By Jeb, and Cordelia
Steam billowed around the platform as the train glided into Paris’ Gare de l’Est station; it wafted up towards the station roof and wreathed the nine statues which stood around the station, symbolizing the great European cities joined at this terminus. Schoolboys crowded around the engine, bedeviling the station personnel, as the mobile hotel came to a halt; a uniformed young man walked the length of the track, calling out the next departure.
While a throng of passengers alighted from the ordinary accommodation with very little ceremony, the scene was entirely different at the first class end of the train. This was, after all, the train of choice for a select clientele of rich and influential people. As a multi-millionaire businessmen from Zurich who raced horses in New York and gambled on futures at the Bourse stood waiting for his driver to collect him, and a certain duc d’Orleans with pretensions to the French throne sought a cab, Katrina Scheude stood on the platform waiting for her “manservant” to slide a sizeable basket down a metal ramp; there were three suitcases balanced precariously on the top.
Inside the basket, Jeanne Thorne tried her very best not to choke on the large linen table napkin that almost completely filled her mouth. The laundry basket was made of wicker and with any luck the young special agent bound and gagged therein could push at it enough to attract some attention. The trouble was that her legs were entangled in dirty washing, and so far she had been unable to unscramble herself from its constricting embrace. Now, for a second, all was still. Jeanne, muffled by the cloths around her had no idea why; but she knew it was a chance.
Hurry up. Hurry up. Boris thought, waiting for the all clear before he could roll the basket down the ramp. A conductor was looking at him. Not the one whom Katrina had charmed, but another. He was perhaps five foot six inches tall, and portly, but every one of the buttons on his uniform was polished to perfection.
Boris looked at his partner. She was standing some twenty metres away, appraising him with a critical look, unable or unwilling to intercede herself, but anxious that he get a move on. The woman in the basket, Boris knew, was bound and gagged, but that would not prevent her kicking out. At any moment, she might reveal her presence.
Inside the basket, Jeanne could hear an exchange of words between two men. Just as she did, she fought once more with the imprisoning laundry and just managed to kick her tightly bound legs free of an entanglement in one of Katrina’s discarded bras.
Outside, the conductor regarded the basket critically. “What is in there, Monsieur?” he asked.
“Nothing that need concern you,” Boris answered acidly, with a hint of aggression.
The conductor squared up to Boris angrily. What he lacked in stature, he made up in attitude. “You will open it,” he said.
Boris moved the three suitcases as slowly as he could. Despite the claustrophobia within, Jeanne heard this. About to kick out, she hung fire for a moment, keen instead to push herself upwards to show herself above the dirty washing.
“That will not be necessary.” It was the first conductor, the one on the train. “The young lady is a most valued customer.” He craned his neck as if to ensure that Katrina had observed this proof of his devotion; the blonde spared him not so much as a glance as Boris wheeled his burden to join her.
That was it. Jeanne immediately pounded the side of the basket, but to no avail. She felt herself gently rolled, unobserved, off the train.
* * * * *
There was a small deserted part of the station, unused for some months, where a number of rooms waited patiently for modernization. Nothing in them was worth stealing, and the squatters had long since been encouraged to seek pastures anew.
So secluded were these rooms that no one heard the noise of breaking glass as Katrina and Boris gained access courtesy of a smashed window and an easily unlatched door.
“Get her out,” the blonde ordered, as soon as Boris had wheeled the laundry basket into the derelict space.
Once again, Boris removed the suitcases. Minutes later, Jeanne teetered on painfully corded legs, fighting her ropes and gag.
Somewhere across the station an elderly man noted the light flash on in one of the deserted buildings over at the far end of the large cantilevered complex. Jacques Dupont puzzled over it. He had alighted from the same train every Thursday for nearly a decade, and he had never seen any activity in that part of the station. That was the day that he went to visit his daughter in Salzburg. Perhaps it was workmen. But then why should workmen be active there at that time of night? Quite puzzled, he made his way to the café for a brandy.
