FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER
			by Van ©2016
			Chapter 8

OUR STORY CONCLUDES

A month had passed since the very public and eminently newsworthy arrest of Miriam Holden, as well as the somewhat less public arrest of her sister, Angelique Porter.  There would be additional months of delay while the wheels of justice slowly turned, but the Case of the Kidnapped Mathematician was already the media sensation of the century.  A beautiful victim?  Equally beautiful defendants?  Scandal and divorce at the highest level of one-percent society?  As details leaked and rumors spread, the local and national news organizations were working themselves into a frenzy.

Kitty was Lady Arabelle's guest at her BDSM "consulting service," in the establishment's "Domme's Lounge."  They had just enjoyed coffee and tea with a bevy of Her Ladyship's tops, but at the moment they had the elegantly decorated black-on-black with chrome highlights space to themselves.  And unlike earlier visits, Kitty wasn't naked, bound and gagged, strapped in an inescapable leather costume, or locked in steel chains.  Actually, she was strapped in a leather costume, but it was a dominatrix outfit, provided by her hostess as a courtesy.  Kitty's attire was similar to Lady Arabelle's "uniform," but Her Ladyship's ensemble was a full-length, kinky leather dress (with corset), while Kitty's was an equally kinky but somewhat skimpier play-suit, designed for action.  A bullwhip was coiled in Kitty's hands, but it was a fashion accessory, not something she intended to put to actual use.

The leather-clad pair were discussing recent developments in the Maitland kidnapping case.

"Only one of Harcourt Holden's lawyers have been successfully linked to the sisters' conspiracy," Kitty was saying.  She had inside information from the ADA assigned to the high profile case, and when the ADA in question, Kirsten "Shyster" Braslow, was unwilling to share, Kitty felt no reticence whatsoever about tickling her until she spilled the beans.  "The lawyer has already flipped on Crazy Miriam and is singing like the proverbial canary," Kitty continued.

Her Ladyship nodded.  "I see.  My social contacts confirm that Harcourt does, indeed, plan on divorcing his lovely wife.  Apparently, there's a 'no kidnapping and torturing beautiful women' clause in their prenuptial agreement."

"Really?" Kitty asked in mock surprise.

Lady Arabelle shrugged.  "Either that, or there's a clause that can be stretched around the concept.  Not surprisingly, that will leave the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Holden destitute and unable to pay her soon-to-be ex-husband's lawyers.  Sadly, none of them appear to be willing to continue her case on a pro bono basis."

"I heard the Porter family is also unwilling to help the younger sister," Kitty purred.  "Such a pity."

"And what about the hunt for the escaped kidnapper?" Lady Arabelle inquired.

Kitty's smile turned decidedly coy.  "You mean the mysterious 'security consultant' the sisters hired to do the actually kidnapping of Dr. Maitland?"

"The very same," Lady Arabelle confirmed.

Kitty's smile continued.  "The detective in charge of the investigation tells Bertie that New York's Finest are no closer to identifying, much less locating, the 'consultant' in question."

Just then, a yodeling scream distorted but imperfectly muffled by some kind of gag echoed down the hallway from one of Lady Arabelle's "playrooms" and through the open door.  Arabelle and her guest paused to enjoy the brief, a cappella aria before continuing their conversation.

"And that would be our consultant?" Kitty inquired.

Lady Arabelle nodded.  "Perfect timing."

The distorted scream returned... then stopped.

"Mistress Portia is testing the latest upgrade to the frustration software running the Sybian Pedestal," Arabelle explained, "and Athena, sweet lamb that she is, volunteered to help.  I believe you have firsthand experience with that particular device?"

Kitty's smile froze, slightly.  Also, a tiny thrill rippled through her leather-clad pussy.   "That's neither here nor there," she muttered.

Lady Arabelle chuckled and planted a kiss on Kitty's pouting lips.  "Tell me, Kitty," Arabelle continued, "why didn't you turn Athena in to the police?  You needn't have compromised your professional reputation.  All it would have taken was an anonymous phone call.  Why did you bring her to me?"

