Bibi guided her new slave into the walk-in closet and chained her to two convenient eye bolts mounted on the wall and floor. Dede found herself kneeling with her back to the closet wall, wrists and elbows cuffed, her arms chained behind her and hoisted up to the bolt. She now wore a heavy metal collar over the corset collar. This was short-chained to the second bolt on the floor in front of her, forcing her head to within six inches of the carpeted floor. When she groaned at the onerous position, Bibi enhanced it further with a short connecting chain between her wrists and a ring on the wall, higher up and well out of her reach. Then, she unlocked Dede’s ankle shackles and spread her legs well apart, inserted a spreader bar between the ankles and locked each ankle cuff to rings on the floor as well. Dede quickly realized that she was bound nearly motionless. Nothing seemed movable. This was her wildest fantasy and as she settled her breathing, she began to relax and let the strict restriction take over.
“This is it for the rest of the night, Dede,” Bibi offered as she pulled the woman’s long hair back and quickly placed a rubber band around it, forming a rough ponytail.
“Enjoy. I’ll check on you in about four hours, or when I wake up. By the way, Sweetheart, there’s one other little gadget that you may have seen when you were prowling around in here earlier. You probably were too excited to notice the small blanket-covered pile behind you, but in a minute, you’ll see what it is for. Hope you like it. I do.”
Gagged, blind and pinioned in the corset collar, Dede pondered Bibi’s words and then felt the slight coldness of something touching her outer lips. She started, then moaned when the thing was forced up and into her pussy, spreading the already spread and leaking lips to the point where the girl quickly realized that she was being penetrated by some sort of dildoe.
“Like that?” Bibi crooned into the girl’s leather covered ear.
Dede moaned and struggled to press her already throbbing sex against the reluctant invader.
“Take is slow, Honey. You’ve got the rest of the night,” Bibi said, pushing the stiff, greasy object an inch or so deeper while Dede surged against her bonds and tried to get more of the thing up and inside. Bibi pressed harder and the fat serrated thing moved a bit deeper.
“That’s it, Dede,” Bibi said with a chuckle. “Enjoy.”
“Ahhhh. Gnooo,” Dede shouted into the double gags. But then she felt the thing in her cunt jump and then press deeper, faster than she expected. It went all the way in until Dede felt the hard base of the dong slap against the narrow sides of her cunt lips, then begin to withdraw. The in and out action sped up slightly and Dede slowly realized that’s she was being plumbed by some sort of fucking machine, the head of which was already slowly mining her inner cave and the vibrations of the motor sending shivers up and down her spine.
Oh my God, Dede thought. She didn’t tell me about this until she got me all trussed up like a stuffed chicken and then this was the final chapter. I wonder how long....how much...of this...thing...I can stand. Here’s it comes, here I come...oh my God, oh, oh, oh......
“Just to bring you up to date, Miss Dede,’ Bibi said hours later. “The American Squaw’s Bridle is something that sooner or later you will get to try out. Made from rawhide, it has one band that circles your head just above your eyes and ears and is knotted tight behind your head. The second band, and sometimes there are multiple bands there, goes through your mouth, pulls your cheeks back and can be downright uncomfortable because, if properly applied, you won’t be able to close your jaws. In extreme cases one band captures your tongue in a tight little loop. It too gets knotted at the same place behind your head. The third band goes around your neck and meets the other bands at the same knots in back. For more entertainment, the entire bridle is hitched to a post or wall behind you. Better yet, a length of rope or rawhide is pulled down from the neck knots and fastened to your bound hands which are pulled up high on your back. Another option is to connect the bridle to your feet. Handy for a good hog tie. In either case, it is not pleasant. So keep this in mind when you feel cocky.”
Dede gurgled through the gag, tried to toss her head and reaffirmed once again that the combination of corset collar chained to the floor and arms hoisted behind her back made any motion nearly impossible. She was tired of the hours of automated fucking with short recovery breaks, but also delighted with the position. The electric machine had brought about feelings and physical responses she never even thought existed. She had wondered earlier in the session why Bibi hadn’t used the vibrators that she had found in the pack when she was contemplating exactly how to chain herself up.
Now I know why, Dede thought.
Thirty minutes later, Bibi returned.
“Okay, it’s time to get you out of that rig, point your ass at the showers and for me to get ready to go visit my favorite baffled bankers and see if we can solve this crime mystery,” Bibi said as she helped the girl out of the multiple chains and cuffs, removing the well used, nearly hot, plastic dildoe from the rod of the fucking machine and wrapping it up for later sterilization and perhaps further use.
She is really well wired for this stuff, Bib thought. Wonder how long that balloon will last.
Bibi turned off the lights in the apartment, closed the closet door, locked it as an extra security move and went to work wondering, as she often did, how she got into these situations.
Chapter Fourteen
Cruel Suspension
“Nod or whimper if you want to go higher,” Karine said with a smile that Marianne, her eyes squeezed shut, failed to see.
