KIDNAPPED
GORD

CONTENTS

1	The Napper						5
2	Collection Number Three				10
3	Napper Bait						21
4	Grissom Has Landed					29
5	Developments						43
6	Danielle							61
7	Bernadette						70
8	Frustration						81
9	Helen Doe						91
10	Fuck Up! - Texas Style!				102
11	Shipping							110
12	Claudine							119
13	Tanker Cargo						133
14	Seek and Ye Shall Find				139
15	Rescue							155
16	Napper's Legacy					178


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KIDNAPPED

CHAPTER ONE
THE NAPPER

Eddie pushed his way through the throng of cops, handcuffed hookers, deadbeats, and junkies. It looked like another normal day for the Precinct. With a brief wave of acknowledgment to Sergeant Bollinger on desk duty, he made his way to the detectives' squalid den on the second floor. The place was deserted save for Don Collino, probably the only one not working on the Napper case. Eddie stopped at Collino's desk and scrounged a light for the half smoked cheroot he'd been chewing since first entering downtown Dallas.

"Captain's been looking for you."

Eddie smiled grimly.

"Tell me something new, Don. Seems like I'm the only asshole 'round here with an easy name to pronounce, apart from you!"

Don grinned. "They're all in the incident room. Number two went missing last night and the Captain thinks he's on a new collection round again. Same MO - used a BK-14 surplus again. Signs are that he entered her place around midday, and took her while she was showering-loaded her up and then launched sometime around three in the morning. Same as before, only this chick had to wait a bit longer for the ride."

Eddie grimaced as he thought of the woman's ordeal. The BK-14 was an obsolete military cruise missile, small in size, twin boosters, portable launch ramp, and designed to carry payloads of up to 300 lbs over a range of 500 miles. They were designed to deliver arms and supplies to troops, were remote guided or optionally pre-programmed and virtu- ally undetectable due to the ground hugging TFR radar built in. 

The Army, after equipping with over 5,000 of the damned things had then been subjected to government cut backs and sold the whole lot when the cruise air supply regiment was disbanded. Not being equipped with a warhead, they didn't come under normal controls governing obsolete equipment sales. Some dickhead at the Pentagon hadn't figured that loaded with 300 lbs of commercial Semtex, they made a pretty offensive cruise missile. Still, that was the least of his worries.

Right now his old nemesis, The Napper, was at it again. This time he seemed to have a foolproof method of getting the snatched women away. A couple of years previously, March 2015 to be precise, Eddie had finally managed to infiltrate The Napper's organisation and interrupt the flow of saleable women on his eighteenth snatch. The unlucky seventeen were never traced, and The Napper vanished into the woodwork. Now it seemed he was back, and he had another order to fill. Eddie wondered how many gorgeous women were dotted around the city at this very moment, none of them knowing that in the very near future they were destined to become the helpless, bound payloads of a rocket delivery system.

He finished the smouldering cheroot and jammed it into Don's ashtray. "Ah! Well, may as well get in there and get it over with." He rose, hijacked Don's tepid, half empty cup of coffee and crossed the office, easing open the double swing door quietly in an attempt to sneak into the incident room unnoticed.

Dammit! The hinges still hadn't been oiled.

"Where the hell have you been, Valenski? Tucked up in bed with that society broad I suppose?"

Eddie gritted his teeth and said nothing as the Captain slagged off his fiance, Claudine. She was no broad. Claudine was a really class act who for some reason had been drawn to his somewhat ruffled and unkempt self. Yet despite the fact that they had been dating for a year, she still rebuffed all his efforts to bed her until the day they got married. Very old-fashioned-or maybe she was just stringing him along, as a novelty! They had met during the original Napper investigation. As an attorney, she was called in as the public defender when one of The Napper's henchmen were nabbed. As it happened, she never got the chance to defend him. The Napper conveniently left a bomb in his holding cell before they got anything out of him. His mind dragged back to the task in hand as the Captain continued with the briefing in front of a large map of southern USA.

"We know it took off in an easterly direction from eye witness reports, but as you know, with a BK-14, that means absolutely zilch. It could have altered course anywhere and be five hundred miles in any direction. Our guess is that it reversed course, went this way, deployed the parachute landing system somewhere out here in the boonies." The pointer tapped the wall map in a vast dun coloured stretch denoting desert.

"Given the range of that thing, Helen Morton could be anywhere between here and the West side of New Mexico by now.

Bernadette Wilson went missing from here in Dallas, and if our guess is right, the next will go from somewhere around the same area. Once we have a third snatch, we can start to work out operating radiuses and get some sort of a fix on a probable common area that would be in range from all three launch sites. As he 'naps more, we'll be able to firm up the possible target zones."

"Yeh! Then we'll only have one million square miles to search." It was Eddie talking under his breath.

"What was that, Valenski? Got something useful to say?"

"I said that will only leave us with a million square miles to check out. By the time we even get close, The Napper will have his quota and pull the plug on the operation."

The Captain glared at him.

"You got any better ideas, wise ass?"

To be honest, Eddie didn't. This time The Napper had come up with a doozey. He lowered his eyes from the challenge, then looked around as a female voice sounded nearby. It was Officer Cassidy, nicknamed Butch, for a very understandable reason. Carmel Cassidy was a stacked chick who everyone at the precinct house was lusting after - in vain! 

"I think we should put in a decoy. Set someone up and keep watch. Fit them with tracking bugs and then track the flight to the drop zone." The room fell silent except for a few derisory sniggers as the Captain fixed her with an incredulous stare.

"You nuts, Cassidy? Who the hell is going to let themselves be targeted by this Napper freako. You fancy a naked rocket ride into oblivion-you figure you're a twenty first century Lady fucking Godiva or something!"

"Don't fancy the rocket ride, Captain, but if it's the only way to get him before he takes another twenty or thirty women, I'll volunteer."

There was a shocked silence before the Captain cut back in.

"Out of the question, Cassidy. There's no way I'll sanction that." 

Butch fixed him with a defiant look.

"Then with or without your help - I'll do it myself - I resign!" 

The Captain's eyes bulged out and veins rose on his temples. 

"Cassidy! What the hell gives with you?" Officer Cassidy held her ground, and slowly spelled out the reason for her decision.

"Bernadette Wilson was my lover Captain - and I want her back." 

A rumble of astonishment went around the room. Most of it was regret for such a waste of feminine pulchritude, but then the men in the Captain's office were hardly impartial. The Captain recovered first. 

"That alters nothing, Cassidy, and anyway, you're personally involved and that don't make for good police work!"

Eddie interrupted.

"Just hang on a minute, Cap' She may have something here. If you remember, The Napper works on links on some occasions. Two or three of the last lot were linked, and that's how we got to bust his operation - if you remember. He napped the one girl, and then on information extracted from her, went after her cousin. If he's still working the same routine, Bernadette will be telling him all and he'll know that Butch is a looker. Chances are the Wilson girl had photos of Butch around the place if they were lovers. Am I right, Butch?"

Cassidy nodded.

"Then he'll have sussed that out right away."

"Yeh! But he's bound to know she's a cop." It was Jim Preedy from vice. 

"Sure, but since when has something like that stopped The Napper? One of the last batch was an FBI agent - Diane Somerville. Like as not he'll take it as a challenge. This shit brain thinks he's a super villain - another Joker, or a Penguin - or some shit like that. Butch is probably at risk anyway."

The rumble of discussion got louder and even the Captain paused for thought. Finally, he seemed to make his mind up.

"Okay, Cassidy. If you're determined to go through with this I suppose it would be better if you have the full resources of the Dallas P.D. to back you. So let's get to working this all out. I'll expect all ideas to be ready for my inspection by 9 am tomorrow. Now let's get our asses moving before any more chicks take a ride on Napper's big dipper. And Cassidy, you're under twenty four hour surveillance until we get this thing set up. Benedict! Sikowski! You're detailed to keep an eye on her. Loose her before we're ready, and I'll bust your butts personally." 

Cassidy eyed the two burly detectives who were leering at her with gleeful intent.

"You watch from outside the apartment, assholes!"

The two faces assumed a thoroughly dejected look, and Butch couldn't help but grin. They looked like two puppies who just had their bones stolen. Dream on, Bozos!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER TWO
COLLECTION NUMBER THREE

At that precise moment, two hundred odd miles to the north, in Apartment 604 on 3255 16th Street West, Oklahoma City, Danielle Grissom was struggling violently as four men held her down and ripped the clothes callously from her body. Husband Neil had left early and she'd returned to bed for a few hours. Still waking from an interrupted night's sleep, and having just finished dressing, she was completely unaware that she was no longer alone until a huge hand clamped across her mouth. A loud tearing sound marked the end of her underslip, and the appearance of a razor sharp knife momentarily froze her with fear as it swung towards her. There was a plucking sensation at her chest, then another near the groin. Almost magically, Danielle felt her bra and panties fall away to leave her nubile body fully revealed.

Stark naked and terrified of what would surely follow, she writhed and strained as the men carried her to the bed where they unceremoniously dumped and spreadeagled her. A fifth man appeared. He was hooded, yet she could see he was smiling through a slot cut in the woollen material. It was a smile of evil intent, enhanced by the object he was carrying in his hands. It didn't look one bit like a box of chocolates. He knelt beside her head, and before she had time to react, gripped her jaw powerfully. A steely squeeze sent pain lancing through her lower face and Danielle had no choice but to open her mouth as the fingers dug painfully into her jaw bone. A foam rubber ball descended on her gaping mouth, and almost choking on its hugeness, Danielle struggled pitifully as the massive sphere was steadily packed into her mouth. Waffling and gagging as her mouth was remorselessly stretched wide and stuffed to bursting, she struggled violently-but to no avail. Finally, the whole mass was residing behind her teeth, jaw jacked painfully apart by the pressure, and cheeks bloated by the resilient mass of expanding rubber wadding. The fingers relaxed their grip and a knee pressed against the top of her head as a hand returned to grip her lower jaw.

With considerable force, Danielle's mouth was forced closed, com- pressing the massive mouth packing until her lips met. Something wet and acrid tasting coated her lips, and seconds later fingers pressed them together. It was some sort of super glue. The hand released and Danielle felt the rubber sphere try to expand, forcing her teeth apart, stretching lips taut as they refused to part. For a second she was afraid that the delicate skin of her lush lips would tear away, but by exerting the power of her jaw muscles she eased the strain by forcibly biting down on the expanding wadding, in effect, engineering an increased level of self gagging that kept her silent and verbally impotent. An aerosol can put in a appearance, and as a treacly white substance coated her lower face from ear to ear, her eyes fixed on the visible part of a proprietary label - an adhesive latex mix used for sealing a whole range of items against damp, but endowed with the tenacity to tear her skin off if it was forcibly removed. It took but a couple of minutes to dry and Danielle felt a tightness in her face as it shrank with the curing process. It was a small consolation, but the tautness of the latex seal eased the tensile burden on her glued lips. But as with most things in life, it was at a price. The price in this instance was her guaranteed inability to make any appreciable pleas for help. Her entire lower face was sealed tight and silent.

Roughly, she was turned over and her arms drawn back. Something slid up to her shoulders and a collar encircled her neck to ensure that it didn't slip down. Grunting with pain she struggled valiantly as her arms were drawn together and elbows mashed into a painful contact as laces inexorably robbed her of any freedom. Seconds later several crushing integral straps overlaying the sheath added an inescapable finality to wrists and elbows. Her legs received a similar treatment as her lower limbs were converted to resemble the lower portion of a mermaid.

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Danielle felt herself lifted and carried to the lounge, that in itself something of a relief. At least rape was out for the immediate future! Her bonds were not really in keeping with the ideal arrangement, and the carpet of the lounge was hardly the choice of lustfully motivated attackers when they had just lifted her from a much more desirable platform on which to sample her body.

Wide eyed and frightened, she stared around. Three of the men seemed content to just stand and ogle her body, whilst the other two were making continuous return trips to a truck somewhere at street level; carrying up crates and tool boxes marked NPR Plumbing Inc. Some of them were two man crates due to the weight, revealing long heavy cylinders when they were opened.

Fearfully, she watched as the last of the consignment of boxes and crates were opened and all five set to work assembling something from the mass of complex items being unveiled by the pile of containers. At first there was some sort of framework, but that later transpired to be a curious cradle. Then there was the ominous device that had two large cylinders on either side. It took some thirty minutes to get that all together, and another ten to lift and mount it on the cradle. By this time a very frightened Danielle was beginning to piece together the function of the whole arrangement. It was obviously a miliary device, and clearly something designed to launch - a missile of a sort she had never seen before.

All kinds of ideas came to mind, but none seemed to fit the bill. Perhaps they were going to assassinate someone - maybe her apartment was the ideal launch site for whatever they had in mind. But then, why the fancy restraints? As assassins, a bullet through the brain would have proved far more efficient in removing her as a witness. Why tie her up at all? And if they had to tie her up, why use such customised gear when a length of rope would have served just as well? Stealthily, she started to worm away from the occupied men, not even bothering to consider how she was going to open the door. Danielle had only managed a few feet of lateral travel when her squirming escape caught the eye of a captor.

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"Leaving so soon, big tits. Shame, the fun's just beginning."

Roughly, Danielle found herself being dragged to the door, face down and her unprotected boobs burned with the friction of a cord carpet. Unable to resist, she wailed pitifully into the gag as her feet were lifted and lashed to the door handle. It took but a few seconds, and then they stood back and laughed at her plight. Arched painfully and most of her upper body weight balanced on her tits, Danielle was regretting that she had even contemplated escape.

"What's the matter, big tits, I thought you wanted to get to the door?" Danielle gritted her teeth and bit back the plea for mercy. The terrible gag made pleading pointless anyway! This asshole was beginning to piss her off with his mocking 'big tits' jibes. It was so demeaning to be reduced to a sexist title based on two lusciously exposed parts of her anatomy. To emphasise her plight, the brute placed a foot in the small of her back and pushed down, arching her painfully and compressing her boobs into the carpet. A hand plundered her sculpted buttocks as the curvature of her body humped them into inviting hillocks. Finally, he was called back to the task in hand by his hardworking cohorts. 

Forty-five minutes of painful boob compression followed as most of her body weight conspired to flatten them into resilient two point stand. During that time it was a strain to even manage a quick neck arching glance at the scene of activity. Suddenly feet surrounded her form and Danielle knew that the time had come for her participation in whatever they had planned. Her knees hit the floor with a crunch as the lashings on the door handle were severed with a knife, and panic welled in her body as she felt herself lifted and dumped face up on the assembled missile, her head towards the forward section. Her re- strained body was cradled in the connecting framework between the missile boosters, and even as she struggled, powerful khaki webbing was being passed over her body and ratcheted to excruciatingly tight constraint. Danielle found herself being systematically crushed into a homogenous, stiffened addition to the inflexible cradle. One of the men winked at her.

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"Wouldn't want you to fall off now, would we, big tits?"

His hand grasped at her vulnerably exposed breasts and mauled away to his heart's content as she glowered impotently at him. He turned his eyes away, maintaining the tit mashing as he watched his partners' complete the securing. Danielle strained mightily, but straps at regular intervals along the entire length of her body prevented even the slightest movement. Even her throat was encircled, and a band passing over her mouth added an impossible overkill to her already efficient silencing, serving a double purpose in that it fixed her head solidly in position.

The crush of male bodies drew back, and she felt a cool draught over her forcibly reclining form as the French windows opening on to the balcony were swung wide. The missile and cradle shifted beneath her; first inching sideways, and then rising as the whole assembly was cranked up to a launch position. They were lining her up with the window and ensuring that the rocket would clear the balustrade at the edge of the balcony.

A deep chilling fear passed through Danielle as she envisaged the sixty floor abyss beyond that safety rail - a concrete Canyon that was 16th West, a vertical walled valley stretching away into the distance, bordered by concrete walls of the high rise buildings that were the norm in mid town Oklahoma City.

The men were busy by her feet, and straining her eyes Danielle managed to quell the fear temporarily as she concentrated on the group and what they were saying.

"Yeh! Program it for 3 am, and leave the remote override on just in case we get a window to shoot before that. I'll be a block away, and if it goes quiet early I'll send her straight away." The hooded man spoke softly but with a voice that commanded attention.

"You launch her early and I'll have your balls. You only launch if the cops turn up. I want her to stay here all night strapped to the rocket. It'll do her good to think about what's coming. Besides, it amuses me to think of this little parcel of goodies all tied up and ready to go. I'll have some sweet dreams thinking about our Danielle all strapped down like a Christmas present. Let me know as soon as she takes off, Gordon. I want to know the moment that tight juicy pussy is on its way. Oh! And remember! Nobody fucks it but me! This one is my personal property." 

Unseen fingers squeezed Danielle's available thrusting mons and a finger ventured into the moist warmth of her cleft as her thighs clenched with a natural protective reaction. He was sampling the resilient grip of her fleshy sex lips as they suckled helplessly on the intruder. Their eyes met as he leered down and savoured her inability to rebuff his attentions. The finger worked diligently in her suckling cleft and despite her best efforts to resist the stimulation, Danielle found herself lubricating freely as the fleshy mound at the base of his finger worked against her clit.

"Have to get you all shaved off once we get you home, won't we. Can't have that lovely pussy hiding in a bush" His eyes mocked her for a second or two, then he moved away, a retracting wet finger producing a slight tell tale squelch as it vacated her salivating love nest. Red faced with embarrassment, Danielle strained her eyes downward and saw them clustered around a small control panel that was an integral part of the portable launch system of a BK-14-watching fearfully as the fifth guy programmed in a complex set of co-ordinates from a piece of paper and then set the timer for launch.

They stood back and made a final visual check as the hooded man ratcheted her binders even tighter and then turned to go. His other leering henchman leaned over as an unseen hand stroked the bulbously cinched curves of her helpless body. His fingers seemed to enjoy sampling the deep curving indents of her trussed form as they paused at each tight band and savoured the thrusting curve of compacted flesh. "Have a nice day, big tits. At three in the morning you're going for the ride of a lifetime."

The heavy set guy nearest had another field day with her boobs before adding a final taunt.

"See you later."

He leered at her pleading eyes and then vanished from view. A second later Danielle heard the door closing and something like a breaking sound. Her heart sank as she realised they had snapped the key in the lock to prevent any accidental discovery of her plight.

Straining and writhing, Danielle fought furiously against the webbing, but even as she did, she already knew that it was an impossible task. She was cinched down like a side of beef and the barest twitch demanded all her strength to achieve. Even if she managed the impossible and escaped the rocket she was still trussed and helpless inside the sheaths, and when that rocket launched with her still in the room, there would be a nice smell of roast chick. Finally the panic subsided, and her brain summed up the devastating reality. She was safer on the cradle and away from the searing heat of rocket exhausts.

Neil Grissom, her husband, was at this moment on the road, heading north for Chicago on a business trip. All the flights had been booked, and sooner than miss an important client he'd been forced to make the annoying decision to go by road. Danielle had a sudden flash of hope that was instantly snuffed as she thought further. Neil always rang in the evenings when he was away. Surely, when she didn't answer, he would have someone check? Then she remembered his parting words. 

"I'm driving non-stop through the night, Danni, so I won't be ringing until I get to the hotel in the morning. Expect a call about 9 or 10 am.' Danielle felt total despair. Concheeta, the maid, had the day off, and Neil's call would come in many hours after her launch.

Alone and frightened, she tried to come to terms with her plight. There was no escape, and no chance of a rescue. Her eyes flitted to the clock. It was 8.46 am. In eighteen hours fifteen minutes, give or take a few, she was going to be launched like a trussed piece of inanimate freight and there was nothing she could do. Her only consolation was that parting remark. 'See you later' meant that whatever they intended for her, it was intended that she survive intact and in a state that was useable by lusting males. Now she had eighteen long hours free to ponder over her fate as the faint ticking of the programmer clock at her feet whittled away her remaining time.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER THREE
NAPPER BAIT

"You can piss off, Eddie. If you think I'm having you stand around gawping whilst I fit this thing you can forget it!"

Eddie shrugged, a little disappointed. The homer he had handed to Carmel was going in a place he would just love to see. Watching this statuesque gay chick shove a dildo shaped homer up her much sought after pussy could have been one of the highlights of his career.

It was Cassidy's idea. Given that she was liable to be stripped naked as investigation of previous snatch sites had revealed in the discarded clothes, Butch had immediately ruled out a similar device being poked up her ass which was the only other logical place. The technical department, needless to say, had been relieved at the additional space available to a front mounted tracker.

There were no guarantees as to where and when The Napper would strike, if he took the bait at all, and so no way the homer could be permanently activated. Another problem was that his intelligence system was second to none. He would know if any cops were watching Butch, and the bait was that she was going on leave. She would be completely on her own. No cop within half a mile would know anything about the plan, a necessary precaution to preclude any leaks. That presented a battery problem. Now, given that they had a lot more space to jam micro electronic wizardry into, they had come up with a smart answer.

A BK-14 had a distinctive radio wave emission as the pre-launch stage ran up the fuel pump turbines. Unlike earlier versions using solid boosters, the Army had opted for a more controllable liquid oxidiser fuel. There were four seconds between activation and boost pressure reaching launch levels, during which the electronic control system maintained the pre-purge signal. That would trigger the homer. Once Butch was strapped down by her abductors, she was swallowed bait. Her eventual rescue depended entirely on an electronic device she had no control over. At least she would have the comfort of knowing that her launch was going to lead her rescuers' straight to her. For the first time in her life, her ultra lustful pussy would be sending out beckoning messages of a different kind.

Carmel vanished into her room, appearing somewhat flushed some ten minutes later. She glanced self consciously at the inquisitive face of Eddie and grinned wryly.

"Pity the dammed thing doesn't vibrate. At least I'd be getting some- thing out of walking around with a packed pussy!"

Eddie didn't comment. His thoughts were occupied with other things as he formed a mental image of a naked Cassidy trussed up like a chicken and mounted for launch. It was a sight he would dearly love to see. Alas! She would be long gone before he reached the apartment once she was launched. As Cassidy walked by him, her athletically superb body sent out loud awakening signals to his crotch. He found himself feeling jealous of the electronic package nestling deep within her succulent body.

"I reckon we should seed the place with mini vid cameras. It might give us a lead on these bozos when they get to work on you." His lustful images grew stronger with the thoughts of having a visual record of the event, but a knowing look from Butch squashed that idea.

"In your wildest dreams, asshole! No way is the department going to get porno footage on me. Next thing I know there'll be a zillion copies circulating the department and on sale in every down town sex shop." With some effort Eddie thrust the crotch warming vision to the back of his mind and got down to serious business.

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"How's it fit. Did the department get the dimensions right?"

Carmel nodded.

"Yep! It's not too long and goes in deep. There's no sign on the outside and its quite comfortable."

She caught Eddie lowering his eyes to her crotch.

"Go fuck yourself, Valenski. You can't have a look, you'll just have to take my word for it. It's going to be bad enough having The Napper and his gang tying me up in the nude without half the department discussing my snatch."

Wistfully, Eddie accepted that he wasn't going to have a treat that day - nor any other by the look of it! He let his eyes roam over her body and saw that impressive as she was in uniform, she was a damned sight more so in civvy clothes. The tight blouse did nothing to hide that fact that she was bra-less, and yet still her luscious, much sought after tits stood out firm and inviting like solid hemispheres. A broad belt and a slinky, thigh high skirt did even less to hide her fulsome hips and tight curving ass. She was a stunner. Pity she was available for girls only, but one had to put up with these minor trials and tribulations in life.

Eddie went over the details a final time, and wishing her luck, he left. He had no concept of the gut wrenching horror he would feel next time he saw that awesome body.

As it happened, it was a nail biting two weeks. Danielle Grissom had vanished from Oklahoma by then, and another girl, Cora Bentley, from the same town. Napper was linking again - they were related. It looked good for his supposition, but not so clever for Cassidy in her lonely vigil as a piece of pussy packed bait on a Dallas P.D. mouse trap.

The dreaded call came in as he was cruising 21st Street in his Laser Chetnick, a powerful turbine powered roadrunner that was envied by the whole department. The car phone cheeped urgently and almost expecting the call at any time, he snatched at the handset. 

"Valenski here! What you got?"

It was the Captain.

"Eddie! They took the bait. Butch's homer triggered a few minutes ago. But there's a problem. It was on long enough for us to locate and then it went dead. He's taking her at the apartment." Eddie felt a cold chill sweep through his bones. Losing the homer signal didn't sound good. 

"I'm on my way. I'm five blocks from there now. I'll be there in five." 

He slammed the handset down and gunned the turbine to full power. Fish tailing all over the road, the big polyglass tyres scrabbled for grip in a screech of tormented fabric reinforced rubber as 680 horse power attempted to get to grips with the road. Minutes later he was screaming to halt in the basement of Carmel's building and after hurling aside two bewildered lift occupants, punched in the 76th floor. The damned express lift seemed to take forever, even though the Police lock-out card inserted in the panel prevented anyone else calling the car to a stop. 

He burst from the doors before they had even managed to open halfway and sprinted for apartment 711. If the homer was working correctly, he knew it was already too late. Cassidy would be well on her way by now, albeit with a silent, useless tracker nestling in her pussy. He prayed for an equipment malfunction.

Listening briefly at the door, and detecting no sound of any intruders, he planted his foot with all the might he could muster. Wood cracked and the door splintered as it flew open. In an instant, Eddie became rooted to the spot, his eyes taking a split second to take it all in. It seemed like an age as his guts knotted with fear.

Directly in front of him and angled for take off was a BK-14. Carmel Cassidy stared back at him with wide frightened eyes, her savagely sealed face desperately trying to warn him about something as her cinched jaw line worked frantically against the gag. In that instant Eddie knew that The Napper had outwitted them. Carmel had obviously been prepared so as to enhance her humiliating plight and there was no doubt it was deliberately aimed at him. A sign glued to the soles of her feet blatantly thanked him for the gift of a very saleable female. Not only had they strapped her down in the usual format, but her ample breasts were savagely root cinched to a spherical bursting tautness and painted blue, in addition two red clown's noses gripped her nipples like huge ripe cherries. Her officer's cap band had been pressed into service and was glued tightly across the strap cinched face, complete with a mocking cap badge. Further down and glued to her belly was the precinct wallet badge.

The malfunctioning dildo homer was lying on the floor, connected to a small electronic box and obviously reprogrammed to emit only the signals The Napper wanted; and at a time of his choosing. In place of the homer, Carmel had sprouted a humiliating blue Police strobe light, the energy source almost certainly an out of sight tube of batteries jammed deeply into her pussy. The mocking image was further enhanced by daubed lipstick letters on both sides of the leg sheath that proclaimed DPD Airborne Patrol.

Carmel strained mightily as the crotch light blinked mindlessly. It was a debasing prop to her plight. Now her humiliation was complete as one of her colleagues saw the full contemptuously prepared sight of her naked demise as penalty for underestimating the enemy. Upon realising that the Napper had out-thought them, Cassidy fervently hoped that she would be launched before anyone at the precinct saw her. But Napper seemed to have pre-empted her fears and as she tightened down in final preparation, he seemed to extract great pleasure from explaining how that was not to be.

Eddie tore his eyes away as a silvery wire leading to the door caught his attention. Seconds later the whine of a rocket compressor turbine rose to an urgent pitch and a red flashing LED on the launch panel supplied the terrible truth. Carmel was rigged to launch as soon as some blundering bozo opened the door.

