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DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

"She thinks she's sooo smart," Katherine muttered, pacing around the computer desk of her loft.

Sally paused in the act of hacking the FAA flight plan registry.  "And beautiful, and wealthy, and powerful... What's your point?"

"I don't like people who play games at my expense.  And I don't like being tied up!"

Sally smiled and returned to tapping and mousing.  "Here it is...  Crown Corporation's Gulfstream G-200;  JFK to Biggin Hill; in flight and on schedule.  Your new girlfriend is somewhere over the Atlantic, as we speak."

"That arrogant witch is not my new girlfriend," Katherine growled, frowning at her smiling protégé.

"Is that why you keep calling out her name in your sleep?"

Katherine scowled (and blushed).  "Note to self: purchase earplugs for Krippendorf.  Keep your mind on your work.  Have you confirmed who's onboard with the INS database?"

Sally tapped a final key and the screen went blank.  "Can't be done anymore, not unless you want Homeland Security goons breaking down the door and giving us a free trip to Guantánamo.  All I can tell you is the flight plan shows nine souls onboard."

"And every indication is the townhouse is deserted... with only a single caretaker."

Sally smiled.  "Our friend the champagne pushing red-haired fairy."

Katherine continued pacing.  "Okay... If Thomasina Crown likes games... we'll give her a game she'll remember.  When she gets back from shopping at Harrods, instead of meekly knocking on the door and asking for that tour she promised... I'll present her with a complete dossier on the contents of her townhouse, with detailed technical specs on the security system, digital photos of all her art and jewelry... or, if I find the Kandinsky or anything else on the watch list, I'll be accompanied by New York's Finest with a handful of warrants."

"You really think the Kandinsky is somewhere in the townhouse?" Sally asked.  She tapped a few keys and the image of the stolen abstract masterpiece filled the screen.  Both Katherine and Sally stared at the bold geometry and pleasing mixture of earth tones and pure colors for several seconds.

"She's arrogant enough to think she can get away with it," Katherine said finally.  "Everyone has a fatal flaw in their character, Krippendorf.  Thomasina Crown's is pride , bordering on hubris. "

"It takes one to know one," Sally muttered.

"What?"

"I said, mine is blindly following the orders of overconfident brunettes."  The perky blonde tapped out the shut-down sequence for the computer, leaned back in her office chair, and stretched.  "What now, Fearless Leader?"

Katherine smiled down at her partner.  "We have several hours 'til Red—"

"Andrea.  Her name is Andrea."

"Until Andrea," Katherine continued, "leaves for her yoga class.  In light of your poor performance at the party, I think a little remedial escapology practice is in order."

Sally sighed (but her eyes were sparkling).  "For someone who hates bondage—"

"I hate being tied up," Katherine interrupted.  "I enjoy tying other people up."

"Don't I know it," Sally muttered, sadly shaking her head.

Katherine and Sally were in the front of Banning Investigation's van, watching the front entrance of Thomasina Crown's townhouse.  At the moment the van's side panels identified it as being owned by "Monet's Garden, Inc.—Indoor/Outdoor Gardening & Landscaping."  (This justified the mud dried around the van's wheel wells and front and back bumpers (which also conveniently disguised their license plates)).  Both were dressed in dark clothing, although Sally had a hunter green "Monet's Garden, Inc." jacket covering her black t-shirt.  Katherine wore black sneakers and socks, black designer jeans, and a black turtleneck.  On the streets of Manhattan that identified her as "artistic" rather than as a cat burglar.

Katherine had a low-light scope focused on the townhouse.  The door opened and Andrea McCandless emerged.  The petite redhead was dressed in low boots, olive green tights, and a tan leather jacket.  Over her shoulder was the strap of a small gym bag with a rolled mat strapped to its side.  She turned a key in the townhouse door lock, bounded down the steps, and walked away.  "It's show time," Katherine muttered, handing the scope to Sally.

"It's not too late to call this off," Sally whispered.

"'Fortune favors the bold,'" Katherine quoted.

"Yeah, well a stitch in time saves nine to twelve at Bayview Correctional Facility as some bull-dyke's wife."

Katherine opened her door, stepped onto the sidewalk, slung her sling-purse over one shoulder, and eased the door shut.  "Hold down the fort," she whispered, and stepped away.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Sally muttered under her breath, and watched Andrea disappear around the corner of the far block, exactly as expected.  She eased into the back of the van and fired up the encrypted radio link.  "Testing."

