D267-0A
Part Nine
When Rufus had found the window smashed and Kitara gone, he'd groaned in dismay.
Marcus was not going to be happy about his most loyal slave disappearing. It
looked as if someone had taken her - because the window was smashed inwards -
but there was no way to tell for sure. Torn between trying to find Kitara and
getting Marcus to safety, Rufus had eventually decided upon the latter. At least
that way, he'd been able to confer with Tarrant for help.
The decision made, he'd quickly driven back toward Shana Rodriguez's house.
Twice he'd had to take detours down side streets as he'd spotted hastily erected
police barricades up ahead, but eventually he'd made it to his destination. He'd
paused to secure the pretty woman he'd kidnapped by cuffing her hands behind her
back, and then binding her feet together with a length of cord. At first he
hadn't been able to find anything to pack her mouth with, so he'd resorted to
stripping her of her own panties, balling them up and shoving them into her
mouth, crotch out. Then he'd quickly torn off four strips of gray duct tape and
sealed her lips together. Remotely satisfied with the quick job he'd done, Rufus
had climbed from the car and started across Shana's front lawn when he saw the
door to her house was hanging open from its hinges. "This just gets better and
better," he'd muttered, before drawing his MP-432 and starting toward the door.
And now, the burly bodyguard was standing in the entry hall wondering where
potential assailants were likely to be hidden. Moving cautiously, he entered the
living room and caught sight of a figure lying across the kitchen floor. He made
his way closer.
"Shit!" he hissed when he saw that the figure was actually Tarrant lying in a
pool of blood. Broken glass covered the floor around him. A quick check of his
non-existent pulse confirmed what the holes in his chest had already implied.
Rufus finished his sweep of the house. There was no sign of the woman they'd
left with Tarrant. Rufus, however, had a fairly good idea of what had happened.
At least two people had broken in through the front door and kitchen window.
They'd gunned Tarrant down and then taken the woman for themselves. Rufus could
also tell from the wounds in Tarrant's chest that he'd been killed by someone
from their own dimension. Only high quality laser based weapons were capable of
such a pinpoint hole. And, generally speaking, they were the preferred weapon of
Council employees.
Which meant the real Retrieval Team had arrived.
Rufus exited the house and trotted across the lawn toward the parked car. He
climbed in and settled himself behind the wheel. Marcus was still unconscious,
leaning against the front passenger window. The pretty woman was also still out
cold.
Rufus started the car and pulled out onto the street. He didn't really have a
plan. All he wanted to do was put as much distance between himself and the
Retrieval Team as possible. After that, it would be up to Marcus, but Rufus
hoped he'd decide to call it a day. The trip, with Kitara lost, Tarrant dead,
and Rene kidnapped, was nothing less than a disaster. And he had a sneaking
suspicion that things would only get worse if Marcus chose to continue with his
personal vendetta. In fact, it was more than a suspicion.
It was a gut feeling.
*****
The day began early for Lois Davenport - despite having had only three hours
sleep.
She awoke at 5:30am, showered and went through her daily skin treatment rituals.
By 6:03, she was dressed in a black silk robe and enjoying her freshly prepared
breakfast of bacon, eggs, and various citrus fruits while reading the daily
paper. At 6:31am, she had her maid, Michelle, assist her in selecting a suit for
the day, and then told her to have it laid out ready by the time she returned.
Still in her robe, Lois donned a pair of three inch heels and exited her private
suite on the thirty-ninth floor of Davidson Global. She entered the private
elevator reserved for the company's elite and rode it down to Sub-Basement 3. At
precisely 6:36am, she entered her dungeon and strode purposefully over to
confront the woman who, less than 12 hours ago, had been her dominant lover and
most trusted advisor.
"Comfortable, darling?" she asked rhetorically.
Veronica had spent an extremely uncomfortable night hanging suspended by her
ankles. Stripped of the leather cat suit, she was laced into a black latex
straight jacket that folded her arms across her chest. Below, or rather, above
the jacket she was completely naked. Her long legs were bound with leather
straps of diminishing width at thighs, knees, and ankles. Sturdy hemp rope
connected her bound ankles to a thick support pole in the ceiling, and it was in
this manner that Veronica hung helplessly, her long dark hair brushing against
the cold floor of the dungeon.
"I can't count the number of times you tormented me in this position," said Lois
as she squatted next to Veronica. "I often wondered what it would be like to be
the one doing the gloating ... and now I know."
Veronica tried to speak, but the inflated rubber bladder in her mouth allowed
only an unintelligible moan to escape her lips. Lois responded by grabbing the
valve attached to the bladder and giving it a firm squeeze. She smiled as
Veronica's eyes widened and her cheeks puffed out a fraction further. Her breath
whistled out of her nose in laboured gasps.
