Message-ID: <22293asstr$947905800@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20000114193232.6657.qmail@nym.alias.net> From: Echo Subject: {ASSM} RP {Echo} Damsel in Distress 3/3 (Superhero MF FF Anal Humil) Date: Fri, 14 Jan 2000 22:10:00 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: kelly, Lambchop RE Copyright remains with author. This story is *not* to be reposted, posted elsewhere, etc. It is *not* to be made available in any media for profit. You are entitled to one hard copy for your own amusement. **Note** The internet addresses and sites mentioned in this story are *not* actual ones. Don't waste your time. If under the legal age, don't read further. Dark Damsel: Damsel in Distress, by Echo Chapter 7 Ray Barton looked from the computer screen to the book and back again. He snorted and dropped the book on the desk beside the other one. He shook his head angrily and gave himself a mental kick. The two books lay there, innocent: 'Webpages Made Easy' and 'Webpages For Dunderheads'. "I knew I should have picked up 'Webpages for Morons', but oh, no, I had to . . . . Hi. What can I do for you?" A very lovely young woman had opened the door to his office and stepped in. She had surprised him, for she had entered so silently that only the movement of her shadow had given her away. "Hi. I brought my car in for service and they told me to see you about a payment plan," the woman smiled at him as she closed the door. With the door closed the smile disappeared. "Officer Rebecca Nasturant reporting," she told him. "Yes, Officer, what can we do for you? You mentioned a payment plan?" No one had told him about any visit. Nasturant smiled at his reticence. "Sorry, sir, I thought you'd already been informed. I'm to work here with you for, oh, a week will probably do it." She handed him a paper. "Your suggestion for a Crime Prevention Web Site has been approved. I'm here to help you set it up." She glanced at the books on the desk and choked back a laugh. Instead she picked them up. "Good books," she told him. "But you probably should have gone with 'Webpages for Morons', as disgusting as the title is. It would get you into the basics more gently." She placed the books to one side, "but you won't need any of them. You have," she said smugly, "me." "And your credentials are . . . ?" Ray wasn't about to let her see his utter relief at having someone, anyone who knew more than he, to help. "Graduated top of my class in Computer Sciences," Nasturant stated evenly. But that means nothing. Let me have a go at it. If you don't like what you see, you always have the books," she said mildly. Ray stood and waved her graciously to his chair. He brought the other one around and sat slightly behind and to one side of the woman, whose fingers were already flying across the keyboard. One hour later Ray was more than convinced. Nasturant had done in minutes that which had taken him hours to grasp and implement. Not only that, but she had kept up a running commentary on what she was doing and why. He'd learned more in the past hour then in the past two weeks with those damned books. "Officer Rebecca Nasturant," he addressed her reverently, "I think I'm in love. Would you like a cup of coffee?" "Detective Barton," she replied severely. "That is a serious breach of protocol. I may have to report it." Oh, shit, Ray groaned to himself. All he needed was a sexual harassment charge against him. It just figured that someone as good looking as Nasturant would be a stickler for rules. The word of law, rather than the spirit of it, was what was important to her. Shit. He'd have to apologize. "I apologize, Officer Nasturant . . ." "Rightly so," she interrupted him. "As junior officer it is my place to get *you* the coffee. If word of your slip were to become widely known, morale would plummet." Nasturant didn't even crack a smile. Ray relaxed. This he could deal with. "Officer Nasturant. You are now in the field. We do things differently out here. This is something you may or may not get used to. I expect, however," he said loftily, "you to make the attempt. Do I make myself clear?" She nodded, chastened. "Good. Then, cream and sugar?" Nasturant threw back her head and laughed. "One cream, two sugar, sir." "Ray," he corrected. "Ray. I'm Rebecca. So, do you like what you see . . . I mean on the screen," she hastened to add. "Love it. So," he continued as he poured the coffee, "I have you for a week? Wonderful." He handed her the coffee and pulled a notebook out of his desk drawer. "Let me show you what I had in mind. Feel free to make any suggestions." It was two hours later that the telephone interrupted an excited exchange of views and possibilities. It was Ray's dream taking form and a whole lot of fun for Rebecca, a chance to use her imagination and skills. "Ray speaking," he held the receiver lightly. His grip tightened. "When?" His eyes focused on a spot on the wall as he listened. "Where? Okay. We're on it." Ray hung up the phone. "Can you keep an eye on the place?" he asked Rebecca, as he pushed a button on the intercom. "What's up?" "A particularly nasty group of drug dealers. We've been after them for some time. They move around so it's hard to catch them. We're a couple of men short today, so I need everyone. We'll put up the 'closed' sign and you can just keep working on the pages," he spoke rapidly, even as the other members of his team rushed into the room in answer to his signal. "Not a problem," she affirmed. Ray outlined the problem to his men as Rebecca listened in fascination. She had never been any part of such an operation before. After the quick briefing, Ray wrote down an address and handed it to Rebecca. "We'll want back-up, but we don't dare call for it. The scum have scanners and they'll bolt in a second. Call up the duty sergeant at the 8th and get us some back-up. Make sure he doesn't use his radio." Rebecca was on the phone even before he finished. Ray gave her a nod then he and the others rushed out. Rebecca found that she couldn't focus on the work. She turned up the police radio and listened to the calls. While she listened she idly began a search of the computer's files. An encrypted area piqued her interest and she made a small bet with herself as to how long it would take her to crack it. She did it with a minute to spare. "How interesting," she murmured to herself, then her attention was elsewhere. "Officer Down!" the radio blared, giving the very address she had just given to the 8th. "Request assistance, ambulance." Rebecca didn't recognize the voice. It wasn't Ray. She had known him for only the morning, yet her heart was pounding. It couldn't be him. Such a nice man. She took a deep breath. They all were. Johnny, who had been so polite as she brought her car in for the check-up; Sam, who had shown her to Ray's office . . . all of them. She began pacing the floor, hoping for more word on the radio. She knew it wouldn't come. They'd use a phone, keep it off the air, keep it private as long as possible. Never before had the life and death reality of police work been made so clear, so obvious. One of her comrades, though she really didn't know any of them at all well, was down, perhaps dead. Someone she actually knew, had talked to. This wasn't just reading a report about some unknown name and face. This was real. After what seemed an eternity, two cars pulled up to the garage. Rebecca realized that she was still in the encrypted part of the drive and hastened to exit it and pull up her work on the Web page. She jumped up as Ray walked into the room, looking tired and old. "You okay?" she asked, approaching him. Ray merely shook his head. "Who?" she needed to know, somehow. "Johnny." "Oh, no. Not Johnny." Without realizing what she was doing Rebecca reached out for Ray and held him tight. Surprised, Ray returned the hug. After a while he decided that they were a little too close. "Breach of protocol, Officer?" he asked. Rebecca gave a little laugh. "If you're going to do it, do it right," she replied, and tightened her hug before letting him go. "It's okay, Rebecca, he'll live." Whether he'd walk again or not was something else. Johnny had taken three slugs from an Uzi in the right leg. He told Rebecca what had gone down, how they'd been late, but still caught one of the gang making the final clean-up. That one had opened fire on the spot and been killed in the return fire, but not before the slugs had cut down Johnny. "Dark Damsel was right," he muttered to himself. "Dark Damsel?" Rebecca questioned. "I met her in the Commissioner's office. What does she have to do with this?" "One of her sources let her know where they were a while back. She warned us to be careful 'cause these guys played for keeps." Ray shrugged. It didn't matter much now. They'd learned that for themselves. "We were late and missed them then." "I'm surprised that Dark Damsel didn't go after them herself. She has that reputation." "She had other fish to fry. She was after The Photographer. That was just before the shit hit the fan, where she's concerned. Haven't heard from her since." He looked at the young woman who appeared to be regaining her composure. "So, how's the work going?" "I couldn't do much and, after I heard the 'Officer Down' call, then I couldn't do anything." "Take the rest of the day off. I don't feel much like doing anything more, either." Ray