She listened for any sounds, but the hood seemed to have earplugs incorporated inside it. She felt some light vibration from time to time and assumed that if she was now inside the house that she was passing when she was hit, the vibes were from traffic on a nearby road or from the subway that might be nearby.
“What the hell? I let myself get suckered into this. Someone must have followed me from the hotel. And how did they even know I was here? I told no one about my plans except Mickeal and he probably told Bibi. Who else knew? Who whacked me on the street?”
Time passed. Groff went in and out of semi-consciousness, testing her bonds and deciding that sooner or later, someone would come. Meanwhile, she was pretty much at the disposal of whoever had decided to take her prisoner.
Eventually, they arrived. Although she couldn’t see them, in her heart Groff knew that it was Fabian, if for no other reason than the odd Dutch accent and the flippant attitude. Fabian would make the perfect brilliant and demented villain in a spy movie, Groff thought.
“You certainly aren’t much of a detective, Frau Groff,” the male voice said in her ears. The sound was somewhat electronic and Groff realized that it was coming through tiny ear buds imbedded in the silencing pads of the hood she wore. “How very convenient of you to show up. Now all we need is your little friend with the big tits and we’ll have a trio to entertain us.”
“Big tits?” Groff thought. “He’s got to mean Bibi. Funny though. I never thought of her as having especially large tits…but then again, I never saw her naked. Maybe the kid is holding out on us older gals.”
“Anyway, Jean, and I may call you Jean, can’t I? We are moving …well, actually we have already moved…to a place that allows us a bit more operating freedom. And you will, of course, accompany us. My associates here will get you ready, but let me warn you, we are very well equipped to handle you and anyone else like you. If you cooperate with us, you will be bound, gagged, and kept immobile, but we will not hurt or harm you. Give us any trouble, even a complaint, and you will be very sorry. You are familiar with a taser, I’m sure. We use them quite frequently and that is in fact what took you out so quickly. It felt like a baseball bat to your head, right?” Groff nodded slightly, as much as the restraining gear and hood allowed.
“So, will you cooperate or do you want to test the taser effects once again?”
Groff hummed in what she thought was an affirmative way.
“Good. Ginger here will help you with your clothes. We’ll take good care of all of your expensive garments, although I don’t think you’ll need them where we are going. They will be appreciated by someone else, I am sure. Unstrap her and strip her. See you later, Jean.” The sound switched off and Groff felt hands on her body and straps loosening. They had her sit up and quickly removed all of the bonds except the helmet/hood. She remained relaxed and let them do what they wanted. Until she could see, she figured there was no use in fighting.
They took everything she wore and left her standing with only the hood, hands at her sides, feet together. They pushed her down into a kneeling position and then forward onto the floor which had some sort of carpet. She lay on her stomach while her arms were strapped together behind her back, wrists to elbows and forearms tightly parallel together. Her legs were doubled up and strapped, calves to thighs and her ankles shackled with a foot or more of chain between them. A heavy collar was fitted around her neck. She kept her head turned to one side, the right ear pressed against the carpet, while they tightened more wide leather straps around her waist, chest and thighs. The chest straps went under and over her breasts, over each bicep and were cinched under each arm. There were several large D rings spaced around the circumference of all straps, providing convenient attachment points. The thigh straps were the same design and all were pulled very tight with the roller buckles cranked as far as possible. The position was not uncomfortable, but she remained totally helpless. Some sort of lifting apparatus was attached to the D rings on the thigh, waist and arm straps and she felt herself being hoisted into the air, moved a short distance and then lowered into a coffin or box. The lifting connection chains were removed and the lid of the metal box closed. Groff wondered if there was an air source inside, but it made no difference. There seemed no reason why they would have gone to all of this trouble if they were going to kill her by asphyxiation, so she tried to relax, shifting her position slightly in the box. Soon, it was lifted and moved some distance and then the motion stopped. The box was inside some sort of vehicle and in a few minutes, she felt the movement and knew they were driving her somewhere.
At the next stop, the box was unloaded. Chains with snap hooks were attached to the same D rings at six locations on her body straps and Groff was hoisted up and out once again, only to find herself forced to remain in this suspension, with the multiple straps holding her in the air, a rope or chain pulling her hooded head back so that she would be looking forward, if she could see. Her legs were pulled wide apart by the thigh straps, exposing her ass and sex rather blatantly, she thought. She twisted in the straps and found no way to close her legs and no contact with anything. No floor. No walls. Just air.
Someone played with her nipples. Her breasts hung down, like fulsome white balloons, nipples aimed towards the floor. It was not unpleasant, but given her situation, Groff suspected that more than just play was to follow. Indeed, the nipple manipulation was interrupted by sharp biting pain. The pain came almost simultaneously to both tits at once. It was as if they had locked pinchers on the nips and the pinchers were cutting into the soft pink flesh. She tried not to scream, but a tug on the pinchers sent a sharp wave of pain through both breasts and she hollered into the gag, trying to twist away from the pinching, piercing double pain in her chest. She swayed in the suspension and the stabbing pain increased as a weight was attached to the pinchers and left to dangle below her, swinging back and forth, tugging relentlessly at each captured nipple.