Inside the deserted building, Jeanne Thorne waited for something to happen. The man and woman merely regarded her coolly. The white steward’s uniform was rucked up by the ropes that bound her so tightly. Yards of black nylon showed below the displaced hemline of her skirt, and the bodice had been pulled aside to show a glimpse of lacy bra.
Katrina took a sip from a gilded hip flask and smiled.
“Okay, Boris. No-one will disturb us here. Untie and ungag our would-be heroine.”
Back in the café, Jacques Dupont was eyeing up a young female station attendant. She was a pretty blonde, drinking a cup of coffee. Although clearly off duty, she still wore her uniform, making the blue tunic curve in ways its designers could never have imagined. I wonder if she would be… interested?
For her part, Amelie Doucette was currently interested only in the memo their station had received that day from the American intelligence service:
Katrina Scheude… Authorities are searching for her… stands 5’6", with blue eyes and long blond hair… often travels in disguise, employing hair dye, wigs, and masking her features… is known to be in the company of one Boris Palinkov…
Intelligence and intrigue. Suddenly, the normally quiet “night shift” at Gare de l’Est station had become quite interesting…
Jeanne luxuriated as the ropes were cut from her body and the strip of curtain was pulled from her face. She coughed and retched, and spat the linen napkin from her mouth. More retching followed as she fought her gag reflex.
Katrina watched Jeanne fight for air. The young agent regained her composure and straightened, her eyes locking with Katrina’s in defiance as she did so. Katrina took in Jeanne’s rebelliousness in one glance. Then, her smiled widened. If this young woman thought that she was a match for herself, she was about to be disabused.
“Show me what you are wearing under that steward’s uniform,” the blonde ordered.
Back in the café, Amelie was beginning to be irritated by the old man watching her. Amelie was twenty-four, with long blond hair and a shapely figure with full, nicely-shaped breasts and long legs. Her uniform comprised a tight skirt and a white shirt worn with a form-fitting waistcoat and did everything imaginable to accentuate that figure. Amelie had never quite got over its magnetic effect on the male eye. Now she was being ogled by someone old enough to be her grandfather.
The seat at which she sat in the small café didn’t help. It tugged her hemline even higher up her long thighs, and she couldn’t find anywhere to hide her legs.
“Excuse me,” the man said to her suddenly.
Good god, Amelie thought. He’s actually going to try it on. She favored him with the flicker of a smile, and tried to return to her reading.
“You are a supervisor here, are you not?” he asked. “I can see from your uniform.”
“Yeeeesss,” she responded. In fact, she was the first woman to hold a supervisor’s position here, a fact that sometimes put just a bit of starch in her bearing.
“Well, I thought I ought to tell you that there is a light on in one of the ‘empty’ buildings by platform 17.”
“Go to hell,” Jeanne spat. The steward’s uniform may have become disarrayed, but she was keeping it on.
Katrina took no notice of the outburst. Instead, she opened a suitcase and selected a long thin black pencil skirt and a pair of shoes from its interior. The shoes had high, stiletto heels. Katrina looked at these for a moment before swapping them for a pair with even more towering heels.
“Your new shoes,” the blonde commented. “You are probably wondering what is going to happen to you next. … Well, let me fill you in a bit. It is growing late, and I need my beauty sleep. You, in contrast, will not be getting much rest-- not, that is, unless you can manage it while securely tied up and gagged. We will spend the night in the Grand Hotel. It is not far from here; indeed, it is close enough for you to walk - even wearing the restraints that I have planned for you. And walk to it you will, since I’d probably attract some unwelcome attention wheeling you along in a laundry basket. This tight skirt will hobble your legs nicely, and these high heels will stop you running away.”
Jeanne’s confidence suddenly returned. It was a ludicrous plan. She would shout out, or attract attention some other how.
