|FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER|
|by Van ©2018|
|OUR STORY CONTINUES
Things happened quickly the next morning—too quickly for some people.
Tabby woke to find herself in a cuddle with a bra and panties-clad Bertie Finch. Tabby's wrists and ankles were still bound with four long lengths of ¼-inch black and brown nylon rope, but all four lengths were loose, no longer lashing her to the bed in a taut, four-point spread-eagle. She was free (technically); however, removing the wrist and ankle cuffs would involve dragging the entire length of all of the free ends through the relevant knots. So... Tabby heaved a sigh, carefully extricated herself from Bertie's embrace and climbed off the bed, then gathered the loose ropes as best she could and carried/dragged them with her into the bathroom.
Tabby conducted her morning business, then set about the task of finally freeing herself from Robin Fey's handiwork. After what felt like fifteen minutes of pulling on rope and extricating her wrists and ankles (but was actually only about three minutes), Tabby abandoned the rope on the bathroom floor and returned to her bedroom to find that Bertie had vanished. Tabby sighed, climbed back onto her bed, and closed her eyes. She assumed the little Brit had returned to her apartment to give Nikki "Heat" Braslow her favorite kind of reveille.
Tabby was right.
Bertie tiptoed through the connected closets and the bedroom she normally shared with Kitty to find Robin asleep on a makeshift bed at the foot of the actual bed, chained by her right ankle to the bed frame. Kirsten and Kitty were asleep on the bed itself. Shyster was bound with rope in a simple kimono-tie and was wearing (of all things) black knee-boots. Bertie's partner, on the other hand, was a limbs-akimbo pile of 100% naked, slumbering Kitty. A thrill rippled through Bertie's pussy at the sight... meaning the sight of Kirsten and Kitty... but mostly Kitty.
Bertie tiptoed from the bedroom and on into the living room. As expected, Nikki was asleep on the couch. The NYPD Detective's clothes were in a neatly folded stack on the seat of the nearby easy chair—first her sensible shoes, then her pants, blouse, panties, and bra. Her weapon, handcuffs, and badge were on top.
Bertie padded forward and smiled down at her house guest. Bertie, herself, had made the sofa into a comfortable bed for Nikki with a pillow (and pillowcase), sheets, and a light blanket. Nikki was gloriously nude, lying on her right side with her left arm, shoulder, and breast exposed, and her angelic face mostly masked behind the tousled mass of her flaxen hair.
Suddenly—"Eeeek! Mrrpfh!—Nikki's hand shot out, seized Bertie by the wrist, and dragged her down onto the sofa! The little Brit found herself in a tight embrace with Nikki's right hand clamped over her mouth.
"Hush," Nikki purred. "You'll wake everybody up."
About a minute of furious "struggling" ensued, during which Bertie was divested of her bra and panties. All too soon she was sharing a naked embrace with Nikki and they were making up for lost time. That is, they were snogging... and eventually shagging. And then... they fell asleep.
Things weren't happening quickly after all.
|A STUDY IN Cute|| Chapter 6
The sun was rising when Kitty opened her eyes. She climbed from bed, being careful not to wake the Shyster (mainly 'cause she didn't want to listen to her whine), and padded into the bathroom.
Robin had noted all of this from her pallet on the floor, although by all appearances she was fast asleep. The shower started running... and after about four minutes it stopped. Next came the drone of a hair dryer. And then—Robin quickly closed her eyes—the bathroom door opened and a naked Kitty Wynter padded back into the bedroom and towards the walk-in closet. Robin sighed and waited... and carefully ignored her semi-full bladder.
Eventually, Kitty reappeared. She had donned a gray skirt and was buttoning up a cotton blouse. Even in the dim light Robin could see her idol was already wearing pantyhose. Kitty took a break from dressing to roll Kirsten onto her stomach and untie her kimono-tie bonds. The Shyster did not sleep through the process.
"W-what?" Kirsten demanded, still only half-awake. "Untie me!"
