||FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER|
| by Van ©2011
|OUR STORY BEGINS
Kitty Wynter threaded the last strand of rope through the eye-bolt, pulled out the slack, and tied the final knot. She then wrapped the remaining free end of braided nylon around itself and secured it with a simple overhand-knot—for neatness sake. She raised her arms and arched her back in a full-length, deep-sighing, vertebra-popping stretch—"Ahhh!"—then made her way to the minibar across the room, ducking under the intervening strands of rope. She poured herself a finger of Jameson, added a splash of water, took a sip, turned, and smiled.
"This seems to have come together quite nicely," she purred, addressing the subject of her efforts.
The subject in question was suspended in a web of dozens of taut rope strands stretched to and from various lashing points around the room. Truth be told, the arrangement was more cat's cradle than web, and an asymmetrical cats' cradle, at that. Lightweight pulleys were at key points in the matrix. Some had single wheels and served as friction-free pass-throughs and some were double-wheeled and were rigged in series, as force-multipliers. There were also an array of cylindrical, cast iron sash weights suspended from the web at several strategic positions. They acted as counterweights, and the ropes, pulleys, and sash weights made for a very complex interplay of forces. They acted in concert or in opposition, depending on the precise position of the subject's splayed limbs.
The subject was Bertie Finch, Kitty's assistant of three years, and she was naked. Kitty much preferred her subjects to be naked, both for aesthetic purposes and to firmly establish the power relationship. After acquiescing to an order to strip, it was difficult for a Bottom to pretend they retained any significant degree of control. Of course, in Bertie's case, the initial contest of wills was well in the past and no remaining issues of roles or limits remained in the Kitty/Bertie dynamic.
That left aesthetics.
Both Kitty and Bertie worked out on a regular basis. For Kitty, that meant daily workouts on the treadmill and/or stationary bike, plus swimming, pilates, yoga, and mixed martial arts. Bertie's routine was similar, but light on the martial arts and heavy on the treadmill and bike. (Kitty had attachment points welded to strategic points on the exercise machines elsewhere in the condo/office, perfect for padlocking Bertie's ankle and wrist cuffs to the frames or handles, so she couldn't slack off.)
The results were what any aficionado of the feminine form could only describe as spectacular.
In clinical terms...
Kitty Wynter: 5' 5", 32C-24-34, 128 lbs, brown hair (longish), brown eyes, "Mediterranean" complexion (Fitzpatrick Type-IV), sleek, feline, dangerous, hot!
Kitty's wardrobe favored the dark end of the spectrum, with far more use of leather than the average urban ingenue. All of it was the very height of taste, and although she was often seen about town in boots, skintight pants, and leather jacket, her image evoked the term "biker chick" only if that was her intent. As a detective, her investigations did sometimes find her in the seedier parts of town. At the moment, however, her costume was limited to a skimpy bra and an even skimpier thong, both of whisper-thin black lace.
Bertie Finch: 5' 4", 34B-23-31, 121 lbs, blond hair (pixie-cut), blue eyes, "Northern European" complexion (Fitzpatrick Type-II), prone to freckles, adorable, fit, cute-as-a-bug, hot!
Bertie—her full name was Philberta—had been born and raised in London. She favored sneakers, jeans, and tight tops in cheerful colors that matched her equally cheerful disposition. At the moment, however, she was not particularly cheerful. Also, as was mentioned earlier, she was naked.
Bertie was suspended in a semi-reclined position. Her legs were splayed with her left knee bent and her right leg fully-extended and the foot on pointe. Her left arm was extended nearly straight up and her right arm diagonally away from her body with the elbow slightly bent. A complex harness of rope bands were lashed around her torso and limbs at the wrists, ankles, and above and below her knees and elbows.
In addition to the rope, a complementary network of thin cord linked her big toes, thumbs, nipples (secured with clover clamps), and the steel ring at the center of her two-inch ball-gag. The cord web was as asymmetrical as the rope web, and the two were linked at several points.
Kitty sipped her whiskey, again, then set the glass on the bar. "Well, Bert... what do you think?"
Bertie focused on her grinning boss (and lover), but didn't answer. The rubber sphere strapped in her mouth rendered the question rhetorical, and she was concentrating on attempting to remain perfectly still.
Just then, a melodious chime sounded. "Damn," Kitty muttered. She pulled a black silk robe from a hook, shrugged it on, and cinched the sash. Actually, it was a happi coat. The bottom hem only came to Kitty's mid thighs. "Hold that thought," she muttered as she strolled across the "playroom" and towards the door to her office. "I'll see who it is and what they want."
As the office/playroom door closed, Bertie sighed through her gag and shared her opinion of the situation. "Mrrpfh." Gaglish to English translation (heavy on the sarcasm): "Brilliant."
|Bondage, My Sweet|| Chapter 1
Kitty stopped at her desk on the way to the front door. She opened a drawer, pulled out her favorite Glock, checked the clip, then slid the weapon into the back waistband of her thong, under her robe.
