Uniform Stealing Board

Thirty Maidens All in a Row



by tirepanted

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Miranda pumped her legs back and forth as she jogged down the sidewalk. Her chest heaved in and out with each breath. Her long auburn hair whipped around behind her. The sun mercilessly beat down on her body, but still she continued to run.

The streetlight ahead of her turned red. Miranda slowed and stopped at the corner, panting. She looked down. Her light blue tank top was rather sweaty, and so were her dark blue running pants. Miranda adjusted her sunglasses over her eyes and took a few sips from the water bottle she kept clipped to her belt. She then glanced at her digital wristwatch, which doubled as a pulse monitor, and smiled. From what it read, she was in perfect condition for a woman of twenty-five.

The light changed to green. Miranda continued jogging, past other pedestrians and a few street vendors. As with every day, she was starting her morning with a two-hour sprinting session. The exercise kept her fit and healthy, and ready for the work she would do later that day.

A persistent buzzing from her hip made her stop once again. It was her cell phone. With a sigh, she picked it up and glanced at the caller ID. It was her boyfriend calling again. She hit the “Talk” button and put the phone to her ear.

“Hi, Jake… Fine, thanks… Good, that’s nice to hear… What’s that?... Tonight? Oh, sorry, sweetie, I can’t go out tonight… Lots of work to do. I hate disappointing clients… Tomorrow? Yeah, I think that’s better… Okay, see you then.”

She hung up the phone, clipped it back onto her belt, and resumed her jogging. Jake was always pestering her about dates. He sometimes inquired how working as a secretary at a minor law firm could take up so much of her time. Miranda now smiled to herself. If he only knew that her real job had nothing to do with a law firm.

No, in reality, Miranda was something of a freelance “delivery” woman. She charged high fees to secretive clients, but always got the job done. The other day, she had been phoned for a rather impressive order: Thirty young women, all well-shaped and attractive, to be delivered the following night to a mansion in one of the city’s wealthiest districts. A difficult task, to be sure, but she had never left a customer unsatisfied.

Miranda checked her wristwatch again. Eight o’clock. Her two hours of jogging were almost finished. It was time to go to work.

Miranda turned the next corner and headed up Conway Street. In the distance, a small but aromatic coffee shop sat on a street corner. “The Little Coffeepot”, as it was known, was often a favorite pit stop of hers, anytime she was in the mood for a tall vanilla cappuccino. On this day, however, she was heading there with a far different purpose in mind.

A little bell announced Miranda’s entrance as she swung open the door. The interior of the coffee shop was air-conditioned, and Miranda felt a welcome chill embrace her body. Her sweat-filled tank top clung even closer to her hips and breasts. About a dozen patrons sat at the tables which lined the walls of the room, and a few turned to stare admiringly at the pretty young woman who had just entered. Miranda treated them to a brief smile before she headed towards the counter.

Behind the counter stood a young woman dressed in the uniform of a Coffeepot employee. She wore a button-down white shirt with thin red vertical stripes, a short red skirt, and red high heels. Her long blond hair was tied in a ponytail beneath a bright red visor. She was vigorously scrubbing the countertop with a white towel, but looked up with a smile as Miranda walked over.

“Good morning… how can I be of assistance?” she asked in her most professional-sounding voice.

Miranda smiled warmly at the woman and her uniform. “Hello,” she replied. “I would like…” She removed her sunglasses and scanned the row of coffee dispensers behind the employee. One of them was nearly empty. “I would like a large nonfat caramel latte, please.”

The employee nodded. “Of course, ma’am.” She picked up a large cup and turned to the coffee dispensers. Her smile faded. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. The main dispenser for that particular drink is running dry. If you don’t mind waiting, I can head to the back room and refill it.”

Miranda’s next smile showed two gleaming rows of white teeth. “Would you, dear? That would be lovely.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” the woman replied. She turned and headed through the back door into the supply room.

Miranda glanced quickly around to make sure that no one was currently watching her. Then she pressed both hands on the countertop and raised herself up, sliding over the polished surface to the other side. Her white sneakers touched silently on the tiled floor. Then she walked over to the supply room door, twisted the knob, and stepped inside.

The room was dark, filled with the loud sounds of churning coffee machines. The blonde employee stood at one of these, flicking a few switches to refill the dispenser on the other side of the wall. She did not notice Miranda sneaking silently up behind her.

With the speed and dexterity of a jungle cat, Miranda pounced. She twisted the woman’s right arm behind her back and applied a viselike sleeper hold. The blonde managed to let out a faint cry of shock, which was drowned out by the sounds of the loudly churning coffee turners. She kicked her feet out, trying to throw her attacker off-balance, but Miranda did not loosen a bit. “Shhh, honey… Stop struggling… It’s never worked for anyone before.”

The blonde’s eyelids fluttered as she tried vainly to stay conscious. Then, slowly, her reflexes began to slow. She drooped forward in defeat.

Miranda slid the woman silently to the floor. Then she quickly kicked off her own sneakers and pulled off her long white socks. She pulled off her tank top, revealing the black sports bra underneath. She removed her belt, and then gripped her sweatpants and rolled them down her long, shapely legs. Now only dressed in a pair of matching black bra and panties, Miranda gave a slight shiver. This room was certainly a change from the scorching heat outdoors.

Miranda rolled the unconscious blonde onto her back and began unbuttoning her uniform. The shirt came off easily, revealing a large pink lace bra. Miranda let out a low audible whistle. “Now those are some cups worth drinking from,” she mused.

Off came the heels, followed by the skirt. Now, both women in the cold and dark room were clad in nothing more than their undergarments. The problem was, Miranda’s delicates were still rather damp from sweat.

“Guess I’ll have to make a genuine change,” she said, standing up. With that, she reached around behind her own back and unclipped the bra, letting the intimate garment flutter to the floor. Then she wiggled out of her own panties, tossing them aside as well.

“Your turn,” Miranda grinned at her unconscious prey. Kneeling down, she rolled the woman onto her front and unclipped the bra strap, then rolled her on her back to remove it. She then gripped the waistband of the blonde’s panties with both hands and slowly slid them down the length of her legs. Both women were now completely naked. Only one of them, though, would be getting dressed again that day.

Miranda stepped into her newly acquired pink panties and pulled them up her legs, enjoying the snap of the waistband against her hips. They felt warm against her body. She then pulled the matching pink bra up over her breasts, and fastened the clip in the back. The cups filled out pretty well, although she could have used a slightly smaller size. Now, however, was not the time to be picky.

Miranda pulled on the uniform shirt, buttoning it up to the collar. Then she moved on to the knee-length skirt. She worked quickly and automatically, trained professional that she was. Within moments, Miranda was slipping on the red high heels, adjusting the strap so they would fit more comfortably.

Once this was done, Miranda gave herself a quick once-over in the reflection of one of the polished metal coffee churners. She smiled at the woman she saw – slim and pretty, dressed sharply in a uniform which matched the color of her hair. Well, it did in the semi-darkness, anyway.
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Miranda shifted her gaze to the unconscious blonde who had “donated” her outfit to her. She would now need to secure and hide the woman. Miranda looked around for something she could use to tie the blonde up, and her gaze fell on her laced running sneakers. Perfect.

She quickly and carefully pulled the laces from the shoes and inspected them to make sure. They were thin, but also quite strong, with no visible frays in the fabric. She would have to work quickly, before the effects of her sleeper hold wore off.

Miranda crossed the blonde’s wrists behind her back and used one of the laces to tie them together. She then proceeded to use the other lace to bind the woman’s ankles. Miranda tested the knots until she was satisfied that they were extra-tight. Now she would have to find something to keep her quiet.

Miranda picked up her own discarded white panties from the floor. They were still sweaty from her two-hour jog, but that was not her concern. She opened the blonde’s mouth and stuffed the panties inside, forcing them into her cheeks. Then she snatched up one of her discarded socks and pulled it over the blonde’s mouth, tying it behind her head.

Miranda stood back and admired her work. Only ten minutes ago, the female Coffeepot employee had been idling along in her regular life, just as if it were any other day. Now, she was unconscious, naked, bound, and gagged – and only the first of many.

Miranda grabbed her unconscious victim by the ankles and dragged her away from the coffee machines. She did not want the strong coffee fumes to rouse the woman from her slumber. She dragged her to the back of the room and through an exit door which led into an alley behind the diner. A few garbage cans lined the back wall of the alley. Miranda lifted the cover off one. It seemed large enough to hold a person.

