Tai Anne Roper 2
by Nicole Sutter
FOR MATURE READERS ONLY
Chapter 13 - "New York Bound"
Sue Kaminsky woke up. Slowly coming out of the fog that shrouded her brain and idly wondering if her tongue had really grown a layer of fur.
She smacked her lips and pulled a long, curly blonde pubic hair out of her mouth. Ick. A souvenir of her time served with the Pumas, no doubt. She then realized that her hands were free.
She blinked and looked around. She was still in the big bed with the red satin sheets. She was also naked but unbound, with only vivid ropeburns covering her body.
Ana and Una Puma were asleep, lying on either side of her, both snoring away like buzzsaws. The sisters' tanned and curvy bodies in sensual repose.
Sue licked her lips as her eyes wondered over their huge, round breasts, deep concave tummies and tousled blonde manes of hair. She realized with a flush of shame that she was getting wet just looking at them. What have the bitches done to me?
She looked around the room, trying to think like a cop. Her eyes tracked the various weapons which were casually lying around, some on the floor, others piled in corners of the room.
There was several M-16s, an M-79 Grenade Launcher, machine pistols, AK-47s and even a belt-fed, M-60 heavy machine gun.
And leaning against a brick wall only a few feet away was an honest-t'-Gawd .45 caliber Thompson M-1921 Sub-Machine Gun. An old fashioned 'tommy gun' just like in the gangster movies, complete with a 50 round drum clip.
But was it loaded? Sue looked at the sleeping Pumas and back to the gun. She had to take the chance.
Sue Kaminsky moved slowly but surely, easing herself off the bed. When her foot touched the floor one of the Pumas stirred and she froze. Then she moved again, now creeping across the floor to the tommy gun.
It was chilly in the room, and her nipples pebbled up. Her red hair felt greasy and limp and she was covered in various dried bodily fluids belonging to herself and the Pumas.
The Thompson had been one of the weapons she had trained on back in the Police Academy, but it had been awhile. It was also heavy as hell. She eased back the charging bolt and saw that the gun was indeed loaded.
Ana Puma sat up and licked her chops. "Hey, Red..."
Sue Kaminsky turned and flicked the safety off, aiming the big machine gun right at Ana's well-endowed chest and squeezing the trigger.
The long burst of automatic weapon's fire was deafening in the small confines of the room, as a long flower of flame erupted from the barrel of the tommy gun and Ana Puma was instantly ripped apart and splattered all over the red brick wall with her disembodied arms and legs flying about the room.
Una Puma rolled out of the bed with a feral roar. She leaped at Sue as she swung the tommy gun about and cut loose on her. Sue hosed her down with copper-jacketed .45 ACP rounds, rendering her into bloody chunks of flayed meat in just an instant.
Sue took her finger off the trigger, finding herself surrounded by hot brass shell casings. The barrel of the Thompson was still smoking and the stench of cordite filled the room.
The Puma Sisters were dead as dead can be. No miracles this time.
"Cop killin' cunts," Sue muttered. She dropped the Thompson to the floor and went looking for some clothes that wouldn't make her look like some fetish whore...
Sue Kaminsky woke up. She blinked and realized she was still sandwiched between the hot nakedness of the Puma Sisters. She groaned. The dream of killing them both had seemed so real that part of her still believed it had really happened and that this must all be a dream.
But this was real. She was still tied up with red cord keeping her hands behind her back, wrists to elbows, and additional cord cinched around her shoulders and around her breasts to plump them up. She pulled at her bondage, but she was well secured.
"Mmmmm... hungry yet, Red?" Ana Puma said from her left.
Sue shook her head no... her belly was so full of Puma girljuice that she sloshed when she moved.
"Time for din din..." Una Puma said from her right.
Sue felt her eyes widen as Ana brought one of her melon-sized breasts closer to Sue and squeezed the hard, cherry ripe nipple. A long arc of creamy milk shot out of the breast and splattered Sue in the face. Ana and Una laughed.
"Please!" Sue cried. "I can't... ummph!!!" Sue gulped as she got a mouthful of tit. Her lips contracted around the nipple as Una slipped her fingers into the wet folds of Sue's cunt and squeezed.
Warm, creamy milk flooded her mouth and she swallowed convulsively. It was sweet tasting and she could feel the warmth going down all the way to her tummy.