The chime sounded, again.
"Hold your horses, I'm coming!" she shouted as she padded to the door. She peered through the peephole, and frowned. "Just great," she muttered, and opened the door.
An attractive blonde in a dark business suit was waiting. "Kitty Wynter. Always a pleasure."
"What the hell do you want?" Kitty demanded. The blonde was Assistant District Attorney Kirsten Braslow—easy on the eyes—a pain in the butt. Kitty and Kirsten had history.
Kirsten eased past Kitty and into the office.
"By all means," Kitty huffed.
"I have a job for you, Wynter," Kirsten said. "As a P.I., not as a bondage freak."
"After you did everything you could to get my license pulled?"
Kirsten waved a large envelope in her hand. "A job."
Kitty closed the door and turned the deadbolt lock. Thunk! "I only work for people I trust. I bet you're trying to entrap me. You're probably wearing a wire."
Kirsten turned. "Don't be ridiculous, Wynter." She opened the envelope. "Now, what I need you to do is—"
"Strip," Kitty ordered.
Kirsten's eyes widened. "What did you say?"
"Not completely, counselor," Kitty purred. "Lose the jacket."
Kirsten heaved a disgusted sigh. "I'm not wearing a wire." She unbuttoned her jacket, peeled it off, and tossed it on the back of a chair. She then raised her hands. "This is all you get, Wynter."
Kitty walked over and frisked the smiling lawyer. "I decide what I get," she purred, and began unbuttoning Kirsten's blouse. They locked eyes as more and more of Kirsten's generous bosom and her lacy black bra were revealed. Kitty reached between the folds of the gaping blouse, patted down her guest's breasts and the back of her bra, then slid her fingers across the back of the skirt's waistband.
"I told you," Kirsten huffed. "No wire."
"Hands on the wall," Kitty ordered, "palms open and fingers spread. And kick off those heels and spread 'em."
Kirsten kicked off her very expensive four-inch heel pumps. "You're afraid I have a wire in my shoes?" she smirked.
Kitty was going through the ADA's purse. Satisfied, she tossed it aside, spun Kirsten around and "helped" her assume the position. She then slid her hands up under the lawyer's skirt and examined her thighs, rump... and other places.
"Wynter!" Kirsten complained.
"Hush. Eyes on the wall."
Kirsten sighed, and followed Kitty's order. To her immediate left was a decorative display of something like two dozen pairs of handcuffs, hanging from small hooks. All appeared to be antiques. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Kitty Wynter collects old handcuffs."
"Okay, you're clean," Kitty conceded. She pulled a pair of cuffs from the wall, lifted her right hand—her own right hand—and locked one of the manacles around her wrist. "These aren't just 'old', shyster," Kitty explained. "Every pair has a story." She placed her hands behind her back and deftly locked the other manacle around her left wrist. "These adjustable Hiatt Darbys were used by Harry Houdini, himself." She turned around so Kirsten could see the locked cuffs. She tugged her wrists—click-click—to prove the cuffs were locked, then turned back around, smiled, and shrugged her shoulders. She then pulled her hands from behind her back.
"Trick handcuffs," Kirsten sneered.
"No, they're real," Kitty chuckled. "You just have to understand how the locking mechanism works and know what to do about it. Here, I'll show you."
"That's okay," Kirsten chuckled. Abruptly, her smile faded. "No—Hey!" Kitty had spun her around and was clapping the cuffs around her wrists. "Look, Wynter," she muttered, tugging on the cold steel. Her fingers groped, but there were no hidden catches, none that she could find, anyway. "Get me out of these things or I swear I'll—"
"You'll what?" Kitty had retrieved the envelope. "I thought you had a job for me? C'mon."
Standing in her stocking feet, her blouse unbuttoned, her bra-restrained boobs half hanging out, and her wrists cuffed behind her back, Kirsten watched Kitty stroll to her desk, flop into her chair, lean back, and prop her bare feet on the desktop. Kirsten sighed and followed.
|Bondage, My Sweet|| Chapter 1
As Kirsten settled into one of a pair of visitor chairs, Kitty opened the envelope and pulled out a manila folder. Inside was a multi-page missing person report from the local police and several immigration forms, all related to one "Liesl Zirner." There was also an eight-by-ten photograph.
Kitty smiled. Liesl Zirner was a looker, a redhead with pale skin prone to freckles.
"You want me to find a missing person?" Kitty continued scanning the pages. "A German actress/model? What do you expect me to find that your cop friends couldn't?"
"Fräulein Zirner's supposed boyfriend is well connected at City Hall," Kirsten explained, "and he won't take no for an answer."
"And why isn't he here, hiring me himself?"
Kirsten smiled. "Let's just say he's very interested in finding Liesl, but can't get directly involved... for marital reasons."
"What aren't you telling me?" Kitty demanded.
"I don't know what you—"
"I'm not stupid," Kitty interrupted. "Clueless cops? Connected boyfriend? This stinks."
