He shouldn’t have worried, because in the dining room upstairs, Fabian’s Fabulous Foursome of hanging hostages was entertaining the guests. The women, still fully encapsulated in their rubber skins, were being systematically whipped, one at a time, by various guests who expressed an interest.
Fabian officiated, taking suggestions from the rapt audience. After a few minutes, the helmets and breathing hoses were removed. Plain rubber balls were substituted for their gags. All four were being soundly flogged, but Lucy and Groff seemed to be the most popular. Bibi’s large ringed breasts were the most sought after target. For a few rounds of this game, the women just hung from their chains, heads lolling, but Fabian’s assistants then suggested some variations and these were quickly implemented. Brenda’s slim legs were released from the floor and pulled upward so that she was suspended hand and foot, looking like a human hammock. Naturally, the whip blows then fell on her back and buttocks. Her screams easily penetrated the ball gag in her mouth and each whip blow caused her to twist and shudder in the chains.
The noise from the dining room was overwhelming. All four tormented prisoners were howling through their gags while the guests laughed and shouted instructions to those plying the whips.
“Give the blond another five on her tits,” someone shouted.
“Spread her legs so she feels it in her cunt,” another yelled.
“Tie them tit to tit,” a handsome female guest suggested.
This novel idea almost stopped the pace, but Fabian’s assistants hustled over and used rope to bind Groff and Lucy by their nipple rings and then, for effect, connected their ankles to each other as well. Now the whip blows fell on their backs and each stroke forced one or the other to swing away from the strike, pulling the other with her. Lucy, perhaps because she was well accustomed to this kind of abuse, seemed almost lethargic, swinging in rhythm to the blows, trying not to tug too hard on Groff’s ringed tits as they recoiled from the whip strikes. She grunted and moaned as the strikes became more frequent.
Groff, on the other hand, new to this sort of punishment, screamed out loud each time the whip connected. The ball gag served little purpose other than to distort her cries. Groff was tough, but she still reacted instinctively to the blows. Bibi and Brenda were in a constant slow rotation. The guards plying their whips on these two discovered that with a certain twist of the hand, the whip, when pulled away after the strike, caused the hanging body to rotate, so this was now sport for them. The more they turned the more varied the places where the whip struck.
Meanwhile, Fabian continued to call the shots, telling one whipper to change pace, another to slow down, and another to target specific body parts. The audience loved it, drinking vast quantities of alcohol and wine. The servers were busy refilling glasses and running, as fast as their chains allowed, to and from the serving stations. No one was paying any attention to anything outside the room.
***
On the lower levels of the building, Mickeal made his way through the labyrinth of cells and chambers, slowly picking his targets among the guards and others who seemed to live there. At first, he used the chain that had been on his neck as his primary weapon. As he carefully worked his way through several layers of security, he realized that these guards and check points were all calibrated with the fallacious assumption that no one was going to get out of the cells and the chains they wore, so there were only a few guards. Those that he encountered were not especially talented in martial arts nor equipped to deal with the Amsterdam detective who was by now running on high adrenalin levels. Each time he came to a door or gate, he simply knocked on it, waited until the guard opened it and peered out, searching for whoever had knocked. Each curious guard was rewarded with a deadly slash of the heavy chain. Mickeal was not in a merciful mood and he didn’t want any survivors awakening and sounding the alarm, so he took no prisoners. It took only one or two blows to put the lightweight women into unconsciousness or coma. Mickeal carefully relieved the guards of their firearms, mostly 9mm Berettas, and locked their wrists to doors, bars or pipes using their own set of cuffs, even though they were unconscious. Along the way, he acquired several more 9mm pistols, several knives and a pair of grey trousers from one of the larger female guards. Working hard, he didn’t bother with a shirt, but was soon wearing three gun belts, two slung over his shoulders bandoleer style and one on his waist. With an array of handguns in holsters and stuck into the belts, he looked as formidable as he was. He also took all of the ammo clips he found.