"Hard to breathe, isn't it? But if you think it's bad now, wait and see what
it's like by lunch time." Lois stood and smoothed her silk robe. "I might check
back in on you then. Have fun, darling." She laughed. "If you can."
Five minutes later, the CEO of Davidson Global was back in her suite in
preparing for the long work day ahead. A further twenty five minutes later, she
emerged into the underground parking lot looking immaculate in a single breasted
beige pant suit and open necked white shirt. As instructed, Christian met her en
route to her limousine. She left instructions with him that none of the
prisoners were to be freed from their bondage until she returned - except for
Heather, whom she wanted readied for the dungeon. Christian indicated his
understanding and quickly excused himself. Lois knew he was anxious to get back
to his newly acquired playmate. According to his report, he'd found her bound
and gagged in the back of a parked car.
Lois had to smile at that. What was the world coming to when slaves were being
left in plain view for anyone to steal?
She could afford to chuckle at the incident because she knew there was no chance
of her making a similar mistake. Christian was on hand to ensure that everything
ran smoothly. Davidson Global would continue doing business exactly as it had
every other day of the year, and no-one would be any the wiser that four women
were being held prisoner against their will deep inside the bowels of the forty
story building.
And it was secure in that knowledge that she was chauffeured out of the
underground parking lot and toward her day as a legitimate and upstanding member
of society.
The irony of it all never ceased to amuse her.
*****
Rene, to put it mildly, was extremely frustrated.
She'd escaped from a world where she was nothing more than a bound and gagged
slave, to a dimension where she was currently being held as a bound and gagged
captive.
In other words, her situation had not improved.
She tugged again on the cord binding her wrists, but like the last hundred
tries, felt no give in the knots. In fact, all she did feel was the longer cord
around her elbows bite painfully into the flesh of her lower biceps. She grunted
- a sound borne of equal parts pain and frustration - but the sound was
swallowed by the huge wad of cloth packing behind her teeth, and the multiple
windings of med-wrap covering her mouth from nose to chin. Rene's feet were also
lashed together and bound to the bottom rail of the bed she had spent the night
on.
The woman she'd slept tied to had been unbound and taken away some time earlier
in the morning. That was when Rene's bonds had been changed from the cinched
ropes and blindfold to this less elaborate, but no less effective, form of
restraint. She was not sure why she'd been re-tied, but she suspected it had
something to do with keeping her in a heightened state of discomfort. Whatever
the reason, being re-tied and having her blindfold removed had given her the
chance to observe her fellow captive for the first time - and she'd been
surprised to see just how similar they looked. Aside from their distinctive eye
colors, Rene's darker tan, and the other woman's slightly larger breasts, they
could have been sisters.
And from the look the other woman gave her, Rene had known she was thinking the
same thing.
A look was all they'd had time for, however, before the man binding Rene had
stepped into her field of view and attacked her with the thin, cruel cord. As
soon as he was done he'd turned and marched the other woman out of the room,
leaving Rene to struggle fruitlessly against her bonds.
Unanswered questions ran through Rene's mind. Who was the woman? Why was she
being held captive? Who were they both being held captive by? And what had
happened to Shana and Daphne?
One thing that was obvious was that she had not been abducted by a Retrieval
Team. Although she was sure she'd felt an MP-432 blast just as she'd fallen
unconscious, the commandos who'd jumped her must have won the fight. If she was
lucky, they'd killed the Retrieval Team and eliminated at least one of her
concerns. But luck was not something Rene had ever possessed much of. She knew
it was much more likely that at least some of the Team had survived and were
even now assessing when the best opportunity to strike would be.
Which meant she had to free herself, find out what had happened to Shana and
Daphne, rescue them if need be, free the mysterious woman who bore the
resemblance to her, guide all of them out of whatever prison they were within,
and do all this before the Retrieval Team made its move.
Fighting back the acute sense of hopelessness that suddenly flared within her,
Rene went back to work on the thin cord binding her and its secure knots.
*****
Jennifer Higgens was startled awake by a shrill cry of "I don't know!" that
emanated from elsewhere in the house. For a moment she lay on the carpeted
floor, unsure of where she was and what was going on, before trying to move and
finding herself unable.
And then it all came flooding back.
Falling prey to the trap set by the three men and their tied-up female
accomplice. Being bound, gagged and stuffed into the boot of her car, and driven
to some kind of "hideout". Being left alone with the man who had been readying
himself to torture her before being interrupted by the arrival of a younger
woman. Having to watch while the girl was also made helpless and feeling somehow
responsible for her capture. Preparing herself for the man to re-commence where
he left off, but amazingly being spared by a group of men in Hawaiian shirts and
... laser guns. Hard as it was to believe.
