The Couriers

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Next, they attached spring clamps to her nipples. These had small, sharp teeth that quickly dug deeply into the pink nipple flesh, adding to Shaw’s misery. She noticed that wires dangled for each clamp and wondered what additional horror would come from that accessory.

  Finally, they lowered her from the suspension and taped her arms back behind her, forearms parallel and elbows touching. The tape was wrapped around her upper torso, several layers encompassing her clamped nipples as well.

  As redundant as it was, a long length of heavy rope was then wrapped around her from ankles to neck with appropriate tightening points and knots along the way. The rubber body bag, designed to hug and compress every inch of her tormented skin, was fitted and laced up, with the rubber hood sealing her head except for a small breathing hole at her nose.

  “Relax, Honey,” Leon whispered into the side of the hood bag. “It’ll be a long trip and the hose that we shoved into your sealed mouth will give you enough water now and then to keep you hydrated and alive until you reach your destination. Try not to pee in the bag. It will only make you more uncomfortable.

  “If you are curious about where you’re going,” Leon added. “Think about the stories and videos you’ve seen of the slave camps in Libya and Somalia. I’m sure someone there will find your lovely young body useful for something you won’t enjoy. Your training here was a summer picnic compared to what you’ll soon experience. And, just so you know, your entire fucked-up adventure thus far, as well as your final arrival at your destination, will be on tape for your surviving colleagues at The System to see and enjoy. We want them to know what happens to fuck-ups like you. It will make a fine tutorial.”

  Effie Montero, the other robber, got a somewhat different treatment, mostly because while in training at the company, she had also been regularly servicing one of the directors in a manner that was satisfactory enough to merit her being kept in chains and with double dildoes permanently embedded in her ass and cunt. When she wasn’t giving blowjobs to her director, she was kept in a cage, plugged, branked, gagged and hog-tie chained, suspended above the interrogation center as an example of what can happen to anyone, no matter how well connected, if and when they screw up. Effie slowly became accustomed to the heavy steel belt and its oppressively tight crotch piece holding the double dongs well up inside her. The gags they regularly changed came in several sizes and configurations, but all prevented any sounds other than her occasional whining and sobbing while she contemplated the entertainment she would be forced to provide that evening to as many of her director’s pals as desired an expert blow job from a hog-tied young woman with excellent tits and ass. Normally, she was positioned on a long, narrow table top, strapped down with her head extending over the table’s edge and pulled backward by a chain connected to her head harness. The constant tension between her strained neck and the chain to her elbows was decidedly more unpleasant than the actual task of providing head to several men on any given night.

  Occasionally, Effie wondered what had happened to Shaw, but these thoughts faded over time and in the end, the entire memory of what had occurred before her current internment began faded into a dim and lost experience.

  The Gala Dinner at The House went without a hitch. Lisle’s presence was actually a minute element in the seven hour function that left all in attendance stupefied from the nine courses and accompanying wines. Graf Salmon was pleased and congratulated Chef George many times, insisting that he and his staff parade around the dining room as the guests who were still coherent, loudly applauded and praised the grand meal. Lisle had been brought into the dining room as the main lights dimmed and the candles provided a warm, elegant setting. Kneeling, but seated on a silver saddle mounted on a small motorized cart, surrounded by more than a hundred different wines, Lisle could neither see nor make a sound as her mouth was full with an inflated rubber gag and resealed with an exterior gag pad. The blindfold, studded with rhinestones, and effectively blocking any light or vision, complemented her strict restraints. The studded metal collar had four heavy silver chains which went to each corner of the cart, keeping her upright. Studded metal bands encircled her chest above and below her breasts These bands were attached to silver metal bands that encompassed each breast, constricting the base of the fulsome mounds, forcing them outward and accented by the silver and diamond encrusted clips, elegantly attached to the heavy rings on both nipples. From the bands around her breasts, chains descended to a wide silver tray that was covered with tiny china plates, each with a single, bite sized morsel of some rare and exotic culinary item hand-made by the Chef myself from a recipe he shared with no one. Lisle’s arms were enclosed in a black leather sheath that went down her back and was locked to the rear of the saddle. Her legs are strapped with claves pressed against the back of her thighs and ankles chained to the top of the cart.