A flicker of light appeared at the exhaust snouts and the cinched orbs of Carmel's abused tits began to vibrate violently as massive shudders of prelift power surged through the missile. After a second of indecision over the possibility of freeing her in time, Eddie threw himself out the door and rolled behind the cover of the wall.

The passage became infused with a searing light and he clapped hands over his ears as massive shocks waves battered his body. The sound rose to an almost unbearable level, and then was suddenly gone.

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Forcing himself up, Eddie lurched back into the charred, smoke-filled room and stumbled to the window. A rapidly dissipating smoke trail led his eyes to the proof of his colossal blunder in thinking they would outwit the Napper's evil genius so easily. Officer Carmel Cassidy was rapidly becoming a dwindling dot as the missile streaked down the full length of 21st Street. For a while his eyes tracked the blue flashing light, and then he watched with gut wrenching despair as Napper's next acquisition vanished into the traffic haze of the day. In the original plan, State Police helijets had been waiting on a twenty four hour stand by to track the missile. Now, with the homer still here, Officer Cassidy was at the mercy of Napper until they found another way. Eddie banged his fist against the wall in a gesture of frustration. There was no doubt in his mind that Carmel was going to suffer as a result of her part in the plot to trap her abductors. Napper would take great delight in rubbing the Force's noses in it - at her expense!

In the pit of despair, Eddie turned for the door, stooping to scoop up a clown's nose that was spinning crazily on the floor. It was still warm with the heat from Carmel's warm, nubile nipple. For a second he just stood there looking at thing. It was hard to believe that only seconds ago that insignificant piece of plastic had been gripping onto an erect and infinitely desirable nodule of flesh.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER FOUR
GRISSOM HAS LANDED

Fear took over as Danielle struggled and strained. The clock showed the last seconds ticking away. There was a low whine that slowly rose to a high pitch and she felt the cradle vibrating as the rocket fuel pump turbines ran up to speed. A split second later there was a solid wall of sound assaulting her ears and the apartment filled with acrid smoke. In panic she has visions of being barbequed as searing flames rose all around. The cradled lurched, and with a gut wrenching surge of power, lifted and hurled itself towards the French windows. The acceleration was enormous, and Danielle felt her body tearing at the securing straps as the rocket gathered speed. Her boobs became monstrously heavy and dragged painfully downwards, and the lush lips of her mons seemed to be trying to empty her entire body through the tight orifice of a fearfully clamped pussy. But being mounted head forward proved to be a Godsend. G forces that were beyond imagination drained the blood from her brain and a blackness descended. 

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Battered by winds of over two hundred miles an hour, Danielle finally regained consciousness from the awesome G forces of launch some- where out over the desert. For a minute or two her instincts were to strain against the powerful bands holding her firmly to the rocket cradle. Instantly, the missile looped as its gyro tried to readjust to a shift in centre of gravity, and for the next three minutes she was frozen with fear as, face down, she sped over the hot sand at an altitude of less than fifty feet. The missile was jinking and swerving as the onboard TFR computer followed the topographic contours, and given the complexity of its task, she decided not to test its abilities further. She stiffened in the inescapable harness and heaved a sigh of relief as the gyro slowly stabilised and righted the craft, turning her to face skywards so that the fearsome sight of the ground was beyond her field of vision. Her breasts were undulating madly as powerful wind currents ruffled them with solid fingers of speed compressed air, but there was little she could do other than to suffer the painful abuse of her jutting orbs. She was shaking uncontrollably despite the hot desert air. Being blasted by a two hundred mile an hour gale sapped body heat at a prodigious rate. For a second she pondered on the effects of being mounted the other way and shuddered at the perceived effect of having her pussy subjected to the same powerful, searching blast of air. She had no doubt that being inflated by the passage of air would be a damned sight more traumatic.

Without warning the missile altered trajectory and went into a steep climb. The air grew icy, and as a result of the angle, Danielle could see the ground below her feet shrinking away as the rocket soared easily to four thousand feet. Suddenly, there was a terrifying silence, and only the whistling keen of air through the framework to keep her company. At least with the powerful rockets thundering away, there was a feeling of solidity. Now it was gone and the rocket seemed to stagger in the air and then dip the nose earthwards in a gut wrenching dive. Danielle screamed against her gag as the missile plummeted, then felt a savage jerk at her feet. She strained to look and saw a small drogue chute pirouetting in the turbulent air of the descent. Mere seconds later, but seeming like hours, there was another jerk as the rocket slowed and her mounting frame levelled out.

The whistling wind eased to a gentle breeze and opening her eyes, she was overcome with relief to see two huge canopies billowing and filling as the main chutes opened. There was a clang and another lurch as the cradle slowed even more. She strained her eyes sideways and saw that the heat scorched tubes of the liquid fuel tanks had fallen away and were tumbling end over end as the delivery vehicle accelerated earthwards.

It seemed an age as the trussed woman drifted down, and then all of a sudden the proximity of the ground became frighteningly obvious as high sand bars came into view below her strapped feet. The cradle seemed to explode beneath her and, winded, she lay gasping for breath as the impact knocked the air from her body. BK-14s were designed to drop fighting equipment and tinned food. It had never been envisaged as a vehicle for transporting perishables like soft sensuous women! 

Danielle lay for two hours contemplating the fact that she might well be miles off course and lost - destined to become a sun fried shrivelled body that would one day have a puzzled desert trekker scratching his head. She had no way of knowing if her struggles had scrambled the guidance system.

An engine sounded somewhere to her right. Then it was gone and she tried to scream through the gag. The sound returned, swelled in volume, and then tauntingly vanished again.

Finally she understood. They knew exactly where she was, but the undulating ridges of desert sands were feeding her titillating morsels of sound as the approaching vehicle topped each ridge. Suddenly, the roar of a powerful diesel vibrated through the air and in a cloud of dust a big four by four pick-up drew up and cast a shadow over her helplessly fettered body.

"Hiya, big tits! See you got here okay!"

It was the guy from the flat. Her boobs got another good going over, then between himself and a helper, they hefted the rocketless cargo cradle like a stretcher and carried her over to the truck. Without ceremony, she was flipped over and dragged underneath, sand grating against her soft belly and her boobs ploughing furrows as they inched her forward. Unfortunately, they dragged her feet first, and her pussy seemed intent on scooping up fistfuls of the hot, abrasive granules. 

There were a few minutes of fiddling when she was convinced that suffocation was a real threat and then a clicking ratchet eased her face out of the cloying sand. A spare wheel hoist was steadily hauling her upwards to snug neatly beneath the chassis. Once located, they finished her fixing with a bolt through each corner of the frame.

"Neat hey, big tits? Any aerial search goes over and all they see is an empty pick-up and two guys with only surveying tackle in the back." He gave her pendulously hanging boobs a slap, stuck an exploratory sand encrusted finger crudely into her pussy, and then wriggled it out in a manner that was designed to produce maximum trauma. Moments later the truck was bouncing over the desert with its secret cargo suffering all the hells of a private sandstorm below. She could feel her boobs swinging pendulously below her, but could do nothing to prevent their rabid animation. To add to her endurance testing plight, Danielle found that vulnerable ass cheeks poking through the frame of the cradle were subjected to a searing burn as they contacted the spinning propshaft with each severe jolt. In addition, she suffered the traumatic experience of having her wildly swinging tits sandblasted in the dust laden vortex thrown up by the front wheels. Occasionally, ruts in the road produced violent spring flexing in the vehicle - the result, a searing burn as her tender abused nipples actually made fleeting contact with the speeding ground beneath and ploughed through the sand.

The journey to wherever they were going took three hours, and just before they got there, the pick-up stopped and her tit mauling friend reappeared.

"Forgot the blindfold, big tits. Wouldn't want you giving away our little secret to some Arab or Columbian, would we?"

Danielle suffered in enforced silence as her eyes were covered. She was cursing him for not realising sooner. Three hours with her eyes screwed against dust wasn't funny. Then the full importance of what he'd said struck home. She was a saleable item destined for either the middle east or the dense concealment of the Columbian forests, no doubt as some plaything to a rich drug baron at his jungle hideaway. Her shot-blasted nipples got another going over and then the truck lurched into motion. Some thirty minutes later, it finally ground to a halt then rocked as two heavy males alighted. For a few minutes she just hung motionless and helpless as the men went away, then there was the sound of grating metal and a dizzying sensation of falling. All around were echoes and finally she figured that the truck and its living cargo were speeding down a deep shaft on some sort of lift.

The hoist slowed and bumped to a halt. Far in the distance above she could hear the grating again. The darkness of her eye shield had lightened slightly as a powerful artificial light filtered through the weave of the cloth. A few moments later the bolts were removed and the wheel hoist lowered her to the floor.

A hand ripped away the blindfold, and she blinked in the glare of quartz-iodine lights as the straps binding her to the frame began to ease and fall away. Roughly, Danielle was tipped from the frame to lie face down on the cold concrete floor. Lifting her head, she was able to see that she was lying in a vast tunnel. In both directions the cavernous passage dwindled to a dot in the distance, the fierce overhead lights becoming a continuous streamer of brilliance the further she looked. 

The men were busy, and redirecting her attention, she saw one advancing on her with what looked like a short broom handle with ring fittings. Pain lanced into her bottom as the rounded end was forcibly inserted into her rectum, and she bucked madly as it advanced deeply into her body. A stifled groan echoed down the passage as its farthest end was swung down to her ankles, realigning and painfully distorting the natural angled direction of her rear passage. A loud snap sound confirmed her worst fears and she found her rectal realignment had become a permanent fixture, dictated by her own ankles. As one worked at her feet, another slid a heavy leather hood with powerful outer strapping over her head. It took several minutes to lace and strap the thing, but thankfully Danielle found that there was an opening in the front. At least she had the luxury of vision, albeit somewhat restricted as if wearing blinkers.

There was a jerk on her aching shoulders as the arm sheath was pulled tightly downward and another snap mated the sheathed tip to the same pole. Buckles behind her head then mated the upper end of the sheath to hood, ensuring that no matter what she did, the arm welding sheath was there to stay.

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A whine sounded nearby, and seeking the source she saw a hook descending from a travelling hoist. Danielle strained to escape as they swung the hook towards her and connected it to her feet. Instinctively, realising their intentions, she tried to move her legs away, but the rod taught her instant obedience as it rearranged her tender butt hole with ruthless, unfeeling rigidity. Any attempt to move her lower limbs resulted in self inflicted pain as the deep rectal insert levered at the sensitive lining of her back passage. There was more movement at her feet, then suddenly she was jerked upwards as the whine changed note. 

Unable to move and stiffly controlled by the pole, Danielle found herself hoisted feet first and left to hang swinging and helpless; inverted with her head several feet above the floor. Her butt mauling buddy came into focus, his hands reaching round to avail himself of his newest toy. Danielle could do nothing as her sumptuous bottom once more played unwilling host to the kneading fingers. He seemed to enjoy spinning her around and swinging her to emphasise her totally helpless plight, notwithstanding the random slaps administered to her boobs and bottom.

"It's goodbye now, big tits. We won't be seeing you again, so have fun." Her body snatched at the hook as a fifty pound weight clipped to her helmet was dropped callously, then a sideways jerk made her wince at the plundering antics of her ass pole as the travelling hoist burst into motion. Instinctively she stiffened her body against the effects of inertia, and the pole became bearable. As she slowly swivelled on her suspension, Danielle was treated to a retreating view of two grinning abductors as she travelled away from them. With a sense of crushing humiliation she realised she was nothing more than a carcass to them. 

Endlessly the hoist trundled along. People appeared and paused in their work, staring and laughing as she swung by like a side of beef on a slaughter house production line. But there was nothing she could do to reverse the shame and humiliation. They had trussed and stiffened her with methodical efficiency, and she knew that there was no escape from the inflexible rigours of her display. Even the slightest effort to bend or struggle created a painful reminder of her complete helplessness in an abused bottom hole. Stretched between hook and weight, Danielle endured as she was given the grand tour and wondered how anyone could treat a woman like this.

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She estimated that the hoist had travelled at least a mile when the drive motor wound down and brought her to a stop. For ten minutes she just hung unmoving, her plight ignored as people passed by. Other than to make ribald comment on her naked attributes, no one touched or offered help. Unmolested, Danielle thanked God for small mercies. Then a new team arrived to take charge of the latest input. Swiftly, they disconnected the weight and after unhooking her feet, carried her through a door set into the passage wall. She wasn't impressed at all by the new bedroom. It was little more than a concrete box, six feet by eight, and completely bare save for an air duct in one corner and a weird box hanging from the ceiling on a chain.

Balanced awkwardly on the mated toes of her sheathed feet and steadied by one of the men, Danielle winced as the hoist ring dug into the balls of her feet, then watched with trepidation as the box was swung open to reveal two halves and a split neck hole. Struggling valiantly to avoid the inevitable she managed a single sideways hop, but to no avail as the halves swung together and her head was engulfed by the soundproof stygian blackness of its menacing interior. Hands fumbled at her feet, then the heavy box became lighter as it was hauled upward. She screamed as she was lifted to tip toe, but the box continued upwards, lifting her bodily by the padded neck hole. Thankfully, she discovered that the under chin and nape of the neck areas were shaped and padded as well. It was traumatic but not too painful - the shaping probably based on an orthopaedic spinal traction design. At least it wasn't painful until the connection on her feet drew taut, and then she found herself drawn into a quivering tensioned column that was most definitely unpleasant in the extreme.

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Unseen hands availed themselves of her body. Fingers reamed, and buttocks jolted to the stinging slaps of large male hands. Her thrusting breasts were juggled like ripe melons, mauled and nipple squeezed with gay abandon as the men had their fun at her expense. She had no doubt that they were jeering and taunting her helpless body, yet she could hear absolutely nothing through the highly effective acoustic filtering of her head box. Just as surely, she was convinced that the men assaulting her body couldn't hear her soundless, gagged pleas for mercy. A piteous scream was ruthlessly stillborn as her tensioning was increased even more. Danielle hung stiffly as all outside sensations ceased. It seemed fun time was over. They had left her to the horrors of complete isolation. She only ever saw the same two men as a daily routine emerged. On the first occasion she was shaved and her wondrously formed pussy revealed for all to see. That became part of the daily ritual as Hood-face decreed that she be kept smooth and bristle free. She was allowed one meal a day - in the early morning. After each shaving session she was lowered, and the box and hood removed for feeding. At the same time, still leg sheathed, they sat her on a toilet and banded her securely. With ankles, thighs and neck encircled by steel, Danielle had no choice but to remain perched on her commode until all her bodily functions were complete. Sometimes they would stay and watch, other times, if they were busy, she would be left to her own devices for up to an hour. Whatever they decided, the end result was always the same no matter how much she tried to influence them with her piteous looks. Danielle spent the rest of the day head boxed and strained into a stiffened column halfway between the ceiling and floor. As the days dragged past she found herself succumbing to the mind warping properties of sensory depravation; and by the end of the fourth day she was ready to accept anything just so long as she escaped the terrifying claustrophobia of that dreaded box.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER FIVE
DEVELOPMENTS

Weeks dragged by as Eddie's worst fears became fact. They were getting nowhere as more women disappeared on a daily basis. Napper was flushed with the success of his new, foolproof delivery system and was openly flaunting his increasingly daring choices as the daughters of well known figures became targets for his collection squad. Senator Bailey was the next selection and his twenty-four year old daughter the first choice of the Napper's shift to society debutantes. As a deliberate snub to the Senator's security he had taken her at a garden party and then launched from the seclusion of the estate shrubbery. Senator Bailey could only watch helplessly as his naked daughter winged her way skywards on a pillar of flame.

Mapping had narrowed the possible target area to a mere 70,000 square miles, but that still left a monumental mass of desert waste to search by grid surveillance. Had the old cold war satellites been maintained, one of them could well have picked up the fleeting darts of rocket propelled femininity and tracked them. Cut backs brought about by the collapse of the cold war had long since relegated those expensive items to silent inert chunks of deactivated space junk.

Photos started to pour into the precinct headquarters, and day by day, weary beaten, officers were treated to new views of Cassidy's embarrassment as another glossy blown up photograph joined the sea of pictorial taunting pinned to the incidents room notice board.

Napper was an expert at humiliation, and Cassidy seemed condemned to suffer every possible mortification he could dream up. Always, there was the mocking, hooded and unrecognisable figure of Napper in the picture, tauntingly visible, and yet basically untouchable until some form of identity or evidence came their way.

Eddie ripped down the latest photo and searched for clues in the background that would give him something-anything that would lead him to this evil bastard. No matter how he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from the centrepiece of the picture. Even in defeat, Carmel was a superb figure of womanhood.

Officer Cassidy was folded double and strapped with her gorgeous ass thrusting toward the ceiling. Her mounting seemed to be some sort of central pole on a flat base, and the whole thing was arranged close by the side of a desk. Obviously Napper's desk, as he was clearly visible working on some documents.

Carmel was balanced on excruciatingly high heels, her toes forced to a ballerina point, naked and strapped into a powerful doubled compression by a series of screw tightened steel clamps. She must have been suffering hell as her stretched tendons and calf muscles quivered with tension. Yet knowing her, the humiliation of her usage was probably of more concern to her.

Her suffering sphincter was stuffed with the stems of cut flowers that spread out above her in a yellow display of daffodil heads. Her pussy had been pressed into service as a pencil and pen holder. In fact, Napper was caught in the act of retrieving a gold fountain pen from the clutch of writing tools nestling in her misused, over packed sex portal. 

Another photo showed her in much the same format but set at the head of a dining table. The flowers were gone, to be replaced by the battery tube of the strobe light. Napper was calmly shoving food into the hole in his mask as Carmel provided a flashing novelty for him the savour. Apparently, it was a salad meal. Eddie deduced that from the deeply embedded cucumber she was gripping painfully in her hugely dilated pussy lips.

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Eddie browsed through the photos for the tenth time hoping to pick up on something they had missed. It was a forlorn hope. There was nothing that gave the slightest clue to the Napper's whereabouts. It was just a never ending progression of shots; Carmel trussed into the most excruciating formats so as to be humiliated beyond belief. In every shot there was that mocking reminder of her former status. He never missed using something from her uniform to denote her Police status

Eddie grudgingly admitted that binding her with wire, then stretching her inverted form from some sort of free standing suspension was a pretty attractive sight - especially with those big, fulsome tits cinched and bulging fit to bust. They were just begging to be squeezed and fondled. The overall trimming with flashing fairy lights, particularly the two clipped to her jutting nipples revealed that Napper had a natural artistic streak. He studied another photo of the same arrangement carefully, and the loom of another light in her buttock cleft, caught by the camera at mid blink, told of at least one light shoved up her ass. What really pissed him off was the panoramic view of the desert that formed a backdrop to Carmel's tautly restrained form. The bastard had set her up like a beacon and was mocking their efforts to find her although she was in full view. One high sand dune in the background proved insufficient for topographers to get a fix. They needed at least two or three to stand any chance of matching it to survey map contours, and even then, given the constant shifting of sand in a desert, it was a long shot to say the least. Even a fully illuminated female Christmas tree paled into obscurity given the vastness of that wasteland. So a slowly sun-frying Carmel simply served to pander to Napper's warped sense of humour.

Morning brought more bad news. Film star Deon Callento had rocketed out of her Hollywood mansion in the early hours; her husband watching helplessly as he struggled with the cuffs locking him to the diving board of the pool.

The bastards had actually set Deon up on the opposite side of the pool and programmed her launch for first light the next day. All night, she had been visible to him struggling and crying as a realigned pool side spot light illuminated her plight.

The pressure was building on the Dallas P.D. as flak started coming in from the White House and a variety of other sources. Feds started to rain down on all big cities within range of the target zone. Eddie, meanwhile, ignored the demands for any ill advised knee jerk reactions and concentrated on another aspect of his life. Claudine was beginning to feel neglected as he spent long hours at the office chasing leads. Eventually, he managed to snatch a few hours and stopped by her salubrious pad on the east side of town.

Claudine opened the door, and instantly he was bathed in a sea of heavenly scent as the breeze wafted her subtle cologne into his receptive nose. Silhouetted against the hall light, he could see her superb figure hauntingly displayed through the semi transparent covering of a loose dress. There were no interruptions of panty or bra line, and he knew that beneath that flimsy covering, she was naked. The oppressive heat of a summer evening had made the wearing of such socially required things an uncomfortable necessity that had been relegated to office hours. At home, Claudine enjoyed the freedom from the cluttered formal dressing of a successful attorney.

"So you finally found time in your busy schedule to honour me with your presence?"

It was a question loaded with disgust at her neglect, and she didn't even wait for an answer before turning away and leaving the door ajar. It was a sort of 'come in if you really must' sort of gesture that didn't bode well for a nice cosy evening with his fiance.

For an hour they talked, and then just as he was managing to melt some of the frost his bleeper went crazy. Eddie cursed as he unclipped it from his belt, his eyes still fixed on the luxuriously lounging figure on the couch. The thin material had settled to a sculpted reproduction of her superbly curvaceous form; her eyes were challenging to him to make a decision between the bleeper and what was on offer.

"Fuck this damned job!"

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Eddie cursed again for her benefit as he flipped the speak button. 

"Valenski here! What the fuck do you want?"

The Captain's voice promptly modified his attitude.

"I want you Valenski. At the precinct! Now! There's been a development on the Cassidy fiasco."

Eddie frowned in annoyance.

"What development?" The voice grew in volume.

"Get your ass down here pronto and you'll find out!"

The bleeper phone went dead as the connection was abruptly terminated. Eddie slid it back on his belt and looked sheepishly over to Claudine.

"I gotta go, Claudine. One of our officers is in deep shit."

Her eyes flared anger.

"There's another three hundred officers on the force! Let them take care of it."

Eddie rose and offered his hands palms up in a helpless gesture.

"I can't. I'm partly responsible for what happened. I can't leave her to those other schmucks just like that. Not one of them has the brains God gave a duck when it comes to tracking a slick operator like The Napper."

"Her? A woman officer? Not that Cassidy whore?"

Eddie nodded apologetically. His reply was cut short.

"You leave now to help her and that's it, Eddie Valenski. Don't bother coming back!"

Eddie tried to reason with her, but it was useless. Claudine obviously scented the challenge of a perceived competitor and had thrown down the ultimatum. Torn both ways, the images of Carmel's plight flashed through his mind and supplied the resolve he needed to turn and walk out, whatever the cost.

His mind seething with the injustice of life and Claudine's selfish demands, he gunned the motor and sent the Laser hurling out of the drive in a gesture of anger. Viciously, he stabbed at the brakes as the end of the drive drew close, then slewed the car into the road and stood on the gas pedal as it straightened up. For the briefest of moments the flickering brake lights glimmered on the metal of a chrome fender, and panel lettering on the side that spelt NPR, then gloom returned to hide the plumber's panel van in the bushes at the side of the gate.

Eddie made it to the precinct in record time and, breathlessly, he entered the incident room. Only the Captain and a projections officer were there. The video screen was out and equipment set up. 

"Sorry, Eddie. Hope I didn't screw up your evening."

The Captain was genuinely apologetic, but Eddie resisted telling him just how much he'd screwed it up. 

He slumped into a spare chair. "So what's the big deal, Cap'?"

The Captain pointed to the screen.

"Our resident super slime ball has decided to start his own Hollywood by the looks of it. No more photos of Cassidy - he's gone to video now, and a real classy job as well. Hitchcock would have given him top marks for suspense. I thought you'd better see it right away and get to evaluating anything you can glean from it. I warn you, it's not pretty. Carmel Cassidy is really going through it as a result of our fuck up. But at least she's alive and more or less well. At least for the moment, that is."

They both turned as the screen glowed into life, the lights dimmed and Eddie was relieved at the Captain's reference to 'our fuck up'. At least Eddie Valenski had other shoulders helping to bear the burden of Cassidy's plight.

It was the scene of a long well lit tunnel, and oddly the camera seemed to be wavering from side to side. At first it was mystifying, and when added to a perpetual rhythmic squeak it became even more baffling as the tunnel rolled endlessly on into the distance. There were edited flashes of Napper's hooded face slipped in; taken from another angle and seemingly exerting himself at something. More than once the eyes looked directly into the camera and both men were treated to a leering set of lips and triumphant eyes. Without looking away Eddie shot a question at the Captain.

"Any chance of a trace on the mailing?" Cap shook his head.

"Hand delivery... Dumped in a church confessional box; only fingerprints are the priest's."

The tunnel seemed to be ending, and a long shot from someone holding a camera to the rear revealed all. Napper was riding a bike. They watched as he dismounted and slotted the front wheel into a bike park, then saw him enter and office and close the door. The camera stayed on the bike for at least three minutes and then began to slowly zoom in. Eventually only the saddle and part of the frame were visible. Frustratingly the camera hovered on these seemingly unimportant items then finally began to pan down, zooming in as it did. The picture changed to a full screen of pink that was looming from bottom screen with a massive enlargement of a bike wheel rim, and after more delay slowly panned back with painful slowness, allowing the mass to take form as it zoomed out. 

The pink began to take on shape, curving away from the picture and revealing a deep slot that was holding the wheel in a trembling grip. Eddie gasped out loud. It was a female ass and he had no doubt who it belonged to. The camera continued to zoom out and the full horrific usage of Cassidy swam into view.

The floor had apparently been chiselled out and her bound form inserted into the resultant hole. Clearly she'd been forcibly maintained in a strenuous shape until the job was completed; back arched to breaking point, rump stuck up. Only her head and part of a neck encased in a steel choker collar were visible at the one end. A foot and half further back her rearing bottom along with a short section of upper thighs were visible. Quick set concrete had been used to refill the hole, sealing Cassidy into a rigid unmoving position with her immediate locality skilfully skimmed to a smooth match with the surrounding floor. The camera moved around in a full circle zooming and then backing off so as to ensure that every detail of her total humiliation was fully revealed.

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A close up of the hooded head, crushed by a super tight rubber hood gave no hint of any under surface concealment, and instantly Eddie groaned as he realised that her gorgeous auburn hair had been shaved off. The eyes peering through an opening were desperately pleading, and the lower half of the head form seemed narrowed and oddly distorted due to the compression of the cruel screw tightened cinch type gag; a broad band of stainless steel that without doubt was completing the seal on a massively packed mouth. A huge butterfly handle at the rear of her head revealed that is was little more than a broad industrial hose clamp. The helmet was open from under the nose to her eyebrows, forming a frame to the extruded, straining features of Carmel's scarlet, bulging strap-bisected cheeks and her eye popping appeal for help. As a final insult Cassidy's nose had acquired a thick nose ring which in turn was chained tautly to a ringbolt in the floor. To Eddie, those eyes staring straight at the camera seemed to carry her accusation of his blundering incompetence. The screen abruptly changed and the hooded figure of Napper came into view full screen. 

"Hi, Eddie! Having another one of those crap days?"

Napper laughed loudly.

"Shouldn't play games with the big boys if you're a bad loser." 

The taunting laugh came again.

"Oh! Thanks for the bike park. Finally found a good use for a DPD officer! By the way, perhaps I should explain so you will be able to appreciate the full genius of the design. As you can see, our Officer Cassidy has a rather novel insert."

His face vanished and a close up of Cassidy's ass cleft came back into view, devoid of parked bike and with a set of hands pulling her buttock cheeks painfully apart so that the pale line of her bottom cleft was taut and vibrant with stress. There was a huge, shining implant buried deep into her butt hole and it's outer end was stretching her tight, puckered ring to a painful shining tension of overstressed flesh. Even as they watched they could see nervous twitching in the forcibly dilated muscular ring as Cassidy reacted in the only way she could. The reason for her trepidation suddenly became patently obvious. In the centre of that abused orifice and gripped tightly by her suffering sphincter was an ominous button. Napper's face reappeared.

