Tai Anne Roper 2
By Nicole Sutter
FOR MATURE READERS ONLY
Chapter 9 - "To Hell in a Handbasket"
Paige Torne allowed the strong, hot jets of water to wash over her body, revitalizing her after her long night with Tai Anne Roper.
She cut the water off and stepped out into her small, but luxurious bathroom of black glass and marble. Tai was sitting naked on her fancy, Japanese commode, her arms still strapped behind her, the shoulder straps and black leather collar contrasting with her creamy, plumped up breasts with the achingly hard nipples.
"You done, darlen'?" Paige asked as she toweled herself off. She groaned as she pressed the towel to her still throbbing cunt. She had orgasmed too many times during the night --courtesy of Tai Anne's uber-tongue-- and was now paying the price.
"Yezzzz Miztrezzz..." Tai slurred and looked up at her. Her eyes were dilated and she was drooling on her breasts. Paige almost orgasmed again looking at her.
She's like a drug... Paige thought crazily. Some kinda exotic narcotic that gets under your skin and that you must have at any cost...
Paige kissed her deep, tongues meeting, Tai sucking compulsively on her lips.
"Easy, brat."Paige whispered. Tai moaned and stood up, insistantly pressing into her, forcing Paige to grab the red rubber ballgag dangling from around her neck and jamming it into her mouth and strapping it in tight.
"Behave now," Paige growled. Tai shook her head no, biting into the red rubber.
Paige wiped Tai's flowing cunt with tissue and flushed. She led her back into the bedroom, noticing that Tai was compulsively pulling at the leather straps that bound her wrists to her elbows.
Paige put her to bed and covered her with black satin sheets. "You want the straps off?" she gently asked.
Tai shook her head no, eyes wide over the ballgag. A Bishop drawing come to life.
"Okay...get some sleep now... my brat." Paige sat beside her and stroked Tai's face and hair softly, and in a few minutes she was gently snoring away.
During their time together, Paige had thrown everything she had at Tai. All the tricks and toys of the trade. And Tai Anne had sucked it all in and thrown it right back at her...
She wore me out! Paige thought.
Paige got up and went to an oak bureau, opening a drawer to
remove a package that had arrived last night. A special order
from a jeweler in
Iside the package was a small case of polished redwood. Inside the case, lying on a bed of red velvet was a slave's collar of sterling silver. An inch wide and slender in width. It was light enough so that it would never be heavy, and tight enough so that it would be felt everytime the slave swallowed.
The collar halves were presently separated, but once closed the hasps interlocked, meaning it would permanent.
Paige licked her lips. She had gotten the measurements last Saturday, and now it was ready.
The slave collar had been custom made for Tai Anne Roper's neck.
***
On his way downtown to Federal Plaza, Joe Killian stopped at a Chinese apothecary shop in Chinatown. Not for any ancient herbal remedy, but for two cold cans of Red Bull that he guzzled down as quick as he could.
He was dead on his feet, but he also knew he had to get to his boss in the Bureau before his ivestigation got short-circuited by the NYPD.
He walked across Mott street and got into his doubleparked Ford Crown Victoria, wondering for the umpteenth time just where the hell Sue Kaminsky could be.
***
Sue Kaminsky was in fact, less that fifty feet away from Joe Killian. Still deep underground and floating in the brakish water of the manmade grotto in the basement of a Chinese restuaant at the corner of Mott and Pell streets.
The Chinese cangue still kept her afloat, but she had lost track of time while secured down there. Drifting aimlessly, her naked body seemingly disconnected to her head and hands, which floated above the wooden pillory that bound her.
The wooden prong that the Puma sisters had forced up her cunt and secured with a leather strap was another thing entirely. The wood had seemed to swell inside of her. That and the gentle rocking of her body in the water had combined already to give Sue several unwanted orgasms.
She groaned as another one swept over her. Kicking her shackled feet just aggravated the situation, so she just tried to keep still.
"Ready to come out of there yet, Red?" one of the Pumas called from the shore. The torches on the walls gave everything a flickering, ghostly glow.
"Yeeeeeeeeeessssss!!!" Sue called.
The Puma laughed as she pulled on a rope, reeling in the heavy wooden cangue from the deep waters.
