Under Evaluation

Lila Powell screamed, her face turning scarlet with the effort.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!  I’LL KILL YOU ALL IF YOU DON’T LET ME OUTTA HERE!  MOTHERFUCKERZZZZ!”

Lila lapsed into a fit of sobs, repeating the profanity over and over.  She tugged at the tanned leather hospital restraints that held her to the bed.  Her petite frame was no match for the cuffs that held her wrists and ankles to the side rail of the bed, nor the straps holding her down at shoulders, stomach and knees.  An IV bottle hung nearby, replenishing nutrients.  The lawyer had been told that she’d refused to eat.

The court appointed attorney winced at the display of rage he was witnessing on the other side of the mirrored glass.  This was not the same confident, yet scared young woman he’d first met. 

He’d been assigned Lila’s case through the Public Defender’s pool.  He had thought that, for once, the case would be a simple one.  A young woman from out of town, mistakenly picked up on charges of soliciting.  The interview had gone smoothly, Lila explaining that she was just passing through on her way to the coast.  She was hoping to get a job in

Atlantic City as a cocktail waitress or card dealer.  Lord knew, thought the lawyer, she sure had the body for it.

Her light brown hair had had a naturally soft wave, falling down to her shoulders.  The attorney had noticed immediately upon entering the observation cubicle, that it was now shorn short, in a boyish style cut.  He’d been told that it was for safety and sanitation purposes.  Not to worry, she’d be free to grow it any length she wished, once the determination had been made that she was no longer a threat to herself or others.

Never flattering, a hospital gown rolled over the swell of her bust.  Her slender waist and full hips were a little harder to make out under the lightweight cotton, but didn’t obliterate her figure entirely.  The hem of the gown ended at her knees, revealing her firm calves and delicate feet.

Her face was just as pretty as when he’d first seen her, even with her make-up removed.  Her Blue/Green eyes were currently somewhat dulled, but still striking.  High cheekbones straddled a long, elegant nose on a slightly oval face.  Her lips were full, but not cosmetically so.  Her chin was strong, almost to the point of being square.  The attorney had entertained thoughts of asking her out to dinner, after the hearing was over.

Ah, the hearing.  What a clusterfuck that had been.  She’d been ushered in, wearing the mandatory orange jumpsuit, complete with wrist and ankle manacles.  After being seated, he had smiled reassuringly at her and she’d returned the gesture.  Then, whilst waiting for her case to come before the judge, the young lady had simply gone bezerk.  It had taken three bailiffs to carry her out of the courtroom.  The judge had immediately ordered a 72 hour psychiatric evaluation. 

This was Lila’s third day in Byberry State Mental Hospital, just outside of Philadelphia.  And it was quite apparent that her condition hadn’t improved at all.  The attorney let out a sigh.

“What a shame.”  He said, turning to the attending physician who’d accompanied him.  “She’d seemed like such a nice, levelheaded girl.”

“Yes,” replied Dr. Rayne Attenburg, “Schizophrenia is like that sometimes.  The stress of the trial probably triggered an extraordinarily intense episode.”

“She does have her lucid periods,” the doctor continued, “but the treatment has only just begun.  I’m afraid we’re talking months, if not years of therapy, before she learns to manage her condition.”

The attorney turned, having to look up, at the tall lab-coated physician standing next to him.  “Stunning”, barely scratched the surface of the doctor’s beauty.  Obviously of Aryan or Nordic descent, the woman could have easily graced the cover of any fashion magazine.  Yet still, there was something about her that made the lawyer uncomfortable.

Her ice blue eyes seemed to look upon everything with a gaze of contempt.  Her blonde, practically white, hair was pulled into a severe bun.  And her mannerisms, left the public defender thinking that she would have easily fit in, goose-stepping through the halls of Berchtesgaden. 

“Definitely not your ‘warm bedside manner’ type.”  He’d thought.

“Well,” he said clearing his throat, “I’ll give the judge my recommendation that she be 401’d to the hospital’s care for treatment.  Hopefully, with your professional attention, she can go on to live a normal life.”

“And I can still try for that dinner date.”  He thought.

“Not to worry,” replied the doctor coolly, “we have proven methods that will insure Miss Powell behaves as a young woman should.”

The attorney smiled in a mechanical fashion at the way the doctor had phrased her last statement.  But he thought no more of it, eager to get out of this depressing place and into a chilled martini.  He bid his farewells, insisting he find his own way out.  Dr. Attenburg followed him long enough to make sure he didn’t wander anywhere he shouldn’t, then returned to Lila’s room.  On her way, she was joined by Carl, who was the chief orderly (amongst other titles).

“No problems then, ma’am?”  Carl asked.  He knew there wouldn’t be, they’d done this before.

“No,”  Rayne replied, removing the IV from Lila’s arm, “the little slut played her part beautifully.  Then again, this “cocktail” we gave her didn’t leave her much choice.  You may satisfy yourself before returning her to her cell.” 

“Thank you, ma’am.”  Carl replied with a sinister grin.

Believing ‘foreplay’ belonged on the golf course, Carl grabbed the neck of the hospital gown and ripped it off the patient’s body.  The attorney would have been shocked to see that Lila was naked underneath.  Well, perhaps not by the nudity, but certainly by the road map of livid, scarlet lines marring her smooth skin. 

They were everywhere the gown had covered, from collarbone to knees.  The densest concentration were at her breasts, pelvis and inner thighs.  Lila’s skin was not broken, nor the wounds excessively puffy, testament to the skill in which the lashes had been administered.  Yet still, each strike of the switch had been excruciating.

With the IV removed, the drugs she’d been given metabolized rapidly.  Lila’s eyes began to clear, just as Carl dropped his surgical scrubs and climbed up on the gurney.

“No!”  She whispered weakly, when she saw his pulsing erection.

“NO!”  She cried once more, gaining her strength.

Carl reached down to a canvas bag hanging from the side of the bed.  He pulled out a tanned leather object.  Holding it in his right hand, he used his left to cover Lila’s mouth and pinch her nose shut.  The beauty bucked and squirmed against the restraints, her oxygen suddenly cut off.  After only a few seconds, she was forced to open her mouth, in an effort to suck in some of the air which leaked around his palm.  With practiced ease, Carl shifted his hand, quickly pressing his thumb and forefinger into the girl’s cheeks.

With the flesh of her cheeks between her teeth, Lila was unable to bite down.  Not the least bit concerned for the patient’s comfort, Carl jammed the bulbous portion attached to the inside of the leather object, against Lila’s teeth.  The firm inner core of the protrusion, pried her mouth open and burrowed inside. 

Carl’s palm pushed the wide leather gag panel against Lila’s face.  Designed to accommodate a wearer’s open mouth, the oversized restraint cupped her chin and pressed up alarmingly against her nostrils.  Stitched between the outer leather layer and the inner neoprene one, was an inch of high density foam rubber.  Grasping the rubber bulb dangling from the front of the gag, the orderly rapidly inflated the bladder inside.  Just as Lila was regaining her ability for sentient speech, it was robbed from her.

The bladder stretched her jaws until they shrieked, and tickled the back of her throat.  The girl gave up her protests and focused on trying not to retch.  Carl released the bulb, not bothering with the straps that would pass behind and over the top of her head.  The gag wasn’t going anywhere and he’d have plenty of time to secure it later.  Right now, he had more important things to take care of.

Unbuckling the strap across her knees, he easily countered Lila’s feeble struggles to close her legs.  Wedging his own knees between hers, he muscled the limbs further apart.  Leaning forward, he looked hungrily into the poor Miss Powell’s eyes.

Lining himself up, he thrust forward mercilessly.  Lila howled at the assault, her dry sheath unprepared.  As Carl continued to rut, her body’s natural defenses secreted lubricant to spare the delicate flesh.  It did nothing however, to soothe the trauma of the rape.  The brown haired beauty screwed her eyes shut, tears of anguish spilling down her face.

Unconcerned about style points. Carl finished rapidly, his final thrust pressing the woman into the gurney’s padding.  She felt his seed explode inside her, scalding her with revulsion.  Before dismounting, the orderly attended to the proper fitting of the gag.

He grasped her short hair, pulling Lila’s head off the thin pillow.  Feeding the main strap through the buckle, he jerked on it three times before securing it.  It crushed the girl’s head and face relentlessly.  The other strap was an inverted “Y”, starting at her cheeks, then merging as one between her eyes.  From there, it passed over the crown of her head and buckled in back.  It too, burned her scalp with a vice-like squeeze.  From his shirt pocket, Carl produced a brass padlock.  He showed it to his victim, before snapping it in place at the nape of her neck.  The gag would not come off, no matter how she clawed at it.  Were she able to.

Flashing the helpless woman a cruel grin, the orderly reached into the canvas sack once more.  When he showed her the straps dangling from his hand, Lila’s eyes grew wide.  Not from the straps themselves, but from the obviously phallic shaped appendage attached to them.  Somehow managing to keep his semi-rigid member inside her, Carl fitted the waist belt in place.  By the time he was done tightening, the 1” black leather strap, it all but disappeared into the flesh around her torso. 

Finally, he withdrew, only to align the magenta colored probe.  8” long and almost 2” in diameter, it would have been a difficult task to insert voluntarily.  Carl was only too happy to assist his “volunteer”.  Using the heel of his hand once again, he thrust the dildo into the girl’s slick folds.  Lila felt certain it was going to split her in to.  Her muted screams seemed only to egg him on.  By the time the crotch strap cleaved her labia, the brunette was certain that her head was going to explode.

After slipping the crotch strap through the buckle at her navel, the orderly secured it snugly and climbed off the gurney.  Lila alternated desperately between trying to squeeze the invader out and relaxing to ease the bloating.  Equally disconcerting, was the barbed discomfort assaulting her ass crack, anus, labia and clitoris.  Her brief examination of the harness, had not allowed her to see the hundreds of hard rubber spikes, lining the inside of the strap.

Producing a pair of short leather belts, Carl used them to secure Lila’s knees wide apart to the rails of the gurney.  Then, unbelievably, he turned his attention back to the crotch strap.  Using both hands, he somehow managed to coax three more notches out of the band cleaving her sex.  Lila’s voice caught in her throat, her sex feeling like it was straddling a wire cheese slicer.  Part of her brain registered the act of the orderly inserting another padlock through the union of the straps.

Her imploring eyes disappeared behind an ordinary, elastic sleep mask.  Despite its simplicity, it nonetheless rendered her completely blind.  Carl reached down between Lila’s legs and rotated the ribbed knob jutting from the crotch strap.  Barely audible, the dildo began purring inside the helpless girl. 

Pulling on his pants, the orderly removed the brakes from the gurney, and wheeled his charge out of the room.  He had no worry of being discovered (though Lila did not know this), for they were in a restricted section of the hospital.  This allowed the “patient”, an erroneous hope that rescue might be at hand.  Crushing that hope, would be an integral part of her re-education.  Besides which, the elevator leading to the exclusive levels was just across the hall.

Carl wheeled his charge inside and pressed the button for the lowest level.  Rather than Muzak, interior of the tiny steel box was filled with the sound of a powerless woman’s sobs.

                       Under Evaluation  2

Dr. Rayne Attenburg finished her mundane reports, then switched off her computer.  Four hours had passed since the Public Defender had finished his assessment of Lila Powell’s condition.  Rayne was anxious to visit the young woman, but knew that time was a valuable tool, regarding a patient’s ‘conditioning’.  As the minutes crawled past, she would become increasingly desperate, willing to do almost anything to be released.  It was Rayne’s job to see that the subject would do anything.