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"Pressure switch, Eddie. Shove in the bike wheel and it operates the switch."

He demonstrated with his finger. The clenching bottom hole jerked and contracted powerfully with each push, and the finger was engulfed by clamping ass cheeks. Again there was a ribald laugh.

"We found that if you shove a few volts through Cassidy from her tits to her toes that big spongy ass goes into spasm along with the rest of her body and she clamps up tight whether she likes it or not. Neat huh? She's real live wire, this one!"

Both of the silent, watching men grimaced with sympathy as Cassidy's torment took on tangible form, then Napper was talking again. "You can't see them but those big juicy tits of hers are all cinched up and quivering nicely with her nipples plugged into the electric unit and switched on. A brief flash of Cassidy's savagely abused breasts before she was committed to a concrete sarcophagus gave a full account of her hidden fittings. Two wire cages that gripped on to the root of her boobs by necking them to less than two inches and squeezing the orbs into obscenely bulging, perfectly spherical balls of quilted extruded tit, perched like stuck-on ornaments jutting from her chest. The nipples were trapped at the outer edge of each ball by tight pressure crimped rings of metal, and wires dangled ominously ready for use. It seemed that although the nipples were to take the initial surge of any input, the wire cages would ensure that the entire meshed mass of her bulging tits would be subjected to horrendous electrical abuse as they tingled and burned.

The ass reappeared and they were treated to a long sequence of repeated demonstrations as first the prodding finger, and then a bike wheel was shoved in and then pulled back. Each time the superb bottom jerked into quivering profile and clamped the wheel tight. The rearing splendour of Carmel's electrically motivated buttocks went into rigid spasm as the tyre pressed tight to her ass ring and activated the switch. Napper's voice was overlayed in commentary style, and flash views of a beautiful face that exploded into nostril flaring gasps and explosive, keening cheek expansion each time the wheel went in were used to illustrate that Cassidy was not enjoying her novel usage one little bit. Having one's nubile, sensitive body jerked into stiffened quivering tensioned obedience and being maintained that way by a surging electric current seemed a horrendously unfunny way to spend the day.

"Mmmmmmmpphhhttt!" 

"Mmmmmmmpphhhttt!"

"Mmmmmmmpphhhttt!"

Another three times the wheel went in, and three times the superbly gagged Cassidy gave vent to her disapproval.

She moved the only part of her capable of movement - her eyes flashed desperately from side to side as she sought release from the torment. There was little doubt that she was ruing the day she had offered herself as bait. The rigidly positioned face exploded into wide-eyed purple- cheeked straining exertion again as the bike wheel ploughed her sumptuous bottom apart for the umpteenth time.

Deliberately the camera dwelt on the crimson straining features as the bike was left in, and neither of the watching men were left in any doubts as to the diabolically traumatic effects of Carmel's electrically stiffened status. A hand came into view and, as they watched, the adjustment of the industrial clamp crushed her lower face to horrendous levels and reduced her noise output to almost zero. Eddie was left wondering how her arms were secured, not doubting for a moment that it was a most stressful configuration. Given the arch of her back and the fact that her shoulders were submerged, they could be folded and just below the surface, or alternatively set out in front and deeply embedded below her.

"Don't worry, Eddie." Napper was speaking again. "We feed and empty her every night, but so far, after four days she seems to be making an excellent job of it. She doesn't seem too keen about having a vacuum cleaner shoved up her ass for half an hour every night, but as they say, it goes with the job. She's a lot more use as a bike park than a under-cover police officer. I'll leave you to enjoy watching her at work then, Eddie. Be in touch soon."

The rest of the tape was a full hour of Cassidy quivering under electrically motivated tension with a bike parked in her ass cleft. Finally Napper reappeared, jerked the bike from her clenching bottom and rode off. The camera remained trained on the forlorn, firmly implanted pink hillock rising from the floor until it eventually faded out. 

Eddie cursed for at least ten minutes without reusing a single expletive more than once in his description of The Napper. Finally the Captain managed to get a word in.

"Eddie, all the cursing in the world isn't going to nail this bastard, and all the while you're wasting time mouthing off, Concrete Cassidy has a bike wheel stuck up her arse and her tits in an electric wringer." Eddie cooled off and nodded to the Captain.

"Leave me with it and I'll see what I can come up with. At least with a long tape, the chances are he slipped up somewhere. The smarter this dirt bag tries to get, the more chance we have of nailing him."

Eddie rolled the tape back and started again. Somewhere in there was the answer, of that he was sure.

Meanwhile, the Air Force and Feds were zooming back and forth over the search area and coming up zilch at every turn.

Eddie applied his mind to the task in hand. Something was niggling at him about the tape and some of the photos, yet he just couldn't bring the thing into focus. His deliberations were rudely interrupted as the phone shrilled impatiently.

"Valenski! Detective!"

His voice trailed off as an urgent voice poured more trouble into his ear. It was Don on his mobile somewhere on the North side.

"Eddie! He's done it again. The guy is going nuts - thinks he's untouchable now. The whole front just came out of 3567 Willmington East! Every window in the place blown out during the launches. It looks..."

"Launches? As in more than one? What the hell was at 3567 and how many launches?

"It's a dance school and a sort of training emporium. Napper took the entire cheer leader troop training for the Dallas Cowboys. Yeh! Twenty prime chicks all in their early twenties, blew the fucking windows out from one end of the building to the other as the BKS went off in succession. It's a mess down here, Eddie. The whole street is jammed with pile-ups and busted glass. This guy is gonna kill somebody soon if we don't nail him!"

Don was in a state, which wasn't surprising considering his eldest daughter was one of the cheer leaders.

"Cool it, Don, I'm on the case and we'll get Mandy back. I'm sure there's a lead in this last tape."

"Cool it? I'm on the case he says! So what the fuck are you doing about the last women you lost? Cassidy didn't look so impressed with your progress last time we saw her."

Eddie flinched at the verbal slap in the face and was thinking of a reply when Don chirped back in.

"Sorry, Eddie! Cheap shot. If anyone can get Mandy and Cassidy back, it's you. Give me a call as soon as you have something, and if anyone gives you shit, let me know, I'll enjoy busting some asses."

The line went dead. Don was a good cop, but given the recent turn of events he could be excused for coming unglued for a while. The tape was still rolling and that damned squeaking bike intruded on his thoughts. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright and froze the screen with the pause button.

The bike! It was a khaki fold up job. Now that was hardly a standard, off-the-shelf item. He'd seen them before. But where? Eddie ejected the tape and snatching a half smoked cheroot from the ashtray he headed for the photo lab on the ground floor.

"Brazinski! Run this tape and go through it with a fine-tooth comb. Pay special attention to the bike. I want to know who made it, and where they were sold."

Brazinski peered at him over top of his specs.

"Have to take your turn, Eddie, I'm working on the Preston murder photos at the moment. The D.A. wants them pronto, the whole legal scene is going bananas over the killing of that attorney."

Eddie grabbed the white smock collar and hauled him over the desk. "I said now Brazinski. Not tomorrow, not in ten minutes! Now! Don's daughter was in the last batch taken by Napper. I want her back, and fast! I couldn't give a fuck how many attorneys had their brains blown out. Now get your ass into gear before I kick it round the block." 

Brazinski smoothed out his crumpled smock as Eddie let go. 

"Why didn't you say so in the first place. Give me an hour and if there's anything on that tape that we can use, I'll have it."

For fifty five minutes, Eddie wore a trench in the office carpet and filled two ashtrays with both spent and several lit and unfinished cheroots. He arrived back in the lab on the dot, and Brazinski appeared from the dark room with fresh prints made from frames of the tape.

"Easy one, Eddie! Easy one. See the close up of the saddle? I froze it then blew it up. Look! Serial number, clear as a bell, - stamped into the down tube." Eddie stared intently at the photo.

"Best get this to logistics right away and see who made it."

Brazinski grinned with smug satisfaction.

"No need! I already have. That bike is a standard issue military para- bike, the kind they drop with the troops to help them get about. They were used for many uses, but the 55th Airborne was the target for original design spec. Fold up and lightweight. That particular bike was in a batch issued new to the strategic defence network in Kansas. Later it was re-issued to some hush hush outfit in New Mexico. I tried to find out who but got stone walled by the army intelligence."

Eddie's mind raced. Someone in the Pentagon was slinging wrenches into the works.

"Strategic defence? What did they do?"

"Missiles, silos, mobile launchers, you name it - anything that went bang in a big way and could be bolted to a rocket."

That annoying itch was back in Eddie's brain. He had the bits to the jigsaw, but couldn't figure which way they went together.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER SIX
DANIELLE

For Danielle, it was a relief to finally see the outside of her head box home again despite the fact that she was still excruciatingly bound. Relief from the mind sapping routine of release, toileting, feeding, and reinstalling came as the men lifted her down from that particular day's instalment of neck stretching torment, and carried her out. Almost unable to believe that something different was happening, Danielle hardly registered that they were hoisting her inverted body back up to the overhead transport system. Her neck stretching weight was rehung and the hoist moved off with its load. For half an hour Danielle suffered the renewed trauma of public travel before it finally trundled to a stop outside an office door.

Two more men approached and removed the ponderous weight from her head. Lifting her down, they carried their sheathed female effigy horizontally, her eyes catching a momentary glimpse of a luxurious upward thrusting bottom that seemed to rise out of the floor. Then she was in some sort of office.

Re-hung from a ceiling hook, there was a moment's respite from the rough handling, and although she couldn't see for sure, it appeared that they were reconnecting her helmet to something. A gasp snorted through her nostrils as the unseen connection snapped taut and she found herself dragged to a rigid inverted form stretched between ceiling and floor.

The office door closed and there was a foreboding silence as Danielle was left to her fate. Some twenty minutes later, there was the sound of a faint repetitive squeak of something approaching, and she listened intently.

"NNNrrr! NNNrrr! UUUUmmmmmppphhh!"

Outside the door were the sounds of muffled begging and then the loud expletive of a well gagged woman objecting to something horrendously traumatic in a single short blast of uncontrollable breath. It was the sort of sound a punch in the stomach would produce. Danielle couldn't know that Officer Cassidy had just been callously re-energised and jerked into a nostril flaring, wide eyed, purple faced impotent muscle wrenching paralysis - or that the soft pliable sensuous bottom she had seen on her way in was now quivering in spasm and hard as a rock as it gripped the parked bike. Penderton had parked the bike with particularly forceful emphasis, resulting in the butt switch notching to the next level of voltage.

"Nnnnrrr!"

"UUUMMMMpppphhhh!"

"Nnnnrrr!"

"Nnnnrrr!"

"UUUMMMMpppphhhh!"

"Nnnnrrrrrrrr!"

"UUUMMMMpppphhhh!"

It seems he'd enjoyed the effect and repeated the bike parking manoeuvre several times just for the hell of it. The sight of Cassidy jerking into a quivering tormented profile sent strong messages to his crotch. He liked the thought that he could do it as many times as he wanted, and the strong nubile ex-police officer could do nothing to prevent him. 

The door swung open and an ominous shadow spread across the floor below her as someone entered and stood silently appraising her pendant form.

Image 17

Military style jungle boots entered her range of vision and walked around, obviously someone was really enjoying the freedom to give her good looking over - savouring the view and her inability to do anything about it. Danielle groaned and made an effort to convey her wish to be freed. But her pleas were ignored. Instead, an exploring finger eased her clenching bottom apart and traced around the tremulous tautness of her invaded sphincter. The finger withdrew. Suddenly, Danielle found herself punishing her own delicate rear channel as violent involuntary reactions worked her on the devilish pole. His hand was exploding against her jerking buttocks in a side swapping continuous slapping that had her whole rear end afire with the burn of his hand. He was spanking her like a spoilt child and there was nothing she could do except jerk involuntarily and add self punishment to her plight. Eventually, he tired of the sport and circled her again, squatting down so as to bring her other exposed female attributes closer to hand. Danielle squirmed as her out thrust tits were pinched and squeezed then slapped from side to side, but with her arms so tightly cinched behind her she was unable to do anything other than leave them arrogantly projected and perfectly offered for any amount of abuse. The mauling continued as he spoke.

"We meet again, Miss Grissom. What a delightful surprise."

It was the hooded man from the apartment. His leering eyes came into view as he bent further and looked straight into her face. Danielle remained stone-faced and silent as his hand reached up and hooked a digit into her sex cleft.

"Not going to greet me, then?"

The finger dove deep and pulled at her pussy tube, easing out until her vulnerable clitoris came to hand. She squirmed violently as it was pulled sharply by tightly gripping fingers. Danielle reacted in the only way she could as he repeatedly used her sensitive nodule with the reverence one would afford a piece of elastic.

"MMMMrrrrppphhh! MMMMrrrrrppph! Uuuuurrrrr!"

"Ah! That's better, Miss Grissom. I like women silent, but at the same time I like to be reminded that they're forcibly silenced. You will be expected to answer every touch, every question, and everything you are subjected to with a nice gagged reply. Understand?"

Danielle just glared at him, and after a few seconds he vanished. 

"MMMMMMMMMRRRRRRRR!"

"NNNNNNNNRRRR! MMMMMPh!"

A line of fire had just lanced across her bottom, and it was rapidly followed by another nineteen as hood-face gave her twenty strokes with a thin, whippy cane.

"Understand?" The hooded face was back. "Or shall we have you put back in your box for another week?"

"NNNrrrr! - Mmmmmmppphh! Mmmmmmppphh! Mmmmmmppphh!" 

Danielle responded as requested, the rest of her sounds being soft sobs as the burn from her bottom sent waves of pain through her entire nether region.

"Now you won't forget, will you, Miss Grissom?"

"NNNrrrr! - Mmmmmmppphh! Mmmmmmppphh! Mmmmmmppphh!" 

She gave him another three muffled straining grunts for good measure. 

"Good, I see you're a fast learner, Miss Grissom."

He paused and she heard the door opening as someone entered. 

"And now we can find out just how much you have learned." 

A heap of rubber landed right in front of her face and whoever had entered began to remove the rod's connections and extract it from her grateful bottom. The arm sheath went slack as laces and buckles were released, and seconds later she groaned through the gag as her upper limbs came free and the agony of returning circulation set her skin on fire with millions of daggering, needle pricks. She had little time to readjust as they were seized and shoved forcibly into single fingerless gloves that encompassed her arms right up to the shoulder. The groans became louder as her sheathed arms were bent to rest fingertips to shoulder blades and secured. For a while she was left to adjust to the strain as they sorted the rest of the rubber, and then without bidding Danielle began to provide unsolicited gagged noises as they proceeded to add the thing to her dangling body. There was a short respite from the encroaching rubber skin as they jammed a massive dildo into her denuded pussy - then as the sheathing continued, she discovered that although her pussy was to be fully visible, an integral rubber strip passed right over the intruder and snugged it deeply into her protesting, overstretched love tube.

It took only seconds for her to realise that it was a full body sheath, and another half and hour to discover the full extent of its cloaking com- pression. Full length lacing had already returned her to the previously stiffened format, and now her pre-stressed form jerked randomly as they worked. She could feel outer strapping cinching her up from ankles down to the top of her head. Her tormentors were callous and unmindful of her living status. Heaving and yanking at the straps, they parcelled her up with all the reverence one would extend to a sack of potatoes.

Blinded by the hood drawing tightly around her features, she hung in abject misery as the two men ran over every strap again and added a few notches to each. She heard hood-face giving instructions.

"Add that nice, big gag strap, I want her to work hard at the new song she's going to learn. Make her use all her lung power to make herself heard, she'll look nice with those big tits heaving."

Something was threaded through loops on the helmet and a second later Danielle felt the whole of her lower face crushed in a vice like grip - lips flattened and cheeks cinched deeply as the powerful addition drew inwards and almost reduced her whimpers to nothing. 

Cool sensations across naked skin as they moved around her left Danielle in no doubt that her boobs and bottom were fully exposed. She felt herself gripped and a turning motion appraised her of the fact that she had been rotated to present her bottom to the desk. Then there was the sound of a closing door and she deduced that the helper had left. 

Silently, she tuned her ears for any other sounds, and then jerked frantically as her bare bottom exploded into searing pain. Even as she was still smarting from that strike, there was a twang sort of noise and another explosion of pain. Danielle could feel him moving near her and waited fearfully for the next instalment. It didn't come as expected. Instead she was instructed on her next task.

Image 18

'As you will remember, Miss Grissom, I asked for audio output from your good self, and you weren't told to stop. Now, I want that and animation as well. I have to work this afternoon and I would appreciate a nice background accompaniment of you trying your best to escape and making plenty of the noises I like at the same time. I'll be at the desk, and if you stop or don't produce the effect I want, I have a catapult and a well secured target right in front of me."

She heard him move forward then felt him pat the exposed and vulnerable curve of a backside that was still throbbing. Danielle took less than a second to consider the alternatives and began her performance.

Straining and writhing inside the hot cloying rubber, she sounded off with a gagged symphony that came easily given the efforts required and the discomfort of her situation.

"MMMMrrrr! Ughhhh! MMMMMrrrrr! MMMrrr! MMMMMrrrrr!" 

The back hand flicked her flexing bottom with stiff fingers.

"Excellent, Miss Grissom, but I think a little louder. I can't hear you too well through that swank gag.

"Uughh! Uuggh! MMMMMrrrrr! MMMMrrrr! Ughhhh!" 

"MMMMMrrrrr! MMMrrr! Uughh! Uuggh!" 

"NNNNNNNNNNNRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrr!"

Danielle excelled herself as an unseen hand crushed her tit savagely and then gripped and jerked her nipples. Then, to her disgust she felt him pressing his crotch against her writhing body. The hardness of his manhood was hardly disguised by trousers, and yet she had no option but to continue her performance and supply him with an erotically motivated rubbing post foe his masturbatory pleasure. Suddenly he was gone, but she knew better than to ease up on the performance. 

He seemed to have left her to perform. Neither hand or thrusting, rock hard shaft returned, and Danielle assumed he was back at the desk enjoying the view. The threat of the catapult and its unannounced style of retribution kept her hard at work satisfying her captor for the rest of the day.

She never knew whether he was there or not. Her own gagged symphony drowned out any sounds of movement around her. But sooner than risk further pain she continued, non-stop. As it happened, she had spent two hours of the day performing to an empty office. Then later as her efforts began to flag, the catapult soon rejuvenated her performance. Strike after strike produced a magnificently visual performance and a much louder recital of MMMMMMmmppphingg! responses. 

Straining and writhing with pain and the threat of renewed missile attacks on her bottom, Danielle put every ounce of strength into her show. Visions of her bottom bleeding and scarred for ever were uppermost in her mind. She had no way of knowing that the projectiles were in fact soft wax. Danielle Grissom had been selected by hood-face for his own personal use. There was no way he would permanently mark the smooth perfection of her body.

Hood-face leaned back, fingers locked behind his head and savoured the sights and sounds. The tautly stretched rubber sheathed woman was a mass of erotic rippling effort, and her rendition of a well gagged woman was exquisitely varied by the nature of each helpless straining struggle.

"MMMMmmmmmmmrrrrrr! MMMMmmmph!"

"UUUUUURRRRRrrrrh! Uugh! Uugh! UUUUUUurrrrrrggghh!"

On a whim, he rose from the desk and turned her form to give a profile view, then settled back to watch. There wasn't much she could do by way of variety of movement, but the forward arching and rearward flexing was quite sufficient to produce a superb display of animated rump activity, in addition to the crotch searing sight of jostling, jiggling boobs. Hood-face added twisting to her performance when a speeding wax ball hit her jiggling left tit with a lucky shot. Frantically, Danielle tried to turn her body away from this new and far more devastating assault, not forgetting to maintain her other activities at the same time. He watched for a while and left soundlessly as she continued to try and please.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER SEVEN
BERNADETTE

Bernadette Wilson strained against the tight steel bands holding her prisoner. For something like two weeks now she had been subjected to a darkened cell, manacled and chained like a dog as she waited in vain for a rescuing Sir Galahad that never came. She was the second item on Napper's long shopping list, and yet whilst others were being trained by various methods, she had remained locked away, haunted by the pitiful cries of unseen women being dragged by her cell door on their way to who knew what torment. Now it was her turn! Unbeknownst to Bernadette, her lover was suffering perpetual torment only a few hundred yards away, quivering under the ruthless control of a mind- less electronic master.

She heaved at the bands again, with the same result. No matter what she did, her fettered form remained firmly attached to the chair-like contraption. The surrounding glass of her confinement cubicle reflected a reasonable image as long as the lights were low, and she was able to see that her body was fully sealed inside a rubber sheath suit that was tensioned to strumming tightness by the filling of her nubile body. Only two exceptions remained bare. Thrusting forward in unprotected splendour were her firm orb-like boobs, menacingly capped at the nipples with electrodes and wires. There were two other openings exposing her body, but they were invisible to any onlooker. Bernadette however, was painfully aware of their existence. Her delicate crotch openings were forcibly impaled on massive steel intruders that reached deep into her inner sanctums, and her clitoris was clamped and connected by another of those ominous wires. Miserably, she cast her eyes over the other reflections that showed the full extent of her restraints. Broad bands more than four inches wide encircled her neck thighs and ankles. - Arms were drawn vertically down each side of her body and stiffened into useless appendages by a series of three fetters from shoulder to wrist. The waist was engulfed by a band so broad as to classify as a corset, and across her lower face was another form fitting steel encirclement that ensured her complete silence and an immovable stiffly erect head posture. All of it was part and parcel of the chair. Yet despite all her metal imprisonment, it was the head gear that worried her most.

Image 19

A polished steel dome reminiscent of a crash helmet covered her from eyebrows to the nape of the neck. Over the entire surface were connections-plugged in cables that led through the base of the cabinet and out to a console across the room. White coated staff were busying them- selves with some sort of programming, throwing an occasional look in her direction, or merely a waved hand. Bernadette felt like a laboratory animal rather than a person.

A forbidding, hooded figure entered the room and studied her at length as she remained stiffly presented. Bernadette felt shivers ran down her spine as his eyes roamed licentiously over her fettered form, and she could see that he was obviously pleased with what he saw. But the eyes were cruel and lacked any form of compassion for her terrible plight. He turned away after a considerable time, joining with the others who were preparing the console and Bernadette's fear began to escalate. Hood-man separated and moved over, and she could see the others turning away from the console to watch. Whatever they were doing was complete and ready to go.

The hooded figure stood squarely in front of her transparent prison and spoke.

"Good morning, Miss Wilson. You're probably wondering what this is all about by now so I'll fill you in before it's too late. Twelve hours from now, you probably won't remember anyway."

He paused to gather his thoughts and studied the cubicle at length. 

"Marvellous device, Miss Wilson. Latest technology, courtesy of the CIA."

She could see he was deliberately dragging out the agony of her curiosity and drawing great enjoyment from the suspense. She made an angry noise past the gag and his cruel lips formed into a sardonic smile.

"I can see you making the effort, Miss Wilson, but you may as well give up. Sound travels one way only with this booth. In! Not out! You couldn't make me hear if you had a jackhammer in there."

Bernadette considered the stifling gag, her realisation of that revelation allowing the only deduction possible - that this bastard enjoyed seeing women forcibly silenced. He was drawing pleasure from the sight of seeing her mouth stuffed and sealed. It was infuriating to sit there trussed up like a chicken and see him savouring the sight of her cinched lower face and the steel crushing her sensuous mouth into dumb impotence. She gave vent to more abortive abuse that manifested itself as muffled waffling, then seeing that she was only adding to his pleasure, Bernadette finally fell silent, her face scarlet with rage and frustration.

"As I was saying, marvellous device. Our CIA stole the crude version from the Russians and then a US scientist perfected it. You would probably give it the title of a brain washing machine, which is what the original was. This version, however, is light years ahead. Our boys at Langley prefer to call it a 'behaviour modifier' nowadays. It has a less emotive ring to it than brain washing."

He paused and waited for all that to sink in.

"I've reprogrammed it to an even more effective level now, and as you are about to find out, the results are highly successful. A word of warning though. Don't even think about trying to fight the machine. Basically, it works on the aversion therapy concept, and in case you are unaware of the medical repercussions of that term, it means in lay- man's language that wrong thoughts earn punishment."

The cruel smile was back.

"That's right, Miss Wilson, our machine can analyse your thoughts and detect a resistance or rejection of any ideas we feed in by scrutinising chemical and electrical changes in your brain patterns - sort of a fancy lie detector, if you like. It will keep stepping up the punishment each time until you are forced to accept the programming no matter how abhorrent it may be. You can't win, but please, try if you want. I enjoy watching a woman like you being corrected and forced to obey." Bernadette was by now a mass of writhing effort as she fought to escape. The steel bands simply absorbed her efforts and held her rigidly in place. Napper simply smiled and made a signal to an operator. At the turn of a knob on the console, Bernadette felt her lower face squeezed in a vice as the steel gag magically tightened up, extruding her bulging cheeks still further. She ignored the warning and continued to strain against the implacable steel restraints.

"Have it your way then Miss Wilson. But let me tell you. Twelve hours from now you will leave that cubicle as an obedient submissive sex toy, no matter what you do. It's already be tested on a woman trained to resist thought manipulation and she's now a most co-operative slave, owned by a billionaire in Bolivia.

Terrified, yet unable to affect her escape in anyway, she watched fearfully as he motioned to the team at the console. Seconds later her head exploded with incandescent mental light as something probed into the inner reaches of her mind. Napper's voice intruded on the whirling kaleidoscope of sensations, and she gleaned from snatches of his words that the machine was assimilating her genetic program for analysis. Once the copy of her synaptic functions were mapped and recorded by the encephalograph, the erasing and remapping of her mind could begin.

It took an hour for the computer to log all the details of Bernadette's brain. It was new technology that had been outlawed only a year before - that was six months after professor Markum had first revealed his success with the prototype concept lifted from the Russians. The objective in his drive to perfect the revolutionary system had been to enable psychiatric units to rehabilitate violent patients. Congress had quickly realised that there was another potentially disastrous use for such a device. Their fears were well founded - although somewhat late and the CIA, and now Napper, were in full possession of the device. 

Bernadette watched with trepidation as Napper returned to gloat some time later.

"Well, Miss Wilson, now two of us own a copy of the genetic brain patterns that make you who and what you are. My copy is on CD and can be erased - and so can yours."

There was a menace in his voice that made Bernadette quake with fear. "The question is, do we want to wipe your brain clean and start again, or shall we just alter it a bit?"

He stood savouring the helpless plight of the young woman and slowly twisted the copy CD over and over in his fingers. Bernadette's eyes were transfixed by the awesome, irreversible potential of that insignificant object. It was all that stood between her and the life of a vegetable if this madman chose to erase the very essence of her personality. Only the CD could rewrite the memories and restructure complex DNA chains and thought patterns that made her what she was. Napper laughed.

"I think I prefer a modified version, much more fun to watch the conversion. Brain erasure is painless and hardly makes for spectator sport. You will be rendered unconscious within seconds at that setting."

The pinioned women watched impotently, her colossal exertions crushed to nothing by the unyielding steel bands. Her eyes widened and begged from the confines of the cubicle, but Napper calmly reached out for a sliding lever and notched it down. It was calibrated in scientific scales, but in order to make operation easier, someone had stuck patch labels at various settings. First was 'mildly submissive', then 'fully submissive', and finally 'total obedience'. The only setting below that was marked 'blank' and the meaning of that had already been clearly explained.