"Turn the volume down a notch," Katherine's voice whispered in Sally's earpiece.  The blonde clicked a dial.  "How's this?"

"Five by five," Katherine answered.  "The dead bolt and door locks are... open.  I'm in.  The alarm is flashing.  Attaching Palm Pilot now... running program... and the system's off, with three seconds to spare."

"This is awfully easy," Sally muttered.

"I'm awfully good," Katherine responded.  "Starting my sweep for unknown occupants."

Just then the side door of the van opened—and Sally turned in horror to find Andrea McCandless climbing into the van!

"Hi," the redhead said with a friendly smile, at the same time pointing what was unmistakably a small weapon of some sort in Sally's face.  "So... Peter Pan is into gardening, or is it burglary?"

Sally swallowed nervously, "Uh... Hi... uh..."

Katherine's voice whispered in Sally's ear.  "What the hell are you prattling about?"

"Tell your friend to abort," Andrea ordered, then reached behind and pulled the door closed—and two things happened very quickly: Sally reached out and seized the wrist of Andrea's gun hand and gave it a nerve numbing twist, and she punched the startled redhead in the solar plexus.  The weapon rattled to the floor and Andrea collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Sally reached for a roll of black gaffer's tape, ripped off a strip, and plastered it over Andrea's mouth, then rolled her over, crossed her wrists behind her back, and bound them together with several rapid tight turns.  She then crossed the unconscious redhead's booted ankles and bound them together as well.

Sally's earpiece and mike had come off during the brief and decidedly one-sided fight, but she quickly found and restored it.  "Katherine," she whispered, "you better abort.  Things just got complicated."  Seconds passed with no reply.  "Katherine?"  Sally eased into the driver's seat and stared at the townhouse.  "Oh shit!"  The townhouse's door had opened and two very tall, very hulk-like men dressed in black had emerged.  "Katherine, answer me!" Sally hissed into the mike.  One of the men pointed at the van, and Sally turned the ignition key.  The engine caught, and she pulled away from the curb.  The men ran after her, grabbing for the back door... but she made it safely away, and thank God rush hour was over and the Manhattan traffic was flowing at a reasonable rate.

Sally pulled off her earpiece and tossed it aside.  "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"  She glanced in the back and found her prisoner was awake and watching her above her tape-gag, her big green eyes sparkling with (of all things) amusement.  Things had blown up in her face, in their faces, big time!  "Katherine!" Sally muttered under her breath.  Well... the worried blonde thought, glancing again at the bound redhead, at least I got a bargaining chip.

Katherine opened her eyes.  A strip of tape was over her mouth, her wrists were cuffed or clamped behind her back, her ankles were bound, and she was on her back on a hard surface, with taut straps across her chest, waist, and thighs, pinning her in place.  Her clothes were intact and the room was almost totally dark.  Déjà vu all over again, she thought with a sigh.

She shook her head and blinked her eyes, staring into the darkness... and the memory of her capture, her latest capture, flooded back in humiliating detail.  She'd barely made it out of the entryway when noise and nonsense started issuing from her radio link back to Sally in the van; but before she could determine what was wrong, several figures loomed out of the darkness and attacked!  This time Katherine's judo met with limited success.  She sent one hulk crashing into a side table and another staggering; but then she was seized from both sides and once again Soma was sprayed in her face.

And here I am, she thought.  Suddenly, several pin spots in the ceiling flared to brilliance.  Katherine blinked until her eyes adjusted, then looked around.  The walls of her prison were smooth, poured concrete, glistening a wet gray from several coats of clear sealer.  The ceiling and floor were similar.  She was strapped to a stainless steel gurney, and the straps were broad, thick, black nylon, like automobile seat belts.  A steel table covered with a white cloth was to the side, a stainless steel cabinet was set against one wall, a small electric hoist on a steel track was set in the ceiling, and eyebolts were mounted at all levels in the surrounding walls.  There was also a thin hose on a stainless steel reel.   Oh great...  Crown has a 'fun' room.

A steel door opened and "U-89" entered the room.  She was out of costume, in black tights and a black sports top, but Katherine recognized her hard face, pale skin, and athletic form.  Her black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and while Katherine couldn't see low enough to confirm that her visitor was wearing boots, she heard the staccato tap of their heels.  U-89 loomed over Katherine... and smiled... and her face was transformed.  She was beautiful, but it was the beauty of the cobra, the beauty of the hungry she-wolf.  Despite her desire to show no fear, Katherine froze in her bonds, and stared into her captor's cruel brown eyes.