The smiling madam strolled to a large flat-screen television/computer monitor and used a touchscreen tablet to navigate her way through various menus.  The screen flashed and resolved into a high-definition image of Athena Davros.

Athena was naked—her fit, tan, athletic body glistening with sweat—and was perched atop the padded saddle of a Sybian mounted on a vertical post.  Her legs were splayed to either side in a near split and held in that position by suspension-cuffs strapped around her ankles and taut steel chains.  Above the waist, she was restrained by a leather harness pinning her upper arms to her sides and her folded and raised forearms and hands behind her back in what amounted to a leather-enforced box-tie.  A ring-gag was strapped in her open mouth, explaining her distorted screams.

The ghostly thrill between Kitty's legs returned.  She knew (firsthand) that the Sybian included a thrusting, vibrating phallus.  The memory of being humped by the insidious (delightful) monster explained part of her reaction.  As for the rest... Athena Zavros—naked, bound and gagged, dripping with sweat, panting through her gag with her shining breasts bobbing—was a world-class example of a damsel-in-erotic-distress... in Kitty's experienced opinion.

"I'm sorry," Kitty purred.  "What was the question?"

Lady Arabelle chuckled before repeating her query.  "Why didn't you turn her in?"

Kitty continued gazing at the screen.  "Two reasons," she said finally.  "Athena was mean to Bertie, but she didn't have to send me that text.  She didn't have to make sure Muffin was rescued right away."

Arabelle raised a skeptical eyebrow.  "Right away?"

Kitty shrugged.  "Two or three hours of tight bondage?  That's par for the course for my Muffin."

On screen, Athena was continuing to sweat... and pant... and fight her inescapable bonds.  Apparently, the Sybian was currently on a programmed rest period, which if Kitty's memory served correctly, meant relentless waves of low-level vibration emanating from the saddle, accompanied by the slow, shallow penetration of the throbbing phallus.

"And your other reason?" Arabelle purred.

Kitty watched as a shiver shook Athena's helpless form and a whine escaped her ring-gagged mouth.  "There, but for divine grace, go I."

"You hope to turn Ms. Zavros from the Dark to the Light," Arabelle suggested.

"I do," Kitty confirmed with a nod.

Lady Arabelle's smile morphed into a disapproving moue.  "And I get to play the role of Yoda," she intoned.  "You're saddling me with the project of rehabilitating Athena Zavros."

Kitty shrugged, carefully ignoring Arabelle's ironic use of the term "saddled."  Onscreen, Athena's rest period continued.  "It seems like a win-win to me," Kitty said.  "Athena gets a safe place to hide from the cops—"

"Which," Arabelle interrupted, "it turns out she doesn't actually require."

Kitty shrugged, again.  "Athena doesn't need to know that.  Anyway... you get an 'eager' volunteer to help train your staff."  Her smile turned somewhat mischievous.  "And don't even try and tell me you're not intrigued by the idea."

Lady Arabelle's smile returned.  "Cheeky Monkey," she chuckled.  "This is all a very preliminary assessment, of course, but I believe Ms. Zavros may be amenable to a career change, from kidnapping criminal to professional bondage model and bottom.  Also," she added, "as a special kind of top, for a special kind of client.  I have customers who quite enjoy being used and 'abused' by a talented, well-trained domme, then turning the tables on said top for a little well-supervised revenge."  She eyed Kitty in an appraising manner.  "Perhaps you'd care to assist with that aspect of Athena's training, in the role of the customer, of course."

"Don't hold your freakin' breath," Kitty chuckled, then belatedly added, "Your Ladyship," including an only marginally respectful bow for good measure.

Lady Arabelle favored Kitty with a tolerant smile, then shook her head.  "So, Miriam Holden and Angelique Porter are well on their way to learning whether orange is, in fact, the new black, and Athena Zavros has a 'safe' place to hide from the police, who, incidentally, aren't looking for her.  But what about Jessie Maitland?"

