Politics Makes Strange…ummm…
Cynthia Crane's head hurt. In a way, it was remarkable that she even noticed, considering how much discomfort she had been through in the past day or so, or given the position she found herself in, now: finally awakened from the drugs, bound more stringently than ever, blindfolded, and completely in the dark as to where she was.
After she and Anderson had freed themselves from the garage, Cynthia had had the latest in a series of nasty surprises: Jennifer Bruce took fewer chances than some of their other captors. As the two women staggered from the garage, two powerful security guards, one man and one woman, had been waiting, guns drawn. Almost casually, they escorted the two women back inside. There was none of the gleeful cruelty that their previous captors had shown; instead, the man held his gun on Alexandra while the woman bound Cynthia with cold efficiency. Working for Jennifer Bruce obviously called for special equipment: the woman drew from her belt pouch an assortment of leather straps. Cynthia's attempt to persuade the pair to give themselves up was met with a harsh slap across the face; the woman then forced her to lie on the garage floor, and set to work. First, Cynthia's arms were bent up behind her back; her forearms were laid across each other, and small leather belts were buckled, so that her arms were pinned firmly, wrist to elbow. A somewhat longer set of belts was then produced, and Cynthia's arms were fastened securely to her sides above her breasts. At least, Cynthia thought, someone is finally tying me without paying special attention to my chest. The strong fingers cinched the buckles hard, and the leather bit deeply into Cynthia's exposed skin. She winced, but decided not to give her captors the satisfaction of crying out. She was sure they intended to silence her soon enough. The woman then took hold of Cynthia's legs. Her ankles were pulled together and cracked painfully against each other. The leather straps were again buckled in place, and Cynthia tried desperately to turn one leg or the other to relieve the pressure. Before she could even approach a level of comfort, though, the woman's strong hands had fastened straps above and below her knees, and tightened them just below the point of cutting off her circulation. In an easy, practiced motion, the woman then pulled Cynthia's bound ankles up behind her back. With her arms fastened so closely together, tying Cynthia's ankles to her hands required even more tension than usual on the muscles of her arms, legs, and back. The pain was immediate and intense, and there was no indication that the woman was intending any of this with any particular cruelty: her job was to restrain this woman completely, and she did her job very well.
Cynthia wearily drooped her head to the floor, her face lost in a veil of auburn tresses. She lay a cheek against the dirty floor, trying to conserve her strength to try and escape; as she knew it would be, her head was then pulled up by a fist in her hair, and she could see before her face a pad of leather lined with shat appeared to be a pad of cloth at least two inches thick. This time there were no taunts, no gloating laughter. The woman simply used her hold in Cynthia's hair to hold her head still as she jammed the wad into her mouth. Strong fingers worked the leather and cloth back and forth until it was firmly wedged into the red-haired policewoman's mouth. When it could go no farther, the woman released the fistful of hair, and Cynthia had to jerk her neck painfully to keep her face from hitting the floor. Across the back of her head, she could feel the gag straps being buckled in place. The woman made no attempt to hold her hair out of the way, but the pain of pulled hair was scarcely noticeable compared with that of the stringent hogtie now holding her body taut. When the woman finished gagging her, Cynthia again rested her head on the floor. She had no desire to watch them packaging Alexandra. The sounds were unavoidable, though, and she could hear the slap of leather as the straps were applied to the blond reporter, and she heard Alexandra gasp in pain as leather cinched her naked body. Brave Alexandra might be, but she was certainly less physically strong than Cynthia, and the bondage was clearly hurting the young reporter. Finally, Cynthia heard Alexandra trying to resist as a gag was applied to her. Cynthia presumed it was much like the one she now wore herself, and Alexandra's gasps and groans were quickly converted into grunts and hums as her mouth was filled, and the gag fastened in place. The next sound caused Cynthia to look up. The garage door had opened, and one of Jennifer Bruce's limousines waited outside. The woman opened the door to the backseat, and Cynthia caught a glimpse of a young, dark-haired woman sitting in front with the driver. Then, the world spun around as she felt the man pick her up as easily as if she'd been a child. Hogtied as she was, she was grateful that he had chosen to carry her in his arms, instead of simply picking her up by the handle that her bound arms and legs would have provided. The rear of the limousine was spacious and elegantly appointed. Jennifer Bruce sat on a bench-like seat, and watched with cool superiority as Captain Cynthia Crane was deposited, a helpless parcel, at her feet.
"Well, Red, maybe next time you'll stay out of business that doesn't concern you. Oh, I forgot," she laughed, "there won't BE a next time!"
