Bitter sweet taste of revenge

Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:12 pm

BITTER SWEET TASTE OF REVENGE

by TAFFY0101

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PART 1

The shower had felt really good, so hot, so penetrating, her aching neck and back muscles at last relaxed after so long living fast, hard and rough.
The woman looked at her reflection in the large vanity mirror, set on a large bedroom dressing table. The room was dark, the heavy drapes which were closed, kept the morning’s first light at bay. The room’s only illumination was provided by two small bedside lamps.
Her white skin was still a lobster pink from the scalding hot water; her upper body was bruised in places. The dark, blue black blotches a silent testimony to her long suffering.
She finished drying her hair, she sighed at her reflection. Her dark brown hair, cut short to a bob, had no shine or natural healthy gloss, split ends in abundance. So long had it been neglected, not by her choice she reflected.
She remembered, how in a past life that seemed so distant, almost forgotten, how she had worn her hair, always long, cascading over her shoulders, a mere breeze would make it shimmer and ripple, her hair being so soft.
She stared at her face; she looked tired, worn out. Her face, unadorned or painted for so long, no makeup or skin cream where she had been for 7 long years she thought bitterly. Yet there were wrinkles under those bitter, hate filled blue eyes, eyes that still displayed life.
Her facial skin was rough, too much cheap soap, not enough expensive lotions or any moisturizer to hand. The only feature that seemed familiar were those eyes, still a bright blue, still intense. Still intense and full of hate as that day she had been betrayed by that b...tard of a husband.
The silent, forlorn looking woman was naked; her well toned derriere flattened on the small dresser stool.
Her pale body was well toned and shaped. Her figure looked at if it was no stranger to the gym. After all, there had been little else to do with her time.
Her breasts, although not large and imposing, were well proportioned and therefore a healthy ‘C’ cup, her lower back, around her kidneys was likewise bruised. There was no ounce of spare flesh on that body at all; it was strong, lithe and tough.
She looked at the brick a brac on the table top before her. She selected a brush and combed her neglected hair. Satisfied at what she assumed would be the best results attained she liberally applied a sweet smelling hairspray.
The woman paused before she delved into the selection of cosmetics on display. It had been so long. She selected a gold cased lip stick tube and twisted the bottom. A crayon of mild red rose from within. The woman paused and cautiously brought it to her dry lips.
The woman moved the tube along her upper lip, a feeling long lost, slowly at first and then with more confidence.
Faster she applied, skimming over her lips; she smacked her lips, now a healthy shade of red. Her desperate hands reached for powder and foundation. It was coming back to her now, skills learnt as a young girl, taught to her by her Mother, and enhanced and maintained in adulthood. The art of being a woman was surfacing yet again.
A little rouge to her pale cheeks, foundation to create a healthy tone, mascara on her eyelashes and her eyelids were tinted grey, her lips a subtle shade of red. Soon the face of the exhausted and abused women was replaced by that of a healthy young female.
The woman was now obsessed in her task, the restrained individual within at last being released. She looked over some jewelry, discarded on the table top. She ignored the rings; they were a little loose anyway and got in the way with physical activities. Always getting caught in something at the wrong time.

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An item caught her eye. She retrieved a silver necklace with a little heart pendant, not really expensive but tasteful. Soon the dainty piece of silver adorned the woman’s neck, with the pendant resting just above her bare cleavage.
Her right index finger toyed with other items; finally a pair of silver ear studs satisfied her taste. Her ear lobes soon gleamed, her face was again attractive and the necklace around her neck added to the effect, a satisfying feminine image was beginning to materialize.
The woman noted her fingernails, and grimaced. They were broken and grey with too much physical labor.
The hand cream had made then softer, but the nails looked out of place. The woman eventually solved the problem by discovering a set of false nails in a small box draw, near the table mirror’s frame.
The false nails were a dark pink, in color, not a great match but they would suffice. Once, attached to her fingers the woman flexed her hands, the sensation was strange, but the woman inside her, long dormant was now fully awake.
The woman’s left leg was hitched up, her calloused heel on the edge of the stool. She blew onto her wet toenails, the dark red nail polish soon dried.
The woman placed her newly painted toes onto the lush cream carpet and wriggled them. Not bad she thought, although her heels and feet were a little rough and still sore.
The woman, at last satisfied with her appearance as an average woman, decided it was time to get dressed.
But into what, it had been so long without her own choice of wardrobe, denied the right to choose her own clothing. She was out of touch, what were the styles in fashion today, what colors were in, which ones were out.
She stared at the base of the disheveled double bed. Its bedclothes crumpled from her recent, exhausted slumber.
The crumpled, dirty and wet work jeans and denim shirt complete with name tag and number. The black, mud stained tennis shoes and wet, smelly socks lay strewn on the carpet.
The flush cream carpet itself stained by a trail dry mud footprints leading back towards the closed bedroom door.
She noted her cheap underwear, grey white in color subjected to hundreds of communal wash cycles, washed out, like most of the women who had been forced to wear them.
The cheap, cotton, the ill fitting and scratchy bra, as plain and depressing as the place where it was issued, designed to remind a woman that she had no personality, no femininity.
Likewise, the cotton panties, almost like male boxers, with no feminine allure at all, they reminded any female that they were all institutionalized, faceless and forgotten.
The woman stared up and around at the room’s various mirrored closets. There would be plenty of clothes within she mused.
Okay, so they belonged to another woman, so what, she thought. The woman’s loss was her gain, the owner should have fought better, otherwise she would not be being robbed, her home violated.
She swiveled her naked body around on the stool. She had decided to work from the inner to the outer and see what worked out. Like most women the owner would keep her underwear in the vanity’s draws.
She opened one of the dresser table draws. The draw slid out smoothly. Inside was a good selection of hosiery, all colors and styles. Not yet she thought and closed the draw.
The draw below revealed an ample supply of brassieres. She rummaged through the bras. There were different styles, full support, sports bra’s, demi bras, soft cup etc. It was well stocked. She picked up a lacy, black wonder bra, paused and let it fall back. Not her color today, not her style, the reason was her own.

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The woman finally paused; she lifted up for inspection a bra she knew to be her choice, it was the color that clinched it for her, a beige flesh tone.
The bra was a soft cup, no padding, a little bow adorned the center, and the torso band was plain and not too sturdy looking. such a feminine garment she mused. Memories of her own ancient wardrobe surfaced, so long ago forgotten.
She opened the next draw, seeking panties of the same color. This color interested her; it had not been in fashion when she had the choice to own them. She soon discovered the intimate item of clothing, buried under similar, multicolored, ladies frilly and silky undergarments.
The woman held them up for closer inspection. They were high cut, flesh colored, like the bra. A little cute bow adorned the center where her naval would just be above.
On the panties sides, which would reveal her bare thighs underneath, was a strip of lace lattice work, again very sexy and alluring. The woman paused, did she just think the term sexy, a word that she had not even contemplated for such a long time, so long ago, so cold…….
She stood up, still clutching the soft, spandex panties. She stepped into them and pulled them up over her tight hips and over her waist. A loud snap resonated through the bedroom. She studied her reflection in one of the closet mirrors. They looked good, her pubic area now hidden from view with no bulge or unsightly hair to be seen.
After brushing her teeth, she had discovered in the bathroom a ladies razor and shaving cream. She had treated herself to a little grooming in the nether regions; likewise her once stubbly legs were now sheer smooth.
She turned around, arched her head over her bare shoulder, to study her taught ass under the panties. The image was of a tight backside, fully encased in flesh colored spandex.
She turned again, front on; the lattice edged panties looked very good indeed. She slid her hands down her hips, over the fabric, there was nothing like the feel of fresh underwear on the body she mused, even though the panties were not fresh from the store.
The panties, even though made of spandex, were not as tight on her hips and waist as though they should be.
It was as if the intimate garment was sculptured for another figure. A figure with a little more flesh around the midriff, as if the panty elastic had stretched a little and therefore refused to retract for someone else who had no flesh to spare.
The woman, smiled for the first time in 7 years, her cosmetically made up face looking very attractive. A nod of the head confirmed that the clothes would suffice. If the house owner’s panties fit her, then so would the rest of her attire.
She posed in front of the mirror, there she was, a good looking girl, a stranger almost, posing topless in her cute, conventional, flesh colored panties.
A few of her erstwhile associates and companions of yesterday would have drooled at this image displayed by the bedroom mirror.
She padded over to the table and retrieved the bra. She slipped her arm through the straps, fitted the cups under her breasts and reached behind her back for the fastener.
The bra was tight, her breasts being forced up her chest. She grimaced; after all it had been attuned for another woman’s frame.
She adjusted the bra straps, loosened them off a little, her breasts lowered themselves inside the cups. The torso band became less tight on her back. She could breathe easier now.
The bra’s torso band did not dig into her upper body, secure yet room to spare. Again, like the panties; the garment seemed slightly stressed, as if it had been well worn by another female. As if the bra was purchased for someone else’s intimate fit.
She looked into the mirror, good; her breasts seemed supported well enough. She deemed it a comfortable panty and bra set, God! she thought, it’s so refreshing to feel like a normal woman again.

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The tight, good quality, feminine underwear was such a difference from the ugly issue stuff, lying on the floor nearby.
Satisfied she again padded over to the ladies underwear collection, stashed in the vanity tables draws. She opened a lower one this time, it revealed a selection of full and half slips. No she thought, to restrictive if she had to run.
She rummaged underneath the collection of soft, silky and lacy fabrics ‘Oh oh…’ she thought and pulled out a bright purple vibrator. She guffawed and threw the sex toy over to the other side of the bedroom.
She opened another, ‘My My ‘she said aloud. The draw was full of sexy lingerie. Not the everyday articles, as she wore now.
The draw was stuffed with Tanga’s, g strings, sheer scanty bras, peek aboo cup affairs, the odd Basque and garter belts, red, black, striking blues, all loud colors which had not been deigned to be worn under normal clothing. The woman closed the draw ‘Someone likes a good time…...’ she quipped.
The panty and bra clad woman returned to the draws that she supposed held the more conservative items of underwear.
She opened the one draw that she knew had contained the hosiery. Again it sported a comprehensive selection. Thigh highs support control pantyhose, sheer to waist, stockings. The woman surmised that the owner was a smart dresser, the underwear and hosiery seemed to cater for all occasions.
There were many colors and shades to choose from, navy blue, off blue, black, off black, tuxedo black, white, tan, nude, grey, slate or coffee brown the choice was there to compliment all clothing combinations and styles.
She pondered her choice; she had forgotten a world that required these garments. Garments designed to accentuate the female leg. She felt the soft nylons in her hand, noted two unopened fresh packets.
The woman by now had lost all inhibition regarding stealing another woman’s clothes. She had no guilt or sense of disgust at rummaging around in another female’s, private domain. After all, she had already broken the taboo by wearing the woman’s bra and panties.
Her new, false finger nails picked up pantyhose and stockings at random, paused, and then threw them to the carpeted floor.
She eventually decided on a used pair, a soft light tan affair that on closer inspection appeared to have a control panty support designed within. If her bra and panties were slightly loose then she had no wish for her hoes to start sliding down her extra slim waist.
She retreated to the bed and sat down. She inserted her red painted toes into one of the legs and slowly pulled up the stocking over her calve.
The feeling felt strange, alien….a world lost to her. Another foot, another easing on, she held the waistband and pulled the pantyhose up and over her legs.
Her freshly shaven legs offered no resistance as the nylon garment snapped over the lithe hips. She adjusted them, straightened them, at least she did not put them on back to front, she thought in black amusement.
She again posed in front of the mirror, looking at her tan pantyhosed lower body and noted the faded painted toe nails, encased by the soft nylon darker toe seem.
The flesh colored high cut panties obscured by the darker tone panty support. She felt restricted, her legs and midriff imprisoned, the bedroom was warm and her lower nylon encased body began to itch.
She had not worn pantyhose for so long and therefore felt them to be initially uncomfortable. No doubt the sensation would become all too familiar, as in the old days.
The pantyhose seemed secure enough. Her legs now artificially tanned; again the nylon garment did not seem stressed by her body. In fact, around the gusset there seemed to be a little room, the nylon mesh was loose and see through. Her transformation into a normal, everyday woman was taking shape.

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Again there was no sense of shame at her stolen image. These intimate items of clothing were designed not to be seen by other people, underwear and pantyhose were meant to masked from peeking eyes by stylish clothing. Only the legitimate owner should have felt their soft, silky touch on her skin.
Maybe a husband would be lucky to see these undergarments; the woman remembered that there had been no sign within the house that a male co habituated, maybe a boyfriend or casual lover, the house owner was certainly young enough.
The woman smiled, a cruel smile learned at the penitentiary, she remembered the lawful owner of her current apparel was rather indisposed at this present moment; she would to check on that situation soon mused the intruder.
The pantyhose, bra and panty clad woman opened a closet door. The racks were full of female clothing. Blouses, skirts, trouser suits, jackets etc. Too much of a choice she thought, her senses were over loaded; her unwilling benefactor certainly had good taste.
She looked over to a black knee length skirt, jacket and silver satin blouse that hung on the back of a nearby chair. Those were the clothes used by the owner, just before her little; soft private world had been invaded.
The underwear clad woman thought of wearing those, making her choice simpler. No, she thought, I want something fresh, something to inspire my new start, my revenge.
She opened another closet door. ‘Ah’ she said in satisfaction ‘This is more like it’. Inside was more formal or professional attire, work suits and work combinations.
She picked off a rail a pure white short sleeve blouse, satin she guessed. The woman ran her arms through a sleeve, likewise the other.
She buttoned up, fumbling with a button as she enclosed her bra clad breasts and stole a quick glance in the mirror. Seems alright she thought, tight enough, open at her neck, the stolen necklace looking cute, her bra clad breasts not too much on show.
Next off the rack came a cream colored knee length skirt. She stepped into it, feeling her nyloned legs brush against the skirts fabric.
She tucked in the blouse and zippered up the side of her hip. She buckled the small brown belt and took a look at the results.
Not bad, she thought. The clothes felt strange on her, they were not full or skin tight. The clothing had not been purchased for her lithe, taught and muscled figure.
Her stockinged calves looked too strong, her thighs too muscled…she looked like an athlete in a skirt. Feminine, yet Amazonian in look she thought.
The tight blouse revealed the curvature of her breasts. The cups of the bra underneath were slightly visible.
The silver chain above her cleavage added to the effect, a female business executive on her way to work. Her face, although lean, was attractive, aided by a liberal use of cosmetics.
Her hair although not perfect, was clean, brushed in a bob, which matched that professional look. Shoes she remembered.
Another closet revealed a selection of female shoes. She chose a brown slip on, no straps with a low heel; again just in case if she had to run fast.
The shoes made her taller, she felt like she was on stilts. She made a few hesitant steps and nearly lost her balance, she tried again, this time with more success and confidence.

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She would have to learn again in how to walk in heels. Her stockinged feet felt rather bare and cold within the shoes; after all, for years she had worn thick socks and sneakers.
The woman walked towards the bedroom door, her strides uneasy in her new shoes, her stockinged tan legs swishing inside the skirt, her underwear tight and her blouse up lifting.
Her toned backside pumped up and down within the cream colored skirt as she made for the door.

PART 2

The women now fully dressed walked across the wood floored landing, her heels click clacking along the floorboards. With every pace her footing became more assured as she regained the skill of wearing heels.
She passed another room, a spare bedroom; if one had listened carefully they could have picked up the muted sounds within. Like a pet being locked in room, a pet being reanimated at the sound of its mistress’s footfalls, a pet that was yelping for attention.
She passed the room and another and went down the open railed staircase. The house was quite spacious, well furnished and bright. It was early morning and the sunlight cascaded in on the pine and white furniture.
The woman walked past the door leading to the kitchen. A kitchen whose outer door contained a broken window pane, a broken window pane above the inside door handle and key in fact.
The woman walked over to a small table set near the front door, in a corner. On the hallway wall there were coat pegs; on two were dark, heavy wool, long coats, ladies designs as used by professional white collar types.
On top of the table was leather ladies shoulder bag, on the floor next to the table was a briefcase and also a cell phone and a set of keys. She opened the bag and searched inside. There was the usual crap women kept within those things; eventually she found a leather purse. She opened it.
The purse contained an ATM card, three credit cards, a state driving license that declared ‘Helen Samantha Parker, 28 years old’ and forty dollars. The woman scowled, she needed more cash than that. She needed more cash just in case she could not meet up with Frankie as planned.
The woman searched around the living room, turning over draws, under chairs, throwing books of shelves, her search proved useless. There was no cash lying around, not even a nickel jar.
The smart looking woman raised her head and looked upstairs; she retrieved the purse and cell phone, deciding that a little more intimidation and interrogation of the house owner was in order.
The woman strode back up the stairs, walked to the spare bedroom that she had first encountered and unlocked the door.
The room was in dark shadow, the heavy drapes were shut, keeping most of the sunlight out of the room.
The room was smaller than the master bedroom; after all it was a spare. It contained a closet, a single bed and a night stand.
Although the light was darkened by shadow one could still see the writhing form that appeared to lying on the single bed. The muted moans of protest could have been easily misheard as that of a distressed, small and defenseless animal.
The woman reached along the wall and switched on the light. It may have dawned on the casual observer by now that the woman who we had observed getting dressed is not the legitimate owner of the clothes she now wore or in fact the house.

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The legitimate and legal owner ‘Miss Helen S Parker 28 years old’, a pretty brunette as a well a successful IT executive, was in fact, currently in this room, gagged and bound to her spare bed and had been since 9 pm last night.
Miss Parker had returned home from a late meeting, parked up in her drive way, intent on a hot bath and a relaxing glass of wine. So intent that she had not noticed the broken window pane in the kitchen.
Miss Parker had proceeded to her bedroom, divested her outer clothing, put on a robe and intended to run the bath. That was as far as she got when the strong hand had clasped around her mouth.
The unfortunate Miss Parker, blinked her blood shot, tear stained eyes at the harsh light. Her dry, bunged up mouth moaning in muted protest. Miss Parker was indecently attired in only her underwear; after all she had been ambushed by her assailant when in the process of getting undressed after a hard day’s work.
The unfortunate business woman’s face was red, her eyes red and pleading. The gag dug into her soft, once pretty face. Her wrists hurt from being tied up for so long.
A nearby whicker laundry basket lay overturned, its soiled contents lay strewn on the carpeted floor. Her assailant had used dirty pantyhose to tie her up, soiled panties to gag her mouth likewise secured with a dirty pair of brown pantyhose.
Miss Parker’s wrists had been secured to a bed post behind her head, her knees were tied and so had her ankles.
Miss Parker had been wearing a silk, paisley patterned blue and green dressing gown, which now lay crumpled underneath her body and had slid off her shoulders behind her back during the brief struggle last night.
It was now clear why the assailant’s clothes were not skin tight on her body. Miss Parker’s female body was on display for all to view and admire, the only person who could see her like this was unfortunately her attacker.
Miss Parker was not a fat girl by far, her body was good and wholesome, and all the right curves in the right places. Unlike her assailant, whose prison trained body was lean and taught under her own clothes.
Her breasts, enclosed in lacy trimmed white bra were admirable. The bra cup, the lower half of the cup was full; the other half patterned with swirling little roses and was quite pretty and utterly feminine.
The visible and exposed torso band, due to her arms being tied above her head was likewise sheer and rose patterned. The band was tight around her body, her soft flesh squeezed in underneath. It was quite obvious that Miss Parker shaved her armpits regularly.
Further down her exposed stretched out body it is self evident that Miss Parker did not have time to remove her charcoal black pantyhose. The curve of her stomach arched under the soft black nylon, her white rose patterned bikini panties were obscured by the darker full support panty of the hose, the pantyhose legs being a lighter shade of black. The pantyhose waistline dug into the waist of her soft, smooth waistline.
The assailant took in the pubic bulge between the gagged woman’s half hidden panties, the tied knees and the stockinged toed feet. Under the toe seam of the pantyhosed feet the assailant could discern red painted toenails.
After all the trauma of being interned for so long, the visits during the early time of her incarceration by the head queens had made her turn slightly. In the penitentiary, the only sexual relief and in fact survival was giving oneself over to alpha types. The shame and hate resurfaced in her face, the gagged woman below her moaned in fear at look.
The assailant enjoyed women, especially these soft and pampered examples. So easy to overpower and dominate. All the softness, feelings and sense of pity had been removed from her life, stolen from her by other peoples greed and treachery.
She had once been like this bound and gagged woman. She had been all women, all petite, all feminine, the clothing she had worn fitting no purpose other than to be admired.

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She had stolen this woman’s clothing, but that was all she was, a fraud, a manikin dressed as a lady. Inside she was a weapon of vengeance.
The gagged, bound and underwear clad Miss Parker saw her assailant staring at her restrained body and therefore attempted to draw up her tied legs in some attempt at modesty.
‘Now now’, said the intruder, ‘there are no secrets between us’, the intruder sat down on the bed next to her prisoner.
The gagged prisoner tried to angle her bound body away. Hurting her already sore wrists further, a pained whimper left her gagged mouth.
‘After all, I went through your panty draw, dear, quite a collection you have’, the tied up woman’s eyes rolled in fear, well aware of her humiliating state of dress and vulnerability.
‘That draw you have with all that super sexy gear….not to mention the toy’, the gagged woman went a shade redder ‘have you some secret desire, my dear, to be a whore, a lady of the night perhaps’ the intruder paused ‘In my last place I knew quite a few…they could give you tips’.
This was the start of the intimidation process. The intruder continued ‘I helped myself to some of your ….ah, skimpy things…and these clothes’.
The gagged woman eyes perused her attacker, for the first time noting that this psycho ***** had stolen some of her clothes and if what she implied was true, also some of her underwear. The gagged woman’s eyes closed and inside she prayed for help.
The gagged and bound woman’s eyes shot open, a hand lay on her black pantyhosed stomach, massaging her belly in a circular motion. The woman let out a gagged shriek, her eyes imploring.
Satisfied with the effect the intruder continued ‘Now, I could have killed you dear, stole your clothes and left, but no….not yet anyway’, there was a bought of gagged pleading.
‘To ensure your continued existence in this world…Helen…I need you to phone in sick today…after all your in no position to work to the best of your ability….you seem a little Ah! …distracted….after that, I need you to tell me your PIN number on these cards’ indicating to the purse. ’Do you understand’ the gagged woman on the bed did not react.
‘Do you understand’ hissed the intruder. A frenzy of nodding ensued. The intruder picked up the cell phone, with the other hand she reached for the tight pantyhose that held the gag in place. False nailed fingers dug at the nylon and pulled. The strained pantyhose fell around the red, sweating neck.
Further rough intrusions by fingers pulled out the soiled, white panty gag. The hand immediately clamped itself over the mouth, Miss Parkers head was shoved to one side by the strong pressure.
‘Remember, try to get help and I will throttle you before the signal is cut’, again frenzied nodding. The intruder pressed a number that proclaimed ‘Office’.
The cell phone dialed and someone picked up, the cell was placed to Miss Parker’s ear the hand over the mouth released.
Helen Parker breathed in deeply, her voice croaked, her mouth was so dry, she tried again, she knew her life depended on it ‘Hi Julie, good morning, its Miss Parker’….there was a pause as she wet her dry lips, looking up at her attacker.
Her secretary Julie was in early, as usual. How could she tell her that she had been attacked in her own house, tied up and gagged all night, barely clothed? That some psycho had stolen her clothing, was robbing and molesting her, Helen knew the answer, she could not tell Julie or even try.

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Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:13 pm

‘I feel lousy today; I will not be in so rearrange my schedule’, there was female chatter on the other side Helen cut ‘Yes, I now I SOUND IT JUST CANCEL UNTIL TOMORROW BYE’. The intruder cut the signal, the hand back over the mouth.
‘Very cute, B.tch…who told you until tomorrow’, the woman squirmed under the hands increased pressure. The woman squealed in muted terror, the pressure was released.
‘Okay, I will let you off…numbers NOW’. The bound woman gave the numbers in one terrified outburst. The intruder noted them ‘Thank you dear, you have been most helpful’.
Miss Parker’s head resisted as the gag was re-stuffed into her mouth and secured by the pantyhose. ‘There all trussed up again…can’t have you screaming the house down, dear’. The intruder noticed the gagged woman’s white, lacy bra was a front loader so to speak. In other words the fastener was in between the fully laden cups. She smiled that evil smile of hers.
‘You do look rather restricted, all those bonds, the gag…..oh! That underwear of yours, very tight looking and you’ve worn it all night. Let me help you breathe a little better’ the intruder reached for the front fastener.
The harassed Miss Parker begun to buck at the touch around her breasts, her gagged voice protesting at a further act of humiliation, her muted moans becoming louder, her sore bound limbs protesting. Her bound, struggling black pantyhosed legs swishing against the bed clothes underneath.
The intruder laughed as the woman’s pale white breasts, now unsupported bounced around her chest, her large nipples erect.
The intruder rose and turned her back on the bucking, crying and moaning woman. On the way out, before she switched off the light she sneered ‘Try not to piss the bed until tomorrow Sweetie and thanks for the clothes’. The door shut behind her.
Even with the door shut the intruder could hear the bed frame within being tested to the full. She walked, her stolen heels clicking away, back down the stairs.
She took a coat off a hook and donned it, retrieved the shoulder bag and placed the purse inside. The cell phone she placed in the coat pocket. She picked the set of keys and left via the front door.
The morning was bright and fresh; cold in fact, the intruder dressed in Miss Parker’s spare attire was glad of the warm coat. It was unbuttoned, the woman could feel her nipples react under the equally stolen flesh colored brassiere.
She walked down the drive to a parked black Mercedes salon, it looked new. The intruder hoped it was not a stick drive. She reached for the cell phone and dialed a number committed to memory. Upon an answer she stopped walking.
‘Hey Frankie, it’s me…….yes me…..be on time….two hours at the lock up….bring the team’, there was a female chattering on the other side ‘Stop squawking…I’m out…it’s time to start…….I just picked up a change of clothes and I’m on my way…be ready…or I’ll Fcuk you over’. She hung up.
She looked up, at the bottom of the drive was a typical looking housewife, staring at her. The wife had a child in tow, no doubt off to catch the school bus. The intruder realized she had been rather loud in her cussing ‘Good morning’, under her breath she sighed ‘Nosey B.tch’. The wife moved on, her kid in tow.
The intruder jumped into the German made automobile ‘Lucky I didn’t break into your place’. She turned the engine over and reversed down the drive.
She briefly stared up at the spare bedroom’s upper window, with its drapes and blinds closed, behind which she new lay the gagged and bound owner of the car and the tight and uncomfortable pantyhose that seemed to have shrunk when she sat down inside the car. ‘Next time I’ll wear slacks’ she said to no one in particular.
The car entered the road and sped off to its rendezvous with the unknown, as yet, Frankie and the equally mysterious team.

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PART THREE

It was the next day. The radio and TV networks were still looking for her, there had been no broadcast regarding the discovery of a bound gagged Helen S Parker, robbed at her home by an escaped convict. It had to be today at some time soon.
It did not matter now, she mused, as she sat at the front of the van. The white van brazenly sported the company logo ‘Easy Time Pest Control’, the logos and van where false of course.
The escaped convict, home invader and clothes stealer was now known as Miss Gold, sitting behind the wheel was Frankie aka Miss Silver.
The two females sat in the heated white van and watched the morning traffic build up, pedestrians becoming more evident, if anyone in authority had taken the time they would have seemed an odd pair, one disguised as a Pest controller, the other as a business executive.
One was an ex con the other an escaped convict on the run, both sipped cups of steaming coffee. Both where silent and observing their intended target from behind the wide vehicle windshield, the weather outside was sunny and bright, yet quite cold.
Miss Gold pondered her current tactical situation. Frankie Babe had done well, better than expected. The van had been stolen a week ago, sprayed and fitted with false plates; the lock up had been rented in a false name and her special team had been assembled.
Upon being picked up at Mall yesterday and when out of earshot in the rented Ford saloon, Miss Gold had given Frankie Babe a mouthful of obscenities and pent up fury.
Why the Fcuk hadn’t she been met a mile outside the penitentiary, near an old textile mill, as planned, why had she been forced to run through the countryside for mile after mile in the pouring rain.
All the time she had been thinking that she was going to get caught and thrown back into the slammer and all her planning, all her craving for vengeance would have come to nothing.
Why had she been forced to break into some bimbo’s house, tie her up and steal her clothes? Even though she said the words Miss Gold, recollected that she had quite enjoyed that experience.
Frankie quickly explained, her voice rising in defense, as how she could not get near the rendezvous due to State Troopers and Police setting up vehicle check points everywhere. Frankie had been surprised that she had made it that far to the woman’s house. She just waited out, hoping.
It had not been an auspicious start for Frankie Babe, but she had since made up for it. Miss Gold felt the bag that held Helen Parkers purse, if all went to hell at least she had cash for a bus ticket.
Yet Miss Silver, alias Frankie Babe had a big stake in making sure the plan was successful, the whole deal involved a fee of 10 million dollars to each member of her team, which was one hell of a good incentive to be efficient and organized.
Miss Gold had planned this operation for over 3 years, her revenge, it was her obsession; it was about her reclaiming her life and heritage. It was even beyond money now; it was about ruining the life of the man who had ruined hers.
Miss Gold had neglected to divulge to her recent colleagues that if all went well she would be 15 Billion dollars richer by this time tomorrow.
Since the outburst in the Ford there had been sense uneasiness between Miss Gold and Silver. Miss Silver, between sips said casually ‘Did I tell you that you look really cute in that outfit’.
Miss Gold had noticed her stealing glances of her legs all morning, the beige skirt had risen when she sat in the van, exposing the tops of her great looking pantyhosed layered legs.
‘Yeah, well, I bet the doe eyed B.tch who used to wear them got told the same thing’, replied Miss Gold, easing up a little. After all, Miss Silver was now the closest thing to family.
‘I had forgotten how restrictive this gear can be, all tight, it’s like my tits are being squeezed by big Lulu in D Block’, they both laughed at that.
Miss Silver replied ‘Yeah until you cut her with that blade……that stopped her from messing with you….and gave me a warning to not even try….you learned fast’, she paused ‘You were so innocent girl ……when you arrived, I thought you wouldn’t last 7 minutes, never mind 7 years’.
‘I had to, that b..stard was always going to pay’, her blue eyes narrowed ‘Still this fcuking bra and pantyhose are killing me, I want something loose around me, the whole get up is like being trussed up’.
‘You left the owner trussed up, imagine how she felt’ said Miss Silver.
‘Fcuk her’, blurted Miss Gold ‘She should have shelled out on a couple of self defense classes or something, instead of a dildo and sexy lingerie…… for ****sake! Get an alarm or gun like everyone else….prancing around her bedroom in her smalls, singing crap…..soon ended that’.
‘You’re a sadistic badass’ said Miss Silver.
‘Yep’, replied Miss Gold ‘She was bucking like a bronco and squealing like a pig when I left……still no news on the cops finding her yet……we’re still ahead and will be long gone by then….I hope’
They both laughed, the previous tension had evaporated. Miss Gold was satisfied, that was the way it should be, and nothing should compromise the success of plan.
A female voice from the rear of van broke in ‘Hey, Boss, any sign yet, I’m getting cramp’. The reply in unison was ‘NO’, again more laughter.
Miss Silver had recruited the others since her early release last year. Gold and Silver had been cellmates, all those snatched moments, whispering, planning with nothing left on paper, all committed to memory.
Miss Red, Blue, White, Black Green, Orange had all the individual skills that were needed, but above all it was their sense of detachment that made them indispensible, all were ruthless professionals.
All of them appeared to be the average girl, pretty and fit. All had a history of jail time, either for robbery, forced imprisonment, kidnapping, drug trafficking or armed robbery. They were definitely classed as ‘She Wolves in lambs clothing’.
After this job with 10 million apiece they would go their separate ways, a rich life in the sun or any other place that was outside the federal law’s reach. If all went well, the Feds would not even find out who they were.
All six professional lady crooks, two were blondes, two had black hair, one was red and the last one was brunette. All had medium length hair under their non descript pest control caps.
Their slim bodies were hidden by the shapeless grey company overalls, between their feet lay black hand all’s, containing vital equipment, tazers and silenced Sig Sauer 9mm pistols.
Miss Gold sipped her coffee, still watching, the van silent. After she had relieved 2,000 dollars cash from Miss Parkers account at a Mall she had been collected by Miss Silver. The Mercedes had been abandoned two blocks away.
Thereafter she had met the team, briefed them up all night, it was early morning by the time she slid into the sleeping bag on an Army cot in the cold lock up. Wearing only her stolen beige flesh colored underwear within the thick quilted bag, she only had 3 hours shut eye before a nightmare brought her fully awake.
It was 7 am; she still wore the outfit purloined from Miss Parker’s house. She still needed the clothes for her part in the plan. After all, they still appeared fresh, smart and professional. Her makeup had been restored from a professional theatrical kit, now in the back of the van.
In fact Miss Gold looked very much like a lady who would often frequent the business that they were observing from across the street. The street was getting busier, the rush hour was starting, people about to start their daily day in the rat race.
This was an up market part of the city, swish boutiques, art galleries and chic European style cafes, it was a typical haunting ground for the rich and idle.

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Miss Silver replied ‘Yeah until you cut her with that blade……that stopped her from messing with you….and gave me a warning to not even try….you learned fast’, she paused ‘You were so innocent girl ……when you arrived, I thought you wouldn’t last 7 minutes, never mind 7 years’.
‘I had to, that b..stard was always going to pay’, her blue eyes narrowed ‘Still this fcuking bra and pantyhose are killing me, I want something loose around me, the whole get up is like being trussed up’.
‘You left the owner trussed up, imagine how she felt’ said Miss Silver.
‘Fcuk her’, blurted Miss Gold ‘She should have shelled out on a couple of self defense classes or something, instead of a dildo and sexy lingerie…… for ****sake! Get an alarm or gun like everyone else….prancing around her bedroom in her smalls, singing crap…..soon ended that’.
‘You’re a sadistic badass’ said Miss Silver.
‘Yep’, replied Miss Gold ‘She was bucking like a bronco and squealing like a pig when I left……still no news on the cops finding her yet……we’re still ahead and will be long gone by then….I hope’
They both laughed, the previous tension had evaporated. Miss Gold was satisfied, that was the way it should be, and nothing should compromise the success of plan.
A female voice from the rear of van broke in ‘Hey, Boss, any sign yet, I’m getting cramp’. The reply in unison was ‘NO’, again more laughter.
Miss Silver had recruited the others since her early release last year. Gold and Silver had been cellmates, all those snatched moments, whispering, planning with nothing left on paper, all committed to memory.
Miss Red, Blue, White, Black Green, Orange had all the individual skills that were needed, but above all it was their sense of detachment that made them indispensible, all were ruthless professionals.
All of them appeared to be the average girl, pretty and fit. All had a history of jail time, either for robbery, forced imprisonment, kidnapping, drug trafficking or armed robbery. They were definitely classed as ‘She Wolves in lambs clothing’.
After this job with 10 million apiece they would go their separate ways, a rich life in the sun or any other place that was outside the federal law’s reach. If all went well, the Feds would not even find out who they were.
All six professional lady crooks, two were blondes, two had black hair, one was red and the last one was brunette. All had medium length hair under their non descript pest control caps.
Their slim bodies were hidden by the shapeless grey company overalls, between their feet lay black hand all’s, containing vital equipment, tazers and silenced Sig Sauer 9mm pistols.
Miss Gold sipped her coffee, still watching, the van silent. After she had relieved 2,000 dollars cash from Miss Parkers account at a Mall she had been collected by Miss Silver. The Mercedes had been abandoned two blocks away.
Thereafter she had met the team, briefed them up all night, it was early morning by the time she slid into the sleeping bag on an Army cot in the cold lock up. Wearing only her stolen beige flesh colored underwear within the thick quilted bag, she only had 3 hours shut eye before a nightmare brought her fully awake.
It was 7 am; she still wore the outfit purloined from Miss Parker’s house. She still needed the clothes for her part in the plan. After all, they still appeared fresh, smart and professional. Her makeup had been restored from a professional theatrical kit, now in the back of the van.
In fact Miss Gold looked very much like a lady who would often frequent the business that they were observing from across the street. The street was getting busier, the rush hour was starting, people about to start their daily day in the rat race.
This was an up market part of the city, swish boutiques, art galleries and chic European style cafes, it was a typical haunting ground for the rich and idle.

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So far their legally parked van had not earned any undue attention, the city, although on the surface looking clean and tidy was really infested with bothersome vermin. Another rat catcher van hanging around at early hour was not an unusual sight.
The business that was the center of the team’s attention was, as stated, opposite. The white imported marble structure, set around a two story block. To use the term block would be a travesty, it was a building constructed in the French style and would not have looked out of place in Paris, which was the owner’s intention.
The front window lace drapes where closed and a gold embossed copper plaque set at the entrance discreetly proclaimed ‘Chic’
Exclusive Parisian Beauty Parlor,
By Appointment Only’.
Miss Gold and her team were intently studying the exclusive beauty parlor. Miss Gold stiffened, placing her coffee cup back in the van’s holder. ’Okay, listen up, we’ve got movement’, she paused ‘We have two subjects closing from the East’.
There was movement at the van’s rear as the whole girl team stirred, getting ready at last for action ‘About time’, said the blonde haired Miss Blue.
Miss Silver also looked up, her pretty face frowning as she noted the two female subjects. The subjects, as stated were two females.
One she knew to be was the assistant manager of the beauty parlor, with the keys to open up; the female would also switch off the parlors security system.
The female, medium build, medium length brown hair, wearing a casual thick long winter coat, her slim neck was encased in a thick red scarf, her dainty head was protected by a trendy woolen beige hat, her brown leather bag hung over her shoulder . The female wore brown hosiery, her feet clad in thick black winter boots. The subject was wrapped up warn for her trip to work.
The pretty assistant manager, who Miss Gold new to be French, her name being Beatrice Foch was chatting away to another equally pretty girl, likewise wrapped up for the unusually cold weather.
The other subject female was Joan Asher, a masseuse and hair stylist. Both girls were animated in conversation as they entered a side alley, which in itself led to the tradesmen and staff entrance, set at the rear of the beauty parlor.
Miss Gold barked ‘okay, give them five, to open up and switch off the alarm. Remember to keep it tight…….Miss Silver, when subjects 3 to 6 arrive I will send the message by cell individually…..remember to keep it tight and work fast’.
She turned around and faced the team ‘As soon as all six are replaced, one of you come to the drapes and pretend to adjust them…..I will then wait for Madame to arrive outside….and escort her in……’ another pause ‘Any questions….’, there was silence from the team ‘Good, remember the amount of money you will get paid….and no accidents…..no deaths or unnecessary bruising…..Go’.
Miss Gold exited the van, the chill instantly gnawing at her thin pantyhosed legs, her shoes offering scant protection.
She retrieved her stolen shoulder bag, inside of which was her own silenced pistol. The van started and moved off, turning a sharp left, cutting across a pissed off cab driver and entered the alley which led to dumpsters and the parlors staff and trade entrance. The van disappeared into and down the alley.
Miss Gold, the collar of her stolen black coat was up, stood on the opposite sidewalk, occasionally blowing into her false pink nailed hands.
10 minutes went by, it seemed longer, there had been no alarm shrieking across the street, no terrified screams or sounds of broken glass….there had been nothing at all. The street seemed like any normal Wednesday on a typically cold March.

