by Van ©2012
Chapter 13

ABOUT TWO MONTHS LATER,
DR. MAURA ISLES HOUSE.

---

Maura favored her BFF with an expression of great disappointment.  "You promised."

"Did not." Jane countered.

Maura sighed.  "You did, at lunch.  I made the suggestion and your response was, 'That'll be great!'  That's what you said, word-for-word."

"It's called sarcasm, Maura."

"You promised," Maura reiterated.  "We can order the costume online right now."

"Maura," Jane whined, "I am not wearing a metal bikini to your Halloween party."

"The party's theme is science fiction movies and television," Maura responded, "and Princess Leia as Jabba the Hutt's prisoner is a cultural icon."

"Then you come as a naked space-princess," Jane huffed.

"I already have my costume," Maura smiled.  "Star Trek—The Original Series.  Boots, pantyhose, Science-blue miniskirt uniform, and a working Medical tricorder!"

Jane was dubious.  "Really?  Really, Maura?  Working?"

Maura's dimpled smile broadened.  "There's a company that makes a replica tricorder casing you can slide your iPhone into.  They've written an app that makes the appropriate sounds and displays a variety of images.  You can set the graphics style on Original Series or Next Generation and Voyager."

"That's wonderful," Jane drawled.

"You promised."

Jane sighed.  "Ma will be there.  Franky and Tommy will be there.  Frost and Korsak will be there."

"You have a beautiful body, Jane," Maura intoned.

"So do you," Jane countered.  "You dance around in a metal bra and a frikkin'-frakkin' chastity belt."

"It's not a chastity belt," Maura said, "and I told you—"

"I know, I know," Jane interrupted.  "You're coming as Uhura."

"Lieutenant Nyota Uhura was Communications Officer," Maura corrected.  "She wore a red uniform."

"And you'll be in Spock and Bones blue," Jane sighed.

"We'll discuss this later," Maura promised, then smiled, again.  "Okay, strip.  Time for your next exam."

"Mau-raaah!" Jane whined.  At the same time, a thrill rippled through her gut.  (Her crotch, actually.)  They both knew Maura's continuing "medical research" was a polite fiction, an excuse for their new games of sexual shenanigans.  Dr. Isles had already conducted a thorough and highly detailed inspection of Detective Rizzoli's body on three previous occasions, including the first.

Mother Rizzoli was visiting a cousin in Philadelphia, the security system was armed and in privacy mode to keep Jane's brothers out, and neither of them were on call.  Jane had no viable excuse not to comply with Maura's request.  However...  Maybe it's time to switch things up, Jane thought, and mustered her best poker face.  "You're really worried I'm gonna grab you and slap you in cuffs?" she sighed.

Maura smiled (and her eyes danced with mischief).  "It's always a possibility."

Jane gasped in apparent surprise.  "Wait!  It's all coming back!"  She leaped to her feet.  "I remember!  I remember everything!"

Maura's eyes widened.  "You do?"

Jane nodded, stepped forward, reached under her jacket and behind her back, and produced her handcuffs.  "I grabbed you, right?"

Maura took a step back.  "Jane, what are you—Hey!"

Jane had spun Maura around, forced her over the back of one of the easy chars, and was cuffing her wrists behind her back.  "I remember it all!"  Jane released Maura and took a step back.  "Did you replace that roll of duct tape?"

Maura lifted herself off the back of the chair and turned to face her "kidnapper."  "No, not yet.  Let me go."  She rolled her shoulders and tugged on Jane's cuffs.  Click-click.

"Pity," Jane grinned.  "Guess we'll have to make do with that stuff you ordered online, those padded Velcro cuff thingies and the ball-gag with the bungee cord strap."

Maura kicked off her heels.  Now in stocking feet, pencil skirt, blouse, and jacket, she slowly backed into the living room.  "You still don't remember," she accused.  Strangely (or not so strangely) a smile was threatening to curl her lips and dimple her cheeks.  It more or less put the lie to her distress.

Jane slowly followed her "escaping" prisoner.  She snapped her fingers.  "Oh, I know what we can do for your party.  I'll wear your Star Trek costume and you can order a Leia-the-sex-slave costume in your size.  I can put shoetrees in your Star Trek boots to stretch them out a little and give me more toe room.  Either that or buy new boots.  We're the same dress size, more or less, but we both know you take a bigger bra size in metal bikinis."

"No way," Maura huffed, but she was still smiling (almost).