Katrina dipped back into the suitcase. Out came a black cloak and a black, velvet pork-pie hat with an extensive veil. “Of course, your arms will be bound and you will be tightly gagged,” she commented.
Jeanne’s confidence suddenly evaporated. She looked again at the shoes: the heels had to be at least three-inches high, perhaps more. If she had to wear those, she would be severely handicapped. They had ankle straps, so she couldn’t kick them off, and heels that were not only ultra high, but spiked; running in them would be hazardous, and kicking out impossible. With her arms tied, she would be helpless.
“And what when we arrive?” Jeanne asked. “W-what then?”
“Katrina smiled. “I told you. Your friends thought that you got off before the border. So they will not be looking for you here. By the time they work it out, you will be long gone. After we have a chance for a…conversation… about you and your intelligence service, you may well serve as a useful bargaining chip, or maybe I’ll just crate you off to Istanbul. Of course, before you leave, there will be a certain amount of fun and games... I wouldn’t want to deprive Boris here of the opportunity to sample your wares.”
Once again, the blue eyes of the German blonde turned to a grey frost. “But that is very much in your future, my pretty young snoop. I gave you an order you to strip down to your underwear and I am not used to being disobeyed. Now do it.”
For a moment Amelie wondered if this was the old man’s idea of a way to get her alone in the dark. But she dismissed it. If there was no light visible in the building, she wouldn’t go, and in any case, she could handle him. She still hesitated. She was technically off-duty. Still, she ought to check the building out. There should not have been a light in any of the buildings by platform 17. She stood and smoothed the skirt over her slender thighs. It would take her five minutes to cross the station and five minutes back. She looked again at her coffee. She had been enjoying it and there was still half of it left. By the time she returned the coffee would be cold. She picked the cup up and began to drink from it.
Damnit, Jeanne thought. She had been so close to breaking a major case, and now this. She plucked tentatively at the button on her steward’s top. As the cups of her lace bra came into view, she blushed. She removed the top altogether. The skirt followed. Then her shoes. She wore no slip beneath the uniform, just panties, a bra, a garter belt and black stockings. The choice of an underwired, half-cup, lace bra and a white garter belt had seemed perfectly appropriate to the evening dress she had donned at the beginning of her current escapade. Under the purloined steward’s uniform, they had seemed incongruous. Now with nothing else, they seemed ludicrous.
Katrina watched sternly as Jeanne donned the pencil-slim skirt and buckled the shoes around her ankles. The agent waited to be handed a shirt. Her heart sank when the blonde ignored her, leaving her standing there in her bra.
“Thank you,” Amelie offered as she clanked her coffee cup back in its saucer. “I will go and check it out.” As she left the café, the blonde had an urge to look back and say goodbye to the man. But something stopped her. It was the way the old fool had looked at her. She tugged down her skirt once more – just to be sure. Only when she was well away did she look behind her – just to be sure that he wasn’t following. He wasn’t.
“Boris, please do the honours.”
Jeanne Thorne grimaced as she felt the man’s hands on her arms, pulling them together behind her back. Katrina tossed him a leather belt, which he wound around her arms just above her elbows. He threaded the tongue through the buckle and tugged at the leather until Jeanne’s elbows were only a matter of inches apart.
It could have been worse, Jeanne thought. He might have made them meet. Even like this, her shoulders hurt: had they met, the pain might have been intolerable. And there was always the possibility that she might slip the belt off altogether. That possibility was soon dashed, however, when the woman tied a nylon stocking around one of her wrists, pulling it across her stomach to the other wrist. When it had been tied tight, her elbows strained against the leather.
Jeanne was helpless. With her elbows behind and her wrists in front, she was powerless to use her hands for anything. The woman tossed the cloak over her shoulders, but left it unfastened at the front. It covered most of her exposed flesh, but left her bra-covered breasts revealed.
