The author of this damsel in distress story can be contacted at drake.fiction@gmail.com and would greatly welcome all comments and feedback. Martin Drake, October 2010.
The supine historian lay just as she had fallen, flat on her back with one bent arm stretched above her head, the smooth features of her face partially concealed by a sweep of long brown hair. Victoria knelt to brush the curls aside and touched her fingers against the girl’s slender throat. The pulse was strong and steady. Good. The poor thing might wake with a terrible headache, but the anaesthetic should have no unpleasant side effects while they travelled.
Sensitive fingers stroked along the French girl’s neck, travelling up to the line of her jaw then slowly skimming down to the collar bone and straying lower still to the soft valley exposed between the open buttons at the top of her close-fitting blouse. The ample chest beneath the blouse rose and fell in time with gently slumbering breaths. There was something so very appealing about an unconscious woman, a delicious quality that emphasised her natural allure whist rendering her so innocently vulnerable.
"Sleeping beauty," murmured Victoria, "Would you waken if I kissed you? Perhaps we’ll find out later. It’s been such a long time since I’ve been allowed to have my fun. I do so hope that her ladyship says we can keep you. There are so many things I would love to do to a wonderful body like yours ..."
The sultry whisper trailed off as the sinister henchwoman lost herself in a hazy state of longing. The fingers moved from the captive’s cleavage to the curve of her ruby lips. A thumb pressed down on the lower lip and Victoria reflected on how that plump flesh would taste or how it might feel if forced to much more intimate pleasures. The villainess groaned wantonly at the lewd images conjured in her debauched mind, but such fantasies would have to wait. Lady Longford would be most vexed if the young academic wasn’t delivered on schedule.
"You’re a very naughty girl, Meredith, to distract me with such wicked thoughts. You’ll have to be properly spanked when we get home, but for now we’ll just get you nicely tied-up. Although," Victoria eyed the fashionable Parisienne’s expensive clothing, "there’s no reason to crease your pretty outfit. Let’s take care of that first."
With no awareness of what was being done to her, the unfortunate scholar could offer no objections as the remaining buttons of her rose coloured top were undone and the sides of the light garment laid open. Victoria smiled in delight when she saw the lacy demi-cup bra which cradled the girl’s full breasts, "Meredith! Such sexy lingerie! Are you wearing it for someone special? How lucky for me that I’m the one who’ll see you in it. Do the panties match? I’m sure they do."
They did. The long zipper at the back of Meredith’s pencil skirt was unfastened and the skirt pulled down from her hips. The same delicate material covered the historian’s most private parts, an almost translucent triangle of white fabric edged with red lace and tied at the sides with two tiny bows. A small heart was stitched on the front panel, positioned directly above the centre of the crotch.
"Oh, that’s simply adorable," Victoria gushed with gleeful mirth, "You’re such a perfect little doll. Remind me to wrap you up in pink ribbons. We can add a velvet choker and maybe even a lovely bow for your hair. I can wear my leather basque and black fishnets. What an exciting couple we’ll make!"
The one-sided conversation continued as the tall captor completed the removal of her victim’s attire. Crooning compliments and demented ramblings gave a running commentary as Meredith’s blouse, skirt, shoes, socks and even her watch and rings were stripped off and neatly set aside. When only the chic set of underwear remained, Victoria’s nefarious preparations switched to matters of bondage.
Ever the professional, she had brought along the tools of her trade. The pouch which carried the cylinder of knock-out spray also contained assorted lengths of plastic cable ties. The tough vinyl strips had become popular among certain police and military divisions as an efficient and effective means of restraint; they also served the needs of less well-intentioned individuals. A pair of the so called ‘plasticuffs’ were placed around Meredith’s wrists. One strip was secured around her left wrist then a second intersecting strip drawn around the right. The ends only fed through their locking caps in one direction. Once tightened they couldn’t be made loose in any way, nor were they likely to snap or stretch under pressure from a struggling maiden. In fact, the only way that they were coming off was when Victoria decided it was time to cut them off.
A single strip was use to tie the captive’s ankles with longer and thicker bands doing likewise above and below her knees. The bound legs were then doubled up so that Meredith’s feet rested on the rounded cheeks of her bottom, in close proximity to her cuffed hands. A final tie was threaded through the loops at wrists and ankles, linking them just a few inches apart and leaving the semi-naked historian folded in a brutally compact hogtie. As a finishing touch, Victoria took a pair of sharp wire clippers and tidied each of the ties by snipping off the trailing ends so that no excess plastic protruded beyond the locking points.