Stepping into her private office’s small washroom, the doctor applied some makeup.  Bold eyebrows, a light blush to accent her prominent cheekbones, and blood red lipstick, was all that was needed to present a strict appearance.  Rayne’s natural demeanor would provide the rest.

She slipped out of her knee length lab coat.  Had the young attorney still been there, he would have received yet another shock.  Underneath the coat, Rayne wore nothing but a gleaming, black patent leather corset.  The base flared out to rest upon her hipbones.  It curved in severely, wasping her waist to almost 20”.  The hourglass shape opened up again, cupping her bare, 36D bust.

Rayne sat on the commode and worked the seamed, black silk stockings up her legs.  They stopped at mid-thigh and were held in place with four garters.  She pulled on and laced up a pair of patent leather knee boots.  The polished hide glimmered like mirrors, as did the 5”, chromed stiletto heels.  Standing at 6’ 1”, she had no need for clunky, platform-style soles.

Standing with an easy grace that comes from wearing such footwear for years, Rayne checked herself in the mirror one last time.  She removed the tasteful gold hoops from her ears.  She’d worn them only for the interview with the attorney.  When conducting her true vocation, she wore nothing that would detract from her persona, which was a cold, remorseless bitch.

Dr. Attenburg strode  back into her office, not the least bit self-conscious, though she wore no panties.  Her naturally blonde bush was moderately trimmed in an inverted triangle.  She found that her “recruits” were intimidated by her apparent disregard to her state of exposure.  She’d also discovered early on in her role as Dominatrix, that most new “trainee‘s” reviled the thought of cunnilingus.  This revulsion was exacerbated, when their noses were forced into a thick patch of pubic hair.

Rayne approached the office wall lined from floor to ceiling with book shelves.  Pulling on a particular volume produced a soft *click*.  A section of the bookshelf swung out easily, exposing a sturdy oak door.  Selecting a key from the ring that dangled on her hip, the doctor unlocked the door and swung it open.  Beyond the door lie a narrow set of steps.

Built prior to the World War I, the architects had known only slightly less about psychological disorders, than the doctors who treated them.  Believed to be dangerous and capable of almost anything (which was often quite true), the builders had incorporated a means for the medical staff to escape, should an uprising take place.

Rayne descended the circular stone staircase with the confidence of having done it many times before.  At the bottom, she reached yet another solid wooden door, this one complete with sliding view port and reinforced on both sides with steel sheeting.  Another key was used to open the portal.  Stepping inside, the doctor ignored the corridor that led to the right, out under the hospital grounds to a long abandoned groundskeeper’s cottage.  Instead, she turned left, walking ten paces to yet another locked door. 

Behind this, lie the cells that had once housed the most hopeless cases.  All manner of murders, rapists and sociopaths had been condemned to this dank hole, the ‘modern’ medicine of its time, ineffective in treating their condition.  The main access to the cells had been sealed off long ago, in part, due to the fledgling Human Rights groups which had believed the practice to be deplorable.  However, not ALL accesses had been blocked.  In addition to the secret stairwell, a special key permitted the service elevator to reach this level.

When Dr. Attenburg had been scouring the internet for a place to set up a base of operations in the States, she’d stumbled across the original blueprints of the hospital.  It showed everything ready-made for an enterprise such as hers to hit the ground running.

A bonafide Doctor of Psychology, with particular expertise in the female psyche, Dr. Attenburg had no trouble joining the tired staff.  She quickly worked her way up the administrative ladder.  A timely and fatal, “car accident” involving the current director, as well as the greasing of a few politicians’ palms, and Rayne became the new hospital director.  With everything in place, she brought in a few trusted people and set up shop.  Lila Powell was not the first woman to be “processed”, here in the forgotten bowels of the hospital.

Rayne drew a deep breath, never failing to tingle at the scent of misery that seemed to be trapped down here.  THIS was her element.  Her heels clacked across the irregular stone floor.  The wide corridor hosted a set of ten, heavily reinforced wooden doors, five on each side.  Each door was equipped with two portals.  A sliding view port up high and a slot near the floor, to which pass food trays.  Currently, only three of the cells were occupied.

Aside from Lila, in Cell #6, Cell #3 housed one, Patricia “Pepper” Dwyre, a runaway from York, Pennsylvania.  Rayne smiled, as she recalled that Patricia had practically captured herself.  Pepper’s flight from an abusive home had gotten her as far as the outskirts of Philadelphia.  It would be the farthest she would ever travel as a free woman.

It had been raining buckets when Dr. Attenburg, heading for home, saw her on the shoulder of the road.  Thoroughly drenched, Pepper gratefully accepted a ride.  She was set at ease, by the fact that her “rescuer” was a woman.  Carefully crafted questions kept the conversation light and flowing.  Patricia, upon finding out Rayne’s occupation, eagerly volunteered information that would have made a therapist blush.

Satisfied that all links connecting Pepper to society had been severed, the doctor had jammed a Tazer into the unsuspecting girl’s neck.  As the short, shapely redhead lay slumped in the passenger seat, muscles twitching, Rayne injected her with a powerful sedative.  Then it was back to the hospital.  Being so late at night, no one saw her carry the unconscious girl into the groundskeeper’s cottage and through the connecting tunnel.  Long before the sedative wore off, Pepper was stripped, manacled and gagged, then chained to a thin exercise mat on the floor of Cell #3.  It had been her ‘home’ for the last three weeks.

As Rayne now passed the cell, she could hear a soft *whir*, accompanied by a fast, steady “thump-thump-thump”.  The doctor smiled, completely aware of what was taking place on the other side of the door.

A hair over five feet tall, Patricia possessed the physical attributes of becoming a stunningly gorgeous woman.  A full, freckled face with emerald eyes and thick mane of scarlet hair, heralded her Irish background.  Her 34B cup bust wasn’t quite the equipment needed to become a porn star starlet.  But her breasts were pleasingly full, with big, pink nipples.  However, Pepper tended to be a little on the pudgy side.  Rayne had quickly set up a regimen to correct that.

The doctor knew that currently, the 19 year old Miss Dwyre was bound and strapped to a treadmill.  A thick penis gag was lodged in her mouth, a tube through its center delivering a steady flow of sports drink.  At first, Pepper had sputtered and choked on the arrangement, but necessity had forced her to rapidly adapt.  Just three weeks into her ‘training’, the redhead had dropped almost ¾’s of the targeted weight, the goal being from 130 lbs, down to 105.

Rayne paused briefly to listen to the prisoner’s bare feet slapping on the continuous tread.  She knew that once the optimum weight had been attained, the treadmill would not lie off somewhere gathering dust.  It would then be time for Patricia to graduate to running in high heels.  Once mastered, the heels would lengthen, then lengthen yet again.

Deciding that Lila wasn’t going anywhere (true enough) for the time being, Dr. Attenburg unlocked the door to Cell #3 and slid the massive bolt open.  Swinging the door open, she had to squint briefly, as the dazzle from half a dozen Klieg lights flooded into the dim corridor.  There, focused in the center of tens of thousands of candlepower, was the glistening Patricia Dwyre.

Though her back was to her, Rayne could almost see the prisoner tense, at the sound of someone entering the cell.  ‘Pepper’ had been here long enough, to know that only three people had access, none of them bringing good intentions.  Sweat poured down her body, the machine’s tread dark with the drips and splatters of perspiration.  Dr. Attenburg could now hear the redhead’s ragged breaths, as she tried valiantly to keep up with the treadmill’s pace.  She had no other choice.  Rayne closed the door, sealing in the room’s heat, that was well into the nineties.

Patricia’s arms were folded across the middle of her back, forearms together.  A continuous leather tube, from bicep to bicep encased her arms, no fewer than a dozen straps squeezing her limbs unalterably in place.  Aside from the gag and arm sheath, the only other restraints she wore, were a 2” wide leather collar, a set of thick leather ankle cuffs with attached hobble chain and a crotch strap.  A thin, elastic cord was centered on the hobble chain, rising up to the crotch strap, to insure that her feet did not become entangled.  Surprisingly (to the uninformed), she was not affixed to the treadmill in any fashion.  The “voluntary” exercise was part of a carefully crafted regimen of training. 

Purely as a safety precaution, a lightweight nylon harness passed around her torso, its slack tether anchored in the ceiling above her.  It offered her no assistance, merely preventing a catastrophic fall.  In addition to the safety harness, a nylon belt was strapped snugly around her waist.  The belt was festooned with curious, block shaped objects.

Pepper’s pace did not slacken with the entrance of her visitor.  Nor did she attempt to turn to see who had come in.  She knew that either action would have dire consequences.  Instead, she remained focused on the 16” monitor, three feet in front of her.  The monitor registered heartbeat, respiration, elapsed time and distance traveled.  The one thing it did not tell her, which she desperately wanted to know, was the duration of the exercise period.  It never did.

When Rayne strode around front, Patricia hazarded a quick look.  Her piercing green eyes brimmed with exhausted desperation and blinked rapidly from the constant sting of perspiration.  Dr. Attenburg stood there, hands on hips, not uttering a word.  The posture said it all, “I am in complete control.  You are without any”.

Pepper tried to articulate a single word around the penis gag that might have been, “Please”.  The doctor’s expression hardened and the redhead knew she’d made a mistake.  Remaining silent, Rayne moved away.  Once out of sight, she grasped a crop hanging from a hook on the wall.  Continuing her brief trek, she stopped once she was behind the ‘jogger’.

“NEVER!…”  She spat, in a voice that was devoid of compassion.  The first blow of the crop coincided with her chastisement, landing square across both of Patricia’s ass cheeks.  The livid red line burned bright, mixed amongst others in varying stages of fading.  Rayne raised her arm back once more.

“…Speak without permission!”  Each syllable was accentuated with a blistering strike of the crop, all centered on the poor Miss Dwyre’s buttocks.

Pepper faltered, very nearly stumbling.  Somehow, she maintained her rapid gait.  She knew that failing to do so, would mean a punishment far worse than the lashing she’d just received.  For attached to the inside of the crotch strap, were two oddly shaped nodules.  Her anus reluctantly gripped the smaller of the two.  The larger, elongated one was wedged between her labia, with a node pressing directly against her clitoris. 

Any of these could, individually or in tandem, deliver an excruciating shock.  The power for these tormentors was provided by eight, lithium power packs attached to the waist belt.  This, was the reason she ran so determinedly.  Failing to remain within the parameters set for the current session and Patricia would feel as though her privates had been kissed with a branding iron.  She’d yet to experience all the variations in which the shocks could be administered and had no wish to do so.

Lesson given, Dr. Attenburg turned to leave.  The only clue the redhead had of her tormentor’s departure, was the brief wash of cool air from the corridor, followed by the sound of the door being securely latched in place.  Patricia fought back the tears as she ran on in solitude, only four souls on earth aware of her plight.

 

                       Under Evaluation  3

Dr. Rayne Attenburg strolled diagonally from Cell #3, across the hall to Cell #6.  She silently slid the viewing port open and peered inside.  A wicked grin creased her beautiful face.

“Carl certainly is getting creative.”  She thought.

For as animated as Patricia Dwyre’s bondage predicament was, Lila Powell’s was conversely stagnant.  The brunette was perched in the far corner of the cell, helpless to move from that spot.  The gurney on which the girl had been transported here, was nowhere to be seen.

“I do like it when the staff clean up after themselves.”  The statuesque blonde reflected.  Rayne took a moment to appreciate Lila’s dilemma.

