Tai Anne Roper

by Nicole Sutter

That's what Iwana Binder thought as someone continued to pound on the door to Room 216 of the North Beach Motorlodge. She checked the glowing hands of her Swiss Luminox SEALS watch and saw it was 2:17 am.

She rolled off the bed where she had been comfortably snuggled against a bound Taffy Chu and picked up her Colt Python .357 Magnum from the bedside table and aimed it at the door.

"Yeah?" She called out.

"Sergeant Binder?" A man's voice. "This is Inspector Stoner, SFPD. We met yesterday. Can we talk? It's important."

"Yeah, lemme get some clothes on!" Iwana called back. She went to her one piece of luggage she had hauled up from the truck and pulled on her Xena tee shirt and a pair of loose, gray running pants.

She looked over at Taffy who was licking her lips as she was sitting up, her hands still cuffed behind her and her feet still shackled to the bedrail.

"Okay," Iwana said to her. "We met at your place and I took you over here for a little bondage and fucking. Stray from that story and I'll make you regret it, got it, chinadoll?"

She nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good girl." A few hours of wild sex and cuddling can do a lot to tame a girl. Iwana tossed the blanket over her and went for the door.

She cracked open the door, keeping the chainbolt on and her bare foot at the bottom.

Harry Stoner was there, along with two uniformed female officers. A small, slender Asian no bigger than Taffy and a big gal with short, frosted hair. A black and white unit was parked in the courtyard, the red and blue flashbar strobing.

"Can we come in?" he asked.

"Not on your life, I'll come out there."

"Ummmm... sorry," Stoner said. "We like, hafta come in, babe."

Iwana frowned. "You got papers?"

"I got a warrant with your name on it."

"Okay, I have one gun in the room," Iwana said. "I'm gonna put it on the table, and let you in."

"That's cool," Stoner shrugged.

Fuck me, Iwana thought as she placed her Python on the table. There goes my chance to get sistahgrrl. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She opened the door and kept her hands where they could see them. The three cops entered and started looking around. A quick glance at the two uniformed cops and Iwana knew they were both for real. The brass nameplate on the big blonde said DIKE and the one on the Asian said MOON.

"Before y'all start pawing through mah shit, lemme see this warrant."

"You got it." Stoner handed it to her. It was real and official. An arrest warrant for Iwana Binder of Los Angeles, for the 2nd degree murder of one Gentry Hughes.

"And who the fuck is Gentry Hughes!?" Iwana asked.

"One of the bouncers you bounced off the walls down at The Brickyard this afternoon," Stoner said. "'Bout an hour after you punched him in the gut with a police baton, he was home and started complaining of chest pains. Friends got him to SF General over on Potrero pretty fast, but he croaked in the ER. Autopsy says you perforated his liver or somethin' and made him bleed out. Can you confirm or deny any of this?"

"I... dunno," Iwana blinked. Did she kill this guy? In seven years on the force she had only had to drop the hammer on a perp once, and he was still alive.

"I would advise you not to say word one til you talk to your PBA lawyer, Sergeant," the big blonde cop named Dike said. "That lowlife coulda taken that hit the night before or even after you popped him. If you popped him at all, that is."

"This is pretty skinny," Stoner admitted. "But Lieutenant Briggs had a friend in the DA's office expedite a warrant, and he found a judge with a sense of humor, so we gotta take you in."

"Excuse me?" The short Asian cop named Moon had pulled back the blanket and sheets to reveal the naked and cuffed Taffy Chu. "Why is this woman restrained and in your bed? Wanna explain this?"

"Yeah," Iwana said. "Ah like to restrain wimmen and take 'em to bed. Got a prob with that?"

"Not me," Stoner said.

"Hell, I like to cuff up a filly myself, sometimes!" Officer Dike said. Officer Moon rolled her eyes and put the blanket back over Taffy.

"Speaking of cuffs," Stoner held up a pair of police issue S&W hinged cuffs. "I gotta hook you up. This is a felony charge."

"Not so fuckin' fast," Iwana said. "Ah wanna call somebody."

"You can call 'em from the station," Dike said. "Dems the rules."

"Fuck!" Iwana found herself trapped by the same procedures she had used on so many of her own arrestees. She turned in a small circle, feeling trapped.

"Look," Stoner said gently. "Howzabouts giving me the keys to your girlfriend, you go into the bathroom and change into something you want a judge to see you in, we take you to headquarters and book and process you, then I'll take you over to night court and find a judge who'll grant you an OR release. Sound like a plan?"

