CHAPTER 1

 

The beautiful, smartly dressed, tousle-haired blonde who was visiting the shabby apartment in New York looked somewhat out of place. She was a glorious vision, beneath a black leather jacket she wore a light blue blouse through which a delightful pair of breasts, thrust eagerly. They were enhanced by a small white lacy bra, barely needed to support their shapely firmness - tantalisingly visible through the wispy top. Below that, a blue pleated miniskirt clung to the tightly rounded curves of a, so touchable, bottom, revealing much of her tanned, shapely thighs and slim legs.

An observer, collecting his thoughts, might then wonder why the girl stood with legs widely, immodestly spaced! More unusually, her hands were raised high above her head, uplifting her breasts still higher. Further into that dingy room, it would be seen that her lovely green eyes, framed in a doll-like face, were wide with fear. They were fixed on the wheelchair-bound figure of an obese Chinese slob just before her. Looking like a loathsome toad, he was the sort of creature that such a wondrous beauty would cross a busy street to avoid.

It would now be apparent that the Oriental man had some kind of hold over the girl. That was confirmed by the grey snub-nose gun protruding toy-like from the man's large fist. Furthermore, as if more evidence was needed of the trouble the girl was in, there was the figure of a young man slumped beside the wheelchair. Blood oozed onto the cheap carpet from a gash in his head. Behind the wheelchair stood an old, frumpy Chinese woman, smirking at the scene, content to simply watch the act unfolding before her. When the girl, following the orders of the old man, began unbuttoning her jacket, shuddering as she did so, her awful predicament would be all too clear.

 

***

 

Rosemary's eyes were wide with despair, her bowels a hot liquid pit of churning fear. It was difficult to remain absolutely still, as she had been instructed, hands above her head and tongue fully extended to balance her police identity card on it. She looked and felt ridiculous, that was the idea she guessed. To add to her humiliation before the gloating slob in the wheelchair, she had been made to strip completely naked. Her captor had also clipped her police lapel badge to one delicate throbbing nipple. It tinkled with every anguished breath.

How could she and Michael, who was slumped unconscious on the floor, have allowed themselves to walk into the trap? Why had she volunteered to go on these raids? She didn't have to, but if Rosemary was honest with herself, it was revenge and it had been most sweet - until now.

Only a few minutes ago she had been totally in control. Holding her slim Biretta hand-gun in a marksmen's twin-handed grip, she had assumed a routine crouch to one side of the apartment door. The rugged, handsome figure of her fellow agent, Michael - also British, and ex-SAS - was on the opposite side. Despite the three months of intensive training in Hereford, and her subsequent experience of such missions, she still felt the thrill of adrenalin course through her body. There was also the shiver of pleasure when Michael had affectionately (sensually she had wondered?) patted her bottom, making her tingle. She had then wanted to complete the job before the moment between them was lost. Maybe preoccupation had blunted caution?

Subsequent to her training she had enjoyed a successful six months working with a team of undercover agents seconded to the US and British police. They were in American now because the white-slave and drug-running gang they were after had gone to ground in this country. Recruited for her knowledge of that criminal empire, run by her old adversaries Sheik Macom and Matilda, she was a member of a squad tracking down the remaining gang members.

They had captured all the fiends who had so tormented her over the last year; Matilda, the crone's husband Keith, Clive, Fu-Lick, Me-Lin, Greta. She recalled now the wonderful sense of power, almost like an aphrodisiac, as her adversaries realised that the girl who had been their slave, their sexual plaything, now called the shots. Initially disbelieving, they soon appreciated the reality of the steady gun in her hands. So unnaturally for such people who unthinkingly dominated others, they had to obey Rosemary's curt commands. She enjoyed seeing their gloating expressions changing to shock as they realised it was all over - and that she had achieved it.

Sheik Macom had been captured by herself during her and husband Donald's rescue by the SAS from his Middle Eastern palace. She recalled his expression at her threat to castrate him. Now the ring-leaders, apart from Angelica, had been caught and the assignment was, she gathered, shortly to be wrapped up.

For Rosemary her job as an agent was perfect, allowing her to renew her career as a model whilst providing perfect cover for her undercover police activities. Modelling assignments would 'conveniently' take place in locations near to suspected gang members and a covert operation undertaken to capture them. She knew she would be at a loss when she reverted to being just a model or housewife again. Apart from the power, there were also the secret feelings for her partner, Michael. Feelings which she knew she must hide from her husband, Donald. It would be an anti-climax when Angelica herself had been brought to justice. The Negress, her ex-maid, had originally, by blackmail, turned her and her husband's lives in London upside down, making her do disgusting, vile things. The vixen had been ultimately responsible for making slaves of them both in the harem and subsequently Matilda's mansion in England.