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The cell phone in her pocket beeped, this phone was not the one belonging to the unfortunate Miss Parker, that was one was in a trash can in the mall.
She retrieved the cell and looked at the display, the LCD declared ‘2 down’. Miss Gold sighed, so far so good and this was the easy part.
Miss Gold, trying to look not too out of place standing in the street counted the other subjects off as they arrived.
Number 3, a certain ignorant of her fate to be, Daphne Merchant, also French arrived five minutes after Miss Silver’s text message. The female subject’s pretty face was a blank as she arrived to work.
Number 4, Marie Daladier, a renowned nail and skin specialist and 5, Amanda Silverthorne a top hair stylist arrived nearly together.
Both the innocent and untroubled women had their hands in coat pockets, shoulder bags over the shoulder; underneath the heavy coats was a white uniform, unseen by Miss Gold, but she knew it was there.
Number 5 Nicole Brandon was whistling when she arrived at work, looking very happy go lucky…Well little Nicole would not be so happy in 10 minutes time or so.
Numbers 6, Annabelle Johansson, an excellent all rounder in beauty care, was dropped off by her husband outside the parlors front.
Miss Gold watched as the subject kissed him on the cheek as she left the car. Her blonde head was bare, her hair held in a tight neat bun at the rear.
Miss Gold lips and mouth evilly smirked. She watched the husband behind the wheel, so care free, so content with his life and pretty and successful wife.
How would he feel if he knew that his pretty and shapely wife would soon lose that happy look on her face? That very soon his little, cute Annabelle would be very uncomfortable indeed…in minutes few in fact.
Miss Gold watched the husband, who likewise watched his wife turn into the alley. You should watch and look after her she thought, because I am and I will.
The husband drove away, unaware of the hateful gaze that followed him. Miss Gold hated even the term ‘husband’, the sight of a happy looking couple made her remember a past with a more innocent existence.
Now her life was filled with memories of cruelty and humiliation, traits that she would soon pass on to the unfortunate Annabelle.
Miss Gold waited, still, that was the last of the beauticians to arrive. Miss Gold new all their names, ages, routine, their clothing size, shoe size, hair color, who was married, engaged or single and what their individual duties were within the exclusive beauty parlor.
More importantly so had her all girl, multi color coded, team. Miss Gold did not know their real names; Miss Silver did, because she had recruited them. Miss Gold was not interested; all her girls had to do was replicate and replace the real beauticians.
Miss Gold checked and crossed the street and stood in front of the exclusive beauty parlor. She waited; occasionally glancing up at the lace ornamented front windows. There was no sign of any movement at the window.
God, she thought, her nose was cold. Miss Gold, smartly dressed, appeared as if she was waiting for the parlor to open. She looked again, discreetly at the window.
There in front of her was Miss Red, apparently adjusting a lace curtain, as if preparing the Parlor for opening.

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Miss Red, her hair black and held in a tight, severe bun, was attired in a smart, short sleeve uniform dress. The sleeves were adorned with a fleur di ly emblem; around her thin waist was a pink lace trimmed apron, otherwise the uniform was a pristine white.
Miss Red spent a little time at the window, shook the lace drapes once more and retreated back inside, the drapes closing behind her.
Miss Gold was pleased, it was working. The signal had been sent, her girls were established inside. Now the only thing left for her to do was to wait for Madame, the parlors owner.
The time was now 7:45 am; she did not have to wait long. Right on schedule the owner arrived by a yellow taxi cab.
Miss Gold observed as a woman emerged from the rear of the taxi. She was the French woman, Madame Bridget La Chappelle, 55 years old, in her younger days a successful model, now the owner of the very profitable and exclusive beauty parlor.
Miss Gold eyed her up, even though she was in her fifties, she still had it. The long shoulder length, shiny jet black hair. The feline, hazel eyes set in a petite European face, those pouting red lips.
Madame La Chappell’s figure was like a wine glass, full and womanly. She wore a long, black, full sleeve, calve length, cashmere dress. Her thin waist was buckled by a thin patent black belt, a Gucci bag was slung from her slender shoulder.
As well as white pearls in her petite ear lobes and around her ageless neck she wore a black chiffon neck scarf. A long split at the rear of her dress revealed that her still shapely legs were adorned in fine quality black hosiery, her dainty feet clicked and clacked on high heels.
Miss Gold stood to one side, ignored by the beautiful French beauty expert. ‘Excuse me Madame’. The woman looked up as she entered the alcove for the front entrance.
‘I need your help’, the French woman, her English accented looked her up and down ‘Yes, my dear you obviously do’.
The owner pressed the electronic entry button ‘Please make an appointment with my staff by telephone’, the door clicked as the lock was released from inside, she paused and spoke to Miss Gold ‘Ah, Mademoiselle, we are rather expensive……maybe you would rather try a less financially taxing establishment…..’ she did not finish.
Miss Gold quickly and forcibly pushed the Madame through the door as she opened it. The Madame had the quick chance of yelping ‘Hey…’ before the heavy oak front door closed behind then both.
The interior of the parlor was a period piece. It had been designed and constructed to look like a 1930’s Paris Beauty Parlor.
The floor had been laid with black and white floor tiles, the lighting fixtures were period pieces complete with a crystal chandelier, a lush red carpet ran back in a straight line to the rear of the parlor.
A dark mahogany, old style reception counter stood near the door that fronted onto a small office, all 1930’s in style. Offset to the right was a marble staircase that led to the second floor saunas, Jacuzzi, message and treatment suites.
To the left were the hair stylist booths, 5 in fact which had mirrored walls opposite reclining chairs and the customary sink and faucets. At the side of each hair dressing station, complete with drum like hair dryers was a cart holding various sizes of towels.
At the far end of the red carpet was a mahogany door labeled with a bronze sign ‘Staff Only’.
Bridget La Chappelle regained her footing as she was propelled through the door, attempting to reestablish some grace, her voice was angry ‘What the hell are you doing, are you mad…… Beatrice call the ……’
Bridget who during her whirling and blurred push into the parlor had briefly noted white clad figures, who she had taken to be her staff, she stopped calling for her assistant manager when she noted their faces.
Her voice was puzzled ‘You are not my girls….where is Beatrice…who are you’.

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The five females before her were striking in appearance. The women’s hair styles were harsh, hair bunned at the back, gelled down and held back, resulting in their facial features being accentuated.
The women had not been liberal in their use of cosmetics. Full red lips, blusher on cheeks, lots of foundation, black eye shadow, none smiled.
The pristine, above the knee, white uniforms with their petite pink apron looked amazing. All the uniforms were figure hugging, zippers lowered to a provocative level, one or two a little too tight around the bust. And the bosoms on display were mighty wholesome.
The uniforms were tight around the women’s curved thighs and ass……and a little transparent too….these girls obviously didn’t wear a short slip underneath.
The bogus beauticians long and shapely legs had been obviously sheathed in suntan brown pantyhose and their feet sported pristine white canvas tennis shoes.
All 5 stood motionless, intimidating yet all were fabulously provocative and most of all they all held silenced automatic pistols.
‘That’s right Madame La Chapelle….they are not your girls…do not scream….you would be dead before the sound left your still pretty and surprisingly natural lips’ said Miss Gold.
The shocked Madame, looked at Miss Gold ‘What do you want…..we have no money here….where are my girls…have you hurt them’.
‘Yes….it is about money, but not yours…….as for your girls……. shall we go and visit them, I think they would be rather pleased to see you’.
Miss Gold prodded the French women in the back and both of them strode along the red carpet to the door marked ‘Staff Only’.
Once past the door they entered a corridor rather less grandly decorated. Although sterile clean the white painted corridor was harshly lit by strip lighting.
Outside a white door marked ‘Staff Changing Room’ Miss Gold stopped. ‘Once inside do not speak unless I require an answer….understand’. The Frenchwoman paused, already guessing at what would confront her inside and nodded.
The changing room was spacious, again harshly lit and painted white. On one side hung four full size mirrors, intended for the female staff to inspect their state of dress. The other side held 8 full size blue metal lockers.
In the middle, bolted to the floor, were two rows of back to back wooden benches, complete with an overhead sturdy metal rail with hooks. Again, intended for the female staff to sit down while they changed. The benches were far from not being used. In fact they looked quite crowded.
Madame Bridget’s female staff occupied the benches, all the women sat back to back, 3 on one side, 3 on the other, they were quite still and silent…..in fact they had no choice.
All were gagged, blindfolded and bound. Their wrists had been taped to the rails above, their knees and ankles likewise restrained by lots of white duct tape.
Their dainty, manicured, polished toe nailed feet had been bound to the benches metal floor rail, the bound knees keeping their legs together, yet forced back under the bench, a very uncomfortable position to be in, especially when gagged and sightless.
Small, petite female nostrils flared slightly as they sucked in extra air to their stressed lungs, after all there was no air entering through their small pretty mouths.
Their mouths, each of which held a single ping pong ball which forced their tongues back, had also been liberally smothered in strips of white tape. Their eyes rendered sightless by the now familiar tape which had been wrapped around their feminine heads. The hair underneath being in disarray, as the clips holding their buns in place had been removed prior.
The hair pins had not been the only article that had been removed either. Madam Bridget’s girl’s attire was quite scandalous, the madam herself gasped.

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The Frenchwomen could still recognize her staff; the only sign that her girls were awake was the slow rhythm of their chests slowly rising and falling, the slight twitch of a gagged head as if they were straining to hear any sound or movement, the slow flexing of bound hands, the movement of forcibly elevated arms or elbows, the shifting of a numb buttock or aching legs.
None of her girl’s were moaning or twisting in a frenzy of humiliation and outrage; it was as if they had been ordered not to cause a commotion……Bridget feared for them if they had.
Bridget was shocked that they had all been bound and gagged so tightly, but she was even more incensed and appalled by their state of dress. One of her girl’s, Annabelle she guessed was completely naked, not a stitch of clothing had been left on her slim body.
Poor Annabelle, her head leaning to her bare right shoulder, a red mark on that shoulder still displayed where her bra had been. Her face, what could be discerned under the voluminous tape was red, bloated after being so tightly restricted.
Her bare waistline, pinched and red from where the waistband of her sun tan colored pantyhose had dug into her soft flesh, her pierced naval, bare hips, her blonde womanly private place exposed for all to view, her bound and naked legs, her toenails painted blue, her tied hands, still proudly displaying her recent engagement and wedding rings.
The poor, poor girl thought Madame Bridget, but why strip her nude, why just her? The others did not look to decent either.
Beatrice, her assistant manager had been bound and gagged the same way, her brown haired head was straight, as if her sightless eyes were looking directly ahead, she was also bra less, with her arms raised above her gagged head, her large breasts with her large dark nipples hung loose from her chest, victims of gravity.
At least Beatrice had been left in her lacy trimmed, short white half slip, giving her a little dignity in nether regions. Not so for the others.
Joan, her expert masseuse, was bound and gagged still in her bra and panties. A white sporty combination, a plain cup full support bra and high hipped classic style panties, no frilly adornments to view; they were a bright pristine white. Her head was slightly down, as if in resignation at her present predicament.
Her other 3 girls had their backs to Madame Bridget, facing away from their 3 similarly trussed, gagged and stripped colleagues.
Her prettiest girls Daphne and Marie were also gagged and taped up in their bras and panties, although their choice of undergarments that day had been a little too adventurous.
The girls gagged and blindfolded faces were only seen from the side, the straps and torso bands of their bras visible on their soft, flawless backs. The rear fastener’s fully clipped a laundry tag underneath or just visible.
The rear of their panties, curving over the side’s thighs, their peach like backsides encased in soft satin or polyester, flattened out as they sat on the bench.
Marie wore a white pair of sheer, flower patterned bikini panties that left nothing to the imagination of her current observers. The shape and separation of her buttocks was all to visible.
Likewise her skimpy and appealing bra cups similarly displayed her small nipples through the sheer nylon material. All her girl’s waistlines displayed where their pantyhose had been just a short time ago.
Daphne had likewise chosen a scanty underwear set, a light ivory in color that would not be discernable under her uniform, or so she thought, having no expectations of being stripped by strangers that morning.
Her panties were a G String, and all of what that design implied and went with it was on display, her bra was a low cut, a lacy demi bra in fact, a low cut cup that exposed the breast, after all she had an appointment with her boyfriend later and wanted to spice things up a little.

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Daphne, a pretty French girl and a daughter of close Friend of Madame Bridget, had worn a pair of expensive, shiny Lycra tan thigh highs that morning which at this present time now graced the legs of Miss White, who was also wearing the rest of her attire.
The only person getting a thrill was the still disguised in grey overalls Miss Green, who leveled a silenced pistol at them all, looking menacing and not incapable of violence.
Nicole, who was always the happy one, likewise gagged, bound and deprived of her uniform and brassiere, looked a pathetic sight, hanging limp from the metal rail above, her head slumped forward into her bare chest. She may have been unconscious thought Bridget.
Nicole, so young, positive and full of humor, her breasts modest, pert and unblemished, hung at the mercy of gravity, her hips encased in a pair of ornate lacy, trendy trimmed white hipster panties.
‘My poor Girls…you animals’, hissed Madame Bridget. At the sound of their employer’s voice, Daphne, Joan and Marie began to ‘MMMPPPPHHHH’, ‘MMMMMMPPPHHHH’, through their gags. Twisting their bound hands held above their heads.
The women’s slim waists twisted towards the familiar, safe and known voice ‘MMMMPPPPHHHHhhhh’.
‘I told you not to speak, unless asked too….now’, Miss Gold paused for effect ‘Miss Green, if you would be most kind in twisting one of Annabelle’s nipples……………..please’.
Miss Green smiles a most evil smile and advanced on the gagged, bound and naked woman. Annabelle on hearing her name began to moan ‘NNNUUGGGHHHH’, ‘NNNNUUUUGGGGHHH’, which one surmised as being the word ‘NO’.
The naked Annabelle began to twist and turn, moaning in fear, Madame Bridget cried out ‘NON’, French for no, Miss Green supposed.
‘Twist them both please, Miss Green……..every time you speak, your girls will pay Madame La Chapelle……you must learn who is in control’ said Miss Gold, totally in charge and arrogant.
Madame Bridget closed her eye shadowed eyes as she heard the gagged scream from Annabelle. When opened them she saw that her girl was sobbing, her bare chest heaving up and down, the gagged sobbing moans, her tits and nipples looking red and raw after their severe wrenching by Miss Green.
‘Do you understand who is in charge Madame…’. Madame Bridget nodded vigorously and swiftly.
‘Good, Miss Green will escort you to your new staff…..you do exactly as I say or one of your new girls will promptly put a bullet hole in all these pretty heads…….Miss Green….take Madame to reception….I will follow shortly….I need to slip into something a little more …Ah..comfortable…go’.
Miss Green took Madame by her slim elbow ‘After you deposit her to the others, tell Miss Silver to leave the van and come inside…….’ ‘Affirmative Miss Gold’, replied the menacing femme fetal.
The changing room door closed behind them. Miss Gold removed the stolen black coat and let it fall to the floor.
She kicked off the brown leather slip on shoes, the white tiles beneath, felt cold on her stockinged feet.
She unfastened the small belt and unzipped the beige skirt, which likewise fell to the floor. Miss Gold’s lithe body was becoming ever more evident, in her purloined white blouse which hung over her tan pantyhosed thighs and legs, the high cut flesh colored panties, deliciously discernable underneath.
Once peeled over her hips and down her legs, the light brown, translucent hosiery garment was thrown over her shoulder and settled on the still unconscious Nicole’s head.
Miss Gold ripped open her stolen blouse and tossed it away, her arms reached behind her back and unfastened the plain, flesh tone colored brassiere, as the cups fell away from her chest, Miss Gold felt a satisfying coolness engulf her ample breasts.
The pile of discarded female clothing was soon joined by a pair of high cut panties. Miss Gold said aloud, causing the other stripped, gagged and bound females in the room to jump…..’MMmmmmm’,

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they mewed, except for the ever peaceful Nicole, ‘Farewell, and Adieu …..Miss Parker….and thank you very fcuking much….have a nice day’.
Miss Gold padded bare foot over to an opened locker, a white uniform was hung up inside, accompanied by underwear, suntan shaded pantyhose and tennis shoes at the bottom.
She turned around, ‘Well subject 6, thank you for the loan of your clothes….it was most kind of you to be so co operative’, she reached out and patted Annabelle’s tape layered cheek, the molested girl had ceased sobbing.
At the touch of a stranger’s hand on her soft, white skin, the restless Annabelle recoiled, her head snapping the opposite way ‘UUUUURRRRGGGGHHHH’, ‘UUUUUURRRRRGGGHHHH’, she sounded quite pissed thought Miss Gold.
‘Now, Now Sweetie…Don’t get your panties in a twist’, as Miss Gold snapped them on ‘Oh, silly me…your not wearing any……but I am’.
Miss Gold adjusted the brilliant white, sheer fronted ornate lace patterned bikini style panties, her ass enveloped fully in white nylon, the small laundry tag visible underneath ‘Guess whose panties I’m wearing …….’.
‘UUUURRRGGGGHHH’, ‘MMMUUUMMMPPPHHHHFFFFFFF’, was the gagged protest
‘Yes….clever girl ……yours’, taunted Miss Gold, who was now slipping her arms into the straps of a Playtex full support bra. She fitted the lacy trimmed cups under her breasts and fastened the ornate flower patterned band around her back. With a little snap on skin for effect, a little tight this time she thought.
‘Did darling Hubby watch you get dressed this morning Sweetie…..I bet he got a kick….eh….little cute bra and panties’ as she awkwardly peeled on Annabelle’s sheer to waist suntan colored pantyhose. The mentioning of the woman’s name had an explosive effect.
‘RRRRUUUGGGGHHHH……RRRUUUUHH….UUUURRRGHHHHH’, pissed off Annabelle began to shake the rail that held her fast, upsetting and alarming the other bound and temporary blinded females.
Soon, the bench was shaking as all 6, the shuddering bench had caused Nicole to regain consciousness too, when the stripped, gagged and bound females began to moan loudly and pull at their bonds.
The normally happy go lucky Nicole was not so now, her world was black, she could not talk, there was something in her mouth, her limbs would not move, in panic she was twisting and turning, she did not note the other loud and muted moans because her dainty ears were filled with her own.
The room pulsated at the deep, distressed moans and struggles of 6 troubled young women who had been assaulted, forced to remove various intimate articles of clothing and subsequently tied up.
‘MMMMMUUPPPPHHHFFF….MMMMMMMMMM….UUURRGGGHHHFFF..’ the multiple submissive, tormented moans of the young ladies very much satisfied and aroused Miss Gold, who over her newly acquired bra, panties and pantyhose was just finishing the final adjustment of Annabelle’s uniform dress.
‘Hey girls..come on…stop getting worked up over nothing….just look at it that your getting the day off’, Miss Gold was tying off the last of the white tennis shoes.
‘Look I can see that your upset’, Miss Gold had placed her hair in a tight bun and was using Annabelle’s hair pins to keep it place ‘What’s a little dress up and swap between girls…eh…okay…..take a little time to cool off….Oh…and don’t go anywhere’. Miss Gold dressed up as smart and good looking beautician opened the door and left.
Outside in the well lit corridor, as the door had shut it had also cut off the muffled and muted pleas and the angry protests, Miss Gold ran into Miss Silver coming in from the rear parking lot.
Miss Silver’s eyes were all over her friend, she noted the white underwear visible underneath the uniform, the extra short hemline, and the strong dark pantyhosed legs, rather loudly she stated ‘You are

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one hell of a UNIFORM STEALING BROAD ..… It suits you, makes you look younger, in your twenties’, all was said with a smile and there was a little spark in Miss Silver’s eyes.
‘Yes it should…The last occupant was in her twenties…..you’ll spot the donor as you walk in…..she’s the one with fcuk all left on her…….quieten them down in there….Jeez…some girls can’t take a joke.
They both laughed as they went their separate ways, Miss Gold briefly heard the muted female moans once more until the door snapped shut once again.
Miss Gold entered the main salon of the parlor. There stood her smart, uniformed team, ‘Miss Green….please rejoin Miss Silver in the changing room and await a change of suitable clothing’, Miss Green complied.
A rather nervous looking Madame Bridget stood at reception, closely escorted by the white uniformed Miss Orange and Miss Black.
Miss White was adjusting a stolen thigh high stocking, the original owner had a slightly thinner leg and the damn things kept slipping down.
‘Okay, Madame…..your appointment book please’, demanded Miss Gold.
The French lady complied and retrieved a thick leather bound ledger and opened it. Miss Gold took it and studied the days booked arrivals.
The list was quite full and very prestigious, some of the city’s most wealthy and powerful trophy wives and pampered playthings were expected that day.
‘Ooohh….’, Miss Gold imitated a soft female tone of surprise ‘Annabelle’s panties are riding up my ass’. Miss Black, Blue and Red laughed out loud’
Turning to her team, smiling ‘which of you saucy, mischievous, bad ass, ladies helped yourself to a free little brassiere….they cost a lot you know…and those poor little dears are freezing, you can always tell if it’s a little nippy’, Miss Gold indicated to her own breast, Again there was laughter.
Miss Red piped up ‘Mine was a burgundy color…would have shown right through this dress’.
‘Same here’ said Miss Blue ‘my bra was black and from Wal-Mart’, laughter again.
Miss Blue held up her hand ‘Sorry, mine was just old and sad looking’, she lifted her breasts up by both hands, which also elevated her uniform dress hemline even further up her full thighs, revealing the panty line of her hosiery clad legs , she shook her tits back and fore and shouted in a mocking tone ‘AND THIS ONE WAS NEW AND MADE TO ORDER’, the all female team burst into general laughter.
‘Your all sick….you need a psychiatrist….all of you are disgusting…..perverts’ declared Madame, being quite brave in the circumstances.
‘Maybe’, said Miss Gold, deep in thought ‘But it was the correctional system that created us….so who is to blame…my dear pampered French *****’, she stole a frosty glance at the women, who looked away, her hands trembling..
‘Now…cancel all today’s appointments except the two at 9am, 9:30am and more importantly the 10:30….they are expected’. Madame Bridget reached for the telephone, she had no choice, these criminals were unstable, and there was no knowing what else they would do to her poor tied up girls…..or her for that matter.
Miss Gold watched closely, standing very, very close to the Madame, as she cancelled every other appointment for that day.
Miss Gold could smell the French woman’s expensive sweet smelling perfume; her graceful body under the long dress, the curve of her buttocks, the swelling of her breasts, Miss Gold had an impulse to touch and likewise felt her nipples inside the indisposed Annabelle’s bra began to harden.
Miss Gold gave the Madame credit for her stoic performance; all her cancellation recipients were met with sincere, natural sounding apologies…there had been no trace of anything other than a normal business upset, in this case a suspected gas leak in the building.

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After the last call was made Miss Gold clapped her hands in admiration ‘Bravo, Madame, bravo, a splendid performance all round…….you have saved your damsels in peril more severe hardship…believe me’.
‘But it is not over yet, Madame….we are expecting clients….Miss Red, Miss Blue, Miss White, Miss Orange, Miss Black, hide your weapons ….open up for business..Se vous plais as our host would say…open those drapes…let the sun in’, Miss Gold now acting like a circus ring master.
Madame Bridget surmised that this woman was quite unbalanced; her thoughts were disrupted as she was roughly pulled behind the reception counter, her black high heels clacking on the granite floor tiles in protest.
Miss Gold, tightly dressed as one of her girls, all Annabelle’s if she guessed right, was closely beside her, a silenced pistol had been dug into her slim waist.
Likewise the other imposters took up position in the parlor, hiding pistols under towels; two held them and placed a towel over the top to disguise them.
They all waited in silence…….the parlor clock ticking…..sounding extra loud in the forced stillness …..The increasing traffic making hardly a sound through the reinforced, soundproofed glass and heavy security door.
Miss Gold studied the wall clock and security camera that was positioned over the main entrance, finally ‘Okay people…….here we go, get ready……all smiles girls…..Madame…act like you have never acted before and fake an orgasm for me’.
Madame Bridget fidgeted uncomfortably and bit her lip; the striking mature lady looked up at her CCTV camera, mounted behind the solid mahogany desk, oh God she thought, another lamb to the slaughter.
The small black and white monitor displayed a female at the door….a loud buzzing pierced the salon. Madame pressed a switch; the low sound of classic French music filled the salon ‘A good touch, Madame…everything normal….eh’. Miss Gold pressed another button and the door lock popped.
The door opened ‘Ah….Madam Bridget….my feet and poor back need you……my hair is like a scarecrows….help my please’ said a loud, rather plump, woman in her early thirties.
Mrs Belinda Grace Bloemfontein the third, the wife of a leading city banker strode into the parlor as if she was the center of the universe.
Mrs Bloemfontein had a pretty face although it was turning to fat around her chin; her cheeks too full and fleshy, Miss gold guessed that it was the result of too much extravagant living.
In fact the woman had put on a lot of weight since the last intelligence update from her secret source. It appeared that Miss Green would have no problem at all squeezing herself into the overweight woman’s garments, far from it in fact.
Bloemfontein’s eyes were dark brown, moist and deep, heavily laden with mascara, her lips were bright red and she wore too much foundation.
Her long, shiny and fine brown hair had been set and pinned to the top of her head, another regretful aspect of fashion that had died out in the 50’s.
The woman’s plump body was adorned with the best of jewelry that included rubies, diamonds, white gold, silver, emeralds, and pearls on her ears. Again, being expensive did not mean elegant or sophisticated and in this case looked crass and vulgar.
Mrs Bloemfontein’ garments were all good quality and expensive designer labels, and it looked good.
Or it would have looked good on someone without a bulging waistline and about 12 years younger. Miss Gold presumed that the plump and arrogant Belinda must be wearing some good ole reinforced support panties under that that lot, a pair of super support pantyhose too as backup, the way her gut seemed restricted under that all too tight dress.

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Due to the dress hem line being so short it must be pantyhose, a rich colored expensive pair of navy blue ones, noted Miss Gold, smiling in her new white uniform, the perfect picture of a professional, up market beautician.
The all too young navy blue, suede knee length boots were another mistake on this woman, if her weight was like it should have been then, yes…go girl.
Bloemfontein’s dress was long sleeved, low cut and a wide black Versace belt attempted to constrict her waist even further.
Miss Gold attempted not to laugh as the bogus beautician noted the woman’s chest within the blue, all too tight dress that would have looked great on her, if it was not a size 14.
The upper part of the dress was quite translucent; revealing that Bloemfontein wore an equally blue brassiere underneath, the bra was another ornate cupped affair that looked quite sturdy and possibly underwired.
The vulgar, rich fickle minded female, who must have been under the delusion that she looked stunning should have worn a camisole underneath, hiding her large, flabby breasts from public view, regardless of how expensive the bra that held them in place.
Miss Gold may have found it amusing if she knew that the parlor’s owner standing next to her, under duress also found this egocentric woman before them tiresome and a bore.
Madame Bridget and her currently bound and gagged girls always found it hard work to restore the damage done by Mrs. Bloemfontein’s bad taste. The heavy lucrative fee was always the compensation and the reason why they had all persevered.
‘Mrs. Bloemfontein it always a pleasure to cater for your special or may I say unique desires’ chirped the smiling French woman.
‘Yes….please…the week as just been a whirlwind of official receptions…..the banking world is such a bore…oh…..you have new staff….where is Beatrice, Annabelle and what’s her name Marie…’, said the plumb socialite wife, taking in her surroundings at last.
‘I have a new assistant manager…Ahh…Miss Gold….Poor Beatrice had to leave ..ah..rather suddenly. Although her and the girls are never that far away, trust me.’
Madame Bridget nearly lost her composure as she felt a pistol barrel jab her ribs. ‘My temporary team, Mrs. Bloemfontein is second to none…your needs and desires are theirs…please..come. Maybe a little pedicure and manicure to begin…’
Miss Gold nodded to Miss Black and Miss White who waited in attendance ‘Please allow my new staff to make you comfortable….’ Said the French woman.
Miss Black and Miss White took up a position on either side of the overweight, expensively dressed female.
As the trio walked away, the bankers wife hemmed in on either side ‘Yes, I think a little hands and feet relief will do the trick….’ They headed towards the door marked ‘Staff only’,’ and do not forget the glass of Chablis Bridget……where are we going…..’, still walking fast ‘Will you two morons slow down……How dare you touch me…….’, both uniformed beauticians take old of her arms and lift’, HELP…Bridget what is the meaning of this……ARRRRGGGHHHHH….MMMMUUUUUPPPPFFFFGGGHHHH!’, as the strong hand of Miss White clamped over the woman’s mouth.
The sight of the moaning, struggling woman being forcibly escorted out of the parlor, Miss White’s stolen stockings again appearing to slide down her strong, shapely legs, was suddenly cut from view as the door closed behind them.
Apart from the soft music, the parlor was silent, the intruders poised, waiting, and the owner, unsmiling and nervous.
After 10 minutes the door reopened, Miss White and Miss Black reentered the parlor. Miss Black quipped to Miss Gold ‘Mission accomplished’.

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Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:14 pm

Miss White held up her hands in frustration ‘God damn fcuking stockings, why did I have to pick miss skinny legs in there’……Miss Red jeered.
‘Hey don’t laugh…wait till you see Miss Green…Miss Piggy’s dress is like a tent on her….’ More laughter, which increased when Miss Green entered the parlor.
Miss Green entered, her heeled suede boots click clacking on the tiles, she looked none to amused, swinging a rather large, sturdy and lacy blue bra in her right hand.
‘I can’t were this under this dress…it’s designed to carry water melons…come on…’, the dress’s upper transparent blouse revealed that Miss Green clearly still wore her own white brassiere. The dress looked way to large, even with the black belt the dress hemline sat lower on her legs, all baggy and loose instead of tight and revealing.
Her legs, what were visible, appeared still sheathed in tan pantyhose ‘ Porky’s pantyhose are way too large, man……….you should see that fat ass’s panties…..they might as well go up to her chin….no way on hell I’m putting on those duds’.
The laughter died down ‘Okay...okay….cool it’, said Miss Gold ‘our second visitor is due in 5……stash that bra and sit in one of those chairs…..Miss Red…Miss Orange…look as if you’re your pampering our new slimmer looking Belinda, this place is a wonder weight loss establishment..eh’, another chuckle session.
Miss Gold ordered ‘Place a couple of towels around your shoulders, which will hide what’s underneath….you’ll be back in those overalls very soon……who would have guessed that the B.tch would turn to fat’.
Miss Gold looked down at the camera ‘Look out girls…here’s number two….this one looks in better shape’. Madame Bridget groaned loudly.

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PART FOUR

Rachel Lucy Spenser found it difficult to breathe and she was cold. The 25 year old, the hazel eyed and long haired brunette was having difficulty in accepting her recent and adverse predicament.
Only 10 minutes ago she had been a wealthy, popular and fashionably clothed young lady, who was about to enjoy a new hairstyle at her much beloved beauty parlor.
She had entered the parlor wearing a hip length grey Arran sweater, short black skirt; her long legs had been encased in opaque black pantyhose, her shoes were an expensive pair of black Italian flat sole slip on shoes.
Over her shoulder was a black leather Prada shoulder bag, Daddy’s most recent present. Her hair was rich, fine and long and flowed over her shoulders.
In fact, Rachel was still in shock. She remembered the usual smiling Madame Bridget, the girls, the invitation to the hair dressing station, and then it all became a blur.
The pushing, the shoving, her small arms held behind her back, the hand over her mouth. The rush of the forced journey down the bright corridor and then into another room.
The scandalous and terrifying sight of all those gagged, semi naked, tied up women, she hardly remembered a ball being jammed between her white teeth, the tape being fixed over her rose red lips, the temporary darkness as her expensive sweater was pulled over head.
She was horrified and yet captivated at the sight of those forlorn gagged, blindfolded and bound females, they all seemed very familiar to her, from the little detail she could discern.
Bare breasts, brown nipples, a totally naked woman, bras and panties, the pathetic moaning, the muted whimpers, the desperate sobbing, the slim female limbs pulling against the tight restrictions imposed on them.
Her fawn like hazel eyes gaped at the fat woman who had been hogtied, gagged and blindfolded and was rolling around on the white tiled floor.
A sad, grotesque sight in her large blue support panties, her stomach attempting to escape the waistband of her equally stressed blue pantyhose, the large unsupported milky white breasts flat at being squeezed onto the white, cold tiled floor.
The woman was writhing against the tape that connected her tied limbs together, her mouth and eyes likewise sealed with lashings of white duct tape.
Rachel had been unresponsive to the change of temperature to her young body; her mind was too overloaded, when she was divested of her clothes by strange searching hands.
Rachel blinked, blinked again as she looked up from the cold floor, she saw another woman, older than herself, buttoning and zipping up on the side her own skirt. The woman wore her pantyhose and shoes, her upper body clad in an unfamiliar white bra.
Rachel ****ed her head, she glimpsed a view of her simple, shiny black, bikini panties, her young, healthy naked body, and then she raised her small chin and saw the thin, lacy torso band of her black lacy cupped wonderbra.
My god, she thought, they had stolen her clothes, and that she was unclothed, bound and gagged, like the others.
Her dark eyelashes fluttered, her eye shadowed eyes looked up. Her bra clad assailant advanced on her young, bound and gagged body holding out in plain view an extended roll of white tape.
Rachel’s new and unpleasant environment soon became dark and subdued as she rolled on the floor, restrained and cold in her rather skimpy black underwear.
Rachel still could not understand how her very happy, privileged and carefree world had changed in just a short period of 10 minutes or so.
The young woman did not shout or scream through her gag, or thrash about on the floor, she just waited for herself to awaken from this very bad dream….that was it she thought…I’m still asleep in the safety of my bedroom….it’s all a simple nightmare….
Miss Silver entered the parlor, the staff door slamming behind her. Miss Gold looked up ‘Now who looks like eye candy’ she purred.
Miss Silver looked very attractive indeed. She wore Rachel’s Arran sweater, skirt, pantyhose and shoes with style and panache. Miss Green looked on with envy and annoyance.
Miss Silver walked over to Miss Gold, swinging her hips in her new short skirt, a flirty and provocative gait that caught Miss Gold off guard; she wetted her dry red painted lips.
She walked up close to Miss Gold, and lent closer to the other woman’s face ‘I told you in the joint….I scrub up very well’. Miss Red and Blue looked at each other and shrugged their white uniformed shoulders.
Miss Gold felt a flutter in her groin, a stirring sensation in her stolen panties. She wanted to kiss those rose painted lips, smother that mouth in a deep embrace, clutch that pert looking butt in the stolen skirt; she wanted to rip off her friend’s pantyhose in unbridled passion.
Miss Gold gulped and regained her composure ‘Good job…you look the part…now we have two customers and a full staff….and the helpful Madame….Number 3 is the target, without her the whole job will collapse…let’s be patient and professional….Miss Blue, please check on our guests in the locker room….make sure they are tight and sound…go.
Miss Blue left to complete her task, her generous butt pumping up and down within the stolen, crisp, white uniform, the swish of pantyhosed legs marking her departure.
Miss Silver satisfied with her effect on her friend lent back and retreated into the main salon. Madame Bridget looked her up and down and in disgust ‘Merde….she was only a child’.
Miss Silver looked over her shoulder ’25 honey….that’s no child…at her age I had a rap sheet that looked like a novel….if Daddy pampered and spoilt his little girl that’s her problem…life’s a b.tch and that

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thats no fcuking joke…..my real life education is a little more realistic…little Miss Sunshine just experienced what we all had in the joint…..Rip an Strip baby……we were more gentle, trust me…so fcuk you….but you can thank her for the loan of her outfit …they feel kinda sexy too..’, she looked over to Miss Gold who looked away.
They waited for visitor number 3, the important one. Miss Blue eventually returned ‘Nice and tight Miss Gold….their all moaning away…I told em they aint going nowhere…..the fat one is rolling around…girl…aint she losing some calories…..keep bucking like that and she’s goner have an heart attack’. There was more laughter in the room.
The 35 minutes seemed more like hours to Miss Gold, who tried to keep her eyes off her friends legs, legs encased in stolen black opaque pantyhose, pantyhose that had just until recently adorned another females legs.
Miss Silver had sat down, her skirt had risen revealing strong and sexy thighs, she stroke those thighs as if smoothing any anomalies in the black Lycra fabric that sheathed them. She did it on purpose, knowing that Miss Gold was stealing glances at her from reception.
Eventually, bang on time at 10:30 a black limousine pulled up outside at the reserved VIP parking area outside the beauty parlor.
‘Okay…let’s go people…assume your positions’. Miss Silver and Green assumed the guise of customers and sat at the hair dressing stations, attended to by Miss Orange and Miss Blue.
Miss Red and Miss Black stood ready at the staircase, Miss White; forever hitching up her loose purloined stockings was in reserve, near the door. Miss Gold, behind the counter, held the ever present silenced pistol into Madame’s midriff.
The security door clicked and popped. Whereupon a female entered the parlor, a female that was stunning, in her figure and choice of garments at least.
The female was tall and attired entirely in black. Her long, full sleeved, silk dress was jet black. The woman’s very large bust was concealed and revealed little of her thin white neck.
The dress was tight, very tight indeed and displayed the curvaceous lines of her body to the full, the curve of her bosom, the curves of her perfect ass; all was on display under a thin layer of shiny silk.
The assumed long legs were hidden by the extended silken dress which ran down to her black patent leather shod feet, stiletto heels of course.
The female’s hand were hidden with a black sable sole, that was a one piece glove, very retro, and her face was as yet hidden.
The striking female wore a black pillbox hat that sported a fine, gossamer veil. The inky black veil obscured the female’s natural beauty, which even masked, was astonishing.
The veil trailed down to her fine neck, her dark brown hair was tightly bunted and held in place by a large butterfly hair clip.
Madame Bridget interposed on the breath taking scene ‘Baroness Von Sonderberg...it is a privilege as always’, Madame gave a low curtsey, so did all the bogus staff.
‘Your private suite is ready, Baroness……may my staff escort you as usual’, the black clad Baroness only nodded and did not speak a single word in acknowledgement.
Miss Gold watched as the silent, silk clad form ascended the marble staircase. The gliding movements of royalty in motion thought Miss Gold.
She watched as the firm ass sheened in tight black silk gracefully swayed up the staircase. No overt sounds came forth, only the swish of silk.
Miss Gold noted the long slit at the back of the dress, a glimpse of black hosiery sheathed legs met her eager gaze, the rear of a stiletto high heel as her steps trace the marble steps.
Miss Red and Miss Black followed at a discreet distance, looking docile and humble in their fake service as beauticians.