"That's what I'm doing, Shyster," Kitty purred. Mission accomplished, she dragged Kirsten to her booted feet and propelled her towards the bathroom. "Take a shower," she ordered. "You stink of sex."
Kirsten only had time to spin on her booted heels and gasp in wide-eyed outrage before Kitty slammed the bathroom door in her face.
Robin watched (surreptitiously) as Kitty finished dressing. The skirt had a matching jacket, but rather than put it on, Kitty draped it off the end of the bed. Manhattan's hottest private detective stepped into a pair of sensible but very attractive heels, and now was wearing a very smart business suit, suitable (pun intended) for any office, boardroom, or swanky restaurant during business hours.
The shower started running, again... followed by the blow-dryer... and then the bathroom door opened, revealing a totally naked and furious Kirsten Braslow. Robin noted her lack of boots. Obviously, she'd been awake enough to remove them before entering the shower.
Kitty nodded towards the walk-in closet. "Get dressed," she ordered, "so your sister doesn't have to arrest you for public indecency."
Robin stifled a giggle. Obviously, Kitty's instructions had been for her beloved Shyster—then Robin swallowed, nervously. "Gulp" Kitty was focused on her, and quite obviously had realized that she was awake.
As Kirsten disappeared into the closet, Kitty knelt and used the cordless driver to unscrew the machine screw and free Robin from the ankle-cuff and chain.
"Shit and shower," Kitty huffed, nodding towards the bathroom.
"Yes, Miss Kitty," Robin purred as she scampered for the bathroom.
"Don't call me that!" Kitty growled, close on Robin's heels. "Did I tell you you could talk?"
The bathroom was still humid and damp from its previous visitors. Robin spun on the tiles to face the doorway. Kitty loomed in the threshold, one hand on the doorknob.
"Uh, no," Robin admitted, answering Kitty's talking question, "but it's a new day, so I figured things might have changed. Shyster really has nice boobs. Don't ya think?"
Kitty rolled her eyes and slammed the door.
Robin smiled and set about relieving her bladder and getting clean. She'd just scored a couple of points. Either that or dug her hole a little deeper.
|A STUDY IN Cute|| Chapter 6
Robin emerged from the bathroom, squeaky clean and her moppet hair only slightly damp. Kitty, who had brushed her hair and donned her jacket, ordered her to get dressed. This required Robin to pad to the apartment's entryway to retrieve and don (under Kitty's direct supervision) the panties, jeans, white t-shirt, socks, and Doc Martin boots Kitty had ordered her to remove the day before. The fully clothed Robin was then led to the living room by the fully clothed Kitty. She watched as Kitty subjected Bertie and Nikki to a rude awakening.
"Up!" Kitty barked, jerking the blanket and sheet from the naked, cuddling pair. "Get dressed, find the Shyster, free my sister, and have her take you all out to breakfast."
Bertie yawned. "Tabby is already free. Aren't you coming with us?"
Kitty nodded at Robin. "Puck and I have an early appointment."
"Who's 'Puck'?" Robin demanded.
Bertie's dimpled smile widened. "Oh, full points, dearest," she giggled. "A delightful nickname for our little trickster."
"I don't think so," Robin groused. "Ow!" Kitty had grabbed a handful of her hair and was dragging her back towards the entryway. "Ow-ow-ow!"
"Shut. Up." Kitty tossed Robin ("Puck") her jacket, then opened the front door. "No," she ordered as Robin reached for her purse.
Robin looked at her purse, then at Kitty, then back at her purse. Does this mean we're coming back? she wondered. The unspoken question went unanswered, then they were out the door and headed for the street.
It was a beautiful morning. The pedestrian traffic was building towards rush hour, but was still reasonably sparse by Manhattan standards.
The mention of breakfast had reminded Robin's stomach that it was empty. Maybe Kitty's "suggestion" that the others should go out to breakfast meant they were going out for breakfast. She could only hope. Block followed block, and Robin realized they were headed for the financial district. There were no greasy spoon restaurants in the financial district. There were only super-expensive snooty restaurants in the financial district. But then, Kitty hadn't let her bring her purse, so paying for fifty dollar bacon and eggs would be Kitty's problem.