"Ms. Banning," U-89 said.  "We have to stop meeting like this."  She reached out and placed her pale hand against Katherine's face.  It felt smooth and cool to the helpless prisoner.  "It's my task to search you for weapons and more of your clever escape aids... and I believe in being very thorough.  The mark of a professional... don't you agree?"

Over the next several minutes Katherine's sneakers and socks were removed (yielding one tiny folding blade); her belt was pulled from her jeans (revealing a blade built into the buckle and another tucked into a small sleeve in the middle); her jeans were unzipped and pulled open (yielding a wire pick in a tiny sheath sewn into the waistband); and the cuffs, hems, and collar of her turtleneck examined (two more blades and another pick).  Her captor then produced a comb and began methodically examining Katherine's hair and scalp (which revealed one more wire pick).

"I'm impressed, Ms. Banning," Katherine's captor said.  "That's quite an arsenal, cleverly hidden yet accessible under most circumstances; but tell me... has any of it ever done you any good?"

Katherine glared at her captor, resisting the urge to squirm in her bonds.

U-89 laughed.  "We can trade war stories on another occasion."  She walked to the steel table and pulled back the cloth cover... revealing a distressingly large and complete collection of surgical tools, all of stainless steel.

Katherine felt her heart rate increase, and willed herself to relax... with limited success.

Her captor selected a pair of nasty looking shears, and returned to the gurney.  "I hope whoever is paying you to spy on Thomasina allows clothing items on their expense reports," she purred, and began slicing the right leg of Katherine's jeans, slowly working her way along the outside seam from cuff to waistband, carefully and meticulously ducking under and avoiding the strap across Katherine's thighs.  She then walked around the table, and made a second cut along Katherine's left leg.  The same gloating, evil (and infuriating) smile on her face, she worked the ruined garment from around Katherine's lower body.

Katherine looked down her now bare legs.  Her ankles were bound with flexi-cuffs (the same joined cable ties that had been used to bind the maid during the Stonebeck job).  They were padded with clear vinyl tubing and the ends trimmed.  She surmised her wrist restraints were similar.

Meanwhile, U-89 had lifted the left sleeve of Katherine's turtleneck and was making a cut from wrist to shoulder.

Tired of her cavalier treatment, Katherine twisted violently in her bonds, glared at her captor, and mewed several rude and personal remarks through her semi-effective tape-gag.  U-89 laughed and walked to the table, then returned with something the size and shape of a small, rubber-clad flashlight, only in place of a lens it had a pair of blunt copper studs.   Uh oh!

"This is a scaled down cattle prod," U-89 explained.  "It hurts like the devil, leaves no marks, and the battery pack is fully rechargeable.  I have two spares waiting on the table.  Now... would you like a demonstration, or will you hold still for Helena?"

Still glaring, Katherine sighed and nodded.  Stoicism might be a virtue, but masochism was not.  Her captor set down the mini-prod and returned to the task of cutting open Katherine's sweater.  Katherine relaxed in her bonds, shivered as the steel blades of the shears slid along her arms and torso, and watched her captor's gloating face.   So... 'Helena'...  U-89 has a name.

Her turtleneck cut and pulled from her body, Katherine lay in her bonds, clad only in black cotton bikini briefs and sports bra.  Helena replaced her shears with a pair of bandage scissors.  "Nice undies, Ms. Banning," she observed, poking the margins of the undies in question with the blunt tip of her scissors.  "Freedom of movement, in case of action... black, so you can continue skulking, even if you misplace the rest of your clothing...  It's a pleasure working with a true professional."

Katherine blushed in humiliation as the straps and side seams of her remaining clothing were severed.  'Professional'... right, she thought, blushing anew when the ruined underwear was pulled from her body.

Helena took a step back and stared at Katherine's helpless, squirming, nude body.  "I must say, Ms. Banning, you have one of the finest physiques it's been my pleasure to restrain, strip, and examine.  Smooth, tan skin; excellent muscle tone; classic proportions; well-trimmed yet abundant pubic bush; narrow waist and defined abs; full breasts and pleasing nipples.  I hate cows with massive udders and areola the size of dinner plates, don't you?  A-cup 'fried eggs' are preferable.  Your breasts are... well... perfect."  Her eyes continued to wander as Katherine glared and squirmed.  "Smooth shoulders; strong, graceful neck; beautiful features, and those eyes..."  She leaned close and stared into Katherine's angry, defiant, (and frightened) eyes.  "Cinnamon, bronze, coffee, amber... even flecks of gold.  Delightful... simply delightful."