Kitty shrugged.  "Last I heard, she's still working at Harcourt Holden's institute as one of his genius number-gurus.  Shyster—I mean my mysterious unnamed source at the DA's office—says she's cooperating fully with the prosecution and will be a formidable witness when the crazy-bitch-sisters come to trial."

"Well," Lady Arabelle said with a coy smile, "for once it appears I know something Kitty Wynter doesn't."  She gestured towards the open door leading to the playrooms.

Kitty's gaze returned to the screen depicting Athena's continuing "rest period," then grinned at her hostess.  "You are recording this, aren't you?"

"Cheeky Monkey," Lady Arabelle chuckled, again.  "Come with me."

Kitty followed Her Ladyship from the Domme's Lounge.

The Damsel Vanishes

Chapter 8

The leather-clad hostess and her leather-clad guest strolled down the "East Playroom Hall," passing the closed entrances of room after room.  Unfortunately, the open door of Athena's chamber was in the opposite direction, so Kitty was deprived of the pleasure of savoring a direct view of the naked, bound, and gagged fugitive/bottom-in-training writhing atop her new best friend, the Sybian Pedestal.

There was a pause while Her Ladyship produced a key from her cleavage and unlocked one of the doors, then Kitty found herself in a small, dark room facing a large picture window of one-way glass.  She could tell the glass was one-way because the walls of the larger chamber beyond were completely mirrored and there was no reflection of either Kitty, Arabelle, or the window frame.

The room was square, about twenty feet on a side, with the walls and ceiling completely covered with mirrors.  In the center was a waist-high, rectangular platform roughly the proportions of a twin-size bed.  Its sides were clad in smooth panels of brushed stainless steel and the vertical corner edges were all well-rounded.  The horizontal surface was lit from below, glowed with a blue-white light, and was covered by a dome of clear glass or acrylic in the streamlined shape of a recumbent human body.  Taken together, the overall impression was that of a futuristic sarcophagus, a "hibernation pod" for space travelers in a science fiction movie.  This was reinforced by what lay under the dome.

Atop the platform and dramatically lit from below was a female human body, feet slightly apart, arms at her sides, and restrained by a plethora of padded restraints.  Cuffs and straps with no visible buckles or other means of release tightly encircled her ankles—thighs, just above her knees—her waist—her wrists—her upper arms, just above her elbows—her torso, above and below her breasts—and finally, her neck, in what amounted to a posture collar.  Her fingers and hands were encased in leather mittens and her face covered by the rubber breathing-mask and glass face-plate of a gasmask, and the mask incorporated straps that also secured it to the platform.

Despite her features being obscured, Kitty recognized the totally helpless and completely naked damsel under the dome.  It was Dr. Jessie Maitland.  Kitty turned to Lady Arabelle.  "Care to explain?"

"Why the hot nerd mathematician you rescued requires more rescuing?" Arabelle purred, "or the details of her predicament?"

"Both," Kitty huffed, "and Bertie did the rescuing.  I just hung around and watched."

Arabelle chuckled, leaned close, and planted a kiss on Kitty's pouting lips.  "Don't fault yourself, darling," she said.  "Things like that happen in your line of work."

"They aren't supposed to," Kitty responded.  Obviously, she was mad at herself, not Her Ladyship.

"Vigorous investigation is one thing," Arabelle intoned, "but barging into potentially dangerous situations without proper backup is something else... not that I'm an expert, of course."

Kitty said nothing, but continued staring through the glass window and sarcophagus cover at Jessie's helpless body.  "I can't say you're wrong," she said finally.

Arabelle smiled and planted another kiss on Kitty's lips.  "Something for you and your partner to discuss at length," she suggested, then indicated the chamber beyond with an elegant gesture.  "As for Dr. Maitland, we were able to adapt one of our sensory deprivation chambers to help her, shall we say, meditate—at her own insistence, I assure you."

Kitty raised a skeptical eyebrow.  "Meditate?"