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The party disappeared from view, into the masseur and private health spas. Miss White reached under the reception desk and retrieved a large cloth pad and a small brown bottle. ‘Time for that Kraut B.tch to go sleepy byes’; she sneered, her cute face a mask of menacing intent.
Miss Gold spoke ‘She’s Swedish, actually...not that it matters……. Give her time to undress…after wards chloroform the others in the locker room’, Miss White moved off.
‘Madame Bridget…if you please’, Miss Gold indicated to the small enclosed office behind reception. The beauty parlor owner nervously complied, looking over her shoulder. Miss Gold retrieved a roll of white duct tape and closed the office door behind them.
‘Please’, implored the French woman in a desperate voice ‘Do not strip me…please’.
‘Madame…you co operation as been without fault…therefore a little reward may be granted…sit in your chair’ the French woman complied.
‘Miss Gold began to lash Madame Bridget to her high backed leather office chair; soon her limbs were swathed with tape, her hands taped to the chair’s arm rests.
‘There Madame…comfortable…No….a better position than of your girl’s… I think’, Miss Gold bunged the woman’s pert mouth with a ball, thrusting it through her teeth, forcing the woman’s tongue onto the back of her throat, applying strips of tape to complete the gag, three across, and two in the shape of a cross ‘There…the sound of silence…as they say’.
Madame Bridget’s eyes were rolling from left to right, grateful that she still retained her clothing and some dignity, yet still fearful ‘Au voir ….Madame..Merci Bou cou’.
As she said the goodbye, Miss Gold’s right hand lazily ran across the French woman’s bust, thrust out from two lines of restrictive white tape. Madame gave a very low ‘MMMMUUMMM’, in surprise and fear.
Miss Gold left the office and closed the door behind her ‘When Miss White returns get her to chloroform this one too’. Miss Orange nodded in reply; Miss Silver and Miss Green were now standing, ready to move at any given notice.
Miss Gold marched up the marble staircase, her stolen uniform tight on her lithe, fit body. She pushed open, the period glass swing doors.
She was greeted by the sounds of a struggle going on in one of the masseur room’s, the muted sounds of ‘MMMUUUUPPHHFFFFFF’, greeted her ears, the probable resonance of legs beating against a masseur couch. She ignored it, for the moment, confident that her team was taking care of the Baroness.
Miss Gold entered the luxury private changing room. The room had been upholstered in wine red carpets and soft furnishings, again a period piece on how a ladies health spa would appear in the early 20Th Century.
The light was low, from flower shaped wall lamps; a large mirror was fixed to the wall. Miss Gold noted the various female garments, neatly placed for their wearer to return, and of course just recently vacated.
Miss Gold unzipped her stolen uniform and let it fall to the floor, the crisp white uniform with its pink apron gathered around her tennis shoe shod feet.
In the large mirror she studied her fit body in its stolen underwear. Strange how the brilliant white undergarments looked so natural on her body, after all they had not been intended to support her breasts and conceal her pelvic regions.
She remembered the husband kissing the real owners cheek earlier; she had been like that once…This was what it was all about…and the money.
She gazed at her pantyhose clad legs, thighs and hips, the cute lacy panties underneath, the endearing lacy trimmed brassiere, so white even though her skin tone was so pale in color.

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She imagined the initial female who had previously worn them, going to the store, pausing in her intimate choice, would her partner like these, where they comfortable on her body. The intimate feminine modus operandi of an individual persona choosing her own under garments
Miss Gold visualized the woman called Annabelle in her bedroom that morning, not so long ago. The woman searching through those intimate storage spaces, looking for something suitable, something not visible through her clothing for that day, a secret choice between her and someone lucky enough to observe her dressing ritual.
Did the husband, ignorant of her current distress, watch her that morning getting dressed for work, lying in their bed watching those graceful movements, savoring the snapping sound of underwear elastic rebounding of soft skin …and was he aroused by the sight of her putting on her bra, stepping into her panties and peeling on those tan colored pantyhose.
Miss Gold pondered another unknown question, if that same husband, if he was here right now; in this changing room, would he still be aroused at the sight of this cute underwear, once adorning the body of his wife, yet now on the body of another….not on the body of his darling wife as expected.
Would he still be aroused if he knew that his sheepish, soft wife had been bound and gagged and was not too far away…that this equally attractive woman had cruelly deprived his wife of her intimate apparel and would he still be enthralled and desperate to touch…After all, the sensual image before him was the same.
Miss Gold felt anger rise within her…yes he would touch her…men were victims of their own lust and desire…weak and corrupt…whatever their outward persona…’untrustworthy…treacherous B..tards’ she said aloud.
Miss Gold looked at the large, full size mirror attached to the wall. Her last 7 years of torment and hate surfacing, the cruelty inflicted on her being transferred to another.
She imagined a scenario that involved this mirror being two ways. Miss Gold licked her lips and began to caress the pantyhose, fondling the ornate lacy panties underneath.
She visualized the seduction of the husband in this small room, his lust filled hands reaching out for the same garments, eager to rip them off, all the time, behind the mirrored glass, his naked, gagged and bound wife looked on in horror and shame, twisting and moaning in protest at this sacred violation.
Miss Gold’s sordid fantasy was cut short, as a loud knock on the door interrupted her ‘Yes….’ ‘Miss Gold…all is ready’, replied one of her Hench women. ‘Okay’, she barked.
Miss Gold slipped off the tennis shoes and quickly peeled off the stolen pantyhose; she let the panties fall to the lush red carpeted floor and reached behind her back, fingers searching for the white bra’s rear fastener.
It soon joined the underwear pile at her still red painted toe nailed feet, courtesy of another unlucky woman she mused, who had a rather good choice in underwear and clothing.
Miss Gold, her fantastically figured body now on full naked display inspected her new blue blood clothing selection.
She noted a very lacy black G string, and a string it was, with a little black triangle to cover her womanhood…she grimaced, it looked like hell to wear after a while, it would be like having a saw up her ass.
Her hands inspected a black, silk girdle type bodice, complete with garter hooks for stocking…God, she thought…this woman did dress retro…she studied the small label inside, a famous Italian brand.
Her hands slid over the fine, ink black stockings, the Italian designed stiletto heels on floor, the dress on a hanger, a quick inspection revealed it to be a designer French dress, made to order, intended to be worn only by the woman who had the money to pay for it…..well, not in this case.
There was no jewelry at hand, Miss Gold shrugged her strong, muscled shoulders and began the eager process of getting dressed

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Miss Gold exited the changing room, at the same time adjusting the pillbox ladies hat with the dark gossamer veil.
In her new outfit she looked stunning, nearly the same as the original wearer in fact. Miss Gold felt the G string stimulate her womanhood, the soft silk black sheer nylon stockings on her legs, the tight tug of the garter straps on the stockings, the snugness of the stiletto heeled shoes, the restrictive pressure of the black lacy bodice underneath, her breasts squeezed by lace trimmed cups, the coolness of the black silk dress as it caressed her body…this was luxury…this was style.
After dressing in the unique black designer clothing in its entirety Miss Gold barged her way into the message suite, where Miss Red and Miss Black waited for her.
There between them both, lying on the table, face down was the unconscious naked form of Baroness Lisalotte Elizabeth Agnes Von Stromberg, she was bound, blindfolded and gagged with a generous amounts of white duct tape.
Her bound head lying to its side, her naked back softly rising and falling.
‘Join the others down stairs…make sure all the others are chloroformed’ repeated Miss Gold. The women obeyed, taking glances of the fabulously attired Miss Gold.
Miss Gold in her solitude stared at the prostrate bound naked figure. A rounded figure without a blemish, not one spot or pimple on those peach like cheeks.
She said aloud ‘So he traded me for you…….he wanted a title…a title that was broke...a name’ her bitterness surfacing in the tone.
‘He took my fcuking trust and ruined my life….murdered my father and framed me…..all so he could fcuk you sideways and parade you as a trophy…….’, with all her power she lashed out and slammed her flat palm onto the bare, pert cheeks of the unconscious , gagged woman’s butt.
She stood back, a red hand mark stained the woman’s white milky soft flesh ‘I bet that will sting…..for once I do not feel guilty in stealing another woman’s clothes’, she declared ‘After all…I fcuking paid for them’.
‘I saved you, you know…you’ll thank me eventually…his greed was insatiable….he would have tired of you and found some way to remove you from his life……enjoy your massage.. C..t’.
She spun on her thin heels and stormed out of the massage room.
Miss Gold thundered down the marble staircase, showing none of the sophistication of the woman who been dressed the same on the way up. Her hands hitching up the long tight dress above her knees, revealing her long black stockinged legs.
She glared at Miss White ‘All done’. Miss White replied ‘All sleeping like babies, Boss’, Miss White recoiled with the harsh slap on her pretty face ‘Use the fcuking code names….do not fcuk this up…not now…once the Feds find out what we have done they will hunt us like fcucking dogs…do you understand’, as she glared at Miss White.
Miss White rubbing her red cheek replied ‘Yes…Miss Gold’. ‘Good’, said Miss Gold as she turned to Miss Silver, still dressed in Rachel’s outfit.
‘Okay, I’m going to the bank…..you take the team to the infirmary…..I’ll see you there…do not get booked for speeding or anything else that’s stupid…okay…I trust you’.
Miss Silver, her eyes glazed ‘we will see you there…..how about the chauffeur, won’t he notice the switch’.
‘Do not worry about him…its covered’, Miss Gold retrieved the bottle of chloroform and the wad left by Miss White after she had chloroformed the bound and gagged Madame Bridget. Miss Gold hid them in the fur hand stole.
‘Do not fcuk up your part of the plan…I trust you’ at that Miss Gold left the parlor, attempting the same grace as the original Baroness Von Sonderberg who had entered, somehow not quite pulling it off, though it was very close.

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Miss Silver watched the swishing tight ass under the tight black silk, the snatch glimpse of those black stockings, the sexy retro black pillbox hat and veil and then she was gone.
The door closed and locked, Miss Silver looked back at the remaining team, minus their leader ‘Okay girls…back into the boiler suites and let’s get the fcuk outer here’.
Miss White, now back on form whooped for joy ‘At last...now I can get rid of these fcucking stockings’.

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PART FIVE

Miss Gold stood in the glare of the late morning sunshine, her stiletto heeled shoes creating a staccato on the rough grey sidewalk. Her dark veiled face was hidden from view; a male passerby took an avid interest, whistled to himself and moved on.
The limo driver’s door opened. An aging male Chauffeur exited the long, black, expensive European luxury car.
The driver, black suited, white shirt and black tie, with the familiar peaked black cap looked to be in his late fifties, rotund and with his grey moustache looked a rather fatherly figure.
The elderly chauffeur opened the passenger door, not a comment on how his mistress’s visit to the parlor had been so brief.
The bogus Baroness, with grace and style entered the limousine. The driver closed the door and drove away. Not a word passed between them both.
Miss Gold sat in the luxurious interior, feeling the tautness of her stolen clothing around her body; they had obviously not been designed to be worn when sat in a soft, plush leather rear seat.
She looked forward towards the smoked glass window that separated her from the driver. There was an electric hum as the glass started to slide open.
Miss Gold could now see the drivers head; he looked at her in the rear view mirror. There was a brief look of suspicion, and then the old face relaxed the driver’s eyes, tired and baggy with wrinkles seemed moist with emotion.
‘Whatever you wear….especially the clothes of that foreign witch; I would recognize you anywhere…Miss’, there was a pause.
‘It broke my heart Miss, what they did to you……the thought of you in that place….your poor father’…the driver began to sniffle.
Miss Gold suddenly reached forward, the dress and skimpy underwear close to breaking point, her hand outstretched, her veil quickly thrown back over the pillbox hat.
Her face was angelic, her team and those at the penitentiary would never have recognized her, the concern, the softness of her facial features.
How could this pretty, so feminine creature have assaulted, terrorized, molested, stripped, gagged, tied and deprived so many fellow women of their clothing in a such a short time period.
At seeing her, her old, faithful retainer…and friend since childhood had reawakened the woman she had once been. Her eyes were soft, her features placid. Her hand reached that of the Chauffeur and squeezed.
‘Without you Chester’s none of this would have happened…you planned it…I acted it out…if Father was alive he would never have forgot this’, said Miss Gold.
The retainer, Chester’s cleared his throat ‘I had to stay there…in the service of that scum, especially that rat you married…..after what they did to your Father…and then to you….watching them live in luxury…in you and your fathers properties…..your stolen heritage….I had to get you out….and hurt that B.stard’, said in the English way’ and his new S.ut, how can you dress in her attire Miss..It reeks of treachery and tackiness’.

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‘No doubt she utilized my old wardrobe fully…after all, I did have an expensive taste in that department….you should know, my friend….you took me shopping all the time’, remembered Miss Gold.
Chester’s continued ‘Death was too good for them Miss…..hit him and her where it hurts…take all their money….your money and run Miss’.
Miss Gold, her voice choked with emotion replied ‘I will Chester’s…I will…the team you assembled are excellent’, even Miss Gold’s accent changed, her voice refined, as if touching this gentle, yet ex Marine, her father’s wartime Sergeant in fact, made her return to her former life.
Even though Chester’s was a citizen, he relished in the persona of a stereotypical English butler and manservant.
‘Well, Miss…I hope you found the inside information useful….the goings on of the beauty parlor staff etc. A pity that Madame Bridget was involved…such a charming woman…..she had class…refinement…..I hope you did not……eh…be too rough on her?’
‘ She’s okay Chester’s…she’s just a little tied up right now…we hurt no one really ….they are all in a bit of a tiz , that’s all…time will heal’, replied Miss Gold, she whispered to herself ‘although they may be a little cold by now’.
‘Shall we precede Miss? , enquired Chester’s.
‘Yes…to the bank my old friend’, she smiled.
Chester’s started the engine, selected drive and edged the large limo out onto the busy traffic lanes. Leaving behind them the closed, prestigious beauty parlor, a parlor full of drugged, semi naked, gagged and bound women, whose only crime had been to turn up for work that day…all except one, who’s guilt and sin had condemned them all to a long night of restraint, indignation and suffering.

Maddie Ross and Sandra Levine pulled up outside the nice looking, suburban house, Maddie spoke first ‘Well the drive’s empty…I can’t see her car’.
Sandra replied, arching her slim pale neck, her round doe like eyes perusing the upper window’s ‘her cell is still down…..her drapes are still closed too….maybe she is still sick….too sick to recharge the batteries and open the drapes’.
Maddie shook her blonde head ‘Nah…you now Helen…she’s all organized and sh.t…she freaks if her pencils on her desk aren’t sharpened daily….this don’t feel right...come on’, Maddie opened her sedan door and got out, Sandra sighed ‘She better not be goofing off’.
Both women wore dark long, thick coats, buttoned up tightly against the spring chill. Sandra’s black stockinged calves were visible, her feet shod in a low heeled black leather shoe.
Maddie wore grey slacks, the hint of a light tan hose on her feet, complimented with grey, heeled shoes. Both women’s heeled feet made a loud staccato sound on the hard asphalt of the drive.
They walked up to large, wooden front door and pressed the bell. After a while, looking around at the same time Maddie pressed it again. There was no sign of any movement within the house, all was silent.
Sandra, the less inquisitive of the two quipped ‘Well…she’s not in….probably out shopping…you know her, a new outfit every day’.
Maddie frowned ‘No….Helen does not just take off for days and stay out of touch ….if she is off she’s on the cell every ten minutes….it’s so unlike her’, her eyes lit up ‘come on let’s take a look around back’, she walked off.
‘Oh come on’, said Sandra’ ‘I need a coffee and a muffin…..I’ve had no breakfast yet’. Maddie looked annoyed ‘we’ve come this far…I want to check…she may have had an accident’, showing True Grit.
Maddie opened the Iron Gate that led around to the rear of the house, the reluctant Sandra in tow. As the turned the corner onto the rear patio, a lush well kept garden was on full display.

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Maddie breathed in ‘I told you something was not right’, pointing to the broken glass of the kitchen door.
Sandra became nervous ‘Call the cops…..it could be a break in’, .Maddie approached the door and reached for the door handle, it turned and opened…..’I want to check…’
‘No’, exclaimed Sandra ‘It could be dangerous’. ‘Or it could be nothing’, replied her friend.
Maddie was inside the kitchen ‘You coming’, Sandra shook her pretty head.
Maddie looked pissed at her chicken **** friend ‘Then stay there…if I scream…call the cops’.
Maddie entered the kitchen, avoiding the glass on the floor, she called out ‘HELEN…ITS MADDIE AND SANDRA….HELLO HELEN……YOUWHOOOOOOO’.
There was no answer, the house remained quiet. She entered the living room, it was empty, no one lying on the sofa, no one lying on the large beige rug near the rock fire place, ’thank god’, she thought, the TV was off and cold….’HELEN’, again no reply.
‘Maddie, you okay’, came a concerned voice from the kitchen, ‘Yes…..downstairs seems deserted….I’m trying the bedroom…maybe she’s on sleeping pills’, she called back. In an afterthought she whispered ‘I hope’.
Maddie slowly walked up the open staircase, its walls lined with oil paintings of flowers and landscapes, ‘HELEN…YOU UP HERE’.
She reached the landing and nervously walked along it, seeing the open bedroom door at the other end.
As she approached, alarm bells began to register, she could see that the room was a mess. A bureau of draws lay open, the contents spilled out.
Maddie saw multi colored bra straps flowing over the draw like streamers at a carnival, the female breast support garments were also on the floor accompanied by various styles and colors of women’s panties.
Pantyhose lay strewn around like they had been briefly inspected and then haphazardly discarded.
It looked like the room had been turned over; she saw an open closet full of female clothing, a discarded black high heeled shoe lying on its side.
Maddie peeked into the bedroom, she sighed in relief when expecting the worst. The bed was empty although equally disheveled. The small, fine hairs on Maddie’s smooth neck rose, when she thought she heard a noise behind her.
She turned; there it was again, a low sound, hardly discernable. Was it coming from the spare room on her right? One of the spare bedrooms she had just passed.
Maddie gulped; there it was again, like a small trapped kitten, behind the wood paneled door. Her nail polished fingers trembled as she reached for the door knob, ‘Helen…you in there’, the trapped kitten mewed louder.
Maddie twisted the doorknob and pushed. Her eyes widened, her lipsticked mouth fell open, her jaw dropped, and her knees felt weak at the sight before her.
Within the darkened small bedroom was her associate and work colleague, oh, her poor, poor friend.
Maddie’s shocked eyes rolled over her prostrate friend, the tight merciless gag, and those pleading, red rimmed and forsaken looking eyes, mascara running down those red, puffed cheeks.
The hands tied above her head to the board of the single bed, a dark unnatural color due to the tightness of the pantyhose that held them together.
The locked knees and tied feet, held together with equally tight and restrictive pantyhose bonds.

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Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:15 pm

Her poor friend, clad in only her underwear, the black pantyhose on her hips, thighs and legs, her white panties obscured, yet visible underneath, the white ornate bra, a strap loose over a shoulder, a white, milky breast attempting an escape after strenuous writhing on the tousled bed.
Maddie sniffed the air of the enclosed room, there was an acrid, foul smell in the atmosphere, and at first she could not place it, maybe a smell from her childhood. Then it clicked, urine. Her friend, in her forced captivity had fouled herself and the bed she was forced to lie on for so long.
The gagged and bound woman’s face was not only one of pain and outrage but also one of shame.
The discovery forced Maddie out of her temporary paralysis, ‘SANDRA…..SANDRA’.
‘YES’, came the shouted response, ‘CALL THE FCUKING COPS AND GET AN AMBULANCE’. The invisible Sandra tried to enquire why, ‘JUST FCUKING DO IT’.
Maddie rushed to her bound and gagged friend ‘Oh you poor thing…its okay…its okay…your safe now’. Maddie tried to undo the knot on the brown pantyhose that held those sore looking hands in bondage, there was no give at all, it was too stressed.
She ran into the bombshell bedroom and found a small pair of nail scissors. She ran back and began cutting the tan Lycra, normally used to enhance the look and shape of a woman’s legs, not to tie their owner up.
The bound wrists fell free; her gagged, maltreated and exhausted friend exhaled loudly in relief and fainted.
Maddie cut the brown pantyhose gag and pulled out the white panty bung, a long red mark around Helen’s face remained a symbol to the tightness of the gag.
Maddie was just about to cut away the bonds that held her unconscious friends black pantyhosed knees together when Sandra arrived at the open door way ‘their on their way….OH MY GOD’ and screamed like the immature girl she was.

Miss Gold arrived at the private bank. Chester’s had parked the limo outside, the usual place for a VIP. The chauffeur opened the door, the elegantly dressed woman in black exited with style and decorum, as befitting her position.
A few heads turned on the busy sidewalk. The security guard gave an appreciative look at the tight butt underneath the clinging black silk dress. He held open the large glass double doors.
The imposter walked right past the queue of ordinary, not so wealthy customer’s, some obviously pissed at the queue jumping woman all in black, ‘Hey’, shouted a middle aged fat woman, ‘Morticia Adams……we’re not here for our own benefit’.
The bogus Baroness ignored the jibe and burst into a glass enclosed office marked ‘MANAGER’.
Behind a large desk, with a name plate displaying ‘MIRANDA MORRISON’ sat a good looking middle aged woman. ’Hey….how dare you just barge into my office…I’ll call Sec…’.
In a clipped, continental tone, learnt from recordings made by the faithful Chester’s the woman in black said ‘Before you call security….and lose your job……call Mr. Douglas Fitzroy’.
The bank manager, Mrs. Morrison froze, ’Yes….that Mr. Fitzroy…your secret owner and chairman…known only to a select clientele….and a personal friend of mine....tell him Baroness Von Sonderburg requires expert and professional service…and without delay…go’.
Mrs. Morrison, an attractive dark haired female, thin and healthy looking, did not pause, she could not risk it ‘Please…make yourself comfortable…..I will make the call’.
The bogus Baroness only nodded under her veil and hat. Miss Gold noted the woman as she rose. The grey, pinstriped jacket, the ivory silk blouse underneath, the thin waist with that female curve of the stomach stretched along the knee length skirt, the anthracite smoky grey Lycra pantyhose, the strong legs underneath and finally the grey colored pumps on her feet.

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A snazzy little dresser thought the bogus Baroness, she entertained the thought of another swift change of attire….then shook her head… business first, pleasure later. She waited for a prompt response to her enquiries.

Captain Bruce Ellis slammed on the breaks of his bright red Mazda sports car. The car screeched into a parking slot, dirt and gravel protesting at the disturbance and excessive braking.
A small white airport shuttle bus was parked next to him. The bus proudly displayed ‘REGAL AIR’ on its flanks. A bored middle aged airport driver briefly looked up from his newspaper and grunted.
‘Hi’, said Bruce in his New Zealand drawl, there was no reply. Bruce in his smart, dark blue airline uniform retrieved his cap and placed it at a jaunty angle upon his handsome head.
Whistling to himself he walked towards the glass foyer of the low squat. Modern building, situated in the growing metropolis that had become the city’s municipal airport, Bruce quickly caught sight of a nearby white van that advertized ‘EASY TIME PEST CONTROL’.
Bruce shrugged ‘Rats in the attic’ he joyfully proclaimed. He entered the building which sported a sign which declared:

REGAL AIR MEDICAL INFIRMARY
Company Employees Only

Bruce opened the door, happy as a cat over spilt milk. Regal Air was not a large airline, there were no large fleets of 747’s or A380’s and thousands of employees to take care of. It was airline that catered for a very wealthy select clientele.
The airline operated a modest fleet of executive jets, from small 5 seat affairs to a larger 30. It was a very lucrative business that offered a most luxurious service, delivered by the most talented and glamorous personnel that the aviation industry had to offer.
Bruce was a top notch pilot, second to none, in fact an ex fast jet fighter pilot, F-18,s. He had that fighter pilot charm and good looks to boot. Women loved him, men hated him.
The medical infirmary was a modern, no expense spared facility. The reception area was laid with light soft blue carpeting.
The reception desk was a gentle, elm wood affair, very modernist . Palm tree plants and vines adorned the waiting area, giving it a relaxed calming effect.
The suspended ceiling had modern lighting fixtures that cast a dazzling light on the clean expensive furniture and fittings.
The facility, Regal air had one in every major aviation hub, was not necessarily there for the benefit of its staff but just in case any of its prestigious customers became ill or required private medical attention.
Bruce stood there, smiling, a stirring in his loins reaching his sensory nodes. It was not the white leather comfortable soft chairs in the infirmary waiting area or the chintz glass coffee table that was in the middle of the double row that excited him.
His thrill was prompted by what, or in this case who sat on the soft chairs at this present time.
Four ladies sat in the chairs, reading gossip or fashion magazines. Ladies was a poor choice of words in this case. The wording that was best, but not exactly Shakespearian in its connotation was ‘ABSOULOUTLEY, DROP DEAD FCUKING GEORGEOUS’.
Bruce shook his head, they really were and the first thing that confused him was not one of them would put out…..ever….and boy had he tried.
All the Angels were in uniform, the dove grey of Regal Air. The small grey pillbox hat, a little set of wings were sown in on the left side.

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The Angels hair colors, one red, two brunettes and one blonde, was set in a tight, severe style that ended in a tight bun, severely clipped in place.
The thin, tight, white complexion of the Angels healthy young faces, faces complemented with the wholesome use of makeup. Red painted lips, mascara lined eyes, enhanced eyelashes, foundation, and no ear rings only studs.
The large winged pristine white blouse collars that opened over the uniform jackets, well below the thin swan like feminine throats. The dove grey tailored uniform jackets, pinched in at the trim waists.
The very short dove grey pleated skirts, Bruce swallowed as he stared at the long, trim, sexy, light, shiny Lycra grey pantyhose sheathed legs that seemed to go on forever up the strong thighs on their crossed over legs. A dove grey pump moving up or down on a gorgeous feminine foot.
‘Hi Girls’, declared the ****y pilot. Cute dark eyelashes flashed over doe like mascarared eyes, pouting red lips smiled, radiant perfect white teeth on show ‘Hi Captain Bruce’, proclaimed a flight attendant whose name badge over a large invisible breast declared ‘PENNY’,
The gorgeous flight attendants all provocatively greeted their pilot, moving their long grey sheathed legs in a sexually gratifying motion, all well aware of the effect it had on men. Bruce ached for a quick look at what lay between the darkness between their legs.
A curt cough broke his fantasy. The interruption to his lude thoughts regarding his cabin crew was caused by his second officer.
Second officer, or co-pilot, Barbara Steel was an oddity to Captain Ellis. The jet black haired co pilot was a looker, pretty to the point that she was very desirable to any man. Her slim and attractive body although hidden by her uniform, was curvaceous and very feminine.
Bruce quickly perused the familiar picture of Barbara Steel. The hair, short and tightly clipped, the dark blue uniform jacket, its sleeve cuffs decorated with one bar, the white shirt and black tie, the uniform knee length dark blue skirt, complemented by charcoal black pantyhose, her feet adorned by sensible slip on black shoes.
That was it thought Bruce, an outward picture of femininity encased in the attire of a man. He remembered that management had to force the skirt on her; the paying male clientele did not like the pants she wore previously. Regal Air had a reputation to uphold after all, all their employees had to be picture perfect and that also included in what they wore on duty.
Bruce noted the pretty face and sighed, she never smiled or joked, she had no sense of humor he reflected and always serious, here she goes he mused, another pain in the ass question.
‘This is highly irregular Captain’, always formal he groaned ‘we had our malaria and TB shots two months ago…why so soon again’ her eyes narrowed, challenging.
He sighed, as if to humor her query ‘Head office Barbara’, she flinched in annoyance at the use of her ****ian name and not her rank ‘They say we have another shot…we obey…monkey says monkey do……anyway where we’re going in Latin America there’s all kinds of weird **** flying about’.
He looked at the 4 cute girls, who sat listening ‘Can’t have you girls going down with nothing bad…..having a rash or getting all lumpy when sun bathing…..well only having lumps where it counts, hey’, he said smiling.
A few of the uniformed girl’s giggled, Barbara Steel grimaced in disgust ‘Still I wish I had been informed as second officer, I…..’
‘Relax for a change Barbara……I am informing you……I’ll go first….check with the nurse and……’.
‘I wouldn’t bother’, hissed Ms Steel ‘they keep telling me to wait until you arrive….we could have been done by now’.
‘I’ll sort it out’, said Bruce and walked over to the nurse at the small infirmary’s duty station.
‘Hi….I’m the first to volunteer’, said the brash pilot with his elbows on the counter.
The blonde nurse looked up from her paper work, all smiles ‘Hi…..that would be fine she purred, ‘I’ll take you through to the Doctor’.

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Bruce took in the beautiful female face. The cute white nurse’s cap fixed to the tightly held blonde hair. The nurse’s makeup was stunning, accentuating her good looks; it was as if she had just left a beauty parlor thought Bruce.
Bruce’s eye’s wandered down to the nurse’s bosom, which was full and buxom; he noted that the white uniform struggled to contain the breastage as if the uniform was a size too small.
‘After you…nurse’ he whispered, he made to follow the nurse whose ass was glued to the white uniform dress, the nurse’s panties and bra band were plainly visible underneath. ‘See you soon ladies’; he called back to his crew, who acknowledged with an ‘Okay’ or a wave of long nailed red polished fingers.
Bruce followed the nurse through a set of double doors into a treatment room. There before him stood another, equally pretty nurse and a good looking woman in a Doctors white coat.
The good looking Doctor, her brown hair long and fine, opened the conversation, her gold framed spectacles glittering in the harsh treatment room light, a gold chain hung from the spectacles.
‘Welcome Captain ….Ah… Ellis…. I presume’, her face turning into a smirk.
The nurse, in the extra tight uniform retreated back to the reception desk or nurse’s station. He noted that the other nurse, attired in green scrubs that also looked a little on the snug side.
Although the ever observant Bruce saw no panties this time, the girl’s bra was busting to escape the green colored uniform. He noted the ID badge that hung precariously off the stressed fabric.
‘I have a complaint…ah Doctor Phillips…I presume…..your nurse’s are not dressed as per regulation I think…..the uniforms are rather transparent’.
The good looking Doctor, smiled, an evil smile that did not bode well. She shifted her gait, revealing that she wore an open, button up dark green cotton blouse under the long white coat, a pearl necklace on display. Her black belted thin waist revealed a lengthy tweed, down to her calves’ skirt, her legs encased in coffee brown pantyhose or stockings. Her feet were adorned with a pair of sensible lace up brown shoes.
The Doctor was the perfect picture of a trained medical professional, attired in a modest and yet conservative guise. In fact thought Bruce, the clothing looked as if it belonged on another woman, a much older woman at that.
‘Well Captain…we did have a rather difficult time in gauging the sizes…..it seems the previous occupants were rather smaller creatures than us……and a lot older’, she quipped.
Most men by now would have realized that something was amiss….something very wrong with the medical staff before him…….a man in this situation may have been concerned in raising some issues, maybe the alarm…..maybe warn his crew….waiting indifferently outside.
But Captain Bruce Ellis had an agenda, a deal, that did not warrant a warning to his innocent female crew.
‘According to Miss Gold you are Miss Silver…..ah…Dr Phillips’, said the pilot, hoping for a positive reply.
‘May I introduce Miss White and the nurse who escorted you in was Miss Black…..or in this case Nurse Goldberg and Nurse Samuels….shall we begin’, said the disguised Miss Silver.
‘What’s the cover story…any change’, enquired the devious pilot, still eyeing up the big busted nurse.
‘They are all to have extra malaria and TB shots…of course, what they will receive is a heavy sedative…if any of them become too boisterous ...then Miss White here will apply other more forceful techniques’.
Miss White held up a chrome dish, containing a thick surgical wad ‘Chloroform’, she explained ‘the infirmary seems to be well stocked’.
‘Where are the original Nurse’s and the Doctor…Phillips’, he queried.

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‘Oh next door…taking it easy and have a lie down’, she said laconically, ‘do you want to see’.
‘Okay’, said the pilot, his heart skipping a beat.
The bogus Doctor, in her sensible clothes beckoned, and walked towards another set of double doors, Bruce followed.
There was a small partition that led to another set, this time marked up as ‘WARD’. The Doctor entered first, Bruce looked in.
He saw another four females standing to the side of the doorway; all dressed in grey boiler suits and baseball caps, all attractive and fit looking.
‘Miss Blue, Miss Red, Miss Orange and Miss Green …your new cabin crew’ said Miss Silver.
‘Ladies’ greeted the corrupt pilot ‘it will be a pleasure working with you…and my new co pilot’ enquired Bruce.
‘Miss Gold will be with us later…she is at this time ensuring your fee….and ours’.
Bruce chirped ‘For 10 million bucks I have all the patience in the world….and no scruples’.
‘Obviously….’, remarked the Doctor.
Miss Silver walked further into the ward, only illuminated by bedside lamps. There were 12 beds, set in rows of 6, with a centre aisle, all modern and very clean. The window blinds had been closed to keep out any inquisitive onlookers…for example in a passing airport shuttle bus.
As Bruce followed he noted the rear left side beds were occupied. The occupants were quite still and motionless.
Bruce stopped at the first bed, the Doctor at his side. The infirmary duvet fully covered the inert body up to the head.
Bruce tilted his head to one side, the head was encased in bandages, and the only physical feature remaining on display was a pair of small nostrils and a pair of closed eyelids, eyelids that used mascara. The tight bandages followed the curvature of the small skull, no sign of hair was visible anywhere.
Miss Gold coldly commented ‘Chloroformed……there’s a large tape gag underneath all those dressings…’ Bruce looked at her, as asking for further clarification ‘If anybody enquires…. their sedated burn victims under close observation….awaiting transfer to a regular hospital’.
‘They’ll believe that’ said the pilot.
‘Try watching CNN some time….’ sighed the bogus Doctor. ‘There was a fire over at terminal 3 this morning…a big one in the baggage sorting area….God knows how that happened’.
Miss Green and Miss Blue coughed, Bruce smiled, these dames were slick, he thought to himself.
The imposter continued ‘the cover story will hold for a while...hopefully until your well into your journey.
Bruce pulled the duvet back on the unconscious form. He quickly noted a female form clad in a emerald green full length slip, the lace trimmed slip had risen up to the thighs, he noted the full breasts, a flicker of a similar colored brassiere underneath the slip’s ornate patterned cups.
As Bruce’s eyes roamed he saw the white duct tape that held this woman bound to the bed frame…over the knees, the bound bare painted feet. Lashings over the top, underneath the breasts, hands taped either side onto the frame, the tape that lashed the neck down…not too tightly but enough to stop the woman raising her head.
In fact the only movement the bound and gagged woman could make on regaining consciousness would be to move her head from left to right.
Bruce frowned, he started to note other details, the legs did not look soft, the arms thin, wrinkled slightly, the bare pale chest was furrowed, the pale skin enhanced by the satin green slip, the visible blue veins on the bulbous breasts, then he realized, ‘UUURRGGHH’, he stammered.
‘What’s wrong Captain, everyone age’s eventually….you...me……meet the real Dr Phillips…..a mature lady shall we say’.

