shibari, with Helen's
"cooperation," of course.
Again, Rupandra had used her "scent-of-terror" to render Helen
unconscious. When once again she became aware of her
surroundings, she was free of the leather cuffs and straps of
the examining table but bound with a generous portion of the
newly arrived rope. She was still gagged (as previously
mentioned) and naked, but now she was suspended from the
Helen's arms were folded behind her back with her wrists, torso,
and upper arms bound in a tight, symmetrical, and very elaborate
box-tie. With regard to her arms and hands, it wasn't a
full reverse-prayer, but her forearms were not parallel. A
vertical series of lift-hitches linked the back of the box-tie
to a steel shackle clamped to a track in the ceiling. The
excess rope was neatly wrapped around the vertical strands,
many, many times, then tied off with a complex, flower-like
hitch. Additional lengths of rope banded her waist, lower
thighs, and upper thighs, then passed back and forth between her
body and more overhead lashing points.
Basically, with the exception of her no longer outstretched
arms, she was in the same semi-reclined pose as when she'd been
on the examining table, with her knees bent and legs
splayed. All of the many elements of the suspension were
elegant and complex, but none were identical in detail.
Helen had to admit Rupandra had made her a semi-symmetrical and
aesthetically pleasing work-of-art—not that she was happy about
it, of course. Also, and this was no minor detail, her
body was still completely available to satisfy Rupandra's
continuing need to feed her aura and there was absolutely
nothing Helen could do to stop her.
And speaking of feeding...
Dangling and helpless in her web of conditioned jute, Helen had
wiggled, writhed, thrashed, and shivered through several
sessions of pussy licking and probing. There had also been
nipple teasing and toe sucking. The threatened substitute
nipple clamps—forceps and hemostats—hadn't yet been deployed;
however, Rupandra had whipped up a clear, oily, edible fluid
from bacterial culture medium, dissolved sugar, and a couple of
packets of Ranch salad dressing delivered with one of the meals,
and had used it to coat most if not all of Helen's body.
She then proceeded to lick it off—some of it, anyway.
Helen still glistened like she'd been dipped in oil.
On the scientific front, Helen was unable to carry out any of
the tests she'd hoped to perform (to say the least); however,
Rupandra was drawing samples of her own blood at regular
intervals, labeling the vials, and placing them in a lab
refrigerator, displaying some degree of medical training.
The lab's ventilation system was automatically taking periodic
air samples and Helen would have the video recordings from the
cameras covering Rupandra's activities (and her ordeal), so at
least with regards to data collection the debacle wasn't a total loss.
Further evidence of Rupandra's medical training took the form of
two enemas Rupandra administered to her "patient," one while
Helen was still on the examining table and the second after her
rope suspension. Rupandra's preparations, execution, and
follow-through had been clinical and sanitary in every way, but
Helen chose not to dwell on the physiologically necessary but highly embarrassing and
humiliating procedures. Granted, there had been some gratuitous touching
and giggling before, during, and after each cleansing, but
Rupandra's technique had been flawless.
And speaking of giggling...
The mood swings Irena had warned Helen about were beginning to
manifest. During one bout of feeding—with Rupandra licking
and sucking Helen's pussy in the same old way, and Helen
struggling, writhing and mewling in the same old way—Rupandra had suddenly
starting giggling, uncontrollably. Her eyes wide and
leaking tears, she twittered and laughed, pausing now and then
to lick Helen's labia, squeeze her captive's bulging, shining,
rope-framed breasts, and tweak her erect nipples.
