The Couriers

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “Yes, which is why I sometimes get tied up when I don’t want it? Now,” Bibi said, picking up the conversation. “Tell me about your preferences and your desires. I’ll decide what we’ll do with you...to you...but knowing your needs will help. I am not a professional dominant or S&M practitioner, but I certainly like and enjoy pretty women, binding and gagging them, not to mention giving and receiving the occasional cane, paddle or whip.”

  The girl stared almost as if she was looking through Bibi. When she heard the word “whip,” she blinked twice, quickly.

  “Will you whip me?” Dede whispered.

  “We’ll see,” said Bibi, smiling. “My apartment is quite normal,” she continued “Not a dungeon by any means, but it’s very private and you can howl to your heart’s content and no one will hear you. Just to get you warmed up, I may hang you from some very sturdy hooks in the shower or the closet for awhile and we’ll see how things work out.”

  While Dede watched with studied fascination, Bibi continued her lecture: “Come up with a safe word. Actually two or three of them, please. Write them down and then, of course, remember them. Since you haven’t done this much, know that often, if you’re gagged or hooded, a word won’t work and you thus need to set up a safe move that I can see, so think about that and come up with one or two. I could tell you what I use, but this is your show, so you work on those little tasks and have them ready by Thursday, okay?”

  Dede laughed, then looked up and turned suddenly sober. “I don’t know much about this world of S&M,” she confided. “I will trust you, but please don’t hurt me. Okay?”

  “Hurt and harm are not the same. If I use a cane or a crop on your lovely ass, it will, I assume you, hurt. But I will do you no harm, I promise,” Bibi added. “Furthermore, if and when we progress down this kink road, you are going to have to adopt some practices you may not, so far at least, have considered.”

  “Such as....” Dede said slowly, tilting her head slightly towards the window, but never altering her gaze into Bibi’s eyes.

  “Such as reciprocity.”

  “Reciprocity?”

  “In my S&M world, there is always give and take. It’s a transaction between two people who care about each other, bringing pleasure and perhaps pain, not necessarily at the same time. Things are never one-sided and everything we do will be more or less consensual. Translated that means that if I get to whip your nipples one night, you are, sooner or later, going to have to provide some perhaps painful release for me.”

  “Oh, I understand,” Dede said, now very intense. Her face was lit up and her eyes bright. “I’ll have to think about that one. I’m so fuckin’ selfish in this regard. But I’ll have my attire ready. How, may I ask, do you like your... slaves dressed?” Dede asked with a slight hesitation before she uttered the word “slaves.”

  “Hummmm,” Bibi pondered with a grim look on her face. “I think snug and tight. Nothing floppy or loose. Makes it easier to cut off...” she added. “And, no padded bras, okay? I hate the dammed things and fashionable or not, I think they look stupid. I don’t think you need any additional padding in that area anyway,” Bibi added, glancing at Dede’s more than adequate chest.

  “I can do that,” Dede grinned, looking at her handy phone and then grimacing. “I agree about the padded bra thing. At times I wonder who was the fool that decided that everyone needed some plastic foam between their skin and the fabric. When I was growing up I wasn’t...ah, growing at all in the chest. It really bothered me and on one occasion, I put some soft foam in my kiddy bra and topped it off with a bean.” Dede blushed again as she said this.

  “I know the feeling,” Bibi said. “I not only enjoy having the nips as a ‘focal point’ for guys, but I also like a little bounce. The rhythmic tugging on my shoulder muscles is nice.”

  Dede giggled. “I know. Me too. Gets the men to take their eyes off my ass.”

  “Right,” said Bibi smiling now. “I think we are on the right track on these important social issues,” she said laughing as she moved her arm and made her breast jiggle slightly.

  Dede laughed too and then looked at Bibi’s watch and gasped. “I’m sorry, but I gotta go. I’m seldom on time and now I’m really late for a tutoring session, which is how I make ends meet. Cute little thing who knows about as much World History as her cat, but she pays me well. Thanks for the coffee. See you Thursday at eleven. I can’t wait.”