Ana giggled and cradled Sue's head in her muscled arm, forcing her to keep the nipple in her mouth. Sue struggled and pulled at her bound arms some more, but finally settled down with a whimper and began suckling on Ana's breast.
"Good girl..." Ana whispered. Then after a few minutes --when Sue's tummy felt tight as a drum and was visibly swollen-- Ana pulled away her breast and Una extended one of hers. Again, Sue tried to resist but it was no use, and soon she was sucking on yet another mammoth mammary until she passed out...
Sue Kaminsky woke up. She found herself once again trapped in the confines of a Chinese cangue, drifting in the darkened, underground grotto where soy sauce was once harvested. The salty, black waters kept her afloat, as did the confining wooden pillory that held her wrists and head above water.
Everything was as it was before. Including that damned wooded prong that the Pumas had strapped deep into her cunt and was now swelling up inside of her, rubbing her clit with each shift of the waters.
"Ana! Una! Please get me outta this!" Sue screamed. "I can't... take..." she gurgled and screamed as another orgasm took her for an unwanted ride.
She cried. Before this day, she had occasionally pleasured herself, or allowed one of her rare boyfriends to pleasure her when they had sex. But since becoming a prisoner of the Pumas, it seemed like she'd had more orgasms than all those other times combined.
It was too much, she couldn't take anymore. Before today, Sue Kaminsky had defined herself on her own terms. As a New York cop and as a woman. Now it seemed that all that had been taken away from her. She was a pleasure doll. A fucktoy. Something to wind up and let play out...
Sue Kaminsky wept as she drifted in the darkness and slowly slipped over the edge.
***
Everybody called him the Birdman, aka Wally Donahue, an ex-New York cop who was close to eighty years old and owned a few old brownstones in lower Manhattan down on Centre Street in Little Italy, just north of Canal and across from the old Police Headquarters building.
They called him the Birdman because he raised pigeons on the roof of one of his buildings. That's where Special Agent Joe Killian of the FBI was right now, watching him slosh bird seed about his coops.
"Its a goddamn shame," the Birdman was saying. "I joined the department in the summer of 1942, after I got classified by the army as 4-F cuz I had flat feet. Guess they thought I would make a good flatfoot..."
He walked out of the coop, an old man with a beer belly and a few wisps of white hair. He was wearing a bathrobe with bird poop on the shoulder.
"Worked over there at headquarters after I made detective in '51. Worked alotta big cases. The Torso Killer in '54. The Kew Gardens murders... worked there til I retired a captain in 1972. A year later they shut that place down."
Joe looked at it from the roof. The old police headquarters building was a grand looking place, with a huge rotunda and enough granite flourishes to be a statehouse. It had stayed derelict until the mid-eighties when it had been sandblasted and turned into very expensive condos for the ultra-rich.
"At least it looks nice," Joe offered.
"Fuck you. I liked it better when it was full of winos and rats. Now I see those goddamn yuppies pull outta there at all hours... makes me goddamn sick."
Joe nodded and looked to the south, where a maze glass and steel skyscrapers rose above the quaint brick buildings of Little Italy and then Chinatown. New York was all about change. Nothing stayed the same forever.
"But you didn't come here to watch me feed my birds, or listen to me bullshit about how things usta be. Didcha?"
"Nope."
"You wanna know who killed Cundalini and those cops at the Plaza Hotel."
"Heard anything?"
"Yeah. Everybody is ready to pin this on that missin' ladycop... wazz'ername... Kaminsky. But she didn't do it."
"They think she let the crew in who did the murders," Killian said.
"Alotta folks say she was a good cop. Clean as a whistle," the Birdman said. "She never ratted out a dirty cop to IA, but when she got next to one she'd never have anything to do with him either."
"What about this Sal Spinelli?"
"A real piece of work. Beats confessions outta perps like the old days. Only he doesn't always make sure 'dere the right guys. Sometimes he frames people so the actual perps can take a walk."
"Which is what he's doing with Sue Kaminsky."
"Yup."
"What else?"
"Well... those ten cops who got whacked... were all dirty."
"Every one of them?"
"Yup. Schuller and Culleta were on the pad to the Camorra Brothers out near Ozone Park. Scorsese and DeLuna were taking kickbacks from the Russian Mob in the garment district. Lambert had been working for the Luccinelli Family for ages..."