"Yeah," Iwana grumbled. She pulled some clothes out of her suitcase and went into the bathroom.

She freshened up a bit at the sink, and changed into a clean pair of panties and a bra. Then a pair of tight dress jeans, and a sleeveless white knit turtleneck. when she came back out, the cops had unhooked Taffy and were still talking to her.

"Her story matches yours," Moon said dubiously. "Can you spare your girlfriend some clothes?"

"Take what you like, chinadoll," Iwana said to Taffy.

"Thanks, Iwana." Taffy said. Still wrapped in a sheet she went to the suitcase and picked out a spandex top and some jeans that would be way too big for her. She hurried into the bathroom while Iwana pulled on her socks and dress boots and got her keys, wallet and badge.

"I'll hold onto this," Stoner had her Python and her shoulder rig.

"Sergeant, please assume the position, I need to search you," Officer Dike said.

"Legs spread, fingers interlocked, hands on head," Iwana grumbled as Dike frisked her. then she cuffed Iwana's right wrist, and drew her arm behind her back along with her left and handcuffed her.

"Damn," Iwana muttered as she felt Dike set the ratchet lock. She pulled at her wrists behind her. Hinged cuffs were merciless for female perps, forcing the shoulders back and their tits out for a mile. Iwana bit her lip.

Taffy came out fully dressed. She went to Iwana and kissed her.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "I'll be at my store. Meet me there when you get out."

"Thanks, chinadoll," Iwana kissed her back.

"Time to go, Sergeant," Stoner said. He looked at the other cops. "Officer Moon, you ride with me to the station. Officer Dike, take Ms. Chu wherever she wants to go. I'll lock the door."

They nodded and the little caravan went out the door and down the stairs to the parking lot. Iwana heard Taffy tell Dike that she wanted to go to 1864 Leavenworth, which was the address to Fashion X-tremez.

Stoner put Iwana in the back seat of his unmarked Ford Crown Vic while Moon sat beside her. Stoner got in the driver's seat and took off.

***

Iwana Binder kept quiet and to herself. They were now heading south on Powell, which would take them right to the Hall of Justice on Bryant. Stoner turned off the police radio and put a Jefferson Airplane tape into his 8-track player.

She didn't get worried until they got onto 4th Street and Stoner made a right onto Folsom.

"You got a new route to headquarters, Inspector?" Iwana asked.

"Just be cool, soul sister," Stoner laughed. An instant later he got Iwana's booted foot to the back of his skull hard enough for the side of his head to shatter the car's sideglass.

The Ford slewed to a halt as Iwana struggled and kicked like a feral animal until Moon got on top of her and zapped her with a taser to the neck.

Stoner groaned as he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, finding blood and pebbled safety glass. He kept driving, finally pulling up to a secret rear entrance to The Brickyard and driving through as the garage doors opened for him.

Iwana felt the car descending. They must be in an old fright elevator. When it stopped, Stoner drove forward in a dark, cavernous room.

Iwana was still stunned and leaning against the rear car door when it opened, dumping her out onto the concrete. She found herself staring at a pair of polished, high heeled boots. She looked up and saw a pretty blonde woman in a black leather catsuit smirking at her, gently flexing a riding crop in her hands.

"Hello, Iwana," Paige Torne said. "I just couldn't wait til morning to meet you. Get her up, Kunta. Make her... secure."

Oh shit, Iwana thought as she was pulled to her feet and slammed against the trunk of the Ford. She lay there helplessly as she felt her boots and socks being torn off and steel shackles with a ten inch chain being ratcheted tight about her ankles.

Iwana then felt something slicing up the left leg of her jeans, up the back of the pants and across the seat. A pair of medical shears that even snipped her belt off. The shears ran up the other leg and then snipped thru both shoulders of her top and suddenly she was barefoot and down to her panties and bra.

Then a second pair of three-link handcuffs was snapped on her bare arms just above her elbows.

She was pulled back to her feet and held in place. She looked over her shoulder and saw Kunta Kintare towering over her. She was dressed in a black leather mini no bigger than a wide belt across her hips and a matching vest cinched tight across her breasts. Her polished, black steel .50 Magnum was in a matching black leather shoulder rig snugged under her massive left boob.

Kunta smiled as she went through Iwana's ruined clothes and handed over her personal possessions to Paige, who put them in a vinyl carryall.

