Part Four - The Capture
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Madame Von Kepp gloated in Katherine's ear, referring to
the statue of lawyer-turned-informant, Holly Bradbury. "It's been many years
since a slave angered me enough to be turned into a statue, so I'm particularly
pleased by the way Holly turned out. Wouldn't you agree, Catelyn?" The barrel of
the gun moved to jab her in the middle of the back. "Or should that be, Agent
Wytt? Either way, please be so kind as to slowly remove the weapon from the
inside pocket of your blazer and toss it away."
Katherine was only momentarily surprised by how Von Kepp could know about the
.22, but still decided to try the ignorant routine. "Madame, I have no idea what
you're talking ab..."
"Save it, slut. Or I'll pull this trigger. Lose the gun, now."
She did as she was ordered, removing the .22 from the pocket where it was
concealed and throwing it across the polished floorboards of Von Kepp's entry
hall.
"We're going to have to move quickly, Wytt, before the other Agents become
suspicious. So I don't have time for any antics." The gun barrel was removed
from her back as Von Kepp retreated to an out-of-reach distance. "You will
follow my every order to the letter and without a word of complaint, or I will
shoot you. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"
Katherine turned around to face her assailant. "Yes."
"Good. Now strip."
Katherine saw the way Von Kepp's eyes narrowed and her grip on the gun tightened
ever so slightly. There was no chance to make any kind of move without ending up
as dead as Holly.
So she stripped. Katherine removed her leather gloves, then shrugged out of her
blazer and let it fall to the floor in a heap. The vest was next, its buttons
quickly undone, so the garment hung lose on her shoulders, exposing the length
of her royal blue necktie tucked neatly into the waistband of her skirt. A
moment later, the vest, too, was on the floor, and she was stepping out of that
skirt, hoping the shirttails would provide a modicum of modesty. Katherine
paused to glance at Von Kepp, praying the loss of the suit would be enough to
placate her.
"The tie, Wytt, and the shirt. It's all to come off."
Knowing better than to protest, Katherine momentarily fumbled with the clasp of
the tiepin and then pulled the tight knot of the tie away from her throat. Once
the top button of her overly starched collar was also undone, she felt better
able to draw breath, but would have traded that slight discomfort for her
current situation in a heartbeat. The cufflinks were next and then the shirt
itself. When she was done, Katherine stood before Von Kepp in only a full-cupped
black satin bra, matching G-string panties, a garter belt, stockings and her
pair of Versace high-heels.
The German slaver nodded appreciatively, her eyes crawling over Katherine's
generously proportioned 34C bust, slim waist and long legs. "I like what I see,
Wytt. Which means you may yet live through this day. For now, though, we need to
get you bound up."
As if on cue, Katherine heard a door open behind her. She half turned to see a
tall, thin man making his way across the entry hall toward her. He was
impeccably dressed in a stylish pinstripe suit that Katherine did not recognize
the designer of, and had a full head of hair as white as any she had ever seen.
As he drew closer, she could see that his eyes were not the albino red that she
had been expecting, but rather a dull gray that betrayed no emotion at all.
"Wytt, meet Wolfgang, my personal assistant."
For the first time, Katherine noticed the white rope grasped in Wolfgang's right
hand. She took a tentative step backwards, but froze on the spot when Von Kepp
reminded her that a gun was trained on her back.
Moving faster than Katherine could even follow, Wolfgang grabbed her right arm
in a pincer like grip and spun her around to again face Von Kepp. She felt her
other arm caught in a similar grip and both limbs were wrenched behind her back.
Tight coils of unyielding rope were quickly looped around her wrists, cinched
between them, and then tied off professionally. More of the rope was soon
encircling her arms just above the elbows, dragging them together, forcing her
breasts forward. Katherine allowed herself a low groan as Wolfgang spared no
effort in cinching the rope to ensure her elbow joints were ground against one
another. The discomfort was already immense, leaving Katherine in no doubt as to
how her arms would feel if left this way for longer than a few minutes.
Von Kepp finally lowered the gun and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I think we
can lose the bra, Wolfgang. We want Wytt here to be as eye-catching as
possible."
There was a soft click and Katherine gasped as a cold blade slipped between her
left shoulder and its bra strap. Wolfgang flicked his wrist and the strap was
cut deftly in two. The same procedure was repeated on her right shoulder, and
then again in the middle of her back. Katherine's breasts fairly sprang free of
their cups, causing her to involuntarily colour in embarrassment.
