by Van ©2012
can pass very slowly for a member of Rupandra's race, and
tonight was passing very slowly indeed.
Still naked and strapped to the motorized wheelchair so tightly
she could barely squirm, Rupandra was alone in an otherwise bare
cell. The floor, ceiling, and walls were stainless steel,
polished mirror-bright. Cold, blue-white LED light glowed
from recessed fixtures in the ceiling. Only long, narrow
ventilation slits near the ceiling of all four walls and the
hairline crack that defined the closed and locked door relieved
the monotony of the four walls; that and the slightly distorted
reflection of the chair and its naked, suffering prisoner.
The dominatrix who had "put her to bed" had placed clover-clamps
on Rupandra's nipples. The pads of the spring-loaded,
chromed steel devices maintained a firm grip. Not
surprising, as they were lined with tiny spikes. Granted,
the tiny, pin-sharp points didn't pierce her skin, but they were
making themselves known, aided by the force of gravity and
weights dangling from the ends of the clamps. The metal
burdens were in the shape of leaping wolves and while they were
no more than a few ounces each, they were heavy enough to
stretch her nipples in a most unpleasant manner.
Rupandra gazed at her reflection in the closed door,
specifically, at the leaping wolf weights dangling from her
nipples. They were chrome-bright, as highly polished as
the walls, but their finish had a slightly bluish tint. Ice wolves, Rupandra mused,
the symbol of Irena's clan. What's going to happen? Will she return me to
the Dragons? Or will I simply... disappear.
Captivity, torment, and uncertainty aside, Rupandra felt a
throbbing in her very core, as if not just her heart but her
entire body was beating. She knew the sensation was
imaginary, but she also knew what it meant. Her first
change was approaching, and the timing couldn't be worse.
"The Gift," the gene combination that gave the Incufumarae their
power to produce mind-controlling pheromones and enslave normal
humans, also granted long life. Some would say long lives. After living
the lifespan of a normal human, Rupandra's kind underwent "The
Change," during which they would slumber while their body
rejuvenated itself. Safe in the enclave of their clan or
in a hidden lair of their own devising, tended by their fellow
clan members or their most loyal of slaves, he or she would lie
in a coma-like state for several days while their skin grew
increasingly leathery and dry. And finally, they would
awaken, slough off their cocoon, and emerge youthful, restored,
and ready for another near-century of life.
There was another benefit of The Change. With each
rejuvenating cycle, an Incufumara's ability to tailor the
effectiveness of their pheromones improved. Extended
control of individual normals became easier and easier,
especially if they chose slaves with a propensity for
obedience—or, in romantic terms, if they found slaves who would
fall in love with their Master or Mistress.
For a Seventh-Cycle Elder like Irena, close control was almost
trivially easy. Rupandra very much suspected that every
employee of "Lady Irena's House of Pain" was devoted to their
Mistress and was
enthralled by her power, and the potency of that power would
never wane. Irena's slaves wanted to obey. Even if their bodies
developed immunity to her Gift, they would remain her slaves.
And even for unwilling slaves, including other Incufumarae of
lesser experience (like Rupandra) control was instant and
unbreakable, at least for a while. Eventually, the potency
of even an Elder's natural perfume would fade, but for a
Seventh-Cycle Elder... that wouldn't happen for weeks...
possibly even months.
Rupandra moaned through her gag and shivered in her bonds.
The dominatrix/slave had carried out all of Irena's instructions before sealing the
First, she painted Rupandra's breasts with a generous coating of
a thick, syrup-like oil that burned
on contact. It wasn't a physical burn, of course,
but as Rupandra squirmed in the chair and fought the straps, the
smiling dominatrix used a soft, camelhair brush to apply a
generous, thorough coat of the oil. By the time the
smiling bitch was finished, her breasts had felt like they were
about to ignite! The sensation had faded with time, but
the "Nettle Oil" continued to torment her skin.
Second, the dominatrix had placed a vibrator inside and against
Rupandra's pussy. The device clamped to the chair and its
cunning shape filled her and nudged against her clitoris.