“Jesus,” Groff thought. “What are they doing to me? It feels like they have pierced my nips and attached weights.”
She was precisely correct. Two cutting rings, made from polished and springy carbon steel wire, had been attached to her nipples at the same time. The rings were held open by a set of reverse needle-nosed pliers that forced the razor sharpened ends apart. When centered over the nipple, the pliers were released and the beveled cutting ends of the rings closed instantly on the fragile tit flesh, immediately driving into the tissue and quickly slicing through until the spring was fully closed and the sharpened ends were seated side by side as in a split ring. A few drops of blood oozed out around the incisions. The rings were seated in such a way that the ends remained inside the flesh, so externally, there were not visible. The rings appeared to be solid. Attaching a short chain with an eight ounce weight was simple and watching Groff twist and turn in her strap suspension was marvelously fascinating for Fabian and his helpers.
“Perfect,” shouted Fabian when the rings were in place and the weights attached. “Jean, I know I said we wouldn’t hurt or harm you. I guess that was a bit of a lie, although the truth remains that a couple of piercing rings in your tits isn’t really permanently harmful. For now, these little spring steel jobs will do. In the longer term, you’ll get a set of much sturdier stainless steel ones that will allow you to really handle some weight. We’ll weld them on and that will hurt quite a bit, I’m happy to say. In time too, you may come to like these, much as others have found the combination of pain and pleasure for nipple rings can be rewarding. Your pal, Lucy, has a permanent set and she seems to find them useful in her work. Want to see how they look?”
Without waiting for her silent reply, Fabian reached up and unfastened the eye closure portion of the hood, opening up the eyeholes and letting light saturate Groff’s eyes. For a moment, she was unable to see, but as the room came into focus, Groff saw Fabian standing in front of her holding the padded panel from her hood and smiling like an idiot. She looked into his eyes and saw what she had al
ways feared most. These were the eyes of a pathological maniac. There was no fear, no compassion. There was only black emptiness. “This man can kill without any feelings or remorse at all,” Groff thought as she looked around the room and realized that she was in what amounted to a private library. The walls were full of books and the tables around the room cluttered with newspapers and more volumes.
“Why am I here?” she wondered. “What use can I be to this Fabian? What has he got in mind?”
As she thought about it, Fabian took a step closer and answered her question.
“Jean Groff, you are here for several reasons. First of all, because when I saw your picture, I wanted you. I like your cool, chic looks, your long black hair, your great body, your smart assed attitude. I like your ass and your nice firm tits and I am sure that when I get a chance, I will like and enjoy your sweet pussy. But you are also here because you and your little friends got too close to me. You should be proud of that. You figured out what the cops couldn’t or wouldn’t ever get. But that knowledge is costing you. It is costing your pals as well.”
Groff blinked to clear her vision and wondered why the hell he was telling her this. What was to follow? She wondered.
“I don’t like being shadowed,” Fabian continued. “And I certainly don’t like having snoops like you, who have no idea what they are messing with. Mess with me. Your dear client will never see either of his lovely daughters again and you and your puny gang will simply vanish and become additional trinkets in my collection.”
That statement rang a gong in Groff’s head. “Either daughter?” she wondered. “Does von Holt have another daughter? Is she in danger as well?”
“Pay attention,” Fabian shouted, slapping Groff’s face. The blow was hard enough to sting through the hood’s thin leather and she tried to refocus on what he was saying.
“As we speak, dear Lucy and her younger sister, Brenda, have been absorbed into the Hanging Ten, or is it Nine? What the hell, I can’t keep track of this. You bitches keep arriving faster than I can count.” He laughed at what was a joke only he really understood.
“So the main display here is now The Hanging Twelve or whatever. Soon, you will make it Thirteen and if the big titted bitch from Berlin, Bibi, makes the prescribed arrival tonight, she will also join you. With fourteen, things around here will start to get cluttered, so don’t expect to be here after New Years. I have formulated an interesting program, which, if it comes to fruition, will make use of this entire little combo, namely you, Bibi, Lucy and Brenda. Did I miss anyone?
“After providing suitable entertainment for me and my guests, you will all enter the plant life arena to be called upon from time to time to service anyone who can afford it. Otherwise, you’ll just hang around until the next phase of my plans, sucking down a bit of needed nutrition and hydration now and then, shitting a fine liquid stream into a tube plugged into your ass and getting a daily enema or two just to make sure you don’t grow a belly or get fat. You’ll piss into a tube as well and that, my little investigator, is the portrait of your new life.”
Groff blinked her eyes, unable to move anything else, mentally filing away this information and wondering if any or all of it would actually happen. There was, she knew, good evidence that Fabian and his crew had the ability and the resources to perhaps carry out such a threat, but the immensity of it astonished her. If Bibi was to join the captured assembly, then that meant that Mickeal was also in danger. The picture Fabian painted was indeed possible, but based on the current situation, not at all in their favor.