The brunette’s hands were balled up inside tight leather pouches, her fingers rendered useless.  Her arms were folded up behind her back in a “double hammerlock”, heavy leather wrist cuffs locked to rings on the back of a thick leather collar.  A trio of 1” leather straps encircled her folded arms and chest, fusing the limbs against her back.

To the untrained eye, it would appear as though Lila was levitating in mid-air.  Her legs had been folded, calves pressing tightly against her thighs.  “3” appeared to be the magic number, for three straps had also been used to crush the bent legs in place.  Ridiculously heavy chain had been affixed to cuffs on each knee and used to pull her legs wide apart.  This added some stability to her arrangement.

Dr. Attenburg noted that she needn’t have been so stealthy in her initial inspection of young Miss Powell.  Carl had fitted a bulky set of noise dampening headphones over her ears, an integrated elastic strap around her head, ensured that they couldn’t be shaken off.  A lawn mower could be roaring right behind her and Lila would be not-so-blissfully unaware.

Rayne unlatched the heavy door and walked in for a closer inspection.  She knew the reason for the brunette’s ‘levitation’, even before she saw it.  A black, tubular pole jutted out horizontally from the corner Lila was facing.  The girl’s crotch was “resting” on the pole, thus bearing all her weight.  The doctor could see that the petite brunette was still wearing the waist belt and crotch strap.  She knew that the pole had been cast with a vertical hole in it, cut just the right size to accommodate the control knob of the dildo.  Leaning in, she could hear the violator churning at high intensity.  She doubted that at the moment, it was offering much of a distraction to its host.

Dr. Attenburg’s curiosity was roused, by the captive’s agitated state.  Surely she couldn’t be trying to get free.  She should know by now, even this early in her captivity, that once bound, she stood zero chance of escape.  She also doubted that Lila was in any type of sexual frenzy.  But as she stood upright, Rayne peered over the girl’s shoulder.  Apparently, Carl’s deviant mind had been working overtime.

The orderly had attached a steel tether to the front of Lila’s collar.  He’d run it up to an anchor pounded in the stone wall’s mortised corner.  Making it taut, he’d insured that the bound girl would remain upright, whilst “perched” on the pole.  In the process, Carl’s actions had all but destroyed a large cobweb.  The damage was so extensive, it had to have been premeditated.

Now, just inches from the captive’s nose, a HUGE, black spider scurried about, trying to repair the damage.  Rayne cast a glance at the poor girl’s profile.  Eyes wide as saucers were locked on the eight legged monster.  Below, tightly stretched lips worked frantically around a massive, 3-¾” yellow ball gag.  The superfluous gag strap dimpled her cheeks, on its way to being buckled and padlocked behind her head.

A glint caught Rayne’s eye.  She looked down and saw that the orderly had added a set of nipple clamps.  Lila’s feeble struggles set the heavy silver chain connecting them in motion.  The links swung back and forth, tapping lightly against her tightly stretched torso.

“A+ for originality and ‘distress factor‘.”  The doctor said out loud.

Lila heard not a word of it.

Rayne reached up behind her captive and snatched off the headphones.  Caught completely unaware, the brunette lurched on her perch.  No doubt this caused the dildo to shift violently inside her and grinding her loins into the rigid shaft she straddled.

“hhhmmmnghhfff!”  Lila pleas gurgled out wetly.

“I see you’ve made a new friend, cunt.”  Dr. Attenburg growled in her ear.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he decided to use that cute nose of yours as an anchoring point?  Why, he could even use one of your nostrils as a little hidey-hole.”

“nnnnnngghhh!!!”  The brunette bleated once more

“I had planned on resuming your training,” Rayne confided in her captive, “but what a divinely appropriate analogy.  You ARE the little fly caught in my web.”

“I think I’ll let you ponder that for a while longer.”  She continued.  “Say, 4 more hours?”

Lila’s unintelligible response, still made it clear she couldn’t last four more minutes in this insidious position.  Unfazed, Dr. Attenburg re-positioned the headphones.  The gorgeous prisoner let out a mournful wail which abruptly cut off, as Rayne’s fingernails mimicked an insect-like walking motion across Lila’s flat stomach.

“God,” Rayne sighed contentedly, “I love my job.”

                       Under Evaluation  4

“I understand your concern, Miss Powell,”  Cody Wisnecki said sympathetically, “but if the court has ordered your sister to undergo therapy, I don’t see how I can help you.”

Lily Powell took a deep breath, frustrated at the inability to formulate her feelings into words.  So much had transpired in the last four days, that she still felt disoriented and confused.  She understood the private investigator’s reluctance to take any action on a “gut feeling”, but Lily’s apprehension ran deeper than that.

***

She’d been half way around the world on a modeling shoot, when she’d received Lila’s call.  Though she’d sounded concerned, Lila had tried to make light of the situation, joking that she was networking with all sorts of professionals, there in the holding cells.  The sister had assured Lily that it was all a big misunderstanding and that things would be cleared up at the hearing.

Despite threats that “She’d never work in the industry again”, if she abandoned the photo shoot, Lily was on the next plane back to the states.  As fate would have it, that first flight made a stop in Anchorage.  A freak blizzard shut down the airport for thirty six hours.  During that time, Lily had repeatedly tried to call her sister, with no luck.  Having missed the hearing, she suffered a first class runaround, until finally managing to track down the public defender.

She’s sat there aghast, as the PA described the actions of a total stranger.  Lily even went so far as to show him a picture of Lila, certain the lawyer was speaking of someone else.  But he’d confirmed that it was in fact her sister, and that the judge had sentenced her to the care of Byberry State Mental Hospital.

Lily had charged into the hospital, with the intent of clearing up this colossal misunderstanding.  But she’d been told quite curtly, that is was impossible to see Lila, she was currently undergoing “solitary evaluation”, whatever that meant.  Lily had met with Dr. Attenburg, the director of the hospital, a cool, yet attractive woman.  She’d made it clear that no one besides hospital staff could have any contact with Lila. 

“Your sister’s in a critical period.”  Dr. Attenburg had told her.  “Seeing you now, might send her into a guilt-induced psychotic episode.  Lila is only just beginning to understand that she is in a precarious state.”

“It’s my job,” the doctor continued, “to see that Lila receives my fullest attention.  My methods are firm, but have shown remarkable results.  In a relatively short period of time, I should be able to make a new woman out of her.”

Lily had insisted that there was nothing wrong with the “old” Lila, but was reminded that the judge had seen differently.  Lily left, feeling totally frustrated and just a little creepy.  If she hadn’t known any better, she’d have sworn that the doctor was checking her out.

***

The attorneys she’d talked to, all said basically the same thing.  Being court ordered, there was no legal precedence to release Lila from custody.   Thus, Lily found herself in the office of Cody Wisnecki, Private Investigator.  Always being a bit unorthodox, Miss Powell had found her through a combination of logic and karma. 

Looking in the Yellow Pages, Lily had figured that investigators at the beginning of the alphabet would have heavier case loads, people being too lazy to scan from A to Z.  So she’s closed her eyes, flipped back a couple pages from the letter “Z” and poked her finger at a candidate.

               Cody Wisnecki-Private Investigator

               “Confidential, Competent, Caring”

“Please, Miss Wisnecki,”  Lily pleaded.

“Cody.”  The PI insisted.

“Cody,”  Lily rephrased, “even though my sister and I are fraternal twins, that doesn’t lessen the special bond we have together.  Besides, my sister is probably the most sane person on this planet.  I know it sounds like only a gut feeling, but trust me, I‘ve never been so sure of something in my life.”

Cody’s skepticism was finally turned by the young woman’s earnestness.  Besides, she could always use the money, if even if it were for a lost cause.  She’d look into it.  The PI accompanied her to the door and stood in the hallway, saying their final good-byes.

“Why don’t you go back to your hotel room and I’ll look into it.”  Cody told Lily.  “If I don’t have any luck at the hospital, I’ve got a lawyer friend who’s an aide to a state senator.  Maybe we can pry something loose that way.”

Lily thanked Cody profusely before leaving.  Neither woman bothered to notice the deliverywoman standing in front of the Accountant’s office next door, apparently checking to see if she had her food order correct.  There was no way for the two of them to see the small digital camera amidst the lunch bags, pointing in their direction.  The camera was currently streaming high resolution pictures back to the private office of one, Dr. Rayne Attenburg.

“Our Miss Powell certainly is an obstinate one, isn’t she?  Rayne commented.  Carl, who stood behind her, merely grunted.

“So many legal roadblocks would have dissuaded the average person.  She must love her sister very much.  Then again, she is the only family she has left.”  Dr. Attenburg observed, then hushed, as the duo spoke once more in the hall.

“Why don’t you go back to your hotel and I’ll see what I can find out.”  They heard the PI tell her new client.

During Lily’s visit at the hospital, Rayne had unobtrusively guided the young woman by the arm at one stage.  This allowed her other hand to plant a small, adhesive backed microphone on the strap of Lily’s handbag.  She’d then been able to monitor everything Lily had done.  Rayne knew that the beauty had made just one phone call, an appointment with the private investigator.  They’d listened as Cody had slowly been swayed to take the case and planned her next course of action.

Thanks to their henchwoman in the field, they now had a face to go with the PI’s sultry voice.  The ersatz deliverywoman’s camera showed Cody Wisnecki to be an absolutely dazzling blonde.  She stood a full head higher than the 5’4” Lily Powell, even in flats.  A pert, slightly upturned nose sat above lips that might be considered thin, in this era of collagen.  Her hazel eyes leaned toward a blue-ish hue.  Dressed in a stylish pantsuit, Rayne and Carl could clearly see how nicely she filled it out.

“Nice ass.”  The doctor commented.

“Dynamite rack.” Her second in command replied.  It was clear that the two were both contemplating similar plans.

“Velma,” Rayne spoke into the microphone, “hold back to see if the private dick contacts anyone.  “Then follow Miss Powell.”

The picture they were viewing gave an almost imperceptible nod.  The instructions had been received and understood.   As Lily and Cody parted, Velma strode in to the accountants office.

“Whoops,” the crop-haired girl apologized, “wrong suite.  Sorry.”

The receptionist who’d looked up, forgot the young woman’s face seconds after the door closed.  Velma doubled back and stood outside detective Wisnecki’s door.  She pointed a small, parabolic microphone at the frosted glass doorway.

The trio listened as Cody walked about inside.  A chair scraped lightly on the floor.  They could even hear the soft, “beep-boop-beep” as the PI dialed her phone.

“I’d like to speak to the Director of the hospital, please.  It’s an urgent matter.”  Cody spoke into the phone.

Moments later, a light lit up on Rayne’s phone.  Rayne and Carl looked at each other, not quite believing their luck.  But it was in fact, the hospital’s receptionist, asking if she should put the call through.  Dr. Attenburg approved it immediately.

Yes, Rayne told the detective, she was aware of Lily Powell’s plight.  In fact, Rayne told her, she still felt terrible about being so brusque with the concerned twin.  But her sister, Lila, was indeed experiencing a traumatic mental crisis (no lie there).

Yes, she’d be all too wiling to meet with the private investigator.  To that point, Rayne told her that she possessed the video tape of Lila’s first episode, during the court hearing.  However, the doctor told the PI, she was due to leave for a conference at 5 pm.  Was there any chance that the detective could be at the hospital within the next hour?  Otherwise, it would have to wait until her return.  She could make it?  Wonderful.  The doctor told her she was anxious to meet with her.