She and the other Puma helped Sue onto the shore. She had to kneel, because all her strength seemed to be sapped from her body. The two Pumas were wearing black latex leotards, cut high on the hips with short sleeves, and matching black latex thigh boots.
"You're gonna be our good little girl, arencha, Red?" Ana Puma said.
"Do what you're told, when you're told," Una Puma said. "Righty-right? Or maybe you want some more quality time in the soy sauce lagoon?"
"Nuh.... nuh..." Sue shivered. "Pleeeaze nuh..."
"Then tell us what you are," Ana said, hands on hips.
"Gooood... grrrrl..." Sue whispered. "Your good girl..."
The Pumas unlocked the cangue, removed the wooden prong and dragged the free Sue Kaminsky to a cobblestoned corner where a collection of water pipes were aimed outwards. They handcuffed Sue's hands above her head to the pipes, and then turned an old, rusted spigot.
Sue squealed as ice cold water suddenly lashed at her body from a dozen different directions at once. Hard jets of water that scrubbed away at the filth on her body.
The water stopped as suddenly as it started, but Sue barely managed a sigh of relief before the Pumas attacked her with big sponge mitts, lathered up with a rough lye soap.
They washed her down from head to foot and back again. When Sue tried to protest she got a mouthful of soap. The scrubbed her cunt and up between her bottomcheeks and everywhere else until she knew they had taken at least one layer of skin from her.
Then it was another dose of cold water again, spraying and punishing her body while the Pumas took rubber hoses, letting one gush up her cunt for a rough douche, while the other went up her bottom for a painful enema.
When it was over, she was drained inside and out, hanging limply by her chained wrists.
The Pumas now gently released her, and carried her to another room that was all red silk and satins, pillows and sheets and a huge circular bed that felt heavenly to Sue when they laid her down on it.
The took off the cuffs and shackles, and massaged her body from head to toes with ginger oil. This made her skin glow and revitalized her once more, until her nipples were hard and throbbing, and her cunt was dribbling girljuice.
"You're ours now, Red," Ana said, kissing and cradling Sue's head as Una's long, feral tongue licked deep into the folds of Sue's cunt.
Sue groaned and kissed her back.
***
The New York Office of the FBI was located at 26 Federal Plaza, just shy of West Broadway and Duane streets in lower Manhattan, and only a block away from the state and Federal courthouses on Foley Square.
It was also only a few blocks away from Ground Zero, where the twin towers of the World Trade Center had once stood. Climbing the steps of the black glass and steel building where he worked, it was impossible for Joe Killian --or any every other Federal employee who entered the building-- not to think of that day, and the terrible tragedy that had occurred.
Killian took the time to brush off his suit and straighten his tie as he headed for the office of the Assistant Director in Charge of the New York FBI.
He tapped on the door.
"Come in!'
He entered the spacious corner office, not too suprised to see Asst. US Attorney Walter Chalmers already sitting in a chair facing the desk of his boss.
"Hey, Bosslady," Killian said.
Emma Blackbyrd turned from her view of the Manhattan skyscrapers to look at Killian. She was tough, no-nonsense black woman of 42. She wore a charcoal grey suit and skirt that showed off her long, dark legs and her nosebleed heels.
She was pretty, but Joe would never tell her that. She didn't seem to have time for such things. Instead, she ate, slept and lived The Bureau. It was her life.
"You okay, Killian?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered.
"Just got the preliminary on that shootout on West 76th... landlady says you shielded her with your body before returning fire. That true?"
"Well, not..."
"I don't need dead heroes, Killian," Blackbyrd said. "We got a whole goddamn wall of them down in the lobby."
"Understood, Ma'am."
"Still, seems like a justifed shoot." She looked at him and smiled. "Have a seat."
Killian took a seat by Chalmers.
"So, tell me," Blackbyrd said, crossing her arms before her. "What the fuck happened last night?"
"Apparently," Chalmers said. "Person or persons unknown got to Cundalini. Then a pro crew of hitters capped ten cops so there wouldn't be any witnesses."
"What about this Detective Susan Kaminsky?" she asked.
"NYPD likes her for Cundalini's murder and for letting in the crew that killed the cops," Chalmers said.
Blackbyrd turned to Killian. "And what's your take?"