"Are we done?" Stoner whined as he handed over Iwana's gun and holster to Paige. "I think I'm gonna need some stitches!"

"Say goodnight, Harry," Paige said.

"Yeah, be seein' ya, Harry," Iwana growled. "Real fuckin' soon. You too, Moon-unit!"

Officer Moon gulped and hurried into the car. Stoner got in still muttering to himself and drove the vehicle back into the freight elevator where it was taken back up to street level.

Paige looked over Iwana. Hanes for Her panties and bra. How adorable.

"Got a present for you, Iwana," Paige strolled forward with what looked like a dog collar made of black webbing in her hands. "Know what this is?"

"Yeah," Iwana sneered. "Yo' daddy gave it to yo' mama on their weddin' night."

"Cute," Paige said. "Actually it's for unruly mutts... like you. Once attached..." and Paige drew it around Iwana's neck fairly tight and secured it with a small padlock. "It will give the disobedient bitch mutt a fairly nasty shock. Courtesy of this remote."

Paige dangled a small remote on a keychain. She tossed it to Kunta.

"Got anything cute to say now?"

"Yeah," Iwana said. "Congratulations."

Paige frowned "For what?"

"For doing one of the top ten dumbest goddamn things anybody can do. Namely; kidnap a po-lice officer!" Iwana snickered. "Ah think it's between... blowdryin' yo' hair in a bathtub, and... feeding the bears at Yellowstone by smearing honey on yo' face."

Paige sighed and made a motion to Kunta, who pushed Iwana along.

"No, seriously!" Iwana continued. "You have no idea how totally fucked you are! See, Ah have hundreds of thousands of brothers and sistahs in blue from Podunk, Arkansas to Bangkok, who will be searching for you to the ends of this earth, for the rest of yo' life!"

"They don't even know you're missing!" Kunta growled behind her.

"But they will! You wanna see a city lose it's mind? Just kidnap a cop. You wanna..."

"Gag this bitch," Paige muttered. She turned and watched with great pleasure as a heavy, black leather head harness appeared in Kunta's hands. She forced Iwana down on her knees and slipped a muscular, ebony leg over her shoulder to keep her there.

Working the straps, she tightly cinched the harness around Iwana's head, making sure the impossibly huge, black rubber ball was deep in her mouth and buckled tight.

"Eat rubber, baby," Kunta whispered into Iwana's ear as she pulled her back to her feet.

"That's much better," Paige said. Iwana was silent but her eyes spoke of a quiet defiance. "Now, lets visit your 'sistahgrrl' Tai Anne, shall we?"

The threesome continued on, kept to a slow pace by the ten-inch chain on Iwana's shackles.

They finally reached an elevator, taking it down another level to another long, dark corridor. An old wooden door was unlocked to reveal the macabre anteroom of the dungeon and two of Paige's biker boyos on the floor, unconscious.

"What the... FUCK!!!" Paige screeched as Kunta checked the two bikers.

"They're both alive!" she said.

"Good! I'll kill 'em both later!" Paige said. "Now check the goddamn dungeon!"

Kunta ran for the nearby dungeon door, but stopped when she saw that each of the four locks set on the door had been broken apart.
She pulled the door open and went in with a torch, finding only the broken chains that had once held Tai Anne Roper.

"This is impossible!" Paige shouted. "The brat couldn't have escaped! Kunta, seal off the building and have Grackel check the security cams!"

"Yes, Mistress!" Kunta hurried off to comply with the orders.

Paige looked at Iwana. She worked the buckle on the ballgag and pulled it out of Iwana's mouth. "And I suppose you're gonna tell me that you know nothing of this?"

"Sorry, blondie," Iwana Binder cackled. "Ah just got here myself!"

***

Cruising at 41,000 feet over the Pacific at Mach .8, a graceful Gulfstream V-SP private jet was speeding through the remnants of the night, getting ready to meet both the morning sun and the West Coast of the United States.

The passenger cabins were luxurious, with an interior done in deep, polished teak and dark Italian leathers. Antique couches and chairs on Persian carpeting somehow melded with a Bose SurroundSound stereo softly playing Handel, and a large flatscreen HDTV silently showing a live soccer game taking place somewhere on the planet.