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Bruce quickly, and rather red faced, replaced the duvet as it had previously been. He ignored Miss Silver’s laughter.
‘Why do you think I am dressed like Miss Marple’, she s****ed.
‘Okay…okay…Agatha ****ie’, he retorted, finally understanding why this young good looking woman wore brown pantyhose and tweed.
He quickly turned his attention to the next bed, seeing the bandaged, mummified and gagged female head; the bound woman’s looks invisible, therefore remaining a mystery to his fantasy fueled mind.
The duvet was pulled back ‘Ah…Better’, he mused, absent to the fact that he was not alone in the room.
The strapped and bound figure below him was more to his liking, he felt a burning sensation in his groin, a throbbing that grew harder and harder with every next, short ,painful breath.
The woman was younger, much younger. Her breast s where modest in size, supported by a plain white wonderbra. The small, artificial cleavage bulging from within the cups. The soft white flesh underneath the pure white, unadorned cup. The femininity of the scene just held is gaze, the straps over the slender shoulders, the chest rising and falling.
His gaze arched further down, the short, tight half slip, a lace trimmed affair with an ornate sheer lacy rose pattern in the middle was tight, the fabric taught under a strip of restrictive white tape, the unconscious nurse’s thighs vivid and full, the plain white hipster panties quite visible underneath, almost transparent under the soft, satin slip. Her curved stomach exposing the womanly undergarments that encased her young body.
Bruce noted that the girl’s pantyhose were missing; surmising no doubt that the lucky Miss White now wore them, and wore the uniform of this bound and gagged female before his infatuated eyes. Bruce now realized why the woman, disguised as a nurse, who had escorted him in had been so transparent in the uniform dress that was obviously not hers, she had apparently not stolen the half slip.
There was a cough, he forced his eyes away. Miss Silver or Doctor Phillips quipped ‘Well Captain…if you have seen enough, we should move on……and….er….make your girls a little more comfortable….we have plenty of bed space…as you can see’.
Bruce stammered a little, the thought of his cabin crew in their underwear made his head spin. He had wanted to see what they wore underneath those stylish uniforms for so long. Those great looking tits held in those feminine bras, he had stolen a peep of what was under those pure white uniform blouses, many a stolen glance...once he nearly crashed the plane on a taxi way, that was close.
He visualized those long grey layered pantyhosed legs, the thighs, he licked his lips, his groin was burning, realizing that he had a throbbing hard on within his pants.
The new, younger Doctor Phillips laughed and suddenly reached out at the obvious bulge within the pilot’s uniform pants ‘Wow….Captain’, she teased ‘you like your woman tied up...eh’.
Bruce looked down, his face slightly flushed, kind of embarrassed ‘Well….er…well...er...no’ he stammered until finally he broke ‘Hell…yes…yeah I do in fact….and I want to see those stuck up Trolley Dollies who wouldn’t put out in their smalls’. His mouth opened, and then closed it, like a fish gasping.
‘It’s a shame Captain…you missed our work all day…we’ve been gagging and stripping since dawn’, Miss Silver paused, her painted lips pouting ‘It can get awful tiresome after a while’.
The pilot’s eyes were full of desire, his hidden fantasies at last within his grasp, he whispered ‘Can I just….’
Miss Silver, in her stolen clothes, the previous owner gagged, stripped bound and prostrate below her cut in ‘Do not worry Captain Ellis, me and my girls will look after your girls very well indeed….and if you’re lucky you can watch one or two of us get dressed into those cute, pretty little uniforms’.

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The team, in boiler suits, began to smirk and giggle as Miss Silver became all provocative, her hand on a hip, a knee bent forward, her voice becoming all girlie ‘Gee Captain Bruce…..you’re so handsome….Shucks Captain Bruce we’re so pretty and adorable’, as she mimicked the unsuspecting flight attendants who waited outside.
‘Save us Captain Bruce….’, she continued in a Penelope Pittstop voice ‘Imagine Captain……we are going to render their fit bodies useless…..we are going to strip them….our hands are going to be all over them….buttons…zippers….unfastening……and revealing soft white skin’, she watched as the captivated male began to tremble slightly.
‘Watch as those sweet little pillbox hats grace our own heads….watch as those blouse’s and skirts are whisked away…watch us peel those delicious, sheer pantyhose from those long legs….the high heeled shoes plucked from those dainty little feet’, the pilot’s trembling became more noticeable, his face more flush, his eyes dilating.
‘We’re going to gag them…tie them onto those beds’; she pointed to a vacant row ’and…..’she paused for effect ‘maybe…just maybe…we will take their no doubt, sweet and expensive bras and panties…..those little private girlie garments Captain….the ones you’ve been so aching to see…for so long….those intimate little pieces of satin and nylon that cover their cute little girlie private parts’, the man was now shaking, looking not to steady on his feet.
‘Yes….yes’, she whispered into his ear ‘those bras and panties that they slipped on this morning…those lacy bras that support those juicy tits….tits you want to suck on like over ripe juicy fruit….those same bras…still warm…the panties still moist….as we slip them on……strangers…..another woman’s under things…..’.
The man gasped loudly, his knees, nearly buckling; he reached out, his hand steadying himself on Miss Silver’s shoulder, clad in its stolen white Doctors coat. Bruce breathed heavily as he spent himself within his own pants.
Her team laughed, not too much so that it alerted their soon to be clothes donors outside, Miss Orange threw the pilot a box of Kleenex, that he just caught.
Miss Silver, her performance over, tapped him lightly on the shoulder ‘Call it a bonus Bruce……enjoy our show…it’s on the house…..and please…feel free to touch the merchandise’, she walked towards the wards exit, looking back ‘Oh…clean yourself up…lets go get your first girl’.
In the reception lounge, Penny, Gill, Alice and Becky...oh! and the stern looking Barbara all looked up as Bruce entered, rolling down a white shirt sleeve; he was all smiles, his teeth gleaming
‘Piece of cake..just a little prick’, Barbara Steel gave a rare smirk, thinking the obvious ‘Nothing to worry out…who’s first’, chirped the now normal looking, handsome pilot.
Bruce quickly scanned the girls before him. The wholesome, hidden bust outlines under tight uniform jackets and blouses, the curvaceous, rounded hips and thighs, the short, dove grey skirts, the glittering silver grey shapely legs, the pleasing calves, the high heeled shod feet. Those legs, crossed tightly over one another, the grey Lycra nylon running right up their thighs, not leaving much to the imagination.
The red painted lips, the foundation, thin, healthy, beautiful faces, the glistening eyes under long seductive eyelashes, the long red polished fingernails that had idly turned over glossy magazine pages, the dove grey pillbox hats, set at a sexy jaunty angle upon their pretty small heads.
God, he thought to himself…how these girls could never contemplate how soon their situation could radically change. How those cute smiles would vanish, if they knew that very, very soon they would be all naked, or near enough. That they would all later wake up, unable to shout for help or move, all their clothing gone. Bruce’s daydream was interrupted.

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Second Officer Steel, uncrossing her charcoaled colored legs ‘Well Captain…I would rather get this out of the way first…I have a weather report to check on…’
Bruce thought why not; get her out of the way first, the other lambs would never be a problem. All in mock graciousness he bowed, his arm extended to the doors past reception ‘Thank you Barbara’, he proclaimed ‘very commendable indeed’.
He watched as Barbara Steel stood up and straightened her uniform skirt. I wouldn’t bother thought Bruce, it will be off you soon. Bruce had a quick mental query in what style of panties Barbara normally wore….or was it a jock strap…well he would soon find out.
Barbara walked off towards the treatment room, the nurse in the too tight uniform barley looked up from her bogus paperwork, although she a hand close to the silenced pistol, hidden under a pile of paper reports.
The nurse frowned at Barbara, who took it as bad manners. What Barbara did not know was that the nurse was in some discomfort, as the white pantyhose taken from the genuine nurse were far too small for her and were pinching her ass and waist everywhere.
As Barbara strode past the bogus nurse wriggled her butt on the stool, attempting to gain some relief from the all too tight undergarment.
Bruce felt another stirring in his loins and tried to focus on something else before his pants rose again. When he turned and saw the lips, tits and ass of his soon to be unconscious cabin crew he knew that it was a wasted effort.
He clapped his hands ‘All looking forward to the flight….girls’, the gorgeous girls looked up, smiled and nodded, oblivious to the fact that on that particular day they would be going nowhere.

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PART SIX

Miss Gold, masquerading as the Baroness Von Sonderburg, sat quite still in the plush chair of the glass office, her unseen inky black stockinged legs crossed tightly over, a stiletto heel, a foot encased in nylon was visible, dangling in the air, the long black silk dress was taut on her body, her face hidden by the dark veil and pillbox hat.
Although her body language was calm, her back straight as an aristocrat demanded, Miss Gold was very conscious of the stolen G string panties cutting her ass in two.
She waited patiently for Miranda Morrison to return after making her phone call to a Douglas Fitzroy. Although her mannerisms did not display it, Miss Gold was very nervous, very nervous indeed.
Douglas Fitzroy was the only person authorized to grant international money transfers on this scale. If the other plan instigated by the ever loyal Chester’s had not been successful, then Fitzroy would call in the Police immediately.
Miss Gold discreetly crossed her black gloved fingers and prayed that the operative known as the ‘CAT’ had completed his or her job. After all, it was costing, or would cost her 50 million bucks. It would be worth it, without the CAT the money would never materialize and that b..tard and his currently royal gagged and bound B.tch would end up keeping it all.
Miss Gold looked outside the glass enclosed office. Not a good tactical situation she mused. She could be vividly observed, there was no room to maneuver if the officious Ms Morrison became troublesome.
Miss Gold noted the discreet looks given by various members of staff as they walked by, no doubt wondering who the Bohemian dressed lady in black could be, obviously someone of importance.
Miss Gold always wondered at the arrogance and pride of the minimum wage white collar workers, especially the female variety.
She observed a young woman walk past, her short grey skirt glued to her ass, her buttocks pumping up and down underneath, not a trace of a visible panty line. Her bra visible underneath the light white fabric of the long sleeved blouse, it appeared to Miss Gold that they all seemed to try too hard to impress, either their colleagues or the boss of the day.

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A tall brunette, with long fine shoulder length hair, stopped near a desk, a guy in a shirt and tie looked up, all smiles. Miss Gold watched the female closely, attracted by the woman’s outfit.
She wore a loose light brown woolen dress that was below the knee. The secretary or assistant had a good body, the dress carelessly falling over her figure, her obviously tight butt on show and at the same time not. The dress displayed her ample breastage and then fell away, her obviously thin waistline hidden from view.
The dress looked free and easy, lightly caressing the woman’s garments underneath. Miss Gold pondered what color and style had the woman chosen in her preference of underwear that very morning.
Maybe the old faithful white….no….it may be discernible underneath or a shoulder strap may surface. Miss Gold decided to mentally place herself in the woman’s situation…what would she wear. Miss Gold decided that a dark ivory or flesh colored panty and bra set would be acceptable.
The woman, laughed at something the seated man said, a delightful smile, thought Miss Gold, such a full mouth with those rose painted lips, a mouth that would be a joy to fill. The unsuspecting woman absentmindedly ran her hand through her long, soft, shiny brown hair.
Miss Gold stared at the woman’s backside, juicy and strong, the shape of her buttocks quite discernable, no panty lines….maybe a G string or a Tanga……no, thought Miss Gold…..not on this woman….little Miss Conservative here would have gone for a high cut panty style, something comfortable for a working day.
Miss Gold swallowed hard…..the woman, still in an animated conversation with her colleague, had slipped her right pantyhosed sheathed foot out of her slip on pump. The woman’s reinforced toe seam played with her shoe. Miss Gold had a sudden case of heartburn as she watched in perverse fascination at the intricate work of female footplay. Her loins ached as the painted toes wiggled under the tight tan Lycra.
Miss Gold breathed out, not realizing that she had stopped breathing, she noted the final touches that complemented the outfit, the light, low denier, tan colored pantyhose, or thigh highs; a garter belt was so unfashionable nowadays, and uncomfortable she concluded.
She was well aware of her own lack of stocking security at this moment in time, there was always the chance that one would fall down with a suspender arrangement. She absently minded touched the nearest clasp on her own thigh. Her stolen stocking always felt rather loose on her legs.
Miss Gold noted the matching brown, shiny leather pumps, the tasteful jewelry, her heart beat started to grow faster, the familiar urge inside once again surfacing.
That uncompromising desire to wear this woman’s clothes, as if the mere act of looking like another would somehow bring her piece of mind, exorcising her feelings of failure and rejection.
That this unsuspecting woman’s clothing….and yes...even her undergarments …would make her life simple…guilt fee. It was a literal translation of the saying ‘Try to be in my shoes’….and boy, did Miss Gold want to be in those shoes, that dress….she wanted her bra…she wanted those unseen panties…..she wanted those tight Lycra pantyhose off those shapely hips and on her own.
Maybe the woman sensed that she was being closely observed, another set of envious eyes scouring her body….not the guy before her who was her boy friend…..another pair…a stranger…a sense that she was in danger….a feeling that made her feel very uncomfortable.
The female turned her pretty head….what was it…this was her safe working environment after all…..then she saw the unmoving woman in black, in Ms Morrison’s office….the only movement being the black gloved fingers drumming on the woman’s lap…a sinister furtive movement the secretary thought….full of menace and intent.

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The emotionless, unseen face behind the darkened veil, her head facing towards her, was this strangely dressed customer staring at her……were those eyes behind the gossamer veil boring into her.
The office worker did not smile back, as was required, after all customer service was paramount in her business….. She was responsible for many accounts…dealing with various people throughout the week…this woman made her nervous.
The woman felt intimidated as if…as if….as if the woman was undressing her...that was it…the woman felt as if she was being mentally stripped…somehow violated and under threat.
The secretary had the uncomfortable feeling that she had been caught changing her clothes…. mortified at being discovered just clad in bra and panties …as if a strange man had entered her intimate space……the same feeling when John had first seen her naked.
The secretary subconsciously moved her arms up to over her bosom…..she turned away, annoyed at herself for being paranoid….hell, she was fully clothed…still, it was an horrid sensation, that chilled her to the bone.
The pretty secretary felt a cold shiver run down her spine, she gave a brief farewell to her boyfriend, John, and left. John looked rather confused, asking himself what he done to upset her so.
The distressed and uncomfortable secretary walked away fast, eager to be far away from the gaze of the woman in black.
Miss Gold watched the female leave, the swish of that dress, the rounded backside sliding underneath, the nyloned legs making that distinct sound as the two materials grated against each other….she was gone…out of sight.
Somehow the woman new her intent, her burning desire, Miss Gold could feel the discomfort of the other…the primal fear.
Miss Gold thought ‘Yes My Dear….you were right to be afraid…very afraid indeed……you were so close to becoming a little less troubled by your choice of attire this day….Oh well..easy come…easy go’.
Miss Gold felt the burning ache in her groin lessen, wet now between her legs. She looked at the small, jewel encrusted ladies wrist watch on her smooth wrist…..a Rolex and also belonging to the previous owner of all she now wore.
Where the hell was Morrison…did the CAT connect… she needed the authority codes to transfer the accounts and time was getting on….come on…come on, she mentally repeated.

Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:15 pm

5 HOURS EARLIER

Douglas Eugene Fairbanks Fitzroy the third sat in the exclusive dining room within the equally exclusive hotel and conference centre.
He was currently reading up on the mornings Wall Street financial publications over a light breakfast. Douglas was a wealthy man, very wealthy indeed; his reach in finance and politics was far reaching and still growing.
His tailor made suit and tie were hidden by a cloth napkin; he was in the process of sipping orange juice when his thoughts were interrupted by the sometimes annoying tone of his wife’s voice. Why she had to attend his business meetings was a mystery at times.
Well, maybe not this time, he reflected. After all, it was the annual Rotary Club convention. All the movers and shakers of the cities society would be there…including the other spouses and trophy partners…straight and gay.
He looked up from his paper ‘What Dear’. Normally he would have taken breakfast up above, in their expensive suite, but his considerably younger wife wished to show off as many new outfits as possible….her breakfast choice being the first.
As stated, Erin Fitzroy was much younger than her husband, by more than twenty years in fact. A once Miss Michigan contest winner who had narrowly missed the title of Miss USA. Her fine blonde hair

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reached to her shoulders, which turned up slightly at the ends, giving her hairstyle a slightly retro sixties look. The navy blue hair piece made her look like a blonde version of Daphne…of Scooby Doo fame.
Her narrow face was beautiful, her makeup sober and not to brash, a little flesh colored lipstick adorned her thin lips.
Her eyes, a bright blue were like those of a young doe, so fragile and pleading, long dark eyelashes fluttered as she spoke, ‘I need to pop up to the room….freshen up again….get ready for the first of the competition…’.
‘It’s not a room Dear…it’s a suite…a very expensive suite at that…how long will you be’, ignoring the competition comment, which was getting on his nerves lately.
He had only married her a year ago and was starting to tire of her already, his fourth wife at that, he mused ‘How long will you be….’.
‘Half hour or so….’ she quipped. ‘Okay’, replied Douglas already burrowing back into his paper and the important information it contained.
Erin rose from the table, her French designed, short navy blue; pleated dress fell back into place. The belted dress was open cut, not too low or revealing, yet tight on her 36 D bosom, a thick gold necklace adorned her chest.
The figure hugging, sleeveless number revealed dainty arms, adorned with a little bracelet, enormous engagement and wedding rings, and red polished fingernails.
Erin’s long legs were encased in expensive navy blue pantyhose, her feet likewise decked out in navy blue Italian high heels. She reached for her Prada clutch purse and made to leave.
‘See you soon Honey Bear’, and kissed her fat, 55 year old, balding, but super rich husband on the cheek, leaving a little lipstick mark in her wake. Douglas just grunted in reply.
As she left the table Erin’s cute smile disappeared, ‘Old fart’, she whispered, her heeled shoes click clacking off the marble floor, her navy blue dress dancing around her long nyloned layered legs.
She caught her image on a large wall mirror, paused, pouted her lips, and glanced at her healthy looking breasts and tight waist.
She fumed inside, ‘After all the effort I go through too…’ well it was for the money she remembered.
Erin satisfied with the stunning image before her strode off towards the gleaming, glass adorned elevators, her gait was all arrogance and money.
The short dress exposing high, long legs, her ass pumping up and down….hidden by a layer of Lycra and satin.
As she neared reception she caught a glance of a male hotel employee, standing there in his white shirt, red bow tie and black pants.
He seemed to be watching her with great interest. And why not she thought, Erin new she was desirable to any man. She liked to play with men…..twist them around her little finger….promise them heaven…..and then cruelly crush their hopes. But this man was different.
Erin had noticed the dark haired young man yesterday when they had checked in, his beauty was astounding.
He was very, very handsome, Erin was heavily attracted to him, he had a strong, fit body by the looks of it, coupled with those movie star good looks.
He was wasted as a hotel dog’s body she mused; a masseur would be more like it….or the concierge’s gigolo.
She heaved a sigh …maybe…after all sex with Douglas was rather distasteful…although very lucrative.

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She pushed the thoughts away; it was not worth the risk….to throw away all that money…and Douglas would not live forever, which cheered her up. She continued her journey feeling the handsome mans eyes flit over her body.
Erin would have been rather alarmed at the young man’s thoughts. Yes, he was watching her intently, but not for lust fueled sex as Erin imagined it to be.
The young man did have a desire though……a very important desire in fact and Erin had not been chosen by mere chance.
The young man needed Erin…he needed her body, but not for the intercourse nature demanded of two beautiful and attracted people, he had no craving in that department at all…never had….and he also needed Erin’s cloths….all her clothing…..in fact he need to be Erin full stop.
The CAT, his handsome features, broken by a cruel grin watched the elevator doors close. The CAT moved back into the shadows of the lobby, disappearing as he had strangely appeared yesterday.
No one else on the busy hotel staff had noticed him either. The CAT always remained in the shadows, the grey person…that was until he was ready to strike.

Erin was in the suits main, spacious and very modern living room. The 52 inch flat screen TV blasted out MTV, and Erin sang along to a modern popular number.
Her high heeled Italian slip on shoes lay next to the white leather 3 piece sofa, her bare stockinged feet, which underneath the sheer navy blue Lycra one could discern lilac painted toenails, were cool on the white marble floor.
The morning sun cascaded in through the large sliding windows that doubled as patio doors. A graveled private garden, with wooden furniture, graced the suites accomplishments at style and luxury for the discernable guest who could afford it.
Erin was about to retreat to the master bedroom, to select another outfit for later, when the rooms doorbell chimed.
Erin, her navy blue dress in stark contrast to her brilliant white surroundings padded over to the doors intercom.
‘Yes’, she enquired. There was an electronic pause ‘Room Service...Ma’am’, came the male voice on the other side of the intercom.
‘I did not order any’, she questioned. ‘Your husband did Ma’am…..Champagne and oysters ‘, came the reply.
Erin’s red nailed fingers pressed the door release, there was a pop, and she opened the door.
There before her was the handsome young man, a big bright smile, perfect white teeth. God she thought...he looks like a young Tom Cruise.
In his hands was a large silver tray, complete with a small Champagne bottle, two flutes and a glass bowl full of Oysters.
‘Ma’am, compliments of the house……’ he paused, giving a mischievous look ‘and anything else that the lady may desire’.
Erin, her full chest rising up and down, felt an ache between her legs, a burning sensation. It had been so long that she had really satisfied her lust…fully that is.
The intimate surrender of her body to a lithe, fit, young, male. His body straddling her own, the pressure on top of her, his large penis pumping purpose back into her sterile love life. She missed it……faced with this God before her, she hadn’t realized how much.
She began to perspire under her navy blue dress; her identically colored unseen lacy demi bra suddenly became very tight around her body.
Erin felt her pert nipples become hardened, the slight frication with the satin cups arousing her even more.

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The ache in her belly and between her legs started to moisten…her matching high cut panties no doubt becoming wet, the pantyhose over the top of them adding to her desire fueled flush and sense of claustrophobia.
Erin now just wanted to get to the master bedroom and strip off, just giving herself completely to this perfect specimen of manhood.
She stammered ‘Yes…please come in…….and… err…be quick’.
The waiter moved inside, Erin gave a quick look outside; just to check that no one was watching…or that she was being set up…satisfied she closed the door. The door shut with an audible slam, as if someone was eager to be gone in an hurry.

Douglas was starting to get annoyed, ‘Where was she’, he thought to himself. She was only going to get changed; she had been gone for over two hours.
At first the break from her incessant chatter was welcome, now it was becoming an embarrassment. The conference was to start soon, he had noted the arrival of many a prestigious guest.
Most had greeted him like old friends, which many were. Some, especially the female partners had politely enquired were Erin was.
Upon explaining that she was upstairs changing, he noted that some, again especially those snake pit wives, suspected that they had argued.
Heading off potential gossip and a society scandal he took the elevator up to their suite, cursing under his breath about fickle women and their annoying ways.
By the time had had reached the suite’s door and retrieved his key card, he was out of breath and rather red in the face.
Douglas burst into the large room, oblivious to the Champagne and Oysters on the white, smoked glass coffee table.
‘Erin….where the hell are you’, he bellowed.
A familiar voice called out from the master bedroom ‘In here Dear’.
‘Don’t Dear me….people are asking for you…how dare you embarrass me in front of’, he stopped in mid speech as he entered the master bedroom, darkened by heavy blinds, full of shadow, aided by a small bed side lamp.
What had caused Douglas’s outburst of anger to cease was the figure lying down on the queen sized bed.
Douglas was in shock as his brain attempted to convert what his eyes saw before him.
There was a naked woman on his bed…or their bed, in fact tied up on it. The woman’s arms were behind her head; secured to the head board frame it seemed by a pair of handcuffs, adorned in pink fur.
The woman’s bare knees and legs appeared to be bound with ladies hosiery, Douglas was not sure, and even though he had been married 4 times he was still uncertain of what women wore under their clothing. To him it was all straps and elastic removed in the dark.
The woman was naked, her large breasts unmoving, defying gravity…familiar expensive work that Douglas recognized.
The woman’s wide thighs where bare to all, her blonde pubic triangle was on perfect display. The woman’s long legs moved back and fore, restricted by the bonds that held them.
Still, Douglas was not sure that the woman bound on his bed was his wife. After all, the unfortunate woman had a black stocking forced over her head, fully encasing it, all her features dark and distorted.
Douglas could see the off white large cleave gag in and around the woman’s mouth. It looked very tight he thought, and by the lack of sound from the prostrate woman, her mouth must be pretty full, the tongue right back on her throat.

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Douglas noted that the woman was blinded under the stocking mask; a black satin sleeping eye mask had been placed over her eyes, the dark blindfold blending into the black sheer stocking.
Douglas could make out what must have been blonde hair underneath, the hair forced down and flattened to the woman’s small skull.
What was the most alarming sight though was the devise, strapped around the woman’s thin waist; it looked like an explosive belt? On the belt was a cell phone that beeped every 5 seconds.
‘Erin’, Douglas ventured. The woman, who had already been moaning through her gag, renewed her efforts. The sound of her husband’s voice raising her hopes of freedom
‘UUUURRRRuuuummm’, ‘MMMMMrrrrppppfffppphhh’, the bound woman moaned, her hands pulling against the pink bondage play handcuffs.
Douglas, in one of those moments were the trivial always surfaces in times of stress, noted that he had never saw those playthings before….and where did she get them.
‘MMMMUUUhhhuuupppfff’, moaned his gagged, naked, young wife. Douglas noted that her struggles were not as harsh as they should be, as if she had warned that excess exertion would set off the device strapped to her waist.
The gagged, sightless and nylon masked face looked towards his voice ‘MMMMMMMM’, ‘UUUUMMMMMMmmmm’; she made more sense than usual thought Douglas.
Douglas made for his cell phone, before he tried to release her he thought it prudent that the Bomb Squad should have a look first. He reached for his cell.
Douglas jumped as a male voice called ‘Do not call anyone Mr. Fitzroy’, the corpulent husband jumped as he noted the shadow in the corner of the large bedroom for the first time.
He looked at the figure in the shadows; he saw long legs, encased in navy blue pantyhose, Italian high heeled shoes, and the hemline of a pleated navy blue dress.
The upper part of body was masked in darkness, two low glowing orbs, like cats eyes stared back at him.
Douglas was confused, it had been a man’s voice, yet the lower part of the body looked all female. In fact, whoever it was, Douglas was aware that they were wearing his wife’s dress.
The voice broke his thoughts again ‘I have a gun pointed at you Mr. Fitzroy…..do nothing rash…and you will both survive’; defiantly a man’s voice thought Douglas.
‘What are you…some kind of transvestite pervert….going around robbing women…stealing their clothes….you coward….you sick Bas…’, blurted Douglas becoming quite angry.
‘No Mr. Fitzroy… I am your wife…..I am Erin’, the Erin on the bed turned towards the voice and went ‘MMMUUUUMMMPPPPHHHHFFFFF’, rather loudly, the intruder walked out into the light.
Douglas stopped in mid speech, his mouth dropped open. There before him was his wife. His mind reeled as the blonde Erin walked towards him holding a small silenced pistol and a cell phone in each hand.
Whoever this was looked like Erin, or was the imposter on the bed….no…no…the male voice of this one…he was confused, very confused.
His wife’s tits under the dress looked the same, he always noticed those first.
Secondly, he confirmed her blue eyes, the face, the dress, her pantyhose, the jewelry, whoever this was looked like the wife who had departed from him earlier this morning.
The CAT was used to this shocked reaction, many times had the criminal or onetime terrorist used the ploy.
The CAT gained a certain professional satisfaction from the confused look of the various partners it had encountered over time, be they male or female.

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No one knew the gender, age or nationality of the CAT, even the CAT itself was unsure. The CAT new it existed and was good at what it did and that was to replicate people almost to perfection. For what purpose was for the CAT to decide.
The CAT was not a name everyone new, most law enforcement agencies were ignorant of its existence.
The criminal fraternity only whispered the name, only the most powerful syndicates dared to make contact.
Organizations such as the CIA, FSB, Mossad and MI6 were well aware of the CAT; they had been after it for years, eager to learn its chameleon secrets, but catching a suspect which could change its identity with such ease was easier said than done.
The CAT felt at ease, in control. It had been easy to overpower the real wife, after all she had wanted to play, she had undressed herself, rather swiftly and placed herself in a compromising situation.
A little bondage game in the CATS false love making and before she knew it the wife was confused, helpless and initially really pissed off.
All that pointless thrashing around reflected the CAT, the look of horror in those bright blue eyes as it strapped the explosive belt to the trim waist, the warning that her struggles could set it off.
The gagged protest as he retrieved the sleeping mask and one of her black stockings from a sliding draw set in a walk in closet.
The tussle with the blonde head, which swung from left to right as the stocking was forced over the dainty head, the moans of indignation, the heavy grunts and breathing in the otherwise silent bedroom.
The CAT had taken great pleasure in donning the bound woman’s clothing.
As each intimate garment was retrieved from the carpeted floor, as every piece of ladies underwear was placed on its body the morphing sequence had began.
It was as if the minute DNA trace, unknowingly deposited by the garments wearer, somehow enhanced the duplication quality.
Many people were oblivious to how much skin they shed on a daily basis, all microscopic blueprints that made up the individual.
The fact that the wife had soiled her panties made the duplication more perfect. The CAT had fed hungrily off the woman’s inadvertent masturbation. The CAT was now a near perfect copy of the bound and gagged Erin Fitzroy.
The only difference, which was invisible under the purloined dress, was the CATS stomach. The CATS version of Erin had the stomach and Pecs of a man, the breasts had been replicated fully and finally the male genitalia had retreated up inside the false vagina.
Overall the CAT was pleased with the effect, it was better than usual. The CAT had to have a shave before it had made use of the wife’s comprehensive make up selection, there had been the annoying stubble left over from its previous disguise.
The transfer of the wife’s underwear and pantyhose had been pleasing.
Each awkward male movement being replaced by the easy female hand that had trained for this everyday task since childhood, with the donning of each garment the application became more practiced.
At times the CAT tired of the 21st Century, with all its hygiene and constant clean laundry fetish. In times past it had been so much easier to duplicate an individual. The people from the past rarely changed their clothes on a weekly basis never mind washing daily.
All that ingrained dirt made it so much easier…today though…these people washed every day, many times so…the DNA strands harder to absorb. The CAT, shrugged its new female shoulder’s, at least getting dressed had become easier.

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The CAT snapped on the navy blue brassiere’s torso band, the rear fastener catching the first time. The bra still warm from the gagged Erin, the bra not even noticing a new occupant, it wouldn’t if it could.
The undergarment was new and expensive, the demi bra cups pushing the recently created bust up, creating a lush cleavage, the dark blue satin making a stark contrast against the milky white flesh.
The high cut panties, satin and shiny, a dark matching navy blue, intricate and ornate with lacy patterns on the flanks.
The blue satin curve of the feminine pubic region was delectable .The high cut panty waistband sat equally well on the rather masculine waistline, a waistline complete with small dark hairs, totally out of place on the otherwise womanly guise
The curving panty arch over its thighs flank appeared just as gorgeous as the original Erin, just like all those competition swim suits that the now gagged and bound trophy wife had worn.
The navy or Canadian navy blue pantyhose were expensive, very soft and fine, loose from the real wife’s legs and midriff that had recently occupied them.
They were sheer to waist, the waistband elastic snapping over the CATS hips, the high cut panties underneath blending in perfectly.
The CAT marveled again, less than 5 minutes to don the wife’s underwear. The process had been a nightmare a few decades ago.
The Cat remembered the early 20th Century, especially the 30s, 40s and 50s. All those belts, flimsy stockings that were run so easily, petticoats, girdles, and brassieres built like battleships.
Panties that rose up forever, everything too tight and restrictive…a pain to put on and a pain to wear, the heavy clothing, dull and drab, hats with feathers and stoles.
The CAT did not know its age…all it knew was that it was old…very…very old indeed…..the CAT had a vague memory of wearing a Stola at Rome, watching the games given in the name of the dead Emperor Titus, the new arena that bore his name.
The CAT remembered being with a senator at the games, the name long forgotten, a man of promise it seemed, and a threat to others…others willing to pay.
A senator who thought he kissed and hugged his pretty Roman wife in celebration…….unknown to the senator, his pretty young wife’s naked body was at that present time being washed into the Tiber, via the underground sewers…..the CAT later that night assassinated the unsuspecting senator.
The CAT at one time had always killed those he chose to replicate…it had found it easier. But it seemed that over the centuries the people seemed to become stronger…more organized in their ways. It had watched their Police and military, their society as a whole grow from strength to strength.
The CAT’s survival relied totally on its underground existence…remaining a mystery, almost a legend. Its present contractor only made contact through knowledge gained by his great, great grandfather……on pain of death the client was sworn to confidentiality.
These people were organized now, killing people was dangerous…..in this civilized era murderers were tracked down…..only at times of war were the old ways possible…...illegal detainment and assault were less serious than murder. It was easier to keep them out of the way for a while….in time the CAT had adjusted.
The CAT back in the present, tastefully clad in the wife’s expensive underwear and nylons, was adjusting the blue hair piece, slotting the crystal band into its new 60s style blonde hair.
The CAT briefly glanced at the squirming woman on the bed, the woman he had trapped for her identity and clothes.
It had never really enjoyed its male victims. They had just become angry and humiliated…..and it was harder work too…although the body was less complicated and stronger in high action situations.….also easier to dress and maintain.

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The CAT had always enjoyed the female of the species, females of any century really. They were easier to overpower, their clothing more interesting, their bodies less offensive to the eye.
The female had a power over the males, a strong power that the CAT liked to utilize. It stared at the wife it had tied up, gagged and blindfolded…..the creature looked so vulnerable…its muted pleas going unheard…the CAT did not care for what it wanted to say.
The CAT noted the female’s original breasts….it placed a hand under the woman’s bra, now on its own body...it still amazed the CAT, a perfect copy.
The CAT really enjoyed the bound, females, never the male, the women always looked so helpless…..and the CAT enjoyed their clothes too….especially these current undergarments…..so soft….it could hardly feel them on its duplicated skin.
The CAT remembered that time in the Far East, Saigon if it remembered correctly. It had replicated some local crime lord and hijacked a US Army bus full of nurse’s; nurses were always female in those days.
The 15 nurse’s were taken to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city; the escort had been taken care of, bullet holes in the back of the head, VC style. The nurse’s had been stripped of their white uniforms and underwear and suspended from meat hooks.
The CAT had stared at the hanging, naked, bound and gagged Army nurses for hours, his gunmen looking on, not really understanding their Boss’s strange new pastime.
The nurse’s desperate moans and obvious distress somehow giving it energy, revitalizing something inside the CAT that it did not now itself.
Finally, recharged the CAT left, informing his henchmen to hand them over to the Communists. The subsequent atrocity was covered up, no one in the States would now of the nurse’s real fate…morale was already low…officially the nurse’s died in a C-130 crash near Da Nang Airbase.
Someone paid the price…the Vietnamese crime lord. When Special Forces tracked him down over a year…..fighting and dogging him all over the South….and butchered most of his people, including his family……the criminal went to his grave still pleading his innocence. No one believed him, except the CAT.
Then there was that Russian caper, St Petersburg if it remembered rightly, around 1910. It was rather fond of that one.
A bankrupt Russian Duke who could not pay off his substantial debts…well it looked as if this particular Duke, his wife and whole family were off to Siberia…or worse. Until the CAT intervened, desiring a little amusement at the expense of an aristocratic lady.
The CAT had offered the soon to be disgraced Duke a way out. One Million Rubles, a substantial sum in those days……if…if…he could pass off his wife’s chamber maid as the Duchess…for one night at a Royal party…..the Duchess was not to know or be in on the bet.
The CAT remembered the scene well…the memory was as vivid as yesterday.
On a particular night that was scheduled for a royal event at the palace, the bet came into effect. The Duke and Duchess, after a delightful day shopping had parted company, to dress in readiness for the Tsar’s summer ball, they of course had separate bed chambers.
The Duke kissed his adoring young wife on the cheek, he blew a kiss, she blew one back, the door closed…the Duke was left feeling very guilty indeed.
The Duchess had bathed, her maid had dried her pink skin with large towels, make up had been applied and fresh underwear was soon in place.
The Duchess was about to be helped into her favorite silk gown when the chamber maid turned on her……in her fresh pantaloons, white stockings, bodice and corset the Duchess had been forced to the floor.
Screaming for help, her dainty thin white arm locked behind her back whereby the maid tightly cleave gagged and tied her up ….the soft young Duchess was no match for the girl who was used to
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chopping wood at 4 in morning, every day….the writhing Duchess, a milky white breast flopping out of the bodice was dragged by her white sheathed ankles and stuffed into an hidden alcove……the outraged muted screams of the Duchess were cut off as the false wall was replaced.
The CAT new all this, why? Because it and the Duke where behind a special ornate two way mirror…a little fetish of the Dukes…..or a little paranoia with regards to his blue blooded wife having lovers.
The CAT noted the Dukes discomfort, his darkened features stern, his eyes welled up with tears, the man was rubbing his face, pulling at his moustache.
He had seen his young, pretty, aristocratic wife, the daughter of another Duke and relative of a prestigious military family, assaulted and humiliated by a woman of the soil, a mere peasant.
‘She will be fine, Sergei…..maybe a little bruised……a little distrustful of country girls in the future…but okay….and oh….still filthy rich’, reassured the CAT.
The CAT entered the Duchess’s boudoir, followed by the Duke. The Duke looked towards the section of false wall where he knew his silent, unheard wife to be. No doubt struggling with her bonds behind the false wall, moaning through the gag in total darkness.
The CAT ignored the wall all together, it was more interested in the new duchess. The maid looked nervous, a little flushed, she had done what her master had instructed her to do to the mistress….now she awaited retribution.
The CAT spotted something in this female peasant…what was it…under that black and white shapeless uniform…her face unpainted……ah! That was it…….natural beauty.
The Duke was ordered to leave. The CAT instructed the peasant……draws were opened….the Duchess’s expensive French under garments were strewn around….stockings draped doors…..petticoats and corsets were chosen……the fabulous emerald colored silk gown was secured at the back…..wallah!
The CAT studied his work…..the once drab peasant maid look stunning, exquisite.
The maid…or the new Duchess Rostimoff, looked the perfect picture of an Imperial Russian aristocratic on her way to the Tsar’s ball.
Her dark hair was tightly bunned, a tiara sat on her small head. The CAT had made liberal use of the Duchess’s cosmetics and imported French perfume, the new aristocrat looked a picture of health…rosy red cheeks, red painted lips, eyelids a perfect light blue, the false eyelashes fluttering….perfect.
The girl wore white velvet gloves that ended well up her arms to her bicep. The girls arms, although still feminine were stronger looking than the weak Duchess, who had never performed a menial task in her life.
A diamond throat necklace which was gem encrusted glistened around her thin throat, her ears sported long diamond tear drops.
The bosom, restrained by a bodice and corset…it had been a struggle for the CAT, the girl was much larger in the bust than the real Duchess……was on full view on the low cut gown, the thin waist, corseted, the dress ballooned out from the multiple white petticoats underneath.
The girls feet and legs were invisible…..yet the CAT had ensured that the girl wore the best pair of stockings and pantaloons that the Duchess had owned……..he even, a s cruel joke made sure the girls thigh sported the blue garter, worn by the Duchess on her wedding night.
The CAT opened the door to the waiting Duke, ‘May I present the Duchess Rostimoff’, proclaimed the CAT. The new Duchess made a hesitant step forward.
The Duke was thunderstruck, speechless, all thoughts of his wife being imprisoned and impersonated for money was momentarily gone. The woman before him was spectacular…….a thousand more times more attractive than his wife …who was very a very fine catch in the first place.
‘Your Highness…take your wife by the hand….enjoy your night…I shall see you tomorrow and we shall settle our bet…or not as may be the case’, jeered the CAT.

