“I have jurisdiction here,” said Groff to the rest of the guests. “And you will be wise to stay put while we search and detain you.”
“Jean,” said Mickeal. “Check his pocket. I saw him going for something.”
“It’s on the floor,” Groff said as she walked over and bent down next to the dead man in the tux. She came up with another small piece, this time a hammerless revolver, and kept it.
During the next hour, several things happened. The dinner gang was rounded up, stripped to their underwear to make sure they were not armed, and then laid out on the parquet floor, face down, spread eagle. A few decent articles of clothing were picked up and donned by the rescuers who had remained naked throughout the confrontation. Mickeal and Evie each put on a confiscated shirt. Bibi, Groff, Brenda and Lucy all acquired minimal adopted garb. Happily, Bibi found her Bell & Ross watch, still on the wrist of the woman who had taken it from her.
“How nice of you to bring my property back,” she said. “Haven’t seen you since the windmill, but I’ll bet you were the one outside with the rifle too,” she said. Bibi removed the watch and substituted a set of cuffs, pulling the woman’s arms behind her back and locking the cuffs extra tight. Bibi went on down the line of prostrate guests, removing wallets and jewelry from them. Some protested, but most were silent, hoping to get out with their lives and not too worried about their jewelry at this point.
“I guess this just goes to prove the very old adage that says if you want to gain a significant advantage of surprise, pop up naked,” said Evie, laughing. The four other women she had just helped save laughed as well.
“I’m worried about Glenda,” Lucy said. “She was with the Hanging Ten and then, when they cut us out, she disappeared with the others.”
“Shouldn’t we search the cellars?” Brenda asked, looking at Groff for affirmation.
“That could take a long time,” said Groff. “As much as I want to get them all out of here, the better course, I think, is to get the cops in here and let them do a full investigation.”
“But they may be gone by then,” Lucy said.
“The cellar I was in is populated,” said Mickeal. “I agree with Groff. Let’s call the police and get a search team in here. Can you do that, Evie?” he asked, looking at the Prague detective.
“I’ll phone them now,” said Evie, still wearing little more than a smile. Lucy and Brenda left the dining room and went down the hall, searching for rope, cuffs and whatever else they could find to restrain the guests. They returned quickly with a canvas bag full of handcuffs and shackles. They quickly applied these to the remaining live members of the dinner gang.
“There may still be some guards around here,” Groff said, handing out the extra guns from the collection Mickeal and Evie had acquired.
The three remaining guards were bound hand to hand and then secured to one of the many marble pillars in the room. Their dead associate and the two dead tuxedoed guests were laid near the door along with the Belgian and covered with tablecloths that blended in nicely with the white marble floor.
Fabian had not moved since Evie’s pistol whipping. Groff went over to him, pulled his head up by the hair and Fabian, suddenly very much alive, hit her in the face with a dinner plate, then pulled Mickeal’s Makora out of his waistband and slashed Groff in the arm as she backed away, blood streaming from her face. Neither Evie nor Mickeal were able to get a clear shot at Fabian as he rose and raced across the room, headed for the exit, Makora clutched in front of him. As he reached the doorway, he turned, as if to give a parting comment, or perhaps to wave, and tripped over the four cloth-covered corpses. He fell sideways and landed hard, giving a low groan at impact. Then he was silent and again motionless. He lay there in the heap of dead bodies while Lucy and Brenda went to Groff and began wrapping her arm with clean table napkins while Mickeal and Bibi cautiously approached Fabian, guns ready. Evie remained standing at the foot of the table, watching her charges carefully.
Fabian lay on his side, the Makora’s black handle sticking out from his chest. The frothy blood trickling from his lips and the startled look in his gray eyes told the story. He had stabbed himself in the heart. The razor sharp, double-edged Makora blade was lodged deep in his chest up to the hilt.