Miranda picked up the bound and gagged female and dropped her into the can. She replaced the lid on the can and turned to reenter the diner. Customers would be waiting. And she never disappointed.

By the time Miranda returned to the counter, a line had formed. She began taking orders, playing her uniformed role as if she had been born a Coffeepot employee. Soon, she had accumulated a generous amount of tips.

A little after eight-thirty, the front door swung open, and in walked a tall policewoman with well-toned features and long black hair, upon which sat a shiny peaked black hat. She was dressed in a blue three-button jacket, a crisp white shirt with a black tie, and black pants. Her hands were encased in a pair of white gloves. Her low-heeled knee-length black leather boots clicked against the tiled floor as she walked up to the counter.

Miranda smiled. Her next target had arrived. She knew that a policewoman always came down to the Coffeepot at about eight-thirty every morning to pick up some drinks. She sized the woman up. A bit too tall for her, perhaps, but nobody was perfect. She decided to continue with her plan.

“Good morning, officer,” she grinned widely. “How can I strip y— er, help you?”

The policewoman eyed her strangely. “Where’s Bethany?” she inquired. “Doesn’t she usually work the morning shift?”

Miranda was pleased to learn the name of the woman she had mugged and tied up. It made them feel more connected, in a sense. “Oh, Bethany was tired – she left to get some sleep. All these working hours, you know? Anyway, what can I get you?”

“I’ll have four black coffees and a medium caramel latte. No sugar or cream, please.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll have them ready in a moment.”

“Great, thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to wait in my car outside.”

Miranda flashed a beaming smile. “No trouble at all. I’ll bring ‘em out in five minutes.”

The officer turned to leave. Miranda watched her body as it exited. Not bad, she thought. Not bad at all.

She went to work preparing the drinks. Three minutes later, five fresh steaming cups of coffee sat on a serving tray. But they were not ordinary drinks. Miranda had carefully mixed a few selective chemicals into each cup. She also made sure not to add any caffeine. It would only cancel out the effects.

Balancing the tray on one hand, Miranda sashayed out of the shop, instantly spotting the police car parked out front. It was blue and white, with the words “Los Angeles Police Department” written on the side. Miranda walked over to the driver’s side of the car and tapped on the window.

The window rolled down, and the pretty policewoman seated behind it smiled. “Wow, you’re fast. Kind of makes me wish Bethany would take the day off more often.” She laughed. Miranda did, too.

“So how much do I owe you?” the policewoman asked, pulling out her checkbook. Miranda held up a hand in protest. “Please, officer, I couldn’t charge a defender of the law like you. Compliments of the Coffeepot.”

“Well, thank you!” the policewoman brightened. “You are a genuine sweetheart.” She reached for the tray and placed it on the seat beside her. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You, too, ma’am… Oh! Before you go, could you just take a little sip from one of the drinks? We employees want to make sure that our most honorable customers have their coffee served just right.”

“Of course,” the policewoman beamed. She picked one of the black coffees up from the tray, removed the lid, and took a few healthy swallows. Then she placed the cup down, a smear of lipstick now on its rim. “Delightful,” she grinned. “Absolutely delight… oh… oh, my…” She suddenly began to look a little tired. She leaned back in her seat, eyelids fluttering. A few moments later, her head slumped to the side. She was fast asleep.

Miranda quickly unlocked the car door and eased inside, brushing the slumbering officer from the driver’s seat. She pressed the gas pedal and drove the police car out of its parking space and maneuvered it into the back alley behind the coffee shop. There, the two of them would certainly be alone.

Miranda stopped the car in the secluded area and turned to her sleeping passenger, brushing the hair from the woman’s face. “Afraid I lied about there being no payment, love,” she grinned. “Actually, it’s going to cost you those clothes you’re now wearing.”

With that, she leaned over and began unfastening the policewoman’s jacket. One, two, three buttons were undone, and the jacket was eased off the woman’s shoulders. Miranda neatly folded up the jacket and set it down in the back seat. She would put it on herself in a few minutes.

Miranda took off the woman’s black hat. Then she pulled off the white gloves, admiring their silky texture. She put them all daintily the back seat.

Miranda untied the woman’s black tie and slipped it out of the collar. She set that aside, too, and went to work on removing the woman’s starched white button-down shirt. Seven buttons were undone and the shirt opened, revealing a tasty cleavage encased in a white lace bra. The shirt was carefully folded and placed beside the jacket.

Miranda unzipped the woman’s boots and eased them off, placing them on the floor. The pants were pulled off next, giving Miranda a wonderful look at two shapely, black nylon-encased legs. She pulled off the tights, too, giving her a glimpse of the woman’s blue Lycra panties.

“Atta girl… feeling dominant today, were we?” Miranda laughed as she placed the folded pants and tights on the back seat. “It’s so good to have strong women upholding the law these days. Unfortunately, some of us are stronger than others.” She giggled as she began working her body free of the uniform and heels she had appropriated from the Coffeepot employee.



Thirty Maidens All in a Row (Part Two)

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Once Miranda had successfully freed herself from the confinement of the uniform, she flexed her underwear-clad body in refreshment. Her brief stint as a coffee waitress had been fun, but she now had to move on to other things.

“Watch out, clothing – here I come,” she smiled as she stepped over the dozing officer and into the back seat.

Miranda pulled the black tights up her legs, enjoying their warm feel. She stuck her arms through the shirtsleeves and buttoned the shirt up to the collar. Then she pulled on the pants.

“Glad you go for the leggings, doll,” she said to her slumbering captive. “Me, I’ve never been much of a skirt-wearer.”

The black tie was slipped through the collar and tied around Miranda’s neck. Next came the white gloves, followed by the peaked hat. Miranda then zipped up the boots, admiring their polish. Then she glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, studying the uniformed woman who stared back.

“Wow,” she said. “You know, I feel like a real policewoman. If I’m not careful, I might arrest myself.” She laughed.

“Anyway,” she turned to the slumbering officer, “let’s get you under wraps.”

Miranda opened the glove compartment, and her eyes lit up. Resting inside were two pairs of handcuffs, alongside a thick roll of silver duct tape. “Jackpot,” she murmured.

Miranda cuffed the policewoman’s hands behind her back with one pair, then cuffed her ankles with the other. She tore off a generous strip of duct tape.

“You have the right to remain silent, sugar,” she grinned as she wound the tape over the policewoman’s lower face three times, completely covering her mouth. “Anything you say can and will be interpreted as a series of muffled cries and whimpers.”

Miranda eased the policewoman gently into the space beneath the back seat of the van.”You look a little lonely, love,” she cooed. “Why don’t I get you a playmate.”

Miranda swung open the door to the police car, and her low-heeled boots hit the blacktop. She walked over to the row of garbage cans and lifted the lid off of one. Inside, still dozing, lay the attractive and well-restrained figure of Bethany.

“Up we go, Beth.” Miranda lifted the beauteous blonde out of the bin and carried her over to the waiting vehicle. She opened the back door and slid her inside so that she was directly facing the bound and gagged policewoman. It was a tight fit, but she managed it. Miranda shut the door.

She then slid into the front seat, closed the door, and buckled her seat belt. “Safety first,” she mused. “Wouldn’t want a cop to pull us over.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror at the two occupants lying on the floor behind her. “Now you two gals get to know each other, a’right? I already see you fit well together.” She chuckled as she removed a key from the inside of her uniform jacket and slid it into the ignition.

The engine roared. Miranda pressed her heel against the gas pedal and backed out of the alley. Then she gripped the steering wheel with gloved hands and headed downtown.

As Miranda guided the car expertly through the city streets, a low whimpering noise from behind caught her ears. The roar of the engine had roused Bethany from her sleep, and she was now pleading for mercy.

Miranda sighed. “Come on, kitten, that ain’t fair. I go to all the trouble of tying you up, and already want to be set free?”

The whimpers grew louder. Miranda flicked on the car radio and turned up the volume. The heavy metal music which emanated drowned out all sounds from the whimpering captive.

“I think I just became a fan of this band,” Miranda giggled.

Four minutes later, the car slowed and pulled in to the parking lot adjoining the district’s police station. She found a parking space and shut off the engine.