Alexandra was carried next. She got a better glimpse of the woman in the front seat of the limo, and was astonished to recognize her as Pammy Lloyd, the 25-year-old Deputy Mayor! The youngest elected official in the city, she was wealthy, and ruthlessly ambitious. She knew that she had not wanted Alexandra reporting on the story of the princess' disappearance; now, it appeared that she had decided to take no chances. The two security guards found seats for themselves in the back seat, and closed the door. They regarded the captive women on the floor no more than any other packages they might have wrapped for delivery. As the car sped off, Jennifer Bruce spoke to her companion in the front seat.
"Really, it would have been easier just to see if Crane would keep Anderson from writing the story, but I guess Big Red here just had to get in the way. Inconvenient, but at least it's more fun this way! Has the press conference been called?"
"Yes," came the answer from the front seat. "Do you think your two guests would like to listen? I can't get front-row seats for them, but I'm sure I can arrange a 'backstage pass!'"
"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is with the utmost regret that I announce that our investigation has concluded that Princess Melany's abduction was carried out with collusion of Police Captain Cynthia Crane." Cyhthia's green eyes flew wide; even though she knew it was useless, she screamed through the thick packing in her mouth. The muffled sounds would never have been heard above normal conversation, never mind the cacophony that greeted Lloyd's announcement. Jennifer Bruce laughed delightedly, and used the sharp toe of her shoe to give Cynthia a sharp kick in her exposed derriere. The cruel heiress then knelt in front of the pathetically struggling policewoman and kissed her on the forehead. The security guards rolled their eyes and smiled indulgently: their boss's attitude to kidnapping sometimes seemed so unprofessional. Alexandra hadn't even reacted: not only did she know it was useless, but in her line of work, she had had plenty of experience at listening to politicians tell outrageous lies. The rest of the press conference revealed little to the sharp-eared reporter. When it was over, Alexandra could hear the reporters flocking to file their stories.
Pammy Lloyd stepped through the curtain. The ambitious, blond politician felt as she never had before. She had always craved power, and with the mayor out of town, she had experienced a greater sense of it than ever before. Certainly, helping Jennifer Bruce with her plans for the policewoman and the reporter had been stimulating, but no feeling she had ever known could equal that of standing before the audience of reporters, knowing that, behind her dais, hidden only by a curtain, lay two beautiful, bound, gagged, naked captives. Two women who thought they were so clever now lay helpless, their mouths packed with cloth, leather biting their smooth skin. They were in her power! How thrilling that sounded! Lloyd didn't know what Bruce planned to do with them, but they had given Pammy Lloyd a taste for something would have to try again.
"Nice work, 'Your Honor'" giggled Jennifer Bruce. Lloyd didn't respond; instead, she knelt down in front of Cynthia Crane. She gazed deeply into the policwoman's green eyes; she ran a finger along the edge of the leather gag that sealed her mouth closed.
"I'll bet she's pretty uncomfortable under there," mused the young politician.
"You'd better believe she is," snickered Bruce. "Everyone working for me knows how to tie up a troublesome young woman."
Lloyd looked thoughtful. "What's it like, stuffing her mouth full like that? Taking away her power of speech, reducing her to complete helplessness?"
"What's it like? I dunno… it's a lot of fun. How about you guys?" She looked at the security guards. "Pretty fun, tyin' 'em all up like that, right?" She was the boss, so both nodded politely, but her youthful amateurism was beginning to get a bit annoying.
"I really need to try this sometime," Lloyd said quietly. She looked up soberly at Bruce. "Could you untie her for me so I can tie her up myself?" Cynthia thought she had heard it all by now, but this took the cake. Now this blond bimbo wanted her for a guinea pig to explore her kinkiness. If only they'd take her up on it-she was outnumbered, but there might still be a chance to turn the tables.
"No, c'mon, we can't do that. Really, I need to be going. Both of these girls have appointments to keep!"
The young politician regarded the bound and gagged captives. "Look, I have an idea…" she began. Cynthia tried to stretch her head to look at their captors, but all she could see was Alexandra's bound form. The conversation had descended to low murmurs, and as Cynthia strained her ears to hear, she saw the male security guard approach Alexandra, carrying a hypodermic needle. The bound girl didn't see him, and had to chance even to try and resist as he plunged the needle into her exposed asscheek. The blond reporter whinnied into her gag, and at that moment, Cynthia felt the hands of the woman who had bound her grasping her own buttocks, and the sharp pain of a needle. The fiery young policewoman did her best to fight, but the drug was too strong. In moments, Captain Cynthia Crane felt as though she were floating on a warm sea, and drifted off to sleep, with no idea where her captivity would take her next.