walked behind his desk and sat down. He looked up at Rebecca, who hadn't made a move. "Go ahead," he said. "You're part of my staff at the moment. Take off, relax." Rebecca considered it for a moment then agreed. "Okay, Ray, I'll do that. I'm going to the hospital. Give blood or something." Ray smiled tiredly and nodded. "You do that." "She's okay," he told the empty room after she'd left, "she'll do." Ray was just about to pack it in for the day--he'd be glad when Kelsy returned to duty so he could get back to the afternoon shift--when the phone rang. It was the special line. "Yes?" No names were ever used on that line. "Got a message for the Damsel," a muffled voice told him with no preliminaries. "I'll pass it on." "Good. Tell her word is there's gonna be a fence in town soon. Donno where, donno when. Find out, I'll call. Tell her eight-three-h. Got it?" "Eight-three-h," Ray repeated back. "Got it." The caller disconnected. Ray looked down at the note. Yeah, he'd tell her--if he saw her. He hadn't heard from her in days, which didn't surprise him. He *knew* the pictures and video's from the Dark Damsel site were not faked, were not of a model. Damn and blast The Photographer. Bastard. Was this important? Who knew? Dark Damsel had her sources and only one line came through The Garage. Perhaps this bit along with another bit might make sense to Dark Damsel. He sighed as he made his decision. "Ah, well, it's why I get the big money," he soliloquized, and opened a small safe. Inside was a disk. He placed it in the computer, typed in the proper command, wrote out the message and clicked on send. After that it was all automatic. The message was encoded, addressed through remailers and sent. Somewhere, soon--if none of the remailers were down--Dark Damsel would get the note. Ray removed the disk, replaced it in the safe and spun the combination lock. He then entered the encrypted part of the drive and entered the information in the file 8-3-h. He exited the partition and turned off the computer. Taking one last look around, Ray exited the office. He, too, would head over to the hospital now. Perhaps there would be good word on Johnny's condition. He could hope, anyway. Renee was hard at work on a manuscript. It was good to get back to her work, she thought. She would miss the excitement of Dark Damsel, but enough was enough. In all the years since her father had died and she'd taken on the mantle of Dark Damsel, such a thing had never happened. Sure, she'd been bested once or twice, yes; however, criminals were not by nature rapists or sexual perverts. They did what they felt they had to do (for whatever reason) as she did what she had to do. A few of them were killers, yet she had only faced those a couple of times. Those times she'd won. Renee smiled. At times it had been close, the adrenalin had coursed through her body and she'd made the super-human effort which resulted in victory. Those were times that she really felt alive! This time was something entirely different. The Photographer was no ordinary criminal. He had a grudge. He wanted to break Dark Damsel. This was totally different. Here was a man who would go to great lengths to simply get *her*. And, like they said, if someone wants to get another badly enough, eventually he will--if there are no mistakes made. The Photographer hadn't yet made any mistakes. Therefore, every time she appeared as Dark Damsel she was putting herself in danger, a danger greater than the run-of-the-mill danger faced by any crime-fighter. There was a solution, of course. No one knew who Dark Damsel was. Dark Damsel could simply disappear. People would wonder, but no one would ever know. Renee Jimson would live her life, free of Dark Damsel. All she had to do was to return the motorcycle--couldn't have that around, it would be too dangerous--close her nym account, vacate her various hideaways and destroy her costume. Renee Jimson could then lead a full life. It would be so easy. Renee closed the manuscript file. She composed the message which would close her nym account. There. It was done. She opened her mail program. The program dialed her server. It was so simple. A few keystrokes. Dark Damsel would disappear. Let the public think what they would. She didn't care. The program logged on. Renee prepared to send the message. "You have new mail." The sign popped up on the screen. The cursor arrow hovered over the send button. She hesitated. Might as well see what the mail is, she thought. Renee stared at the screen. Among the junk email and the messages from clients there was one she dreaded to see. A message from 'anonymous'. She highlighted it and placed the cursor over the 'delete' button. Ah, hell. Renee lay down on the sofa and listened to the music. It was her favourite CD. The music carried her away. So, she thought, there is a fence in town. Eight-three-h. That was Terry. Terry had always given her straight goods. A fence in town. Interesting. There were lots of fences in town. This, then, had to mean someone big. Someone who could handle very hot merchandise. Hot merchandise worth a lot. She didn't want to think it, but Lady Margot's necklace came to mind, as did all the other jewelry taken by The Photographer. Renee sat up suddenly, jarred into full alert by the song. Why that song? Why now? She laughed at herself. Going to hide away, was she? Run from the humiliation? Never. This was her chance to get The Photographer. If she got him it would be over. Give up being Dark Damsel? Never! A smile came to her face. "Nietzsche," she told the tiger who, as ever, was watching over her, "you were right. As is usual," she laughed aloud, feeling suddenly free. The wind on her face felt good, that part of her face which wasn't covered by the mask. The cycle purred and Dark Damsel felt alive. Very alive. She was back in action. A couple of punks had made comments when she stopped for a red light, but those comments dried up when she fixed them with her stare. No one wanted to try conclusions with a fired up Dark Damsel. "What was that?" Dark Damsel spoke aloud. She'd seen something out of the corner of her eye as she passed the alley. The motorcycle came to a stop, then made a wide turn and she was headed back. Looking up the alley she saw a familiar figure in a fight with two men. It was Minx! Gunning the bike she headed down the alley. One of the men looked up, but it was too late. Dark Damsel clipped him with her fist as she swept by. The man went tumbling. Dark Damsel stopped and rushed into the fray. It was short and sweet. Her man had gotten back to his feet and was searching the ground for something, probably a dropped weapon. Too late he realized he wouldn't have the time. A kick to the jaw sent him sprawling once more. This time he didn't get up. Meanwhile, Minx had taken care of the other goon. He was holding his ribs with one hand and holding out the other in supplication. Minx smiled a feral smile. "You tell your boss that if he doesn't clear out I'll go after him personally. And I know who he is. I know what he's done and have information which will implicate him in several jobs. Tell him he has twenty- four hours. Now take your pal and get out of here!" Minx turned her back and strode over to Dark Damsel. "Thanks for the assist," she smiled. "Just out sight- seeing?" "I owed you. No, I'm on the prowl." Dark Damsel watched as the two goons helped each other down the alley. "Good. There were rumours you'd thrown in the mask. I'm glad they were false." Minx subtly looked Dark Damsel up and down. Unconsciously she licked her lips. Dark Damsel grinned to herself. This woman was anything but subtle, no matter she tried to hold herself in check. And it was good to hear that someone was on her side. "I'm a little out of my usual territory," Minx told Dark Damsel. "Give me a lift?" "Absolutely." The two women walked over to the Damsel's motorcycle. Damsel got on first, then Minx climbed on behind her. Damsel turned on the ignition. She was about to start off in the direction Minx had indicated when she changed her mind and let the machine idle. "I've been thinking about your offer, Minx." It was easier, not having to look Minx in the eyes. "I'm a little busy now, but later . . ." She let the words die. "Hang on." Damsel gunned the bike and they were out of the alley, onto the road and accelerating. Dark Damsel liked the feel of Minx's breasts against her back, of her arms around her stomach . . . er, make that arm, singular, around her stomach. Minx's other arm had released its hold and her hand was now running over Dark Damsel's breasts. Minx's breath was hot in her ear. "Just give me the word, Damsel, and we'll have a time!" her voice lewd with suggestion. It changed. "Until then, need a hand?" Damsel thought about that for a minute. "Yes. I could use someone to watch my back." This, she thought, could be fun. A partner wasn't the worst thing in the world to have. It didn't take long for Dark Damsel to confirm what the message had told her. There was a big dealer coming to town, soon. Just how soon, no one knew. Now, however, the word was out to Damsel's sources that she was interested. They would find out, if anyone could. Then she would know and The Photographer would be history. Dark Damsel was a little sorry to let Minx off. It had been relaxing, having Minx at her back. All the worry had evaporated