After hanging up, Rayne listened to hear if Cody made any other calls.  She did not and they could hear her footsteps approaching her office door.  Velma managed to slip in to the stairwell, just before Cody exited and locked up.  Velma needed just a few seconds to slip out of her delivery costume, revealing the street clothes underneath.  Shoving the costume in her bag, she stepped out, just as Cody was walking by.  A light collision took place, Velma meekly apologizing for not looking where she was going.  Cody never felt the microphone being planted on her.  If she contacted anyone while on the way to the hospital, they’d know it.

As Velma walked in the opposite direction, Rayne informed her to proceed to Lily’s hotel.  Carl would meet up with her there.  Dr. Attenburg would take care of the nosy detective herself.  

                       Under Evaluation  5

Cody Wisnecki was escorted to the Director’s office by a plain looking receptionist.  She was greeted warmly by the gorgeous, blonde doctor.  A pitcher of iced tea sat on the coffee table and Cody gratefully accepted a glass.

“I’m so glad you could make it before my flight.”  Dr. Attenburg told her.  “I think that you’ll see from the video tape, that Lila Powell is a disturbed young woman.”

Cody sat back, taking a sip of her tea and watched the flat screen flicker to life.  On the screen appeared the courtroom, via closed circuit TV.  In the upper right hand corner, a readout showed the day, date and time.  Detective Wisnecki had no idea that this information window obscured the presence of  Dr. Attenburg herself, sitting in the courtroom.

***

Rayne had had to be there, in order to set her plans in motion.  Well paid informants amongst the prison system, sent information on all potential “clients” to a ghost e-mail address the doctor had set up.  Vital statistics, relations and the offender’s infraction, were all carefully analyzed by the doctor.  If a candidate looked promising, Rayne would make the necessary arrangements.  They didn’t abuse the system, thus never sending up red flags.  This would be only the third time it had been used.  But when someone as gorgeous as Lila Powell came along, the opportunity was too good to pass up. 

The process was relatively simple.  A guard on the payroll would attach a particular ankle bracelet to the target.  Unaware of its evil purpose, it was identical to the standard tracking devices all detainees were made to wear whilst in transit, or appearing in court.  This one though, had a specifically different function.

Rayne had watched as Lila patiently awaited her turn before the judge.  When her docket was being read, that’s when the doctor triggered the small transmitter she concealed.  The signal released the powerful hallucinogenic contained in the ankle bracelet, which was absorbed through Lila’s skin.  Before anyone knew what was happening, the brown haired beauty became a pint-sized maniac.  It was all Rayne could do, to not smile as Lila was carried out, writhing in the arms of two bailiffs.  And since Rayne would be the one to make the initial examination, there’d be no toxicology report.

***

Cody watched the screen as the picture fast-forwarded to the correct scene.  There was Lila Powell.  The detective realized instantly that, although her appearance was nothing like her twin sister’s, she was still an extraordinary beauty.  Where as Lily’s hair hung to her waist in a sheet of black, Lila’s brunette curls stopped at mid-shoulder.  Their height appeared to be similar, but it was difficult to gauge in the video.  Regardless, the two women were both knockouts.

As she was taking another sip of tea, a funny thought crossed Cody’s mind.  Dressed in the orange jumpsuit, Lila looked a little like a skinny pumpkin.  The notion seemed to grow in hilarity, until a small giggle slipped past her lips.  Struggling to regain her composure, the detective tried to focus.  But a feeling of euphoria subtly washed over her. 

The glass of iced tea slipped from her grasp, the contents landing on the floor.  She looked at the spot spreading on the carpet, then over at Dr. Attenburg, a stupid grin plastered on the PI’s face.  Rayne was smiling back at her, as if sharing the joke.  Cody went to say, “whoops”, but wasn’t sure if any words came out.  She watched as the blonde director rose from behind her desk, but her eyes fluttered closed before she saw Rayne approach.

The doctor lifted one of Cody’s eyelids, noting that the pale blue iris had rolled back.  The private investigator definitely wasn’t faking it.  Rayne flipped open her cell phone and hit the speed dial.

“Things are under control here,” she announced, “you may proceed.”

Rayne then placed another call.

“Miss, Powell?  This is Dr. Attenburg.” 

“I apologize for being so abrupt to you earlier, but it has been my experience that family members often need the direct approach, when dealing with the mental health of a loved one.  The reason for my call, is that I’ve sent someone over with your sister’s personal items.  I assumed that you would want them.”

“Oh, you’re quite welcome.  What’s that?  Yes, yes.  I’ll arrange for you to visit your sister just as soon as she’s stabilized.”

“Yes, it is my hope that you will see her soon, as well.  Goodbye.”

***

A burly man wearing slacks and a sports jacket, wheeled a well dressed woman into the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel.  The woman had a blanket draped over her lap and a tartan cloak over her shoulders.  An ivory colored, lace veil hung from a wide brimmed hat, obscuring her face, as well as a breathing tube.  The clear tubing of the nasal cannula ran down to a portable oxygen tank mounted on the wheelchair.  A cardboard box rested on the woman’s lap.  Bypassing the front desk, they headed straight for one of the many conference halls provided by the hotel.

The one they chose, happened to be vacant.  Slipping into the room’s large utility closet, the wheelchair bound woman stood up as soon as the door had closed.  Tossing of the blanket and cloak, Velma wore a conservative business suit underneath.  Carl slipped off the sport coat and donned a ball cap.  He folded the wheelchair and together, the duo wheeled it out of the conference room.  Their actions didn’t even get them a second look.

They walked right past the main elevators, to the ones used by the staff.  They did this so brazenly, that anyone wondering, would just assume the two of them had every right.  It was a short journey up to the 7th floor.  As they exited, both keep their eyes glued to the ornate hall carpeting.  The surveillance cameras at each end of the hall, would only get shots of the tops of their heads.

Standing off to one side, Carl watched as Velma rapped gently on door 7117.  A few moments passed, then Lily Powell opened the door.  It was clear that she’d been crying.

“Miss Powell?  I’m Velma Knox.  Dr. Attenburg sent me.”  Velma said, showing Lily a cardboard box with the hospital’s logo on it.

“Please come in.”  Lily said, grasping the box.  From the her angle inside the room, it looked as though Velma had come alone.

Lily carried the box over to the coffee table and sat on the sofa.  Setting it down, the took a deep breath and flipped open the lid.  She did not notice that Velma had slipped behind her and was removing something secreted at the small of her back.

The fashion model glimpsed inside the dark interior of the box, a glint catching her eye.  She reached in and grasped the object.  It rattled as she did so.

“What on earth?…” Lily exclaimed, as she pulled out a black leather cuff.

Before she could turn around, Velma pounced.  With her left arm going around Lily’s throat, her right hand jammed a breathing mask over the girl’s mouth and nose.  She triggered the attached canister and the mask filled with a white mist.  At the same time, she gave a short whistle.  Carl entered immediately, wheelchair in tow.

Lily gave a startled gasp, the atmosphere inside the breathing mask, thick and moist.  Her arms flew up to ward off the grip around her neck, but seemed to get lost on the way.  Her lips grew numb and her tongue tasted something similar to licorice.  Her hands, which had managed to rise halfway to her face, slowly reversed their path, landing softly on the sofa cushions at her sides.

“That’s it bitch, deep breaths.”  Velma purred. 

She reached around and gave Lily’s left nipple a wicked pinch through her silk blouse.  The pain made the ebony haired beauty take another sharp, involuntary breath.  Her head swam and she expected to pass out any moment.  But darkness didn’t come.  She gazed at the paintings and wall fixtures in front of her.  They swirled and appeared to melt, whilst changing color.  Lily did not know it, but she was experiencing a 21st century acid trip.

Velma pulled the mask’s elastic band over Lily’s head.  The canister would continue feeding the gas for another three minutes.  The effects of the designer drug would last up to half an hour.  Plenty of time.

A set of dresser’s shears turned the model’s clothes into rubbish in less than a minute.  Her lacy, peach colored demi bra and panties proved no obstacle at all.  In the mean time, Carl extracted the largest item from the cardboard box.  The 8” wide, tanned leather belt had two identically colored cuffs riveted to it.  It also had two circular cutouts.  The orderly positioned it so that each of Lily’s breasts squeezed through a hole.  Drawing the ends around to her spine, he set about tightening the six small straps through their buckles.  This allowed him to gradually ratchet up the tautness to rib cracking intensity.  Six small luggage padlocks were needlessly used to secure the buckles.

The smaller cuffs attached at the sides were secured around Lily’s biceps.  Each received its own lock.  Far from idle, Velma had been busy securing cuffs of a similar design, high up on their victim’s thighs.  Once secured and padlocked, The henchwoman buckled the integrated cuffs around Lily’s wrists.  The fashion model was now held in a more or less “relaxed” pose, her arms tight against her sides and her wrists and hands trapped against her legs.  White medical tape was wound around the dark haired girl’s thighs, capturing her hands flat against her legs.

To keep her head from lolling about, a transparent cervical collar was installed.  The clear plastic shell flared out to her shoulders, providing stability.  The breathing mask was removed, its contents spent.  A leather pouch filled with steel ball bearings was crammed inside the model’s mouth.   Carl obligingly held the girl’s lax jaw closed, as Velma removed all of Lily’s makeup with an alcohol towelette. 

Then she smoothed a four inch wide swatch of semi-transparent tape over the lower half of Lily’s face.  The reason that the clear plastic tape appeared so cloudy, was due to the exorbitant amount of adhesive adhered to it.  Once affixed, it allowed the model’s skin tone to show through without too much distortion.  All Velma had to do was highlight her lips, by applying a small amount of pink lip gloss.  From a distance of ten feet, the alteration would be invisible.

Producing a pair of woman’s slacks from the box, Velma did a curious thing.  She cut the legs off the slacks.  Each leg was then slipped on the unresisting prisoner.  More white medical tape secured them in place, just above the knee.  A pair of heavy, black orthopedic shoes were laced tightly on to Lily’s dainty feet.

Carl expanded the collapsible wheelchair to receive its cargo.  Before moving Lily, he first affixed a smooth, pink, hard plastic prod the a hole fashioned in the chair’s canvas seat.  This would provide a very intimate means of keeping the beauty from sliding out of the wheelchair.  He worked a generous amount of KY jelly on to the shaft, then lifted his passenger off the couch.  With Velma lining up the business end of the chair, Carl lowered Lily upon it.

The terrified girl was completely aware of what was transpiring, if in a surrealistically detached way.  Her brain wanted her to fight off her attackers, but she couldn’t seem to coordinate her limbs.  Her mind was swimming, as she was seated in the wheelchair.  Lily felt her sex fill up unexpectedly, but couldn’t ascertain the reason.  Her thoughts were disjointed, as the plethora of sensations assailed her.

As Carl strapped Lily’s torso to the chair back, Velma set the girl’s shoe clad feet on the metal footrests.  Using an Allen wrench, she tightened a bolt through the bottom of the metal plates, into the soles of Lily’s shoes, locking them motionless.  Thin straps were used to lock the captive’s knees to the arm rests of the chair.  The fashion model was now one with the wheelchair.

The oxygen tubing was fitted into her nostrils and snugged in place.  The blanket was tucked around her legs and the cloak draped over her shoulders.  Finally, her hair was piled up on her head and the wide brimmed, veiled hat was pinned in place.  Lily was now the spitting image of the woman who’d been wheeled into the hotel’s lobby.  All of the ruined clothing was dumped inside the cardboard box, which was placed on the model’s motionless lap.