Napper paused at the first setting then after some thought and a leer at his captive, he notched it down to the third setting.

Bernadette almost laughed with relief. Nothing happened. No mind bending flash of energy, no pain, not even a slight tingle from her deeply implanted dildo locater prods. Napper just smiled and waved goodbye as the control room emptied. His confidence unnerved her. Then the cool shaft in her frontal cavity started to vibrate. It was a pleasant sensation and for a second or two she allowed the soothing feelings to wash over her. It helped to blank out some of the trauma of past weeks and dulled the gut wrenching fear generated by her present plight. Then another thought entered her mind.

No! This had to stop! That was exactly what he wanted! She pushed the pleasant thoughts to the back of her mind. Immediately, there was a

(Corrupted Text)


tive to forming a mental block that directly opposed the stimulation. It worked for several minutes as she forced her brain to concentrate on other things. Then without warning she found herself rigid and cinched for another five minutes of quivering hell.

Over and over again, the shattering pain and compressive binding returned as she tried all manner of ways to resist the buzzing fiends in her crotch. It was getting harder with each try, and the punishment was becoming stronger and tighter with every instalment.

Despite the distractions of being cinched up like an over packaged parcel and roasted by the biting current, Bernadette found her libido responding in liquid form. Her love nest was becoming decidedly sticky as the buzzing moles did their work. For a while she rested from her mental exertion and allowed the sensuous waves of carnal energy to wash over her. The machine seemed to sense her weakness and added another tool to its armoury.

Her nipple clamps began to send tingling pleasant messages as they subjected her hardening nodules to minute voltages that could only be interpreted as pleasurable. It was payment her for co-operation. An unseen crotch mole had sensed her increased moistening and was rewarding her. The full, diabolical potential of the machine suddenly became obvious. It was simple. Refusal brought pain - compliance brought pleasure. Given enough time, her brain would adjust to that mandate, and no matter what she did her body would unconsciously respond to reprogrammed instincts. She would become an auto- responsive sex object.

Thoughts of refusal would bring a feeling of dread as hidden memories of this ordeal told her that it would result in something unpleasant. Her mind would secretly tell her to obey so that it could bath in feelings of pleasure. The realisation engineered another resolve to resist, but the results were the same. A never ending round of escalating trauma as the punishments stepped up the pressure to comply. Every time she did respond favourably, the rewards increased by a proportional level of pleasure.

Hood-man reappeared some hours into the battle for her mind. Danielle was near to orgasm as a result of the latest reward, but his presence renewed the struggle to resist. Basic instincts refused to allow her to demonstrate such a personal act to her tormentor despite the fact that the pussy mole had now commenced a reciprocal sliding in and out as it vibrated at full power.

He sat and watched as she fought - a grim smile conveying the enjoyment he was extracting from the images of her quivering rigid punishments and the sight of seeing her jerked into powerfully sculpted cinched curvatures of rubber sheathed womanhood.

It took two hours more before Bernadette finally capitulated and gave him a spectacular display of a woman in full orgasmic spasm, and as it happened, her orgasm had started a split second before her mind rebelled. The result was catastrophic. She was cinched up and held in powerful rigidity throughout the entire explosive eruption of her unwanted orgasm. Three hours later, the slightest tickle from the vibrator had her spiralling towards a massive orgasm in seconds. There was no conscious thought to obey. Any demand to perform produced an instant obedient response and a feeling of great pleasure as a reward. 

A screen appeared during one of her writhing reward periods, and from then on the programming steadily took her deeper into the pit of unquestioning compliance no matter what was asked. Images of bound women began to appear. At first her mind rejected them, and earned her more torment. Then as she slowly learned to accept the sight of a cuffed and hobbled woman as something that brought pleasure, the bondage images became more and more severe.

Hood-man was right in his calculations. Twelve hours later, the sight of a female form contorted to incredible degrees and excruciatingly bound had Bernadette squirming and moaning as her body experienced massive levels of pleasure. There hadn't been a punishment impulse for over two hours. Her whole being longed to replace the image on the screen so that she could herself experience the pleasure of being helpless and bound. Even the crushing grip of her own restraints were feeding constant sensations of pleasure coursing through her body, and she eventually actually found herself refusing stimulation so that she could savour the sensation of being powerfully tightened up ready for punishment.

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✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER EIGHT
FRUSTRATION

The phone rang at Eddie's elbow and he picked it up almost absentmindedly. The Captain watched as he listened, and saw his features freeze with dread. Deathly pale he replaced the receiver, then suddenly sprang from his chair and made for the door.

"Valenski! What the fuck was all that about? Where are you going?" Eddie jerked back through the door.

That was Jim Preedy at my girl's house. He's there with half the town's bomb squad. That bastard Napper has set Claudine up as a booby trap and they can't get near her."

The Captain grabbed his hat.

"Hang on Eddie I'm coming with you."

Turning into Grove Boulevard, Eddie gave the siren and lights a quick work out and watched as the police cordon opened to allow them through. The car skidded to halt and Eddie leapt out and raced to the BK-14 positioned in the middle of the street. There were shouts of alarm and before he knew what had happened a half dozen bomb squad officers were pinning him down.

"Eddie! Eddie! Get a grip of yourself, you thick bastard. You go near her and she goes up in smoke. There's nothing you can do. Believe me, we've been over the plans Napper deliberately left. Even he can't get near her until after she's launched. The asshole set it all up on a timer and then walked out of the active zone before it armed."

Eddie stopped struggling and cast an eye to the pale naked figure strapped to the rocket.

"Go on! Let's hear it all."

The powerful grips holding him down eased but kept a ready hold on his body.

"She's surrounded by a twenty foot no-go zone, thanks to four proximity sensors. Anything goes near her and she'll start to be sliced up by the charges."

"You mean blown up, don't you?"

The bomb squad Major shook his head, his face lined with a mixture of helpless rage and horror.

"No, Eddie, I mean sliced up! Look at this!"

He spread the plans and circuit drawings out and the restraining hands allowed Eddie to move so he could see.

"See? First the steel cage to hold her still and probably to pander to Napper's warped sense of fun. But look at this. Timers for systematic firing of the charges. None of them except the last big enough to kill her. First those two explosive boob root rings slice her tits off! Sorry Eddie - slice her breasts off. Then the charge in her ass blows her ring apart, then her pussy gets spread all over the block, and finally that collar slices her head off. They're set for two minute intervals."

Eddie felt sick with fear for his woman, but managed to swallow the rising gorge in his throat.

"Anything else?"

The Major looked at him with pity.

"Yeh! Sorry Eddie, but that launch is going ahead and there's nothing we can do to stop it. He's fixed it so the explosives and proximity sensors deactivate as the rocket's fuel pump turbines are running up." He paused as if wondering whether to drop the final bombshell on a drawn and shaking Eddie.

"Eddie, see the big clock over there inside the zone." 

Eddie nodded.

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"That's to piss you off. He's set the launch for twelve hours from now and left the clock so that you can watch for all that time and not be able to do a thing to help. This asshole is playing games with you buddy and he's using your woman to hurt you as much as he can."

Eddie let his head drop back as a sudden despair robbed his body of strength. Making a supreme effort he shoved the gnawing fear down and gathered his thoughts.

"Okay, fellas! Get your asses off me before I die of body odour."

The hands withdrew and released him. This was the old Eddie Valenski back in charge. Eddie stood, and moved over to the taped off safety area. He could see Claudine's eye's pleading for help and it chewed at his guts to stand helplessly and watch. The Major joined him. "Nothing you can do, Major?"

He shook his head.

"Nothing! We'll just have to watch her go, Eddie, and hope you can get to the bastard before he sells her off to some Arab or the like."

Eddie turned back to the forlorn, naked figure strapped securely down to the BK-14, and from the bottom of his heart he hoped that the asshole who sold these things off to a private buyer ended up with a spent booster landing on his fucking worthless head.

Claudine was suffering because of him and that hurt deeply. Napper had designed her own personalised torment that was far in excess of any of his other acquisitions, just to piss his enemy off. She was encased in a rigid wire formed cage that was form fitting and seemed a size or two on the small size. The shaped wire bars were some quarter inch thick and had an unyielding clamp on the fine sculpted figure of his intended. Claudine was crushed by the tightness and extruded like a quilted doll through the large squares formed by intersecting bars. Even from here and without the aid of glasses, he could see the thicker explosive rings almost concealed by the indents of their own cinches, and the thick broad collar around her slender graceful neck left no doubt that it was designed to end her life in a most spectacular way. A sudden thought crossed his mind and he turned back to the Major.

"Does she know?"

The Major looked uncomfortable and fished out a note that had been left with the plans. Eddie opened it out and read it. His breath hissed through a clenching set of teeth. Napper had explained every detail to the horrendously prepared woman, ensuring that she knew, nothing could be done that wouldn't slice her up piecemeal. He cursed loudly as he read the bit about him leaving that fateful night they had the row. Claudine must have had her unwelcome visitors busting in minutes after he left. In fact, he had passed within yards of them. No wonder the steel rig fitted so perfectly. Napper had been working on Claudine for a week in her own home, and all the time he'd thought she was just snubbing him by leaving the messages on her machine unanswered. 

Turning, he looked out to the pitiful sight of his loved one and felt the aching hole in his belly growing by the minute. The clock flicked another minute onwards and both he and Claudine cast horrified eyes at the marching minute hand as her time to launch ticked away. 

Hours passed, and the Major, after going over the drawings for all that time, came back with the same answer. Napper's diabolical scheme was perfect. Every single rescue angle had been carefully negated, and seeing the only real flaw in the whole thing, the whole Dallas P.D. department had spent the last hours erecting a six foot chain link fence around the poised rocket. All it needed was for a stray cat to wander across those sensors and Claudine self destructed. Eddie, meanwhile, had been studying her through binoculars, seething with rage as he surveyed the parted pussy lips stretched and deformed by the explosive implant. Livid bruising of her sensitive abused boobs was already visible, and as he thought of her perfect ass hole violated by another implant, his hatred for Napper grew to a living thing as he mentally devised the most hideous death he could think of. He'd never actually been privileged to view her secret puckering rear passage - either of her delightful openings for that matter, but if the rest of her was anything to go by, it had to be perfect. And that was another thing that pissed him completely. Napper's thugs had seen her most private regions before he even got the chance. Graphic details in the letter gave an account of her inverted spreadeagled bondage in the lounge double doorway all the time they were working on her steel enclosure. Napper, not one to miss an opportunity, had whiled the time away by stuffing her front and back with a multitude of dildos and having lots of fun with her exposed breasts. A mortified Claudine had suffered all this, and at the same time watched with fear as her steel cage was slowly formed. Inverted, stretched to quivering tautness - offered like a starfish, there was nothing she could do as they measured and sized her whole body with ruthless systematic efficiency.

The steel barred cocoon had finally been finished twenty-four hours before the time designated to launch. As a result Claudine, had en- dured the ignominy of hanging suspended in her new personalised prison as Napper revelled in referring to her as his 'Caged Cunt' - alternatively 'Cunt in a Cage' He experimented with other terms, seemingly to observe her reaction and assess the effect. 'Pussy Parcel' or 'Fuck Pack' were other choice names they dreamed up between them. All no doubt intended to enhance Claudine's awareness of the fact that they all looked upon her stiffened helpless form as a neatly packaged parcel of sexually arousing curves surrounding a hole in which to lodge their manhood. But 'The Caged Cunt' became the favourite term as the object of their insults displayed clear signs of tearful humiliation as they verbally reduced her to nothing more than a furry pleasure hole. She was generally discussed as an item, third person, not a real living woman. At no time was she addressed as anything other than a caged novelty.

'When do we mount the caged cunt on the rocket, boss?' or 'Hey guys, the caged cunt is leaking'. The jibes were never ending. Claudine wasn't even allowed the privacy of piddling as her bursting bladder finally gave up the struggle and emptied onto her own carpet. The caged cunt suffered helplessly as the thrusting protuberances of her tits and bottom were used as a means to animate her namesake. One would whip her tender lobes whilst the others savoured the spasmodic responses transferred to the caged pussy by unsolicited muscle reaction.

Image 22

Now, hours later, publicly displayed and suffering the ultimate crush- ing humiliation, she was straining and writhing in her unyielding steel cocoon as the time of her dreaded flight into oblivion drew nearer. Using a loud hailer, Eddie tried to calm her as the hour of launch approached. It did no good, and a gawping crowd, now equipped with their own seeing aids were treated to a demonstration of sensuously active female flesh as she struggled piteously. Flash bulbs were illuminating the scene at regular intervals as both private voyeurs and news hounds recorded the sight for future reference.

Eddie knew he could do nothing. He also knew that he shouldn't be wasting the time here when there was a video waiting that might give the answer. He knew the clue was there and it just wouldn't come. Yet despite his logical reasoning, he couldn't find the will power to leave her to this fate on her own.

The clock ticked on. There were two minutes left and Claudine was a sea of hysterical contained movement as the hand flicked and started the last sixty seconds. Only as they were into the final fifteen seconds did a hand held flash light illuminate something they had all missed. A thin glittering line snaked down from Claudine's crotch to some- thing in the road. Eddie screamed for all lights to be played on her lower body and snapped up the binoculars. The bomb squad had seen it but assumed it to be just another bomb trigger wire that would fall clear at the launch.

"Christ on a crutch! Someone! A rifle, quick! Somebody give me a rifle!" The Captain appeared with an assault rifle but held it back.

"You can't kill her, Eddie. There's still a chance we'll find her alive and well."

Eddied smashed his restraining arm aside and grabbed the rifle.

"Kill her, my ass! Look at her crotch! That bastard set her up and didn't tell us. She knows, and that's what she's being going nuts about." 

The Captain peered intently through his own binoculars and sucked in his breath. Claudine's clitoris was cruelly pulled out and clamped in a vicious metal crimp grip. The clamp had a thin trailing steel cable and following it down he saw it terminate in a ringbolt that had been raw- plugged into the road. When that rocket took of her clitoris was destined to be ripped clean off. Eddie was carefully lining up when the Major spoke.

"You've got one shot, and one shot only, Eddie! If that bullet passes through the active sensor field she's dead. There's a five second window after it shuts down and before those rocket turbines reach full boost. Eddie felt a chill in his bones as the clock clicked forward and turbines began to whine. The Major was beside him peering intently at the launch panel lights.

"Hold it! Hold It! Sensors still on!"

Eddie cursed as Claudine's titanic struggles caused the thin cable to waver.

"Hold still, gorgeous, for God's sake hold still!"

He gave up on the twitching wire produced by Claudine's insane efforts to escape, and dropped the sights to centre on the ringbolt, his finger taking up first pressure as the whine of turbines rose almost beyond audio range.

"Now! Eddie! Shoot now! For Christ's sake!"

A second before exhaust gases obscured his vision, Eddie saw the wire draw taut as the BK-14 started to lift and his finger squeezed back. The rifle kicked violently, and then he was thrown back as the full exhaust blast of lift-off threw chain link fencing and debris all over the road. Smoke and flame blotted his vision, and then climbing from the billowing cloud was the heart rending sight of his beloved Claudine, trussed into helpless steel enforced rigidity and on her way to an appointment with a demon of sadism.

They all watched, as the missile climbed, then yawed slightly before switching to a pre-programmed horizontal flight and vanishing over the tree tops. For a second the full moon against a lightening dawn sky silhouetted her nubile form in all its glory, and then she was gone. 

The Major came over and smiled grimly.

"And the good news is... Claudine still has an intact clitoris." He held up part of the shattered ring of the rawl-bolt.

"Only a bullet could have done that."

They both knew that any other find would have been a fleshy finger of her mutilated sex trigger lying at the end of a steel tether.

"However, Eddie, my old mate. I wouldn't fancy flying at 250 miles an hour with a yard of steel wire clamped to my clit and thrashing in the breeze."

Eddie glared at him.

"Thanks, asshole, I really needed to be reminded of that."

The Major looked down, his embarrassment obvious as he realised his mistake.

Eddie took a last look at the grisly scene.

"I'm going back to the station. Get your crew to go over the place with a fine tooth comb and see what they come up with. I want to know if Napper left behind so much as a stale fart!"

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER NINE
HELEN DOE

Helen Morton was led into the office, frightened and totally mystified as to what her fate would be. Her eyes widened at the sight of an inverted frantically squirming female shape that was heaving and straining at inescapable bonds as she emitting continuous Mmmmphing sounds through a very efficient gag. A momentary flash of pity for the woman's predicament was quickly extinguished as she realised that her own plight was little better.

The preparation had been thorough but un-enlightening. First they had dipped her in some kind of indelible dye, her whole body emerging as a fawn shade that although appealing, left her terrified as to the levels to which they were prepared go. Next she been carefully bleached. Pale spots sometimes in groups, and others at random dotted the entire surface of her hued skin. The whole of her stomach and up to the underside of her thrusting boobs was bleached out leaving her with an enchanting white underbelly and white cups on the soft underside of each well formed breast. Hoof mouldings had been grafted to her feet by way of super glue and epoxy bonding - internally shaped so as to hold her in an awkward ballerina tip toe that was unseen by onlookers. Then there was her face. As yet she had been unable to look upon the complex latex mouldings bonded to her head, although she was aware of something ungainly attached to high up. First they had gagged her with a massive spongy packing. Then, over a period of hours, fashioned some sort of animal face onto her features that extended from her eyes to under the chin. Tubes from her buried nose ducted air through the nostrils of the animal facsimile, and the bite of her hidden nose ring was transferred by an inflexible steel rod to the ring adorning her new animal face. It was a clever design that even allowed feeding once the stifling mouth packing was removed. If she moved her jaw, the latex foam animal facsimile mimicked her movements perfectly. In all respects she resembled an bovine animal chewing cud. Not her words, but those of her tormentors as they laughed and joked at her demise. 

A broad steel belt crushed her waist to levels that threatened to sever her in two, and hands that were encased in mock hooves were wrist shackled to either side so that the cute fore hooves prodded forwards on each side of her waist. Elbow cuffs unseen by herself, but sorely felt, pulled her elbows back to mate behind, thrusting her ample breasts outward on blatant display.

Helpless and humiliated, Helen trotted into centre of the office on her new hooves, led by her ringed nose, then stood as indicated before the seated figure at the desk. Napper finally looked up and the visible mouth in the mask grinned.

"Ah! Yes! At last! If it isn't Bambi, all finished and ready to go." Helen stared at him blankly, and seeing her uncomprehending look the hooded man gestured to a mirror on the far side of the room. 

"Take a look, Bambi!"

Helen moved over and stood aghast as she viewed the reflected image. They had converted her to a creditable replica of a deer. Like a young doe she stared wide eyed as her cute heavily eyelashed doe eyes took in the dappled fawn of her body and the skilfully crafted head that replaced her own. Small neat antlers sprouted from above the ears. Ears that had been modified with more of the latex magic. Carefully hued and with the interiors bleached white, they stood stiffly erect and pointed as if listening for the sound of a predator. She turned and strained to see a back view, instantly understanding the soreness at the base of her spine as her lower back and rump came into view. That brief period of unconsciousness had apparently been a planned surgical interlude as a pert little tail had been surgically grafted to her lower vertebrae. Jutting cheekily from the upper cleft of her buttock crease, the six inch long addition looked every bit an authentic appendage. Obviously, Napper had a skilled cosmetic surgeon on his payroll. 

Image 23

Napper allowed her to take in all the alterations fully before he called her back.

"I have no doubt you are wondering what that is all about. Perhaps this tape will give you some idea."

A video monitor on the desk was spun to face her, and her eyes wide with shock, Helen watched the rear view of a woman running for her life through what appeared to be a forest. Like herself she had antlers and was secured, albeit with her arms in a painful back prayer that placed both hands behind her neck. The difference from there on was obvious. Her body was a normal naked flesh, no tail, no dappling, just a naked bound woman on the run, and the antlers were clearly an amateurish job when compared to her own.

The mournful howl of baying hounds permeated the forest drawing anxious rearward looks from the fleeing woman and lent strength to her failing legs. Boobs bouncing madly, a pert backside juddering with urgent locomotion, the shapely woman battled on, hampered by the cunning thigh hobbles that were carefully measure to allow her a reasonable turn of speed, but at the same time ensure that her hips and bottom achieved maximum erotic output as a result of the foreshortened steps.

Suddenly a horse moved into view, and seconds later a net spread over the running woman and settled on her screaming form. She tripped and her own forward roll only served to enmesh her tightly in the enveloping net.

For a while she was obscured from the camera by the multitude of horses and people arriving on the scene then, when she reappeared, it was as a hunted game animal trussed to a carrying pole and born shoulder high.

Image 24

"F.B.I. Agent Somerville! Or should I say ex-Agent. Our nosy Diane is now the resident hunted game at an estate deep in the rain forests of Brazil." There was tone of deep satisfaction in his voice, and Helen had no doubt that this particular tape was a favourite. He fast forwarded and then let the video roll.

Helen stared at the screen as Diane reappeared a second time, trussed tightly to a special stand. Kneeling, her legs spread and rump jutting at forty-five degrees, she had her head firmly secured at base level and arms sheathed and useless behind her back. Around her were the raucous throng of the victorious hunters, both male and female waiting for their turn to either service her, or in the case of the women, to gleefully thrash their riding crops across her taut exposed bottom. The screen went blank and Helen turned to her tormentor with pleading eyes.

"Yes, Miss Morton, you are the Mark Two version. Diane was, shall we say, more of a vengeance item for my pleasure at the time. You, on the other hand have been carefully chosen for looks, agility - and above all, that fabulous rump. Hunters pursuing game like you want to see a nice, spongy rump in motion, and I think you, Bambi, are going to have an all action ass in that rig whether you like it or not."

He neglected to tell her that she was also a vengeance item as well. As if in afterthought he gestured to the blank screen.

"Of course, that doesn't happen every time. If you make it to the five mile marker before the hunt you're home and dry so to speak. Other- wise, like Diane, you pay the forfeit which includes being the party pussy, as you have seen, and then a week mounted with your head through a trophy plaque as the male house staff take you from the other side of the wall. I've seen a film of Diane, she looks most amusing when she's being stuffed and shafted non stop by the complete hunt and all the house staff during the following week."

"Of late, our Brazilian cousin is getting bored with Diane and her continual failure to reach the post. He's a sportsman who enjoys a chase with no guarantees. So he ordered a newer model. You to be precise! And a fine Doe you look, too!"

Napper paused to eye her up and down with obvious relish.

Image 25

"But enough chat. Time to get you in training. It wouldn't do for you to end up getting your brains fucked out after the first hunt, would it?" 

His fingers gripped the nose ring, and protesting as loud as she could, Helen followed obediently as the painful ring threatened dire consequences for a refusal. He stopped in the passageway outside the office door, and looking up in the direction his hands were travelling, Helen saw a light chain dangling from a hoist device. It was mounted on the monorail system she had noticed ran throughout the entire complex. Before she had time to react or object in any way, her nose ring and the chain were joined. Napper turned to face her.

"This section is two miles around, and I've got you down for three laps. It all looks the same so you can keep count by using the bike park as a marker of your start point."

Helen stared down at the piteously rigid plight of Cassidy, her crimson face pleading desperately as Napper's parked bike maintained her quivering and stiffened - her bottom clamping the wheel as if her life depended on it. Given a choice of plights, Helen felt she was slightly better off. Napper contemptuously planted a foot on the thrusting bottom mound and jostled it mercilessly. Pulling the bike out, he gave  Helen a demonstration of Cassidy's plight.

"Nnrrrr! UMMMmmmuuph!"

Bambi was convinced. She was definitely better off than the pathetically arranged woman set in the floor!

Without warning, the travelling hoist jerked into motion and a lancing pain in her nose gave her fleeting pause for thought on the matter. As Cassidy was left behind, any attempt at comparison was wasted brain energy that would be better directed to maintaining a pain free level of slack in her nose chain.

Napper stood and watched as she clip-clopped into the distance, antlers waving, bottom jostling and jouncing, and those magnificent tits flying up and down in an unrestrained and gloriously traumatic style. It made him grimace with gleeful anticipation to imagine the effect, but was pleased by the magnificent spectacle of her forced animation. He had no doubt that his Brazilian customer would be most pleased with this new Doe cavorting in his forest. For himself, nothing served to lift his spirits more than to see a shapely women reduced to such a diabolical fate. His face smiled grimly as he muttered to himself. 

Image 26

"Not such a hot shot prosecutor now, are we Miss Morton. Pity you didn't bounce your tits and wiggle your ass instead of using your mouth the first time we met. No doubt both of us would be a lot happier."

Helen cried with frustration and shame as she was dragged along. The entire staff of the complex either stopped to watch, or appeared from doorways as she passed-drawn out by the sound of jingling sleigh bells affixed to her nipples. Broad grins ridiculed her plight as they savoured the flexing surreal image of her trotting form. The skin tinting and piebald effect did nothing to hide her mincing denuded love lips, and even less to dampen the widely oscillating orbs of her painfully jouncing tits. Her mind was in turmoil. How could this be happening? Was it all a dream she would soon awaken from? Soon she would wake up to find Helen Morton at home in bed.

Two miles later the sight of a horribly abused bottom set in concrete approached and her hopes that it was all a nightmare vanished as the trauma just went on and on. Napper was watching from the door of his office, laughing and derisively taunting as she passed and she could feel his eyes on the mincing lobes of her buttocks and they worked and waved that cute little tail; an accessory that was so astutely calculated to exact maximum embarrassment. Sweat streaked and gasping for breath, Helen had no choice but to continue as the nose ring led her remorselessly onward. She hated her new name. Bambi was so de- meaning, but at the same time Helen had a feeling it would stick. She tried to concentrate on the task ahead as images of her trussed form playing host to a multitude of carnally triumphant huntsman gave her renewed strength. It was a forlorn hope, but just maybe she could win all the time if she kept herself ultra fit.

Gasping with exertion, she finally found the rail drawing to a stop as Cassidy's display came into view for the third time. Napper was waiting and moved forward to squeeze and maul her cute dappled ass as she stood with heaving chest.

"Well done, Miss Morton. Now let's step up the training."

Even before the importance of his words were fully absorbed, her nose ring jerked and she felt herself dragged up to a fast run. A taunting voice called after her as she struggled to keep up with the chain.

"Nice ass, Bambi! Great to watch! The boys at army law school are going to love my video of the famous Major Morton."

Horror flooded into Helen's thoughts as a haunting voice from the past made references that suddenly connected. As it happened, she had little time to ponder the revelation.

"NNNNNNNNRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

The rail was increasing speed as her tormentor, now far behind, wound up the speed and basically dealt out his retribution by remote control. The corridors were lined with grinning faces by now as she flashed past, Tits a frenzy of blurred pounding agony, pussy masticating madly between her pumping thighs, her ass cheeks providing every- one with a crotch searing display of super animated bustling female buttock in an extravaganza of nubile jostling nubile flesh. Helen doggedly pursued the irresistible nose lead as it relentlessly dragged her onward. Even as she ran, her pussy was twitching with nervous trepidation. It was bad enough running on flat concrete, she had no illusions about outdistancing the pursuing hunt in a rain forest. Tears streaked her cheeks as the image of her head surrounded by a trophy plaque and the unseen plundering of her fettered form in another room became a highly possible reality.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER TEN
FUCK UP! - TEXAS STYLE!