"NYPD is either being lazy or is in on it," Killian said. "The kid I capped today was trying to plant 25K and some nose candy in Kaminsky's apartment. It was a setup. Also, they had Kaminsky's gun connected to the shooting before the bodies were even bagged."
Blackbyrd mulled that over. "Who's the primary working the case?"
"Sergeant out of Major Case named Salvatore Spinelli. A real asshole," Killian said. "I know he's dirty. He's the one setting up Kaminsky."
"Got some proof of that?"
"Working on it."
"That means 'no'," Chalmers said. He looked at Blackbyrd. "Director, simply put, there's no... percentage, for either the US Attorney's Office or the Bureau to stay involved with this matter. Cundalini is dead. Our job is to move on and hope to find another conduit into the Scagnetti organization. Let the NYPD handle this case as they see fit."
"With Cundalini dead do you think anybody else in La Donia Scagnetti's family is gonna talk to us?" Killian asked. He looked to Blackbyrd. "Our only hope of ever nailing Scagnetti --or the Plaza shooters-- is to stay with this case."
I respectfully... disagree," Chalmers said. "And I think I speak for the Attorney General himself on this matter."
Silence. Emma Blackbyrd leaned back in her chair. "I understand your position, Mr. Chalmers. Have a nice day."
Chalmers looked surprised at being dismissed like an errant schoolboy. But he managed to nod pleasantly and even close the door behind him.
Blackbyrd stared hard at Killian.
"What?" he asked.
"Do you get up in the morning and try to think up new ways to make my life hard?" Blackbyrd asked. "Here I sit, a fucking holdover from the Clinton era, a black woman in a world of whitebread, male, post 9/11 Bush appointees, with that holly roller Ashcroft the AG --just looking for an excuse to toss me out on my pretty black ass-- and you pull this shit on me?"
"Sorry, bosslady."
"I bet." She sighed. "So what's your gameplan?"
"Keep stirring the soup, see what floats to the surface."
"Great."
"I do have two leads," Killian said. "Kaminsky mentioned to me that she was after a local big wheel named Valerie Corder. Cundalini said that this Corder was tight with La Donia Scagnetti."
"Interesting."
Killian glanced at his notes. "Also, Kaminsky had talked to a RCMP inspector named... Qwan, regarding this Corder woman, and her connection to an arms dealer named Samarkand."
"Qwan?" Blackbyrd asked. "Michelle Qwan?"
"I suppose. You know her?"
"Hmmm... met her last year during a law enforcement conference in Brussels. Last I heard she works Vancouver and is doing a real number on the Triads," Blackbyrd said. "Might be good if you gave her a call and found out what she knows about this Corder and her connection to Scagnetti."
"Will do."
"Get me something concrete, Joe," Blackbyrd said. "Before that asshole Chalmers calls someone at Justice and chops us both off at the ankles." She smiled. "Or by this time next week we could both be working as baggage screeners at JFK."
***
"This is my rental, drop me off here!"
Michelle Qwan stopped the unmarked Ford Crown Vic that belonged to the RCMP, letting Yukari Mei Awai get out to reclaim the green Land Rover Discovery that she had rented at the airport, and parked down the street from Qwan's house when she had played her little joke on her this morning.
Since the Land Rover was rented through the ICPO, Qwan had decided that they would take that vehicle for their trip to New Jersey.
"I'll get my things and meet you out front," Qwan said.
"Yo-kai!" Yukari shouted as Qwan drove off.
Qwan pulled up into the big, circular driveway of the house on Nun's Island and hurried through the front door and up the stairs to the bedroom. She hadn't even had a chance to unpack most of her luggage yet.
She was tossing her suitcase on the unmade bed when she first smelled it. Cigarettes. No, not cigarette smoke, but that stale, tobacco odor that one gets when you're around them and the people who smoke them. Like in a bar...
And she knew her friend Claire who lived here didn't allow smoking in the house. Her husband was an asthmatic. And she hadn't smelled this odor in here before this very moment.
Flipping open the suitcase, Qwan reached under her jacket and eased her Glock from her shoulder rig.
It's the only thing that saved her life, because at that instant, Jacques Reno --chief enforcer and contract hitter for the West Enders gang-- smashed his way out of the bedroom closet he had been hiding in and looped a high-tensile steel garrote around Michelle Qwan's throat.