"Remember the ream of paper Jessie covered in what you or I would consider gibberish at the time of her rescue?"

Kitty nodded.

"Well," Arabelle continued, "I have it on good authority our former damsel in distress has made some sort of brilliant breakthrough in cutting edge mathematics that doesn't yet have an accepted name.  I'm betting the concepts will eventually be referred to as 'Maitland Functions,' but what do I know?"

"More than me," Kitty muttered.  She could tell the "meditating" hot nerd captive with the brilliant mind was breathing by the slow rise and fall of her breasts.  Also, her body was continuously squirming and wiggling, ever so slightly, and her smooth, firm skin glistened with sweat, also ever so slightly.

Arabelle smiled.  She was also enjoying the sight of the helpless, naked Jessie Maitland.  "Anyway, Jessie very much desires to repeat the experience of contemplating mathematics while bound, gagged, and utterly helpless, so I agreed to help.  Harcourt Holden feels genuinely terrible about everything that happened—meaning Jessie's kidnapping, of course—so he's agreed to foot the bill for Jessie's continuing 'research'—including the improvements to her new laboratory, the ongoing rental of the facility, etc."

"Wait," Kitty said, turning to Arabelle, "how the hell did Jessie know to come to you for, uh, research facilities?"

"She didn't, silly," Arabelle chuckled, "but Harcourt did."

"Harcourt Holden is one of your clients? Kitty demanded.

Arabelle's smile turned decidedly coy.  "Kitty, you surprise me.  You know I never discuss my clients.  And that includes clients who have billionaire friends, as well as private detective guests I've had the occasion to entertain."

"Uh, I get your point," Kitty sighed.  Whether or not Harcourt Holden was one of Arabelle's clients was really none of her business, and as for "private detective guests," Kitty certainly didn't want the embarrassing details of the Liesl Zirner case to become common knowledge.  It might damage her reputation as a bad-ass.

[Editor's Note: See the story Bondage, My Sweet for details.]

"Anyway," Arabelle continued," the mirrored walls are actually smart boards, the latest technology from Cornell Labs and Apple."

"Giant touch screens?"

"Yes," Arabelle confirmed.  "There's a tray of styluses mounted on the side of the deprivation chamber, and once Jessie is out and about, she'll grab one and start doodling.  Special mathematical handwriting recognition software straightens up her scribblings and it's all automatically saved to the cloud and beamed to her office back at the Holden Institute."

"Her real office," Kitty purred.

Arabelle nodded.  "The bed of the 'Meditation Chamber' is actually a large gel-pad.  Dr. Maitland is more-or-less floating in a neutrally buoyant environment.  The padded linings of the restraints are similar."

"Why the mitts?"

"They keep her from digging her nails into her palms as she meditates," Arabelle explained.

A thrill of sadistic glee shivered through Kitty's pussy and up her spine.  Kitty wasn't an actual sadist, of course, but she did enjoy playing for the dominant team.  Kitty was a top... even though she occasionally found herself on the bottom.

"The system includes a urinal catheter," Arabelle lectured, "and before she's placed in the chamber she's given an enema with an anal-plug chaser.  I have medical professionals on the staff."

"No surprise there," Kitty purred.  She knew Her Ladyship had dommes who specialized in medical play—nasty nurse uniforms, straitjackets, bed restraints, unethical fun with medical instruments, etc.—and the fact that some, if not all, of the dommes in question might be actual medical professionals wasn't exactly a shock.  Arabelle Consulting was a first rate organization.

"Vibrators and shock-pads?"Kitty inquired.

"Of course not," Arabelle chuckled.  "No distractions."  Her smile broadened.  "Are you paying attention, Ms. Wynter?  This is all so Dr. Maitland can explore mathematical subspace, not for your prurient gratification."

Kitty grinned.  "I have Bertie for that.  But what's wrong with a win-win?"