"Hey!" Jane's eyes popped wide, again.  "I just remembered!  When I captured you the first time I tickled you to make you easier to control!"

"Y-you did no such thing!" Maura responded, continuing to back away.  They both knew Dr. Maura Isles was very ticklish.

"I think I did," Jane said gravely.  "Of course, if you agree to the costume swap, I won't have to do it again."

"Jane," Maura warned, "don't you dare—Oh!"  She'd backed into the couch and stumbled.

Jane was on her in a flash and her fingers danced across Maura's ribs.

Maura giggled and squirmed.  "Te-he-he—Stop!  J-Jane, stop!"

"You've always wanted to be Princess Leia," Jane purred, "admit it."

"N-no—St-stop!—He-he-he-heee!"

Jane continued her tickling assault.  "I think you do."

"N-nooo!  Eeee!  I mean, Yesss!  Yesss!"  She managed to plant her nylon-clad feet and roll to the side, then scampered towards the back rooms of the house.

Jane followed with deliberate speed—and a wicked smile.  "Where do you think you're goin', Maura?" she chuckled.  "The doors are all locked, remember?"

"You'll never find me," Maura's voice echoed from the hallway, "not if I'm hiding in the bedroom!"  This was followed by more giggling.

"I'll try not to rip your blouse this time, Maura," Jane promised as she strolled towards the bedroom, "or your jacket."

Natalie Rhodes and Kate Beckett stood shoulder to shoulder in the lobby of Kate's apartment building, watching the lights above the elevator door change as the car descended.  Both were dressed in boots, jeans, dark blouses, and leather jackets, and both had their long brown hair loose about their shoulders, framing their faces. 

An observer who had watched them walk down the Manhattan street and enter the building might have taken them for sisters, or even twins; not just because of their similar clothing, hair, height, and build, but because of the way they moved.  Casual gestures, the set of their shoulders, the sway of their hips, the way they leaned close and laughed at a shared joke—everything about them was similar.

Closeup inspection would have revealed Natalie's green eyes, rounder face, fuller lips, and the slightly reddish tint of her hair—as opposed to Kate's brown eyes and narrower face with more prominent cheekbones.  But the illusion of familial relationship was uncanny, and it was not an accident.

Natalie was doing more research, fine-tuning her Nikki Heat persona by studying Kate, the character's inspiration.

"Sorry Captain Gates threw you out of the precinct," Kate said as the bell dinged and the doors opened.

"Oh, no problem," Natalie answered.  "I'm here for Nikki Heat at home, Nikki Heat at rest and play."

Kate rolled her eyes, but was still smiling.  The first time Natalie shadowed her for purposes of research it had been kinda creepy, but that was then.  Kate considered their twin act to be a bit of a hoot.  She liked Natalie.  In fact, she liked her well enough to have given her a nickname.  "Nat, you've starred in two Nikki Heat movies, and there were scenes in Nikki's apartment in both of them."

Natalie smiled.  "One can never do enough research."

A blush touched Kate's cheeks.  In point of fact, the fight scene in Heat Wave that had become one of those Famous Moments in American Cinema had happened in Nikki's apartment.  The scene was iconic thanks to the expert fight-choreography, the chiaroscuro effect of deep shadow and glaring city light shining through the open windows, and the masterful editing.  Also, Nikki (Natalie) had just emerged from the bath and had fought her hulking male opponent totally in the nude.

They entered the elevator.  Kate had stopped at the mailboxes to get her mail and several envelopes and advertizing flyers were clutched in her right hand, along with her keys.  They got off on Kate's floor and strolled down the hallway to her door.

"Do you usually cook or eat out?" Natalie asked.

Kate shrugged.  "On Fridays I usually order takeout."

Natalie nodded.  "Cool."

And speaking of takeout, a half dozen folded paper menus from neighborhood restaurants were scattered on the floor in front of Kate's door.  This was a common occurrence in NYC, unless the building had a doorman.  Kate handed her keys to Natalie and stooped to gather the menus.

Natalie unlocked the door and entered the loft.  The lights were off and the drapes drawn, so the space was quite dark.  She took a few steps forward and—"Eeek!"