and she luxuriated in being Dark Damsel. Now, back home. Next afternoon the message was there, waiting for her. Dark Damsel: We have confirmation that The Photographer is meeting a fence tomorrow. The meet is in the Elm Street High School Gym at 7:45 p.m. At exactly 8:00 p.m. we will have all exits from the school blocked, and at 8:15 we are moving in. This time The Photographer will not be getting away. I extend an invitation to you to go in with us. Meet us at The Garage at 7:30 if you want in. A Friend. Elm Street High School? It was summer break. The school would be deserted. No one would think of a school. Did she want in? Yes. Definitely. She wanted the Photographer. Late that night Dark Damsel broke into Elm Street High School. It was ridiculously easy. She ensconced herself in the nurses office, on the bed. It would be too dangerous to check the gym. The Photographer was cagey and might have set up warnings. Tomorrow at 7:40 p.m. she'd take him. When the police made their entrance Dark Damsel would hand over the Photographer, the Jewels and the fence. Tomorrow. It was a day of boredom and anticipation. Finally the time arrived. Dark Damsel made her way down the hall to the gym. She opened the outer door quietly and slipped in. The inner door awaited. Standing to the side she approached the door on cat's feet. There he was. The Photographer. He was dressed in black, masked. She looked around. The wrestling mats had been laid out. What the hell was this? However, a briefcase, open, with the jewels, sat on the half door to the coach's office. It was enough. "Photographer! Your time is up!" Dark Damsel strode through the door and The Photographer whipped around at her voice. "Ah, Dark Damsel. I was hoping we'd meet again." "You are finished." "I think not. Kitty!" Dark Damsel spun around in time to see Kitty on the far side of the inner door. There was a click and the door was locked. Damsel looked around. No doubt all the other doors were locked as well. It was a trap! But it didn't matter. She was there for The Photographer and she would take him. Her adrenalin began to flow and she stalked forward. "Wait!" The Photographer called out and Dark Damsel halted. "There are rules to this game." Dark Damsel wasn't amused. This was no game. She was here to take in The Photographer before the police arrived. She had a score to settle. A door slammed and Dark Damsel's head snapped over. Behind the Coach's door was Kitty. The door was closed, but it wasn't a regular type of half-door. The bottom half had a shelf, which was common, but the top half had a cage over the shelf. The cage had two openings, one into the gym, one into the office. In the cage was the briefcase with the jewels. "What is this?" Dark Damsel demanded. "It is very simple. I want you and you want me. We both want the jewels. Come on over and we'll discuss this calmly. Later will be soon enough for fighting." Dark Damsel was wary but intrigued. She approached, but not too closely. The Photographer smiled. "No one can get at the jewels now. There is a time lock. After thirty minutes this button will open the lock. It is a sensor keyed to my thumb-print. All you have to do is get me to place my thumb on the sensor. Then this side of the cage will open and the jewels will be yours. You will have defeated me and I will be yours. If you defeat me I will do whatever you say for one hour. I will confess to the police, if that is your wish. "However, if you attempt to open the cage before the thirty minutes are up, without my thumb key, the other side will open, Kitty will remove the case and leave." "Interesting," Dark Damsel noted, wondering what the punch line would be. The Photographer grinned. "Yes, interesting." "What if there is no decision after the thirty minutes?" The Photographer laughed. "It'll be over long before that. But I'll tell you what. If you agree to my final rule, win or lose you get the jewels--if you are still on your feet after thirty minutes." Here it comes, the punch line. "And that is?" asked Dark Damsel. The Photographer's smile faded. "If I win, you are mine for one hour." The words rang out, harsh, final. "So what is it, Dark Damsel? Your audience wants to know." "Audience?" Dark Damsel was taken aback. "Everyone knows how Dark Damsel is as good as her word. Say the word and you have the jewels. Yes, audience. See the cameras? You are on the 'net, live. Everyone who is logged on will be able to attest to our living up to the rules." He gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "Speak up, Dark Damsel, how badly do you want the loot? How badly do you want me? Revenge is sweet, they say. Don't you want to find out?" Dark Damsel's eyes narrowed. Live? On the Internet? There would be no question this time. The fight would be real, there would be no mistaking Dark Damsel's moves. And Dark Damsel was pretty sure what would happen should she lose. Yet, she could return Lady Margot's necklace and the other purloined goods. Win or lose she would win. "Deal!" she cried out and assumed a fighting stance. "Done and done!" replied the Photographer and hit the button starting the clock. Chapter 8 Dark Damsel knew The Photographer to be a dangerous foe. She moved carefully, not risking giving him an opening. It would deny her a quick victory, true, but would also deny him the same. She could take him, she knew. She just couldn't afford to make any stupid mistakes. She glanced at the gym clock. It was 7:47. Half an hour until the Police raided the school. Half an hour, tops. They could always come in sooner. So, all she had to do was keep The Photographer occupied for the minimum 30 minutes. After that it didn't really matter much, not that she thought he would last thirty minutes. After that, no matter what, she would have the jewels, and shortly thereafter the Police would come charging in. She laughed to herself. The hell it didn't really matter much. She wanted this man, badly. He had taken her twice. There would not be a third time. The two antagonists circled slowly. Dark Damsel feinted. The Photographer countered the feint and then the actual strike. Once again they circled. He was as fast as ever, Dark Damsel noted. But she was on the top of *her* form. She was ready for this battle and he didn't have any flash gun to blind her with this time. The Photographer lunged, she blocked; he tried to sweep her feet out from under her, she jumped and on her way down caught him with a kick which sent him sprawling. Rushing to capitalize on her advantage she was caught in a leg takedown. Breathing harder now, the two rose to their feet. They eyed each other then began circling again. The Photographer moved in swiftly with a series of punches and kicks which Dark Damsel blocked even as she was forced backwards. She gasped as she backed up into the rack on the wall. Glancing upwards she saw the chin-up bar, leapt for it and caught the Photographer with a double kick to the chest. He did a back somersault and was on his feet almost before she dropped to her own. "Nice move D.D.," he grinned, then seemed to pause to reflect. "D.D.? Hmmm. They are very nice, but certainly not double D's. But I'm sure all our viewers will enjoy seeing them." He laughed as Dark Damsel blushed. "Nice ass, too, now that I think about it. Shall we have a repeat of last time? I know you liked it!" Stung by his comments, Dark Damsel launched her own attack. Now it was The Photographer who was hard-pressed to counter. He backed before her onslaught and the pair made a large circle around the gym. The Photographer blocked every kick and punch she threw, but Dark Damsel knew she'd get one through eventually. "Yes!" Dark Damsel hissed, as a kick got through and sent The Photographer stumbling backwards. It was as she'd thought it would be. He was good, but not really in her class. He'd been lucky that night at the Beltons' mansion. Dark Damsel sidestepped a desperate rush by The Photographer and tripped him as he went by. She smiled. It was payback time. A quick glance at the clock showed it to be just after eight. Had it really been going on that long? She was getting a little tired. Best to finish him fast. The Damsel pressed her attack, but The Photographer fended off every blow. Then he struck through her guard, lightly slapping her face. She swung and he caught her arm, spun her around and slapped her rear as she went by. "Slowing down, are you?" The Photographer asked slyly. "Getting tired? So soon? How'll you last the thirty minutes if you can't even stop this?" He slipped inside an angry punch and gave her a quick kiss just before back-heeling her and dropping her to the mat. Dark Damsel came to her feet red in the face and spitting mad. She'd show the swine! Another series of kicks and punches were blocked and, to her chagrin, she realized that the Photographer was right. She was tiring; she was slowing down and her blows no longer carried the weight they had before. Just as quickly, she also realized that this had been part of the man's plan from the beginning. *She* was the one doing all the work. She glanced at the clock again. Eight-oh-five. The Photographer caught her glance and laughed. "Just another ten minutes, you think? You won't last five. And don't expect to be rescued by the Police. They aren't coming. I leaked word that the fence was delayed, the meet put off until