Bethany was sobbing helplessly through her gag. Miranda frowned. “Hey, kid, doesn’t that Coffeepot pay you to smile?” She picked up the tray of coffee cups from the nearby seat. “Well, don’t expect any knights in shining armor to come and rescue you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Miranda stepped out of the car, locking the doors behind her, and headed toward the door which connected the garage and police station. She balanced the tray effortlessly with one hand, careful not to spill any of the four drugged drinks which lay upon it.

The lobby of the station was small but inviting. A couple of policewomen in uniforms identical to Miranda’s sat at a table and concentrated on a game of chess. A bored young secretary sat behind the main desk and monitored the phones, which currently weren’t ringing. All seemed at peace.

Miranda walked over to the front desk and smiled at the secretary behind it. The young woman was wearing a green sweater, plaid skirt, and sensible brown shoes. Her brown hair was tied in a bun at the back of her neck. She looked up at Miranda, brown eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles. “Something to report, officer?”

Miranda enjoyed the authority that came with her warm and well-fitting uniform. “No, all quiet on the L.A. front,” she replied. “I just came by to offer you a cup of fresh caffeinated goodness.” She held out one of the coffees.

The secretary looked surprised. “Why… thank you, ma’am,” she stammered. “But why – ?”

Miranda shook her head, red hair waving back and forth. “No need to thank me, dear,” she smiled warmly. “It’s just my little way of thanking you for doing such a tidy job.”

The girl accepted the coffee. “Wow, thank you! This is really unexpected… I mean, I just started work here yesterday!”

Miranda’s smile broadened. “Well, I think you’re going to have yourself a pretty interesting first week,” she replied, eyes twinkling. Then she turned and carried the tray with the three remaining cups to the other side of the room.


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The two policewomen were so engrossed in their chess game that they did not look up until Miranda set the tray of coffees down on the table. One of the women was tall, dark-haired, and pretty, with a wedding ring on one finger; the other was younger, with long blond hair and blue eyes. They smiled at Miranda for a moment, and then returned to their game.

Miranda set one coffee down near the blonde’s elbow, eyeing the chessboard as she did so. “if I may be of service, sweet pea,” she whispered into the blonde’s ear, “knight to B5.”

The blonde’s face brightened, and she made the move. She looked graciously up at Miranda, who beamed. The blonde took a few sips of the coffee and continued playing.

Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda could see the secretary had already nodded off. She turned her attention to the dark-haired officer. “Coffee, dear?”

The woman shook her head. “I don’t drink. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Miranda extended a gloved hand. “Officer Kathy Preston,” she lied. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

The officer shook her hand. “Officer Heather Watson,” she stated. Then she glanced at her blonde companion. “Angela, what’s wrong? You look tired.”

Angela yawned. “I… I don’t know… I feel like I should… ohhh...” She was fast asleep.

Heather suddenly noticed that the grip which “Officer Preston” had around her hand was tightening. “What are you doing… Let go…” she protested.

Miranda delivered a quick judo chop to the base of the woman’s neck. Heather slumped forward, knocking her arm into the coffee tray as she did so. The two remaining coffees fell and spilled onto the floor.

Miranda frowned. She had planned on using those coffees on other women. Well, at least she had subdued three of them. She adjusted the peaked cap over her hair and surveyed the scene. She was the only conscious woman in the room.

“Now, I believe you gals are in need of some serious stripping,” she smiled.

One by one, Miranda dragged the slumbering females into a supply room and lay them on the floor, side by side. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Who goes first, then?” she asked aloud.

Just then, the front door to the station opened, and a woman’s voice announced, “Anyone here?”

Miranda stepped out of the supply room. Standing by the front door was a young woman dressed in a dark microfiber pantsuit and heels. She had brown hair, green eyes, and was clutching a suitcase with one hand.

“Hello, officer,” the woman stated. “I’m the building inspector. I’m here to ensure that all in this office is running smoothly.”

“So far, everything is perfect,” Miranda replied with a crafty smile. “Why don’t you step right this way, and I’ll show you around.”

The inspector walked ahead of Miranda as they headed into the supply room. The woman stopped short and gasped as she saw the three unconscious females on the floor.

“This is where I keep my work materials,” Miranda said as she pressed a pistol into the inspector’s back. The woman dropped her suitcase and put her hands in the air. Her body began to tremble.

She did not know that Miranda’s pistol was empty. But Miranda didn’t need her to. “I’ve got a job for you, darling. Start stripping those three sleepyheads. Work fast, and you might live to work another day.”

The inspector’s eyes widened, but she hurried to obey. In a few minutes, the officers had been relieved of their jackets, shirts, pant and boots, and now lay relaxing in their underwear. Angela wore a white set with blue trimming, while Heather’s was a very light shade of pink. The inspector was just now finishing her stripping of the secretary, who wore a blue over-the shoulder bra and white panties.

This day just keeps getting better, Miranda mused.

“Great work, love,” she addressed the inspector. “Now you see those pairs of handcuffs over there? Cuff our friends’ wrists and ankles. And while you’re at it, use that roll of duct tape on their mouths.”

“You… you can’t do this… it’s barbaric,” the inspector stammered. “These women are good people. You have no right to do this to them.”

“Girlfriend, I’m not doing it… you are! Now hurry up. My trigger-finger is starting to itch.”

The inspector pulled the cuffs and duct tape off the shelves and began binding and gagging the helpless females. Miranda stood by, watching the scene bemusedly, her gun never pointing away from the inspector’s chest.

Minutes later, the inspector finished her work and stood up. Miranda smiled at her gratefully.

“Thanks, babe. Now I’ve got one more teensy favor to ask you. Would you mind wiggling out of that business suit?”

The inspector’s mouth opened in protest, but she took another look at the gun Miranda was holding and closed it again. She lowered her head and began unzipping her jacket.

The suit slid down her body to reveal a well-toned, curvy figure in a white set of bra and panties. The inspector removed her heels and cast them aside. She looked up at Miranda and bit her lip.

Miranda gestured to the roll of duct tape on the floor. The inspector gave a low audible groan as she picked it up, tore off a strip, and pulled it over her own mouth.

“There we go. Now, think you’re able to cuff your own hands behind your back?”

The inspector took a spare pair of handcuffs and, after a bit of effort, did just that. She then sat down hard on the floor and cuffed her ankles. When she was finished, Miranda applauded.

“Atta girl… you make a good assistant. From here on, though, I’ve got to do all the work.”

One by one, the bound and gagged women were picked up and carried to the parking garage next door. Miranda decided that the police car would not hold so many women, so she chose a parked white police van instead. Thankfully, the key she had used in the car also worked for the van. Once the four helpless females were resting not-so-comfortably in the back of the van, Miranda brought Bethany and the dark-haired officer to join them.

“All settled in? Good… From here on, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

Miranda got behind the wheel. “Six down,” she murmured with a smile. “Lots more to go.”
The white police van cruised through the streets of downtown Los Angeles. Miranda rolled down the window and let the breezy wind caress her dark hair. She stopped at corners, always letting pedestrians pass. And every so often, she would glance in the rearview mirror at the six helpless females who lay whimpering and wriggling on the floor, struggling against bonds that would not break and gags which would not loosen.

“Easy, kittens,” Miranda smiled, rolling the window back up. “Wouldn’t want your meows to be heard, would we?”

A barrage of muffled noises met her ears. Miranda turned the van down Ellington Street and looked up at the large building which loomed ahead. “Guess what, ladies,” she smiled at her captives, “here’s our next stop.”

She circled the van around the back of the building and parked it near a large pile of boxes which were awaiting delivery. She then unbuckled and slid out the van door, blowing her prisoners a swift kiss.

“Ta-Ta, sweethearts,” she said, eyes glinting. “I’ll be back soon… right after I fetch you some companions.” She shut the door. The van masked the whimpers nicely.

Miranda walked around to the front of the building and headed up the front steps. A sign on the door read:

ELLINGTON WOMEN’S GYMNASIUM
HOURS: 6 AM – MIDNIGHT

Miranda licked her lips and pushed the door open.

The lobby of the gym was empty, but this did not surprise Miranda too much. It was a weekday, after all. Most women were at work. However, she was rather certain she would find a few good-looking ladies around.

Miranda ducked down a side hallway and stepped into a disused broom closet. Her policewoman uniform was attractive, but she would look out of place in it. She unbuttoned the jacket and shirt, and eased them off, revealing the lacey pink bra she had obtained from Bethany. She noted with some satisfaction that the cups had adjusted their form to better fit over her breasts.

