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Due North
"Come on Inspector! We're all waiting for you."
Inspector Thatcher of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police shuddered on hearing the voice of her persecutor, realising that she could not put off the inevitable for much longer. She recalled the events that had resulted in her present predicament... How she had noticed the woman lying in the snow... How she had ordered her Constables to dismount... How she had unsuspectingly leant over the apparently unconscious woman... And how that supposed damsel-in-distress had suddenly produced a pistol and pointed it in her face before she and her henchwomen had taken her and her Constables captive.
"Now, now Inspector! Don't be shy!" came the woman's voice again from behind her shoulder, "Your poor Constables are shivering while you dilly-dally."
Thatcher glanced at her two young Constables as they as they hugged themselves and hopped from foot to foot on the snowy ground. They were indeed shivering. This was partly due to the cold weather. It was doubtlessly also because their captors had forced the terrified women to perform an awkward striptease till they were reduced to their RCMP issue, scarlet thermal vests, their matching longline panties and their black woolen stockings. Their shivering may also have been due to their nervousness as the two laughing henchwomen guarding the Constables prodded them with the muzzles of their firearms while making disparaging comments about their undergarments, inexperience and timidity as they huddled together like frightened sheep.
"Ahem!"
The impatient tone of the woman caused Thatcher to stop her musing and glance over her shoulder at her smug captor who waggled her pistol at her. With a sigh of resignation Thatcher removed her hat and gauntlets, putting them gently down on the snowy ground. She then loosened the lacing of her boots and stepped out of them, feeling a chill as the soles of her RHT stockinged feet crunched into the soft snow. As she undid the buttons at the top of her britches, she noticed an expectant hush from both her gun-toting captors and her Constables as all eyes focused on her. After a sharp intake of breath through her teeth, Thatcher placed her thumbs into the waistband of her britches and slipped them down her nyloned thighs and past her knees before they finally crumpled onto the ground around her feet.
"Well ladies, isn't this getting interesting!" said the leader of her captors, as a glimpse of Thatcher's stocking tops appeared below the bottom of her tunic, "And now let's see the rest Inspector, if you please... Or if you don't please for that matter!"
Thatcher reluctantly removed her belt and shoulder strap, letting them fall down onto the snow. She then was appalled to hear herself give out an audible gulp of impending embarrassment and felt the warmth of a blush on her cheeks as she unbuttoned her tunic from the top to the bottom. After taking a couple of breaths to steady her nerves, she finally slipped off the sleeves of her tunic and laid it down before standing with a wincing expression and her hands held together coyly in front of her lap.
A chorus of laughter and wolf-whistles erupted from her captors along with gasps of astonishment from her Constables.
"Well, well Inspector! That doesn't appear to be regulation underwear that you're wearing. What a terrible example to set for your young Constables!" taunted Thatcher's gloating persecutor.
Thatcher was hardly in a position to disagree with the woman's remark as what she had chosen to put on under her uniform that day was most certainly not RCMP issue underwear as that which her Constables wore... Not her fine, seamed black stockings... Not the garters holding them up by their lacy tops... And certainly not the black, strapless, boned, 'Merry Widow' style corselet which was hardly an appropriate choice of undergarment for an RCMP officer in dress uniform, riding cross country in cold weather.
"I must admit though Inspector, you certainly have great taste in lingerie." her captor continued, "Let me guess? Expecting a hot date later, were you?"
Thatcher raised her head, gritted her teeth and looked up to the sky in embarrassed avoidance of the question.
"Well I'm afraid that you will have to put that hot date of yours on ice, pardon the pun. Indeed, it appears that in this instance, the mountie will not get her man." teased the leader as her henchwomen guffawed with laughter.
"Now ladies, to business... Hands behind your backs! Stand at ease!" ordered the leader in a mock parade ground voice, waggling her pistol.
The Inspector and her Constables reluctantly obeyed and suffered the ironic indignity of having their wrists restrained by their own handcuffs. Some squeaks from the Constables alerted Thatcher to the fact that the giggling henchwomen were taking this opportunity to give a few squeezes and pinches to their bottoms through their snug, long underwear. They then had to stand and helplessly look on as the three impostors gathered up their uniforms before changing into them.
"Well Inspector, how do I look? Do you think I'll pass muster?" asked the leader, flaunting herself in front of Thatcher in her own uniform.
Thatcher stood stoically and didn't answer deciding that the question was rhetorical and not wanting to give her oppressor the satisfaction of her knowing that she was getting to her.
"No matter! Now ladies, I expect that you'll be keen to hear what is going to happen to you." said the leader, "Well maybe not exactly 'keen' but I'm going to tell you anyway. As you've probably guessed by now, you girls won't be providing the guard of honour for the presentation of that priceless, shamanic mask this afternoon, but don't worry! We'll be happy to do it on your behalf. However, the mask's eventual destination will not be to the Museum of Antiquity, but rather to a certain wealthy collector of my acquaintance. First of all though, we're going to escort you safe and sound to your secluded vacation spot. You'll be taking a little stroll over that hill over there. On the other side of it there's a charming little cabin where me and the girls are going to make you nice and cosy."
"Very cosy... Very cosy indeed!" laughed one of the henchwomen as she attached several ominously long coils of rope to the saddle of one of the horses.
"Anyway, given the weather and your state of attire, or rather the lack of it, I'm sure that you'll be keen to get moving as soon as possible... Especially you, eh Inspector!" said the leader, winking at Thatcher as she and the other impostors mounted the horses, "By the way girls, I wouldn't try anything like running off if I were you... Not unless you fancy a poke in the seat of those cute red undies with one of your own lances. Now, your little holiday home is very remote and a long way from the nearest settlement. It also happens to be in the middle of a bear sanctuary, so even if you manage to free yourself while we're away, it would be highly inadvisable for you to wander off on a nature ramble. I'm sure that you'll be wishing us luck for our little caper, particularly as we are the only people who know the location of the cabin. If all goes according to plan, we promise to come back for you. Then you'll be guests of honour at our victory party and believe me... My girls are certainly looking forward to that. Afterwards we'll drop you off at a roadside. Dressed as you are, I'm sure that you'll have no problem hitching a ride to the nearest town where you'll be able to explain yourselves to the authorities. You'll also be able to explain your unconventional choice of underwear too Inspector. Now, get moving girls! We don't want your cute stocking feet turning to popsicles, do we!"
The two whimpering Constables looked at Thatcher for some words of comfort, but she simply sighed and shook her head as they began their chilly trudge to captivity.