Katrina fished in her suitcase for something to use as a gag. If the plan were to work, whatever she used as packing would have to go in the captive’s mouth completely. The linen napkin was just too big. Panties would be perfect, but she didn’t wish to sacrifice a pair of her own. She wished that she had made the young woman strip completely. But it was too late now. So instead, she recovered the curtain that had been tied over Jeanne’s mouth and tore it in half.
Jeanne clamped her mouth shut. But as she did so, a meaty hand twisted itself in her hair and dragged her head back. Katrina put the heel of her hand on Jeanne’s nose and pushed downwards. As the agent’s mouth opened, the blond pushed the curtain into her mouth, not desisting until it had all disappeared behind her teeth. Boris let go of her hair, but clamped his hand over his captive’s mouth to keep the gag in place. Meanwhile Katrina pulled a rectangle of surgical tape from her pocket and peeled off the backing.
Amelie shivered as she approached the building. The evening air was chillier than she thought and it whipped around her nylon-covered legs. The light shone brightly from the deserted building, and she was beginning to feel more than a bit alone. I almost wish the old man WAS following me, she thought, and the station manager has gone home for the evening. She would have to go it alone.
Boris pushed upwards on Jeanne’s jaw, holding her head so that the young woman had no alternative but to purse her lips. Katrina smoothed the plaster across Jeanne’s mouth and then used lipstick to trace the outline of Jeanne’s real lips on its surface. Satisfied with her artwork, she bunched Jeanne’s hair and tied it up atop her head. She placed the velvet hat atop the bunched hair, using a hatpin to fasten it in place. Then she let the veil cascade downwards, so that it hid the gag.
“You will walk between us to the Grand Hotel,” she ordered coldly. “In addition to your bonds and gag, there will be a gun in your back. If you misbehave, I will not hesitate to shoot. Do not forget that.”
Jeanne’s confidence began to return. It would never work. Even tied like this, she would find it easy to attract attention as soon as she was in a public space.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Katrina said suddenly. “You’re thinking that at some point you’ll escape. That a gun in your back and those ropes and gag won’t be enough to hold you. That there be a moment when my attention is diverted, or there would be so many people around, a policeman even, that I wouldn’t dare pull the trigger.”
Jeanne had thought all these things and more. Right now, she wished that the woman would actually fasten the cape up. With only her lacy white bra to wear above the waist, and with the elbow tie forcing her breasts out so prominently, she felt so exposed to the man’s gaze that she was beginning to blush.
Katrina, however, took no notice. Instead, she took two ovals of adhesive plaster from the first-aid kit. Each was about two inches long and an inch wide. Katrina stuck a lump of cotton wool on to each piece. Now Jeanne got it.
“I am sure that your agent training would give you every chance of getting away with it,” Katrina continued. She reached for a pair of dark glasses. “But, of course, that assumes that you can see what you are doing. Now close your eyes”
Jeanne screwed up her eyes. Katrina lifted the veil and then pressed a pad on each eyelid, and filling the hollow beneath each eyebrow.
“There,” she said, hooking the glasses over Jeanne’s ears and pulling the veil back into place. “Now try to escape.”
Amelie approached the building cautiously. She noticed the broken window and the opened door at once. “Anyone there?” she shouted.
At the back of the same building two things were going on. Boris was shoveling Katrina’s unmentionables from the laundry basket into the suitcase where they normally resided. That just left the steward’s uniform and Jeanne’s shoes which he added to a plastic bag. Katrina was finally doing up the zip at the front of the cape, although much to Jeanne’s chagrin, she left as much cleavage on display as she could.
“Anyone there?” Amelie called again.
Katrina peered around an interior wall and regarded the blond platform supervisor. She was impressed. The German woman’s trained eye put the girl’s height at five seven or eight and perhaps 120 pounds. The uniform of waist coat and tight skirt accentuated her figure and her blond hair was clearly visible in the half light. Her breasts looked particularly appealing, a C-cup probably. Katrina knew that she could immediately place her in a half dozen locations… but then, her attention was rather occupied at the moment. Another time perhaps, Katrina sighed to herself.