tomorrow." He grinned at her. Dark Damsel felt the first tendrils of fear. If what he said was true, she had no back-up. And she was beginning to despair of ever winning this fight. He laughed again, but she made no reply. She was breathing too hard and it would take too much energy. The Photographer began his advance and the Damsel was hard put to stop his blows from connecting. She twisted, turned and blocked. When he did get through, however, his blows carried no weight. He slapped her just hard enough to sting, just hard enough to let her know he was playing with her. A hand slipped through and fingers pinched her right nipple before darting back out. "Oh, we're going to have fun, you and I," The Photographer's voice leered at her. He didn't even sound tired and she could barely keep him off her. In desperation she attacked for what she hoped would be the final time. Adrenalin fueled the attack and it almost succeeded. Almost. "Five minutes. You're finished." And she was. She was sucking in air in great gulps, backing from The Photographer who batted her tired arms aside and slapped her hard on the rump as she stumbled and turned. She swung with what remained of her strength, but he caught her arm, pulled her to him and kissed her. She tried to knee him in the groin but he was gone. Sweat slipped from under her cowl and got in her eyes. It stung and she blinked. Dark Damsel never saw the blow that dropped her to the mat. Unbelieving, she saw him wait for her to get up. One last chance, she had maybe enough for one good kick. She glanced up and saw the Rings. If she could work her way over to them . . . . She began backing again, leading him on. That's it, keep coming, she thought to herself, letting herself hope. Ding! The bell. She'd done it. The thirty minutes were up. Now, even if he won, he lost . . . given that he was a man of his word. And if he wasn't, the world would know about it, know that she'd beaten him at his own game. Now! She jumped up and grasped the rings. Long ago she'd trained in gymnastics. Her father used to watch her, encourage her. This would be for him. The double kick was aimed at his head. It never connected. The Photographer grabbed her ankles and heaved. Her fingers disobeyed their orders to hold on and she let go of the Rings. At the same time he let go of her ankles and she fell, flat on her back, her attempt to break her fall futile. The breath exited her lungs with a whoosh and Dark Damsel's eyes went wide with fear. She couldn't breathe! She felt fingers finding the zipper, undoing her top from bottom. She couldn't breathe! Her bottoms were being pulled unceremoniously from her. She couldn't breathe! Her top was unzipped and her breasts exposed. A great gasp and air rushed into her lungs. She wasn't going to die! Yet. However, she was unable to move, much less resist as she was rolled over and her top pulled down her arms and off. She was naked now, except for her cowl, which she knew was next. He'd beaten her. She had given everything she had and it hadn't been enough. "You're mine!" The whisper was harsh, triumphant. She was like a rag doll as The Photographer put something about her middle. Great gulps of air were being drawn into her lungs, trying to replace the oxygen deficit caused by the fight then the fall. "Kitty!" he called out, and Dark Damsel heard the office door opening and footsteps closing rapidly. "Do her up, I'll set up the cameras." Dark Damsel felt Kitty adjusting the garment. Then she pulled on something and it tightened. It was a corset, Dark Damsel realized. Kitty quickly and skillfully tightened the laces until it was unbearably snug. Dark Damsel could barely breathe and she needed to breathe so badly. "Very nice, D.D.," Kitty snickered. "Such a fine figure. But we're not finished yet, oh no." She began a further tightening of the laces though Dark Damsel didn't believe that the corset could be done up any further. She was wrong and her eyes bugged out when Kitty gave her final wrench. "There, baby, there," she cooed, then kissed Dark Damsel's cheek. "You look so pretty, so thin! Let's get you on your feet." Kitty helped the Damsel to stand. Dark Damsel felt a passing giddiness, then she followed helplessly as Kitty dragged her to a mat in the centre of the gym. Her limbs felt like they were rubber and they trembled continuously. She was so tired she could barely stand. "One hour, remember the deal?" the Photographer's voice was oddly fuzzy. It suddenly occurred to Dark Damsel that he had something in his cheeks to change the shape of his mouth, to disguise his voice. Why? To stop her from hearing it so she'd be unable to recognize it later; or to keep her from recognizing it now? The Damsel shook her head, trying to clear the cloudiness of her thoughts. Her body was still demanding oxygen, but the corset was preventing her from breathing deeply. She panted, mouth open. "The briefcase?" she got out between pants. "Yours. I keep my end of a bargain. And you will keep yours!" he declared, turning her to face a camera he'd set up. "Turn sideways," he ordered and reinforced that order with a push. "Very nice. The corset pushes your tits up nicely. That was the first request." Request? "Ah, I see you don't yet understand. I picked a school for its internet link. You are on streaming video. Those who have logged on are passing on their requests and you will fill them. Kitty and I'll help if needed." Dark Damsel closed her eyes, then opened them to see Kitty focusing the camera on her, slowly panning down then up again. The Damsel's face burned. She thanked whatever gods there might be that, as yet, The Photographer had not removed her cowl. She swayed, and would have fallen had not The Photographer caught her. He lowered her to her hands and knees and she continued to pant for air. Kitty moved to another video camera and lowered it so that was pointing at the Damsel's side, level with her. That was when the Damsel noticed the monitor in front of her. She was there on it, on all fours, her breasts hanging down. Letters formed in a dialogue box. "Fuck her from behind." Dark Damsel's eyes widened. It was too much. She was on display, the toy of unnamed, uncounted perverts who were watching on their computer screens. "No," she gasped. "I won't." "You will," The Photographer contradicted her. "You will, or the briefcase will disappear forever and everyone will know that Dark Damsel not only cannot be trusted, but that she held herself above returning two and a half million dollars worth of stolen goods to their rightful owners. What would your dear friend Lady Margot say?" Dark Damsel froze. She was caught. What could she do? Break her word? Stay? She heard a click and looked to see a masked Kitty place a microphone in front of her. Her face was a picture of despair. She tried to think. Couldn't. "Oh!" It was too late. The Photographer's fingers had pressed against her pussy, slippery wet with some lubricant. Then he was lubing her, thoroughly, mechanically, as if she were nothing more than a toy. Her knees were nudged apart and then he was behind her. She felt the head of his cock at her entrance. "Look up!" It was a command. She hung her head. "Look into the camera, slut." Her face flushed at the remark. He lowered his voice so that only she would be able to hear. "Would you rather I just took off your cowl?" Dark Damsel looked up and into the camera's eye. Her jaw dropped, eyes widened and she gasped audibly as he entered her in one smooth thrust. "Oh!" That camera was just atop the monitor in front of her and she saw herself gasp as he did the deed. "I'm sorry," The Photographer said insincerely. "You weren't ready? We'll try it again." He withdrew completely. "Look up." Damsel's head had begun to droop. She complied. "Oh!" He did it again, burying himself to the hilt in her. She'd never before seen herself at the moment of penetration. Hell, what with her nocturnal activities, there just hadn't been that many men in her life, anyway. It was with a detached interest that she watched herself gasp; watched her breasts sway as he hit her rump with his stomach. "Some women say that penetration is the most exciting moment in the sex act. Well, we can't deny you your excitement, now, can we." He withdrew. "Oh!" Dark Damsel gasped yet again. The Photographer withdrew completely then penetrated her once more. He continued in this fashion, penetrating and withdrawing until Dark Damsel was panting again. She realized, with embarrassment, that her body was now providing all the lubrication that The Photographer needed. It, too, had betrayed her. Without bidding, Minx's words came to her: "Nothing like a good fight to make you horny, is there?" Could it be true? Did she get off on the battles? She couldn't keep her head up but, when she let it droop, she felt fingers in her hair, pulling it back for her. She had no choice but to look, to watch herself as she was taken. It was Kitty holding her head for the cameras while The Photographer continued moving in and out of her. But he was no longer withdrawing all the way, and his speed had picked up. Her grunts as he moved harder and faster echoed through the gym. Movement caught her eyes and she read with horror: "Pinch her tits!" Kitty complied, pinching and pulling at the nipples of her swaying breasts until they were hard and distended. Dark Damsel was now