  “Make one wrong move and I will fry your ass so badly that you will never be about to use it again,” Salmon told her as she was fitted with her outfit. Two huge dongs, mounted on the saddle, were greased and eased up into their respective portals in Lisle’s spread crotch. Since Lisle had been wearing double impalers most of the time as part of her uniform, these new ass and cunt plugs were neither a surprise nor especially uncomfortable. Lisle’s knees were spread well apart by the saddle and she was strapped to the cart top as well. Kneeling erect was the only thing she could do and the combination corset/posture collar that covered her gagged mouth reinforced the position already guaranteed by the four chains keeping her upright.

  The cart was slowly guided around the table while each guest was served a tiny treat from Lisle’s tray. One circuit of the room was slowly completed while the aperitif wine was served and then, quietly, the cart, Lisle and the accompanying escorts left the room.

  In the pantry, Lisle was removed from the cart, her jeweled bindings were taken and her usual chains and chastity belt with plugs were put back in place.

  “Excellent, my dear. Excellent,” said Graf Salmon as he rushed through the pantry and into the kitchen, checking on the next course and patting Chef George on the back as he passed.

  “Dumb Shit,” the Chef muttered to his number two as they hustled the first course onto plates and out the swinging kitchen door. It was going to be a long and trying night for everyone. Lisle was rewarded by being placed in a bared cage, hooded, gagged and double plugged. No one said another word to her about the dinner and her training would continue the next morning.

  I must have fucked up, Lisle thought as she struggled to find a less uncomfortable position in the cage. Why would they put me here unless I screwed up?

  And that was how she was trained. Always wondering if she had made a mistake, always under the whip, no matter what happened. The cage was no better than being flogged daily or having more piercings added to the many already in her perforated young body. That night, in her cage, the bolt in her tongue was serving a new purpose: it was mated to a thin chain that led to a ring on the bottom of the cage. Only with her hooded nose pressed against the steel floor of the cage was Lisle able to relieve the tension on her tired, bolted tongue that stuck out through a small hole in the double gags. With cuffed wrists pulled up and back to the top of the cage and ankles spread to the back sides, Lisle spent yet another painful night, kissing the cold metal floor of the cage, wondering what she had done wrong this time.

  Chapter Eight

  Dede’s Handiwork

  “How the Hell did you get your elbows chained like that without any help?”

  Bibi was certain, after reading the meager case files, that this series of high-end robberies was the work of skilled and well-informed thieves who would not risk detection or capture if anything, even the smallest detail, seemed wrong or out of place. For example, when the route or actual courier changed at the last moment, they were not, initially, hit. This fact of course encouraged the institutions that still needed couriers on foot to move important documents and valuables around their respective cities to consta
ntly alter the employees used for the delivery and the routes they took. But there were only so many bonded couriers available. In the early months of the robbery series, this technique seemed to work, but lately, the new or substitute couriers on different routes were also waylaid and their high value packages stolen. Dummy cases and packages with alarms and trace devices were either ignored or disabled quickly by the robbers.

  In one case in Munich, a woman veteran bank courier, disguised as a tourist with luggage, carried two large cases, both containing cash and negotiable securities for a very short distance between offices. She was struck in the lift of her own home office building even before she left the premises, relived of all electronic devices, including her cell phone, PDA and GPS, plus, of course, both cases. She was then unceremoniously dumped, unharmed, on a vacant lower floor of the building. The robbers used duct tape to secure her hands and feet and silence her, but also intentionally left a small box cutter knife on the far side of the room, which they pointed out to the courier as a means to release herself after they left. By the time she was able get free and find a way back to her office, the thieves were long gone. Her electronic tracer devices were eventually discovered attached to an exterior elevator on a building under construction a few blocks from the site of the robbery. The courier was certain that her two assailants were young women and was even able to identify the perfume one was wearing. With evidence being so limited, the Munich and Bavarian state police canvassed every known outlet for this perfume, which wasn’t especially rare or expensive and came up with little more than thousands of women who purchased the product over several years.