Someone had leaped from the shadows, grabbed Natalie, and executed a judo-like take-down.  She'd been slammed onto the floor on her stomach hard enough to knock the air from her lungs, and as she struggled for breath her arms were wrenched behind her back, loops of rope tightened around her wrists, and were cinched tight in one fluid motion.  Then, her booted ankles were crossed, bound with more rope, and her legs folded back until her boot heels touched her groping fingers.  Next, something thick and soft was thrust between her teeth, its attached ropes snapped taut, and Natalie found herself in a stringent, back-arching hogtie with her chin off the floor and her head pulled back.

The take-down and capture was over in a matter of seconds.  Natalie mewled through the gag, rolled onto her side, shook the hair from her face, and beheld a female figure dressed in black from head to toe.  Soft boots, tights, long-sleeve leotard, gloves, and a full hood with blue eyes shining through a narrow slit—her attacker was a ninja, or maybe a costumed super-villain!

The figure peeled off her gloves and let them drop.  "Oh, Kate, how very disappointing," she sighed in a mocking voice.  "That was waaay too easy."  She grabbed the front of her hood, pulled it over her head, and shook out a mass of long, straight, blond hair.  "I'm going to have to punish you severely for your lack of vigilance and—"

Suddenly, the lights clicked on and the black-clad blonde gasped in surprise.

Kate was standing in the doorway, the mail and takeout menus a scatter on the floor at her feet, her Glock in her hand, and a smile on her face.  "Hello, Ollie," she said.  "You've found time for another visit.  How wonderful.  You've met Natalie Rhodes, of course."

Olivia was aghast, and blushing.  "Oops!"  She leaned towards her captive.

"No you don't!" Kate warned, still pointing the Glock at the "intruder."  She stole a quick glance to double-check that the weapon's safety was on, then closed the door behind her.  Thunk.  She turned the deadbolt, her eyes never leaving Olivia.  Click.  "Take a few steps back and put your hands on top of your head, fingers interlaced."

Her cheeks still rose-red and an embarrassed smile on her lips, Olivia complied.  Special Agent Dunham knew the drill.  Without prompting she knelt, crossed her booted ankles, and settled her weight back on her heels.  She watched as Kate knelt beside Natalie and loosened the hitch keeping the padded bit-gag in the actress' mouth.

"Sorry about this," Kate said as she eased the bit from Natalie's mouth and whipped the rope from around her head.  "Ollie and I study the same martial art, hojojutsu, and whenever we get a chance we—"

"You guys do the Clouseau and Cato thing!" Natalie interrupted, smiling up at Kate, "like in the later Pink Panther movies."

"Uh, yeah," Kate admitted.  "I gave Ollie a spare key and I have a key to her place.  When she's in New York she tries to ambush me—"

"And when she's in Cambridge she tries to jump me," Olivia sighed.

"Did I tell you that you could talk, evil ninja?" Kate asked Olivia.  "Zip it."

Olivia complied.  She was still smiling.  They all were.

"Are you gonna untie me?" Natalie asked Kate.

"You think you can wiggle out of that on your own?" Kate inquired.

Natalie twisted her wrists and rolled her shoulders.  "Uh... maybe... eventually."

Kate holstered her weapon, reached for the free ends of the black rope, took an additional hitch around Natalie's wrists, and cinched it tight.  "How 'bout now?"

"That makes it worse," Natalie huffed.  "But you know that."

"Yes, I do," Kate chuckled as she tied a series of knots, then stood and walked to a black canvas duffel-bag on the floor next to the door.  "Let's see what you've brought me, Ollie."  She unzipped the duffel and dumped out the contents—which consisted of a great many coils of black rope, several coils of black cord, and a black leather head-harness incorporating a two-inch, black, rubber ball.  Kate lifted the harness by the D-ring at what would be the crown of a hypothetical wearer's head and smiled.  "This is new."  She dropped the harness-gag, drew her weapon, and pointed it at Olivia in one fluid motion.

The blonde was in a crouch, halfway out of the kneeling posture and frozen in the act of lunging towards Kate.

"I don't think so," Kate purred.

"Can't blame a girl for trying," Olivia sighed, then settled into her former pose and placed her hands back atop her head.

Kate focused on Natalie.  "Uh, this is just a game we play.  It has nothing to do with Nikki Heat.  Richard Castle knows nothing about it."

"I understand," Natalie answered, squirming in her bonds.  "Games can be... fun."

"Yes, they can," Kate agreed.  "Seriously.  You're not freaked out?"

Natalie laughed.  "Are you kidding?  I could tell you about Hollywood parties that would make your toes curl."

"Maybe later," Kate chuckled.  "Uh, this'll be our little secret, okay?"