The sound of footsteps alerted her, and she peered through a crack in the doorway. A tall blond woman, her hair done up in a ponytail, dressed in a blue and white leotard, was walking down the hallway, a small towel draped over her shoulder. She seemed to be on her way to the bathroom. Miranda noticed beads of sweat dripping down the woman’s chin and onto her well-endowed chest. She had clearly been in a workout.

As the blonde walked nonchalantly past the broom closet, the door swung open. Two hands reached out and grabbed her shoulders. Before she could even gasp, she was pulled off balanced and was swallowed up in the darkness. The door clicked shut.

Ten minutes later, the door opened again, and Miranda strutted out. The blue and white leotard she now wore covered her entire body, excepting her hands, feet, and head. The outfit fit comfortably, and accentuated her well-placed curves. However, the cold tiled floor gave her a mild shiver. “Still,” she mused, “life isn’t perfect… Don’t you agree, girlfriend?”

Miranda addressed the former owner of the leotard, who now resided in the closet. She was completely naked and bound with rubber hosing Miranda had found on the shelf. Her mouth had been stuffed with Miranda’s panties and covered with the towel. She glanced up at Miranda, fear in her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Miranda smiled broadly at her. “Oh, come on, gorgeous. When you wear an outfit this good, you have to expect that you’ll be mugged for it every now and then.” She swung her hips and laughed. The blonde began to sob through her gag. Miranda gave her body one last appreciative glance before closing the door and shutting her into total darkness.

Miranda whistled the tune she had played earlier in the police car softly to herself. She would need to find the name of this band. She walked up to the large double doors which led into the gymnasium and pushed them open.

The room inside was large and matted and filled with exercise equipment. There were four women inside. In one corner, a woman in a purple leotard swung back and forth on a pair of rings. In another, an orange-clad woman balanced herself carefully on a wooden beam. Two other women, one in green, one in magenta red, chatted with each other as they worked on exercise bikes.

Miranda studied each of these women and mentally removed their clothing. She liked what she saw. She sidled up behind the two women on the exercise bikes, catching some of their conversation.

“The dinner was wonderful,” the young blonde sighed, pedaling vigorously. “He was such a gentleman. He asked me out this weekend, too. I love dating mechanics.”

“So, what’s this guy’s name?” the older brunette asked.

“Jake Corbin,” was the reply.

Miranda stopped short. Jake Corbin the mechanic? That sounded like her boyfriend!

Miranda listened to the blonde’s description of the man and nodded to herself. Yes, it was her Jake. Her cheeks flushed with anger. She reached out and pulled the blonde off the exercise bike.

“Hey, what—“ the woman protested. She looked up at Miranda, who managed the biggest smile she could.

“Hi, beautiful,” she said. “That guy you’re going out with… I’d prefer if you kept away from him.”

The blonde stared at her, puzzled and a bit annoyed. “Don’t tell me what to do. Who do you think you are?”

Miranda smiled genuinely. “I’m here on business only, sweetheart,” she replied. “But you just made it personal.”

With that, she lashed out at the woman, striking her between the shoulder blades. With a moan, the blonde pitched forward and lay facedown on the mat.

The brunette stepped off her bike in shock. “What did you do that for? Fighting over a mere man.”

Miranda shrugged. “Oh, I was going to knock her out anyway… and the rest of you, in fact. She just had it coming.”


By now, the short-haired blonde and the redhead on the other side of the gym had stopped their exercise and walked over. The three women now surrounded Miranda. They did not look happy.

“Are you looking for a fight, tough gal?” the redhead asked.

Miranda’s eyes twinkled. “No, but I guess I wouldn’t mind one. So far, all the girls I’ve kidnapped have given up pretty easily.”

The redhead’s eyes widened. “I’m calling the cops.”

Miranda grinned. “Tied them all up.”

The redhead grabbed Miranda’s arm and flipped her over her head. Miranda turned over in midair and landed on her feet. She turned to the three women. “Well? Come and get me.”

The three women charged. Miranda sidestepped them and stuck out her foot. The redhead gasped as she tripped and fell on the mat. Her two companions landed on top of her.

“That all you got, ladies?” Miranda smiled.

The brunette stood up and lunged at her. Miranda tried to dodge, but the woman was faster. She grabbed Miranda’s arm and held firmly. The blonde then grabbed her other arm, trapping her.

The redhead smiled as she curled her hand into a fist. “All right, Miss Smart-mouth,” she said. “Time to teach you a lesson.”

Miranda’s arms may have been pinned, but she was far from helpless. As the fist swung toward her, she kicked up her legs and grabbed the redhead’s wrist between her own ankles. Then she twisted, hard. The redhead collapsed to the floor, moaning in pain.

So surprised by this turn of events were the other two women that they unknowingly loosened their grip on Miranda’s arms… an error they quickly came to regret, as Miranda lashed out and elbowed both of them in the stomachs. The woman sank to the floor. Miranda dealt a pair of neck chops which sent them both swiftly into unconsciousness.

The redhead staggered to her feet. She glared at Miranda. “I’ll make you… pay… for this.”

“You’ve got it wrong, Wondergirl,” Miranda replied. “My client will be paying for you.” Then she swung out her leg and connected with the woman’s jaw. The redhead slid silently to the floor.

Miranda stretched, appreciating a job well done. At that moment, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw the boyfriend-stealing blonde had recovered and was making a run for the door.

Miranda gave a flying leap, grabbing the blonde’s ankles. “Don’t go anywhere, honey… The party’s just getting started.”

The blonde let out a brief scream before Miranda’s hand had covered her mouth. “Shush, dear… I prefer my girls quiet.” She turned the blonde over onto her back and pinned down her arms and legs. “So keep your lips sealed… unless you want the same treatment I gave to your friends.”

The blonde’s eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically from side to side.

“Good,” Miranda smiled. “Now what say we separate you from that leotard…”

Twenty minutes later, Miranda placed her hands on her hips and smiled. Sitting before her were five lovely young women, stark naked. They were all bound with exercise ropes and gagged with hockey-stick tape that Miranda had found in the gym closet. The women glared at her, muffled curses emanating from behind their gags.

Miranda herself was completely naked, though she didn’t seem to mind the prospect. Rather, she simply nodded her approval at the display of women before her.

“Don’t worry, girls,” she said. “I’ll get you out through the back door. No one will catch you in your current states of undress.” Her brow furrowed. “The only problem is, the van I have out back probably won’t fit the lot of you… and certainly not the eighteen other girls I need to collect.”

As she tapped her chin in thought, a rumbling sound alerted her from outside. Glancing out the window, she saw a large truck pulling into the alley behind the gym. The door opened, and a young woman stepped out. She was dressed in a green jumpsuit, low-heeled black boots, and sunglasses. Her blonde hair was tucked away beneath a green baseball cap. She walked over to the pile of crates which rested against the wall of the gym.

The blonde woman surveyed the boxes she was set to deliver that day. “Better get started,” she murmured. She bent down to pick up the first box.

A sound from above alerted her. She looked up just in time to see a smiling, naked brunette jumping down from the window towards her. Then everything went black.

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Miranda had always loved playing dress-up. Perhaps that was why she received such a thrill from disguising herself in so many uniforms. Whatever the reason, she was certainly enjoying the idea of trying on the tight green jumpsuit. She squeezed her body into the outfit and pulled the zipper up to her neck. She rolled on the thick white socks and pulled the low-heeled black boots on over them. She adjusted the baseball cap over her long dark hair and put on the sunglasses. The outfit was tight. So were the white bra and panties. But she needed to steal all of the female truck driver’s clothing. She could not perform the rest of her job while walking around in the nude.

“And speaking of nude…” Miranda smiled and looked over to the inside of the back of the truck, where the real driver lay. She wore no clothing at all, and was hogtied and tapegagged as well. Her eyed stared at Miranda with a mixture of fear, pleading, and anger. Miranda walked over, leaned in, and kissed her gingerly on the forehead.

“There, there, buttercup,” she grinned. “I know you’re feeling a bit lonely back here. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll get you eleven other gals to join you. Won’t that be fun?”

The blonde moaned something through her gag. Miranda stroked her hair. “I hear you, sister,” she said with a chuckle. “Now sit tight, be a good girl, and maybe I’ll let you sit up front.”

