Message-ID: <17876eli$9812080430@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tmquin@ibm.net (Thomas M Quin) Subject: {ASS}NEW:Trick or Treat -- Pt 1 (MMF/MF, NC, bond, hum) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: tmquin@_NS_ibm.net Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <366c58c6.4201565@news3.ibm.net> ***************************************************************** STANDARD DISCLAIMER =================== The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and has been posted only to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is found in any other place this is not the responsibility of the author. The author explicitly prohibits. 1) The posting of this story in an incomplete form. 2) The use of this story in a larger work without his express permission. 3) The use of this story on any CD, BBS or Website without the written permission of the author. This work is copyright TM Quin 1998. All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this story, some of which are dangerous or illegal. Quin 1998 tmquin@ibm.net ***************************************************************** Trick or Treat - The "Doc's Orders" Halloween Special By Quin ================================================== We didn't start straight away. Instead, we finished up our business and completed the vacation. We finally bought our safe house in another area but on Kitten's insistence we hired a house in Golden Peaks through another realtor. I actually think Doc was relieved when I told him we'd be away another week or so -- it gave him more time to adjust without Kitten clucking around. In any case, he didn't object, which gave us all the time we needed. I admit that I'd expected Kitten's revenge to be quick and brutal since that's her usual style, but this time she surprised me. It turned out that she wasn't in any great hurry -- she said later that revenge was a dish best served cold and she wasn't about to blow things by rushing in unprepared. So we hung around in our rented house discreetly watching our targets, mapping out their movements and making our plans. At twenty-one, Candy Freedman was our youngest victim. She stood about five nine, with long legs and a lithe dancer's body. Her Afro-American heritage was evident in light coffee-colored skin and tightly curled hair, all of which went beautifully with her slender neck, high cheekbones and elegantly sculpted face. One good look and we could both see a very immediate and very profitable method for Kitten to get even with her. We followed Candy around for a while and quickly worked out her schedule. It seemed she was only a temp at the realtor's office, working there two days a week; the rest of the time she was a student at one of the local colleges. Her family life seemed strained and her workload prevented her from having a regular boyfriend, which made it easy to map out her routine and find a suitable place to grab her. We put that idea on hold for awhile, however, since a girl disappearing from a small town like Golden Peaks was bound to attract attention. Instead, we decided to work on the others and leave Candy's abduction until last. Second on our list was Monica Stevens, one of the partners in the realty company and in a way the person most responsible for what had happened to Kitten. Monica was thirty-four and married with two young children. Her husband, Frank, was standing for mayor this year on the Republican ticket. They seemed like your average suburban middle-class couple, all caught up in appearances and careers. It was easy to see why she had reacted so badly to Kitten; physically, Monica was nothing special, one of your typical thirtysomething soccer moms that roamed the suburbs in herds. At least she had kept her body nice, and her face was relatively pretty surrounded by one of those shag cuts that seem popular these days. And she could power dress like you wouldn't believe. I wouldn't have minded fucking her if there was nothing better on offer, but there was definitely something cold and unpleasant about her, like the sensation you get from biting on tinfoil. Perhaps fucking hard-bodied nineteen-year-olds all the time makes you overcritical. In any case, I doubted we could sell Monica for anything other than as a service girl. Kitten, however, had other plans. She had borrowed Remus, one of Teresa's male slaves, to keep pretty Monica under 24-hour surveillance. I didn't know what Kitten was thinking or expecting to find, but it was clear that the outcome would be more complicated than a mere abduction. Last on our list was Penny Hunt. Of the three, Penny was probably the prettiest. She wasn't as young and eager as Candy or as well-dressed as Monica, but she was tall and slim with creamy porcelain skin and fine features. Add in long blonde hair and pale blue eyes, and you had a woman who was simply stunning. At first I had thought that she was a natural for snatching -- if we picked the right time we could probably get both her and Candy when they were alone together at the office. However, there was one tiny problem. The problem was called June and she was eight years old. Small and slight, with blonde hair and blue eyes, she was a miniature version of her mother, just cute as a button and the sort of kid who can steal your heart in an instant. Unfortunately, June posed a problem -- as a standing order we were not allowed to take anyone caring for young children. I had thought that would be the end of it with regards to Penny, but Kitten got this look in her eye. It soon became clear that Penny had been the chief culprit in the insult throwing that day. Kitten might even have let the others go if it was the only way to get a clear run at Penny, but Penny's ass was definitely on the line since the moment she had stuck her pretty little patrician nose into Kitten's business. So Kitten started researching the family, paying special attention to Penny's estranged husband Geoff. She also started taking pictures of June, sometimes through long lenses and sometimes close up with one of those flat cameras that you could hide in your hand. It soon became evident that June's age was not going to save her mother as far as Kitten was concerned -- in fact, June would play a pivotal role. But that would come later. We did Monica first. Trick: The Humiliation of Monica Stevens =============================== I was sitting in the kitchen of the safe house, having a late night cup of chocolate. Living with Kitten had been an eye-opener, a little like being married but without the ring, collar or your choice of union symbolism. She had decided to go overly domestic, wearing sweaters and jeans rather than her usual kinky ensemble, and had her hair cut short and dyed blonde. As a test, we "bumped" into our targets on their way back from lunch one day. None of them gave the slightest hint of recognition -- certainly none of them realized that Kitten was the little rubber slut they'd had so much fun with. In the meantime, she kept the house almost surgically clean, vacuuming and mopping the floors every day and wiping down surfaces every hour on the hour. Despite the good habits instilled in me by the Marines, I'm still a big slob at heart, so as you can imagine there was some tension. It soon became clear, however, that Kitten's Mr. Clean act was being done for a purpose; she was doing her best to gain acceptance from the housewives who lived around us by aping them, taking their petty