by Van ©2012
was lying on her side on the floor of a padded cell. She
was naked. Her hands and arms were behind her back and
zipped and strapped into an arm-binder, a skintight
single-sleeve of black, chamois-soft leather. It pressed
her hands together, finger-to-finger and palm-to-palm, and her
forearms together along their entire length, from wrists to
elbows. This rolled back her shoulders and thrust forward
her already prominent breasts. The binder was part of a
system of straps with locking buckles that included a wide,
stiff collar, narrow straps that yoked her shoulders and
encircled her upper-arms and torso, and more straps around her
waist and sheath-bound forearms, through her crotch, and around
her upper thighs. The crotch straps didn't cleave her
pussy, but anchored what amounted to a pussy spider-gag, an
oval-shaped steel ring with cleverly designed, curved flanges
that wedged her labia apart and attached to the thigh and waist
straps. An actual spider-gag was strapped in her mouth,
propping open her jaws. It was buckled and locked at the
nape of her neck, tight enough for its strap to cause her cheeks
to bulge. Finally, locking leather cuffs separated by a
foot of light chain hobbled her ankles.
The prolonged immobility was taking its toll. A normal
human would have been in great pain, especially in the
shoulders, but what Rupandra felt was the deep burn that
accompanied the healing of an injury. She knew that was
why Irena had ordered her to be strapped into the binder and
harness. They were sapping her strength, continuing the
process begun by the vibrator and nipple-clamps she'd endured
while strapped in the wheelchair. The need to heal was
delaying the change, making her too weak to begin the
process. Eventually, she'd have to feed, and she'd have to
feed a lot. Otherwise, when the change finally came, her
body would consume rather than rejuvenate itself. But
first, slowly and with great suffering, Rupandra would go mad.
Among the Incufumarae, it was called the "Traitor's Death," an
ancient form of execution not used for centuries, reserved for
those who had betrayed their clan or had sided with human
fanatics against their own kind. She knew Irena wasn't really going to let her
die. The Mistress of the House of Pain was making Rupandra
suffer for the Ice-Wolf Elder's enjoyment and to make her easier to
control—and it was working, the control aspect, anyway.
Rupandra was weak with hunger, thirst, and the need to feed on
the essence of a normal human, what was called "soul
hunger," She assumed the enjoyment aspect was also
working, for Irena. The Elder certainly seemed to be finding
pleasure in her predicament, whenever she dropped by to gloat.
And speaking of gloating, the padded door opened and Irena
entered the cell. She was dressed in her usual dominatrix
drag with the usual smile curving her flame-red lips and dancing
in her pale-blue eyes. In her gloved hands was a steel
tray, which she set on the padded floor.
On the tray were two small, stainless steel pet bowls. One
contained what appeared to be clear water, and the other some
sort of brown kibble. Rupandra stared at what she hoped
would be a much wanted meal.
Irena knelt and unlocked, unbuckled, and removed Rupandra's
spider-gag. "Not a word, youngster," she cautioned as she
stood and took a step back. "Eat."
It was an order Rupandra was more than happy to follow. It
was also an order she was powerless not to follow. Irena's pheromonal
control of Rupandra's mind was as unbreakable as her
bonds. She alternated between lapping water and tonguing
kibble into her mouth, chewing, and swallowing. All the
while, Irena watched with the same self-satisfied smile.
Finally, the modest repast consumed, Rupandra sat back on her
heels and glared at her captor.
"I know your other
appetite is great, Little Dragon," Irena chuckled, "so I've
decided to allow you a meal for your soul, as well." She
turned, stepped back through the door, and returned immediately,
leading a naked woman in chains.
Rupandra stared, her eyes wide with hunger. The woman was
a redhead, a normal human by her scent, with pale skin, a toned,
fit body, modest but well-formed breasts, and green eyes.
Padded cuffs of brown leather bound her wrists and ankles with a
matching collar around her throat. A light steel chain
about a foot in length joined her wrists, a chain of similar
length hobbled her ankles, and a longer, vertical chain linked
the collar to the central links of the wrist and ankle
chains. A gag covered and compressed her mouth. It
was a panel-gag, also of brown leather. It had a
chin-strap, and from the bulge in the panel, it incorporated
some sort of mouth-filling plug.
"Rupandra," Irena said, "allow me to introduce Executive
Assistant Director Dana Scully of the FBI. No doubt she'd
like to arrest you for your crimes, but instead, she's going to
serve as your snack."