"You know, I consider myself something of a connoisseur," she whispered. "These plasticuffs may not have the artistic symmetry of an intricate Japanese rope harness or even the classic imagery conjured by medieval chains and shackles, but I have to admit they do possess an economic elegance of their own."
Clearly Meredith couldn’t answer. Victoria took measures to ensure that would remain the case when consciousness returned. A small square of folded cloth was taken from her pouch along with a wide roll of black tape. The cloth was pushed into Meredith’s mouth and kept there by repeated application of the tape. Several broad layers were sealed across the academic’s compressed lips, stretching from ear to ear and from nose to chin.
"Sleep peacefully, my pet." Victoria bent her head close enough to place a soft kiss on the gagged lips. She nestled against the bound prisoner and let her hand roam the pale expanse of flesh revealed between bra and panties. "You just relax. When Lady Longford has asked her questions I’ll take care of you. You’ll like that, won’t you? I wonder what sort of fun you’ll enjoy the most. Will you play nicely or will I have to punish you?"
Further ominous musings were interrupted by the noise of a loud engine. A white van rumbled into view, trundling down the access ramp of the far street entrance to the basement. Victoria turned at the racket, tensed to reach for a weapon, but it was only her own team of hired muscle. The van swung to a halt and two burly men jumped out, exchanging curious glances at the sight of the feared enforcer kneeling over their undressed target.
Victoria shot back a scowl of her own, "Why are you two here so soon? I told you to give us ten minutes alone."
"Um ... you said five minutes, boss. Er ... we can come back later if you need some ... uh ... alone time."
"What? No. Never mind that," Victoria grumbled. Why was it that her job never left enough time to do the things she wanted to do? She pointed tetchily at one of the larger crates sitting nearby, "Since you’re here you might as well make yourselves useful. Drag that across and one of you take the girl’s feet. Help me load her into the van and we can get out of here."
Ally drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of their rented car, "Paris might be an amazing city, but this traffic is murder. We’ve been crawling bumper to bumper for the past half hour. We’re never going to get there at this rate."
Cristina chuckled from the passenger seat, "Why do you think I let you drive? I’ve been here before and it wasn’t any better that time."
Owl chimed in from her position in the back, "The university should almost be in sight. Just stay in this lane. The navigation system says we need to go straight ahead at the next lights."
The three agents were stuck in a queue of cars travelling down the Boulevard Saint-Michel in central Paris. A series of public roadworks had brought the mid-morning rush to a virtual standstill. Horns blared all around their small Citroen. The side-streets seemed to be less congested, allowing enterprising locals to plot imaginative detours to their destinations, but Ally and co had been caught up with the majority who were trapped in long tailbacks. They were on their way to the Sorbonne University having identified an expert who might improve the odds of understanding their enemies’ latest obsession. They were about to learn that those same enemies had already taken an interest in the talents of Dr Meredith Duvert.
Ally edged their car slowly forward, covering little more than twenty yards before being brought to another halt as the traffic lights ahead turned to red. She waited at the edge of a wide junction, idly watching the neighbouring vehicles. Suddenly the blonde agent sat bolt upright, staring across the junction in sheer amazement, "I don’t believe it. Guys, that white van. Tell me I’m not imagining things."
Cristina followed her partner’s gaze, "Victoria McDonald! What’s she doing here? This can’t possibly be good."
The distinctive height and cropped haircut of the woman driving the van was instantly recognisable. At about the same time she looked up and spotted her familiar adversaries. For a long moment they just stared at each other across the intersection, but then Victoria burst into action. With the lights still showing red for their direction, she slammed the van into gear and sped into the junction. Oncoming cars were forced to take evasive action as Victoria threw her vehicle to the right and took off.
"You two get out! Get to the university and check on the professor. I’ll stick with Victoria and see what she’s up to. Go!"