Instinct caused her to bring her hands up to her neck as Reno tightened and sawed the garrote. If the steel had met only her hands, she still would have died, since it would have taken just another couple of hard pulls for Reno to cut through Qwan's fingers and knuckles, then to saw into her neck muscles and through her arteries and finally the spinal column to pop her head off her body, as he had done when he had killed six other people in his career. He also liked to practice on stray dogs.
But the steel wire instead sawed into the Glock pistol in her right hand and her big stainless steel Rolex Submariner wristwatch on her left wrist.
"Je vouz tuez, putain!" Reno snarled into her ear.
He was a big man. Six foot three and all muscle. He stank of cigarettes and beer. His beard scratched at her cheek.
"Fuckez vouz!" Qwan hissed back as she swung her right leg up above her shoulder with all her might and kicked him hard in the face. He staggered but held onto her, slamming her into the wall, shattering a bedside lamp and splintering a small table.
Qwan kicked away from the wall. Reno wobbled but stayed on his feet. Another assailant --a skinny punk welding a long survival knife-- was now standing in the room, unsure of what to do.
"Tuer-elle!!!" Reno screamed at him.
Pinned against Reno with no hands, Qwan watched the punk lunge towards her, the long blade angled for her belly.
She kicked out, knocking the blade out of his hand, the punk watched as it spiraled up into the ceiling and stuck there. Then as Reno staggered forward, Qwan drew both legs up and kicked the punk in the chest with both booted feet, knocking him backwards into the big window that looked out over the front yard.
Yukari Mei Awai had just parked the land Rover behind the Ford sedan, and was looking out over the St. Lawrence Seaway as a big freighter was passing, when someone came flying out of the second floor window of the house, screaming all the way.
He went headfirst through the front windshield of the Ford, his brains splattering the front seats and his feet sticking out of the bloody, spiderwebbed hole in the safety glass.
Yukari looked wide-eyed at this scene for a long moment then turned and ran up the steps and through the front door, desperately trying to pull her pistol from her purse.
"Sempai!!!" she screamed.
Upstairs, Reno slammed Qwan into the wall again, hard enough to crack the plaster. She drove the heel of her boot into his foot hard enough to break bones. He screamed. She kicked backwards and splintered his kneecap.
"Marde!" Reno drew back to slam her into the wall again, but this time she got her feet up under her body and walked up the wall, flipping herself over Reno's head and snapping the hold of the garrote around her neck.
She landed on her feet, with Reno turning and going for a massive blue steel revolver in his belt...
Yukari ducked down by the bannister as another hostile fired a sawed-off double-bore shotgun at her from the top of the stairs. The report boomed through the house and blew the staircase to flinders.
The badguy was an older, rough looking sort. He headed down the stairs. Yukari eased around the wall by the stairs low and fired her 9mm Kahr pistol twice, catching him in the chest. He tumbled down the stairs in a heap. She kicked the shotgun away, cuffed him and ran up the stairs.
Reno yelled in pain as he knee gave out and he crashed to the floor. His gun --a Taurus .45 revolver-- was in his hand. Qwan aimed her Glock and fired. Nothing.
Qwan worked the Glock's action but the sawing of the garrote had jammed the automatic's slide.
Reno grinned and aimed the big revolver at Qwan. "Mange de la marde... chienne."
"Sempai!!!" came the scream from behind her.
Qwan ducked to the left. Yukari fired three times, at least one of the rounds catching Reno in his gun hand.
He screamed as blood, knuckles, fingers and the big revolver arced through the air and landed on the floor.
Reno rolled on the floor, cursing a blue streak of Quebecois while holding what was left of his right hand. Qwan reached over and snatched up his revolver, pulling a dismembered index finger out of the trigger guard.
"Yukari!" she shouted. "Back to back!"
"Yo-kai!" Yukari eased her back against Qwan's. She was aiming at the open bedroom door, Qwan was aiming at Reno.
"Situation?" Qwan asked.
"Two hostiles down. One dead, one with GSW to chest," Yukari said. "Others possibly in house..."
"Roger that." Qwan kept the revolver trained on Reno while she got out her cellphone and made a quick call for backup.
"Inspector, you're bleeding!"
Qwan hissed as she drew her hand across her left ear. The garrote wire had sliced deep into the cartlidge. It burned like fire. "It'll keep."