"Just between us girls," Natalie promised.  "Mum's the word."

"Good," Kate huffed.  "Ollie and I would hate to have to put that gag back in your mouth, lock you in a trunk, and drop you in the East River."

"I'd hate that too," Natalie smiled.

"Well, in for a penny..."  She smiled at Olivia.  "You lose this round, Ollie.  Guess I'm gonna have to show you the new rope-work I've learned since our last encounter."  She shifted her smile to Natalie.  "If you don't mind, I'm gonna tie up this ninja intruder like a pretzel and gag her with her new gag.  Then, we'll order something.  Don't worry, I'll untie you before the food gets here."

"Hey, I'm hungry too," Olivia objected.

"We'll feed you," Kate promised.  Her eyes were still on Natalie.  "Really?  You're okay with this?"

Natalie grinned.  "Do whatever you'd do if I wasn't here."  She squirmed in her bonds.  "Consider me a hogtied neutral observer."

Kate's grin widened into a wicked smile.  "Okay."  She focused on Olivia.  The Glock was still trained in the smiling blonde's general direction.  "Up," she ordered and Olivia climbed to her feet, her hands still atop of her head.  "Now," Kate continued, "strip!"

Lady Irena—Seventh Cycle Elder of the Ice-Wolf Clan of the Incufumarae—corporate lawyer—CEO of House of Pain, Inc.—Manhattan's premiere dominatrix—(and those were just the identities of her current cycle)—rose from her throne-like chair, strolled around her massive desk, and approached the guest seated in one of her visitor chairs.  She leaned close and whispered in her ear.  "Helen, if you don't wipe that disrespectful smirk off your face, you're going to be very sorry."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Helen responded.  The dimpled smile never left her face and her blue eyes sparkled.  "I agreed to this meeting and all of your conditions, but I can't help but be amused by the ambiance of your establishment."

Irena ignored Helen's criticism of the House of Pain's decor.  "Your calendar is clear for the next two days?"

"Next week I have a very important conference to attend in Geneva," Helen answered, "but yes, I can spare most of the next two days.  Are you finally going to deliver the codex that will allow me to better interpret what little data I managed to collect during Rupandra's change?"

"All in good time, Helen."  Irena pulled a two-inch by eighteen-inch strip of rigid black plastic from her right boot-top.  "First, I have to deliver the message from the Council of Elders I mentioned before."

"The Council of the Ice-Wolves?" Helen inquired.

"The Council of all the Clans," Irena answered.  She grasped Helen's left hand and placed it palm down on the armrest of the visitor chair, then slapped the strip over Helen's wrist.  With a snap the plastic band wrapped around Helen's wrist and the armrest.

Helen lifted her left arm—or rather, she tried to lift her left arm.  The band held firm.  "How very clever."  She continued testing the restraint.  "It's like one of those snap-bracelets for children."

"Just so," Irena agreed, stepped around the back of the chair, and secured Helen's right wrist with a second band.  She then returned to her throne behind the desk.

Helen continued twisting her wrists and testing her restraints.  "What principle is involved?"

"Excuse me?"

"The bracelets," Helen clarified.  "A chemical reaction?  Perhaps the shedding of hydrogen bonds among the surface polymers?  Mechanical adhesion at the microscopic level?  Is the material pseudoelastic with shape memory?"

Irena smiled.  "I plan on refreshing my Materials Science education during my eighth cycle.  I'm just a happy consumer."

Helen smiled back.  "I still think they're clever.  Now..."  She focused on Irena.  "What is this message you are so keen to deliver?"

Irena's smile faded.  "Are you giving me orders, Helen?"

"No, Mistress," Helen answered.  She was still smiling.

"You're not fooling anyone, Helen," Irena intoned.  "You could have tried to run and hide."

"I will never gain the trust of your Council by running and hiding," Helen responded.

Irena rolled her eyes, then scowled at her guest/prisoner.  "It's not a matter of trust, Dr. Magnus.  The Incufumarae will not tolerate interference in their affairs."  Her smile returned.  "There.  Message delivered.  The actual text is a great deal more long-winded, but that's the crux of the matter.  I'll e-mail you the full transcript.  Now, let us get down to the real reason you accepted my invitation."

"I don't know what you mean," Helen said primly.  "I will go to great lengths to maintain the fragile peace between normals and abnormals, and to help all lifeforms in distress—be they kidnapped normals or abnormal kidnappers.  Good relations between the Sanctuary Network and the Incufumarae are in both our interests—notwithstanding your breach of promise by ordering Rupandra to have her way with me and thereby very nearly ruining my research opportunity."