Velma listened at the door.  Once certain all was quiet, she opened it, but didn’t step out.  Instead, she withdrew a dental mirror and a box the size of a pack of cigarettes.  Keeping low, she angled the mirror into the hallway.  When she had the surveillance camera in sight, she pointed the box at the mirror.  A small, powerful laser bounced off the mirror, striking the wall next to the camera.  Velma changed the angle, marching the red dot toward the camera lens.  When the beam hit the lens, it burned out the optics.  She repeated the procedure with the camera at the other end of the hall.  Now, Velma strolled leisurely out into the hall, knowing it would be hours before technicians would show up to repair the damage.

This time, the henchwoman took the guest elevators.  Five minutes later, having donned his sports coat once more, Carl followed, pushing the helpless Lily ahead of him.  By the time they reached the lobby, Velma had pulled up outside in the conversion van.  In a scene so common, so as to not attract a single passerby’s attention, the van’s power lift was lowered and the wheelchair rolled on board.  Once raised into position, the chair was rolled inside the van and its wheels locked secure.

During all of this, Lily could have almost certainly raised some kind of fuss, even securely bound as she was.  However, she’d been rendered incapacitated.  You see, rather than oxygen flowing through the breathing tube, the model continuously inhaled a hybrid mixture of nitrous oxide and chloroform.  It robbed her of the ability to think clearly, leaving her not quite comprehending what was happening to her.  She knew something was terribly wrong, she just couldn’t fit the pieces together.  Thus, she docilely allowed herself to be wheeled from a life of freedom, to one of  unimaginable captivity.

   

                       Under Evaluation   Part 6

Cody Wisnecki tried to pull the blanket over her legs.  As she awoke, she dreamily thought that she’d somehow gotten wound up in her bed covers.   Her legs were uncomfortably cold, yet her arms and torso were hot and clammy.  Strangely, even her head felt flush.  Her arms seemed uncooperative this morning and she groggily opened her eyes.

Rather than being greeted by the familiar confines of her bedroom, her fuzzy vision beheld a puzzling field of grey.  Clarity struck suddenly, accompanied by a startled “nnngff!”

She was tied up!  As her mind rapidly cleared, she realized what an understatement that was.  Her arms, hands and fingers absolutely refused to budge.  She kicked her legs and they initially seemed to be unhindered, until they came to an abrupt halt, 18” apart.  Cody looked down at herself, the shock temporarily masking the fact that her head had been restrained as well.

From what she could see (and feel), she was virtually naked, except for her arms and torso, which were encased in a pink, day-glo straightjacket.

“God, I hate pink.”  She thought, distractedly.

By the look and touch of the garment, it was made of some kind of latex or rubber.  That would explain why she felt so hot and sweaty.  She flexed her arms, testing its security.  In spite of what she’d always assumed, the composition of the jacket did not stretch like rubber.  Her arms continued to bear hug her chest, crossing just under her breasts.   Its cut and style was unlike anything she’d seen before.

For one thing, it wasn’t like the ill-fitting canvas contraptions she’d seen on TV.  This one squeezed her every inch it touched.  Its cut was unique as well.  Rather than covering from hips to shoulders, the  stiff, 3” wide hem stopped just below her ribs.  A strap dove down the front, intersecting with a belt fastened low on her waist, insuring everything remained aligned.  From there, the strap continued down between her legs.  Cody felt slightly ill, when she realized it was holding something phallic-shaped inside both her vagina and rectum.  The was no ignoring how the tight strap parted her butt cheeks on its way up to the back of the jacket.  Not seeing a buckle in front, she assumed it was in back, her hopes of reaching it, nil.

Her inspection also revealed that her legs hadn’t completely escaped unscathed.  Patent leather cuffs in the same garish, hot pink color as the straightjacket, were buckled around her ankles.  Brass padlocks unnecessarily passed through the buckles on each.  A pink leather strap connected them, allowing her perhaps eighteen inches of slack.

“hmmn nnghh uhnn…”  her question of “What in the hell?”, was interrupted as she noticed her tongue had a roommate.

Something slick, firm and spherical was crammed in her mouth, allowing her tongue very little wiggle room.  Cody tried working her jaw and that’s when she felt the all over pressure on her head.  Something brutally tight squeezed down on her skull, jaw and lower face, locking her teeth against a hard rubber shaft apparently connected to the sphere.  Whatever it was, it not only made speech impossible, but reduced the noise she could make to a whisper.

She glanced around at her surroundings, testing her bonds as she did.  Her vision completely cleared, she saw that she was in an authentic padded cell.  Grey colored canvas was quilted on the floor, walls and ceiling.  Wire mesh protected florescent lights, which provided dazzlingly bright illumination.  However new the lighting might have been, the cell itself spoke of age and heavy use.

Stains in assorted hues splotched the floor and walls.  The rust colored ones could have only been blood, the browns and ambers, other bodily secretions.  Their sight sent a chill up Cody’s spine.  However, the PI wasn’t one to just curl up and die.  Not seeing any sign of an exit in front of her, she rolled over to examine the other half of the room.

“grmmfff!”  She yelped, as something hard and the size of a small brick jabbed her in the back.

She rolled off the object and resumed her scrutiny.

“Ah!”  She thought, “There’s the door.”

The “door” as it were, could only be identified by the uniform, hairline seam that marked its perimeter.  It had no knob, handle nor keyhole.  In their place, was a ten digit keypad, mounted to a steel plate on the door.  The keypad was shielded behind a clear pane of Lexan (Cody knew it wouldn’t be glass) and padlocked shut.

“So,” the private investigator thought, “All I have to do, is wriggle out of this unbearably tight straightjacket, pick the lock on the cover, enter the correct code (anywhere from 3, to possibly 9 digits) and waltz on out of here.  Piece of cake.”

Her wry humor helped to keep the panic at bay.  For the moment.  A glance at the adjacent wall picked up an abnormality.  What she had first thought to be a continuous field of padding, was interrupted by something oddly irregular.  She rolled on to her stomach and pressed her forehead into the spongy floor.

Cody grunted as she worked her knees up under her.  Whatever’d been shoved up her lower orifices, didn’t have a lot of ‘give’ to them.  But the blonde wasn’t about to just lie on the floor, feeling sorry for herself.  Trying her best to ignore the pressure thrusting against her inner walls (especially the one inside her virginal back passage), the PI lurched up to her knees.  Thankfully, the hobble was long enough to allow her to get a foot planted.  One more exertion, accompanied by a nasal “grrrmmnnnffff!” and Cody managed to get to her feet.

The sag in the floor beneath her felt weird and conjured up memories of the “Moon-Bounce”, at some long forgotten birthday party.  Her struggles had turned her away from the anomaly, so she rotated in that direction.  Greeting her, was a woman bound in an outfit of nauseatingly bright, Pepto-Bismol pink.  Cody didn’t need subtitles to know she was looking at her reflection.

She also didn’t need Cliffs Notes to know that the 2’ by 4’ mirror was an observation window for the room next door.  Given the room’s draconian interior, complete with observation portal, Cody surmised she was still somewhere inside the hospital.  Exactly where in the hospital was still a mystery.  Another puzzle, was she currently being watched and by whom?   And of course, the 64 dollar question, why the hell had she been kidnapped?

Deciding her best course of action was to play dumb until she had some answers, the investigator examined her restraints in the mirror.  It seemed like the natural thing to do, for a damsel in distress.  She was hoping to spot a weakness she could exploit.  Her initial analysis didn’t prove promising.

The straightjacket showed no signs of wrinkle nor pucker, gripping her body like a second skin.  Her arms were pulled stringently tight in front of her, elbows well past each other, traveling in different directions.   Secondary straps clenched her arms at bicep and elbows, making it impossible to slip her arms downward or over her head.  She assumed the buckle for the straps at the ends of the sleeves was what was digging into her spine.

Her head and face had all but vanished beneath a suffocatingly tight hood of pink leather.  An oval shaped opening revealed her nose, eyes and eyebrows and the lower half of her forehead.  The squeeze of the helmet puffed her cheeks up over the lower edge of the opening.  As if that wasn’t enough, a pair of matching pink straps encircled her head.  The first passed over her missing mouth and buckled in back.  The second, cupped her chin, then rose over the crown of her head.  When it was secured, it caused her jaw to clamp unflinchingly down on whatever was stuffed inside her mouth.

The snug leather headgear enclosed her throat, traveling down to the base of her neck.  Tight enough to make its presence known, but not restrict her airway.  Turning her head slightly, she saw her golden hair spill out a hole near the top of the helmet.  Someone had fashioned it into a long, single braid ending in, of course, a bright pink ribbon.  That same someone, had also affixed a set of padlocks to all the exterior straps.  Talk about overkill. 

She followed the crotch strap down to the belt encircling her waist.  The belt had been drawn tight enough to dimple the flesh it covered.  The crotch strap itself revealed none of its secrets.  Only Cody and the person who put them there, knew what was trapped inside.

Turning, the detective looked over her shoulder and inspected the back of the garment as best she could.  She could see none of her skin peeking through the seam of the straightjacket.  It was secured with what looked like a “belt and suspenders” mentality.  First, the garment’s laces had been drawn tight.  Then, at least twenty small straps running horizontally up her spine had been buckled closed.  Each buckle sported a tiny brass lock.  The fingertip straps of the sleeves encasing her arms were buckled securely, finished off with a VERY formidable looking padlock.  Whoever held the keys to this outfit, must jingle like Santa Claus’ reindeer.  Affixed to the hem of the ‘costume’ at the base of her spine, was the small, pink ’brick’ she’d rolled on to earlier.  She hadn’t a clue as to its purpose.

Cody tensed against her pink leather and latex prison once more.  She could barely get a ’creak’ out of it.  She was royally and thoroughly, stuck.  She walked up to the mirror and with no other alternative, gave it a light rap with her forehead.

“Ow!”  She mumbled to herself.  “Good thing I didn’t try to head butt it.  The glass must be over an inch thick.”

Next, she walked over to the keypad on the door.  Giving it a nudge with her hip, did nothing but cause the padlock on the clear cover to rock briefly.  This was probably good news for her nose.  No doubt she’d sprain it, trying to enter all the possible numeric combinations.  She moved to the center of the room and did a slow 360.  Aside from the mirror and the door, the room was depressingly without features.

She started to sit down, but thought better of it, as the prods twitched.  Allowing herself a resigned sigh, she moved off to the corner opposite the door.  Wedging herself in the corner, she did just about the only thing she was capable of.  Wait.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, she was struck by a most unsettling sensation.  Her bladder was starting to signal that it was full.

***

Once Lily’s wheelchair had been secured inside the van, Velma turned off the flow of gas.  The effects gradually wore off, but the model’s situation remained unchanged.  Her eyes glanced sideways despairingly, unable to turn her head.  Rush hour was in full swing, the roads and walkways clogged with humanity.  Lily fought her bonds like a maniac, but could do little more than shudder.  The van’s tinted glass revealed no clues to her plight.

Eventually, the bustle of the city gave way to the more spacious suburbs.  The van continued north, into neighboring Bucks county.  As the scene outside her rolling prison became more rural, Lily’s anxiety heightened.  At least in the city, there’d been the chance of a car accident or moving violation.  Anything that would have brought attention to the van and its occupants.  But out here, the raven haired prisoner felt completely isolated.

Suddenly, Lila’s twin sister perked up.

“This is the road leading to Byberry hospital!”  She realized.