"What now?" Yukari asked.
"Keep watching that door," Qwan said. "We have five minutes before the cavalry arrives. I wanna ask this asshole a few questions."
Qwan walked over to the prone Jacques Reno, who was still clutching his shattered right hand.
"Chienne! Je vouz tuez!!!" He spat at her.
"He may not speak English!" Yukari said.
"I think I know a language he can understand," Qwan replied. Standing over him, she opened the cylinder of the .45 revolver and let the brass cartridges hit the floor. All except one, which she reloaded into the gun, and then spun the cylinder.
She snapped back the hammer and dropped down onto Reno, her knee deep into his neck. he opened his mouth to get a breath and she jammed the barrel of the gun deep down his throat.
"Who bought the contract on my life?" Qwan asked.
Reno gargled on the gun barrel and hummed nonsense. He screamed when she pulled the trigger and got just a hollow snap.
She kept the gun in his mouth and cocked the hammer back again without spinning the cylinder this time.
"Who was it?"
More squalling and screaming. He shitted himself when she pulled the trigger again. Another snap of the hammer.
She cocked the gun again. This time he nodded frantically, begging to tell her...
She pulled the barrel from his mouth.
"Well?"
"Scagnetti!!!" Reno cried. "An Americain gangster de New York... Scagnetti..."
"Great." Michelle Qwan eased off Reno's neck and got to her feet. "And who the hell is he?"
***
Rhinelander County, New York is deep in the Old Dutch country, on the west bank of the Hudson River about midway between Albany and Poughkeepsie.
Here the Hudson is long, deep and still blue, with the green forests and the Catskill Mountains in the background. Quaint --and exclusive-- country towns dot the hills, as do small, exclusive colleges and palatial estates for the very rich.
The country estate of Clark Reznik was one such place. Located right on the Hudson with twenty acres of land surrounding a modern, split-level mansion of white oak and black glass.
Clark Reznik was famous, both as who he used to be, and who he is now. He had been a very famous movie star, who had made a dozen big action movies in a ten year career that ended three years back when he ran his motorcycle into the oncoming lane of traffic and was permanently paralysed from the neck down.
Since then, Reznik had done whatever he could to keep his wealth intact under a deluge of medical expenses, including a foundation in his name and appearing as a spokesman for the handicapped community. He was a fixture now on everything from Larry King Live to Barbara Walters. He had also appeared before numerous Senate committees regarding stem cell research, and the impact it would have on those with spinal cord injuries.
This morning he got up as usual, with his wife and a nurse helping him out of bed and into his special electric wheelchair that he controlled by blowing into a tube.
What wasn't so usual was that every member of his trusted staff --along with his personal physician-- had been replaced yesterday at a moment's notice. All had been given big severance checks along with a reminder of the confidentiality agreements they had all signed.
A new doctor, new nurses and even new security staff walked the sunny, oaken floors of his mansion.
This morning, he guided himself into the dining room with his beautiful wife Ellen by his side. One of his guests who had arrived late last night was already eating breakfast at the table.
"Good morning, Fiona!" Reznik said, carefully speaking with the air his ventilator gave him. He wore makeup only when he had an interview. Without it, he looked liked a pale shadow of his former self.
"Clark!" Still famous Hollywood actress Fiona Jacklin wiped the egg off her lips and hurried over for a kiss and a hug from both Reznik and his wife. "Good to see you! We got in so late last night, and Ellen said it would be best if we let you sleep!"
"Yes, yes." Reznick smiled as he eased himself up to the table. "Have you and your daughter gotten settled in alright?"
"Oh my yes!" Fiona Jacklin was fifty something, but had managed the transition from young engenue to established sex symbol to respected actress seamlessly over the years. "Jessica just loves this estate! In fact, she's out on a walk now with one of my staff."
"Well, you're both welcome to stay as long as you like," Reznik said. "It's mostly just Ellen and me... except for the nurses and doctors."
"Yes." Fiona smiled. "And I was so happy that you allowed my own people to just... move in on you at the last minute."
"Well, you did promise a lot, Fiona," Ellen Reznik replied.
"And tell me, Clark," Fiona asked. "Did you believe what I promised?"
"Not really," Reznik replied. "But frankly, I'm past the point of believing in much of anything anymore..."