Jeanne Thorne only heard the sound. Rescue was her first thought. But then she realised that the woman was alone, and a rescue attempt would very likely turn into a dual captivity.
“Nothing there,” Amelie said to herself sotto voce. She turned to go back to the café, unaware of the three figures emerging from the other side of the building – a tall man, a tall woman, and a further female between them, the last one walking with a gait not quite as free as that of the other two.
As she came back in the light of the station concourse, Amelie shivered, the air cool on her nylon-clad legs. It was then that she saw the three people. Had they come from the deserted building? It was hard to tell. But one of the women was dressed most strangely-- hat, dark glasses at night, cape… as though she were in disguise! And the man-- big and ugly, just as the cable had suggested… was it possible? Possible or not, Amelie was going to look into this!
Jeanne had always wished she could see Paris… right now, she wished that more fervently than ever. In fact, she wished she could see anything.
She could smell the place, certainly… even hear reasonably well… but the blindfold and veil made the walk from the station far more challenging than a sight-seeing trip would have been-- not to mention far more terrifying.
Exhausting, too. Hobbled by the tight skirt and the tall shoes, her legs ached far worse than they had when they’d been tied together in the train compartment. The gag didn’t help, as she labored to breathe. Time and again, needing to balance herself, she found herself fighting the bonds on her hands and arms, futile though that was. The leather strap that brought her elbows together was especially painful, biting into her skin.
She wasn’t going to easily slip her bonds, or make a quick break for escape; painful though it was, patience was called for.
Listen. Learn. The tedious lessons of her training suddenly might be the difference between life and death.
If they were taking her toward the center of Paris, then there was a good chance they were on the large Boulevard de Strasbourg. IF. Her mind desperately tried to dig up some specific memory from the maps she’d studied, but all the ‘rues” and “Arrondissements” seemed to jumble together in her mind into one big stew
A few minutes along, a slightly increased dampness in the air suggested a canal-- St. Martin?-- but before she could try and extrapolate a destination from that, a growl from Boris brought her up short.
“This is ridiculous, parading her about like this. Let me put a knife in her ribs, rocks in her pockets, and throw her in."
Katrina laughed. "Boris, please-- do you mean you’re not enjoying the fact that we are able to escort a young woman, bound, gagged, and helpless, through the streets of Paris, with complete impunity? I find that rather luscious, myself,” and she gave Jeanne’s rear end a playful swat.
Boris did manage a laugh at the indignant squeak that was all Jeanne could get past her gag, as Katrina went on. "Besides, I’m in no hurry to add a hanging offense to the allies’ list of grievances against me. No, this pretty little snoop may prove a most useful bargaining chip later... once she’s told us everything that she knows;" the last was added in a tone of low menace that reminded Jeanne that the young German-American woman had a streak of cruelty which Jeanne suspected she had not come close to plumbing yet.
Even bound and swathed as she was, Jeanne could tell that they were approaching a destination of some sort. She was forced to hobble up a wide stone stairway, and heard her heels go silent as she was walked across a carpet.
By now, Jeanne could sense the bustle of the busy hotel lobby, and the fact that her appearance had clearly caused no stir reinforced the fact that her captors had done their work of disguising her bondage very well. It also meant that she was approaching what was very likely her last chance for aid of any kind. Doubtless, once in the hotel room, she’d be secured far too well for any prospect of escape; if she were to take a chance, it had to be now.
Jeanne had not been idle during the seemingly-endless walk to the hotel. She’d tested the bonds, and, as she had expected, found them unyielding; Katrina’s slap on the ass had made it clear that the gag was too well applied for her to hope to call for help, and in any case, her captors would easily see her make any attempt to free her hands or shed the gag... but if her arms, hands, and mouth were fully imprisoned, the same was no longer true of... her eyes.
