A Night at the Opera

By Jeb

The bitch.

Regine slammed the hairbrush down on the polished top of the vanity, scarcely noticing the scattering of tiny bottles to the floor.

How could she?  How dare she?

She glanced in the mirror, and nearly cursed at the moistness she saw around her eyes.  That this could have happened to her… betrayed by that little… slut!

Regine closed her eyes.  It seemed but days since it all began…

But, of course, it had been weeks ago.  Even the first moments were still vivid in her rmemory.  It had been at the reception for the latest touring collection to grace the Palace of Fine Arts.  Regine never missed such things: she was, after all, regarded as one of San Francisco's true patrons of the arts.  And, of course, no one with an interest in the international trade in stolen art would pass up such an opportunity to appraise these tempting targets; and in the heady trade in stolen art, Regine had few peers.  Outwardly the most elegant and respectable of women; beneath, one of the world's most brilliant criminal minds.

And look what it's got me! She sniffed to herself, as she remembered…

It had been still early in the evening, when Regine's party was joined by a new thirty-ish woman, someone Regine had never seen before-and she was sure she would have remembered!  Not tall, but exquisitely shaped; slender but not sticklike, with hips and buttocks that were drawing every eye in the room to the pants of the trim, dark business suit she wore.

"Ms. Crespin?"  Green eyes twinkled as the ruby lips parted and Regine felt a strange thrill at hearing her name on those lips.

"Yes?"  The beautiful, doll-like face was topped with a mass of rich auburn hair; highlights from the overheads gleamed like fire in it.  Regine marveled at the sheer quantity, and idly wondered if, when it was released from its simple bun, it reached all the way down to that trim ass.

"My name is Anne Cleaves.  I am interning here at the Museum, and have heard so many wonderful things about you."  Behind the eagerness, Regine sensed something else: the head high, the pretty upturned nose… poise, confidence… arrogance?  Too aware of her own beauty, perhaps?  Or was she hiding some secret?

"Indeed."  As she answered, Regine had almost forgotten her other companions already.  

"Oh, yes," long lashes batted.  "They say no one knows the art trade like you do."

That was all it took, wasn't it?  Just some cheap flattery.

The next few weeks went by faster than seemed possible.  Regine did her best to maintain some detachment as she inaugurated her young protégé, but there were moments of proximity that Regine found wishing had been moments of… intimacy.  Her head would fill with Anne's perfumed scent, she would occasionally brush her arm against the satiny skin and shiver with delight.  And, surely, Anne felt something, too, didn't she?  

No, that was the damnable part-Regine could NOT be sure of that.  The damn little flirt would lower her dark lashes coyly, would give a coquettish toss of that adorable head-but nothing more.  Hints, tantalizing suggestions, but in the end, the blouses remained starched and buttoned; the hair always neatly pinned up.  Was she blind?  Or was she playing some sort of perverse game?  Whichever it was, Regine found that it was beginning to affect her in ways she'd never experienced before.  

Men.  Regine had had them dropping at her feet since she was an adolescent, and she prided herself on being able to take from them what she wished while giving back only what she could spare.  She'd even had the odd discreet affair with other women from time to time; but never could she recall anything like the way she was positively mooning over this luscious minx.  Flowers, gifts… she had even arranged to take her to the opening of the San Francisco Opera's new season tonight…

And now this.  Regine had always counted on her network of spies and informers to keep her appraised of any law enforcement developments that might impact her, but why this?  Why now?  For the hundredth time, Regine stared glumly at the papers in front of her.  The cold, clinical reports contrasted with the dazzling beauty in the glossy photograph: Anne Cleaves was a Federal agent.

Tonight.  Tonight, she had finally decided to force the issue, she had finally decided to tell Anne just how… enraptured she was, and now… now…

She'd run.  That was the smart thing to do.  Regine had money stashed in bank vaults all over the world. She would simply not turn up for their "date" tonight, and… and…

And never see Anne again?  Give up any chance of ever hearing professions of love from those delectable lips?  No, that couldn't be.

But the alternative:  Exposure? Prison?  And if that happened, would she ever know how Anne felt?  Could she live not knowing the answer to that?

No. Run. There was no other choice.

Or was there?