Rupandra gazed into Dana's eyes. They were wide but
knowing. Rupandra could tell the redhead was
enthralled—just as Rupandra, herself, was enthralled—but Irena
was allowing the human full awareness. Dana was aware of
all that was happening to her—but, bondage aside, she was
powerless to disobey.
"Dana, please go down on your hands and knees with your back to
Rupandra," Irena ordered. Dana shuffled forward and
complied. "Knees further apart," Irena added. Again,
Dana complied. The Elder smiled at Rupandra. "You
don't mind taking her doggie-style, I hope. Given the other dining arrangements,
it seems appropriate."
"No, Mistress," Rupandra muttered. Irena had asked a
direct question, she wasn't gagged, and therefore had no choice
but to answer; however, she couldn't keep the contempt from her
"Excellent," Irena chuckled. "Begin."
Rupandra leaned close, nosed Dana's pussy, then extended her
tongue and slid it across her "snack's" flushed, glistening
labia. Both captives shuddered with pleasure.
"As slow as you can, Dragon whelp," Irena purred. "I know
your hunger is great, but make it as slow as you can.
Prolong Dana's pleasure. Keep her on the edge until I give
you permission to let her cum. Then, and only then may you
actually take in her aura."
Rupandra continued licking and sucking Dana's pussy, using
light, teasing strokes and taking playful, ever-so-gentle
nibbles of the shivering redhead's labia with her lips and
"She's delicious," Irena sighed, "don't you agree? No,
don't stop to answer me, silly girl. Continue."
Rupandra did continue, and Dana continued moaning softly through
her gag and shivering delicately in her bonds.
"I've always been partial to the flavor of redheads," Irena
continued. "I may make my next lair in Ireland or
|rizzoli & beckett
Rizzoli stared at the canvas padding of her cell. The
ceiling, floor and all four walls were the equivalent of a thin
mattress. Well, she assumed
the walls and ceiling were that soft. She could only vouch
for the floor. The off-white, tufted canvas was only
relieved by a recessed lighting fixture covered by a grid of
heavy wire in the ceiling, directly overhead, and by a
rectangular outline in the padding that was probably a closed
and presumably locked door.
Jane was naked, bound, and gagged. A wide strip of some
sort of tape covered her lips, plastered to her lower face from
nose to chin and ear to ear. Her arms were folded behind
her back and laced and buckled into a "U"-shaped binder that
pressed her fingers and hands against her forearms and stretched
from armpit to armpit. Finally, leather ankle cuffs were
buckled around her ankles and attached to the ends of a
four-foot wooden pole, splaying her legs.
Despite her bondage and nude captivity, Jane felt oddly relaxed,
as if she'd been given a painkiller of some sort. Her body
was a little sore, but
her stomach was full and she wasn't particularly thirsty.
She had vague memories of consuming some sort of brown nuggets
and lapping water from a bowl, but that was all. When she
tried remembering anything else that had happened or how she
came to be in this cell... the details eluded her. She did
remember a whip, and being shocked, and sweating and struggling
in inescapable bonds—bonds different from her current inescapable
bonds—but they were only fleeting impressions. At some
point her body had been washed and her long, raven curls
shampooed, dried, brushed, and arranged in a ponytail, but when
and how that happened was also a mystery.
It was frustrating in the extreme. "Mrrrrf!" Jane
squirmed and fought her bonds. She knew who she was, Jane
Rizzoli, and what she was, a Boston cop, but the actual events
of recent hours—or recent days,
for all she knew—were a near total blank.
Just then, the door opened and a woman entered the cell.
recognized her instantly and a thrill strong enough to make her entire body
quiver rippled between her legs and up her spine.
Irena was naked—gloriously
naked. Her auburn hair framed her perfect, smiling
face. Her body was smooth, tan, toned, and magnificent. She
gracefully strode to Jane and knelt beside her prostrate
form. "Jane Rizzoli," she sighed, then lifted Jane's head
and shoulders onto her lap. "How I'd love to keep you,
Jane... and Kate and Olivia as well, but it's not to be."
She leaned close and kissed Jane's forehead.
Another shiver passed through Jane's body. Kate? Olivia? And
then she remembered. The
New York cop! The Fed! But most of her
attention was on her Mistress. Irena's breasts were so close, and her pussy was
nestled against the back of her head! "M'mmmf." Jane
gazed into her Mistress' beautiful, ice-blue eyes.