gasping for air that wouldn't come. She began to feel woozy and her vision started to blur. This just couldn't be happening to her. Not to Dark Damsel. "Say it." The words came from far away. Dark Damsel slowly focused on the present. The Photographer was still, though inside her. He repeated the words. Say what? She looked at the screen. "Asked to be fucked in the ass." "Oh, no!" She couldn't. "The cowl?" She'd have to. What did it matter now, anyway. He'd do it whether she asked or not. She was finished. "Please," she asked quietly, "fuck me in the ass." "I couldn't hear you." "Please fuck me in the ass," she said more loudly, reddening with the shame of it all. "Oh my God!" He was pressing in relentlessly. It was no use fighting; she tried to relax her sphincter. "Ahh!" His head slipped in and then he was slowly moving deeper within her. It came to her that he was being very gentle, though being remorseless about it. He wasn't trying to hurt her. As he began slowly thrusting, all thoughts vanished from her head. It felt so different. Not as unpleasant as she had feared. Then he began moving faster again and her breathing became ragged. Her arms would no longer hold her and she collapsed to the mat. She glanced up to see the monitor, to see herself, ass lewdly high in the air, being royally screwed. She couldn't think. When the vibrator touched her clit she jumped. She bucked this way and that, trying to get away, but it was no use. "Come for me, baby," Kitty whispered to her. "Come while my lover takes your ass. Yes, you can do it. Feel it moving through you, carrying you up and away. Relax into it, just relax into it." There was something almost hypnotic about Kitty's voice, about her own bellows breathing, about the feel of The Photographer's cock moving in and out. But she couldn't, no, she couldn't. It would be the final indignity. She held herself, still, tense, trying to push the excitement down. The wail, when it came, was long and loud. Dark Damsel's body heaved up, held, then relaxed. She collapsed completely to the mat, legs splayed out. Her vision was gone, there was only a voice in her ear, pressure on her back, the cock in her rear. Everything was going black. The Photographer was on top of her, moving very fast, ramming into her. "I'm going to come in you, bitch," he grunted into her ear. He was moving very quickly, short fast thrusts. "I'm coming in you, coming!" his voice caught and he collapsed on her. "She's out," Kitty told her lover. "Good. Quickly then, you know what to do." "Are you sure? Isn't this enough?" Kitty questioned. "I'm sure. Just do it." The Photographer turned his attention to the cameras and monitor. Working with practiced ease he had the lot packed up and replaced in the trolley in minutes. He glanced over to check on how Kitty was doing. She was doing fine and he wheeled the trolley out of the gym. "Sorry, baby," Kitty murmured to the still unconscious Dark Damsel. Dark Damsel grunted in her sleep as Kitty did what was required. She was almost finished when The Photographer returned, carrying two video tapes. He placed them in the briefcase and closed it. "Let's go. It's almost over," he told Kitty. "We'll make the call from the pay-phone at the front door just before we leave." He sat the briefcase down beside Dark Damsel and then Kitty and he moved out of the gym door, removing their masks as they went. Dark Damsel woke, feeling thoroughly used. In fact she also felt full. What was going on? The events of the past hour came back to her and her eyes snapped open. She was alone. The briefcase was beside her but The Photographer and Kitty were gone. Groaning, Dark Damsel sat up. She was surprised to see that she was once again dressed as Dark Damsel. Yes, dressed as Dark Damsel, but with the corset still on. She could barely breathe. And on top of that, there were dildoes in her pussy and ass. She'd have to undo her costume to get them out. Getting to her feet, she moved shakily towards the change rooms. Suddenly both dildoes started vibrating. "Oh!" Dark Damsel gasped. She moved more quickly for the change rooms but stopped short as a sound caught her attention. Sirens. Sirens and just outside. Heavy footfalls sounded in the hall and in moments three men burst through the doors, guns out and ready. In the lead was Ray Barton. They stopped short. "Dark Damsel!" Ray stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. It took a moment before he could go on. "We got your call." "My call?" Dark Damsel was confused. She had called nobody. Now Ray looked confused. "Your call for back-up. You said something about the Photographer." He couldn't stop staring at her. Suddenly Dark Damsel realized that the corset was still on and had changed her shape considerably. Her waist was impossibly small, making her hips look larger than they were, and her breasts were pushed up and out. Outwardly, she was someone completely different. Thank the gods he didn't know about what was working *inwardly*. At that moment the vibrations stopped and Dark Damsel breathed a sigh of relief. "I came anyway, just in case," she told the detective. "He was here. We fought and he got away . . . again." She sounded strange, even to her own ears. With no lung capacity to speak of, she was talking in breathless gasps. "But I have the jewels. She held the briefcase out to him. "I'd like you to take them to HQ." Ray took the briefcase from her. "The Commissioner will want to talk with you. We'll give you an escort." He was puzzled by Dark Damsel's frown. Usually she was happy to go in and talk with the Commissioner. He shrugged and together the four of them walked from the school. Her cycle and the two unmarked police cars were waiting outside. That was strange. She hadn't left the bike out in sight. Curious and curiouser. "Oh!" Dark Damsel stopped suddenly. "What is it?" Ray asked. Dark Damsel couldn't tell him that the vibrators had kicked in again. "Just sore from the fight," she told him, which wasn't all that far out. "Let's keep this quiet. I don't want any publicity." What she wanted was to get this over as soon as possible, then to get back home and remove the corset and vibrators. Riding the cycle took all her concentration. The vibration from the engine along with that of the vibrators was keeping her in a constant state of arousal. The corset prevented her from breathing properly and pushed her hard nipples against the cloth of her costume. She sighed with relief when the inner vibrations stopped half way to Police HQ. The vibrators, she realized were on some sort of timers. The Commissioner was waiting for them. Obviously Ray had called ahead and the Commissioner had returned to the office for the occasion. "You recovered the jewelry. That's wonderful," the Commissioner congratulated her. I brought our expert along to verify everything." He handed the briefcase to another man who placed it on the desk and opened it. For the first time Dark Damsel saw the video tapes. Her name was written on them. "Those are mine," she told the men and picked them up quickly. She refused to be drawn by their looks of surprise. "Sorry I didn't get the message about the delay," she informed the Commissioner. "I was late, too, so I thought you were already there," she lied. "So I went to the meet, anyway. Lucky thing." "Delay?" The Commissioner looked confused. "Meet? What meet?" The man was honestly bewildered and Dark Damsel suddenly had a black empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had been set up. She had been set up and she'd swallowed the bait hook, line and sinker. She couldn't let everyone know about this. It would be just too much. "You didn't get my mail?" she asked. The Commissioner shook his head. "Damn. One of the remailers must have been down. I didn't have time to wait for confirmation. Sorry. It isn't important now." She suddenly grimaced as the vibrators came back to life. "I'd better go." "Before you do," the jewelry expert told her, "I think you should know that these gems are phonies." The world began caving in around Dark Damsel. It had all been for nothing. Wordlessly, she turned and, with tapes in hand, left. Chapter 9 Dark Damsel raised her shaking hand and tried to fit the key into the door lock. She wept with frustration when it took three attempts to actually get the key in the lock. Once inside, with the door closed, she tore at her costume. The vibrators were on again and driving her crazy. She was at her main hideaway, the one where she kept the motorcycle. Her breathing was reaching that ragged state once again. By the feel of it, the vibrators were held in place by a sort of chastity belt arrangement. The thin belt, which went between her legs, split her pussy lips and rested right on her clit. When the vibrators went off it was like a direct connection. They were going now and she was in a state of high arousal. Her fingers seemed inept as they undid the zipper holding her costume top to the bottoms. Finally it was undone and she pulled it off. The bottoms were loose about her pinched waist and slipped easily down to her hips. With a little help they went over the hips and ended up a puddle on the floor. Now for the belt. Dark Damsel gave a low scream of frustration as her fingers encountered the padlock. Bastards! Scum! She had to sit down; she was becoming slightly faint again. No air. The corset