It had been buzzing off and on for hours—or for however long it
had been since the cell door closed and Rupandra was left to her
fate. Granted, the vibrations had been rather weak, but
the duration and interval between pulses varied with no apparent
pattern, making the insidious thing impossible to ignore.
Suddenly, the cell door slid open and Lady Irena entered the
cell. She was wearing the same dominatrix outfit as
before, and the same superior smile graced her beautiful
face. "Congratulations, youngster," she chuckled, "you've
earned yourself a place in the history of our kind—a footnote,
Rupandra stared at her captor, trying not to beg, but she very
much feared her eyes were betraying her.
"A conclave of all five clan leaders is a rare event," Irena
continued, "even in this age of video communication.
Anyway, it was my honor and duty to brief them on your antics,
after first briefing the Ice Wolf and the Red Dragon, of
course. I still don't know what you did to anger your
clan. I suspect it's the same old story: a talented and vain youngster who thinks
she's good enough to found herself a new clan." Irena shook her head,
sadly. "That's it, isn't it? Silly girl.
Weren't you taught the dangers? How many promising first
or second cycle children have tried? How many were stoned
as sorcerers or burned as witches as a result?"
Irena reached out and released the nipple clamps, first the
left, and then the right.
"M'MMPFH!" Rupandra screamed through her gag. She
was glad the clamps and the Ice-Wolf weights were gone, but Great Gift it hurt!
Irena waited while Rupandra composed herself, then
continued. "There were two votes to put you in the ground,
youngster, but it was finally agreed to let you undergo the
Rupandra shivered in her bonds, both in distress and
relief. Her breasts still burned with that insidious oil
and the vibrator had chosen this moment to begin buzzing.
Irena's smile widened as she watched her prisoner squirm.
"Unfortunately, the Red Dragon doesn't want you back until
afterwards. I suspect she wants time for your Enclave
Elders to invent new torments for your punishment when you are returned. Also,
none of the other clans want you, the Ice-Wolves included.
Fortunately for you, there is a possible solution. Anyway,
it falls to me to clean up your mess, and negotiate your
disposition." She strolled to the right side of Rupandra's
chair, leaned close, and whispered in her ear. "In the
meantime, I want you to sleep, and dream, and I want you to
remain aroused. It will help stave off the change and
grant me a little more time to work things out. But don't
you dare cum, youngster. Quiver on the edge until I
return, but don't you dare
cum." She then kissed Rupandra's sweat-glistening
Rupandra's body jerked, then she sighed through her gag, her
eyes closed, and she slumped in her bonds.
Irena left the cell and the door closed behind her.
Rupandra remained asleep. Her eyes were already moving
under closed lids as she began to dream.
The vibrator continued to buzz at intermittent intervals.
|rizzoli & beckett
strode down the brightly lit hallway, then paused at a door and
entered a code in its cipher-lock. The door slid open and
she entered the large chamber beyond. It had a high
ceiling and was something like a fun-house
hall-of-mirrors. Tall, fully reflective panels on pivoting
brackets lined the walls. Overhead, in addition to banks
of small spotlights, four identical winch assemblies were
mounted to the ceiling in a neat row. Each had a pair of
drums with a dangling chain separated by about two feet.
Three sockets were visible in the steel floor directly beneath
Also present was a dominatrix and the two gurneys holding Kate
and Jane. The detectives were still naked, tightly
strapped and cuffed to the gurneys, and ball-gagged.
Irena smiled at her employee (and devoted slave). "Any
"None, Mistress," the dominatrix answered.
Irena's gaze shifted from gurney to gurney. "Hmm... I
think we'll begin with Jane. Prepare her."
The dominatrix released all of Jane's straps, including the
wrist and ankle cuffs, then stepped behind one of the mirrored
panels. She returned with four new cuffs.
Two were suspension cuffs of black leather, with stainless steel
hardware. They closed around Jane's wrists, first by means
of Velcro panels, and then with wide, locking cuffs of polished
steel. The design incorporated padded hand-grips and steel
rings dangling from heavy leather straps. The dominatrix
made sure Jane's fingers and thumbs were closed around the grips
as she secured the cuffs.