"I think you could love me, Jane," Irena continued, "really love me, in
time." She sighed. "But it's too dangerous. I
release your mind, Jane, completely." She leaned close and
kissed Jane's forehead. "Remember."
Jane blinked in surprise, then screamed through her gag and fought her bonds
in a frenzy of angry frustration. "MMMMF!" All of
her memories had come flooding back! She knew exactly what had happened,
exactly what had been
done to her, and exactly what
had been done to the others!
Irena smiled and watched as Jane fought her bonds and glared up
at her. "It's wicked of me to let you remember, even for a
little while, I know, but I take my pleasure where I can find
it, Jane." She took a long, deep breath. "Your anger
Jane growled through her gag and stared daggers at her
Irena gazed back with a serene smile. "I know you don't
believe it, but you could
love me, Jane. I could make you, but it would be a long
journey of months, or even years. But eventually,
inevitably..." She sighed, again. "It's a delicious
game, one I've played many times in the past. But in this
case..." She reached down and rested her left palm on
Jane's lower abdomen, between her bellybutton and the black
curls of her pubic thatch. She shook her head. "It's
too dangerous. This time it's too dangerous."
Jane flinched, pausing in her vain efforts to free
herself. Irena's hand was working its magic, again! Jane shivered
and quaked as the now all too familiar thrill of Irena's touch
rippled between her legs.
"As I feed this one
last time, Jane," Irena purred, "you will purge your mind of all
that has happened. You will remember nothing from the time
you arrived in New York to continue your investigation of
Rupandra's crimes. However, I want you to remember Kate
and Olivia, your 'Sisters in Pain,' if you will. In fact,
I want you three to become good friends. Will you do that
Jane nodded, shivering and writhing in her bonds.
"Excellent," Irena whispered, and kissed Jane's ear. "To
reiterate, you will forget all other details, including my name
and face—" Her fingers parted the curls of Jane's bush as
her hand slid lower until it cupped her pussy. "You will
forget any and all things that might lead others to me or my
lair. And—" Her palm began to slowly slide across
Jane's labia and she squirmed in response. "If at some
point in the future you do
start to remember anything of importance, even an impression,
that will trigger the memory of what my Ladies did to you in the
Chamber of Mirrors—not the details, but the feelings, Jane. You
will remember the pain and the horror of what my bunny and cat
and devil did to you—but you will not remember Irena or the House of Pain.
I know you're a tenacious cop, Jane, but in your gut you'll know
that nothing good will
come of continuing this investigation. Do you understand?"
"Mrrrf!" Jane moaned through her tape-gag and nodded her
"Such a good slave," Irena chuckled, her hand gliding as she
continued to feed. "There is one last thing. I know
all about Rupandra's little joke, how she planted a command in
the back of your mind, a certain task for you to perform, when the time is
right—and I thoroughly approve. It's deliciously humorous, and
with respect to said command, and only with respect to said
command, I order you to consider her order to be my order. When the time is right, Jane,
when it is safe for you to do so, you will pounce like a pretty
Jane had no idea what Irena was talking about, what the "joke"
she was referring to might be. In point of fact, all she
could concentrate on was what Irena's hand was doing to her
"Don't you dare cum, Jane," Irena chuckled. "I want you to
build to the cusp of orgasm and ride it like a wave, flirting
with release... but don't you dare
cum." Her hand continued to slide. "But finally,
when you can take it no more, you will cum—and then you will
sleep, Jane. You will sleep as if in a coma, as if you are
Sleeping Beauty, herself. And when you hear the sound of a
ringing bell, you will awaken."
Jane shivered, squirmed, and fought her bonds, her body shining
with sweat as Irena's hand continued gliding across her flushed,
|rizzoli & beckett
was back in the harness she'd worn before, and quite possibly
the same bed of the same severe, Modern bedroom. Arms
raised, fingers and hands encased in tight leather mittens,
wrist cuffs secured behind her head to the harness, ball-gag
plugging her mouth and adding to her arm bondage, ankles and
upper thighs strapped and buckled in the frog-tie position—it
was the same. Only this time, Dana could remember
everything that had happened to her. She remembered Irena
making her cum, several times. She remembered Rupandra
making her cum, doggie-style. She remembered the three
masked women in dominatrix costumes who bathed and massaged her
body, shampooed, dried, and brushed her hair, and fed her a
delicious gourmet meal.