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The Duke did not say a word, he took the imposter by the hand and left the large house for the horse and carriage that waited outside.
The CAT went back into the boudoir and bedroom, studying the discarded female clothing….it ****ed its head….he could discern a banging sound emanating from behind the wall…a part of the wall he knew held a secret…as if a pair of feet were being banged against it, from the inside
The CAT left instructions to the rest of staff to ignore any banging sounds…it was the water pipes and he would take care of it. The CAT left, happy and singing to itself.
It returned the next morning, striding through the house like a whirlwind. It crashed into the Duchess’s bedroom.
The Duke rose from the bed, his chest bare and hairy ‘Do you not knock Sir’. The Duke was not alone in the bed.
The CAT noted that the frightened female holding the bed sheet up to cover her bare breasts was not the Dukes wife…..it was the chamber maid.
The CAT looked to its left, towards the false wall, no banging sound came from it now and it was late in the morning.
The Duke caught the gaze ‘the money…like you promised’.
The CAT remembered the phrase ‘behind every Slav is a thief…and a bounder to by the looks of it’, he tossed the doctor’s bag it had been carrying ‘Complete 1 million Rubles’, he turned on his heel and stormed out.
It seemed the bet had been too good, the false Duchess had been a sensation at the Tsar’s ball, the centre of attention…..the Tsar had been captivated by her beauty, almost smitten it seemed……no one noticed that it was not the real Tatiana. The Tsar accepted it and that was that.
The Tsar demanded the Dukes presence at court more and more, always he had to bring his stunning wife, his influence grew…he became the minister of justice, fate had a black sense of humor at times.
The stunning ex-maid became the Duchess Rostimoff, money was exchanged, objecting family members disappeared, as did the real Duchess, carted off in the dead of night….once more bound and gagged….loaded onto a train bound for a Gulag in the Far East of the Empire. Not to be heard of again….although there were rumors the poor woman went mad and killed herself, telling her jailers to the end that she a Duchess and an injustice had been done.
The CAT had no guilt, never had. It had watched this species kill itself over and over again. But it did have a sense of humor.
It had later laughed out loud in the middle of Paris, at that time duplicated and disguised as the wife of the French Minister of War.
It had read in a paper that the Russian Duke and his internationally renowned beauty of a wife had both been shot by the Bolsheviks in 1917, as an enemy of the people and the revolution.
The Duchess had been most cruelly dispatched, her decapitated head being subjected to indignities that were unprintable, and yet she had been one of the people, a daughter of the soil who lived in secret.
There seemed to be some justice after all, money and beauty did not add up to much in the end. It imagined the Duchess spilling her secret, no one believing her…just like the real woman she had replaced long ago.
In a French female accent it had proclaimed to startled onlookers ‘What goes around, comes around…..it was worth a million’, The outwardly French lady, reached with a lace gloved hand and retrieved her parasol and left the stylish café.

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A few well dressed gentlemen watched the elegant lady, her pencil thin long skirt, the pinched at the waist jacket, a collared white blouse underneath, broached at the neck….the large brimmed hat, the provocative swing of the hips…..one or two of the men, enjoying a cognac and cigar twisted their oiled moustaches in frustration and desire.
And so walked away the French Minister of War’s wife…who was never seen again…the accusation of murder and scandal nearly brought down the French Government at the time of the great army mutinies on the Western Front
Which had been the objective and aim of the German Secret Service…..who had great faith in the CAT abilities……the German’s had always been superior employers it remembered…..they had always been so cold and calculating, like itself….Eva Braun….now that had been an experience…….
The CATS mind returned to the present. It had just zippered up the blue dress, which had been located on the left side of the garment; the bras navy blue, flower patterned, torso band was just disappearing from sight.
The stocking hooded wife moaned on the bed ‘UUUmmmhhppppff’ or ‘MMMmmmmm’, it had mumbled, her bare chest glistening with sweat…..the woman must be tired it thought…..all that mewing and moaning….how could it be so distressed over something it wanted in the first place….after all it had requested to be handcuffed….such a fickle creature the CAT thought..
The CAT ignored it, although it did enjoy wearing the woman’s dress. All her jewels and rings had been transferred to its duplicated digits and body. The transformation was complete as it would be as it waited in the shadows for Douglas Fitzroy……another greedy, faithless man…..just like the Duke of long ago it mused.

‘What do you want’, Douglas repeated, confused ‘what have you done to my wife….and why?’
The CAT paused, holding the small pistol and cell phone, a near perfect replica of the gagged, stripped and bound lady on the bed. The short, figure hugging dress was just as snug and alluring on its body as that of its previous owner.
‘MMMmmuuuphhffff’, moaned the distressed wife, her struggles being very wary of the bomb strapped to her slim waist, the CAT noted that Douglas kept looking to his side, taking in his wife’s humiliating predicament, concern washed all over his portly face.
The CAT could see his dilemma, ‘Come Douglas…lets retire to the living room and discuss a little arrangement…..eh…..without any distractions shall we say’, the CAT still spoke in a male voice.
The corpulent husband did not stir, his gaze taking in the bound woman on his bed, her body exposed, her body restrained, sightless and soundless….well nearly.
The CAT changed tact, ‘Douglas….I want to go now’, this time louder in the voice of the real Erin. The restrained Erin on the bed gave a loud, startled grunt ‘UUUUUrrrrggghhhh’, her blind, hooded head looking in the general direction of the voice which she recognized as her own, the unintelligible moan from within her full mouth the CAT interpreted as some kind of gagged protest.
It worked, Douglas turned, gently pushed by his new wife. The man looked over his shoulder, ‘Do not worry about her Douglas……just think that she is taking a rest for the day…..she wouldn’t have liked your boring old convention anyway’.
Douglas caught a last quick glimpse of the naked body, the muted moans and then she was gone, the bedroom door slammed shut.
The pair walked into the living room, Douglas aware of the familiar click clacking of his wife’s expensive high heels, except this time he knew his wife was not in them.
He turned ‘Well…..you have me over a barrel…so to speak…..’, the CAT did admire the husbands lack of panic, his self control….after all he had made his own fortune.
Douglas was still amazed, his outrage being replaced by curiosity ‘I must applaud your powers of deception Miss…..or Mr.…..they are very commendable’.

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Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:16 pm

He took in the long legs, accentuated by the very short dress, the deep blue pantyhose, the Italian high heels…..the artificially increased and stabilized bust….the long blonde hair….those familiar blue eyes ‘Amazing’, and slightly provocative if he was honest with himself….especially with his real wife bound so close next door.
‘I can be very charming Douglas…more so than her next door…I think’, smirked the imposter ‘After all…she was ready to bed my last persona…..before I eh….made her more comfortable’.
Douglas made a mental note of contacting his lawyer after this affair was over; where ever it leads to…..after all he was no stranger to divorce proceedings.
‘I think I no longer require the gun’, the imposter placed it inside the small clutch purse, held by a gold chain over shoulder. The purse, as well as the gun, contained a little of the wife’s cosmetics and a vanity mirror.
‘The cell phone is the real weapon Douglas’; it held the phone up with mimicked polished finger nails ‘One, I will explode your wife……her guts and half this tower block will fall around your face……ah…..I can see and guess that your cheating wife, or would be cheating wife, does not mean that much to you anymore’.
The CAT new that powerful men like Douglas Fitzroy changed spouses as regularly as their socks; therefore the CAT had taken precautions.
‘But also there is a similar device strapped around someone that you may actually care about….in a location that I will tell you on completion of our contract’, the CAT turned the phone around, so that Douglas could view the screen.
Douglas breathed in, his chest hurt; his heart pumped a little faster….he felt his face and body begin to perspire in anxiety and panic.
‘Will you co operate Douglas’, said the calm imposter who looked like his wife.
Douglas managed to croak, almost plead ‘Yes…of course….anything you say….anything …….but please do not’.
The CAT cut him off ‘She will be safe Douglas…as long as you do exactly what I say’.
The CAT found immense satisfaction in the man’s obvious panic, distress and pain….oh…..thought the CAT….this body had reacted…..adding another DNA imprint to the already soiled panties it thought. Is this what the real wife who but a short time ago had worn this same undergarment had also experienced….it shrugged its cute shoulders.
The reflex was lost on Douglas, after all his mind was in turmoil and terror. He had just seen a picture of his 18 year old daughter, Nicola,, a child of his first marriage, the one that counted……his daughter should have been at her expensive private school…….wherever she was she was not at class…in her uniform though….gagged, blindfolded and tied to a chair, well taped actually and lots of it, with a bomb similar to the one strapped around her third stepmother…a stepmother not much older than her. The image had terrified him.
‘Why…all this…’, he stammered, indicting to the master bedroom.
‘I had to borrow a few things from Erin’, quipped the CAT ‘you now us girls….a lip stick here, a broach there……or a body, a face and every stitch of fabric that she was fcuking wearing’, the gentile blonde face became quite menacing.
‘I had to be close to you Douglas…very close….Erin served that purpose….I could have killed her…instead she is indisposed…..having a day of slumber so to speak….you will not miss her…I promise’.
‘I want to stay close to you….. You have to do exactly as I say…exactly……in case you did not really love that blonde clothes stand you married…Nicola is my insurance that you will obey’.
‘Anyway….I quite like dress up….and these little pieces from Paris are delightful’, she twirled for Douglas, the skirt rising higher, Douglas catching a glimpse of his wife’s panties underneath.
Douglas remained still ‘So Douglas….later today you will receive a phone call from Lazenby and Marks, concerning the Von Sonderburg accounts….you are to release the transfers access codes’,

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Douglas understood what all this was about and was about to tell this imposter to go screw itself when he remembered his kidnapped daughter….he gritted his teeth….realizing that his reputation and empire was about to fall.
Douglas’s brain did the math…the Von Sonderberg accounts and investments were worth billions….if they were compromised in any way he would be ruined……but to see his only child harmed….the only person he had ever cared about……he lowered his head in resignation.
The Erin imposter kept one hand on the cell phone come trigger, the other looped into the one belonging to Douglas. ‘Shall we…Darling’, said the soft spoken imposter.

The new Fitzroy’s rejoined the swelling throng that had congregated downstairs for the conference. All looked as it should, the powerful banker, politician and business man with his blonde, beautiful trophy wife.
The Erin on show made small talk, flashed her shapely backside, pushed out her breasts, all smiles. No one knew the difference.
Douglas made a great effort in entertaining; his mind was in another place at times, his mind in a state of panic over his kid. Another rich mover from the city brushed past ‘Hey, Doug….Erin seems on form today…..you are so lucky my friend….come round on the weekend…it would be joy…honestly’.
Douglas said ‘Sure thing’….aching to tell the guy that the woman in Erin’s clothing was not her, Erin was upstairs bound and gagged…this thing was a thief or terrorist…a mannequin only that looked like his wife…an imposter and that he was being held to ransom.
The farce continued as they all entered the conference room….Douglas and his false wife took their seats at the front row.
Douglas felt ill as his bogus wife touched his knee…he felt a chill as the false red lips neared his ear ‘You’re doing fine Douglas…not long left now’, he visibly flinched as the lips in stolen lipstick touched his cheek.
From the podium Douglas eventually addressed the Rotary club….he only faltered once in his speech…he had made the mistake of looking at his counterfeit spouse…..the dark blue sheathed legs, crossed over tightly, the strong thighs on display….God he thought…that travesty of nature had even stolen his wife’s underwear…..the pert breasts in the open blue dress.
Douglas looked at the familiar face that looked so proud, hands clapping at his words, the blonde hair, held by the crystal blue band….he sighed inside…the thing in his wife’s dress was right…the real Erin would have been close to sleep by now….not looking as animated as this.
Eventually the conference was over; the important guests began to leave. Douglas’s cell phone rang; he paused and looked at the imposter, ‘Answer it’, requested the blonde charlatan.
Douglas retrieved his phone and flicked it open ‘Fitzroy’, he exclaimed.
Douglas listened ‘Thank you Ms Morrison, this was expected….I have to retire to my suite….the encrypted codes I will send to you personally…..the programme is an Alpha Mega 357 niner…stand by, thank you’. He ended the call.
Douglas was oblivious to the people around him…he only saw the intense blue eyes looking into him…he thought of his daughter…..only her….the phony thing in front of him smiled ‘Well done Douglas…Nicola would be so grateful’, it flashed the cell phone in its dainty false hand ‘shall we…..’.
The happy looking couple made for the elevator. A pair of male stock brokers noted them leaving, heading upstairs…they looked at each other and laughed ‘I don’t blame him….I wanted to bang that ass all day’.
Little did they now that sex was the last thing on his mind……especially with the thing encased in stolen silk and satin…..a lie in a dress.

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PART 7

Ms Miranda Morrison sat at work station, rapidly processing the information coming through. Her legs tightly crossed, the short grey skirt extra tight, her good looking legs on show in their anthracite pantyhose.
The bogus Baroness Von Sonderberg had a good view through the clear glass table top, the banker oblivious to the fact that her legs were being ogled at as she tapped in the access codes.
Miss Gold watched the woman’s face, engrossed in work. She remembered how the banker had returned, all smiles…bending over backwards to assist the obviously wealthy customer.
As the work progressed, Miss Gold sipped her coffee, catching a glimpse of an ornate lace trimmed bra cup through the bankers, cream colored sheer blouse.
The baroness sipped the strong beverage….a full support plunge bra by the looks of it…very popular and very feminine thought Miss Gold…..this woman liked to show off her assets thought the thief, a sign of a woman’s confidence it stated in certain popular magazines.
Finally the banker looked up, smiling ‘Thank you for your patience, your highness….I just need the final personal release code of yourself…and…err…your husband’.
Miss Gold replied ‘6789543567, Red, Bravo, Blue;, the banker typed it in.
She looked up ‘Mr. Fitzroy did instruct me that you will act for your husband’, neglecting to state that this was highly irregular, but Mr. Fitzroy did overrule her…..the boss was the boss after all.
Miss Gold rapped off ‘8974328964, Green, Omega, Yellow’, again the banker typed away. There was a pause, an awkward silence as the information flew across the information highway.
Ms Morrison looked at her screen ‘Thank you Baroness…the funds have been transferred to the accounts you requested, if there is anything else….’
The false Baroness stood up; the banker did not see the grimace behind the veil, Miss Gold silently suffered inside ‘This fcuking G string – Never again…’, how she pined for those comfortable flesh colored panties that she had stolen long ago, rashly discarded back at the beauty parlor.
‘That will be all – good day’, she turned on the stilettos and stormed out.
Miranda Morrison sat down and exhaled loudly,’ B.tch’ she thought. She hit the intercom button, ‘John…I am going for an early lunch…I may be back or not….cancel the days appointments’.
The bogus Baroness flew through the bank like a dark, black wind. The security guard still on duty watched the lithe, elegant body shimmer under the long black silk dress, imagining the scene underneath……a stark contrast to his nagging fat wife at home and two lazy sh.t for brains kids…..’fcuk it’ he thought determined to get loaded down at the bar tonight.

Douglas Fitzroy’s lifeless eyes stared back at the CAT. He lay in the bathtub, fully clothed, his face an unnatural blue, his tongue flopping out.
The CAT was still in the guise of the wife. It had to be done, it said to itself. The man new it’s secret, how it could easily morph and change. The CAT could not let the man give a statement to the police, the federal agencies would get wind of it and the chase would begin…again.
The wife, Erin, would live. She was still tied up and gagged in the master bedroom. What could she tell the police…..that she was being fcuked by a waiter when things got out of hand…..she had recognized her own voice, so what! The woman would live.
Unfortunately, the husband had seen too much. The surprise on his face as the imposter had gripped his throat. Even though the CAT had the appearance of a dainty size 6 woman, it had the strength of 5 men. The CAT closed the bathroom door.

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It was time for a change of personality; it had somewhere else to be. The CAT tired of this body and anyway, the sight of Erin Fitzroy walking out of the hotel may arouse suspicion.
The CAT threw away the threatening cell phone, the bombs had been fake anyway. The picture of Nicola Fitzroy had also been a fake….it was amazing what one could do with computers nowadays. No doubt Nicola was enjoying her horse riding class as normal, oblivious to her father’s recent demise.
Always play on their weaknesses remembered the CAT, their natural guilt….they were playthings in its hands.
The CAT sat on the luxurious white sofa, it crossed its blue sheathed legs, the skirt high on its thighs. It reached for the white telephone on a table next to it. It dialed a number and waited for a reply…..the tone rang in its duplicated ear.
Finally, someone picked up ‘Hi Danielle, its Erin Fitzroy…we spoke at the conference……do you still want that interview’, there was a pause as it listened to the female on the other end.
‘Oh yes Danielle…yes indeed…I can promise you that the interview will be exclusive…very, very exclusive…just the two of us…..just us girls’, the CAT was smiling, a wicked smile at that.
‘When……no time as good as the present….Ill prepare the drinks…see you soon’ it replaced the handset.
Danielle Coyle, a journalist who had approached it at the conference. The CAT remembered how the dark haired, slim female had asked her many inappropriate questions.
How the CAT still acting the demure Erin, looked interested in her inquiries, nodding, agreeing about women’s power and rights in the 21st Century.
Danielle, oblivious to the socialite’s gaze that was scanning her whole body, how the CAT was not interested in what she was saying but more interested in what she was wearing.
The CAT had just adored the outfit that the journalist had been clothed in. A smart charcoal black business suit with slacks and a lavender satin open neck blouse.
The CAT liked the way the grey black slacks molded to the females backside, the curve of each buttock, the curve of her stomach which was tight on the slacks, the silky curve of the breasts under the blouse, the tight pinched in waist of the jacket, her feet encased in black knee highs or pantyhose, the heeled slip on black shoes…..a perfect example of the female professional.
The CAT reached over to the already opened Champagne bottle and refilled the two flutes. It delved into the discarded clutch purse and retrieved two small white pills and popped them into one of the crystal glasses. It watched as the fizzy bubbles subsided within the glass…all seemed normal.
The CATs musings were interrupted by the door chime. It stood up, straightening the blue dress and strode towards the door, its heels click clacking away.
It opened the door, there smiling in her gold framed spectacles was the unsuspecting Danielle Coyle, reassuringly attired as before.
The CAT smiled ‘Welcome…please come inside;, the journalist replied ‘Thank you….it is pleasure’ and entered the suite, the door closed behind her.
The false Erin strode over to the white sofa, followed by the timid journalist, the CAT sat down and patted the space next to her ‘Please take a seat’.
The journalist carried a large bag over her shoulder in which she retrieved some folders, her heeled shoes also making a noise on the marble floor.
The CAT looked at her features, dark hair set in a bob, her face pretty enough, not stunning like the female it had recently replaced. The tight suite, showing a good figure underneath, the CAT was eager to get into those clothes.
The unsuspecting female sat down, still looking at her notes, ‘I would like to ask you a few questions for our society piece’, mentioned the woman absent mindedly.

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The CAT wondered how calm she would be if the female next to it new that Mr. Fitzroy lay murdered in the bathtub and the real Mrs. Fitzroy lay a short distance away, gagged, blindfolded and stripped…had been for some time now….never mind thought the CAT, this one would soon join her.
‘Now..now Danielle…..all business and no pleasure’, the bogus Erin placed a flute in her hand and edged closer to her on the sofa.
For the first time the journalist noted how close the socialite was to her on the sofa, and how far her blue dress had risen up, the top of her navy blue sheathed legs were most visible…..to noticeable in fact.
Danielle coughed ‘Ah…yes…indeed’, she took a sip of the Champagne, after all she needed this story. ‘I thank you again for this privilege……’.
‘No….the pleasure is all mine….please drink up’, the nervous journalist emptied the glass, no one had told her that Erin Fitzroy was a dyke……this was an exclusive she trembled, a top story…..she noted the socialites thin arm that reached behind her back, sliding along on the sofa.
‘So how do you think a modern woman, whose husband is the 6TH wealthiest man in the country can…..’ attempted the woman, trying to keep the conversation on track.
Oh..we have our ways in influencing them’ replied the wife.
‘Yes…but apart from being a beauty queen and stunning…no offence…what example can you give too….’, the journalist placed a hand to her forehead, that hurt, a massive headache was brewing.
‘In other words, the wives of rich and powerful men must come across as more than a perfect body and…..’, the journalist stopped in mid speech……her vision became unfocused.
Her words slurred ‘I feel a little…..ill’.
‘Oh, come on Danielle….we are nothing more than playthings of such men….there was nothing Douglas liked more than to strip me and tie me up……I can assure you that Erin Fitzroy loves to be gagged and bound….you can ask her yourself later……maybe you would like to experience the process too’.
The lady journalist swayed, confused, she mumbled, spittle forming around her lipstick adorned mouth, ‘What……what was that?
‘There….there dear….nothing at all’, it took the empty flute from the woman’s unsteady hand.
The CAT leaned forward towards the unfocused journalist ‘It is a little warm in here…..let’s get rid of that hot, stifling jacket’.
The woman slurred ‘its okay really….please don’t touch me’, the woman tried to raise her arms to push the socialite away……but her arms, all of a sudden felt very heavy.
‘Don’t be silly Danielle it is a hot flush, that’s all’, peeling the jacket off her shoulders, revealing her bare arms in the short sleeved blouse, the woman’s head was swaying back and fore.
The CAT now had her in her blouse only, the soft shiny material, the vee of the blouse’s neckline, the shape and curve of the breasts underneath……the tight pants
It lent forward onto the woman, using its weight to push her down onto her back ‘No….I am not that type ……get off me you fcucking pervert’, the female slurred, her eyes fluttering.
The CAT straddled the prostrate journalist, the navy blue dress well hitched up over its waist, its navy blue pantyhosed ass up in the air, its powerful arms pinning the reporter down, it’s stolen face headed to that of the soon to be unconscious journalist.
The two women’s lips connected forcibly, the woman’s gold spectacles being displaced from the bridge of her nose.
The woman moaned, but not in the ecstasy of love making, she knew this was wrong, but she was too weak to fight it ‘MMMuuuuummmmm’, she protested, feeling the other woman’s tongue in her mouth, the lips and tongue pumping her mouth…..she had been drugged….date raped by another woman.

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The lady journalist, even as the forced slumber drew near, knew something was terribly wrong, this was not just sexual assault…….the squeezing of her breasts…..the woman on top of her……the kiss….it was more than kissing….it was like this woman was draining her….the kiss, the sucking of her mouth was too intense……to primal…..
The trapped woman, her movements becoming weaker and weaker, her muted pleas less and less forceful….her eyes fluttered, the whites of her eyes showing…….her last image confused her totally…..the woman in the blue dress was still on top her……at last she had stopped sucking on her mouth…..but the face, the face staring back at her could not be……the face…..it was her own….her own facing staring and smiling back at her.
It became darker and darker until finally the assaulted journalist passed out.
The CAT laughed out loud and reared its head, its body still straddling the unconscious lady journalist.
The CAT now had the body, face and hairstyle of Daniele Cole, yet wore the clothing of Erin Fitzroy. The breasts of Danielle were more modest than those of the socialite. There was a visible sag in the dress’s bosom region, the bra underneath was less than full.
The CAT felt that the pantyhose no longer fitted, in fact she was no longer Erin Fitzroy. It had sucked out the identity of Danielle Coyle through her mouth, to be more absolute, from the woman’s saliva.
The two women on the leather sofa, identical twins, one on top, and one underneath. The one on top began to strip the one below.
Frenzied fingers pulled at the zipper located on the hip, a reassuring ‘zzzzzzzzzz’ echoed within the luxury, sun filled suite.
It pulled at the tight pants, unbuckling the small, black belt, it pulled…….its eyes widening on the brilliant white bikini panties underneath, intricately laced as these females and it liked. It gently stroked the soft hair underneath the soft white satin, briefing pausing to finger a lacy flower print….it was fascinated that the females liked to wear such frivolous garments. After all it offered no protection against earth, wind and fire.
It pulled further, flipping off its victim’s shoes, knee high black hosiery, not the most alluring sight but sensible and practicable, just what a normal female would chose to adorn its pants clad legs.
It’s searching hands pulled at the panties, revealing a dark tuft of hair, the soft belly just under the lavender satin blouse. Frivolous and frail the panties may be, but the CAT wanted them on its replicated hips anyway.
Hands the same in size and looks as the woman below undid the buttons on the satin fabric blouse, each released button getting closer to the ultimate prize……ah a lilac soft cup bra, the breasts soft and full inside the cups exposing a good cleavage, it was a plain design…how disappointing it thought, not a set like normal…oh well it thought, at least it would fit its new breast size, unlike the one currently strapped around it’s torso.
The CATS immense strength lifted the unconscious female like a rag doll, pulling away the short sleeved blouse. The bob haired, knocked out journalist was now left in only her soft cup lilac brassiere, her nakedness quite apparent, her bare hips, thighs and womanhood on perfect display.
The CAT supporting the woman’s weight in one hand reached behind the female’s back and unhooked the bra, it fell away from the breasts, the straps easily clearing the limp arms. The unconscious woman’s breasts sagged below her with gravity, unsupported and soft, the brown nipples unusually pointed.
The CAT touched its replicas through the two layers of blue material ….yes they were rather different and chuckled to itself.
The CATS expert touch glided over the naked body, removing the little jewelry that the female had chosen to wear that day.

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Satisfied it lifted the naked journalist onto its new slender shoulder, the image was an odd one, two women the same size who looked identical, with one over the others shoulder.
The dark bob haired woman in the ill fitting blue dress, cricked her neck, there was a slight flutter under the facial skin as the transformation still adjusted. It could feel the pantyhose and panties becoming loose…..the wife had wider hips it seemed.
The CAT patted the naked, well, rounded plump ass ‘Well come on sweetie…..let’s go and meet your interviewee……I’m just going to make you a little more comfortable….or not’, all said in the voice and tone of the real Danielle Coyle.
The CAT effortlessly carried the unconscious female towards the master bedroom.

The glass and chrome elevator pinged. The woman who exited the elevator looked great, a successful professional type. Her gait suggested that she was confident, her charcoal black suit was tight and chic, her well rounded backside looked mouth wateringly attractive within it,
Her breasts underneath the lavender satin blouse bounced slightly as she walked, yet the woman new she was well supported by the iliac soft cup bra underneath, the perfect fit as was expected by the wearer.
Her bobbed hair swung as she marched towards the nearest exit, her black heeled slip on shoes click clacking on the marble tiled floor. She straightened her gold framed spectacles in mid stride.
She experienced the strange feeling of tightness just below her knee….ah…. that would be the knee high black hosiery that sheathed her lower legs, a strange choice, not very flattering but it did leave her groin, clad in those soft satin bikini panties more fresher and cool, especially with these tight pants on.
‘Hey…Danielle…hold up’.
The woman froze in her tracks, smiled and turned. There heading towards her was a guy, in a rather cheap brown blazer and grey pants. One of those thirty something’s that thought they were still in college.
‘Hey….I thought we were meeting up later’, enquired the bearded male.
The woman improvised ‘No….sorry….I got a hot scoop that I have got to write up’.
‘Oh yeah…..the Fitzroy bimbo…how did it go’, enquired the man, all friendly.
Danielle’s eyes glazed over, her smile disappearing ‘very, very revealing….there was nothing that I and that woman did not share……anything at all……we bared all to each other…..we really uncovered and explored our inner selves….it was so up front and personal’. At that Daniele turned on her heel and left him behind.
The guy, Mike was another journalist, a colleague in fact. Jeez, Daniele had turned frosty. He watched her tight ass walk out of the hotel, hell, it was a tight ass he knew well…..after all they had only screwed each other the other night.
Hell, she was different; she acted as if she did not know him, a stranger to him…..well if that was what a hot story did to you…then screw her.
Still, Mike was not satisfied, something about Danielle was not right, his reporters 6TH sense was tingling, he said to himself ‘Way to go Peter Parker’.
Mike was an avid science fiction fan and Danielle; normally a warm, gentle soul had suddenly turned into a character from the Body Snatchers. She was fine until that fcuking interview.
He walked over to reception; the hot looking red headed receptionist looked up ‘Yes, Sir…how can I help’.
‘Hi’, said Mike ‘Is there any chance that I could speak to Mr and Mrs Fitzroy’.
‘I’m sorry Sir….but those guests left explicit instructions that they are not to be disturbed until check out tomorrow’, the girl went back to her new bookings.
Mike walked away, not happy or satisfied, he spied the bar….maybe a stiff drink to think things through.

PART 8

The black limousine swung into a parking lot, an annex normally used for airport freight. It braked behind a steel slatted temporary office, hidden from view from observers unless they were searching for it. No one exited the long, sleek vehicle.
Miss Gold sat forward in the plush leather seats, her eyes moist at the sight of the loyal man servant of her father, Chester’s ‘you know where to find me my friend….do not be long’.
Chester’s stared back through the rear view mirror, his eyes equally moist ‘I do Miss…..I will find you soon…after all the fuss as died down…..now please’, he handed back to her a small brown bottle and a thick white wad.
Miss gold reached across with a black gloved hand and accepted the innocent looking items.
Miss Gold undid the top and poured a liberal amount of the acrid smelling liquid onto the pad ‘you’ll be okay my friend……as far as the Police know the B.tch ordered you to this place and then she knocked you out……they will not suspect’.
‘I hope not….I was rather thorough in covering my tracks…..except…..the CAT business…well…its….ah….it’s just I hope that monster will never make contact again….I have never been so scared in all my life….not even that much during the war, with your father’, the memory of the CAT gave him a cold chill up his spine ‘I think we made a grave mistake there Miss……it will rebound on us…. bringing that creature into this…’
‘We had to……’, she always listened to Chester’s warnings ‘hopefully the fee will be enough….we did not double cross it, the money he, or it demanded was transferred….we have to cross that bridge when we come to it’.
‘Quick Miss…you must be off….and good luck’.
Miss Gold reached into the driver’s compartment, a large wet wad in her hands…..it was over in minutes, she placed Chester’s cap over his eyes to make out he was taking a nap and exited the limo.
Miss Gold made slow progress; the tight black dress restricted her stride. She eventually found the Regal Air Medical facility, cursing the clothes that she had been forced to wear.
She did not enter through the main entrance, noting that the shuttle bus and driver where still there. Her odd clothing would have raised an eyebrow, like the truck drivers she had passed on the way, honking those fcuking horns.
She reached a side entrance and knocked on the door 3 times. There was a short delay, when the emergency fire lock mechanism sprang and the heavy set door opened outward.
Miss Gold was greeted by the site of a white uniformed nurse, she relaxed it was Miss Black, the door opened further and Miss Gold darted inside the facility as fast as the ridiculously high heels and tight dress would allow.

Miss Gold pulled off the annoying black pill box hat and veil, ‘thank god for that’, she swore and threw it behind the reception desk which also doubled as a nurse’s station.
Her bright, alert eyes observed the new environment, the modern clean facility, well lighted and air conditioned, Miss Black the nurse, assumed her role at the station, her ample butt shimmying under the uniform dress, her white panties visible underneath, the uniform obviously too small for her wine glass figure.
The framed pictures, the potted plants, the generally clean and sterile atmosphere, all gave the impression of normality, peace and tranquility. A typical, well run medical facility, a facility that

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provided a well furnished waiting area, comfortable chairs that were currently fully occupied by a gathering of quiet, unassuming individuals.
She took more notice of the four female flight attendants sitting in the waiting area. All seemed as before to the neutral observer.
The pretty, beautiful faces, all laden with expensive cosmetics, the tight bunned hairstyles, the dove grey pill box hats set at a jaunty angle, the open white collared uniform blouses, hidden beneath the pinched waist dove grey uniform jackets, the curve of the buried breasts beneath, the very short dove grey skirts, high on the thigh silver grey pantyhose adorned luscious long legs, feet shod with grey high heeled pumps.
The four flight attendants gave an air of nonchalance as they leafed through the glossy magazines that were so popular to the ladies, especially beautiful ones such as these, their polished fingernails idly turning a page or two, a finger lightly touching a petite tongue before turning the slinky paper.
Miss Gold walked over to the uniformed gorgeous ladies ‘Err…excuse me……have you been dealt with yet’.
One of the girls looked up, her red lips shiny and moist, her false eyelashes fluttering ‘I certainly hope so’.
‘Good’, replied Miss Gold ‘because ladies as rich as you four deserve all the service they can get…get used to it girls’.
Miss Red, Miss Blue, Miss Orange and Miss Green broke into hoots of laughter…..high fiving each other. The façade of acting as petite, demure young flight attendants vanishing rather too quickly for Miss Gold’s professional liking.
Miss Gold’s team in their stolen airline uniforms stood up, the short skirts settling somewhat lower down, but not by much. They hugged each other, arms reaching around their borrowed uniform jackets.
Miss Black, in her equally purloined nurse’s uniform joined in the celebration, momentarily forgetting the size two small white pantyhose that had once belonged to a real nurse called Sara Goldberg, which at this moment in time were pinching her hips raw and were stuck up her ass.
Miss Gold cut in on the overly loud celebrations ‘Okay…guys….cut it’, there was no response…..she shouted ‘I said cut it out’. The celebration was duly over; her bogus flight crew was listening intently.
‘We aren’t out of the woods yet….you know the plan….. Let’s stick to it’, she ordered ‘So start acting like silly, girlie stewardess’s again’.
The four uniformed females once more sat down, smiling like fat cats, and acted out their role to perfection….mimicking the originals in every way.
Miss Gold walked up to Miss Black ‘Where is Miss Silver’.
‘Out back in the treatment room’, replied the bogus nurse.
Miss Gold in her pain in the ass outfit click, clacked through the double doors. There she found Miss Silver and Miss White aka Nurse Samuels and Dr Phillips.
Miss Silver looked up from reading a medical journal ‘Did I ever tell you that I always wanted to go to Medical school, fascinating stuff…..’.
‘Maybe you can….your rich now’, she exclaimed.
‘Nice outfit by the way……shows your age though’, smiled Miss Gold.
‘Fcuk you…says somebody who look likes like Elvira..…’ smiled Miss Silver in return.
‘Yeah…..I heard the others whooping it up…I’m glad your back’, Miss Silver gave her that look, the one that reached inside her.
Miss Gold looked away ‘Where’s my change of clothing….this fancy underwear is killing me…and it stinks of her’.
Miss Black or Nurse Samuels, as name on the ID badge with another woman’s face on it displayed, gave her a folded set of clothing, complete with shoes and cap.

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Miss Gold noted white underwear on top, a bra and panties….what looked like a pair of black pantyhose, the deflated legs draped over the side of the folded pile. She saw a uniform jacket with gold stripes on the sleeve.
Miss Gold took the clothes and turned around getting ready to enter the ward next door.
Miss Black warned ‘I would knock first…Captain Ellis is…ah…. playing with his old crew’.
Miss Gold looked at Silver, her thin eyebrows raised. ‘I told him it was a bonus’….Miss Gold gave her a stern look, ‘Sorry’, she replied and shrugged her shoulders ‘just trying to pass round the lovin….’.
Miss Gold walked through the double doors, rather loudly and encountered the second swing set complete with round viewing windows; she knocked and without any hesitation entered the silent, dimly lit room.
She observed Captain Bruce Ellis standing, acting rather disturbed, hurriedly tucking his uniform shirt back into his pants and trying to fix his zipper; he was standing over a female form bound to a hospital style bed.
She could just discern the nearly naked body, a perfect pair of uncovered breasts, the brilliant white bikini style panties observed over a slim hip, the perfect female body was securely taped to the bed frame….the head unrecognizable as it was swathed in surgical bandages and the small mouth was no doubt firmly gagged underneath. The duvet cover was quickly replaced over the unfortunate, unconscious woman.
‘Having fun Captain’, she sneered.
‘Err….well…err…Miss Gold….I…err’, he stammered his face red with embarrassment.
‘Get out Captain…I want to get changed’, she snapped.
‘Okay’, he hesitated, eyeing Miss Gold’s body up and down in its tight slinky black satin dress.
‘I think you have seen enough….without seeing me in the nude……now beat it….and concentrate on flying your god damn plane’, she shouted, her voice full of menace.
‘Sure…sure’, he stammered and high tailed it out of there.
Finally she was on her own, without any hesitation she literally ripped off the tight, restrictive dress, the silent ward echoed to the sound of torn silk.
The Basque was unhooked and peeled off her body; she could feel the fresh air on her slightly clammy breasts, torso and tummy.
As the intricate, sexual garment fell away it was still connected at the base to the black stockings by the suspender hooks, she peeled each stocking off individually and kicked off each stiletto heel and threw the whole contraption on to the green linoleum floor.
Her hands reached behind her ample butt, whereby she extracted the infuriating G string and pulled it out and off in disgust.
Miss Gold just stood there naked…her body just enjoying the coolness and release from the oppressive and restrictive garments. Her warm body cooled and dried in the slightly chilled atmosphere.
‘Fcuk wearing those on a regular basis’, she told no one in particular. She unpinned her hair and let it fall, shaking her head.
Finally she looked around the ward. She counted 12 beds, 8 were occupied, she already knew by whom, the three medical staff and the five female members of the flight crew, one of which had been receiving a little extra attention from her former Captain.
One row of beds were full, the other had four vacancies, all the occupants were quite still, unmoving, the bandaged heads keeping the women’s anonymity, the duvets tucked up to their chins keeping their state of dress discreet and secret.
All of them recorded as fake fire causalities, awaiting transfer to a major hospital. That’s if someone bothered themselves to ask.
Miss Gold turned to a plastic chair where the new change of clothes had been placed.