little middle-class suburban ways and reflecting them back en gros. Her house had to be cleaner, her clothes more preppy, her taste more stinted. As far as I could tell, it was working. In the two weeks we'd been here, she'd become a social dynamo, getting involved in all kinds of clubs and groups when she wasn't out tracking her targets. We made it clear from the outset that we were only here temporarily, (as part of a relocation package from my fictitious company) but there were already moves by some of our neighbors to persuade us to stay. I had to smile to myself -- if Kitten had gotten this kind of reception while in kinky mode, none of this would be necessary. . . Still musing, I walked over to the stove and pored myself another chocolate, then took another cup and poured a coffee. Remus was late, and that wasn't like him. Solid and dependable sort of summed him up -- white, about six two, well muscled, he had been a pro football player when Teresa took a shine to him. I heard that it took three men to recruit him. Of course, after Doc had worked his magic Remus was a pussy cat as well as a pussy licker. Now, I have to admit that male slaves always leave me feeling a little funny; I suppose it's because there are so few of them that I've never managed to get used to the idea. Also, I think part of my problem is that they're willing to suck another man's dick without a moment's hesitation if their mistress orders it. I realize that it's a screaming double standard -- almost all of Doc's female slaves are programmed to lick pussy, irrespective of their former sexual preference, and I don't normally give it a second thought. Like most guys, I really get off watching two beautiful women do each other. The fact that before programming the girls might not have wanted to suck slit never enters my mind -- to me, all women are bisexual and I've come to think of it as being natural. I suppose I should view Remus the same way and accept that bisexuality in male slaves is the norm, the same way I accept it in the females. Except, of course, that I'm not that well balanced. I waited about twenty minutes but he still didn't show. I poured the coffee away and started thinking about bed. Then, just as I was about to turn off the light, there came a knock on the door. I peered through the glass and found Remus grinning back at me like a cat who'd just found the cream. He seemed sort of flushed, almost as if he was turned on. It took me about a second to translate his reaction into the female slave terms I was familiar with -- he had found something that would please his mistress, something that had activated the low-level sexual thrill programmed into all Doc's slaves as positive reinforcement for pleasing their owner. I opened the door and let Remus in. "Hello, Master Charlie," he said, with his usual respect. "Is the Mistress accepting visitors?" "You're late," I scolded. The big man went white, almost as if someone had hit him. "Is the Mistress displeased that I am late?" he whispered. You could tell that he was Teresa's -- all of her slaves, male and female, were like that, grovelingly submissive, hanging on your every word like you were God. Teresa had the kind of ego that could take adoration and hero worship in her stride, but I found it kind of disturbing. I visit San Francisco quite often and on the few occasions that Teresa had lent me a female companion for the night I always came away feeling a little self-conscious. As a rule, once they were away from her they tended to act normally, since slaves are supposed to adjust to your needs. However, if she ever gave you complete control of one, then they treated you like they treated her. It was all very bizarre. Remus looked around hoping, to spot Kitten. "She's in the living room." I said. "Let's go." I often wondered what Kitten's new suburban friends would think if they could see her off duty. Once we'd settled down for the night and didn't have to worry about visitors, Kitten reverted back to her old kinky self. Well, perhaps she went a little further than usual. Almost as a reaction to dressing preppy all day, Kitten's evening wear looked like an explosion in a fetish factory. Tonight she was dressed in an amazing black patent leather corset. The thing was laced up tightly, giving her an hourglass shape and pushing her two firm tits nicely upwards. Black, front-laced patent thigh boots with a four inch heel adorned her legs and black leather gloves covered her arms. The whole thing screamed "Domme" and Remus, carefully conditioned to react to such images, behaved accordingly. He almost bent double as he approached the couch she was lounged across, all the time his eyes firmly glued to the floor like a man fearing to look upon the face of God. Ten feet away from her, he sank to his knees and actually touched his forehead to the floor. With a wink at me, Kitten deigned to notice him. "Yes?" she asked, her voice taking on a clipped English accent. "Mistress, this worthless slave wishes to report of the woman Monica," he said reverently. "You may report," she said, sounding remarkably like the Queen of England. He flushed again, and I could see that Kitten had noticed the new color. She flashed me a look and we both waited patiently for Remus to recover from the sexual charge. To say that he gave accurate reports was meaningless -- all of Doc's slaves are programmed to do their best, and they also have a perfect memory. Put the two together and you get an almost second-by-second description of events. After about one minute Kitten got bored. "This was the same routine as last night -- skip forward to the news you really want to tell me." He shuddered with pleasure. "If it pleases the Mistress," he murmured, smiling. "About eight o'clock pm, the woman Monica left for the gym as usual -- she was carrying her gym bag and headed off in that direction. One third of a mile later, however, she cut back down a parallel road and stopped outside 5107 Canyon Drive. The name on the mailbox is Cussack. There, she was met by a man in his early thirties who kissed her and then led her inside." "He kissed her outside the house?" Kitten asked. "Yes, Mistress. There are houses along only one side of Canyon Drive, so there is little chance they were seen." "Proceed." He bobbed his head. "A rigid trellis covered with ivy is bolted to the south wall. Using it, I was able to access the roof and reach the bedroom window. Once there, I was able to distinguish the couple in the midst of sexual foreplay followed by copulation." I smiled. Teresa often made her boys beg to fuck her, and the language they used would make a sailor blush. Remus being so correct about his sexual terminology was almost amusing. I looked up to find Kitten thinking. "You are to continue surveillance, with one addition," she said, tapping her cheek with a finger. "Should this couple meet again, you are to call me at once on the mobile phone." "Yes, Mistress." "Good," she purred. Leaning back, she opened her booted legs wide. "Now you may attend me. . ." Almost sobbing with joy, Remus moved closer and buried his face in Kitten's shaved pussy. ######################################### The next morning found me tailing Cussack while Kitten hit the computers. He surprised me -- instead of heading for LA, he drove towards Golden Peak's main shopping strip. When he slipped into the local gym I followed, figuring that he'd come in for a morning workout. It was only when I reached