Artwork

Artwork

Chapter One - The Meeting

If such a thing were possible, Madame Elsa Von Kepp would stink of money.

Noted the pot at the expense of the kettle, reflected Mistress Catelyn Barathe
wryly as she walked down a sweeping staircase within her multi-million dollar
summer mansion.

Her guest had come slightly overdressed for the occasion. A floor-length mink
fur coat was precariously draped over her shoulders to reveal an exclusive
two-piece Ralph Lauren suit. Consisting of a white double-breasted jacket and
matching calf length pencil skirt complete with hip revealing split, the suit
would easily have cost Von Kepp upwards of twenty thousand. A fair price given
that Ralph had reportedly allowed only a dozen of the design to be made.

Von Kepp had also chosen a matching white high collared shirt to wear, buttoned
right to the throat, the cuffs - complete with diamond links - visible at her
wrists. A tightly knotted, white and black polka-dotted silk necktie was pressed
against the center of her collar. It protruded ever so slightly as a result of
the gold tie-pin attached to her shirt right beneath the knot, ensuring that it
would not work its way loose in what Catelyn was sure the Madame would consider
to be an unsightly manner. Her feet sported a pair of $5000 DKNY four inch black
heels; while a jaunty black beret perched precariously on a full head of long
blonde hair that she today wore down over her shoulders. Black, calf-skin gloves
covered her hands to the cuffs of her shirt, and the right gripped a long
tapered cigarillo holder that would not have been complete without a lighted
cigarillo.

The woman was most definitely attractive. A heart shaped face framed a button
nose, bright green eyes and incredibly full lips that were coated dark red.
Beautiful pale skin was marred only by dark eye shadow and a touch of rouge to
brighten her cheeks. Despite the fur coat and white suit, Catelyn could discern
that Von Kepp had an atypical svelte figure not normally associated with old
money and a lifetime of leisure. Although she looked no older than her early
twenties, Catelyn knew that the woman was approaching thirty, and very much
enjoyed being told how young she looked.

Catelyn was of an age with Madame Von Kepp and sported a similar head of long
blonde (though curly) hair. It was there, however, that their similarities
ended. Where Von Kepp wore white, Catelyn had chosen to cover her slim six foot
frame in basic black. A long leather jacket that swept past her knees was belted
at her waist, allowing only a glimpse of an off white blouse, open at the
collar. A knee length leather skirt was also hidden beneath the jacket, but
clearly visible were the patented leather boots that covered her feet and calves
like a snug second skin. Catelyn was thinner in the face than Von Kepp, with
sparkling blue eyes and perfectly etched cheek bones. Her skin was slightly
darker - testament to the more temperate climate she had lived her life in - her
lips a trifle thinner, and her nose distinctly more aquiline.

Aside from Von Kepp and Catelyn, three other people stood in the grand reception
foyer. Two were the German's burly bodyguards, notable only for the fact that
their holsters made barely a bulge in the lining of their impeccably tailored
suits. The other was a young Spanish girl dressed in a French maid's uniform
comprising of a no-sleeved black satin blouse and very short skirt, frilly white
apron, traditional cap, long black gloves, seamed stockings and visible
suspenders.  The Spanish girl stood poised on heavy duty five inch heels, head
down, eyes never wavering from the pointed tips of her shoes.

Catelyn allowed herself a slight approving nod. Exactly as trained.

Von Keep deliberately stood half turned away from Catelyn as she completed her
descent of the staircase, booted heels ringing on the marble steps.  She had
been expecting that. Young though she may be, Von Kepp had been raised in
Germany as a virtual aristocrat and was accustomed to being treated like one.

"Madame Von Kepp, I'm so pleased you accepted my invitation," said Catelyn as
she half-curtsied to her guest. "I was not at all sure you would."

The calculated gesture of respect worked. Von Kepp turned to face Catelyn
squarely, "It is my pleasure, Catelyn Barathe. You honor me by asking me into
your magnificent home." The Madame spoke with an accent, but one that was
surprisingly clear given the small amount of time she had spent in the States.

"Quite the contrary, Madame. It is you who honor me." Von Kepp smiled at that
and inclined her head in a gesture that indicated Catelyn had the right of it.
"Could I interest you in a glass of Chardonnay before the meal?"

Von Kepp was just opening her mouth to speak when the young maid interrupted
with: "I will have the drinks poured and set in the library, Mistress."

Von Kepps's mouth slammed shut and her eyes widened in disbelief. Catelyn winced
internally. Damn it. She was doing so well ...

"You are well aware of the rules in this house, slave. And you have just
violated one of the most important. Never speak unless directed to by your
betters." The maid at least had the good grace to redden at Catelyn's rebuke,
but she knew that would never be enough for someone like Von Kepp.

"Remove your panties, slave."

The Spanish girl immediately did as she was ordered, reaching down to hike up
her skirt, grip the black satin thong that was riding high on her hips, and then
pull it down so that it was caught around her ankles. Before she bent to
disentangle the underwear from her high heels, Catelyn caught a glimpse of a
neatly kept dark pubic patch shaved in a thin strip. When the girl stood up, she
smoothed the skirt of her uniform back in place and waited expectantly.

Catelyn frowned at her. "That is not correct procedure. What are you waiting
for? Wipe yourself with your panties and put them in your mouth."

The girl looked like she was about to cry, but complied without verbal
complaint. Once again, she hiked her skirt up, before this time spreading her
labia with one hand and rubbing the satiny underwear between her split lips with
the other. A moment later, the skirt was back in place, and the uniformed girl
was stuffing her own underwear into her mouth. She only stopped when the
material was packed behind her teeth and she could close her lips completely.

"Good." Out of the corner of her eye, Catelyn saw Von Kepp nodding approvingly.
"Now run and fetch the rest of your gag. Report back to me here within thirty
seconds."

The maid scampered away on her high heels, exiting the room by a door leading
into the slave quarters of the house. Catelyn began explaining this to Von Kepp,
who listened without comment, but did not have to stall for long as the maid was
back within her allotted time. She handed a roll of four inch wide medical tape
and a felt tipped pen to Catelyn, who immediately tore a strip of the former
away from the roll. She beckoned the girl closer and pressed the tape firmly
across her lips, covering her mouth from nose to chin. After smoothing the tape
down to be sure it remained in place, Catelyn took the pen and wrote "Chair -
L1" across the white tape.

"Now relief Madame Von Kepp and myself of our coats. Then take yourself to the
dining room and see Mistress Evelyn. She will administer your punishment."

The girl scooped up the roll of tape and the pen and quietly went about her
orders. Von Kepp removed her gloves and handed them and her cigarillo to one of
her guards, while the maid this time exited through the main set of double doors
leading off the foyer.

"Please do forgive me, Madam Von Kepp. Good help is so hard to find these days.
That girl had been working hard enough that I rewarded her with the privilege of
movement and an unfettered mouth." She sighed, somewhat theatrically. "It's an
incentive scheme. I suppose I'm too easy on them, really."

"Yes, I quite agree," said Von Kepp with a sniff. "All of my slaves have been
kidnapped, trained and sold to me through various distributors. But I never
allow them the luxury of no restrictions.  Losing one could cost me my whole
empire. And that's not a risk I'm prepared to take." She smiled thinly. "I'd
have thought you would have similar concerns."

"That Chardonnay?" Catelyn asked to avoid the issue. Von Kepp raised an eyebrow
as if recognizing the tactic, but nevertheless nodded her consent. Catelyn
turned on her booted heel and led the way through the double doors that the maid
had exited through. Von Kepp followed;  the security detail fell in behind her.

They walked along a plush carpeted corridor, closed oaken doors to the left,
large picture windows allowing a view of the mansion's lavish grounds to the
right. Catelyn stopped at the first open door. "Perhaps your men could wait
here, Madame Von Kepp?"

The Madame nodded to her guards, who took up a position on either side of the
door. Catelyn motioned for her guest to precede her into the room and then
closed the heavy door behind them.

It took a few moments for Catelyn's eyes to become accustomed to the dimmer
light of the mansion's library.  Her focus, however, was on Von Kepp's face -
the way her mouth opened slightly and then closed again; the manner in which her
eyes wrinkled as she squinted to be sure she was seeing what her eyes were
registering.

The library in and of itself was unremarkable. Three walls covered by bookcases
that stretched right to the very top of the high ceiling room. Books completely
filled all of the shelves; each bound in leather, all first editions. Although
Von Kepp had not turned to see the wall behind her, she would have found it
resplendent with portraits of men and women in garb from the eighteenth through
to the nineteenth century. Reportedly, they were Catelyn's ancestors.

She smiled at that thought, wondering what they would make of the bizarre
tableau in front of them.

"I do trust everything is to your satisfaction, Madam?" inquired Catelyn as
innocently as possible, fighting to hold back the smile that was creeping out
from the corners of her lips.

Von Kepp managed half a nod, but never turned away from the furniture in front
of her.

The library was well stocked with a huge leather couch that could easily seat
six people. But it was the only piece of "normal" furniture in the room. In
front of it, a completely naked slave knelt on the floor, her lower arms bent
against her upper arms and taped together with black bondage tape to form limbs
that were only half as long as they ought to have been. Her weight rested on her
bent elbows in what Catelyn had been assured was quite the painful position. The
slave's legs were bent double and taped in a similar manner so that she was
balanced precariously on the balls of her knees. On her back, a glass table top
rested, beautifully etched with an intricate design around its edges. The weight
of the table top was plainly apparent by the look of utter misery on the slave's
face. But she was incapable of complaining about her position as her mouth was
distended around a bulbous rubber bladder that filled her entire oral cavity.
The lead attached to the bulb appeared between her lips and ended in a
compressible air pump that rested on the floor between her bound arms.

Arranged around the makeshift table and complementing the leather couch were
three slave "chairs".  All were dressed in matching skin tight latex cat suits.
Their arms were encased in latex gloves that stretched past their elbows, and
their feet were held within knee-high lace-up boots. Each chair was formed by
bending the slave forward so that her forehead rested against her knees and was
then bound in that position with thin leather straps that were wrapped around
the knees and buckled behind the neck. She was then laid on her back. Thicker
straps were used to join thigh and torso, as well as lower buttocks and back.
Gloved arms were, of course, rendered useless by more straps at the wrists and
elbows, before the joined limbs were slid into a steel sheath that served as an
anchor point between the wheeled legs of the chair and the small metal brace
upon which the slave's back "rested". The slave's lower legs formed the backrest
of the chair, in that the slave held them perpendicular to the rest of her
torso. Ankles were strapped together, but otherwise the slave was expected to
hold her legs in that position - or risk the wrath of her Mistress. Each slave's
face was hidden beneath a leather discipline hood, complete with attached
blindfold and mouth piece.