  The knowledge, skill and technique of the robbers baffled police. Furthermore, the robberies took place in several cities at different times and dates, signifying to Bibi, although the cops seemed reluctant to conclude this, that the gang was country-wide, probably international in scope and that these hits in Germany were just a part of a more global effort. Research showed Bibi to be right in that she found similar events in other cities as far away as Johannesburg, South Africa and Malmo, Sweden. Among the common elements in each robbery as the fact that thus far none of the traceable items had been fenced or sold. The cash was a different story but if it was moved or changed hands, no records of the transactions were apparent. A second element, equally baffling, was the immediate disappearance of the robbers, to the degree where they seemed to evaporate instantly after perpetrating the crimes. Bibi noted one additional, unusual fact: not one of the victims ever reported hearing a word from their abductors. Apparently, the robbers never, ever uttered a word or a verbal sound. When there was a need to communicate, as when they wanted to let the courier know she could free herself with the knife left behind, it was pantomimed. No words were spoken, ever. There was one other aspect that law enforcement found unique: descriptions of the robbers were consistently inconsistent. Some victims swore that they were held up by brawny, tall somewhat feminine individuals, while others testified, even under hypnosis, that the robbers were slight, short and smelled like freshly bathed and shampooed young women. There was no accurate similarity of perpetrators from one robbery to the next. Bibi’s conclusion: this was a well-trained gang who perhaps never used the same people twice for a hold-up.

  Bibi worked for nearly three hours and heard very little from Dede. At about 2300 hours, she got up and walked to the guest bedroom, knocked lightly on the door and slowly entered so as not to surprise Dede, who was, Bibi quickly saw, naked and happily well chained and cuffed. She lay on her belly on the carpeted floor at the foot of the queen-sized bed, her head swathed in the multiple straps of a harsh harness gag/blindfold combination, wrists and elbows cuffed and chained, a chain locked around her waist, ankles chained and locked with a huge padlock that Bibi realized she didn’t even know she had, and a stringent hog-tie between ankles and wrists joined to her waist.

  The awesome hog tie was complimented by two additional features, both of which Bibi had to admire in terms of Dede’s ability to tolerate the obvious discomfort and her creative talent to get herself into such an onerous position: Dede had braided her long, blond hair into a single length, finishing it off with a metal ring at the end. Even though her chained arms and wrists were drawn back tightly and elbows cuffed together, (how this had been accomplished was one of Bibi’s questions), the braid was drawn back and connected to Dede’s closely shackled ankles, placing her body in a backward bent bow with very little slack. The second aspect that intrigued Bibi was the half dozen metal clips fastened on and around each rigidly extended nipple on Dede’s outthrust chest. There were, by Bibi’s quick count, fourteen of them and they must have hurt a great deal. One each per hard, extended nipple and six more around the periphery of the nips.

  Bibi surveyed the woman’s craft work and applauded lightly while Dede gurgled into the gag, sounding pleased with herself at completing the self-incapacitating situation without any help.

  “So,” said Bibi sitting down on the bed and poking her voluntary captive with a bare toe. “Can you get loose? How does it feel? You want release?”

  “Nahhhh,” mumbled Dede, shaking her head vigorously from side to side.

  “Need anything? Bet your tits are killing you? You put them right over the rings. Bet that hurts. Nasty little clips. You find them in the dresser drawer?”

  “Nahhh, ooooo.”

  “Good. Then you stay on for another hour or two and I’ll finish up. Get loose if you can. No fair using the remote. Think about how you want to spend the night. I’m a light sleeper and I don’t want you thrashing about at two in the morning and waking me up. And...Miss Cann, I am going to take those nipple clips off because too long in that situation can do some tissue damage and I personally know that for a fact.” Bibi bent and slowly expanded the evil metal clips and removed them one by one from their imbedded capture of Dede’s twin chest turrets.