Marianne’s disappearance was soon mostly forgotten. It simply wasn’t a top priority with the police. After all, she was an adult and was also, as the police pointed out during their brief investigation, entitled to her privacy if she wanted to disappear. Granted a 30-day holiday from her work, she phoned her office a few days after she left and then emailed a formal resignation, saying only that she had “other commitments.” Her business associates, especially the men, were sorry to hear that Marianne was gone, probably for good, and they jointly mourned the loss of this lovely young associate with the big boobs, finely sculptured ass and long legs. Her bosses were equally sorry to lose her, but had no trouble finding a replacement, another young woman from a local agency who was anxious to get the position in the financial organization’s expense department where her primary duties were reviewing expense vouchers for employees who traveled for the bank. She also was adept at arranging transportation for the executives and this was a skill that the company valued, once they discovered that she was very adroit at finding last minute, economical transport.
So, after a few weeks, Marianne was forgotten by everyone but a few friends, mostly men who wanted to sleep with her and perhaps settle the running debate about the authenticity of her large breasts.
In the days that followed her abduction, Karine and Nicholas however, were able to verify easily that Marianne’s tits were in fact, quite real and satisfactorily resilient. This quality was demonstrated in another inevitable session that Marianne had known was going to take place sooner or later. After her eight hours of near suspension by tits, nose and cunt, she thought this new exercise might be more pleasant. When Karine fitted the double metal bands around the base of Marianne’s breasts, Marianne noted that each cuff had three light chains of different lengths attached to them. The adjustable bands, which were much like large, industrial hose clamps, were lightly padded with soft leather lining and could be made smaller or larger as the situation required. The edges were beveled and smooth so that they were not sharp.
Marianne stood quivering once again in the small dungeon room with her arms prayer-crossed behind her back and the same massive pear still stretching her dry mouth. Karine opened first one banded circle and then the other, placing the bands on Marianne’s chest with the breasts extended through the circle of steel and leather. Then the bands were tightened slightly using a simple Allen key until the base of the breast contracted and the remaining f
lesh was shiny and grossly stretched outward, away from the girl’s chest. Karine then attached the shortest chain from each cuff in the cleavage between the now confined and compressed mammaries. The longer lengths rose upwards and were locked to the D rings on the front of Marianne’s collar. The last set of chains passed around her back and locked together as a final retaining band, just as the chest band on a bra would have, only these chains were locked in place tightly enough so that they dug into Marianne’s torso and were not going to ride up or down as the bra might.
Karine quietly confided to Marianne that she too had experienced the same metal bra-like bands now being used on the girl’s enormous chest and that she found them annoying, as she put it, but endurable. As the clamps tightened, Marianne fidgeted, shuffling her feet, rubbing her legs together and trying to find a way to lessen the hurt to her prized and perfect tits.
“Keep that up and I’ll have to chain you down to the floor while I finish this,” Karine confided. “We’re nearly done.”
Marianne, with great self-control, stopped bouncing around and instead tried to savor the tension mounting in her chest as the overhead winch whined and the slack in the suspension chain decreased until it was rigid between the winch and the breast clamps.
“What I do not want here,” Karine said, as she slowly increased the chain’s tension, “is for your tits to slip out of the circle clamps. That, I can guarantee from personal experience, is most unpleasant and would just mean that we put them back in there, only clamped even tighter.”
The chain became a rigid steel bar of links connecting tits to winch. Still, the motor ground slowly, increasing the tension and soon, inevitably, once her chest flesh stretched as much as it could, Marianne’s toes left the floor and she hung, her head thrown back, motionless, suspended a few inches above the stone floor.
“Nod or whimper if you want to go higher,” Karine said with a smile that Marianne, her eyes squeezed shut, failed to see.
Marianne, after a second, slowly nodded her head, punctuating the nod with a bit of a high pitched scream coming from her throat, around the pear gag and out into the cold, dungeon air. The winch whined as well. The girl’s shackled feet rose further off the floor. Her breasts stretched upward, the metal clamps embracing the compressed tissue near the chest wall, her nipples shrunken into the squeezed upper portions of each breast. Finally, with Marianne’s feet about a meter off the floor, the lifting stopped.
Time stopped. Marianne froze, her chained hands tapped nervously on her back, her mouth jammed wide open, still full of the expanded pear gag, and her poor tits stretched out and aimed like twin howitzers at the vaulted roof of the room.
“Enjoy,” said Karine, the sarcasm evident in her voice. “If you seem to be getting bored, there’s always that lovely expanding flower bud I can shove back up your ass.”
She took one vicious swing with the cat, creasing Marianne’s bottom with all nine oiled strips of hurtful leather, turned off the lights and left.
Marianne, who was still convinced that she was being trained and abused by these people for future use as a sex and bondage slave, had not even considered that her eventual fate was as a thief. It would be a few more weeks before that realization dawned on her and by then, she would be so deep in the “carrot and stick” system of torture and reward that escape would be out of the question and relief would lie in endurance and adaptation to what was being done to her mind and her body.
Chapter Fifteen
Quick Hit – Amsterdam
“I don’t know where I am. I can hear trains but there is no light.”