"Did any of these cops work for Vincenzo Scagnetti?"
The Birdman grinned. "Not a motherin' one."
"Goddamn."
"All the cops on this detail to protect your stoolie Cundalini were chosen by this Lieutenant Duncan Hodges outta the Major Case Squad. He and Spinelli had quite a racket going."
"And who were they working for?"
"They were both independents. Working for the highest bidder."
"But Hodges got killed."
"That might've been Spinelli's doing," the Birdman said. "Word is that he'll get a lieutenant's shield and take Hodges place as Deputy Commander of the MCS."
"What about the current commander of the Major Case Squad?"
"That'd be Captain Ned Stacey... and he's just counting the days til his retirement. Don't expect any help from him."
Killian nodded. "I think I see the light. Ten dirty cops brought together from across the city to watch over Cundalini, all handpicked by Hodges..."
"Ah huh."
"And when they're all killed, that leaves one helluva hole. Suddenly most of the criminal cartels in the city have no juice with the police."
"And other cops on the pad to other bad guys are sure to get nervous and drop their connections," the Birdman added. "All except for the cops belonging to Scagnetti."
"Who will suddenly have a major league advantage over his competitors in the Five Families," Killian finished.
"This massacre at the Plaza was never about Cundalini," the Birdman stated. "He was just window dressing. The real targets were these ten dirty cops."
"And how do I prove that?"
"You can't, dummy!" the Birdman snickered. "Hell, they're all gonna be dead heroes getting their Inspector's Funerals all this week! With the mayor and maybe a senator or two boo-hooin' over their flag-covered box."
"What about the real crew who killed them?"
"Haven't heard a thing. Hell, not even a squad of coked-up Columbians would go after ten armed cops!" the Birdman looked at Killian. "My guess is in a day or so, Spinelli will get an address and get half the department to surround a house full of out-of-town crazies. There'll be a shootout and everyone there will be killed."
"And we'll find the guns used in the Plaza shootings."
"Yup... along with either Sue Kaminsky's dead body, or evidence linking her to these crazies."
Killian nodded. "Anything else?"
"Hell, that's enough."
"Yeah." Killian slipped some money into the pocket of the Birdman's robe. "Here, by these feathered rats some more seed."
The Birdman watched Killian go. "You be careful on this one, fed."
"You too."
The Birdman laughed. "Hell, I'm just an old man! No one gives a shit about me!"
***
Curious bystanders at Montreal's Durval International Airport stood around and gawked as a motorcade of four RCMP cruisers --with sirens howling and lightbars strobing-- and three unmarked black Land Rovers pulled up to the main terminal.
Mounties and black-ops suited ERT cops quickly escorted somebody through the terminal and into the secluded VIP lounge. The crowds wondered if it could be the Prime Minister or even Celine Dion.
It was in fact DCI Michelle Qwan and Yukari Mei Awai, both of whom were embarrassed by the show. But evidently after two attempts on her life in less that twelve hours, Chief Superintendent Ethan Campbell --commander of the Quebec detachments-- was taking no chances on having the Mighty Qwan getting capped in his bailiwick.
They had been escorted there by Campbell himself, along with Forensics Chief Armand Butterworth, who had complained about never getting out of the lab enough.
Campbell was just getting off his cellphone and appeared to be in a major snit. "Those bloody damn Americans!"
"What'd they do now?" Qwan asked.
"The tower just told me that the Lear jet the FBI sent for you arrived awhile ago and you two can embark anytime you like!"
"Well, that's a good thing," Yukari said.
"That means the plane was enroute even before you were cleared for this operation!" Butterworth said. "Americans always take everything for granted!"
"And I still have my doubts over letting you go to New York, Inspector." Campbell said.
"I do have separate Interpol credentials, sir," Qwan gently reminded him.
"Bullshit! --pardon me-- But you're RCMP first and a Canadian citizen! We value you as a peace officer, Inspector," Campbell said.
"Please, sir," Qwan said. "Don't start getting mushy on me."
"Americans never lost that 'frontier mentality'," Butterworth said. "And since 9/11... and with that cowboy Bush in office, the United States is a damned dangerous place to find one's self."
"I don't disagree," Qwan said. Recently, several Canadian citizens of Arab descent who had been picked up for questioning in the US had been shipped back by the feds to their Arab homelands instead of Canada.