reception and saw all the pictures of him that I realized he was the owner. Still, all the publicity material made research easy. It turned out that Robert Cussack had once been a reasonable pitcher in the National League, back in the Eighties. He'd had one good season, one so-so season and then bombed out with a rotator cuff injury. After that, he'd taken his sort-of-celebrity status to a town small enough to be impressed and used it to build a successful business. His "health club" was the only place of its kind in town and attracted everyone from slimming housewives to wannabe jocks. Seeing the potential, I signed up for the family package and got a tour of the facilities. The place seemed kind of small and suffered from the problems a lot of downtown businesses have -- great location but no space. The area problem was so acute that Robert's office was really just a tiny cubicle at the back of the building. It had no real security, so once he was out on his rounds it would be easy to slip inside and look around. Back in the club's small store I bought some gym clothes, then booked a session. I wanted to blend in while I kept track of Robert's comings and goings. However, within minutes of starting my routine I was getting a lot of admiring glances from a group of young housewives using the exercise machines. When I looked back at them, they giggled and a couple of them flushed red. I noticed that Robert got his share of admiring looks when he passed by a little later. I started to wonder if that was it -- was Robert a lone alpha male surrounded by wimp husbands and horny young housewives? Was Monica just one of a number of bed warmers he selected from his club's female members? I hoped Kitten could tell me. At lunch I waited expectantly but Cussack made no move to contact Monica or any of the other women. When he settled down for the afternoon, I headed back to report. Kitten had had better luck, using a combination of computer power and the local grapevine. For a start she'd found out something that I hadn't even suspected -- Robert Cussack was married It's amazing what personal information people will put on the net these days. Using the web, Kitten had found out almost everything about Mrs. Susan Cussack, from her height, weight and date of birth to the names of her father and mother. There was even a photograph from her company web page. Susan was stunning, a cute little redhead with bright green eyes, full lips and a little button nose. In the photo she was wearing her hair in a tight bun and looking serious and professional. However, it was hard to keep that sparkle out of her eye, or disguise just how young she was. I checked her birthdate and did a fast calculation -- Mrs. Cussack was all of twenty-seven years old. Despite her tender age, she was listed as a junior partner in the PR firm where she worked. Kitten punched up another web page that showed me why. Daddy owned the company! Using more serious hacking techniques, Kitten had dug deeper; it turned out that the big house up on Canyon Drive was Susan's, and that she was the primary breadwinner in the family. For the life of me I couldn't see the attraction -- what was a young, rich, successful businesswoman doing with a washed up jock? More to the point, with a little redheaded hottie like this warming his bed, what was Robert Cussack doing cheating with someone like Monica? ################################################# It took almost two weeks of hacking, bugging and close surveillance before we pieced together some answers. It seemed that twice a week Monica would join some friends at the gym for step aerobics and weight training. In addition, she would join Robert for a more private workout once every two weeks. We discovered that Susan had a regular meeting in Seattle every second Tuesday; she would fly up in the afternoon and was never back before midnight. On those days Monica would kiss her children goodnight and tell her husband that she was going to do an extra session at the gym. Then she would go to join her lover. Their sex sessions started around eight and took exactly two hours, the same amount of time Monica normally spent at the gym. That left Robert with two hours to clean up any evidence before his wife got back. It was a sweet arrangement, and they could have probably continued for as long as they wanted. Except, of course, Kitten had other ideas. What I still couldn't figure out was why he would risk losing Susan to fuck around with Monica. I mean, I know that some guys can't keep their dicks in their pants, but still. . . It wasn't as if the two seemed to have much of a relationship outside of sex, or that there weren't prettier or more available women at the club. Something about it bothered me, and I felt we needed to get a better line on this relationship before we made our move. Naturally, Kitten was eager to start and she viewed the extra research as a waste of time. Still, it bugged me -- of all people, why fuck with the wife of the guy who might be elected mayor next week? It was then that a strange idea popped into my head, a really strange idea. I had Kitten check it out, hardly believing it could be that simple. I had naturally assumed that Robert was the instigator of the relationship, the one who decided if it started or stopped. That was why it had bugged me; why risk Susan for Monica? The answer was surprising -- he didn't have any choice. It seems that the gym predated his marriage. The house was hers, as were the cars and the boat, but the gym was all his. Despite the fact that he could live comfortably on his wife's income, he had continued to run his little business, almost as a last bastion of his self-esteem. The problem was the lack of space and the big should-I-stay-or-should-I-go question. Do you move to somewhere larger out of town and loose the walk in business or do you hope that you can manage with the space you have? It turned out there was another answer, one I hadn't noticed -- at the back of the gym was a vacant plot of municipal land, a plot that opened up the prospect of expanding his current premises. The previous council had turned down his offer to buy the land, but the upcoming election promised a change of political control. Control that would be in the hands of Frank Stevens. I could see how Robert could have become desperate -- he needed his business to expand and become successful if he was ever to become his wife's equal. It must have seemed obvious to befriend Monica as a way of getting to her husband. What he probably hadn't counted on was the price she would ask for that access. . . I looked up from the data on the computer screen and smiled. Now we could go. ##################################################### I yawned and looked out of the car window in the general direction of the Cussack house. The porch light and one of the bedroom lights were on but otherwise the place seemed quiet. As Remus had said, Canyon Drive had houses on only one side which allowed for an unobstructed view down the valley. The houses were built on a narrow artificial terrace dug out of the hillside, and the developer had obviously wanted to maximize his investment. As a result, all the houses had been built close together, then shielded from each other by dense shrubs and bushes. This meant there was little chance of the neighbors seeing anything suspicious. Of course, screaming and shouting would be another story. I glanced over at Remus, who was sketching