The one aspect of her bondage that was invisible to her captors was the pads taped in place over her eyes. While the dark glasses and veil kept any potential rescuer from seeing the blindfolding, they also kept her captors from seeing the way she had been madly blinking her eyes as they walked. Her luxuriant eyelashes had kept the pads from fitting flush under the tape, and though her eyelid muscles ached and her eyes streamed, she had, with the help of some fatiguing facial contortions, succeeded in loosening the tape enough to separate it from her skin in a few spots; while the veil was still in place, it had the effect of dimming the light, not blocking it out. She had nothing like a complete view of her surroundings, and looking up over the top of the tape showed her only the ceiling... but looking down, she could see the floor. She could also see the heels they had forced on her, but at least she now felt that she could guide her feet, despite the ludicrous shoes.
And as the hum of activity ebbed and flowed around her, Katrina’s voice echoed in her thoughts: "not a hanging offense". Jeanne wondered if the woman was truly as bloodthirsty as she’d sounded… or would she hesitate before committing cold-blooded murder in the lobby of what sounded to be a crowded hotel? That’s all she needed her to do-- hesitate. Given an opening, Jeanne would take that chance.
As subtly as she could, Jeanne accelerated her steps; difficult though that was, it separated her from the gun by an inch or so. She tilted her head back, carefully, taking in as much of the lobby as she could through the slit in the tape… and ran.
Say, rather, she hobbled… staggered… teetered... but she was in motion-- away from her captors.
In this crowd, avoiding collisions wasn’t the point-- in fact, she needed to run into someone, for them to realize her plight!
From behind her came a low hiss from Katrina. At least I was right about that-- they are more afraid of being spotted than of losing me! Jeanne took renewed strength from the knowledge, and began to add pathetic gagged hummings to the doubtless bizarre sight she was presenting careening through the lobby.
It already felt a lifetime since she’d taken her chance on running, but realized it had been but seconds-- too soon for anyone to react to her, to try to come to her aid. She had no choice but to plow on, terrified by not knowing how close her pursuers might be behind her. Her chest ached, her lungs heaving and her breasts bouncing against the bra she had been left with. She twisted her body side to side as she hobbled, trying to will the bonds to give, even just a bit.
Her crazy shuffling came to an abrupt ending as, looking to the floor, she saw a set of glossy black pumps, encasing a pair of highly-expensive silk stockings. Jeanne nearly knocked the woman down, whimpering and humming through her packed mouth. She threw her head back and forth, causing the hat and veil to slip halfway down her head; she forced her head down to the woman’s chest, sending the dark glasses tumbling off, and trying to rub the tape off her eyes.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” The voice was smooth and unruffled, and Jeanne could see that the arms into which she’d run belonged to a tall Frenchwoman, with greying black hair piled high on her head, and dressed in the formal wear that indicated an official of the hotel.
Jeanne shook her head madly, trying to will the woman to remove the gag, so she could explain.
"You are in some trouble." The voice was flat and matter-of-fact. Jeanne wanted to weep with relief at the idea that she’d found someone who wouldn’t be rattled by her strange predicament. Though her rescuer made no move to undo the gag, she did put an arm warmly around Jeanne’s shoulders as she finished peeling the tape from her eyes.
Jeanne blinked against the light and the tears; she did her best to move in the wake of the woman’s guiding her, and as her vision began to clear, she could see that they were now in a small, dark corridor behind the main lobby area.
Is this where the house detective is stationed? Jeanne thought hopefully. A gendarme on duty?
"I believe Madame has lost something?" The woman was speaking, not to Jeanne, but to the elegant blonde who now stepped into the bound girl’s line of sight.
Jeanne tried to convince herself that her tortured eyes were playing a trick on her-- the woman wasn’t presenting her to a gendarme, but to the coldly smiling Katrina Scheude.
"Why yes, Eloise. This bit of my luggage had gone a bit astray. I’m so glad that I can always count on your discreet service in these matters." Jeanne whinnied through the gag as she felt Boris clamp hands like iron bands down on her arms, pinning her.