Finally, they arrived at a tall building, meaning a skyscraper, meaning holy-cow-this-thing-goes-up-forever! Robin was neither unfamiliar with nor overly impressed by tall buildings. She was a New Yorker. However, the financial district was the belly of the beast. A whole lot of money was sloshing around the lobby of every building on the block, and this one was no exception.
Robin looked up at Kitty as they crossed the lobby to a bank of elevators. Kitty walked like she owned the place... or more properly, didn't give a damn who owned the place.
They rode an elevator to a luxurious 37th floor hallway leading to the luxurious inner-lobby of something named Arabelle Consulting Services. A pretty, twenty-something, blond receptionist sat behind a massive desk. She smiled at Kitty as they entered.
"Ms. Wynter," the receptionist said, "please have a seat and I'll tell Mistress you've arrived. Would you care for anything? Coffee? Tea?" She shifted her smile to Robin. "Perhaps some orange juice?"
"Coffee for me," Robin said. "Black. And thanks." She favored Kitty with a slightly critical expression. "It's nice to offer somebody coffee in the morning, don't ya think?"
The receptionist watched as Kitty returned her short companion's amusing jibe with a withering stare. It was all she could do not to laugh. The blonde brought coffee to the visitors, but didn't need to tell Mistress they were here. Mistress already knew.
Robin was impressed as they settled into chairs and she looked around the lobby. Whatever the hell happened at Arabelle Consulting Services, quite obviously it paid big bucks. She had no idea why Kitty had brought her here, not even an inkling. Did Kitty want to consult with "Arabelle" before doing whoever the hell she planned on doing with poor little Robin Fey?
The coffee was delivered, thanks were given, but Robin's nervous smile morphed into a nervous frown as she took her first sip. The coffee was excellent, but something was bothering her. Arabelle. Where have I heard that name? Arabelle. An alarm bell was trying to ring in the back of Robin's head, but whatever was bothering her remained elusive.
It really was good coffee (even on an empty stomach), and a few minutes later the blonde led them from the lobby and down a hallway. The luxurious decor continued, only... is that a Maplethorpe photo hanging on the wall, next to the other Maplethorpe. Tasteful nude photography? Robin supposed it was tasteful. Not especially kinky or hot, in her opinion, but tasteful. But were they appropriate for the workplace? Some of them were undeniably erotic.
They passed door after closed, unlabeled door... and finally arrived at yet another closed door, this one bearing a capital letter "A" in an elegant script font. The blonde opened the door without knocking and led Kitty and Robin into an expensively appointed, severely modern office.
Robin's eyes widened. The office was also more than a little... kinky? At the very least, the decor was suggestive. The walls were covered with tufted black leather and the general ambiance was just a tad... sinister (in Robin's decidedly hungry, decidedly nervous opinion).
Rising from behind a large desk (a thick slab of gray granite) was a beautiful woman. Robin's eyes widened even further. The woman was old, well into her forties. And yet... she was beautiful! In fact, she was mesmerizing... and Robin was mesmerized.
"Lady Arabelle," Kitty said, stepping forward and shaking the woman's hand.
Robin blinked as the truth snapped into focus. That's it! Arabelle! Lady Arabelle!
Lady Arabelle was the A-Number-One dominatrix in Manhattan. Everyone knew that. And she was connected; not mob-connected, but connected from City Hall to Wall Street and down the back alleys. Everybody knew what happened when somebody crossed Lady Arabelle. Also, everybody had stories about how she'd helped people in need. Lady Arabelle was both loved and respected (and feared). And apparently... here she was... and she was beautiful! And she was here! And so was Robin Fey, in the same room!
"And you would be Robin," Lady Arabelle purred, offering her hand to Robin.
"Yes ma'am," Robin responded, shaking Arabella's hand. She thought she was smiling, but couldn't be sure. She seemed to have lost all feeling in her face.