"Well, why don't we just give it a try, and see what happens," Fiona said.
Reznik and his wife looked at each other. "Now?" They both said in stereo.
"Jade?" One of Fiona's security people --a stunning Asian woman with muscles and a very short white knit dress-- hopped to at her command. She opened a small, stainless steel case used mostly by hospitals to reveal a single unit of human blood in the standard clear plastic bag and nicely refrigerated.
Written on the bag in magic marker was the words; JESSICA 01.
"Is... that it?" Reznik asked breathlessly.
"The very blood of my daughter," Fiona Jacklin said. "Just for you."
"Are the rumors..." Ellen began.
"They aren't just rumors," Fiona said. "I've seen the magic myself. Jessica's blood --for reasons that are still very much a mystery to me-- is still bursting with stem-cells. And not the puri-potent type that scientists are attempting to use for research on everything from cancer... to spinal cord injuries, but the omni-potent stem cells, that don't need to be 'blueprinted' too fix whatever ails you."
"Will I walk again?" Reznik asked.
"I can't say for sure," Fiona said truthfully. "I do know your health will improve greatly..."
"If I could just... breath on my own," Reznik whispered. "I would sell my soul for even that!"
"You need not make any Faustian bargain with me, Clark," Fiona said gently. "Just promise to let Jessica, myself and our people stay here, until we can escape the bastards that are after us."
"You have my word," Reznik said. "My home is yours."
Ellen kissed her husband. "Yes. For as long as you desire."
"Excellent." Fiona Jacklin stood up. "Let's get started, shall we?"
***
Fiona Jacklin's 19 year old daughter, Jessica McClintock, looked out over the bank of the Hudson, watching a speedboat zip along the main channel. She wanted to shout and wave at the boat, but she could do neither.
Jessica was a beautiful girl by anyone's standards. Tall and busty and very blonde, with a a pretty face and wide, expressive hazel eyes.
She wore what most teenagers would be wearing on a coolish day at the end of summer; faded l.e.i. hiphugger jeans, a green ribbed jersey and Sketchers. She also had her wrists handcuffed behind her back and shackle cuffs around her ankles that limited her to a ten inch step.
A red knitted scarf covered the lower half of her face and concealed the rubber ball that was strapped inside her mouth. A matching sweater over her shoulders hid her restrained hands.
The speedboat came by the other way, fairly close to shore. Theee kids about her age waved to her as they zoomed by. She hummed into her gag as the waves they caused lapped the shore.
"This is a lovely place, isn't it?" Ebony said. She was another one of Fiona Jacklin's inner circle, a tall and muscular black woman dressed in tight white. "By the time winter gets here, it'll be so beautiful."
"Mmmmph fmmph?" Jessica asked.
"Yes, luv," Ebony replied. "I expect we'll be here for quite some time. Come along now."
Ebony took her by the arm and they walked along a trail into the forest below the mansion. Jessica noticed at least two armed security guards skulking in the woods wearing cammies and armed with assault rifles.
She didn't know what time it was, but she did know today was Wednesday. She bit into her gag. Two weeks ago she was going to her classes at McCloud University near San Francisco. A week ago she was in San Francisco spending the day with her father...
That's when her life went to hell in a handbasket.
In the week that followed, she had sought help from her good friend --and lover-- Taffy Chu, who had sent her to see Paige Torne.
From there, things just got... nuts. Half of San Francisco seemed to be after her, including a private eye from Los Angeles named Tai Anne Roper.
But in the end, a man named Fiendly had simply handed here over to her mother, and for awhile Jessica had hoped that all would be well.
It wasn't. Jessica now realized thar her famous mother was not her salvation, but just another facet of her torment.
Ebony led her through the woods to a small cabin where a tall, nordic blonde woman who was also dressed in white waited. Her name was Ivory.
Jessica stood there while Ebony and Ivory hugged and kissed each other. Then they both turned and looked at her.
"We can make your time here very pleasurable if you wish," Ivory said. "Your mother has no objection if you indulge in your desires... with the three of us."
Jessica groaned in embarrassment. The things she had done with Taffy, Paige and even Tai Anne rushed back to her.
Girlsex.... leather and submission...
Footsteps on the trail. Jessica turned as Jade joined them. "Have I missed anything?"