Eddie sat cursing as his brain flatly refused to respond. Somewhere here the answer was smacking him the face and yet he couldn't make the final connection.

A new tape had arrived and for the past hour he had watched with impotent fury as the Napper used Cassidy like a receptacle for his masturbatory ejaculations. It wasn't sex, he was using Cassidy as a tool to add sensory input to his male organ. A camera set at floor level and a few yards from her face gave an overview of her plight in a most salutary way. If one ignored the pleading eyes and red humiliated face, one could see her thrusting rump further back, jerking and spreading under repeated impacts as Napper pistoned in and out of her body. On hands and knees, he had discovered that her bike park format was ideally suited to a doggy fuck technique. At liberty to exercise an unchallenged choice of entry points, he repeatedly switched holes in the presented ass region and pumped at the swelling hillock like a demented rabbit. The first ten minutes had been a rear view as the quivering bike-less bottom, temporarily relieved of the painful sphinc- ter stretching insert, turned crimson under the repeated blows of a flat wooden paddle. Napper had gloatingly remarked for tape viewers benefit that he preferred his female asses hot. Flash backs to the rigidly planted head painted a vivid picture of her silenced, helpless suffering as he callously warmed her up. Violent, concealed reactions below the concrete made the black tightly sheathed head move vertically up and down in the tight steel collar. Later, Napper's thrusts were being faithfully transmitted by the entombed body to reappear as ridiculous oscillating movements in the amorphous rubber coated gargoyle. Even though her awesome confinement restricted the movement to an inch or less, it was almost comical to watch as Carmel's head bobbed up and down, her elegant slender neck sliding in and out of the collar like a pogo stick. Even the eyes took on the image of a badly manipulated ventriloquist's dummy. Unfortunately, Cassidy's nose connection to immovable concrete was less accommodating when it came to flexibility. The sound of flat splatting impacts with a narration of explosive Mmmmmpphing protest filled the video booth as he watched Cassidy's abuse in impotent fury. The flaring bottom erupted into frenzied activity yet again as the forty-eighth blow struck home and momentarily squeezed the lush lobes sideways with the force of impact..

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Eddie switched off the tape in disgust and directed his mind to old army buddies from his past. It would be erotic to watch if Cassidy had been doing it of her own free will. To be honest, he was jealous as hell that Napper was sampling something he would dearly have liked to try for himself. Having that buxom butch bitch at such a well offered disadvantage would have been a rather pleasant experience. He'd often fantasised over giving that haughty unattainable rump a good spanking.

With some effort he dragged his rampant thoughts back to the task in hand.

After an hour of brain grinding thought a name popped out of the hat. Wally Bossick!

That was the man he needed. Wally, formerly of Army Intelligence - a contradiction in terms if ever there was one - was now an aide at the Pentagon. If anyone could get through Army red tape he could. Twelve frustrating calls later Eddie actually got someone to admit that there was a definitely, or at least maybe, a Colonel Bossick actually existing, but they were only prepared to confirm that he existed if the Colonel himself gave permission. Eddie hung on for what seemed like ages as the Pentagon wheels ground remorselessly into action. By now his call would have been traced and his name recorded on a dozen databases in case the inquirer turned out to be a cousin of someone's brother, who at some time in the past hadn't actually denounced communism outright. Suddenly, there was a cautious voice on the other end that he recognised.

"Wally! That you?"

"Who is this?"

It's Eddie Valenski, you brass bound pisshead!" He waited as the military brain geared up and flipped through a mental filofax of old buddies.

"Eddie the scrounger?" - Iraq 91?"

"None other, asshole. So how's tricks?" The next ten minutes was pure nostalgic bullshit that Eddie ploughed through impatiently as the old buddies standard greeting format was played out. Finally, Wally got to the nitty gritty.

"So what can I do for you, buddy?"

Eddie explained the whole Napper saga as Wally listened.

"Yeh! Bad dude by the sound of it. I heard about it on the news. Didn't realise you were involved. So how can I help?"

He listened intently as the Pentagon wrench slinging was explained. Wally was thoughtful.

"Hmm! So that was you guys trying to access the Penderton file. Gotta be honest here, old buddy. I blocked it, but then I had no idea what it was all about. Even knowing what I do now, I'll be sticking my neck out to give you what you need. Still! What the hell! I owe you one for coming up with that spare jeep after I wrecked the General's on the way back from Kuwait - smashed as usual."

Eddie remembered the incident well. The General's new jeep had looked most forlorn as it sank into a bog of sand and crude oil. 

"So you need to know about Pen..." He halted as Eddie corrected him. 

"No good, buddy, I need to know about the bikes! If this guy Penderton was involved with them, then I'll need to know about him, too."

"Same thing. Penderton was involved with the bikes you're interested in. He was cashiered from the Supply and Utilities Corps. It was a big scam with millions of dollars involved in the sell-off of army surplus. The bike's were only part it, and the only reason he didn't go down to the stockade was because they could only prove negligence. We know he pocketed the dough, but there was never any proof. So he got busted and discharged. Then the Feds kept after him until finally he vanished from sight about three years ago."

Eddie felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

"Wally, what else was involved in the sell off?"

There was a pregnant pause at the other end.

"Ah! This is a bit awkward, Eddie. The reason for the security block was the rest of the gear. It wasn't really a sell off. Penderton was supposed to bury it in some disused bunker complex, but it was, according to him, heisted before they could disable and bury the things. We spread a story that it had all been sold off to a friendly power, but that was a cover for a monumental fuck-up. This is classified, Eddie. You breathe a word and we both end up with our nuts in a wringer."

Eddie ran a hand over his forehead, and forced himself to keep calm. 

"Keep talking, Wally, the jigsaw is coming together and I reckon I can guess what was supposed to be buried. How come Penderton was nominated to bury the stuff and not the army construction unit?" 

Wally laughed.

"He was the construction unit. The army merged 'Supply' and 'Con- struction' during the cutbacks of 2001. Penderton was the big cheese in charge of sealing off a secret MR-3 complex somewhere in New Mexico, and they decided to kill two birds with one stone and bury the other surplus at the same time."

"Don't tell me, Wally. The other stuff was a few thousand BK-14 supply rockets complete with launchers."

Again there was a pregnant pause.

"Er! Well, yes. There were a few of those amongst the surplus."

It was lame and Wally knew it.

"You mean those dick-brained Generals actually let thousands of cruise missiles wander off into the sunset without a single check?"

"That's about it. They're all retired now, pretty much the same day the shit hit the fan, by all accounts."

Eddie seethed at Army incompetence and then fired another question. "MR-3! What was that? An air base or what?"

Wally started to get nervous.

"Hell, Eddie! What do you want, our complete strategic defence plans?"

Eddie persisted; barely able to keep his anger and impatience in check as the spectre of his lost lady niggled at his brain. Wally rambled on, doing all he could to get around revealing the full expose of the Army's bungling incompetence before he finally capitulated to Eddie's pressuring.

"Well, MR-3 was a top secret upgrade on the old MR-2 project, you remember, the missiles constantly moving around underground so that the Ruskies couldn't knock them out. MR-3 was a much bigger array, twenty to thirty miles of tunnels - impossible to guarantee a successful first strike against it. As usual, it got scrapped before they ever finished it when the cold war collapsed."

Bingo! Eddie's brain suddenly gained bells and flashing lights. The long tunnels, the bikes, the overhead lighting curving and disappearing into the distance. Napper was using the MR-3 complex.

"Where was this joint? I need a map reference and quick! Wally! Wally! You there?"

"Yeh! I'm here, good buddy. You ain't going to believe this, but that place was so secret it was never plotted on regular army maps. Only the White House and about two generals knew where it was. Even the teams who built it were flown in with windows blanked out, and the pilots are spread out all over the world by now."

"Knew where it was! Past tense? Wally, you're scaring shit outta me!"

There was a sigh of resignation from the other end.

"When it came off the secret list, Penderton drew the only set of location maps. Get this - he conveniently lost them after he was cashiered, sort of a 'spin on this gesture' and the Generals who may have known have since gone to the happy hunting grounds."

Eddie ground his teeth and muttered under his breath.

"Penderton, rockets, lost maps, underground complex. Got you, you bastard. Now all we have to do is find you!

"Tell me, Wally, who in the Fed's was dealing with this? Who hounded him after he was discharged? They might have something more." 

There was a rustle of paper before he came back.

"Agent Diane..."

"Somerville!"

Eddie finished the sentence for him as another part of the puzzle dropped into place.

"Vanished shortly after Penderton dropped outta sight."

Eddie paused in thought and then cursed out loud.

"Shit! Penderton has closed off every lead before he moved. Tell me - the name Helen Morton ring any bells, or Bernadette Wilson?"

The paper rustled again.

"Helen Morton was a young whiz kid Major in the army legal department, she prosecuted Penderton... and er... ah... yes, here it is. Bernadette Wilson is the daughter of the presiding Chicken Colonel on that court martial."

The breath hissed through Eddie's teeth as his mind slotted it all together and he spoke his thoughts aloud.

"The bastard! The first run was only a test run to throw us off the scent. Only Somerville was a real target. She was too close. He had to get rid of her and get her out of his hair. Now, with a new delivery system fully operational, he's set up a serial Napper image and he's taken the rest. He hates all the women involved. In fact, he's learned to hate women period. Trouble is, he is making lots of dough out of his favourite hobby."

It was a mess. And his own special woman had just landed right in the middle of it.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHIPPING

Penderton, still wearing the hood to ensure anonymity, entered the huge cavernous bay allocated for packing and shipping. Snatching the babes was the easy part. Despatching them to various customers took planning. However, the state had seen fit to train him in matters of clandestine supply. As a former senior officer in the US army supply corps, his task had been to arrange shipments of arms and supplies to friendly freedom fighters in many parts of the world. He was an expert at disguising the real nature of seemingly innocent looking shipments. 

He stopped for a while and took in the three trucks parked nearby. One, a TEX-OIL road tanker had been stolen some months before. By now it was Police listed as stripped for parts and written off to an insurance loss. No-one was looking for it any more. The other, a simple flat bed had been bought and repainted with new livery. Gas cylinder delivery companies were ten a penny. No-one would think to give that a second look either. The third was UFS, a United Freight Service parcel van, a sight that would hardly raise an eyebrow given the volume of such vehicles within the US. He was pleased with the paint job, and after admiring it for a while, proceeded to a brightly lit area that was a hive of activity.

To one side stood nineteen stubby gas cylinders, mounted on a charging rack and seemingly only waiting for the final addition before they were all filled in a single operation. It seemed his packers were having trouble with the largest member of the Cowboys Cheer Leader Team.

At 5'8" she was a statuesque brunette who had become fully developed in her late teens. At twenty two, her body had firmed up and consolidated the fine curvaceous structure of a superb example of woman- hood at its best. Mandy Collino was going to make Jerome Carlotty Jnr very happy, of that he was sure. But then junior had paid a high price for her.

The men cursed as they lifted the trussed beauty away from the open gas cylinder and heaved on the binders to gain an extra inch of compression. Balled and bound, the young woman squeezed down still further, her pitiful cries for help all but absorbed by her inserted breather tube gag, and the thick covering of a robust helmet. Her sounds were further suppressed by the fact that she was having her face increasingly forced down into her knees by a thick strap that travelled from the helmet at the base of her neck, over the encapsulated skull, and connected to the powerful harness holding her folded and balled. Penderton watched with interest as they lifted the compacted form and offered her to the open top of the truncated cylinder. The hose breather was connected to an outlet in the base prior to the woman sealing the opening with her own tautly folded rump.

Whilst one operator went around easing the swelling lobes of her buttocks into the rim, two others maintained a constant downward pressure. The compressed form slowly began to move inwards. Inch by inch they packed and tucked as she slid inexorably inwards. It took ten minutes to fully insert the woman, and then another two minutes of pressure to compact her down enough to locate and screw down the upper dome of the cylinder. Penderton had considered the large 60 Kg industrial gas cylinders at the outset, but had decided against those due to the size. Although they allowed the women to be inserted in a more comfortable straight line format, the dimensions were too close to human form and could have triggered interest. These short stubby 46 Kg cylinders were only fractionally bigger in diameter than the real thing, and at a glance it seemed impossible that a living female could possibly be enclosed in a such a small container. Most of the women already in them were having much the same thought. Unfortunately, no-one was listing to their gag-muffled opinions.

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The cylinder rumbled across the concrete as number twenty was rolled over to the rack and he watched with interest as they clipped it in and connected the charging hose. Seconds later there was a hiss and nearby gauges jumped and settled to a steady rise as the cylinders were filled. 

Penderton smiled to himself as he imagined the trauma inside those silent steel cylinders. Trussed, gagged, and packed like sardines, twenty young nubile beauties were at this very minute being totally immersed in liquid plastic. Within ten minutes the plastic, plus an additive catalytic polymer, would solidify the plastic resin into a resilient yet tough encapsulation that eradicated any movement, and all sound. It was a cheap method of packing them - the amount needed to fill nooks and crannies of space left after compacting the women tightly into their steel containers was minimal. The Dallas Cowboys team was well packed and ready to go. Soon they would be twenty amongst two hundred genuine cylinders, rattling along on the back of a delivery truck destined to cover the entire American continent. One by one, they would be dropped off as prepaid, prepacked morsels of femininity at their respective new owners. What happened to them after that was anybody's guess. Penderton only supplied the raw material on these cheap special offers. It was up to the customer to customise the purchase to his own specification.

Penderton felt a warm glow in his wallet. It had been a neat operation and napping twenty in one go had proved to be most lucrative, he'd netted almost $2,000,000 in one operation.

The cylinders completed the charging cycle and were systematically stripped from the rack as two other workers rolled them up the bay for loading. He stood and watched until they lifted down number twenty, the daughter of Officer Don Collino, and felt his crotch form a sympathetic sensation as the heat of erotic arousal suffused over his entire groin region. It pleased him to think that this particular cylinder hosted a most statuesque female undergoing extreme compressive containment. That was another treacherous female bitch compacted, packed, and safely out of circulation. The more the merrier as far as he was concerned. It hardly mattered to him that Mandy had played no part in his downfall - she was simply unfortunate enough to have been born a good looking woman and that was enough.

Rumbling and ringing, the cylinder trundled away as a cruelly crushed and packaged Mandy Collino rolled into oblivion. Over and over, unable to move a muscle or make a sound, she tried to come to terms with her awesome containment and the inexorably expanding intruders nestling in her virginal body openings. Junior had requested them as an optional extra to his purchase. Not particularly keen on the messy job of breaking in a virgin, he had paid for her to be packed with moisture activated expanding dildos. At this very moment Mandy was engineering her own deflowering with the moistness and warmth of her own body. By the time she was delivered, her tender orifices would be stretched agonisingly around two dildos that were twice the girth of even the largest male member.

A sound to his right brought attention back to a UFS shipment that was almost ready to be closed up. The trip out of the desert and over to a private air field needed to be a method that attracted no attention. A van full of crates marked for delivery to various outpost ranches fitted the bill perfectly.

Ah! Miss Morton. All ready for the off, I see."

Helen didn't answer. She couldn't without activating an oral sensor that would trigger a dose of punishment. With a massive phallic shaped electrode stuffed up her protesting bottom, and the other end of the circuit connected to her tongue sensor, sound had become a painful luxury she had decided to forgo. Unfortunately, Penderton had acquired a taste for using the women in his power as components in an electrical circuit. It appealed to his newly formed sense of justice to have them switched on and off like light bulbs and savour the magical salutary stiffening power of electricity as it ruthlessly robbed them of any power of movement. It was for this reason that he had designed Helen's transport arrangements personally so as to ensure that she was unable to avoid activating the punishment mode at some stage in her journey.

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Her whole body was quivering with tension as she stood secured in an open sided crate that was designed to cover the neatly fitted cage of her new home. The surreal image of her animal conversion was offered for viewing in perfect profile by the diabolical nature of her fastenings. Drawn up to a straining tiptoe stance by a nose ring suspension hanging from the top of the cage, she struggled to ease the strain on her tender nasal connection by gleaning an extra millimetre from her downward daggering toes. Ankles steel fettered tightly down to each side of the solid steel floor, and screws down through each element of the cleft hooves prevented any realignment that might help. In addition, she was further inhibited in any movement by the taut painful connections from nipples, clitoris and that still sore tail embedded in her spinal bones. As if to ensure an overkill, the crushing waist cinchier had four equally spaced chains tensioned up and radiating to the angle iron reinforced corners of the cage. As if that wouldn't have sufficed, she had been impaled on a vertical pole rising from the base and her beautiful Doe's legs savagely clamped into a single unit by several steel cinches. Penderton reached in and fondled the dappled curvatures of her bottom, savouring the fact that she could do absolutely nothing to repel his advances. Disappointingly, she refused to react and energise her punishment mode. In way he was sad to be losing her. Those full flaring womanly hips and firm well developed buttocks looked so cute when she was in motion. He moved his hand up over the pale expanse of the Doe's underbelly and flicked at the distressingly tight elongation's of her stretched breasts. Helen trembled but could do no more as he deliberately added more trauma to her throbbing tits by bouncing the tormented tissue masses 'twixt her chest and the excruciating tension of her nipples. Those fawn hued, white dappled orbs looked most becoming, and as with her rump would provide excellent visual sport once they were zealously jostling with her urgent flight from the hunt.

Unable to move her head, she swivelled her eyeballs as the sound of metal sounded nearby, watching helplessly as barred cage doors were fitted on either side of her. Then she saw Penderton's hand reached through the bars. Mortified she was helpless to resist as he snugged a bright red bulbous nose over her new facial array. It was hardly an impromptu afterthought. It had been neatly slit so as to allow her nasal suspension chain to be fed through its centre. His derisive laugh and comment burned deeply as she contemplated the humiliating addition.

"Okay! So Rudolph, the red nosed reindeer was a stag, but now Bambi has been out in the snow and got hers cold." He stood back and watched as the caging was bolted tightly shut. "Got to keep wild animals in cages, you know, Bambi. State legislation, I'm afraid."

Helen felt the full crushing humiliation closing in on her as she realised that whoever unpacked her would reveal a deer-like facsimile, caged like a wild animal with a humiliating bulbous red ball stuck on her reformed nose assembly. The crate sides could all be dropped flat to leave her barred enclosure freely visible from all angles. Her eyes made a last desperate plea, and then the outer wooden sides were added, closing her in and hiding her plight from view. First there was a hammering as nails fixed the sides into place, then a banding tool rattled briefly as steel packing bands sealed the crate with an inescapable finality.

Penderton had designed her transport initially for inconspicuous practicality, and visual impact upon opening. He had no idea that the customer would be so pleased as to retain the cage for her permanent home. Helen Morton seemed doomed to spend many years, when not being used as game, doubling as an exquisite ornamental novelty in the vast marbled hallway of a mansion.

Penderton lent a helping hand as the crate was lifted over and loaded into the UFS van, grinning widely as the load slipped and jolted. A faint jingle of nipple bells from within conveyed a clear message of the jouncing effect on Miss Morton's stretched tits. It must have been quite a sensation, because as they lifted again there was a faint keening noise and vibration transmitted through the crate. Helen had instinctively let out a yelp and was paying the price as the electrodes stiffened her into a statue of quivering punishment. Already the van was part full with a variety of different sized crates, each with its own secret of tormented and contorted femininity - packed to customer requirements and specifications. Selecting a space, the tall crate was snugged against the van wall and held in place by an encircling load binder. For a second or two Penderton simply stood and looked on. It was hard to imagine that the contents of that innocuous looking crate had once been a prim and smartly attired court room figure. No doubt prosecutor Major Helen Morton would enjoy the ride over rough desert roads, but he had doubts that she would be able to control the outbursts generated by a jerking nose ring and thrashing tits as she suffered the jolts of the journey. Rough Brazilian rain forest roads would be another experience entirely. The ex Major would be switching on and off more times than a Christmas tree light. His gaze travelled around the van's interior. Crate after crate bringing unseen images of silent parcelled captives bulging and straining against their inescapable bondage. He knew each packing number by heart and having designed their mode of transport personally was able to visualise each and every consignment with relish. What a delightfully diabolical way to keep these troublesome females.

Penderton would have liked to travel with the shipment and savour his revenge, but there were more pressing matters to be dealt with. The tanker loading was scheduled for next day, so he decided to leave the crew to the work of pre packing and venture back when things had progressed a bit further.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER TWELVE 
CLAUDINE

For two days after landing and arriving at Napper's headquarters, 'The Caged Cunt' hung humiliatingly in the mess quarters, labelled as such and always referred to as an inanimate sex toy. Prodded and fondled on a regular basis, she became known as simply 'The Cunt' when surrounded and discussed by a plethora of lusting half drunk off duty gang members. Finally it seemed Napper wanted to move on to better things. He'd exhausted all possible angles for videoing her demise, and Eddie was no doubt fully aware of her plight. The sign 'Cunt in a Cage' displayed in one scene finally sent him apeshit and resulted in the ejected video smashing into a million pieces as it impacted the wall. 

"Ah! The good lady Claudine."

Penderton had diverted from his usual route back to the office so as to call in on his finest acquisition. Claudine moaned pitifully and tried to ease the strain on her tortured clitoris. The cage was drawn to an angle of forty-five degrees, its defiance of gravity achieved solely by the tension on her stretched clit. But it was time to extricate her from the steely prison.

An hour later, spreadeagled on the cold floor, naked and drawn taut in four directions by chain tensioners, she was arched beautifully in her efforts to keep her painfully abused nodule as part of her anatomy. A whiplashing yard of steel cable during the three hour flight and continuing tensioned torment as a cage positioner had left it somewhat worse for wear.

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Penderton had obviously been a might peeved at seeing her arrive with it still attached. Using the severed trailing cable as a pre-fitted connec- tion, and after extracting maximum humiliation from her as a caged sex object, he had instructed his men to release and place her in another format. Namely to hoist the sore finger of her sex trigger towards the ceiling. With her tensed butt a foot off the floor, Claudine reached her limits and watched horrified as they secured the cable and left her to suffer. Once again videos were made and she was informed that her bumbling cop fiance would be receiving copies. It did little for her peace of mind to contemplate the whole Dallas P.D. watching her demise. As evidence, Eddie would have no choice but declare them to the task force.

"Hope you've enjoyed your rest period, Miss Stuck Up Attorney, because you're not going to like what we have in store for you. Sorry it took a while to prepare, but when you see it I'm sure you will understand the need for careful construction. The plan was to have you converted in our special cubicle first, but unfortunately we have some rush orders being processed right now. Still, I don't see why you shouldn't have a trial run in your new role before we wipe all your memories for good - besides I'm sure I'll enjoy watching the original Claudine Demurier in this device a lot more than the brainless vegetable you'll be when I send you back to dear Eddie."

Claudine shuddered with fear as the prospect of spending her life as a drooling moron loomed large in her mind. It was a fate worse than death, something this evil bastard had obviously considered. Penderton stood aside as his goon squad entered, and not knowing whether to feel relieved or not, Claudine's clit was disconnected and she was finally allowed to relax from the thigh trembling tension of her cruelly maintained arch. She sank to the floor as they unclamped her aching limbs and lay helpless as the cramps of a long ordeal racked her limbs. The hooded figure waved the men back for a while and they all watched as she screamed into the gag with her agony.

Eventually the agonising muscle spasms subsided and the men lifted her weak unresisting body and carried her out. Penderton followed.

There was no way he wanted to miss even a second of Claudine's demise.

They arrived at an austere room devoid of any form of furnishing, revealing only a strange pole at the centre. It was probably two feet high and had a single horizontal arm radiating outwards that was as near as dammit twelve feet long. At its furthest extremity hung a forbidding, polished steel device that was sculpted into a complex shape. At first the configuration defied all Claudine's efforts to decipher. It was only when she realised that it was hinged and in fact hanging open that she connected it to a shape she knew well. It was some sort of powerful corset, albeit a long one with some strange attachments that thwarted her powers of recognition. It seemed to connected to the horizontal pole by a swivel type connection which in itself was mystifying - as was the proximity of the thing to the floor. A kneeling position was about the only format that would allow her to be fitted into the thing and still have it line up with her waist.

Still weak and unable to put up much of a struggle, Claudine found herself being dragged across towards the ominous corset. As she'd surmised, kneeling seemed to be the desired position. They forced her down and she gasped as cold metal pressed against the small of her back. Aligning the corset with her trembling torso, her captors swung the hinged section around, and after much packing and squeezing, finally managed to close the thing without nipping off a sizeable chunk of her compressed waist tissue. Claudine wept with fear and frustration as they continued, seemingly the men were impervious to the fact that they were dealing with a real woman. Her arms were seized and forced behind her back so as to rest palm outwards against the shoulder blades, and again she felt the cold shock of steel against bare flesh. Clamps situated on the back of the strange corset secured her aching arms at wrists and the top of her forearms. The main torso crushing section appeared to narrow and a strip ran to the nape of her neck. Something at that point was digging into her as a result of being at the wrong angle. Thankfully the hard edge was suddenly removed as the man on her left realigned whatever it was. A few moments later she discovered it was a steel collar hinged to the top of the spinal section. Cold steel once more met warm skin as the broad expanse closed around her elegant neck and snapped shut with a loud click. She could feel that there was more to the upper section as her skull nestled into a preformed strip that ran up to the crown of her head. Just as she was becoming accustomed to the shoulder straining configuration, the corset was forcibly inclined to a new orientation. Claudine found herself being tilted forward to face the floor, in effect hanging horizontally from the crushing embrace around her waist. Naturally she brought her legs forward from the kneeling position, and in doing so found the only possible stance to be with her knees either side of her pendulous breasts, thighs running parallel to her horizontal torso. Hardly a moment passed before steel encircling bands on either side of the corset snapped around her lower thighs, just beyond the bent knees. Claudine could only liken her weird enforced position to that of a crouching skier with hands behind the back.

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"Excellent! It's working out just as I planned."

It was hood-face. He seemed pleased at the tortuous configuration she was forced to adopt. But it was about to get much worse.

Claudine could offer no resistance as each leg was raised in turn and fitted with calf length boots. As with all female footwear she had seen since entering the place, they were equipped with ridiculous length heels that were only practical in male fantasies. For the women who had to wear these toe pointing atrocities, they were agony for any extended period of use. That minor detail seemed unimportant to these sadistic assholes. And still it got worse.

Her hair was gathered into a Pony tail and drawn behind backwards. She was unable to stop the gasp of pain as it was yanked rearwards and secured through a compression ring somewhere along the spine of the corset. The hinged collar allowed her head to tilt back, and Claudine found herself looking straight forward. The original jaw busting gag was removed. But before the ache and stiffness of long jaw disfiguration had waned, a new mouth stopper had pushed its way in and was securely connected to the steel rib snaking upwards behind her head.

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Claudine crouched on trembling legs, unsure what was intended, but certain that whatever it was, she was going to suffer. Humiliated and terrified she waited, tits dangling between her knees and her ass vulnerably stuck out behind. Muffled distorted cries were emanating from the stifling confines of her gag, and it didn't need an expert in languages to decipher the message.

Eddie! Eddie! For God's sake hurry up and find me!

The garbled words suddenly changed to a scream as a massive dildo that had previously been dangling by a cable from the horizontal bar was thrust ruthlessly into the tight protesting ring of her offered butt hole. The muffled shrieks grew even louder as the men reached under and clipped wires to her vulnerable nipples and a clitoris that was on full display from behind.