"I remember seeing an American editorial cartoon in one of their newspapers," Qwan continued. "It showed a huge castle called 'Fortress America' and a wide open back door labeled 'Canada'."
"Exactly," Campbell said. "To a lot of Americans, Canada is nothing more than a doormat that they can wipe their feet on. I wish you would reconsider, Inspector."
"I need to unravel this case," Qwan said. "I need to find out who is trying to kill me, and what connection this Scagnetti has to it."
"Well, whatever this Blackbyrd woman said to the Operations Director in Ottawa, worked," Butterworth groused.
"I know Emma Blackbyrd," Qwan said. "She's done a lot of good things as the chief of the FBI's New York office. And this other agent I talked to... Killian, seems like he's on the ball as well."
"Just be careful, both of you." Campbell smiled tightly at Qwan and Awai. "And Godspeed."
Ten minutes later they --as well as their luggage-- made it aboard the Gates Learjet the belonged to the US Justice Department and was used to ferry VIPS hither and yon.
"I could get used to this, Sempai!" Yukari said, snagging a Diet Coke from a mini-fridge and a bag of Macadamia nuts. She sat down beside Qwan in a luxurious cabin chair.
"Wake me when we get there, Kohai" Qwan replied. The pain meds for her stitched ear were beginning to wear off, but she knew she'd tough it out and not take any more.
"Hai, Sempai." Awai looked out the cabin window as the plane took off and headed south, crossing the St. Lawrence Seaway into the United States.
Qwan was already asleep.
***
The Lear jet carrying Qwan and Awai would take a course along the Hudson River Valley, almost directly above the estate of Clark Reznik.
At a little past 3 pm, Jessica McClintock waited on the bleached oak deck overlooking the woods of the estate. She was dressed in her jeans and jacket, her wrists cuffed behind her back, shackles on her feet, and a squishy black ballgag filling her mouth.
"There you are, dear!" Fiona Jacklin --casually dressed but still looking mah-velous-- breezed up to her daughter and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Don't you just love this place!"
"Mmmm fmmph!" Jessica drooled helplessly down her chin.
"Jade told me that you had such a lovely time with her and Ivory and Ebony," Fiona said while dabbing at her chin with a kleenex. "So I've arranged for you to spend most of your time here with them, also they'll be picking up some more... toys, I believe."
Jessica rolled her eyes and stomped her sneakered foot, making her chains rattle.
"You know, dearest," Fiona continued. "I don't really understand lesbianism, but I do have many gay friends back in Los Angeles. In fact, for awhile I lived just down the street from Ellen DeGeneres when she was married to that space cadet Anne Hecht!"
She looked over her daughter's handcuffed wrists. "As for the aspects of BDSM you enjoy... it is a happy coincidence because I intend to have you kept in heavy restraints for the foreseeable future. At least until the cells are finished in the basement."
Jessica blinked and a tear ran down her cheek.
"Now, I will release you on occasion, like now," Fiona said. "Our gracious host wants to meet with you personally! He received a unit of your blood today and the results are amazing! You will behave yourself, won't you?"
Jessica nodded.
"Good. Because while I can't punish you for misbehaving, I can punish some of your friends in San Francisco. I would hate to have to call up Dr. Fiendly and tell him to do something nasty to that Asian girl, Taffy Chu. Or Paige Torne."
"Mmmmmmmph!!!!" Jessica shook her head no.
"Then behave. And be my good girl." Fiona patted her daughter on her head and nodded for Ebony, Ivory and Jade to remove the restraints.
***
"Clark Reznik, I'd like for you to meet my only daughter," Fiona Jacklin said as they entered his bedroom. "Jessica."
"I am so happy to finally meet you!" Reznik said, appearing to be in good spirits while lying in bed. His wife Ellen was sitting with him and smiling broadly.
The bedroom was spacious, but resembled a hospital room more than anything else, with medical equiptment and monitors all over the place. A doctor and a nurse were nearby, going over some charts.
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Reznik," Jessica said, stepping forward.
"Call me Clark, please," he said. He held out his right hand and Jessica took it. "An hour after I had a transfusion with your blood, I could move my fingers. Then I was taken off that damned respirator."
"The ultrasounds taken of his spine are... amazing!" Ellen Reznik gushed. "Vertibrae that had been fused together for years... is reshaping itself! His spinal cord is now intact..."