“Couldn’t have happened to a nastier guy,” Bibi said. Checking for a pulse and then throwing another tablecloth over Fabian’s still body. She looked at Mickeal and then at Brenda and Lucy, who were still working on a pale and shocked Jean Groff, sitting against one wall, holding her arm up with one hand and holding a napkin with ice against her broken nose.
“And you, Jean Groff,” Bibi said with a smile. “What a waste of perfectly good Rosenthal china. Your dining habits are appalling.” Groff slowly grinned and then grimaced as the smile wrinkled her nose and hurt more than the whack with the heavy china dinner plate.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cleaning
The short ending to this story is that everyone left Prague as quickly as the local police allowed it. Accounting for four dead bodies in the dining room, the dead man in the former windmill outside Amsterdam and a few more scattered throughout the Greenhouse complex took almost as long as detailing the dozens of crimes perpetrated by the deceased Fabian and his gang. The locals called in reinforcements and this resulted in an invasion-like sweep of the Greenhouse property by a heavily armed special team from the Czech State Police. This operation took longer than expected because they kept finding hidden chambers and stashes of cash and valuables, not to mention the captives that Fabian kept locked away.
Among the latter was Glenda, who had been separated from the Hanging Ten and placed in isolation with four especially dedicated guards in a stone tower at the western end of the property. The guards foolishly put up a fight when the army of cops moved in. Three of the four were killed in the brief, but violent firefight that sent local residents diving for cover as hundreds of shots punctuated the cold winter air and bullets ricocheted throughout the compound. Searching the tower room, they found Glenda inside a narrow stone chimney, hands chained overhead and ankles closely shackled to weights hanging below her. The rescuing police discovered her after searching the tower and finding other young women in similar distress, but they were baffled by Glenda’s situation and could not find a way to free her. Only her feet could be seen up inside the chimney and the space was far too narrow for anyone to get up inside with her. She was gagged and hooded, so could offer no help while they searched the tower, seeking some method of lowering her down from inside the narrow passage.
Fearing for Glenda’s safety and not knowing how long she had been in the tower, the SWAT Team considered using explosives to blast the chimney, but more rational minds prevailed and they sought additional help from local fire fighters. While they waited for the fire department to arrive, Bibi, Mickeal and Evie came back to the tower and discussed the situation with the attending officials. One recommendation by the SWAT Team commander to immediately begin dismantling the chimney was discussed, but this posed hazards to Glenda and would take perhaps two days. When they arrived, the firefighters discovered that the chimney was capped long ago. They found no access on the top floor of the tower.
“I have a better, faster idea,” Bibi said. “Let me chat with your survivor.”
“Survivor?” asked the captain in charge of the SWAT and search and rescue efforts.
“Yes. The one guy you didn’t manage to kill in your assault,” said Bibi.
“It’s not a guy,” said the Captain. “It’s a woman and she isn’t saying anything to our interrogators.”
“I’ll bet you a dinner at Cowboys she’ll tell me.”
“Okay, but I need to get permission.”
“No time,” said Bibi. “Is she still there, in the van?”
“Yes,” the Captain said hesitantly. “In the police van at the front gate.”
“Great, just radio them that Evie and I will be coming down to talk with her and tell your men to take
a break. We need about thirty minutes alone with her.”
“Well,” said the captain, frowning. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Consider it interdepartmental cooperation,” said Evie, heading out the door and down the stairs two at a time with Bibi following. At the base of the stairs, they held a quick conference, Bibi digging into her backpack and passing a few foil-wrapped items to Evie.
“What’s this?” Evie asked.
“I grabbed a few items from Fabian’s buffet table before we left.” She quickly outlined her plan to Evie.
Once inside the windowless van, Evie set up a small Gaz butane stove she took from the catering table in the dining hall. She put this on a nearby shelf while Bibi busied herself with some tools and other items she took out of her backpack. They said nothing, but made sure that the prisoner heard the noise of them setting up the stove and putting their tools nearby. Bibi sat on a bench opposite the surviving guard and placed several items on a metal box next to the prisoner. The blindfolded woman, her hands cuffed behind her and chained to the wall of the van, automatically shifted away, but said nothing.