There were five men in the spacious main cabin. The leader was a man known only as Abbas, which was Arabic for the Lion. He was darkly aware that there was also a Swedish singing group quite popular in the '70s with almost the same name. He was a Saudi national and only on his mid-twenties. Lean, dark and dangerous like all the other men, his specialty was explosives, or as he liked to say, 'making things go boom.'

Next was Fahd, Arabic for the Panther. His specialties were recon, surveillance and silent death. He was also a master of interrogation, and Abbas' trusted second in command.

Then there was Gamal, the Camel. Massive, unstoppable and an irresistible force of nature. Once in Cyprus he had taken three .45 rounds to the chest, killed with his bare hands the Mossad agent who had shot him and then driven himself to the hospital.

Shahin was the Hawk, an expert with every kind of firearm. He was deadly as a long range sniper and just as proficient with close contact 'wetwork'.

He was playing chess with his younger blood brother Haytham --the Young Hawk-- and was winning. Haytham acted as rear-guard for this close-knit brotherhood of five mercenaries who were known and feared the world over as The Fist of Allah.

Unofficially sanctioned and bankrolled by the Saudi royal family, this merry band of mercs traveled the world cleaning up other people's messes... for a price.

They had just finished cleaning up a really big mess in Afghanistan and had been enjoying a little R and R, when they had been pulled off a beach in Brunei for this little jaunt. Only Abbas knew the reason, but that was about to change.

"My Brothers," he said in Arabic. The four others stopped whatever they were doing and listened to him. "First, my apologies. After our many days in Afghanistan, we deserved more than two days on a beach. But a great opportunity has suddenly presented itself, and we must take advantage of it."

"So where are we headed, Abbas?" Fahd growled.

"San Francisco, USA," Abbas replied.

That got everyone's attention. They hadn't been in America since 9/11.

"Yes, the risks are high," Abbas acknowledged. "But the rewards will be even higher."

He moved around the cabin, lighting an Egyptian cigarette with a gold Dunhill lighter as he talked.

"Earlier today, our Control in Riyadh contacted me. A man known as Samarkand requested the Fist of Allah to do some wetwork. To help procure an American girl named Jessica McClintock."

"And who is this... Samarkand?" Gamal asked.

"An international arms dealer and white slaver of some repute," Abbas replied. "He has connections in the Saudi homelands. But he is of mixed blood. Jordanian, Palestinian, even Zionist."

"We are dealing with an infidel?" Fahd hissed.

"Calm yourself, brother," Abbas said. "This Samarkand wishes for us to abduct this Jessica from a well-guarded, hedonistic nightclub run by a woman named Paige Torne." Abbas smiled. "Now this woman is very well known to the great families of Saudi Arabia. She has helped close to twenty Saudi girls flee their family obligations and start new lives in America, leaving their families in dishonor."

"I see where this is going," Shahin said to his brother.

"Also, Samarkand says that a British journalist named Drew Thrasher has come to San Francisco. Whether she is working with this Torne woman is not known. But she has angered the Great Families of the Saudi homelands as well, by bringing to light certain... financial connections, between the Saudi royals and recent terrorist activities against the Zionists."

"So what is our mission?" Fahd asked.

"Finding the girl Jessica McClintock for this Samarkand is only our cover mission," Abbas said. "Our true employers are the richest families in Saudi Arabia. Our true goal will be to abduct and take back to Saudi Arabia, Paige Torne and Drew Thrasher. They are both wanted... very much alive."

"Kidnapping Americans?" Haythin asked. "That will make us popular!"

"Their abductions will be lost in the bloodbath that will ensue when we attack this nightclub to supposedly find this Jessica girl," Abbas replied. "I foresee a massive explosion, a burning building and many corpses burned beyond recognition."

Fahd nodded. "Nice."

"Of course, everyone else even remotely connected to this operation will be terminated as well, including the girl Jessica, and this unfortunate Samarkand."

Fahd sighed. "I hope the infidel is as least stupid enough to pay us up front."

Abbas put out his cigarette as he noticed a minute shift in acceleration and cabin pressure.

"My brothers," he said. "Get your shit together. We are beginning final descent."

***

Kunta Kintare's quarters within The Brickyard were Afro-centric to say the least. A large bedroom filled with Afrotique bric-a-brac and a large, comfy bed.

Iwana Binder eyed the bed as she was led into the room by Kunta. She still had her panties and bra on, along with the head harness and the double-locked steel cuffs at wrists, elbows and ankles.