The preparation seemed to be over. Hood-face was circling her checking that all was ready before he enlightened her as to the form her full ordeal would take.

"Like that, Claudine?"

Claudine declined to answer and maintained the sobbing wail of fear and degradation.

"Okay! Now let's see you walking, Claudine."

Shock pervaded her mind as she registered the incredulous command. How the hell could she walk like this? A cane tapped her bottom as a warning, either by mistake or design catching her sensitive clitoral nodule with a waspish bite. Sooner than endure the fiery sting of further punishment, she did her best to comply.

To move forward required that she both swing her body and lean to one side at the same time in order to hinge her left foot forward from the knee. She managed one short step then panicked. The cane tapped again and without need for further inducement she managed to swing the right foot past and take a second step. The flexible swivel of the corset's mounting now became a feature that had meaning. It maintained her in a crouch yet didn't prevent the yawing swing required to move. It also gave her an assurance that if she faltered or tripped she wouldn't fall on her face. That fact helped her considerably as she contemplated an enforced long duration in motion.

"Excellent, Claudine. Now we'll see how you do in continuous operation. Oh! perhaps I should mention I'll be activating the dildo stuffed into your high and mighty ass. Either you make a full circle in two minutes or it will become a very lively implant, I can assure you." 

Claudine reeled under the full impact of what he had in mind. Hood- face had designed a device that forced her to waddle around like a duck on a leash, endlessly waggling her tautly folded butt as she circled the centre post. It was either that or suffer horrendously painful bolts of electricity travelling from her tender rear passage to the steel collar surrounding her neck. A click informed her that the clock was running, and finding the strength born of desperation, she forced herself to move.

The room filled with laughter as she waddled forwards, and Hood-face seemed delighted at the success of his humiliating contraption. A sobbing, degraded Claudine had almost finished a third lap before they stopped laughing and he addressed her again.

"Well done, Claudine. A lap every one point six minutes, on average. The only problem is, you've got to maintain less than two minute laps for hours."

The laughing grew louder as her face registered even greater shock. A hand reached down and fondled her lewdly exhibited labia and inserted an exploring finger into the mincing tunnel of her love tube. Tears of helpless humiliation coursed down her cheeks as she waddled around on the impaling digit. He was enjoying the feeling of having his finger massaged by her masticating pussy and she was powerless to prevent his violation. After two more circuits the finger was retracted. 

"Not to worry, Claudine! This test run is only for two or three hours. You won't be doing the twenty-four hour marathon until we have you nicely set up in the city centre - somewhere nice and public. By that time you won't have any thoughts left in that pretty head other than the instructions our machine has fed in. If you think like a duck, it won't seem so bad walking like one will it?"

Her face was a picture of misery and total despair as she endlessly waddled on. But hood-face was determined to extract his full measure of pleasure from the traumatised female and taunted her with his future plans for her demise.

"Of course, Eddie will only be able to watch as you make a humiliating spectacle of yourself. Just like last time on the rocket. Proximity sensors, explosive collar and all, only this time it will have to be a cordon sensor field. Wouldn't want your own antics to blow you up now would we?" 

The chuckle of mirth was evil.

"Poor Eddie. The irony of it all is that he'll not know he's watching a virtually brain dead vegetable until he gets to release you." 

There was more laughter, and then after watching her struggle for another three or four laps, they left her, making sure that the door was left wide open as an invitation for others to watch. The parting information had only served to increase Claudine's despair. Apparently she was to be dyed and coloured with the markings of a male Mallard duck, head shaved and coloured to an iridescent glossy green hue, black and white rump, white ringed throat and brown tits blending into the chest colouring. Worst of all would be the beak facsimile affixed to her gag and cheeky tail feathers jutting from her waggling ass - a regular waddling brain dead Donald Duck with all her sexual wares on show.

Endlessly Claudine struggled on, continuously circling round and round the pole; waddling and waggling her rear invitingly for all who came to look and mock. Only once did she miss the two minute target, and that was enough. Her whole body seemed to explode with agony as the dildo taught her the error of her ways. Despite the searing bite of the serrated bulldog clips as the weights jostled and jerked, she man- aged a very creditable average lap time of one point three minutes thereafter.

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Hood-face returned at regular intervals, and Claudine pleaded and begged with her eyes as she waddled around to face him on each repetitive circuit. The response was always the same - either a sneering sarcastic remark, or a look of pure sadistic joy. His 'couple of hours' stretched into four. The complex operation of his dame snatching outfit required his personal attendance for many of the various tasks in hand. That didn't seem to worry him though. With Claudine configured as she was, he could relax in the knowledge that no matter how long his return was delayed she would diligently continue to carry out his last bidding. The pitiful waddling creation continued her endless trek around the pole.

An exhausted Claudine saw him finally return and heaved a sigh of relief as the dildo was switched off and her corset disconnected from the horizontal arm. It was a relief that was somewhat short lived. Hood- face had decided to keep her as she was, at least until the brain modifying cubicle was free. As a result, Claudine found herself waddling along, neck leashed and following faithfully like a family pet as he did his rounds.

Detached from the comforting support of the horizontal beam, waddling around became fraught with danger and it required intense concentration to prevent a nose dive with every traumatic step. 

Several returns to his office left her leashed to the nose ring of a pathetically arranged women set in concrete outside his door. Together they endured the ribald laughter and jibes of all who passed. Yet despite the closeness, Claudine failed to recognise the crimson straining features of Carmel Cassidy. But then she'd never seen Cassidy hooded, gagged, set in concrete, and with a bike parked in her ass! Repeated use of the parked bike availed the folded Claudine of a close up view each time the hooded women jerked convulsively into her scarlet faced quivering rigidity. Sympathetically, she studied the piteous plight of the other woman and relegated her own torment to second place on the trauma level list. Perhaps she would have been better employed considering the possibility of escalation in her own predicament. Napper, seemingly, wasn't finished with his Cunt in a Cage theme. That, coupled with the fact that he intended to keep her in this latest contorted waddling Duck pose didn't bode well for sleeping arrangements - as she was to find out to her cost that night.

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A special box affair appeared in her cell, and as she waddled in for the night, she was led directly to it. A few minutes later, after much squeezing and packing, the Tee shaped container was full and locked shut. All that could be seen of Claudine was her caged pussy at the one end. Trying to sleep whilst folded and balanced on two toe pointed feet was only possible due to the compressive stifling support of her new bed chamber. Napper's insistence that the base be tapered to the minimum surface area required to house her feet guaranteed that any struggling within the box was minimal. Anything more instantly unbalanced the top heavy container and left Claudine balanced on the nose end with her caged cunt very available for all manner of torment. 

As the days wore on, her stay in the Tee box extended beyond night and often dragged on into days, albeit at different locations throughout the complex, depending mainly on where Napper wanted his 'Caged Cunt' on display. When out of the crushing confines, she spent her whole time as a waddling duck.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TANKER CARGO

Glancing at the monitor, Penderton viewed the activities in the packing bay. He could see the men at work with a crate bander, and already almost half the consignment of writhing naked beauties had been swung onto the long table and reduced to impotent limb cinched immobility. The bulk of the shrink wrapping machine shielded the manacled women awaiting banding from his view. Proudly he watched as the remote camera panned over his prize possession. It was an ambitious project that had worked out very well after some initial minor glitches.

Shrink wrappers large enough to take a full grown woman were not easily come by. As Colonel in charge of supplying the huge logistical requirements of a major portion of the US Army, it hadn't really presented any real problems, however. Spare engines for tanks, trucks, and many other items, needed to be packed in moisture proof way if they were destined for the tropics. It required little effort on his part to have one of these machines written off after a couple of years. Avidly he watched as the first woman was slid into a loose fitting plastic sheath and the breathing arrangements made before the ends were tightly crimped off with a heat sealer. She was struggling madly, but a couple of clamps at wrist and neck soon reduced her efforts to nil as she was fastened to narrow conveyor pallet designed to accommodate her straight line format. Screaming insanely through a gag, the crinkled plastic covered form vanished into the maw of the machine as the conveyor rolled forward. A minute or two passed and then a surreal super smooth, tightly shrunk plastic coated female effigy appeared at the other end. The woman looked fabulous with her new coating. But Penderton had requested minimal movement. Tough though it was, one layer of industrial shrink wrap was hardly sufficient to subdue the demented struggles of a terrified woman.

She was passed through over and over, each time gaining another loose bag that emerged gleaming and vibrantly tight at the other end. All fifteen were soon reduced to multi wrapped opaque statuettes and were then efficiently loaded onto a temporary storage rack. Each and everyone was reduced to a slight flexing curvature despite the Gargantuan struggles of the tightly packaged occupants. The erotic flexions were promptly annulled by the addition of strapping bands on the rack, which was a pity. Such pitiful and ruthlessly controlled flexing seemed to enhance the totality and severity of their cocooning. Those women now had as much chance of escape as a shrink wrapped chicken in a supermarket freezer.

Without delay the next stage got underway. The first plastic sheathed form was again selected and forced into a folded ball as straps were added. So powerful was the multi layered plastic, it took four men to bend the woman and squeeze her into shape. Penderton frowned as the men stooped to measure her crushed form and then stood back scratching heads.

There was a problem, and seeing that he was needed, Penderton rose from the desk and exited to collect his bike. It took him four or five minutes to make the journey to the packing bay, two for the riding part, and two wasted as he gave Cassidy another dose of butt parking exercise. Her explosive Mmmmmphing cheek bulging response was addictive. When he finally arrived they were still standing undecided over the pathetic bundle of femininity as he rode up.

"What's the trouble, Gordon?" Gordon looked up from the rack of trussed plastic shrink wrapped women as Penderton arrived, then snapped the last steel band around the neck of a woman they had just replaced for safe keeping.

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"Well we tried the format you want for the tanker delivery, but there's a problem. None of them will pass down the hatch tube balled up. We compressed them until they were almost crushed and still no joy." 

Penderton eyed the fifteen writhing forms as he thought the problem over. Bound from head to foot with adjustable steel bands, then passed five times through the shrink wrapping machine ensured that all the translucent sheathed women were excruciatingly bound and hermetically sealed into their own personal cocoons ready for shipment. The only breach in the multi layered industrial strength plastic shrink film was the shining steel discs where normally there would be sensuous mouths. A double flange, one positioned inside the lips, the other over the plastic and on the outside had been tightened together so as to seal lips to plastic in a liquid tight seal. Un-Godly gurgling noises were emanating from the hollow centres - inarticulate pleas forced up tubes that reached deep into each throat and ensured an airway by keeping the tongues flattened against the floor of their mouths. But the noise would stop as soon as each was connected to the breather hoses snaking from the open hatch of the tanker. He studied the sloping row of nubile bodies lying back on the suitably angled rack, their compressed plastic sheathed tits thrusting in a neat line of desirable firm female flesh. Shimmering smooth coated bottoms were squeezing outward at each side due to the powerful downward thrust of their temporary restraints. The array reminded him of produce on a grocer's stall.

"Get one off the rack and let's experiment."

Gordon and two others hurried to obey, snapping open the three clamps holding the nearest plastic coated form by ankles, waist and neck. Wriggling and squirming the flexing form was carried over and dumped unceremoniously at Penderton's feet. For a second he let her lie, enjoying the sight of the pleading eyes that were trying to focus through the translucence of five thick layers.

"Try folding her at the knees, and see if that works."

The sheathed female was turned over and her bound feet cruelly bent up and pressed tight to the back of her thighs. Penderton had her dimensions measured and compared them with the known diameter of the hatch.

"Hmm! Still too big. Okay diameter wise, but a bit on the long side to get around the space at the bottom of the tube. There's only one way. We'll have to double them and use extra bands before we put them in the neoprene bags."

Gordon nodded and motioned to the men. The women was turned face up, and despite the miserable distorted pleas from her gaping breather pipe, they grasped the legs and folded her at the waist, forcing her bound feet upward until plastic coated knees met plastic compressed tits. The poor woman found herself staring at a blurred image of her own ankles with her insteps somewhere over her forehead. Gordon ignored the pitiful pleas from the packaged woman and ran his tape over the resultant format.

"That works out fine boss. Get the extra bands."

He threw the order at one of the men, and then assisted in keeping her folded as they were added. In all it took four bands to reduce each straining woman to a folded, neat parcel that would easily pass the hatch tube restrictions. Penderton walked calmly along the groaning line, noting as he did that folding them double had revealed the shining inserts buried into the two orifices peeking from between tautly curved buttocks. It was a nice touch that added to the vision of packaged helplessness.

"Seems okay! Load them up!"

A noose was lowered from a hoist set high in the ceiling and slipped around each package's combined head and ankle grouping. One by one they were callously lifted high in the air, rumps twirling delight- fully as they were swung in over the tanker. A loading team standing ready by the hatch took each in turn and after much stretching and packing, had inserted each doubled form into a tightly stretched neoprene bag. An air connection was selected from the open hatch for each bag, fitted and twist locked to the mouth connections, and then the bag was sealed tightly around the hose with a metal clamp.

Penderton watched as one by one, the sealed packets of female were dropped into the hatch and prodded down into the cargo of petrol with a long pole. The anti surge hatch tube extended down three feet into the liquid cargo. Once forced below it, the natural buoyancy of each bagged woman caused them to rise on the other side and float out of sight in the top of the 6,000 gallon tank. Even a check with a torch and probing with a rod would only reveal the deep clear liquid of petrol and a clear bottom to the tank.

Delivery would take four days. However, Penderton had done tests on the neoprene. His valuable perishable goods would be safe in the bags for at least five weeks if need be before the petroleum spirit began to break down the rubber compounds. Although after that time they would all be long since expired - the fuck-by date of this produce was a maximum of four days due to lack of watering facilities in their pre- packed state.

The hatch covers slammed shut and were tightened down, and after checking that all the manifest documents were in order, Penderton waved the truck on. The big Cat diesel roared into life and the engine turbochargers whined up to speed. With a toot on the twin air horns, the huge stolen TEX-OIL tanker began to roll towards the main eleva- tor, rumbling along the passage with its cargo of hidden torment. Penderton watched it go. No-one would ever suspect that fifteen beautiful women were parceled up and ready for delivery inside that inconspicuous vehicle. By this time the following day they would be well into Mexico and heading for South America.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SEEK AND YE SHALL FIND

Eddie raged and fumed as the latest tape gave him a full account of Claudine's waddling status. He felt so utterly helpless as the Air Force and Feds drew a blank in their search of the target area. The problem with MR-3 was that it was built not to be found, and the construction engineers had done a damned fine job. Everything above ground was disguised with bonded sand granules, and the desert winds did a perfect job of blending any minor discrepancies caused by operational movements in a matter of minutes. Tracks vanished and thin slots revealing lift accesses rapidly filled with the ever shifting sands. It was worse than looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Another week passed and another load of videos arrived showing more women under extreme duress. Don Collino went apeshit when he recognised Mandy, just prior to her being jammed into a claustrophobic cylinder. Immediately, all LPG gas bottle delivery trucks were swarmed over by the Feds from coast to coast - a week after the shipment had gone. That particular truck, minus twenty bogus gas bottles, finally surfaced in the Columbia river as a spreading diesel slick gave away the location. All deliveries had successfully been made.

Eddie racked his brains for the answer, and as he sat head cupped despondently in his hands, his gaze wandered up to the old service photos over Des Schultz desk. Des was a proud ex-Navy man and all the ships he'd ever served on were depicted over his desk. There was a particularly splendid colour photo of one cruiser with a white bone in her teeth as she ploughed across the Southern Pacific. It was a clever shot that included a twin engine plane flying across her bows and almost seeming to be in contact with the water. Whatever it was, it was the weirdest bird he'd ever seen. He'd always meant to ask Des what the huge ring mounted under its belly was but never seemed to get round to it. Something stirred in his memory about that plane. 

"Des, what the fuck is that big ring under the plane?"

Des looked up and followed his gaze.

"Oh! That. That's a minesweeper, a big magnetic ring. It can either detect mines by sensing metal objects in shallow water or detonate magnetic mines by sending out a powerful pulse."

Eddie's face came alive.

"Tell me, Des, what do you reckon they make anti-nuke silo doors outta?"

Des sat back and thought for a second.

"I reckon they'd have to be a massive steel over cap, and then concrete inner fill underneath. Have to be a lot of reinforcing though. For that sort of diameter, the... Holy Shit! That's it! Eddie, you're a fucking genius!"

He snatched for the phone.

"There's one of those old babies sitting down in the museum at Edward's."

For ten minutes he talked to an old buddy at the Airforce Base, then slammed the phone down triumphantly.

"Ted Gillespie came up trumps! He reckons the starboard engine is fine, and they have a spare for the port motor - that's fucked, rod through the casing on the last flight and it never got fixed before they pensioned them off. Says to give him two days and he'll have the baby flying like a kite."

True to his word, forty-eight hours later, retired navy flight Alpha Echo 66 Romeo was on its way to the search area, and twelve hours after they were pawing over dozens of grid referenced electronic mapping prints that showed literally thousands of contacts - old cars, rusting trucks, iron ore deposits, abandoned mines, you name it, Eddie's bright idea looked like starting a revolution in scrap metal collection as each glowing magnetic blot turned out to be a dead end. He was back in the pit of despair when Ted finally made it to the office. Eddie was hardly in a mood for his buoyant banter.

"What the fuck are you so chirpy about, Ted? All we got so far was enough junk to build a battleship."

Ted's eyes creased in a smile.

"Ah! But Eddie, you went off half cocked, as always! You see, I have here a scaled overlay of the MR-3 complex. All you gotta do is lay this on the grid maps and shift it around until the blots and the silo shaft fingerprints match."

Eddie snatched the overlays from him as his face showed new hope. 

"You're a fucking genius, Ted. If this works I'll arrange a year's free supply of Marguerites for yer, old buddy."

Des also gave him a slap on the back for good measure. Eagerly they set to work. But by late afternoon the enthusiasm was wearing thin. Nothing matched. Not a dammed pair matched let alone twelve blots formed into the full deliberately random contour of the MR-3 complex. Ted flopped back and passed a hand over his strained eyes.

"I don't get it. I was sure we'd nail the bastard down with these." 

Eddie, meanwhile, was staring intently at the overlays, then he held them up and looked at them from an angle in the light from the window.

"Ted, are these positives or negatives?"

Ted thought for a second.

"Positives, I reversed em myself."

"But what were the micro films of the MR-3 complex plans that you took them from?"

Ted thought again.

"Shit! They must have been negatives."

The overlays flew back onto the grid maps - this time the other way up. Thirty-six minutes later, three triumphant men stared down at a perfect match. Unseen in the confusing mass of other contacts, the MR-3 complex stuck out like a sore thumb once the overlay highlighted the correct combination. Ted quickly worked out co-ordinates and jotted them down.

"Time to get the assault team organised. Meantime, I'll have a word with a connection high in the CIA. I want control of this mob. I ain't having any half-assed college reject in the Feds running the show when my girl's ass is in the sling." Eddie's jaw set aggressively as if daring anyone present to object.

In the final event, it took two contacts in the CIA, one White House call, and the entire hierarchy of the Dallas P.D to swing it. But at the end of the day, Eddie Valenski D.P.D. was head honcho of a multi unit task force heading for the desert. Wally had finally thrown caution to the wind and supplied all the top secret data on MR-3.

As the flock of jet assisted Hueys headed eastward, Eddie was going over the construction blueprints in detail. They already knew which silo shaft was being used. Once they knew where MR-3 was, it had been a simple matter to drop surveillance teams at each shaft and search for any sign of use. At close range, even the smartest cover up couldn't hide all the evidence of movements. It seemed that it was to be Shaft Nine they were heading for. The rest had probably been sealed anyway. But to make sure, combat teams were camping out on each one to pick off any stragglers who might manage to exit from one of those.

Eddie called over the Seals lieutenant and together they discussed his plan.

"Look, there's an air shaft here, to my reckoning that is four hundred yards from the main shaft. I reckon if I take a team in there first and you hold back for say half an hour, I'll be in position by the time you start the assault from the main shaft. I can be coming up behind them as you start down the main supply elevator. If my guess is right, this asshole has enough munitions stacked down there to kick your asses clean out of New Mexico. The beauty of that is, he'll be so cocksure of himself, they'll be sitting down there waiting to bust your asses as you come out of the elevator. He'll not even think to check behind. Remember this bozo is an ex stores officer, not a tactical strategist."

The lieutenant liked it up to a point, but was a bit worried about the elevator break out. Eddie assured him that by the time they got to the bottom, there would be one helluva distraction coming up behind the Napper's defences.

The Feds and a contingency from Langley who were going with Eddie agreed.

And so it came to pass that in the early light of dawn, Eddie and his team were ready by the air shaft, lines rigged for the two hundred foot drop, and impatient for the off. Meanwhile, Don was wearing a trench in the sand as he fretted over his daughter. He calmed down a mite when Eddie reminded him that his own chick was down there too. 

Zero hour finally ticked away the last minute, and Eddie positioned himself at the top of the shaft then dropped out of sight. Things were going well as he hit the halfway mark, and then an unseen detection device not noticed on the plans registered his passing. The eerie sounds of klaxons sounded from below, and a sudden noise above made Eddie look up to the dwindling spec of the shaft entrance. To his horror he saw a steel shield sliding across and suddenly realised that his nylon rope would prove to be of little resistance to a six inch thick hydraulically closed steel cover. He eased off the hand braking carabineer check and literally dropped the final hundred feet in free fall, only braking at the last second as his rocketing form exited the shaft in the thirty foot high cavernous roof of a deserted store.

Quickly, he detached the rope and had only just ducked out when a hundred foot of severed nylon followed him down. Running feet alerted him to the approach of trouble, and searching around frantically, he spotted a water filled sump to one side.

Half a dozen gun toting men raced into the room and slithered to a halt as they saw the heap of rope. Flashlights scanned the room and then shone up the shaft.

"Looks like it closed off before anyone came through. No-one came down the passage as we came up."

Another voice chimed in.

"Penderton on the mobile. He wants us at the main shaft right away. The cameras have spotted an assault team getting ready over there." 

Running feet echoed loudly, and then the sounds dwindled to a distant rumble as Eddie rose gasping from the oily water. He spouted water from his mouth and retched at the taste.

"I'm getting too old for this commando shit."

Cursing, he dragged himself out and shivered as the chill of wet clothes made itself felt. Ruefully he dragged the service 9mm from his shoulder holster and eyed it with misgivings. Thirteen rounds and a back up clip were hardly going to start a war. But with the rest of the assault gear two hundred feet above him beyond that steel shutter, it looked as if it would have to do. He wiped it off as best he could with his wringing wet jacket and reholstered it. A row of lockers caught his attention, and prising one open with a handy bar, he felt relieved to find he'd dropped right into a mess room. Every locker held spare Army combat clothes, musty and damp with age, but far better than the soaking mess he was wearing at present. He looked at his watch in the dim light permeating from the passage and saw that the main assault was due to start in twenty five minutes. No doubt the thwarted section of his own team were by now sprinting over to join the others, so it was up to him alone to hit Penderton from behind.

Five minutes passed, and a redressed Eddie slid out of the empty room and started along the passage. Suddenly, he froze as a faint sound nearby raised his hackles and had him reaching for the shoulder holster. It seemed to be coming from a barred doorway that blazed with a shaft of brilliant light. He edged forward, Browning cocked and ready, safety off, and a business like 9mm metal jacketed slug already up the pipe. The sounds were becoming more numerous as he ap- proached and clearly, they were the sounds of suffering. Eddie reached the door and peered cautiously in. For a second he froze and then placed himself full frame in the doorway as he stared in with anger. It was the gang's play room. Upwards of twenty five shapely young women were suffering hell as they struggled against a variety of cruel bonds that held them, either in a punishment format, or ready for use on the return of their tormentors. Without exception they were all heavily gagged, some with ball gags, others helmeted, probably with internal dildo gags, and many simply had their lower faces cocooned tightly in adhesive tape.

Nearest to the door were six custom built wooden pallets, each prob- ably eight feet square. Tautly spreadeagled on each were naked women arranged alternately face up or down and secured in a crude but highly effective manner. They were literally stapled down ready for use. Staples had been fashioned from thick steel bar, sized and bent to fit each limb or section of torso and then the ends sharpened before they were driven into the wooden decking. Ankles and just above each knee secured the legs in wide splits format, the next staple passed over the waist and had been driven in hard. Wrist and elbows were similarly stapled, as were the throats, and in the case of the face up women, a sadistically placed staple across the mouth that held jaws agape and left teeth biting on unyielding steel. The women placed face down had their own special additions - a four inch square wooden block beneath their hips so as to raise and flare the buttocks and leave them helplessly offered for rear entry in either orifice. Of the two positions, this was probably the most strenuous. In order to produce a thrusting splayed flare in those bottoms, the staples over the small of the back were hammered down tight and produced an agonised enforced arching of the back. They also had extra staples over the upper thigh of each leg, presumably to ensure they stayed rigidly offered for whatever use they were required. These hoops had been hammered down so tight as to almost vanish into the crease of the lower buttocks were they flowed into the upper thigh. It was clear that these women were for general usage and their stay on the pallets was an extended affair. All six were sited near to a drain, and the nearby fire hose and wet floor seemed to indicate that their bathing arrangements were somewhat crude and traumatic. Eddie cast his eye further afield, taking in the other ready use females tied double across a set of catwalk railings, legs spread wide and available for all manner of uses. It appeared to be standard procedure to stuff these helpless women with massive dildos when not in use, for all the thrusting bottoms bent over the rail had two visible inserts each. Two or three had black rubber bulbs dangling from the stretched extremities of their fleshy labial lips, and it was obvious that they were suffering the expansion pains of harbouring pump up variety dildos.

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Two tall lockers emitting sounds of distress gave a clue to live occupants, and he had no doubt that they to contained women in some form of sadistic punishment or other. Had he been endowed with X-ray vision he would have seen not one but three contorted forms packed into each claustrophobic locker. These were women selected by the toughest of the gang and stashed away after use to ensure their personal usage only.

The far side of the room had an overhead hoist rail as had most of the MR-3 complex, and it was to this that the task of suspended torment fell. More than a dozen women were hung up by the wrists, feet weighted with 56 lb weights and dangling like sides of beef ready for the block. Probably the ready use store in case replenishments were needed. The remaining five had been strung up in more inventive styles. Three were inverted and placed side by side. Wrist and ankles secured tightly together, they were stretched tautly between the rail and ring bolts in the floor. Their hair had been plaited and formed a central tie that stretched down to join the wrists, stretching their elegant necks and holding the heads perfectly still. As if that wasn't enough, they had been fitted with powerful waist cinching belts, and turned to face the wall some two feet distant. Shackle rings at the front of the belts were used to attach chains, and then they had been drawn towards the wall and secured. As an aide to fetishistic enjoyment, they were clad in powerful Basques, seamed stockings, suspenders, and wide neck posturing collars. All three were trembling prestressed bows of in- verted suffering, and given the extensive striping of exposed bottoms and thighs, clearly formed the corporal punishment section of the play room. The final two at least had the luxury of bodily contact with another soft woman. Hanging inverted like a huge pink bat, they were stringently trussed back to back with thin cutting cords. Again the hair had been plaited, but in this case to serve as a bond when both heads were tied together with the long tresses.