Now defeat stared Rosemary in the face. Maybe she and Michael should have been concentrating harder on the task in hand. However, their informant had said that the man in the apartment, who could lead them to Angelica, was an invalid. Indeed, he had been recently photographed at a hospital in a wheelchair. Living only with his elderly wife he could hardly, they thought, present a potent threat!

There had been silence from within the apartment and Michael's careful turn of the handle ascertained that the door was locked. Rosemary had maintained her posture, checking the corridor was empty, whilst he deftly gained access. On the, practised, count of three they had leapt into the darkened and seemingly empty lounge. Lowering their guns, relaxing a little, they individually checked the rooms which led off it.

"The bastard's out ..." Rosemary had begun.

Crack!

As she began to turn instinctively towards the sickening sound of metal hitting bone, a voice called out of the darkness. It was chillingly frightening.

"Freeze, bitch! One more move ... you and your partner will be history."

Rosemary's belly flip-flopped as she obediently stopped. Whoever was in the room must have been expecting them, a set up. Suddenly her feelings of invincibility and power evaporated. After being in control in so many of these situations she was again on the receiving end.

Total silence. Then a small sidelight was switched on, chasing away some of the shadows. Moving only her eyes she could just make out a large seated figure and Michael's slumped form by it. He was groaning softly and she could see the sheen of a small pool by his head.

"Let me help him, he's bleeding!" screamed Rosemary but, as she made to move, the room erupted in a blaze of light and she saw more clearly the fat, gloating slob in the wheelchair.

"I said fucking freeze!" he shouted.

He was Oriental, somewhere in his fifties she guessed, bald, slimy - utterly repellent. His small slanted eyes, like two currants in bowl of rice, glinted fiercely. In addition to a gun, he held a knife. She stared at the tiny, blue-grey blade caressing her partner's helpless face. It mesmerized her like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights, making her realise just how much that man meant to her.

The greasy toad's eyes darted greedily over the gorgeous creature standing immobile before him.

"Quite a looker for Western woman, but I take no chances, I hear you dangerous. Look at friend later. First we worry about you. With one hand put gun safety catch on, then drop. Good," he continued as she reluctantly obeyed, "now, kick over to me, then spread pretty legs wide."

Her captor's slobbish exterior had been apparent from his photos in hospital. However, nothing could have prepared her for the reality of those coal-black eyes. They could have been pitched up from the darkest recess of hell to penetrate her soul. He was confined to a wheelchair by the plaster casts on his legs. So their informant had been right about the man being helpless - but had misled them about his remaining abilities.

Then, from behind him, Rosemary saw with dawning realisation, the fat homely figure of the old Chinese woman whose information had brought them here. The glasses and wig she had worn at the police station were now lying on the chair. Grunting with effort, she picked up Rosemary's discarded gun and gave it to the man.

"Yes, Mrs Pierce, you already meet Tina here," the man spoke with a hint of a laugh but without taking his eyes off her. "Unfortunately for you, she my devoted wife."

He caught her eyes looking at his legs and patted the casts on them, laughing.

"You should see other fellow! After my road accident, I paid well to act as decoy, lure you to helpless old man - before my casts removed tomorrow."

"Please, now let me help my friend, he's hurt," pleaded Rosemary.

"He live - unfortunately," the man's eyes didn't falter from her. " You and he apparently cause many people much grief, so suffering appropriate." He licked his lips. "Now I see what else you have on you. Tip contents of handbag onto floor."

Rosemary's secondary weapon of an immobilizing spray fell uselessly at her feet with other more mundane and personal things.

"So many surprises for young lady, but you learning to obey good. Now, remove all clothing and kick over here, please. I need no tell what will happen to you, or him, if disobey," he added with menace.

Her mind raced, considering but discarding numerous alternatives. She was undoubtedly the most able-bodied person in the room, that counted for nothing against a knife and gun. All her high-flown plans and dreams of remaining in this line of 'exciting' work were collapsing. With dread she realised she was once again a helpless captive, rather than a glamorous secret agent.

Her hands in constant view, Rosemary undressed. Trembling fingers, seemingly now as big as cucumbers, clumsily undid buttons and zips. Each discarded garment was her trappings of civilization, symbols of her power and authority. Finally the wispy undergarments slid to a pool at her feet until she stood naked and helpless.

Shivering, gooseflesh bubbling on her shoulders, the memories of similar predicaments came flooding back, memories she wanted to forget. It was so demeaning to be forced to undress before anyone, let alone such a gloating creep as this. The contrast with her previous power as a police agent was absolute in its juxtaposition.

"That better, but still a police-lady. Must make sure you conceal nothing. Lift breasts with hands please, turn slowly, we make sure nothing taped under them."

Crimson, she pushed up her breasts and turned to face him.

"Hold up higher."

Unable to meet for long the piggy eyes devouring her abject humiliation, she squashed her breasts upwards like a pornographic model.

"Good, they nice. Now hands out away from sides, I have Tina frisk properly, I think," he grinned, his face etching into creases.