“You,” Bibi said harshly in German, “have about ten seconds to preserve your sex. I want to know how to free the woman in the chimney. I want this now or you will leave here and go to prison a sexless creature.”
The woman jerked her head and quickly inhaled. This told Bibi and Evie that they were correct in trying German first, even though in Prague, German was not a popular or frequently used language.
Evie lit the Gaz stove and the sound and odor of the hot blue flame quickly filled the interior of the van.
Bibi and Evie went to work. They tore open the front of the woman’s shirt, cut away the fabric between her bra cups and pulled her trousers and panties down around her ankles. The woman shifted uncomfortably. Bibi applied the contents of her package. The woman screamed. Outside, the waiting cops walked about uneasily, secretly wishing they had the balls to conduct this sort of interrogation.
In less than a minute, the survivor of the firefight was babbling incoherently in German and three other European languages a complete and detailed set of instructions of how to free Glenda. It was simple, but the cops never would have figured it out in time: Glenda was suspended inside the chimney by her wrists, the rings on her nipples and a curved steel hook up her ass. Any attempt to lower her without coordinating the lowering of the multiple chains would have tragic consequences. The frantic woman in the police van blubbered instructions faster than Evie could write them down, but the key was a small panel hidden in the wall. It held switches controlling four winch motors.
“Four?” asked Bibi. “Wrists, tits, ass. What’s the fourth, you bitch?” Bibi brought the red-hot iron close to the woman’s crotch. The smell of singing pubic hair filled the van.
“Connected to the top of her hood,” the sobbing woman whimpered, trying to pull away from the heat.
The SWAT Team got the radioed instructions, found the switches, lowered Glenda and got her into an ambulance. Bibi, Lucy and Evie joined Mickeal and went to the hospital to watch over their friend.
The usual red tape kept all of the crew busy for a few more days, answering questions about Fabian, filling out detailed reports, narrating videos for the coming trials and making sure that everyone was back to their best health. Nevertheless, in a few days, the rescuers and the former captives were all given clearance to leave the Czech Republic and everyone took off in different directions. Lucy and Brenda went home to see their parents. Groff had her broken nose set and attended to and then she and Bibi fled the European winter and took a long vacation in Barbados. Mickeal and Evie went skiing in Davos. Glenda, after promising to visit the von Holt girls in a few weeks, went back to Monaco for a short visit with her family. Before she left, she met again with Evie and Bibi in a small coffee shop in Prague’s Old Town. As they sat around the table watching the people come and go, Glenda posed a question.
“What did you do to the survivor guard to get her to tell you how to release me?”
Bibi looked at Evie, who nodded. Until then, it had been their secret, but they saw no reason to withhold it from Glenda whose life had been on the line.
“It wasn’t very good police work,” said Evie, “but Bibi is very resourceful and I wasn’t sure until we actually did it….” She hesitated, mostly for effect.
“And…?” asked Glenda.
“And,” said Bibi, smiling one of her killer smiles and pausing to take a long sip of coffee. “We burned her.”
“What?” yelled Glenda, loud enough so that people at nearby tables stared at her.
“We burned her tits and her pussy,” repeated Evie quietly. “Or at least that’s what she thought we were doing.”
“Huh?” asked Glenda, amazed at what she was hearing.
“We were just giving back some of what Fabian and his gang did to us all that time,” said Bibi, still smiling and taking a large bite of an apple tart on her plate. “Besides, isn’t she the one who put that hook up your ass?”
“Hell,” said Glenda. “I have no idea who put what up there. They were all nuts and fighting over who would get to fuck me and who would get to whip me. It went on and on. I wasn’t keeping score.”