Helena reached under the table and produced a broad, stiff collar, which she closed around Katherine's throat and buckled tight.  Next, nylon straps were used to secure the collar to the table and thus pin the captive's head rigidly in place.  Katherine rolled her eyes and watched her captor walk to the table, don a pair of latex surgical gloves, pick up some sort of gleaming steel mechanism, and return.  Smiling evilly, Helena reached out and ripped the tape from Katherine's mouth.  Captor and captive locked eyes as Katherine licked her lips.

The prisoner swallowed and tried to assert some shred of dignity.  "You can't—"

Helena interrupted her immediately.  "Let's do the short version, shall we?  Hold you against your will—Yes we can.  Treat you like a common criminal—However we want.  Keep you naked and tied up..."  She reached down, grabbed Katherine's left breast, and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "Naked, bound with rope, locked in chains, trapped in a small cell, languishing in an inescapable dungeon...  We'll do anything we want to you, for as long as we want to do it, and nothing will stop us, and no one will rescue you... certainly not your cute little assistant."

Katherine stared up at her gloating captor.  "What do you want?" she whispered.

Helena's smile broadened.  "For the moment, your cooperation while I fit a dental gag and jaw-spreader to that pretty mouth of yours and examine your teeth and gums for more escape aids.  Then, I'll require your continued cooperation while I use my vaginal and anal specula, blunt probes, and forceps to complete your examination.  They're waiting on the table, in a covered jar, steeping in alcohol, in a bath of ice.  Can you guess why I keep them cold like that?"

"Because you're a sadistic bitch?" Katherine muttered.

"Exactly," Helena said.  "I'm glad we understand each other."  She picked up the dental gag mechanism, with its spoon-like clamps and ominous geared ratchets.  "Say ah."

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," Sally continued muttering as she pulled onto the New Jersey Turnpike and headed south.  "Burglary,  kidnapping, interstate flight...  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..."  She glanced at the gas gauge.  "Good thing I filled it up before, huh?"  She glanced over her shoulder, and found her prisoner smiling at her over her gag.  "You're taking this well," the nervous blonde sighed.  "I'm glad somebody is."  Katherine, she thought, and felt her eyes welling.  She shook her head and rubbed her eyes one at a time, watching the road as she drove.   I don't have time for that.  Gotta think.

She glanced at her prisoner again.  This time the redhead's eyes were closed, and she appeared to be trying to take a nap.  Sally's eyes returned to the road.  Gotta think.  Returning to the loft had been out of the question.  Crown and her people knew the address.  Going to the cops?  You see Officer, we were burglarizing this multi-millionaire's townhouse to see if she's a burglar and I kidnapped her maid by mistake and I think they've got my partner and...  Yeah, that's gonna work.  Well... one thing was for sure: a job worth doing was worth doing well.  They had Katherine... maybe... and Sally had to make sure she kept Andrea.

She took the next exit and drove until she found a large parking lot.  It was a "Target" store, and would be closing in a little less than an hour.  Sally parked as far from the other shoppers as she dared, then climbed into the back.  Her prisoner was awake and watching her, the same amused expression on her freckled, tape-gagged face.  Sally noticed that Andrea's red curls were held in a loose ponytail by a pale olive bandana.  "First things first," the blonde muttered, pulled the bandana free, shook it out, and balled it into a wad.  She then straddled her captive, pulled the tape from her lips, and crammed the cloth into her mouth.  The tape went back over the prisoner's lips, and was joined by band after tight horizontal band of fresh tape as Sally mummified Andrea's lower face.  Satisfied that the still amused redhead was as quiet as she could make her (short of real violence, which, no matter what, was not gonna happen), Sally turned her attention to reinforcing Andrea's bonds.  Her tape-bound wrists received a few more turns, then the redhead's pale hands were mummified.  This expended the last of the roll of gaffer's tape.

Sally rummaged through the back of the van for something to make her prisoner even more helpless, and discovered the pistol-like weapon Andrea had threatened her with earlier.  It was dark gray plastic, rather boxy in shape, but small enough to be concealed.  In the glare of the parking lot lights Sally could see a lightning bolt logo and the word "TASER."   A stun gun, she realized.   Nasty but non-lethal.  She looked into her prisoner's eyes.  The amusement was still there... but no fear; none whatsoever.   This is weird... complicated, Sally realized.  She put the taser in the van's glove box then returned to the back.