Miranda turned her heel and headed for the nearby police van. Within minutes, she had transferred the four policewomen, the secretary, and Bethany the Coffeepot employee to the much larger delivery truck. Then she headed into the gym and smuggled the five gymnastic women out the back door, placing them with all the rest.

Miranda stood back and admired her handiwork. All twelve women she now stared at had begun their day with no idea that they were going to be stripped, tied up, and kidnapped. All twelve women had been unpleasantly surprised.

“But I guess life is full of surprises, eh, gals?” Miranda laughed. As the women struggled and mewled helplessly through their gags, Miranda reached behind one of the blondes and removed a package that had been lying in the truck before she had hijacked it.

“This could come in handy, don’tcha think?” she inquired. The only answers she received were inaudible, so tucking the small package under her arm, she winked at her helpless prisoners and shut the door, plunging the women into total darkness.

Miranda strode over to a nearby building, whistling the tune she had heard over the police car radio. She made a mental note to buy the CD with the song when all this was over. Miranda grinned. With the money she would make from this job, she could probably retire. Not that she ever would – her job was way too much fun.

Miranda walked inside the apartment building and looked at the directory that was on the wall. She studied it for a few minutes, trying to figure out which room she should deliver the package to. After a bit of thought, she decided on Room 114. It was on the first floor, and housed three female residents. Miranda guessed that at least one of them would be attractive enough to become part of her little group.

Still whistling softly, she walked down the carpeted hallway, soon arriving at 114. She knocked twice and waited. After a few minutes, a female voice from the other side inquired, “Who is it?”

“Federal Express,” Miranda answered.

The door opened to reveal a tall, shapely woman in her early thirties, with brown hair and eyes, dressed in a flight attendant’s uniform. She wore a blue jacket and knee-length skirt, a white button-down shirt, shiny black high-heeled shoes, and a blue pillbox hat with the airport logo on it.

“Odd,” she said. “I don’t remember ordering anything. Well, it must have been Heidi or Lucille.”

“May I wait for them here?” Miranda inquired. “I kind of need to deliver this package in person.”

“Oh, I suppose so.” The woman smiled and stepped back, allowing Miranda to enter. “I just got back from work. I’m a bit jet-lagged. My two roommates should be back in a few minutes.”

“Perfect,” Miranda smiled.

As the flight attendant closed the door, Miranda whirled around and clamped a hand over her mouth. Before the woman could react, a swift karate blow had sent her into unconsciousness.

“You look a little tired, girlfriend,” Miranda grinned. “Why don’t I relieve you of duty… and your uniform.”

******

Tricia adjusted her gown as she checked her reflection in the large mirror on the wall of the dressing room. The glittering gown was a deep blue, with short sleeves and a tight waist. White satin gloves reached up to her elbows. High-heeled shoes adorned her feet, with a small opening in front to reveal red-painted toenails. Her long blonde hair was swept up in a bun, held in place by a dazzling set of jewels. A diamond-encrusted choker hugged her neck. Tricia let the sun rays from the open skylight above catch their glint in her clothing. She felt like a princess.

Behind her, brunettes Heather and Maxine sat in their own chairs, carefully applying their makeup. They were similarly attired as Tricia, though Heather’s gown was pink, and Maxine’s green.

Heather turned to her friend. “Tricia, are you done checking yourself out yet? I could use some help getting this necklace on.”

Tricia smiled. “Of course, dear,” she replied. She strutted over to the seated Heather and carefully placed the diamond choker around her neck.

A small gas bomb dropped from the open skylight. It hit the floor and exploded, sending gas throughout the room. Tricia gasped, unwittingly breathing in the fumes. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she sank to the floor, as Heather and Maxine slumped over in their seats.

Three ropes dropped down from the skylight, and three tall, muscular women slid down them. They were all dressed in black skintight catsuits, with gas masks covering their faces. Their sponge-padded boots hit the floor silently.

Quickly, methodically, the intruders stripped the three unconscious women of their gowns, gloves, heels, and jewelry, and carefully laid them aside. The blonde woman opened the closet door and procured three thick black rolls of duct tape. Working swiftly, the women wound the duct tape many times over the lengths of their captives’ bodies, mummifying them. The bound and gagged females were then carried over to the closet and thrown inside. The door was closed and padlocked, ensuring that there would be no escape for the helpless prisoners.

The three intruders removed their gas masks, for the overpowering fumes had by now dissipated into the air. Then they began dressing themselves in the gowns which they had stripped off their victims. They pulled on the white gloves and high heels, and adjusted the tiaras and necklaces. They then set about freshening themselves up with mascara and blusher, paying no attention to the closet in the corner or the three underwear-clad beauties they had stashed inside it.


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Vanessa sat on a bench in the theater lobby, pretending to read a fashion magazine. The sign on the large double doors which led into the auditorium read “Must Have Ticket For Admittance”.

Dozens of people approached the door and handed their tickets to the man standing near it. He scalped the tickets and opened the door for the people to enter.

Vanessa twirled a lock of brown hair around her finger as she watched a female usher walk past her. The woman was dressed in a smart red jacket, cream-colored shirt, black pants, and sneakers. She disappeared through a side door, which swung shut behind her.

Vanessa put down her magazine, stood up, and followed the woman, taking care that no one should see her. On the other side of the door were two doorways which led into small cubicles, one marked “Men” and the other “Women”.

Two minutes later, the “Women” door opened, and the female usher emerged. She nearly bumped into Vanessa. “Oh! I’m sorry, ma’am!”

“No trouble at all, honey,” Vanessa beamed. “Say, do you have the time? My watch appears to be broken.”

“Of course.” The usher smiled and glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s twelve-thirt— ahh!”

She let out a barely audible groan as Vanessa wrapped an arm around her neck and squeezed. The usher struggled, gasping for air, as Vanessa applied pressure to the base of her neck. Within moments, the woman’s reflexes slowed, and she slumped forward in Vanessa’s grip.

Vanessa opened the door to the ladies’ room with her free hand and dragged the usher inside. She closed and locked the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Vanessa opened the door and stepped out. She was now dressed in the usher’s uniform and sneakers. The real usher was out cold, clad only in her white Spartan bra and panties, and seated on the toilet. Her wrists were tied behind her back, and her ankles were bound to the sides of the toilet bowl. A strip of duct tape covered her mouth, which was now filled with Vanessa’s panties.

Vanessa left an “Out of Order” sign on the ladies’ room door and walked back out into the main lobby. She walked up to the double doors. The man let her in with a smile. She smiled back as she entered the auditorium.

******

The apartment was strangely quiet as Heidi and Lucille entered. They expected Bonita to have already been there.

“She must’ve gone to bed,” Lucille mused. “Think I’ll join her as soon as I slip out of my flight attendant uniform.” She stepped into the bathroom.

“Sure thing, Lucy,” Heidi replied. “I think I’ll go brew myself a pot of coffee.” She headed for the kitchen.

Heidi stopped short as she entered the kitchen. Standing at the counter was a woman dressed in a flight attendant’s uniform. Her back was turned, but Heidi instantly assumed who she was.

“Bonita! So glad you’re back. Are you making coffee there? I think I’ll join you.”

Without turning towards Heidi, the flight attendant pointed to a note taped to the fridge. Curious, Heidi walked over and read it.

“I’m not Bonita. The real Bonita is a little tied up at the moment. And you’ll be joining her, I’m afraid. First, however, I need you to strip off your uniform. Thanx, Miranda.”

Heidi turned around, her short brown hair bobbing. “What kind of stupid letter is thi—“

She stopped midsentence. The other flight attendant was now facing her, pointing a gun directly at her breasts. The woman was definitely not Bonita.

“How do you do,” Miranda smiled, tipping her pillbox hat. “I advise you not to scream or make any sudden movements. You’re a pretty one, and you’re worth more alive.”

Heidi’s mouth opened in shock. “What… have you done with my friend?”

“She’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.” Miranda glanced out the kitchen door. “But she – and you – won’t be, unless you follow my instructions to the letter.”

Heidi was silent, but Miranda could tell that she was willing to obey.

“Good!” Miranda gestured to a damp cloth pad which rested on the table. “Pick that up and hold it behind your back. Then call your friend in here. When she comes in, press it over her nose and mouth, and don’t let go. Got it?”