"Not hardly," Ebony said.
The three took Jessica into the small house, which was outfitted more like a hotel suite than a cabin in the woods.
Someone had also gone to the trouble to bring along alot of toys. Adult toys. Straps, harnesses, dildos and prongs... whips and restraints of all kinds.
Jessica hummed as the three women stripped down to their perfect skin and luscious curves.
They then carefully separated Jessica from her clothes, making sure she stayed handcuffed and shackled as she lost even her bra and panties, but gained a locking black leather collar around her neck.
Ebony unbuckled the ballgag, pulling it from Jessica's mouth. "Thank..."
"Shush..." Ebony placed her finger over Jessica's full lips. "From now on your mouth has but one purpose."
As if to define that purpose, Ebony, Ivory and Jade sat down on the bed in a row, all with legs spread and looks of want and desire on their faces.
Jessica McClintock knealt before them and started at one end, working her way slowly from one to the other to the last. Not stopping til she had given each of the women an orgasm, and her own mouth and tongue were beginning to get sore... and her belly sloshed with girljuice.
"Okay, slave," Ivory said. "Not too shabby! But this time, put some feeling into it!"
Jessica nodded and started from the top.
***
Royal Victoria Hospital was one of Montreal's oldest and most respected, not far from McGill University on the upper slope of Mont Royal.
Michelle Qwan was sitting on a bed, in a private room near the Casualty Centre as an earnest young doctor finished sewing up her left ear.
"There, Inspector! That wasn't so bad now, was it?" he asked, placing a bandage around the wound.
"Not once the local kicked in," Qwan replied through gritted teeth.
"We'll give you info on proper wound care, but for now just stay put. We want to run a CAT scan on you for that bump on the noggin."
"Thank you, Doctor." The right side of her face was in full bloom from being slammed into various walls.
"Your partner wants to see you, if thats okay?"
"Send her in."
The doctor left, and Yukari Mei Awai entered, closing the door behind her.
"Inspector! You feeling better now?" she chirped.
Qwan just looked at her.
"MMmmmmm.... I am sorry I fainted like that when they started stitching you up..."
"That's okay, Yukari." She smiled. "You know, once you get to know me, you'll find that I have many faults... but ingratitude isn't one of them. You saved my life today. Thank you."
Yukari blushed. "You're welcome, Inspector."
"Also, I've been rethinking our partnership. The whole dynamic of the sempai and kohai is a lot of responsibility for both the junior who is to be taught, and the senior who takes the junior under his or her wing."
"Hai, Inspector."
"As a senior officer, I've never taken that responsibility... until now, Kohai."
Yukari keened with joy and hugged her tightly. "Domo arigato, Sempai!"
"Yukari, my neck! Owwwww..."
"Sorry!" She stepped back. "What now, Sempai?"
"First thing is to get out of here and try to find out who this Scagnetti is who wants to kill me."
"His name is Don Vincenzo Scagnetti," Yukari replied. "He's the boss of an American mafia 'family' centered in New York City and New Jersey. His organisation specialises in illegal drugs, prostitution and numbers running... whatever that is..."
"Illicit gambling. Go on."
"Last night, his number two man, Vincent Cundalini was murdered after he agreed to be a witness against his boss. Ten New York City police officers were murdered trying to protect him."
"Damn, where'd you get all this info?"
"Watching CNN in the waiting room. Also this!" She handed Qwan a copy of the afternoon edition of the Montreal Gazette.
"This is what I get for being too busy to read a newspaper!" Qwan said. scanning the story that had made the front page. "Says here that the FBI agent who turned this Cundalini is named Joseph Killian... that's the man I want to talk to. If anybody knows why this Scagnetti is after me, he does."
"Also, did you see where Scagnetti's only son was killed in Los Angeles last night?"
"Yes... by a Los Angeles police officer during a routine traffic stop," Qwan said. "Wouldn't want to be in her shoes."
Just then Qwan's cellphone chirped. She sighed and picked up. "Qwan."
"Inspector Michelle Qwan, RCMP?"
Man's voice that she didn't know. "Yes."
"I'm Special Agent Joe Killian, FBI. You don't know me, but I think we need to talk..."
Qwan smiled. "My thoughts exactly, Mr. Killian."
***