"Nothing," Arabelle chuckled.  "Anyway... no distractions."  They both returned to watching Jessie's ongoing exploration.  "The restraints are comfortable but inescapable, the mask includes a gag, of course, and together with the non-nonsense handling my ladies use to install her in the chamber... she tells me she's finding it quite easy to achieve the proper frame of mind."

Kitty noticed the system seemed to have no provision for nutrition or hydration, unless there was a stomach tube hidden under the gasmask.  She guessed not.  A urinary catheter one could get used to, but stomach tubes were very uncomfortable and easily qualified as a distraction. "How long?"

"How long will Dr. Maitland drift helplessly in sensory isolation?" Arabelle purred.  "Hours.  Let's leave it at that."

Kitty noticed one more detail.  When last she saw (or rather didn't see) Jessie Maitland's nipples, the three-dimensional shapes of the posts piercing said nipples were prominently visible, but the posts themselves were hidden under protective band-aids.  Now, the band-aids were gone and the posts had been replaced by closed steel rings, each of which incorporated a tiny steel sphere.  "Nipple rings?"

Arabelle smiled.  "Tungsten carbide, high carbon, molybdenum steel alloy.  Very expensive.  They require special tools for installation and are quite impossible to remove without surgery."

"And whose idea was that?" Kitty demanded.

Arabelle nodded towards the isolation chamber.  "You're looking at her."

Kitty smiled.  And a hot-nerd-mathematical-genius-bottom is born, she mused.  "I assume that once you do get around to letting her out of that thing, your employees will make sure she's properly watered and fed."

Arabelle's smile broadened.  "Until she's done recording whatever is rattling around inside her brilliant mind, it does take a firm hand to drag her away from the smart boards for anything—even a cold drink and a gourmet snack—but my ladies are up to the challenge."

For several more seconds Kitty continued watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Jessie's shining breasts and erect, ringed nipples as she breathed... then turned to her hostess.  "You don't suppose Athena would benefit from a visit from Your Ladyship and myself, do you?"

"So you can gloat like a cartoon villain?" Arabelle purred.  "Probably.  But remember, that bullwhip in your hands is only a prop."

Kitty's smile turned mischievous.  "Could I borrow a riding crop?"

Lady Arabelle gazed at her guest domme, an amused moue curling her lips.  "We'll see," she said, then led Kitty from the observation room.

Back in Dr. Maitland's office-away-form-her-real-office, the helpless explorer drifted in a multidimensional ocean of numerical relationships... and relationships between relationships... and wondered if a new family of symbols might be needed to better organize and explain the basic framework of what was revealing itself.

The Damsel Vanishes

Chapter 8

WYNTER & FINCH INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES
"THE PLAYROOM"

---

Nikki "Heat" Braslow was tied up.  Specifically, she was in a stringent hogtie with her fingers and hands mummified in tight, overlapping layers of silver-gray duct-tape.  She was also naked.

Bertie "Squirmy English Muffin" Finch was the perpetrator of this outrage, of course, but the taller, stronger, and now totally helpless "victim" had fully cooperated in the process.

"Let me get this straight," Nikki muttered as she tested her bonds, "you're telling me this is what Angelique did to Jessie Maitland?  This is the condition she was in when you rescued her?"

"More or less," Bertie responded.  She was also naked, and was sitting in a semi-lotus a few feet from Nikki's glowering face... giving the bound prisoner a perfect view of her pussy and neatly-trimmed bush... as well as her bare feet, flat tummy, perky breasts, smiling lips, dimpled cheeks, sparkling blue eyes, mop of blond hair, smooth, tan skin, miscellaneous freckles, etc., etc.

"I've seen the video," Nikki reminded her grinning consultant.

Still smiling, Bertie gave an adorable little shrug.  (Bertie couldn't help but be adorable.)  "Well... I did indulge in a little embellishment."  It was true, the basic framework of the combination box-tie, frog-tie, and hogtie was there, but Bertie had used additional coils of thin rope to reinforce and amplify Angelique's technique in an aesthetically pleasing but totally unnecessary manner.