  “Ahhhh.” Dede hummed, as each clip came away. It had to hurt, but she seemed to be reacting more to the loss of these torments rather than commenting on the associated discomfort.

  “I’ll check on you later and see if you need some additional stimulation before we turn in. But, just for the record, how the Hell did you manage to get your elbows locked together without any help? I will want a detailed answer when you are released.”

  Dede gurgled and chuckled to herself.

  “Have you put anything inside you body?” Bibi asked.

  Dede shook her head slightly.

  “Maybe some vibrator time? Or a nice inflatable butt plug to keep you company all night. Check in the side pockets of the duffle if you want. There’s even spare batteries in there. By the way, I have to ask. How did you three get loose after being chained to the ceiling of the dorm room? It’s a cool story, but I have to know how you escaped.”

  Dede laughed. “Someone came by early the next day, after we’d been hanging there for about six hours or more, unlocked Sandy or Susan, I don’t know which, and they finally got me down. I had some coffee with them, borrowed some clothes, went back to my dorm and entertained myself for the next twenty four hours, trying to relive those three days with S&S.”

  “Okay. Great story. Now, as for tonight, we aren’t going to get into anything that heavy,” Bibi said, shaking her finger at Dede. “For safety, you will sleep on the floor next to my bed, so it might be a good idea to get out of that position and into something more comfortable before bed time. Check you later.” Bibi left the room but left the door open.

  Tough little thing, Bibi thought. And, as I expected, a great body too. But I’ll bet she isn’t getting loose without some help. Gees, what a great job she did on herself. I really must see how she locked her elbows that way. Too damned professional! Guess we need to up the ante a bit. I wonder if she’s ever been fucked by a machine?

  Chapter Nine

  Twitch

  “Relax. You won’t need the grenade. If I wanted to off you,

  the kids in the hall would have done it.”

/>   The street where Twitch Orforres had her business, office and warehouse was in a decent enough part of the city. It was also convenient to the autobahn and airports. Still, there was always some low life hanging around out in front and Bibi knew this was part of Orforres’ security system. So she made a slow circuit around the building, noting the bright yellow Lamborghini parked in the garage at the rear entry. She also saw the requisite, goofy-looking security wench lounging just inside the partly open door, then rode on and parked her bike a block away, set the alarm, locked it to a street lamp stanchion and walked a circuitous route to the three-story building that housed Twitch Orforres Enterprises, TOE. The signage at the front entrance was minimal and Bibi pressed the brass buzzer for entry.

  “Who?” a tinny voice barked from the speaker next to the button.

  “Lynx,” Bibi barked back.

  “What?”

  “Tell Twitch its Bibi Lynx...and open the fuckin’ door before I use a bit of C4 on it.”

  The door lock buzzed and Bibi entered the brightly lit foyer, walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass window with a metal speaking panel facing the door and glared at Forcep, who sat at a tiny metal desk behind the glass. The red-headed, (this week), tattooed receptionist wore a purple sleeveless T shirt with a torn neckline that descended nearly to her waist and did nothing to hide a pair of excellent breasts struggling to display themselves in the torn gap of the shirt. Plugged into both ears that featured a pair of eight-inch diameter silver hoops was a pair of seemingly permanent ear buds. Forcep seemed to be doing some sort of in-place dance that involved jiggling her large, unbridled tits to some music only she could hear. The tits bobbed and bounced, seeming to attempt unsuccessfully to climb out of the shirt. Bibi noted the outline of small nipple rings and wondered if Forcep was actually a kink or just playing the role. The woman’s long, skinny, but well-shaped legs, emerged from below the tight hem of a micro skirt that just barely covered her ass. Her legs were demurely crossed but displayed a pair of ink-black tights with the requisite torn knees.