Rounding a corner, he was suddenly face to face with a female guard who was totally engrossed in the process of tormenting a young woman crouched on the floor, wrists bound to a pulley overhead, her face buried in the guard’s crotch. With a riding crop in one hand and the other wrapped in the prisoner’s long, dark hair the guard was very slow to respond. Also, the utter shock of seeing Mickeal come around the corner, armed with multiple handguns, was too much, considering that the guard was nearing her own personal orgasmic satisfaction and that you could have probably presented her with a living Elvis and gotten no visible reaction. Mickeal recovered first. The guard hesitated a second too long and Mickeal shot her in the face at nearly point blank range. Blood and tissue from her blasted head sprayed around the enclosed space. The bound captive, having no idea what was happening, pulled her head back and started to scream. She got out a single muted yell before Mickeal unhappily cold cocked her with a pistol barrel to the temple. Instead of falling over, the unconscious girl remained hanging from the pulley while the dead guard toppled back and fell in a bloody heap at the base of the concrete wall. Mickeal was about to move on when he noticed that the now unconscious prisoner was held in her awkward crouch not only by the overhead pulley rope, but also by chains from her ankles and waist binding her to rings on the floor. Further inspection by Mickeal revealed that she was impaled on a thick metal post that was fitted into a hole in the stone floor and disappeared up into her pussy.
“No wonder she wasn’t moving much,” Mickeal thought. “The poor thing was mounted on a pole and chained down to the floor. Giving head to this bitch was not an option. Jesus, these people are truly nuts.”
He freed the impaled body from its post and left her where she was, then he took the elevator up three levels, trying hard to rein in his anger at what he had just seen. He stepped out into an empty hallway and cautiously found his way to the dining room by following the sounds of women screaming and men laughing. He hoped that the screams were not from Bibi. Coming around a corner in the corridor, Mickeal suddenly encountered an incredibly beautiful, naked, chained and gagged serving slave, heading back to the kitchen with an empty silver tray still locked to her wrists. When she saw him, she started to flee, but Mickeal grabbed her, holding her close, and put his finger to his lips. When she stopped struggling, it took him a few seconds to unlock her cuffs and collar, and tell her to get out of the building. She turned and ran, her cute rounded butt jiggling as she fled down the hall. “Too bad the rest won’t be that easy,” Mickeal thought.
There was no way of knowing how many guards were available throughout the building or actually in the dining room. He also didn’t know if the guests were armed. Standing behind a wall drapery and listening to the noise a few meters down the corridor, Mickeal debated his next move. He could try to escape the building and return later with enough manpower to take on Fabian and his gang, but by then he feared that the women would be gone or, worse, disposed of since they were evidence of Fabian’s criminal activity. If he stayed and tried to win against overwhelming odds, the chance of success was very low. His best option, he felt, was to wait and try to free at least Groff and Bibi, who would make good allies and help level the field a bit. As he stood there, the noise seemed to abate with fewer cries and less shouting from the now obviously drunken party. Suddenly, another stunning and fully chained serving girl shuffled by. She was stark naked except for a shiny transparent rubber skin. Like the previous serving slave, she wore the usual
gag, collar, waist, wrist and ankle chains, all joined together. Astonished, Mickeal did a double take and realized this was Evie, a policewoman from Amsterdam. He knew her very well and they had enjoyed some exciting times together less than a year ago when she suddenly disappeared. Some brochures and airline ticket searches on her personal notebook computer seemed to indicate that she had planned to take a trip to South America, but there was nothing conclusive. Nevertheless, there was no sign of foul play and it was finally determined by the police, based on the small amount of circumstantial evidence, that she left the country with a new and secret suitor. That unlikely scenario baffled Mickeal, but it pretty much closed the case.
As she hurried past, Mickeal reached out, grabbed her arm and pulled her into the folds of the drapes. Gagged, she was only able to give a muffled squeak, which was, of course, nothing compared to what was still coming from the dining room, so no one responded to her cry. Mickeal put a gun to her head and she stopped wailing at once. Whispering into her ear, he told her what he wanted.
