D2-670A
Part Eight
Rufus finished the last of the commandos laying on the ground with two more
shots from his energy weapon and then jumped up and raced back into the
apartment's lounge room. Pausing only to firstly recognize that the unconscious
woman was pretty enough to make a valuable slave and then to scoop her up in his
brawny arms, Rufus made his way down the out of the apartment building as
quickly as possible. He passed bewildered tenants emerging from their apartments
as he went, but no-one made any attempt to stop the huge man carrying the
obviously injured woman.
Once outside, he quietly called for Marcus, but his boss did not respond. Rufus
quickly decided Marcus had probably gone after the men carrying Rene, and was
about to head in that direction himself when he heard a low moan. Following the
second and third moans around the side of the building, the bodyguard came
across the prone form of his employer.
Placing the unconscious woman to one side, Rufus bent down to examine Marcus'
wounds. A projectile bullet had bored a hole through his right shoulder, beneath
the collar bone, and another had grazed the side of his head. Neither injury
seemed life threatening, although Rufus knew from experience that head wounds
were unpredictable.
The sound of multiple sirens began to echo throughout the yard, which Rufus took
to mean that the local law enforcers were on their way. So, with little other
choice, he gathered up the prostate forms of Marcus and the pretty woman, and
set off toward their stolen car.
Rene, and the people who had taken her, would simply have to wait.
*****
Kitara could only watch helplessly as the two unconscious women were piled into
the van, and three men, including the one who had stolen her from the back of
her Master's car, climbed in after them.
"What the hell happened out there?" hissed the man familiar to her.
"Someone just started taking us out, one by one, with some kind of ... gun"
answered one of the men carrying a large weapon and wearing a black balaclava.
"It just detonated people like a focused C4 charge."
"Veronica was fighting with two other women when we arrived," chimed in the
second. "That one there and ..." He broke off for a moment. "I don't know what
happened to the other one."
The man who had stolen her cursed quietly and blew out a deep breath of air. He
was evidently the leader of the small group. "Okay, so things basically went to
hell and we lost four men on a simple retrieval op. Great." He ran a hand
through his blonde hair. "There must have been two guys, because I shot one
flanking you while you were firing at the window, but we'll sort out the details
later. Right now we have to get out of here and back to base. I'll drive, you
guys take care of our new passengers."
Kitara watched the leader climb into the driver's seat and then turned her
attention to see the other two men binding their unconscious victims. As the van
began to move, both men produced plastic cable ties from their pockets and
proceeded to cross and bind the women's wrists. A second cable tie was used to
secure their ankles, and then the two unconscious women were flipped onto their
backs and positioned between pairs of metal eyelets lining the van's floor.
Their binders then produced long lengths of white cotton rope, which they
wrapped around their captives' chests, both above and below their breasts.
Kitara watched as the men tied the ends of this rope to the metal eyelets on
either side of the women, effectively holding them down and pinning them in
place.
That job completed, the men wordlessly reached for a plain black sports bag
lying behind the driver's seat. Inside, Kitara caught a glimpse of various forms
of equipment designed for binding and silencing female slaves. Ropes, steel
cuffs, leather cuffs, thumb cuffs, leather straps, ball gags, harnesses, scarves
of varying patterns, tape of all colours - there seemed to be no end to the
range of materials. The first man grabbed a large red ballgag and moved over to
the woman in leather. He forced her mouth open and, with difficulty, crammed the
ball in behind her teeth. Then he lifted her long black hair and tightly buckled
the gag into place at the nape of her neck. Kitara turned her head slightly to
see the other man had just finished buckling a black O-ring in between the
blonde woman's teeth. Not yet done with silencing her, he went on to prod a wad
of white cloth through the ring and into her mouth, before sealing it in place
with three strips of thin medical tape that cleaved her lips. Both men then
chose thick, darkly coloured scarves with which to blindfold their captives.
Kitara had time to wonder why they'd been blindfolded and she hadn't, before the
first of the men grabbed a third scarf from the bag and slid over to her.
"Lights out," he said quietly, and stole her vision.
*****
Del Tarrant was a man who loved his job. There was simply nothing that he liked
more than being totally immersed in his work - removed from the rest of the
world, pouring over every detail, ensuring nothing but the best results. Such
was his level of occupational satisfaction, that he found it extremely hard to
understand how any other man could conceivably dislike his job.