"Kitty and I call this sort of thing Überbondage," Bertie explained.  "I think this is what Crazy-Angelique would have done to Jessie if she had any real experience... and good taste."

"Überbondage," Nikki huffed, continuing to wiggle and squirm.  "What about the suspension?"

Bertie's smile broadened.  "I suppose we can add that part later, if you want.  The same goes for the hair bondage."  She'd already braided Nikki's blond locks around a length of rope, doubled the braid back onto itself, then neatly wrapped it with the same rope.  At the moment the still quite long free end of the hair-rope was dangling free, but it was ready to be added to the hogtie and thereby pull Nikki's head back and her body into even more of a spine-bending, back-arching hogtie.

"This is tight," Nikki complained as she continued testing Bertie's handiwork.  Obviously, escape was a total impossibility.  "And remember, I get to tie you up once this is over."

"That was the agreement," Bertie purred.  "All you have to do is escape."

"Hey!" Nikki objected.  "That was not part the deal.  There is no escape clause."

"'Escape clause,'" Bertie chuckled appreciatively.  "I'll have to remember that one."  She went onto her hands and knees, kissed Nikki's pouting lips, then settled back into the semi-lotus.  "Anyway, it's an established principle of contract law that when the party-of-the-first-part is naked and tied up and the-party-of-the-second-part is naked but not tied up, the party-of-the-second-part gets to change the contract however she sees fit."

"I'll have to ask Kirsten about that," Nikki huffed, "next time I see her."

"Also," Bertie continued, "I know you've been taking bind-the-Muffin lessons from Kitty-Kat, so don't hold your breath waiting for me to volunteer to be your bondage toy."

"Kitty ratted me out?" Nikki demanded.

Bertie's dimpled smile turned coy.  "No, Kitty did not rat you out.  I'm a detective, remember?  I figured it out on my own."

Nikki's smile was also coy.  "I'm also a detective.  I figured out that you've been giving my big sister bind-the-Kitty lessons."

"Oh, that."  Bertie then flopped down on her stomach, crossed her ankles, bent her knees back, lifting her lower legs, propped her chin on her elbows and hands, and continued smiling.  "I can't wait to hear how that turns out.  My money is on a colossal fail for Shyster."

Nikki twisted and squirmed in her bonds.  It was an unsuccessful attempt at comfort movement, not an escape attempt—although it was also an unsuccessful escape attempt.  "Don't underestimate my sister's perseverance.  She didn't graduate at the top of her law school class, ace the bar exam, and land a job in the DA's office by giving up too easily."

"Point taken," Bertie giggled, then leaned forward and planted another kiss on Nikki's lips.  She settled back into the semi-lotus, but this time quite a bit closer to Nikki's face.  "Now, on the topic of gags..."  She spread her legs to either side.  "I have something else in mind for your lips and tongue."

Her pouting mouth inches from the glistening folds of Bertie's labia and her dark-blond pubic bush, Nikki heaved a heart breaking, truly tragic sigh.  "Well... to the victor go the spoils."

"Later, we can try this with you suspended," Bertie added.  "And if that proves difficult, I'll pop down to the neighborhood sex store and purchase one of those sex-slings.  That should work."

Nikki continued gazing at her captor's pussy.  "So... I'm playing the role of Jessie-the-hot-nerd and you're crazy-Angelique.  I assume when Kitty gets home she'll play the role of the Heroic Muffin, rescue me, and tie you up?"

"Don't count on it," Bertie giggled.  "I have it on good authority that Kitty-Kat has plans for the entire weekend.  Now..."  She indicated her crotch with a graceful hand gesture.  "Get to work... or else."

Nikki sighed, again, and started squirming her way towards her target... but found she was making very little progress.  This was Bertie's fault, of course.  She was the one who had crafted Nikki's overly elaborate and restrictive Über-hogtie, making even inchworm locomotion excruciatingly difficult.