Irena's smile never wavered.  "And despite your professed outrage... here you are."

Helen shrugged, a gesture allowed by her wrist bonds.  "As I said, I am here to demonstrate trust, and one never knows what one might learn in the course of such an encounter."

Irena chuckled.  "You will learn many things in the next two days, Helen."  She tapped a button on her phone.  There was a pause... during which Helen and Irena continued to exchange smiles... then the office door opened.

Two of Irena's Ladies entered.  Both were dressed in tight, provocative, and sinister leather costumes, like their Mistress.  One was blond and Nordic in appearance and the other was Asian, Chinese or Japanese, with long, straight, raven hair.  Both were quite beautiful—and scary.  They bowed and spoke in unison.  "Mistress."

Irena waved a dismissive hand towards Helen.  "Take this one to the Black Chamber.  I believe it has been reserved for the entire week?"

"Yes, Mistress," the pair answered.

Helen blinked in surprise.  "The 'entire week?'—Mrrrf!!"  The blonde's right palm was clamped over her mouth in a tight hand-gag and the back of her head was pinned against the front of the blonde's corset.

"If you want to leave in two days," Irena said, her eyes locked with Helen's, "you'll have to earn it."  She waved her hand, again, then turned to her computer keyboard and began tapping the keys.  Her attention was now exclusively on whatever was being displayed on the monitor.

Working in concert, the Ladies forced the two-inch, red rubber ball of a ball-gag into Helen's mouth, lifted her hair, and buckled its black strap at the nape of her neck.

"You sniveling worm," the Asian sneered as she snapped a tiny padlock through the hasp of the gag's buckle.  "How dare you speak in the presence of our Mistress without permission.  The lash will cure your impertinence."

A blindfold of chamois-thin black leather tightened over Helen's eyes.  She felt her handlers somehow releasing the plastic bands securing her wrists, then she was hauled to her feet and her wrists handcuffed behind her back.  Click-click-click—Click-click-click.  Next, with a dominatrix clutching her tousled hair, Helen was dragged away.  She heard a door close behind them and knew they'd left Irena's office.  The stiletto heels of the Ladies' thigh boots and Helen's four-inch high heels were tapping on a tile floor.  Helen's tight skirt was impeding her steps, but her handlers were making sure she didn't stumble.

"That's a pretty suit," the blonde said.  Helen was pretty sure it was the blonde.

Helen felt the front of her jacket being unbuttoned and opened as they continued to walk.

"Anne Klein," the Asian said.  Obviously, she'd read the label sewn to the inside breast pocket of Helen's jacket.  "It would be a shame to ruin it."

"That'll be her choice," the blonde said, "one of the very few choices Mistress will allow our 'sniveling worm' before she kicks what's left of her firm little tushie out the front door."

The blonde and Asian doms marched Helen into a room and removed her handcuffs.  She assumed she was in "The Black Chamber."  Her blindfold and ball-gag remained in place.

"Strip," the blonde ordered, "and be quick about it."

Helen hesitated—and a gloved hand slapped her gagged and blindfolded face.  Truth be hold, it was more a businesslike tap than a slap, but the message had been delivered and received.  Helen removed her jacket and it was immediately snatched from her hands.  She unbuttoned and removed her blouse and it was also grabbed and disappeared.  She removed her high heel shoes, one at a time, and then her skirt.  Next, she peeled down and removed her pantyhose.  Finally, she unhooked and removed her bra and pulled down and removed her panties.

"Hold perfectly still," the Asian said, "unless you enjoy pain."

Helen followed the command (as she did not enjoy pain).  The doms lifted her hands, curled her fingers around padded cylinders, zipped what felt like leather sheaths around her closed fists, then buckled wide, padded cuffs around her wrists.  Helen could tell each sheath and cuff was a single unit.  Suspension cuffs, she realized.  Then, wide padded cuffs were buckled around her ankles, the doms pulled her feet about a meter apart, and she heard two metallic clicks.  There was a brief pause, then Helen's encased hands were lifted, she heard the clinking of chains, and there were two more clicks.

Almost immediately Helen heard the whine of an electric motor overhead, the clinking of more chain, and her hands and arms were dragged up and to either side.  This continued until she was in a standing, four-point spread-eagle at full stretch.  Her toes and the balls of her feet were her only contact with the floor and there was no slack in the overhead chains.