There was more. The standing lamp was actually a standing woman, dressed in a
silver cat suit, and bound ramrod straight to a steel backrest. Protruding from
her leather gag that buckled over her lips was a lit globe, its light diffused
by the lampshade nestled on the crown of the slave's head. The slight movements
of the large leather footstool in front of the couch could only mean that yet
another slavegirl was packed up and sealed inside; while the flower arrangement
in the corner consisted of a large pot from which a woman's head protruded. Her
head was bent back so that her ring gagged mouth could hold the stems of a dozen
brightly colored flowers.

Catelyn stepped in front of Von Kepp and led the way over to the sitting area.
The German aristocrat followed, her hand stroking the silk of her tie, her eyes
darting from one bound slavegirl to another.  She sat on one of the girl-chairs
- eliciting the quietest of "Oommmph"s - while Catelyn opted for the comfort of
the more conventional couch. After a moment's thought, she raised her booted
heels and placed them on the squirming foot rest.

"I must say, Mistress Catelyn, I am more than slightly impressed." Catelyn did
not fail to notice Von Kepp's use of her honorific title. "Are all of your
slaves kept as furniture?"

"Furniture?" Catelyn frowned. "Why, Madame Von Kepp, surely you recognize art
when you see it? I have spent the last ten years investing my family's fortune
so as to be able to create the ultimate safe-house in which I could act out my
every desire with impunity." She set her feet back down on the floor and leant
toward her guest. "And my desires exclusively involve the sculpting of female
flesh. The manipulation of consenting or non-consenting women - it makes no
difference to me - into my own personal works of art. What you see you in this
room today may have some functional implications, but I assure you they are
artworks nevertheless. And but a part of my overall collection."

Von Kepp sucked in a quick breath. "You must show me the others."

"Must I?" Catelyn smiled widely and leant back on the couch. She glanced toward
a small side door, which on cue, opened to admit another woman garbed in a
French maid's uniform. She was dark of hair and light of skin, and her uniform
was sporting one major difference to that worn by the young Spanish girl.
Specifically, the slave's blouse was open to her waist, revealing large cream
colored breasts that were only marred by the alligator clips attached to her
nipples.   Matching chains descended from the clips and were joined around a
D-ring on front of the serving tray held before her. "Held", however, was not an
overly accurate word in that the maid's gloved arms were well bound behind her
back. Instead, it was only the nipple clips and the additional strap ascending
from the sides of the tray to disappear behind the maid's high leather collar
that was holding the two glasses of Chardonnay upright. Not surprisingly, given
the way the maid's nipples were being distended, her expression around the black
ball gag buckled excruciatingly tightly behind her teeth was not one of
enjoyment.

Catelyn watched closely as Von Kepp reached out to take the offered drink and
"accidentally" brushed the maid's clipped nipple. How quickly the balance of
power had shifted ... Less than five minutes ago, Catelyn had been kow-towing to
her guest. Now, the leather boot was firmly on the other foot.

In other words, the hook was baited. It was time to catch her fish.

"I would very much like to show you some of my other pieces, Madame. But I'm
afraid I have a favor to ask of you."

"Friends ask favors of one another, Mistress. Acquaintances have yet to earn
that privilege."

Catelyn took the second glass from the maid's serving tray, and waited for her
to hobble away on five inch heels. "I know that I have your interest, so let me
speak candidly. You, Madame Von Kepp, have the finest reputation of all slave
trainers in the Western world. I would like to learn from you, see you in
action, observe your techniques for myself. As you mentioned before, one unruly
slave can ruin everything for either one of us - and I want that to happen no
more than you.

"You may have wondered why you have seen only slaves and no staff since
arriving. Well, approximately half of the slaves held here were delivered to me
for discipline and obedience training. Those that have graduated work alongside
my core group of a dozen 'Carers' - as I like to call them - women who share my
peculiar interests, and have almost as much vested in keeping this estate hidden
from the authorities as I. But to keep the graduated slaves in line, I need to
be absolutely sure that I have used naught but the best training methods. And
every enquiry I have made to that end has yielded me your name."

Von Kepp smiled slightly and took another sip of her Chardonnay. She shifted her
weight on the girl-chair, obviously enjoying her position and the discomfort of
the woman bound beneath her. "And what would I get out of such an arrangement?"

"Pieces of my artwork with which to decorate your mansion. Pieces that are not
functional like these, but that I have been working on as personal gift to you."

"Interesting. May I seem them now?" Von Kepp's voice was ever so slightly husky
- despite the half-full glass in her hand.

"And where would be the anticipation be in that?" Catelyn shook her head. "No, I
would like to personally deliver them to your home at your earliest convenience.
Pay you a visit much like you have done for me today. I'll drop off the pieces
and we can make arrangements for when I can begin my observations of your
techniques."

"In that case, Mistress Catelyn Barathe, I would like to formally invite you to
attend me at my home next Sunday afternoon at 3pm."

"Madame Elsa Von Kepp, I would be delighted." Catelyn punctuated her words by
draining the remainder of her glass. Von Kepp mimicked her. "I'm sure this is be
the beginning of a mutually beneficial friendship."

"As am I, Mistress. As am I."

"Please," said Catelyn, standing. "We're friends now. I would very much like for
you to call me Catelyn."

"Very good, Catelyn. And I, of course, am Elsa."

"Shall we adjourn to the dining hall, Elsa? I've had my chefs working since dawn
on this lunch. I have to. Fettered and gagged as they are, they seem to find it
quite the chore to organize themselves as a team."

The two women shared a light laugh as they left the library. Catelyn hoped hers
was not tinged with too recognizable a note of triumph.

*****

A five course lunch was served, although Catelyn noted that Von Kepp ate very
little. She was either too busy playing with her chair - specifically, the
Spanish maid who had earlier made the mistake of speaking in her presence - or
goggling at the other furnishings in the room such as the "Grandmother" clock,
the bound and gagged coat rack, and Catelyn's ultimate design, the living
chandelier.

They chatted amiably, their business for the day concluded. Von Kepp enquired as
to some of the people who had recommended her. Catelyn mock protested that
revealing such information would be a violation of privacy, but eventually
conceded that Holly Bradbury had been her major source. Holly was an expensive
lawyer that both women had used to have charges of kidnapping dismissed before
ever reaching court proceedings.

All too soon, the afternoon came to an end. Von Kepp asked if she could take the
Spanish girl home for the week, promising that she would be impressed at the
change in her, but Catelyn politely refused. The two women reaffirmed their
meeting for the following Sunday, and Von Kepp took her leave, bodyguards in
tow.

As soon as Catelyn had closed the door behind her departing guest, she spun on
her heel and moved quickly back into the dining hall. All of her slaves were in
the process of escaping. Rope, straps and gags littered the floor. Most were
receiving help from suited men - one of whom broke away from the poor girl-chair
he was helping to rush over to Catelyn.

"Katherine, you were brilliant. Von Kepp fell for it completely." A disbelieving
grin was etched across the man's face. "I don't how you did it, but in a week's
time, we're going to have arrested the world's most notorious slaver. And it's
all going to be because of you."

Federal Bureau of Investigation agent Katherine Wytt pulled up one of the few
real chairs in the long hall and sat down wearily. "We're not there yet, Jack.
We won't be until the moment I ratchet that first cuff onto Von Kepp's wrist."
And won't that be ironically appropriate. "Which is assuming I even get that
close."

"You will, you will," busied Jack Hyland, Katherine's superior and agent in
charge of Operation Whitedove. He squatted in front of her. "Katherine, you've
been Mistress Catelyn Barathe for almost eighteen months now. Your background is
impeccable - even the CIA doesn't know you're an undercover agent. There's no
possible way Von Kepp could blow your cover. Everything is taken care of, and in
one more week, you can go home, and be done with all this. For good."

Katherine ran a hand through her hair and blew out a deep breath. She was
totally exhausted. Having to be Catelyn did that to her. In fact, it did a great
number of things to her; things that she would never tell Jack or anyone at the
FBI. "Just see to the other women, Jack. I need a few minutes here."

"Of course, you've earned that and a whole lot more. Look, why don't you take
the night off?  We'll debrief tomorrow when you've had a chance to rest, and
begin planning for Sunday's op." Jack waited for her nod of consent and then
stood. For a moment, he looked as if he was about to say something else, but
then turned and strode off.

After a few minutes, Katherine slowly stood. She walked over to Ramirez - the
young Spanish maid - who was now free and examining the strap marks that marred
her arms and legs. Katherine could also see the deep groves in the corners of
her mouth, testament to how tightly she had been ball-gagged whilst turned into
a chair.

"Listen, Ramirez, I know that wasn't scripted, but I had to do something or Von
Kepp would have known I wasn't the real deal."

Ramirez was a first year agent, fresh out of the Academy. Hyland had hand picked
her earlier in the week to play the role of Catelyn's maid for a day, noting
that she had just the right look that would appeal to Von Kepp.

She nodded at Katherine's words. "I know. I screwed up, so don't worry about
it." She managed a smile. "I'm sore now, but I guess it could have been worse
..."

Katherine nodded. "True. I could have given you to Von Kepp. She was most
insistent, you know." The two women shared a smile before Katherine moved on her
way.

She moved out of the busy dining hall, through the massive kitchen, and into one
of the "servant's" bathrooms. There, she closed and locked the door behind her
before hitching up her leather skirt. With a shaky sigh, Katherine touched
herself through the white silk underwear.

She bit her lip and choked back a small sob.

Her panties were soaking wet.

Just as she had known they were since she gagged Ramirez for her disciplinary
infraction some three hours earlier.

*****

Madame Elsa Von Kepp was almost back to her estate when the most exclusive of
her cell phones began vibrating in her jacket pocket. She removed it promptly
and thumbed the answer button.

"Yes."

She listened intently for slightly less than ten seconds and then ended the call
with a quiet: "Understood."

Re-pocketing the phone, she turned to the bodyguard to her right. "Arrange for
Holly Bradbury to be brought in tonight. We have a matter of some importance to
discuss."

"Official or unsanctioned invite?"

Elsa's smile would have frosted glass. "Oh, I think unsanctioned. Don't you?"
The smile disappeared. "See to it."

Her bodyguard squared his shoulders. "Consider it done, Madame."

Chapter Two - The Lawyer


Holly Bradbury had attended Harvard University and graduated from her Masters
Degree with Distinction. She was one of only three people in her graduating
class to receive such an honour and had been headhunted by all the major law
firms across North America (as well as a significant number in Europe). She had
finally gone to work for Davidson, Hall and Davidson - not only the finest firm
in New York City, but a significant money-earner for the powerful Davidson
Global conglomerate. In her first three years as a greener than green junior
associate she had been labeled "Drought-breaker" on the way to becoming the
firm's highest gross revenue earner. She was offered a junior partnership with
the firm at age 28, but declined, opting instead to start her own practice.
Within four more years, she was the most successful private attorney on the
Eastern seaboard - but also the most exclusive. Holly made a habit of working
only with women; the richer the better.