something in a small notebook he always carried. It had taken a direct order from Kitten to persuade Remus to talk like a real live human being. She had pouted at first, but I'd insisted that she tell him. It had been tough -- being worshipped as a goddess has a certain attraction to Kitten, and adoration like Remus' can be awfully addictive. However, in the end I think he was starting to get to her, too. In any case, a "normal" Remus proved easier to live with and I had fewer problems working with him. Of course, he was still a little strange, but like most slaves the creative subroutine had kicked in. It turned out that Remus did hand tooled leather work as a hobby. Kitten's little patent leather ensemble had been his, a gift to his new mistress. We'd been talking about that and other things as we waited for Monica to appear. It hadn't taken much hacking to get Susan sent to Seattle a week early, and as expected the good news was passed back to Monica. Now we were waiting in a darkened car for the order to proceed. Remus nodded to himself, then held up the drawing so that I could see it in the weak light coming in from the window. "What do you think, Master Charlie?" I examined his sketch, and felt my eyebrows rise. "A leather wedding dress?" I asked. "White leather," Remus said dreamily, "with a corset-style bodice and a leather and silk train." He pointed out the details. "Exactly what the Mistress ordered." "And she wants this for when?" "The new year, she said. . ." He hesitated, frowning. "Um, I would have thought you'd have known the date of your own wedding." "Oh, I know we'll be getting married," I said blithely. "It's just the little details that haven't been worked out yet. Like when." Remus snorted. "Since when has a Mistress *not* had everything worked out from the moment she decides it?" He had a point. Doc builds quite exceptional women -- his submissives are incredible, and his dommes and switches could well be the most dangerous individuals on the planet. The thought that Kitten could have accepted my proposal without having worked out every tiny detail in a nanosecond was. . .well, unthinkable. I could see that Kitten and I would have to have a little talk. "Moe, this is Larry," Kitten's voice broke through my thoughts as it crackled out the radio. "Moe, come in." I grabbed the mic. "Go, Larry." "Moe, the pigeon is on its way to the coop." "Roger that, Larry. We'll bundle up the cock and wait for your call." I looked over at Remus. "Ready?" He nodded. "Then let's do it." Nothing could describe the look of surprise and horror on Robert Cussack's face. He had opened the door expecting to see Monica. What he found was two guys dressed in black and wearing ski masks. I raised the gun with the lazy action of a man who knows how to use it. "Back up nice and slow, keep your hands where I can see them," I ordered. "But--" Remus pushed him back into the house and shut the door behind us. Robert was obviously startled at being brushed aside like a leaf. He was used to being one of the stronger men in town, but compared to Remus or even Kitten he was just a cream puff. You see, everyone is at least twice as strong as they believe themselves to be. The nervous system contains limiters that stop us from using all of our strength so that we don't risk injuring ourselves. Normal people usually have no choice, the cutout is that strong, but under extreme stress or the effects of something like Angel Dust they can bypass it for a time. Doc's slaves can turn those limits on and off at will. Smiling behind the mask, Remus dragged the struggling man towards the kitchen. When we got there, we pushed Robert back against the counter. Before he could react, Remus grabbed his wrists and pinned his arms behind him. "W....what do you want?" Cussack stammered "This is a robbery, asshole. What do you think we want?" I growled. "Please -- my wife's jewelry is upstairs, there's a small strongbox in my office, the key is in the desk drawer," he babbled, sweating. "Please, don't hurt me--" I reached into the duffel bag I was carrying and pulled out a roll of duct tape. "You talk too much, asshole," I said conversationally. Reaching over, I grabbed a dishtowel from a hook on the wall and balled it up. "Open wide, pretty boy, and maybe we won't hurt you." His face went white at the gag. "N..no, please! I won't make a scene, just take what you want and leave." I brought the towel up to his mouth and he clamped his jaw closed defiantly. I grinned. "OK, if that's the way you wanna play it. Curley, why don't you start breaking the nice man's fingers?" I'd told Remus to act big and dumb. He'd run with the idea, though I admit that his performance owed a lot to "Of Mice and Men." "Gee, OK, Moe." He moved as if to alter his grip on the struggling man's hands. Cussack got the message and opened wide. I stuffed the towel in, then applied a few strips of the duct tape over his lips to keep it there. A search through the kitchen drawers revealed a few extra towels, and I tied one tightly over the top of the tape. That then left me with the problem of how to do a nipple test on a man. The only thing I could think of straight away was the scrotum -- I decided I wasn't *that* desperate. "Strip him!" I said in the coldest and most vicious sounding voice I could manage. Cussack's eyes widened and some sound emerged. I nodded, satisfied that the gag was strong enough for now. Stripping him wasn't difficult. In anticipation of his lover's arrival, he was naked underneath a black terrycloth bathrobe. Stripped of that, he was suddenly, embarrassingly naked. I passed Remus the duct tape and pointed my gun at Cussack while the slave taped his wrists and elbows, then glanced at my watch. It was almost time for Monica to show and I had a couple of things I needed to do first. Leaving Remus to finish tying Cussack, I slipped from the kitchen. Monica probably expected Cussack to meet her at the door and let her in. If I opened the door dressed like this she was likely to scream the neighborhood down, so I had to move fast. Reaching into my bag, I found the little note that Kitten had laser printed. It read : "Darling, I have a surprise for you. Meet me in the bedroom." I headed to the front door and opened it just enough to pin the note to the outside, then left it on the latch and raced upstairs to rifle through the dresser drawers. The idea had been to make it appear to be a robbery, and with the exception of a little tape and some rope I intended to make sure we left no trace of our presence. As I'd hoped, Susan had quite a silk scarf collection. There were more than enough to do a good job gagging poor Monica. I made a start while I was waiting, folding them into strips, tying knots in some, twisting other's into balls. The radio crackled in my ear. "Moe, this is Larry. The pigeon has reached the coop." "Roger that," I answered, "the cock is bundled. Keeping RT silence until we have the hen." And then: "Moe to Curley, hen's on her way, are you sure that the cock ain't going to crow?" "No problem, Moe." I smiled. Remus would keep Cussack quiet until Monica was upstairs. Kitten's voice came again. "Moe? She's going in." Leaving the scarves on the bed, I moved to the side of the door and drew my gun from its holster. It only took a few minutes until I heard her footfalls on the stair. "Honey?" she called. Miss Monica had a fairly nice voice, I decided -- boded well for future tongue work. "What's the big