"Quite.” The woman called Eloise gave a slight, ironic bow. “Madame is one of our best customers... and has always been so generous in remembering my little efforts at assistance."
Oh, God, no!! Jeanne blinked again at the Frenchwoman, somehow trying to believe she’d somehow misunderstood… but the woman returned her gaze blandly, clearly with no intention of removing Jeanne’s bonds or gag, as Katrina went on.
"My man will take things from here." In her despair, Jeanne couldn’t even try to fight Boris, who seized her slender waist in two meathooks of hands, and threw her over his shoulder, her muffled wails now disappearing into his broad back.
"Allow me." The woman called Eloise led the abduction party to the lift, closed the door behind them, and operated the device, carrying them up to the fifth floor.
"Will Madame require any other services from me?"
Katrina thought for a moment. "Well... I would like to be informed if anyone should come to make inquiries about my… ‘luggage’. You know how I like to keep things tidy."
"Ah, yes indeed. I will ensure that anyone asking after madame’s business is made known to you, so that they may be... properly attended to."
"Eloise, you are a treasure."
“Always my pleasure to serve, madame.”
The elevator door rattled open, and the concierge led Katrina, Boris, and their captive down a hallway.
”312, you said?”
“Thank you, Eloise. Yes, we’ll take it from here.” Jeanne whimpered again into Boris’ back as she heard the door open and then close behind them. The big man wasted no time, striding across the floor to one of the bedrooms, and throwing his bound captive down on the bed. Jeanne glared over the gag up at Katrina, who had come to stand by the bed.
"I suppose you think that was rather clever," the blonde sneered. No answer was possible, or called for. “Too bad for you that Eloise was handy-- but I don’t think we’ll leave things to chance like that again.” She called over her shoulder, without turning her face from Jeanne, “Boris-- get her untied. We clearly need to do more to discourage our pretty guest from venturing out on her own again.”
Boris grunted, and put his thick fingers to the work of untying the young woman. As the bonds came undone, Jeanne’s arms and legs began to shake uncontrollably. Whether from cramps, terror, or both, she had no more control over her limbs than she did over Boris’s. Once the last of the bonds had dropped away, the big man put his face to hers, then ran his tongue in a disgusting path up her cheek, up into her hair.
“You taste good, little bird,” he growled. “But I think we clip your wings.” Jeanne tried not to retch.
“Boris, our guest isn’t responding to your attentions-- but, then, that outfit she has on scarcely suggests an evening of romance, does it?” Katrina addressed Jeanne coldly. “Since you don’t seem to care for the clothes I provided you, you may take them off.”
Her hands trembling, Jeanne reached to her throat, unfastening the clip on the cape. She threw it to the floor, a small gesture of defiance to be sure, and one that her captors seemed barely to notice. Boris, to be certain, seemed to have eyes only for the chest that heaved before him, now half-exposed.
Jeanne tried to postpone the inevitable by taking off skirt and shoes next, but her captors seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of patience and good humor where her humiliation was concerned, and before long she stood clad only in stockings, suspender belt, bra and panties. She stopped. “Their” clothes were off. Now she wore only her own. There wasn’t much, and the bra was mostly lace. But at least it kept the essentials covered.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
”You can’t mean--“
“Perhaps I’ve not made myself clear,” Katrina gloated. “I prefer to discourage you from scampering hither and thither through the hotel tonight, and I doubt that even a shameless American like yourself would run about the place nude.”
Jeanne glared. She was pretty certain she’d be willing to chance running for help through the hotel, stark naked if need be-- but she thought it highly unlikely she’d be given the opportunity. Slowly she began to unhook the tabs clipped to the tops of her stockings. She slid the nylons down her slender legs and off her feet, before unfastening the suspender belt and casting it aside. She felt almost better without the embarrassment of what she considered to be an unattractive set of underwear items. The bra and panties were a different matter.