  Breathlessly, Dede was out the shop door and gone in a flash of her red scarf and tan leather boots.

  Bibi sat at the counter, wondering what she had gotten into, but as always, the promise of a new experience with this young lady, who was nearly her age, was captivating.

  “Guess I’ll have to clean up the place,” Bibi said to herself as she walked out the door, still carrying her unfinished coffee.

  Chapter Six

  Preliminaries

  “Before you lock the last lock or knot your last knots,

  place one of these remote releases in your palm.”

  Thus, the appointed date was kept and Donna Elizabeth Cann, Dede, was literally bubbling over with anticipation when she rang Bibi’s buzzer and was admitted to the apartment building with its three floor walk-up and no lift. By the time the girl got to the top of the stairs and saw that Bibi’s apartment occupied the entire floor, she was out of breath and sweating. Bibi stood in the open doorway, smiling and wearing a floor-length silk robe and obviously nothing under it. Her long blond hair was brushed back from her face and she wore no discernible make-up.

  Dede grinned and could only blush.

  “Come on in, Dede,” Bibi said, stepping aside to allow the girl to get her large shoulder bag through the doorway, which Bibi then closed quickly.

  “I have some wonderful neighbors,” Bibi said, “but they are seniors and a bit nosey, so they’ll be wondering if you’re selling something or staying the night.”

  “Am I?” Dede asked, taking off her coat and standing in the middle of the spacious living room. She wore a one-piece latex bodysuit that nicely displayed her fine, youthful figure from ankles to neck, a pair of black patent high heels that must have been four or five inches high and a few pieces of conservative gold jewelry on her wrists and neck. The neck piece was actually a thick collar with inconspicuous D rings attached at the four compass points. She had a bit of make-up on her lips and eyes, but nothing was overdone and she looked, Bibi thought, good enough to eat, if that was on the menu for their rendezvous.

  “Are you what?” Bibi asked, motioning for Dede to take a seat and get comfortable while she poured two glasses of a California chardonnay which she rarely served to anyone else.

  “Staying the night,” Dede asked. “I brought some stuff and things to wear later if we mess up this suit.”

  “Dede,” Bibi said, sitting across from her guest. “I have no intention of ruining that gorgeous body suit that probably cost you a week’s pay, so don’t worry about that. In fact, you will be doing all the hard work and I’ll simply supervise now and then because I have a lot of business work to get done here and you are going to be just part of the décor. Have some wine, get comfortable, check out the apartment and then we’ll have a bit of dinner.”

  “Are you cooking?”

  “No. It’s being brought in by a restaurant down the street.”

  “Great. Thanks for having me. I imagine this is almost as strange for you as it is for me,” Dede said. “But just for the record, are we going to have sex?”

  “We’ll see what transpires,” Bibi answered. “Take a look in that duffle next to the couch and see what interests you in there. There’s plenty of silk and hemp rope, some nylon paracord, a ton of chain and cuffs, among other things. I want you to be comfortable with everything we do tonight. There are leather and metal collars, but I think the one you’re wearing will do nicely.”

  “You can attach chains to it and you won’t hurt it. It’s not gold, but polished brass and if I wear it long enough it turns my neck a l
ovely shade of green,” Dede said.

  “No worries,” Bibi said. “There will be no force or coercion involved tonight. You will put yourself in restraint as you would if I wasn’t here. The benefit is that I can help you if you get in too deep and I may show you some things that might improve your enjoyment now and later on.

  “Oh, that’s sounds great,” Dede said, taking a large swallow of wine.

  “And don’t get drunk or I’ll throw you out. This is all voluntary, totally consensual. Understand?”

  “Yes, of course. So may I take some of this stuff out of the bag and see what you have here?” Dede asked.