***
Fabian’s plan picked up momentum with Bibi’s arrival. Stashed in the cellar room temporarily, Bibi was soon added to the hanging bunch where she joined the newly acquired Groff in one of the few remaining steel body cages. With her usual sense of humor, Bibi added this time to her already overbalanced record of time spent in captivity and bondage vs. time without same. The future, based on what she knew, was equally unbalanced and bleak.
Chapter Twenty-One
Makora
Fabian toyed with the Microtech Makora. In terms of its operation, it was simple, but in its design and construction, it was an astonishingly complex knife, built to very close tolerances and functioning efficiently and with high reliability. He had never seen one before and when he took it from Mickeal’s boot, he first thought it was a retracted baton like Groff’s ASP. Only when he pushed the small rectangular switch on the side and the double-edged, two-tone, dagger blade leapt out of the top of the slim handle did Fabian realize that this was an entirely different weapon. To call such a weapon a switchblade is a gross misstatement, for in comparison, the traditional switchblade is a crude knife with a hinged, thin blade, favored by hoods and generally scorned by law enforcement and military as cheap and unreliable. Fabian played with Mickeal’s Makora the way he would have played with a new pistol, firing and retracting the blade over and over again, entranced by its efficiency and simple operation, which camouflaged the brilliantly perfect design. The knife had no visible safety, which surprised Fabian, but that was not important and he eventually stuck the black knife into his right hand pocket, using the spring pocket clip to keep it there.
Two floors below in the sub basements of the stone house on the side of the hill in Mala Strana, Bibi once again found herself in chains and contemplating the continuing misfortunes of working this assignment. Her present predicament was more uncomfortable than usual because they had taken time to make absolutely certain that every chain was as tight as it could be. She wore the usual waist chain and collar, plus leather discipline hood with a massively intrusive penis gag stuffed into her mouth and halfway down her throat. Her ankles were closely bound together by two cuffs welded side by side and her legs were similarly fastened with larger cuffs just below and above her knees. Her arms were behind her, elbows touching and bound with metal clamps that pressed the wrists and upper arms side by side.
The new twist was a pair of leg shackles locked around the bases of her breasts. This little addition had been fitted with considerable difficulty, for Bibi’s naturally large breasts hung on her chest in such a way that the bases, the roots, of the double D sized mounds, were thick and broad across her chest. There was very little droop to these tits and, as a result, fitting the steel ratchet cuffs around the bases was difficult. Each time the woman who was doing the work closed one of the shackles, it would slip off the breast. She tried several tactics and finally used rope. She first wound the rope around the girl’s chest twice, once above and once below the breasts and tied it off. Then she tied a long piece of thin line to the chest ropes and then began to encircle each breast around the base, slowly increasing the tension as the tissue blossomed outward, away from the constricting rope. When the circle of rope was smaller than the resulting pear-shaped and shiny, stretched tit, the woman locked the shackle around the same area and cut the rope. This process was painful in the extreme. When completed, Bibi’s tits stuck almost straight outward, forced away from her chest by the pressure of the double steel circlets. The woman doing the work decided to enhance the job by connecting a thin chain to the side of one shackle and running it around behind Bibi’s back, pulling it tight and locking it to the other shackle. This created additional tension and pain because now the shackles were held tightly against Bibi’s chest wall and the breasts were pulled further apart. Bibi knelt in the cell, a short heavy chain from her collar locked to a ring on the wall. Since she could neither speak, hear nor see, she had to content herself with useful thoughts. She considered that in the total time spent thus far working for Groff, more than half of it she had spent in some sort to kinky bondage. “It must go with the territory,” she thought. “Not everyone could possibly be this into the bondage scene.”
The question now was who was going to rescue her? She knew that Groff was already a prisoner and that Mickeal was either dead or badly hurt from their encounter with the truck full of men that ran them off the road, crashed the Mini and left
him and Bibi easy targets for yet another forcible abduction.
They had been speeding along the autobahn-like highway back toward Amsterdam when the truck that was following them pulled up alongside in a deserted area and punted the Mini Cooper off the road, across the shoulder and into the woods. Bibi was driving and all she could do was brake carefully and aim the little car at anything that wasn’t a tree. They hit something that flung the car onto its side and it slid to a screeching stop and all of the car’s air bags fired at once, pinning them to their seats. Mickeal was bleeding from his forehead and didn’t move. Bibi, in shock from the impact and the air bags, could not unfasten her seat belt for several minutes. When she recovered enough to start to climb out of the Mini, there were four men with H&K, 9mm sub machine guns surrounding her. They quickly bound, gagged and blindfolded her, wrapped her in a blanket, shoved her into the back of the truck and drove for hours and hours with only stops for fuel and probably a change of drivers. They crossed one border, which Bibi assumed was into either Czech Republic or Switzerland and then drove for some time more before they arrived at their present location, in a major city, judging from the traffic noise.
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