was too tight. Gingerly she stepped into the small bedroom and sat on the bed. The act of sitting pushed the two vibrators just that fraction farther in and tightened the belt which rested so arousingly against her clit. "No!" the cry was wrenched from her between pants. She had to get up, to loosen the belt. It was no use. She looked in the mirror to see two crazed eyes staring back. Too late. She was going over again. The orgasm hit and Dark Damsel cried out again as she fell backwards onto the bed. This time, though, the vibrators didn't stop. They kept working on her oversensitive parts, leaving her thrashing around, trying to get away. "Oh...my...god...not... again!" she panted out. Yes, again. Her body heaved itself up in an arch, then collapsed. The vibrators were vibrating at a lesser tempo, the batteries running down. Dark Damsel just lay on the bed, groaning and panting, her legs and arms twitching as sensations rolled over her. Finally both the sensations and vibrations ceased. It took her several minutes to recoup. Then, slowly, Dark Damsel sat up and removed her cowl. Her black hair was plastered on her head. She was soaked in sweat. Carefully, Dark Damsel got to her feet and went in search of a knife to cut the straps from around her. Finding one in her pouch, she very gently inserted it under the belt. She stopped. Withdrawing the knife, she picked up her pouch and withdrew the lock-pick. It was the work of only seconds to pick the lock. Breathing a vast sigh of relief, Dark Damsel undid the belt and slowly withdrew the offending articles from within her body. She lay the contraption on the side table and smiled tentatively. It might, she considered, have its uses at a later date. The corset laces just couldn't be got at. The tie was too high on her back. She made an attempt to cut the laces, but they seemed to be wire cored. Bastards! She would need help to undo it. Until then she would have to be careful to not exert herself in the least. To whom could she go for help? Ray Barton came immediately to mind. Yet to go to him would mean going in costume. If she went in costume she might be accosted along the way and she was in no position to fight. She'd be quickly at the mercy of anyone. No, Ray was out. Dark Damsel picked up her cell phone. "Hi, Brenda. It's Renee. I need you to meet me at my place in half an hour," she told her friend. "I'll explain there. Thanks, you're a lifesaver." "Jesus, this is tight." Brenda pulled and pried at the laces. "You're not seeing him again, right?" she asked Renee, who lay face down on her bed. "Too right," Renee gasped out. In order to get a little slack where the knot was, Brenda had endeavoured to tighten the corset a little. It had worked and she now struggled with the knot. "I have to say you...ugh...find the most interesting men, but for my taste, this goes a little too far. Aha! Got it!" Renee took the first real breath she'd had for hours. Such a relief. As Brenda continued loosening the corset, Renee relaxed. "Okay. I'll go make some tea," Brenda told her. "You join me in the kitchen and tell me all about this worm." After Brenda had left, Renee stood up and dropped the skirt she'd worn over the bottom of the corset. She then completed the loosening of the wretched garment and let it slip off of her. Looking in the mirror she saw angry red lines where it had pressed against her skin. She shivered. It was over. It was finally over. The tears came again. Nevermore would she wear the garb of Dark Damsel. She had been used and abused. Her body had been declared not her own. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people had watched her debasement, had seen her orgasm as her foe had taken her in the ass. And the whole thing had been just one big cruel joke for The Photographer. She had acquiesced in order to recover Lady Margot's necklace. She had recovered nothing more than useless costume jewelry. When that became known, as it surely would, Dark Damsel would be the laughingstock of the Hub City. Dark Damsel was finished. Hours later, after giving Brenda the details of the night-- how her date had dressed her in the corset, then bailed out on her; how he had decided that she wasn't quite adventurous enough for him, etc.--Renee lay in bed, awake. Tears came and went. Finally she turned on the T.V. Anything to keep from thinking about what had happened. She looked at the clock. It was almost time to get up anyway. Get up, ha! She'd spend the next couple of days in bed. To hell with everything. A familiar figure caught her attention. It was Minx. She canceled the mute. ". . . late breaking story, Minx has recovered the loot taken by The Photographer. We have a rare interview with Minx. "Minx, could you tell us how you broke the case?" the reporter asked. "Well, I really didn't," purred the familiar voice. "I received word yesterday that someone wanted to meet with me. I agreed to the meet. It was the Photographer . . . No," she waved off the reporter, "I can't describe him. He was in a darkened room. I went in, he handed me the briefcase, explained what was in it and gave me a message to give to you." Minx smiled into the camera. She had a lovely smile, Renee thought. If only that dazzle paint didn't take away from her presence . . . "The Photographer gave you a message for us?" the reporter asked. "Yes. He said, and I quote, 'You will not hear from the one you have named The Photographer again. I apologize to those whom I have victimized. I know that the Police will keep after me, but I suggest that they find better things to do with their manpower. The Photographer will never bother anyone again.' That's what he said," Minx concluded. "Why did he return the loot? Did you ask?" the reporter wanted to know. "Of course I asked," Minx was exasperated by the stupidity of the question. "He said that he had obtained everything he had wanted from the jewels. That's all. He had no further use for them. What in blazes he meant by that, I have no idea. Anyway, this interview is over. I've kept my promise." With that Minx turned and was out of view of the camera in seconds. Renee sat shaking. "Everything he wanted," she repeated, in a daze. The whole object had been to get *her*. Why? There was no answer. She got up and made herself a light breakfast. While swallowing the last of it her gaze crossed a small paper bag. She started. In it were the videos the Photographer had left her. Renee picked them up and fed the one labeled as "D.D.1.: A lesson." into her machine. She sat down and hit the play button. It seemed to be another news report. Renee froze. ". . . end of a criminal spree. And now our man in the streets, Jake Gowan, brings us this live report." The inset showed a man with a microphone. It enlarged until it filled the screen. "Thanks, Bill. With me, here, I have The Hub City's own Dark Angel, whose subterfuge has ended a reign of terror. Dark Damsel, could you tell our viewers a little more about how you captured the infamous 'Midnight Caller'?" She laughed, lightly, as if at a joke. "Oh, I'd hardly call it a 'reign of terror'. And Kirby Phillips, the man you know as the 'Midnight Caller', is hardly infamous except, perhaps, in the minds of those with expensive jewelry and, of course, those who insure said jewelry." "Still, Dark Damsel, the Midnight Caller has been a bane to the law enforcement officers of this city for some months, diverting much needed resources from other areas. His capture is bound to have repercussions far beyond the removal of one criminal from the streets of the Hub City." "This is correct. That is why I persuaded Lady Margot to aid me in this venture." "But Lady Margot's necklace alone is reputed to be worth a quarter of a million dollars." The reporter's voice turned a little hard. "If your plan had failed . . ." He left it to the viewers' imagination to consider just what would have happened. "If my plan had failed," she said sweetly, "then Kirby Phillips would now be in the possession of a thousand dollars worth of fake jewels." The reporter laughed. "So," he managed, "the notorious Midnight Caller, the 'terror of the Hub City', risked and lost his liberty for imitation stones. One wonders how he will live down this humiliation in the company of his peers, his new housemates . . . in The Big House." The picture paused and the screen went black. However, the audio continued and the reporter's last words were repeated. "So, the notorious Midnight Caller, the 'terror of the Hub City', risked and lost his liberty for imitation stones. One wonders how he will live down this humiliation in the company of his peers, his new housemates . . . in The Big House". The audio dropped off. Renee stared in shock at the screen. All this because . . . . Her stomach lurched and she ran to the washroom just in time to deposit her breakfast down the toilet. When she recovered, Renee put the second tape into the machine. First were the undoctored videos of her receiving her spanking. Then there was a copy, undoubtedly made at the same time as the original, of the encounter in the gym. Renee watched the fight, noting how The Photographer had countered her strikes and how she had been unable to counter his. She needed further training. No. She didn't. Dark Damsel was done. "Say it." "Oh, no!" Dark Damsel groaned. It took a few seconds, then, "Please fuck me in the ass." "I