Of course, he did acknowledge that very few of them were professional slave
trainers.
Being the self-admitted sadist that he was, Tarrant's favourite part of his
much-loved job was the torturing of new slaves. The power he held over a tightly
bound woman as she awaited his next pain-filled ministration was an aphrodisiac
he had never known an equal too. The slave's wide pleading eyes, her gagged
moans of distress, the way she struggled within the confines of her bondage ...
Tarrant smiled widely as he busied himself heating the insulation-removed end of
a reel of copper wire in the naked flame of the cook top. He deliberately took
his time with it, wanting the woman behind him to fully comprehend the horror of
her situation.
Idly, he wondered what someone in her position would be thinking. Having stopped
to help a bogus woman in distress, she'd been overpowered, bound, gagged and
stuffed in the trunk of her own car. Then she'd been carried inside, dropped on
the floor of the living room and seemingly forgotten until all but one of her
kidnappers had left. That remaining kidnapper had then proceeded to untie her
thumbs, toes and feet, allowing her cramped muscles their first respite in over
two hours. Hope had probably flared at that point. But the kidnapper had not
untied her hands, or removed the pump gag from her mouth, so she would have been
wary. That wariness would likely have changed to outright alarm when the he'd
dragged into the kitchen and lashed her down with long coils of rope to the
dining table. The kidnapper had then taken his time tying her - making sure her
legs were spread wide and her torso held down by ropes across her stomach and
just above her breasts. Only once she was securely tied, did her tormenter
produce the knife ...
Tarrant remembered with pleasure the look in her brown eyes as he'd cut through
her yellow shirt and severed the elastic between the cups of her bra. He'd had a
fine time running the razor sharp boot knife over her well formed white mounds
of flesh - watching her flinch and try to draw away while her sharp intakes of
breath echoed sweetly in his ears.
"Now I'm going to break you, slave," he'd told her brightly. "With more pain
than you could possibly imagine." She'd shaken her head at him and uttered a
muffled protest. Her eyes had been wide and pleading. But he'd simply laughed at
her helplessness and scooped up the copper wire he'd found earlier to use on her
naked breasts.
And now, with the end of the wire glowing orange with heat, it was time for his
ecstasy - and her agony - to begin.
Tarrant turned to his bound slave and presented the wire for her perusal. She
shook her head vehemently from side to side, and tried to scream through the
inflated rubber bladder in her mouth. Little more than a muffled wail reached
his ears.
"Feel free to try and scream," he said as he approached her. "It's much more
enjoyable for me that way."
Just as Tarrant paused to savour the woman's desperate struggling, he heard the
sound of the front door banging open. Frowning in annoyance, he placed the red
hot wire down on the table beside his victim as she again screamed into her gag.
"Shut up," he hissed and glanced out into the living room.
He saw a short, raven haired woman dressed in a sweat shirt, track pants and
white sneakers leaning against the wall. She'd evidently been running hard,
because she was too busy gasping for breath to have noticed him standing in the
doorway of the kitchen or to have heard the muffled keening emanating from
behind him.
Not wanting to lose the advantage of surprise, Tarrant moved fast. He was almost
on the girl when she finally looked up and saw him. Instantly, he recognized her
from the picture on her driver's license.
It seemed the owner of the house had chosen a poor moment to return home.
Tarrant slammed into Shana before she could react, pinning her against the wall
with his superior weight. She squirmed against him, trying to push him away. But
she was not strong enough and Tarrant held her easily.
"Looks like I got myself a party crasher," he said with a grin. "Why don't you
come on in and join the fun?"
"Get out of my house," Shana gasped. "Let me ... go."
"No can do, bitch. I'm here to stay. And now, so are you." With that, Tarrant
grabbed the small girl by the arms and spun her around, slamming he face first
into the wall. The blow momentarily stunned her, and gave him time to grab a
left over length of rope from the pocket of his pants. Quickly, he crossed her
wrists and bound them tightly behind her back. She began to squirm again, so he
grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her head back toward him.
"I suggest you quit your struggling. Unless you want to be the first slave
broken tonight."
Maintaining his hold on her hair, Tarrant dragged the girl away from the wall
and pushed her toward the kitchen, his mind ablaze with all he could do to two
unwilling slaves.
*****
The sound of a door being unbolted and thrown open awoke Heather from her
restless slumber. Her first instinct was to stretch out the gnawing ache in her
arms and legs, but she immediately felt the bindings holding them in place and
remembered where she was.