The other two cuffs, part of the matching set, were similar in
materials and style and went around Jane's ankles.
Irena leaned close and whispered in Jane's ear. "You're
still asleep, my beauty, but I want you to ease yourself off
your nice, soft bed. Will you do that for Mistress?
I'll help you."
"Mrrpfh," Jane mumbled through her ball-gag, then rolled off the
gurney. Her eyes remained closed and her face relaxed, not
counting the grimace imposed by the ball in her open mouth and
the straps keeping it there. With the slow, casual steps
of a sleepwalker, Jane allowed Irena and the dominatrix to guide
her beneath the second winch assembly. The dominatrix
stepped behind another mirrored panel and returned with several
items: an iPad, two heavy, stainless steel clips dangling from
short, thick steel rods, and another pair of double clips not
attached to anything.
Irena accepted the iPad and tapped the screen. A red LED
glowed on the second winch, the motor hummed, and its two chains
unreeled from their drums. Meanwhile, the dominatrix knelt
and secured Jane's feet to the floor. The clips snapped
through the ankle cuffs' dangling rings, then the pegs slid into
the two outside floor sockets and snapped into place. Jane was now
standing with her feet about twenty-four inches apart and
secured to the floor. The center floor socket was directly
under her body. The dominatrix stood and lifted Jane's
arms, one by one, and clipped the suspension cuffs' terminal
rings to the overhead chains.
"The saddle," Irena told the dominatrix.
"Yes, Mistress." The dominatrix turned and headed for a
cabinet behind another panel.
Irena tapped the iPad again, the winch motor hummed, and the
chains began slowly winding onto the drums. This continued
until Jane was in a standing spread-eagle with her arms fully
extended, but her feet remained flat on the floor.
The dominatrix returned with a steel post about an
inch-and-a-half in diameter and two feet in length. One
end was blunt and was scored with several six-inch, shallow
grooves. The other end was shaped something like an
unusually small and obviously quite
uncomfortable bicycle seat. It was stainless steel and
without padding, but several small, blunt copper studs
surrounded by rubber rings studded its upper surface.
Also—and it was a big
also—a glistening, black, rubber phallus jutted from the center
of the "seat." The dominatrix snapped the blunt end of the
post into the center socket, then gave it a twist until it
locked in place with a solid snap.
Irena tapped the iPad, a motor hummed, and the post began to
rise from the floor. The dominatrix leaned close and used
her gloved fingers to part Jane's labia and guide the phallus as
it slid into her vagina.
"You did lube that
thing, didn't you?" Irena inquired.
The dominatrix affected a wounded pout. "Mistress."
"Forgive me," Irena chuckled. "Of course you did."
She tapped the iPad and the post locked in place. Jane's
feet were still flat on the floor, but the saddle was nudging
her crotch. "Jane," Irena purred, "I want you to go up on
your toes for Mistress, as far as you can."
Jane did so, and in the process lifted herself off the
saddle. Most of the phallus remained inside her.
The dominatrix was leaning close, intently examining Jane's
crotch and the saddle. "She's free of the contacts,
Mistress. All of them."
Irena nodded. "All right, Jane. You may rest those
pretty toes." Jane settled back onto the saddle as Irena
nodded at the second gurney. "And now for Kate," she told
Soon, Kate's condition was identical to Jane's. Both were
in standing spread-eagles, feet on the floor, ankle cuffs
secured to steel rings, hands curled around the padded handles
of the suspension cuffs locked around their wrists, crotches
resting on tiny, copper-studded saddles, and impaled on rubber
The dominatrix began wheeling one of the gurneys from the
chamber, then paused in the doorway. "Pain and suffering
will really cleanse
their bodies, Mistress?" she inquired.