“Please …,” she started.
“Remove your bra and panties,” Katrina ordered, adding “before I have Boris do it for you.”
Slowly, Jeanne reached behind her back to unclip the fastening of her bra. The cool amusement in Katrina’s eyes, as she watched the young American agent strip herself, contrasted with the smoldering lust in Boris’. Jeanne stood there in just her panties for an instance, her arms desperately trying to shield her breasts. But a signal from Katerina in the direction of Boris pre-empted the issue. As Jeanne stepped out of her panties, Katrina strode forward to take them from her hand.
The cool amusement in Katrina’s eyes, as she watched the young American agent strip herself contrasted with the smoldering lust in Boris’. As Jeanne stepped out of the panties, Katrina strode forward to take them from her hand.
“Spread-eagle her on the bed,” Katrina ordered, “legs apart. I think that that position will exploit her vulnerability to the full.”
In an instant, Boris had placed his huge hands on her hips, and lifted her into the air, feet dangling. He held her to him, planting a huge, wet kiss on her face that she did her best to turn away from. He laughed at that, then threw her, like a rag doll, down to the bed, on her back.
“Just lie still now,” Katrina had gathered up lengths of cord from the curtain-pull in the main salon of the suite, “and you won’t get hurt… much.”
She threw a handful of the cords to Boris, who still stood over Jeanne, practically drooling. Jeanne tried once more to get her trembling under control as the big man leaned over her. He had begun knotting lengths of cord to the posts at the sides of the headboard, and now began to fit cord about Jeanne’s wrists. Her muscles still weak and sore from her time in the basket, Jeanne could offer no resistance as the cord encircled her wrists, biting into them. Boris yanked her arms wide, pulling them to their full extension, tying off the cord to the headboard. He played with the amount of tension, watching it reflected in the rise and fall of Jeanne’s chest. Eventually, Katrina snapped “Never mind her tits right now-- you can have those later. Get her done up”; with a shrug, the big man tied off the knots.
Down below, Jeanne could feel Katrina positioning her ankles for binding, and it suddenly hit Jeanne just how vulnerable she was going to be in this position… and Katrina didn’t appear to have much interest in controlling her partner’s disgusting appetites. The blonde finished binding Jeanne, cinching the ropes painfully tight about her ankles, her legs forced wide, the muscles in her thighs already beginning to ache. Satisfied that Jeanne was going nowhere, Katrina reached back to the pile of discarded clothing as Boris once more smiled down at the captive, wolfishly.
“Just you wait… we get to the chateau, I show you a good time.”
“You slimy bast--uggggh!” Jeanne’s retort was cut off by Katrina’s fist in her hair. Jeanne’s head was yanked back, and the panties Katrina held in her hand were now being stuffed past her lips, between her teeth, and deep into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue. The blonde worked the panties as deeply as she could, then took a long scarf, tied a massive knot in the center and used it to bind the gag in place. She seemed to take additional satisfaction in yanking the fastening doubly tight at the nape of Jeanne’s neck.
Jeanne lay there, her legs obscenely spread, waiting for the German to pull the covers up over her. She didn't. Instead, she reached out and cupped Jeanne's exposed mound with her right palm.
It was the last thing that the agent wanted -- well, not the last thing; that related to Boris -- but nearly the last thing. Jeanne squirmed to get away from the prying hand.
“My, my,” Katrina hummed. “There's some slack. I do believe that our helpless captive can move about.”
Katrina unfastened the bindings at Jeanne's ankles and dragged on the ropes, only re-tying them when there wasn't an ounce of slack, and the muscles in her thighs and calves were stretched to the full. In addition to the increased discomfort, Jeanne was now spread even wider than before.
"Good night, dear," Katrina giggled, as she bent down and gave Jeanne a kiss on the forehead. "I’d suggest sleeping, rather than wasting time trying to get away... you’re not going to be this comfortable again for quite some time."
To Be Continued