surprise? Honey?" The footfalls came closer still, then the bedroom door opened and she stepped inside. She paused there, confused by Robert's absence and clothes scattered around the floor. "Hone....umph?" I stepped out and grabbed her, my right hand covering her mouth and my left putting the gun to her temple. "Ummmphhh!" she howled into my hand. "Shush *honey*," I hissed. "Make one sound and I spread your brains all over the wall -- understand?" She nodded, her eyes wide and wild over my gloved hand. "Good. Now, I'm going to take my hand away. You scream, you die, understand?" Another nod. "Good." "What...?" she began before my hand flew back to cover her mouth. "Stupid bitch! Speak again and next time I shoot," I growled. "Now shut up and move over to the bed." Her eyes widened but she said nothing. However, she didn't move either -- just stood there, shivering with fright. In the end I had to drag her over to the bed myself. I forced her to sit down on the bed next to the small pile of scarves I'd prepared. "I was getting these ready for your boyfriend, but as you're here I'm sure he won't mind sharing." "Wha--" she began, then remembered my warning. She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide and panicked. I pulled the hammer back on the gun. "You wanna die, lady?" She shook her head. "Then shut the fuck up! Now take the balled up scarf and stuff it into that big mouth of yours." She hesitated. I sighed. "Listen, bitch, I have two ways of keeping you quiet," I said. "I'm gonna choose whichever is easiest. And trust me -- you don't want me to pick the other one." Hands trembling, she picked up the balled up scarf and stuffed it into her mouth. "That's good, now let's see if we can get the other one in there as well." She looked at the second ball and shook her head, mumbling a muffled nonsense. I pointed the gun at her. "Let's see, anyway, shall we? Humor me bitch, because the one way you come out of this alive is if you humor me." She picked up the second scarf and tried to force it in. At first it didn't want to go, but then I straightened my arm as if I was taking aim. She doubled her effort and finally forced it home. "Now pick up the knotted one. Put the knot in your mouth and tie the trailing ends behind your head." She started, but I was unimpressed. "Tighter, bitch! Do you think I'm joking?" Grunting, she pulled the scarf tight and knotted the ends behind her head with a solid workmanlike knot. I allowed myself to smile, "That's better. Keep doing what you're told and you might even make it out of this alive." Encouraged, she reached for the next scarf. I waved her off. "That's enough sweetheart, let's leave a few for macho man, OK?" She seemed relieved that we'd finished, a relief I shattered a moment later. "OK, sweets, time to tie you up. Now strip." Her eyes widened. "What's the matter?" I asked coldly, "gone deaf? I can tie you tighter without clothes. Now how would you rather we left you, tied up naked and alive or dead but dressed?" For a second she seemed to be trying to decide. Then, still trembling, she started to take off her jacket. At first she was reluctant, stripping slowly, but when she saw the bulge in my pants and realized that slow was more of a turn on she switched to high gear, quickly removing each piece until she was shivering in her underwear. "All of it sweetheart," I ordered. "If you're extra nice to me, then maybe I'll let you put your undies back on before we leave." I leered from behind the mask, leaving her in no doubt just what she'd have to do to be "extra nice" to me. By now she was barely able to stand, she was shaking so much. The hooks on her bra were a real problem, and for a time I thought I'd have to cut it off with my knife. Finally, however, she stood naked before me, one arm covering her breasts and one hand over her crotch. The gesture was useless in concealing the fact that she had a thick mat of dark brown pubic hair. I smiled -- knowing Kitten's preferences, it was unlikely she would keep it. "OK, now turn around and cross your wrists behind your back." She shivered and made a weak muffled sound. If I tied her, then she would have no way to cover herself. She made another muffled begging sound but in the end she had no choice. She swallowed, then turned her back to me. A second later she brought her arms behind her back as I'd asked. I quickly taped her wrists and elbows before she could change her mind. She couldn't get her elbows all the way together and so I added another band of tape to her forearms. As a test I spun her around, then reached down and parted her pussy lips, rubbing her little nub with my gloved finger. She struggled a little and made a muffled sound but the message was clear. I had taken ownership of her body and everything, even her most private places, were under my control. She looked at me doe-eyed, and a single silent tear rolled down one cheek. Smiling, I pushed her onto the bed, crossing her legs and taping her ankles and knees. Reaching down, I cupped her breast, rubbing and coaxing until the nipple hardened. She sobbed quietly but there was nothing more she could do. When the nipple was nice and erect, I squeezed it hard and twisted, listening to the muffled sounds that made it past her gag. I nodded -- the gag was OK. She gave me a tearful begging look I had no time for. I rolled her onto her belly, used her discarded pantyhose to hog-tie her wrists to her ankles, then stood back and watched. She squirmed and tried to get more comfortable and I helped her out a little by pulling her into the center of the bed. Close up, I had to admit that all of those work-outs seemed to have paid off. She had a good body for someone her age and as she fought her bonds her muscles rippled in a most delightful way. That reminded me of muscle boy -- it was almost time to go downstairs and play my next part in our little drama. First however I needed to complete our cover. No robber would take his fun until he's taken care of business. Leaving her to squirm and moan on the bed, I started to rifle through the room. Susan's jewel box came to hand quickly, as did his best watch and a couple of sets of cuff links. I made a big show of turning out the drawers and in the process I made a few embarrassing discoveries. Susan had a huge dildo hidden in her underwear drawer, one of those lifelike ones with veins and balls. It must have been at least eight inches long and almost three inches across. The thing looked a monster, and I showed it to Monica to get her reaction. By the way her eyes bulged, I guessed what she thought. Laughing, I dumped it on the night stand and continued searching. I piled the valuables next to the door and stopped to listen. The sound of searching continued downstairs so I still had a few moments. Returning to Monica, I cupped her breast and started to gently massage it. At first she stiffened, resisting my touch, but as her nipples hardened her body softened. I smiled -- Monica was one over-sexed bitch. If she hadn't been cheating on her husband she wouldn't even be here. Now, as the bound and gagged plaything of a masked intruder she was still responding to the slightest touch. What a slut. Just then, the sounds of searching downstairs stopped. It was time. Looking down at the naked woman, I cast a critical eye over her bonds. It was obvious she wasn't going anywhere. Slapping her ass and telling her to be good, I left her to squirm on the bed while I headed down to the