Lady Arabelle settled her guests into the visitor chairs in front of the desk/slab, then sat in her throne-like chair. Robin noted the pair of steel rings imbedded in the edge of the granite on her side. If there were two more rings similarly placed on Lady Arabelle's side, the desk would make an excellent sacrificial altar. Robin swallowed nervously. Nothing sinister about that.
"Uh, thanks for seeing me," Kitty said. "You're not dressed for business. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Robin frowned. 'Not dressed for business?' Lady A was impeccably dressed in a hideously expensive business suit. How did Kitty expect her to be dressed?
"Thank you," Lady Arabelle said with a carefully polite smile. "You asked for this meeting, Ms. Wynter, so please..." She made an elegant (mesmerizing) gesture.
To Robin's amazement, Kitty seemed nervous. Huh? Kitty nervous? Go figure. Of course, she is Lady Arabelle. Obviously, Kitty could also see the stone cold resolve behind Lady A's baby-blue eyes. But that isn't surprising. She's perceptive. She's Kitty Wynter.
Kitty proceeded to recite The Saga of Robin Fey. She spared no details, but made it clear what she knew from personal knowledge and what had been relayed to her by others. Robin noted that Lady A was familiar with all the players, including Nikki "Heat" Braslow and The Shyster. Also, Kitty's recounting of Robin's escapades was fair and accurate, as was her explanation of Robin's motives. Kitty was also candid about having been blindsided by her apprentice wannabe. Robin blushed and squirmed in her seat. She could tell Lady A was impressed... maybe. Her Ladyship was also amused (and not particularly trying to hide it).
At one point Robin opened her mouth to protest when Kitty characterized Robin joining Wynter & Finch Investigative Services in any capacity as a "cockamamie idea", but Lady A caught her eye and subtly shook her head. Robin took her cue and her jaw snapped shut.
"So..." Kitty sighed as she moved into the final phase of her pitch. "I can't possibly take on an apprentice; but—"
Robin's heart was hammering. Here it comes!
"She's perfect for Arabelle Consulting Services, don't you see?" Before Lady Arabelle could respond, Kitty pressed forward. "She obviously has the talent and propensity for what you do around here and already has the basic skill set. You'll need to formalize her training, of course, but—"
"Nooooo!" Robin wailed, jumping to her feet. "I want to be a detective, not a..." She turned to Lady A, blushed, and sat back there. "...whatever it is you do around here. Uh..." She focused on Lady A. "What is it you do around here?"
Arabelle smiled. "We help wealthy men and women explore their deepest fantasies, Robin."
"Oh." Robin blinked. "Dominatrix stuff. I knew that."
Kitty rolled her eyes. "Anyway—" she continued, then froze when Lady Arabelle raised her right hand.
Lady Arabelle lowered her hand. Her blue eyes were laser-focused on Kitty Wynter. "When first we met, you invaded my place of business and inserted yourself into my affairs."
"It was a case," Kitty responded, squirming in her chair, "and we worked through it."
"The next time you appeared," Lady Arabelle continued, "you begged me to fix a problem for you,"
"It was a win-win," Kitty said quietly.
"And now you're back," Lady Arabelle continued, "expecting me to clean up yet another mess."
Robin looked from Her Ladyship's evenly staring face—to Kitty's nervous face—and back. She had no idea what Lady A was talking about, but obviously Kitty and Arabelle had history, and she was right in the middle of it.
[Author's note: Robin's confusion would evaporate if she read Bondage, My Sweet and The Damsel Vanishes.]
"I think that's a little... harsh," Kitty muttered. "Both times it was win-win, and this could be too."
"Let me make my position crystal clear," Lady Arabelle stated, then reached under her desk and... pressed a button? Robin thought she'd probably pressed a button.
At that point, things happened very quickly.
Two side doors opened and six women flooded into the office. All were very attractive and dressed in revealing (meaning kinky) outfits of black leather. Two of the women were big, amazon big, and Robin was sure they could easily blow past every physical standard required to enter the Navy S.E.A.L. program (with the exception of reproductive plumbing). All six of the women were fit and moved like pouncing panthers, but the amazons making a beeline for Kitty were Panther tanks.