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As the monstrous female Stalactite slowly rotated on its suspension, Eddie took in the details with a rising surge of anger. Both women had ring gags - huge chrome rings forced into gaping mouths and slotted behind the teeth. Attached straps passing round the head prevented them being ejected and left the mouths safe to use for oral relief without the fear of a bite. His eyes travelled upward, noting the savagely cinched ballooning orbs of their abused breasts, and finally halted wide eyed as he took in the suspension. The two women had only their four big toes taking all the weight. Each pair was cinched together and a strumming line then went up and over the rail to connect with the other woman's toes.

The intent behind the method was clear. If the women struggled in any way they would dislocate their own toes. As if that wasn't enough, the nipples had been savagely clamped, and were stretched tautly upwards to a king post provided by the deeply inserted dowels inserted in their pussies. In one way it supported the purpled aching orbs of cinched tit, but at the expense of throbbing painful nipples and an elongated mons. Pierced septum's had the rings folded back to the bridges of their noses and chains passing between their eyes stretched down to a common swivel floor fixing. There was little doubt that these two women had no choice but to service the male members thrust into their mouths. Movement or complaint was impossible without self inflicted pain. If they didn't suck hard enough or failed to work their lips and tongues on the hard shafts, their tormentors only had to flick the agonisingly taut nipple lines to get instant service.

His eyes travelled on and stopped dead as a face from the office notice board of missing women photo's sprang into view. Now, at least, they knew for sure where Cora Bentley was. It seemed Cora had been uncooperative and was now suffering the consequences. She was standing on top of a four foot high, three inch diameter pole rising from the floor. Due to the minuscule flat area available, she was only able to fit one stilettoed shoe onto her support, and then only the sole of the shoe. Her daggering heel was poised uselessly in space. However that was immaterial. Even had she found room for both on the pole, the fact that one leg was doubled and strapped tightly to her thigh made lowering the other limb an impossibility.

Image 39

A silvery chain from heel to ringed clitoris ensured that even if the strap slipped her leg would remain out of contention. She was quivering with strain and moaning constantly past a huge ball gag as she concentrated on maintaining a precarious balance on her perch. To fall would have been excruciatingly painful when her ringed nipples were chained to the ceiling.

Sheathed arms offered no help at all, and nor did the nipple connections. Had they been tight she could at least have gleaned a tiny morsel of balancing tension from her tender nodules. A foot deep loop of chain to both jutting nipples prevented any such luxury. Should she fall, the chains would snap tight when her feet were still two feet from mother earth.

Eddie's hand closed on the handle of the barred door, but as he expected it was locked. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that time was running out and made the agonising decision to leave the women to their fate. At least for the moment.

"Hang in there girls, the Cavalry is a coming. I'll get back to you just a soon as I've attended to some other matters."

A chorus of groans and pleas swelled the background sounds of suffering, and the few faces that were able turned to cast pleading eyes in the direction of their rescuer. Eddie rattled the door handle to explain why he couldn't help at that instant, and then steeling himself to leave them, he turned and started to jog along the passage.

Covering three hundred yards towards the main number nine shaft, he flattened against the passage wall as the sounds of hurried activity drifted back to him. As expected, Penderton was directing his men and arranging a fearsome reception for the assault team. Peering cautiously around the curve he could see that they were well equipped. M60's, RPG's and a selection of modern, fully automatic assault rifles. No one even looked in his direction, and that was good news. Neither Penderton nor his men were expecting any threat to come from behind.

He watched as the various weapons carriers made off towards the shaft, and saw Penderton watching them go. He was so confident he didn't even deem it necessary to attend the slaughter and direct operations. He seemed more intent on getting back into the door marked laboratory that stood ajar nearby. Eddie studied the layout as he vanished and the door closed. There were twelve security doors equipped with dial combination locks and constructed like vault doors. The first was clearly the armoury. That was where all the weapons had appeared. The others were probably stores of some sort, and the one Penderton had vanished into had been pressed into service as a laboratory according to the sign on the door.

Stealthily, he passed the closed lab door and made his way to the armoury, left open in case they needed replenishments. It was an Alladin's cave of illegal arms. Eddie searched around for something that could offset his somewhat outnumbered one man strike force. Much of the gear was beyond him and had been developed long after his time in the forces. But others brought a gleam to his eye.

He snatched up a foldaway LARS rocket launcher. Then his eyes latched onto an M67 RPG.

Perfect!

Equipped with a 90mm heat seeking Flechette anti-personnel rocket grenade, it was certain to cause some havoc. The RPG quickly joined the LARS hanging on his shoulder. His final addition was a stubby Ingram, plus a few mags. A grim smile spread across his lips as he muttered to himself.

"This little lot ought to get their attention."

The journey to the front line only took a few minutes, and suddenly he found himself looking at the backs of the reception committee. Their eyes were only for the winking light that denoted a descending elevator. It was a massacre in the making unless he could queer the pitch.

After a moments hesitation, Eddie chose the fold away LARS rocket first. Quickly extending the slides, he set up the sights. Then he prepared the M67 and laid it ready, at the same time checking the Ingram for a full magazine. The elevator was only yards from the bottom as he hefted the LARS rocket launcher and sighted up. Penderton's ambush team were ready and had eyes fixed on the massive elevator doors, completely unaware of the fact that instant death was poised to strike from the rear..

At the moment the doors started to open, Eddie fired. The rocket streaked away and scored a bullseye on a box of ammunition stacked ready. Even before the smoke had cleared he snatched up the M 67 - launched, reloaded, and sent another projectile whistling after the first. Swinging up the Ingram he followed that little lot with a hail of slugs carefully aimed to one side of the opening elevators doors.

By then the passage was filled with smoke and the screams of shredded men. Then there was another sound as the elevator vomited combat ready Seals.

Eddie dived back along the passage as the air became thick with flying Seals' lead. His diversion had been so successful he hardly needed to stay and watch the elevator team mop up what was left. Now he could concentrate on finding Claudine before it was too late. He was sure she was in the laboratory, and at the same time confident that Penderton would interpret the fury of gunfire as marking the end of an assault team who had been foolish enough to try and prise him from his impregnable lair. Penderton's over confidence was surely going to be his downfall.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RESCUE

Eddie eased open the massive steel vault door and carefully peered in. Penderton had his back to him and was occupied ogling the figure of a woman inside a glass cubicle. His heart leapt into his mouth as the fine facial lines of Claudine were recognised despite her contorted squat and the various head attachments hiding most of her face. He could see that she was gagged, and blindfolded with some sort of eye mask that sprouted wires.

"Hold it right there, Penderton."

Eddie moved into the room, the police issue Browning 9mm held steady and pointed straight at Penderton's head. The hooded figure spun round, then slowly lifted off the hood to reveal an evilly grinning face.

"No need for this now I suppose, seeing as you finally managed to figure it all out."

Eddie wagged the barrel menacingly as he reached out to a switch, but he was too late. Penderton already had his fingers in contact. 

"As usual with the Cops, too late to be of any real assistance. If I can't have her, neither will you."

His fingers flipped the switch and Eddie saw Claudine stiffen.

He launched himself forward, afraid to fire in case the bullet went through the cubicle, but Penderton chopped sideways with his hand and sent him sprawling. The Browning flew from his hand and slithered through the open door as Penderton squared up and dared him to try again. He may only have been a stores officer, but he was big and powerful. Eddie prised himself from the floor and accepted the challenge, his eyes flicking to the cubicle and settling on the slide control which was clearly at a position marked 'blank'. There could be no mistaking what that meant. Claudine was at that very moment having her mind - her personality, erased by that evil machine.

He launched himself at Penderton and caught him off guard. But the guy was fit although a little out of practice. For ten minutes the battle raged as they slugged it out toe to toe, until finally Eddie's greater skills began to tell. Penderton was suffering as blow after frantic blow made contact. Suddenly, staggering back from a right to the jaw, he decided that flight was the better part of valour. Seizing the chance as Eddie was torn between continuing the brawl and racing to the aid of his lady, Penderton bolted for the door.

For a second Eddie was undecided. Then, realising that all exits were covered, he turned back to the cubicle and frantically searched for release. His brain finally clicked into gear as a winking light drew his attention back to the sliding lever and he hurled himself across and yanked it to the full up position that was hopefully off. Claudine seemed to relax inside her transparent cubicle, and he slumped against the glass as he tried to recover his breath. The winking light drew his attention back, and he noted the legend plate.

Synaptic mapping complete. Subject ready for second stage. Eddie heaved a sigh of relief as the sketchy information he had on this diabolical machine came back. It hadn't started to convert her yet. All that had been done was to map her brain patterns and provide a back up should a reversion to her former self ever be required. A CD popped out of a slot, and he withdrew it and studied the labelling scrawled on it by Penderton.

'Claudine Demurier - Original'. A second slot, already loaded with another CD, caught his eye and he pressed the eject and drew it out. It simply said - 'Duck'.

Puzzled at first, Eddie studied it at length. Then the video images of his sweetheart waddling around suddenly made sense. He resumed his search for the release mechanism, The console was a mass of buttons and controls, but none were labelled with any recognisable switch that would unlock the cubicle. Frustrated and afraid to try anything that might injure his woman, he reverted to the manual nearby. After few minutes he had a rudimentary knowledge of basic operation, and the sequence for release was understood. He reached out to punch in the necessary release sequence, and then something stayed his hand. Eddie raised his eyes to the crouched figure in the cubicle as naughty thoughts began to tickle his brain. Images of their former relationship flashed into mind, instantly rekindling the memories of crotch aching denial Claudine's refusals had engineered.

Raising the 'Claudine Original' CD he eyed it at length as his carnal urges struggled with the moral correctness of the alternative, and he then slipped it into his back pocket. Moving over to the slider control, Eddie paused for a while, undecided, then his hand moved it down to the setting 'slightly submissive'. He was tempted by the fully submissive setting, but on reflection decided that a pliable Claudine who retained some of her original fire was preferable. After a brief smile at the unsuspecting Claudine, he moved back to the panel and selected settings and duration recommended. A nearby box of CDs gave him a selection of choices. Submissive was only the basic formatting of the subject it would seem. The CDs supplied specific programs of behaviour that could be overlaid. He flipped them, dropping each discarded CD into a nearby shredder. At least they wouldn't be available to restructure other women in the future. One marked P.K. baffled him, but that also ended up in the shredder. Finding a CD marked 'Bond- age', Eddie paused for thought and looked back to the forlorn figure in the cubicle. Yes! A bondage loving submissive. Claudine did look so nice when she was all tied up, and under different circumstances he was sure he could enjoy returning her to the present humiliating status. He slipped the CD into the second slot recently vacated by the 'Duck' program and then punched the commence sequence. He preferred to have her perform like a Duck, not think like one!

Frightened and yet unable to alter her plight in any way, Claudine had listened with baited breath as the microphone outside relayed sounds of a battle beyond the boundaries of her glass prison. She heard Eddie's voice briefly, then an awesome racket as both men locked in combat. Screaming with frustration at the lack of vision she could only wait to discover the outcome. There was a silence and she could hear someone moving around. Trembling with anxious suspense, she could only wait for either release - or the start of her full programming. Whichever it was would give her the answer to the outcome of the unseen battle for her mind.

A searing light pierced the darkness of her world, then as it dimmed to an acceptable level, Claudine discovered that the visor was feeding images directly into her optic nerves. There was no way she could shut them out with her eyelids taped open. Despair cloaked her body as the outcome of the battle seemed to be that Eddie, her shining knight, had gone down at the last fence. For second or two she didn't care what happened to her, and then as the images became more demanding she began her fight to resist. It was a pointless gesture. Penderton's new optical input gadget was far more effective than the old screen method with all its distracting side images. The visor ensured that Claudine would only see things she was intended to see and nothing more. 

Eddie watched as Claudine's first refusals to co-operate earned reprisal. He could see her doubled body straining and jerking as the electrodes deep within her body taught her obedience. But Claudine was a stubborn, strong willed fighter and destined to endure many such lessons before the cubicle methodically wore down her instinctive rejection. Eddie circled the glass prison and found to his surprise that he was actually complementing Penderton on Claudine's arrangement. She looked so cute with her folded taut ass bobbing up and down. It was the only movement she could make with her boots securely bolted down and the rest of her body crushed and contained. Denied any other form of bodily locomotion, Claudine had only her knee joints capable of any movement, and all that allowed was a see-sawing of her horizontal torso. For the first time ever he treated himself to a detailed study of her perfectly displayed nether region and was entranced by the perfection of his chosen woman. Her ass ring was neat, tight and puckering. He could see it clamping powerfully on the vanishing wire leading to her hidden tormentor as her electrified sphincter reacted violently to another punishment instalment. The pussy was firm, lushly bulbous and curving, not a single trace of lacy pink internal membrane to spoil the smooth inviting pout of her womanhood. In addition to the superb construction of her orifices, Claudine's bottom was a magnificent faultless unblemished area of flaring firm muscle that promised a comfortable sensuous padding to any rear mounting of her body. Eddie felt his manhood stiffening rapidly as the neatly cleft rump jerked madly up and down with her efforts to escape.

Below, the firmness of her luxurious half moon breasts were hardly distorted despite the drag of the punishing weights - testament to the resilience of youth in those juicy inviting tits. He watched avidly as they wobbled and jinked with the movement of her frantic efforts, the nipples jerking savagely as swinging weights added their input to a wondrous sight. His mind flashed back to all the frustrating times he'd had in the past with this woman, and he couldn't deny that it gave him pleasure to see her lithe, previously unattainable body compacted and displayed in such a superbly controlled way.

What the fuck! Almost without conscious effort he found his hand moving the selector lever to 'Full Submissive'. It was a satisfying feeling to be able to designate Claudine's final status, no less so for the fact that his actions would enable him to return her meekly to this format at any time he felt the urge.

A drool of viscous liquid escaped the rearward thrusting pussy, and Eddie smiled to himself. Already Claudine was struggling to resist her natural bodily betrayal as the vibrator mode of her internal fixtures and fittings worked silently on. She was also having to fight the arousing sensation of having her clitoris stretched and continually manipulated by the other weight.

But resist she did, as another rigid quivering jerk conveyed proof that she was once more being chastised for trying to ignore the demands of her salivating love shaft.

He watched for ten minutes or more, and during that time, the drool became a flood and Claudine's tremulous punishments settled to a predictable repetitive event. The visible part of her face relayed graphic crimson vein lined images of her fight for mental control, yet not a sound escaped the cubicle despite her desperate screaming pleas. 

With a last look at the bobbing tormented creature, he exited the laboratory and closed the ponderous vault like door. Spinning the combination dial, he sealed Claudine's fate. As an afterthought, Eddie used his penknife to prise the Traffelite notice from the door and then grinned to himself as he deposited it in a nearby trash can. There were twelve secure rooms like this in a row. Without a guide to the one of interest, the Fed and Seal teams would have to crack everyone to find Claudine. By his reckoning any one would take several hours to open. If she was really unlucky, the fully converted Claudine might end up waiting a couple of days after the machine completed its task. Not an unpleasant thought, her shapely butt on offer and her all trussed up and waiting with nowhere to go. He cast aside these licentious thoughts and turned back to other matters that needed attending to. 

Now it was time to find Penderton. Claudine was safely on her way to a submissive future as his willing sex toy, and nothing could stop it now.

Retrieving the Browning, Eddie hugged the curving wall as he made his way towards Penderton's office. He had no doubt that the ex Colonel would be there, frantically making last ditch arrangements to have his accrued fortune made safe as he destroyed records of Swiss bank accounts. Gunfire sounded in the distance, echoing and reverberating along the labyrinth of passages. Eddie felt relieved. Don and his team were in and advancing towards him.

He froze as a doorway appeared. A sensuous pink hillock he knew only too well was set in the floor nearby with an Army bike clenched between the buttocks. Cassidy was still diligently carrying out her recently designated prime function in life.

Sidling up to the door, Eddie reached down and patted the quivering ass for her reassurance. Then, taking full, advantage of the opportunity he enjoyed a few seconds of bottom squeezing. Cassidy's butt felt good - such a shame that it was reserved for women only - so firm, so warm, so deliciously vulnerable and inviting. Eddie thrust down the desire to remove the bike as a raging erection tempted him to use her for his own pleasure. She couldn't move a muscle to prevent him, and was so delightfully positioned for a thorough screwing without her ever knowing who took advantage of her piteous plight. No-one would ever know, the Seals were still busy, and those big quivering peach like buttock lobes looked so sumptuously pleasurable when all stuck up and offered.

Taking a deep breath he turned to the door. Priming himself for the task ahead, Eddie kicked the door wide and leapt in, pistol held firm in two hands as he quickly scanned the office. An MMMppphingg! stretched and cocooned female shape was wriggling madly in her inverted suspension by the desk, and for a second he stood rooted to the spot, his instincts and training forgotten as he drank in the heady view of her jostling youthful tits.

Stars exploded in his head as a glancing blow from behind caught him unawares, and as he crumpled to his knees, he had a fleeting view of Penderton making for the door. Shaking his head and cursing, Eddie scrambled to his feet as a squeak betrayed Penderton's bike aided departure. He hurled himself to the door, and seeing the ex Colonel rapidly vanishing, lurched forward to get a better shot around the curve of the passage. Something caught his foot in a resilient vice. He pitched forward and rolled. Looking back he was rewarded by the scarlet eye-popping face of Carmel Cassidy. Her rearing ass cleft had just endured his toe jamming into her dildo invaded sphincter, and she was not entirely happy about that. He couldn't know that the button of her rectal switch had been pushed so hard it had jammed in. He struggled to rise and then felt the stiffness of Claudine's 'Original' CD in his back pocket. For a second he was afraid that it was damaged, then fishing it out he sighed with relief to see that it was intact. His eyes searched around and fixed on Cassidy's lofted rump.

"Look after that, Cassidy, that's an order. Hang in there. I'll be back!"

It was hardly the time to pull rank, but then again, perhaps it was the best time. Cassidy was in no position to challenge his seniority as she had often done back at the Precinct. For the first time she accepted his directions without question. It was a reaction Eddie liked.

He thrust the CD into her clenching bottom with something akin to relish, his gaze taking in the offered delights with a returning heat searing his crotch. Seizing an opportunity that was likely to be the last, he patted and squeezed the sensuous hillock of curving female splen- dour. For two minutes he indulged her helpless availability, then rising, sprinted off after the vanishing Penderton. It never even occurred to him that Cassidy made no move to indicate displeasure, nor did the uncharacteristic quivering hardness of her luxuriously upholstered ass trigger any concerns that anything was out of the ordinary. 

Cassidy screamed into the gag with frustration as she tried to tell him that even though she was bike-less, her body was stiffened into punishing electrical rigidity. The switch had notched far beyond the first step required to clamp a bike wheel. His toe had shoved the thing to level three. Cassidy's tits were ablaze with the fury of powerful currents and her nipples were frying. Behind, a super energised ass was clenched so tight it seemed to be trying to heal up her rear passage so fierce was the muscle contraction. Eddie, for his part was blissfully ignorant of the fact that electrically spasming bottom muscles were a prime source of static electricity. Even as he ran, 'Claudine Original' was being erased for ever by Cassidy's improvised quivering CD cleaner.

The disembodied head jerked pitifully in the floor despite the cruel stiffening of the steel neck sculpting collar held firm by unyielding concrete. Cassidy's scarlet bulging face was tugging madly at the nose ring-but the taut chain held her septum firmly shackled to the ring bolt. In desperation, she screamed through the massive compression of her cheek cinching gag in the hope that he would notice something was wrong. The faint keening was instantly drowned out by the echoing sounds of Eddie's departing feet, and with eyes almost popping from her head, Concrete Carmel resigned herself to a long stay in a rigid muscle quivering trauma as her tits and ass fried in a spasming hell. There was no doubt that if she ever got out of her present plight, Eddie Valenski would find out just how far a Dallas P.D. standard issue female police officers shoe could travel up the rectum of a clumsy male detective's asshole!

Eddie finally managed to catch up enough to get a clear long shot at the fleeing Colonel. Taking careful aim he fired, cursing as the rebounding muzzle concussion battered his ears. The bike seemed to stagger and then droop backwards as Penderton was flung clear. Eddie's bullet, more by luck than skill, had ploughed straight through the rear wheel and collapsed the rim. Breathlessly he trotted up to the slumped form of Penderton who had unsuccessfully tried to head butt his way through a concrete wall. He was out for the count, which as it turned out came in very handy and kept him quiet whilst Eddie regained his breath. Don and a flock of blue flak jacketed swat team members appeared, assault rifles levelled and at the ready. The rest of the gang were either dead or handcuffed.

Don moved forward.

"Okay! Eddie?"

Eddie nodded and gestured down to the unconscious form.

"Got the king rat alive an' kicking. Now all we have to do is beat the whereabouts of the other women out of him."

Don's face became a mask of fear.

"He's already shipped them? Mandy as well?" Eddie nodded.

"Two days ago. I found his personal toy in the office, but she's okay for now. Best she stays there safe until all the shooting is over. I checked, and it ain't Mandy."

Penderton stirred and sat up. A second later his lips exploded with blood as Don backhanded him with a ferocious chop.

"Where are they, asshole? You wanna live past the next few minutes you'd better tell all."

His trusty old relic, a Colt .45 Auto was out and the blunt squared business end indenting Penderton's forehead. His thumb snicked the safety off with ominous intent. Penderton just glared back in defiance. 

"Pull the trigger, Pig, then you never find out what happened to them. You want them back, we deal!"

He reeled backwards as Don pistol whipped him across the temple. 

"Here's the deal slime ball. Information now, or your brains decorate the wall."

The Captain in charge of the civilian Swat team contingent moved forward, concerned at the way things were going, but Eddie put out a restraining arm.

"Hold it, Cap. Don's daughter was one of the women this piece of shit snatched."

The Captain's manner changed abruptly. Penderton had fucked with force family, and that was a whole different ball game.

"Try and make sure there's enough left for me to arrest when I get back will yer. Just to keep the paperwork straight."

He motioned his men away to other tasks, and Eddie turned back to Don who was just about to jam the muzzle into Penderton's mouth. Penderton looked scared for the first time. He had no idea that one of the women was a daughter of the cops on his tail.

"I just had a better idea, Don. Bring that piece of human shit down here."

Eddie gestured to the massive nuke proof doors of a storage bay he had investigated earlier. Don looked puzzled for a second, then seemed to sense what Eddie had on his mind. A huge evil grin spread across his lips.

"Oh! Yeh! Good thinking Eddie!"

He jerked Penderton up and jabbed him into motion with the .45. The ex Colonel was like a piece of paper as Don's spade like hands and the massive bull shoulders hauled him to a standing position.

Twenty minutes later Colonel Penderton was shaking with fear as the BK-14 launch cradle traversed and depressed the missile's nose.

Strapped tightly to one of his own delivery rockets, he watched the grim faces at his feet as they targeted the missile on the huge stockpile of remaining BK's and liquid fuel tanks. Eddie was consulting the launch manual and typing in figures when he finally broke. 

"Okay! Okay! I'll tell you!"

Eddie looked up and Don appeared in view.

"It's all on the computer in the lab. Every customer, and all the details of who went where. It's encrypted, but the access code key is on a CD marked P.K."

Eddie felt the blood drain from his face as a recent memory returned to haunt him.

"Fuck the CD key. You tell us now or we launch."

He held his breath as Penderton stared at him with pleading eyes. 

"I can't. It's an algorithmic digital code, about 55 characters long. There's no way anyone could commit that to memory."

Eddie's hopes crashed into his boots, and Don looked at him with inquiring eyes as the face displayed total defeat.

"What gives Eddie! What do you know about this?" Eddie put on his best apologetic face as he answered.

"I shredded the fucking thing along with all the other programming tapes Don. I didn't want them to fall into the wrong hands."

Don looked as if he was about to explode, then he directed the fury towards the strapped down Penderton.

"How do we crack that code. There must be a way."

Penderton looked as if he knew death was just around the corner. 

"C.I.A. The Cray at Langley C.I.A. That is about the only one that could crack it, but..."

"But What?"

Don was getting impatient and shoved the barrel of the Colt painfully up Penderton's left nostril, bulging the tortured nasal tunnel obscenely as the pressure actually caused the huge steel insert to penetrate. The Colonel's eyes watered as he absorbed the agony, a trickle of blood dripping from the distorted nostril.

"But at best guess it could take up to two years."

Penderton almost cringed with fear as he stammered out the sentence Eddie had unknowingly inflicted on dozens of women. Eddie expected Don to blow Penderton away right there and then, but was surprised when he turned back to face him in what appeared to be a calm mood. 

"Well that's that then, Eddie. You fucked up again. Best we get the Swat boys to pick up this vermin whilst we get the computer to Langley for deciphering."

Eddie nodded, his mind in a confused whirl as his colleague portrayed a picture of neutrality and Police correctness.

They left Penderton strapped down, and then as they walked away from the massive bay doors, Don handed Eddie his pistol and made as if to return.

"Hold that, Eddie, I left my note pad resting on the cradle."

Eddie watched as he hurried back and vanished, reassured as to his innocent intent now that he was holding Don's gun. He reappeared a few moments later, and just as Eddie was about to ask him where the note pad was klaxons began to sound all around. Staring wildly around as if to understand what was going on, his eyes locked onto the ponderous, two hundred ton blast doors of the missile storage bay. They were steadily closing.

"Don! What the fuck have you done?"

Don smiled grimly.

"Wouldn't want the bastard to escape, would we, Eddie, old pal?" 

Eddie stared at him suspiciously as the huge doors crashed shut and sounds of massive locking systems clanked and clattered.

"You set the security locks?"

Don nodded.

"But you know they can only be opened quickly from inside. It'll take days for the Swat team to get through there from the outside."

Again Don nodded, and with a dawning realisation, Eddie understood what he had done.

"Christ, Don, how long did you set it for?"

Don grinned.

"About now, Eddie, so I suggest you get a hard hat pronto!"

Even as he spoke, the ground quaked; rock dust and flakes of concrete rained down on their heads and the passage seemed to distort as massive blast waves tested the bay strength to the limit. A light fitting dislodged by the titanic shock waves crashed down only feet away. Muffled by the nuclear blast resistant walls, some twenty feet of solid reinforced concrete, the explosions just went on and on as missiles, fuel tanks and solid fuel boosters detonated in a single ongoing conflagra- tion. Don had set the missile launch for two minutes and then calmly walked away as he left Penderton aimed at the massive stock pile. 

Finally the earth trembling vibrations subsided and two dishevelled cops stood up and began to beat the dust from their clothes. Eddie glared at Don malevolently although he understood why he'd done it. Instead, he chose to kick the shattered light fitting away as he vented his anger.

"Don, you stupid bastard. We'll go down for murder on this one." Don shook his head and smiled.

"Nah! Bet we get a right bollicking from the Chief for negligence though. Stupid of us to let Penderton escape, and commit suicide wasn't it?" Eddie looked at him long and hard then nodded.

"Reckon you're right, Don. Besides, the CIA and the Army are going to be relieved that all those missiles are out of circulation without the public knowing what really happened. Maybe we'll get a medal." 

"Huh! And maybe not."

Don didn't hold out much hope of any praise for a job well done getting further than some General with his eyes on the White House. He clapped Eddie on the back in a forgiving gesture for his earlier blunder, and they made for the office.