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She selected the white pair of panties and held them up for inspection. ‘For fcuks sake…’ she exclaimed.
Her exasperation was due to the fact that they were a pair of classic briefs; she held the white garment out in front of her eyes, arms extended.
At least they were clean she thought, but so boring, nearly as bland as the penitentiary issue stuff. The only ornamentation was a slight, lace trim around the waistband; Miss Gold sighed as she stepped into them and pulled them up, over her knees, over her groin, the waistband finally snapping just below her naval.
Her backside was fully enclosed, a good curve of the pubic region on display, the panties high over her hips, the curve of her stomach underneath the white cotton.
The white cotton fabric displayed all her womanly features, a woman with very conservative tastes….very conservative….in a fact a woman who did not get laid very often surmised Miss Gold.
Hell, she thought, neither did she but at least she had been in the joint, this dame had no excuse.
Miss Gold selected the deflated pantyhose, the black Lycra felt smooth, not cheap like an elastic band, but soft and smooth in her hands, ‘That’s better’, she whispered to herself.
She took the hosiery and sat on the edge of the nearest bed ‘Excuse me….’, she said to its sleep induced, oblivious occupant.
She reached inside a deflated leg and scrunched it up inside, until her fingers reached the reinforced toe…….she placed her painted toes inside and began to slowly, carefully ease the black Lycra up her well muscled calve.
The second foot followed same process…..the black pantyhose were up over her knees, the gusset and reinforced panty stretched between her strong legs.
Miss Gold stood, bending down, her unsupported breasts moving with the flow, her legs not to far apart, careful not to stress the gusset and darker reinforced panty.
She held the elasticized waist band and eased them up and over her strong thighs…the darker shade of the reinforced panty was now noticeable ....up past the thighs, over the long sides of the panties, her hands expertly smoothing out the black Lycra as the soft mesh glided forever up her lower body.
The waistband crossed her hips until, finally the undergarment masked the classic white briefs, which were heavily visible underneath…the pure white now becoming a grey, smoked shade of white.
The darker thick waistband, her fingers hooked inside which slid back and fore, then snapped into place, set over her naval and just above the Smokey white panties beneath.
She ran her hands up and down her long, shapely legs and over her pert ass, smoothing out the soft black Lycra.
She briefly paused, her wholesome looking breasts, the large round brown nipples looking free and easy…..provocative in her obscured large panties and dark, black pantyhose……similar to a ballerina readying herself for a classical performance.
Miss Gold, stooped once more, picked up the white brassiere, a look of revulsion on her pretty face ‘No way’, she blurted out; the silence within the room was at the same time deafening, the other drugged women sharing the room with her were unable to comment at this precise moment, if one listened intently only the slight sound of their breathing would be detected.
The one who had been strapped, stripped and gagged, the one who had actually owned the bra, would have had no hesitation in selecting a few harsh words if she knew someone else was strapping on her own underwear. Unfortunately, the lady who had owned and until a short time ago worn the underwear was blissfully unaware of this intimate intrusion into her life.
If the assaulted, stripped and bound woman had been awake no doubt she would have taken extreme umbrage at this stranger’s reaction and subsequent dismissal on her choice and style of underwear…after all, it was her choice what she wore under her clothes, not this……this…bandit, who had no right to be in them in the first place, let alone pass judgment.

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Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:17 pm

Yet, all this is mere conjecture, as the lady in question, a once smartly uniformed Ms Barbara Steel who lay fully unconscious, her naked, fit body currently concealed underneath a starched hospital duvet, her bonds a kept secret to the passing, roving eye, her once demure mouth, bunged and thickly tape gagged, obscured and hidden by swathes of beige elasticized bandage.
The bra looked like one of those old 1970’s ‘Cross your Heart’ advertisements, a robust, underwired affair, big full cups, half the cup in white fabric, the other half in a sheer mesh, adorned with swirling interlocked flowers, the gore or cup link set in the middle, looked sturdy and wide, likewise the large torso band….that could have doubled as a tow rope.
The bra shoulder straps were also quite thick and sturdy looking. She inspected the label, inside the band, close to the rear fastener; it proclaimed ’36 C’ and ‘DO NOT EXPOSE TO EXTREME TEMPERATURE WHEN WASHING’.
The bra was her size, but no fcuking way she thought! The bra appeared like one of those that your favorite fat aunt would wear, a bra that was always left lying around the house in bad taste, giving the non wearer a shudder of disgust and deep loathing. The white, large brassiere stated ‘Old Maid’, which Miss Gold was certainly not.
Still holding the bra she stormed towards the double doors, through the connecting annex and out to the treatment room, her footfall was light in her hose clad feet.
She burst into the bright room, Miss Silver and Miss White looked at her…so did Captain Ellis, his eyes bulging at the sight of her topless… she was large breasted and gravity free and only clothed in pantyhose and panties…..she brought her spare arm up and across her breasts for modesty’s sake.
She glared at Bruce…..who rather than run the risk of having his nose broken looked the other way….’Miss White…your assistance please’, and left the way she had came, followed by the false nurse in green scrubs.
Once back in the ward, Miss Gold ordered ‘I’m not wearing that’ and tossed the bra to Miss White, who nodded her head in agreement and let if fall to a nearby occupied bed.
Miss Gold instructed ’36 C….one of these chicks must have a better one’, and went to the first bed on her left.
Miss White moved to the opposite row, with its two sham patients ‘That one you’re at is the old Doctor……she’s still wearing her Green stuff…no good…….the other’s wearing white…she’s a nurse or was one until we arrived’.
Miss Gold moved on to the next bed, her unsupported breasts, swaying back and fore….not unlike lamps on a ship at sea……she pulled back the duvet.
Miss Gold was rewarded with the sight of the nurse still in her satin white slip, the hipster panties very visible underneath, her pantyhose were missing though, no doubt at this time adorning Miss Blacks lower body and legs, the ex nurse’s breasts were still sporting a fashionable white wonderbra.
Miss White called across ‘this one’s topless….big tits…..false by the looks of em’, Miss White also noted a light pink pair of bikini panties, plain except for a little pink bow set in the middle of the waistband.
The backdrop to the pink under garment was a well toned, tanned body….not a blemish on the skin….in stark contrast was the mummified, bandaged head
Miss White recalled the stripping scene’s of earlier, this one was a beautiful blonde, one of the flight attendants, the one called Penny…….all that facial beauty was now hidden under that tight, comprehensive tape gag and reams of surgical bandage….a pity…but what a body…..the girl’s gold necklace was still in place, resting between the busty, still pert and upright breasts that defied gravity…..still! ogling other women’s bodies was not her thing, unlike some of her colleagues.

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Miss Gold reached under the gagged and very bound Nurse’s torso band on the bra, peeling the tight, fabric up, looking for a tag with a size marker, her hand felt underneath and slid along, feeling the warm flesh underneath….eventually she found the tag, and pulled it out from under the torso band, she leant even closer to read it, she at once smelt the sweet perfumed fragrance that the woman had chosen to spray on her body that day, how personal she mused, feeling her own nipples harden….tilting her head at an awkward angle…she read the bras label….she was disappointed ’34 B’.
‘Bust on this one’, she told Miss White, not realizing her play on words.
Miss White called back ‘this one is as naked as the day she was born……..probably that Miss Red again…..frigging dyke……why take their fcuking panties, a bra , well okay…..it is so gross…so unhygienic….’, her words trailed off as she looked at Miss Gold’s superb, fit figure half clothed in someone else’s undergarments. Miss Gold gave her a vicious look.
Miss White changed the subject quickly, pointing at next victim of clothing theft on Miss Gold’s row of beds ‘the next missy in line is the one I took the scrubs off…Betty Samuels…she’s wearing her smalls, trust me…but she as pimple tits…….a double A or sh.t like that…..not worth wearing really and no good for you with those mama’s……ahh!. Another nasty look from the boss.
Quickly she moved on ‘That’s the co-pilot…Barbara Steel…..that’s the frosty b.tch whose things you’ve got now……no wonder your pissed with panties the size of a tent….hell, if you had seen her…the stuck up fcuk…no wonder her pants are so huge huge…….underwear like an iron maiden….I…..I…err’.
Miss White mouth opened and closed, noting the large white, not very sexy panties, underneath her boss’s black pantyhose.
‘One more word and I’ll knock your teeth out’, said Miss Gold, feeling a little self conscious and defensive in her stolen underwear.
Miss White, crossed over, checked the one but last bed , a hot looking, unrecognizable body just wearing a pair of ornate lace, flesh toned, hipster style panties, she looked at her annoyed leader and shrugged her shoulders ‘Bra less…..sorry’.
Miss Gold looked at her last occupied bed ‘this is the last one….what size are you’.
Without thinking Miss White blurted ’36 C’, realizing what she had revealed exclaimed ‘Oh….’.
Miss Gold pulled the duvet back, a gorgeous body lay before her, a body whose pure silver white silk Tanga panties, the slight Vee concave effect, well below the tanned flat stomach…….the mouth watering panties that had a short ago been encased in a pair of sheer to waist silver grey pantyhose, the mark on her waist were the pantyhose band had compressed her slim tanned waist was just visible.
Those wonderful, strong thighs and hips, once obscured from general view by a short, very short dove grey skirt, were now on show to anyone; only strips of white tape hid her embarrassment from view. Miss Gold licked her full lips, her tongue dry.
The scene below her was one that was normally viewed from the privacy and sanctity of the bedroom. The unconscious, bandage hooded and gagged young females slim waist, her full tanned hips, the pubic region hidden underneath a thin layer of satin white fabric. The girl’s breasts were natural and wholesome…Miss Gold cursed, the breasts currently unsupported lay either side of her gently undulating chest.
Miss Gold replaced the duvet ‘Where did our girls stash their own underwear’. Miss White gave her a puzzled look.
‘They must have been wearing their own gear after helping themselves to these dames bits and pieces’, she tiredly explained.
‘Oh, I see….’, blurted the not too bright bogus nurse, she walked over to a nearby, grey metal cabinet. As the handle rattled ‘Yeah…the girls helped themselves…..those flight attendants are on good dough…the skivvies were top brands, expensive stuff….you know our guys…..take it where you find it’, she opened the door ‘not me though…..i hate wearing other peoples closes…even the outer clothing…here’s our girls stuff’.

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Miss Gold reached inside the full length cabinet; on the various shelves were items of female underwear, discarded by her team in their haste to take on the guise of the unconscious flight attendants.
She rummaged around, inspecting a bra or two, panties hastily discarded, a black full, soft cup bra surfaced, her size, yet no good, until finally her quest was over.
A white plain, full support bra, her size and style was discovered at last. She inspected the label; it was in French, no doubt taken from one of the unfortunate beauticians they had met earlier that day. A day that was getting longer every minute, a day that was starting to give her quite a headache.
Miss White threw in the 70’s style bra, the bra belonging to the indisposed Ms Steel, which was not required by the new owner of the rest of her clothing, and closed the cabinet.
Miss Gold slipped her arms through her new bra straps, she mused that she must be the third wearer that day, the third woman whose breasts where to grace these cups presence. She betted that the woman who had originally put on the bra that morning would never have guessed in her wildest dreams that it would through so many strange hands, or pass over so many strange breasts, Miss Gold adjusted the straps to her shoulder size, giggled her now fully enclosed breasts and at last felt satisfied she looked up at Miss White ‘Thank you for your assistance, I will be out shortly’.
Miss White left her boss alone, she shrugged away her negative thoughts and concentrated on her newfound wealth, it was so close now.
She entered the treatment room; Miss Silver looked up ‘Everything okay’. ‘Yeah, I suppose….had to go bra shopping with the boss…it was like being around my Mom again when I was a kid’.
Miss Silver smirked, realizing the reason for her friend’s odd behavior immediately. After all, she had assisted in the forced undressing of Ms Steel earlier and the laughter that had ensued. She thought that her friend would be unhappy with the all too serious woman’s undergarments.
Miss Silver, Captain Ellis and Miss White waited patiently while their leader continued dressing in privacy. Eventually their waiting agony was ended.
Miss Gold re-entered the bright treatment room, pulling a travel suitcase behind her. The image was a smart one too.
Miss Gold, her face the usual image of dark beauty, helped with a liberal usage of cosmetics, on her head, her dark hair re clipped back into a stiff, uncompromising bun, was adorned by a dark blue airline hat, set low over her dark feline eyes, the peaked cap was in the style adopted by many an air force, therefore it differed from the one worn by Captain Ellis.
At her slim neck was a white collar and black tie, the dark pinched in at the waist uniform jacket, complete with gold sleeve rings at the cuffs, was buttoned up at the front, her ample breast age was still quite evident in the tight garment.
Bruce went red again, imagining the tight white shirt over those breasts, revealing what lay underneath.
The tight jacket tailored off to the above the knee length dark blue pleated skirt, a skirt that covered every contour of that perfectly shaped ass, the long dark black pantyhosed legs, the low heeled lace up shoes, the black leather gloves that adorned her hands, the large black flight bag that hung by a thick strap from over her shoulder.
Bruce whistled and quickly apologized ‘Sorry…it’s just that I have seen that uniform nearly every week in the last 3 years and boy…..it has never looked that good before. Sour faced Babs was not a bad looking bird…ah woman, but you…you really fill it out…so…so hot…it’s like….’
Miss Gold cut the pilot off in mid speech, also noting the increased bulge in his groin area ‘Yes, okay…cut the crap…as far as your concerned I am the sour faced Babs…your second officer…co pilot….a

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fellow professional….oh and another thing…I can fly….although never anything with a jet engine…do you understand…Sir’, the look on her face was pure evil, although to Bruce’s eyes a little bit sexy too.
‘Okay…okay…okay…I get it…it’s just the sight of you guys tying up all those girls, taking their clothes…man, it’s a guy’s dream come true…literally’, he raised his hands in placation ‘from now on it’s work only’.
There was silence in the room until Miss Gold nodded ‘Okay’.
Captain Ellis cleared his throat ‘Ms Steel….if you would so kind as to assemble the crew…it is time I think that we joined our aircraft and await our paying passengers’.
Miss Gold, now dressed as second officer Barbara Steel nodded ‘Of course Captain…it would be an honor’.
The bogus flight attendants began to stir; there was a tantalizing swish, as silver grey Lycra nylon rasped against the dove grey fabric of the short skirts. Tight jackets were released from the extra strain as the slim bodies began to rise. As long legs uncrossed themselves, Captain Ellis’s eyes went nearly crossed as he attempted to cover all the angles.
Wow…he thought, these girls looked nearly as good as the originals….except these gals had stolen his girls clothes….even some of their undies.
He was still amazed at the thought that barely 30 minutes ago all these uniforms, pantyhose and even some of those cute panties and bras had adorned other women. He licked his lips, except the real flight attendants were stripped, nearly naked and gagged and bound not too far away….all unconscious and therefore oblivious to their current predicament.
He mused…even his second officer looked 10 times better, the uniform that he had seen on a daily basis now took on a different demeanor…it looked so tight and juicy, and the fact that that annoying Babs had finally had something stuffed in her mouth to keep that annoying voice quite.
The false flight attendants click clacked in their high heels, their stride restricted by the tight short skirts, hand bags over the shoulder and pulling their small flight suitcases behind them. The cases no doubt contained more girlie frilly and satin garments surmised Mike.
He followed the new girls through the double doors leaving the new Barbara steel with the bogus doctor.
Miss Gold looked chic in her stolen airline hat and prim uniform, a uniform that showed hardly a wrinkle after being removed from its rightful owner.
Miss Silver looked intensely at her friend, her friend from the penitentiary, a friend that she had shared for a long, long time, her soft voice broke ‘I’ll see you soon tiger…’
Miss Gold smiled, tiger was a slang name from her earlier days of incarceration ‘Yes you will…remember’, she paused for effect ‘Do not stay here too long…give us time…at least half way into the flight…….be ready for the next shift…’, she was cut off.
‘Yeah…I know….we won’t fcuk it up…I promise’ smiled Miss Silver.
Miss Gold quipped ‘I do not want to lose you…ever’.
Miss Silver was taken aback ‘Wow…after all this time’, her bright eyes narrowed ‘Gis a hug..baby’
Miss Gold moved forward, the two women embraced, their grip on each other becoming intense, the faces moved towards each other, rouged cheeks glided against one another, until finally painted lips lightly touched other.
Miss Black, in her stolen white nurse’s uniform buried her head into the Pc monitor at her station, attempting not to be noticed at this obviously intimate moment.
Searching lips pumped the small petite mouths, tongues searching inside, Miss Silver was sighing in satisfaction, one of her hands caressing her friend’s thin waistline.
Miss Gold pulled away, she paused ‘Do not be late…I will wait for you at the place discussed’.
Miss Silver licked her painted lips, tasting her friend’s spittle ‘I will…try and stop me’, she winked an eye lashed eye ‘your lip stick is smudged’.

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Miss Gold moved passed her reluctantly ‘Hey…let’s hope the next doctor is younger and a snazzy dresser…I hate dating older women’.
Miss Silver laughed ‘I know…these clothes even smell of peppermint…..bye’
‘Bye’, said Miss Gold and she was gone through the double glass doors. Miss Silver watched her board the waiting shuttle bus, her eyes moist she turned around on her laced shoe heel.
Miss Black opened her mouth to say something, Miss Silver wagged her finger back and fore in warning, Miss Black closed her pretty mouth.
Miss Gold boarded the bus, past the oblivious and bored driver. The old, weathered looking driver did not notice or did not care that all these woman who now boarded his bus where not the ones that he had dropped off at the infirmary earlier.
Miss Gold, or Barbara Steel sat next to the pilot, her nyloned knees close together, her face stern like the original second pilot. The flight attendants were quite, sitting stiffly in their seats, all looking sweet and demure, the smiles so disarming, hiding the sheer power and aggression that lay within those charming uniforms and dainty pill box hats.
Mike whispered ‘Everything okay’.
The new Barbara Steel reached into her stolen hand bag and retrieved a gold encased compact from within, she took a gold tube and twisted the base, she repaired the damage to her lip stick smeared lips, at the same time telling him ‘All is fine captain…I can’t wait to get into that ****pit and get that bird into the air’.
Bruce Ellis smiled ‘Well good for you Barbara…good for you’.
The shuttle bus sped out of the parking lot, past the building that hid the black limousine, it stopped at a junction, let another bus pass them and joined the traffic flow. The bus changed gear as it passed a green sign with a white font ‘DEPARTURE TERMINAL’.

PART 9

Joan Elizabeth Mary Rutledge-Matheson stood behind the mahogany bar area, near her little cubby hole where she usually organized her billing system and bookings.
The area was lit by a lamp that discreetly cast a glow onto her work area, an area obscured from the patrons view by a dark ornate oak partition.
The bar was part of a swank, up market and very exclusive restaurant. The restaurant itself was stylishly furnished with rich wooden furniture, handmade to the European style. The floor was richly carpeted in a rich dark blue. There was an abundance of flora on display, from large tropical rubber plants to rare colorful orchids.
The restaurant lighting was deliberately low; the interior design had accommodated various snug booths as well as a central dining area. After all, the restaurants clientele tended to be rather discreet. Be it for business or pleasure, the pleasure normally being a mistress or an older rich wife with her latest toy boy.
The booths made certain arrangements discreet, the management was discreet and Joan was very discreet….for her rather large salary she made sure she was…always.
Yet Joan was unaware at the moment that her large fat salary was in jeopardy…after all, how would she now that the equally big fat owner of the restaurant had left this mortal world…..how would she know that Douglas Fitzroy lay dead in his hotel suite bath tub.

Joan was a married woman of 38, with thick auburn hair set in a swish modern bob. She still retained her beauty, her dark bright eyes were alive with ambition, her strong lean face was stern, her lips a bright red, her white teeth beamed in the soft light, her makeup was modest, not brash or vulgar.
The pearl studs in her petite ear lobes were expensive and added a certain class to her demeanor, likewise the identical white pearl necklace that adorned her still smooth white neck.
She wore a long sleeved red satin blouse that opened at a loose Vee, just above her ‘C’ cup sized bosom.
The soft shiny red blouse whose buttons securely held her blouse in place, hiding the wine red satin, underwired full cup lacy brassiere that was supporting her breasts underneath. The sheer torso band, inlaid with little flower’s tight on her smooth back. Unnoticed and natural on the body of its user.
Her still slim waist was encased in a wide shiny black patent leather belt; it gave a rather sensual, restrained look to her middle torso.
Underneath the belt was a beige colored knee length skirt, it was tight on her stomach and backside. The curve of her womanly stomach was enhanced by the strained lines of the skirts fabric which also clung to her shapely, well worked out thighs. There was no sign of any visible panty line on her rounded, still pert ass.
Joan liked to dress richly, designer labels a must, it made her feel confident and in control. She dressed well outwardly……also underneath. Invisible, under her tight skirt, Joan worked in confidence; her womanhood protected by the lacy French style panties, also a delicious wine red in color, her plush, lacy bra fully supported her full breasts underneath.
Good, comfortable and expensive underwear gave the professional woman a psychological edge…in Joan’s opinion anyway. She doodled away at her notes and receipts.
Joan stood at her little, mini office space, her left knee crooked at an angle, straining the skirt even more. The light reflected off her long, shapely legs. They shimmered in the light, the effect caused by the sheer, light tan, Lycra thigh high stockings that sheathed her legs.
The stocking enclosed left foot had escaped its prison, a beige slip on high heeled pump. Joan let her stockinged foot breathe some fresh, cooling air. Red painted toenails, obscured by a seamless light tan mesh, wriggled up and down in cool relief.
Joan grimaced, she spent far too long on her feet, the ache in her left foot began to ease. She had pondered the idea of quitting wearing pumps, maybe wear a soft flat soled shoe……she thought again….it would not work, after all you sacrificed style when it came to comfort. What would her patrons think?
Her fingers were expensively manicured, her long nails equally as red as her pedicured toes, the delicate fingers sorted through receipts, her mind absorbed in her work, after all they opened in an hour. Her engagement ring with its large pure cut diamond glittered in the lamp light; her thick gold wedding band was a deep polished yellow.
In the background there was noise, a girlish giggling, a man’s loud playful voice. She ignored it. Her concentration was cut short again, when a loud piercing female yelp reverberated in her ear drums.
Jesus **** she thought, their supposed to be laying tables, not goofing around. She frowned in irritation and slammed down her pencil.
Joan stormed out from behind the bar, her high heels click clacking away, ‘Hey’, she shouted.
‘Hey…keep it down and remember where you are’, she repeated, her hands on both hips, her stance was one of I’m taking no ****, her right stockinged leg extended to her front.
She eyed her now silent staff. Her petite bobbed head turned from left to right, daring them to say anything cute or sarcastic.
She stared at them, five women and three men. She noted the stare of a tall, leggy blonde. It was that pain in the ass Olga again.

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The waitress named Olga glared at her, her blonde hair was tied back into a tight bun; it gave her face a stern menacing look, her dark brown eyes, which were slightly slitty, burned into Joan.
Joan could feel the intense hatred coming from those eyes, a trace of the Mongols in that face thought Joan.
Joan began to inspect the rest of her insolent and generally lazy waitress. Joan mentally noted that Olga was wearing too much makeup as usual, although she had been warned not to do so. Her bright red cheeks, her large lips a too bright red, her blue mascara too layered far too provocative, mused Joan.
Joan frowned at her uniform. The uniform was not complicated, a long sleeved blouse, a cute little clip on black bow tie at the collar, a belted black knee length skirt, legs in black pantyhose and soft soled comfortable shoes to make their job, which centered being on their feet continuously, easier.
On their right hip was a leather fanny pack, which allowed them to store and make receipts for goods consumed, in other words they kept a tab going throughout the night.
The white blouses were quite tight on the girls, Natasha and Sophia’s bodies looking quite curvaceous and juicy underneath.
There was that usual delectable sneaky view of their white bras resting underneath the white shroud, their rather healthy sized breasts slowly rising up and down….a flash of a strap, the odd glimpse of a torso band as they stretched and pulled, the white fabric pulling tighter on their young bodies, the bra band underneath becoming clearer with every stretch….every bra similar, never the same….a pattern there, a plain band on that one, a laundry tag not hidden under a band, maybe the wearer was in a rush as she got dressed that same day……underwear was supposed to be intimate secret…..or was it?
Tatiana stretched her arms above her head and yawned…her cute red mouth forming a perfect ‘O ‘….her chest tightened, the blouse becoming even strained, her breasts becoming more prominent ……the tracing of two lacey trimmed bra cups jumped into view…Ivan briefly looked, a fleeting, stolen glance at his colleagues cute, bra clad breasts.
Carmen was in a crunch position, sorting through pristine cutlery and napkins, her short black skirt was very tight on her pert, peach shaped backside…there was the slight trace of her panties underneath….the elastic burying itself into those soft, plump cheeks.
Carman’s blouse was equally tight on her slim, curved back….her bras sturdy looking torso band and straps standing out in stark contrast to the pink of her skin….her bunned haired head with its plastic butterfly clip was oblivious to scrutiny as she sorted through the wheeled stand.
Olga as usual was pushing her luck though t Joan ‘Where is your issue shirt’, Joan pointed for effect.
Olga, shrugged her shoulders and in a thick East European accent blurted ‘They were stolen at the laundry….’
Olga’s current blouse was quite transparent, in fact her lacy white wonderbra which she had worn underneath was visible in quite some detail, and there was even the trace of a deep cleavage. The blouse looked like a cheap satin affair that was struggling to keep her breastage from exploding from within.
In fact, Joan noted that her black skirt looked a little higher too. Obviously it had been altered, giving the average observer an extra view of her shapely long, sheer deep black pantyhosed legs.
Joan sighed, as if resigned to the situation…even defeated maybe…she paused before she launched her verbal tirade.
Suddenly, her face turned pure evil ‘Listen Sweetheart…your not here not here to catch a fcuking husband or some dumb rich fcuk ass who can’t spot a gold digger for **** ….your here to serve food…on a fcuking visa paid for by this fcuking establishment…….you either toe the line and do as I fcucking say or that fcucking visa will fcuk off…and after I call City Hall your blonde, big titty Russian ass will be on the first flight back to Moscow or whatever **** hole you hail from…do you understand’.

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It was lucky that the startled Olga nodded and blurted ‘Da’, then ‘Yes, maam’. Otherwise Joan would have kicked her out there and then.
She spoke to one of her regular staff ‘Miguel….don’t fcuk up your clean sheet with me…keep your **** in your pants and focus’, Miguel nodded.
‘The rest of you get back to work’, she stayed as her staff hurried off. Paul and Ivan rushed off, the others girls dared not stare at their pissed boss.
The quite small black haired Sophia from Bulgaria, the brunette Carmen from Romania, Tatiana and Natasha were from the Ukraine.
All were pretty, all were shapely and to be honest, Joan thought they were quite good at what they did. It was just that pain in the butt Olga and her ******* attitude.
As Joan walked back to her work station she had already decided to terminate her employment…she would tell her at the end of the night….fcucking prick, thought Joan.
Joan had not always been the outwardly middle class demure and the polite lady she pretended to be. Her real name was Katarina Dagovich..From the wrong side of town, down near the docks…all she had in life she had earned and she would be fcuked if she was going to take any **** from a blond c..t with a hard luck story like Olga.
She click clacked in her smart attire back behind the bar, opening time soon she thought, they must be ready. She returned to her station and picked up the phone that was attached to the wall, she pressed a button.
Joan waited until finally ‘Hi Chef..are you good to go’, the kitchen was below the restaurant in a converted basement, a separate entity from the dining area itself. The patrons liked it that way, no mixed odors infecting their pallet.
The cuisine was delivered by three large dumb waiters, set well away from the serving areas and dining space. The kitchen could be reached by a rear service door and down some steps…but there was never a need. Both departments were too busy all the time, so they never interacted…they only did by taking orders down the phone line.
Joan had not seen Chef for at least a month…she had heard only his voice, she listened, as to one professional to another.
Finally, ‘Okay Chef…thanks…you too’, she replaced the handset.
One of the waitress’s hollered from the restaurant ‘Maam…there’s someone at the front entrance’,.
Joan was busy, doing the final preparation for opening ‘What’, she shouted, she thought the voice belonged to the girl Carmen.
‘There’s someone knocking on the door’, replied an East European accent.
‘Well…find out who it is…if it’s a patron…be polite…they may be early’, Jesus thought Joan, she had to hold their hands sometimes.
Joan went back to work, she was nearly finished, she was oblivious to anything else around her. She scribbled the last numbers, crossed them through, added the totals to the computerized cash register and murmured ‘bingo’.
It was only then that Joan noticed the abnormal silence, she called out ‘Who was it Carmen’. There was a long pause and she was about to call out when a strained, low female voice answered, the foreign accent breaking, as if someone was gulping for air, it sounded like the pretty Russian, Natasha ‘Maam….you…had..better come and….see’.
‘What now……’, Joan sounded really pissed off.
What got Joan’s real attention was the frightened, pathetic plea that Natasha made to her lady boss ‘Please…..I beg you….come’.

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Joan spun on her beige high heels ‘What’s wrong…’, she click clacked out of her secluded work station ‘I……’, her voice froze in mid speech, her mouth fell open.
Her staff were all standing there, arms slightly raised..as if they were surrendering to enemy troops, in a way they were.
In front of them stood five oriental females, armed with silenced pistols. The shorter, dark haired women were all dressed in black. All their hairstyles were identical, a kind of jet black, neck length 60s bob, they were obviously wigs.
They wore tight black jeans, knee length leather boots, all sported short leather biker jackets and underneath black T shirts. For some bizarre reason they all wore sunglasses, even though twilight was fast approaching.
If it had not been for the guns Joan would have laughed out loud and also…. these women looked mean…….she new fake bravado when she saw it and these dames were not faking.
She broke the status quo ‘What do you want…….money…..we are not open yet the register is still empty…why didn’t you wait until the night…..’, she was cut off.
One of the oriental woman cut in, speaking perfect Oxford English ‘Shut up Katarina….we are not here to rob you of your petty takings….’
Once again Joan’s jaw dropped, even lower this time, she was speechless. How in the hell did this woman know her real name…she had never told anyone…no one.
The oriental gunwoman continued, she had the psychological edge now ‘we are here for bigger game……if you co operate you live…if not…. you all die’, she looked around at all the silent, bemused and petrified staff, ‘Do you understand’.
The waitress’s and waiters nodded in unison, eyes wide looking at the guns, the oriental leader pointed her pistol directly at Joan’s pretty head ‘Do you….’, it was an open question with one simple answer.
‘Yes’, said Joan, realizing that she could do nothing, the silent alarm was under the bar.
The oriental leader in black smiled, a wicked smile, a smile that made Joan shiver inside and she was not the type to be easily intimidated, let alone scared.
These people had a purpose and it involved them…God knows what and boy….. did she feel scared right now.
‘Good’, said the oriental leader ‘all may end well for you all…but first, I think…my girls need to make your girls a little more….ah.. comfortable’, at that she indicated with her pistol to her team, speaking loudly and sharply in a foreign Asian language.
At that curt order the other four oriental beauties started to bark orders and push the five frightened and confused female waitress’s towards the rear service area of the restaurant.
The girls looked shocked with pain, especially the doe eyed Bulgarian Sophia, as she received a nasty prod to her back. The protesting and pushed waitress’s were herded away, looking over their shoulders, fearing the worse…. Female protests ’Get off’….’Oww’….’Okay, Okay’ briefly filled the restaurant
Young Tatiana tried to move away and then push back, her arm was quickly forced behind her back, whereby she yelped in pain…still being pushed out of the room.
There was a whirl of black pantyhosed legs, white blouses, all mixed in with black leather jackets and leather boots as their assailants whisked the Caucasian waitress’s away.
Finally the petite protests and guttural orders, the frenzied, quick paced footfalls began to fade, firstly muted and then finally they ceased altogether. They were lost in the depths of the restaurants restrooms, storage and cleaning areas.
The oriental leader, the pistol was as steady as a rock in her small gloved hand, she covered Joan and the three male waiters, ‘Do not try anything…you will be dead before you move one inch’.
The oriental thug grinned inside, the three weak looking western playboys appeared to be ready to piss their pants….they would be no problem at all to control.

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Her eyes narrowed still, the finely dressed manager though was a different matter. She had some metal in her…a little spirit. It would have been best to have replaced her ….unfortunately she was vital to the plan…she would need careful watching.
‘What do you want’, said Joan softly.
The Oriental woman paused, then smiled ‘All in good time my dear lady…all in good time…but first we shall await the return of my girls’.
‘You’ll never get away with this’, said Joan, careful not to rile the dangerous armed woman too much.
The oriental woman gave a big, big grin, her hand tightening on the grey black, snug pistol grip.

Mike Roberts had just finished his third large scotch on the rocks; the heavy thick glass thudded heavily onto the marble bar top. He was not happy at all, despite the efforts of the bar maid to cheer him up with witty, flirty and at times senseless conversation.
It annoyed him even more, making his general mood darker. The day had been a bust, the swanky 5 star hotel conference for societies elite was supposed to be a big thing……more like what the’ big deal’.
At least Danielle had hit gold….the memory of Danielle made his mood more sour. Okay….she had a big interview and story with Erin Fitzroy, there was no need to treat him like that.
He winced and debated whether to have another scotch and get loaded; he paused and rejected the idea. Why had she treated him like he was dog turd on her shoe….after all he thought she and him were going places…you know being an item.
He had seen her earlier that morning….the Danielle of later on had left the hotel like a total stranger. Something had happened at that fcuking interview, with that Fitzroy b..ch.
Mike had made up his mind, he got off his bar stool and dug in his pockets, he took out a large bill and said to the bar maid ‘Keep the change’.
The bar maid smiled, a big bright one ‘Gee…thanks a lot’.
‘No problem’, he turned and left, determined to speak to the Fitzroy woman and find out what was said, something that bad it could turn someone he cared about into one of the ‘Pod People’.
Mike strolled over to the glass and mirror elevator, the marble floor being highly polished, and punched a button. He had been careful not to attract the attention of the busy reception desk, especially the red head he had quizzed earlier. There was a loud ping.
Mike travelled the hotel guest room corridors, pretending he was lost or sometimes just looking like he was supposed to be there until he found what he was looking for.
Eventually he did, an unattended chamber maid’s laundry and cleaning cart. He silently approached the cart, looking around, the hallway was clear, no one was there.
He spied what he was after, an electronic pass key for all the rooms and suites. He got closer, he paused, he could hear the maid inside a room with its open door, she was singing to herself while she carried out her chores.
Mike’s heart was racing, he snatched the key card and hurried back the way he had come. He stabbed the button on the side of the wall. The elevator seemed to take an eternity to arrive, it pinged….the doors opened…he was in…..he pressed the penthouse level and the doors closed.
Mike breathed out, totally unaware that he had been holding his breath. The doors pinged once more…they opened and he stepped out.
He approached the large double doors of the Fitzroy suite…this was it…he was going to be arrested for this….he had to find out what they had done to Danielle…fuelled by the scotch he ran the key card through the locking mechanism…it beeped and turned green.
He sighed to gather his nerve and pushed the door….he paused once more and stepped through…..

Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:18 pm

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Joan was nervous, very nervous although she did her best to hide it from their oriental interlopers. The lady manager stood there, flanked by Paul, Ivan and Miguel, her normal bar staff.
Joan was perspiring slightly, her face flush, not with rage but with indignation as she took in the image of her four new waitresses, standing opposite them, pistols in hand. Not only had they changed in general looks, they had changed their race also.
Her once East European waitress team had become Asian. The oriental leader was now dressed in the long sleeved blouse, complete with clip on black bow tie, belted knee length skirt and black pantyhose. She also wore the slip on comfy shoes and the fanny pack at her waist.
New waitress number 5 popped up from behind the bar, attired in a white blouse and bow tie, her hair in tight bun with a new butterfly plastic clip at the back of her small head…the 60s wigs had been removed by all the imposters, ‘the alarm is off…the circuit as been by passed’, all in a mock American accent ‘the head office or PD will be none the wiser’.
The leader, pristinely dressed as a waitress nodded , her beautiful Oriental features displaying a charming smile, her dark eyes were bright a little lipstick on her thin lips.
All the oriental females had assumed the disguise of being Joan’s waitresses.
The oriental imposters had made liberal use of the cosmetics found in the female employees handbags, their hair was bunned or in a ponytail. They all looked quite attractive and petite….an image that belied their deadly and violent intent and it seemed naturally sadistic temperament.
Joan assessed their new look, all the uniforms looked a little on the large size…..not too much though…not enough for a patron to pick up on.
After all Joan new the girls who had previously worn the clothing, she saw one of the Orientals who wore a rather cheap see through blouse.
It had obviously belonged to that loud mouthed Olga, she mused, a plain white bra was very visible underneath the blouse’s new temporary owner, and the strain on the front of the blouse was not as evident as before.
Joan thought that the skirt also looked rather limp…..Asian dames never had much in the ass department she told herself
Joan yet again broke the silence ‘What have you done to them’.
The leader, come waitress, smiled ‘Oh…do not worry yourself about them….they are hopefully experiencing a little discomfort right now’, she shrugged her white clad shoulders and tilted her head ‘But I think being bound and gagged is preferable to being ….dead…..don’t you agree’.
Joan did not reply, but thought that Olga’s big mouth problem had finally been solved. It was a shame about the others though…they must all be petrified…poor things.
‘So what about us’ enquired Joan ‘leaving us for later’, she daringly quipped.
‘Personally Mrs. Matheson….oh…may I call you Joan…If I had any free time there would be nothing that I would enjoy more in seeing you in the same predicament as your decadent, corrupt and generally slutty looking girls’
…like most of your race you talk too much and your arrogance is most infuriating …..You are…let’s say….a very attractive woman…for your age….maybe that explains your attitude’
Joan bristled at the insult, not the intent or tone behind the sultry words.