But the night had not ended there. Rather than freeing the two women, the
"tourists" had re-tied them so that their arms were held behind their backs and
their feet were hobbled with long lengths of rope. Their gags had been checked
and then they'd been marched outside and into a waiting utility van. Two of the
men had sat in the back with them while the third drove, ensuring there was no
possibility for escape. A fourth had appeared and joined him in the front
passenger seat. Eventually, they'd arrived at an ordinary looking suburban house
that was revealed to Jennifer when she and the other girl were forced from the
van. She'd tried to scream for help as they approached the darkened porch, but
the bulbous bladder in her mouth reduced her cries to quiet moans. Nevertheless,
the tourist closest to her (with their dark glasses on, Jennifer had trouble
telling them apart), had produced a wooden switch that he'd evidently taken from
the van and struck her across the ass with it. "No more noise," he'd whispered,
before hustling her into the house.
Once inside, the two women had been separated. Jennifer had been taken into a
living room and bound to a straight backed wooden chair. Then two of the
tourists had proceeded to interrogate her. She'd been thankful for the
opportunity to have the horrid bladder out of her mouth, but far less happy
about the questions that had been asked of her. The men had alternated in asking
her about the details of her kidnapping and subsequent captivity. Then they
turned to asking more private questions. Jennifer told them everything from her
current occupation (claims assessor with a large insurance company) to her bra
size (32B). She'd had to. If she'd refused to answer the questions, or even
hesitated for a moment too long, the wooden switch had been slashed across her
exposed breasts.
Finally, after three hours, Jennifer had been untied from the chair and led into
a bedroom. She'd thought for a moment that she was going to be allowed to lay on
the bed. But instead she'd been forced into a closet where her escort had told
her to open wide. Fearing another blow from the switch, she'd done so, and
received a huge mouthful of silky cloth for her trouble. He'd completed her gag
by stuffing more of the material into each of her cheeks and plastering her lips
together with three strips of white adhesive tape. Her bound ankles had then
been attached to her bound wrists in a tight hogtie.
How she'd managed to drift off to sleep, Jennifer had no idea. The strain on her
limbs had been immense and it hadn't taken long for the silky material in her
mouth to become soaked with her saliva and feel like it was slipping down her
throat. But she was also exhausted from the night's events, and her body had
evidently needed some form of recuperation.
The sound of a switch being slashed across flesh snapped her back to the
present. It seemed the other girl had yet to learn her interrogation lesson.
Muffled sobbing reached Jennifer's ears, before the murmur of low, insistent
voices replaced it.
She noticed that the closet was gray with a grubby light rather the pitch black
she had dozed off within. She rolled over to face the closed door and saw that
the crack beneath it was bright with morning light. Did that mean her ordeal was
over? Would the men free her and the other woman now that their questioning was
almost complete and a new day had dawned? Jennifer did not think so. Despite the
cold feeling of dread that spread through her at the thought, she doubted that
the men had enquired about her personal details simply to pass the time. They'd
wanted to know who would be likely to miss her and how long they had before the
alarm was raised. After all, at 31 years of age, she knew she was an attractive
woman. Honey blonde hair cut in a bob famed an angular, but not severe face, and
small nose. Her lips were full and glossy; her eyes a dark green. Many men had
been attracted to her looks over the years, but it was her perfect ass and well
toned legs that were her real assets.
Or, in this case, her biggest liabilities. If just one of the tourists decided
that her ass or legs were worth a closer and more intimate look, there was
simply nothing she could do to stop him taking what he wanted.
Jennifer groaned into her gag. The thought was almost too horrible to bear.
Unfortunately for Jennifer, her situation was revealed to be much, much worse
than she had imagined when she was dragged from the closet some fifteen minutes
later and carried down a set of wooden stairs and into a furnished cellar. The
other girl was already there, bound in the same manner as Jennifer and sporting
her own wadding and white tape gag. The two women made eye contact as she
waslowered to the floor. Jennifer was concerned to see the other girl was wide
eyed and hyper-ventilating into her gag. She was obviously terrified - but by
what?
Jennifer had her answer a moment later when one of the tourists drew something
from his shirt pocket and thumbed some kind of switch. A glowing red ball
suddenly appeared in the center of the room and began to expand in size.
Jennifer watched in amazement as the ball flattened out into a hovering
man-sized circle.
"Ready for transportation," said the tourist who had "created" the circle.
Transportation? thought Jennifer. What the hell? The girl beside her began to
whimper into her gag, and Jennifer was suddenly very afraid. A tourist bent down
to pick her up, while another hefted the girl into his arms. Both women uttered
muffled squeals.
"Enough," said the third tourist. "That kind of behaviour will not be tolerated
when you are owned slaves in our dimension. Best to learn that now."
Jennifer tried to say "What?!" But all that came out was an unintelligible
gurgle. They were going to make her a slave ... and were taking her through some
kind of portal?
Beside her, the other girl had begun struggling against her bonds with all her
might. She screamed into her gag again and again. Jennifer also began to yell
out, but to no avail. Without further comment, the small procession stepped up
to the circle ... and Jennifer was plunged through the portal.