couldn't hear you." Louder, "Please fuck me in the ass." A short pause. "Oh my God!" "And oh, God, *yes*!" cried out Kitty as her lover did the same to her as he'd done to Dark Damsel in the video which was playing on the screen in front of them. Kitty grinned as Dark Damsel collapsed on the mat, her ass still high in the air, impaled on The Photographer's cock. She lowered her own upper body and looked sideways to the mirror. "Do I look as lewd as her," Kitty asked. "You've always looked better, love," he answered and reached down to hold her breasts as he continued moving slowly in her. Kitty watched as her image brought the vibrator out and held it to Dark Damsel's clit. "Did you enjoy her, lover? Didn't I tell you how wild she was?" "She was good and I enjoyed her," he replied. "Especially when you made her come. I think that embarrassed her more than anything else--that and thinking it was going out live. Yes, she was wild and we did everything I wanted, thanks, kitten. Oh, when did you add the bit about pulling on her nipples? And, yes, I loved the way she spasmed around my cock, just like you are about to, kitten." They stopped talking and moved into high gear, Kitty pushing back against her lover's thrusts. Soon he began to tense and Kitty knew he was going to come. She rubbed her own clit furiously and cried out just after he collapsed on her. They lay together for a time, then Kitty squirmed out from under him. She lay on her side and the man who had been The Photographer snuggled in behind her. "Lover?" Kitty asked hesitantly, enjoying his warmth and the soft ambiance of the after love snuggling. "Can we talk?" "Always, my kitten," he replied sleepily. "What shall we talk about this time." "Renee Jimson," Kitty murmured. "Dark Damsel?" her lover questioned. "Which of her attributes would you like to discuss?" "No," Kitty corrected, "not Dark Damsel, Renee Jimson. I did some research on her, Bill." She paused, wondering how he would take it." "And what did you find out, Kitty," Bill asked, growing more interested. His hand grew more interested, too, as it cupped a breast and began slowly rubbing the nipple. "Her father was a cop . . . " "Like father, like daughter." ". . . who was shot and killed when she was seventeen. She's been on her own since then." Kitty felt Bill relax behind her. His fingers stopped playing with her nipple and began stroking her side, over her hips and down her thigh as far as he could reach, then back up again. It was very soothing. "Seventeen isn't a child, Kitty," Bill murmured. "I know." She felt his breath on the back of her neck and shivered a little. "Cold, darling?" "A little." Bill pulled a sheet over the two of them. "So, you are thinking that she is like us?" His voice was soft. "You want to stop now." "Let's take down the page, Bill. Let's not put anything more up. She's had her lesson. I doubt that she'll ever put on her costume again. We've destroyed her, and I don't think I like that." "She destroyed him, Kitty, never forget that," Bill stated, but his voice was calm, soothing. After a short pause where Kitty remained silent he conceded. "Okay, kitten, for you. We'll take down the page. I guess we've had our revenge, and he'll find out about it. I made sure of that." "You didn't take any chances, did you?" Kitty was worried. "Of course not." She turned on her back, and his breath now fell upon her throat. It was very nice. His hand began to roam again and Kitty could feel the heat rising. It was going to be a very good day. "Yes, lover, yes!" "So there you are. All done. Check it out for yourself." Rebecca sat back and watched as Ray entered his new website and began playing through the pages. His eyes were alight with joy. "You're great, Rebecca," he enthused. "It's better than I ever dreamed it could be." He turned away from the screen and smiled at her. "Tell you what. Why don't you and I go out for some dinner. I owe you." Rebecca wasn't so eager. "Just where did you have in mind? Not Tommy's?" Ray's smile lit his face. "Great little place, isn't it?" "You owe me for introducing it to me. Ray, it's a greasy spoon!" Rebecca couldn't, for the life of her, see the attraction. She stood and stretched, knowing that she was going to accept anyway. "Yeah," he agreed. "Just like the one Dad used to run." Ah, so that was it. "Okay, Ray. We'll go out for dinner and you can tell me all about him." She smothered a laugh as a look of consternation came over his face. "You mean you don't like . . ." "Tommy's will be fine, Ray. Let's go before you change your mind and cheat me out of my due." The evening sun was shining down, the heat of the day slowly dissipating, as they walked arm in arm along the sidewalk. The air was clean, the breeze coming in off the lake. A nice day for a walk. "Spare some change, lady?" The child couldn't be more than twelve. Rebecca stopped and looked down on him. "Hi there, what's up?" She smiled encouragingly. "I need to get enough for a room for the night," the youngster stated. He looked her straight in the eyes. "I see. Hmmm. I might be able to help you out." Suddenly the youngster's eyes grew wary. He looked from Rebecca to Ray and back again. Rebecca affected to not notice. She fished in her purse. "Here's ten dollars, and here is a card. Can you make out the address?" Who knew if the kid could read or not. "Eight fifty-seven Weber," the youngster answered. "A haven?" he asked contemptuously. Rebecca laughed. "I know what you mean, but this one is different. Tell them Rebecca sent you. Okay?" "Maybe." "That's all I ask." She handed him the money and the card and the youngster vanished. "You're all right, Nasturant," Ray said as they sat down at the table. "But that soft heart of yours is going to get you in trouble some day." Rebecca didn't smile. She looked Ray in the eyes. "Do you know what it's like being a street kid?" "I've seen a lot, Rebecca," Ray replied mildly. "Well, I've done more than see. I've been there. Sometimes all it takes is one helping hand, one stranger ready to give just that little bit without asking anything in return." She stopped talking and Ray knew better than to interrupt the silence. "So, your father owned one of these places?" Ray nodded. "And you still seem to have turned out okay. Strange." For two days Renee had buried herself in her work. Brenda was relieved to have Renee back in charge, but her sudden drive had Brenda worried. Renee refused to talk about it and Brenda merely sighed and helped as best she could. Sooner or later Renee would come around. Today, however, would not be the day and Brenda patted Renee on the shoulder as she took her leave. "See you tomorrow." "Tomorrow," Renee agreed, not looking up from the computer screen. "Don't forget to bundle up if you go out. It's cold and miserable for July." "Okay." There had been a sudden cold snap and thick fog covered the Hub City. It would be a good day for Dark Damsel to take her last ride, Renee decided as soon as the door closed behind Brenda. She would take the motorcycle and return it to the Garage on 5th. It could only cause Renee Jimson problems if it remained in her possession. Renee saved her file and turned off the computer. Yes, now would be a good time for Dark Damsel's last ride. She had been hiding away since her last encounter with The Photographer. She hadn't listened to the news or gone onto the Internet. She could just imagine what awaited her there. Dark Damsel was probably the laughingstock of the nation. Putting on her trenchcoat, Renee prepared to exit her apartment, then turned around. "Hey, Nietzsche, wanna go for a ride?" she asked the stuffed tiger. She needed some support. Together the two of them trekked to the hideaway. Inside she changed to the now hated garments of Dark Damsel. The last time, she said to herself, the last time. "Sorry, Dad, I failed. Come on, Nietzsche. I always promised you a ride on the cycle. This is your last chance." The tiger, of course, said nothing, but went along, uncomplaining. A few miles away, Officer Rebecca Nasturant was walking away from the Weber Street Haven, having put in an evening shift helping the staff. She enjoyed this part of her job, liaising with the Haven and giving seminars to the street kids. She also enjoyed the long walk to the subway, especially on foggy nights like this one. There was something about the fog she enjoyed. It gave her a chance to think. Tonight she was thinking about detective Ray Barton. "Ray, we got a hot tip!" Charlie came bursting into the office. "They're at the Halcyon Hotel, now." "Great!" Ray swung around in his chair and pressed the alarm button. Soon all the men were in the room and the briefing was short, sharp and to the point. "Okay," Ray concluded as he finished putting on his bulletproof vest, "remember what they did to Johnny. So let's be careful." The men scrambled for the cars. Rebecca stopped at Ed's Diner. Another greasy spoon, she thought. But eating here reminded her of the very nice time she'd had with Ray, listening to him tell her about his father and the way he ran his Diner. Little Ray had been helping out and had told his father how one day he'd run a Diner, too. His father had smiled and said, "No, I work hard so you can have something better. But, son, if it turns out you really want a Diner, then I'll be happy to see you here." Of course, as Ray grew