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The leader laughed at the reaction ‘No…no…it is a complement….look at your obvious good taste in clothes’, jeered the leader, at the same time reaching out and touching the red silk of a sleeve ‘I think later I may fancy a change of clothing’.
Joan recoiled and took a step back ‘Over my dead body’ she exploded.
‘That can be arranged’, retorted the leader who no longer smiled.
‘But Joan…you are important to me for another reason’, she paused ‘you are the face of this restaurant….the clients now you….trust you.’
Again that evil smile returned ‘If you too were trussed up like a turkey in a store room….people would ask too many awkward questions’, she turned away on her heel ‘You will carry on as normal….the charming hostess…as they expect…..they will enjoy their rich, over priced food in the comfort and style expected’.
She turned again, retrieving a piece of paper from her stolen fanny pack attached to her lean hip ‘But first…you will cancel all the appointments for tonight except for the VIP party and these six other people’, she forced Joan to take the list.
Joan thought very quickly, the VIP party….why them…a large party of Korean business types….super rich. Her thoughts were interrupted as another bogus and petite pistol welding waitress moved towards her.
The sly looking Asian waitress was indicting with the weapon that she move towards her work station.
She barked ‘Start dialing….whore’, in more impeccable English, American style.
Joan, was about to say fcuk you but closed her mouth instead, her white teeth grinding.
She click, clacked behind the bar, closely followed by her guard ‘Make sure she dials the correct numbers……no tricks’, the leader said to her soldier.
Joan or her staff did not know and never would on how accurate this was. Because soldiers are what these Orientals were, North Korean soldiers to be more exact.
The leader looked at the three men ‘Because Joan’, her voice loud for effect ‘we can kill these little gay boys and your little damsels so easily …….too easy and very quickly‘
Ivan piped up ‘I am no gay boy….I…’
‘Shut up Ivan’, shouted Joan from her station ‘Fcucking faggot….you’ll get us all killed’.
‘Sound advice Joan...sound advice indeed and Bravo’, said the leader.
The leader turned to her three subordinates, ‘You…watch these three’.
To the other two,’ any sign of our hired help…..’as soon as she finished the last word the entrance door rattled.
‘Ah…’, the leader exclaimed, ‘Just in time’.
Two of the bogus waitress’s approached the restaurants solid wood, frosted glass doors, the pistols were placed in the fanny packs, within easy reach if needed.
The two dangerous females approached the doors, all smiles, their pretty Asiatic faces were cute and pleasing, bright, dark eyes glittered in readiness just in case the visitor’s were not those who were expected.
Their walk was soft; almost silent….the only sound was that of the soft swish of pantyhosed legs, their stolen uniforms pristine and sharp.
The leader observed them both…waited….observed a nod from one of her squad.
Good she thought as the doors were quickly opened. Her two highly trained operatives ordered those waiting inside…cold, sharp orders in English…not the polite, little waitresses they pretended to be.
Severn people quickly trooped in, walking towards the leader. There were 3 males and 3 females; all Caucasian of varying age groups….in fact they looked like couples, which was the intention.
The six good looking people were attired in sports and leisure ware….they did not say a word. Joan took a quick glance at the new interlopers and was thinking badly in what the fcuk was going on.

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She noted a thick set, stout figure, wearing a dark hoodie who walked very fast, escorted by one of those gook c..ts dressed as one of her girls. They both walked straight out of the dining area, straight into the restaurants interior….their destination unknown. That was mystery guest number 7.
The leader addressed the new arrivals, looking sternly at them all, man and woman alike, they all looked very nervous, as if they too were out of their depth.
‘You are all being paid a very large amount of money for tonight’s work’, she paused.
‘A very large amount for such a few hours of your time…..do your job and do it well’, the threat in her voice was menacing to say the least.
‘Now go and prepare….the first guests will arrive very soon’, the six began to file out, heading the same way as mystery guest 7, the leader quipped as they walked past her ‘and cheer up……enjoy your wine and meal…..after all its on the house’, she looked at Joan as she said the last words.
Joan was scared now, very, very scared. As she dialed the last number on her list she noted that her manicured, petite looking fingers were trembling.

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The CAT was driving along the freeway, the traffic was quite busy for the early evening. The Japanese SUV which had belonged to Danielle Coyle purred along smoothly. It was a new comfortable machine and it had just passed a large green sign that had displayed ‘CARTER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT….5 MILES’.
The CAT smiled, not far now, it turned up the stereo, it was enjoying the lazy melody that seeped and floated from within the speaker system.
The new, racing green colored SUV was not the only possession belonging to Danielle Coyle that the CAT was enjoying the use of.
The CAT looked briefly into the rear view mirror, it was also enjoying the use of her face……also her clothes…..and when we say clothes…..we mean ALL her clothes.
On the passenger seat next to it lay Danielle’s bag and the charcoal black suit jacket, the copy of Danielle wore the same lavender colored silk blouse, the seat belt crossed over and in between those lush duplicated breasts. The lilac colored full cup bra invisible underneath.
The CAT braked slightly, a heeled shoe with a nylon encased foot, pressed the pedal. It was no need to change gear, the vehicle was an automatic.
The CAT increased speed once more, the traffic seemed to be backing up.
The CAT shifted its new weight, its duplicated pert ass cheeks enclosed in the charcoal black pants, that appeared sprayed on its false hips and thighs were becoming a little bit hot and humid. Its stolen, intricately ornate stolen bikini panties felt a little damp.
It felt hot, too hot it reached out to turn down the SUVs heating system. It had just turned the dial with a literally false finger nailed hand, when that hand with its purloined ring froze.
It had heard something on the radio, something that it did not like.
Its fabricated, studded ears listened to the interrupted broadcast schedule; a female broadcaster had cut in.
‘The City Police Department, State and Federal law authorities have invested The Fairbanks Hotel…..we are getting reports, unconfirmed at the moment that the millionaire and philanthropist Douglas Fitzroy as been discovered murdered within that establishment……..his celebrity ex model wife formerly Erin La Joy of PlayMateClub magazine fame was reported to have been assaulted…….reports indicate that it was some kind of robbery that went terribly wrong…’ a burst of static burst through as the SUV slipped under a bridge which interrupted the bulletin.
‘Sh.t’, exclaimed the CAT, in the feminine voice of Danielle Coyle.
The broadcast came back ‘but Police sources have requested that they wish to interview a Daily Echo reporter, Danielle Coyle……in connection with the…..’, it switched off the stereo.
The SUV violently swung to the right, a vehicle horn blared behind the CAT, as it swung out of lane without indicating and barreled down an exit slip road.
They were clever, thought the CAT. The authorities had no doubt discovered the equally naked, bound and gagged genuine Danielle Coyle.
After all…. it had left her restrained on her back, next to the squirming, pantyhosed hooded Fitzroy female. They had seemed such a sweet pair, prostrate and bound on the same large double bed.
They were holding back on the fact that they had the real woman somewhere in protected custody. Someone had put two and two together and had come up with CAT.
Its old enemy was there again, never far behind…..always searching….always looking for the CATS trade mark trail.
The lights at the interchange turned green; it concluded it was time to find another disguise. It was no good going to the airport now….the mug shot of Danielle Coyle would be on every Policeman and airport security guard’s notice board.
No doubt they were looking for this SUV too…it had to get off the road. It looked around, where was it….a business district it seemed…..small tech businesses and the like.
It drove further along the main highway, not too fast, just in case it drew the attention of a random traffic cop patrol.
It smiled….a large glow in the sky appeared in front of the SUV and a sign appeared to its right, a very large sign.
The sign proudly advertised
THE BRIDGER MALL
LARGEST IN THE STATE
ALL WELCOME
COME ON IN

The CAT spoke in its stolen girlie voice ‘Yes, please’.
The CAT filtered into the turning lane, why not it thought. What better place to meet its new disguise…..after all women loved to shop…..until they dropped….in this case literally.

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The leader appraised her tactical situation. She nodded to herself in satisfaction, all seemed on track…at the moment.
The manageress was at her normal post…..at the entrance to the restaurant accompanied by two of her bogus waitress’s.
The smartly attired woman in the red blouse was standing behind her pedestal, her leather bound booking diary before her.
Naturally she was waiting for the first of the night’s customers…waiting to escort them to their tables or assigning one of the staff to do so.
The three males ran the bar area and served the various beverages required…they too standing at their posts, looking as tense as their pretty looking boss.
Her other two squad members, also meekly disguised as the waitresses, stood apart from the others, as if they were keeping a good arc of fire within the tight enclosed space of the restaurant.
Their small, black painted fingernails where never too far from their fanny packs. The packs which know held their small, yet high velocity silenced pistols.
The intimidated restaurant staff took it for granted that these Asian chicks were quick off the draw and complied with everything that was asked of them.
One of her team broke the silence ‘We have movement’.
The leader, herself outwardly a lowly waitress, warned ‘This is it….’, her eyes stared deep at Joan ‘be good…or else’.
Joan did not reply, she took a deep breath…the doors opened.
‘Good Evening…and welcome’, her smile was radiant, full of warmth and charm.
‘Good evening’, replied the man in his early thirties, smart in a formal suit, no tie, with an open collared light blue shirt.
‘Hi…thank you’, said the thirty something good looking woman with long flowing, dark shoulder length hair.
Hair that was fine and smooth, a face enhanced by the light touch of cosmetics, her lips a delicate shade of pink rose, her jaw line fine and firm, her neck smooth.
The woman was elegantly attired in a sleeveless, one piece black ****tail dress. The dress had no belt, the soft fabric hung from her healthy, fit looking body.
The fabric followed the curve of her ample bosom and flowed down to the curve of her stomach.
The hem line of the dress was well above; her light shaded black pantyhosed sheathed knees.
Long, shapely legs led to dainty feet shod in stylish French made black high heels, her stockinged seamless toes, her nails painted, were visible through the design of the open shoe.
The elegant lady wore a light, black, cashmere shawl over her shoulders to keep out the evening chill. In her left hand she clutched a small black leather purse that sported the Gucci trademark.
‘Oh…’, enquired the woman ‘are we the only one’s’, there was no arrogance in the tone, just concern.
‘No madam….’, comforted Joan ‘I can assure you that you will not be alone tonight’, she paused, she saw the Oriental leader standing behind the patrons, her glaring eyes said it all.
‘Please….your are never alone when you experience our cuisine……we all, that is the staff…enjoy the mere fact that you enjoy what we have to other….your enjoyment is also ours’.
The woman smiled, satisfied ‘Thank you…we will’, Joan beckoned one of the false waitresses who immediately came forward…..looking far too convincing in her disguise bemoaned Joan.
‘Table 3 please’, she calmly said. The bogus waitress, with an open hand that gestured this way said in perfect English ‘This way please…sir…madam’.
The man smiled at Joan ‘Thank you Joan…you look great by the way’.
‘Thank you ….Sir’, behind the calm face Joan was thinking….you got to be fcucking kidding me.
The leader gracefully walked up to one of her squad and leaned over to her small, unadorned ear,
‘Go and check the storeroom…..make sure none of those little chicks are breaking free’.
The soldier nodded only once and walked away. She delicately made her way to the service corridor and entered.
She passed the cloakroom….past the restrooms…she looked over shoulder and entered another door to the left of the corridor.
She walked further along the dim annex, there were no rich carpeting in this part of the restaurant, paying customers should never have viewed this area. Cheap, yet clean white tiles completed the floor, the bright dazzling strip lighting making the female soldier squint, especially after the soft lighting of the restaurant itself.
She stopped outside a door signed up as; ’CLEANING STORE’, the wall at either side displayed numerous health and safety regulations….which was rather ironic.
The Asian operative looked left and right out of habit and turned the handle…paused and pushed the door….the darkened gloom of the room inside, the corridor light invading the total darkness……yet not a silent room it seemed……there was movement within .

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As soon as the door’s seal was broken the corridor was quite resonant with a deep, low moan which was emanating from within its dark confines.
The low moans sounded something like ‘MMMMUUUUMMMPPPHHHFFF’, ‘MMMMMmmmm’….it was as if the storeroom was alive with a swarm of bees.
The Asian fumbled for the light switch, found it and turned it on…..the harsh light flickered on….she smiled and entered the room.
She took in the scene before her, one in which she was very familiar with…after all she had partly been responsible for it.
The small room was a writhing, squirming mass of soft, white, slightly flushed female flesh. The room was now the unofficial rest room for the legitimate and original all girl waitress staff.
Except these girls were not taking it easy…..with their feet up and drinking a cup of coffee…oh no, not these girls.
Their situation was quite uncomfortable and unenviable….. Their pathetic, female mewing and moaning proved the point.
The female soldier, who currently wore the clothes of one of these distraught, miserably pathetic things…smiled in satisfaction…all seemed well…no one seemed to be escaping the nest…poor little chicks she mused, although with no real sense of pity, just sarcasm.
In the glare of the single strip lighting tube, the scene was quite provocative.
The barmen, Ivan had been quite aroused earlier by the sight of the girl Carman’s partly visible bra straps and band…just a glimpse had made him hard.
If he were present now he would have exploded…..for all her secrets were now on display…..in full High Definition if one was to be technical about it.
The innocent and unfortunate Carmen was writhing back and fore on her shapely knees. Her once pretty white face looked bizarre….why?
Her hair clip had also been stolen, yet her black, fine hair did not run free and easy.
The hair remained trapped under a swath of sticky, brown band aid tape that had been too tightly wrapped around her mouth and lower jaw.
The band aid strip went 360 around her dainty head; trapping her long hair underneath…..it would be hell for her when and if it was removed.
Underneath the brown sticky plaster her once dainty mouth was full of cotton wool…..pressing her tongue back into her throat….making her muted pleas even less audible.
‘UUUMMMPPFFFHHH’, she moaned, her head arching forward, taking the fresh movement and sound of the door opening as a signal that someone was about to rescue her…..rescue them all.
Why? Because her facial features had been made even more peculiar by the two large circle shaped, brown band aid stickies that had been pressed over her eyes.
Her dark, intelligent, full of life eyes, the dark eyeliner, the pencil thin eyelashes and sky blue mascara tinted eyelids were undetectable to the naked eye.
In fact, all the luckless girls appeared like faceless mannequins….mannequins that moved…that writhed…squirmed and moaned.
The mewing, gagged and blindfolded Carmen was undergoing an even greater indignity…..one that it was better she did not see…..maybe being temporarily blinded was a good thing after all.
The girl, like her colleagues, had been abandoned and left only wearing their underwear…..and the useless sheer; useless that is in protecting their dignity and modesty, was her individual choice in black pantyhose.

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A gold chain dangled and swung from Carmen’s chest, back and fore as she likewise bucked and twisted.
Her wrists were tied with brown tape, yet more from a large roll of medical band aid, wrists that were invisible behind her back.
Carmen had chosen to wear a pristine white, lacy trimmed wonderbra that day…her ‘B’ cup sized breasts held in place by the whiter than white frilly cups….squeezed together and lifted up….giving a girl the appearance of having a larger bosom.
The bra tapered off at the sides…the lacy trimmed and sheer torso band reaching around to the invisible rear fastener….a delectable sight of femininity.
When she had slipped it on earlier in the privacy of her bedroom she had no doubt thought that it would remain anonymous under her white uniform blouse….likewise her panties, the intimate panties sheathed by the pantyhose…..all supposed be a girl’s little secret….not now……her privacy had been harshly violated.
She would never have dreamed in a thousand years….only in a nightmare could she have envisioned that her outer clothing would be violently taken from her…stolen and worn by another…..her body visually violated by cruel oriental eyes.
Her naval was a black, masked hole under the thicker spandex of the upper pantyhose, a seam line set in the middle of the panty travelled horizontally…..running down until it disappeared into the reinforced gusset.
The thick, dark hose waistband dug into her flesh at the waist. The tight elasticated material, made her soft, white, flesh overhang the top the unyielding waistband.
Carmen was not a fat girl….far from it…..it was that the intimate garment was so tight around her midriff.
Carmen was on her knee’s her legs slightly apart… in an attempt to gain some sense of balance.
The spandex layered thighs looked strong, the sides of her muscles looked tense….the curve of her buttocks, which rounded off to her unseen rear….a womanly rear that was curved and soft like an over ripe peach.
The pantyline of the hose giving way to a lighter shade of black, a shade that ran all the way to her painted toes, a hidden seam, blacker, like the upper hose hid those toes from sight..
The lighter transparent shade of black that usually demarcated the part of the nylons that were generally intended to be seen by any male admirer.
Nor did they totally hide the white grey image of her lacy, flower patterned white bikini style panties that she had worn underneath.
The cute little small panties were subdued under the soft Lycra…but still embarrassingly revealing to any prying and uninvited eyes.
The obvious curve of her pubic region, the soft bulge between her legs, even more unmistakable when forced to remain on her knees….which were forced apart…..a wisp of what looked like a black Lycra spider’s web weaved between her legs….between her joints and luscious crotch…..the space were the gusset of the hose stretched, unable to follow the lines of her natural body.
The small panties desperately tried and failed to hide her modesty……if Carmen could see her own image, she would have collapsed in shame and indignation.
A well groomed black little tuft, the nylon hose smudging the image…the panties grey white sides sliding over those strong thighs…after all her thighs and legs were strong….she was on her feet every day and all day.
The storage room was what it said on the door… just a storage room.
On both sides were grey steel open storage shelves, there was also a shelving unit on the opposite wall from which the female Korean soldier stood at the open doorway.

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The shelves were high, with five shelves a piece set in like slats; all were bolted securely to the walls…all the shelves were well stocked with various multi colored cleaning products.
The bound and gagged waitresses had all been taped to the support pillars. The gagged girls had their polished hands taped behind these bulky, cheap steel pillars.
Their pantyhosed ankles had been crossed and taped….leaving them no choice other than being straddled on their stockinged knees.
In short they were going nowhere, they could not try and release one another….there was none of the usual crawling around on the floor….desperate fingers trying to pull off another’s girls band aid gag or pry the tape off the sore and chaffed wrists.
They were stuck….they could only pull at the metal support pillars which after a while became rather painful to say the least….and pretty futile as the metal pillars were not sharp around the machined edges.
The wretched girls could not even see one another…they were alone and helpless….they could only hear each other’s muted moans of distress…. Their normal, safe world had been turned upside down.
The sly, yet stunning looking Korean thought that they all sounded like whales at sea looking for a mate.
Two of the girls looked like they were sobbing…whether it was in fear; pain, anger or indignation one could not tell.
Certainly not their Asian attacker who did not give a rat’s ass anyway
They had been positioned with two left and right of the walls and one at the head of the room, in fact that space was occupied by the squirming and moaning Carmen…a full frontal parody of gagged and bound puppet….a puppet clad in feminine, cute underwear and black pantyhose.
In the middle of the squirming, half naked gagged ex restaurant employees, lay a rather large assortment of discarded boots, black jeans, T shirts and leather jackets…..oh and a selection of tacky black wigs and sunglasses….more on those later.
To the Asian’s left were the two semi attired waitress’s Sophia and Tatiana. These too were identically bound and gagged, their arms futilely pulling at the pillars. The Asian looked down…their bound heads were at her waist height.
Tatiana had laddered her pantyhose in her vain attempts at setting herself free….there was a large hole in the black Lycra on her right knee, her white skin showing in stark contrast to the blackness of her legs.
A thin bra strap had slipped from her right shoulder…the padded white plain soft cup was still in place…..still concealing the plump breast and brown nipple held within.
Tatiana had also chosen to wear a bikini panty that morning, this pair being plain and unadorned…plain white and simple.
Her black pantyhose around her waist being particularly dark, her panties underneath almost darkened to invisibility….yet her lower thighs and lower legs were a lighter shade of charcoal…it was almost as if she was wearing a pair of black hot pants.
Sophia was mewing loudly….like a kitten in distress…her blinded and gagged head was moving from side to side. Her slim neck was red…her chest looked flush and her nostrils of her dainty and petite nose flared.
It appeared that she had attacked her bonds with some vigor. What one could see of her auburn hair was plastered by sweat to her small head.
Her full cup white brassiere, which was a lacy, ornate affair which was still fully in place in support of her rounded tits…her sweaty body had stained the torso band around her chest, darkened patches of wetness stained the pure white polyester…..no doubt the breasts inside the cups were moist with her pungent sweat.

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Her black, reinforced pantyhose were holed at the knees were she had struggled in vain, her white high cut panties visible although equally obscured underneath.
One could make out the patterned; flowery side strips set into the panties flanks, high and ornate…a symbol of the individual femininity that drove one mad with desire…..as Sophia bent forward in her forced position, one could just observe her fully clad white satin posterior….full, juicy and plump.
The oriental interloper looked to her right.
The girl Natasha was ****ing her head, as if listening; the round tape over the eyes, the tape wrapped around the lower face was looking directly in her direction….almost as if she was staring at her.
The Korean female was quite aware of Western TV and had watched a TV show once…..it was called the X Files…that was it….this women looked like one of the murderous Aliens with no face….except this one was female.
Her plain white full cupped brassiere was unadorned but very sheer….no underwire…it was a piece of female underwear that lacked that ultra support, in which girls with only good firm natural breasts chose to wear….yet still her breasts sagged more than the other bra clad prisoners…… the almost transparent cups revealed large brown pointed nipples from her healthy ‘C’ cup sized breasts….a deep cleavage with a gold pendant jammed in between.
The straps of the girl’s bra were spaghetti style…nice and thin…..likewise the sheer, thin torso band.
Like most of her colleagues, Natasha had worn bikini style panties…..also sheer and very revealing.
Natasha’s had made the mistake……maybe mistake was the wrong word because how was she to know that she was going to be forced to strip off her short skirt….the mistake being that she had selected from her panty draw a rather filmy and fine pair of sheer to waist pantyhose.
Her panties underneath left her pubic private area rather exposed. The panties and filmy hose made a rather pathetic attempt at hiding her blonde triangle of hair that sprouted from between her legs.
The last victim was rather unrecognizable to the average observer prior to the restaurants forced invasion.
The woman, in between Natasha and Carmen was obviously gagged in the same manner as the others.
The female head was tilted onto her right shoulder…a shoulder devoid of a bra strap.
The woman, rather comically and at the same time rather perversely, wore sunglasses and had had one of those cheap bobbed 60s style, jet black wigs forced on her head…..it did look rather small.
The woman did not moan or did not pull at her bonds……she appeared collapsed onto her stockinged knees, not supported by them.
Her shapely knees, her pantyhose were torn and laddered as if she had been dragged into place, were not the only things not sustaining her body that day, nor was her rather limp and deflated brassiere either.
That particular female orientated garment, a fine white wonderbra that had earlier been on display under her flimsy satin blouse, had been pulled down from her ample breasts.
The girlie garment sat around her upper torso, cups collapsed, straps like streamers hanging uselessly, under her gravity driven large breasts.
Those breasts, large and plump with large brown nipples had without their support garment spread to either side of her body.
The woman had worn black pantyhose, again sheer to waist…..and that was all.
This woman…who we know as the mouthy, full of attitude Olga…..had worn no panties that day. Instead her expensive hosiery had been inlaid with a false, flowery imprint of a high cut panty. Dark and swirly around her womanly bits…..to preserve her dignity….maybe…or maybe not!

Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:19 pm

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Unfortunately, one of her assailants had stuck a hand brush down inside her pantyhose….with the tough bristles of the brush facing in towards her naked, shaven crotch.
The pantyhose were bulged and deformed with the brush inside her nether regions….the blue plastic handle sticking out from above the elasticated waistband.
The Korean remembered this one…she became mouthy…tried to protest in outrage….she would not take off her outer clothing when demanded.
So the girl had experienced something peculiar to Asia….something the Korean army had borrowed from their one time Japanese master……the woman had experienced a mass open handed slapping session….a violent torrent of slaps that had rendered the woman senseless.
They had beat her , stripped her and thereafter left her more humiliated than the others….good….the woman seemed to have still not recovered from her ordeal.
The Korean female soldier carried on with her task…she moved in among the distraught, gagged and bound female employees.
Individually, the Asian operative touched a shoulder to check their bonds, the girls reacted like they had been electrocuted….their near naked bodies braced up…all tense….nipples within the exposed bras became pointed in raw fear.
The girls moaned in fright, the gagged moans more urgent, screams from within ‘UUUUrrgghh’, MMMMMMMUUUURRRR’. NNNNGGGOOOOOWWW’, THE Korean wondered why they bothered; no one could hear them scream.
To the Asian beauty it looked as if one or two had been trying to slide their taped wrists up and down the smooth sides of the support pillars….the tape looked untouched. She pulled them back harshly by their near bare shoulders.
She inspected the one, whose clothes she now wore, Sophia was her name, looked down at the deep cleavage, the pantyhose clad thighs and legs….the torso band of the bra on her slim white back….. a fragile little thing she mocked….so scared and weak.
Her bonds looked secure….she looked up…they were all going nowhere. Throughout her time in the storeroom, she had said nothing.
She retreated, walking backwards….they were still squirming and mewing to no one who cared to listen…’MMMMmmmppphhhffff’.
She turned out the light, saw the gloomy, dim shapes within and closed the door. The Korean soldier slowly made her way back to the main restaurant.
Like the woman who had worn the clothes before, the Asian’s bra was slightly discernible underneath the white blouse…her buttocks moved within the skirt…..the Asians pantyhosed legs, pantyhose actually purchased by their wearer therefore they where a perfect fit….unlike the skirt and blouse she had stolen, sauntered along the corridor.
She entered the main; fashionably furnished dining area….she coughed lightly….the leader looked up….the soldier, her face pleasant and smiling now, nodded at her commander…..the commander discreetly nodded back.
The leader, dressed as a humble waitress, was in fact Colonel Sung Ti o North Korean Military intelligence.
She acknowledged the nod from her highly trained killer who happened to be in the body of a petite looking Asian waitress.
The Colonel looked at the other guests who had only recently arrived.
Another couple had only just sat down at their table, an older man in his mid fifties, trying to dress like someone 20 years younger, accompanied by a tall 20 something leggy blonde in a long, sleeveless silver dress.
Time for the next phase of the well executed plan thought the Colonel…all was going well….very well indeed…..she almost laughed out loud in joy…but caught herself as her pretty, lip sticked mouth opened…after all she was only a lowly waitress….a probable immigrant, who too these pampered Bast..rds should not be there in the first place….she was deemed a lowlife by these decadent, rich and so called Western, white superior people…..I do not think so mused the Colonel.
Well she would have the last laugh……. as she approached the lady in the black dress, the one that smiled so earnestly….so polite as she quizzed Joan….she would not be so polite in the very near future mused the Colonel.

PART 10

The woman was in a carefree, jocular conversation with her husband, a painted fingernail running through her long dark hair…she laughed at one of his comments…her lips touched a wine glass as she raised it to her lips….a smear of rose shaded lip stick remained on the crystal glass.
Her black stockinged legs were crossed under the table….her black ****tail dress had risen higher, revealing a little more of her strong muscled upper leg…
There was slight movement to the woman’s left….she looked up….her conversation broken…’Yes….’ she still smiled.
Colonel Sung Ti, disguised as an ordinary immigrant waitress, also smiled and looking placid replied ‘Sorry Madam…but there is a telephone call for you’.
The woman looked puzzled, her painted lips still full and moist from the wine, her eyes still bright and trustful, she paused ‘Okay….back in a jiffy Honey’.
The Husband waved his fingers ‘Sure thing….I’ll order some more wine for when you get back’.
The long dark haired, busty and full figured wife began to leave from her chair, Sung Ti; her senses finely tuned noted the swish of nylon clad legs as they unfolded under the table.
The tight, figure hugging short dress adjusting itself as the woman inside it rose, her dainty, manicured hands briefly caressed her thighs and hips, absent mindedly straightening out any creases in her dress…or that it had not risen too high.
Sung Ti stood to one side, her arm extended in a gesture of helpful direction ‘This way please...Madam’.
The unsuspecting woman, paused to retrieve her purse, her face neutral, pondering at who was calling no doubt, mulled the North Korean Colonel in disguise.
The Colonel in masquerade peeked a glance at the woman’s full breasts, the black open dress following every curve of that luscious bust…there was no tell tale sign of the brassiere that must have held them in place.
Sung Ti felt a stirring in her loins, after all she rather liked the company of her own sex. Especially this rather juicy white western specimen…she had a big urge to squeeze those plump, yet firm tits…the Colonel refocused, it was no time to start dreaming of R & R.

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The fully black clad women walked by the unassuming waitress, her black high heeled shoes click clacking on the marble floor.
The still sitting, oblivious husband was taking more interest in the excellent vintage before him as the pair swaggered off towards the rear of the restaurant.
They both sauntered out of the dining area, Sung Ti at the rear; her oriental eyes emulated the cat about to devour the canary.
Joan, who stood behind the bar caught the look on the Korean woman’s face and shuddered. The Korean leader’s narrow and mascara painted eyes caught hers ‘God’; thought Joan ‘What is she going to do to that poor woman’. Joan lowered her gaze and carried on with the masquerade that was once her professional life.
Sung Ti, turned her attention back to the woman in front of her.
She sneered at the woman’s peach shaped backside as it shimmied up and down inside the dress, her long, black sheathed legs swishing against the nylon, her long hair shiny in the restaurants expensive lights.
So soft and weak thought Sung Ti...so easy to overcome and render useless…that was it thought Sung Ti…her resentfulness centered on the fact that this soft female had no other purpose than to look good, a play thing for men.
They entered the finely decorated annex corridor, navigating through an archway of large tropical plants, all green and full of rich colors.
The hallway was of dark oak and elm, the unused cloak rooms to the left…further down were two doors left and right, the left was marked ‘MEN’, the right ‘LADIES’, at the end was a disguised fire exit.
They had already passed the door that would eventually lead to the writhing, cramped up, gagged and bound girls that were normally on Joan’s work roster that night.
‘Where is the phone booth’, in a feminine, soft voice the unsuspecting and trusting woman asked.
‘Just further down…Madam’, replied Sun Ti.
The woman turned her pretty head, just as the door on the right silently began to open.
‘I can’t see anything’, quizzed the women, clutching her purse in one hand. Sung Ti was herding her slightly towards the opening door.
Sung Ti knew they were out of earshot and sight from the rest of the restaurant….the music in the dining area was rather louder than usual that night too.
The lady Colonel, still all charm noted the door behind the woman opening faster ‘Madam…..would you not feel a little more comfortable without those restrictive, decadent garments….;
‘WHAT’, blurted the confused woman. She was now stopped, her face said it all ‘had she heard her right’.
Sung Ti gave the defenseless, pampered female a short sharp shove on her chest bone, the right hand with its palm fully open.
‘AAAIIEEEEEEEEE……MMMMuuuuummmm’, emanated from the shocked woman’s mouth. A mouth that had just had a hand clamp itself over her protesting lips.
Sung Ti observed in satisfaction as the startled woman’s pretty eyes bulged in terror, her lower face hidden by the hand over her lower face. Her petite head being forcibly pulled back, exposing her fine, smooth neck.
The female assailant, with the aid other searching female hands yanked her Shapley body backwards into the recently opened room.
The woman’s high heels scrapped along the marble as she was dragged backwards screaming or in this case mewing in sheer terror due to the hand that gagged her.
At the same time, her arms were flailing in protest, trying to grab at the door frame. Until the second assailant held them in place around her body.

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The woman’s already short dress became shorter…the soft fabric being caught up in the second females assailants restraining grip.
The dress hemline rose higher and higher as the woman’s black sheathed legs began to leave the ground.
Eventually and tantalizingly revealing the darker reinforced panty line of her black nylons…further the dress rose as her back was arched with a knee by her attackers …….the darkened extra black ‘V’ of the woman’s panties were just visible for Sung Ti’s eager and hungry eyes to observe….her mouth became a little dry
In the all to brief struggle the dress slipped off a white shoulder……Sung Ti soaked in the thin black bra strap that dug into the woman’s flesh…..valiantly holding the breasts in place as the bra’s owner underwent a violent assault.
Sung Ti bent down, picked up the fallen purse from the marble floor and threw it into the room. The door closed quickly…..keeping it secrets within, keeping a frustrated Sung Ti from viewing what she new must be now happening inside.
The Colonel turned on her stolen shoes as if nothing had happened and made her way back towards the dining area.
She entered, ignoring the nervous glance from Joan and one of her weak male waiters. She noted that the other two guests appeared happy enough….being serviced by two of her girls.
The last couple, who had not been cancelled and for a particular reason too were just arriving through the glass double doors.
As before, the ever cooperating manager was greeting them like old friends, all smiles and fawning compliments.
The male customer was the usual suited affair, older than his dinner partner, with graying hair.
The female was a pretty, shapely brunette, sporting a short bobbed hair style. She was attired in a wine colored saffron dress, short and off the shoulder, her legs sheathed in shiny coffee colored Lycra hosiery, her feet shod in a pair of leather knee length boots which were high heeled.
Over her shoulders, to keep out the evening chill, the woman had a red paisley shawl draped over her shoulders .
The couple looked contented enough…happy in their wealth. Not for long mused Sung Ti.
The Colonel walked over to the sitting husband, still enjoying his wine and now helping himself to a dish of complimentary Black Sea oysters.
Oblivious to his wife’s absence and ignorant to her current plight…as it should be thought the Colonel, she prepared to disturb his fare.
Sung Ti paused and quietly coughed .
The husband looked up…his blank stare saying it all.
Sung Ti explained ‘Your wife, Sir, would like you to join her at the telephone’.
The husband looked annoyed ‘what….why the hell…’ he stammered, his face already flush from the wine.
Sung Ti cut in fast, as not to let the other guests see any disturbance ‘I am sorry Sir…but your wife did say it was important that you come’.
The husband paused; Sung Ti could sense his eyes all over here…. A typical pig of a man thought the Colonel…as soon as his wife was out of sight he was ogling another woman.
He relented ‘Okay…sure’, and rose from his chair.
The two of them, as with the smartly dressed wife, left the restaurant dining area.
All looked serene within restaurant, although a little quite for this time of night. The soft lighting, the background music, the art décor that was expensive and yet not ostentatious at the same time.

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The bar staff polished their glasses…their brow’s a little too moist some would have thought…..but maybe that was from the harsh glare behind the bar.
The all Asian waitress staff waited on…outwardly polite and eager to please.
Colonel Sung Ti returned to the restaurant….alone! Gliding in, unnoticed in her white blouse, black pantyhose and short black skirt…the uniform of a waitress within the establishment….hired help only.
The woman with the long blonde hair laughed out loud, her large bosom, barely held in place by the frail looking silver dress reached out with a diamond studded hand towards the man who was old enough to be her father.
The long slit on the side of her dress revealed legs encased in shimmering neutral colored Lycra sheer to hip pantyhose…..’They must be’ would have been the words of any on-looking admirer.
The manger, Joan was just handing the new customers the expensive wine list, her face the perfect image of professional bliss.
The man and woman in the wine colored dress never noted the two other waitresses’ standing well away from all the others.
Each had a hand on a bum bag attached to their individual thin waists….it was as if, and if one was only looking for it, they were covering arcs of fire within the room.
Standing guard so to speak….but why? After all it was only a restaurant.
Only Sung Ti at first registered the suited man and a woman in a black dress re-enter the dining area from the restrooms and cloakroom annex.
The man and woman walked through the archway of tropical fauna with confidence and why not? The woman’s high heels were rapping away on the marble based floor.
Both of the well attired people assumed their places at their favorite table. The long, dark haired woman was in a tight, low cut, above the knee black dress; its gossamer thin material shimmered in the soft light…..it was a figure hugging affair.
Under the table the woman crossed her black nyloned sheathed legs …..a very sensual movement, one that caused arousal in many…the woman’s black filmed thigh was highly visible to all who chose to sneak a glance or two.
One of her high heeled shod feet dangled above the marble floor, effortlessly moving up and down as they resumed some kind of casual conversation. They reached for wine glasses and tasted the fruit of the loom.
No one noticed the couple at the table…all appeared the same as before.
Apart from the waitresses who were not waitresses, only Joan noticed the difference.
A cold fear gripped Joan inside; she nearly dropped a glass as her hands trembled…her facade nearly crumbling…she wanted to run but knew she would never make it out of the front door alive.
She briefly stared at the couple….she new them well, they were regular clients, a husband and wife booking….they were into real estate or something similar.
But it was all wrong. The man and woman were dressed like the people who had entered her establishment, even their hair styles and build were the same……but whoever was now inside their clothes had different faces.
‘Jesus’, she thought, they had been replaced. The imposter wearing the black dress laughed out loud, her heavy bosom heaving. All natural and normal like.
Joan looked across and saw that B..ch chink, the leader, walk across to the young blonde woman, in the skimpy silver fabric that passed as a dress.
Joan inwardly groaned as she watched the gang leader talk to the girl.
She wanted to scream at the blonde idiot that it was a trap, don’t get up and leave with her.
Joan kept thinking to herself ‘Don’t, Don’t, Don’t’…..Don’t’, the Blondie’s chair slid back. ‘Ah…f..k it’ thought Joan.

Post by **esercito sconfitto** » Fri May 31, 2019 12:20 pm

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The girl stood up, her long silver dress flowing over the contours of her wine glass shaped body, her shoulders and back were bare, the flesh so soft and white.
She blew her sugar daddy a kiss and turned to leave with the oriental waitress.
Joan smiled at the ignorant, moronic yet stunning bimbo as she shimmied by her station, followed by that evil thing disguised in one of her girl’s uniforms.
Joan noted the dumb girl’s attire ‘S...t’, she thought ‘she’s not even wearing a bra’. Joan sighed and blew out air.
As an afterthought Joan inwardly prayed, like the good Catholic girl she was, that ‘when the fcuk would this nightmare be over with’.

The fugitive Danielle Coyle, aka the CAT, entered the busy Bridger Mall through the large turntable glass doors. There was a constant stream of people in and out……all clutching heavy bags.
The SUV had been parked up…lost in the multitude of vehicles in the vast lot. Hopefully it would take the authorities a fair time to locate it.
It was still dressed in the trendy grey suit jacket and pants, the violet colored, satin open blouse underneath. The spectacles it wore sat on the petite nose and face borrowed from the real Danielle….a pretty face at that…. but one the CAT had to lose and pretty fast too.
The mall was bright and vibrant, it had three floors served by escalators and there were people everywhere. Young and old, from many ethnic groups all loudly bustling around intent on grabbing a bargain or two.
So too was the CAT….a bargain for it at least….not for the female who was selling…..selling her identity that is.
The CAT, with its stolen black bag over its shoulder made for an escalator; it noted an overweight, bored looking male security guard off to one side.
It walked…it walked in the way that only the female of this species walked….swinging its hips in a provocative manner….full of confidence in its outwardly young beauty.
After all, it was a young female out shopping at the mall….and more importantly was not the mall the new place where lonely females picked up a mate.
But where….one of the eateries….a music store…..a bar on the upper levels….a clothing boutique….the answer was no to all of them.
The CATS eyes searched for a un- willing donor.
It was looking for a suitable target of opportunity, but none presented itself……anyway the mall and parking lot was far too busy for a quick knock out or kidnapping.
The donor would have to leave with the CAT voluntarily.
It made its way to the second floor and immediately saw what it was looking for…the new place where mature adults tended to find a mate….a large grocery retailer.
The store was huge; it was one of those places that sold everything, from groceries to affordable clothing to electronics.
The isles were bright and colorful…the shelves full and more importantly the place was crowded…it would blend in here….its private search would go unnoticed.
Danielle or the CAT entered the store and picked up a hand basket and proceeded to shop for its new identity.
The cat stalked the isles…looking for a lonely female…someone who had an interest in quick flings with their own sex…someone too embarrassed to ask or try people they already knew and fancied…someone with a secret…someone with a hidden desire.
The Cat stopped, its stolen eyes focusing on someone.