Releasing her boobs and standing as directed, Rosemary grimaced as the horrible old crone slouched over. She was made to open her mouth for the woman to peer inside, then the woman's paws thoroughly explored her curves. She smelt of tobacco and sweat, and had teeth which had not recently made acquaintance with a toothbrush.

"Open legs, we look here too, girl." Her hand trailed over the soft down and roughly between her victim's thighs.

"Oohh, ahh," Rosemary winced as callous fingers probed her intimately.

"Tight little arse," the woman chuckled as her finger pushed unnaturally past the sphincter before patting the firm cheeks of her bottom.

Meanwhile the man had been examining Rosemary's things, holding up her blouse and skirt, tiny lace undergarments, running the silken perfumed material through his fingers with a leer.

"She no dressed without police badge. Stick tongue right out. Rest her ID card on it, Tina," he had instructed, "and clip badge on tit so we know who she is. It remind her, too. Hands behind you, girl. Use her own cuffs, Tina."

Rosemary stood mute and helpless as, brutally, the old woman cuffed her hands behind, painfully constricting the skin in a metallic embrace. Her exposed breasts jutting towards her tormentors, she cringed and winced as the witch roughly fastened the clip to bite onto one delicate teat.

"Not too tight, I hope," the woman chortled sadistically, slapping the silken flesh to make the delicious fruit jiggle - and Rosemary wince with cruel, intimate pain.

The hag then turned to Michael, stripping his clothes off, laughing at his small pants, flipping his limpness. Eventually though, she did bandage his wound.

The blonde tried to ignore the various discomforts from her shivering nudity, throbbing nipple and stretched tongue. The tight cuffs were also constricting her circulation, making her fingers grow numb. However, she knew that any plea for mercy would simply be music to her captors.

Despite a growing dread, she remained obediently unmoving when the man wheeled himself behind her. However, she jumped when his sweaty hand groped her breasts, patted and then fondled the cheeks of her bottom.

"Juicy," he commented.

How quickly, Rosemary realised, had she slipped back into her previous lifestyle - unquestioning obedience on fear of punishment. She was a woman of the world, with hopes, ambitions and dreams. Now these evaporated fast as she lost control, her own wants and desires fading into insignificance as she was mauled like a show animal.

A shudder rippled over her silken flesh, delighting the heavily breathing man. Then, he was interrupted by the door bell.

"Nice upholstery. If you want keep it that way, little pink tongue stays right out without sound while we see who at the door."

Hope surged through her. Maybe it was a back-up team?

When the visitor shook hands with her captor, handing him money, all such hopes vanished. Rosemary knew she was lost! He too looked slimy and evil. His eyes drilled into hers above flared nostrils, below which a pencil-thin moustache curled. She guessed his age to be early twenties. That he was Mexican, with maybe Spanish blood, seemed apparent from his coffee coloured complexion and jet black curly hair. Somewhat out of place against his mean countenance, he wore a doctor's gown. Behind him was a beautiful Spanish-looking woman of a similar age wearing a nurses uniform, her dark hair piled into a bun. She giggled at Rosemary's humiliating pose.

"What a pretty picture," she laughed richly with a trace of accent, shaking her head almost unbelievably.

The Mexican initially ignored Rosemary, but, after briefly ascertaining that Michael was all right, he turned to her. Whistling softly, he eyed her slowly up and down, casually taking her ID card from her out-stretched tongue.

"She's a beauty, Wang," he remarked to the Chinese man, "the client will be pleased you caught the little chick. She sure don't look much like police standing like that, but she's made a real nuisance of herself."

Rosemary winced as he crudely squeezed her breast and flicked the swinging badge attached to it, making her gasp in smarting pain. As she squirmed helplessly in his arms, he crushed her to him, lifting her cuffed wrists to give her bottom a hard slap. She felt an obscene lump pressing against her pubic mound.

"Better get them under and on their way, Senita," he spoke to the girl in the nurse's uniform. "I'll get the ambulance ready."

"Too right, Miguel or you'll be fucking her here and now," the girl spoke icily to the Mexican, her eyes flashing.

Abruptly she grabbed one of Rosemary's pinioned arms. "Come here, slut, let mamma put you to sleep."

"Please, just let us go and ... ," the bound girl began to struggle but Senita's response was a teeth-rattling slap.

"You'll not get out of this one, girl," Senita snarled, "besides I hear you're used to a bit of rough." She smiled cruelly, concentrating on preparing a hypodermic needle. "Don't move or I might accidentally jab your face - or somewhere else - with the needle. I wonder if the men would still like you then?"

Rosemary recoiled as the needle slowly circled below her wide, horror-struck eyes. Then it traced patterns over the trembling globe of a breast. Thankfully, she felt the jab only in her arm. Slumping to her knees as the drug took effect, she saw the woman inject Michael. Everything appeared in triplicate before she collapsed to the carpet.