“Evie, do you know who I am?” Slowly, she nodded and then, despite the huge rubber gag in her mouth, smiled a big smile.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Mickeal asked. The small brunette’s head nodded enthusiastically and she murmured through the gag.
“Okay. Hold still and I’ll get the chains off. Do you want to stay here and give me a hand or do you want to try to get out and get help?”
Evie looked at him, her brown eyes bright. She made a quick nod and reached for the gun, which he gave her. Mickeal unbuckled the leather gag and popped the fat rubber penis form out of her mouth. Evie licked her lips and then tried to whisper, but the sound came out like a croak.
“Find your way out of here. Use the gun if you have to. Remember these people will kill you, so shoot them first,” Mickeal said quietly, watching the hallway.
Evie shook her head. “Naw,” was all that came out of her parched mouth. “I’ll stay,” she added, gaining better speech capability.
“Okay,” he whispered. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple of months,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning down as she recalled the time she spent in the cages and cells below.
“How many of those people in the dining hall are armed?” Mickeal asked.
“None, I think, except the guards,” she whispered. “They had to leave their guns in the reception. Only the guards have sidearms…and Fabian, of course. What are you doing here?” she added, snuggling back into the drapery with her rubberized body pressed against him. Mickeal couldn’t help but notice that her small pink nipples were standing out tautly even though they were ringed and enclosed in the rubber fabric. She also wore a pair of black high heels that seemed to be permanently fastened to her feet.
“I came for all of you,” Mickeal said. He reached into the waistband of the stolen trousers and pulled out another automatic, handing it to her. “I am going to walk in there and shake them up. If I can, I’ll go right for Fabian. You cover me and shoot anyone who makes a move. I know that’s a lousy plan, but it’s all I’ve got.”
Evie smiled and shook her head. “Let me do that and you back me up. I can get much closer before they figure out anything is wrong.”
Mickeal considered this, realizing that she was right.
“Okay. I’ll stay out of sight, but at the first sign of trouble, I’m going in and I am not planning to take any prisoners.”
Evie nodded and checked the two pistols she now held. Mickeal knew she was an excellent marksman. They had spent many hours on the shooting range and usually Evie beat him in accuracy points. Better yet, she was a true ambidextrous shooter; her left hand was just as effective and accurate as her right. Mickeal started to move out of the shadow of the drapes and Evie tapped him with the nose of one pistol. “Wait,” she said. “Put my chains back on. Give me a key. I can walk back in there and get the drop on them. Then you come in and take over.”
Mickeal quickly thought this over and picked up the collar and waist chains, relocking them around Evie’s neck and tiny rubberized waist. He thought about the cuffs and told her to put her hands behind her back so no one would see that her hands weren’t bound. They decided not to cuff her feet and just take a chance that no one would pay any attention if this plan went right. Evie kissed him lightly and then was gone down the hall, her rubberized little ass tantalizingly tight under the latex second skin and the two 9mm Berettas held behind her back. Mickeal thought for a moment what a surprise any guard would have when this sweet little, rubber encased, thing with the ponytail and the pistols came around the corner, breasts jiggling and long pony tail swaying in her haste. “I hope she knows what she’s doing,” he thought.
The party was in full swing. Brandy, cordials and coffee were being served and the wine and champagne still flowed. Everyone was by now more than half drunk.
Evie saw this. It was what she expected. She casually sauntered into the vast dining hall, the gag in her mouth with the ends lying around her neck, but not fastened behind her head. She glided to the far end of the table, her tall heels making clicking sounds that no one paid any attention to. She stopped next to Fabian, placed one Beretta against the back of his head and aimed the other automatic at the general group, moving her sights from one guard to the next. Without her saying a word, silence slowly fell over the room. Candles flickered, rotating, hanging bodies slowed and whips froze in mid strike. Evie popped the gag out of her mouth, licked her lips and grinned at her suddenly rapt audience.
