|DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES|
| Kat's Story — by Michael Masterton
THE NEXT DAY...
“See anything, Jo?” Detective Sergeant Kathleen Jones asked her partner, Detective Sergeant Joesphine ‘Jo’ Atkins. Jo was peering through binoculars across the Cairns marina, and answered Kathleen’s query by shaking her head. Kathleen used a stern glare to ward off yet another leering male passer-by. Before being dissuaded by Kathleen, the passer-by would have been looking at two lithesome beauties, one blonde and short, the other taller and darker.
“I don’t think these outfits were a good idea,” Kathleen moaned. Both her and Jo were wearing short, tight tops, equally tight shorts, white anklet socks and black & white skate shoe sneakers.
“We’d stick out like sore thumbs in our pant suits,” Jo responded, “and we’d roast in this humidity.”
“And in these outfits, we have every pervert leering at us. This is supposed to be surveillance, not a strip show. What’s wrong with a nice loose T-shirt, baggy jeans and Doc Martins?”
“We’re supposed to blend in, and we do that better as ‘yacht bunnies’ than anything else.”
“Is there anything happening on that bloody boat?”
“No. I don’t think there’s anybody on there.”
“And that drug delivery was supposed to occur fifteen minutes ago. I think your ‘informant’ was having you on. Come on. We’ve wasted enough time.”
“You’re right. Let’s go in.”
“Go in? On the word of an anonymous Yank? The boat’s probably just spoiling the view from her suite in the Hyatt.”
“Section 247, remember?”
“I know all about Section 247. Just because we’ve got the power to stage raids on bugger-all evidence and without a warrant doesn’t mean we have to use it.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ve mellowed over the past few years.”
“Yeah, being bound and gagged and at the mercy of sleazy villains does that to you. Allright, have it your way. But when the boat’s owner complains to his member of Parliament, just remember it was your idea.”
“He won’t have a leg to stand on. Besides, it’s the trendies in this marina who were pushing for increased police powers.”
“Yeah, because they thought we’d be raiding the slums.”
“Spare me the political analysis. Come on—let’s go.”
Almost in unison, they retrieved their service pistols, I.D. badges and handcuffs from amongst the more common items—scarves, purses and sunglasses—in the canvas tote bags that were slung over their shoulders. They could just squeeze their cuffs and I.D.’s in the back pockets of their shorts, but there was no provision for their weapons in their skimpy outfits.
“That’s another disadvantage of these outfits,” Kathleen grumbled, “you can’t conceal a gun, let alone anything else, and it’s too bloody difficult to do a quickdraw out of these bags.”
“Come on,” Jo responded.
The boards of the pier clattered under the rubber soles of their sneakers as they walked briskly towards where Tarsis III, a huge cabin cruiser, was berthed. Jo flashed her I.D. badge at a startled on-looker, who took the hint and dashed off. Kathleen and Jo pointed their guns in the direction of the boat. All they could hear was the water lapping gently against the boat’s hull. Jo nodded to Kathleen, who rolled her eyes, but followed her partner and stepped onto the boat. Jo nodded again, and they burst into the cabin.
“Police, don’t move!” Kathleen shouted, but there were was apparently no-one there to hear her.
Kathleen and Jo moved through the lavishly appointed cabin, waving their guns from side to side in a sweeping motion. They started to relax, looking around for places that would be likely hiding places for drugs.
“Allright you two bitches, freeze!” a male voice boomed behind them.
Kathleen and Jo thought quickly. Their guns were now useless, pointing in the wrong direction, and they could be dead in the time it would take to turn around and face the apparently armed man behind them. They nodded to each other, and slowly and tentatively reached down and pulled out their I.D.’s from their pockets, holding them up over their shoulders so the man could see them. As they did this, they also turned their heads, and could see a middle aged but still very fit man brandishing a sawn-off shotgun.
“DS Jones and DS Atkins, National Crime Authority,” Kathleen said, “we’ve boarded this boat to conduct a search for drugs, in accordance with section 247. Please lower your weapon!”
“All I see are a couple of boat thieves, Blondie,” the man responded, and started to walk towards them, his finger curling around the trigger, “and I keep my weapon ‘til we sort this out. Now, fingers off triggers, and hands up.”
Kathleen and Jo looked at each other momentarily. Kathleen nodded, and they raised their hands.
“That’s better,” the man said, and stopped walking towards them, “Now toss your guns onto that couch over there—gently, then turn around.”
Kathleen and Jo complied with his instructions. The man darted forward, close enough to grab Kathleen and Jo’s bags and pulled them off their shoulders. Keeping the gun pointed in their direction, he backed off just as rapidly, emptied the bags onto the couch, and quickly sifted through their contents.
“Hmm, nothing here that’s mine,” he commented to himself, “but these scarves will be useful.”
“This isn’t necessary,” Jo said, “we haven’t found any drugs on your boat. If you’re clean, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
The man laughed.