Irena was gazing at her pair of spreadeagled, naked, captive
detectives. "It will," she confirmed. "They were
slaves of the Red Dragon whelp for many hours, more than a day,
in fact. After they are... entertained for about
twenty-four hours, their bodies will be purged and my Gift will have its full
The dominatrix smiled. "Mistress, your Gift is
omnipotent. Is this really
Irena smiled back. "Of course not, but it certainly is
fun, don't you agree?"
"Oh, yes, Mistress,"
the dominatrix chuckled, wheeled the gurney into the hallway,
then returned and wheeled out the second gurney.
Irena gazed at her prisoners for several more seconds, then
walked to the door and turned. "Kate, Jane, I want you to
count to one hundred, then, wake up." She crossed the
threshold and the door slid closed behind her.
|rizzoli & beckett
had let Olivia keep the "Visiting Agent" office so she could
coordinate the investigations in Boston and New York. Dana
had accepted the temporary use of a senior Agent's office for
the duration. She had no idea what the poor guy had done
to earn the "honor" of being evicted to appease the visiting
Executive Assistant Director, but the politics of the New York
Field Office were none of her concern. Besides, the office
had a window. She closed the folder before her on the desk
and gazed at the Manhattan skyline beyond said window. The
sun was setting and the buildings were already transitioning
from glass, steel, brick, and concrete towers to pillars of
Dana's stomach growled. She'd skipped lunch. The
building had a cafeteria, but she had no idea of the
hours. Maybe I'll order
a pizza, she thought, or Chinese.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Enter," Dana
The door opened to reveal Olivia. "I just got a call from
a Dr. Helen Magnus," she announced. "She claims to have
important information regarding the whereabouts of Detectives
Beckett and Rizzoli."
Dana's eyes widened in surprise. "Helen Magnus?"
Dana had told Olivia nothing about her Sanctuary Network
contact. Olivia didn't have a need to know. Why would Helen call Olivia, and
"I haven't had time to do a search," Olivia responded. "I
asked her to come in, but she wants to meet in a restaurant."
Dana's stomach growled, again, and a smile curled her
lips. That sounds like
Helen. She wants another free meal from the Bureau.
"I'm coming with you."
Now it was Olivia's turn to be surprised. "Executive
"You're here without a partner," Dana observed. "You can't
take a meeting without backup." Besides, she thought, there's no way I'm gonna miss the
expression on Helen's face when I walk in and demand to know
who the hell she thinks she is to ignore the Bureau's chain of
Olivia nodded. "From the name it's an Indian place, about
three blocks from here."
Dana stood, opened the side drawer of the borrowed desk, and
pulled out her Glock. She slid the holster's clip under
the waistband of her skirt, at the small of her back and under
her jacket. "I like Chicken Marsala," she said.
|rizzoli & beckett
tugged on her wrist cuffs for what felt like the millionth
time. She'd opened her eyes to find herself in a standing
spread-eagle and impaled
on some sort of rubber prod. She was also naked and
ball-gagged. Kate Beckett was to her left, in identical
condition. Jane tried lifting herself off the... thing between her legs, but
the wide, leather and steel cuffs securing her ankles to the
floor made this impossible. She had sufficient slack to go
up on her toes and the even wider cuffs securing her wrists with
their integrated grips for her hands let her put her shoulders
and arms into the effort, but it was impossible. She
tried, nonetheless, as did Kate.
They'd tried communicating early on, not that Jane could think
of anything helpful or clever that Kate needed to know about
their situation that she didn't already know. In any case,
their repertoire was limited to simian grunts and growls and the
blinking of eyes.
And then, it happened. The steel saddle or platform under
Jane's crotch suddenly delivered a stinging electric shock! Jane yelped
through her gag and went up on her toes. As Kate's
behavior mirrored her own, Jane surmised the New York cop had
also been shocked.
Supported by her toes and the strength of her arms, Jane
remained above the saddle. The thing—dildo, phallus, dong,
as far inside her as when she was "sitting" on the saddle with
her feet on the floor, but she was still impaled.
Jane held the up-on-her-toes pose for several minutes...
Then for several minutes more.
Finally, Jane decided that perhaps a test was in order.