Dana squirmed in her bonds and forced an angry growl past her
gag. After the meal, they'd also given her an enema! Two had done
the deed while the third took every opportunity to squeeze her
breasts and lick her nipples. It had been humiliating, but
afterwards, after cleaning her nether region with warm, wet
washcloths, the doms had made her cum—several times—using fur
gloves and wet tongues and buzzing vibrators.
It was like a dream, a glorious, waking wet-dream, a dream of
some sultan's harem. No, some sultana's harem—and the sultana was Lady
And then, as before, the "sultana" in question stepped from the
shadows, and as before, she was gloriously naked.
Dana quivered with
excitement as Irena climbed onto the bed. Curiously, at
the same time, Dana's mind was clear and her thoughts were on
escape and the arrest of her kidnapper—her beautiful, generous lover and
"My Irish Rose," Irena purred as she lifted Dana's head and her
folded and bound arms onto her lap. "I confess I'm giddy with the auras of
your fellow slaves." Her fingers lightly tickled Dana's
exposed armpits, causing her captive to squirm. "I've
already fed upon Jane and Kate and your Olivia and do not need to feed on
you, as well—but I will, because I must."
Dana shivered as Irena's hand slid down to her lower tummy and
began its all too familiar—and glorious—slow massage. "Mrrrf," Dana
moaned through her ball-gag as the sparkling, titillating waves
of pleasure rippled across her skin.
"When you live as long as I have, Dana," Irena said, "empathy
becomes difficult." She leaned close and kissed Dana's
forehead. "I mean empathy for 'normals,' such as yourself,
Dana." Her hand continued to glide. "You're like a
mayfly to me, my pretty one. Your life is a brief candle,
while mine is long-burning, and can be renewed. Some of my
kind can't handle it. They sink into depression and waste
away, or they go mad. Elizabeth Bathory was one
such. She was like a sister to me, before the madness took
her. The Clans had no choice but to let the humans deal
with her. It's something the youngsters in their first few
cycles don't really understand. It takes great strength to
live in the world, Dana."
Dana continued squirming in her bonds as Irena's hand continued
"As the decades turn into centuries, it can become difficult to
recognize and acknowledge the Godhead in every living
mind," Irena continued. She kissed Dana's forehead,
again. "Like your mind, my Irish Rose. It's one
thing to take my pleasure and sustenance from your body, or to
let my slaves take their pleasure from the bodies of others,
like the pretty cops and your fellow Agent; but you are not mayflies. Your
all-too-quick comings and goings do not make your lives valueless." She
paused, her hand going still—then she laughed. "Listen to
me. I am giddy,
and chattering like a magpie." Her hand began to move,
again. "To business."
Dana squirmed and shivered as Irena's fingers toyed with the
fiery curls of her pubic bush, then lightly traced her flushed
and glistening labia.
"I held you back from the tender mercies of my Ladies for a
reason, Dana," Irena explained. "For you, my Irish Rose, only pleasure, never pain. You will
remember nothing of how you came to be my guest, other than it
was part of an investigation that has been successfully resolved
with the help of Helen Magnus. From your seat of power in
the Bureau, you will insure that all records that might lead
others to the House of Pain, or to any of my kind, shall be
purged or buried. When you think of me, all you will
remember will be feelings of pleasure—unfocused, nonspecific
pleasure." Her fingers slid between Dana's labia,
eliciting a gagged moan of delight. "Lady Irena, in New
York, is your confidential informant, Dana. If ever the
Incufumarae or any individual who might be of the Clans come to
the attention of the government, you will contact me, secretly,
with none of your colleagues the wiser. Will you do that
Dana attempted to answer, forcing an affirmative moan through
the ball in her mouth and nodding her head as best she could.
"Such a good slave," Irena purred. "And now, Dana, to seal
our little pact, and only
when I give you permission, you will cum, and it will be the
best orgasm of your life, Irena's parting gift to her Irish
Rose." Her fingers and palms continued working their
magic. "And then, you will sleep, and will only awaken
when you hear the sound of a ringing bell."
Dana nodded, again. Her pale skin was flushed and shining
with sweat, her green eyes glazed and staring.
"Slowly, Dana," Irena cautioned. "This is going to take a
very long time."
|rizzoli & beckett
strode through the double doors of the largest workroom of her
Hidden Lair. The space was brightly lit, with cabinets and
shelves lining the walls. In the center was a large
worktable, and clustered around it were three of her
dominatrix-slaves. They were in their House of Pain
"uniforms," as was their Mistress. To their left were four
gurneys occupied by the nude, unconscious forms of Jane, Kate,
Olivia, and Dana.