The reasons for her success were numerous - at least, that was what Holly
herself had always believed. She was the first to admit that the expensive,
short-skirted suits and stiletto heels she generally wore were of no harm to her
career. Neither were her long mane of chestnut coloured hair or her startlingly
blue, long lashed eyes. Holly often acknowledged that her large 34D bust and her
perfectly toned, stocking-clad legs were also considerably more than a
hindrance.

But anyone who had ever spoken to Holly would wave such physical considerations
aside. Not that they were denying she was both beautiful and wonderfully
proportioned. Oh no. What they instead pointed to was her razor sharp intellect
- that, for example, enabled her to leap upon any particular discrepancy in a
witness' testimony and turn it to her advantage - as well as her impressive
ability to meet any challenge head on, and beat it with an uncanny recall of
previous rulings that left the most diligent of DAs floundering for their aides.

What these people did not know was that a large part of Holly's success had long
been directly attributable to a special few of the rich women that she serviced.
Women that made their living by engaging in a form of enterprise that perhaps
even predated prostitution.

In a word: Slavery.

So with all her beauty and brains it should really have come as no surprise to
Holly Bradbury that she would one day end up bound into an extremely compact
ball and lying on her side in the modern equivalent of a dungeon cell. Such was
the nature of the people that she dealt with. She had always known it was a
risk, but to actually be here - face pressed against the tops of her knees, arms
long ago numb and useless behind her, mouth effectively silenced - was
terrifying beyond belief.

The fact that she had recently sold out one of her clients after being caught in
possession of more than two pounds of uncut cocaine meant that Holly not only
knew who had ordered her kidnapping, but that she had every reason to be
terrified.

Madame Elsa Von Kepp was not known for her gentle treatment of slaves.

Holly squirmed futilely, her sobs of despair deadened by the layered gag in and
around her mouth. She was bound with a coarse rope that she suspected had
deliberately been chosen to maximize her discomfort, as it itched constantly
wherever it pressed into her unprotected flesh. Which was just about everywhere.
Rope bound her hands plan-to-palm, crushed her elbows together, harnessed her
large breasts, pinned her arms to her sides, and imprinted itself in her ankles,
calves and thighs. Worse, it bent her double so that the top half of her body
was pressed against her thighs, impeding her vision, while her wrists were also
tightly hogtied to her ankles. The worst of her discomfort, however, was
centered on the long length of rope that had been wrapped around her stomach
half a dozen times, pulled down between her legs and into her pussy to saw
against her clitoris. The rope was then savagely ripped upwards and attached to
her wrist bonds, ensuring that her discomfort was not only acute but that she
could not lift her hands away from the small of her back.

The gag was little better. The two thugs that had kidnapped Holly from outside
her office had made silencing her their first priority and she was still
suffering from the fruits of their labour. Her mouth was severely packed with
her black satin panties and the sleeves of her starched shirt that had been
physically torn from her arms. Several strips of duct tape were smoothed over
her mouth but were hidden from view by the dark blue medical bandage that was
wrapped many times around her lower face. Holly knew that this in turn had to be
at least partially obscured by the second layer of tape which was also wrapped
around and around her mouth, enhancing the already effective gag and making it
difficult to draw breath. Each effort to vocalize her discomfort, fear or
frustration simply resulted in a short battle to reign in her "gag" reflex as
the sodden material in her mouth threatened to slide down her throat.

Consequently, Holly remained still and silent, lying on her side, as the heavy
door to her cell was opened and a clicking of heels crossed the floor toward
her.

"Well now, what do we have here?" asked a discernibly accented voice. "A bug, if
I'm not mistaken. And the worst kind of bug as far as I'm concerned ... A
gold-digging slug!"

Holly choked back a sob, terrified by the venom in Madame Von Kepp's tone.

"Do you know what I like to do with that kind of slug? Hmmm? Squash them!"
Something hard crashed down on Holly's up-turned side, blasting what little
breath she had managed to draw past the gag from her lungs. She coughed and
choked in relative silence, ignoring the pain, trying to breathe. Her tormentor
paced around her, waiting patiently and it was only when Holly had almost
recaptured her breath that Madame Von Kepp again stomped on her side.

By the time she was done choking a second time, Holly could feel a tugging on
the rope pressed against the back of the neck. It soon snapped free and she was
abruptly able to move from her enforced position for the first time in what felt
like days. The muscles in her lower back sang with the pain of being stretched
for so long, but Holly was not even able to grant them a full respite, as the
rope hogtying her wrists to her ankles was still securely in place.

She looked up to see Madame Von Kepp folding a switchblade closed as she
straightened. She looked extremely imposing in a hip-hugging, knee-length
leather skirt, long sleeved white shirt and short black gloves. Her legs were
encased to the knee in leather boots complete with a five inch stiletto heels
that looked as if they were made for inflicting pain. Her long hair was back in
a severe bun, while the bridge of her nose sported fashionable black-rimmed
glasses. Her right hand held a black riding crop.

"Now listen carefully, slug. I'm going to ask a series of simple questions and
you're going to answer them." She held up a gloved index finger warningly.
"Without hesitation. Am I making myself understood?"

Holly could think of no way out of her predicament and so began to nod her head.
She was halfway through the first nod when - thwap! - the riding crop sizzled
through the air to smack against her exposed left breast.

"Too slow, slug. I said 'without hesitation'. Now, am I making myself
understood?"

Biting down hard on the mass of cloth in her mouth, Holly this time nodded her
head vigorously.

"Good. All questions will require 'yes' or 'no' answers, meaning that I will not
have to remove your gag at any time." Madame Von Kepp smiled thinly. "After all,
the only good lawyer is a gagged one. The final rule is that you will be
completely honest at all times. If I suspect you are lying to me, I will place
ten strokes on each of your breasts, before having you partially untied and hung
from the ceiling with your legs spread to have ten more placed on your exposed
cunt. Again I ask: do you understand?"

Holly nodded quickly.

"Then we will begin." Madame Von Kepp resumed her pacing, affording Holly only
the occasional sight of her and the riding crop. "Are you aware that I have been
targeted by the local police force?"

She nodded, making sure that the gesture was emphatic enough to be seen from
behind.

"Were you in anyway involved in the information that the police received?"

Another nod.

"Did you tip them off as to my business in slavering?"

Holly shook her head, terrified by the thought that Madame Von Kepp would think
she had voluntarily sold her out. There was a slight pause before the next
question, as if her tormentor was considering whether to make good on her
threat.

"Did you have contact with the police in the past month?"

A definite nod to show how eager she was to be honest.

"Were you arrested and asked to provide information on me?"

Another nod.

"So you gave me up to save yourself from a charge?"

A small, cringing nod.

"And how did you think I would respond to this?"

Holly paused, confused by how she could answer with a nod or shake of her head.

Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Three blows fell on her bound left breast. Holly shrieked
in agony, but before she could even begin choking on her gag, the crop was
hitting her again and again and again. On her breast. On her side. On her ass
and her bound hands. On her legs. Everywhere. Over and over again.

At one point, Holly must have rolled over, because when the crop finally stopped
its descent, the right side of her body was just as welt-covered as the left. 

She lay helplessly on the cold stone floor, still stringently hogtied and
gagged, every nerve ending seemingly aflame; while above Madame Von Kepp, cheeks
flushed, slowly regained her breath.

"That was nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you, slug." She lightly
ran the crop along Holly's thigh. "I plan on keeping you here for a very long
time." The iciest of smiles distended her lips. "Forever, in fact."

Holly struggled against her bonds, trying to squirm free, find a knot, anything,
as Madame Von Kepp walked over to the cell's entryway. Even so, the kidnapped
lawyer clearly heard her captor's next words - words that prompted a thrill of
absolute dread to course through her and momentarily overwhelm the pain from her
cropping.

"Have the bronze mould prepped and ready for use in an hour. It's been too long
since I commissioned a statue, and I'd hate for Catelyn Barathe to think I was
furnished with anything less than impeccable taste ..."

Chapter Three - The Sting

There was no doubt in Katherine Wytt's mind that she was about to leave for the
most important meeting of her career, and quite probably, her life.

She tried not to let that play on her mind as she put the finishing touches on
her eyeliner. Everything had to be perfect. Von Kepp would expect Mistress
Catelyn Barathe on her doorstep at 3pm; not FBI Agent Katherine Wytt. The former
would be welcomed with a polite smile and a tour of the mansion; the latter,
Katherine suspected, would be executed on the spot.

Satisfied that her "face" was the way that Catelyn would have liked, and not
what Katherine would have chosen - the rouge was too dark, the lipstick too
garish, and the eyeliner too pronounced for her taste - the FBI Agent stood to
examine herself in the mirror. The figure that stared back at her was almost
unrecognizable, and not just because of the make-up. 

Taking her cue from Von Kepp's attire during the previous weekend's visit,
Katherine had dressed exceptionally formally. Her intention, however, had been
to also achieve an air of sexuality. As a result, she wore a black three-piece
suit that consisted of a knee length skirt, button-up vest, and single-breasted
blazer. Both the vest and the blazer had been tailored to accentuate, rather
than conceal, the swell of her breasts, whilst the skirt was tight enough to
limit Katherine's steps to something approaching a graceful shuffle rather than
a purposeful stride. The long sleeved shirt she had chosen was light blue in
colour and heavily starched so that the collar fitted very snugly around her
throat. A royal-blue silk necktie was tightly knotted against the top of the
collar, and held perfectly in place by a silver tiepin that matched the cuff
links adorning her wrists. The overall effect was completed by a pair of sheer
black stockings and closed-toe Versace skyscraper heels.

While Katherine was forced to admit that while Ralph Lauren had outdone himself,
the look was just not her. She would have been far more comfortable in a Dolce &
Gabanna suit that was less constricting and decidedly more youthful, but knew
that she would never have been able to afford one based on her Bureau salary.

Katherine took a deep breath. All that remained was to step out of "herself" and
become Mistress Catelyn Barathe. She thought of this as something akin to
achieving an altered state of mind, and had perfected the technique in the
eighteen months that she had been living the life of the billionaire slaver.

*A technique, huh?* A little voice whispered. *Are you sure there's not just a
lot of Catelyn in you, Katherine? Are you really, really sure?*

Katherine let out a shaky breath, and squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to
concentrate on the task at hand. She was under no illusions. Her life could
depend on what she was attempting.

*What's there to do? Just be yourself.* The voice chuckled. *Get off on
kidnapped women all tied up and gagged. Imagine what you would do to them if you
had Barathe's money and couldn't be touched by the law. Just like when you're
touching yourse-*

"Shut up!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Please."

"Why? Did I make a noise?"

Catelyn, startled, opened her eyes and spun around to see her superior, Jack
Hyland, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He was dressed in an ill fitting
suit and loosened tie - testament to the hours he had been putting in this week,
organizing the final mission of Operation Whitedove down to the finest detail.
Now, clearly concerned, he was frowning at her, when all week it had been
Katherine urging *him* to take a rest.