"Its too early to say if he'll be able to walk again," the doctor cautioned. "But it does look... very promising."
"I am very very happy for you," Jessica said sincerely.
"And with the continued support of your mother, this is only the beginning!" Ellen said. "In time, we can unravel the secret of your healing power and save thousands... no, millions!"
Jessica tried to smile.
"I think thats it for today," Fiona said, taking Jessica by the shoulders. "She's still a little stressed out..."
I understand," Reznik said. "Are you enjoying your stay here, Jessica?"
"You have a lovely home, Clark."
"Consider it your home now, Jessica," Reznik said. "For as long as you and your mother need it."
Fiona shuttled her daughter out of the bedroom and into the hallway, where her three handlers were waiting.
"He doesn't know, does he?" Jessica asked her mother as Ivory clicked on her handcuffs as Jade fixed her shackles. "That I'm unique... one of a kind?"
"Not yet," Fiona said, smiling as Ebony slipped the rubber ball past Jessica's lips and strapped it tight.
"Make sure she's comfortable for her afternoon nap," Fiona said to her crew. "Strait jacket and hobble skirt. Make it tight!"
"Of course, Ma'am," Jade nodded.
***
"Yo, Killian!"
Joe Killian was rushing up the steps of 26 Federal Plaza when he heard his name called. He grinned and waved as his boss Emma Blackbyrd walked over to him. She wore a tailored trenchcoat over her clothes.
"Where you been all day?" she asked.
"Talking to my CIs," he replied.
"Any of your snitches come up with anything."
Killian thought of the Birdman. "Nada. Nothing. Zippidty-do-dah."
"What about this Corder woman?"
"She's a fucking ghost," Killian said. "She has eight offices and four residences in Manhattan alone, and all of them are vacant. I did call a friend who's an investigator with the IRS... maybe we can get her the way we got Capone."
"Well, I got one slice of pie for you," Emma said. "RCMP okay'd Qwan and her partner to come to New York."
"Fantastic!" Killian had talked with Qwan for only ten minutes on the phone, but he was sure she could help with the investigation. "That gets Chalmers and the US Attorney's Office off are backs."
"Just for awhile," Emma cautioned. "And I hadda promise the Canucks that nothing would happen to their goldengrrl, so I have an agent baysitting her 24/7."
"Who'd you get?"
Emma Blackbyrd looked at him and laughed. "You!"
"Oh great! Where is she now?"
"About 45 minutes away from JFK. I got her aboard one of Justice's Lears. Better hustle if you don't wanna miss her."
"Thanks, bosslady." Killian hurried back to where he had just parked his car and fed the meter.
***
Emma Blackbyrd went to the underground garage and got her own car, a black Lincoln Towncar with dark tinted sidewindows and bulletproof glass. The Assistant Director in Charge of the New York FBI deserved nothing less.
She drove into the Wall Street district, into a maze of towering skyscrapers that hid the afternoon sun and kept the streets in perpetual shadow, even on the sunniest day.
She drove down into another underground carpark, down three levels until she came to a steel garage door that led to an even deeper level. When she pulled up to it, the door opened for her. She drove through.
Two levels further down, and she parked her ride by an elevator illuminated by a single, flickering flourescent tube. Emma got out, locked her car and entered the elevator. It started up without her having to press a button.
Emma Blackbyrd had no idea what floor she was on when the doors opened. The corridor was quiet and deserted, with only a few lights.
She walked to the office at the end of the corridor and opened the double doors to find a richly appointed office with a long desk and the silhouette of someone looking out a tinted window at a nice view of the South Street Seaport and the Brooklyn Bridge.
"Okay," Emma Blackbyrd said, striding up to the desk. "I did like you wanted. Qwan is on her way to New York as we speak and Killian is her only security. Happy?"
Valerie Corder turned and smiled. "Immensely."
"I am glad... Val."
"Have a seat, dear."
Emma looked at the two tubular steel chairs on either side of her. Both chairs were padded with a naked, suffering woman held in place with black leather straps. Both wore matching leather blinders and ballgags. Their bald heads gleemed in the dim light filtering through the window.
Emma took off her coat and sat down gingerly in the chair and wiggled. A moan came from her chair.
Corder chuckled. "You're getting finally used to it, Emma darling."
"Used to what, Val?"