Heidi nodded, afraid. She hid the cloth behind her back and called out, “Lucy! Lucy, come in here, please!”

Lucy stepped out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel. She saw Heidi standing in the kitchen, but she couldn’t see Miranda. “What is it, Heid?”

Heidi swallowed. “Come here. There’s something I… need to show you.”

Lucille noticed how scared her friend looked, and she walked toward her. “Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “I’m coming.”

She stepped into the kitchen next to Heidi, then saw Miranda standing there with a gun. “What – who are you?”

Heidi pulled the chloroform pad out from behind her and pressed it over Lucille’s mouth. Lucille’s eyes widened as the fumes began to overtake her.

“Please, Lucy, don’t fight it,” Heidi whispered in her friend’s ear. “Otherwise, she’ll…”

Lucille didn’t hear the rest. She slumped forward in Heidi’s grip, her long blonde tresses falling over her face..

“Keep chloroforming her for another thirty seconds,” Miranda ordered. “I want to be sure that she’ll get lots of shuteye.”

Heidi obeyed. Thirty seconds later, she let go of Lucille, who slid to the floor.

“Good girl. Now what say you start peeling off that uniform.”

Heidi had no idea who this woman was, but she continued to follow her orders. She unbuttoned her blue jacket and slid it off. She pulled her skirt down her legs, revealing a pair of nude-colored tights. She unbuttoned her crisp white shirt and eased it off her shoulders, revealing a decorative lacy pink bra.

“You can keep the underwear, dear, but lose the tights.” Miranda said.

Heidi pulled off her tights, revealing her legs in all their slenderness, along with a pair of white cotton panties.

Miranda gave a mock whistle. “Bravo, girl,” she said. “Now reach into that cupboard behind you and pull out some duct tape, will you? I need you wrapped up before you can join my club.”

Heidi didn’t understand this, but she turned around and opened the cupboard. She let out a cry of shock. Lying on the floor, dressed only in a white bra and pink panties, tied up and gagged with tape, was the slumbering figure of Bonita.

The next moment, Miranda’s gun-butt sent her not-so-blissfully into unconsciousness.

“On second thought,” Miranda smiled, “I’ll get the duct tape myself.”

She began taping Heidi’s wrists behind her back, and taping her ankles together. Next, she daintily smoothed a strip of tape over Heidi’s full red lips. Then she repeated this process with Lucille, who was already naked.

“Thanks, girl,” Miranda smiled. “You’ve been doing my work for me.”



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Miranda propped her legs up on the dashboard of the delivery truck and leaned back in her seat. She had changed back from her flight attendant uniform to the green delivery truck uniform. She glanced at her watch. It was by now early afternoon, and she had captured fifteen out of the thirty women she was hired for.

The sounds of moaning and struggling came from the body of the truck behind her. It was music to her ears. She was proud that she was getting paid thousands of dollars for doing something she enjoyed.

Miranda turned around and slid open the small observation window that looked into the back of the truck. The floor of the truck was now half-covered with bound-and-gagged females. Miranda smiled. Every woman she had met that day was now her prisoner.

“Well, girls,” she announced to her captives, “I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that there’ll be another dozen or so beauties joining you before the end of the day. The bad news is that this truck will soon be getting pretty crowded. If you’re okay with that, please moan into your gags.”

The women moaned. Miranda smiled.”That’s my girls.” She closed the observation window.

On the passenger seat next to Miranda was a magazine of upcoming events in and around Los Angeles. Curious, she picked it up and began flipping through it. Maybe something would provide her with an opportunity to snag the rest of the women she needed.

Around halfway through the magazine, something caught her eye. She gazed at the picture, and the article next to it. A smile played on her lips. Here was the opportunity she needed.

Miranda shifted the truck into gear and backed it out of the alleyway. Then she began driving downtown. Once more, she was careful to buckle her seatbelt and obey all stoplights. After all, she mused, she wouldn’t want to break the law.

******

Vanessa strode past the aisles in the auditorium and headed toward the stage. Already, people were seated, waiting for the show to begin. Vanessa adjusted her red vest over her shoulders and headed backstage.

Men and women bustled about, making last-minute preparations before the show began. No one paid Vanessa any heed. She scanned the crowd, searching for one woman in particular. She spotted her in one of the makeup chairs, as hairstylists and manicurists prepared to make her look as lovely as possible.

Not that they had to try very hard. The woman was tall, blonde, and of stunning build. Even without makeup, she was drop-dead gorgeous. But it wasn’t the woman Vanessa was paying attention to, but the dress she wore. The blonde was clad in a long blue strapless gown which was encrusted with hundreds of tiny diamonds. When she moved, she glittered. She was the centerpiece of the attraction.

Vanessa wanted that dress. She estimated it was worth over four hundred thousand dollars. With that kind of money, she could become wealthy and powerful, admired by the world. Vanessa wanted that dress, and she meant to get it. But it would take careful planning to do so.

Vanessa strode over to one of the manicurists, who was preparing a bottle of nail polish. “Pardon me, miss,” she said, “but I believe your car is being towed.”

“Oh my!” the woman cried. She set down the bottle of polish. “I’ll be right back,” she told the blonde woman, who glared at her in response.

“You’d better be,” she said icily.

The manicurist followed Vanessa down a dark hallway toward the parking lot. “That woman… she is so bossy! It’s a pleasure to meet someone who is willing to help me out when my car is in trouble. You’re a wonderful lady.”

Vanessa grabbed the woman by the scruff of her collar and pulled her into a storage closet. The woman’s cries for help went unheard, along with the sounds of Vanessa punching her lights out.

Vanessa stripped the manicurist of her pink dress and white shoes and put them on herself. She used the usher’s uniform to bind her victim and her brassiere to gag her. Then she hid her underneath a pile of blankets and headed back the way she came. Already she could picture the money she was going to receive.

******

Miranda parked the truck in the lot and looked up at the building before her. The Marshall Convention Center loomed large above the smaller buildings around it. People wandered into the building in droves. Anyone could tell that something big was going on there.

The magazine article Miranda had read stated that a fashion show would be occurring at the Convention Center. Beautiful women would strut across the stage in gorgeous dresses, displaying the latest designs from the fashionably keen. Miranda grinned. A place like this was the perfect target.

The show would not start for at least another thirty minutes, and so most of the models were probably preparing backstage. Keeping that in mind, Miranda made her way around to the back of the building.

The back door was locked, as Miranda had expected. As she pondered how to get in, the door began to open from the inside. Miranda quickly hid behind the outward-swinging door as she watched a maid walk out.

The maid was of medium height, slender, with blonde hair tied into a bun. Her uniform consisted of a light blue blouse, a dark blue knee-length skirt, and white laced shoes. In one hand she held a pack of cigarettes. She was clearly stepping outside for a smoking break. Not noticing Miranda, the maid removed a cigarette from the pack.

“Gee, honey,” Miranda stated. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you how dangerous those things are?”

The maid turned, surprised, to see Miranda, who grabbed her shoulder and squeezed a nerve. The maid’s eyes blinked twice, and then closed as she lapsed into unconsciousness.

“See what I mean? Dangerous.” Miranda eased the maid to the ground and began unbuttoning her uniform.

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Ten minutes later, it was Miranda who was wearing the uniform, while the maid was now clad in only her white underwear, hogtied with the delivery jumpsuit and gagged with Miranda’s panties. Miranda used the maid’s keys to unlock the door and opened it a crack. Resting near the exit was the maid’s laundry cart, filled with women’s clothing and underwear. The hallway before her was currently empty.

Miranda dropped the maid into the cart and covered her with the laundry. The she began pushing the cart down the hallway towards the backstage wing of the Convention Center. To anyone who passed, she was just an ordinary maid performing her duties.

“If the maids look as gorgeous as you, love,” she whispered into the pile of laundry, “I can’t wait to see the models.”

She continued pushing the cart down the hallway and towards the models’ makeup rooms. As she rolled the cart past the doorways, she glanced inside some of them and saw several beautiful young women in dresses of all colors and fabrics readying themselves for the show ahead. Miranda wanted to jump a few of them right then and there, but she knew that would raise an alarm. She bit her lip in thought. How would she go about obtaining these women?

As her brain processed and discarded several plans, Miranda failed to notice a doorway ahead of her opening and three tall women in long dresses, gloves, and jewelry step out.

“Watch it!” the blonde one snapped.