  “Of course. I definitely suggest that you check out the hand remotes and how they work. They signal my local network and I get visual and audio signals in any room.”

  “What are they for?”

  “Before you lock the last lock or knot your last knots, place one of these remotes in your palm, pull on a glove and then forget about it unless you get into trouble. A long buzz on the remote will bring the cavalry. Me. I have keys to everything. They’re in the side pocket. So now, go on, do as you wish. I have some Berlin PD crime reports to review. If you feel funny doing this in front of me, you can use any other room you want.”

  “Oh yes, please. I think I’m feeling a bit inhibited in front of you.”

  Dede got up from the couch and wandered about the apartment for nearly a half hour. She used the guest bathroom, nibbled a bit of smoked salmon that Bibi had set out on the coffee table and finally picked up the duffel and disappeared into the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. The delivery from the restaurant arrived and Bibi went down the three flights of stairs, met the man at the front door and paid him without allowing him into the building. This was her personal security measure ever since she survived an assault by three Arabs intent on poisoning her a year before. Now, it was policy that no one admitted anyone they didn’t know without checking first.

  Bibi’s detective/investigation cases often took her away from her apartment for months at a time and she was always on the lookout for someone who could either stay there while she was gone or at least stop by once a week or so and water her orchids and other house plants if they needed it. It had occurred to her when she met Dede that she might fill the bill as a part time live-in while Bibi was gone. This new case with the mysterious series of bank courier robberies was fascinating and frustrating, as all involved law enforcement parties agreed, because all of the incidents were very similar. All were successful. All involved no violence. All appeared to be carefully planned and meticulously executed and all left zero useful evidence behind. Although the police saw a vague pattern to the incidents, they had thus far been unable come up with any suspects or connect the seemingly random crimes in any productive way.

  The constant in each incident however, was that those who were robbed were quite sure that their attackers were women, young women, who used their speed, athletic form and strength to overpower the messengers and couriers without undue violence and then escaped, apparently on foot without leaving a trace. No victim had been more than bruised or even slightly injured. No guns were used. No vehicles were identified near the scene. All of the victims were left quite terrified by the sudden, unsuspected attack in locations that were very public and where they had always operated easily without any threats. Most remarkable was that all of these robberies took place in broad daylight.

  The normal reactive move in this kind of situation was to put dye markers, GPS transponders and/or traceable currency in the courier packs. Thus far, such actions not only failed, but with some quick changes in their tactics, the robbers reset the traps so that when police or bank officials opened the abandoned courier bags, the dye markers or the decoy cash packs exploded, harmlessly staining the investigators in indelible yellow or orange dye.

  Efforts at sending out decoy couriers also failed miserably, as had attempts to shadow the couriers with armed guards. Apparently, Bibi and the cops both concluded, these robberies were inside jobs and the attackers knew the minute details of each run. This posed an interesting problem, because each event was at a different location and, with the Peterman’s Bank exception, each robbery was with a different bank, investment firm, brokerage house or jewelry store. Interpol records showed that in eight months, there had been thirteen such events and nearly twenty million Euro-worth of cash, diamonds and some other exotic materials, such as platinum and gold bars, were stolen. No trace of the robbers or the stolen goods had been found.

  Bibi wondered how these expert thieves were getting away so quickly and how they managed to carry away what was, in some cases, considerable weight, especially when gold was taken.

  In one case, two experienced couriers had been attacked as they wheeled a heavy, four wheeled cart with a case containing three gold ingots from one bank’s main offices to a branch directly across the street in the center of Bremen. The thieves intercepted the unarmed duo as they crossed the street, just as they started over the double tram tracks. The robbers took the cart, turned it ninety degrees and pushed it along the tram right-of-way while the dazed couriers stumbled into traffic, blinded by the pepper spray used by the attackers. In a matter of seconds, the robbers and the cart’s cargo disappeared, leaving the cart on the tracks, blocking trams and causing a traffic jam.