She knew she could alternate between putting her full weight on
her toes and taking her full weight with her arms—but she
couldn't do it forever. Eventually she'd exhaust the
relevant muscle groups. Maybe the saddle wasn't
electrified all the
time. Maybe it would "allow" her to rest.
"Mrrrf!" Kate had obviously had the same thought, decided
to conduct the same test, and had beat Jane to the punch—or in
this case, the jolting shock. Jane watched a shudder pass
through her fellow captive's glistening body. Kate was
back up on her toes. She heaved a gagged sigh in Jane's
direction, nodded down at her crotch with her drool-dripping
chin, then shook her head.
Jane heaved a gagged sigh of her own and settled in for the
Suddenly, the door slid open with a quiet hum and a truly bizarre figure entered the
She—and the figure was definitely
a she—had a smooth, coffee-brown complexion and an athletic,
voluptuous build. She was wearing skintight thigh-boots, a
very French-cut thong, a corset that constricted her waist and
supported her generous breasts, and opera gloves, all of white
leather. Her features were hidden behind a mask, also of
white leather, and it was sculpted in the visage of a grinning
rabbit, complete with pink nose, full cheeks, buck teeth, and
long, floppy ears. Her curly hair was pulled back in a
tight ponytail, and was as jet black as Jane's own tousled
locks. In her right hand she held—Gulp—a flogger! It had twenty or more
long, narrow ribbons of white leather dangling from a braided
leather handle, also in white.
"My, my, my, what a pretty pair," the rabbit-woman
chuckled. Her voice was disguised by some sort of
electronic device that imparted a buzzing, very eerie
lilt. "They told me your names, but who has time to worry
about such things." She stepped behind the spreadeagled
prisoners, there was a brief pause, then she delivered a stinging lash to Jane's
"I'll call you Blackie," the rabbit-woman said, then delivered a
lash to Kate's butt.
"And you I'll call Brownie." The rabbit-woman produced a
small remote from somewhere behind her back. Jane to Kate
looked back over their shoulders and watched as the white
apparition pointed the remote first at Jane, then at Kate, and
then back at Jane. "Eenie meanie miny mo. Who gets
to go first, Blackie or Brownie?" Finally, she thumbed one
of the remote's buttons.
Jane yelped through her gag and flinched in her bonds. The
phallus between her legs had begun to vibrate, and was also
slowly sliding up and down. And if she wasn't mistaken, it
was also slowly spinning and wobbling, ever so slightly. It's fucking me! she
realized, and howled through her gag in frustration and
"Oh goodness me," the rabbit-woman laughed. "If looks
could kill, your pretty brown eyes would strike me dead."
She shifted her animal mask gaze to Kate. "Don't worry,
Brownie. You'll get your turn." She gave the flogger
a practice swing. "In the meanwhile..." Swish. "To pass the
Jane tried to ignore what the dildo was doing to her. She
also tried to ignore the flogging the rabbit-woman was
delivering to Kate's back, butt, and thighs. There was
nothing she could do about either. Most frustrating of
all, she couldn't remember what the hell had led to their
current ordeal. She remembered meeting Kate, that she was
a New York cop, but the details were just out of reach.
There was a case, they were working on a case. Also, she
remembered naked skin... lots
of naked skin, as well as lapping tongues, teasing fingers, soft
lips... And above all, the scent of this wonderful perfume... but it
was all flashes. She just couldn't remember any
details! The full picture kept slipping away.
And speaking of things that were slipping...
Jane's mechanical violation continued. She shuddered in
her bonds as the phallus worked its evil magic.
Kate's flogging also continued.
There was a woman, Jane remembered, with reddish-brown hair and
the most incredibly beautiful pale blue eyes, or was it two
women, and... She couldn't remember!
The spinning, vibrating shaft pumping her pussy was NOT helping her
|rizzoli & beckett
and Dana passed through the doors and discovered that the
"Madurai Palace" was, not surprisingly, an Indian
restaurant. The decor of the lobby was tastefully exotic,
with dark wood paneling, a splashing fountain, and a multi-armed
sculpture of a Hindu deity in an artfully lit alcove.