"Mm, very nice. Now the underwear and crotch-rope, if you please, Wolfgang."
Von Kepp's lackey again went to work in silence, cutting away her black satin
underwear and pulling it from between her legs. A longer length of the rope was
then doubled up and fitted around her waist, just above the garter belt that
still held her silk stockings in place. Wolfgang drew the ends through the
resultant loop and pulled it tight enough to constrict Katherine's already flat
stomach. The ends were drawn down between her legs, into her pubic mound, and up
between her buttocks. Katherine watched as her assailant ensured the rope was
centered between her labia and then gasped as he pulled it savagely tight. The
ends were wrapped around her already bound wrists and knotted out of reach of
questing fingertips, thus ensuring her wrists were held against the small of her
back.
Although quite obviously enjoying the show, Von Kepp evidently had more pressing
business. "Make sure she's incapable of uttering a sound and then bring her,"
said Von Kepp as she turned to exit the hall. "It's time to move to phase two."
"No! Wait! Madame, let me-ggrphh." A strong hand clasped over Katherine's mouth,
cutting her off in mid-appeal. Despite her bonds, she grunted and tried to fight
as Wolfgang drew her tightly against him. A moment later his second hand
appeared in front of her filled with a massive wad of white cloth that looked
like several handkerchiefs balled into one. The hand gagging her released her
lips, before its thumb and forefinger pressed against the points on either side
of her jaw. Katherine's mouth involuntarily opened to relieve the painful
sensation, allowing her assailant to stuff the huge wad past her lips. She
screamed (or tried to) and thrashed against his grasp more frantically.
Wolfgang, undeterred, produced a white ball-gag from his jacket pocket and again
held it up for Katherine to inspect.
Already retching on the enormous wad of cloth jammed into her mouth, Katherine
mutely shook her head. Uh-uh. No way will that fit in my mouth. It isn't
possible because I'll choke to death.
Katherine soon found out how wrong she was. Her binder steadied himself by
taking a firm grip around her throat, and then jammed the ball into her teeth.
He pushed and pushed until tears welled in Katherine's eyes and her jaw was
stretched to its absolute limit. Horrible words like "dislocated" and "broken"
flashed through her mind, before, finally, the ball slipped into place behind
her teeth. Katherine's retching became unabashed "gagging" and the fight finally
drained out of her. She stood meekly, head bowed, while Wolfgang tightened and
buckled the gag strap so that it pinched at the base of her neck.
Wolfgang spun her around to examine the gag, twisting her face this way and that
with one of his huge hands. The other dropped to her right breast and pulled its
nipple savagely. Katherine screamed in surprise and pain - or at least thought
she had - because the wadding pressed against the back of her throat and the
ball wedging her teeth apart did their jobs well, allowing no more than a nasal
hum to emerge. Wolfgang grunted his satisfaction and proceeded to frog march
Katherine back toward the service bay.
*****
Hudson had been less than impressed to be chosen for this Operation. He thought
Drake was an over-blown muscle man on steroids, Jack Hyland a "past-it" field
operative, and Katherine Wytt a show-pony bitch who had her eyes set on his
coveted position: Assistant Director.
So to find out he was to be chaperoning her undercover slaver into a dangerous
on-site situation that had every chance of turning into a firefight had not been
his idea of good news.
That perspective had only darkened as the shoddy preparation for the mission -
courtesy of one Jack Fucking Hyland - had become apparent. Seven Agents would be
going in, but only three would be armed, and worse, unbound. They were expected
to account for Von Kepp and her entire security force until the cavalry could
arrive - an occurrence that could be as much as six minutes after the initial
"go" transmission. Hudson snuck a glance at Debra Hutchinson, mouth stretched
wide around a ball-gag, hands cuffed to the steering wheel of the van. It was
her job to send off the signal the moment the shit went down. She was
brown-haired and pretty in a freckled-faced kind of way, and he'd more than once
envisioned himself fucking her, but this bondage bullshit did nothing for him.
No, give him a sweet bent-over ass any time, and the bitch could yell and thrash
as much as she wanted for all he cared. Not to mention Ramierz. She looked even
hotter in her prissy uniform - even if she, too, was bound and gagged. He
imagined ripping her pants off, bending her over, and taking a grip on her long
dark hair to ride her like the whore she no doubt was ...