“Right,” said Bibi. “We convinced her that we were going to burn off her nipples and brand her pussy. With Evie on the little catering Gaz stove and a couple of red hot tongs, it wasn’t hard.”
“Jesus,” said Glenda. “I’m pretty hardcore, but I don’t think I could do that.”
“Even if it meant saving my life?” Bibi asked.
“Well, maybe,” Glenda conceded. “How badly did you fry her?”
“Not at all, physically,” said Evie, anxious to get through this subject. “I left the stove going and stood next to the woman with a glowing, very hot iron in one hand and a nice little piece of beef steak decorated with a few strands of my hair in the other. I made sure she could feel the hot iron and moved it very close to her breasts, letting her feel the heat. We said nothing, so it was all in her mind.”
“You’re nuts,” said Glenda. “But ingenious as well.”
“Not at all,” said Bibi, finishing her coffee. “The mind does things, makes things seem real, if the senses tell it to do so. We simply provided the sensory input. Her head did the rest.”
“But if you didn’t touch her, why did she think she was being burned?” Glenda asked, unconsciously rubbing her bandaged wrists where the chains had left cuts and bruises.
“Bibi held a thin piece of ice in one hand and took a second hot iron in the other,” Evie said. “Simultaneously, she applied the ice to her nipple and brought the iron close to the tit. I put the other iron to the steak and hair that I was holding. She felt the ice and the heat from the iron, heard the sizzle of the burned steak and smelled burning hair and flesh. In those circumstances, her mind told her that the freezing ice was actually the hot iron. After all, cold is just the absence of heat or visa versa. She opened up right away. We never touched her miserable cunt.”
***
There were other, more positive items for closure. The von Holt family rewarded the rescuers royally and, of course, paid the promised bonuses. These considerable sums, on top of additional rewards happily gifted to them by the families and friends of more than twenty other captive women released from the cages and cells in the dungeons and chambers below the Greenhouse added up to financial windfalls for the rescuers. So, in the end, all’s well that ends well.
***
The longer ending includes the dilemma the six former captives faced in dealing with their apparently permanent rubber second skin. Indeed, they admitted that it was a nice warm insulation against the harsh winter weather and under clothing it was not as noticeable as it was when they were stripped, but the real issue was that the rubberization had a constant and sometimes embarrassingly stimulating effect. The very tightness and captivating quality of the rubber skin at times seemed to bring on increased s
exual desire and, with the proper enhancements, drive the wearer to near orgasm.
“We can’t go home like this,” Lucy said to the rest of the group as they sat in the central room of a large and pleasant suite at the Intercontinental Hotel overlooking the river, on the day after their release. Her sister, Brenda, nodded, pulling her cotton robe a bit tighter around her shining, latex-enveloped body.
“It is going to come off, just like peeling a banana,” said Glenda, released from the hospital with her wrists bandaged and sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, absorbed in the conversation and happily not having to deal with a latex second skin.
“Well,” offered Bibi, who was dressed in a pair of dark blue silk pajamas, “I think this stuff is already coming off. Look at my feet.” She held up her small pink feet and everyone noted that the toes and most of the soles were already exposed where the rubber had worn off.
“Mine too,” said Groff, pulling one foot out of a fur-lined boot. Her soles and toes were also exposed. “But I think we should get the doctor out of jail and in here and have him come up with a removal solution so that we can all get cleaned up...that is, unless someone wants to stay rubberized,” she said with a grin, looking directly at Bibi.
“Hey,” Bibi replied quickly. “I admit I enjoy the thrill of being encased in latex, especially when I’m tied up. It’s just one of those things that sort of developed over the last few weeks, sort of like the first time I tried on a Lycra body stocking. I have no shame about that, but I would really like to get out of this right now because I’m beginning to itch all over and it’s like having a plaster cast on a broken leg, if you know what that feels like.”
“Me too,” said Lucy. “And as my hair, such as it is, grows back, the feeling is less comfortable. You too?” she asked, turning to Brenda.
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