"Used to being like me... a Woman Superior." Corder looked at her with those steel gray eyes. "Superior to all men... and most of the other women in this world."
"So what are your plans regarding this mountie?" Emma asked. "If she gets whacked in my backyard, there'll be wicked hell to pay."
Well... it just so happens that I currently have three professional pains in the ass to deal with in my life," Corder said. "Michelle Qwan of the mounties, who's intent on shutting down The Consortium's one pipeline to mainland China. The Consortium's own Morrigan the Huntress, who is more than willing to ignore Qwan, and let the deal of the century go down the drain. And last --but not least-- your own very Special Agent Killian, who wants to muck up my all my hard work last night at the Plaza..."
Corder sat down in her own chair, consisting of twin sisters strapped down next to each other, one arm strapped over the other's shoulder with both their lips sharing a single ballgag strapped tightly so they appeared to be kissing. Linked nipple rings kept them hugging tight. They were both former child stars that'd had the misfortune of turning 18 while Val Corder held their contract.
"Now, in a perfect world, I'd be able to pay off at least two of these nuisances and get them to kill the honest one." Corder sighed. "But such is not the case. So, I've decided to bring everyone to one convenient geographic locale... and let them all bump each other off! And whoever survives gets to be my slave for life... except if it's Killian, I'll just kill him."
"It's a shame... Killian's a good man," Emma said.
"There are no good men," Corder replied. "Just... convenient men."
Right." Emma stood up. "I should be getting back to the office."
"Not yet, Please." Corder looked at her. "I have a surprise for you." She touched the intercom. "Linda? Bring her in."
"What is this, Val?"
"Emma... you're my friend, and my criminal co-conspirator. We love and trust each other because we both know that one could put the other away for life without parole."
"True."
"But this is more than about... money. Isn't it?" Corder asked. "I mean, we could make just as much money dealing in drugs or guns instead of girlflesh."
"Yeah," Emma admitted.
"Its the... passion that drove me into the skintrade," Corder whispered. "To be a Goddess... to turn a bright and beautiful woman... into a slave."
Emma nodded.
"I want you to start feeling the passion, Emma," Corder said. "And to help you towards that goal, I've got a present for you."
The doors opened again, and in came the beefy Linda Hansen and the diminutive Debbie Watson. Between them was yet another tied and hurting piece of girlflesh.
She was naked except for a harsh leather strap cinched around her tummy, while a crotch strap was buckled painfully tight between her legs, rubbing deeply into the folds of her cunt.
Her hands were behind her back, bound with plastic coated wire at the fingers, wrists and elbows to keep her in the horrendous 'reverse prayer' position. A Corder specialty.
A strap at the knees kept her footsteps short, and she walked in on the balls of her feet, because if she took a step without arching her heels off the floor, she was brutally whipped across the ass by Linda who carried a crop.
The woman was tall and lean looking, with a long mane of blonde hair. She was sobbing uncontrollably, with a large, black latex wrap strap covering the lower half of her face.
Her breasts were large and firm looking. Her legs long and tanned. Emma thought she might be pretty looking if her makeup wasn't running all over her face.
"Who is she?" Emma asked.
"Come, Emma," Corder said. "You know Amanda Caulder."
Jeeeeeezus! Emma thought. It was Amanda Caulder. That blonde harpy from hell who had her own show on the Fox News Channel. A right-wing policy-wonk who used her position as a TV 'journalist' to verbally attack every Democrat and liberal in existence, while defending the excesses of Dubya and his cronies.
But what had really pissed off Emma Blackbyrd was Caulder's post 9/11 harpings that the New York office of the FBI could've done more to stop the terrorist attacks on the WTC. She accused Blackbyrd of being an affirmative action Clinton toadie who was there just because she was black and a woman.
Emma had barely held onto her job in the months that followed, while watching helplessly as several good agents got turned out to appease the right wingers.
Of course Amanda Caulder had crowed that she was responsible, and was just doing her job as an American... and as a conservative journalist.
Debbie Watson removed the latex strap, pulling a long rubber bung from Amanda's mouth. She looked at Emma as drool spilled onto her breasts.
"Blackbyrd? Is that yew?" she croaked. She grunted in pain as she teetered over to her. "Help me! I-I wuuuz kidnapped! Get me outta this! You're an FBI agent... yew gotta help me!!!"