Indeed, the van had turned on to the two lane road which lead to the complex’s main entrance.  As they did, Velma reached back and screwed a small canister to the control stem of the ‘oxygen’ tank.  With the final twist, it released its contents into the plastic tubing.  Lily had time to blink once, falling unconscious before Velma had turned back in her seat.

                       Under Evaluation   7

Lily Powell drifted just below the surface of consciousness.  Her brain fired random synapses of images, which formed a disjointed collage of dreams.  A few were pleasant, most were not.  Dinner with friends, the photo shoot with the irascible Hans Schmidt, an airplane flight…somewhere.

Then there were the other images.  Walls melting, a seemingly out-of-body experience, hundreds of people walking past, acting as if she weren’t there.  And hands.  Her thoughts always seemed to come back to hands.  Hands that kept touching her, moving her, doing things she seemed helpless to stop.  Hands.

Then her mind thought of Lila.  Her sister, her twin, her soul mate.  She was in trouble!  That thought snapped the girl completely awake.  Her eyes popped open and darted about. 

“Where am I?”  She wondered, utterly disoriented.

“Bleak”, was a gross understatement for her surroundings.  The half dozen candles scattered about did nothing to illuminate the room, instead casting long, ominous shadows that moved like specters.  The grey, crudely quarried stone that made up the walls and arched ceiling looked positively ancient.  Still rattled, it appeared to Lily that the walls were shifting slightly back and forth.  It dawned on her, that the walls were static, it was she who was moving.  It was then she realized that, although she was moving, she couldn’t move.

“hhggnnmmmf!?”  Her puzzled exclamation jammed up in her throat.

Her lips were stretched and sealed around something enormous in her mouth.  Whatever it was, it grew to even larger proportions once behind her teeth.  Her poor tongue was trapped flat on the bottom of her mouth, like an elephant sitting on a cat.  Fire cut into the corners of her mouth, the pain traversing back across her bulging cheeks and behind her head, where a hard knot pressed relentlessly into the base of her skull. 

More of the same inexorable pressure traveled in thin bands about her head.  One passed under her chin, forcing her to clamp down on the mass plugging her mouth.  Another set passed diagonally up her cheeks, merging between her eyes, then up over her scalp.  The crushing pressure caused the model’s eyes to water.

She went to rip the abomination from her head, but her hands didn’t obey her commands.  They couldn’t.  Blinking away the tears, Lily looked to see why, although she already felt the reason.  Her hands, rather, her arms up to the elbows, were encased in shimmering, black leather gauntlets.  The patent leather surface reflected the candlelight merrily, though there was nothing merry about their function.

Five straps encircled each gauntlet, from wrist to elbow and were buckled tight.  Lily couldn’t see her hands at the end of the stiff leather sheaths.  That’s because each sheath ended in a softball sized sphere, whose exterior appeared to be some kind of hard, glossy plastic.  Lily tried to wriggle her fingers inside, feeling the dense padding on the sphere’s interior pressing down upon them.  Changing tact, she tried clenching her fisted fingers.  She could feel that something slightly pliant had been placed in her palms, negating any movement of her fingers beyond some minor flexing.

And that was just the start.  Her forearms had been affixed to her booted feet, which explained the ache in her back which was now beginning to make its presence known.  Having spent the past several years at the top of the fashion industry, Lily was no stranger to high heels.  However, she’d never seen boots such as the ones that currently trapped her feet.

Rising to her knee, the stiff black boots were also made from patent leather.  The lacing running up her shin had been drawn inhumanely tight.  By far, the most ghastly characteristic, was how they held her feet “en pointe”, the tops of her feet in perfect line with her shins.  A lethal set of stiletto heels, 7 or 8 inches in length, stabbed at the air.

Straps riveted down the inner and outer sides of the boots, were attached to the corresponding buckles riveted to the arm gauntlets, effectively doubling Lily over at the waist.  Left lying on the floor, the position would have been intolerable after a few minutes.  However, at the moment, the black haired stunner had no idea what the coarse stone floor felt like.

This was because she was suspended in mid air.  A chromed spreader bar, no less than 40” long, had been cuffed to her ankles, holding her legs (and imprisoned arms) distressingly wide.  A steel cable ran from its center up to the ceiling.  Lily traced its angled decent to a winch bolted into the wall six feet away, impossibly out of reach.

During her inspection, she noticed the leather thong which was knotted around the cable affixed to the spreader bar.  That explained why her head was held virtually motionless.  The obviously fiddle string taut thong traversed towards her, before disappearing from sight.  However, the persistent tug at the top of the harness of leather that encompassed her head, told her where the thong terminated.  The strap was holding the harness, thus her head, upright.  Lily could turn a little from side to side, but that was it.

Cramps struck her abdomen, verifying what the model believed to be inconceivable.  Something had been stuck in her vagina and rectum.  No, “stuck” was too gentle a term.  The objects swelled inside her beyond comfort.  The pliant tissue of her orifices were stretched further than what nature intended.  Lily could feel the course grain of a 2” wide leather strap hitched firmly between her legs.  Its edges dug into the lips of her vulva and parted the cleft of her bum.  The ends of the strap rose up to where she could feel the squeeze of a moderately boned waist cincher.  The ’garment’ compressed her waist, whilst still allowing her to be folded in two.  After all, her hip joints could only rotate so much.  Lily couldn’t look down to see the restraints.  She didn’t have to.  Just feeling their presence caused the bile to churn in her stomach.

“Who could have done such a thing?”  She wondered forlornly.  And more importantly, “Why?”

The model had to get free, but where to begin?  She could hardly move.  Even gravity was working against her.  Her best efforts merely jostled her body slightly and left her exhausted.  Her struggles, combined with the twisting strands of the cable, sent her in a slow, lazy circle.  What she could observe during this listless spin, left her further disheartened.

The cell had no windows, barred or otherwise.  Assorted fasteners seemed haphazardly anchored to the walls and ceiling.  The only way in or out appeared to be a exorbitantly stout door.  A sliver of light spilled under the portal, announcing a brighter, if no less mysterious area beyond.  Her lethargic twirl continued, the door passing from view.  Three steel lockers, painted black, stood next each other, against the wall, their contents yet another secret.

Lily’s eyes grew wide, as the ’tool rack’ came into view.  All sort of restraints dangled from pegs.  But that wasn’t the scary part.  Dozens of assorted torture devices resided there as well.  Paddles, crops, whips in all sizes and shapes hung in menacing silence.  The cold lump of despair expanded in the model’s stomach.

The only positive thing about her uncontrollable rotation, was that it eventually spun her out of sight of the rack.  Nevertheless, it had left a lasting impression.  The final wall in the cell (there was no other name for it) hosted a sturdy wooden cot pushed up against it.  The “mattress” was nothing more than a burlap sack, half-heartedly stuffed with straw.  Shafts of the stiff grass poked through the course cloth in countless places.

When the inertia of her spin finally ebbed, Lily was once again staring at the winch which held her aloft.  She wondered about her twin sister, Lila.  Was she suffering a similar fate?  Or was she merely a ward of the state, receiving the medical attention that would help her recover.  Somehow, Lily didn’t think it was the latter.

Sometime later, maybe an hour, perhaps three, Lily was startled by a loud *CLANK*, as the cell door’s bolt was slid open.  Unawares, the ebony haired enchantress had lapsed into a mildly catatonic state.  Brought back to her senses, Lily groaned as her aches and pains had quadrupled.  She had to squint against the subdued light, from what she could now see was an equally bleak stone corridor, spilled in.

Framed in the doorway was an impressively built man with a crew cut.  Her cell’s dim lighting was unable to highlight the features of his face.

“hhrmmmnggfff!”  Lily beseechingly grunted to be released.

The man stood rock still for a few moments, then stepped inside without uttering a word.  He closed the door with a solid *thud* and slid the heavy iron bolt closed, inserting a large padlock through its hasp.  He turned, so that she could watch him slip the chain holding the key around his neck.  The message was clear.  The model would have to break free of her restraints and get past him, before entertaining any ideas of passing through the door.

“mmmnnppffff!”  She bleated once more.  And once more, her plea was met with silence.

And still the man did not move, his eyes washing over her, making the helpless girl feel dirty.  Then he moved behind her, out of sight.  A chill ran up Lily’s spine, for she knew what lay back there.  The man’s soft soled shoes made no noise on the cold stone floor.  He just simply reappeared in front once more.  Then he raised his arm and Lily’s eyes grew wide.

In his right hand, he grasped a paddle.  The rectangular object was almost thirty inches long, the handle taking up a mere eight.  Although nickel-sized holes had been evenly bored through it, there was still a substantial amount of solid surface.  Lily’s gaze froze on the instrument as he slipped the lanyard around his wrist and drew it tight.  Her voice lost, she couldn’t even offer up a gagged plea for mercy.

He stood off to one side and brought his arm back.  Another pause.  Lily’s eyes, now adjusted to the light, could see the expressionless features of his face.  No joy, nor anger, just a compassionless gaze.  Then, like a cobra, his arm sprung into action.  The room filled with the sound of an impossibly loud *CRACK!* that actually startled the girl, even though she’d seen it coming.  Then the pain struck.

“MMMMMNNNNNHHHH!!!!”  She screeched, as the agony struck the tops of her thighs near her buttocks.

Pulling at her bonds, Lily actually managed to raise her bum toward the ceiling.  The man took advantage of this, delivering an equally vicious blow across the firm cheeks of her derriere.  The air left the model’s lungs, as the second wave of pain washed over the first.  No where near recovered, the third blow swung upward, striking squarely on her right ass cheek.  Her left cheek was impacted moments later.  Two more blows across her bottom poured gasoline on the inferno that raged there.

Not even breathing hard, the man slipped free of the paddle and returned it to its proper place.  The same could not be said of the poor girl.  Her head pounded with agony and the lack of oxygen.  Survival instincts finally got her diaphragm working again, forcing her draw in ragged, irregular breaths.  Through her tears, Lily could see him standing in front of her again, still silent as a ghost.

Moving in closer, he reached between the model’s spread legs.  Peering down as best she could, she saw him holding some sort of black rubber ball.  Rubber tubing exited one end, traveling in the general direction of her crotch.  She watched as, with thumb and forefinger, he twisted a small chrome wheel.  There was a soft hissing sound, as immediately the swollen presence in her vagina began to shrink.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small set of keys.  His hands fumbled out of sight for a moment, then there was a quiet *snick*.  As the strap over her privates loosened, he showed her the tiny brass padlock before slipping it into his shirt pocket.  The unspoken message was clear.  The strap holding the probes inside her orifices had been locked on.

As the strap fell free, so did the abomination that had been violating her.  Lily noticed that her rectum remain stuffed.  The probe there must have its own inflation bulb, she deduced.  The sound of a zipper interrupted her ruminations.  The model refocused, her eyes locking on the man’s enormous cock, standing at attention through the gap in his trousers.

‘nnnnnnnnnnnngghhhhh!”  Lily wailed, powerless to stop what happened next.

Rather than stepping in closer, the man merely grasped the folded beauty by her hips and pulled her to him.  The act seemed somehow more degrading, the fact that she was drawn toward him, implied his stepping closer not worth the effort.  Being stuffed with the prod had left Lily’s vagina clammy, providing minimal lubrication.  It would be the only blessing bestowed her.  But the girl would find no solace in this.

As his enormous head pressed against the folds of her labia, Lily tried everything to get away.  But with her legs spread wide, she couldn’t clench them together.  Nor could she do more than twist weakly to and fro.  Once the breach had been made, the man thrust his entire length inside her.