If Anne wasn't going to give of herself, well then… couldn't Regine simply "take"?  

No, that was insane-a Federal agent?  How could she… ?

It could be done, though.  The risks were substantial; but then, so would be the rewards.  She closed her eyes again, and pictured the milky-white skin that she could never touch enough; she saw the big brown eyes with their haughty demeanor; the mane of glossy hair that always threatened to fall from its pinnings, but never seemed to…  if Regine made a bold move, all these things could be hers.  No questions, no games, no coy refusals.  

And no more betrayals.  Regine's face hardened.  Did it even matter what Anne might have said to her?  After all, the beautiful little whore had played her for a fool.  Tonight, she would learn the price of trifling with Regine Crespin.

Tonight.  Tonight would be a night at the opera to remember.

Anne Cleaves tugged at a lock of auburn hair; gently she slid it out from the mass atop her head, and let it twirl down the side of her neck, with an affected carelessness.  Her hands ran down the front of her trim body; ostensibly to smooth any wrinkles in the Versace gown, in reality to convince herself for the hundredth time that she was actually wearing such a thing! At first, she had wanted to laugh at the thought of her prey actually buying her the gown, the expensive lingerie, and the high heels that she was still trying to get used to.  But as she dressed, she found herself growing more intrigued by the unheard-of luxury… and seduced by it.

She examined her face in the ladies' room's wall-length mirror, and was surprised at just how flushed it was.  But then, why the surprise?  After all, she was wearing an outfit that cost nearly a month's salary, she was ensconsed in the glittering crowd in the San Francisco War Memorial Opera House, and she was on the verge of the crowning achievement of her law-enforcement career: the arrest of Regine Crespin.

Like so many in her profession, Anne found the whiff of danger to be a form of aphrodisiac, but in this case, there was something more: tonight would bring an end to the sexual cat and mouse game she had been playing with Regine.

 It hadn't been part of the original plan, but Regine's attraction to her had been so apparent that Anne began to play upon it: teasing, tempting, leading Regine on, until the thief would make a blunder that would deliver her into the lovely agent's clutches.  Anne nearly laughed out loud… flirting with men had been second nature to her since she was thirteen; what a strange feeling it had been, to be flirting with a woman!  By any objective standards, of course, Regine Crespin, with her bee-stung lips and dark, brooding eyes, was an attractive woman.  If anything, the thought that she was desired by this woman inflated Anne's opinion of herself even more.

Anne took a deep breath, making another needless adjustment to the black Gucci scarf Regine had gently tied about her throat earlier. Time to return to where her prey sat waiting for her.  

Regine had waited quietly at the table in the marbled salon, until the ladies' room door closed behind Anne.  With a languid gesture, she reached to her bosom and withdrew a small packet, like a container of sweetener.  Satisfied that she was unobserved, Regine tipped it into Anne's glass, and watched as the powder dissolved into the bubbles, the sparkling crystals gleaming like the white teeth when Anne threw back her head to laugh.

Anne emerged from the bathroom, and Regine had to stifle a moan, and clamp her legs firmly together: the anticipation was overwhelming.   The weeks of waiting were over.  Before the end of the night, Anne Cleaves would be exchanging her role as a Federal Agent for the role she had played so often in Regine's dreams: writhing naked for Regine's pleasure.

The gorgeous traitor sat down again.

"Oh, Regine, thank you again.  This has been such a lovely evening.  The first act was magnificent!"  If Regine had worried at all about her plan going awry, Anne quickly assuaged that by taking two large sips of the champagne.  "And this champagne is wonderful," she lowered her lashes in that damnably delectable way of her, "I feel like it quite goes to my head!"

Regine smiled as a third sip drained the rest of Anne's glass.  "Well, dear," she murmured.  "We should return to our seats.  I expect the final act to especially exciting."

That night, for Regine, sitting through Act IV of La Giaconda seemed longer than enduring the entire Ring at Bayreuth.  The drug she had given her lovely companion was designed to work slowly, subtly. In the dim light of their box, Regine watched as Anne's face grew just that much more flushed, her skin glowing.  

"Oh, Regine."  Anne's eyes dazzled as she whispered to her companion.  "You were right… the music, the passion… I feel quite carried away!"