"I do? Hmmmm... I remember you saying on Politically Incorrect that I must've got my FBI credentials by borrowing Monica Lewinsky's knee pads," Blackbyrd replied.
"Nuh... nuh..." Amanda Caulder tried shaking her head no. Emma backhanded her across the face hard enough to send her to the floor in a sobbing heap.
"So," Corder said. "How does it feel to have the person you hate and despise most in this world at your mercy?"
"Fuckin' glorious," Emma replied. "What now?"
Corder shrugged. "She's yours to do with as you please! You can kill her if you want... or make her suffer."
Emma chuckled. "I want this bitch to leave a good long life... as a slave, and I want her to suffer ever day of that existence, and for her to know I am the cause of it."
"I can arrange that," Corder replied.
"But first things first." Emma kicked off her high heels and skimmed off her pantyhose and panties. Her long, dark legs were perfection as she hiked up her tweed skirt and sat down on a chair of bound woman and spread her legs.
"You also accused me of being a dyke," Emma said. "Well, I guess you hadda be right about one thing. Now get your face where it belongs, bitch."
Amanda nearly retched at the prospect. "Noooooo!!! Christ, I'd rather die than get near that your filthy hole, you nigger bitch!"
"Ah!!! Now there's the Amanda Caulder I know and love! We gettin' down to it, aren't we?" Emma said. "Playing the race card... just like OJ's dream team!"
"Perhaps a little... inducement," Linda said from behind Amanda. She held a long pair of scissors in her hands.
Emma shuddered with pleasure as Corder came up behind her and grasped her shoulders.
Debbie and Linda pulled the bound Amanda up to a kneeling position. Without further ado, Linda began slicing into Amanda's long mane of blonde hair with the scissors.
By the way Amanda screamed and wept, it was evident that her hair meant a great deal to her, as it does to most women.
Debbie tried to hold her still while Linda snipped away until there was only a rough, blonde halo about her head and her cut hair encircled her on the floor.
"I hear Ms. Caulder had a standing appointment every Thursday at Etienne's Salon on Fifth Avenue," Corder said to Emma. "Looks like she needs to cancel..."
The both laughed as Amanda wept uncontrollably.
Amanda hardly felt the cool white cream that Debbie rubbed onto her head, or the triple-blade razor that Linda used to take away the last of her hair.
Her bald head made Amanda look strangely childlike and vulnerable. A cold pail of water splashed over her head removed the last of the shaving cream and the few strands of loose hair still there, along with the last of her makeup.
"Now here's the finishing touch," Linda said. She rubbed some clear ointment into her hands and smoothed it over Amanda's bare scalp. "A little pure lanolin gets rid of unsightly razor burn and gives the head a lovely shine!"
She buffed Amanda's head with a towel, when she was done it gleamed like a shiny cue ball.
"Now, Caulder," Val Corder said. "I suggest you re-think your moral objections to sexually servicing Assistant Director Blackbyrd. Because right now, Linda has a little tube of orange goo in her hand that removes hair... permanently."
A few seconds later, Amanda Caulder had her face deep between Emma Blackbyrd's thighs and was busy licking away at her cunt.
"Oh my!"Emma giggled. "This is... nice!"
"Service with a smile," Corder said.
***
Dani Hall had been driving her mom's Porsche 944 for a couple of hours now, mostly along secondary roads through small towns and into the hills and woods of northern New Jersey.
She and her mom had chatted while Drew Thrasher had sat silently in the back seat, her wrists now handcuffed behind her back, her ankles crossed and roped while a ballgag distending her mouth.
It was small comfort to Drew that at least she was in a more comfortable position than the captive Ms. Horlicks, who was still stuffed in the trunk.
Drew'd had plenty of time to consider just how she had ended up in this predicament once more. Bound and gagged by no less than the famous Fanni Hall.
***
Two hours before, they had turned off the Jersey Turnpike, having captured Ms. Horlicks just ten minutes before.
"Aren't we going to New York?" Drew had asked.
"Too dangerous," Fanni Hall had replied, checking over her new artillery. "I have a cabin in the woods we can go to and lay low for awhile. That'll also give me a chance to interrogate our new friend."
Drew had sighed, trying to choose her words carefully. "I don't know if I can go along with that, Fanni."
"What do you mean, kiddo?"