Miranda abruptly stopped her cart. She smiled at the scowling female.

“Sorry, ma’am. Guess I’ve got my head caught in the clouds.”

The blonde glared at her with steely cold blue eyes. Then with a satin-gloved hand, she motioned to her two companions to follow her to the auditorium. They all turned on their heels and left.

Miranda raised an eyebrow. Something wasn’t right about those three. They were… different from the other models somehow. And could it just be her imagination, or was the green dress a size too small for the woman wearing it?

Her intuition abuzz, Miranda wheeled her cart into the room the three supposed models had just exited, closing the door behind her. The dressing room contained three chairs and as many dressing tables, along with several bottles of perfume and makeup. A large, old-fashioned closet resided in the corner.

Miranda detected a faint whiff of gas in the air – chloroform gas, to be exact. That was certainly odd. Then she noticed that the closet had a padlock on it, which was out of place with the rest of the décor.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Miranda muttered as she stepped closer to examine it.

The lock proved no match for her adept lock-picking abilities, and she soon had it removed from the closet. Then she gripped the handles and threw the doors open.

Miranda’s eyes widened. Lying unconscious in the closet, one on top of the other, dressed in nothing more than their respective bras and panties, gagged and bound with generous amounts of duct tape, were three women of impressive build and stunning beauty.

Miranda did not know why these three women had been tied up and replaced, nor did she at all care. She merely licked her lips as she gazed at the three females before her.

“Well, well,” she smiled. “Christmas has come early this year.”

******

Vanessa was beginning to regret her replacing of the manicurist, as the blonde woman she now attended to was anything but an accepting hostess. She yelled at Vanessa to work faster and threatened to have her fired if she made so much as the slightest mistake. Vanessa grit her teeth and bore the harsh words. She kept her mind on the diamond-encrusted blue dress which wrapped itself around the blonde’s curvaceous body, and the money it would bring her once she had acquired it.

After what seemed like an eternity, the manicure was over, and the blonde got up to leave.

“Well, I suppose that was a passable job,” she scowled at Vanessa. “I suppose even a useless employee like yourself is capable of doing some things right.”

Vanessa resisted the urge to speak.

“Anyway,” the blonde proclaimed, “I must now head over to the makeup room and have my face powdered. Walk with me,” she ordered Vanessa. “I will look even more glamorous when seen next to a simple woman.”

Vanessa nodded. She could not wait to show this b*tch just how “simple” she really was.

They made their way to the powder room. The red-haired beautician working there smiled at the blonde as she entered. “Hello, dear,” she said.

“Don’t ‘hello, dear’ me,” the blonde snapped as she sat down in the chair. “Just give me the works. And make no mistakes.”

The redhead swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.” She began her work, after a quick smile at Vanessa, who was now closing the door.

Vanessa smiled back, and watched the woman work. Her uniform was similar to Vanessa’s, although it was clear from her build that Vanessa would have a hard time squeezing into her uniform. But that didn’t matter right now.

The beautician was just an innocent bystander, but that wasn’t Vanessa’s concern. She walked up behind the woman and touched her shoulder. As the beautician turned, Vanessa dealt her a blow to the jaw which sent her to the floor.

The blonde gasped. “What are you…” There was another thud as Vanessa’s fist connected with her jaw.

The blonde slumped back in her chair, unconscious. Vanessa did not usually enjoy taking out innocent victims, but she was rather relieved to having given the blonde a taste of her own medicine.

Carefully, Vanessa propped up the blonde model and began removing the sparkling dress from her body. It took some work removing the tight outfit, but soon the blonde had been reduced to her underwear.

Vanessa stripped the beautician to her bra and panties and tore her dress into strips. These she used to bind the women’s hands and feet and gag their mouths. She stuffed both women in the large cabinet beneath the dressing table. It was a tight fit, as the two women’s bodies were forced against each other, pressing their breasts together. Still, there was nothing Vanessa could or cared to do about it.

Vanessa put on the gorgeous blue dress and then pulled her manicurist’s uniform over it. In this way, she would smuggle the uniform out of the building with no one being the wiser. After making sure that no part of the dress stuck out from beneath the pink uniform, Vanessa turned out the lights and left the room, locking the door behind her.

Miranda returned through the backstage entrance of the Convention Center, having deposited the three helpless models and the equally helpless maid into the back of her stolen truck. The laundry cart had concealed their unconscious figures nicely. Miranda counted off on her fingers. Nineteen ladies so far. And with each tick of the clock, her deadline drew nearer. Miranda decided she would need to start speeding things up.

As she walked down the hallway, nearing the backstage entrance, a cluster of excited female voices alerted her. Miranda’s ears perked up. She ducked into a nearby utility closet, pulling the laundry cart in with her.

Eight young women, all pretty and curvaceous, strutted past Miranda’s hiding place, their heels clicking on the marble floor. Each was clad in a dazzling dress and sparkling jewelry. The women were clearly all models, fresh out of their dressing rooms and ready to astound the auditorium with the season’s latest fashions.

Miranda eyed each woman as she passed, and crossed her fingers. The plan she was now formulating would take skill and precision, and just a little bit of luck. Fortunately, luck was on her side.

The last woman in the line was just about her size. She was tall, slim yet wholesome, dressed in a strapless red gown with a slit that ran up the length of her right leg, her feet clad in red high heels. Her blonde hair cascaded down her neck, swishing from side to side. Jewelry glistened from her wrists, neck, and earlobes.

Miranda slid her tongue across her lips. “Come to Mama,” she whispered, as she silently opened the door. The model didn’t hear a thing as Miranda crept up behind her and clapped a hand over her mouth. The blonde’s eyes opened wide, but the hand, as well as the chatter of the other, unnoticing women, muffled her pleas for help as she was pulled backwards into the utility closet, and the door was closed and locked.

Five minutes later, Miranda stepped out of the closet and adjusted her red dress. She smiled at her own good taste. Miranda was a naturally beautiful woman, and the dress emphasized her beauty in all the right places.

The utility closet was now occupied by the blonde supermodel whose clothing and jewelry Miranda now sported. The woman was the picture of helplessness, with her hands tied behind her back with nylon cord and her feet secured with cable wiring. Her mouth had been stuffed with her own panties, and duct tape covered her lower face, making speech impossible. Tears slowly streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto her bulging brassiere – the only article of clothing she now wore. Miranda noted how difficultly the bra struggled to hold the woman’s breasts in place.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she grinned, “Ever consider becoming an underwear model?”

The woman’s muffled response proved no answer, so Miranda blew he a kiss and closed the door. “Sit tight, girlfriend,” she whispered. “I’m off to fetch your friends.”

Miranda’s newly acquired heels clicked their way down the hall, as she tugged at the hem of her dress to keep it from slipping. Within a few moments, she had located the other seven models, who were standing near the backstage curtain.

An older woman with a clipboard was talking to the group as Miranda approached. She looked up. “There you are. What was the holdup? We’re about to go onstage.”

Miranda smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I had to use the little supermodels’ room.” She was pleased to note that the woman didn’t mention the fact that she didn’t recognize Miranda.

The woman sighed and adjusted her glasses. “Well, let’s begin. Who’s going onstage first?”

Before any of the other beauties could open their mouths, Miranda’s hand shot up. The older woman nodded. “Good.” She paused as music began to fill the air. “All right, that’s our cue. I’ll head onstage first, then introduce you one by one.”

The woman headed onstage and held a microphone to her lips. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present this year’s summer fashion lineup!”

Miranda stood ahead of the other models as she waited for her cue. She noticed that some of the other girls were beginning to look at her suspiciously, probably wondering what had happened to their blonde colleague.

You’ll all find out soon enough, she thought with a smile.

Miranda heard the woman call out the description of her dress. Adjusting the outfit one last time, she strutted onstage.

Lights flashed and the crowd applauded. Miranda smiled broadly, basking in the attention. She could see reporters snapping pictures of her in the dress, to appear in their fashion magazines the next day. Miranda enjoyed the irony that she was currently undercover… and the center of attention.

After a few minutes of strutting out onto the runway, Miranda turned her heel and walked offstage, in the opposite direction from which she had originally entered. She could already hear the spokeswoman announcing the next beautiful model onto the stage.

Miranda walked a little further, then disappeared through a side door which led to an employee lounge. Currently, it was empty. Miranda opened the door a crack and waited.