The blindfold was unbuckled and pulled away.  Helen blinked in the sudden light, then surveyed her surroundings.  "The Black Chamber" was well named.  The floor, ceiling, walls, and nearly everything in the room were black.  The floor was tiled and the ceiling clad in acoustic panels.  Mounted overhead were compact electric motors, track lights, and dangling chains, and mounted on the walls and floor were innumerable eye-bolts and pad-eyes, all in gunmetal gray.

The floor hardware was recessed and covered by black metal caps flush with the tiles, at least Helen assumed the many caps set among the tiles concealed hardware.  Such was the case for the two open caps to either side of her feet.  They had concealed the sunken eye-bolts securing the ends of the short chains linking her ankle-cuffs to the floor.

Against the walls were black metal cabinets and peg-boards.  Dangling from hooks on the peg-boards was an extensive collection of ball-gags, bit-gags, plug-gags, head-harnesses, leather and/or steel cuffs and collars, whips, crops, paddles, floggers, etc., etc.

The doms were behind Helen's back.  One was brushing her hair and the other wielding a comb.  Together, they plaited Helen's brown locks into a single long braid.  Helen heard what was probably a plastic cable-tie secure the end of the braid—Vrrrip!—then the braid was coiled into a tight bun and another cable-tie tightened.  Vrrrip!

"Now our whips have easy access to your entire back," the Asian dom purred, obviously for Helen's benefit.  She then addressed her fellow dom.  "How many kilos should we hang from from her nipples and pussy-lips?"

"Mistress said to leave her alone for an hour," the blonde responded.

"Ohhh," the Asian sighed in disappointment

"Mistress didn't explicitly forbid the torture of her tits and twat," the blonde noted, "but do you want to take the chance?  You know how Mistress can get when she's angry."

"Point taken," the Asian muttered.  "There's a hedge fund manager chained to an X-frame in the Red Chamber.  Want to take it out on him?"

"Either that or an early lunch," the blonde chuckled.

Helen heard their boot heels tap the floor.  The door opened... then closed with a solid thud and Helen was alone.  She settled in to wait for Irena to appear.  The blond dom's statement that she was to be left alone for an hour may or may not have been a cruel joke, but there was nothing Helen could do but stand on her toes and hang from her bonds.

No clock was in sight—among the many instruments of torture that might or might not be used to "entertain" her at some point during the next two days—but Helen had a good sense of time.

Time passed.  Helen's feet and calves began to ache, as did her shoulders and arms, but she used meditation techniques to put the discomfort aside.

Finally—and Helen's internal clock told her it was something very close to one hour—the door opened and heels tapped the tiles.  Helen didn't turn her head to see if it was Irena or one of the doms who had entered.  She'd know soon enough.  A figure stepped into view, and the naked, spreadeagled captive's eyes popped wide in utter astonishment.  "Mrrff?"  Standing before her was—

"Hello, Helen," Dana Scully giggled.  She was dressed in heels, skirt, blouse, jacket, and coat, all in various shades of gray.  And yes, she had giggled, and she continued giggling.  Dana's blue-green eyes danced and a dimpled smirk curled her lips. 

An outside observer might think she was drunk or high on some drug, but Helen knew the truth.  She's enthralled.  She's under Irena's control.

"Mistress asked me to drop by and brief her on the aftermath of the Rupandra Incident," Dana explained.  She reached out, cupped Helen's breasts, and gently squeezed.  She then leaned close and gave each nipple a slow, wet lick.  All the while, her laughing eyes were locked with Helen's and sparkled with mischief.  She began teasing the erect nubbins with her fingers.

Helen shivered in her bonds.  To say the least, this was totally unexpected.  Full points, Irena, she thought.  A masterful jest.

"Mistress planted fun suggestions in the minds of Olivia, Kate, and Jane," Dana continued.  "I've had them under covert surveillance, and not only did they act upon the suggestions, as Mistress intended, but they've started playing on their own!  Isn't that wonderful?"

Helen sighed through her gag.  Wonderful.

"Don't worry about their careers or reputations," Dana continued.  (She also continued fiddling with Helen's nipples).  "I'm the only one at the Bureau in a position to put together the pieces, and I'm deleting the reports as quickly as they come in.  Mistress was very explicit about that point.  Isn't she wonderful?"  Dana giggled again, then slid her hands down Helen's body, through her pubic bush, and began stroking her labia.