"Well," Bertie giggled, "if the mountain won't come to Muhammad..."  She scooted her way forward until Nikki's face was more-or-less planted in her crotch, gripped the back of her precious prisoner's head with both hands, and found that Nikki's hitherto unused hair-bondage made for a convenient handle.

The Damsel Vanishes

Chapter 8

THE APARTMENT OF KIRSTEN BRASLOW, A.K.A. SHYSTER

---

Preparations for criminal trials, even high profile criminal trials, happen in cycles.  There are times with feverish activity and long hours on both sides.  Other times it's a slow and steady grind.  However, on rare occasions, there are lulls in the action, the second chair ADA and staff can handle things, and the lead ADA can take the weekend off and recharge her batteries.  This was one such occasion, and the lead ADA in question was Kirsten Braslow.

Kirsten pulled out her keys and unlocked the brand new, top-of-the-line, high-security deadbolt lock she'd recently had installed on her front door.  Supposedly, it was impossible to defeat with either conventional lock picks or a "bump key," a modified key blank designed to lift and align the pins by brute force.  Kirsten had only a vague understanding of the technical details, but had been assured that there wasn't a better lock on the market.  She opened the door, crossed the threshold, then entered the disarming code in the keypad of her alarm system.

Once the door was closed behind her, the deadbolt turned, and the alarm reset, Kirsten heaved a sigh of relief.  She hung up her coat, dropped her key-ring into a small, decorative dish on the entryway sideboard, and continued on into her bedroom.  Everything was in its proper place, the magazines on the coffee table were in a neat stack, the kitchen spotlessly clean, and her queen-size bed neatly made.  Being an ADA meant long hours, but Kirsten took pride in maintaining a neat apartment, unlike certain habitually messy, NYPD detective little sisters she could name.

Kirsten undressed.  Her jacket, skirt, and blouse were set aside for a trip to the dry cleaner and her underwear went into the clothes hamper in her closet.  Totally nude, Kirsten removed her ear posts and deposited them in her jewelry box, then padded to the bathroom.  She hadn't made a decision about dinner.  She couldn't remember anything in her refrigerator that sounded appetizing, so it would be either take-out or a trip to one of the neighborhood bistros.

Kirsten reached into the shower stall to turn on the water—"What?  Hey!"—and was suddenly seized from behind and her hands pulled behind her back!  A quick glance in the mirror over the washbasin revealed a fluttering mass of silky brown hair framing an all-too-familiar, angelic face with laughing brown eyes and a dimpled smile, and the identity of the intruder with the grabby hands was confirmed.  "Dammit, Wynter!" Kirsten growled.  "Let.  Me.  Go!"

"Inside voice, Shyster," Kitty chuckled, "or I'll be forced to gag you."  She was tightening a pair of Darby-style handcuffs around Kirsten's wrists.  The cuffs were stainless steel and padded with clear vinyl, designed both for comfortable wear and use in wet environments.

"How did you get in here?" Kirsten demanded.  Kitty had finished applying the cuffs and released her wrists, so Kirsten turned to face her captor (house guest).  Kitty was wearing a white tank-top and skintight leather pants, but the jacket and boots that usually completed her signature ensemble were not in evidence.  No doubt they'd been hidden somewhere in the apartment so as not to warn Kitty's quarry of her presence.

"Your new lock?" Kitty chuckled as she unbuttoned and unzipped her pants and started sliding them down her legs.  "Money well spent to keep out the average burglar, but Kitty Wynter is in no way average."

Kirsten tugged on the cuffs and glared at her captor with an angry scowl (carefully suppressing the smile threatening to make her mask of righteous indignation slip).

Kitty finished removing her pants and tossed them out the bathroom door.  They were soon followed by her tank-top, bra, and panties... and she was now as nude as her hostess.  Her brown eyes locked with Kirsten's blue, Kitty reached into the shower stall—her arm brushing against Kirsten's left breast in the process—and turned on the water.  The mutual gaze continued while they waited for the shower stream to come up to temperature.