Amsterdam police were suitably baffled by the blatantly brazen robbery of a diamond merchant’s courier in broad daylight in the central station. A small diamond brokerage firm operating under the non-descript name of Elliton International, needed to transport a single A letter sized envelope containing about a half million Euros worth of finished diamonds to a jeweler in Rotterdam. As was their long-term policy, they gave the small package to a bonded and licensed courier who walked to the Central Station to get a train for the short, forty-minute ride to Rotterdam where he would then take a taxi to the jeweler’s office. As he walked quickly along the route to the station, the courier thought he noted a man in black dart behind a trash container in front of the new pancake shop. He considered the possibility that he was being followed but was distracted by the loud blast of a diesel truck’s horn as he started to cross the narrow street entrance next to the pancake shop.
Elliton’s senior director got a phone call from the courier at 10:03 that morning. Barely coherent, the courier whispered into the phone that he had been robbed and was now somewhere in the station building, but that the robbers had used his security handcuff to lock him to a pipe in a dark room somewhere in the station.
“I don’t know where I am,” he whimpered. “I can hear trains but there is no light. They took only the one envelope, cuffed me, left my phone with me and were gone,” he babbled.
“How many were there? Did they have guns?” the director said, pressing the emergency button under his desk that alerted his security manager who automatically phoned the police.
“I, I don’t know. They just put a rope or wire around my neck from behind, pushed me through a door way, pulled my hat down over my eyes and took me here. I was disoriented and it all happened so fast.”
“Are you injured,” the director asked in a solicitous tone, hoping that the police would get to the station quickly and find his man, if not the stolen, but insured jewels.
In the next few hours, the Amsterdam cops, following protocol, alerted Europol which in turn alerted the Berlin special squad assigned to these cases. The squad’s chief inspector called Bibi.
“Here we go again,” Chief Inspector Gregory Casalo, recently promoted, said to himself as he called Bibi’s private number. He was one of several officers who had suggested that Bibi and Groff be brought in on the case and now he was all too happy to pass the latest Amsterdam events on to the private female investigators because he knew that this sort of work usually got bogged down in the law enforcement bureaucracy for lack of manpower, if not for other political reasons.
By evening, Bibi and Jean Groff were in Amsterdam, interviewing the hapless courier and the getting a detailed tour of the massive Central Station with the rail cops.
“Our perps knew the station better than we do,” said the red-bereted Dutch Rail police sergeant as he patiently walked Bibi and Jean through what they presumed to be the short path taken by the courier and his abductors. (Like many European cops, this man had adopted some English terms favored by American TV police shows).
“We think the entire incident took about three or four minutes. They walked up behind him, slipped a garrote around his neck and pulled his cap down over his eyes. If anyone saw this, they haven’t come forward...yet,” the cop said, taking a sudden left turn and going through an old wooden door that looked as though it was barred, but which opened easily.
“They knew about this entrance that our people use for surveillance and they knew about the storage room here,” he pointed to a large, windowless room off the entry. “They were good. They showed no weapons. They were fast and very well informed. We have zero leads as of tonight, except that we think they probably escaped on one of the ferries. The incident took place just about four minutes before the west bound ferry left the dock.”
“Could they have made it?” Bibi asked. “The ferry docks are on the north end, right. That’s quite a hike.”
“We tested the theory,” said the cop. “We had two different men and then on woman try it and the timing was very close, but they could have made it. Even if they missed the Westbound, they could have shifted and taken the Eastbound a few minutes later. People are always rushing for the boats, so no one would have cared if they saw two women dashing for the dock.”
“Thanks, Sergeant,’ said Jean. “That at least is the best and most plausible theory we have on how these guys get a
way.”
“Is this area under video surveillance,” Groff asked, looking around the bare room.
“No, because it’s under construction and the cables have been removed,” the cop said.
“Plenty of escape routes,” Bibi added,
“Yes. Unfortunately. They could have entered and exited in any of a dozen directions.”
“Are you going to hold the courier?’ Bibi asked.
“The company’s security people have talked with him and sent him to the clinic for medical check-up and then he was going home. They’re being fully cooperative.”
“Anything else?” Bibi asked.
“One thing,” the police sergeant added. “Might mean nothing, but I noticed this has come up before in other similar cases.”
“What?” Groff pressed.
“Well, we asked him if he could identify the thieves and he was very certain that they were young women. And more specifically, not Dutch.”
“Really?” said Bibi. “How did he determine that?”
“He’s a young man, single, apparently with plenty of girl friends. He said these two were very fit, taller than most women he knows and...get this...smelled like foreigners.”
“How interesting. Smelled like foreigners. How do foreigners smell?” Groff asked, laughing a bit at the thought that she and Bibi probably didn’t smell Dutch either.
“He said that they had food aromas on their clothes and breath. But that it didn’t smell like Dutch cooking, whatever that means.”
Chapter Sixteen
Conference
“The public is cheering these thieves onward. The media has painted them as some kind of heroes, robbing from the rich banks and getting away with it.”
“It's pretty clear that the only way we are going to catch these women, if they really are women, is to trap them into an ambush that they haven’t been warned about,” Jean Groff offered to the group seated around the polished oak meeting table in Doctor Ernst von Holt’s Heidelberg office.
The Couriers Page 11