"Are you okay, Kath?"

She nodded in what she hoped was an assuring fashion. "I'm fine, just keying
myself up for this."

Jack moved forward to lay a hand on her shoulder. He smiled reassuringly, the
wrinkles around his eyes and mouth becoming more prominent. "You're the best
agent on the right side of forty I've ever worked with. And today two years of
hard work - three-quarters of it undercover - pays off."

"You sound so sure."

"Why shouldn't I be? You're the best there is, Kath. That's why you were chosen
for this Operation. And it's not just me who thinks so." He smile widening, Jack
leant forward and mock-whispered: "I wasn't going to tell you until we had Von
Kepp in custody, but the Director himself is talking about a promotion for you."

That surprised Katherine. "Really? But I'm only been with the Bureau for ..."

He cut her off. "How does 'Special Agent Wytt' sound to you? Or better yet
'Assistant Director Wytt'? That's what we're ultimately talking about here." He
lifted his hand from her shoulder and stood back. "We all have faith in you,
Katherine. Cathelyn Barathe will be just as convincing today as she has been
every other day of the past eighteen months."

Although still apprehensive, the majority of Katherine's doubts left her then.
Jack was not the type of boss to dangle non-existent carrots before his charges.
And if the Director himself was behind her ...

Even the nagging negative voice had no come back for that.

*****

The plan was actually very simple. Katherine was to ride in Catelyn's limousine
to Von Kepp's estate. She would be driven by a uniformed and bound chauffeur
(Von Kepp would expect nothing less), and "protected" by a male security guard.
The limousine would be followed by a black unmarked van, also driven by a bound
female, and carrying its cargo of three "pieces" for Von Kepp. A second male
security guard would be stationed with the pieces and would be responsible for
ensuring their bonds were perfect before arrival at the Von Kepp estate. Once
inside the fortress-like compound and at the mansion proper, Katherine was to
greet Von Kepp and formally offer her the promised pieces of art. Once Von Kepp
accepted and had taken the women into her custody, Katherine and her guards were
to make their move. All would have weapons - Katherine's would be a small .22
pistol that could be concealed in the inner pocket of her tailored blazer - and
they were to use these to disarm any other personal present and arrest Von Kepp.
Jack Hyland, whilst running the final briefing with the entire on-site team,
assured them they would have the main advantage of surprise, but added that no
back-up team would be on hand to assist them until well after the initial move
was made. He explained that the security system protecting Von Kepp's estate was
second-to-none and would alert the slaver to any incursion before even snipers
could get within range on the forty-acre grounds. Instead, three teams would be
waiting in close but differing locations, and would swoop as soon as the signal
was sent by the van's driver via a simple closed-frequency radio built into the
steering wheel of the automobile.

Katherine had been aware of the difficult practicalities of the assignment, but
the two agents assigned as her protectors were evidently less than thrilled.

"So what you're saying here, Jack, is that we have three armed agents against an
entire estate," said Drake, the bigger of the two men. He was tall and
well-built with a thick bullish neck, but Katherine knew that he was much
quicker of wit than his size would imply.

"I didn't promise this was going to be easy."

"But neither did I hear you say the word 'suicidal' either." Hudson was
impeccably dressed in a expensive Yves St Laurent suit, but Katherine thought
the guy suffered from perpetual "short-man syndrome". He was never happy unless
complaining, and was rarely willing to shoulder any responsibility for mistakes
he made. Katherine was unimpressed by his inclusion in this mission, but could
not deny that his record in the field was exemplary.

Jack sucked in an angry breath. "Look, Hudson, there is no other way to do this
job. It's as simple as that. I've looked at it from every angle. If we give the
other bound agents," Jack gestured to the three women who had volunteered to be
bound into torturous positions and "sold" into slavery, "a weapon, where are
they going to conceal it and how are they going to use it? If we fail to secure
them properly, Von Kepp will see that and the whole operation will be a
failure." Katherine could see Jack's face was beginning to colour and his voice
was getting louder. "So if they're willing to risk their lives while bound and
fucking gagged, why are you bitching about being free with a GUN IN YOUR
HANDS?!"

The entire room was shocked into silence. Even Hudson wisely chose to keep his
mouth shut. Katherine had never heard Jack speak to another agent in such a
manner. Operation Whitedove was clearly having an effect on him as well.

Katherine felt her uneasiness again mounting. If the Agent in charge of the
Operation was feeling the strain, what would that mean when they were on site in
the thick of the moment?

Jack completed taking the last of several deep breaths. "Just trust me on this
everyone. There is no other way to do this." He paused to chew on his lip for a
long moment. "But I suppose we can arm the limousine driver as well - she
probably doesn't need to be bound as stringently."

Katherine looked around frowning. Drake and Hudson were nodding their agreement
but where was the limousine driver? There were four other women in the room -
the three who were to be Catelyn's artworks (one of which was painted from head
to toe a mottled bronze colour beneath her clothing), and another woman who
looked like she worked for a courier company, dressed in a dark-blue jumpsuit.
Katherine knew them all by name, but only Debra Hutchinson, the van driver,
personally. They were still short one agent, and no-one was dressed in the right
uniform of a limousine driver.

"Alright then, let's gear up people. Debra and co, head down to the van for
final positioning. It's 2pm, so you all leave in twenty."

The room emptied swiftly, while Katherine, dressed in her Catelyn Barathe formal
suit, moved to stand alongside her superior.

"Jack, where's my driver? She wasn't here for the briefing."

He nodded. "I know, she's a last minute replacement and was getting suited up. I
spoke to her before the briefing."

"What do you mean a 'last minute replacement'?"

"I mean," he turned to look her in the eye. "That I've asked Ramirez to
volunteer for this one."

Katherine's former confidence was fast eroding. "What? Why? You can't bring
someone new in at this phase of the Operation. She could compromise everything."

"I can and I have. Von Kepp expressed more than a passing interest in Ramirez
last week, and I think she might well catch the Madame's eye so the rest of you
can pull this off. She's another advantage in this situation, and I'm going to
use her." Jack turned away as he shrugged his jacket on. "Now if you'll excuse
me, I have to quickly update Ramirez so we can get this show rolling."

Katherine watched him go without another word, opting instead to grind her teeth
angrily. She would just have to live with Jack's decision, but try as she might,
she could not shake the feeling that Ramirez's inclusion in this phase of the
Operation was decidedly wrong.

She shrugged mentally. There was nothing to be done about it. Instead, she had
to concentrate on the task at hand. Jack's earlier interruption and the
subsequent meeting meant that she still hadn't completed her preparations for
the final phase.

It was time to get into character.

*****

Forty-five minutes later, Mistress Catelyn Barathe sat calmly in the leather
interior of her limousine, watching her chauffeur lean out the driver's window
to speak to the armed guards manning Von Kepp's main gates.

"Mmhfghm mnahygn haghrahhf."

"Very good, slave," said Catelyn for the benefit of the guards who were also
watching her through her own lowered window. "You may leave your window down now
that we have reached the Madame's estate."

It had been a necessity for the Spanish girl to have her tinted window raised
during the thirty minute drive, as passing motorists would otherwise have seen
that she was stringently gagged. Rather than choosing some form of material
packing and a layer of translucent tape to seal the girl's lips together,
Catelyn had opted for an enormous four-and-a-half inch black rubber ball gag in
an attempt to impress her host for the evening. Along with the gag, the girl was
also fettered by a pair of specialty cuffs that attached her wrists to the
steering wheel at approximately the two and ten o'clock positions. She wore the
typical chauffeur's uniform of a black pants suit, button-down white shirt,
contrasting black tie, and peaked cap. Mistress Barathe liked her slaves to be
impeccably uniformed at all times, and her chauffeurs were no exception.

She looked over at her security for the visit. He was seated opposite her,
watching the guards outside the car very carefully. His right hand did not stray
far from the bulge in his suit jacket. Catelyn knew his name but did not trouble
herself to recall it. He was big and intimidating and had always done his job
well, so she had no reason to think he would do anything else today.

*Katherine bit down on the inside of her lip, willing herself to stay in
character. If she lost it now, ii would be the end of her, Ramirez and Drake.
She just had to stay focused and think like a billionaire slaver. It wasn't that
hard. Not really. After all, she had liked to see women bound, gagged and
tormented since she was old enough to have sexual fantasies. This was not so
different. She was just acting out a role, that was all.*

After a phone call was made from the security station, the guards finally waved
them on. Catelyn focused on the pretty tree-filled grounds as they drove onto
the estate. She sipped from an expensive cognac held in her black-gloved hands,
willing herself to relax. At one point, she thought she glimpsed a flash of
white amongst the trees - as if someone had darted out of sight - but then it
was gone again, and she decided it had been no more than a trick of the light.

All too soon, the mansion itself loomed into view. Catelyn was less interested
in the three stories of opulence that confronted her, than with the guard who
waved them off the main driveway and down the side of the mansion's east wing.
Setting aside her drink, Catelyn brushed an imaginary speck of dirt off the
lapel of her blazer, and straightened the already perfect knot of her tie to
ensure that she was presentable. It would simply not do to have her host think
less of her due to sloppy attire.

They drove into a sealed off service bay area. It had entry and exit roller
doors at either end of its one hundred foot length, and was protected from
prying eyes by walls of mortared brick and a tiled roof.

*Katherine immediately assumed something was wrong. She caught Drake's eye, who
gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, indicating that they should
continue as planned. But why then had they been directed down the side of the
house out of view of any possible watchers? An answer immediately came to
Katherine ...*

... and Catelyn smiled appreciatively. Madame Von Kepp did not want anyone
seeing her gifts as they were unpackaged from the van that was even now rolling
to a halt behind them. Even though her estate was well secured, and large enough
that an individual with a telescopic lens could not hope to get a good view of
proceedings from the road, there was little sense in courting disaster. Catelyn
realized she should keep a similar practice in future, and resolved to thank the
Madame for beginning her training before she had even been officially greeted.

When the limousine rolled to a stop, she gestured with a gloved hand and her
guard climbed from the vehicle to hold the door open. She then slid carefully
from the car in time to see white double doors into the mansion opening wide.
Half a dozen suited men walked down a short flight of steps to the level of the
service bay and took up flanking positions on either side of the doorway. Only
then did Madame Elsa Von Kepp emerge from her home, resplendent in a blood red,
ankle length, figure hugging dress that exposed the entirety of her left leg
through its long slit as she stepped forward. Catelyn could see the Madame had
spared no expense in attiring herself for their meeting - from the jewel
encrusted garter belt that held up her sheer silk stockings to the pearl choker
she wore clasped about her throat. In between, she had also donned a diamond
bracelet on each wrist that was spectacularly contrasted against the
shoulder-length black opera gloves which encased her arms. Von Kepp's hair was
drawn back in a severe bun, exposing her bare shoulders and the tops of her
ample breasts, which were barely contained within the bodice of the strapless
dress.