Another time, Rupandra had arisen from a catnap, rolled off the
patient bed, and sauntered towards Helen with slow, deliberate,
steps—her hair a tousled mass, a disturbingly feral expression on her
beautiful, wild, sweating face, and her perfect, nude body
moving with the grace of a dancer... or a stalking jungle
cat. Without a word, she began tickling Helen's ribs, what
she could reach of them between the many rope bands of her
bondage. Helen thrashed, squirmed, and mewled through her
gag in response. Helen's thighs and feet were next, and
they had no
protection. The leering Incufumara's fingers and nails
danced and delicately scratched Helen's skin for something like
fifteen minutes while she fought her bonds with increasing
desperation. Apparently, her aura-draining touch could
also be used for tickling. Helen duly noted the new data,
but very much wished it could have been collected in some other
Finally, Rupandra licked Helen's flushed, sweat-glistening
breasts, stomach, and thighs, then fed upon her aura, teasing
her labia with her lips and tongue. As Rupandra fed—whenever Rupandra
fed—Helen's mind exploded
with pleasure. Even as she struggled to escape her bondage
and twist her body away from her "tormentor," Helen surrendered
to the erotic aspect of her predicament.
To use an old American expression, "this wasn't Helen's first
rodeo." Aside from Lisbon—the scene of her
decades-in-the-past ravishment at the fingers, lips, and tongue
of Irena—Helen had been captured and ravished at other times in
the course of her Sanctuary duties. For example: (1)
She'd been ravished by an amorous chupacabra. (2) She'd
been cocooned in the slime of a frogman (a literal frogman) and
ravished. (3) She'd been held prisoner (and ravished) by a
Hungarian scientist who was attempting to interbreed various
abnormals and create super-soldiers.
The Sanctuary archives bulged
with instances of Helen Magnus experiencing peril and
distress. She'd been doused until she was soaking wet and
miserable, stripped of all or part of her clothing, knocked
around like a prizefighter, usually giving as good as she
received, or had been captured and bound in some manner—or
combinations thereof. And, on rare occasion, she'd been
ravished. Her youthful, Victorian self would have been
mortified and appalled, of course, but the Vampiric serum she
had allowed to be injected into her veins in the interests of
science, all those many long years ago, had given her unusual
physical strength, lightning-quick reflexes, an uncanny ability
to heal, and the strength of character to persevere—although
those that knew her well and whose opinions she respected
maintained her character had always been strong.
Anyway, that was then. This was now.
The chupacabra was her guest in one of the containment
environments. They played chess now and then. The
frogman had returned to the headwaters of the Amazon, to his
kind. Every few years he sent her cards with heartbreaking
romantic poems lamenting how beautiful their tadpoles would have
been. The Hungarian was long dead. His super-soldier
hybrids had been short lived, but had helped defeat the Nazis
before they passed. And Helen Magnus persevered. She
had important work to accomplish, and soon—and it couldn't be too soon—she would get back
Still and all—when Rupandra fed upon her aura, it felt good!
At the moment, Rupandra was asleep on the patient bed and Helen
was hanging in her bonds; bound, gagged, and exhausted. To
use another old
American expression, Helen had been "rode hard and put away
wet." She closed her eyes—rested the back of her head
against the web of single strands Rupandra had tied, for that
very purpose, between the vertical ropes suspending her upper
body—and tried to join her "guest" in slumber.
|rizzoli & beckett
opened her eyes and twisted her bound body, fighting the ropes
holding her captive. Quickly, she remembered where she was
and why she was a bound, gagged, and suspended prisoner, and
stopped moving. Her body swayed for a few seconds, then
was still. She focused on the patient bed and found
Rupandra staring back at her. The redhead was curled in a
loose ball on her side. Her eyes were wet and she was
softly keening. It was that sound that had roused Helen
from her much needed sleep. Rupandra was crying.
Another mood swing,
Helen realized, and it looks
"Oh, Helen!" Rupandra wailed. "Everything has gone
wrong!" She rolled off the bed, rushed to Helen, embraced
her bound body from the left side, rested her head against
Helen's breasts, and sobbed.