Held in a small bedroom somewhere within Davidson Global - the naked, bound and
gagged plaything of the company's CEO.
She was laying on her side, her arms crushed together behind her back by a
leather arm-binder that Lois Davenport had cinched as tightly as she could. The
end result was that Heather's elbows were even now pressed against one another,
and she could no longer feel her lower arms. Lois had also taken great pleasure
tying her knees and ankles together with thin cord, and attaching the latter to
the D-ring hanging from the end of the arm-binder. This meant that Heather's
body was bent in a taught bow with the cord acting as a hogtie between hands and
feet.
Heather groaned quietly, but the sound was muffled by the jaw straining ring-gag
complete with five inch detachable rubber plug that Lois (the bitch!) had made
sure to re-attach before gloating goodnight.
Consequently, Heather was only able to grunt in surprise as a man wearing black
combat fatigues entered the room leading a naked woman by a leash. The woman was
tall and thin with blonde hair, but Heather could see little of her facial
features as they were obscured behind a thick blindfolding scarf, and a white
bandage that had been wrapped tightly around the lower half of her face. Her
arms were bound behind her, and white rope was tied around her torso both above
and below her breasts. In addition, her legs were hobbled by a cleverly knotted
rope that allowed her only enough slack to shuffle forward at a snail's pace.
The man leading her was patient, however. To Heather's critical gaze, he seemed
to be quite enjoying having a stunning woman in his clutches. Every so often he
would pull on the leash a little harder than necessary and grin as she stumbled
forward two or three shuffles.
Heather was not sure whether to be frightened or relieved by the fact that she
was not the only "bondaged" captive of Davidson Global. On the one hand, the
presence of another prisoner implied bigger things were occurring within the
company than simply research and development; while on the other, it meant that
there was another person to bear the brunt of Lois Davenport's dominant urges.
Heather was immediately ashamed of the latter selfish thought, but rationalized
she was entitled to it after the night she had been through.
The doctor was startled from her musings as the other woman was pushed down onto
the bed beside her.
"Mmmmggfff!" protested the newcomer.
"Mmmgghhm," answered Heather, and then saw the other woman stiffen as she
realized she was not the only captive in the room.
"Shut up, the both of you," warned the man.
Working quickly, he removed his prisoner's hobbling cuffs and replaced them with
more rope. He then laid her down on her side next to Heather and forced the two
women to squirm into a pressed together position. Heather mumbled a garbled
protest as her nose touched the other woman's and she felt their breasts mashed
together. A rope was tied around their necks and knotted off securely, making
sure they could not pull away from one another. Each woman was then lifted
slightly as a second longer rope was pulled beneath them, wrapped around their
bodies at chest level and tied off securely.
Now uncomfortably pinned to her fellow captive, Heather could only listen
helplessly as the man exited the room. She shuddered as his final mocking
chuckle was cut off by the sound of the door slamming shut and the bolt sliding
back into place.
*****
Shana still wasn't quite sure how it had all gone so wrong.
She'd successfully escaped from the battle and decided to run for home. There
was no near-by police station, and she didn't want to drag another innocent
bystander into the fray, so she'd considered her small house her best
destination. But she'd known she was never going to make it the whole way on
foot. So when she'd seen the cab pull to halt up the street, she'd made a
bee-line for it.
One twenty minute drive later and she'd told the cab driver to pull to a halt
two blocks short of home. She'd feigned fumbling round for some money in a
pocket of the over sized track pants she was still wearing, and then made a run
for it. The cabbie had jumped out of his cab and chased her. But she'd managed
to lose him by scaling a fence and then hiding between two small trees in
someone's backyard. Strangely, she'd felt little guilt for ditching the cab
driver - something that would have caused her to recoil in indignation only a
few short hours before. It seemed that the events of the night had left her with
more than a few rope burns.
When she was sure the cabbie was no longer near by, Shana had jumped another
fence and ran the rest of the way home. She'd just had time to congratulate
herself on making it safely, when the squat man had suddenly attacked her.
Within moment her hands had been bound behind her back for the second time that
night and she'd been dragged into the kitchen. Shana had just had time to make
eye contact with the woman bound and gagged on her kitchen table, before she'd
been pushed down to the ground.