Kitty was out of her chair and defending herself in an instant, but even The Great Kitty Wynter has her limit, and two giant amazons with two fit and well-trained assistants were well beyond that limit.
Robin watched in wide-eyed shock and awe as Kitty was grabbed, restrained, hand-gagged—"MRRRRFH!"—and hustled from the office!
Wisely, Robin had decided to remain in her chair. The remaining two newcomers were standing immediately to her left and right. Both were in their late 20's or early 30's. One was Black and the other Asian, and were poised (like trained martial artists) to mop the floor with Robin Fey if she so much as twitched. Eyes still wide, Robin looked up at their unsmiling (but super-pretty) faces.
"That will be all, ladies," Lady Arabelle purred. "Thank you."
The Black and Asian ninja-dominatrix-warriors bowed respectfully (to Lady A), exited the office, and Robin was alone... with Lady Arabelle.
Her heart hammering, Robin gazed at her hostess, trying not to panic... or cry.
Lady Arabelle gazed back. An enigmatic smile curled her lips.
Seconds ticked by... about 150 rapid heartbeats, not that Robin was keeping an actual count.
"So, Robin," Lady Arabelle said finally, "breakfast?"
|A STUDY IN Cute|| Chapter 6
Kicking and screaming and squirming and twisting for all she was worth—which usually was quite a lot, but at the moment, not so much—Kitty was dragged down a long hallway, through a door, and into a dark space. It was large, painted entirely black, including the ceiling and floor, and cluttered with hanging chains, dangling straps, and leather harnesses and sheathes. There were also a pair of bondage tables, a reclined rack (of the stretching variety), a pair of wooden stocks, a St. Andrew's cross on a rolling stand, and a wooden horse (of the "Ow-ow-ow!" variety, not the carousel variety). None of it matched or was arranged in a tasteful venue, like the Lady Arabelle client entertainment suites of Kitty's experience.
"MOTHER FUCKERS!" Kitty screamed when the hand-gag was finally removed from her mouth. (Obviously, combat brought out Kitty's inner backstreet brawler.) And then—"MRRRPFH!"—all reasoned discourse ended when one of Lady A's dommes popped a ball-gag in Kitty's mouth, another lifted her hair, and a third buckled its strap tight until Kitty's cheeks bulged. This particular model incorporated a rubber panel that was deployed to cover Kitty's plugged mouth and most of her lower face, then was also secured, requiring the buckling of a thin strap under Kitty's chin and a thicker double-strap above and below the ball-gag's main strap. "MRRRRRRRF!"
The battle continued.
An aficionado of female fisticuffs might be disappointed by the uneven nature of the contest, but would be impressed by Kitty's resistance. That said, no eyes were blackened, no lips split, no joints over-stressed and sprained, and no deep bruises inflicted. And such might not have been the case if Lady A's troops weren't so numerous and well trained. In any case, both sides emerged from the conflict out of breath, sweaty, and with mussed hair, but otherwise unscathed. The dommes were the clear winners and Kitty was the clear loser.
As for the final result:
Kitty wiggled and squirmed and mewled through her gag. "MRRRRF!" Her captors/handlers were departing the chamber, taking her now neatly folded clothing with them, of course.
- Kitty was now naked (see also nude, au naturel, and in the altogether). Her clothing had emerged intact, even her panties and pantyhose, but at the moment fashion was a minor issue (in Kitty's naked opinion).
- Her left wrist, hand, and fingers were encased and strapped into a leather suspension-style mitten-cuff and her left arm was raised, stretched overhead, and secured to one of several vertical chains running to one of several hand-cranked winches solidly mounted to the walls.
- A wide, stiff collar of the posture variety was strapped around Kitty's neck, severely limiting all head movement.
- Kitty's right hand was encased in a mitten-cuff identical to the one on her left, but its finger-tip ring was attached to the back of her collar, leaving her in what might be described as a half-reverse-prayer.
