The Birthday Party
Cynthia Crane was still dreaming. She had no idea what sort of narcotic had been used on her, but it had left her feeling warm and limp. Her dreams, in fact, had been quite vivid. In her dreams, she had been taken in a van to a large mansion. Inside the mansion, she could feel strong women's hands bathing her, and she reveled in the warmth of the water. Her dream had included soapy caresses in her most intimate places, and cinnamon-scented shampoo. Elegant lingerie had been draped on her form. After that, she had drifted back to sleep. Now, she began to surface to consciousness again. She could hear voices: female voices in casual conversation.
"What about her chest?"
"Oh, I'd die to have a set like her."
"Not me; Ted would never let me alone."
As Cynthia worked her way back to consciousness, she realized that the warm euphoria was fading into the background, and being replaced with a sense of physical discomfort. Her arms and legs hurt, breathing was difficult, and she had one hell of a headache.
"And, my god, would you look at that hair? Oh, I've got to know what it feels like." Cynthia felt long fingernails graze her scalp, and she was aware of fingers running through her long, silky red hair. There was laughter, and a sharp tug from the fingers in her hair. That was when the headache really kicked in. Cynthia was sitting upright in a chair, and her head had been drooping on her chest for what might have been hours. Her neck was stiff, and it was agony to try to pick up her head. As she did so, she began to sense her situation even before her eyes were fully open.
She was sitting almost boly upright on the chair. It was small for her, and the back lower than she would have expected. The reason for this was simple: the top of the chair back came to just below Cynthia's armpits, thus allowing both her arms to be pulled straight back behind her, and down behind the back of the chair. Leather cuffs fastened her wrists together, and were attached to the seat of the chair. Leaning forward at all pulled painfully at her bound arms, thus assuring that Cynthia's posture remained erect. Leather straps bound her torso to the chair, as well. Her legs were fastened tightly together, with more of the leather straps cinched above and below her knees. Her ankles were tied with some kind of rope to the bottom rung of the chair, and her bondage gave her the posture of a prim schoolgirl-or, at least, a schoolgirl in deadly peril.
On a couch across the room, Cynthia could see a leather case with a variety of cuffs, gags, and other restraints. It looked as though they had experimented on her before getting just the look they wanted. Perhaps that explained the fact that she wasn't wearing a ballgag or head harness. Instead, some kind of heavy tape had been plastered over her lips, and her mouth was full of some kind of spongy material. After a moment, she realized that, in fact, they were sponges that had been stuffed into her mouth while she was unconscious. Her mouth had then been closed around them, and the tape sealed her lips together. Cynthia doubted she could have made any significant noise if she tried. She might easily have tipped over the small chair to try and work on her bonds. Looking around her, though, it was obvious that there was no point in trying.
The room she was in was a large living room, expensively furnished. Maybe a half-dozen elegantly-dressed women were visible on chairs and a sofa, chatting. There was a bridge game going on, played by two more obviously wealthy women, and two young women in uniforms that Cynthia recognized as those worn by Jennifer Bruce's security forces. One of the women on the sofa looked up and saw Cynthia's head move.
"Girls, she's awke." All of the eyes in the room looked up to see the captive policewoman; none registered any surprise, and the uniformed women and their partners returned to the bridge game. After another moment of conversation, one of the women got up from the couch, and approached Cynthia. She smiled evilly down at the bound policewoman.
"Well, now, my dear. Glad to see you're finally with us. Aren't we glad, Girls?" the others were watching with expressions ranging from boredom to fascination. "May I please introduce you formally to Police Captain Cynthia Crane?" She reached down and stroked Cynthia's hair almost affectionately. The bound policewoman tried to pull her head away, but the woman took a firm hold in her hair and held her head still for her guests to see. "She has graciously consented to be our…mmmm… 'party favor' for the evening." There was more laughter at this, and two of the women got up from their chairs and came to look down at the captive. Cynthia looked desperately into their faces, but it was clear that she would get no help from them. One woman sipped a drink, staring down at Cynthia's chest. Another fingered the sheer top that Cynthia wore, as though the captive girl was no more than a store mannequin, displaying the lingerie. The woman who had spoken then used her hold on Cynthia's hair to turn the girl's face to hers.
"You see, sweetheart, it's my husband's birthday, and I've invited some of our dear friends to share the happy occasion with us." She indicated the women around the room, and then went on. "I asked my dear friend Jennifer Bruce if she could suggest something special to us, and she certainly did! Oh," she went on, dragging a fingernail over Cynthia's barely-concealed breasts, "You're wondering where my husband is. Well, he and the other boys are having a bit of an evening out, you see. When they return, he will have the opportunity to 'unwrap' you himself. Then, you will 'service' all of them. I imagine they will be rather demanding towards you, especially my husband." She rolled her eyes knowingly at her friends, and they all laughed. "And then, in the morning, Deputy Mayor Pammy Lloyd will be able to announce to the press that she has captured the policewoman who so vilely betrayed Princess Melany to her kidnappers. I fear there will not be time for you to meet with the press before you are transported to the Klaw Correctional Institute for Women, and I somehow have the idea that bringing you speedily to trial won't be on the Deputy Mayor's agenda, either. No, I fear that you are likely to meet with some fatal accident at that notorious penal institution. Ah, well, at least we can have some fun tonight." At that, the woman bent down and planted a kiss on the top of Cynthia's head. The woman with the drink tipped her glass, and let a few drops of the liquor spill onto the exposed top of Cynthia's left breast. She bent down, and, slowly, licked the liquid from the captive girl's skin. Cynthia squirmed, but didn't have enough room to move away from the lascivious tongue.
"C,mon, ladies. We have a guest here. Let's do be certain that we all have a chance to 'visit' with her." At that, the other women got up from their chairs, and approached the bound policewoman. A hand rested on her shoulder, and she could feel firm fingers massaging her. One woman knelt in front of her; mindful that the girl was only to be stripped by the guest of honor, she slid a hand between her legs, and caressed Cynthia insolently through her silk panties. Cynthia felt hands playing in her hair, and the woman who had spoken sat in the bound girl's lap. Her fingers smoothed over the tape on Cynthia's lips.
"I do so wish I could remove this tape; I'd love to get a taste of your luscious lips. However, that is for my husband-I'm sure you look forward to having those sponges removed from your mouth; I just hope you'll enjoy what he uses to replace them!" The woman caressed her captive, and planted soft kisses on Cynthia's face and forehead. The helpless policewoman was near tears in her humiliation, when the sound of car doors closing came from outside. The woman got off Cynthia's lap, pouting.
"Ah, well, Girls. Looks like it's time to let the boys have their fun." She rejoined her friends on the couch, and captive and captors watched as the door opened.