kitchen. One of the problems we'd had planning this little operation had been what to do about Kitten. As the injured party, she wanted in on the kill but we were worried that knowing our group was two men and a woman would give our captives too much useful information to tell the police. At first, we had thought about pretending that Kitten was a man. She was strong enough and if she kept her mouth shut we thought we could get away with it. However, once we'd seen her in the burglar outfit we'd had to give up on that. She was simply too slight to be anything other than a girl. Fortunately, Kitten's access to the FBI's computers had given us an ingenious solution. It seemed there was a boy/girl team pulling strip and tape robberies up and down the west coast. Usually they worked alone but occasionally they hired in muscle, especially when they thought they might encounter resistance. Over the past week we had studied their MO, what they did, when and how. What they said, how they worked, the whole deal. Then we'd planned this little caper in their style. By the time we'd finished, anyone reading the case file for our little adventure would be convinced that the real dynamic duo had pulled the job. The only problem was that it seemed the woman had a little kink that she liked to indulge if she had time alone with a male victim. It was time to see just how crazy Kitten could be. I arrived in the kitchen to find my two partners emptying Robert's strongbox on the kitchen table. Bagging everything of value, they left the rest where it was. Robert looked on with hollow eyes -- the box had contained a lot of money, and when we took it we took his dreams as well. The guys were so intent that they didn't notice I was there at first. I gave a discreet cough. When Remus looked up, I said, "Curley I need your help upstairs. Larry, you can finish up down here, right?" Kitten nodded. "Sure, Moe." We made to leave, chatting about the fun we'd have with the woman upstairs. I looked for a reaction from Robert but he seemed stunned. I suppose I'd expected some muffled protest, an attempt to leap to her rescue, but he just sat impassively. That seemed to confirm his relationship with Monica. We left, but after a few seconds I sneaked back and watched from the darkened doorway as Kitten circled Cussack. Remus had tied him to a kitchen chair, taking special care to bind him with his legs wide open. As Kitten circled he tried to follow her with his eyes, twisting his neck around when she went behind him. There was a tangible feeling of fear in the room. It was obvious that being stripped and helpless had taken all of the fight out of him and now he was waiting, petrified, for her to make the next move. While she was behind him and he was most vulnerable she stopped and started to run her hands over his chest, then across to his muscular arms. On reflex he fought the bonds, muscles rippling but getting nowhere. There was no doubt that the man was strong, but right now he was so well tied he could hardly move. He was vulnerable, terribly vulnerable. She laughed -- it sounded crazy even to me, and at least I knew she was acting. She ran her hands over his impotent muscles again. "My, my what a big strong boy we have here.," she said mockingly. "What's the matter, big, strong boy? Feeling a little tied up at the moment?" Cussack glared. Kitten smiled and raised her gloved hand to his cheek. "What's the matter, big strong boy, ain't it the same fun when a girly has the upper hand?" she crooned. "I bet if you had me tied up like that, you'd do all sorts of things to my helpless body." There was an edge of madness in her voice that made my blood run cold. Cussack froze, realizing the horrible situation he was in. She reached down and grabbed his cock. At the first touch of the leather glove it started to harden despite his terror. Laughing, she encouraged it, working her hand up and down in long sensual strokes. Cussack groaned and his erection started to build. It soon became apparent that he was very well endowed. If his business folded he could always make a living in the porn industry. I started to see what Susan and Monica saw in him. Reaching up with her free hand, Kitten grabbed hold of his chin, forcing his head up so that he was looking straight at her. There was real fear in his wide eyes -- he'd probably never been this helpless in his life. Very slowly and deliberately, Kitten licked her lips with anticipation. "Would you touch me?" she whispered, while her hand kept up the steady strokes. "Would you, my big strong boy? Would you play with my poor helpless girly body like this?" He groaned, and I couldn't blame him. Kitten's hand jobs can be very stimulating and she was pulling out all the stops. Letting go of his erect cock, she reached up and wiped his precum on the side of his face. He moaned again. Grabbing the towel that covered his mouth, she pulled it down to his chin, leaving his taped lips clear. For a second she returned to his cock, keeping everything erect and hard. Then reaching up with both hands, she grabbed his head and kissed his gagged mouth above the thin band of cloth on the thick mask of tape. When her lips came away, a bright cherry imprint was left behind. "Would you rape me big bad boy? If I was helpless, would you force yourself into my tight, warm pussy and unload in me?" She grabbed his throbbing erection. "Mr. Happy likes that idea, doesn't he, big bad boy?" She smiled evilly. "You know, I think you would. . .and turnaround is such fair play." Smiling, she pulled a rubber out of her pocket. "Bet you thought a man couldn't be raped, didn't you, my big bad boy? Guess you were wrong." She gave a mad little laugh, then slipped the rubber onto his erect cock, rubbing it up and down a few times to make it really hard. She paused, then reached up and dropped her Lycra ski pants, revealing a tight pair of thin latex rubber panties underneath. She opened her legs wide, stretching the thin rubber membrane tightly over her shaved pussy. You could see everything, the hole, her pussy lips, even a small bulge where her nub was. A woman's pussy, in slick black rubber. The pants had been a compromise, however -- the robber we were aping did sometimes fuck her male victims and Kitten making an attempt on Robert would go a long way to establishing her MO. However, the problem was what to do with Kitten's distinctive Felix tattoo. We had considered covering it with body makeup but hadn't wanted to risk him rubbing away the makeup and seeing it. The panties would keep everything nicely covered and out of sight, as well as tickle Kitten's kinky side. She rolled her hips, as if to slide the panties down. Robert's eyes were bulging and a full eight inches of Mr. Happy was waving and twitching in the air. It was time for me to go on. I walked in. "Damn! Not a-fucking-gain!" I hissed. "You gonna rape the bastard, is that it? How many times do I have to tell you that it doesn't fucking work, you stupid bitch. He's a guy an' you can't rape a fucking guy! What's the fucking matter with you, ain't you worked it out yet? It ain't the same for a guy, they don't feel any of that shame shit, they like sex too much." Kitten glared at me--she was very convincing. "What the fuck am I to do then?" she spat, her voice full of a cold insane venom. "I have to make the bastards pay somehow!" "Oh, you want him to pay?" I laughed. "Why didn't you say so? I can show you how to make the fucker pay." I