Regine bit her lip as she felt her loins stir achingly.  God, how could she wait?  It was as though Regine had somehow drugged herself, too-- every minute that went past, her hunger seemed to double.  She tried to distract herself with the opera, but her head would fill with images of that perfect body that would soon be hers for the taking.  During one duet, Regine slouched back in her seat, eyes closed, hoping her companion would mistake the orgasm for simple rapture at the music.  She had scarcely finished shuddering when Anne bent to whisper to her again, the full red lips brushing Regine's ear, the slender fingers upon Regine's arm.  That was practically another orgasm.  Still, there was no letup… the music delivered crescendo after crescendo, and Regine rode the wave of ecstasy… this was more than simply love, or lust… Regine came a second time as she realized what, for her, was the ultimate aphrodisiac: power.  Ownership.  Control.  The most beautiful woman she had ever known would soon be utterly in her power.

The roar of applause brought Regine back to something resembling her senses.  Anne had leapt to her feet along with the others; Regine was pleased to see that she swayed a bit, and sat down again almost immediately.

"Oh, gosh!" Anne breathed.  "I must have been more carried away than I thought."

Regine murmured a noncommittal reply as she stood herself, extending a hand to Anne to get back on her increasingly-unsteady feet.  "That's all right, dear… I'll take care of you."

Regine had chosen the parking garage strategically: pay-in-advance, no attendant to exchange words with on the way out.  She selected her space the same way: hidden by cement columns from the view of anyone entering or leaving the elevator.  With Anne's movements slowed by the drugs, the structure was practically deserted when the two women finally arrived at Regine's Lexus.

Anne could not remember ever feeling this way before… it was as though she were walking on a cloud.   The evening, the music, the champagne… she knew she had let herself go a bit, but how often did she have such an opportunity?  She felt sad, knowing it would be the last one…. And to her surprise, it took a few moments for her to remember just why that was.  Oh, yes.  Regine.  To be arrested tonight.  Anne had always disdained backup, but… was she supposed to have called someone?  Was there to have been a signal of some kind at the end of the opera?  Her fogged brain wouldn't do-operate.

"Regine, I don't know what's come over me… I feel…"

"Feel what, dear?"  Was it Anne's imagination, or was there less sympathy in those eyes, that voice, than she might have expected?  Anne was leaning unsteadily against the car now, and Regine was regarding her with the strangest look… if Anne's mind had been clearer, she might have recognized that look as the one she wore herself as the time for making a capture arrived.  Anne's eyes seemed to be trying to close of their own accord; for some reason, she noticed an odd detail: Regine had removed the silk scarf from her own throat, and was twirling it in her hands.

"Let me help you…" Regine reached for Anne's left hand.  Instead of simply steadying her, though, the woman had pulled Anne's hand behind her back, and spun her around so that she was leaning against the open doorway of the car.

"Wha--?"  Anne's head spun dizzily, and she slumped forward, Regine's weight pressing her from behind.

Regine now moved as swiftly as she ever had in stealing a "priceless treasure."  She had trapped both of Anne's wrists in her right hand, and was now using the left to draw the scarf around them, binding Anne's hands together behind her back.

"Regine!"  The thief was pleased to hear that the drugs had reduced Anne's shout to a bare murmur.  Still, Regine could not count on that for the entire trip.  As Anne's muscles pulled dopily against her bonds, Regine pushed her captive face-down across the front seat of the car. She had brought some thin cords in her purse for use on Anne; it had been an impulse to use the scarf, with its delightfully intimate associations.  

Anne lay with her face in the upholstery, gasping for air.  Try as she would, she couldn't get her head to clear.  She knew she was in deadly danger, but her muscles simply would not perform.  It was as though she watched from a distance as Federal Agent Anne Cleaves was trussed like a turkey.

Regine lay now across Anne's back; anyone passing by would have thought they had now seen every sexual kink San Francisco had to offer.  There was tape in her bag, too, for silencing her prey, but that suddenly felt too clinical, too easy… this was too special a moment for something so mudane.