Lily’s howl lodged in her throat.  Her eyes squeezed closed as she felt as though she might be ripped in two.  After holding the position for a long second, the man began to move Lily back and forth, sliding her down upon his shaft then back again.  This lasted for what must have been five minutes.

Incredibly, Lily then felt him swell even larger inside her.  Changing tact, he painfully slipped his fingers under the reinforced hem of the waist cincher.  Using only his right arm as if curling weights, he continued to swing the girl back and forth on his cock.   His freed left hand began mauling her exposed right breast, his fingers cruelly pinching her nipple.

Finally, he began thrusting his hips as he pulled her to him, his pelvic bones bruising her tender flesh.  Then he stiffened, completely buried inside her.  Molten hot semen spewed inside her, leaving her physically ill.  Even then, he uttered not a word, not even a grunt.  He held her locked in this position, his swollen member in no hurry to deflate.

Finally, he simply let go of her.  She swung away, only to swing back, the petals of her sex smacking into his sticky shaft.  Lily would have never thought it possible, to feel so utterly defiled, so completely soiled.  Soft  new tears flowed hotly down her cheeks.

The man stepped forward and grasped the crotch strap.  It proved no challenge to slip the prod back inside her slimy sheath.  When he buckled the crotch strap, it seemed much tighter this time.  Then he began pumping the inflation bladder.  Lily moaned as she felt it swell inside her.  Then she screamed as it expanded well beyond what it had been before.  He even gave the prod up her ass six more squeezes.  The man made certain she was watching, as he pulled the lock from his shirt pocket and re-secured it to the strap.

Moving off to one side, he grasped something off a small shelf.  Returning, he held it up between Lily’s knees.  The girl looked at it through red, puffy eyes.  Those same eyes then looked as though they would pop out of her head.  What he held was a mirror, its reflection bouncing back at Lily.  The weak candlelight was more than adequate for the girl to see the change that had been made.

Her luxurious mane of jet black hair had been cut off!  All that remained was a uniform crew cut, perhaps ¾ of an inch in length.  Lily couldn’t even throw her head back as she wailed.  She’d been robbed of one of her most precious, personal features.  Despair nearly crushed the life out of her.  The man inverted the mirror, hanging it by its handle from the spreader bar, directly in front of Lily’s face.  The horrible image would be there every time she opened her eyes.

With that, he stepped back, affording himself one more long, silent stare.  He turned and strode to the door, unlocking it.  Without even so much as a look back, he opened the door and walked out.  Lily watched as the door slammed shut, then heard the heavy bolt *CLACK!* shut once more.  A deep metallic clattering informed her that the bolt had been padlocked closed.

Lily was left alone, hanging as before, whimpering and sobbing.  Her thighs, sex and bottom sticky and aflame.  She’d been raped, shorn and corporal punished.  And still, she had no idea what was going on.

“God I love my job!”  Carl thought, as he zipped up his fly and strode down the corridor.

                       Under Evaluation   8

Lila Powell’s “cell mate” had settled down somewhat, having repaired the damage to its web.  To the restrained brunette, the spider still seemed more than a little pissed off.  It had hunkered down in the center of the web, inches from Lila’s face and appeared to be staring back at the girl, debating whether or not to bite her on the nose.  Lila did her best, given her strenuous pose, not to exhale too hard into her neighbor’s web. 

This was a task all but impossible to achieve.  With limbs contorted and bound in inconceivable positions, her privates bearing all her weight, each breath was a labored, painful task.  Although the terror of being “host” to the spider had subsided, its presence still added to her uneasiness.  There was no solace in the distraction it had caused whilst dancing about in front of her face.  Nearby or not, each second  passed with the speed of glacier.  She recalled the stated duration of her predicament.

“Four hours!”  Lila thought once more.  “I may be dead by then.”

She felt this was by no means an exaggeration.  In the three (or was it four?)  days that she’d been a captive of “Mistress Rayne”, Lila had learned that her tormentor did not make idle threats.  Each statement Dr. Attenburg had made, no matter how offhanded, had proven invariably true.  Her short haircut, the whippings, the perverted sex acts, the…rapes, all had come to fruition, no matter how preposterous they had sounded at the time.  So, if her platinum blonde antagonist said four hours, the brown haired beauty knew she would not be removed one minute sooner.

“I wonder who’ll come for me?”  She thought, apprehensively.

No matter who did, it would only mean a change of her bondage, not her situation.  Would it be the vile Carl?  The man who had raped her repeatedly.  Or Velma, the sadistic second-in-charge who seemed determined to “one up” her superior’s cruelty at every opportunity.  No doubt, Lila feared Mistress Rayne’s return most of all.  The Mistress was capable of torturing the poor girl not only physically, but psychologically and emotionally as well.

And the results were working, though so subtly that Lila was unaware of the transition.  She no longer thought of her captor as Dr. Attenburg, Director of Byberry State Mental hospital.  She’d come to think of her as only “Mistress Rayne” or simply, “Mistress”.  Normally, such a change over a relatively short period of time would have shocked her.  But the trials she’d had to endure were anything but ‘normal’.

By the time someone came for her, Lila had drifted into a near trance-like state.  This wasn’t due to boredom, more to immobility.  Her lethargy did nothing to ease the pain.  Her body had transformed into one gigantic ache.  Even the parts of her that had gone numb, still burned with cramping discomfort.  Unable to turn around, she listened with trepidation, for the voice of the one designated to release her.  Lila’s heart sank at the cold tone of Mistress Rayne.

“Rest period’s up, cunt.”  Rayne growled in her captive’s ear.  “Now that you’ve had time to put your feet up, I’ve a very special playmate I want you to meet.”

Whoever the woman was talking about, Lila knew that “play” would not be an accurate description.  The fawn haired lovely groaned as her folded legs were released.  The massive ball gag did a commendable job of blocking all but the weakest sound from emerging, aided by the “special something” Carl had added first.

The tiny wad of silk pressed up against the back of the yellow ball, held there by Lila’s folded tongue.  The sodden material didn’t take up much space (there wasn’t much to spare), but its symbolism spoke volumes.  It was one of Mistress Rayne’s silk thongs.  Carl had assured her that the dominatrix had fingered herself to multiple orgasms whist wearing it.

“To acclimate you to the tasks that lie ahead.”  Carl had informed her.  “Besides,” he’d added with a laugh, “my boxers wouldn’t fit in there.”

Once in place, Lila had been forced to savor the salty, visceral taste of another woman’s sex.  Though the initial nausea had passed, the flavor unfortunately, had not.  It was just another underlying torment mixed in with those on a grander scale.

As Rayne lowered each of Lila’s legs, the girl found out they hadn’t been completely freed.  A short chain had been attached to a strap which now passed around each thigh.  The chain ended at another strap snaring her ankle.  A groan leaked from Lila’s throat, anticipating what was to come. 

Sure enough, the prisoner felt yet another style of severe footwear being fitted on to her foot.  Each and every time she had been made ambulatory, some sort of high heeled shoe, boot or sandal was part of the standard equipment.  All would have been a challenge to walk in, even without the restraints.  Lila would have laughed, had there been any humor in it, when she was decked out in heels AND a hobble.

The footwear, always a size too small, quickly bunched her toes together in its pointy toe.  Her foot was repositioned almost straight with her leg, becoming frozen in that position as the footgear was secured.  Once in position, the ankle strap was removed.  Lila felt the stiff leather work its way up to her knee.  God, how she hated the kind that laced up.  She knew that they would relentlessly squeeze her straining calves.

Once in place, Mistress Rayne released the tether holding Lila upright.  The girl had little fear of falling.  These people had no problem with causing her pain, at the same time, made sure she was not injured by accident.  Showing  strength that had astonished young Miss Powell the first time, Dr. Attenburg picked Lila up off her steel perch.  She set the girl down, allowing her a few moments to become accustomed to the boots.

To Lila, she felt as though she was standing on stilts, although the top of her head came just to Rayne’s nose.  With adjustment time over, Dr. Attenburg buckled a heavily padded leather blindfold over Lila’s eyes.  The routine was the same.  Although she’d never had to travel a great distance, she was always forced to do it sightless.  She’d seen several of the cells during her stay, but the area beyond each of the barred doors remained a mystery.  There was  tug on the steel tether, now a leash.  Obediently (for there was little choice), the trussed brunette followed.

                       Under Evaluation   9

Velma Knox observed Private Detective Cody Wisnecki through the 2-way mirror of the closet sized observation room.  Velma had to give the blonde credit for not going bonkers the minute she realized she was so thoroughly restrained.  After Cody had awakened and began to look around, it was clear from her body language, that she was aware of the possibility of being watched. 

“She’s a cool cupcake, I’ll give her that.”  Velma had conceded.  “But she’s not yet come across the likes of me.”  The antagonist continued to watch, waiting for her prey to settle down.

“Aw, poor baby doesn’t like her wittle friends.”  Velma noted, when Cody had wedged herself in a corner, not willing to endure the shifting required of the prods to drop to the padded floor.

Having been taught patience under the tutelage of Mistress Rayne, Velma suppressed the urge to barge right in and start the fun.  She went off to fix herself a latte and a light snack.  Intentionally lingering over the sports page of the Inquirer (the Phillies lost AGAIN!), more than an hour passed before she checked in on her subject.  She immediately saw that Cody’s premeditated calm was beginning to crack.  The blonde was becoming more fidgety, unconsciously testing her restraints with more frequency.  Perfect.  Velma gathered up her items and prepared for introductions.

Cody’s increasingly desperate need to tinkle was instantly forgotten, as the muffled sound of a heavy bolt sliding open filtered through the door.  She kicked herself mildly for not having noticed the tiny LED light on the keypad changing from red to green.  That would have given her a few more moments to prepare a plan of attack. 

Now, she was caught in the far corner of the room, away from the door.  Trying to cover that distance quickly in the hobbles would be a wasted effort.  Fixing a calm, yet angry look (with the portion of her face that showed through the helmet), the PI waited for her keeper’s grand entrance.  Her expression flickered with surprise at the sight of who walked in.

Having had nothing better to do, Cody had reconstructed the jumbled events leading up to her current state.  Coming to the conclusion that she’d been drugged, the detective had expected Dr. Attenburg to stroll through the door.  It was instantly clear, that the pint-sized “Kinkerella” sauntering in was NOT the good doctor.  Cody had little doubt that she could have pummeled the waif except for two things.  The first being obviously, that she was very professionally restrained.  The second, was seeing one of the two items the stranger had in her hands.

The detective had watched the Animal Planet network enough to recognize the industrial sized cattle prod the woman held.  About 40” in length, the wand had a pair of brass prongs on its business end.  The handle end was the size of a small car vac, implying impressive battery capacity.  The woman flicked the tip up in Cody’s direction, whilst turning her back to the PI in order to manipulate the keypad.  The message was clear, “Stay right where you are.”

Once finished securing the door and locking the keypad’s protective cover, the woman turned to her “guest”.  The two women stood there, appraising each other.  If the situation weren’t so dire (and she wasn’t gagged so effectively), Cody might have laughed.  Her ‘nemesis’ was half a foot shy of 5’6” and that was with the towering stiletto heels she wore.  “Footwear” was an inadequate description of the white patent leather, combination thigh boots/chaps ensemble that encased her legs.  And the fetish wear didn’t stop there.