Jumper cables!  They were in a small compartment in the side panel, as well as an unexpected bonus: a thick coil of ratty sisal rope!  Five minutes later, Andrea was a well-gagged, ball-tied (and still amused) bundle, squirming under a blanket in the back of the van, and Sally was walking towards the Target store, making a mental shopping list:   Let's see now... several bundles of cotton clothesline and/or braided nylon cord; four rolls of duct tape... no, six rolls; a bag of shop rags; ace bandages; some nylons or pantyhose, depending on what's on sale; ...and a bag of Cheetos, the extra-crunchy kind.

Katherine was not having a good time.  After her intimate and humiliating "examination," Helena had wheeled her down a long corridor (more glistening gray concrete and industrial fixtures) to her current location, a small, plain cell.  A grid of lights with wire reinforced glass covers was overhead, and she was facing a solid steel door.  She was seated in a steel chair, a chair solidly bolted to the concrete floor.  She was bound, of course.  The vinyl-clad flexi-cuffs were still around her ankles and wrists, and in addition, Helena had used an abundance of black, braided, nylon rope to bind her thumbs and elbows, yoke her shoulders, criss-cross down her torso (pausing to frame and accentuate her bare breasts, of course), encircle her waist, dive between her thighs; then encircle and bind her knees (above and below), her calves, and lastly, her big toes.  It was one long, continuous, tight, and decidedly uncomfortable network of coils, hitches, and knots.  

Curiously, only her thumbs were bound to the chair, in the back, and her big toes were tied to an eyebolt sunk in the floor.  There was method to Helena's madness.  To Katherine's great distress and humiliation, her captor had lubricated and inserted a large rubber-clad dildo into her vagina!  The shaft filled her adequately (if not completely) and had a strange, bulbous base which protruded from between her labia.

Insertion complete, Helena stepped back, Katherine settled her naked rump on the chair—and her predicament became clear!  The slightest contact with the chair's seat closed a contact in the base of the dildo, and it came to throbbing, vibrating, squirming life!  Katherine lifted her bottom off the chair—and the dildo was still.

"All you have to do is keep your cute little heinie in the air," her tormentor explained.  "Unless you like being teased by... What does Andrea call it?  Oh yes... her 'Wiggle-worm Womb-whammer.'  Say that fast five times.  Such an inventive mind that girl has... and surprising stamina for such a small thing.  It's quite a strain keeping yourself off the chair, isn't it?  Yes... your position is carefully crafted to make it so... increasingly so... as you grow tired."

Katherine would have complained, of course, but a large rubber sponge was stuffed in her mouth and several tight bands of elastic bandage were making sure it stayed there.

"Well... I'll leave you to enjoy your evening.  I imagine you'll be in a talkative mood come morning... and I'm sure we'll find many interesting topics to chat about."  Helena then turned and left, and the door closed behind her with a solid clang, followed by the report of no less than three bolts slamming home.  Then the lights faded from actinic white... to a deep blood red.

That had been at least an hour ago.  Since then Katherine had allowed her legs, abs, and back to rest for two extended periods.  Each time the pain in her straining muscles had been replaced by the writhing, buzzing, quivering attention of the monster lodged in her sex.  Each time she withstood the teasing, titillating, intoxicating sensations as long as she dared... then... once again lifted herself off the chair bottom.

By now it was obvious the red lights were heat lamps, and Katherine's bound, helpless, straining body was dripping with perspiration.  Long strands of hair were plastered to her face and sweat was beading on her forehead, shoulders, chest, breasts, and thighs, and was running down her neck, arms, torso, and legs.

Pointless, Katherine thought, and eased her weight down onto the chair.  The buzzing began and she squirmed and shuddered and strained against her bonds... and struggled... and panted through her flaring nostrils... and tossed her head, sending a shower of sweat droplets into the air... and finally came—and it was glorious—and it went on and on... and then it was over... and she was still bound and gagged and helpless, and the "Whammer" was still buzzing merrily away, and the room was still as hot as an oven... and it wasn't morning.  Slowly, wearily, she lifted herself off the chair, trading a few minutes of peace for her throbbing loins for a few minutes of strain for her tired muscles.  Just wait 'til I get my hands on her, she thought.   Just wait 'til Helena-the-bitch is my guest.  And where the hell is Krippendorf???