Helen didn't know what to do. Of course, and perhaps
thankfully, there was nothing she could do. She hung in her bonds and
gazed at the back of Rupandra's head. The Incufumara's
clutching hands tingled
against her skin, as did her captor's breasts where they were
pressed against her left arm and side. It was similar to
the sensation when Rupandra fed, not as intense, but
similar. Is this
normal? Helen wondered as she shivered in her bonds. Is increased contact sensitivity
part of the change process?
"I wanted to be different," Rupandra sobbed. "Most make
their first change in the safety of the enclave, the Red
Dragon's Outer Lair, in the care of the old crones who train the
was gonna be one of the select few. I was gonna make my
very first change in my own lair,
with my own loving s-s-slaves!" She began crying in
earnest. "It's all gone wrong!" She continued in
this vein for several minutes, her words growing increasingly
Eventually, Rupandra seemed to wind down and simply held Helen
and keened, softly, almost like a purring cat. Well, Helen thought, this is awkward.
Rupandra's touch continued sending mild, tingling waves through
Finally, Rupandra raised her head, released her embrace, and met
Helen's eyes. "I wish you could be my slave, Helen," she
sighed. Her eyes were red and her cheeks wet. "I
know I can't make you love me, Helen, but I wish I could."
She squeezed Helen's breasts, and the tingling
intensified. "I will
have slaves like you, Helen... smart, strong, and beautiful....
so very beautiful." She stepped between Helen's legs,
leaned close, and gave her pubic hair a delicate sniff.
Another thrill coursed through Helen's body. Rupandra
wasn't even touching her, and she could feel her aura
"It will be soon, Helen," Rupandra sighed. "Very soon, I
think, perhaps early tomorrow morning. I must feed,
perhaps for the last time before the change... perhaps
not." She gave Helen's labia a lick, as she had so many
Helen's eyes popped wide and she screamed—"MRRRF!"—through her
gag. She had cum, instantly and hard, her pussy convulsing with waves of
"Oh Helen," Rupandra growled, "I think this will be the last
time. This happens just before the sleep-of-change.
My power to feed becomes very
strong. I will drink your aura and you will cum as never
before. I will make it last for you for as long as I can,
Helen, but I'm afraid that at some point you will be able to
take no more and will sleep."
Sleep? Helen thought as
she shivered in her bonds. I'm worried about surviving!
"You're practically dripping, Helen," Rupandra chuckled.
"Your honey-milk flows.
Are you ready?"
Helen realized her pulse was pounding and her eyes wide and
staring. She very much wanted to shake her head no, but
found the courage to remain still.
Rupandra smiled, extended her tongue, leaned close, and made
contact with Helen's pussy.
|rizzoli & beckett
ONE DAY LATER
THE HOME OF DR. MAURA ISLES
CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS
Jane reached for the handle of
Maura's front door—but it was jerked open before she could grip
the handle. "Jeez, Maura, watch the fingers—Ooof!"
Maura had Jane in a crushing
bear hug. "I was so worried," she sighed.
"You're crushin' my ribs," Jane complained.
"That's impossible," Maura scoffed. "The rib cage
distributes compressive force. Besides, a person with my
upper body strength couldn't possibly
generate the 150 pounds per square inch required to—"
"Enough with the fun facts!" Jane chortled.
Jane was in boots, slacks, a jersey top over a t-shirt, and
jacket. Her weapon, clip-on badge, and handcuffs were on
her belt and her backup piece was holstered on her right ankle,
just above the boot-top. Maura was in one of her typically
stylish, attractive, and hideously
overpriced (in Jane's opinion) designer ensembles: high heels,
pencil skirt, and silk blouse.
"I was so worried," Maura reiterated.
"I'm okay," Jane said, returning the hug. "Is ma here?"
"Nobody's here," Maura answered. "Just us." She
broke the hug, turned to her alarm system's keypad and tapped
several buttons. "There, the system is armed and in
privacy mode. Your mother knows I need to examine you in
private, and she agreed—"
"Wait, wait, wait!" Jane interrupted. "Examine me?" She
shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on one of the entryway's
coat hooks. "I've been examined to death over the last few
days. Why do you
need to examine me?"