leaned out the kitchen door. "Hey Curley! Get the fuck in here." On cue, Remus shuffled through. "Yeah, Moe?" I nodded towards Robert. "Suck this poor bastard off for Larry, will you? I want you to show her how it's done." A strangled sound came from the chair. Yep, Bobbie boy quite liked the idea of a woman playing with him -- probably thought that a pretty robber forcing him to have sex with her was some kind of dirty fantasy. But having a guy suck him off? For an ex-jock like him, it was murder. He started making muffled screaming noises as Remus approached. I watched until the big man had knelt down, then grabbed Kitten by the arm and dragged her outside. As soon as we were out of sight, I hugged her. "Shit, that was amazing," I said in pure admiration. "Real Oscar material." She flashed me that cheeky Kitten smile. "Really? Was it really that good?" she asked coyly. I kissed her. "It was brilliant -- now it's time to prepare for the last act." Still smiling, we headed for the stairs. "So what's the story with this girl? She tries to rape helpless men?" I asked as we walked upstairs. "Yep -- the FBI behavioral sciences people believe that she was abused at some time, so she attempts to reproduce the crime, turning the tables on her attacker by using male robbery victims." "Wow," I said. "That is one seriously screwed up bitch." Kitten flashed me a dark look. "Err, sorry, I'm not quite so good at popping in and out of character as you are," I apologized. "Anyway, I think you convinced him you were a wacko. Do you think it will convince the Feds?" Kitten wrinkled her nose. "Oh yeah, the victims were so embarrassed they didn't want it publicized. It's one of those bits of info the FBI keeps to itself to eliminate copycats. Once they see this, we're cool." "Great. Ready for the main event?" Kitten nodded. We walked into the bedroom. Monica hadn't managed to get anywhere in the last few minutes. When she heard us enter she twisted around to face us. "Ummmm Ummm Heeee. Misssshh," she moaned from behind the gag. She was looking at Kitten, probably hoping to appeal to her woman to woman. If she thought she was going to get any sympathy, Kitten's next words killed that idea. "Cut the bitch's legs free," she spat, making it clear to Monica that she wasn't her favorite person. I'd made it clear to Kitten that she shouldn't say anything to Monica that would tell her what this really was about. After all, we still had unfinished business with the other two and little Monica would be free in a few hours. I could tell that Kitten was disappointed, but at least she would get the opportunity to make Monica suffer a little. I walked over to the bed and pulled out a flick knife. Monica's eyes widened and a small mewing sound managed to creep past her gag. However all I did was hold her steady while I cut the hog-tie and the little cuffs of tape that bound her legs together. In the meantime Kitten had reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a smaller bag. I could see her smiling though the mouth hole in her ski mask. It was party time. Smiling myself, I pulled Monica to her feet and pushed her in Kitten's direction. Kitten grabbed Monica's arm and started to drag the struggling woman towards the en suite bathroom. I think Monica thought that she was fighting on even terms -- on the surface, she was about the same size as Kitten and the girl wasn't armed. Old Monica probably thought that she could at least hold her own. She was wrong. It didn't take Kitten long to drag Monica the few feet to the bathroom door and push her inside. Monica, panting and umphing behind her gag, flashed me one last desperate look before the door closed. I went to work. We had two large coils of soft cotton clothesline to use up. I cut several long lengths, then started tying them to the underframe of the bed -- six at the bottom, two at the middle and three at the top. I had tied the ones at the bottom of the bed and was just starting on the middle set when the bathroom door opened and Kitten led Monica back into the room. All the fight was gone from the older woman -- she came as passively as a lamb, her tearstained face testament to whatever Kitten had done to her. Part of what had happened was obvious -- Monica's thick thatch of dark brown pubic hair had gone, and in its place was a bright pink, freshly shaved pussy. She noticed where I was looking and shivered, her face flushing red with humiliation. However, her pussy was not the only thing I noticed -- the woman's nipples were hard, *very* hard, standing out from her breasts like pencil erasers. Kitten had noticed, too. She reached over and gently rolled one between thumb and forefinger. Monica moaned, her whole body shivered and a strange look, part puzzlement, part arousal, flashed across her pretty face. I found suddenly that my cock was hard and pushing painfully against my pants. That aloofness or whatever it was that had made Monica appear less attractive was gone, and in its place was a strange submissive acceptance. It was an incredible turn on. Monica's eyes looked first towards the bed, then at my bulging crotch. The purpose of the ropes seemed obvious, though I don't think she realized how many sets there were. She trembled, sobbing a little, then sighed as if she'd accepted the part fate had written for her. She staggered slightly but didn't resist as Kitten led her towards the bed. Once there, she had her first surprise. Instead of forcing her onto the bed, Kitten made her kneel in front of it with her back to the frame. Moving forward, I used three of the ropes to temporarily tie her bound wrists and each of her ankles to the bed. She looked up confused -- instead of being tied lying down to the bed, she had been bound kneeling in front of it with her back pressed against the foot of the frame. Smiling at Kitten, I tossed her a short length of cord. First Kitten wrapped the cord around the woman's neck, then reaching down she removed the scarf that was gagging her and pulled the packing free. "P..please--" Monica started to beg, looking up at Kitten with needful eyes. "Shush," Kitten said. "That isn't why I took the gag off." For the second time that night, Kitten pulled her Lycra pants down and revealed the tight rubber panties. Tight and made from a very thin but strong rubber, the pants had a very special purpose. They were designed to provide a thin protective barrier, allowing a woman to receive oral sex without the risks inherent with direct contact. Now grabbing a large handful of Monica's shag haircut, Kitten forced the older woman's mouth onto her mound. Monica, at first confused, soon got the message when Kitten twisted the cord wrapped around the her neck. Slowly, she started to lap at Kitten's crotch through the tight rubber. Effective as the panties were, they dulled some of the sensation and it took a while for Kitten's moans to reach their usual pitch. By then I'd finished with the ropes and decided to help out. Walking up behind Kitten, I slid a hand under her top until I felt the warm silky smoothness of her rubber peep-hole bra. Her nipples were hard as bullets -- while one hand continued to play with her breasts, I used the other to rub her ass. I looked down on her masked face, noting the quivering of her lips and the look of lust in her eyes. Pulling her to me, I fixed my mouth on hers, my tongue matching the rhythm of my hand on her breast, which in turn matched her tiny pelvic thrusts. We continued like