Helen shivered in her bonds, again—not that she had stopped shivering since Dana started playing with her breasts and nipples.  Cheeky monkey, Helen thought.  She couldn't really be angry with Dana.  Dana was Irena's puppet.

The door opened again, boots tapped, and Dana's puppeteer joined them.

"Mistress!" Dana squealed, knelt at Irena's feet, and began kissing the toes of her boots.

"My Irish Rose," Irena sighed.  "Wipe your lips and give me a real kiss."

Dana scrambled to her feet, wiped her mouth on her coat sleeve, and they embraced and kissed—and it was an enthusiastic, full on the lips, extended kiss with tongue.  Helen could tell from the way Dana was shivering that Irena was sampling her aura.

The kiss ended and Dana took a step back.  Her wide, worshipful eyes on her Mistress, she continued trembling.

"Did you cum, Dana?" Irena chuckled.

"Yes, Mistress," Dana confessed.  "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you, Dana," Irena said.  "Now, take off your clothes, but entertain us in the process.  Sing us a song as you strip."

Dana laughed like a girl as she scampered to the middle of the chamber.  "What song, Mistress?"

"Something light and fun," Irena answered.

Giggling and smiling, Dana thought for a few seconds, then began swaying from side to side.  As she released the buttons of her coat she began to sing. 

     "Oops! ... I did it again;
     I played with your heart, got lost in the game;

She shrugged out of the coat and tossed it aside, all the while dancing and smiling.

     "Oh baby, baby
     Oops!..."

Helen sighed.  Britney Spears?  Oh, please.

Dana continued her striptease.

     "You think I'm in love;
     That I'm sent from above;

Dana swung her hips in emphasis.

     "I'm not.  That.  Innocent!"

Irena had stepped behind Helen and unlocked her ball-gag.  She then unbuckled the strap and loosened the buckle to its last hole.

Helen expelled the ball from her mouth.  It bounced to her chest and dangled around her neck like a very ugly necklace.  "Do you have to humiliate Dana like that?" Helen asked as she licked her lips and worked her jaws.

"My Irish Rose will remember none of this," Irena whispered in Helen's right ear, then delivered a light kiss and nibbled her earlobe.  "When she returns to Washington in a few hours, all she'll remember is interviewing a confidential informant about unrelated matters, and nothing about the many orgasms she experienced.  My Ladies will be nice enough to launder her panties, so she won't wonder why they've suddenly become so very pungent."

Helen couldn't help but smile.  "You monster," she accused, then shuddered and gasped as Irena kissed her ear, again.  This time Irena had used her power and waves of pleasure raced down Helen's spine and rippled through her pussy.  "Monster!" she reiterated.

"Now Helen," Irena chuckled, "you know I'm not a monster.  I simply have a sense of humor honed in the course of a very long life."  Her gloved hands slid down Helen's body and came to rest on her hips.  The skintight gloves were shielding Helen from most of the effect of Irena's power, but Helen continued shivering and her skin was beginning to glow.  "The entire House of Pain is soundproof," Irena continued, "and any clients passing in the hallway will interpret whatever they hear from inside this chamber to be business as usual.  Feel free to scream when you aren't gagged."  She kissed the side of Helen's neck.  "You should also feel free to scream when you are gagged."

Dana's striptease continued.  By this time she was in her underwear.

     "I'm not.  That.  Innocent!"

Bra and panties removed, Dana stopped dancing, giggled, and demurely covered her breasts with her right forearm and her crotch with her left palm.

"You saucy little flirt," Irena chuckled.  "Gather up and fold your clothes."  As Dana followed the order, Irena stepped to one of the cabinets and opened the doors.

Inside, Helen beheld an array of leather sheaths and arm-binders.  All were black with gunmetal hardware.

"Come here, my Irish Rose," Irena beckoned.

Dana scampered to her Mistress.

Helen watched as Irena pulled Dana's arms behind her back and zipped, laced, and buckled the naked redhead into an arm-binder.  It was tight enough to nearly press Dana's elbows together, and wide straps buckled around her wrists and upper arms.  Two narrow straps passed under her armpits, crossed over her chest, passed over her shoulders, and were buckled to the top of the binder.  A separate body harness was next.  Its straps encircled the arm-binder and Dana's torso and upper thighs.  Finally, leather cuffs were buckled around her ankles and a collar around her throat.