Regine stood upright; she was a bit dizzy, herself, from the exhilaration of making her capture.  As Anne squirmed weakly against her bonds, Regine reached down and stepped out of her panties… the panties she'd worn while orgasming over the lush body that now lay helpless before her.  Anne's auburn hair had begun to slip from its pinnings, and Regine delighted at the silky feel of it in her fingers as she took the helpless agent by the hair, and yanked her head up and back with her left hand, holding the panties before Anne's face with her right.  She bent her lips to her captive's ear, and hissed.

"Now, my little beauty, let's have no noise… we have a long trip ahead of us, and all I want to hear from that pretty mouth is the little moans of a foolish girl who played a dangerous game… and lost!"

She twisted her grip in Anne's tresses, and as the lovely mouth grimaced in pain, Regine stuffed the soiled panties inside, her slender fingers working the silky fabric past the fine teeth.  Anne gagged, bucking against her captor's grasp.

"Enjoy the taste, you little bitch," Regine grinned, "it will be the flavor of choice for you from now on."

Regine released Anne's hair, and the beautiful face slumped down against the seat again; before the drugged girl could even think about pushing the foul gag from her mouth, she could feel Regine slide the black silk scarf from her neck. Tying a large knot in the center of the cloth, Regine jammed the knot atop the panties; she pulled up and back, the scarf biting painfully into the corners of Anne's mouth as Regine knotted the silk at the nape of her captive's sweet neck.

Anne Cleaves' head was finally beginning to clear; her hands useless now, nearly choking on the foul intrusion in her mouth, she tried to lash out at her captor with the spike heels she still wore, but she heard Regine laugh as she gathered the flailing legs and cinched the pretty ankles together with cord from her purse.  With her prey now bound hand and foot, Regine sank steely fingers into the fine, white shoulders before her, and forced Anne onto her back.  She gazed down into the huge brown eyes glaring at her over the gag.

"Wakening a bit, now, are we?  Good.  Good.  This will be ever so much more enjoyable knowing that you can savor every moment of it."  Regine delighted in the sight before her: the disheveled hair, the mouth distended by the silken gag, the heaving bosom.  She knew that full revelation of her prize would have to wait until she had finished her escape, but she couldn't help it… just a little sample of the delights to come.  As Anne goggled at her, Regine wrapped strong fingers in the bodice of the absurdly-rumpled gown, and ripped it free.  Two firm, beautifully-formed breasts pushed against the lacy bra that Regine had chosen for her would-be lover.  Regine slid a finger under the fabric, and ran a nail along the tip of each nipple.  Anne shrieked into the gag, hating the satisfaction this brought to Regine's face.

"Enthusiastic, aren't we, little slut?"  Snickering at the moans this produced from her captive, Regine turned Anne back to her face, using another cord to fasten ankles to wrists, behind Anne's back, compacting the trim form.  Finally, more cord was used to cinch elbows and knees, reducing Anne's desperate struggles to feeble twitches.

Regine stood up, regarding the hogtied beauty before her.  She glanced backwards; it had been her plan to carry her prize in the trunk of the car.  Surely, that was the safest thing to do. But the glorious form before her seemed to insist on something far more… special.

Reaching into the back of the car, Regine drew out the dark fur coat that lay across the  seat.  She settled Anne across the front seat, closed the passenger door, and covered the lush form with the coat.  As she walked around to the driver's side, Regine's head was reeling with visions of Anne Cleaves as she would soon be: no longer Regine's enemy, or her nemesis, but simply Regine's playtoy.

Regine opened the door, and, with a furtive look to ensure that there was still no one watching, she hiked up her gown above her hips.  She slid herself in behind the wheel, tingling at the strange sensation of her bare ass on the car upholstery.  She raised the edge of the fur coat, and lifted Anne's head.  Settling herself in place, Regine placed her hand on the back of Anne's head, and turned it to the side.  With exquisite slowness, she drew Anne's face to her burning loins; when she felt the soft lips wrapped around the damp gag make contact with her tender flesh, Regine nearly orgasmed again, on the spot.  Holding the bound agent's face firmly in place, Regine started the car.

"That's it, little plaything," she moaned.  "Get comfortable down there… you will be spending quite a lot of time there."  It took all of Regine's concentration to keep the car on the road as she sped off into the night with her new prize.


To see how this story might have continued, read on.

Back to Stories Page

Back to What's New