Maura's dimpled, endearingly childlike smile widened. "The
FBI couriered over your file and I simply have to see. Take off
"Your top, your top!" Maura reached for the waist of Jane's
short sleeved top.
Jane batted her hands away. "No! See what?"
"Your scars," Maura explained.
"I don't have any
scars," Jane muttered.
"Show me! Show me!" Maura was jumping up and down
like an eight year old on Christmas morning.
Jane rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and grabbed the bottom
hem of her top and the underlying gray t-shirt and lifted them
up, exposing her flat, well-sculpted abdomen.
"Amazing!" Maura gasped as she leaned close, her eyes wide with
wonder. "I can't see anything! They're completely
gone, the entry wound,
the surgical scar—" Her fingers slid behind Jane's
back. "—and the
exit wound scar!" She looked up and met Jane's amused
gaze. "You used to have a slight adhesion under the entry
wound. Can you tell if it's still there?"
"I think it was gone before... before whatever happened," Jane
mumbled. "Hey! Maura, stop!"
Maura was pressing her fingertips against Jane's tummy, trying
to feel for underlying scar tissue.
"Stop pawing me!" Jane complained. "It tickles!"
"Okay." Maura withdrew her fingers and stood erect.
"Now, remove all your
clothing so I can do this properly."
"Like that's gonna
happen," Jane chuckled. "Like I'm gonna strip so ma and
Frankie and Tommy can barge in and find me standing here like
Venus de freakin' Milo with you pokin' me in the belly."
Like Jane's mom, her brothers had a habit of dropping by Maura's
place without notice and entering without knocking. Maura
didn't mind in the least, of course. To Maura the Rizzoli
clan were family in all but blood, but Jane shuddered at the
thought of ma and her brothers seeing her naked.
"I told you," Maura said, "Angela won't be bothering us.
It was her idea for us to spend a quiet evening together, so we
can talk. And I've reprogrammed the system so your
brothers' keys won't work on the privacy mode setting."
"Ma wants us to talk?"
Maura blushed. "I was really upset when you
disappeared. I controlled myself, I am a professional, but
Angela could tell how much I was worried."
Jane smiled. "That's sweet, Maura, but you know I can
handle myself and—" Her expression froze. "We're
Maura nodded. "We aren't even on call. Angela
pestered Lt. Cavenaugh until he agreed to give you the weekend
off, and I'm taking a couple of vacation days. Jane, what
Jane was still staring. "Alone. Safe. No
disturbances." Suddenly, she turned and headed for the
Maura was confused. "Jane?"
Jane was opening cabinets and rummaging through drawers in the
kitchen island. "Where is it?" she mumbled.
Maura followed her into the kitchen. "Where is what?
What are you—"
"Found it!" Jane held up a large and nearly unused roll of
silver-gray duct tape. "I knew it was here."
"What do you need duct tape for?" Maura asked. She watched
as Jane ripped a seven inch strip from the roll and tacked it by
one corner to the island counter, then reached behind her back
and produced her handcuffs. "What are you—Jane? Jane!"
With practiced skill, Detective Rizzoli had grabbed Maura, spun
her around, forced her face down on the island counter, and was
cuffing her wrists behind her back.
"Is this a joke? Why are you—M'mmpfh!"
Jane had plastered the strip of tape over Maura's mouth.
Without saying a word, her eyes staring and the ghost of a
sinister smile curling her lips, she hoisted Maura onto her
shoulder in a fireman's carry and started towards the
bedroom. The roll of duct tape was in her right hand.
Her gray eye's wide and staring, mewling through the tape-gag,
tummy down and head to the rear, Maura kicked, squirmed, tossed
her head, and tugged on her BFF's handcuffs.
"A joke," Jane muttered in a distracted, monotone voice.
"Yes... it's a joke."
|rizzoli & beckett