Kirsten shrugged. "Just read the files and see where it takes you. Remember, you're to use me as your contact."
Kitty's lips curled in a coy smile. "I'm to use you, am I?" she purred.
Kirsten blushed. "It's all there: ICE paperwork, interview transcripts, case notes... everything we've got. My cellphone number is on the back of the business card stapled inside the front cover. Keep me up to date."
"If I take the case," Kitty huffed. She continued reading for several seconds, then closed the folder. "Okay, my standard rate, plus expenses."
Kirsten smiled. "No discount for an old friend?"
"You're lucky I don't charge double." She eyed her new employer and smiled, again. "There is one more thing."
"I once told you I'd show you exactly what I do to nosy ADAs who harass law-abiding citizens for political purposes."
Kirsten tugged on her cuffs, nervously. "And I told you, the ex-mayor was the one behind the witch hunt to drive the kinky elements out of our fair city, not me."
"The Democrat in prison for influence peddling and bribe taking?" Kitty asked, "or the Republican under indictment for campaign finance irregularities?"
"The former," Kirsten answered.
"Whatever." Kitty's smile was downright predatory. "In any case, after I find your missing fräulein, you and I will settle old accounts."
"Whatever," Kirsten responded. Her smile was somewhat forced.
Kitty dropped the folder on her desktop, stood, walked around the desk, and lifted Kirsten from her chair. She took her by the elbow, gathered her jacket, shoes, and purse, then led her towards the front door.
"Uh... keep me informed," Kirsten muttered. "Hey!" Kitty had opened the door and thrust her across the threshold, tossing her jacket, heels, and purse after her. The door slammed and Kirsten was alone, in the public hallway... her blouse unbuttoned and her wrists cuffed behind her back. "Hey!" she repeated, kicking the door. Her stocking-clad foot only made a quiet thud.
The door opened and Kitty spun Kirsten around. There was a pair of quiet clicks, and the cuffs left the lawyer's wrists. "These are mine," Kitty muttered.
"Look here, Wynter," Kirsten huffed as she spun around to face door—slam—but it was already closed. She glared at the tasteful "Katerina Wynter, Licensed Private Investigator" sign as the deadbolt lock turned. Click! She sighed, shook her head, and began buttoning her blouse.
|Bondage, My Sweet|| Chapter 1
"Now, where were we?" Kitty inquired as she strolled back into the playroom. Bertie was exactly as she'd left her. No surprise there. "Sorry for the interruption." Kitty removed and hung her happi coat, stretched, and opened a cabinet drawer. She pulled out a wand-style vibrator. It had a doorknob-sized head at the business end and a steel ring at the other. She then stooped under the rope web, approached Bertie's splayed form, and added the vibrator to the arrangement.
When Kitty was satisfied, the vibrator's weight was just resting atop Bertie's labia, dangling from a strand of cord. Its long, thin power cord was plugged into a small electronic module on the floor, which in turn was plugged into a wall socket.
Bertie had watched the process with sad resignation. She didn't even bother mewling a gagged complaint.
"We have a case, by the way," Kitty said as she strolled to the door. "I'm gonna start on it, right now."
Bertie sighed as the door closed. A minute passed... then two... then the vibrator buzzed to life and she flinched in her bonds. "Nrrrf!"
|Bondage, My Sweet|| Chapter 1
Kitty turned on her computer and began tapping keys and sliding the mouse. A window opened, providing a decent view of Bertie, via the tiny camera hidden in the playroom rafters. The little blonde was pinned like a human fly caught in a Shibari spider's web. She was struggling—carefully struggling. Kitty's rope system was performing exactly as intended. As Bertie's limbs thrashed, the cat's cradle tightened here and slackened there. As the little captive tugged and twisted, she was pulled in different directions. A nipple would stretch—then bounce back as a thumb was jerked up and away, a big toe pulled out and down, a knee bent, and an elbow straightened—and all the while the buzzing head of the vibrator bounced and slid against her labia.
"I love it when a plan comes together," Kitty chuckled under her breath. The web was exceedingly complex, but it seemed to be working. No matter how she struggled, the teasing wand maintained its relative position over Bertie's crotch.
Kitty opened another window and pressed several virtual buttons. Soft, Classical music filled the office. It was Kitty's favorite FM station, and at the moment it was broadcasting Ravel's Piano Concerto in G Major. She pressed a final button, then focused on the camera window.
Bertie had stopped struggling, but now she was shivering in her bonds. Her bosom continued heaving, to the extent allowed by the clamps and their taut cords.
The music was being piped into the playroom, as well, and Kitty knew Bertie was also a Classical fan. And oh-by-the-way, the melodious cords were now modulating the vibrator's output, providing Bertie with a truly unique concert experience.
Kitty eyed the manila folder on her desk, the new case... then returned her gaze to the monitor. She tapped a button and the image of Bertie's quivering, captive body filled the entire screen. Fräulein Zirner could wait 'til morning.
|The End of...