With effort, Hudson reminded himself of the task at hand. A task that would have
been so much different if he'd been in charge. Fuck this "impenetrable security"
business. He'd have found someone who could break the security protocols. He'd
have ensured his field agents had plenty of back-up cover, and he'd never have
let things get as out of hand as they now obviously were. Wytt had been gone for
a full five minutes and there was still no sign of her. Drake was pacing
nervously, alternating glances between the three bonadged babes lined up on the
floor of the service bay, and the group of Von Kepp's goons that stood around
them talking appreciatively. Hudson couldn't give a fuck what they talked about.
He was more interested in what he was going to do if Wytt didn't poke her nose
out that door in the next couple of minutes.
As if on cure, the double doors to the mansion opened, and Von Kepp once again
emerged from within. She stood at the top of the steps until the assigned
contingent of her goons moved quickly to flank her. Hudson tried to peer past
Von Kepp, to see if Wytt was waiting to emerge, but the closing doors impeded
his view.
"Gentlemen," said Von Kepp cheerfully. "There's been a change of plans. Mistress
Barathe regrets to inform you that she no longer requires your services for the
day."
Game time. Hudson began moving forward even as Von Kepp continued speaking. "She
requests that you remove your drivers from their vehicles, and then return said
vehicles to her estate where she will join you at her earliest convenience."
Drake, the dumb fuck, was talking instead of moving. But at least he wasn't
buying it. "We require Mistress Barathe to dismiss us herself, Madame. I'm sure
you understand."
There were six goons protecting Von Kepp. All fitted in identical dark suits,
and all armed with a handgun strapped beneath their left arm. If pressed, Hudson
would have guessed some kind of Glock because, in his experience, Euro-trash
types always went for Glocks. The first two were eyeing him suspiciously as he
approached with a carefully constructed expression of confusion.
"Well that is a pity. But far from unexpected." She waved a gloved hand, and the
mansion doors again opened wide. If the intended effect was to make him pause
with shock, Von Kepp's gambit was only momentarily successful. Seeing Wytt, a
forearm around her throat, naked aside from her suspenders and stockings, and
quite stringently bound and gagged was something Hudson had been half-expecting.
Sure, the gag looked huge and uncomfortable, and the white rope looped around
her waist and cutting into her pubic mound was eye-catching, but Hudson had just
helped transport a bunch of women transformed into bondaged pieces of art! So he
paused only a beat before drawing his 9mm Parabellum Beretta in one fluid
motion, slamming its butt into the temple of the moving man to his right, and
bringing the weapon to bear on the Madame's forehead.
There was a moment of hushed consideration, punctuated only by the man whom he'd
struck crumpling to the ground. Von Kepp's goons paused in mid-draw of their
weapons, and the Madame herself froze in mid-triumphant smirk. Behind him,
Hudson heard Drake moving around to get a better drop on Wytt's captor.
"Tell them to take their hands out of the jackets, or say goodbye to their next
paycheck," said Hudson coolly. Von Kepp met his gaze, her expression of triumph
fading into a snarl.
"Do as he says." Credit where credit was due, the goons were evidently well
trained and obeyed without hesitation.
"Now, one at a time, reach back in, take out your weapon and toss it way over
there behind the limo." Hudson motioned at the goon closest to him. "You first."
The goon slowly did as he was bid. Hudson had to stifle a laugh of triumph when
the guy's hand emerged with finger and thumb holding the barrel of a Glock. He
threw it in the indicated direction and then stepped carefully aside. The same
process was repeated five further times until the bizarre tableau was again
frozen in place - only this time the odds had significantly improved in Hudson's
favor.
And that was just the way he liked them.
"Drake?"
"Yeah."
Hudson's bead on Von Kepp's face never wavered. "You got the drop on Whitey?"
A very muffled screech issued from Wytt as her captor squeezed his human shield
to him more tightly. It was echoed by the gagged cries of the three bound
artworks behind him.
"No, he's too well hidden."
"Okay, escort our suited friends here over to the bound agents, and have them
start cutting the women free. I got this lot."
Hudson watched the goons start moving, very slowly, until Drake barked "Move!"
Despite the situation, he almost grinned. What the man lacked in brain power, he
more than made up for in sheer physical presence.
"Okay, Madame. No more games. Have your man release Wytt and let her walk down
to stand beside me. Failure to comply ends with this getting bloody."