Truth be told, Olivia had no idea what an "authentic" Indian
eatery was supposed to look like, but it seemed like a pleasant
The hostess at the reservations desk was in her late twenties,
with long, straight, black hair and stunning features. The
name tag pinned to her sari read "Aishwarya." She smiled
and spoke with a lilting accent. "Welcome to Madurai
Palace. Party of two?"
"We're here to meet Dr. Magnus," Olivia answered.
Still smiling, the hostess nodded and picked up two menus.
"Of course, right this way, if you please."
She led them through the main dining room. The dimly lit
interior was as tasteful as the lobby, and a wonderful, spicy
aroma hung in the air. Waiters and busboys bustled
about. The tables were only about half-occupied, but it
was still somewhat early. Their destination was one of
several private dining alcoves in the back. The hostess
parted a pair of gauzy, translucent curtains, and Olivia and
Dana entered the alcove.
Within they found an attractive, middle-aged woman sitting on
one of several large, flat cushions clustered around a low,
circular table. She was dressed in a smart business suit,
a skirt and jacket of charcoal gray over a white blouse.
Her hair was auburn and long and her eyes a pale shade of
blue. She rose to her feet with the grace of a dancer, and
Olivia stared in stunned amazement. The woman was... beautiful. "D-Doctor
"Yes," the woman answered. "I'm Helen Magnus."
"Special Agent Olivia Dunham." The woman shook Olivia's
hand—and a thrill
rippled through Olivia's crotch and up her spine. Her
nostrils flared and she realized her pulse was racing. The
woman's perfume, together with the spices of the restaurant, was
overpowering... and wonderful.
The woman turned and shook Dana's hand.
"Special Agent Dana Scully," Dana introduced herself.
Olivia wasn't surprised by Dana referring to herself as a
"Special Agent." It was standard Bureau practice not to
use higher rank designations in the field unless it was
necessary. And this applied especially to the "Executive Assistant
Director for Special Cases." The title led to too many
questions. What was not
standard was the way Dana was staring at Dr. Magnus.
Olivia hadn't known her superior for very long, but Dana's
expression might be
one of poorly concealed confusion, possibly even panic.
Olivia also realized
that she, herself, was staring at Magnus like an idiot and
closed her mouth.
"Be seated, please," Magnus purred, and followed her own
advice. The hostess handed menus to Olivia and Dana, then
"Y-you're n-not Magnus," Dana stammered.
The auburn-haired beauty smiled. "You know Dr. Magnus?"
Dana's jaw twitched before she answered. "I..."
"Neither of you are to move unless I give you permission," the
woman ordered, then repeated her question to Dana. "You
know Helen Magnus? Tell me the truth."
"I know Helen Magnus," Dana answered. "You're not Helen
"No, I'm not," the woman chuckled. "Please, show me your
Olivia and Dana fumbled for their badge/ID cases and handed them
"Olivia Dunham," the woman said quietly, then shifted her
attention to Dana's ID. "And Dana Scully." Her
eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "Executive Assistant
Director," she noted. The badge cases weren't quite
identical. Dana's had an additional flap under her Bureau
ID. The woman lifted the flap and gazed at a second
ID. "Ah, Homeland Security and Department of Defense special authority."
Her smile broadened. "I seem to have landed myself a big
fish." Her ice-blue eyes locked with Dana's worried, green
eyes. "And what an attractive fish you are, Dana
Scully." She shifted her gaze to Olivia. "And you,
as well, Olivia. You're both very pretty youngsters."
Dana opened her mouth. "Who—"
"Hush, Dana," the woman chuckled. "I know you've come for
information, but I'm afraid you're going to be doing most of the
talking." She paused to take a delicate sip of ice
water. "Smile, both of you. We're good friends
enjoying a pleasant meal and having a nice, friendly chat.
And after dessert... Well, let's wait and see how the
evening progresses." She set down her glass. "My
real name is Irena, by the way, but you may call me Mistress."
|rizzoli & beckett