  It’s pretty hard, Bibi noted to herself, to quickly flee a robbery scene on foot carrying gold bars. Besides, they cannot be easily fenced anywhere without immediately raising red flags, yet not a single stolen item had been reported found.

  Chapter Seven

  Punished

  “That bolt in your tongue is going to be useful eventually,” said her keeper. “Next time you fuck up you might find yourself hanging by it.”

  The cell was so small that neither of its occupants was able to shift her position or move more than her head slightly. Both women, already intimately familiar with The System’s training methods, were still nonetheless uncomfortable and trying to figure out in their heads why they were being punished. To them, it had seemed like the robbery went off flawlessly. The courier from a Madrid investment firm took the expected two kilometer route from one client’s office and never arrived at his destination. Effie Montero and Shaw Bolívar, experienced courier interceptors from The System’s Spain branch, had smoothly appeared on either side of the male courier, pressed a sharp object into his ribs and guided him into an adjacent alleyway. There, they quickly relived him of his gold-colored aluminum case continuing securities, patted him on the back as if to apologize and then shocked the courier senseless with a taser. Before the courier’s knees crumpled and he fell against the alley’s brick wall, the two thieves vanished.

  It was a typical, perfect hit...or at least Effie and Shaw thought so until they arrived at their rally point where they dropped the case into a trash dumpster and split up, headed for different locations and eventually back to The System’s operations office on the west side of the city. Effie got back first and was summarily told to strip, fitted with a heavy collar, wrist and elbow cuffs, gag-hooded and hustled into a waiting van where she was further restrained with locking clamps on her ankles and above her knees, then hogtied with the ankle clamp united with her cuffed wrists. While she was pondering what had gone wrong, she was joined by her accomplice, Shaw, and they were both driven to another location, carried bodily down three flights of steps into a damp and eerie basement where they were stuffed into the concrete cell, their collars closely linked to rings on the wall and left to consider their error, whatever it was.

  Two days later, the dazed duo was released from their cell, hosed down with icy water and then placed in an interrogation room where they were separately grilled while still in chains and hoods with only the gag removed.

  “Tell me again,” Leon, the chief of security for The System’s Spanish branch said. “Did you know that you were followed and photographed?”

  “No. No, of course not,” Shaw stuttered, still in a daze from lack of
sleep in the cramped cell and only a bit of water every twelve hours.

  “And who knew about your plans?” Leon pressed.

  “No one. If we were followed, it was either someone from the System or the courier was tailed. We checked three or four times before we initiated the action plan.”

  “You saw no one before you got to the initial point?”

  “No. You say we were photographed?”

  “It’s in the newspapers and on the TV,” Leon said. “You are famous and the cops are mega-pissed. Whoever took the pictures sold them to the papers anonymously. You and your partner are finished. You’re going to spend a few months up in the mountains where birds like you end up when you fuck up.”

  The two unfortunate women didn’t see each other again, but their fates were quite similar. Shaw was “packaged for transit,” which was The System’s term for an exceedingly unpleasant restraining arrangement that began with her being hung up naked from two sturdy posts, suspended only by her leather cuffed wrists and having her legs wide spread to the base of each post, about a meter from the floor. Her mouth was stuffed with some vile-tasting rags and then sealed with tape.

  Her tormentors used a solid metal pole, similar to a walking cane, but with a curved, serrated handle and longer extension that was inserted into her ass with the length of the pole running up her back. It was taped in place at neck, above and below her breasts and at the waist to assure that the handle remained in its warm and semi-liquefied vaginal cave. Her bound ankles were released and another cane, this one straight, with a similar serrated, simulated giant cock, was shoved up her cunt until the entire upper portion of the cane disappeared inside. Then her legs were taped together at six different places: just below her now penetrated cunt, at mid thigh, above her knees, below her knees, at mid calf and at her ankles. Shaw whined and cried as her legs were taped so tightly that she was unable to move them even a fraction of an inch.