Irena grabbed yet another tangle of leather straps, another harness of some sort, then she closed the cabinet.  She hooked a finger through the ring dangling from the front of Dana's collar.  "Come with me," she said, and led Dana towards Helen.  "Show Helen your tattoo," she ordered as she released the ring.

"Yes, Mistress," Dana giggled, then turned her back to Helen, looked over her right shoulder, and nodded her chin towards her lower back.

Above Dana's right buttock and near her hip Helen beheld the tattoo of a tiny serpent eating its own tail.  "The Ouroboros."

Irena nodded.  "A powerful symbol."  She'd stepped behind Helen and was buckling the harness around her waist and upper thighs.  "How would you like a tattoo, Helen?" she inquired, then touched the small of Helen's back—and the spreadeagled captive gasped in response.  "Perhaps a tramp stamp?" Irena continued, then laughed.  "I know, how about 'Omnium Sanctorum' in a nice, pretty script font, with a cute little arrow pointing between your butt cheeks?"

Omium Sanctorum—Latin for "Sanctuary For All"—the motto of the Sanctuary Network.  "Very funny," Helen muttered, but the hint of a smile curled her lips.  Irena stepped to the front and finished buckling the harness.  By the narrow straps still dangling from the waist and thigh belts, Helen surmised its purpose was to anchor something between her splayed legs and against her crotch.

"Or," Irena chuckled.  "I could shave your bush and put the tattoo in front with the arrow pointing at your hungry little pussy.  Does that sound better?"

Helen knew Irena was joking (or so she desperately hoped) and ignored the question.

Irena walked to another cabinet, returned with a black leather cushion, and dropped it on the floor between Helen's legs.  "Kneel, Dana," she ordered.

"Yes, Mistress," Dana answered, smiled at Helen, and dropped to her knees on the cushion.

Irena clipped Dana's ankle-cuffs together, then grabbed a gentle handful of Dana's titian locks and pressed her smiling face against Helen's crotch.  "Stay," she ordered, and began buckling the dangling straps of Helen's thigh-harness through the rings in Dana's collar.

"I suppose you think this is very funny," Helen muttered.

"Oh, my goodness Helen," Irena laughed, "I think it's hilarious!  Dana only has a few hours 'til she has to be on her way, and I'd still like to feed upon her a few more times, so take advantage of this wonderful opportunity for the two of you to bond."  She leaned close and spoke quietly into Dana's left ear, but loud enough for Helen to hear.  "Dana, I want you to make Helen cum as many times as you can until I return; but you're to rest now and then, and let Helen rest, as well.  I don't want you to tire yourself or wear out that wiggly pink tongue before we get a chance to play."

"Yes, Mistress," Dana giggled, and began licking Helen's labia.  Her hair, cheeks, and chin brushed against Helen's thighs and lower tummy.

Helen shuddered in her bonds.  Irena had stepped behind her and was unbuckling the ball-gag.  Her intentions were clear.  "W-wait," Helen stammered as the ball approached her lips.  Dana head was bobbing as she licked her pussy in earnest.

"Yes?" Irena purred.

"Rupandra," Helen gasped.  "Tell me what happened to Rupandra after she was taken away.  The last I saw she was still in a coma."

Irena seated the gag in Helen's mouth and and buckled it tight.  "Rupandra is no longer your concern.  She is no longer my concern.  She is in the hands of her Clan.  Forget Rupandra."

"Mrrrrf!"  Helen was writhing and shivering in her bonds as Dana continued tonguing her pussy.

"After Dana leaves," Irena whispered in Helen's right ear, "it will be my Ladies turn to entertain you.  They're experts in all the tools of the trade."  She reached around Helen's spreadeagled body from behind and squeezed her breasts in her gloved hands before continuing.  "Then, tonight and tomorrow, you are mine, and I'll show you tricks that only a seventh-cycle Ice Wolf can do."

Helen quaked in her bonds, because of what Dana was doing between her legs and because of Irena's titillating hands.  She already knew what her "hostess" was capable of doing with her lips, tongue, and fingers—but it was alarming (and arousing) to hear that she could do more.

Irena released Helen's breasts and strolled to the door.  She paused in the threshold and smiled at the spectacle of a spreadeagled Helen Magnus having her pussy licked by a captive Dana Scully—then closed and locked the door of the Black Chamber and walked down the hallway towards her office.  She had Ladies to supervise and customers to please.

A dominatrix' work is never done.