older, the thought of taking over the family business had become less and less appealing, but the atmosphere of a Diner always brought back good memories. Rebecca enjoyed the way Ray talked about his family and wondered what things would have been like if . . . . She took another forkful of apple pie. Good pie, she thought and looked out to the foggy street. Two cars pulled up at the hotel opposite. She watched the eight men get out of the cars and became alert. One of them turned so his face was visible. It was Ray! As one they turned and entered the Hotel. A few seconds later the gunfire started. "You!" Rebecca shouted at the counter man. "Call this number. Tell them 'Officers in trouble, shots fired, need backup'." "You a cop?" the counterman asked. "Damn right," Rebecca answered as she pulled her revolver out of her purse and headed for the door. Even the traffic lights seemed to be against her, Dark Damsel thought as she stopped for the fifth red light in as many blocks. "Hi!" The voice startled her and she turned to see Minx stepping out from under an awning. "Hi, yourself," Dark Damsel replied. She didn't want this. Minx was too much a reminder of what she was giving up. "Glad to see you out and about," Minx told her as she approached. Without being asked, Minx climbed up behind Dark Damsel. "More rumours you'd given up the cowl," Minx breathed in Dark Damsel's ear. "Glad to see they weren't true, either. Green light." Dark Damsel accelerated to a safe speed, liking the feel of Minx close behind her, yet not wanting her there, on this of all nights. "They were true. This is my last ride. I'm just returning the cycle." "Son of a bitch," Minx muttered. "Why?" Dark Damsel didn't answer. "Nice cycle," Minx said, to break the silence. "You want it? Tell you what, I'll introduce you to a man named Ray. You should come with me anyway. He's holding your half of the reward for those guys we nailed. Anyway, working with the Police isn't bad." "You're serious." Minx was astounded. "Why?" she asked again, this time more insistent. "Don't tell me you don't know. It must be everywhere. I'm surprised people are talking about anything else." Dark Damsel was bitter. "It doesn't matter what anyone *else* thinks or says," Minx told her. "The only one who is important is . . ." "Shots fired, officers down. Halcyon Hotel. Barton needs backup!" The police radio came to life. Dark Damsel drifted to a stop. Minx had thrown her a lifeline. Things were tumbling into place in her mind, but there was no time to think. "Get off," she ordered. "No way, babe. We're in this together. Let's go get 'em." The Halcyon, in it's heyday, had been a first class hotel. Now it was a welfare hotel, old and rundown. It had a large foyer with a grand staircase leading up to the second floor. A bannister ran around three sides of that second floor, overlooking the foyer. In the foyer, taking cover where they could, were Ray and four of his men. Three others were down. Ray looked up, gun in hand, grimly thinking that this scene reminded him of the movie "The Lone Ranger" where the Texas Rangers were caught in the canyon and massacred. He hoped the scene wouldn't play out the same way. A figure appeared above the railing, gun in hand. Before Ray could take aim three explosions came from the front door and the man tumbled over and fell to the floor. Wincing from the rolling thunder (only in movies could guns be fired in enclosed places without causing the ears pain, not to mention loss of hearing), Ray turned to see Rebecca moving across the room, still firing. He jumped out, grabbed her arm and pulled her to the wall. Ray stood over her, alert for any other gunmen while Rebecca reloaded. She looked up at him. "Shouldn't have come," he told her, exaggerating his lip movements. "Had to," she replied, though she realized that Ray could probably barely hear what she was saying. Her own ears still hurt and rang from the gunfire. "You never invite me to the really fun parties, so I crashed." The wild fear in her eyes belied the joke. Gun loaded she transferred her attention to the second floor. "Going somewhere boys?" Dark Damsel asked just before lashing out with a kick which caught a turning gunman in the kneecap, cracking it. Her second kick landed on the side of his head and he dropped like a rock. The second gunman stared in shock at the knife which had suddenly appeared in his wrist. A moment later he started to scream, a scream which was cut short by a blow to his neck. "Two down," Minx grinned as she removed her knife. More gunfire echoed from below them. "Feeling horny yet?" Dark Damsel laughed as Minx's statement settled her down. This was the first time she'd ever gone into a firefight like this. "We get out of this and you can jump my bones," she replied. "Deal!" cried Minx Ray pointed towards the hallway to the rear door. Rebecca nodded, even though she didn't like it at all. Suddenly guns were going off all around her and she lit out for the safety of the passage. Made it, she gasped to herself. A man appeared in a door way and she raised her gun and pulled the trigger. Click. The man laughed and pointed his own gun at her. "Later, you'll beg for this," he leered at her, "later." A kick to the middle of his back propelled him towards the young officer, who hit him with her gun. He turned and swung a fist which connected and Dark Damsel went down holding her face. The man raised his gun again but Rebecca smashed down with her own and the man screamed in agony, his hand shattered. Dark Damsel swung her legs around and caught the back of his knees, bringing him crashing to the floor where a kick from Minx silenced him. The silence was deafening. The smell of gunsmoke permeated everything. Dark Damsel peered through the dim light and smoke into the foyer. A man moved, then another and another. Sirens filled the air and moments later there were more men in blue than Dark Damsel had ever seen at one time since her father's funeral. Ray stumbled through the foyer and looked at Dark Damsel. "Good to see you," was all he could say. Rebecca ran to him and hugged him for all she was worth. Dark Damsel turned to leave. "Where are you going?" Rebecca asked. "I made a deal, and Dark Damsel always keeps her word." Rebecca and Ray's eyebrows went up as Dark Damsel put her arm about Minx's waist and walked with her through the back door. She was alive. Dark Damsel looked through the fog back to the Hotel Halcyon. She had gone into the fire and had not been burned. She was alive. That was all that mattered. She laughed. "What's funny, D.D.?" asked Minx. "My tiger was right after all." Minx stared at her. "Your tiger?" "He said 'What doesn't destroy me makes me stronger' and he was right." "I thought Nietzsche said that," Minx laughed. Dark Damsel opened her saddlebag and pulled out her stuffed tiger. "I didn't know you'd met." Minx laughed again and climbed on board behind Dark Damsel. She put her arms around the Damsel's waist. Dark Damsel moved the hands up until they cupped her breasts. Then she put her own hands over them and pressed. "Told you, didn't I?" Minx whispered seductively in Dark Damsel's ear before the Damsel started the cycle. Dark Damsel grinned widely and they sped off into the fog. Rebecca watched from the back door of the Hotel Halcyon, shaking her head in wonder. Epilogue "Hi, Uncle Teddy," Renee walked into the Commissioner's office without knocking. Commissioner Delcourt and Officer Nasturant turned to greet her. "You look really great," Delcourt exclaimed. There was that certain look of wellbeing about her. Then his smile faded. "Renee! What happened to your eye?" Delcourt demanded, moving over to take a better look. "Got mugged," Renee replied, looking glum. She didn't like the way Rebecca was looking at her. Sort of appraisingly, she thought. "Did you report it?" Delcourt wanted to know. "Didn't see anything. He hit me from out of nowhere and before I got up he was gone. Only got my money, though. He dropped my purse half a block along. So much for my self defense classes." "Are you okay?" Rebecca wanted to know. "Oh, I'm fine now. Just a little embarrassed." Rebecca chewed on her lip for a few moments. "I have a very good friend who teaches martial arts," she told Renee. He's very, very good. If you like, I'll introduce you." Rebecca and Renee walked into a small building and descended to the basement. Through the door Renee could see that the large room was set up as a dojo. A tall man walked over to them. "William, I have a friend, Renee Jimson, who would like to talk with you about training." William's eyebrows rose slightly. "It isn't often Rebecca brings anyone to me," he explained. "You must be special. Come with me and we'll talk. Then we'll see what you have and where you want to go with it." Renee nodded. William had a nice clear voice and somehow she felt she could trust him. It was a fine feeling and that feeling flowed over and through her. She felt wonderful inside and out. Dark Damsel was alive and well, Minx had helped see to that. She had been so very right: The only one whose opinion counted was her own. It didn't matter what anyone else thought. Renee, also, was alive and well. She turned her head and nodded her thanks to Rebecca. It was good to have friends. The end Comments to: echo@nym.alias.net -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+