“Very good,” said Evie in a controlled and even voice. “I am a police officer and you are all under arrest.” Someone snickered, suppressing a drunken laugh. Evie aimed at the sound and fired two shots into the flower arrangement half way down the table. The vase exploded in a shower of flowers and shattered glass. The women at the table screamed.
“Anyone else have a comment?” Evie said quietly. “Guards, cut those women down. Everyone else sit where you are. Hands on the table in front of you. In case you are wondering, between these two guns, I have more than thirty rounds of nine millimeter. It may not be enough to kill all of you, but the odds are on my side. I am a police officer and you are all under arrest.”
“Me too?” said Fabian, smiling and starting to turn his head towards the former serving girl. Evie lifted one automatic above her head and brought the butt down hard on the top of Fabian’s head, ruining his carefully combed hair and dropping his head into the dish of half eaten chocolate soufflé in front of him.
“Resisting arrest,” she said flatly.
Fabian groaned and started to raise his head, his hands reaching into his pockets.
“Still resisting arrest?” Evie asked as she repeated the blow to the same spot. Fabian stopped moving. The guests were all frozen in time.
“You,” Evie shouted, pointing one gun at the whippers. “Drop those whips and get moving. I want all four of those women cut down now.”
“Fuck you,” said one of the guard women as she reached for her holstered weapon. Evie used the Beretta in her right hand, the same one that she used to crown Fabian. She raised the weapon slightly, quickly drew a bead on the guard and shot her squarely between the eyes. The guard fell backwards against Groff’s slowly spinning body and crumpled to the floor.
“Anyone else want to resist arrest?” Evie said, sounding nasty now, her exposed nipples hard and erect. “I’ve got plenty of ammo and the more you resist, the fewer we’ll have to prosecute later.”
She moved down the table, her second pistol now stuck in her waist chain against her flat stomach. The latex skin helped hold it in place.
“Hands on the table everyone. Anyone with invisible hands gets shot. No more warnings. Make a move and die.” She turned again towards the hanging girls and their remaining guards.
“Now get those girls down. Now! Drop your gun belts first. Do it! This is your last warning,” she yelled at the guards who were still in shock and looking dumbly at their de
ad colleague. The three ex-whippers took off their belts with the array of tools and weapons and they clattered to the parquet floor. They unfastened the rope links between the hanging women and then lowered the chains, unwinding the winches slowly so that the dangling bodies did not fall. All four captives were immediately on their feet, standing still while presenting their manacled wrists for release. The tension in the room was electric. Only Evie seemed automated. She continued to scan the room.
Suddenly there were two shots, close together. Someone screamed and a man at the table spouted blood from his head and fell backwards, tipping his chair over and crashing to the floor. A small caliber automatic fell from his left hand.
“Anyone else want to try that?” shouted Mickeal from the entry hallway where he’d been stationed since Evie conked Fabian on the head.
“Well,” said Evie, a bit smugly, “I wondered when you’d show up.”
“Been here all along,” Mickeal said. “But you were doing so well I saw no reason to interfere.”
“Mickeal,” Groff shouted, finally free of the chains and helping release the others. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”
“Likewise,” said Mickeal. “You ladies feeling up to rounding this gang up and getting everyone ready for jail?”
“We’re happy to help,” said Brenda, rubbing her swollen wrists. “But can we get some clothes on first?”
“Why would you want to do that?” said Evie, now standing, legs apart in shooter’s stance, at the opposite end of the table, still scanning the group and swinging the pistol from one rigidly posed guest to another.
“You cannot detain us here,” said one man in a tuxedo halfway down the table. “I am a Belgian citizen and you have no jurisdiction.” He pushed his chair back from the table and started to stand, his hand in his pocket.
The single round hit him behind the ear and he tumbled forward, crashing into the elegant china and crystal place setting, his left hand still in his pocket. Mickeal kept one of his many automatics leveled at the man, making sure that he did not move again.
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