“Forget the psychological approach Lofty—that won’t work either, even if I did believe you’re a couple of wallopers. Now get your kit off.”
“What?” Kathleen exclaimed.
“Get your gear off. Strip!”
“Look, this isn’t necessary.”
“Yes it is. We’ve had a quite a lot of thievery around here lately, mostly jewellery, watches, and the like. There’s nothing in your bags, so I want to make sure you’ve got nothing on your person. Oh yeah, and I want to have a look at your tits.”
“We’re police officers, you fool. You’ve seen our badges.”
“Yeah, and I’ve seen better ones at the toy shop. I didn’t come down in the last shower. What was your plan anyway—‘arrest’ me, lock me up in handcuffs, then ransack the boat?”
“Look, we’re not thieves, we’re police officers conducting a search in accordance with Section 247, and—”
“ —and I’m the bloke with the gun pointed at your head. Now strip! Come on—start with your tops, and put them on the couch. Move it!”
He reinforced the last command by waving the shotgun in Kathleen and Jo’s direction. Having no choice but to comply, they started to remove their tops. Kathleen wondered whether she remove her top quickly, so their captor didn’t get a tantalizing show, or slowly, so she could retain her privacy for a few more precious seconds. She realized their strip would be a private show, as the cabin's windows were too high in the bulkhead for any passerby to see what was happening. She and Jo tossed their removed garments onto the couch as they’d been instructed, then both compulsively covered their breasts as they started to blush.
“Very nice. Now, your shorts and knickers.”
They reluctantly moved their hands away from their breasts so they could undo their shorts, and then pull them down their shapely legs, lifting their soxed ankles and sneakered feet through the shorts. Kathleen’s handcuffs fell out of her shorts as they landed on the couch alongside her top. Kathleen and Jo stood there, reluctant to remove the few square inches of cotton that stood between them and nakedness, but another wave of the man’s shotgun was enough for them to overcome their reluctance long enough to remove their panties. They covered their bare breasts and vaginas as best they could, trying to avoid the man’s amused gaze. Kathleen almost started to prefer the lingering gazes of the passer-bys on the pier. At least they didn’t know that her and Jo had all-over tans.
Keeping his shotgun pointed at them, the man moved over to the discarded clothing, picking up Kathleen’s handcuffs, and examined them briefly.
“Hmm, hinged cuffs, good choice,” he commented, then tossed the cuffs to a startled Jo, “okay Lofty, put the cuffs on Blondie.”
“You could at least call us Jo and Kathleen,” Jo protested.
“I’ll call you what I fucking well like. Now get on with it.”
Kathleen lifted her wrists up in front of her, hopeful. The man laughed.
“Behind your back, Blondie.”
Kathleen turned around, putting her hands behind her back. She felt the cold metal tighten around her wrists, with that horrible sense of finality. After ten years in the police, she still dreaded handcuff training.
“C’mon, tighter than that,” the man chastised Jo. She reluctantly tightened the handcuffs on Kathleen’s wrists. The man quickly gathered together Jo’s handcuffs, the tops and scarves into a pile on the couch. He walked over to his naked captives, who turned to face him. He pointed the gun towards Kathleen.
“One false move from either of you, and Blondie and her pretty head will part company.”
“I’m Jo. She’s Kathleen.”
“And I’m Donald Duck. Pleased to meet you. Now sit Blondie down on the couch.”
Jo complied with his command. Once seated, Kathleen shuffling about as she tried to find a position that displayed as little of her nudity as possible. The man picked up the tops and tossed them to Jo.
“Rip them open,” he commanded. Jo hesitated, not out of a reluctance to destroy expensive designer clothing, but because she could guess how the ruined garments would be used. She looked up at their captor, and another wave of his gun reminded her she had very few options. She complied with his request.
“Well done. Now toss one top to me, and use the other to bind Blondie’s ankles—and make sure you do a proper job,” he said.
She wrapped the remains of the top tightly around Kathleen’s ankles, hoping to get away with just tying it off, but it didn’t work.
“Don’t forget the cinch in the middle,” the man forcibly reminded her, and she had no choice but to backtrack and cinch the binding before tying it off. She looked up at him, waiting for his next command. The next item he tossed to her was her own handcuffs. She didn’t wait for another command. She put one cuff around her left wrist, put her hands behind her and closed the other cuff around her other wrist. The man nodded approvingly, and walked over to Jo, his shotgun still pointed towards Kathleen. He grabbed Jo by the arm and stood her up, roughly turning her around. He tut-tutted as he made the handcuffs around Jo’s wrists much tighter. He then sat her down next to Kathleen on the couch. He crouched down beside Jo, laying the shotgun down on the floor, well out of reach of his captives.
“Don’t even think of trying to kick me,” he warned, and then used the other ripped up top to bind Jo’s ankles together tightly. He picked up the shotgun and stood up.