"Mistress Barathe, so good of you to come, and on time as well." Von Kepp smiled
widely. "I do so appreciate punctuality in a guest."

"Madame Von Kepp," Catelyn inclined her head slightly. "It was the least I could
do given the generosity of your invitation."

"Not the least, surely. I believe there was the promise of some of your works of
art being delivered to me today."

"But of course." Catelyn snapped her gloved fingers and the burly security guard
quickly stepped over to the van and opened its rear doors. A moment later a
naked African-American woman appeared, being wheeled along on the type of
trolley normally reserved for moving heavy storage boxes. Her upper arms were
held perpendicular to her body, with the right arm bent upwards at the elbow,
and the left arm similarly bent downwards. At first, it was unclear how she was
bound into this position, but when the guards turned the slave around whilst
lowering her to the floor of the service bay, a darkened metal brace in the form
of a cross extending between her elbows and from head to toe was revealed. The
brace followed the bend of the woman's arms and ended in locking steel cuffs
which held her wrists securely in place. More cuffs positioned her feet while
hinged metal clamps above and below her breasts ensured the slave's torso was
locked against the body of the brace. More specially treated metal obscured the
woman's face in a traditional brank. Effectively a cage that locked around the
victim's head, the brank had been designed in the sixteenth century as a
punishment to silence the wagging tongues of female gossips. The silencing
aspect of the cage - a metal protrusion that ended in a spike tipped ball - was
designed to fit into an unruly female's mouth, ensuring that she could not at
any time speak, nor close her mouth comfortably for fear of puncturing herself
on the spikes. Catelyn, however, had ordered one specially made for this piece
that instead featured a large rubber ball as the oral protrusion, since her
creation was aimed at maintaining silence rather than punishing the slave.

"Madame Von Kepp, I hope you approve of the first of my works." Catelyn glanced
over to see her host nodding slowly, eyes locked on the first of her prizes. "I
call it 'Poetry in Stop-Motion' and hoped you might find some use for it among
your art collection. Alternatively, I've found it can serve wonderfully well as
a hat and coat rack."

Von Kepp laughed lightly. "I'm sure there will be no need for that. It's
wonderful, just wonderful. I can hardly wait to have her adorning my entry hall.
But do show me, what else is hidden away in that van of yours?"

The guards had finished lowering "Poetry in Stop-Motion' to the ground, where
upon a pair of Von Kepp's own security personnel had taken the piece and wheeled
her to one side. The guard who had been riding with Catelyn momentarily
disappeared into the bowels of the van to emerge shuffling backwards, clearly
carrying something heavy. He carefully stepped off the back of the van,
revealing a latex vacuum bed sewn into a huge gold frame that he and his partner
were carrying between them. A plainly naked woman was imprisoned within the
confines of the bed, completely incapable of any movement, such was the degree
to which the smooth material pressed against her. Catelyn could see not only the
swell of her ample breasts, but the rope ringing her wrists that pulled her arms
to the top corners of the frame. The woman's legs were similarly bound and
stretched wide, forcing her body into a well defined 'X'. Catelyn knew that her
mouth had been stuffed with a fistful of cloth before windings of tape had been
wrapped around her head. She was only able to breath only via two black tubes
which had been inserted into her nostrils and poked out through the custom made
breathing-holes in the bed.

"Here we have a modern day piece of art, which, as you can see, could complement
any wall. I call it 'A Portrait in Latex', but would gladly hear any more
suitable names you might have." Catelyn smiled very slightly when Von Kepp waved
away any such idea, clearly too impressed to remove her gaze from the piece.
"The bed has been stapled into a gilded gold frame, so I hope you aren't
planning on releasing the slave any time soon. I can later advise you on the
practicalities involved in keeping the piece nourished and clean - needless to
say needles and catheters are involved - but for now I hope you will accept her
as she is."

"Mistress Catelyn," said Von Kepp after a slight pause. "You are talented in so
many ways I had never imagined."

*You don't know the half of it, sister. But you're soon going to.*

Catelyn forced a humble smile before turning her attention back to the final
piece as it was offloaded by her guards.

"Here we have a piece I completed just this afternoon as a homage to Auguste
Rodin's 'The Thinker'." Like the famous sculpture, Catelyn's piece had been
arranged so that right arm was resting on left bent knee, head slightly lowered
and pressed against a closed fist, second arm draped seemingly comfortably
across her lap. Her skin had also been painted a mottled bronze colour to mimic
that which Rodin's piece had been cast in. The similarities, however, ended
there. Unlike Rodin's piece, Catelyn's effort had been bound into position with
ream upon ream of thin twine. The thin material savagely cut into the slave's
body, severely indenting her flesh and creating something akin to the muscular
definition Rodin's piece had captured so timelessly. All of her limbs and even
her head were bound in position, so that that the slave would be unable to move
after muscular tension and fatigue had begun to take their toll. She was
prevented from voicing her discomfort, Catelyn knew, by the copious amount of
cloth packing jammed into her mouth and the half a dozen strips of medical tape
pressing her lips together. The tape itself, while quite obviously necessary,
had been rendered as unobtrusive as possible by the coating of mottled bronze
paint it had also received. It was the favourite of Catelyn's pieces, and the
one that caused the largest ache of desire to stab through her.

"... something similar I want to show you." Von Kepp was staring at Catelyn
expectantly.

"I'm sorry, Madame." Catelyn decided that an approximation of honesty was the
best policy. "I was busy imagining what you might have in store for these
gifts."

Von Kepp laughed and stepped in closer to Catelyn to lay a gloved hand on her
shoulder. "My dear Catelyn, you'll have every opportunity to see that in due
time. But for now, I was commenting on how similar your last piece is to
something I had commissioned during the week." The hand pressed on Catelyn's
shoulder, turning her around and guiding her toward the entrance to the mansion.
"You simply must see it."

"But the gifts and my employees ..." Catelyn gestured at the ball-gagged woman
who sat in the driver's seat of the van, unable to remove her cuffed hands from
the wheel or free herself from the harness-like belt binding her to the seat. 
Now would be a good time to send the signal for back-up, Debra.

"They'll be fine here for just a few minutes." They mounted the small flight of
steps flanked by Von Kepp's guards. "We can conclude our business then. And I
really do insist. You have me convinced you're the undoubted expert in this
field and I've been anticipating your reaction all week long."

They were already inside and walking through a kitchen area. Catelyn glanced
over her shoulder to try and sneak a look at either of her guards, but they were
already out of sight.

The collar of her shirt suddenly felt extraordinarily tight, the knot of her tie
pressing hard against her throat. Something was very wrong. "I uhr - My - my
guards?"

Von Kepp more firmly steered her into a long hall, the guiding hand never
leaving her shoulder. "With your art, Catelyn. Keeping them safe, so have no
fear. We're almost there."

Their pace was quickening and Catelyn - *no, Katherine* - could not quell the
panic building within her. She stammered for a reply, something to make Von Kepp
stop and return her to the service bay, where the deal could go through and they
could draw their guns and make the arrests and end this entire Operation so she
could return to a normal life -

But nothing came to mind. Mistress Catelyn Barathe was gone, and FBI Agent
Katherine Wytt was all that remained. Dressed in a three-piece formal suit, with
a hidden .22, being led along in hostile territory by one of the world's most
notorious and cruel slavers ...

*With a hidden .22.*

Katherine began to reach into the folds of her blazer as Von Kepp all but pushed
her out into the grand entry hall of her mansion. Twin marble staircases swept
up to a second floor landing on either side of a room that was furnished with
the most exquisite of expensive taste. Antiques, portraits and other works of
art lined the walls - all with a bondage and discipline motif - but it was the
piece in the very center that caught Katherine's eye, stayed her hand, and
caused her jaw to drop open in wonder.

For she was looking at a life-sized bronze statue of Holly Bradbury - wide-eyed,
bound, and screaming in terror around a harnessed ball-gag.

Something cold, hard and extremely threatening pressed against the back of
Katherine's head. She tensed, knowing what it was, knowing what it meant, and
accepting there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Except die.

Part Four - The Capture

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Madame Von Kepp gloated in Katherine's ear, referring to
the statue of lawyer-turned-informant, Holly Bradbury. "It's been many years
since a slave angered me enough to be turned into a statue, so I'm particularly
pleased by the way Holly turned out. Wouldn't you agree, Catelyn?" The barrel of
the gun moved to jab her in the middle of the back. "Or should that be, Agent
Wytt? Either way, please be so kind as to slowly remove the weapon from the
inside pocket of your blazer and toss it away."

Katherine was only momentarily surprised by how Von Kepp could know about the
.22, but still decided to try the ignorant routine. "Madame, I have no idea what
you're talking ab..."

"Save it, slut. Or I'll pull this trigger. Lose the gun, now."

She did as she was ordered, removing the .22 from the pocket where it was
concealed and throwing it across the polished floorboards of Von Kepp's entry
hall.

"We're going to have to move quickly, Wytt, before the other Agents become
suspicious. So I don't have time for any antics." The gun barrel was removed
from her back as Von Kepp retreated to an out-of-reach distance. "You will
follow my every order to the letter and without a word of complaint, or I will
shoot you. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

Katherine turned around to face her assailant. "Yes."

"Good. Now strip."

Katherine saw the way Von Kepp's eyes narrowed and her grip on the gun tightened
ever so slightly. There was no chance to make any kind of move without ending up
as dead as Holly.

So she stripped. Katherine removed her leather gloves, then shrugged out of her
blazer and let it fall to the floor in a heap. The vest was next, its buttons
quickly undone, so the garment hung lose on her shoulders, exposing the length
of her royal blue necktie tucked neatly into the waistband of her skirt. A
moment later, the vest, too, was on the floor, and she was stepping out of that
skirt, hoping the shirttails would provide a modicum of modesty. Katherine
paused to glance at Von Kepp, praying the loss of the suit would be enough to
placate her.

"The tie, Wytt, and the shirt. It's all to come off."

Knowing better than to protest, Katherine momentarily fumbled with the clasp of
the tiepin and then pulled the tight knot of the tie away from her throat. Once
the top button of her overly starched collar was also undone, she felt better
able to draw breath, but would have traded that slight discomfort for her
current situation in a heartbeat. The cufflinks were next and then the shirt
itself. When she was done, Katherine stood before Von Kepp in only a full-cupped
black satin bra, matching G-string panties, a garter belt, stockings and her
pair of Versace high-heels.

The German slaver nodded appreciatively, her eyes crawling over Katherine's
generously proportioned 34C bust, slim waist and long legs. "I like what I see,
Wytt. Which means you may yet live through this day. For now, though, we need to
get you bound up."