With the office computer intact and safely on its way to the military Air Base in Don's speeding car, Eddie returned to the lab rooms where a team of Seals were busy on the vault doors. There was nothing more they could do other than wait and hope on that score. He looked at his watch and figured Claudine was into her second hour now. Four more to go. The team were attacking the third door from the lab with thermal lances, but vermiculite filling designed to impede such assaults was slowing them down as the lance continually snuffed out. It was a most agreeable set back as far as Eddie was concerned. But then, he alone was privy to the mental image of her delightful cock raising antics as she waved her delectably taut butt up and down. She had no choice due to her stubborn resistance and continuing efforts to escape her conditioning.

"How's it going?"

The nearest figure turned and swung up a welder's mask as he turned away from the glare of the sputtering lance.

"At this rate we reckon on six hours a door. Any idea which one she's in?" Eddie put on a frustrated sort of worried look and shook his head. "It's either the one you're working on, this one here, or that one there, but I'm not sure which."

Eddie pointed out three doors making Claudine's the last as the tiny tell tale patch of glue left by the sign gave him a personal confirmation of her whereabouts. The guy just nodded and shrugged apologetically. 

"Best we can do then is just keep working along and hope that it's either this one or the next. If it's the last we'll be eighteen hours or more before we get her out. Sorry Eddie, that's the best we can do. We can't blast them off without fear of injuring or killing anyone inside." 

Eddie did his best to appear impatient and sick with worry. Eighteen hours and Claudine was guaranteed to be well cooked and ready for a rescuing Eddie to wrest her from the jaws of a fate worse than death. He had plenty of time to figure a story on how it all happened, and she would never know that her new interest in strange pursuits were not just the result of having her mind blanking demise halted at an early stage by the rescue or the blast that had rocked the complex. He watched for a while, his eyes repeatedly straying to the door that concealed his woman. It gave him the hots to envisage the bound helpless form being ruthlessly conditioned to his personal taste behind that impenetrable portal.

Regular visits to one of Penderton's other offices when no-one was looking afforded him an up to date video image of Claudine's progress to-date. There wasn't much in the way of evidence to indicate how far the programming had gone. But that oscillating fluid streaked butt sure looked good. Bouncing tits and the athletically flexing thighs working hard to escape the crushing bands that held her folded all added to a most enjoyable vision. The distant chatter of a jack hammer sounded; intruding on his licentious thoughts as Claudine's taut pogoing rump and tight asshole danced provocatively on the screen. Suddenly he remembered the Claudine Original CD as Cassidy's release finally got under way. He had no doubt that it was already damaged beyond recovery by the rescue team who had no idea of its importance. He didn't know it, but it hardly mattered anyway. The complex electronic data stored had long since been erased by Cassidy's clenching electrified butt. And Eddie already knew that he would never be using that CD even if it survived. The rewards of losing Claudine's original genetic make-up were too lustfully pleasurable to ignore. Reluctantly, he rose from Penderton's comfortable chair, flipped the video monitor off and made his way back to the scene of Cassidy's entombment outside the main office. If the CD was still intact he had to make sure another clumsy accident placed the thing under the heel of his boot. 

As he approached the office two men carried out the cocooned wriggling female who had diverted his attention. Danielle was still encased and unaware that her present horizontal transport was by rescuing Police officers. The fabulous sounds of a gagged woman were still issuing forth as they took her to the medivac for removal of the cocoon and a thorough check over. With nothing to cloak her embarrassment amongst their gear, the Seal team leader had deemed it more ethical to take her as she was and let other female nurses strip her from the covering.

Eddie watched her go as the Mmmmmphing recital receded, and then turned back to the pitiful sight of Cassidy. Instantly his eyes caught sight of a discarded CD that had been heavily trodden underfoot by the rescue team. Claudine's future status as a receptive submissive seemed assured. The image of her taut oscillating bottom returned to taunt his lusting thoughts.

Unfortunately for Cassidy, the power supply was cabled beneath her body, and no-one wanted to touch anything else until she was dug out and inspected by the bomb squad just in case there was a booby trap. The CD had been removed and discarded only because a little buttock prising had revealed that it was not connected to anything. But the switch was still stuck, firmly jammed in, unseen by her rescuers who hadn't had the previous technical information revealed by the Police tape. With her spasming sphincter tight shut, Cassidy was hiding the devilish switch and unable to reveal it to anyone due to the massively powerful currents sealing her electrified back passage. Eddie, unaware that it was stuck in, never thought to mention it, thinking that she was deactivated without the bike.

Fuming with impotent rage, rigidly stiff and quivering with the continuing charge passing through her body, the suffering Cassidy now had to endure as massive jackhammer vibrations impinged over her entire concrete entombed form and sent her into regular horribly unwanted orgasmic eruptions. The crew tried to stay straight faced, but it was obvious that they were enjoying her nostril flaring, eyeball rolling antics. Cassidy almost exploded with erupting orgasmic fury as a second jackhammer prised a tip between her thighs and began to attack the concrete cupping her spasming pussy. The whole of her superbly thrusting bottom and thighs became a juddering jellified mass of sympathetic vibration due to the unavoidable fleshy contact with the sides of the bit. The crew stifled their sniggers as the thrusting bottom became a blur of resonating curves and huge pool of viscous liquid began to spread from the frothing pussy as sympathetic vibrations turned her love lips into gibbering drooling mounds of super reactive sensation. Using a blunt bit with a missing tip guaranteed that it was going to be a long job as the juddering drill bit simply pulverised and vibrated the surface of concrete to dust with agonising slowness. The excuse by the operator was that a sharp tip might slip and damage the entombed woman. No-one seemed inclined to disagree given the spectacular results they were witnessing.

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Eddie sauntered up to watch, and Cassidy keened loudly as the foreman of the team digging her out shouted the news that it was going to take hours to extricate her due to the mass of reinforcing bars Penderton had dumped into her concrete surrounds. A third jack hammer added its dim to the ear battering sounds and glancing down, Eddie saw that Officer Cassidy now had one working near to each buried tit, and the third still going hell for leather between her thighs. 

Electrified to excruciating stiffness and her whole body mimicking a demonic vibrator, Cassidy suffered the cumulative agonies of unspeakably powerful orgasmic eruptions as the drills pounded remorselessly on. Vibrating savagely and slowly cooking as the current surged through-her tits had become sizzling balls of exploding sensation, and it was getting worse. The deeply buried switch probe was reacting to her spasming anal grip and the massive vibrations. Unfortunately, it was moving inwards and stepping up the muscle stiffening current with every passing second. Inexorably, Carmel was being robbed of even the minutest movement that could dissipate the ongoing orgasmic eruptions within. Increasing muscle spasm was thrusting her generous mons tightly down onto the madly vibrating concrete sur- rounding her thighs and subjecting the tender love lips to horrendous abrasive stimulation. It was a hell of a way to get rid of pubic hair. 

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The disembodied head was going berserk within the strict limitations of the collar and her face was a dark shade of purple as she desperately tried to tell someone of her torment. Great blasts of air were snorting from flaring nostrils and the bugging eyes looked set to finally fall out. It was a toss up whether Carmel's eyes rolled clear first, or the excruciating containment of her contained explosive carnal reactions caused her head to blow up like a bomb. Steadily the whole D.P.D detective task force found its way to the scene, and stood savouring the sight of the unattainable ice woman Cassidy finally out of control. The bomb squad expert appraised them of the fact that the gag and nose tether looked safe to remove. He was quickly ushered away and buried with forms to sign, guaranteeing safety before anyone could touch her. Eight hours later, the mystery of how she was secured prior to casting in concrete was revealed as they finally lifted her clear. Her wrists were wired cruelly to her knees, and the back arching produced by simply cinching more wire over the small of her back and under her elbows. Cassidy had no choice but to arch her spine as far as she could or risk breaking both elbows. Her body sagged into merciful relaxation as cutters finally snipped through the electrical supply to her body. It was only then that the onlookers realised that she had been permanently energised.

The gag was prised out, and they all stood around as inarticulate sounds screeched from a mouth agonisingly trying to reassert control over cramped jaw muscles. It was some time before the first screamed words were understood.

"Eddie Valenski! You're dead! Dead! Do you hear, you clumsy shithead! I'm going to kill you with my bare hands!"

Eddie slunk away as they lifted her to a stretcher and made his way back to the lab room door assault.

The thermic lance team did better than expected, and some fourteen hours after starting, a wrecked third vault door finally succumbed and crashed inwards. Claudine was still and Eddie noticed that the ma- chine had switched off. With baited breath he stood aside as a crew armed with cutting tackle and crowbars eased the tough cubicle apart and lifted out the crouched figure. Only at the last second had he stopped himself from blundering again. He was about to tell them how to open the thing using the controls, then figured that the possession of such knowledge might just start somebody thinking. So, impatiently, he'd stood and watched as they hacked at the bullet proof glass surrounding his woman. It took them a frustrating fifteen minutes before the door fell free and the first sounds of life permeated the room.

The gag, visor and thigh clamps proved easy to slice through with bolt cutters. But the proximity to tender flesh of the main corset fasteners and her arm and wrist fetters needed to be undertaken in workshop conditions. Shakily Claudine was stood up and steadied as she became accustomed to a vertical posture so long denied. The men, seeing her eyes moistening as she looked towards Eddie her rescuer, awkwardly shuffled out and left the two lovers to a reunion.

"You okay, gorgeous?"

Claudine looked at him with doughy eyes that were totally uncharacteristic of the former frosty female he had unsuccessfully tried to entice into bed. Even though her arms were still bound and her torso power- fully sculpted and encased in steel, she was actively pressing herself against him, exposed boobs nuzzling into his chest and thigh sliding up to caress the massive erection he was developing. She seemed totally oblivious to the nakedness of her superb pussy, and to the trailing wires that betrayed the fact that her lower orifices were still stuffed full of devices.

"I'm fine, darling."

Eddie almost collapsed. She never ever called him darling, nor any- thing else in that sort of sultry suggestive voice.

"Come on! We'd better get you downtown and get the rest of this stuff off you."

He slid off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Her eyes fixed his and he was startled by what he saw.

"There's no rush, Eddie. Tomorrow will do. Anyway, it feels good to be all bound up like this. I can't understand why you never tried it before. It's so... Ummmmm! Oooowwww! So nice!"

Claudine was mashing her thighs and unashamedly succumbing to the pleasurable feelings between her legs.

"You want to take me home like this and tie me up really tight?"

The eyes were wide and suggestive, then she went right over the top and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Perhaps you could gag me again once you've got me all tied up, I'd like that. And make sure you have plenty of rope, I want to be so trussed up that only my eyes and all the naughty bits show."

Her face was flushing with mentally inspired images of her own bondage. For some indefinable reason, Claudine found it was exciting to specify her own immobilisation and subsequent reduction to a compliant sex object. She turned away from him rotating her hips provocatively and then arched and threw her backside out in a clear invitation. Eddie felt his legs turning to rubber. Unsure where to go from here, he ushered her out. Never in his wildest dreams had he suspected that the mind moulding influence of that machine would be so effective.

What followed was a whirlwind marriage and a never ending round of bondage frolics with his new style Claudine. She got her wish on many occasions, and local hardware shops did a roaring trade as Eddie stocked up on various types of binding materials. On more than one occasion his partner did a complete shift not realising that the police car had a silent unmoving rope encased female in the trunk. He never figured out why Eddie always looked so flushed when he got back to the car after a routine visit to serve a summons or question a suspect. Had he bothered to check back early, he would have seen the trunk lid up and Eddie shafting a taut folded rump that was propped so as to project above the edge. But Eddie had it down to a fine art, and Claudine was always back in her trunk home and stuffed with vibrators before he returned. The auxiliary sockets wired to the trunk from the flashing lights provided an ever present supply of power to run them. His partner commented on Eddie's over zealous use of the sirens and lights, and often raised an eyebrow when he was instructed to use them himself. It amused Eddie to think of Claudine being switched to orgasm mode by an unsuspecting partner. The Cunt Cage liberated from the MR-3 complex became her second home, and she enjoyed many long hours locked up in a Duck format and displayed as nothing more than a warm furry hole. Eddie had it permanently mounted as the centre piece in their lounge with a TV mounted on top. Super Bowl was never quite the same again.

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✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NAPPER'S LEGACY

Meanwhile the Langley computer churned on. It was fifteen months and three days before the code was finally cracked, and almost immediately there was a rash of Fed raids throughout the US as most of Penderton's sales were repossessed. Mandy was amongst them, and Carlotty Junior somehow managed to collect a ball severing, dick mangling, hollow-point bullet in the crotch from a certain Detective Don Collino who was in on that raid. As it happened, he was caught actually shafting Mandy who was trussed over a stand with her butt rearing and perfectly positioned for usage. The panicking naked Carlotty Jnr inadvertently presented a perfect target as he leapt clear with his steaming erect dick in full view. As the full impact of the revealed daughter came into view, Junior ran out of hands to clutch at his painful bits as he lost both kneecaps as well. Don didn't seem amused at seeing the wire cinched tits and excruciatingly expanded fully packed bottom hole suffered by his daughter.

Others took longer to rescue, and required Special Forces teams to go into foreign countries in order to repossess the women.

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Helen Morton was snatched back after sixteen and a half months serving as a chased deer. She'd done well, and in all that time had only suffered forfeit of the reward for reaching home on eight occasions. That had been more than enough. Yet despite her success as a hunt favourite, she was not allowed to shirk on her duties as hallway ornament. It wasn't exactly fun to spend day after day, face yanked up to the cage roof by her painfully ringed nose and suffer the unseen indignity of the mauling hands all over her body as she was held stiffened and vulnerable by her unyielding bondage.

As it was, she found herself actually enjoying the chase itself. It pleased her to think that humiliated as she was, her gyrating delectable form held power over the pursuing males and struck jealousy into the hearts of the female hunters. But her life never returned to the former court room glory. Instead she became a much sought after entertainment on rich estates and made a small fortune allowing the gentry to hunt her for a price. The price was high, of course, $20,000 a hunt - win or lose. However the rules dictated that if she were captured she had to resign herself to a thorough butt and tit mauling at the victory celebrations as the captured Doe, maintained in her revealing and charming outfit. Then she would spend the rest of the evening trotting on an exercise conveyor whilst the leering hunt revelled in her cavorting form. 

On one such occasion, a millionaire with a spare million tempted her to relive the hallway ornament ordeal. For twelve hours she stood stiff and caged in his mansion, but the knowledge of a recently fattened bank account gave her the strength to endure in relative comfort. Besides, he turned out to be a gentle old man, and she was never alone as he savoured the lush firmness of her body with appreciative hands. There was a sort of reverence about his touch that thrilled her with feelings of her power and obvious attractiveness to the opposite sex. It felt strange to be a revered object.

In the event that she outran a hunt, she was greeted in formal evening gown and treated like a lady. It was a reasonable compromise, and if the truth be known, she had on more than one occasion allowed the hunt to catch her when she could easily have made the five mile marker ahead of them - especially if a young, rich and handsome bachelor was a member of the hunt. Of course there was the draw back of retaining her fawn Doe skin as the indelible dye finally began to fade, but by and large the public seemed to have grown used to her surreal sight of her dappled face and other parts of her body visible with everyday clothing, and the sexy hunk at her beauty parlour gave her many happy hours as he painstakingly restored her colouring with fresh applications of dye.

Refitting the Doe mask became second nature and her cute tail was safely hidden by normal street clothes, so that presented no problem. By and large the new Helen Morton was enjoying life immensely, and had even had her name changed to Helen Doe by deed poll. 

Meanwhile, Cassidy had contented herself with backing a cement truck up to Eddie's beloved Laser Chetnick and filled it with quick-set concrete as a reminder of her ordeal and his toe up her ass. To that day, the sagging solidified wreck stood in Claudine's driveway. No-one wanted to bother collecting a scrap car that was 80% concrete by weight. But that wasn't the end of the Cassidy saga. As soon as Bernadette Wilson was delivered back to a US hospital for rehabilitation, Cassidy took leave to be with her. Three weeks later the Detectives' room sat in shocked silence as she tendered her resignation. Or rather a smartly dressed Bernadette did. Cassidy, clad in a micro mini skirt, tight blouse and wearing high heeled calf boots, was hobbled and cuffed, her neck in a powerful steel collar and mouth filled with a ball gag. In addition, the massive bull ring had reappeared in her infibulated nose. Bernadette handed in the written notice to quit as her other hand held a leash clipped to the collar of her freshly 'out of closet' slave. The men sat open mouthed, unable to grasp the fact that this tough capable Amazon Cop had accepted the dominance of a woman whom she could have dropped with one karate chop.

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Eddie hid a secret smile. He knew in advance, and that very night, both he and Bernadette were taking their nubile, chained slaves to a party on the other side of town. Once there, he had been told that two new duck rigs were waiting as a surprise. Eddie's throbbing shaft nearly busted his flies as the memories of Claudine's Duck tape flooded back. With two of them waddling around on leads, it looked like being one helluva night. Eddie had already promised to let Claudine's new clit ring be connected to Cassidy's nose ring. With Bernadette leading the convoyed waddlers around he was guaranteed a massive dose of voyeuristic carnal fun when he accepted the invite to have coffee at Bernadette's residence later in the evening. She was a self proclaimed AC-DC, and it promised to be a rave seeing as he would be the only guy in attendance. So far he had been unable to ascertain what she intended to do with the two frustrated female ducks whilst they were busy getting it on, but given her maliciously wicked nature there was no doubt she would come up with a gem of an idea. He had no inkling that beneath the seemingly dominant exterior seethed another converted submissive thanks to the ministrations of Napper's diabolical mind moulding machine. In fact, there were three duck rigs, and the next time he saw her, Bernadette would be wearing both nose and clit rings through her invisible piercings so as to be ready to form the centre item in a three link chain of waddling humiliation.

In the final analysis, only Danielle Grissom suffered any lasting trauma from the whole affair. Neil her husband, had never been able to readjust to the woman he eventually got back. By mutual agreement the marriage was annulled, and Danielle spent several months searching for a new mate who could satisfy an obsessive need that she didn't fully understand herself.

Three potential mates, shocked by her proposals had left and never bothered to contact her again. Danielle was at a loss to understand why, and spent many hours stroking the cocoon taken from the MR-3 complex at her request - praying that a man would come along and indulge her strange desire to be bound up in its comforting embrace then hang her upside down from a hook she had installed in the ceiling. They all wanted to make love and gently ease her through the trauma of past experience. Love and compassion was the last thing she needed. To be totally incapacitated and have her exposed bottom smacked unmercifully as she waffled through a gag was the only cure for a mystifying compulsion she had no control over. Unbeknown to her, a reunion with the woman Police officer who had shared the terror of MR-3 and recovered in the next hospital bed would provide the solution she so desperately sought. Eddie didn't know it, but his life was destined to become one long round of tending submissive women suffering permanent withdrawal symptoms whenever they were free.

As for Cora Bentley. Her stay at MR-3 resolved a lifetime of searching for a successful partnership with a life long mate. Eddie's view of her in the gang's play room gave him the impression that she was suffering hell as she teetered precariously on her one footed perch - when in fact it had been the complete reverse! Her failure to attract a partner in the past had been due to a prudish outlook on all matters sexual as the result of a childhood with ecclesiastical parents. Penderton, in full possession of those facts had deemed it necessary to not only put his machine on fully submissive, but also to increase her stay to a full twenty hours. The Cora Bentley that Don Collino and the Seal team finally released from her perch bore no resemblance to her former self. She was a sex toy that craved abuse and domination so as to feed an insatiable carnal appetite that was raging in her body.

To Don, a divorcee of many a long year who had spent some twenty years raising his daughter single handed, she seemed like a gift from heaven. In fact, at first, that is just what she was.

Leaving his newly acquired wife at home to do her housework in a French maid's outfit whilst manacled and hobbled seemed to quench her addiction. Handicapped with a spreader bar on her ankles, and hoovering with the handle of the cleaner lodged deeply in her pussy seemed to placate the seething lust monster in her crotch as the vibrating cleaner kept her permanently aroused whilst she performed the menial tasks of keeping the home clean. But as the weeks flew by, her demands for stronger measures grew. His meagre police salary groaned under the strain of providing more expensive bondage equipment as time went by, and on mentioning this minor detail, was informed that the entire legacy she'd received when her parents died had been transferred to his account. Don checked, and sure enough, a two and a half million dollar deposit had magically wiped out his overdraft. From there on in, it was no holds barred as he had personalised equipment made by the ton.

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But even that was doomed to failure. Don's imagination was no match for the needs of an ultra submissive female. No matter what devilish contraptions he installed her in for the day whilst he was away, he found their novelty value waning within the week for an orgasm starved Cora. There was only one answer. He sent her to a specialist company in England and gave her carte blanche to design her own rig. 

She had returned almost three weeks later, and eagerly helped him unpack the new additions to their sex tool-kit. A further hour was taken by her simply explaining how it all worked to his incredulous ears. Much of her planning seemed to be revolving around things she had seen at MR-3, or discussed with other rescued women at the recovery hospital. Indeed, Cassidy's ordeal seemed to feature largely in the whole thing.

So Don had set about installing her in this dream rig.

First there were inserts. One front, one back, but with entirely different functions. Once inserted there began the task of getting her into a full rubber catsuit that he swore was at least two sizes too small. Dressing in that item was made more difficult by the built in connections and attachments that had to be aligned and fitted to various body parts. The crotch had two plugs that located and connected with her orifice inserts. Nipples and clitoris had to be teased into metal caps fitted in the breast and crotch of the suit, and a steel neck stretching rubber covered posture collar had to be exactly right so as to place flat metal electrodes at each side of her throat, pressed tightly so as to give good conductive connections. It seemed an unnecessarily complex suit, but as he discovered later, the hundreds of connections and wires were all neatly secreted in the rubber suit and brought to a central connection at the rear of her neck.

The hood was a masterpiece of design - fully closed save for breather holes and a suspension hole at the top. It sculpted and compressed her head into a black featureless moulding of her face and stretched taut and shining over her skull. The long flaxen hair had to be gathered and thrust through the upper hole in a ponytail, and the plug gag, as it later transpired, had a microphone built in. Cora seemed to have thought of everything.

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Once into the suit, she was formed into a stringent hogtie and maintained thus by a fiercely compressive strap harness. This in turn was covered by a second rubber cocoon sheath that had been made to measure for her hogtied format. It took him a good hour just to fit, lace and strap that on. And yet there was still more. Cora's final item was a semi flexible stainless steel harness that encompassed the cocooned hogtie package in a super cinched cradle of shiny unbreakable steel webs covering her entire compacted body and removing any hope of escape. The mummified result was then designed to be hung from the ceiling by the Pony tail.

Next was the connection from a control box to the neck plug, and finally the plugging into the mains of a transformed electrical supply that would ensure permanent operation.

He had his orders. Cora was never to know how long she was to be left, and he was to ignore any sounds or movement that might appear to convey discontent. Somewhat apprehensive at this, Don had finally capitulated to her requests. In the final event, initial switching on proved to be a mind bending experience.

For a start, Cora had designed in audio response that would instantly react if she made the slightest sound. Her inserts both oral and the lower ones were designed to expand in steps to levels beyond anything she could ever hope to accept. Another feature was that she was wired to exactly the same format as the Cassidy bike park. At the moment he switched on, her entire body leapt into rigid quivering profile as she was electrified from tits to ass. Her muffled cries were loud, but as he watched they grew less and less despite the clear indications that the paralysing current was increasing dramatically. Her muscles were hardening and knotting with excruciatingly powerful tensile coercion. At the same time her boobs were being cinched at the root by something buried in the rubber tit cups. It took fifteen minutes to produce a stiff silent pendant effigy with obscene bulbously cinched breasts thrusting outward like two melons from her chests. Not even a whimper, not even the faintest ripple gave any indication of life. Only the rasping breath whistling from her nostril holes revealed that far from being tortured, Cora was silently exploding with never ending orgasmic events.

She later explained some other features of the suit and how it all worked. From the outset she'd figured that he would never be able to bring himself to exact the level of control she needed to satisfy her needs. So she had built in an escalating self induced level of control that she was powerless to reverse once installed and energised. 

As soon as Don threw the switch, the powerful paralysing current stiffened her, and wrung instinctive cries from her throat. That in turn upped the voltage, and expanded all the inserts. It was a circle of cause and event that simply kept increasing until she was being subjected to a paralysing voltage far higher than anything Cassidy had endured, yet unable to make a sound as a result of the expanded mouth filler that was almost snapping her jaw. In the lower regions her orifices were stretched almost beyond the realms of possibility. But that was only part of it. The monster in her pussy was the final devilish torment. Outwardly it was inert. In fact it was designed to constantly extend and retract. On that first run, Don had no idea that deep within the silent parcel of femininity was a dildo that oscillated between six and ten inches in length on a five second cycle.

Subsequent returns to her self designed torment produced a steady drip of viscous liquid from a seam in the suit crotch. Oozing from the crotch, the thick glistening confirmation of her unstoppable arousal wandered down the taut thigh sheath of her cocoon and finally succumbed to gravity at the point of her knees. Sometimes it would be single drops, and at others, long slow moving streamers as the flow increased. Don made sure that there was always a basin sighted below her silent form to catch the visible products of a woman suffering exquisite levels of sexual pleasure.

Since that day, Don had adjusted his alarm to awaken him two hours early. It had become a daily chore to install Cora in her day wear and dangle her from the ceiling. If he was busy and came home late, he simply left her as she was, thereby saving strip down time, and re- installation the next day. Don got into the habit of checking the bowl as he came in from work. The depth of love juice was a good indicator as to what sort of day his 'house bound' wife had experienced.

Cora had finally found her niche in life. Silent; stiffened to horrendous levels of torment, and crushed to total subservience by her bonds, she just hung there day after day in a permanent state of pulverising eruptions that she was powerless to dissipate by sound or movement of any kind. It didn't seem to matter that her tits and delicate ass tube were being fried by the paralysing voltage as she was held impotent and silent. It was an enigma that she never really understood. The preparation excited her right up to the point of switching on. Then there was a flash of fear as she felt her body savagely jerked into quivering muscle straining obedience, quickly followed by a screaming desire to be free as her self engineered ordeal inexorably tightened her up her own muscles betraying her and conspiring to strain her into an ever more compact and solidified form - all the time fighting against the steadily expanding inserts as they stuffed her fuller with every passing second. That terror seemed to last right up to her final capitulation to the controlling forces. Suddenly it all melted away as the dildo powered up. Unable to move or relieve her plight in any way, Cora knew that her silent rock hard quivering form was completely at the mercy of her beloved master and the demon dildo. There was no escape - no relief from the mindless pumping monster in her crotch as it remorselessly saturated her entire body with the explosive forces of erupting lust. Of course, no matter how tightly she was gagged there was always a way to make sounds in the throat. But to what end? She was already at maximum stretch in all her openings, and the surging current had long since passed bearable. Any further protest could only start an- other escalation of punishment that would commit her to even greater levels of incredible immobilisation. Any attempt to ease her predicament could only end in increased control.

Occasionally, Don got to play his own preferred tie up games, and sooner than risk not being returned to her favourite mode, Cora ensured that he received full payment in carnal bondage delights of his own choice. But even he had to admit, it was pleasurable to approach that silent suffering parcel and savour the total helplessness of his woman as he teased her.

The usual game was to stroke first, then perhaps a little tit squeezing, followed by a good tawsing as she swung and spun on her tether. Just when she was sure he would be ending her day as a pendant package, he would give the good news that he was too tired to bother unpacking her that night.

He knew she could hear everything he said, yet not once did that incredibly bound package emit even the minutest protest that could indicate she wanted freedom. Unless one considered the increased pussy drool into the basin a form of protest.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE END