The centre of the CATS attention was a young women bending over at a shelf full of tins. The girls blue jean style pants were glued to her ass….an ass the CAT would not mind borrowing.
The girl, in her early twenties, with strawberry blonde hair tied in a ponytail stood up, clutching her basket.
She wore a long sleeve white blouse which was slightly translucent…the CAT could make out the white bra band underneath clasped around her back.
She was pretty enough thought the CAT, no rings on her fingers either…such a good sign….maybe no attachments…..no one to note her absent for a few hours.
The CAT carefully undid a button on its own blouse, revealing a little more stolen cleavage than usual.
The girl maybe sensed her watching.
She turned and saw the CAT, or in her eyes the good looking journalist Danielle Coyle, the girl paused and smiled back.
The CAT smiled back…bingo it thought, the girl looked again, this time a little nervous.
The CAT was about to make an advance on her when a large male appeared on the scene.
A typical all round tough guy, older and dressed in construction gear. Checked shirt, Cat boots and jeans ‘Hey Lucy….found my pork and beans yet’.
The girl Lucy spoke ‘Yeah…..there’s this wired chick watching me…..smiling all funny, Hank’.
Lucy turned…there was no one there.
Hank laughed ‘A bit early ain’t it sweetie’.
The girl Lucy, still looking were the stranger had been, spoke ‘Shut up….it ain’t funny…...it spooked me a little…it was if she was looking at me but not…she wanted something and it didn’t feel good’.
Hank stopped ‘maybe it was a store detective…..thought you were stealing the beans’. He noted his girlfriends upset demeanor and became serious.
‘Hey…if you want we’ll go get security and find the odd ball’, he said.
Lucy paused ‘No…lets go and check out and go home….I’m tired’.
‘Okay babe’, said Hank already turning away.
Lucy stood still, people with carts navigating around her. She felt a little unsafe…..those girl’s eyes….it was like a man staring at her……it was like she was undressing me.
Lucy shivered, turned around and quickly caught up with Hank, grabbing his arm for reassurance.
The girl Lucy would never know how lucky she was.
The CAT had moved off fast…oh well….if you do not succeeded the first time, then try and try again.
No one seemed to fit the bill or be available to chat up…..no opportunity arose as she placed a few items in its basket…just for appearance sake.
A smart looking female walked past it…..the CAT soaked in the shapely calves encased in navy blue hosiery, the heels, the tight skirt on her pert backside, the trim jacket and ivory colored blouse…….and then the CAT noticed the husband in tow pushing the cart…..D..mn It snarled the CAT.
It turned the corner of the isle, starting to become a little frustrated when a large overhead suspended placard announced something that pleased the CAT very much indeed.
The white on green sign proudly declared ‘LADIES LINGERIE’
Ah! thought the CAT…..it had reached ladies apparel, which in its own twisted way was quite appropriate
The CAT entered the stores area reserved for small petite items that tended to be lacy and fragile……it sauntered in with confidence….after all it was a girl…..a girl in need of a change of underwear….oh…and the body that was beneath them too. …..extreme shopping to say the least.
The false woman took in the sight of the loaded racks……bras and panties galore.
It noted the selection of styles, trendy hipsters and boxers, high cut lacy affairs and the trusty classic high hip briefs and bikinis.

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There were cartons of Sloggi laid out on display, there were demi bras, T Shirt bras, sheer full cup bras, full support bras, strapless bras, and racer back, sports bras and push up wonderbras….bras, bras, bras…..the CAT, a rather attractive girlie CAT idly walked by, her hand randomly inspecting a piece of silky smooth, satin….maybe inspecting a size tag or two.
It smiled a false smile….its lip stick coated lips exposing perfect white teeth. It did not know its size…..after all …whoever it overpowered and replaced……well it was their body…..their clothes….it briefly pondered its current stolen bra size and moved on.
It stopped again….its painted fingernails caressing a lacy black bra cup….it liked the intricate flowered pattern in the design….it delved further…..the cup was padded, a gel it seemed……to enhance the wearers breast size….to make the bust appear fuller than it naturally was……it caught its reflection in a nearby mirrored wall panel……its current bust did not need any embellishment…it was a shame that it had to ditch this body so soon….it could have had a bit of fun with it first.
The CAT noted a lack of color on display……it seemed the racks only catered for those who liked grey, white, black and flesh tone underwear. In fact the flesh colored smalls seemed highly popular…the in thing it appears.
It noted an advert that claimed that the tone made a woman feel more natural…..more herself…..it declared that a woman had no need to advertize her mood or lusty character…..she was one with nature…….it laughed and in its stolen voice blurted out ‘Bulls..t’.
There was the odd blue or burgundy panty and bra set but nothing like the lilac bra it now wore and had stolen earlier in the day from Danielle Coyle……the real woman whose identity she had temporarily borrowed.
The CAT moved on…..there were racks of hosiery…..stockings, pantyhose, thigh highs……all either suntan, black, anthracite or navy blue…oh!... it spotted a white pantyhose packet that had been placed on the rack……maybe for an off duty nurse out shopping….The CAT was rather enjoying itself….playing dress up if you like.
The CAT spotted a few winter warmers and thought NO, unless it was in Siberia, which at one time it had…..ah…slips and petticoats….women tended not to wear under skirts anymore mused the bogus female.
It noted a selection of black pencil skirt half slips, a few flesh toned plain unadorned full slips and a few short white and black lace trimmed half slips….quite a small selection really which indicated the trend.
The CAT remembered a long gone world where petticoats were worn by the layer…the sight of a stockinged ankle would cause a scandal.
Skirts with hoops, reams of frilly petticoats underneath, bonnets and whale bone corsets……it looked at the various racks which displayed the modern skimpy female undergarments…….they would have caused a riot 100 years ago, if not 50. They were where quite scandalous really….maybe that’s why the CAT enjoyed wearing them so much.
For the first time the CAT took in the other customers around her…..all female of course, but one should never assume.
There were a few ladies perusing the stock on display……the CAT eyed them up….either too old or too fat…….two were two young, after all the CAT had standards.
Again it was getting agitated…it could not locate a possible willing candidate.
It watched another two scruffy teenagers walk by, all dirty jeans, grimy T Shirts and Military boots…..my God it thought….those creatures need a good hosing down and a steam bath….not new underwear.

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One of the foul specimens caught the CATS look of disgust…..all the teenagers saw was the smartly dressed, Nancy Drew type, the all fancy pants suburbanite B..ch! Which these two probably were but where hiding it under grunge filth.
‘Fcukoff’, hissed one of trolls, chewing gum at the same time.
The CAT nearly broke its rodent like neck but resisted the urge to do so.
After they had passed, the CATS cheeks still flushed in anger, she noted someone who made it calm once more…the horrid girls forgotten…maybe it thought….maybe this is the one……it felt right as it had before…..on many, many other occasions.
The object of its attention was studying a rack of lingerie….lingerie that was rather racy noted the CAT.
The unsuspecting woman held a black suspender belt in her hands…..she looked rather inexperienced in its use….it looked as if she was attempting to work out were all the straps went.
The CAT began to stalk, if the lights had gone out in the building there would be two glowing orange orbs watching the woman intently….. Its back was tingling…..its breathing rapidly increased.
Unseen under the purloined grey pants, the violet satin blouse and the grey suit jacket there were slight movements….. Deeper still underneath another woman’s bra and panties…it could still smell the woman on the clothes….her perfume on the blouse…….the musty odor of her sweat from the bra….the moist must of the journalists panties…... it’s artificial skin rippled…it was tuned…..it felt its mimicked teeth sharpen….
Enough…..it was getting carried away….it felt its duplicated body stabilize once more.
It briefly glanced about…its odd behavior had gone unnoticed. It edged closer noting that the woman wore a wedding ring.
Its eyes took in the dark brown pencil skirt that ended just over her upper calves; it observed the rounded backside under the tight brown polyester or nylon. It was tight, yet there was no visible panty line…..the woman either wore a slip underneath or pantyhose.
It noted her legs in the rich, dark, coffee colored hosiery, it pondered….it had only seen her from the rear, yet it guessed this woman wore pantyhose.
Her shoes were also brown, the same shade as the skirt and blended in with her stockings. This woman, although not expensively dressed, did have a sense of co-ordination. The shoes were of dull leather, thickly heeled and with no straps……a slip on affair.
The woman wore a belted beige jacket that draped down to just above her juicy backside; the belt was buckled and indicated a thin waist. The jacket was plain, with two side pockets and large lapels.
Over her shoulder was a brown leather and canvas bag.
The woman’s hair was colored a dirty blonde, dark steaks and split ends in abundance. The hair had been rolled into a bun and held in place by a brown plastic clip.
It edged closer, angling itself in to see the woman’s face; the woman was still inspecting the racy suspender belt…..her thoughts lost to herself.
It studied its prey, its eyes stealing glances…its acute sense of smell picking up the sweet scent of the woman’s perfume….a very sweet fragrance, mixed with…..what it was…ah! Deodorant it guessed. It was closer now….another scent…..soap or shower gel…..it was still there long after this woman had bathed or showered.
It was hunting.
Its eyes that looked very human and very female examined the front of the jacket….looking for a familiar large frontage….always useful….a large bust tended to disarm and confuse the male of the species.
It was disappointed….the jacket, s front looked deflated…….no ample bosom on this one it presumed….the figure appeared womanly and full….this woman was not the sporty type it seemed….probably watched what she consumed to keep the weight down.

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It glanced again…. Feigning interest in a rather flimsy white demi bra…..it spied the woman’s creamy white ribbed turtle neck sweater…..a gold chain with an oval pendant hung outside the said garment.
The CAT used a small mirror fixed to the opposite wall to observe its target. It liked the sense of watching her without her knowing……it saw her concentrated frown…..her lips pouted……the suspender belt concept was obviously new to her.
The woman’s fringe was tightly held back…creating a very high forehead which became wrinkled and smooth at different times, depending on her facial expression at the time.
The stern hair style and high forehead gave her a very serious look. The look of a haughty, dour school mistress….the no fun type who took themselves far too seriously.
The woman, in fact an high school teacher, in her late thirties, outwardly looked the mousey type ……the wife who baked cookies and doted on the husband and kids…..She hoozed of suburbia……never a beauty, not really ugly either….she was someone you could forget immediately, just after meeting her….perfect thought the CAT…..she was just what it needed.
It needed a female who looked respectable, someone who paid taxes, worked hard, did not even get a speeding ticket….a woman a cop would not look at twice
The woman’s makeup was frugal…a little red lipstick….a smattering of foundation.
Why was she looking at sexy French or Italian Underwear? It looked at the woman again…took in the conservative clothing…..maybe she did on her honeymoon….if even then it mused.
This one, it reasoned preferred comfortable, sensible underclothes…..all very conservative and respectful, brilliant full whites, dark blacks and traditional ivory…..pantyhose not stockings because it was getting cold.
Her outer clothing was dour….never revealing, bright or flamboyant. Her choices were traditional and safe…in short conservative and conformist…..she dressed like her mother and teachers did in a past decade…..or maybe? What her husband wanted her to dress like.
It noted her nose; a little too large, flared at the nostrils….the ears a little too small, nice little studs in the ear lobes though……maybe amber.
So….buying sexy gear…..hubby a little bored….not getting enough or any for that matter…..spicing up your sex life, lady….the reasons were endless but the conclusion was obvious, this woman wanted sex.
There was no other reason why she would contemplate purchasing what she held in her hand……but did she want to have sex with it that was the question…..this woman would not be a first choice for any passing gigolo…..her husband was probably compatible to her…..why exchange one for another’
Would this plain….yet still womanly female be flattered and overcome by the advances of what seemed on the surface a beautiful younger, shapely woman.
The CAT took a step back…what could it say to her…something that would not make her complain outright and cause a fuss…..or make her storm out in embarrassment . …it had to be natural in its approach.
It had to be quick….the woman was now looking at a black, lacy Basque. She may move on soon and the opportunity lost.
As if on a camera cue at a film set, a person walked by that would solve its current dilemma….a female sales assistant.
The girl looked around 18 years old, her black hair was long and over the shoulder, it was clean, shiny and bounced with flair.
It picked up her scent…strong and fruity…..the sales girl was looking straight ahead…oblivious to the fact that she was being assessed and about to be stalked.
The girl had a good shape, not very tall with innocent blue eyes that were round and wide, thin eye lashes with a little mascara. Her wide, full lips were a pale red, her cheeks full and wholesome, yet her jaw and chin were tight.

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Her breasts appeared full, hidden from view by the short sleeve, dark blue polo top…complete with mall logo and name badge that declared ‘Betty Kelly’.
Its forged blue eyes sparkled……the girl looked like a student working her way through college.
In the girl’s arms were a full load of un-priced ladies undergarments…it appeared to be mostly bras.

The unwary sales assistant was heading to a little storeroom to deposit her load of stock.
It quickly followed the girl, noting the tight gray pants, very similar to its own, and the bright blue polo top that passed for a uniform.
The girls butt wiggled back and fore…..it could discern the mysterious lines of the panties underneath.
The girl opened a door to a very small storeroom, it was nestled away in a corner, not intended to intrude on the displays or impede customers.
A temporary stock room….far easier than travelling to the basement all the time.
The girl switched on light inside the storeroom, the switch set inside, the CAT caught a brief glimpse of shelving, the girl closed the door behind her…..big mistake thought the CAT.
The CAT looked over its shoulder….all seemed clear, no one was watching……she checked that the woman was still there…….she was holding the belt and Basque in her hands, checking if they were both compatible…..without knocking the CAT very quickly opened the door…was inside…and closed it quickly behind itself.
It only took seconds.
Another woman walked by the storeroom……she need a new pair of pantyhose, opaque and thick she thought…after all the weather was changing fast.
The woman, in a pair of tight black suit trousers and jacket was trying to select a color….slate grey or the usual black…… when all of a sudden she thought she heard a thump from behind the door to her front.
The woman refocused her attention back to the rack full of hosiery products.
BANG, THUMP…..There it was again……she edged a little closer….CRASH…..the woman holding a packed pair of pantyhose moved closer to the imitation pine door.
Her hand reached out to turn the handle….her red finger nails went closer and closer…..what was in there…..
The door flew open…..the woman jumped back and cursed.
A woman came out wearing grey pants and a blue polo top, her name badge over her large left breast proclaimed ‘BETTY KELLY’……the polo top appeared a little stretched and stressed, especially to its front.
The woman wore heeled shoes, with stockinged feet and not the black sneakers that mall employees usually wore.
The lady customer did not notice this…..after all her heart was in her mouth.
The female from the storeroom smiled ‘Sorry…..I fell over……it’s like a shoe box in there and the light bulb popped’.
The lady customer sighed ‘Hell….you gave me fright and abruptly changed tack ‘I wonder if you got these in size….’
The CAT, the new sales assistant cut her off ‘Sorry….I have another customer to attend to… bye’.
The woman opened her mouth to complain….and closed it….she was like a fish gasping for air. In a pissed off tone she blurted ‘Well I never’ threw the pantyhose pack on a rack and stormed off.
The CAT walked up to its prey……now inspecting a sheer black demi bra, a rather meager bra at that.

‘I think Madam would look stunning in white’, intruded the CAT, all helpful.
The mousey looking wife with the dirty blonde hair, tied and pasted to her thin skull began to glare at the perpetrator of such rudeness…..probably words similar to ‘Do you mind……or mind your own business’ were on their way.
It saw her relax slightly; after all it was only a sales assistant, in her blue polo shirt and mall logo advertising the obvious fact.
The CAT noticed straight away that the woman realized that’s its disguise was rather attractive…..the woman briefly looked into it eyes and rapidly looked away…..the woman’s hurried gaze took her to the name badge….her gaze lingering too long on the stressed blue fabric and large bosom within….that was a good sign assumed the CAT.
The woman was hurriedly placing the racy garments back on the racks ‘Well…no…it’s not really me…..what was I thinking’, as some sort of an excuse she blurted ‘It’s the husbands birthday and well…..’ she started to blush.
‘No….No’, exclaimed the CAT all girlie and helpful ‘you’re a woman aren’t you…..we have to use all our little tricks….look’.
‘I do not want them…honestly’, murmured the woman who did not sound very convincing
The CAT quickly took in the stock on display,’ it’s like selecting weapons from a gun rack’ she indicated.
‘What’, said the woman, looking annoyed ‘I’m not robbing a bank’.
‘Sorry…wrong metaphor’, it said, pushing the hard sell ‘but when I saw you…wow……you would look fantastic in white’.
The woman looked hard at it, not sure if she was being ridiculed. The woman saw the assistant look her up and down….with a serious face…could she get away with it after all…maybe Steve wouldn’t laugh at her….like he usually did.
The CAT saw her indecision…she would buy if persuaded. It put its hand on her shoulder…she did not shrug it off.
The CAT whispered to the woman ‘What size are you’.
There was a pause.
‘8’ said the woman, also whispering, as if she was doing something naughty….like a schoolgirl.
The CAT selected a pair of sheer and lacy white panties whose rear string would have split a water melon in half if they had been squeezed onto it.
The CAT spoke again ‘Bra size’.
‘That’s personal…..not for shouting around’, the woman said.
‘I can measure you…discreetly’, whispered the CAT, all hopeful. It chanced it again ‘Maybe the same as these’, and pushed out is breasts that mimicked another woman’s.
The woman’s eyes stared and retreated, her tongue had briefly touched her upper lip….it noted she was anxious, uncomfortable at being around other females…..why?
The woman blushed a little more and whispered, ’Not quite…..32 B’.
The CAT whipped off the rack a white, skimpy, full support bra, it was very sheer. The woman began to redden further.
The bogus sales assistant also took a white suspender belt off a rack…..’You’ll need stockings….an expensive white pair’.
The bogus assistant took the hand of the woman and led her away, the other hand clutching the skimpy and sexy underwear.
The woman did not protest either at her hand being taking…..the sales assistant was like a whirlwind, giving her no time to think properly.

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This was going well thought the CAT…..this woman had always wanted to buy the garments but felt a little silly doing so…..BETTY the sales assistant was making it all easy for her.
‘There you go, Madam’, smiled the CAT with perfect white teeth ‘stockings’.
‘Thank you’, the woman stammered ‘will it all fit or……..’.
The CAT led the woman over to the fitting cubicles by the hand, there were four in false pine, all quite sturdy and two were occupied….the full doors being closed.
The CAT indicated to a free cubicle ‘Please….treat yourself……try it all on….see how it all looks together…..your gonna be a knockout’.
The woman paused, now holding all the new garments ‘Well, I suppose it won’t hurt’.
‘Of course not….be yourself’, encouraged the CAT.
The woman smiled, a nice smile, so trusting ‘Okay….’.
The woman began to move into the cubicle, the CAT whispered ‘Oh.....Madam…..you do not have to try the panties over your old one’s’, it winked, the general rule was that panties did not get tried on over skin…..it was a hygiene thing….bras it seemed were okay.
The CAT smiled ‘I won’t tell….let me know when you’re finished’.
‘Okay’, said the woman again and closed the cubicle door.
The CAT waited outside, ignoring the other female customers. It heard movement from within the cubicle. It seemed like hours to the CAT….who also kept an eye on the storeroom door.
Finally it heard the lock of the door pull back and open slightly, a low feminine voice whispered ‘ready’.
The CAT opened the door, not fully, there was a curtain drape further inside to subvert any outside purveyors……normally teenage males who fled at the first challenge.
The CAT quickly stepped through the curtain, closing and locking the door behind itself.
It prepared itself to soak in the scene before it.
The booth was very private but not sound proofed.
It noted the woman’s clothes hung on pegs…ah ah as it had thought…it was as suspected…the woman’s ivory colored lacy push up bra hung from a peg over her skirt……so predictable gloried the CAT.
It saw what it surmised were ivory colored classic briefs, a lacy, ornate pair, as foreseen ……sensible, comfortable and conservative.
The woman’s identically colored full slip hung over her coat….its cups intricately patterned, spaghetti straps and with a lacy hemline trim……..the CAT liked it and could not wait to try them all on.
Draped along the top of them were a pair of deflated looking coffee colored pantyhose….which looked like the full support variety, judging by the color contrasts.
Her slip on shoes and bag were discreetly placed under the small wooden bench provided.
‘Well…’, said the woman nervously ‘do I look like a bad joke…….’.
It looked at the woman, who stood in front of the full length mirror. Some of these mirrors were slightly altered…..altered to make the reflection look as best as possible…..that was the retail trade for you…..like the CAT selling a lie.
The CAT stood back, the woman had her arms in front of her, as if embarrassed by the image that the mirror displayed.
Personally, the CAT was impressed…..her body was far better than expected.
It broke the silence ‘Well, Madam….if I thought the garments looked a joke or ridiculous I would be the first to say’, it was looking at the plump, wholesome womanly backside whose cheeks were parted by the thong of the white panties……a set of buttocks that it now wanted.
‘You look fabulous…..like an aristocrat’, it whispered.
The woman seemed to smile a little ‘Are you sure’.
‘Madam…in white…you look so angelic…..like a bride on her wedding night’, it lied through its teeth. But the truth had not been stretched too far……it found the plain woman oddly attractive….it liked what

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the woman normally wore……and convincing her to dress up like a cheap Amsterdam whore was quite provocative…..the CAT liked a world torn by extreme contrasts….low self esteem, paranoia and confused sexuality had always served the CAT well.
The CAT was appreciative of her body ….it was well looked after by lotions and creams, unblemished….her face was plain and her tits were smaller but so what…it was not forever.
‘Of course…..I wouldn’t lie for the sake of it…just for a crummy sale’, it lied again.
It moved forward, behind the woman’s back, so that they both looked into the mirror……staring at each other….the CAT over her strap adorned shoulder.
It relished the thin, sheer band on her back…..the fastener….the laundry tag visible underneath…..the straps that ran up and over her shoulders…..her skin was pale, too pale, but the white underwear still glowed, pristine new on her body.
It whispered near her ear, it smelt the fragrance of her shampoo, the clip that harshly held her hair in place….the studded ear lobes…..her neck gently arched to the right.
‘Why is Madam hiding herself….be proud’, at the same time moving her thin arms away from her chest.
‘Oh…Madam…what a lucky man your husband is’, it gazed intently at the hand sized breasts encased in the cups of the sheer white bra….her large brown nipples clearly visible underneath, her gold necklace sparkling in the harsh light.
‘It does look rather nice……feels very liberating’, she whispered.
It looked down…..this time standing a little closer to the woman, until it’s larger, fuller, pert stolen breasts under the equally stolen polo top touched the woman’s back.
Static was exchanged between them both when their bodies converged …still there was no rebuttal…..no shout of outrage…..it saw with satisfaction the woman’s little nipples inside the new, pristine bra become spiky and a darker brown.
‘Does Madam find the garments sensual……arousing……releasing the beautiful woman you are’, whispered the CAT.
It let its gaze wander to the thin waist, past her naval to were the suspender belt sat on her hips.
The CAT s mind thundered to itself….’you may not be the best looker in town but your body ain’t that bad at all…no Sir’.
‘If I looked like you I would where them all the time……’, croaked the woman.
It soaked its gaze with the front of the white, lacy, panties, intricately decorated with swirling flowers, flowers that still allowed one to view the brown bush of hair that was deliciously tended underneath – a little grooming was needed there thought the CAT something that would be sorted out when this body belonged to it.
‘Madam is very pretty…….when I wear them I spend hours writhing on my bed…..it feels so…so…rebellious…even decadent’, all said in hushed low voice.
It heard and saw the woman physically swallow…..her tongue moistening her dry lips.
The white panties traced a Vee under her flat stomach, a gentle downward curve from her hips….. a little, cute white bow adorned the slim waistband……a delicious’s final dessert.
The suspenders were taught over the sides of her panty clad, broad thighs and hips.
‘Yes….I have too…not in these…..but….. ‘. The woman almost moaned.
‘SSSShhhh…….’, whispered the CAT ‘close your eyes and live you dreams’.
The woman purred ‘My husband would not……’, she did not finish the sentence.
‘Oh..madam’, now in a husky voice…the woman was lost in her own image….’How could your husband be so blind….why does he neglect you so’, it was a gamble that he did.
‘Oh...silly you’, it whispered, like speaking to a child.

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‘What’s wrong’, said the woman…..her voice a little croaky…..her eyelids seemed a little heavy.
‘One of your stockings is not straight’, it wasn’t but the CAT was working to a well versed song.
It hunched down on its knees…slowly, still behind the underwear clad woman……who was nearly seduced…it could sense it.
It delicately removed a clip that held the suspended white, soft stocking in place.
It rolled away the intricately ornate seam from her thigh…….again a large wide band of swirling flowers…….why always flowers thought the CAT.
It made a pretence of adjusting the stocking…..looking down at the red painted toenails obscured under the rich nylon veneer…the toes were seamless…….her small knees encased in white nylon.
It stroked the nylon over the leg, then up the thigh, messaging the stocking into place.
It was running its false female hand over her soft thigh again and again…….pretending to smooth out the white fine nylon veil.
Its hand moved with soft circular movements.
It’s pretty, deceiving head was close to her groin…..her bare stomach was moving up and down…..her panty clad pubic hair, the curve of her sex underneath was so near its beautiful, stolen face….the intricate panties so close.
It scented something that nearly made it lose control…..the woman was becoming moist….the thong of the panties arousing the vagina….the cold air on her near enough naked body…..the presence of an outwardly beautiful women laying on compliments, giving her attention…soft delicate touches at the right time…….it was all working.
As it caressed her thigh It felt the muscle in her leg stiffen…..a slight tremor from within……as it spoke it smiled.
‘Madam must learn to adjust her stockings…….not let them slip;, it whispered as it delicately snapped them back into place.
It rose, its hands gliding along her waistline ‘Madam…needs more pleasure in life…a little treat’, its hand moved over to the shoulders , its voice soft and alluring ‘after all Madam is beautiful….so beautiful….’.
The hands reached to the woman’s breasts…..there was no protest…..her eyes were now fully closed.
It perceived the woman’s inhalation increase, her chest began to rise and fall faster…… her breathing was now audible……..it exquisitely caressed her breast beneath the soft satin ,almost lucent brassiere.
Its open palm slightly teasing the aroused nipple…… the desperately frustrated woman groaned as its other hand with its long fingernails probed the waistband of her panties…softly stroking…..it’s good looking sexy body wrapping around the rear of hers.
She groaned again….louder.
The hand that had gently massaged her breast slowly rose and softly covered her mouth.
A little muffled gasp emanated from her mouth.
It spoke softly into her ear ‘SSSShhhh……this private pleasure is ours……your passion and pleasure is in my grasp’.
It felt her body collapse into its embrace, her head tilted back into the CATS full breasts….its hand still lightly over her mouth.
Her knees were bent as it slid its remaining hand deeper into the moisture within the skimpy panties……they began to squirm in unison, very slowly…..the woman moaning quietly .
It lowered its neck….ready to start kissing hers……it wanted to smother her lips…….deep kiss’s that would become deeper and deeper until……..

BANG, CRASH, BANG…….LOT S OF YOUNG FEMALE LAUGHTER.

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The woman shot out of her lust fueled trance and stood bolt upright…as if electrocuted.
It stepped back and fumed to itself ‘Fcuking kids ……in the next cubicle….they blew it….it could have stolen her identity right there and then the way things were going’.
It banged the side of the cubicle and shouted ‘Hey…..pack it in guys’.
A young female voice replied ‘Sorry’.
The woman looked horrified and very, very embarrassed indeed…. her arms once more covering her breasts ‘Can you leave me to get dressed, please….I’ll take the garments’.
It stood behind her…at a respectable distance….looking solemn…..at least she did not start screaming.
It smiled, not all was lost, this chick was hooked ‘Certainly Madam…I will wait outside’.
The CAT did so, cursing the morons in the other cubicle. It waited outside……gave a glance at the storeroom……it mused to itself ‘It had better get away from here soon……before the storeroom turns into a disaster area’, remembering who it had left inside.
It ignored customers…..who took the nasty look of the bogus sales assistant as a warning and quickly moved on.
It was engrossed in imagining its new identity donor getting re-dressed back in the booth. It could picture the woman hastily squeezing herself back into all those familiar and respectable items of clothing.
It played a game…..in what order would she dress.
It played in its mind, first, panties…..bra……pantyhose…….step into the slip and adjust the straps……step into the skirt and zip……step into the shoes…….sweater over the head and adjust…..gold chain out…….arms into coat and the other one, button up and buckle up…….pick up her bag and over the shoulder it goes…..
Oh the last bit…..she spies those disgusting and perverted garments….the cause of her recent shame and humiliation…makes to leave them behind….she pauses because she cannot leave them…..why? Because it felt so fcuking good….hating herself even more she snatches them all up and………….
finally the woman exited, fully dressed in her normal conservative clothing….she did not look the CAT in the eye and was still a little flushed.
The CAT smiled and thought ‘Baby……I nearly had you blowing your top’.
‘This way please Madam, I’ll escort you to the cashier’, offered the CAT.
The woman said nothing and just followed, maybe a little unsteady on her feet.
They reached a busy cashier’s desk, the two girls decked out in blue polo tops and grey pants were under pressure, the queue was long.
The CAT seized the initiative ‘Please follow, Madam’.
It proceeded to jump the queue, followed by the woman who was now eager to be away. There were some protests from the people in the crowd, ‘Sorry’; quipped the CAT ‘it’s an emergency’.
They reached the first cashier ‘hey do us a favor…this lady needs to get home really fast…….please bill her for the goods so that she can skedaddle’. It gave the girl the price tags which it removed before they both entered the cubicle.
The young blonde behind the counter was maxed out, she had been there all day, she barely saw her colleague who was blue shirted and fast with the request ‘Sure’, she replied.
If the blonde girl had been more herself then maybe she would have picked up on the fact that this older woman was not BETTY as the name tag proclaimed……she new BETTY.
The woman paid by credit card, her hands slightly shaking, her intimate goods had been packed.
She turned to speak to the original sales assistant ‘Thank you….’ Her voice died off….there was no one there, except the long queue of annoyed customers.

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The woman nodded a thanks and moved off, eager to away from the mall. Her mind was in a daze……nothing had happened like this before, never….well…..there was that event at high school….oh, hell…she had been a kid then.
The woman was remembering her so long hidden secret…….she had married only to quash the lifelong rumors……..deep down since adolescence she had been a closet lesbian.
She was in an elevator, going down, bag on shoulder, shopping bag in hand …….her mind still raging ‘Okay Steve had neglected her physically lately….more than lately she realized…in fact a few years…but still….she remembered the assistant’s touch and shivered….but God it was good…..she was gorgeous too.
’Fcuk’ she said aloud walking towards her car, her heels click clacking in the underground parking lot, to herself ‘I nearly had an orgasm in a fcucking changing booth…at the hands or hand was more like it, of a stranger…..again the memory of those touches…in all the right places.
She reached in her bag for her car keys, head down.
A slight cough caught her attention, the cough familiar, her head shot up, it was the assistant.
‘You’ she stammered and at the same time thinking how hot she looked……those tight pants……her huge tits under that shirt.
The CAT smiled ‘Hi……I just quit my job and I need a ride home’.
The woman paused, her mind a tumble….something had snapped…a desire so bad….hidden for so long, before she knew it she was saying ‘Okay’.
The woman pressed the button on the key fob and the doors clicked and the blinkers flashed on her automobile.
Before the woman could enter the car she restricted by the long pencil skirt.
The woman hitched up the skirt above her knees…..the assistant staring at her shiny, coffee colored legs.
The assistant went around the other side and opened the door
Holding her skirt she jumped in behind the drivers wheel….fumbled the key and started the engine. The motor growled into life.
‘Where too’, said the woman, a little nervous and already knowing the answer.
The assistant all smiles and looking at her intently, the seat belt cutting down the middle of those large breasts replied ‘Your place’.
The woman nodded…….she wanted the assistant to touch her again.
She selected drive….her heart beating fast.
The car drove out of its parking bay and headed towards the surface exit.

Back in the mall, at the lingerie department an irate woman in a black suite was following an equally upset male manger.
Both stormed into the racks of frilly intimate female attire.
‘I cannot apologies enough Mrs Rose it does not sound like Betty…to be rude to a customer’, he blurted out in defense.
Mrs Rose, the earlier potential pantyhose customer was having none of it, she haughtily replied again ‘Well, that’s what her name badge said…and I want recompense….or kick her ass’.
The manager sighed….. Betty was only a kid, why was she being so vindictive towards her…..he sighed again ‘after all the customer is always right’.
They stood near the changing rooms, not far from the small storage room, the manager broke the silence ‘Well this is her duty station and there are no customers……maybe she went…’.
BANG

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It came from the storage room.
‘There it is again….that banging in the room….what do they do in there’, retorted the woman ‘Scared the life out of me last time….’.
‘Well…its where we keep extra stock….that’s all’ he replied
‘She was in there last time….broken bulb ….bashing about’ said the woman.
BANG.. .BANG in quick succession.
‘She’s at it again. Retorted the unhappy shopper.
The manager walked towards the artificial pine door, followed closely by the woman, he gripped the handle and pulled it down.
The storeroom was dark inside, pitch black in fact due to it having no windows.
The man and woman’s ears instantly heard the noise at the back…..hidden in a pitch black void.
‘MMMMMmmmmm’, MMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmm’.
Something was moaning at the back, the manager moved closer into the darkness.
‘Hello…anybody there’, he called.
He was rewarded with more enthused moaning ‘MMMMMUUUUMMMHHHFFFFF’, MMMMMUUUUUUMMMMMPPPPHHHHHFFFF’, it was loud and continuous.
‘Are you hurt…’ he called, again more moaning ‘Try the light again please; this directed at the woman in the doorway, who was obstructing what light there already was.
More loud moaning, ‘UUUURRRGGHHHH’, ‘MMMMUUUMMMMMPPPPHHHFFFFF’.
Whatever or whoever it was, was trying to get someone’s attention.
‘She said the bulb was broken’, said Mrs Rose, her voice now nervous.
‘Please try’, exclaimed the manager in a tired tone.
Suddenly the room was full of light.
The manager swore out loud and nearly fell backwards, the woman screamed like a banshee.
The real Betty was there before them……in full view due to the harsh light.
This was not the Betty that Mrs Rose new……this was some other 18 year old slip of a girl….’that’s not her’, wailed the shopper.
‘It fcuking well is’, shouted the manger…..’Go get security….now’. Mrs Rose disappeared.
Betty the sales assistant and trainee nurse was sitting on the floor.
Poor Betty had had her arms forced out on either side, shoulder height. Her wrists were bound to shelf posts on either side…..the manager looked again…….tied by two white bras, their straps hanging like old bunting.
His employee was gagged……what by….’No’, he thought…..a black padded bra had been used, the cups either side of her red, tear stained cheeks….tied off behind her head with the torso band ….the bow trimmed gore or center piece was holding what looked like…….
’No, No’, he thought again ‘The poor girl’…..there was a pair of white panties jammed deep into her mouth, being held in by the bra centerpiece.
Her eyes were moist and red, her mascara had run from where she had been sobbing….her sorrowful eyes were pleading for release……her gagged moaning was constant.
Her chest was heaving up and down…….visibly worse so because her blue shirt had been removed.
Betty’s youthful, ample breasts were encased in a simple white plunge bra……an obvious perk from her job.
Her bosom cleavage was deep….a little pendant from a chain sat in the undulating trough.
The bra was pure white on her tanned skin….the torso band was thick, disappearing around to her back……the shoulder straps dug into her soft skin on her shoulders…….her normal shoulder length black was held up, caught within the bra gag.
Betty had a little tummy forming….too many shakes at the mall probably…..it was pierced too.

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The manager was still in shock……unable to move…..betty’s grey work pants had been pulled down to her bound ankles…..bound in bras again…like her bare knees.
Whoever had done this must have been very inquisitive……. To pull her pants down to grab a gander at her panties……it was like they or it could not resist the urge.
Betty’s wide hips and thighs were on display…..she had worn a white pair of plain high cut Sloggi’s…..it said so on the waistband, which was slightly obscured by her slight belly overhanging the elastic……her hips were a little fleshy too.
The manager…always the professional wondered how Betty was paying for all this new underwear…..after all she supposed to be broke, that’s why he gave her the job in the first place.
All this took seconds.
The manager moved forward ‘It’s okay, Betty…I’ll get you untied……it’s okay’.
All this time the girl was sobbing, heaving and moaning loudly.
The manager reached behind her head and struggled with the knotted bra band……he had felt a lump forming on the back of her head where she had banged it against the shelf behind to attract attention and subsequent help.
Finally, the knot relented and the black bra, retailed at $39.99 remembered the manager, fell away and landed on Betty’s already abundantly supported bosom.
He lifted her chin and reached for the panties in her mouth……he pulled the soggy under garment out……a long line of spittle landed on his trousers.
Betty sucked in lungfulls of air.
There was no ‘Thank You Mr Bob’…..’You Saved Me Mr Bob’, as was expected by Mr Bob himself.
What ensued was an hysterical ‘THAT FCUKING ****….. SHE PULLED DOWN MY PANTS AND SQUEEZED MY TITS’……’I’M GONNA FCUK HER UP’………
The 55 year old Mr Bob was rather shocked at the language young ladies used today……regardless of the provocation.
The verbal tirade went on until the Cops arrived.

Uniform Stealing Board

Bitter sweet taste of revenge

Bitter sweet taste of revenge

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