As if on cue, Katherine heard a door open behind her. She half turned to see a
tall, thin man making his way across the entry hall toward her. He was
impeccably dressed in a stylish pinstripe suit that Katherine did not recognize
the designer of, and had a full head of hair as white as any she had ever seen.
As he drew closer, she could see that his eyes were not the albino red that she
had been expecting, but rather a dull gray that betrayed no emotion at all.

"Wytt, meet Wolfgang, my personal assistant."

For the first time, Katherine noticed the white rope grasped in Wolfgang's right
hand. She took a tentative step backwards, but froze on the spot when Von Kepp
reminded her that a gun was trained on her back.

Moving faster than Katherine could even follow, Wolfgang grabbed her right arm
in a pincer like grip and spun her around to again face Von Kepp. She felt her
other arm caught in a similar grip and both limbs were wrenched behind her back.
Tight coils of unyielding rope were quickly looped around her wrists, cinched
between them, and then tied off professionally. More of the rope was soon
encircling her arms just above the elbows, dragging them together, forcing her
breasts forward. Katherine allowed herself a low groan as Wolfgang spared no
effort in cinching the rope to ensure her elbow joints were ground against one
another. The discomfort was already immense, leaving Katherine in no doubt as to
how her arms would feel if left this way for longer than a few minutes.

Von Kepp finally lowered the gun and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I think we
can lose the bra, Wolfgang. We want Wytt here to be as eye-catching as
possible."

There was a soft click and Katherine gasped as a cold blade slipped between her
left shoulder and its bra strap. Wolfgang flicked his wrist and the strap was
cut deftly in two. The same procedure was repeated on her right shoulder, and
then again in the middle of her back. Katherine's breasts fairly sprang free of
their cups, causing her to involuntarily colour in embarrassment.

"Mm, very nice. Now the underwear and crotch-rope, if you please, Wolfgang."

Von Kepp's lackey again went to work in silence, cutting away her black satin
underwear and pulling it from between her legs. A longer length of the rope was
then doubled up and fitted around her waist, just above the garter belt that
still held her silk stockings in place. Wolfgang drew the ends through the
resultant loop and pulled it tight enough to constrict Katherine's already flat
stomach. The ends were drawn down between her legs, into her pubic mound, and up
between her buttocks. Katherine watched as her assailant ensured the rope was
centered between her labia and then gasped as he pulled it savagely tight. The
ends were wrapped around her already bound wrists and knotted out of reach of
questing fingertips, thus ensuring her wrists were held against the small of her
back.

Although quite obviously enjoying the show, Von Kepp evidently had more pressing
business. "Make sure she's incapable of uttering a sound and then bring her,"
said Von Kepp as she turned to exit the hall. "It's time to move to phase two."

"No! Wait! Madame, let me-ggrphh." A strong hand clasped over Katherine's mouth,
cutting her off in mid-appeal. Despite her bonds, she grunted and tried to fight
as Wolfgang drew her tightly against him. A moment later his second hand
appeared in front of her filled with a massive wad of white cloth that looked
like several handkerchiefs balled into one. The hand gagging her released her
lips, before its thumb and forefinger pressed against the points on either side
of her jaw. Katherine's mouth involuntarily opened to relieve the painful
sensation, allowing her assailant to stuff the huge wad past her lips. She
screamed (or tried to) and thrashed against his grasp more frantically.
Wolfgang, undeterred, produced a white ball-gag from his jacket pocket and again
held it up for Katherine to inspect.

Already retching on the enormous wad of cloth jammed into her mouth, Katherine
mutely shook her head. Uh-uh. No way will that fit in my mouth. It isn't
possible because I'll choke to death.

Katherine soon found out how wrong she was. Her binder steadied himself by
taking a firm grip around her throat, and then jammed the ball into her teeth.
He pushed and pushed until tears welled in Katherine's eyes and her jaw was
stretched to its absolute limit. Horrible words like "dislocated" and "broken"
flashed through her mind, before, finally, the ball slipped into place behind
her teeth. Katherine's retching became unabashed "gagging" and the fight finally
drained out of her. She stood meekly, head bowed, while Wolfgang tightened and
buckled the gag strap so that it pinched at the base of her neck.

Wolfgang spun her around to examine the gag, twisting her face this way and that
with one of his huge hands. The other dropped to her right breast and pulled its
nipple savagely. Katherine screamed in surprise and pain - or at least thought
she had - because the wadding pressed against the back of her throat and the
ball wedging her teeth apart did their jobs well, allowing no more than a nasal
hum to emerge. Wolfgang grunted his satisfaction and proceeded to frog march
Katherine back toward the service bay.

*****

Hudson had been less than impressed to be chosen for this Operation. He thought
Drake was an over-blown muscle man on steroids, Jack Hyland a "past-it" field
operative, and Katherine Wytt a show-pony bitch who had her eyes set on his
coveted position: Assistant Director.

So to find out he was to be chaperoning her undercover slaver into a dangerous
on-site situation that had every chance of turning into a firefight had not been
his idea of good news.

That perspective had only darkened as the shoddy preparation for the mission -
courtesy of one Jack Fucking Hyland - had become apparent. Seven Agents would be
going in, but only three would be armed, and worse, unbound. They were expected
to account for Von Kepp and her entire security force until the cavalry could
arrive - an occurrence that could be as much as six minutes after the initial
"go" transmission. Hudson snuck a glance at Debra Hutchinson, mouth stretched
wide around a ball-gag, hands cuffed to the steering wheel of the van. It was
her job to send off the signal the moment the shit went down. She was
brown-haired and pretty in a freckled-faced kind of way, and he'd more than once
envisioned himself fucking her, but this bondage bullshit did nothing for him.
No, give him a sweet bent-over ass any time, and the bitch could yell and thrash
as much as she wanted for all he cared. Not to mention Ramierz. She looked even
hotter in her prissy uniform - even if she, too, was bound and gagged. He
imagined ripping her pants off, bending her over, and taking a grip on her long
dark hair to ride her like the whore she no doubt was ...

With effort, Hudson reminded himself of the task at hand. A task that would have
been so much different if he'd been in charge. Fuck this "impenetrable security"
business. He'd have found someone who could break the security protocols. He'd
have ensured his field agents had plenty of back-up cover, and he'd never have
let things get as out of hand as they now obviously were. Wytt had been gone for
a full five minutes and there was still no sign of her. Drake was pacing
nervously, alternating glances between the three bonadged babes lined up on the
floor of the service bay, and the group of Von Kepp's goons that stood around
them talking appreciatively. Hudson couldn't give a fuck what they talked about.
He was more interested in what he was going to do if Wytt didn't poke her nose
out that door in the next couple of minutes.

As if on cure, the double doors to the mansion opened, and Von Kepp once again
emerged from within. She stood at the top of the steps until the assigned
contingent of her goons moved quickly to flank her. Hudson tried to peer past
Von Kepp, to see if Wytt was waiting to emerge, but the closing doors impeded
his view.

"Gentlemen," said Von Kepp cheerfully. "There's been a change of plans. Mistress
Barathe regrets to inform you that she no longer requires your services for the
day."

Game time. Hudson began moving forward even as Von Kepp continued speaking. "She
requests that you remove your drivers from their vehicles, and then return said
vehicles to her estate where she will join you at her earliest convenience."

Drake, the dumb fuck, was talking instead of moving. But at least he wasn't
buying it. "We require Mistress Barathe to dismiss us herself, Madame. I'm sure
you understand."

There were six goons protecting Von Kepp. All fitted in identical dark suits,
and all armed with a handgun strapped beneath their left arm. If pressed, Hudson
would have guessed some kind of Glock because, in his experience, Euro-trash
types always went for Glocks. The first two were eyeing him suspiciously as he
approached with a carefully constructed expression of confusion.

"Well that is a pity. But far from unexpected." She waved a gloved hand, and the
mansion doors again opened wide. If the intended effect was to make him pause
with shock, Von Kepp's gambit was only momentarily successful. Seeing Wytt, a
forearm around her throat, naked aside from her suspenders and stockings, and
quite stringently bound and gagged was something Hudson had been half-expecting.
Sure, the gag looked huge and uncomfortable, and the white rope looped around
her waist and cutting into her pubic mound was eye-catching, but Hudson had just
helped transport a bunch of women transformed into bondaged pieces of art! So he
paused only a beat before drawing his 9mm Parabellum Beretta in one fluid
motion, slamming its butt into the temple of the moving man to his right, and
bringing the weapon to bear on the Madame's forehead.

There was a moment of hushed consideration, punctuated only by the man whom he'd
struck crumpling to the ground. Von Kepp's goons paused in mid-draw of their
weapons, and the Madame herself froze in mid-triumphant smirk. Behind him,
Hudson heard Drake moving around to get a better drop on Wytt's captor.

"Tell them to take their hands out of the jackets, or say goodbye to their next
paycheck," said Hudson coolly. Von Kepp met his gaze, her expression of triumph
fading into a snarl.

"Do as he says." Credit where credit was due, the goons were evidently well
trained and obeyed without hesitation.

"Now, one at a time, reach back in, take out your weapon and toss it way over
there behind the limo." Hudson motioned at the goon closest to him. "You first."

The goon slowly did as he was bid. Hudson had to stifle a laugh of triumph when
the guy's hand emerged with finger and thumb holding the barrel of a Glock.  He
threw it in the indicated direction and then stepped carefully aside. The same
process was repeated five further times until the bizarre tableau was again
frozen in place - only this time the odds had significantly improved in Hudson's
favor.

And that was just the way he liked them.

"Drake?"

"Yeah."

Hudson's bead on Von Kepp's face never wavered. "You got the drop on Whitey?"

A very muffled screech issued from Wytt as her captor squeezed his human shield
to him more tightly. It was echoed by the gagged cries of the three bound
artworks behind him.

"No, he's too well hidden."

"Okay, escort our suited friends here over to the bound agents, and have them
start cutting the women free. I got this lot."

Hudson watched the goons start moving, very slowly, until Drake barked "Move!"
Despite the situation, he almost grinned. What the man lacked in brain power, he
more than made up for in sheer physical presence.

"Okay, Madame. No more games. Have your man release Wytt and let her walk down
to stand beside me. Failure to comply ends with this getting bloody."

Unlike when he'd first moved, Hudson now had a plan. Get Wytt and the other
agents back to the relative safety of the van and keep Von Kepp and her goons
covered until the cavalry arrived. He resisted the temptation to check his
watch, but if Debra had done her job right, they should already be in the
grounds and only two or three minutes away.

"You're not getting off my estate alive. You know that don't you?" There was no
fear in Von Kepp's tone. Only a smugness that Hudson found confusing. How could
the bitch be so confident? She was about to go down for slavering and spend the
rest of her life reaching for soap while some Big Bertha fucked her with
whatever came to hand.