- Her right leg was raised and bent at the knee with a leather strap buckled tight around her thigh and lower-leg, crushing her right calf against the back of her right thigh.
- A leather cuff strapped around Kitty's left ankle was linked by a short, slack length of steel chain that in turn was attached to an eye-bolt sunk in the floor.
You better run! Kitty silently fumed, then the door closed and she was alone... naked... leather-bound and gagged... in what she'd come to suspect was Lady Arabella's storage room of used bondage gear and furniture.
Minutes passed as Kitty tugged on her inescapable bonds, wiggled and squirmed in place, and considered her options.
Perhaps, Kitty considered, I may have miscalculated.
More minutes passed.
How long are they gonna—
Kitty's thought was interrupted by the opening of the door and the arrival of two women.
Kitty knew both of the newcomers.
On Kitty's right was Dominique, a smokin' hot Latina and one of Lady A's most senior and trusted dommes. An ex-lawyer (or maybe a part-time lawyer), Dominique was also expert with the whip and/or flogger, expert in the extraction of forced orgasms, and had a cruel imagination. That is, she was one of Lady A's most senior and trusted dommes.
[Author's note: Kitty first met Dominique (played by Erica Cerra) in Bondage, My Sweet.]
On Kitty's left was Athena Zevros, also smokin' hot, and an ex-kidnapping criminal, sort of a "dark-side Kitty Wynter" as Bertie had once put it. The last Kitty knew, Athena had been "hired" by Arabelle Consulting Services, meaning she'd been given a choice between working for Lady Arabelle or taking her chances in state and federal courts. Kitty thought the Greek beauty was being groomed to become one of Lady Arabelle's Resident Bottoms, but there was nothing submissive about her current appearance or attitude.
[Author's note: Kitty and Athena (Maria Menounos) first met in The Damsel Vanishes.]
"Well, well, well," Dominique drawled as she strolled forward, "Kitty Wynter. What an unexpected pleasure to find you hanging around in the Junk Room."
"With the other junk," Athena purred.
'Junk Room', Kitty noted. That explains the hodgepodge.
Kitty noted that Athena was dressed in black thigh-boots that laced up the front and what was more-or-less a black leather apron... as in a cook's apron... as in a butcher's apron. Maybe she's worried about blood-splatter, Kitty thought. She wasn't serious. Lady Arabelle had zero tolerance for blood-splatter. As for what Athena was wearing under her "apron," the evilly smiling beauty hadn't turned her back since entering the room, so Kitty had no idea.
Dominique, on the other hand, was wearing some sort of black and royal-blue catsuit with silver-gray highlights and matching knee-boots. Very Star Trekky, Kitty decided.
Dominique noted Kitty's interest in her costume, smiled, and struck a pose. "You like? I was called away from a session with an investment banker who's an avid science fiction fan. The poor man had been abducted by aliens and was about to get... probed." She stepped forward and cupped Kitty's pussy with one of her gloved hands. "Are you into probing, Kitty? Maybe I'll give you a chance to find out."
"Does the new Sybian count as probing?" Athena asked her colleague, then shifted her smile to Kitty. "Remember the pedestal-mounted fucking machine in the room with the puppy-cage? We've both ridden it."
Kitty stared into infinity and tried to ignore Dominique's hand... which had begun slowly moving and making itself impossible to ignore. And she did remember the Sybian in question. And she had, indeed, ridden the damn thing, and Bertie (naked, bound, and gagged) had watched her do so from inside the puppy-cage. Lady A has a new Sybian? That's not at all ominous.
"Mistress has ordered us to punish you," Dominique explained. Her hand was still moving, and her index finger was now sliding directly against Kitty's clitoris.
"We don't know exactly why," Athena purred, "but maybe in a few hours we'll take a break and ask."
"Not that it matters," Dominique added.
Kitty's reaction was the same as when Dominique and Athena first entered the Junk Room.
|The End of...|
|A STUDY IN Cute|| Chapter 6