Finally, Kitty took Kirsten by the arm, pulled her into the stall, and closed the glass door behind them.  In seconds, both captor and captive were soaked from head to toe.  Kirsten stood in stoic indifference as Kitty dispensed a dollop of liquid soap into her hands, rubbed them together, then began soaping the indignant ADA's smooth, glistening body.

"No angry comments about how much you hate me?" Kitty purred.

Kirsten did her best to ignore Kitty's slick, soapy hands as they slid across her shoulders, arms, breast, stomach, and back.  "We need to talk," she said, finally.

"About me not doing things like this?" Kitty inquired with a dimpled grin.  It was unclear whether she was referring to her soapy hand sliding against Kirsten's thighs and through her crotch, or the topic of home invasion/booty calls in general.

A shiver shook Kirsten's dripping body and she tugged on her steel and vinyl, waterproof cuffs.  "You nearly got yourself killed," she sighed.

"Oh, Shyster," Kitty chuckled.  "You do care."

"I do," Kirsten admitted.  "I care about Bertie, too."

Kitty wasn't exactly stunned, but she did find herself without a snappy comeback.  "We had to move fast," she said as she replenished the soap on her hands.  "Jessie needed rescuing and there was no one we could turn to for help."

"What about Nikki?" Kirsten demanded.  "What about me?"

Kitty was now soaping her prisoner's butt and legs.  She pulled the slippery blonde into a steadying embrace and Kirsten lifted her legs, first the left, and then the right, so Kitty could could soap her feet.  "If we'd gotten the law involved," she said finally, "we'd have lost freedom of action, NYPD procedures would have kicked in, and who knows what would have happened to Jessie Maitland?"

"I've got a secret for you," Kirsten purred.  She still wasn't smiling.  "The law is only black and white in the pages of law books—black and sepia in some of the older books, actually—and the same goes for law enforcement.  There are ways we could have helped.  Things we could have done."

"Without getting in trouble?" Kitty chuckled.

"Maybe," Kirsten responded.  "I'm not saying there might not have been a cost.  So what?  We don't want either of you to get yourselves killed."

Kitty blinked in surprise.  "You do care," she said in a whisper.

The smile finally succeeded in curling Kirsten's lips, briefly, then was once again suppressed.  "Stop it," she demanded.  "Stop mauling me.  I hate you."

Kitty's grin returned.  "There's my Shyster," she chuckled, continuing to soap and caress her captive.  "Bertie and I will talk about it," she promised.  "We did get a little ahead of ourselves on this one.  I guess we're lucky the crazy-bitch-sisters were somewhat incompetent."

"Competent enough to get you naked, bound, and gagged," Kirsten noted.

"Shut up," Kitty snapped, then began shampooing Kirsten's hair.  "Your legs need shaving, by the way.  We'll get to that later.  I'll give your short-and-curlies a quick trim at the same time."

"I hate you," Kirsten huffed... and she did not smile.

Kitty started soaping and scrubbing herself while Kirsten watched.  Her eyes were on Kirsten's wet breasts and semi-erect nipples.  "Did you know Jessie Maitland has traded in her nipple-posts for a really nice pair of permanent rings?  You ever think about having the girls pierced, Shyster?"

"No," Kirsten intoned with an imperious, We-are-not-amused stare... then, that pesky smile reasserted itself.  "How about yourself, Ms. Wynter?  I think you'd look quite fetching with a little tit jewelry."

Kitty rinsed the shampoo from her hair, then favored her prisoner with a dimpled smile.  "Just for that..."  She pointed at the wet tiles under their feet.  "Get down on your knees and give your house guest a proper welcome.  If you make me cum before the hot water runs out, I won't spank your bottom."

"I have a flash heater," Kirsten growled, "not a hot water tank."

"In that case," Kitty countered, "you have to make me cum twice before my fingers get all wrinkled and pruney."

Kirsten heaved a tragic sigh and tugged on her cuffs, then carefully settled to her knees.

The End of...
The Damsel Vanishes		Chapter 8 & the story entire

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Chapter 7

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