Owl and Cristina’s feet had scarcely hit the ground before Ally set off in pursuit. Victoria was driving like a maniac, weaving across lanes and even mounting the pavement in her quest for greater speed. The agent was quickly losing her bearings. They had left the clogged arterial routes and taken to the maze of adjoining side-streets. Fortunately it wasn’t difficult to keep the large van in sight. Unfortunately Victoria’s reckless disregard for others’ safety allowed her to take dangerous risks which gave an edge over Ally’s more cautious, but no less skilful, approach. They accelerated down a crowded thoroughfare, swerving to avoid a parked taxi and then braking hard and turning into an even tighter alleyway.
The chase was becoming more and more hazardous. A cloud of rubbish was thrown into the air when the van crashed into a plastic dustbin. The alley was hardly wide enough for the fast-moving vehicles. Ally gritted her teeth and kept her foot to the floor, determined not to fall behind. When Victoria tore past a busy metro station, Ally did the same, flashing her headlights and pumping her horn to warn the area’s startled pedestrians. When the van bounced over kerbs and splashed through standing water, Ally’s Citroen followed suit, the small car’s tyres and suspension pushed to their limits by the abusive treatment.
They took another turn and Ally smiled at what she saw. A heavy lorry was backing out of a warehouse entrance. Its tarpaulined trailer would block off both sides of the road. There was nowhere else for Victoria to go, she would have to give up and face her pursuer. But the crazed driver had other ideas. With no hint of even slowing down, the van ploughed towards the diminishing gap between the rear of the lorry and the building opposite. Ally watched in horror. Surely they couldn’t make it? Sparks flew, accompanied by a terrible grinding of metal on metal. The van had lost both wing mirrors and done considerable damage to its paintwork, but somehow, incredibly, it had found enough space to squeeze through the narrow opening and thunder on.
For the briefest of seconds Ally contemplated following, but there was no way she could repeat such an audacious stunt and come out in one piece. Yanking on the handbrake and fighting with the steering wheel, she skidded to a barely controlled stop. Damn it! Whatever Victoria had been doing in Paris, it looked like she would be making a successful getaway.
Some hours later the van and its occupants arrived at their rendezvous. They had driven to a magnificent chateau, practically a small palace, that was even more luxurious than Lady Longford’s manor back in England. The lady was waiting for them, dressed in a gentlewoman’s riding outfit of tan jodhpurs, polished black boots, a loose cream blouse and matching cream neck scarf. A stiff riding crop, tapped in staccato rhythm against the top of her boots, completed the impression of a domineering matriarch. She allowed Victoria to clamber down from the driver’s seat then raised a questioning eyebrow and flicked her crop towards the van’s scuffed bumpers and the long scratch to its side panels.
"Care to explain that? I trust you haven’t been courting unwanted attention?"
The taller woman shrugged, "I ran into some of Athena’s agents. It was easy enough to give them the slip. Nobody was following once we left the city limits, but we should probably ditch the van to be safe."
Lady Longford tutted, "I knew the agency was on the way, but I didn’t expect them in France so quickly. Bloody do-gooders! Did you acquire the historian?"
"Yes, ma’am. Come and see."
The two male goons had lowered the wooden crate from the van’s cargo bay and set it on the ground for their employer’s inspection. They handed Victoria an iron crowbar as she and Lady Longford approached. Muffled noises were emerging from the container, the faint sound of frightened sobs and weak pounding against the crate’s floor. The crowbar prised the lid open, revealing a very scared and very securely bound woman. She blinked as sunlight flooded into her cramped prison, peering up with tear-stained eyes and pleading hysterically through her gag. Lady Longford looked back with a complete lack of sympathy. Her minion had done an excellent job. The plastic ties kept the girl’s arms and legs tightly pinioned, the enforced discipline of the hogtie a necessary element for the captive to fit within the box’s confined interior. The duct tape adhered to the lower portion of her face like a second skin, no wrinkles or air pockets had formed to reduce the gag’s efficiency. However one aspect of the girl’s condition stood out above all others.
"Victoria?"
"Yes, ma’am."
"Why is it that our respected scholar is in such a shameful state of undress?"
Victoria gave a slight cough and had the decency to look at least a little sheepish, "I thought it might emphasise the psychology of her plight and make her more biddable. Besides ... she looks so pretty that way."
"I see." Longford shook her head. Sometimes she despaired of her assistant and her unusual predilections. "Bring her inside. The sooner she’s settled, the sooner she can prove herself useful."