"We'll see about that. But first, send Wytt down to me. Now." He was fully
prepared to blow her head off and then worry about might follow, but it never
came to that. Von Kepp gestured with a gloved hand and Wytt was suddenly moving
forward, her expression a mixture of pain and relief. She moved down the stairs
fast, high heels clacking, breasts bobbling, rope sawing into her cunt. Hudson
had to fight to keep his eyes off her body, knowing that he would never get a
chance to see the stuck-up bitch like this again.

She stopped alongside him, hands fluttering helplessly behind her. "Keep going.
Behind the van. I'll be there in a moment to untie you."

It was a lie - he didn't have time in this situation to be tending to her
comfort - but he had to keep her moving. The last thing he wanted was for her to
be getting in the way if things went to shit.

Thankfully, however, the silly slut bought it and continued moving.

His attention had only been distracted for a moment, but when he again focused
on the doorway, Whitey was gone. "Shit," he hissed. "All right, where is he, Von
Kepp? It would be a shame for me to have to shoot you now when you've so far
been playing nicely."

The billionaire slaver half-shrugged. "Wolfgang appears to have decided
discretion is the better part of valor. Shoot me if you will, but he would not
return even if I called him." She paused, eyes glinting in the lights of the
service bay. "Well, not without another contingent of my guards."

Hudson ignored the veiled threat, having already figured the same thing for
himself. "Drake. You got things under control over there?" He couldn't risk a
glance around, so was relieved when the big Agent answered immediately.

"Talia and Michele aren't getting free any time soon." Talia was the latex
painting; Michele the homage to Rodin. Rachel, the third Agent, would easily
have been removed from the steel brace since Drake had the keys.

"Then get the goons to move them around behind the van. We haven't got much time
here."

"You head the man," Drake barked. "Three of you should be able to manage each of
them. Rachel, get yourself moving."

Von Kepp was still watching him smugly. "Any last words, Agent?"

The woman was insane. A gun was pointed at her head and she was still making
snide superior comments. "What the fuck are you on about? Don't even fucking
twitch, Von Kepp. You hear me?"

"Clearly, Agent. But you're obviously not hearing me..."

It was the oldest trick in the book. Von Kepp's eyes focused ever so briefly on
something over his right shoulder. Hudson sneered, wondering if that shit
actually worked, only barely hearing a muffled keening that might have been Wytt
trying to warn him, but shrugging it off as her attempt to get someone to free
her.

Then something slammed into the back of his head, hard enough to crack bone.
Hudson's gun dropped from nerveless fingers as his legs buckled beneath him. He
hit the ground face first and lay there for a few moments, trying to work out
which way was up, dimly aware that something bad was happening, but not able to
work out what. From somewhere far off he heard shouts, then the sounds of a
scuffle that was ended by a single clear gunshot.

That brought him back. Groaning, Hudson rolled over to see Drake face down on
the ground about thirty feet away. Two of the goons were lying nearby, but
neither sported the accessorizing pool of blood that was spreading out from
beneath the big Agent.

Hudson tried to rise as a wave of nausea swept through him and was almost to his
knees before something hard and sharp pressed between his shoulder blades and
shoved him back to the ground. He managed to half-turn over against the weight,
and looking up, saw Von Kepp standing over him. She had a weapon - his weapon,
he instantly recognized - pointed down at him.

And alongside her stood Ramirez, still dressed in her chauffeur's uniform,
ball-gag hanging around her shirt-and-tied neck, unlocked cuffs dangling from
her left wrist. It was her right hand, however, that held the .45 she had been
issued with - the weapon she had used to cold-cock him from behind.

"Fucking bitches," Hudson said thickly, as he made a brief, but accurate,
assessment about his chances for survival. He spat a globule of blood over
Von-Kepp's expensive looking high heels, and grinned savagely.

A spasm of rage crossed the Madame's features. Hudson had a moment to be
grateful for that before she pulled the trigger on his Beretta and blew off the
back of his head.

Part Five

When first planning her move to the USA, Elsa had insisted on being involved in
every stage of the designing of her new home. From working with an architect on
the initial drafts of the mansion to tweaking the final plans to meet her own
specifications, the entire process had taken almost seven months, and then the
actual construction of the mansion, a further eighteen. In all, two years of
work had gone into making the Von Kepp Estate everything a successful slaver
could wish for.

At times, Elsa had questioned her own judgment, wondering if she should rule out
aspects of the basement floor, or indeed scrap it entirely, as the logistics of
building a hidden floor beneath ground level had proven to be difficult beyond
belief. But now, as she walked through the "Catacombs" (as the floor had come to
be called), Elsa felt a familiar thrill of excitement that she had taken the
time to have everything built so perfectly.

Even as she tried to ignore the newly developed ache of disappointment that she
would soon have to leave it all behind.

As large as any of the other floors of her mansion, the Catacombs consisted of
sixty-five cells, five guard stations, three training rooms, two interrogation
chambers, a central mess hall, an ironworks (complete with smelt), a production
room in which slaves built, assembled and made instruments that would ultimately
be used to tie, train and torture them, and finally, the so-called "Cleanliness
Hall" where slaves showered and saw to their toileting needs.  A virtual maze of
passageways connected these various rooms with their differing functions. Elsa
had deliberately included numerous passageways within the maze that apparently
ended in a stone wall, as she knew that these would - and indeed, had - helped
to confuse and disorientate foolish slaves in the midst of an escape attempt.
Some, however, also hid secret doors that only Elsa and a select few of her
staff knew existed. These led to yet more passages of a necessarily smaller
diameter that allowed a visitor to look into many of the cells via carefully
concealed viewing ports.

It was into one of these passages that Elsa led Ramirez. Both had taken the time
to shower and change. Elsa was now garbed in her traditional leather-laden
Mistress-apparel - black leather corset over a white shirt, knee-length leather
skirt, and knee-high stiletto boots. Her golden hair hung freely over shoulders,
framing the pair of black-rimmed spectacles resting on her nose. Ramirez, for
her part, had changed out of the chauffeur uniform and into a tightly boned
midnight blue corset and a matching pair of leather pants. Like Elsa, she wore
knee-high stiletto boots - although hers were visible only to the ankle - but
had also donned a pair of shoulder-length leather opera gloves. Elsa smiled at
that, knowing that her charge had chosen the accessory purely to please her. The
German slaver had long had a penchant for gloves, as well as any other formal
type of clothing, such as suits, ties and uniforms.

Pressing a hidden notch low down on the wall, Elsa quickly stepped back as a
large portion of it swung towards her on silent hinges. Both women had to stoop
within the confines of the passage, but it did not take them long to reach their
intended viewing point and to sit on the two-seater leather couch they found
there.

Elsa reminded her charge to be quiet by raising a finger to her lips. She did
not want the slave within to know she was being watched, and normal speaking
voices would likely carry through the wall, particularly in the relative quiet
of the Catacombs. A push of a small button caused a panel in the wall to open,
revealing a seventeen-inch monitor. Triggered automatically, the screen
flickered to life, and provided the two seated women with a high angled view of
the cell's occupant.

Elsa knew what to expect, since she had ordered Debra Hutchinson bound into her
current position, but she always found it fascinating to see how a recently
acquired slave adapted to her new situation. As such, she gave the screen her
undivided attention, knowing that Ramirez would be doing the same.

Debra had not only been stripped of her delivery uniform the moment she was
removed from the van, but at Elsa's command, had been deprived of her functional
white bra and panty set. She was still naked now, the ropes binding her body the
only mockery of clothing that Elsa allowed her. The FBI Agent was bent forward
in a severe strappado - arms stretched high behind her, hands bound
palm-to-palm, elbows callously rigged so that they rubbed against one another.
Black nylon rope had been used to bind her. It all but engulfed the upper half
of her body in a torso harness that squeezed her small breasts into unnatural
balloon shapes. Thankfully, the picture on the screen was in colour, so Elsa had
no difficulty discerning the purplish tinge that marred them. The discolouration
meant the bondage was tight enough to be causing the slave an appropriate level
of discomfort for this initial stage of her training. Likewise, the crotch-rope
wrapped around her stomach was also tied extremely tightly, as evidenced by the
manner in which it disappeared between the slave's legs at the very top of her
pubic mound. More rope was wrapped and cinched above and below her knees, as
well as around and between her crossed ankles, rendering her long legs immobile.
Such was the severity of the strappado that she was actually balancing on the
balls of her feet. Watching carefully, Elsa could see the tremble in the Agent's
calf muscles that betrayed the strain she was under. All her effort would
currently be focused on maintaining her balance, because if she fell, she would
likely dislocate both her shoulders - a fact that Elsa had made sure was
explained as the new slave was rigged into position.

She was, of course, also gagged. Elsa insisted that all of her slaves be gagged
twenty-four hours a day, with the only exception being meal times. During the
removal of her clothing, Debra's simple ball-gag had been removed, prompting a
short chorus of tear-infused "But I sent the signal! They should be here!" type
pleadings before one of the guards had hand-gagged the noisy bitch. As
punishment, Elsa had insisted the gag should not only render the slave mute, but
also be of significant discomfort. She saw now that her guards had followed her
order reasonably well. Debra's mouth was held wide open by a dentist's jaw
brace, and packed full of a huge amount of cloth wadding. With little regard for
how it would affect her shoulder-length brown hair, tape was wrapped around and
around her head, between the jaw brace, to ensure that none of the cloth packing
could be expelled from her oral cavity. Elsa knew that breathing would be more
than a chore whilst gagged in such a manner, especially when considering how she
was bent over and trying to hold her balance.

Ramriez interrupted her intense scrutiny of the transmitted image by leaning
over to whisper in her ear. "Are those black dots actually little clips?" Elsa
smiled and nodded. Her charge was correctly referring to the score of tiny black
dots that seemingly randomly marred the Agent's naked body. In fact, each clip
had been carefully placed on those body parts that contained a large number of
pain receptors. The breasts, nipples, labia and clitoris were obvious choices;
while the upper lip, ear-lobes, and under-arms were lesser known but equally
effective targets.

Ramirez turned to Elsa, eyes glinting. "I like those." She slid sideways on the
seat, closing the gap between them. Elsa welcomed Ramirez's kiss, opening her
mouth to accept the younger woman's tongue, moaning when she felt the gloved
hand slide between her shirt and corset to cup and rub her left breast. Ramirez
was always the one who had difficulty controlling herself when confronted with a
tied and tormented woman. Elsa prided herself on being somewhat more
professional, but nevertheless enjoyed her young lover's heated reactions.

Their embrace lasted a full five minutes before Elsa gently disengaged herself.
Breathing hard, she re-adjusted her skirt so that it again covered her upper
legs. Ramirez, a sultry but disappointed expression on her face, put her wet
fingers to her lips and licked the tarnished gloves clean. Elsa closed her eyes
and took a deep breath, resisting the temptation to allow Ramirez to finish her
off, and mentally promising to have the Spanish girl bound and ring-gagged
between her legs before the end of the day.