Naked, with their wrists handcuffed tightly behind their backs and their ankles bound with their own tops, the sense of vulnerability was almost overwhelming. Their captor indulged in the sight of their enforced full frontal nudity for a while, then, with his ever-present vigilance, picked up their panties and scarves.
“You won’t get away with this,” Kathleen warned.
“Oh, spare me the clichés, please,” the man responded, looking at the pairs of panties, “I can’t remember which pair is which now. Doesn’t matter I suppose—it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tasted each other’s pussies.”
“Nice to see you’re a sensitive New Age—mmppphhh!”
The man clutched Kathleen’s lower jaw and stuffed her mouth with Jo’s panties. He folded up her scarf, and tied it tightly in-between her lips.
“That’ll shut you up.”
He walked around Kathleen and Jo, clutching Jo’s chin and prising her mouth open. Kathleen’s underwear was soon filling up Jo’s mouth, held in place by her scarf tightly threaded in-between her lips, and tied off at the nape of her neck, once the man got her hair out of the way. He then stood in front of his naked, bound and gagged captives. He dangled the handcuff keys in front of their gagged faces.
“These are going in the harbour. Aww, don’t look so worried. You’re about to get a free trip to the Great Barrier Reef. There’s only one catch. You’re both on a one-way ticket.”
He put the keys away in his pocket, then looked back down at his squirming, naked captives, shaking his head.
“No way, I need to make you much more secure,” he said.
Kathleen and Jo responded with incredulous and unintelligible noises through their gags.
“What—you're going to promise me you won't remove each other's gags as soon as I've gone back up on the deck? And are you really going to sit there, and not jump up and hop around the cabin in search of an escape?” he asked.
Kathleen and Jo enthusiastically nodded.
“Like I said, I didn't come down in the last shower,” the man said.
Kathleen and Jo's eyes widened as he pulled out a large knife, and lunged towards their discarded belongings. He picked up one of their bags and cut the cord handles off. He looked up, noticing their fearful expressions, and laughed.
"Come on—I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a murderer," he reassured them, "neither of you will come to any harm, as long you both behave yourselves. This will ensure you are out of temptation's way."
He turned to Jo.
"Okay Lofty, get on the floor, on your knees, and face me."
Jo did as he instructed, then looked up at him with widening eyes. He briefly indulged in the sight of naked, bound and gagged woman kneeling before him, then continued with his plan.
"Lie on your tummy," he said to Jo. With some difficulty, she was able to comply with his request. The man walked around her to Kathleen as she squirmed compulsively. The man helped her to stand up, and then made her hop until she was standing alongside Jo. He turned her around so she was facing the other way, then made her kneel, then lie on the floor, her gagged face alongside Jo's sneakered feet.
"Nice bums," the man said, then crouched down alongside Kathleen, bring her bound feet up close to her cuffed wrists. She began to squirm again.
"Remember what I said," the man gently but firmly warned her. She stopped squirming.
The man picked up one of the bag handle cords and doubled it up, then looped it inbetween Kathleen's cuffed wrists and her bound ankles. Starting at the cuff end of the loop, he wrapped the ends of the cord around the loop until he got to Kathleen's bound ankles. He wrapped the remaining rope around the cinch of her ankle bindings, tying it off behind her ankles, well out of reach of her prying fingers. He then did the same to Jo. He stood up and walked back to the couch, gathering up the remains of Kathleen and Jo's personal effects, and tossed them into a locker. He then left the two squirming, mewing, naked bundles and walked back onto the deck.
Kathleen and Jo tested their bonds, but it was futile, and the underwear filling their mouths reduced their speech to unintelligible whimpers. Kathleen promised herself that, if they ever got out of this mess, she was going to tell Jo to change her socks more often.
Jo's struggles become more frantic. Kathleen could hear the man coming back into the cabin. She turned her head around as much as she could, and could see he was carrying a dirty, sun-bleached tarpaulin, which was bundled up with some old hemp rope. He untied the tarp and tossed it on the couch, then walked over to them, the length of rope in one hand.
"Not getting very far, I see," he gloated. He then grabbed each girl by her hips and swung them over on their sides, facing each other. He then gently pressed against their buttocks with the toe of his boot to encourage them to get close as they could to each other. He then tied the rope around their waists, cinching it inbetween their sweating bodies.
"There, now I know you'll be keeping your hands to yourselves," he said, "and you won't be trying to mouth each other's gags. Feel free to try mouthing anything else you find in convenient reach. Might help pass the time during the journey."
Kathleen mumbled several rude comments through her gag, her face inches from her partner's crotch. She heard Jo make similar complaints....and felt them as vibrations near her crotch. Kathleen blushed bright crimson as their captor chuckled and dropped the filthy tarp over them, plunging them into near darkness. Odours of old fish now mingled with the smell of Jo's socks and sneakers. Kathleen heard the man laugh, his fading footsteps, and the cabin door closing. The boat's engines throbbed to life, and a short time later, the boat started to move.
|THE END||of Kat 's Story—Chapter 3|