An hour had passed while every nook and cranny of The Brickyard had been searched, and still no sign of Tai Anne Roper. Paige had finally said to hell with it, and given Iwana over to Kunta for safe keeping til morning.

Kunta again forced her down on her knees and locked the shackle chain to the elbow cuff, forcing Iwana into a tight --with legs splayed-- kneeling hogtie before her bed.

Iwana looked up at her, watching Kunta lose what little clothes she had on and revealing her magnificent naked body to her. Her huge clit seemed to be throbbing and her shaved cunt was wet. Iwana bit into the rubber ball that filled her mouth.

"I know what you are thinking," Kunta said to her gently as she brushed the undersides of her own huge breasts until her nipples pebbled up. "After all that you did to me, what will I do to you? Will I whip you? Force you to pleasure me? Or maybe just take you over my knee for a good hard spanking?"

Iwana stayed silent.

"But truth be told... this has been one hell of a long day!" Kunta said. "So I am going to go to sleep. I hope you are not very disappointed."

Kunta yawned and stretched, took off her horn-rimmed glasses and turned off the lights to leave Iwana bound in the darkness. Iwana pulled fitfully at her cuffs but was bound so tightly that she couldn't even get enough momentum going to fall onto her side.

"But don't worry my dear Iwana!" Kunta's voice came through the dark. "Tomorrow, dear Taffy will be joining us. And together, I am sure we will find some way of keeping you amused."

A few minutes later Iwana heard Kunta gently start to snore.

***

Green Brae Airfield was located north of The City in Marin County. It was used primarily for private corporate jets, and it was even rumored that this is where George Lucas came and went, due to its proximity to Skywalker Ranch.

As dawn broke over the wooded hills, The Marquis exited the stretch Cadillac Escalade SUV he and Samarkand had rented. It was parked inside an empty hanger on the edge of the tarmac. Charmer had set up a small table and was brewing coffee.

"Your french roast, guv'nor?" he asked, holding a china cup and saucer.

"Merci," The Marquis gratefully took the coffee. Last night he had eaten and drank too much. He had also fucked the abducted Britney and Christina Wannabes silly.

"Please package the girls for shipment, Charmer," The Marquis said. "Full gear and gags." He looked at his gold Patek Phillipe watch. "You have about a half hour, in case you want to 'get some', for yourself."
"
"Well, that's most kind of you, guv!" He replied. The Marquis poured himself another cup of coffee as Charmer hurried to the SUV. As he opened the door, The Marquis saw a flash of squirming legs bound with shiny leather straps.

Mon dieu! The Marquis winced, trying to remind himself that he was not a young man anymore. He walked to the edge of the tarmac where his friend and business associate Samarkand was sipping a cup of his ghastly Arabic coffee.

Samarkand was dressed in a fresh Armani suit to greet their arriving guests. The Marquis wore a gray Pierre Cardin, and slipped his rose colored pince-nez across the bridge of his nose as he studied his friend.

"Charmer prepping the girls?" Samarkand asked.

"Oui. What kind of price are we going to get for them?" The Marquis asked.

"Depends." Samarkand knew the pilot and air crew of the arriving Gulfstream jet. As soon as they dropped off The Fist of Allah and refueled, they were heading back to Riyadh with a refueling stop in Brunei.

He had arranged for them to take the two abducted mallrats off their hands. It was too delicious to contemplate, two California girls used to tight, hip-hugging Mudd jeans, N'SYNC and cherry flavored lipstick were going to spend the rest of their lives as fucktoys to some Saudi oil emir. It just made Samarkand feel good all over.

"You know, mon ami," The Marquis said. "This whole operation has 'disaster' written all over it."

"Come now!" Samarkand replied. "The Fist of Allah are the very best mercs in the business!"

"With a very bad reputation for biting the hand that feeds them," The Marquis replied. "For years they trained Al Qaida and Taliban fighters in Afghanistan. Then when the United States dropped the hammer... they turned around and assassinated hundreds of them!"

"Only those that knew of the money trail leading back to the Saudi Royal Family," Samarkand replied. "The Saudi royals are their true masters. That doesn't mean they won't 'play ball' with us."

The Marquis lit his first cigarette of the day. "Just as long as we don't get the bat shoved up our ass."

"Don't worry so!" Samarkand chided him. "Just look at the beautiful day that has come to us! What could possibly go wrong on such a beautiful day as today?"

The Marquis sighed and looked back. The stretch SUV was now rocking back and forth on its springs.

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