"We still have more to see, young lady, so from this point forth you will keep
your hands and tongue to yourself." Elsa spoke quietly but sternly, before
softening her harsh words with a playful smile. "We'll continue that part of
proceedings later."

"Will I be punished, Madame? Or will I be the one punishing you?"

She briefly considered the second proposition. Although she spent the vast
majority of her life as a Dominant - over slaves, employees and business
associates alike - Elsa occasionally permitted Ramirez to bind and torment her
in both erotic and painful ways. These experiences helped her determine exactly
what worked on a slave in need of punishment, as well as provided her with an
outlet for certain submissive desires that would sometimes well within her.
Tonight however was not one of those nights. She was still high from the success
of capturing the FBI Agents. "Most definitely the former. But not before I show
you your former ranking agent."

The two women crouched to take their leave. Elsa paused only to close the
viewing portal and then led the way deeper into the Catacombs.

*****

Assistant Director Jack Hyland flung his mobile across the room. It smashed into
the wall with a dull thump, splintering into several pieces. The noise was
enough to cause his assistant, Susan Aletta, to knock tentatively at the door.

"Jack? Are you all right in there?"

He gritted his teeth for a few moments, hands clenched into fists, cheeks a
darkening red.

"Jack?"

"I'm fine, Susan. Everything's fine."

"Can I come in?"

Jack relaxed his hands, and made a decision that it would be better to tell
Susan at this early stage than to wait until later. "Sure," he called and the
door to the office immediately opened.

Susan stepped in, a concerned frown on her face. She was short and lithe with
dark red hair cut into a bob. Her features were a little too angular for his
taste, but that hadn't stopped their dalliance from becoming Operation
Whitedove's worst-kept secret.  She was only thirty-two and, he suspected,
intent upon advancing well beyond her current position. He, on the other hand,
well ... he was weak in ways that he should not have been.

"What happened?" she asked.

Jack nodded at the remnants of his phone. "I just got off the line with the
Director. He was less than happy about my apparent 'mishandling' of Whitedove."

She perched herself on the edge of his desk, the hem of her gray skirt sliding
ever so slightly up her thigh. Jack tried not to look, but caught a glimpse of
white suspender holding up tan stockings. He liked the way she dressed - always
smartly in a dark suit with a lighter coloured shirt. The suits generally
consisted of a skirt of shorter than knee length, and she'd always made sure to
wear stockings ever since he post-coitally commented how much he enjoyed seeing
her in them. Today was obviously no exception.

"But it wasn't your fault! A clear signal never came through. Didn't Monroe and
the others back you up?"

"Of course they did." Jack ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Apparently,
however, that wasn't good enough." He sighed, consciously expelling a
significant proportion of his anger. "I was responsible for this Operation,
Susan. Had it all gone to plan, I would have been standing right alongside
Katherine receiving all the accolades. As it is, I'm the only one here to take
the blame."

Susan stood and moved around his desk to lay a comforting hand on his arm. "You
can't blame yourself for Katherine or any of the others, Jack. They're all
trained agents and they were all aware of the risk they were taking. You didn't
force any of them."

"Didn't I?" Jack looked up at his assistant ruefully. "You missed the final
briefing before the mission. I practically pulled rank over Hudson to shut him
up. And now he's probably dead."

Susan took a step closer to cup his face in her hands. "You don't know that.
They could very well be alive in Von Kepp's mansion. We just have to get to
them."

Jack heard the implied question. "Twenty-four hours from now four tactical teams
will storm the Von Kepp estate. Their orders will be to rescue any captives,
grab Von Kepp and put down anyone else who gets in their way."

"Why so long?"

"Because of the high probability of captive loss. The Director has decided that
any opportunity to negotiate with Von Kepp is preferable to a tactical assault.
So for the moment more observation teams are moving into place around the
estate."

Susan frowned. "Based on what you've told me, I don't think Von Kepp will
negotiate."

"That's what I tried to tell out illustrious leader, but he wasn't listening. In
fact, I've been pulled from the Operation."

"You're kidding?"

Jack solemnly shook his head. "I wish I was. I'm on the midnight flight to
Washington tonight."

"Jesus, I'm so sorry, Jack. Almost two years on an Op and then ..." She trailed
off, evidently unsure how to continue.

"Look it doesn't matter. As long as ..."

"Yes it does!" He couldn't tell whether she was upset for him or because her
chances for advancement had just suffered a major blow. "That bastard shouldn't
be able to just end things like this! He wasn't here, he doesn't know how it all
played out."

Jack stood and put his arms around. She wasn't crying, not quite, but he still
felt strange to suddenly be playing the role of comforter.

She pulled away slightly to look up at his face. "Will I be coming with you?"

"No, you're to stay and assist Monroe. He'll be taking over the Op."

He thought the tears were going to flow then. Instead, Susan made a visible
effort to compose herself. "We will see each other again, won't we?"

"Of course," he lied smoothly.

"Good, then this will just be a temporary goodbye gift." Susan stepped back and
slid her skirt up around her waist. Jack swallowed hard when she saw she was
indeed wearing a white suspender belt, but no underwear. "So how about bending
me over your desk and giving me a proper goodbye? I think it'll make us both
feel a little better, don't you?"

Jack managed a nod in answer to her seductive smile. Susan turned, exposing her
well rounded ass. Jack moved forward to cup her cheeks and rub himself slowly
against her. He was just about to reach around for her breasts when she looked
over her shoulder at him.

"Have you got your cuffs?"

He managed a nod.

"Good," Susan said, linking her hands behind her back. "Use them."

*****

Katherine hurt.

Bound as she was, she could accept that. After all, Von Kepp had essentially
ordered the men who re-bound her to make her as uncomfortable as possible. And
that was exactly what they had done after dragging her down to this cold dungeon
cell.

No, hurting wasn't the problem.

The fact that a significant part of her was enjoying the torment was of much
greater concern.

Katherine was perched upon a thin wooden plank mockingly called a "horse" in
slaver circles.  She had been forced to sit with one leg dangling to either side
of the plank so that it bisected her sex perfectly to painfully crush against
her clitoris. Each ankle was drawn back and up and bound to a ringlet bolted
into the underside of the horse. This ensured that Katherine was incapable of
shifting herself into a more tolerable position - especially since her wrists
were tightly wrapped and cinched with rope behind her. Even then, she thought
she might have been able to eventually wriggle her hands free, but for the facts
that her elbows were crushed together and her arms welded to her torso by a
complex harness that ran over, under and between her breasts, squeezing them
into unnatural pointed shapes.

She was now completely naked and covered in a thin film of sweat. Her stockings
and suspenders had been cut from her immediately after Hudson and Drake had been
murdered.

Katherine squeezed her eyes shut, saying a silent prayer for the two fallen men.
She refused to let herself think about Ramirez and her betrayal, as doing so
only made her angry. Very angry. So angry, in fact, that she had already
hyperventilated twice - a result that Katherine would not recommended to anyone
whose mouth was packed full with cloth, sealed shut with tape, and completely
covered by windings of a thick elastic bandage. On both occasions she had
coughed herself into spasmodic fits, and during the second she had actually
thought she was going to suffocate. Fortunately, the massive wad in her mouth
had shifted slightly as she thrashed about in her bonds, and she had been able
to draw in just enough air to calm her exasperated system.

Chillingly, at no stage had anyone appeared to help her.

Which was why Katherine could not understand how any part of her could be taking
pleasure from her current predicament. Not only was she bound, gagged and being
tortured in a dungeon cell, at the mercy of a notoriously sadistic slaver who
had murdered two of her fellow Agents, but it seemed that no-one cared if she
lived or died and that she would be left down here to rot.

And yet, the wooden horse between her legs which was causing her so much pain,
was wet with more than just sweat.

Almost on cue, Katherine heard movement outside the heavy cell door. A moment
later it hissed open on hydraulic hinges, the computer lock having been
disengaged by the correct key code required for access.

Von Kepp entered first, dressed in a classic dominatrix uniform. But it was
Ramirez's appearance that caused Katherine to snarl into her gag and begin
struggling madly.

"Now Agent Wytt," said Von Kepp disapprovingly, "is there really any need for
such ridiculous behaviour? You are not squirming free anytime soon, and neither
of us is going to release you simply because you're struggling."

Katherine continued to fight, whipping her torso from left to right. She tried
to rip her arms apart; attempted to pull her ankles free. She grunted, yelled
and then screamed into her gag, not caring that she was out of breath and tears
were streaming down her cheeks. Pain and frustration - both physical and sexual
- had given way to rage at the sight of the woman who had betrayed her and four
others into slavery, as well as two men to their deaths.

Finally, however, Katherine exhausted herself and slumped in her bonds. Her
breath came in short, sharp gasps through her nose, but this time she at least
managed to stop herself from hyperventilating.

Von Kepp sniffed disdainfully. "I must say, Wytt, it was very unbecoming to see
you fighting in that manner. Restraints, gags and torment are to be your
constant companions from this point forth. The sooner you accept that, the
better off your life will be."

Katherine ignored the slaver, instead focusing her attention on her betrayer.
She was clad in a  tight corset, leather pants and long gloves, and seemed
completely comfortable in her surroundings. But it was only when Ramirez noticed
her glare and met it with a small mocking smile that Katherine swore she would
one day have her revenge on the woman. Complete with ropes, gag and a long
leather bullwhip.

"When do I get to have her, Madame?"

Von Kepp frowned at the younger woman. "I've already told you, Wytt here is
being saved for her buyer. By special request."

Katherine felt an icy chill run through her at the mention of "her buyer".

"Ohhh but Madame, surely a half hour with her won't hurt." Ramirez pouted. "I
promise not to leave any marks."

"I said no, and I meant it! Any further complaint, my dear, will result in you
perched on this horse with Wytt for the remainder of the night."

Katherine silently cursed. She'd been hoping the women would change her position
before they took their leave. But now it seemed she was destined to be in
howling agony before she was again permitted to stand. The horse was already a
torment beyond description, so Katherine was under no illusions as to what
another six to eight hours with her clit crushed against a wooden ridge would do
to her.

Ramirez frowned unhappily and folded her gloved arms, but said no more.
Evidently satisfied that she had made her point, Von Kepp strode over to stand
alongside Katherine. The slaver grabbed her by the chin and tilted her head
until they were looking each other in the eye.

"We only have another twenty-four hours in this country, but we have an
interesting morning activity planned for you. I think you'll enjoy it ...
Actually, you're going to hate it.. But I'm going to enjoy it, and given that
your only purpose now is to pleasure others, you should be happy with that." Her
chin was released, allowing Katherine to pull away angrily. Von Kepp only
laughed. "By the time we box you up for transportation, Wytt, all that excess
energy will be spent. I promise you!"

Von Kepp turned on her stiletto heels and gestured for Ramirez to follow. The
younger woman nodded, but the moment Von Kepp was past, spun to point at herself
and then at Katherine.

The message was clear, and one that Katherine knew was meant as a threat.

You're mine!

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