"Mistress," the doms said in unison, bowing in greeting.
Irena acknowledged with a smile and a nod, then examined her
captives. All four were bound to their gurneys with
medical restraints, cuffs around their wrists and ankles and
straps across their chests, waists, and thighs. In
addition, broad strips of Elastoplast tape were plastered over
their lips, sleep-mask blindfolds covered their eyes, and
noise-cancelling headphones covered their ears. The two
Detectives and two Feds were fast asleep, confirmed by their
slow, even breathing and the scent of their naked bodies.
The locked cuffs, flesh-dimpling straps, tape-gags, blindfolds,
and noise dampeners were added and almost certainly superfluous
precautions, but Irena hadn't survived for many centuries by
taking unnecessary risks. Besides, to Irena and her
slave-doms, helpless and restrained the captives were even more beautiful.
Irena gazed at each in turn. Jane, she thought, my Minoan princess. Kate, my Roman
princess. Olivia, my Viking princess. And Dana...
Oh Dana, my Irish Rose. "It breaks my heart to
let them go," Irena sighed.
"Mistress?" one of the doms asked.
Irena smiled. "Nothing." She joined her beloved
slaves at the worktable. "All is in readiness?"
"Yes, Mistress," one of the doms answered. "I've
personally checked the location. The hidden surveillance
cameras and encrypted signal repeaters are in place and
tested. The signal will piggyback on the building's
broadband connection and is untracable. That assumes the
authorities ever discover the cameras, of course. The
location, itself, is also untraceable. The property will
never be linked to any of your financial holdings, or the House
of Pain. The building management is aware that a new
tenant is moving furniture and equipment into the suite, but
that is all. The shipment will be made first by
ourselves—" She gestured at her fellow doms. "—to a
bonded company for transshipment. Then, we'll take back
the delivery, with different personnel and the appropriate
paperwork, of course. Once we arrive at the location,
we'll make the final arrangements."
"Using a bonded company as an intermediary," Irena nodded.
"Clever." She gazed at the clutter of materials on the
table. They included: (1) rolls of plastic wrap and
duct tape; (2) four breathing masks and regulators with clear
plastic tubes leading to small, green bottles of oxygen; (3)
four anal plugs of black rubber; (4) four urinary catheters with
plastic tubes and collection bags; (5) several open cases of
handcuffs of various design and manufacture, some joined by only
an inch of steel links and some by twelve to eighteen inches of
light chain; and (6) four ball-gags.
Irena picked up one of the gags and turned it in her gloved
hands. Its ball was a two-inch sphere of hard
rubber. The strap was a black, heavy-duty cable-tie,
padded for several inches on either side of the ball with rubber
tubing. The ball and tubing had been dipped in black
latex, fusing them into a single unit. Once the ball was
placed in the wearer's mouth and the cable-tie zipped tight, it
would have to be cut to be removed. "Very good work,"
Her Ladies beamed with pride. "The gags' individual
components are untraceable," one of them said, "for sale at any
one of a hundred hardware stores or building centers across the
city, thousands across
Irena nodded, then kissed her slaves, one by one. "My
loyal, talented, beautiful, and diligent slaves. What have I done to
The doms giggled. "Mistress," one of them whispered, "that
is for us to ask."
Irena chuckled, then pointed at four wooden packing crates to
the right of the table. Each crate was a four-foot by
four-foot cube with an open, hinged lid that could be secured by
spring-loaded hasps and padlocks. Beside them were four
large, clear plastic bags of Styrofoam packing peanuts.
"Get our guests wrapped up, secured, and on their way.
I'll be across the way, preparing our other shipment."
"Yes, Mistress," the doms acknowledged and watched Irena leave
They strolled to the gurneys and gazed down at their naked,
slumbering, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and headphone-deafened
"Let's start with the redhead," a dom suggested.
"You're jealous," another suggested, "because she's Mistress'
favorite, and because
she let us pleasure her, but wouldn't
let us torture her. I love
the way pale skin colors under the lash."
"Of course I'm jealous," the first dom purred. "We all
are. The ginger won't be harmed, as Mistress ordered, but
that doesn't mean she can't be the first into her box."
"Or the last to be unpacked," the third dom added.
|rizzoli & beckett