that for a few seconds, two tongues and a hand working in unison to pleasure my little partner/slave. Then with a tremble and a groan Kitten came, long and hard as always. For a second, her body sagged in my arms and she looked up at me with perfect love in her eyes. And any doubt I had about what we were doing disappeared in that moment. The moment Kitten had recovered, she was back to business. Pulling her pants up, she used the knotted scarf to cleave gag Monica, then smiled up at me. "If you can untie her legs, sweetheart, I'll fix her a glass of water." Nodding, I made a start. Monica seemed strangely submissive, almost as if she were enjoying herself. I admit to being puzzled, so after using some cord to hog-tie her ankles to her wrist again I headed to the bathroom. I found Kitten adding the contents of a small bottle to a glass of water. "You drugged her?" I asked. "When?" Kitten asked, looking confused. "When you were in here before?" Kitten chuckled. "Oh, no, silly. I just talked dirty to her and fingered her off." She grinned. "There's nothing like being forced to cum against your will to take the wind out of a bitch's sails. I told her what a whore she was to cum so easily, and for a girl at that! She had such a wonderful look of shame on her face. Didn't stop her from coming again, though. I told her that proved she was a slut, and then I shaved her pussy." She held the glass of "water" up to the light, admiring it. "That's all I did. She's such a slut, no chemical assistance was necessary," she concluded. I wasn't convinced. "What's that, then?" I demanded. She grinned wickedly. "Female sex hormone. We use genetically altered bacteria to make it in the lab. Add some to a slave's food and her little pussy starts to tingle. After a few minutes, she's so hot she'll fuck anything or anyone for as long as she can." I frowned. "I thought we agreed to minimal residual presence. What if they do a blood test?" She pouted. "Master Charlie, don't you trust me by now? In two hours it will be gone from her bloodstream." She shrugged. "And if they take a test before then, so what? They'll find abnormally high levels of a natural hormone. It isn't unusual for some elevation in hormone levels after a woman has sex." She flashed her evil smile. "And poor little Monica is going to have an awful lot of sex." ############################### Monica swallowed the water gratefully. I guess her mouth still tasted of rubber. Kitten then gagged her for the final time. Because we wanted them to be discovered much later, preferably by Susan Cussack, we did a better job with the gag this time -- on top of the knotted scarf we added another scarf and then a thick mask of white tape. As a finishing touch Kitten painted a pouty pair of fake lips on the tape with lip gloss. By the time she was finished Monica was squirming like she had ants in her pants. I looked up to find her watching me with a barely disguised look of lust in her eye. She stared down at my crotch, then thrust her own hips forward. "Ummpphhh?" she begged. Between Kitten and Monica, the room was full of the smell of hot pussy. I couldn't help but get hard. It hadn't escaped my notice that I was the only person in the room who hadn't gotten off tonight. Reaching into my pocket I found a rubber and drew it out. Monica actually nodded -- the little slut was so hot, she was almost begging. Just then Remus turned up with Cussack thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I groaned and put the rubber away -- back to business, dammit. Cussack didn't seem to have as much spunk as he had before. Certainly he'd stopped even attempting to struggle. For a second the two captives looked at each other. "Ummphhh!!!" Monica begged, wiggling her hips at him. After all, tied or not Robert was still a man and her needs were abnormally strong now. Robert ignored her, lost in his own misery. "My," Kitten said ingenuously, "you look thirsty. We'd better let him drink before we leave." There was something in her voice that made me suspicious. I looked up to find Monica trying unsuccessfully to hump one of the bedposts. Doc's little lab of sexual drugs probably had some male analog for what was currently making Monica try to fuck the furniture. I nodded and Kitten took off with a wicked grin on her face. Afterwards we replaced Robert's gag with a set of scarves and tape like the ones we had used on Monica. It was time for the end game. Robert gave us no trouble when we tied him spread eagle on the bed. In fact, his attention was completely consumed by his huge erection. Like I said, the man was astoundingly hung to begin with, and Kitten's little formula seemed to have magnified things. I started to worry that he might not have enough blood in his body to support such an erection. While Remus and I finished tying him down Kitten was working on the girl, tying her arms to her body and giving her a nice rope bra. When she was ready, Remus and I lifted Monica up and positioned her above Robert's huge cock. With Kitten holding the erection and providing guidance we lowered the girl, watching in fascination as her tight little pussy expanded to take the monster cock. Monica gave a muffled scream, then moaned and shivered as she sank onto Robert. For a second I worried that he might've hurt her, but within seconds she started humping the intruder with such enthusiasm that she almost fell off. A few well placed ropes fixed that -- two to bind her ankles and keep her legs apart, another two that came up to her narrow waist and tied like a belt around her middle. The lengths were carefully chosen so that she could move up and down but couldn't ease herself off his erection. Not that she was likely to do that -- Monica was humping like there was no tomorrow and her gagged moans and his groans filled the room, as did the heady aroma of her hot cunt. For a second we just watched as our two captives fucked each other. Then it was back to work. It took about an hour to clean everything up to our satisfaction. Among our haul was an expensive Nikon camera with half a roll of film still unused. While the others loaded up the car I went back and took some pictures. Monica froze with a look of horror on her face when the flash first went off. She shook her head and moaned, obviously trying to beg me not to take any pictures. But Robert was too lost in his own pleasure to even notice, and after a moment Monica started her humping motions again, moaning now in ecstacy. I moved in and snapped a close-up of her sweat-drenched face, her eyes rolled back in her head as she chased what looked like a monster orgasm. Yet more shots, this time capturing her tits as they bounced up and down. I moved on to Robert who realized what was going on for the first time. I think he suddenly understood the full horror of his possition. Those muscles of his came into action and the bed groaned under his onslaught. It got him nowhere but it pushed Monica into her first orgasm. This time she was too far gone to worry about photographs and I finished the film with shots of her squirming in ecstacy Then I took my leave, removing the notice from the front door as I went. It would have been fun to wait for Susan's homecoming and see her reaction, but we needed to get well clear before the police were called. As we drove away I looked over at Kitten, who was sitting deep in thought. "Satisfied?" I asked. "It's a start," she said. 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