She'd fought the man as he'd proceeded to lash her elbows together and tie her
arms to her sides, but with little result. Once she'd managed to connect a solid
kick to his inner thigh, causing him to pause and state "You'll scream in pain
for that", before roping her ankles together. He'd then used a shorter length of
rope to link her bound hands to her feet in a back-arching hogtie. And then he'd
stood up and walked back over to the sink, humming contentedly.
Shana had thought he was finished with her, and was about to begin abusing him
verbally, when he turned around to reveal his hands full with sponges,
dish-towels and another rope. He'd stuffed two sponges into her mouth, packing
them in so that they made her cheeks bulge. Then he'd pulled the rope between
her teeth and knotted it off excruciatingly tightly at the nape of her neck,
underneath her hair. A dish towel folded into a four inch wide band had then
been tied over her mouth, further muffling any words she might have tried to
mutter and adding to her discomfort.
Shana had then watched in helpless silence as the man had scooped up a roll of
copper wire and walked over to heat the end of it in the stove's pilot light.
She hadn't been quite sure what he was going to do with the heated wire, but the
gagged whimpers from the other woman gave her a good idea.
And now, as she watched, the man was turning round, his face a mask of glee. He
brandished the wire and licked his lips. "Hmmmm," he said as if to himself. "Who
to brand first?"
Shana, a sense of desperation engulfing her, tried to tell him that he couldn't
do this, that it wasn't right. But only muffled incomprehensible grunts reached
her ears. Much the same emanated from the woman above her.
The man laughed. "Well I can't understand either of you. So I guess there's only
one way to be fair about this." And with that, he launched into a rendition of
"Eenni, menni, minni, mo", alternately pointing the wire at each girl in time
with the beat.
Shana could barely believe what she was seeing. An adult man singing a nursery
rhyme to determine who he was going to torture with a heated wire. She
struggled, but the constricting ropes held firm. There was nothing she could do.
Just as the man said "eenni" on the final line of the rhyme and pointed the wire
at the woman above Shana, there was a loud crash from the front of the house.
The man had time to mutter "What the fu-" before the kitchen window behind him
shattered. He instinctively ducked, and before he could gather himself, a voice
boomed through the living room.
"HALT OR WE WILL FIRE!"
The man froze on the spot and Shana saw the colour drain from his face. A tall
figure appeared in the kitchen's entryway, dressed rather conspicuously in
Bermuda shorts and a floral Hawaiian shirt. He was dark haired with a square
jaw, and wore dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. He held a contraption that
looked like a toy ray gun in his hand.
Shana's kidnapper straightened and forced a laugh. "Man, you guys didn't even
bother researching the conditions of this dimension, did you?"
A second man climbed in through the broken window, wearing the same style of
clothing with a slightly varied floral pattern on the shirt, and carrying the
same gun. Shana thought she could even see a third "tourist" beyond the first in
the lounge room.
"Del Tarrant," said the first tourist, "you are hereby charged with unlawful
entry into D2-670A and an unsanctioned retrieval attempt. Do you wish to confirm
the identity or divulge the location of your other team members before sentence
is passed? Note that we know your friend Marcus is involved."
The man named Tarrant sneered. "Who gives a fuck about him? I want to know how
you find me."
"The slave, Kitara, has a location bug implanted in her. We simply followed the
signal."
"But you can't know the signal? Only Marcus should have that!"
The tourist who had smashed the window smiled, but Shana knew that the
expression would not have reached his eyes. "Can't we?"
"Now answer the question," ordered the first. "The identity and location of the
other men."
"Okay, okay. Just settle down a little. Marcus has his bodyguard Rufus with him,
and that's it."
The two tourists exchanged a glance. "Now their location," said the first.
"How the fuck should I know? Wherever Rene is I'd guess."
"In that case, Del Tarrant, I hereby sentence you to death for violation of
Council Rules 86..."
Tarrant's eyes widened. "What? You can't! I just told you everything I know."
Without another word both tourists pulled the triggers of their weapons. Shana
briefly saw two beams of narrow white light burst from the guns and slam into
her kidnapper. He dropped like a stone, sprawling across the floor in a position
facing Shana. She saw his open but sightless eyes before looking down to see the
twin blackened holes over his heart.
The first tourist came over to stand above Shana and the dead body. "Reset your
weapons to maximum power," he said quietly, before transferring his gaze to
Shana. "Now, perhaps you and your friend will be more co-operative."
*****