Unlike when he'd first moved, Hudson now had a plan. Get Wytt and the other
agents back to the relative safety of the van and keep Von Kepp and her goons
covered until the cavalry arrived. He resisted the temptation to check his
watch, but if Debra had done her job right, they should already be in the
grounds and only two or three minutes away.
"You're not getting off my estate alive. You know that don't you?" There was no
fear in Von Kepp's tone. Only a smugness that Hudson found confusing. How could
the bitch be so confident? She was about to go down for slavering and spend the
rest of her life reaching for soap while some Big Bertha fucked her with
whatever came to hand.
"We'll see about that. But first, send Wytt down to me. Now." He was fully
prepared to blow her head off and then worry about might follow, but it never
came to that. Von Kepp gestured with a gloved hand and Wytt was suddenly moving
forward, her expression a mixture of pain and relief. She moved down the stairs
fast, high heels clacking, breasts bobbling, rope sawing into her cunt. Hudson
had to fight to keep his eyes off her body, knowing that he would never get a
chance to see the stuck-up bitch like this again.
She stopped alongside him, hands fluttering helplessly behind her. "Keep going.
Behind the van. I'll be there in a moment to untie you."
It was a lie - he didn't have time in this situation to be tending to her
comfort - but he had to keep her moving. The last thing he wanted was for her to
be getting in the way if things went to shit.
Thankfully, however, the silly slut bought it and continued moving.
His attention had only been distracted for a moment, but when he again focused
on the doorway, Whitey was gone. "Shit," he hissed. "All right, where is he, Von
Kepp? It would be a shame for me to have to shoot you now when you've so far
been playing nicely."
The billionaire slaver half-shrugged. "Wolfgang appears to have decided
discretion is the better part of valor. Shoot me if you will, but he would not
return even if I called him." She paused, eyes glinting in the lights of the
service bay. "Well, not without another contingent of my guards."
Hudson ignored the veiled threat, having already figured the same thing for
himself. "Drake. You got things under control over there?" He couldn't risk a
glance around, so was relieved when the big Agent answered immediately.
"Talia and Michele aren't getting free any time soon." Talia was the latex
painting; Michele the homage to Rodin. Rachel, the third Agent, would easily
have been removed from the steel brace since Drake had the keys.
"Then get the goons to move them around behind the van. We haven't got much time
here."
"You head the man," Drake barked. "Three of you should be able to manage each of
them. Rachel, get yourself moving."
Von Kepp was still watching him smugly. "Any last words, Agent?"
The woman was insane. A gun was pointed at her head and she was still making
snide superior comments. "What the fuck are you on about? Don't even fucking
twitch, Von Kepp. You hear me?"
"Clearly, Agent. But you're obviously not hearing me..."
It was the oldest trick in the book. Von Kepp's eyes focused ever so briefly on
something over his right shoulder. Hudson sneered, wondering if that shit
actually worked, only barely hearing a muffled keening that might have been Wytt
trying to warn him, but shrugging it off as her attempt to get someone to free
her.
Then something slammed into the back of his head, hard enough to crack bone.
Hudson's gun dropped from nerveless fingers as his legs buckled beneath him. He
hit the ground face first and lay there for a few moments, trying to work out
which way was up, dimly aware that something bad was happening, but not able to
work out what. From somewhere far off he heard shouts, then the sounds of a
scuffle that was ended by a single clear gunshot.
That brought him back. Groaning, Hudson rolled over to see Drake face down on
the ground about thirty feet away. Two of the goons were lying nearby, but
neither sported the accessorizing pool of blood that was spreading out from
beneath the big Agent.
Hudson tried to rise as a wave of nausea swept through him and was almost to his
knees before something hard and sharp pressed between his shoulder blades and
shoved him back to the ground. He managed to half-turn over against the weight,
and looking up, saw Von Kepp standing over him. She had a weapon - his weapon,
he instantly recognized - pointed down at him.
And alongside her stood Ramirez, still dressed in her chauffeur's uniform,
ball-gag hanging around her shirt-and-tied neck, unlocked cuffs dangling from
her left wrist. It was her right hand, however, that held the .45 she had been
issued with - the weapon she had used to cold-cock him from behind.
"Fucking bitches," Hudson said thickly, as he made a brief, but accurate,
assessment about his chances for survival. He spat a globule of blood over
Von-Kepp's expensive looking high heels, and grinned savagely.
A spasm of rage crossed the Madame's features. Hudson had a moment to be
grateful for that before she pulled the trigger on his Beretta and blew off the
back of his head.