She wore a patent leather ‘teddy’, also white, though the cut reminded Cody of the Mono-kini swimsuit once popular.  The scandalously brief panty section circled her hips, the thin straps connected by a gold ring on each flank.  From there, narrow bands rose and crisscrossed, connecting with a belt passing around her waist above her navel.  Flaring out from this, were two vertical swatches perhaps 2” wide.  These swatches rose to cover the woman’s nipples and not very much else.  Their ascent ended in a halter-like connection behind her neck.  Around her neck she wore a white leather collar, complete with silver studs.  Capping off the costume, was a white leather “Lone Ranger” style mask.

And if that weren’t enough, sitting atop the woman’s head was a spiked clump of hair, dyed bright purple, with mango green accents.  Cody was almost glad she was gagged, a snicker almost assuredly slipping past her lips.  Her expression must have reflected this, for she saw the woman’s masked scowl deepen.

“Musn’t upset the wacko with the cattle prod.”  Cody cautioned herself.

Aside from the prod, the ‘girl’ carried a small, handled shopping bag proclaiming, “Saks 5th Ave.-Off 5th”.  No doubt from a purchase at the nearby Franklin Mills Mall.  Somehow, the detective didn’t think the bag contained perfume.

As the woman began walking toward her, Cody was amazed at the easy grace in which she did so.  Barefoot, it had taken the detective a few strides before becoming comfortable with the cell’s spongy, padded floor.  This woman had obviously had a lot of practice walking in severe heels over varying terrain.  As she approached, she held the wand casually to her side.  Cody wasn’t fooled.  A mere twist of the wrist and the weapon could be brought “at the ready” in an instant.

“Shorty” stopped about three feet away.  The two women eyed each other up in silence.  Finally, the shorter woman knelt, again making it look so easy, and placed the bag on the floor.  She reached inside the bag and withdrew and irregularly shaped, pink strap.  Cody noted the two, circular bulges of yellow, open cell foam rubber attached to the two corresponding widest sections of leather.

“A blindfold.”  The blonde identified immediately.  “And a VERY effective one, by the looks of it.”

The recognition must have crossed her face, perhaps mixed with just a touch of fear.  Being bound and silenced was one thing, not being able to see, jacked things up to another level.  “Shorty” made a gesture that was crystal clear.  “Are you going to let me put this on?  Or are you going to give me a hard time?”  She appeared obviously disappointed, when Cody let out a sigh, but didn’t move.

“This one is definitely cagey.”  Velma thought.  “And smart, too.” 

“She’ll be a tough nut to crack.  But oh, how I like a challenge.”  And then, Velma spoke for the first time since entering.

“My name is Mistress Velma, slave.”  Her voice surprisingly deep for a person her size.  “Not ‘Shorty’ or ‘Half-Pint.”

Cody’s eyes involuntarily arched in surprise.  Could this woman possibly be psychic?  It was only then that she noticed, that the helmet her head was crammed in to was equipped with some pretty impressive, sound dampening material over her ears.  She’d barely heard the words uttered at an obviously conversational volume.

“Why would they want me practically deaf, here in the bowels of the hospital?”  The detective wondered.  “Or am I somewhere else?  Well, I‘ll find out soon enough.”

Velma witnessed the brief reaction and was pleased.  She’d gauged the detective’s emotional state correctly.  The blonde did not yet appreciate the deep shit she was in.  Even bound, the PI retained a certain level of haughtiness, reinforced by Velma’s small stature.  It was going to be a treat, bringing this lithe beauty down a few pegs.

Warily reaching out, Velma secured the snaps on the blindfold to their mates riveted to the side of the helmet.  Before swing the blinder into position, Velma’s lavender tinted eyes bore into Cody’s blue.

“You and I are going to have a LOT of fun.”  She purred.  “Now, are you going to behave yourself?”

The detective’s eyes locked with her captor’s for a long, drawn out moment, then dropped to the padded floor.  Cody let out a defeated sigh as she did so.  What was the point?  What options did she have?  Kick her with a bare and hobbled foot?  She’d probably wind up breaking a toe on her assailant’s shin.  Velma stood too far away for a surprise head butt.  And were she somehow able to incapacitate the runt, what then?  She’d still be straight jacketed and locked in a room from which she hadn’t been able to escape from up to this point.

“No,” the blonde thought, “let her have her jollies now.  Sooner or later she’s gonna grow lax and make a mistake.  THEN we’ll see who’s got the shit eatin’ grin.”

Velma’s face frowned as she was obviously disappointed once more.  Then she stretched the blindfold across eyes that flickered a tad of apprehension.  Snapping the other end in place, Velma stepped back.  There were many parts of this job she loved and this was one of them.  To a “man”, each captive reacted the same way when first blindfolded.  Cody Wisnecki was no different.  The blonde’s perfect, spring-tanned nose poked out through a field of pink, pointing this way and that, as her head turned from side to side, then cocked left and right, trying in vain to catch any glint of light that might slip past the blinder.

Cody was in fact, trying to find any chink in the padded blindfold.  As it had closed in over her eyes, she’d shut her eyelids instinctively.  When the final snaps were clicked in place, the seal was uniform and consistent.  She sensed a lessening pressure directly over her eyeballs and deduced that the padding was concave at that point.  Cautiously, she pried one eye open.  Sure enough, there was a tiny air pocket in which her lid could flutter freely.  Not that it did her any good.  Open or closed, her vision could not detect anything but a cloying vastness of black.

“Hold still.”  Came Velma’s muffled, disembodied voice.

“Riiight,” thought Cody, “like I was just about to kick your scrawny ass, now that the odds are even.”

The blonde felt a sudden touch against the portion of the helmet that covered her throat.  In a heartbeat, something roughly 3” wide encircled her neck.  Then it began to constrict.  Alarmingly.

“A collar!”  Cody thought indignantly.  Somehow, she knew with certainty, that it was pink.

The blonde felt a leather clad thigh brush against the back of her own.  Blinded, Cody must have stepped out of the corner without realizing it, “Mistress Velma” had taken the opportunity to step in behind her.  Not being in contact with the walls, quadrupled the bound beauty’s disorientation.  Well, that didn’t mean she had to play helpless heroine.  Cody stood tall, intent on making the securing of the collar more difficult.

And she succeeded, to a point.  However, in spite of her height disadvantage, Velma was still able to buckle the collar in place.  But not before giving it an extra tug as punishment for the insubordination.  The purple haired pixie doubted that the blonde could feel the weight of the padlock hanging from the collar’s buckle.  But no doubt, Mistress Rayne would appreciate the shrimp’s thoroughness, when reviewing the multi-angled recording of the detective’s preparation.

Meanwhile, Cody mentally kicked herself for her stubbornness.  She’d managed to make it only fractionally more difficult for Velma to fit her with the collar and been stuck with the consequence.  The stiff hide now squeezed her throat rather alarmingly, her breaths wheezing in and out.  It would not have made her any less apprehensive, to know that no matter how she’d responded, the collar would have been fitted with the same enthusiasm.

Velma took a moment and stepped back to examine her prisoner.  She was a beaute, the woman had to admit.  Her long, firm legs appeared to have doubled in length, thanks to the cut of the straightjacket and crotch strap.  Her almost certain C-Cup bust bulged over her folded arms.  And although the helmet masked her features, its fit was tight enough to highlight the delicate bone structure of Cody’s beautiful face. 

Yup, she was practically a goddess alright.  A tall, leggy, stunningly beautiful woman.  Velma HATED tall, leggy, stunningly beautiful women.  And she kept a particularly dark, feral, unadulterated hatred in her cold heart for tall, leggy, stunningly beautiful blonde women.  She sneered at the knowledge of what was going to happen to the detective who was quite literally, in the dark.  From the Saks bag, Velma retrieved a pair of pink, 1” straps.  No sense spoiling the color scheme now.

The first went around Cody’s knees, a vicious jerk snapping the joints together.  The other went higher up, at mid-thigh.  This one was drawn even more brutally tight, no doubt clamping the flesh of her vulva down hard on the edges of the crotch strap.  As testament to this, a soft, prolonged yelp drifted out from behind the hood.

“She thinks this is tough?”  Speculated Velma.  “She hasn’t seen tough yet.”

The last item in the bag, was a silver rod roughly twelve inches long and ½” in diameter.  Velma thumbed a tiny button on the shaft and telescoped it outward.  The rod grew to twice its length.  Each end sported a small metal eyelet.  The shaft was actually aluminum, though that did nothing to diminish its strength.  With the light touch of a surgeon, the violet haired villain threaded a padlock through a ring on the front of Cody’s collar and then through one of the rod‘s eyelets.  Once locked in place, Velma began pulling on the rod.  Cody resisted against the tug.

“C’mon, cunt” growled Velma loud enough for her prisoner to hear, “bend at your waist.  What’s going to happen is inevitable, so you might as well go easy on yourself.”

Cody heard this and couldn’t argue the logic.  Still, it felt wrong just to give in.  But she capitulated and bent forward at the waist.  The prods buried inside her, nearly forgotten, shifted as if to say, “Hello, we’re still here!”  Cody bent further at the pull’s insistence, her balance becoming less a sure thing.  As the other end of the rod neared its target, Velma readied the last padlock.  Then, with one last jerk, slipped the lock through the rod’s eyelet  and a ring on the blonde’s knee strap.  She let go of the shaft and watched the end result.

Cody bucked in an effort to straighten back up.  Failing that, she tried to bend further at the waist.  The rod stymied this as well.  The blonde wailed in frustration at what was, more or less, a permanently stooped posture.  Bent at 45 degrees, Cody could feel the strain being placed on the muscles of her lower back.  Though there was no discomfort yet, she knew that would soon change.  The detective started shuffling around blindly in mincing steps.

“This definitely sucks.”  She thought once more.  She had no idea how “sucky” it was about to get.

She felt the light touch on her exposed right ass cheek, a millisecond before her world exploded.  Cody would have never imagined such pain existed.  Every nerve in her body seemed to be alight as if set on fire.  A scream froze in her throat, every muscle suddenly frozen rigid.  Her blood pressure seemed to shoot up a hundred points, her skull threatening to burst like a water balloon.  And the agony.  It just would not pass.  Cody realized she couldn’t draw a breath.  She truly believed that this was the end.

After triggering the cattle prod, Velma gleefully watched the effects.  This was another part of her job she loved.  Her captive, restrained in “Sweet 16 Pink” tensed, a primeval scream lodging in her throat as her body’s wiring short circuited.  Then she started to spasm uncontrollably, pitching over on to her side.  Velma waited for the effects to pass, then leaned in close.

“That’s for being such a candy ass and not putting up a fight.”  she growled at the leather encased head.

A minute passed, perhaps two, before Cody’s hitching breaths settled into ragged sobs.  That’s when Velma stabbed the prod into her left ass cheek.  The blonde went rigid once more, then her legs began whip-cracking back and forth.  If she thought the first zap was bad, the second hit her with ten times the ferocity.  What kept her from passing out, she’d never know.  Her nerves refused to stop transmitting the suffering felt in every molecule.  Even her hair seemed to crackle with electricity.  During this time, the private investigator’s bladder emptied, adding yet another stain to the collage marring the padding.

Cody took much longer to recover from the second zapping, but Velma waited patiently.  The sadistic pixie with eggplant colored hair had nothing but time.  Finally, when she determined that her words would register, she leaned in once more.

“And THAT’S what would have happened if you had put up a fight.”  She assured her prisoner.

Cody’s only answer was a long, warbling moan.  She was cognizant enough to know that she was in a lose/lose situation.  Somehow, someway, she had to get free.  Before this bitch killed her.