She worked swiftly and silently. As each model headed offstage and passed by the doorway, Miranda would reach out from behind and handgag her, drawing her into the employee lounge. The woman would struggle, but the dress she wore would make excessive movement difficult, and Miranda would silence her with a well-applied sleeper hold. The woman would then be stripped naked and hogtied with flex and gagged with her own underwear and duct tape. Miranda would then return to the doorway just in time to grab the next model who passed.

Miranda repeated this process until she soon had a pile of seven beautiful naked women, all unconscious and secured and awaiting delivery.

“Better go fetch the maid’s cart,” she mused.

********

Vanessa’s eyes darted carefully from side to side as she made her way out of the auditorium. So far, no one suspected that she wore a stolen diamond-studded dress beneath her also-stolen manicurist’s uniform. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She let out a breath and headed for the door.

All of the sudden, someone grabbed her arm. Vanessa whirled around to come face-to-face with a blonde women in a gorgeous green dress which seemed a size too small for her. The woman had an angry scowl on her face.

“You’re under arrest,” the woman stated tersely. “Would you care to come quietly?”

Vanessa tried acting innocent. “Who, me? I have no idea what you’re talking about. And besides… you don’t look like a police officer.”

“Don’t get cute,” the fake model snapped as she reached into her cleavage and pulled out a badge. “Karen Thompson, FBI.” Two other women dressed as models now appeared behind her, each looking equally as menacing. “My two partners and I went undercover as fashion models to try and catch a certain female thief whose specialty is stealing dresses. You fit her description to the letter. And by the way,” the woman gestured, “I can see that diamond-studded outfit underneath ‘your’ manicurist’s outfit.”

Vanessa groaned to herself as the agent snapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had taken two trips for Miranda to transport her eight curvaceous captives from the backlot to her awaiting truck.

The parking lot was fairly empty. No one was watching as Miranda picked up the bound and gagged girls and chucked them into the back of the delivery truck, where they landed on the wriggling, whimpering bodies of the nineteen women she had abducted earlier in the day. Some of the women looked up at Miranda with fear, some with anger, some with tears streaming down their cheeks. Miranda smiled and shook her head.

“Listen, girls, if you’d like me to set you all free, just say so!”

The women whimpered loudly.

Miranda cupped a hand to her ear. “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you.”

The women moaned louder.

Miranda shrugged. “Sorry, girls, I just can’t seem to understand you. Guess I won’t be letting any of you free after all.” She grinned at them before slamming the truck door and shutting her prisoners into total darkness.

Her task was almost done. Miranda felt bad about that, to some extent. She had gotten a great adrenaline rush that day, and had had lots of fun besides.

A sudden sound jerked her out of her thoughts – the sound of four pairs of high-heeled shoes clicking across the parking lot. Miranda looked up to see four women. One was dressed in a manicurist’s uniform, although the seams of a glittering blue dress peeked out from beneath. She was being led away in handcuffs by the other three women, whom Miranda recognized as the three suspicious-looking models she had encountered earlier.

“For trying to steal these dresses,” the “model” in the green dress was addressing the handcuffed woman, “and tying up their original owners, you’ll face some hefty jail time.”

Miranda’s ears perked up. Stealing dresses? “Well, well,” she smiled to herself. “A woman after my own heart.”

Miranda walked up behind the receding group and admired the bodies of the “models”. Shapely. Firm. Very attractive. They would round out her collection nicely.

Miranda reached out and grabbed the heads of the women in the blue and pink dresses, and thrust them together. There was a knocking sound as the heads collided, and a moaning sound as the women drifted not-so-blissfully into unconsciousness.

The woman in the green dress turned around, puzzled at the noise. She grabbed Miranda’s fist as it lashed out at her head, deflecting the blow. “What—”

The woman hitched up her skirt and reached for the gun she had concealed in her tights. In that split-second, though, she turned her attention away from Vanessa for a moment, and it was that moment which would cost her. Vanessa kicked out with her foot, sending the woman stumbling. A karate blow to the neck courtesy of Miranda completed the job.

Vanessa looked up at the woman who had just saved her. “Thank you… but… why did you help me?”

“Just call it intuition,” Miranda smiled. “Now let’s cut the sentimental stuff. Help me get these three damsels in distress under wraps. Then we’ll have a little talk.”

With the two of them working together, it took only a few minutes to strip, bind, and gag the three FBI agents. Miranda was impressed by how handy Vanessa was with ropes and duct tape. Once the three women had been thoroughly subdued, Vanessa looked up at Miranda.

“Okay… so now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Miranda smiled. “Why tell you…” She strode over to the truck and threw open the doors. “…when I can show you?”

Vanessa gasped at the sight which greeted her. Twenty-seven women lay in a pile on the floor of the truck. Some wore a set of bra and panties. Some wore nothing at all. All were gagged and bound and thoroughly uncomfortable.

Miranda tossed the three FBI agents on top of the pile, and chuckled at Vanessa’s shocked expression. “Don’t look too surprised, doll. It’s only merchandise.” She shut the door.

Vanessa gaped at the woman who now stood smiling at her. “How…?”

Miranda beckoned to the truck’s cab. “C’mon up front, darling, and I’ll tell you all about it. Hope you’ve got popcorn.”

Twenty minutes later, Miranda had finished telling Vanessa all about that day’s events. Vanessa had listened, fascinated, and now spoke up.

“But… what are you going to do with all these women now?”

Miranda shrugged. “I’m selling them to a rich client on the northern side of Beverly Hills. From there, they’ll probably be transported to Africa and the Middle East and auctioned off to the highest bidders. After that, they’ll probably live out the rest of their lives as slaves, or belly dancers, or whatever else their new owners have in mind.” Miranda smiled. “But enough about them. Let’s talk about you. You seem to be quite good at your line of work.”

“Oh,” Vanessa blushed, “I’m not that good. And I don’t kidnap women, really… just steal jewels and stuff.”

“You know,” Miranda tapped her chin thoughtfully, “maybe I could use you.”

“Use me?” Vanessa’s eyes widened. “You mean kidnap me?”

“No, no!” Miranda held up a hand. “I mean, I could use an assistant.”

“An assistant?” Vanessa repeated. “Me?”

“Sure!” Miranda grinned. “I mean, you look like the type of girl who’d be willing to take on this kind of job – especially considering the money it brings. Besides, I could use someone to talk to on my assignments. Those girls in the back… they’re just terrible at conversation.”

“Well…” Vanessa thought. “I’m not sure. I mean, it sounds kinda risky.”

“Think about it,” Miranda smiled. She wrote down her phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Vanessa. “Anytime you feel like making money – and having a lot of fun in the process – just give me a dial.”

The truck roared away, leaving Vanessa standing in the lot and staring intently at the little slip of paper in her hand.

**********

Miranda returned home, having safely delivered her lovely female products to a prearranged location. She had phoned her client to pick up the truck and send the money to her bank account.

“Another day, another three hundred thousand dollars,” she smiled. By now, Miranda was technically a millionaire, and she could easily retire to some remote desert isle. But retirement didn’t interest Miranda. She was having far too much fun.

Miranda entered her apartment, and was instantly greeted by her purring black cat. Miranda reached down and petted the adoring animal.

“Hi, Sprinkle,” she said. “Mommy had an extra-hard day at work. There was a lot of stuff that needed to be tied up.” She laughed. The cat licked her hand.

Miranda pulled off her shirt and tossed it on her bed. “And guess what, Sprinkle? Today, Mommy found out that Jake is cheating on her! Oh, but don’t worry… he’ll never see that hussy again. No one in this country ever will.” She laughed again as she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her pants.

“In any case, Mommy has to take a shower now. She’s been wearing a lot of sweaty clothes today… not that she’s minded it.” She unbuckled her bra and let it flutter to the floor, and wriggled out of her panties.

The naked Miranda stepped into her bathroom and into the shower. Just as she was reaching for the hot water handle, though, the phone rang.

“Happens every time,” she murmured as she stepped out of the bathroom and toward the receiver.

Miranda picked up the phone. “Hello?” she said, twirling a lock of hair around her index finger. “Ah, another client!... Uh-huh… Uh-huh… Forty women? Wow! All right, I’ll have ‘em ready by Saturday.”

Miranda hung up the phone. “Watch out, ladies,” she smiled. “Here I come.”

THE END

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