The cable ties were cut away to free Meredith from her hogtie and to remove the bonds around her legs. Strong hands hefted her out of the crate and steadied her on somewhat shaky legs. The gag remained in place and the plastic cuffs still secured her hands behind her back. With the reluctant historian struggling and mmphing all the way, the small party moved from the great outdoors to spartan guest quarters hidden beneath the grand oak and marble building. ‘Guest quarters’ was something of a euphemism. ‘Cell’ would be a more accurate descriptor, for that was precisely the function of the cold windowless cubicle. Its bare stone walls allowed entrance through a single thickly-barred door. A solitary light bulb dangled from a frayed power cord, giving off a weak yellowish light. The room had only three pieces of furniture; a shallow sleeping pallet lying along the back wall, a metal table which was bolted to the floor and a low stool pushed below the table.
Lady Longford and Victoria followed Meredith into the cell and directed her to the stool. Victoria finally snipped away the last of the plasticuffs, but only to take the scholar’s arms and lock them in front of her body with a set of steel manacles. A longer set of otherwise identical restraints were snapped around the girl’s left ankle and one of the table’s solid legs. She found herself, quite literally, chained to a desk.
"I’m going to take your gag off now," Lady Longford gripped Meredith by the chin and tilted her head back. Dispassionate eyes bore into the prisoner’s as she delivered a stern lecture, "I don’t want to hear you scream. I don’t want to hear any grovelling, any insults or any ridiculous arguments that we have to let you go. In fact, I don’t want to hear you speak at all until I believe you have something worthwhile to say. Do I make myself clear? Good."
Varnished finger nails picked at a corner of the duct tape then peeled the layers away with deliberate slowness. Meredith’s eyes began to water as the tacky stuff pulled and nipped at her cheeks and mouth. The Englishwoman seemed to be prolonging the torturous procedure, purposefully subjecting her victim to an unnecessarily painful experience. When the last strip of tape came away, the cloth packing was also removed. Meredith swallowed and blinked back renewed tears. She looked at her captors, shivering from the room’s chill and from obvious apprehension, but wisely electing to remain silent.
"I’m sure that some of these texts will be familiar to you." Lady Longford was spreading several books upon the table, various writings and images pertinent to Meredith’s field of study. "I want you to examine them closely. Pay special attention to the biography of Signore del Giocondo, the geography around Florence during that period and the passages marked in this copy of da Vinci’s drawings. I will be most interested in your conclusions."
The scholar reached for the nearest manuscript with chained hands. Despite the harrowing circumstances, the academic’s brilliant mind couldn’t help but be fascinated by anything relating to her favourite painter, "I ... I don’t understand. What is it that you want from me? What am I supposed to find?"
"The Mona Lisa is smiling because she knows something that we don’t." Lady Longford turned one of the books to a photograph of the famous work, "Look at the background. Most believe it to be a fantasy landscape, serving only to enhance the portrait’s composition. It’s not. It is a map to a very valuable secret. A secret hidden by a powerful society of which del Giocondo was a member. You, my dear, are going to decipher that map. And Dr Duvert, I suggest that you approach the problem as though your life depended on it."
Leaving their terrified captive to come to terms with her perplexing task and gloomy incarceration, Longford and her chief lieutenant shut the barred door and made their way out of the dingy cellblock. The board was set. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. Soon, if everything went well, they would stand on the brink of unimaginable glory. Technology had changed, new empires commanded the world stage, but the paths to political power were the same today as they were five hundred years ago. A society long forgotten was about to be reborn and reclaim its rightful destiny.
Lady Longford set her lips in a grim line. Nothing could be left to chance at this late hour, "Victoria, I’m afraid you’ll have to return to Paris. This afternoon, if you’re ready."
A small pout showed the henchwoman’s disappointment, "So soon? I was hoping that I could stay here to watch over our guest and give her some ... ah ... additional incentive. I’m certain that I could find lots of interesting ways to keep her motivated."
"Yes, I’m sure that you could. However it is imperative that our timetable proceeds without hindrances. I can’t have the Athena Agency getting in the way while Duvert works on the Enigma. If the agents are already in Paris then I need you to keep them busy for at least the next few days. I presume that you can arrange a suitable diversion?"
A malicious grin wiped away Victoria’s pout. That sounded like exactly her sort of challenge, "Not a problem, ma’am. A game of hide and seek should keep them out of your hair. Hide and seek played by my rules, of course."
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