"I mean, I am a journalist. I can't condone kidnapping, even if it is justified," Drew had said. "I'm not trying to tell you your business --after all, you did rescue me, for which I am terribly grateful-- but I cannot be a party to an abduction."
"I understand," Fanni had replied simply. "Pull over here, Dani."
"Yes, Mom."
They pulled over at a deserted rest stop, where a few picnic tables sat on the edge of some woods. There was also a pavillion with telephones.
"This is fine!" Drew had said, getting out of the back seat after Fanni had gotten out of the passenger side. "I can contact BBC America and wait here until they come with a limo."
"Another limo?" Fanni had said dubiously.
"Don't worry, I have people I trust in New York, I'll make sure I deal only with them."
"Sorry, Drew. I think you know I can't allow that."
Before she knew it, Drew Thrasher found herself bellydown on the grass, with her hands behind her back while Fanni Hall kneeled over her, clicking a pair of gun-metal blue, hinged handcuffs onto her wrists.
"Fanni! Please no!"
"Hush, kiddo, its for your own good." Fanni had then crossed and corded her ankles. "I promised Jeb I would look after you. Besides, since we snatched blondie, I have a feeling Weskler will be looking for you even harder."
"May I ask you a question?"
"Shoot."
"Do you always carry handcuffs in your purse?"
"Old habits die hard," Fanni had replied as she pulled a red rubber ballgag out of her purse. "Now open wide and say 'mmmph'."
***
Drew's reverie was broken as the Porsche finally turned down a long, winding dirt road that was overgrown with brambles and was little more than a path.
Finally the car halted in a small clearing in the deep woods, overlooking a lake with wooded mountains off in the distance. In the late afternoon, everything seemed quiet and peaceful.
"Wait here," Fanni said to her daughter.
She palmed her pistol and checked out the cabin.
"Don't mind, mom!" Dani said to Drew. "She's pretty set in her ways, but she'll look after you alright!"
"Hmmmph, fmmmmph!"
"So tell me, Drew..." Dani's eyes looked her over appraisingly. "You like girls?"
"All clear," Fanni said, returning. "Dani, take blondie and get her... situated... I want to have a few words with Ms. Thrasher."
"Okey-dokey!"
Dani hefted the cramped and hurting Callista Horlicks out of the trunk and guided her over to the cabin while Fanni eased Drew out of the backseat, removed her ankle ropes and led her by one arm over to the edge of the lake.
"It is beautiful," Fanni said. "I got the cabin and the lake and about ten acres for a song back in the eighties."
"MMmmMMMmmph fuh hummm."
"Sorry." Fanni unbuckled and pulled the rubber ball from Drew's mouth, but left it dangling around her neck.
"Thank you," Drew said, licking her lips and trying to get that rubber taste out of her mouth, altho honestly she was beginning to get used to it.
"You've been tied up before haven't you?" Fanni asked.
"Does it show that bad?"
"'Fraid so, kiddo. Most people don't accept a rubber ball in their mouth as gracefully as you did."
Drew sighed and felt herself flame with embarrassment. "You can remove the handcuffs as well. I promise I will be good."
Fanni chuckled. "Not quite yet, dear. Besides, they suit you."
Drew pulled at her cuffed wrists fitfully. "I don't seem to have much of a choice."
"Actually, the reason I wanted to talk to you is that I'm intrigued by this friend of yours that you said looks so much like me."
"Tai Anne Roper?"
"Yes. Glenna Jane Roper's daughter?"
"Well her and Dr. Yoshiko Katsuhara Roper. They're both Tai's mother. Well, Mothers."
"And how did two women pull off that hat trick?"
"As I understand it, both Glenna and Yoshiko supplied unfertilized eggs to some clinic in San Francisco. Sperm donors were selected for the right ethnic mix --Greek-Italian on Glenna's side, Japanese on Yoshiko's side-- stir well, put the bun in the oven and nine months later Tai Anne Roper was born."
"And she's... 19?"
Yes. Same as your... daughter." Drew frowned. "You say you know Glenna Jane Roper, Fanni?"
"That's enough for today," Fanni said. "Let's see how Dani's getting along."
"No, wait! I... mmmph!!!" Drew shook her head as Fanni slipped the ballgag back into her mouth and tightened the strap at the back of her neck.
"Now you see why I like those things," Fanni said as she led Drew to the cabin. "My own personal mute button!"
"Mmmmph..."
***